Archive of Our Own ^beta

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧

Prior to his abduction, Gale had already been out traveling Faerûn for quite some time. After the year alone and suffering in his tower, he’d needed to get away, actually get out into the world again. Let sunlight touch his face once more, and shake off any mushrooms that threatened to grow upon him. And most pressingly, he’d needed to refresh his stock of consumable weave. It hadn’t been fair to Tara to expect her to continue to nursemaid him with trinkets and baubles of various magical ilk.

True, after being blighted by the orb, he’d been nowhere near as powerful as before, but that didn’t mean he was useless. He was a full grown man and a wizard, damn it! The time for wallowing and languishing in his own unwashed depression had come to an end.

And though the number of spells he could reliably cast had shrunk to a pittance, he could at least manage a thunderwave and a grease puddle. That would surely slow an unknowing fiend long enough for him to grab a more powerful scroll from his beautiful bag of holding.

Aside from his scrolls, he’d had enough stashed away in there to keep him comfortable for a tenday or three. There was his lovely tent with its rich azure velvet walls, his telescope, the steamer trunk full of books, one of his spare writing desks, the plush enchanted rug that he’d come close to consuming at least once on the trip unfortunately, but was most glad he had not. There were a few astronomical tools and writing implements, and some food rations for his regular human appetites. No other clothing than his sleeping garments, since he could either cast mending on any wear and tear, or just prestidigitate the soiled material clean again. And honestly, he hadn’t planned to see any other people on his travels that would necessitate a fresh wardrobe. Hadn’t quite felt brave enough to manage that just yet. The inner workings of his social skills had all but seized like rusted up gears in a machine.

When the time had come to actually speak with someone else, he was more than fortunate the ability to hold a conversation with another person had come back to him easily enough. And if he was a little… brusque, or maybe talked a smidge too long about something, well, hardly anyone would mind too much, what with the tadpole taking everyone’s main focus.

The surviving victims of the Nautiloid abductions had been just as much a mess as he, and these sudden companions, after so long alone, were a glorious boon, despite the reason behind their convergence.

Shadowheart, on her secretive mission, had also packed for travel and had a bag of holding of her own. Her tent was big but Gale was fairly certain it had housed her prior companions as well as herself before they’d all perished. Shadowheart didn’t divulge any of that information and probably never would.

Next to his own tent was Wyll, who actually hadn’t had anything of his own, his backpack of meager gear lost when he’d been brought aboard the ship. But of course the tieflings were more than grateful after Wyll’s help against the goblins, and gifted him a pack with a small but finely made tent, some weapons, and a bedroll. It certainly helped that he was the famed ‘Blade of Frontiers’. No magical means to carry anything, but the warlock kept his camp tidy and uncluttered, so a regular backpack was more than enough to travel between different camps.

Then there was Lae’zel, with the finest tent at camp and the most diverse collection of items Gale had ever seen one camp with. Though, she was from the Astral Plane and everything Gale thought he knew about the Githyanki people was speculative at best, before meeting her. As a collective population, they did not allow information to travel freely about themselves. But most intriguing of all was Lae’zel’s bag of holding, or, what Gale assumed was a bag of holding.

Stunningly ornate, with delicate stitching and made of some sort of dark sumptuous fabric that seemed to swirl in an endless pattern. It was not so much a bag but rather a small bi-fold.

Gale wished desperately to study it.

But he also wished to remain alive, so, unless Lae’zel were feeling charitable, chances were slim he’d ever get the chance.

The remaining three of their merry band had come with nothing of their own. Well, not exactly. Karlach had taken several large lengths of tarpauline and a bedroll from the house where they’d dispatched of the false paladins. When she’d configured the tenting into an agreeable enough shelter, a worn teddy bear had appeared, obviously much loved. There were a couple of singed spots, an extra visible stitch here and there; Gale was fairly certain she’d kept it safe somehow the entirety of her time in Avernus. Karlach needed nothing other than her own strength to carry her backpack of supplies.

That left Tav and Astarion.

Tav never bothered to get her own shelter. As long as she had food and a bedroll at the end of the night, she was more than fine under the stars. Even in the rain, she slept soundly. It was equal parts baffling and impressive, she seemed untouched by all the chaos around them. Almost a figure out of space and time, and a magnificent one at that.

