Chapter Text
“I…I don’t think I need to do this right now. I can wait for a bit.” Gale laughed nervously and placed the necklace back into the group kitty, closing the lid of the little chest with a snap.
Shadowheart pinched the bridge of her nose in growing irritation.
“Gale. You have been delaying this for three days. It cannot wait much longer or we’re going to have another Zaith’isk incident again.”
“You are never going to let that one drop now, are you?” He jabbed back, though the smile belayed his apparent annoyance.
Astarion’s laugh rang shrill as he passed them. His lack of sincerity behind the sound, though, was blatantly obvious. “Oh no not at all. We’ll never forget the day a giant bug nearly ate your brain and Lae’zel was made pariah. Of course, there was that interesting hour we had to deal with Karlach belting out the song about a wizard’s knob while carrying one. But you wouldn’t know anything about that now, would you Gale?”
He giggled again as the man blushed a deep shade of crimson and continued rolling up his tent. Today they were trekking towards, what they hoped was, the Grymforge. The hope for some better pieces of equipment for everyone was looking especially tasty. So much so that he licked his lips, then cursed himself at the sensation.
The hunger had returned at around the same time Gale’s orb had started acting up again, requiring another item to consume and stabilise itself with. For Astarion it was less about finding shiny objects to feed a parasitic magical energy ball, and rather finding anything edible at all in a realm of mushrooms, spores and gluttonous, stony worm meat. He had been sorely tempted to eat Derryth’s husband, once they had found out what kind of man he had been when he’d had all his wits. But sadly, there were witnesses; an entire Myconid civilisation to be frank. So he had to let the idiot go and felt sorely put out about it.
Now it was a few days later and they were taking the abandoned Duegar boat into the darkness beyond. Halsin had assured them it was not too far and Gale had been plotting a course using the maps and equipment found in the abandoned village. Astarion was only hoping there might be more dwarves to chew on by the time they got there, or he was going to start getting bitey.
“O, the wizard's staff has a knob on the end. And the wizard's staff is the wizard's friend. It is! It is!” Karlach, on cue, began belting out the bawdy tune as she began carrying gear onto the boat. Gale visibly looked like he wanted to melt into the floor in secondhand embarrassment.
Astarion sidled up to him, carrying a bundle of their cookwear they weren’t bothering to pack away properly. The boat would hold everything and they could tidy it up as they traversed the dark, still waters beyond.
“So, Gale. Why are you being such a stubborn little git again?”
The other man shot him a look of outrage. “I might be stubborn, but I am no git. And I do not know whatever you are talking about.” He raised his chin and held the bundles of blankets to his chest.
It was the lightest job they could allocate to him without being insulting, though the gith still bared her teeth on occasion, showcasing her ‘disgust at such weak pandering’. Her words of course. Gale’s condition just had not yet appeared to her as being anything less than “pathetic”, though the group had noticed she was saying the words with less vitriol and spite as time went on.
The two men walked together to the boat and Astarion leaned in to hiss at him, all pretences gone.
“You can drop the act, Gale. I can smell it. You’ve left it too long again.”
“Well it’s not like I really have any choice in the matter.” He bit back and dumped the blankets in a pile on the deck before walking back to the rest. “The hungers, it gets. I just don’t want – ”, his steps slowed and he took a deep breath. “I can’t.” The words ended on a whisper
He bent to pick up the rest of the blankets and bundled them into his arms, silent and pensive. Astarion was staring at him equally quiet and he waited till they were almost back at the boat before the man’s eyes pinched close in that familiar, pained way.
“Every single time the orb consumes, the agony it brings changes form. It started out as muscle cramps clawing deep within, like something alive was writhing and begging to come out. Initially I had thought it the beginning of ceremorphosis and was considering to allow our illustrious and very efficient gith strike true before the transformation could take root. But then I noticed it was only when I was moving and doing select tasks, which meant I could manage to guard against it and the pain became less of a primary course for concern due to our extenuating circ*mstances.”
