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Astarion was jostled from his trance with what felt like a fist to his ribs. He sat up abruptly to see Gale looking confusedly around their bedroom in the tower. The room they'd shared now for almost five decades. It was still inky black outside the windows, which meant it was much earlier than these incidents usually happened but at least several hours past when Astarion had begun his trance.
"Darling, what it is?" Astarion kept his tone light and calm. He'd found that keeping his voice low when Gale had one of his episodes helped immensely.
"Who…who are you?" Gale turned back to the bed, terror in his eyes, "Where am I?"
"Gale, my love, we're in our tower…your tower. Where we've lived together for many, many years. Remember? I'm your husband, Astarion. Why don't you sit down and try to focus?" Astarion heaved himself from the bed as he spoke, and slowly moved next to the love of his life. Reaching out gently, he took Gale's hand, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb reflexively, as Gale had always liked.
Gale looked down at their joined hands, then back up into Astarion's eyes. The wrinkles on his face — Astarion liked to think of them all as laugh lines from their time together — lightened as recognition flashed in his eyes. "Oh, Astarion! I'm sorry. I…I forgot for a moment. I'm sorry I woke you."
Astarion smiled, making sure it reached his eyes, even through his grief. "Don't trouble yourself, darling. Let's get you back to bed." Almost before he'd finished tucking him snugly back in, the human was snoring softly. Astarion sighed, and, rather than risk waking him by getting back into bed, settled himself into an arm chair in the corner, facing the bed.
When they'd met all those years ago after the Nautiloid crash, Gale had already been in his late thirties. While most wizards were able to delay their aging, Gale's break from Mystra's grace had left that option out of his reach. Now late into his eighties, they were facing something they both had hoped they never would: Gale's end. Astarion, being merely a spawn, couldn't offer him long life in the form of vampirism. And there were no spells that could truly stop the slow trudge of time.
As he'd aged, Gale and Astarion had spoken about what they'd do when Gale inevitably deteriorated. Gale, the darling and predictable man, had not wanted to be a burden to Astarion in his old age. He'd been adamant that Astarion should leave him if it got to a point when Gale's mind was addled more often than not. Astarion, also predictably himself, had refused. So, here they were. Gale woke most nights confused about his whereabouts, but also spent most evenings now being reminded of who he was, who Astarion was, and where they lived. At least, Astarion often thought to himself, Gale didn't know how bad it really was.
Astarion was exhausted. He was grieving the life they'd led, and the life they were losing. The life they'd already lost. And the long life that Astarion would be living without the man that had gifted him every type of freedom a man could.
Astarion's heart was broken in a way he'd never expected it could be, but it was a heart that this wonderful man had helped him rediscover within himself. And for that, he would devote himself to Gale for every moment of time that was gifted to them.
With those thoughts heavy on his mind, Astarion drifted back into his trance.