Now, Astarion was a different story. He’d had nothing, then, without anyone noticing how, he’d suddenly had a gaudy tent that was clearly sized for a couple, most likely pilfered from one of the many crates belonging to the tieflings piled near the entrance to the grove. And then, joining that, there were rugs, and blankets, and a growing collection of pillows, enough to build a fort. When they were finally ready to travel to the Underdark, Astarion had tried his best to pack and wrap it all into a manageable bundle for his backpack.

Tried.

Gale remembered the pouted look of frustration. Had wanted to laugh about it, especially considering he was still a bit bitter about Tav choosing the vampire, of all people, honestly, but then Astarion’s frustrated frown had changed ever so slightly to pained resignation. The sight of it had made something twist uncomfortably in Gale’s stomach.

Despite the elf’s constant and terrible flirting with anything that moved, the initial secretkeeping of his vampiric affliction, and the simple fact that such an amazing woman like Tav preferred all of Astarion’s nonsense instead of—

It was just because Astarion was gorgeous, of course, but the spawn didn’t have an ounce of depth to him, and everyone appreciated beauty—

Anyway.

Despite all that, Gale still couldn’t watch those delicate features crumple like that, and he’d taken a deep breath and crossed the camp to stand at his side, two scrolls tucked safely in his belt. With his hands folded behind his back, he’d glanced sidelong at the elf and cleared his throat. “Quite the impressive collection you’ve gathered.”

“Hmm, yes, those wizard eyes are as astute as ever, darling.”

Nothing could ever be easy with this ridiculous dandy, could it. Gale tried again, regretting coming over already. “An excellent jape, my toothsome friend. But if you could grant me but a moment of seriousness, I would like to help you collect your items. If you’d permit me, of course.”

Red eyes flicked towards him doubtfully, and Astarion had let out one of his highpitched squawks of laughter. “This I would love to see, go right ahead.” He gestured towards the bundle of everything sat where his tent once stood.

Gale pulled the scrolls from his waist, and unfurled one of them. The magic on the page practically leapt up into his hands, so desperately wanting to be used. It was simple enough to gather and cast the very spell contained in the ink, Reduce.

The large, lumpy bundle of cloth and stuffing shrunk down to half its size, and Gale stepped forward to pick it up. What had before been too heavy to reasonably carry was now merely an eighth of its prior weight. It would squish nicely into a backpack now, give or take a few tent poles barely sticking out the flap.

He handed this to Astarion, and the second scroll as well. “When we make our next camp, use this scroll to cast Enlarge and everything will go back to normal. But be careful,” He warned, waving his finger. “Make sure you’ve got enough room or you’ll be in for an unpleasant surprise.”

Astarion had blinked at him for several long seconds, for once, it seemed, at a loss for words. “Thank you…” He’d murmured, taking his items and the scroll from Gale. But the moment was short-lived, because then Astarion smirked at him, eyes hooding ever so slightly. “And don’t worry darling, I’ve never had any issues with enlargement before. Perhaps you’d like a demonstration?”

Gale knew he was just being teased, he knew Astarion’s words never had any weight behind them. But still, his cheeks had heated, and he’d had to look away from the other’s much too intimate stare, rolling his eyes as he did so.

“No thank you, I’m just glad to help.” After that, they’d all collectively moved down to the Underdark, and that had been the end of it.

Except after that, Astarion was decidedly more friendly towards him, in various perplexing ways. Their relationship changed from two-people-coincidentally-in-the-same-place to a robust sort of, well, camaraderie. One that Gale was all too happy to indulge.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧

Weeks later, and multiple near-death experiences under their collective belts, it was time to finish this once and for all. Gale had a mission, and soon he would free them all from this nightmare. It was time to go to the Shadow-cursed Lands. There they would find Moonrise Towers, and Gale would atone for his mistake.

If he pondered too deeply on the matter, his hands would start to shake, and his head would feel uncomfortably light, like he could just close his eyes and fade away. And that wouldn’t do, wouldn’t get him in one piece to the tower. Instead, he steadfastly focused on the here and now, on the little banal intricacies of living and cohabitating a space with others, and all the annoyances that came with that.

One of his books was missing.