He dropped the blankets on the deck and heaved a harsh, rattling breath. Astarion decided the man was done with his share of the packing today and, thankfully, Gale agreed. He lowered himself into the soft pile and the elf opted to leaned against a railing, just to keep an eye on him of course. There was never any other reason to hover around the human like a puppy demanding attention.
The wizard made a bit of a ‘nest’ for himself and lay back into the pile with a sigh of exhaustion.
“The second time the orb was sated was when I realised this was no magical ailment. Certainly the condition itself was caused by magic to be sure, but no amount of healing or rest and recuperation could regain the functions I had lost with the measures I was taking to quiet the hunger within. I had not had such side effects in the past, though, so my thoughts returned to the tadpoles themselves.
“I stayed up late so many endless nights, researching and agonising over the problem. Tried different techniques in soothing the ache in my muscles and the grind of joints that simply were not present beforehand. The deliberate applications and consumption of herbs to reduce swelling around injuries started around this time, which helped alleviate the symptoms for sure. But did nothing to mitigate the cause. Then the third item was consumed and I knew I was doomed.”
Gale stared off into the distance with a haunted expression that pulled on that uncomfortable ‘spot’ behind Astarion’s chest. He had come to terms a while back that he was getting a little attached to the human, as might a bur become attached to a woollen cloak. But he was not sure how to conceptualise the feeling as anything more than a curious obsession due to the unusual nature of the man. He honestly had never experienced anyone like this in his long life, so now the vampire settled on treating this entire scenario like a possible experiment.
He was a bur and Gale was the cloak, nothing more.
“Halsin seems a bit more distracted than usual as of late.” The man said, the segue breaking Astarion out of his thoughts and he followed the other man’s gaze towards the afore mentioned elf.
“I suppose. He has got all that ‘nature’ sense about him. Might be missing the sun.” Just like I am , Astarion thought to himself.
“Mayhaps.” Gale stared a bit longer, though it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere.
He eventually took another deep, shuddering breath and stared down at his hands. The right one was shaking, the slight tremors now more obvious than when Astarion had first noticed them over a tenday hence.
“It pains me dearly to admit it, Astarion. But I am genuinely and most assuredly…afraid.” He winced and the tremors worsened. “I am afraid of what the pain will become this time, or the next time. Or the next. I am afraid it will never stop or – if when it does – what that could mean.”
Gale’s breath began to quicken and the elf straightened in alarm. The man’s scent had not altered outside of the normal stink of the orb sucking at his life blood, but his heartrate had increased regardless. He sought his mind of the connections this reaction could actually mean, as whatever conclusion could be gathered was what treatment should follow. But, in this case, it was just his heart. That whooshing, skipping beat that had never returned to complete normal after the crèche, beating away like the man had been running a sprint over just settling on some soft blankets, pondering his entire future in one, foul, pain filled nightm…oh.
Astarion clambered over the pile and, less than gracefully, flopped next to the man with a small grunt. Gale startled and turned to him, eyes dark in their growing panic and the elf grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight.
“Now, Gale dear. You mortals have this pesky little thing called breathing that you’re going to have to start doing in the next few moments, or I’m afraid things might get a little uncomfortable in the near future.”
He gave the hand a squeeze and Gale blinked, then nodded wordlessly. He hiccupped as he inhaled, slowly and shakily. But air was going in and, after a short hold, air was exhaled. The routine was a well-practiced one and the world narrowed into their little space in the darkness. Counting the breaths, counting the moments between each one. The inexorable turn of the clock towards the inevitable creating a yawning gulf of cold, quiet acceptance in place of the panic that had near overwhelmed him.
The man eventually calmed enough that the tremors in his hand became little more than an occasional twitch and he sighed, staring down at their clasped fingers in thought.
“I think I am ready now. Would you be so kind as to fetch me the necklace?” Gale asked, the smile he made up at him was small and unsure.
