Chapter Text
“Mister Dekarios, there are intruders in the tower,” Tara announced. She cocked her head as if waiting for instructions.
Gale let out a chuckle that turned into a sigh. “Let them come,” he said. “Either they'll fail, like countless others, or…” He caught Tara's nod before the tressym flew off to monitor their intruders, leaving Gale alone.
—
The ascent up the tower had been as dangerous as expected. Wyll had been very thorough in explaining to Astarion what he'd guessed they'd be facing based on the rumors and legends. But neither of them was willing to turn back. Wyll desperately needed to find a way out of his curse and Astarion wanted a cure to his vampirism.
So they'd pressed onward until finally they opened the next door and found themselves on a balcony that seemed to circle around the tower.
There were no monsters or puzzles or traps to be seen. Instead, only a table with a trio of chairs, one of which was occupied by what appeared to be a middle-aged human man in purple robes, his brown hair lightly sprinkled with gray. This had to be the wizard they sought.
The wizard —who had been staring out over the desert night— turned and smiled at them. “Hello. I'm Gale of Waterdeep. Please join me.” He gestured at the two empty chairs with a smile. “The tea should have just finished steeping and the scones are freshly baked. Feel free to help yourselves.”
Astarion looked suspiciously at the food, but he followed Wyll's lead and sat. They needed the wizard's help after all.
When neither of them made a move to touch either the teapot or the scones, the wizard frowned. “Is something the matter?” Gale asked.
“We've just clambered through your dungeon, darling. It should come as no surprise we're wary,” Astarion said. There was more edge to his voice than was probably wise, judging by the warning look Wyll shot him.
“Apologies for my companion—” Wyll began, only for the wizard to cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“Perish the thought,” Gale said with a friendly smile. “It's only natural for you to be cautious after the trials you've overcome, but I promise you that's all over. There will be no more tricks or traps here. Unless, of course, you try to harm me, but I believe that's only fair.” He gestured and a hand composed only of glowing magic appeared and began to pour tea into the cups before each of them. “I hope you don't think this too forward of me, but I so rarely have guests.” He added sugar and a splash of cream to his own cup and took a sip.
“I wonder why…” Astarion muttered under his breath.
“You're very kind,” Wyll said, shooting Astarion another pointed look.
Gale let out a noncommittal hum and said, “It's been ages since anyone last made it up here. Actually… Tara!” He turned away from the table as he called out.
A beautiful calico cat with feathered wings fluttered down from the sky and settled on the balcony beside Gale. “It's been years since we last had anyone make it up the tower, Mister Dekarios,” Tara answered. “I believe it was that half-elf Shar worshiper.”
“Ah yes, of course,” Gale replied, lightly tapping his chin in recollection. “Lovely woman. I sent her on her way with plenty of answers and enough food to see her halfway home.” He let out a self-conscious chuckle. “I did scry later to see that she at least made it out of the desert.”
As Gale talked, Astarion took a cautious sip of his own tea, trying to spot any poisons or drugs. Finding nothing, he raised his cup in a slight toast towards Wyll, silently signaling that it was safe. Wyll nodded back.
“But you didn't come all this way to listen to an old man ramble about his past deeds,” Gale declared, turning his attention back to them. “What can the Wizard of Waterdeep do for you?”
“We both have our own requests,” Wyll said, glancing at Astarion, who inclined his head to indicate the younger man could go first. “My name is Wyll Ravenguard. I'm the only child of Duke Ulder Ravenguard of Baldur's Gate.”
Gale let out a little exclamation of recognition. “Baldur's Gate… I believe I once met a dragon from there. He was in the shape of a dragonborn, of course, couldn't have fit in the tower otherwise. Delightful chap, very dedicated. It was a shame to have to disappoint him, but his request was far beyond even my magic.” Gale frowned regretfully and looked on the cusp of saying more before he remembered himself. “Do go on.”
“Right,” Wyll said, seemingly torn by his curiosity about the dragon Gale had mentioned, but he quickly returned to his course. “I bear a curse of sorts. It was the price I paid to protect Baldur's Gate. I was wondering if you could remove it.”
Gale's eyes lit up at the request as he looked at Wyll's horns anew. “I do love a good curse.” It took him a half-second to realize what he's said. “Breaking them, rather. Give me your hand.” Gale put both hands out, palms up across the table.
Wyll placed his hand in Gale's without hesitation, though Astarion was pleased to note it was the left one — apparently some of his lessons in caution had rubbed off on the young noble.
Gale pressed Wyll's hand between his own and murmured something. Then a shimmering swirl of light scrawled its way up Wyll's arm covering every inch of his skin.
Astarion's hand was instantly on his dagger. “What are you doing?! What is that?” he demanded.
“This” —Gale gestured up the length of Wyll's arm— “is the curse. Quite a powerful one too. It might be safer to see if there's some sort of loophole or workaround. Curses of this strength don't tend to break gently.”
Gale twirled his hand and made a motion as if pulling the air, causing the lights to leave Wyll's skin and form into a series of glowing red symbols, floating before Gale.
“Hmm. Quite a tricky one indeed. You said this was a ‘price you paid’?” Gale asked, his focus on the words.
“That's right,” Wyll said.
