Discover Top Posts Tagged with #elf!tav

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 19: The Wizard’s Tower

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 9k words, 19/?? chapters

Summary: After traveling through Waterdeep, you and Astarion finally arrive at Gale's tower. Introductions are made, tours are had, and the relationship between yourself and Astarion continues to remain complicated.

A/N: People seem to disagree on whether or not familiars age, but I’m going to go with “no” because Tara is already older than a Tressym’s typical life span in BG3.

Ao3 | [Ch18][Ch20] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Walking through the streets of Waterdeep ought to be faster than this. It should have only taken you an hour to get to Gale's tower, according to Astarion.

However, you're in a new city and every single wonder captures your attention, leading you to stray from your path.

"Astarion, what's that?"

"It's a shop, darling. We have those back in Baldur's Gate."

"I know it’s a shop– gods, you know what I mean!"

Despite his attempts to keep you on track, Astarion doesn’t resist your wanderlust. His hold on your hand remains strong and, with every twist you take, he's being pulled along right behind you. You stop for an odd street stall, finding all manner of knick-knacks. You marvel at a statue, standing grand in the center of a plaza. You pull to an abrupt halt, earning a disapproving grunt from Astarion, when you spot a street performer using magic.

After what must be the tenth detour, Astarion finally tugs back. “Darling, could we please focus? We’ll have time for outings while we’re here, I assure you.”

You look at him, finding his expression to be amused, even if slightly annoyed at you. “We’ll have time to explore the city?” you ask, tentatively. You don’t want to presume that he’ll join you for anything, but the fact that he said ‘we’ gives you hope.

“Yes,” he answers, tugging on your arm once more. “But only if we make it to Gale’s without missing his celebration. Otherwise, we will never hear the end of it.”

“Fine,” you say, allowing Astarion’s hand to pull you in the proper direction. “Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit nervous.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow at you, purses his lips some as he asks, “About meeting Gale? Whatever for?”

You avoid his gaze, focusing on the road ahead of you as you respond, “It’s odd meeting someone you’ve only ever dreamt about. I know so much about you all, but you don’t know me. He may not even recognize me. How do I approach that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion starts. You can sense an incoming joke at your expense, so you brace yourself for his next words. “Maybe something along the lines of ‘You’re the man of my dreams’, that worked wonders on me.”

You wince despite the preparation. “Excuse you, that is not what I said. Besides, I didn’t dream nearly as much about Gale. I don’t think you understand how nervous I was to meet you.”

Looking back up at Astarion, you note that he is focused, staring forward as he leads the way. Despite that, you also spot unabashed satisfaction on his face. His tone is just as self-satisfied as he replies, “I would expect no less.” Then a thought occurs to him and his tone shifts, thoughtful and a bit more reserved as he says, “Though that may have been lingering guilt, I suppose.”

Your reaction is immediate and a bit overdue. “Not at all,” you say, stopping Astarion in his tracks as you pull on his arm. "I didn't come find you out of any type of obligation or guilt. I came to find you for you. I set out before I knew anything other than… than love.”

The vampire is forced to stop, look at you and your serious poise with his full attention. He doesn’t seem to believe you, and it becomes more evident when he says, “I’m sure. Certainly explains why you and my siblings have been such fast friends.”

Astarion continues to walk, yanking you after him a bit more roughly this time. Your voice is a bit breathless as you follow in a rush, “Yes, I’ll admit that after I arrived I– I let myself get a bit carried away.” The man snorts from ahead of you. “But that was never my intention when I left Neverwinter. I just couldn’t get you out of my damned mind. You can ask my parents if you’d like.”

The line of his shoulders seems to relax a bit, but he remains focused on navigating the streets of Waterdeep, ignoring your burning gaze. After a few blocks of silence, he speaks, “What are they like?”

“Who?” Your mind has wandered by now, thinking of how, were it not for Astarion’s initial chilly reception, you may never have met with Dal in the first place. Then deciding that, no, ultimately you would always have found the spawn, one way or another.

“Your parents,” he mumbles, barely audible over the buzz of the city. “What are they like?”

Oh! He’d been so reluctant to learn about you as your own person that the question catches you by surprise. Once you collect yourself, you’re only too excited to answer. Your words come out fast, unfiltered, “Well, they’re both elves, of course. They came to live in Neverwinter after meeting through their trade. It’s how they were able to send me to the best college for the arcane arts in the city. My mother is fairly practical, logical. She didn’t want me to come all the way out here, but, erm, came around to it eventually. I suppose I get my curiosity from my father, but, even so, I think you would quite like him…”

As your words trail off, you realize that Astarion’s slowed down, listening to you. “It’s odd,” he says, turning his head back ever so slightly. A worried crease lines his brow. “I am rather more concerned with what they would think about me.”

The admission leaves you a touch speechless. At first because of the vulnerability in Astarion’s fleeting look– Then because you’re honestly not sure how to answer. It would likely be a lie to say that they would love him. Your mother especially would hold no mercy for a man as mercurial as he is. But you decide that your words need not be so severe, “I think they would grow to adore you.”

“I see,” he mutters, accepting your word choice with as much grace as you suppose he can muster.

How I wish he would meet them, you think. But that’s not something ‘friends’ do, is it? Perhaps he thinks Gale really has a chance to stop me. Given his experience, does he actually have a chance?

