[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.]
[She pulls in a breath and nods, giving him a sympathetic smile; she understands what he's saying, but picks up on what he's not saying, as well.
She rests a hand on his arm as opposed to pulling him into another hug.]
Well... should you ever want to find them, I could help. And if not, good riddance to them. You've got a fine family here. You'll be a Dekarios soon, and we couldn't be happier to have you.
[Though he tenses a moment at the touch, it's perhaps a subconscious desire for comfort that has Astarion leaning against the pressure and warmth of Morena's hand. He puts his free hand over hers, patting against it gently.]
I'm not overly fond of exhuming the past.
[He glances to the door, to Gale's voice carrying down the hallway, gnawing nervously at his lower lip.]
You must know that it means a great deal to me that you've welcomed me so willingly into your family.
[Her smile widens, warmth radiating from her eyes.]
I'm glad. I couldn't do otherwise even if I wanted to. You mean so much to him. You know that, surely.
[Though the warmth remains, her expression fades to a mixture of sobriety and sincerity.]
For so long, he was... utterly lost to me. So near, right here in town, but beyond my reach. Were were so close, but then he was wrapped up in his studies, in his duties as a Chosen, in—
[Morena shakes her head, not wanting to speak of Mystra, nor of the hurt she herself felt as her only son drifted away from her. Said son's voice drifts from the front hall, along with the sound of the front door opening - she assumes Lena has taken her leave. She runs a finger delicately along the underside of her eye, pushing back tears welling there.]
It's like you brought him back to me, Astarion. You grounded him, kept his head from floating so high in the clouds of Elysium that he forgot everyone else below him. And I cannot thank you enough for that. To welcome you into our family is the very least I can do.
[Astarion's ear twitches at the sound of the door opening and shutting. His eyes flick towards the entryway a moment before he drags his focus back to Morena. Gale has things handled, certainly, and if Lena is taking her leave, then Gale will be back at his side soon.
Though it's perhaps because of his distraction that he isn't quite paying attention to what he's saying to Morena.]
Well, it would be perhaps the first time I've returned a wayward soul to his rightful place. To be welcomed in turn seems a fitting reward.
[Though Morena casts Astarion with a puzzled look over his words - and their implication - she doesn't have time to remark on it before Gale makes his way into the room. In his hand is a blueshine plucked from the arrangement, its stem curling as he worries it nervously between his fingers. He gives both of them a smile.]
I hope I haven't kept you too long. Just wanted to see Lena off - she's done beautiful work. Simply marvelous, truly.
[And yet, there's that notch in his brow, the one that forms when there's something on his mind. Morena assumes it's the flowers and their upcoming nuptials, but Astarion may feel otherwise. Tara certainly does, her tail flicking as her eyes settle upon Gale.]
Is something wrong, Mr. Dekarios?
[Gale looks her way, doing his best to mask his feelings.]
No, nothing at all. I was merely... preoccupied with the arrangement.
[As if Astarion would miss one of Gale's nervous tics, as keyed up and anxious as he is. Though it does mean he misses the look Morena's given him, doesn't catch his earlier slip up. But how could that matter when Gale's back?
He steps closer as Gale enters, reaching to rescue the abused flower from his grasp.]
Come now, darling. It's a lovely arrangement, isn't it?
[With the flower rescued from his grasp, Gale meets Astarion's eyes.]
Nowhere near as lovely as you.
[He'd taken the blossom while standing by the door, thinking, hoping that the thought of tucking it into a buttonhole on Astarion's shirt would serve as a suitable distraction; it did not, clearly. And if Tara noticed, it's only a matter of time before his mother does.
Maybe they can chat about this for a moment, he considers, trying to find an excuse for them.]
Of course, my dear. You've time to take a walk in the garden, or chat in your old bedroom—
[Tara adjusts her wings, clearing her throat.]
And you two had better only 'chat,' should you go in there. You've time, but not that much time.
[Morena chides her, something to the tune of letting them have their fun, but Gale, flushed, excuses himself before he can hear any more of his mothers' speculation on his love life. He chooses the garden, clasping Astarion's hand and leading him out the back door. He normally wouldn't be so forceful, but this seems pertinent.]