“The heir to Baldur's Gate shall only return with the blooded bloodless when lonely wind falls.” Gale frowned thoughtfully and continued reading, his finger hovering just below the words. “Ah! This bit here: claim the heart of the heartless. That might be something.” Gale's frown only deepened as he read on. “Oh, this is rather complicated.”
“So you can't break it?” Wyll asked, sounding almost like he'd expected to be disappointed.
“I didn't say that,” Gale protested, still examining the curse's text. “But this won't be a clean break, there will likely be consequences for circumventing its intended effects. This curse is half prophecy, which lends it a strength and intricacy most curses don't possess.
Gale reached into the sleeve of his robe and removed a sheet of parchment, which he held up to the glowing symbols until they slowly imprinted onto it. Then Gale turned to the balcony where Tara lay watching everything. “Tara, would you take this to the library and see if you can find a record of anything similar? That would give me some insight.”
“Of course, Mister Dekarios,” Tara said. She grabbed the parchment with her mouth and launched herself into the air, flying out of sight.
“Now, while she's taking care of that, what can I do for you?” Gale asked, turning to Astarion.
Decades of practice meant the fake smile came easily to Astarion's face. He took a careful breath before saying, “I want to be cured of my vampirism.”
Gale's expression shifted, like a key puzzle piece had just been handed to him. Astarion could see the wizard's eyes looking him over anew, lingering on Astarion's eyes, his mouth, and the scar on his neck.
“But you arrived here just before sunset, and you would have been traveling across open land for hours,” Gale said, not questioning Astarion's statement as much as curious about the apparent contradiction there.
Astarion held up his left hand, upon which sat a plain black ring. “An imperfect solution, I'm afraid,” he stated.
A shadow ring. Its intended purpose was to make its wearer blend into the shadows more easily, but it had the happy side-effect of making Astarion less vulnerable to the sun — though he still needed to be careful.
Gale's face lit up as he sensed the enchantment within the ring. “That's rather brilliant. Reduce the sun's harm by reducing how much it touches you overall.” He nodded as if impressed.
Astarion was torn between preening at the praise and snapping at Gale's distraction. Instead he wound up doing neither. “Yes, well, if I'd found a cure already I wouldn't be here now,” he said, feeling oddly off-balance.
“I've never cured a vampire before,” Gale admitted, seemingly excited at the prospect. He made a few choice motions with his hands and then closed his eyes and tilted his head back, deep in thought. “Interesting. This will require some thought.”
“You can't just wave your hands, murmur some words, and be done with it?” Astarion asked, letting the frustration show in his voice. He and Wyll had been working together for so long, searching for solutions to their respective burdens. The Wizard of Waterdeep was supposed to be the most powerful mage on the continent. He was the Chosen of the Goddess of Magic, and yet he seemed powerless to help them.
Gale's eyes cracked open. “Magic has rules,” he said firmly. “One of those rules is that everything has a cost.”
Astarion couldn't hold back a scoff. “You didn't seem concerned about the cost when you were showing off your glowing hand a moment ago.” He'd grudgingly come around to not entirely hating the idea of heroes —being the traveling companion of Wyll Ravenguard, self-proclaimed Blade of Frontiers would grind down even the most stubborn of people eventually— but people who clearly could help and yet chose not to when asked were worse than scum in Astarion's opinion.
“Astarion,” Wyll said warningly. He put a hand near —but crucially not touching— the vampire's shoulder.
Gale barely seemed fazed, as if he'd been challenged like this countless times. Instead, he let out a tired sigh. “For a simple spell the cost is negligible. You are asking me to change your magical essence. You don't understand the scope of what you're requesting. It would be far simpler for me to provide you with better workarounds—”
“Oh, well, if it's ‘simpler’,” Astarion sniped bitterly. “Enchantments weaken, spells fade, and nothing rids me of this gnawing hunger. I want to be free, plain and simple.”
The wizard met his glare head on. He looked both tired and determined — like he knew he was right and was sick of explaining himself. “You don't know what you're asking for. The price is likely more than you can even pay.”
“Let me be the judge of that, wizard,” Astarion growled. His hand fell to his hip where his ultimate weapon lay: a sussur dagger.
“Astarion!” Wyll shouted. “That's enough!”
Astarion bristled at the order —he'd had enough orders to last several lifetimes— but he listened to Wyll and eased back.
“Is there somewhere we can rest while you consider our problems?” Wyll asked Gale, trying to ease the tension.
The wizard nodded, though he kept his wary gaze on Astarion. “Certainly.” He twirled his hand and a ball of light floated out of his fingertips. “That will lead you to a guest suite. The pair of you are more than welcome to use it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Wyll said, overly courteous to make up for Astarion's simmering hostility. He lightly touched the vampire's shoulder. “Astarion, let's go. We should rest.”
Astarion sneered at the wizard for another moment, then he fell into a perfect picture of politeness. “As you say, darling.” His voice was sickly sweet, meant to be seen through.
The pair stood and followed the floating ball of light around the curve of the tower.
It wasn't until they were out of sight that Gale let himself droop in his chair. The spat with Astarion had taken more out of him than normal, mainly because he suspected the vampire would cause the end of his cozy, if lonely, existence.