[ Gods, how long has it been since he's had wine? Ages, it feels like. Not since absconding to the Underdark, at least. Gale is a hospitable host already; Astarion can imagine him with guests over—wizardly, academic types, surely—flitting around to tend to their every need. He's always been a bit of a showboat. It's not surprising that he'd show off his hosting skills, too. ]
I wouldn't turn down a red.
[ Not the type of red he'd really like to indulge in after his long journey to the surface, but somehow he doubts Gale keeps jars of blood around. ]
Although, ah— I have to admit that this isn't just a social call.
[ Astarion hovers for a moment before finally perching on one of the swanky arm chairs across from Gale. He runs a hand over the arm of the chair; the fabric is velvety, smooth. The sort of luxurious thing that Cazador kept in his palace and never let his spawn indulge in. He leans back in it now, letting the crackling heat of the fire warm him. ]
Well.
[ He probably should have rehearsed this, he slowly realizes. Too late now. ]
I've been thinking about... my condition, [ he starts awkwardly, unsure how to segue from drinking wine into begging for a cure for his vampiric setbacks. ] And its drawbacks. And I thought, really, it would be a mere trifle for a wizard of your acclaim to look into it. Honestly, hardly an inconvenience.
[ Gale can only watch him for a moment. His visible discomfort, as if he’s asking him for something he would surely prefer to withhold.
Can that be all?
Such a particular cruelty for Astarion, who had already suffered so many. It had not felt right even then to simply abandon him to the shadows, to return to his comfortable home as if all they had shared had not occurred. The lure of the crown had consumed him in those chaotic weeks following the brain’s defeat, the orb’s hungers ever more insistent as Mystra’s price for his life came due. The question of whether he would take it for himself, and all of its power with it.
Perhaps he could have done more. He should have tried, he knows that.
And so he had not forgotten, once they had parted. The question churned in his thoughts when rest eluded him. A puzzle to unravel that captured more of his imagination than his student's practicums could, in truth. ]
Oh! Yes. References are quite scattered, so it has taken me some time to gather them. The question of the sun and the question of vampirism must be held separately, of course, and while no clear solution to either currently exists, one could certainly be constructed by an enterprising mage. [ He preens a bit, unable to resist. He is quite proud of what he’s managed thus far. ]
I do believe it is possible. My early experiments were not promising, which is why I- did not mention them in my letters. [ His gaze drops. ] But I am beginning to develop a theory.
[ Astarion is halfway through a sip of his wine, the glittering glass Gale had provided for him pressed to his lips, when Gale answers. Vampires can't get drunk—at least not on alcohol—but there's something about the feeling of a nice vintage on his tongue that soothes the nerves, and his certainly need soothing. At I am beginning to develop a theory, Astarion is so surprised that he chokes on his drink, coughing and spluttering and trying not to spill any of this dark red wine on Gale's very nice armchair. ]
I don't— [ Understand, he nearly says, but that isn't quite right. It's shocking to hear and yet it makes perfect sense. Gale is unrelentingly kind and adores an intellectual challenge. The kind that vampirism could surely provide.
Even with that knowledge, it's strange to sit in the realization. He'd spent time combing through references, doing experiments. For Astarion's sake? He chides himself. No, for cerebral stimulation, surely. Regardless, it hardly matters why he did it, only that he did it at all and, what's more, seems like he plans to continue. ]
You've been researching this.
[ He huffs, incredulous. ]
Honestly, Gale, you should have been going to parties and taking advantage of your hero status, not gathering references in some dusty old library.
[ He laughs at that, a bit startled. ] Perhaps if I were to enjoy the experience of being pawed at and interrogated. The social prospects of being a hero leave surprisingly much to be desired.
[ Perhaps as a younger man he would have appreciated such attention more. Now he finds it leaves him feeling surprisingly empty and cold. A mere conversation piece rather than someone worthy of true conversation. A genuine acquaintance on his own merits.
