Chapter Text
Gale Dekarios is having the most wonderful dream.
He is seated around a campfire, doling out portions of a stew he must have scraped together from whatever provisions they had managed to scavenge out in the wild. All around him, the familiar faces of his companions can be seen indulging in good wine and better conversation, falling into the easy repartee of their later traveling days.
Gale sits back, resting his hands on the wood of the log he’s seated on as he watches Lae’zel and Shadowheart get into yet another heated argument. It’s over something petty, and Gale doesn’t care to inquire about the details. Beside them, Astarion rolls his eyes pointedly, which makes Gale smirk. They’d all developed a shared language over their time together, but he and Astarion seem to understand one another best.
A wave of longing hits him out of nowhere, but he ushers it away. Longing has no place at a time like this.
Halsin takes over the conversation with a story from years before any of them were born, set in a place none of them are likely to visit. Gale lets the sound of it fill his senses and transport him along for the ride, reveling in a calm night amidst all their struggles.
He doesn’t think about what’s ahead of them or behind them. Waterdeep barely even registers in his mind. When he sits with his companions, all his worries fade away, even though he vaguely remembers that there’s likely an illithid parasite in his skull and a karsite orb in his chest.
He’s quite content here. Happy, even.
Then, there is pain.
Gale wakes with a start, yelping as he feels Tara’s sharp claws dig into the skin of his thigh. He’s ripped from a dream that’s more a memory, and the reality of his true surroundings comes back into view: he’d managed to fall asleep in his study with a book on his chest and Tara on his lap yet again. How many times is this? He’s quite lost count.
“Tara!” Gale cries, moving so the tressym jumps off of his lap to finish stretching in front of the fireplace. “That smarts!”
“Apologies, Mister Dekarios. I suppose I have let my claws get a bit long, haven’t I?” she muses.
“I’ll be trimming them first thing tomorrow.”
“You’ll do no such thing, unless you want a dead pigeon left on your pillow.”
Gale sighs and sets his book aside so he can stand up and stretch out his back. He’d been dreaming of his adventuring days with an alarming frequency of late, despite not having seen any of his companions since Withers’ party, over a year ago. Perhaps it’s the portrait of them that he’d had commissioned to hang above his fireplace that’s giving him such intense nostalgia, considering it tends to be the last thing he looks at before indulging in these little naps.
He stares at it for a moment, eyes flitting between the faces of friends he misses dearly. He allows his gaze to linger on Astarion’s face for only a moment before he forces himself to move on. He misses all of his companions, he tells himself. There is most assuredly not one in particular that he feels himself missing more.
Gale glances away from the painting and decides to send out another round of letters when he gets home.
When he gets home from—
He whips his head around to glance out at the sky through the glass balcony doors. It’s dark, meaning the sun had set at least an hour prior.
“How long was I asleep, Tara?” he asks, groaning as he runs a hand down his face.
“Difficult to say. Most likely a few hours.”
So he’d definitely missed the meeting with the Blackstaff that he’d been meant to attend at eventide. A black mark on his otherwise perfect attendance record — assuming that professors also have attendance records to maintain.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
Tara doesn’t glance up at him as she cleans in the crevices of her paws and replies primly, “I just did, didn’t I?”
“Earlier, I mean. Before sunset, at least!”
The tressym huffs and settles into a sitting position in front of the burning embers that are left of the fire that Gale had made after supper. “Excuse me. You’re quite old enough to be managing your own schedule, are you not? If you so choose to rest your eyes after each and every meal rather than build a social life or attend important meetings, then who am I to intervene?”
Gale grits his teeth and mutters, “that’s never stopped you from interfering before.”
“Well, your lap is quite comfortable, and I do so like sleeping by the fire.”
He knows that arguing with Tara won’t rewind time and fix his attendance problem. That’s something he’ll just have to manage on his own. Maybe, just maybe, if he hurries, he can manage to catch the Blackstaff in her office and apologize profusely for the mistake, and perhaps offer to make it up to her by taking on another class next term. He’d been planning to offer anyway, as a way to fill his increasingly lonely days off, but now he can propose it as something that would benefit them both.
So that’s what he’ll do. He gathers the parchments he’d intended to speak to the Blackstaff about from a nearby table and sips the last of his cold tea before making his way down the many stairs of his tower.
When he gets to the final landing, he grabs his cloak from its hook and slips it over his shoulders. If he walks quickly, he might just make it.
“I’ll see you shortly, Tara!” he calls upstairs.
Gale swings the front door open, ready to step into the night air before his eyes fall on—
Astarion. Standing on his front doorstep, hand raised as if to knock.
Gale stops short, one leg still poised to land on the first step. It feels a little like seeing a ghost or a portrait come to life — both of which he had experienced, once upon a time. After a year of not seeing his companions, they’d all faded into memories and fragments of a life he’d once lived. Not people one might see in real life again without some concerted effort.
