Chapter Text
Gale wondered if the mushroom in his hand was truly a common blushcap or instead a tricky deceiver, some kind of Underdark doppelganger that would kill his party via delicious stew before their lovely little parasites could. It looked like a blushcap - red with white spots. Smelled like one, he thought. It felt delicate and springy in his hand, waiting to be deftly sliced and swept into a pot. But he could not bring himself to do it.
It was their second night in the Underdark, surrounded by glowing fungi and strange noises. Gale was intrigued by the place - and the tower in the distance that Tav promised they would explore after this night's rest - but couldn't shake the feeling that being down in the depths was a mistake. Safer than the mountain pass by a thin hair, perhaps, but at least on the surface he would be more knowledgeable about which parts of the environment were truly edible. Oh, and where no bibberbangs lurked, waiting to explode, and no bulettes erupted from the ground intent on tearing you asunder. Dispatching that particular monster had been quite the endeavor earlier in the day - they were all in need of a hearty dinner to recover, and it fell to Gale to provide that. He had not been displeased to take on the role of chef in their party - granted, it seemed a little lowly for a mage of his caliber, but he thought his ability to put together a simple meal was a wonderful addition to the group, not to mention his excellent spellwork.
On their very first night together, back in the Emerald Grove, all of his new companions had been too tired or disinterested to volunteer for meal duty. They had been kidnapped, infected, launched off a burning ship, attacked by goblins, and ensnared in a tense game of lanceboard between the refugees and druids. Gale thought surely they would try to eat well that night, maybe get to know each other a little better. Discuss the path forward. But Astarion had sneered and walked away at the suggestion of dinner - then, Gale thought he must be too snobbish to handle cookery; now, Gale knows, it was because his definition of dinner differed wildly from the rest of the party. He'd gone instead to feed on the boar they had later found.
Rather clumsy of the vampire, honestly, and he had said as much once they knew Astarion's poorly kept secret; Astarion had rolled his eyes and huffed about how godsdamn heavy the beast had been, and would he have liked to try moving it on his own? Gale bit his tongue then. He had a million questions for Astarion, was burning to know the difference in strength between a vampire spawn and their master, but knew he would get no genuinely helpful answer when Astarion was in such a mood.
As for the rest of them - Shadowheart had retreated immediately to her tent to pray, mumbling something about the virtue of fasting. Lae'zel had gone to polish her weapons, telling Gale she preferred raw meat to whatever watery stew he intended to serve. Tav was meeting with Zevlor about the details of the tieflings' plight and the possibility of finding the missing Archdruid Halsin; Gale knew it was not a discussion to be rushed. Wyll had yet to join their party at that point, and Karlach was unknown to them. So - that left just him to put food on the proverbial table. Very well.
He had spent a year alone in his tower and had fed himself fine. He would be less than proud to admit that his sabbatical of sorts had begun with a deep dive into his impressive wine stash. It did little to numb the emotional and physical pain of the Netherese orb in his chest. And he could not survive on grief and Waterdhavian Red alone, so had eventually pulled himself away from his bed to feed himself. Just mouthfuls of bread and cheese, at first, but Tara had taken it upon herself to order fresh produce and meat to his tower, and he had nearly cried at seeing the baskets. He did cry, in truth, and hugged her until she protested, but took her suggestion to try making a spiced stew his mother often cooked for him as a boy. He soon decided he liked cooking. It was warm, and rewarding, and full of care - at the time, care for himself. Now, a chance to extend that care to his fellow infected, those upon whom his life was dependent.
So Gale had investigated their collective packs, finding some root vegetables and even a small loaf of bread that Tav must have bought from a refugee in the Grove. With the last of the light, he even caught a few fish from the nearby river. Mage Hand had so many uses. It was simple to learn, difficult to master, and he was fond of it. He had often used the cantrip to pull down heavy tomes from their shelves, and to stir pots for him while he chopped ingredients. He smiled softly at a memory of petting Tara with his real, human hands while his Mage Hands flipped pages for him, the two of them resting in a sunbeam, light illuminating dust motes in the air. Now it pulled silvery fish from the water, glittering and easily deposited into his basket.
The stew he made that night was really nothing special, but herbs from the area and his own stash of fine sea salt - miraculously still in his robes - made it quite edible. Tasty, he'd go so far as to say! Shadowheart had popped her head out of her tent first, nose turned to the source of the scent, and sheepishly accepted a bowl.