You don’t have much more time to consider that question because Astarion pulls to a stop before a grand set of doors. They’re made of wrought iron, engraved in runes and intricate patterns, lined with a shimmer of blue magic. You recognize the runes as teleportation runes, and given the outer facade of the building, easily surmise that this isn’t the exact location of a wizard’s tower, just an entrance.

“Is this…?” you ask.

“It is,” Astarion says, flashing you a smile. You’re not sure what the look on your face is, but he is drinking it in with glee.

It’s just past midday, and you’ve finally arrived at Gale’s doors.

Astarion releases your hand to reach the door. You’d gotten so used to moving as a singular unit, that his sudden absence leaves you a bit off-kilter, as if a part of you is missing. You can't help but flex your hand open and closed a few times to return to yourself, to return to the present.

Once he’s reached the doors, you spot a large iron knocker in the center of them: the head of a tressym in high relief, a ring set between its sharp teeth. Astarion grips the ring, knocks it against the door three times in rapid succession.

A voice comes through the tressym a moment later, and you recognize the Magic Mouth spell. Gale’s voice is cheery, exactly as you’d remembered it from your dreams, as he says, “Welcome to the tower of Archmage Dekarios. To enter, please supply the phrase that he undoubtedly provided you with. Knock thrice more for emergency assistance.”

Astarion shoots you a look, as if to say, ‘see what I must put up with?’ then clears his throat before uttering his phrase, “'For the jubilation of one magnanimous mage, I, Astarion Ancunín, am enchanted to be granted entrance.”

The iron on the doors immediately begins to shift, unlocking whatever mechanism lies behind them. Several loud clunks and thunks later, the massive doors open to a glowing blue portal.

“Does he make you say that every time you visit him?” you ask, barely holding back your laughter.

“Oh no,” Astarion replies, gesturing you forward. “It’s a different damned phrase every year. And it seems to be a torture uniquely reserved for me. Elminster simply gets different types of cheese for his phrases.”

You follow his guiding hands, stepping through the blue portal, feeling the world behind you vanish and shift in hues of blues, not unlike the teleportation circle you used to get here. As soon as your foot touches the ground before you, the inside of Gale’s tower comes into focus.

Immediately, you feel electricity in your veins– the weave is strong here. You could only dream of having your own wizard’s tower, but you know enough about them to know their basic principles. They’re often built on spots where the weave is most highly concentrated. It’s often why they’re crafted in such odd shapes, in such inconvenient locations, and built to such great heights. It’s all in an effort to amplify the magic they’re built upon.

This tower is no different. You can’t quite tell the shape of the full tower, but the room you’re in is a semi-circle, lined with books and featuring several cozy looking couches. It’s quite possibly one of the loveliest waiting rooms you’ve ever had the chance to be welcomed in. You’re practically entranced and only vaguely register when Astarion asks from your side, “Have I lost you to the books already?”

He might have, if not for the rustling sound coming from behind you. You make an abrupt turn, only to come face to face with the man of the hour himself: Gale Dekarios steps through a set of blue, velvet curtains, wearing a set of purple robes and a gentle smile.

Unlike Halsin, who had hardly changed, only sporting a few new scars and wrinkles, or Astarion, who looks entirely unchanged, Gale looks like a new man. Or rather a very old man.

Where there was once a short, brown beard there is now a lush, wavy white beard in its place, neatly trimmed and manicured to perfection. His previously long, brown hair is white as well, carefully brushed back from his face, giving you a full view of his age-dappled features. Gale’s deep, brown eyes are as sharp as ever, surrounded by a webbing of wrinkles well-worn from a life full of joy. Your heart swells at the sight of him, looking every bit the witty sage from your memories, albeit greyer and a fair bit more lined.

You almost don’t recognize him, save that unmistakable glint in his eyes, the patient smile as he takes you and Astarion in.

Gale is the first to speak, his words aimed for Astarion, but his warm gaze falls entirely on you. “Oho, Astarion! Is this the guest you spoke of? I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised upon receiving your invitation confirmation. A guest, for the first time!”

What? you think in a sudden crack of panic. He didn’t tell him who I am?

You flash a distressed look at Astarion, who is only looking at Gale with annoyance. “Gods Gale, must you make a fuss out of everything?”

“It’s not every day that your oldest and dearest friend finds someone new worth cherishing. I was starting to grow rather fearful that you’d get old and wrinkled in your lonesome.” Gale’s smile is a bit mischievous as he turns away from you, to Astarion’s ire.

The words sound like playful jabs from Gale, but Astarion’s glower only seems to deepen. He looks just about ready to hiss like a cornered cat when you interject, “Not someone new per say. An old flame, actually.”

Astarion turns his glare to you, but it’s Gale who responds, “Phenomenal! Astarion, you sly dog, never giving even the slightest indication. When did you find each other, how long have you two been together? And how do you put up with him?”

You’ve only just entered the tower, and already the vampire looks at his wit’s end. Their friendship had always been entertaining to you when you had the chance to dream of it– they’re opposite in so many ways, alike in so many others. As such, Astarion’s flared nostrils and irritated stance come as no surprise. Neither do his clipped words as he struggles to respond to the wizard’s sudden enthusiasm, “What they meant to say is that they are– Well. They happen to be…”

His lips seem unable to say the words aloud, so you take it upon yourself to help. Stepping forward and standing tall, you look your friend and companion Gale Dekarios in the face and say, “It’s me, Gale.”

You’re not sure what you expect when you say the words. Perhaps a question, ‘who?’, or a confused, concerned look. Maybe even Astarion elbowing you in the side.