He straightens a bit, extending his hand, palm up. ]
[ Astarion's eyebrows lift at the suggestion that there even is anything to see. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. Gale's arcane talents might have been weakened by the orb and subsequent illithid tadpole, but he still has the mind that made him an archwizard. Even when they'd just met and Astarion found him arrogant and irritating, he'd known that Gale was uniquely clever.
It takes everything he has not to jump out of his seat and demand to be shown immediately. He has to tread carefully, avoid coming across as entitled or presumptuous. The last thing he wants is to offend Gale enough that he decides to stop his research.
But he can needle him a little. Nonchalantly, as if he isn't dying to see it himself, he says, ] I wouldn't dream of denying you the opportunity to show off.
I do appreciate your indulgence. [ He is beaming, a light in his expression.
He whispers an incantation and there in his palm floats a tiny ball of bright energy, cast with a dark surrounding corona. It creates an odd little void in the air surrounding it. The candlelight in the room flickers, as does the fire. Gale holds it carefully, but it takes him some effort. ]
Now, I cannot be sure yet that it will work as intended. But it is meant to mimic the effect of a shadow. To form a sort of invisible shield in transmuting the energy of the sun, if properly harnessed within an object. You could walk in the sun, and not be harmed by its touch.
But- well. There is more left to be done. [ There are things he lacks here in Waterdeep; a powerful siphon to make up for where Gale himself is lacking in strength. Something to keep it self sustaining without his constant effort. Potentially critical texts likely buried in vaults or private libraries. A missing piece of information could mean the difference between success and failure. Gale wants to be very sure, lest he risk greater harm to Astarion.
It had seemed entirely natural to not speak of it the start; to not raise a cruel hope in a solution that might never materialize. But it occurs to him now that perhaps he should have consulted with Astarion first. That perhaps he would have preferred he not take such liberties in the creation of something that meant so dearly to him. He looks for his gaze through it’s light, brows pinching together. ]
[ Astarion tilts his head at the strange ball of magic in Gale's hand, scooting forward in his chair and reaching out to touch it with a finger. It doesn't feel like much of anything, which he supposes is to be expected. Shadows aren't tactile. ]
You've already done more work than I— [ What? Thought? Hoped? All of the above, perhaps. He hadn't expected Gale to be thinking of his condition at all, when he could be amazing Waterdeep's socialites with illusory tricks. ]
You've done plenty, [ he settles on. ]
What will it cost me for you to keep working on it?
Cost you? [ Confusion crosses his face, and then true, genuine hurt. Does Astarion think him so caddish? The sort to construct such a solution merely in the hopes of extracting something from him?
He lets the spell dissipate, hand dropping to his lap. ]
[ Oh. He's said something wrong. Not a first for him by any means, but caring about having said something wrong is still new. Embarrassment bubbles up, first at having misstepped and then at being embarrassed that he misstepped. Gods, giving a damn about other people really is a drag.
Instinctively defensive, he bristles. ] Oh, you know I didn't mean anything by it.
[ And, really, he didn't. Everything did have a price for two hundred years. He's still getting used to the idea that someone, anyone, might want to help him out of the goodness of their hearts. Not long ago, he'd been convinced that no one really had any goodness in their hearts. He'd been proven astonishingly wrong, of course, but it's still a rough transition to make.
After a moment, he softens again, shoulders relaxing, aware that he has no reason to be prickly about this. ]
I only thought that this sort of undertaking would be costly for you. Cures for sunlight sensitivity are hardly commonplace.
[ He had not thought at all on what he would tell Astarion, any more than he had questioned whether he should take on the task to begin with. Of course he should try, if it were within his power. And yet he finds himself wincing now at his own thoughtlessness; his eagerness to show off.
Astarion had endured 200 years of enslavement and torment. Of course he would feel uncomfortable, confronted with such a thing with little warning. And perhaps indebted, whatever Gale’s intentions.
as gently as he can: ] -Well. I would be an awful friend if I were to hold you in debt for a task I took on without so much as consulting you.
