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Astarion wasn't expecting the end of the world to be so deafening. The eruption of fires throughout the city, courtesy the red dragons being ridden by githyanki warriors, ripped at the wind in great billows of black ash and smoke. There, in the high city, the air smelled like a campfire, and the blue sky was tinged orange from the haze. Nautiloids, great black ships driven by the enemy, winked into existence and roared. The dragons answered, furious.
A hard battle had just been won. Astarion bled from it. He had a slash in his side and at least a few broken ribs. He had refused a healing potion; he would heal on his own soon enough. The benefit of being a vampire spawn. Besides, where they stood, the mind flayers had thought to leave a restoration device. It stood black and alien, with glowing blue tentacles hanging down. They waved of their own accord, seeking out contact. With a grimace of disgust, Astarion took his turn standing amidst the tentacles. They draped over his shoulders and his head, squirming over him like a hundred little snakes. They worked, though. His ribs stopped hurting. His side stopped bleeding. He felt refreshed, like he had just woken up from a pleasant sleep. He was quick to step away from the disgusting thing. Just because it worked didn't mean he trusted it.
His companions were talking amongst themselves, but what they discussed Astarion could only guess at. His keen hearing was overwhelmed with input, and he couldn't separate voice from churning ship from dragon's roar. That last fight had been a doozy, and just because his body had recovered, his mind still reeled from just how many enemies they'd cut down. Goblins, cultists, mind flayers, a spectator. It had to have been twenty -- some of them immensely powerful -- against five, and everyone on Astarion's side had survived. Now, refreshed, there was only one thing left to do.
Destroy the nether brain.
It floated above them, impossibly high in the sky. The only way up was via the brain stem hanging down. It swayed in the air, pink and slick. It smelled like soap and mingled badly with the campfire scent in the air. Astarion was beginning to get a headache.
Karlach called his name. Her booming voice rose above the din.
Astarion turned to her. "Hmm?"
The red, one-horned tiefling came over to him, towering over him. She had a battle axe strapped to her back. It was black with the blood of goblins. "Are you listening?"
Astarion shook his head. "I'm sorry, darling. I was a million miles away."
Wyll, a devil-cursed human with great curving horns and a glowing infernal eye, called out to him, "Now would be a good time to pay attention, Astarion."
Astarion glanced at Gale, the love of his life. Gale glanced back and gave him a tight smile. The sight of him lifted Astarion's spirits. As lost as he'd been feeling a moment ago, he was now centered. Present. Gale did that to him. He took the wizard's hand and squeezed. "Yes, apologies. What's the plan?"
Wyll said, "We're going to climb the brain stem. Those of us who make it to the top will fight their way to the Crown of Karsus and the core of the nether brain. Our job is to make sure Prince Orpheus makes it there."
Prince Orpheus had been the githyanki prince, a powerful figure in their civil war. Now he was a mind flayer. He had become one because a mind flayer was needed to complete the combat, and Astarion certainly hadn't volunteered. Nor had anyone else. Astarion avoided looking at the prince. He wasn't a fan of the tentacles.
Astarion asked, "What do you mean those of us who make it to the top?"
Wyll said, "I'm being realistic, Astarion. It's a long climb on a slick surface that's also moving. There's a very real chance one or more of us could fall."
Astarion patted his pockets down and relaxed a bit when he felt the scroll of Feather Fall. "A setback, surely, but what about when we get to the top."
Wyll shrugged and shook his head. "We can only guess. Mind flayers await us, surely, plus whatever other minions the nether brain has rallied."
Astarion glanced back the way they'd come, up a cracked staircase strewn with ruin. "We've dealt with most of them already."
"Most," Wyll said, holding up a finger, "but not all. We survived the first battle, some of us barely, but we can't count on there being a restoration device up there. If you have any last words to say, best say them now."
Astarion swallowed down the mutinous rage that burned inside of him. He didn't want to die. Not now. Not after he'd gotten his life back, defeated his old master, and had a long life to look ahead to with his lover. He wanted to survive. He wanted to go to Waterdeep and be a house husband in a great tower with a winged cat for a pet and a powerful wizard for a spouse. After two centuries of being a sadist's plaything, it sounded perfect. He couldn't die now. "I don't have anything to say to any of you," he said peevishly, "except Gale. Give us a moment."
Wyll held up his hands and stepped back. "Just don't take too long. We don't know when the brain will move on and we'll miss our opportunity."
Astarion turned to Gale and saw compassion in his eyes. He knew his lover could read him, could see his fear and anger. Gale cupped his cheek in one warm, soft hand and said, "It will be all right, love. You have to trust me on this."
Astarion shook his head. "No, it's not going to be all right. We're all going to die, and it's for something so stupid. To save the world? What if we can't? What if the brain's too powerful? We'll all have died, and for nothing."
Gale gazed up the length of the brain stem floating nearby, and Astarion couldn't read his expression. The wizard's brow was furrowed as though he were trying to figure something out. "It's a high climb," he said.
Astarion glanced up at the stem and shuddered. He wasn't sure even a Feather Fall scroll would help him from so high up. Its magic might wear off while he still fell. "I don't want to go up there," he admitted.
Gale's gaze returned to Astarion, sweet and mild. "You won't have to, my darling."
Astarion said, "What are you talking about? Of course I'm going to have to. It is literally what we came here to do."
Gale gathered both of Astarion's hands in his own, and he said, "Not if I go up alone."