However, the wizard before you only takes a single beat. For that moment, he looks at you, with those same, familiar sharp eyes, before recognition settles in.

Then his arms are wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“My friend,” he murmurs into the hug, squeezing you tighter with a pair of ropy arms. “I can’t believe it.”

Your own arms respond in kind, crushing him back with your own youthful vigor. “I know, it’s a lot.” And it truly is– your own heart is pounding in your chest, your eyes are welling up with moisture. Astarion was your lover, but Gale? Gale has only ever been your friend. You’d saved the world together. You’d spent countless nights researching and planning together, spent even more simply enjoying each others’ company. And, unlike when you met with Halsin, you now feel so much more comfortable in your former identity. You feel comfortable claiming this hug for yourself.

Outside of your bubble of joy, you hear Astarion clear his throat pointedly. “While this is all incredibly touching, perhaps we can head into the tower before you both break each other in half?”

Gale releases you, as you do him, and you both turn to shoot daggers at Astarion. “Don’t mind him,” you say to the wizard. “He’s just jealous that it took him the longest to recognize me.”

“Of course,” Gale responds with a hearty chuckle. “Astarion has always been uniquely undiscerning when it comes to you.”

The man in question looks between you, face set in a grimace. “Gods below, I’m having the most unpleasant flashbacks.” You don’t need Detect Thoughts cast to see his thoughts written on his face. Something along the lines of, ‘This was a terrible idea.’

Gale ignores him, turning back to you in utter glee. “We have so much catching up to do!” he says, arms open wide. Then begins one of his customary rambles, “By Mystra’s grace, elves are fascinating. I knew you would reenter the Material Plane, but I had no idea it would happen so quickly. Not to mention, from my studies, elves typically don’t revisit past lives– part of ensuring that your kind continues to progress, I’ve been told. That being said, I am ecstatic that you’ve gone against the grain, my friend–”

You’re enjoying a long-lived human’s perspective on your reborn soul, but Astarion clearly doesn’t share your same sentiment. “Yes, yes,” he says, waving a hand. “Very interesting, I’m sure. However, it’s been a long couple of days, Gale. Could we please focus?” You’re reminded of when he asked you to focus on the way here and can’t help the snicker that leaves you. Astarion points an accusatory finger at you, “And you. Stop encouraging him.”

You hold up your own hands in innocence. “I’m only being a polite guest! Gale, thank you for having us.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re reminded of your past-self saying the same phrase of thanks every time you and Astarion came to visit.

“It’s my pleasure,” Gale says, his smile widening at the familiar words. “Now, could I interest you both in a drink?”

“We should drop by our lodgings first,” Astarion responds, before you can agree to a drink. “Or do you not want to deposit that enormous pack of yours?”

You blink at the vampire. The pack was growing rather annoyingly heavy, but you, again, hadn’t given much thought to your lodgings. A slight dread begins to build. “Where will we be staying?”

Gale turns around, gesturing for you both to follow. “Why one of the guest rooms, of course!”

One. You try to catch Astarion’s eye as you begin to follow Gale, any amount of his attention, any indication that he’s panicking internally as much as you are. Is he going to be comfortable sharing a room? Will we be sharing a bed?

The man’s face doesn’t react to Gale’s words– in fact, it remains utterly impassive as he says to you, “Don’t worry, darling. Despite his being a senile old man, Tara makes sure the place stays well kept.”

Tara! Gale’s familiar hadn’t appeared in your reveries often, only arriving for a spot of tea or to join you in chiding Gale to settle down. But your memories of her are fond and your question comes with a natural excitement, “Is Tara here?”

Gale takes you up a set of stairs as he responds with a cheerful look back at you, “She is out currently– procuring several items we still need for the celebration. But she should be back in no time. She shall be delighted to see you.”

His words warm you, glad that he’s had someone all these years. Then, remembering your past-self’s insistence and considering no one else showed up to welcome you, you ask Gale, “Did you ever listen to us? Find yourself a partner?”

Based on the way his shoulders hunch a bit, he slows as he continues to climb the stairs, you’re afraid you’ve delved too deep too soon. “Oh yes. Shortly after losing you, I found someone. I’m sorry you never had the chance to meet them.”

Guilt eats at your chest, knowing that he means that ‘sorry’, and wishing that he wouldn’t have to feel any regret. “I’m sorry, Gale, I shouldn’t have pried.”

“No need to apologize,” he says, continuing on briskly once more. “It was a lovely experience. But life goes on.”

You can’t help but look at Astarion as Gale says those words, wondering what he made of Gale’s lost love. What he made of Gale’s continuation after the fact. Perhaps, as two beings with lives beyond measure, their friendship evolved beyond trading barbs in the years after your death. Perhaps they could be there for each other, when everyone else passed on.

Astarion’s face betrays nothing as his red eyes meet yours in the dimly lit stairwell. “Darling?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you respond, turning back to Gale to change the subject. “I’ve only dreamt of parts of your tower, Gale. Would you be willing to give me a tour?”

“I would be overjoyed,” he says, climbing over the last step of the stairs. “Once you’ve had a moment to rest, let me know and I shall be right over.”

Following him out of the stairwell, you’re left in the curve of a hallway, several doors lining the outer wall– likely Gale’s guest rooms. “Amazing,” you say, looking left, right, up. “This tower is built in such an intricate way. What type of material did you use to ensure that the weave stayed stable?”