He knelt in front of his open steamer trunk counting the covers, and he knew exactly where it had gone. Into the nimble, troublesome hands of a certain fanged lothario, without question. He turned to scan the scattered camp, hoping Astarion would be by his own tent. But the pale elf was over by Karlach, having some sort of negotiation, it looked like. Karlach stood impassively, arms crossed, while Astarion batted his eyelashes at her and gestured vaguely over his shoulder. Gale chuckled at the scene. While Karlach liked Astarion a great deal, his physical charms had no effect on her. If anything, it frustrated her more how wantonly he threw around his affections, being as limited in her own ability to enjoy them as she was.

Gale turned back to his trunk, debating whether he should just retrieve his book after they next made camp in the Shadow-cursed lands. It would be easier, most assuredly, rather than attempt to interrupt whatever scheme Astarion was trying to maneuver over there.

But the decision was made for him, when a sudden weight made itself known on his hunched back. Astarion stood behind him, looming over him and bracing his hands on Gale’s shoulders, to undoubtedly peer down at what he was doing.

“Hello darling,” Came that soft, murmured greeting. “I need your-“

“No.” Gale cut him off, bracing himself with both hands gripping the sides of the trunk in front of him, twisting his head to glance back and up to see Astarion’s expression. “First and foremost, Astarion, if you require anything of me, then I require you to return my pilfered goods.”

It was a good decision to watch Astarion’s face. Ever the dramaticist, he staggered back with a feigned gasp of shock, one hand landing over his chest, eyes gone wide. “Pilferred? Gods, you think that I would take something from you? My dear Gale, I’m wounded you would even think such a thing of me.”

Gale blinked at him, unimpressed and refusing to show his amusement, though it was difficult. Instead, he turned back to his books.

After a moment of being ignored, there was a scoffed tongue click, and the weight returned heavier to Gale’s back, this time Astarion crouching down behind him and leaning into him. “Alright alright, no need to get your robes in a twist. Here.”

Astarion’s hand appeared into view at his left, the item in question conveniently in his grasp. Gale took it gratefully, turning it over and running his fingers along the edges and spine to check for any damage. Of course there was none. “You just happen to have it on your person at all times, then? Quite curious.”

“I’ll have you know,” Astarion murmured, shuffling somehow even closer and dropping his chin onto Gale’s shoulder to speak right against his ear. “I could hear you fretting and frowning over your great big box full of books from the other side of camp. It was from the goodness of my heart that I decided to end your suffering.”

“You were the cause of the suffering.” Gale chuckled, shooing the other’s face away. “All the same, many thanks for returning it in one piece.”

Astarion shifted back and stood once more, probably making a face if Gale had to guess. The missing volume was placed neatly into his trunk, and he closed and secured the lid. Standing as well, he brushed the dirt off his robe and trousers where he’d knelt on the ground, before looking at Astarion again.

Sure enough, Gale was on the receiving end of a rather dejected frown.

“You say that as if I routinely skulk around destroying other people’s property.” Astarion muttered sullenly, voice for once unguarded. “Why in the hells would I destroy a perfectly good book? It’s not like there’s anything exciting around here to do, a book’s the least I could enjoy.”

That was very true. Not that Gale had any sort of desire for the raucous life Astarion seemed to prefer, what with those bawdy packed-full taverns he claimed to enjoy, but Gale still understood being taken out of one’s element. And Astarion was no doubt very popular in Baldur’s Gate, probably had an expansive group of friends, and an even larger trail of paramours. One didn’t have the face of a god and the smile of a devil and go home to an empty bed every night.

Possibly the only upside to being away from the city was the distance from the man responsible for Astarion’s fangs. Gale knew the bare minimum regarding that, how man named Cazador had taken advantage of Astarion’s arrival at death’s door thanks to a band of thugs. How he’d bitten and turned Astarion, made him the spawn he was today, and that their relationship was not one of friendship, but one of hatred. Gale didn’t know much more than that, given how tight-lipped Astarion was about his past. He shared that information solely with Tav, which made sense considering their deepening bond.

But the city was large, and bustling, and a much different lifestyle from the one they all currently had. Camping in the woods, dealing with goblins, and monsters, and fixing problems for tieflings and druids, all the while navigating the steadily strengthening but still quite tenuous peace between them all.