"Perhaps fasting is...not ideal, given the day we've had," she had sighed. Hearing voices, Lae'zel had wandered back over, insulted the lack of "real meat," and downed two bowls with military efficiency. He'd saved a good portion for Tav, who had fallen on it like a starving dog, licking the bowl at the end. It had made him feel good, to provide that. To be useful.
And so he kept cooking. Tav had a tendency to grab what wasn't theirs, but Gale was not in a position to be picky about the source of his ingredients. Dried meat or a butchered chicken here, a good onion or potato there - these small things came together beautifully after a long day of nearly dying. And as their party grew, so did his meals. His companions - nay, his new friends, he dared say! - knew to look for meal components wherever they could be found, and to pass them along to him promptly.
After the bulette encounter, Gale had returned to camp to have Halsin patch up a bad cut on his leg. What an incredible opportunity, to have such an experienced Archdruid in their party. Gale had been wary of the addition, at first, but the druid's formidable appearance and stern leadership melted into geniality and good humor when he was relaxed. He had yielded to Tav's authority for this journey, offering himself up as a guide, and requested they address him merely as Halsin. Gale decided he quite liked him, so far. They had chatted quietly while Halsin healed his leg - about the tadpoles, Halsin's research, their concern for what came next. About the Underdark too and its many dangers, with which Halsin was more personally familiar. He had mentioned spending time here in his youth, but only smiled and waved a large hand when Gale inquired about his adventures.
"A young elf's follies," Halsin said, leaning over Gale's leg. His face was handsome, lit by the golden light of his healing magic, brow furrowed deeply in concentration. This close, Gale could see every freckle and wrinkle on his tan skin. Duly earned, he was certain, in the 300-some years Halsin had said he'd lived so far. They made him appear distinguished, whereas Gale's wrinkles - the crow's feet beginning to line his eyes, the creases on his forehead - just made him feel old. He was starting to feel new aches in his joints each day, and wondered if Halsin did too.
What an injustice, that human lives hit their peak so soon. To think what I could do with 300 years or more -
Gale realized he'd been thinking when he should have been responding, but Halsin too seemed lost in thought. After a minute of silence, Halsin continued unprompted. His voice was low and soft. A little sad. It reminded Gale of mead, maybe. If mead had a sound, and could experience regret.
"Follies, yes. And rightfully left in the past. I thank you for not pressing me. Now, there." Halsin lifted his hands, sitting back on his heels. Even kneeling, he loomed over Gale. His smile was kind, easy. His ears lifted when his cheeks did, and Gale was struck with the urge to reach out and touch the pointed tips - but that was wildly inappropriate. He focused back in on what Halsin was saying.
"The cut was deep, but free of fungal debris. It may ache a while longer but should not trouble you after you've taken your rest tonight. Please tell me if it continues to bother you tomorrow." Gale nodded, murmured a thanks.
"Excuse me, Gale - I can hear the others returning. I should like to retire for a time before dinner."
And off he went, his tent a good distance from the rest of them. Gale watched him go for a moment. Wondered if, had he been a braver man, or met the druid under different circ*mstances, he might have pursued Halsin. It had been some time since he'd had a mortal lover, but the pang in his heart had subsided some, and he was yet a man. The last time he had lain with Mystra had been over a year ago, and she had always preferred her pleasure without the cumbersome nature of physical bodies. In the material plane, he'd had naught but his own hand for - gods, since the Academy, he reckoned. Still, he was still quite confident in his own abilities. And with his orb stabilized, maybe - but no. Halsin had surely taken many lovers in his long life, but now seemed more focused on the Shadow Curse than dalliances. Gale's life mattered to him in the way all life mattered to him. They were colleagues in this wretched situation. So he sighed and put those thoughts in the back of his mind (somewhere near the debate about whether or not he was still trying to regain Mystra's favor) and pulled himself up.
He stepped out from his tent, wincing as his leg bore his weight, but bear the weight it did. Tav gasped at seeing him, rushing forward with a hand outstretched. He waved them off, though he was truly grateful for the concern.
"Quite alright, dear leader. Halsin fixed me up properly. Now, I don't suppose you've collected anything a little less fungal on this most recent foray into the dark? I'm not sure the mushrooms here are as safe as we might prefer, and we used the last of the surface supplies this morning."
