[The frown is back, with her brow wrinkled as she spares a glance to where Astarion's disappeared into the kitchen.]
Oh—I've never been myself. Father never speaks highly of it and you know how the stories are about that place. Much better here in Waterdeep, as I'm sure you can agree.
[Having expected a polite no or even something along the lines of just because I have family in Evereska doesn't mean I know everyone there, you silly human, Gale looks positively astounded, his brows rising in unmasked surprise.]
Familiar as in— [the absolute barest pause as he tries to compose himself] —having heard of them. We have a friend by that name. In Baldur's Gate, obviously, but he was wondering if his family was still there... in Evereska.
[Gale Dekarios you are so lucky that an old half-elf's insight isn't quite up to snuff to suss out all that lying you're doing. She does look confused, though. Like she's not quite following the line of logic, but after a moment, she shakes her head, remembering how her earlier suspicion seemed to arouse Gale's irritation.]
Well, of course I've heard of them. I am one. On my father's side, obviously. [She huffs a bit of a sigh, another shake of her head.] For a moment I was worried there was some scandal. I don't visit often, you see, and my most recent trip to Evereska was somewhat abbreviated because of your mother's request. But yes, despite the few who've wandered off over the years, the family Ancunín still has roots in Evereska.
Are they half-elf too, your friend? I know they don't mean it, but for as sharp as their memories can be, I find it's sometimes so easy for the Tel'Quessir to forget how it is for us more mortal sorts.
[She is one. That might explain some of how Astarion was acting. He has family there - perhaps even direct family, family who may very well still be alive, who might remember him after two centuries. Does he have siblings? Parents? Gods, what if—
Gale cuts that line of thinking off, realizing that he's taking so long to digest all this new information that he's not yet answered her question.]
Er, yes, half-elven. They do forget how brief our lives are by comparison. [Please excuse that nervous chuckle, Lena.] I will have to tell our friend that we met one of his kin today. I'm not sure if the Ancunín clan is as widespread as the Dekarios one, but he's not heard from his family in some time, so I'm sure he'll be...
[Another beat as he tries to conjure a word out of the air; he gives a little celebratory pump of his arm.]
[But he should. He immediately tries to recall the name of literally any elf at all, but his mind draws a complete and utter blank, and thus the best he can do is:]
Rolan. Rolan Ancunín. That's what he told us to call him.
If it meets your approval, I believe we're quite settled. Morena's provided me the details on the ceremony, so all should be ready for you and your intended.
[She offers him a warm smile.]
If you would, please pass my farewell along to your mother and your fiance. I should be getting back before it gets too late.
Of course. It's been a pleasure to speak with you.
[He shakes Lena's hand once more, shows her to the door, and waves farewell as she exits the front gate. With that, he closes the door and sucks a breath in through his teeth, rubbing his chin idly, his hand over his mouth as he stares at the floor. It holds no solution for his unexpected anxiety.
There's undeniable excitement lingering beneath his nerves - Astarion has family. A bloodline, kin, people who might want to meet him. People who might have been looking for him after his death. Were they the ones who left the flowers on his grave? Has word of what happened in Baldur's Gate reached Evereska? Do they know he's a hero?
Gale pulls in another breath. This should be a good thing... so why is he anxious? Why does he feel trepidation at the idea of telling Astarion what he's learned? He knows the answer to that: he wants to give Astarion stability, and this is certainly throwing a wrench into that idea. That same family who might be excited to meet their lost kin might be horrified upon learning what he is - what happened to him in his absence. They might not even like who he is now, or who he's chosen to be with. Astarion had seemed off before escaping to the kitchen - perhaps he already knows the truth, or suspects it.
A third breath, and Gale heads to the kitchen himself to regroup.]
[Oh, Astarion certainly suspects it. Or fears it, judging by how his mind races the moment he escapes the encounter. Her face was too familiar, the flowers sitting in their vase leaving an itch at the edge of memories and scars that he thought he'd long buried. That he doesn't wish to exhume for fear of what might be lying in wait there.
Because what would his family say, seeing him again? What good could it possibly do to let them know he'd lived for centuries under torment and torture? And why would they even care to know, when there had been nothing they'd done to stop it? To find him? To answer his pleas for salvation before they were eventually silenced?