“Hello, wizard,” Astarion greets with a familiar grin. It catches Gale off guard — he’d forgotten just how disarming the elf could be.
“Astarion? I don’t— what are you doing here?” Gale’s brow furrows. Had he missed a letter detailing his arrival plans, perhaps? Had Gale himself issued an invitation and forgotten about it? He’d offered his tower as a refuge to them all so many times since their adventures that he knows it’s not an impossibility.
Astarion juts out his chin and crosses his arms over his chest. “Come now, darling. Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Then he turns, addressing a very short companion to his left. Gale hadn’t even registered her presence. “I should have warned you about his poor manners. Do try not to turn out like him, yes?”
“Okay,” she replies.
Astarion had brought a child to Gale’s front doorstep. More specifically, a tiefling child with pale lavender skin and curling horns who looks to be approximately five or six, if Gale had to guess. She’s dressed in an all-black ensemble to match Astarion’s hooded attire, though her own hood had become caught up in one of her horns, rendering it useless.
Gale stares at the two of them, mouth hanging open. Since when has Astarion even been able to tolerate the presence of children? Gale can still remember him complaining when they’d saved Arabella and Mirkon, and when Tav had let Yenna stay at their camp once they’d reached Baldur’s Gate (or Rivington, rather). His memory may not be what it once was these days, but he’s certain that he can distinctly remember some of the complaints that the elf had made.
According to Astarion, children are ‘sticky’ and ‘ungrateful’ and very much ‘not his problem’. So what exactly had prompted him to bring one here, of all places?
“Who is this, Astarion?” he asks.
“This is Orianna. Say hello, Orianna.”
Orianna raises a hand to wave at Gale. “Hello.”
Gale, still a little awestruck and confused, raises his hand in reply before glancing at Astarion pleadingly, hoping for more of an explanation.
The elf smirks at him. “Congrats, Gale. You’re a father.”
“I— what? Are you serious?”
Astarion rolls his eyes. “Gods, you’re gullible. You don’t look anything alike! Don’t be gullible like Gale, Orianna.”
“Okay,” the little girl says again. She seems to take Astarion’s advice without question, and there’s an ease with which they’re standing next to each other, indicating that this is not a new situation for either of them. How long had they been traveling together, he wonders?
She gazes up at Gale with such wide infernal purple eyes, and he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. There’s something utterly uncanny about her that Gale can’t quite put his finger on.
“Well, are you going to let us inside, or has that open invitation to stay at your tower expired?” Astarion asks, nodding his head to the space behind Gale.
“Oh, I— um, yes,” Gale replies. He steps aside and holds the door open so they can both shuffle in. When Astarion’s ears twitch and he doesn’t make any move to walk through the threshold, Gale remembers the specifics of his vampiric condition. “Right, do come in.”
“Thank you, darling,” he replies as he sashays past the wizard, Orianna in tow.
Gale looks around at the kitchen of his tower, which is far messier and dustier than he would like it to be on such an occasion. He had let his cleaning duties fall a tad to the wayside, of late. It had been a while since anyone had visited. “Apologies, I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”
“Yes, well, you did say I could show up anytime.”
Gale frowns and furrows his brow. “Yes, of course, you’re always welcome here, but I would have appreciated a bit of notice, especially since you’ve brought a straggler. A situation for which I am still expecting an explanation.”
Astarion sighs heavily and waves his hand, implying that it doesn’t matter. “That’s a story best shared over a bottle of wine or two. For now, suffice it to say that we’re in need of a place to stay for a little while. Her perhaps a little longer than myself.”
Gale’s strong suit may never have been emotional intelligence, but he knows Astarion well enough by now to know how to fill in the blanks of what he’s implying. “You can’t be serious. You show up after a year just to drop some random child in my lap? What on earth makes you think I would agree to such a thing, particularly if you’re not staying?”
“You’re not staying, ‘Starion?” Orianna interjects, tugging on Astarion’s arm as her big eyes stare pleadingly at him.
“Well now look what you’ve done,” the elf sighs.
Instincts take over. “Not to worry, Orianna. Astarion and I just need to have a little discussion, is all. I’m sure he’ll be taking you to wherever you belong very soon.” Gale’s mouth twitches into the best approximation of a smile that he can manage, for her sake. As much as he hates to admit it, he doesn’t want to upset her. Whatever Astarion has managed to get himself into is very likely not her fault.
“Promise you’re not leaving, ‘Starion?” she asks.
Astarion purses his lips and dodges the question. “Let’s get you settled, yes? We’ve done quite a bit of walking today.”
Gale tries to meet his eyes, but Astarion’s gaze falls on anything and everything except him. There’s something he’s refusing to say. At least, he’s refusing to say it in front of Orianna.