"Oh - no, I'm so sorry," Tav said, their front teeth worrying their bottom lip. "We ended up finding a mushroom forager and rescuing him from a field of bibberbangs. Took up all the time we wanted to spend out there before bed - no lost camp packs or anything, I'm afraid. He's alright, though. Poor guy, he didn't seem the sort who should be wandering down here. Lucky we found him!"
Gale cursed to himself - if he hadn't been hurt, he might have been with Tav and taken advantage of the forager's professional insight on which mushrooms would fill his companion's bellies with nutrients, not poison. What a shame. And nothing new from Tav. He smiled at them resignedly, assured them dinner would be on the fire soon, and returned to his dangerous basketful. He picked through his options, discarding those that looked rotted, the ones with more...pungent odors, and those that had too much bioluminescence for his comfort. He was left with the probable-blushcaps, some funny little orange ones, and others he thought were likely rogue's morsels and some common white buttons. A nice find, those, if they were true.
Staring at the questionable array, Gale had a thought - Halsin would surely know more than he about what was safe to eat. It hadn't been more than a few minutes - the druid had said he wanted rest, but he would likely still be settling into his tent to meditate or whatever Archdruids do. Best go now, get his opinion, and leave him to rest while dinner cooked.
So Gale approached Halsin's tent, basket in hand, waving to a few others as he passed them near the fire. His companions milled about, but Astarion was not among them. He wondered if he was hunting, if there was really anything good for the vampire to feed on in the dark. Once Astarion's nature had been discovered in a - frankly, stupid - attempt to feed on a sleeping Tav, they had told Astarion to stick to animals or to leave. His companions had all looked away as the vampire's expression dulled, then smoothed into acceptance. Astarion had to have known that feeding from the group without invitation had been the wrong approach, but his hunger seemed to get the better of him that night.
Gale had nearly offered, seeing the elf's disappointment, the desperation hidden in his eyes. He knew what it was like to crave so intensely. To be denied. Tav had brushed off his own particular need until it became quite serious. He didn't hold it against them. He hadn't been as forthcoming as he should have been; neither had Astarion.
So, what then? The spiders? The minotaurs? He shuddered at the thought of needing to subside on such fluids. Over these past days together, he had warmed to Astarion, despite the vampire's mercurial nature. He joined the fire at night though he did not need the meal. He sipped on wine instead, quipping and quibbling with every aspect of Gale; it had felt unfair, at first, before catching the smirk in Astarion's tone. When he responded in kind, gently ribbing the vampire over this or that, Astarion had laughed. Not the way he had before, all bark. Softer, more genuinely delighted, and - intoxicating. Gale wanted to hear that laughter more.
Karlach had taken to Astarion well (surprisingly, but she seemed the type to find the good in everyone), as had Shadowheart, (less surprisingly; the two behaved as twins in moments). His charm was lost on Lae'zel, though she complimented his bloodlust in battle. Wyll had been the most wary of him, but Astarion carefully and openly abided by the rule Tav had set, hunting only animals at night, satisfying the Blade. For all Astarion's wit and somewhat salacious humor, he seemed rather polite to Halsin. There were no barbs on his tongue when the older elf conversed with him. Perhaps some ingrained elven etiquette. All considered, Gale had become rather fond of the vampire, in a strange sense. He liked to think that Astarion might feel similarly, especially when he found an enchanted ring or some other such magical trinket tossed into his tent instead of kept in the elf's pack.
Additionally, well, Gale was not a blind man; Astarion was startlingly handsome. When he flashed his red eyes in Gale's direction, his breath caught. His hands were slender, but strong, and wildly adept at picking a lock. He could imagine what else his hands might be good at - but Gale shook his head, embarassed, and checked that his tadpole felt quiet. Absolute be damned, he'd blow himself up on the spot if he'd transmitted that thought to someone. The orb had been stabilized and suddenly he was no better than a fresh-faced student with a crush.
He shelved his thoughts as he stepped up to Halsin's tent. It was normally left open - surely to reduce the barrier between druid and nature, or something of that ilk, but an extra flap had been added that hid the interior. He raised a hand, then let it drop - fabric wasn't really knockable. So he cleared his throat.
"Er, Halsin? I do apologize for coming back to you so soon. I know you're in need of rest, but I was hoping I could avail myself of your knowledge about the local fungi before I feed us something less edible than we'd all prefer. Are you amenable to that?"