Sure, Astarion was pretty much a permanent fixture in the daily exploration party that would venture out, being the only lockpick and trap disarmer with any skill between all of them, and that allowed him a certain degree of excitement. But he was still a high elf. While everyone else at camp slept at least eight hours a night, Astarion only needed to trance for four. Even accounting for what little hunting he had to do, as gorged on enemy blood and the nightly feedings gifted by Tav as he was, that still left substantial time alone with only the stars and the night creatures for company.

There was Halsin, of course, also an elf, but that hulking druid spent a great deal of his time out on his own, and Gale had a hunch Astarion was a little wary of him. Probably worried he’d encounter Halsin in wildshape and accidentally try to drink his blood.

A good book could certainly make the all the empty time pass a little swifter.

“Oy!” Karlach’s clear voice rang out over the quiet sounds of the camp. They both turned to look.

She stood glowering near Astarion’s tent. “I said I’d help, Astarion, not do it for you. Get your alabaster arse back over here, or I’ll throw all your pillows in the bibberbang patch.”

“Yes, of course, Karlach, one minute, my dear,” Astarion called back, hands held up placatingly and charming smile back in place. “I just need to ask our resident wizard one simple thing, then I’ll dart right over.”

Her impatient sigh was clear and loud. A warning.

Gale turned back to Astarion, who answered his gaze with that same smile. A pity the moment of sincerity had passed. Perhaps he could entice it back with what he was going to offer next.

“It occurs to me,” He began, folding his arms behind his back. “That we may be able to make an arrangement between us that would assure our mutual benefit.”

Astarion’s brows lifted just slightly, “Oh? Are you looking for a little fun? All you had to do was ask, you naughty boy.”

“Fun, yes, but not the kind you’re implying, of course. I cannot deny a fellow lover of the written word, so I’d like you to come and help yourself to my books whenever you’d like. Within reason, of course, as long as I’m not using it for anything. In return,” He held up one finger, watching the look of surprise battle the curiosity on Astarion’s face. “You do a lot more dungeon delving than I do, and I’d appreciate if you could acquire and deliver any unusual or interesting-looking tomes while you’re in such spaces that have them.”

Astarion stared at him in silence, apparently processing the request. After a moment, he seemed to find it agreeable, and a more natural smile tipped the corners of his lips up. “That sounds like a delightful trade.” He held out a hand as if to shake.

Gale reached out and grasped the offered hand, intending to seal the deal like gentlemen, but Astarion’s cool fingers closed tightly around his own and yanked him forward a couple steps with surprising strength. Now much more intimately close than Gale had ever planned on being, Astarion leaned in, stopping mere inches away from his face, and dropped his voice to a throaty whisper.

“I’ll make my first priority finding you a new copy of The Quarta Sune, seeing as yours looks to be…quite worn.” Those red eyes flashed with something uncomfortably carnal.

Heat fully flooded Gale’s face, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling his hand from the other’s with a somewhat pained laugh and stepping back with less grace than he would have liked. He should be used to this by now, it was always a game, a way to make the people around him off-kilter.

It was a blessing that Karlach had reached the limit of her patience, her voice calling over once more, this time with an edge to it. “Astarion, you’ve got three seconds to stop messing with Gale and Get. Over. Here.”

Astarion huffed quietly in frustration, flashing Gale an apologetic smile that was absolutely not sincere. “I’ve been trying to ask, darling,” He began, already moving towards where Karlach was waiting. “I need your help, come over when you’re done here.” And he was off.

Gale let out a breath at the sudden quiet, reaching up to run his hand down his forehead and pinch the bridge of his nose and grimace. Nearly 40 years old. He was better than this. He hated how easily Astarion was able to disrupt him with his empty words. How it made him feel like a lonely old fool.

Yet, despite the annoyance, despite how Astarion swaggered around like a feral tomcat, he couldn’t deny he genuinely enjoyed having Astarion around. It was chaotic, but Gale understood the chaos. Perhaps the cat analogy was more apt that he thought, and Gale knew how to deal with feral cats. Even found this particular aspect of Astarion’s personality charming, for the most part.

Not when it was at his own expense, though. Not when everyone knew he was Mystra’s discarded lover, and could probably tell it’d been years since he’d been held with any sort of affection.