“With pleasure, my dear.” Astarion untangled their hands and stood, forcing down any of that nonsense regarding that tug behind his ribs.
He ignored it while seeking out Shadowheart and their little stash of magical valuables she kept locked against thieves, the thought making him smile to himself at her sweet futile attempts at keeping things safe. He had already lockpicked the damned thing twice since she started using it, but he allowed her the illusion of security and waited while she unlocked it and passed him the item agreed to be used for this venture. The gold medallion lay heavy and warm in his hand as he returned and Wyll caught his eye as he coiled rope around his arms.
“How is he?”
The question Astarion now was used to receiving from the others was more complicated than he felt comfortable with, though he did have a reply ready this time at least.
“It’s time. He’s…going to be alright.” He added the last part on as more of an assurance to himself than anything.
Wyll’s pensive look pinched a bit tighter and he nodded. “Very well. We’re shoving off in a few minutes, if you’re sure you got everything on board?”
“I made sure every little cloth, book and bauble was nicely tucked away so it won’t get wet from your clumsy paddling ages ago, darling. There’s nothing to worry about.” His airy flippancy garnered him a likely well deserved eye-roll from the man.
Wyll smirked and chuckled slightly. “Very well.” He then sobered and placed a hand on the vampire’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before letting go. “Good luck.”
Astarion praised himself on not flinching away at the contact, though he could not help stiffening regardless. He supposed it was his continual exposure to people not wanting to immediately murder him in his sleep that was helping in this regard, though he also put it down to his exceptional ability to just not give a f*ck anymore. The order to push off was given, how very nautical indeed, and the strange vessel began slowly moving away from the rotted dock. It found the natural currents that seemed to be the main means for traversing these deep underground seas and the sails splayed open to catch the air that still blew through the unfathomably large caverns stretching beneath the world.
They were off and Karlach began a new stanza of that gods awful song.
“O, the wizard's staff is long and hard; And the wizard plays with it in his yard. He does! He does!” She began dancing along the deck and Astarion groaned, working on ignoring it (it was not possible) while returning to Gale.
“Tell me, how many verses does that song have?” The actual wizard asked as he returned.
Astarion frowned and settled back into place by the man’s side. “Honestly, I don’t know. But last time she got up to the staff going ‘in and out’ for the third time before we finally got her to stop.”
Gale stared in horror. “Oh gods.”
“Oh gods indeed.”
The necklace was heavy in his hand and he stared at it for a long moment before turning to Gale.
“Are you ready?”
The other man hesitated, then gingerly took the item from Astarion as though it were about to explode. With all that this seemed to entail and the nature of the Orb itself, he was very close to the mark in that regard.
“Not even slightly. But, now it must be said, when will I ever be?”
Gale took a deep breath and clenched the medallion in his fist then brought it up to his chest. His hand seemed to automatically seek out Astarion’s and they both gripped onto the other, with the elf staring hard at the side of the man’s face to watch carefully for any signs of it all going wrong.
That is why he was holding that hand and why he could not look away. He needed to keep telling himself that, despite it feeling less and less true by the moment.
Karlach’s voice stumbled over the lines of her song as Gale’s scream echoed through the endless night. She then forced out the next verse even louder, Wyll and Halsin joining in with their harmonies of a rude little bar ditty working at drowning out the cries and gasping sobs of a wizard unable to stop himself. It was out of place, it was surreal and it was sickening. It was bloody well needed.
Astarion’s hand was crushed, but he held on. He had to hold on as the man slumped towards him and drew in shaking and gasping breaths, muttering horrified words that needled that spot in his chest like barbs of cold iron.
“Oh gods. Oh gods no.”
It was then, with Gale’s head tucked in under his chin where he had collapsed in pain and exhaustion, that he noticed the man’s brown hair now had a new line of grey streaked through it. His other arm came up and wrapped around the man’s shoulders and held him close. The feeling in his chest sunk deeper and he grew more afraid.
Where would this end?