Silence met his query. Maybe the slight shuffle of fabric? A low breath? He shifted, putting his weight on his uninjured leg, and wondered if Halsin was already meditating. Surely he'd understand if Gale were to interrupt, for the good of the group. Can't defeat a Shadow Curse if they're all vomiting to death in the Underdark.
So he lifted his hand again, pushing aside the tent flap - and froze. He might have dropped the basket if shock didn't compel him to clutch the whole thing to his chest.
Before him was not only Halsin, but Astarion. The vampire sat in Halsin's lap, legs spread wide to encompass the druid's broad waist. Halsin's shirt was folded neatly on the bedroll, his hirsute back to Gale. Astarion was fully clothed, but the closeness of them - it was an intimate scene, to be sure. Like something from a tawdry romance novel that Gale might find in some cheap bookshop. Not that he'd ever indulged in such drivel! Not too often, at least.
It took the vampire a moment to realize their privacy had been violated; his head lifted from Halsin's neck sluggishly, and he regarded Gale with glazed eyes, more crimson than his normal maroon, wild and bright. They widened after a moment, clarity hitting him, surprise and displeasure splashed across his fine features. His tongue darted out to collect a drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. He stared at Gale. Gale stared at him. Halsin, seemingly lost in the effect of Astarion's bite, slowly lifted a hand to Astarion's white curls and then turned his head, noticing Gale's presence after an eternity of Gale not turning around and leaving like he should. A red flush had worked its way up Gale's chest and onto his cheeks.
"Oh! I am quite sorry, I seem to have interrupted a - your, ah - please excuse me, I'll just leave you to it!" Gale released the flap, obscuring the two elves, and heel-turned away, desperate to go. But a lightning-sharp spasm of pain shot through his just-healed leg. He stumbled, the basket overturning and scattering the mushrooms as his chest hit the ground. Wheezing, he thought he might Misty Step directly back to his tent and never leave it again, but a hand reached to help him. Halsin pulled him up, hands cupping his elbows, steadying him. He was still shirtless, and Gale tried not to stare at a thin line of blood drying on his collarbone.
"There, Gale," he said, when the wizard was righted. "Are you hurt? I thought I told you to rest."
Gale laughed, all nervousness. Why did he laugh? Stop. He couldn't meet Halsin's eye but realized the alternative was looking square at his bare chest, so forced his gaze back up.
"Ah, no, you said the leg would be fine after rest - not that I intended to fall! And I certainly didn't intend to - interrupt your, well. Interrupt your meeting?"
Halsin chuckled at this. "I imagine that must have been an unexpected sight. I owe an apology as well. I did not think you would need me for the rest of the evening." He paused, and glanced back. Following his gaze, Gale saw Astarion slink from the tent and lean against one of its support poles. He looked exactly as he always did.
"Hello, Gale," he said, examining his nails.
"Astarion! I really do apologize, I didn't mean-" Astarion quieted him with a wave of his pale hand.
"You won't tell Tav." A demand, not a question. Gale hesitated, nodded.
"I see no reason to. You're both consenting adults." Gods, Gale. "That is, your business is your own, as long as it's solely between the two of you."
Halsin hummed, confirming. "Astarion approached me for suggestions on hunting here. There are creatures appropriate for feeding, yes, but most near to us would be less than palatable, and straying from camp without a party is a danger we can't afford at the moment. I offered myself as an alternative. All is consensual."
Gale nodded, eyes finding the ground.
"That's - well, that's perfect. I had to admit, I was curious about the potential for vampiric sustenance down in this land of darkness. Have to keep up our strength, yes! For these difficult days ahead."
Astarion barked out a laugh. "Oh, I am so relieved to hear you approve, darling. Until next time, hm?"
He sauntered back the way Gale had come, the swing of his hips hiding whatever embarrassment or anger he might feel. Gale watched for a moment before catching himself, smacking a mental wrist in admonishment. He let out a deep breath that had caught in his lungs, and found that Halsin was still looking at him, slightly amused.
"Gale. I can feel your brain working itself into a frenzy. Truly, it is fine." He stooped to pick up the scattered fungi, tossing them into the basket. "Though I do appreciate your discretion. I understand not everyone in camp is entirely comfortable with Astarion's nature."
"In honesty, I'm surprised that you are. Aren't the undead rather - well, unnatural?"