The wizard stops short of the first door and looks back at you. You can feel his appraising gaze, as if just taking in your robes, the spellbook at your hip, the inquisitive gleam in your eyes. “By the outer planes, are you trained in the arcane arts?”

You nod eagerly, your enthusiasm getting the better of you. “I am. I’ll confess, I was looking forward to meeting you as a scholar as well.”

The energy exchanged between you is palpable, and you sense that Gale is about to start on another lengthy diatribe about his tower, when Astarion clicks his tongue. “For the love of all that is unholy, could you two not wait until the tour?”

“Right you are, Astarion,” Gale says, smiling at you all the while. “What a fortuitous calling you’ve found, my friend. I look forward to imparting as much as I can.”

“More like a divinely ironic calling,” Astarion murmurs under his breath, pushing past Gale. “Which room is ours?”

“The third door,” the wizard responds, otherwise ignoring the man as he continues to speak to you. “It’s been a while since he’s been this prickly. He must be glad to be visiting with you again.”

“I can still hear you,” Astarion calls, as he opens the door down the hall.

You ignore Astarion as well as you respond in a quieter voice, “He’s been like that since I arrived on his doorstep. If it weren’t for my dreams of him, I’d have thought he was a prickly pear, not a man.”

The two of you share a laugh together before Gale continues down the hallway. “I apologize for before,” he says. When you only offer him a confused look, he continues, “For when I thought you were a new love of his. I truly should have known better. Astarion would have needed another half dozen centuries to get over you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but Astarion looks at you both from the doorway to your shared room. His eyes are dark, looking only at Gale, as he says, “That’s enough, Gale. Let us take a moment to unpack.”

Gale reads his friend’s expression with a patience you wish to possess someday. “I shall see you both later for a tour and some tea then?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, entering the room after Astarion. “And, thank you again, Gale.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend.” The wizard leaves you both with one last smile and a small wink, whisking off with the energy of a much younger man.

Now that you’re finally in the room, Astarion lights the lantern by the entrance and closes the door behind you. Looking into the space, you spot an armoire, a changing screen, a pair of armchairs, a couch, and then– just as you’d been afraid of, a single, large bed.

You focus your energy on keeping your voice calm, your breathing steady, even as your heart races. “So,” you start, dropping your pack on the ground and turning to face Astarion. “You didn’t tell him I was coming.”

“I told him I was bringing a guest,” is all that he says back.

“But not who I was?”

“I responded to his invitation weeks ago. It slipped my mind,” he says with a shrug.

The nonchalant look on his face is driving you mad. You’re not sure how this man can make you feel so many different emotions in one day, but by the gods does he manage it. “So you neglected to mention that we weren’t exactly lovers in your letter?” You gesture to the solitary, perfectly fluffed bed.

“Excuse me,” Astarion says, pacing to the armoire to begin unpacking his clothing. “I received enough helpful words from Dal, I didn’t want an entire speech from Gale before even arriving. Besides, it’s sharing a bed, darling. It’s not exactly the erotic act that you’re making it out to be.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” you say, disregarding his words.

“Nonsense, we’re grown elves. We can trance in the same bed without issue,” he says with an eye roll. “And if I’m such a temptation to you, why did you agree to be friends so easily?” he counters, raising an accusatory eyebrow at you. After the weeks you’ve had together, he knows full well that he’s a temptation to you. But if he thinks you’ll give him the satisfaction, then you suppose you know what you must do.

“Fine, the same bed it is. You’re the one who will suffer when I have a bad trance,” you grumble, beginning to take your items out of your pack as well.

Astarion crosses his arms, watching you as you lay out your robes. “I would hardly mind, darling. I tranced next to your past-self for years without issue.”

You suppose it’s true, though you can’t imagine what their trances were like. Your reveries of their life are the most visceral– it’s hard to imagine that they did anything but sleep peacefully. Instead, you ask another question that’s bothering you, aside from the bed, “So what are we supposed to tell Gale? That we’re… friends?”

“Naturally,” Astarion replies, sitting down in an armchair with a content sigh. “He’ll understand. It’s part of living a long life.”

You nod, continuing to unpack in silence, mind filled with thoughts of their long lives. After a few minutes, you ask Astarion another question, “Why didn’t you tell me about Gale’s former love? I might have avoided bringing it up.” Your tone isn’t accusatory, simply filled with a dejected sadness you aren’t able to stifle.

Astarion lifts his head, which had settled back in the armchair’s plush comfort. His words are solemn, honest. “Unlike the rest of our former companions, Gale is still alive. It is his story to tell, if he wishes.”

It makes sense, but you still feel the guilt of hurting him in the pit of your stomach. Not unlike the guilt you felt rehashing Astarion’s past memories. “Can you at least tell me this? How did they die?”

“Old age,” Astarion supplies. “And before you ask, no, they weren’t an elf. They won’t be popping up on his doorstep unannounced like some kind of bookish ghost.”

“He never considered extending their lifespan? There are plenty of–”

“No,” Astarion interrupts, looking at you with tired eyes. “They didn’t want that, and he respected their wishes. An extended life isn’t for the faint hearted.”

You gulp, feeling the guilt bubble up again at the question you inevitably want to ask, once more afraid of hurting Astarion. “And is that how you feel?”

“I don’t know anymore.” His words are quieter, barely loud enough for you to hear, and you can’t read his expression as his head ducks. His head is back up a moment later, a nervous little smile playing on his lips. “Well, if you have much more left to unpack, I actually meant to have a word with Gale. Shall we meet you downstairs?”