This was unkind of him. Not a single one of his companions had ever made any sort judgment or disparaging remark about losing Mystra’s grace. The judgment lay solely within himself. Astarion didn’t tease him to make him feel like an isolated adolescent. That was simply the other’s default state of being.

No harm done.

Sufficiently steady now, he looked over to see what exactly Karlach had been waiting to do, and saw her and Astarion working together to take down his tent. Or rather, Karlach did the bulk of the work while Astarion bore a grimace on his face and gathered his pillows like they threatened to bite him.

He was lucky Karlach was going easy on him, since Tav wasn’t even here for him to hide behind. She’d gone with the others to get some last-minute supplies from the vendors at the Myconid colony. Halsin was also off preparing for the trip, in his own way. None of them were particularly sure what they’d find once they got to the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

But Gale had to finish packing anyway, certainly not wanting to be the last ready and delay them all. Luckily, the last item he had to put into his bag was the trunk itself, preferring it always at the top within reach, lest he need to cross-reference something before they found their next location. It took less than a minute.

Having done that, he surveyed his now empty plot of land, making sure no wayward items were hidden amongst the dirt and dust. He was loathe to lose even one quill. But it was clean and clear, and he pulled the ties on his bag of holding, secured it to the belt at his waist, and made his way over to where Karlach was rolling the tent, poles and all, into as tight a roll as she could. Gale saw the corners of some pillows sticking out the canvas briefly before they too were squished flat by her strong hands and swallowed into the roll.

Astarion beamed over at him, now elegantly perched on edge of the small table he’d brought back from one of the various outings into the underdark.

“Surely you’re not planning on keeping that?” Gale asked, knowing the answer already.

“Of course I’m keeping it!” Astarion ran his fingers along the etched sides of the table appreciatively. “It really ties the whole place together, brings some elegance to this sorry excuse for a camp.”

“Where did you even find it?”

“It was in that old arcane tower, the one down by the water.” His grin was manic, truly delighted. “I just had to have it.”

“May I remind you,” Karlach interjected, kneeling down to wrap the now tightly compressed tent with some rope. “Who was the one who carried it back here, Astarion?”

Batting his eyelashes at her, Astarion answered. “Why, only the loveliest, sweetest tiefling in camp, my sweet.”

“I’m the only tiefling in camp, ya brat.”

Gale snorted into his palm, only just able to pretend it was a cough instead. “Karlach, do you need a hand before we get moving? I’m sure it hasn’t helped you’ve had to stop and help this one here.”

Karlach stood, ignoring Astarion’s sputter of indignation, and stretched her arms above her head. “Nah, I’m all set. Just gotta carry it all. I’d ask if you needed help too, but I see you’ve got yourself sorted. Good luck with him, who knows what he’ll ask you to do now I’ve done all the heavy lifting.”

“This is mutiny,” Astarion huffed. “The two of you are ganging up on me.”

Gale shared a passing grin with Karlach as she returned to her backpack, then returned his focus to Astarion. “Now then, if I had to deduce what specifically you wanted from me, I’d wager a fair bet you needed my magic again.”

The elf sniffed daintily, and stood from his table perch. He examined his fingernails, said nothing, and nodded.

“You know, Reduce can only do so much. If you continue to collect things, eventually the sum of all your items will still be too large to comfortably carry.”

To that, Astarion had naught to say, brow furrowing ever so slightly as he surveyed his goods. That look was back, the one Gale didn’t like. Resignation. Defeat.

Before he could think to the ramifications of offering such a thing, he opened his mouth and said, “But if there’s an item or two– notice I said ‘or two’, Astarion, and not ‘as many as you fancy’–  that won’t fit after all, I suppose I could put it into my bag of holding alongside my own personal effects.”

It was worth the future headache from dealing with whatever accumulation of stuff was now most assuredly heading his way, to see Astarion’s frown melt away into another delighted grin, fangs bared in happiness. A genuine smile, and not one of the performative ones he wore just to get what he wanted.

“Well well, aren’t you just the biggest sweetheart. And I cross my heart, hope to die, well, die again, not to take advantage of this kindness. Except…” He bent to reach behind the table, pulling out a tiny footstool. “I did find this charming thing just the other day, it’s got such a lovely red velvet cushion. Really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”

This bastard.