Halsin was quiet for a moment, examining a small mushroom. He flicked it away. "Avoid the little orange ones. They're not harmful, but would taste rather unpleasant. Very bitter." He sorted through the rest, mulling over a response. Finally, he stood, and handed the basket to Gale.
"Astarion challenged some rather long-held convictions when I met him. The undead are often nothing but shells of former beings, intent only on malice or on following some lingering urge, unaffected by the world around them. Unchanging." He stared into the dark, rubbed a hand across his face. He seemed - emotional, somehow. Gale couldn't place his expression.
"In the short time I've known him, Astarion has proven to be as alive as a vampire spawn could be. He desires, but not mindlessly. He thinks and acts on logic, though it isn't always sound. He has a depth of emotion more complicated than many of the people I've met over the years. His moral code is questionable, but he's spent the better part of two centuries without the ability to make decisions. The ones he makes now are often flawed, but are his own. He came to me for advice, not for blood, out of respect for Tav and the wishes of the party. I had to convince him that it was the better choice to feed from me than risk eating something that could hurt him and delay our journey."
Gale ran his eyes over the mushrooms, feeling adrift in this flood of insight. In the admission of Astarion's vulnerability with the older elf, given so quickly. Did Halsin think as deeply about all of their characters? He wondered what Halsin's opinion was of him.
"Astarion tried to drink from Tav, when we were still at the Grove," he replied, and winced at how much it sounded like an accusation.
"Yes, I know. I'm aware that the party was uncomfortable with the idea of being his source of sustenance. It's entirely understandable. To give up your lifeblood goes against your inherent survival instinct, of which every member of this party has an abundance," Halsin said, and Gale felt a pang of relief.
"I thought I might offer," he admitted. "I just - couldn't. Anyways, he's made enough jabs about how foul my blood smells."
Halsin chuckled, but his smile dimmed again. "You were plagued by another kind of hunger, I know. I am pleased that it has settled, though I understand the terms for its current dormancy are rather unfair. Remember that this burden is not entirely yours. You provide for Astarion and for these people in many ways. They provide for you in turn."
While nice to hear, it was uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of Halsin's assessment. He hadn't meant for the conversation to steer his way, despite wondering. He blamed his unease for the question he uttered then, too abruptly.
"Halsin, are you and Astarion...together?" His voice was unsteady, and he cursed internally. He was too old to be worried about who was sleeping with who. Why did it matter?
He expected Halsin to laugh, to quickly confirm or deny. But Halsin drew in a breath, and Gale realized what his earlier expression had been. Longing - for Astarion? Gale would be shocked if the vampire hadn't already propositioned him. His interactions nearly always bordered on libertine, and Halsin was attractive. Their positioning had certainly suggested something carnal. He felt a twinge of - jealousy.
"Hm. We have not been intimate, if that's the question you intended. Do not worry - I wouldn't think to take advantage of your companion. He owes me nothing for what I give him."
Gale flushed again. "That was not my implication! Heavens, no. I was only curious about the extent of the - arrangement."
Halsin shrugged. "It is for his nourishment only." He seemed distant now. Tired. And Gale had had enough of putting his foot in his mouth.
"Well - thank you, for being so kind, and for your help. I'll leave you to your rest. Dinner should be ready in an hour or so."
He scurried away before Halsin could respond, feeling the druid's eyes on his back. Something had happened there at the end of their conversation. Something weighty. He rather felt like he'd erred, had offended. He shouldn't have asked so plainly; Halsin seemed to think Gale had accused him of using Astarion. Or maybe he misunderstood, and thought Gale after his potential lover. No, he'd said they weren't intimate. But he couldn't scrub the image of the two of them from his mind. Astarion, so slight against Halsin's form. Pale skin against tan. Astarion's red eyes blazing, and Halsin's soft smile.
It was easier to think of other things once he began cooking. Wyll was showing Karlach a Balduran waltz, and her laughter at fumbling the steps echoed around the camp as Tav helped him wash and chop the mushrooms. Shadowheart and Lae'zel were bickering, and the sound of it bizarrely put Gale at ease. But his heart weighed heavily again when Astarion did not join the group for dinner that night.
Gale sat far from Halsin, ignoring the glances the druid threw his way. He accepted the compliments on the seared mushrooms, and laughed when he was supposed to.
He cleaned dishes.
He pet Tara.
He went to bed.
He did not sleep well, even after he'd taken himself in hand and granted himself release. Even after, he still wanted. And he had no idea what to do with that.