All his mind can conjure in answer is the 'family' that was forced upon him in his years of torment. Cazador's face, lit in the glow of bluehsine flowers. The punishments, the degradation. How surely they must think him pathetic and weak for falling to a vampire lord, for failing to find his own freedom for centuries until a mind flayer of all things granted it to him.
He swallows against the sour taste of it in his throat, pushing the memory away, pushing he thought of it away, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. Not now, not again. He doesn't want to lose himself in front of Gale and his mother once more.
With a deep, bracing breath, Astarion pushes away from where he's braced himself against the wall, stepping into the kitchen with a smile on his face to hopefully cover the deep unease still roiling in his guts.]
[Tara's voice rings clear from the kitchen, as motherly and doting as always; she eyes him from her perch atop a stool near the counter, where an army of conjured hands are gathering plates and silverware. Morena, on the other hand, wastes no time in turning to Astarion, her arms spread as she goes to embrace him, her hands and the apron she wears both covered in flour.]
My darling son-to-be!
[She's warmed significantly to him over the past few tendays, especially in light of how he treats Gale - and how utterly, painfully smitten Gale is with him in return. She clearly delights in seeing her son so happy, so warm and alive again - it's a bit funny if you ask her, given this change came from his relationship with a vampire, the very picture of cold undeath, but she's forsaken and and all of her early judgments on Astarion these days. He's clearly good for Gale, and her son is what matters most to her in the entire world.
And with Astarion joining their family properly — and soon — she cares a great deal for him too, and she make sure he knows that. She gives him a tight squeeze before pulling back to look him in the eye. There's a second where she seems to pick up on his discomfort, but she mistakes the source.]
Goodness me, I should have asked, shouldn't I? [She brushes some flour off his sleeve apologetically; he no doubt has hand prints on his back.] Did you see the flowers when you came in? Lena's done truly marvelous work if you ask me.
[There is certainly something to be said for Morena's warming demeanor towards Astarion and how it's helped to set him at ease in her presence. He can feel himself relaxing into the embrace, feeling safe with the woman, and it's as thrilling as it is unfamiliar. He favors her with a smile as they part, waving off her worry with a flippant gesture.]
You needn't worry yourself over that, my dearest mother-to-be. The flowers look positively stunning.
[He pauses a beat, the unease from before creeping back a moment as his eyes track towards the entryway.]
Just how you managed to track down someone who could source fresh blueshine of all things I can't imagine. But then, I should know better than to doubt your prowess.
I am nothing if not incredibly thorough, dear. When Gale mentioned they remind him of you, I knew I had to request them. Just three springs ago, Lena was able to procure me some rather rare...
[She trails off, tilting her head a fraction of an inch as she examines Astarion's face closer; it seems his best attempt to mask his discomfort was not enough to hide it from a perceptive mother.]
Is something the matter, Astarion? What did he do?
[Astarion jerks for a moment as if stung. He's still not quite used to how well Morena picks up on his cues, or perhaps to having someone who cares enough to track his moods.]
What—? No, no my dear. He's done nothing wrong.
[There's a frantic moment where he feels caught, like he's given the wrong answer, his eyes darting to Morena's face to judge her anger. But when he finds none, it catches in his throat. He has nothing to fear, he shouldn't have anything to fear, not here.
But how much can he tell her? How much to reveal before she might find him too much of a burden for her dear son to bear, too much of a blight to welcome to such a picture perfect family? He swallows against the weight still settled in his throat, the unease still threading through his nerves.]
[Though relieved to hear Gale isn't to blame, Morena scrutinizes Astarion another moment, clearly trying to read him; she's much better at it than Gale, but even she's no mind-reader.]
An old flame? Or family you've not seen in a long time?
[The notion Lena might remind him of someone he's fed from in his years as a bloodsucker does cross her mind, but she's too kind to address it. She doesn't know much of Astarion's past — Gale is equally unwilling to speak of it — but she knows it's not something he's proud of.]
[Well, there's no hope in hiding it when she hits it so cleanly on the head like that. Astarion looks guilty, crestfallen a moment before shaking his head.]
Not in two centuries. Not—the family that gave me my name.
[The words are deliberately chosen, as if Astarion isn't sure how to refer to them: bloodless and undead as he is.]
[Though Astarion looks away, Morena's eyes stay on him. She waits a beat, and Gale's voice carries to the kitchen in the pause - it sounds like he and Lena are chit-chatting about something, but she can't make out what.]