“Oh, sure,” you respond, pushing your guilt and curiosity back down. You suspect you already know what he wants to talk to Gale about. “I’ll be down shortly.”

When you do arrive downstairs shortly, neither man is present. I doubt they’ll be done any time soon, you think, beginning to poke around the room. I’ll find something to read while I wait.

That’s how you find yourself perusing through Gale’s carefully curated selection of waiting room books. And sweet hells is it curated well. It’s all you can do to keep from bouncing off the walls.

After picking up and dismissing several books, you settle on one that truly interests you. “Is this a first edition of Elameth's Compendium?” you ask no one in particular, flipping through the pages of a large, red tome. In it, the elven enchanter Elameth details a variety of magical artifacts, how to craft them, and how to dismantle them.

You’re surprised to receive a response as you flip the pages. “Oh my yes. Mr. Dekarios is quite fond of that particular compendium.”

Your head snaps up at a familiar voice, a feminine, unaffected voice, distinctly posh in its lilt. When you turn toward its source, you look down to see a small, cat-like creature peering up at you. “Tara?” you ask.

“I am she, yes,” the small, but proud creature says, tilting her head at you. “And who, may I ask, are you to be rifling through Mr. Dekarios’ books?”

She doesn’t seem mad at you, rather quite curious as her large green eyes inspect you. Will she believe you as easily as Gale did? Her eyes are staring at you so intently that your voice catches a bit as you begin to talk, “I– I am–”

“Ah, I see it now, my dear,” the tressym says, taking a few steps toward you with her feline-like gait. “No need to explain yourself. You’re Mr. Dekarios’ old friend, aren’t you? You look a tad different, but then again, so do most people that have died before.”

You blink, surprised at how little you needed to say for her to recognize you. “Yes, that’s me. How did you know?”

“A lady’s intuition, darling,” she says, lifting her head proudly a bit. “However, you also have that same air about you. Mr. Dekarios will be quite pleased to see you again.”

“We, erm, re-met each other earlier today,” you say, closing the book in your hands and turning to the tressym. “How have you been, Tara?”

“Very well, thank you for asking,” she bows her head a bit in acknowledgement. “You are far more polite than that wicked vampire you call a mate. Thank goodness you’re back, if only for that pale man’s sake.”

You laugh, vaguely recalling some of Astarion’s previous encounters with Tara. They got along about as well as two opposing felines would. “Has he been very difficult without me?”

“Oh yes,” she says, and her wings shuffle a bit in discomfort. “Nigh impossible to deal with. I don’t know how Mr. Dekarios puts up with him.”

You’re about to ask another question when her ears perk up, shoot back. “Well now, it seems like he and Mr. Dekarios are on their way to you. I am still working on preparations for the celebration, so do keep Mr. Dekarios occupied until I have need of him.”

You’d already planned on thoroughly distracting the wizard with questions about his tower and are only too happy to keep the tressym pleased. “Of course, Tara.”

She purrs a hum of approval before turning around. With a “ta-ta, darling” she leaves you waiting for the imminent arrival of Gale and Astarion.

The two arrive from behind the blue, velvet curtain less than a minute later. “Oh hello,” you say, looking at them from over the book you’d reopened.

Astarion looks to be in a better mood, though Gale looks distinctly less happy. It’s Astarion who speaks first, “Hello, darling. Hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

The warmth of his words comes as a bit of a surprise. You look back to Gale, who is smiling at you sadly. I see , you think. Astarion thinks Gale will convince you to leave your project be– that he can grow attached to you now because you won’t be leaving him in the lurch. No matter, you think. This changes nothing for me.

So you respond with the same enthusiasm, “Not at all! I was just looking through the excellent book selection you have, Gale.” You hold up the red tome in your hand and his expression immediately lights up once again.

“Elameth's Compendium! Why, we used that book in your prior life, don’t you remember?” he says, his crow’s feet becoming more pronounced as he smiles.

You shake your head. “Unfortunately not. I didn’t receive every memory. And admittedly…” You look at Astarion who is looking at you rather smugly, knowing exactly what you’d told him multiple times now. The smug look will certainly only get worse with your words, but you also want to discuss your memories with Gale, as the sage and scholar that he is. “Most of my reveries were about Astarion.”

At that, Gale looks between the two of you, a pensive hand stroking his beard. “Fascinating,” is all that he offers.

“Yes,” you agree, ready to provide more information, to receive any and all theories he has about you and your memories. But, of course, the subject of your memories refuses to be excluded for long.

“Maybe if your evenings researching together were less dreadfully dreary you might have dreamt of more of them,” Astarion offers with a flip of his hand. “Now, shall we begin with the tea or the tour?”

The three of you decide to begin with a tour.

Gale leads the way, his mane of long, white hair guiding your path forward. As a tour guide, he’s clearly well practiced, describing each room in detail, explaining its purpose, and even peppering in the odd anecdote or memory from your past life.

You go through a sauna, heated with fire runes. You walk past his actual library, filled head to toe with books of all kinds. You drop by his study, and its sweet scent of ink trails after you. An astronomy room, a storage room, a dining room, a sitting room– you begin to wonder how tall this tower truly is from its exterior. Gale explains that he’s had to renovate a few dozen times over the years, to ensure that the tower’s magic remains stable. As such, rooms come and go with a few, necessary exceptions.