But such as it may be. My time is my own, yes? And the question holds no small amount of intellectual fascination.
[ he hesitates. ] ...If you would feel unable to accept such a gift, surely a rogue of your considerable talents could... acquire it from my possession.
[ By some other means, Gale says, as if there's any subtlety to it at all. Even as strange as it feels to be on the receiving end of someone's generosity, Astarion can't help but huff out a laugh. Dry, amused. A little charmed, despite himself. ]
Gale, if you wanted to play the daring rogue and his helpless victim, you only needed to say so.
[ An obvious jest, only meant to fluster. He gave up on enticing hopeless romantic Gale to play anything of that sort a long time ago. Right around the time Gale professed that he preferred taking their walks in silence, probably. ]
What will you need to complete it? [ Because if not for some external roadblock, Gale would have already finished. He's irritatingly clever that way. Quoting Gale, he adds, ] A rogue of my considerable talents might be able to procure it for you.
[ Embarrassingly, he flushes at the joke right on cue, which is certainly the rather rich wine going to his head. He sets his glass down primly. ]
Well, chiefly a vampire. If I may beg your assistance in that regard, we may verify that the theory is truly sound.
Assuming that it is, we’ll need to find something to... amplify the spell. So that it will sustain itself. [ His face falls. ]
My... former abilities have not as yet returned as I had hoped.
[ Tara has guessed, naturally, but he has not said the words out loud to anyone else. It feels like admitting weakness, acknowledging some sort of defeat. ]
[ Gale looks like a sad puppy abandoned in a box on the side of the road. Astarion can't begin to relate to what magic is to Gale—more than a tool, more than a passion; a religion—but he has to fight his own face falling all the same. Gods, is this empathy he's feeling? He's gone soft. Unlike Gale, however, he does manage to hide his own frown. With feigned nonchalance, he waves a hand. ]
It's only a matter of time, I'm sure.
[ He isn't sure. Gale wasn't only affected by the tadpole, but the orb, too. Something that powerful siphoning away one's magical abilities — it can't be easy to get them back. ]
Besides, you've already more than enough arcane talent to come through. [ Dryly: ] And that's me saying so, so it must be true.
[ Astarion isn't in the habit of giving out undeserved praise. Sometimes, he isn't even in the habit of giving out deserved praise. There's no one on this planet more devoted to magical studies or more annoyingly clever than Gale. (If there were, he might have gone to them instead of showing up at Gale's door pleading for help. The very thought of what he's done is humiliating, tempered only by the knowledge that Gale was already working on it.)
Leaning back in his chair: ] I'm not particularly well-versed in wizardry — despite your endless jabbering. [ The dig is less sharp than it might have been, back when they'd first met. It's wry, almost amused at the memory of Gale's nattering on about magic. ] But I can't imagine magical amplifiers like that are just lying around.
I am touched you retained enough for even that much optimism.
[ Hardly warranted at all, but Gale finds it curiously doesn’t matter. He’d not been seeking comfort exactly, only for Astarion to understand his current limitation, which was only fair given the task before them. That he had offered it in his own way anyway is a small, unexpected balm of warmth. ]
Oh! Yes. I do have leads, of course, but most are outdated by some years. Unfortunately not everything of use can be learned from a book. [ Gale says it as if this reality of the world greatly disappoints him. ]
But perhaps you can assist me in that. [ Astarion has always been better at more practical forms of investigation. Gale does love watching him work. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I wouldn't turn down a red.
[ Not the type of red he'd really like to indulge in after his long journey to the surface, but somehow he doubts Gale keeps jars of blood around. ]
Although, ah— I have to admit that this isn't just a social call.
no subject
For all that Astarion is whole and alive before him, he does fear something terrible has happened to him. He pours the wine and then takes his seat. ]
Do tell me what’s on your mind.
no subject
Well.