Two hundred years, and you don't look a day over one-fifty.
[The sharp, nervous laugh Astarion gives to that question is perhaps more telling than anything else leading up to this moment. ]
Oh come now, why would I—
[He snaps his lips shut, suddenly remembering who he's speaking to. Gale's loving mother, the woman who indirectly brought them together but also who drove a wedge into their early relationship. Because even as cast aside and doomed as Gale Dekarios might have been, he never lost his mother's love.
He purses his lips into a tight line, looking sidelong at Morena as his thoughts race in an unsteady tumult.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Oh—I've never been myself. Father never speaks highly of it and you know how the stories are about that place. Much better here in Waterdeep, as I'm sure you can agree.
no subject
Yes, of course. Is there a reason you ask?
no subject
My apologies, it's only an old woman's idle curiosity. He—seemed familiar, in a way. But it must just be my years catching up with me.
no subject
[He offers her a reassuring smile.]
One more question, if you would: you're not familiar with the family name Ancunín, are you?
no subject
Yes, of course, but—what do you mean? Familiar in what way?
no subject
Familiar as in— [the absolute barest pause as he tries to compose himself] —having heard of them. We have a friend by that name. In Baldur's Gate, obviously, but he was wondering if his family was still there... in Evereska.
[Nailed it.]
no subject
Well, of course I've heard of them. I am one. On my father's side, obviously. [She huffs a bit of a sigh, another shake of her head.] For a moment I was worried there was some scandal. I don't visit often, you see, and my most recent trip to Evereska was somewhat abbreviated because of your mother's request. But yes, despite the few who've wandered off over the years, the family Ancunín still has roots in Evereska.
Are they half-elf too, your friend? I know they don't mean it, but for as sharp as their memories can be, I find it's sometimes so easy for the Tel'Quessir to forget how it is for us more mortal sorts.
no subject
Gale cuts that line of thinking off, realizing that he's taking so long to digest all this new information that he's not yet answered her question.]
Er, yes, half-elven. They do forget how brief our lives are by comparison. [Please excuse that nervous chuckle, Lena.] I will have to tell our friend that we met one of his kin today. I'm not sure if the Ancunín clan is as widespread as the Dekarios one, but he's not heard from his family in some time, so I'm sure he'll be...
[Another beat as he tries to conjure a word out of the air; he gives a little celebratory pump of his arm.]
Thrilled.
no subject
Do pass along my regards. I hope they're doing well—ah, what did you say their name was?
no subject
[But he should. He immediately tries to recall the name of literally any elf at all, but his mind draws a complete and utter blank, and thus the best he can do is:]
Rolan. Rolan Ancunín. That's what he told us to call him.
no subject
[She pauses, clearly trying to recall the name.]
I'm afraid I'm not familiar. He must be a more distant relative.
no subject
Likely. I don't know half my cousins, or a fourth of my second cousins, and the math gets worse from there.
[Another nervous laugh before he tries to divert the subject.]
Now, is there anything else to discuss? About the arrangements?
no subject
[She offers him a warm smile.]
If you would, please pass my farewell along to your mother and your fiance. I should be getting back before it gets too late.
no subject
[He shakes Lena's hand once more, shows her to the door, and waves farewell as she exits the front gate. With that, he closes the door and sucks a breath in through his teeth, rubbing his chin idly, his hand over his mouth as he stares at the floor. It holds no solution for his unexpected anxiety.
There's undeniable excitement lingering beneath his nerves - Astarion has family. A bloodline, kin, people who might want to meet him. People who might have been looking for him after his death. Were they the ones who left the flowers on his grave? Has word of what happened in Baldur's Gate reached Evereska? Do they know he's a hero?
Gale pulls in another breath. This should be a good thing... so why is he anxious? Why does he feel trepidation at the idea of telling Astarion what he's learned? He knows the answer to that: he wants to give Astarion stability, and this is certainly throwing a wrench into that idea. That same family who might be excited to meet their lost kin might be horrified upon learning what he is - what happened to him in his absence. They might not even like who he is now, or who he's chosen to be with. Astarion had seemed off before escaping to the kitchen - perhaps he already knows the truth, or suspects it.
A third breath, and Gale heads to the kitchen himself to regroup.]
no subject
Because what would his family say, seeing him again? What good could it possibly do to let them know he'd lived for centuries under torment and torture? And why would they even care to know, when there had been nothing they'd done to stop it? To find him? To answer his pleas for salvation before they were eventually silenced?