Even among all of these extraordinary rooms, a few stand out to you, clear gems in the wizard's remarkable living space.

“This is the alchemy room, where I grow plants and create my various concoctions! I’m quite proud to say that you’ll find some plants that grow even on the other side of Faerûn. I’ve created many an interesting tonic– I’d exercise some caution if you find yourself in here. Why one time…” He trails off into a story about how Tara turned purple for a week. She was not amused, apparently.

“And this is the experimentation room, where I bring anything that may be dangerous to test. There are a variety of different materials for me to test spells and artifacts on, and the room is warded with a wide assortment of protection wards to make sure that the rest of the tower is unaffected. It certainly is helpful when it comes to any errant magic, wouldn’t you say Astarion?” The look Astarion shoots him is that of a man who has seen one too many Fireballs in his life.

“Now this is the enchanting room, where I create magical artifacts. Now this includes your customary garden-variety fare, but I do have the opportunity to create a few rarer objects, such as the sunlight rings that I craft for the spawn. You'll find that I boast all types of spell components and even have a few specialized work benches, infused with various magical properties.”

You want to stay in this room for hours, you want to look through each and every book, peruse the shelves, test out the recipes that are strewn about the place. But you hold back, merely asking Gale a few questions about where he sources his materials, whether or not he had a bench for each school of magic, and how long it took to create a sunlight ring.

Easier questions answered, you eventually ask him, “Is this where we worked on our ring designs together?”

Gale takes a quick glance at Astarion before nodding. “Yes, precisely. That’s exactly the type of thing we used to work on.”

You elect to ignore his word choice, pressing on, “I had a dream about that just last night. We’d settled on a ring made of silver, it had slotting for an inlay along its edge.”

Recognition passes over Gale’s eyes before he bows his head wearily. “One of the last times we spoke. That was our most promising candidate.”

You already know that much. Despite the way Astarion’s eyes tighten around the corners, the way that Gale’s sadness creases his mouth around his beard, you continue, “I had an idea I would love to speak to you about. Would you have time before your birthday festivities?”

The wizard’s head lifts back up, the sadness reaching his eyes now. “I think it’s best if we leave that part of our past behind us, wouldn’t you say?”

Luckily, you’d prepared for such a response, expecting it. From your memories, from understanding who he is, what Astarion might have said to him, you think you know just what to say. “I wouldn’t. At least, not until I figure out one last thing. I have memories of the necromancer’s notes. Untouched, unbloodied, but undeciphered. I just need someone to delve into my mind and pull them out. If it amounts to nothing, well, maybe I could move on. But a wizard once told me, my intuition has rarely led us astray.”

Neither of your companions say anything to this, but you can tell see the wheels turning in Gale’s mind. He’d tried, just as you had, to remove the blood from the notes. He’d attempted, just as you had, to decipher what was left. Here you were, offering him the key to a century and a half’s mystery. He’d be remiss to not take you up on it.

Astarion, for his part, is simply looking at you. His red eyes seem to glow in the enchanting room’s magical lighting. You wonder if he believes you, that this will be your final attempt to try, that you would leave it be if it amounted to nothing.

I just know it will amount to something though, you think to yourself. I refuse to let it lead nowhere, not when I feel so close.

Gale interrupts your thoughts. “Well, I shall have a think on it and let you know later. For now, let me show you both to our last stop: the kitchen! Where we can also enjoy a lovely, little morsel and a cup or two of tea.”

Musings pushed aside for now, the three of you head to the kitchens for a late lunch. With all of Gale’s commentary, Astarion’s snarky interjections, and your own questions, the tour ended up being quite a few hours. You’re ravenous by the time the tea kettle rings and Gale shuffles about his kitchen preparing an afternoon meal for you all.

“Do you need any help, Gale?” you ask, scooting your chair back, ready to get up and join the wizard as he flits back and forth.

“No need, my friend. You are a guest after all,” he assures you, with a wave. A blue, spectral hand floats behind him, opening and closing doors for him as he artfully arranges what seems to be a hearty assortment of various meats and cheeses. “I may have aged a touch, but I assure you that I am every bit the gourmet chef I have always been.”

“Right,” Astarion mutters under his breath. “Every bit as capable of giving an entire adventuring party food poisoning.”

You chuckle at Astarion’s comment, only to recall that Astarion hasn’t had a real basis for Gale’s food since his early days of pretending not to be a vampire. Since then, his main diet has consisted of blood and wine, which you haven’t seen him partake in in over a week. “Aren’t you hungry?” you whisper to the man, leaning over to him in the event that Gale shouldn’t overhear.

His red eyes meet yours, and, as always, you can see the underlying hunger in them. It’s fruitless to ask, you realize. He’ll always be hungry.

“I’m managing. Don’t you worry about me– Focus on getting your noisy stomach to quiet down.” He shoots you a wry smile, but you can’t help but worry regardless.

“Fine, but once that’s quieted, I will be bothering you again,” you say, pointing a finger at him menacingly.

“What’s this about noisy stomachs?” Gale asks, walking over with a plate stacked full of meats, cheeses, smears, breads, and assorted fruits. Far too much food for the two of you who could eat it– Perhaps more than would feed you for a week. “Why, I have just the remedy.”

The three of you, well Gale and yourself, enjoy the feast he’s prepared for you, chattering all the while about the various things you’ve seen in his tower, what he’s gotten up to in the last hundred and fifty years, and your life back in Neverwinter. You’re surprised when even Astarion chimes in with his own questions about your current life.