[Well, Astarion won't resist. Especially not given all that's come to pass tonight. He gives a nod to Tara and Morena but follows quickly, his hand held tight around Gale's.
Once they're outside, he spares another glance to the door before offering Gale the flower with a tight expression across his face.]
[Gale's brow knits just a bit tighter as his eyes land on the flower; though he takes it, he doesn't yet tuck it away as he'd intended, fighting the urge to twist the stem.]
I asked her if she was familiar with your family name. She said she was - on her father's side.
[Without thinking, Astarion grabs at Gale's wrist as soon as he takes the flower. His grip is tight, a faint tremor in his hand as he leans in, his voice lowered to a whisper.]
You asked? Why in the hells would you—[He catches himself, his thoughts moving faster than his words, biting off the accusation with a low, insistent plea.]—what did she say?
[That earns a sharp, incredulous laugh from Astarion. He drops his hand from Gale's wrist, curling it into a tight fist as well.]
Oh, and why would they think well of it? Perish the thought. They couldn't be bothered to think of it, they—[He turns aside, his entire posture strung tight as a bowstring as he grasps for words, like trying to catch at fraying threads at the edges of a gaping hole before the fabric is rent into pieces in front of him.
He blinks, his vision suddenly blurred, his eyes hot. It's been so long, centuries. And any memory he might have had has been buried deep beneath layer upon layer of torment and pain so deep he doesn't know how to unearth it. He's trembling, he realizes. His body shivering with a cold he doesn't feel. But his mind feels detached, probing at the edges of the gaping abyss of his memories as his body draws in sharp, panicked breaths as if it will steady him.]
[Gale watches as Astarion unravels before him, wondering if this was the right thing to do - if sating some curiosity was worth the distress he's caused. Knowledge is always a worthwhile pursuit, yes, but at what cost? Was it worth it this time, seeing how Astarion has taken this revelation?
He curses himself inwardly. He should have thought longer on this before bringing it up, but... he couldn't keep the truth from Astarion for long. He doesn't like secrets between them. Gale steps in front of Astarion, wanting to pull him into his arms, but uncertain if he should; his eyes instead trail to the flower in his hands.]
Perhaps... he thinks so poorly on it because he lost someone there. I certainly would, were it me.
[It's a long moment before Astarion's focus finds its way back to Gale, his panicked breaths drawing to a rather abrupt halt as he does. He tastes bile at the back of his throat, a sour unpleasantness brought on by the realization that he's lost himself again. That he went somewhere else when all Gale has been doing is trying to help. He meets Gale's gaze, searching those soft, brown eyes a moment before he looks away in shame.]
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[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.
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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.
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[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?
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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.
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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.]
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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.]
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Do you know if any of them are still alive? I suppose they could be, couldn't they?
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Oh, certainly, I suppose. Elves are long lived, after all. And it's only been two hundred years since—since I was turned.
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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?
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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.
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She rests a hand on his arm as opposed to pulling him into another hug.]
Well... should you ever want to find them, I could help. And if not, good riddance to them. You've got a fine family here. You'll be a Dekarios soon, and we couldn't be happier to have you.
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I'm not overly fond of exhuming the past.
[He glances to the door, to Gale's voice carrying down the hallway, gnawing nervously at his lower lip.]
You must know that it means a great deal to me that you've welcomed me so willingly into your family.
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I'm glad. I couldn't do otherwise even if I wanted to. You mean so much to him. You know that, surely.
[Though the warmth remains, her expression fades to a mixture of sobriety and sincerity.]
For so long, he was... utterly lost to me. So near, right here in town, but beyond my reach. Were were so close, but then he was wrapped up in his studies, in his duties as a Chosen, in—
[Morena shakes her head, not wanting to speak of Mystra, nor of the hurt she herself felt as her only son drifted away from her. Said son's voice drifts from the front hall, along with the sound of the front door opening - she assumes Lena has taken her leave. She runs a finger delicately along the underside of her eye, pushing back tears welling there.]