All his mind can conjure in answer is the 'family' that was forced upon him in his years of torment. Cazador's face, lit in the glow of bluehsine flowers. The punishments, the degradation. How surely they must think him pathetic and weak for falling to a vampire lord, for failing to find his own freedom for centuries until a mind flayer of all things granted it to him.
He swallows against the sour taste of it in his throat, pushing the memory away, pushing he thought of it away, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. Not now, not again. He doesn't want to lose himself in front of Gale and his mother once more.
With a deep, bracing breath, Astarion pushes away from where he's braced himself against the wall, stepping into the kitchen with a smile on his face to hopefully cover the deep unease still roiling in his guts.]
Morena, Tara, my darlings, are you in here?
no subject
[Tara's voice rings clear from the kitchen, as motherly and doting as always; she eyes him from her perch atop a stool near the counter, where an army of conjured hands are gathering plates and silverware. Morena, on the other hand, wastes no time in turning to Astarion, her arms spread as she goes to embrace him, her hands and the apron she wears both covered in flour.]
My darling son-to-be!
[She's warmed significantly to him over the past few tendays, especially in light of how he treats Gale - and how utterly, painfully smitten Gale is with him in return. She clearly delights in seeing her son so happy, so warm and alive again - it's a bit funny if you ask her, given this change came from his relationship with a vampire, the very picture of cold undeath, but she's forsaken and and all of her early judgments on Astarion these days. He's clearly good for Gale, and her son is what matters most to her in the entire world.
And with Astarion joining their family properly — and soon — she cares a great deal for him too, and she make sure he knows that. She gives him a tight squeeze before pulling back to look him in the eye. There's a second where she seems to pick up on his discomfort, but she mistakes the source.]
Goodness me, I should have asked, shouldn't I? [She brushes some flour off his sleeve apologetically; he no doubt has hand prints on his back.] Did you see the flowers when you came in? Lena's done truly marvelous work if you ask me.
no subject
You needn't worry yourself over that, my dearest mother-to-be. The flowers look positively stunning.
[He pauses a beat, the unease from before creeping back a moment as his eyes track towards the entryway.]
Just how you managed to track down someone who could source fresh blueshine of all things I can't imagine. But then, I should know better than to doubt your prowess.
no subject
[She trails off, tilting her head a fraction of an inch as she examines Astarion's face closer; it seems his best attempt to mask his discomfort was not enough to hide it from a perceptive mother.]
Is something the matter, Astarion? What did he do?
no subject
What—? No, no my dear. He's done nothing wrong.
[There's a frantic moment where he feels caught, like he's given the wrong answer, his eyes darting to Morena's face to judge her anger. But when he finds none, it catches in his throat. He has nothing to fear, he shouldn't have anything to fear, not here.
But how much can he tell her? How much to reveal before she might find him too much of a burden for her dear son to bear, too much of a blight to welcome to such a picture perfect family? He swallows against the weight still settled in his throat, the unease still threading through his nerves.]
I—was reminded of someone. By Lena.
no subject
An old flame? Or family you've not seen in a long time?
[The notion Lena might remind him of someone he's fed from in his years as a bloodsucker does cross her mind, but she's too kind to address it. She doesn't know much of Astarion's past — Gale is equally unwilling to speak of it — but she knows it's not something he's proud of.]
no subject
Not in two centuries. Not—the family that gave me my name.
[The words are deliberately chosen, as if Astarion isn't sure how to refer to them: bloodless and undead as he is.]
no subject
Do you know if any of them are still alive? I suppose they could be, couldn't they?
no subject
Oh, certainly, I suppose. Elves are long lived, after all. And it's only been two hundred years since—since I was turned.
no subject
Two hundred years, and you don't look a day over one-fifty.
[She offers him a slight smile.]
Have you any interest in finding them?
no subject
Oh come now, why would I—
[He snaps his lips shut, suddenly remembering who he's speaking to. Gale's loving mother, the woman who indirectly brought them together but also who drove a wedge into their early relationship. Because even as cast aside and doomed as Gale Dekarios might have been, he never lost his mother's love.
He purses his lips into a tight line, looking sidelong at Morena as his thoughts race in an unsteady tumult.]
I—don't. I haven't. Not for many years now.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)