Time for a distraction. “Do you like cats, Orianna?” Gale asks.
Orianna’s face brightens. “Oh yes!” She claps her little hands together and bounces on the balls of her feet.
“Excellent. It just so happens that a friend of mine looks a great deal like a cat, and she’s sitting upstairs. Shall we go and say hello?”
Orianna takes Gale’s hand as they ascend the winding staircase to his study. Astarion trails behind them, peering around corners and getting the lay of the wizard’s tower, as if he were casing the joint. Some things don’t change.
“Orianna, this is Tara,” Gale introduces as they filter into the study. Tara shifts her position and sits back on her haunches, eyes drifting between the companions.
“Hello, this is unexpec—”
“Kitty!” Orianna cries, launching at Tara. Her hands reach out greedily to grab at Tressym’s fur.
Tara hisses and flies backward, hackles raised. Gale steps between them, hands outstretched to stop a potential fight. “Let’s be gentle, alright Orianna? Tara, would you mind watching her for a few moments? Astarion and I need to have a conversation.”
Orianna’s second attempt to get near Tara is much less threatening, as she lowers herself to her knees and approaches with an outstretched hand. Despite her efforts, Tara looks no less perturbed.
“I’m not a babysitter, Mister Dekarios! And I must say, this is incredibly undignified—oh, oh my.”
Her complaints cease as Orianna scratches under her chin just right, and the tressym happily rolls onto her side to give the girl better access. Her purrs fill the room as Gale grabs Astarion by the arm and drags him into the hallway, shutting the door behind them.
They stand face to face in a nearby alcove, Gale with his arms crossed and his best approximation of a menacing glare on his face.
“Answers. Now.”
Astarion tuts his tongue and pops a hip, looking like he’s the one put out by the whole situation. “Here I was thinking you would be accommodating.”
Gale grits his teeth. He’d known Astarion to be frustrating, but never to this degree. Perhaps only time and a favourable view of his friend had shielded him from remembering the reality that is dealing with him. “Astarion.”
“Yes, yes, fine. Let’s just say that I managed to acquire a tagalong, alright? She doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and I seem to remember you acting a bleeding heart for a few orphans during our travels. I thought you might be able to watch her for a little while. Her parents are indisposed.”
Gale gives him a pointed look.
“Fine, yes, they’re dead, and I may have had a hand in that. As such, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“That simply cannot be true,” Gale replies with a scoff. “What about Halsin? Shadowheart? An orphanage? Surely any of those places would be better suited for a child than a wizard’s tower. This place is not child-friendly — not to mention that I simply don’t have the time nor patience nor desire to manage someone her age. I am a professor now, I’ll have you know. A very popular one, to boot.”
“Trust me when I say that this is the best place for her, Gale. I would have taken her to someone else if that weren’t the case. Hells, I would’ve just left her on the side of the road if it weren’t for— well, never mind that now.”
Gale shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “I’m sure she would much prefer to be running around Reithwin with Oliver and Thaniel, wouldn’t she? That’s where a child belongs.”
Astarion’s ruby-eyed stare is so intense that it makes Gale shrink a little. “I can’t take her to Halsin, Gale. If you won’t take her, then just let us stay the night, and I’ll sort something else out. We did come all this way, after all.”
There’s not a hint of a please in his request. That’s at least some confirmation that the Astarion standing in front of him hadn’t been replaced by a doppelganger. Though the question of how exactly the prickly vampire had come to be in possession of a small child remains unaddressed. It gnaws at Gale’s more curious nature.
“Fine, one night, but I am owed answers. As many as you can give. We’ll reassess after that.” Gale sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I do wish you would have visited under more typical circumstances, Astarion. I have missed you.”
Astarion’s lips quirk upward and he tosses himself into a haughty pose. “Everyone does, darling. Just be grateful you’ve been graced by my presence at all. Now, why are you wearing that drab cloak? Did we interrupt you going out at this hour?”
Gale had all but forgotten about his missed meeting. An apology to the Blackstaff will have to wait another night, he supposes. He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted by the sound of Tara’s howling and shattering glass in the study.
The two of them sprint toward the doors, which Gale pushes open to reveal whatever it is that they’d just heard. Orianna is sitting on the floor where they’d left her, but Tara had flown up to perch on the mantle of the fireplace, where she licks at the end of her tail where it’s caught a bit of frost.
In front of Orianna, there is a strip of ice and frost that fans out and travels out toward the shattered glass balcony doors. At the very least, she doesn’t appear to have cut herself on any of the shards that flew in the blast.
She looks at Gale and Astarion through tear-filled eyes. “I sneezed,” she explains.
Gale stares at her, at a loss for words. Astarion fills the silence.
“I can’t take her to Halsin,” he repeats.