You learn about Gale’s latest research. They learn about your time at the arcane college in Neverwinter. Collectively, you reminisce about times that you’ve only witnessed through dreams.

Together you have a pleasant afternoon, one that quickly turns into evening as you continue to chat. The entire conversation and atmosphere bring about a warmth you’d missed in your ‘normal’ life. Seated at Gale’s round kitchen table like this, you can almost pretend that this is your life. Perhaps it is now.

It’s only after a small “Ahem, ahem” interrupts Gale’s latest recounting of a particularly explosive application of the Weave that you all realize how late it’s gotten. “Mr. Dekarios, I’m glad that you and your friend have gotten reacquainted, but I am afraid I require your assistance in the dining room.”

“Tara! Of course, I shall pop right on over.” Gale turns to you and Astarion, smiling at you both in turn. “Well, my friends. It seems I’m needed for the party preparations. I hope you don’t mind my absence.”

“Not at all, Gale,” you respond, bowing your head in acknowledgement. “Hosting is plenty of work without my showing up here unaccounted for.”

“Nonsense!” Gale cries, standing up from his chair with a few creaking bones. “Why this may be the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

His words sound so genuine, his smile so sincere, that you nearly miss what he’s said. A birthday present. Oh gods, I need to get him a present. “Say, Gale,” you say, catching his attention before he leaves. “When is the party proper?”

“Oh, right.” He gives a lighthearted chuckle, looking at Astarion as he does so. “You’ll forgive me for the befuddling schedule– it’s the only way I can ensure Astarion actually shows up on time. You know how he likes to avoid people.”

“Not to worry, I understand.” You snicker, only to earn an indignant elbow from Astarion.

Gale looks between you two knowingly, and you feel your face flush under his sympathetic eyes. “Well, let’s see…” The man begins a countdown on his fingers. “Including tonight, the party is in five nights.”

“Oh!” you breath out, surprised. Plenty of time to explore the city, to hopefully speak to Gale, and, most importantly, acquire a present for him. “Sounds lovely. Thank you, Gale.”

“My pleasure,” he says. “I shall see you two on the morrow then.” Gale gives you both one last wink before following Tara out of the kitchen.

That’s how you and Astarion are left alone once more. The silence that settles between you is all at once easy and yet deeply uncomfortable. You want to fill it with something, but what can you say? That you know he wants Gale to dissuade you from your goals? That you haven’t known a peace like this in your entire lifetime and you’re afraid it isn’t meant to be yours?

Whatever it is, you need to say something, to fill the silence. You turn toward him in your seat and begin, “Astarion–”

“Darling, I–”

You both stop before you start, realizing that you’re interrupting each other. You’re the first to collect your bearings. “Go ahead, Astarion.”

He smiles at you and the tenderness in his eyes is difficult to miss, catching you off guard. “I just wanted to thank you.” When you only offer him a puzzled look, he elaborates, “For coming with me. I know it was a bit of a gamble for you after, well, everything. But this is already proving to be more… tolerable, than most years.”

His words spark a tingle in your chest, cause a warmth to bloom on your cheeks. It’s a compliment of sorts, and one that you weren’t expecting to receive. Given his sullen attitude and snarky comments, you’d expected a half-sarcastic, ‘This has been riveting.’

But the man never fails to surprise you. So you’re left speechless, nodding at his thanks, unsure of how to accept them.

“Now, what had you wanted to say, darling?” he asks, expression back in a confident mask, as if his words hadn’t just blanketed you in a deluge of emotions.

What had you meant to say? Right. You had wanted to fill in the silence, which seems almost banal in the wake of his sincere thanks. You comb through your own thoughts as quickly as you can, trying to find a reason to speak, to answer his expectant gaze.

“Would you like some blood?”

He blinks at you and you blink back, as if neither of you had expected you to say this. His response comes a moment later, a bit guarded, “I suppose I could use a snack. But with all of the day’s travel and your rather delicate constitution, are we sure that’s the best idea, darling?”

It may not have been your first or most pressing thought, but now that you’ve said it, you realize that feeding him is still quite important to you. So you press on. “I’ll be fine. It’s plenty late and I’ll be able to sleep off any ill effects,” you assure him.

“In that case, perhaps we first head back to our room? That way I won’t have to carry your limp body up several flights of stairs.” His use of ‘our’, his quick acceptance of your offer, it all feels so surreal. Maybe that’s what friendship means to him, but it’s sending you and your body mixed signals.

Either way, you agree without argument, and you both head back to your shared quarters.

Once you’re standing in the center of the room, you ask, “Where would you like me?”

Astarion raises a suggestive eyebrow at you. “Oh, you absolute fiend. Here I was, thinking that a bite on the wrist was already quite intimate.”

“Astarion,” you chide, ignoring the way his low, sultry voice sets your skin alight. “I meant, would you prefer the bed, the couch, maybe a chair?”

“How dull, darling. The bed then,” he says, gesturing toward the yet untouched plush, blue bedding.

You follow his direction and sit on the bed. After taking a quick breath, you get to work, rolling up the sleeve of your robe for him and exposing the tender flesh of your wrist to him. “Here you are,” you say, holding out your wrist to him as he takes a spot next to you.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, taking hold of your wrist, angling it back and forth between his cold fingers, as if trying to find just the right spot to bite.

“What’s the matter?” you ask, after the third rotation.