Astarion shook his head. "No," he said. The anger in him dissipated like morning mist, and in its place was a cold, dank terror that sent a chill through him. He shivered and shook his head some more. Gale had a Netherese orb stuck in his chest, a piece of Karsite magic that had made his life a living hell until it had been temporarily stabilized. Only it was rigged so that Gale could set it off whenever he wanted to, and when he did, the explosion would be powerful enough to level a city the size of Baldur's Gate.
Gale remained calm as he said, "As high up as it is, the blast will be too far away to harm anyone."
Astarion's voice broke as he said, "You count as someone, Gale."
Gale smiled, and Astarion hated the peace in that smile. "It's funny, I was imagining us in our library in Waterdeep, curled up on the loveseat together, spending a winter morning in front of a roaring fire. I don't think there exists a heaven more wonderful than that."
Astarion sniffed and blinked away the tears falling from his eyes. "Then live for that, you fool. Don't you think I want it, too?"
Gale said, "Of course, love. Of course. But then I thought about going back to Waterdeep alone because you lay dead on the street or in the river. I thought about burying you for a final time. I'm a bit of a coward, you see, because I can't do that. If the guarantee that you'll survive is my death, then it's a small price to pay."
"And how exactly am I supposed to go on without you?" Astarion spat. "What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?"
Gale gave Astarion's hands a squeeze and said, "I've left a letter back at the inn. It has my final wishes written within. The tower is yours, though the shelf Tara sleeps on belongs to her. You'll always have a home in Waterdeep. You'll always be a Dekarios, and I know that my family will embrace you. How could they not? You're so wonderful in so many ways."
Astarion didn't feel wonderful. He felt like punching Gale, knocking him unconscious, abandoning the battle, and taking his lover somewhere safe until the danger had passed. If his heart hadn't been long-dead, it would have been beating hard and fast. "If you do this, I'll never forgive you. Do you understand me? Never!"
Gale took the heat of Astarion's words with good grace. He stood still, he bowed his head. If he was hurt by them, he gave no outward sign. Then, he said, "One day, you will. You'll look back, and you will feel sorrow instead of rage, and then, you will begin to heal."
"I hate you," Astarion said.
Gale said, "No you don't."
"Don't do this," Astarion said, His voice broke on a sob, and the pulled the wizard to him, wrapping his arms around him. He wept as the wizard gathered him close. It wasn't fair. They had just found one another. Of course, it was Astarion's luck to fall for a living, ticking time bomb.
Gale murmured, "It will happen at some point, sooner or later. Best if it's here, where it will do some good."
Astarion didn't have a reply. He merely clung to his lover tightly, afraid to let him go. Gale was warm, and his heart beat in his chest in a soothing rhythm that always calmed Astarion down. He took a few shuddering breaths, despite not needing to breathe, and he lifted his head to gaze, teary-eyed, at Gale's peaceful mien.
Gale stroked Astarion's soot-blackened hair, and he murmured, "It's time for me to go, love."
Astarion sniffed, then lowered his gaze and nodded. He hated this. He hated it more than he had ever hated anything in his life.
Gale's fingertips touched his chin, lifted it, and he leaned in to kiss Astarion. There was passion in the kiss that recalled their nights together in one another's arms, chasing their bliss with abandon. Astarion knew he would never love again. Not like that. He returned the kiss with all the love he had. Their lips parted, their tongues intertwined. Astarion knew they must be a spectacle to the others, and he didn't care. They were nothing to him compared to this kiss.
He didn't want it to end, but too soon, Gale drew back, and he said, "I love you, Astarion. And I will carry that love into my last breath." He stepped away then, and he walked over to the brain stem. To the others, he said, "This is goodbye, my friends. I suggest you descend now. Get as far away as you can.
Then he began to climb.
It was Karlach who grabbed Astarion by the arm and drew him down the stairs with quick steps. He was numb. He couldn't bear to look back at the stem. She pulled him all the way down into the courtyard of the High Hall in the Upper City. Then further still. Down more steps, down into the Lower City. They kept going, dodging fires and crumbling buildings all the way down to the river.
There, finally, Astarion turned to look up at the nether brain floating above the city. Wyll and Karlach both put their arms around him and turned him away from it. "Don't look, mate," Karlach said.
The explosion burned bright white even through Astarion's closed eyes. Moments later, the boom resonated through the streets of the city. The shockwave overturned boats and knocked people flat, including the trio who had narrowly escaped. It rattled through Astarion's bones. His heart broke as the shockwave passed and a dreadful silence followed.
Gale was gone.
He'd done it, though. When Astarion got back to his feet and looked up, the nether brain had been obliterated. There was no sign the thing had ever existed. Completely vaporized.
Wyll and Karlach each had a hand on his shoulder, and it wasn't that the gesture wasn't comforting. These were his friends. He knew they cared for him. But it was so little against the grief that gnawed at Astarion's guts like some horrible boring worm.
Then he heard a sizzle before he felt a searing heat on the back of his bare hand. He looked down and saw his skin charred and smoldering. Another spot of searing pain appeared on his cheek. He glanced up at the sun and it burned his eyes.
The tadpole in his head was gone, and with it, his protection from the sun.
There was a part of him that wanted to stand there and get immolated. The pain would stop if he burned to a crisp right there on the dock. His ashes would blow away on the wind, and he wouldn't have to feel any of this.
But the part of him that loved Gale screamed at him to survive. Gale had done this so he could live. "I have to go," he told his friends, and he broke free of their grasp. He ran toward a grate that would lead down to the sewer. Into the darkness, the only thing he had left.