It's like you brought him back to me, Astarion. You grounded him, kept his head from floating so high in the clouds of Elysium that he forgot everyone else below him. And I cannot thank you enough for that. To welcome you into our family is the very least I can do.
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Though it's perhaps because of his distraction that he isn't quite paying attention to what he's saying to Morena.]
Well, it would be perhaps the first time I've returned a wayward soul to his rightful place. To be welcomed in turn seems a fitting reward.
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I hope I haven't kept you too long. Just wanted to see Lena off - she's done beautiful work. Simply marvelous, truly.
[And yet, there's that notch in his brow, the one that forms when there's something on his mind. Morena assumes it's the flowers and their upcoming nuptials, but Astarion may feel otherwise. Tara certainly does, her tail flicking as her eyes settle upon Gale.]
Is something wrong, Mr. Dekarios?
[Gale looks her way, doing his best to mask his feelings.]
No, nothing at all. I was merely... preoccupied with the arrangement.
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He steps closer as Gale enters, reaching to rescue the abused flower from his grasp.]
Come now, darling. It's a lovely arrangement, isn't it?
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Nowhere near as lovely as you.
[He'd taken the blossom while standing by the door, thinking, hoping that the thought of tucking it into a buttonhole on Astarion's shirt would serve as a suitable distraction; it did not, clearly. And if Tara noticed, it's only a matter of time before his mother does.
Maybe they can chat about this for a moment, he considers, trying to find an excuse for them.]
Might I borrow my fiancé? Assuming you two don't mind being left alone for a little bit longer, of course. I just need to go over some of the finer details about the ceremony with him. Something I just thought of.
[Morena nods, unopposed to the idea.]
Of course, my dear. You've time to take a walk in the garden, or chat in your old bedroom—
[Tara adjusts her wings, clearing her throat.]
And you two had better only 'chat,' should you go in there. You've time, but not that much time.
[Morena chides her, something to the tune of letting them have their fun, but Gale, flushed, excuses himself before he can hear any more of his mothers' speculation on his love life. He chooses the garden, clasping Astarion's hand and leading him out the back door. He normally wouldn't be so forceful, but this seems pertinent.]
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Once they're outside, he spares another glance to the door before offering Gale the flower with a tight expression across his face.]
What did she say? What is it?
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I asked her if she was familiar with your family name. She said she was - on her father's side.
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You asked? Why in the hells would you—[He catches himself, his thoughts moving faster than his words, biting off the accusation with a low, insistent plea.]—what did she say?
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She said they're still there, in Evereska. Living family.
[Maybe not the best way to word it, but he struggles to contain his nerves, riled as they are by equal parts excitement and apprehension.]
She mentioned her father, and how poorly he thinks of Baldur's Gate.
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Oh, and why would they think well of it? Perish the thought. They couldn't be bothered to think of it, they—[He turns aside, his entire posture strung tight as a bowstring as he grasps for words, like trying to catch at fraying threads at the edges of a gaping hole before the fabric is rent into pieces in front of him.
He blinks, his vision suddenly blurred, his eyes hot. It's been so long, centuries. And any memory he might have had has been buried deep beneath layer upon layer of torment and pain so deep he doesn't know how to unearth it. He's trembling, he realizes. His body shivering with a cold he doesn't feel. But his mind feels detached, probing at the edges of the gaping abyss of his memories as his body draws in sharp, panicked breaths as if it will steady him.]
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He curses himself inwardly. He should have thought longer on this before bringing it up, but... he couldn't keep the truth from Astarion for long. He doesn't like secrets between them. Gale steps in front of Astarion, wanting to pull him into his arms, but uncertain if he should; his eyes instead trail to the flower in his hands.]
Perhaps... he thinks so poorly on it because he lost someone there. I certainly would, were it me.
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Hardly a loss—they never came to find me.
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They thought you dead, Astarion. How could they have known?
[And yet, someone did know - someone who put that flower on his grave. He looks to the blueshine in his hands, its stem practically wrung to pieces.]
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