“It’s nothing, dear,” he says, fingers trailing the line of veins extending from your wrist. With his soft touch shocking your brain into submission, you barely register his words as he continues, “I was thinking, perhaps, I might need to bite a bit more carefully to keep you from growing faint again. I’m afraid I had rather gotten used to biting that delectable neck in your past-life.”

You gulp and you’re certain that the sound is audible to you both. “Is that so? Would you… prefer a neck?”

“Don’t you worry your lovely little head, darling,” he says, bending his head over your wrist. “I shall manage.”

You’re about to protest, to insist that he’s allowed to bite your neck, even as your heart pounds brutally in your chest at the thought– but his fangs sink in before a word can escape your lips and you’re left huffing out a small sigh.

Astarion’s lips smile against your wrist, and, were it not for the kind consideration he’d just shown you, you may have smacked him on his beautiful silver head for it.

Much like the previous times he’s had a nibble, his seemingly involuntary hums are more the source of your lightheadedness than anything else. The deep rumble that sounds from his chest sends your heart into a frenzied rhythm that your blood just can’t appear to keep up with.

Calm down, you think, imagining images of still water, light breezes, soft cats. Calm down or you will fall back again. Nothing seems to be working to quiet your pounding heart and, as you look at the angle of his nose, the soft curve of his cheek, you can feel your breath catching, your vision blurring.

No, you repeat to yourself. He will starve himself if it means you don’t get injured, keep yourself together. You’re startled by how accurate the thought sounds to your own mind. You knew he cared about you, but had you ever really sat down and understood the depth of it? However, you don’t have time to think about the implications of his concern because your world is beginning to spin.

Breathe, you command of yourself. You take a deep breath.

Another, you think, and you feel your eyes start to focus as fresh air enters your body.

Two large breaths later and you’re feeling significantly better– your heart is still racing, but the room has stilled and your body feels your own again. Just in time too, as you feel Astarion take one last drink from your veins, remove his fangs, and breathe a sigh of bliss onto your skin.

When he pulls back to look at you, the flush on his face, the pink on his ears is still somehow worth the miserable feeling of blood loss. “So darling,” he says, licking his blood-stained lips. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine,” you say, smiling at him with the best, least exhausted grin you can manage. Certainly better than you have after your previous feedings. “Though I do think it is your fault that I feel faint sometimes.”

“Really?” Astarion asks, raising an eyebrow at you. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Well,” you start, not sure how to approach the issue with him, but needing to tell him all the same. “I think it’s the noises you make while you feed. My heart just, erm, panics a bit.”

Astarion looks at you with a blank expression. “Noises?”

Ah, so they are involuntary. “Yes, the mmm’s and the hmm’s and the–”

“Stop that.” Astarion raises a hand up to your face, placing it over your mouth. When you look toward him to see what could be the matter, you see that a blush covers his cheeks, that the tips of his ears have turned a deep red. “I– I thought I’d stopped doing that years ago.”

It’s as if time stills. You struggle with your confused, nervous thoughts as you register his embarrassment, the words he’s said.

Astarion is blushing, your brain thinks.

Of course, the rational part of you counters. He’s just fed, he’s going to have some blood in his system for a while.

But he’s blushing because of something I said, you supply.

Your mind goes blank at the thought.

You’re grateful that you can’t reply to Astarion, not with his hand over your mouth, because you’re not certain what is liable to come out of it at the moment.

Luckily, Astarion continues to speak, not releasing your face, “Well, I apologize for the noises. I’ll try to control that. In the meanwhile, why don’t we get ready for bed? It’s been a long day.”

You nod into his hand, after which he removes it from your mouth. His face continues to have a touch of pink, and his eyes refuse to meet yours. You can hardly be bothered by it, because the only things running in circles in your mind are the feel of Astarion’s hand on your face, the sight of his perfectly blushed cheeks, and the fact that, somehow, despite everything, he still cares about your well-being.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You end up having to take a quick bath to clear your mind, and you both get ready for bed separately. However, at the end of the day, you both wind up in the same, immense bed after all is said and done.

You thought that maybe something big would happen. Perhaps that he would recoil from you. Or worse, grab onto you. Maybe that the earth would open up and swallow you both. But nothing of the sort happens.

You both simply lay down, tuck yourselves in a variety of soft blankets, rest your heads on the best down pillows magic can conjure, and remain several feet apart on the massive bed.

Much like last night, Astarion puts out the lantern next to the bed and whispers to you, “Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

There’s simply no way that your reverie will take you tonight, of that you’re sure. You’re convinced of it, because all you can hear is the pounding of your heart, the muffled breath you take when you try to be quiet. But eventually, against all odds, your trance does overtake you.

That night as you enter your reverie, you blink your eyes open to a familiar inn.

Again, the establishment is dead, not a soul in sight in this remote village. And, as always, the innkeep reaches down into their front desk, pulling out another book.

It looks to be a book that they’ve already started– a bookmark is placed about halfway through its pages. The cover is mostly plain, a black leather with a large tower embossed in the center. In the smallest script you catch the title before they open the book, “The Midnight Tower and its Master.”

The innkeep flips open to their current page and begins to read…

When you wake up from your reverie a few hours later, you sit up with a gasp, a hand clutching at your chest in surprise.

Next to you, Astarion stirs, looking at you with a drowsy concern. “Darling, are you alright?”

“I–I’m fine,” you say, taking several deep breaths. “I dreamt of the tower.”

#elf!tav

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#elf!tav