[ He probably should have rehearsed this, he slowly realizes. Too late now. ]
I've been thinking about... my condition, [ he starts awkwardly, unsure how to segue from drinking wine into begging for a cure for his vampiric setbacks. ] And its drawbacks. And I thought, really, it would be a mere trifle for a wizard of your acclaim to look into it. Honestly, hardly an inconvenience.
no subject
Can that be all?
Such a particular cruelty for Astarion, who had already suffered so many. It had not felt right even then to simply abandon him to the shadows, to return to his comfortable home as if all they had shared had not occurred. The lure of the crown had consumed him in those chaotic weeks following the brain’s defeat, the orb’s hungers ever more insistent as Mystra’s price for his life came due. The question of whether he would take it for himself, and all of its power with it.
Perhaps he could have done more. He should have tried, he knows that.
And so he had not forgotten, once they had parted. The question churned in his thoughts when rest eluded him. A puzzle to unravel that captured more of his imagination than his student's practicums could, in truth. ]
Oh! Yes. References are quite scattered, so it has taken me some time to gather them. The question of the sun and the question of vampirism must be held separately, of course, and while no clear solution to either currently exists, one could certainly be constructed by an enterprising mage. [ He preens a bit, unable to resist. He is quite proud of what he’s managed thus far. ]
I do believe it is possible. My early experiments were not promising, which is why I- did not mention them in my letters. [ His gaze drops. ] But I am beginning to develop a theory.
no subject
I don't— [ Understand, he nearly says, but that isn't quite right. It's shocking to hear and yet it makes perfect sense. Gale is unrelentingly kind and adores an intellectual challenge. The kind that vampirism could surely provide.
Even with that knowledge, it's strange to sit in the realization. He'd spent time combing through references, doing experiments. For Astarion's sake? He chides himself. No, for cerebral stimulation, surely. Regardless, it hardly matters why he did it, only that he did it at all and, what's more, seems like he plans to continue. ]
You've been researching this.
[ He huffs, incredulous. ]
Honestly, Gale, you should have been going to parties and taking advantage of your hero status, not gathering references in some dusty old library.
no subject
[ Perhaps as a younger man he would have appreciated such attention more. Now he finds it leaves him feeling surprisingly empty and cold. A mere conversation piece rather than someone worthy of true conversation. A genuine acquaintance on his own merits.
He straightens a bit, extending his hand, palm up. ]
Would you like to see? It is only a start, but-
no subject
It takes everything he has not to jump out of his seat and demand to be shown immediately. He has to tread carefully, avoid coming across as entitled or presumptuous. The last thing he wants is to offend Gale enough that he decides to stop his research.
But he can needle him a little. Nonchalantly, as if he isn't dying to see it himself, he says, ] I wouldn't dream of denying you the opportunity to show off.
no subject
He whispers an incantation and there in his palm floats a tiny ball of bright energy, cast with a dark surrounding corona. It creates an odd little void in the air surrounding it. The candlelight in the room flickers, as does the fire. Gale holds it carefully, but it takes him some effort. ]
Now, I cannot be sure yet that it will work as intended. But it is meant to mimic the effect of a shadow. To form a sort of invisible shield in transmuting the energy of the sun, if properly harnessed within an object. You could walk in the sun, and not be harmed by its touch.
But- well. There is more left to be done. [ There are things he lacks here in Waterdeep; a powerful siphon to make up for where Gale himself is lacking in strength. Something to keep it self sustaining without his constant effort. Potentially critical texts likely buried in vaults or private libraries. A missing piece of information could mean the difference between success and failure. Gale wants to be very sure, lest he risk greater harm to Astarion.
It had seemed entirely natural to not speak of it the start; to not raise a cruel hope in a solution that might never materialize. But it occurs to him now that perhaps he should have consulted with Astarion first. That perhaps he would have preferred he not take such liberties in the creation of something that meant so dearly to him. He looks for his gaze through it’s light, brows pinching together. ]
no subject
You've already done more work than I— [ What? Thought? Hoped? All of the above, perhaps. He hadn't expected Gale to be thinking of his condition at all, when he could be amazing Waterdeep's socialites with illusory tricks. ]
You've done plenty, [ he settles on. ]
What will it cost me for you to keep working on it?
no subject
He lets the spell dissipate, hand dropping to his lap. ]
Must everything have a price, Astarion?
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Instinctively defensive, he bristles. ] Oh, you know I didn't mean anything by it.
[ And, really, he didn't. Everything did have a price for two hundred years. He's still getting used to the idea that someone, anyone, might want to help him out of the goodness of their hearts. Not long ago, he'd been convinced that no one really had any goodness in their hearts. He'd been proven astonishingly wrong, of course, but it's still a rough transition to make.
After a moment, he softens again, shoulders relaxing, aware that he has no reason to be prickly about this. ]
I only thought that this sort of undertaking would be costly for you. Cures for sunlight sensitivity are hardly commonplace.
no subject
Astarion had endured 200 years of enslavement and torment. Of course he would feel uncomfortable, confronted with such a thing with little warning. And perhaps indebted, whatever Gale’s intentions.
as gently as he can: ] -Well. I would be an awful friend if I were to hold you in debt for a task I took on without so much as consulting you.
But such as it may be. My time is my own, yes? And the question holds no small amount of intellectual fascination.
[ he hesitates. ] ...If you would feel unable to accept such a gift, surely a rogue of your considerable talents could... acquire it from my possession.
By some other means.
no subject
Gale, if you wanted to play the daring rogue and his helpless victim, you only needed to say so.
[ An obvious jest, only meant to fluster. He gave up on enticing hopeless romantic Gale to play anything of that sort a long time ago. Right around the time Gale professed that he preferred taking their walks in silence, probably. ]
What will you need to complete it? [ Because if not for some external roadblock, Gale would have already finished. He's irritatingly clever that way. Quoting Gale, he adds, ] A rogue of my considerable talents might be able to procure it for you.
no subject
Well, chiefly a vampire. If I may beg your assistance in that regard, we may verify that the theory is truly sound.
Assuming that it is, we’ll need to find something to... amplify the spell. So that it will sustain itself. [ His face falls. ]
My... former abilities have not as yet returned as I had hoped.
[ Tara has guessed, naturally, but he has not said the words out loud to anyone else. It feels like admitting weakness, acknowledging some sort of defeat. ]
no subject
It's only a matter of time, I'm sure.
[ He isn't sure. Gale wasn't only affected by the tadpole, but the orb, too. Something that powerful siphoning away one's magical abilities — it can't be easy to get them back. ]
Besides, you've already more than enough arcane talent to come through. [ Dryly: ] And that's me saying so, so it must be true.
[ Astarion isn't in the habit of giving out undeserved praise. Sometimes, he isn't even in the habit of giving out deserved praise. There's no one on this planet more devoted to magical studies or more annoyingly clever than Gale. (If there were, he might have gone to them instead of showing up at Gale's door pleading for help. The very thought of what he's done is humiliating, tempered only by the knowledge that Gale was already working on it.)
Leaning back in his chair: ] I'm not particularly well-versed in wizardry — despite your endless jabbering. [ The dig is less sharp than it might have been, back when they'd first met. It's wry, almost amused at the memory of Gale's nattering on about magic. ] But I can't imagine magical amplifiers like that are just lying around.
no subject
[ Hardly warranted at all, but Gale finds it curiously doesn’t matter. He’d not been seeking comfort exactly, only for Astarion to understand his current limitation, which was only fair given the task before them. That he had offered it in his own way anyway is a small, unexpected balm of warmth. ]
Oh! Yes. I do have leads, of course, but most are outdated by some years. Unfortunately not everything of use can be learned from a book. [ Gale says it as if this reality of the world greatly disappoints him. ]
But perhaps you can assist me in that. [ Astarion has always been better at more practical forms of investigation. Gale does love watching him work. ]