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“Mr Ancunin?” Gale called as he approached his patient’s bed, trying to judge whether or not he was awake. Admittance sheet in hand, which Gale was using as a notebook, Gale added a new line describing Astarion’s state for that day — clear signs of exhaustion, sunken look and hollowed cheeks. Since he was there for a prolonged stay and had been placed under Gale’s care for the entirety of his sojourn, Gale did his best to properly keep track of the patient’s state along the days, even though there had not been much evolution to track recently.
As a physician, and quite a renowned one, Gale had been chosen to take care of the suffering man, afflicted by the newly named leukemia. Gale still remembered how in one of the first treatises he read soon after his graduation, an esteemed biologist named Ehrlich described a revolutionising way to diagnose leukemic cells, despite the illness having only been named twenty years prior. Gale had never thought he’d find one of those patients in his care, considering how rare the ailment was, and yet here was Astarion. However, the newly invented method hadn’t been put in use, for there was no need. The first bloodletting showed a blood so thick and filled with white cells that an untrained eye might ask whether it was pus rather than blood, and therefore there was no doubt of what ailment the man was suffering from.
“Doctor? Is it time for my next dose?” Astarion answered, looking exhausted. Gale felt for his patient, his state having barely improved since he arrived, three weeks ago. Still, he was looking more rested than a few days back, light reflecting brighter on his young looking face — despite Astarion being born two years earlier than Gale did, not a single soul would guess who took seniority considering how different they looked. While the years had marked their passage on Gale’s traits, Astarion’s remained smooth and youthful, the sun highlighting those bright blue eyes in a manner most charming, even in his current state.
Leukemia was not a battle many had won in the past, but Gale fully intended for this particular man to come victorious. He certainly deserved it. They had talked extensively after Astarion’s acceptance in the hospital, and Gale knew his patient had suffered a rough life before his arrival. And as if it weren’t enough, his lovely smiles and waggish humour always managed to put a smile on Gale’s face and, selfish as it might be, Gale didn’t feel ready to part ways with them.
“It is,” Gale confirmed, grabbing the back of the bed to guide him towards a minor procedure room, cleaned for the sake of the operation. Bloodletting was to be done in the best conditions to ensure the survival of the patients and it was a secret to none that Gale was very invested in the survival of this one.
Bloodletting was becoming less and less used for mundane illnesses, as research proved the practice less effective against the most common afflictions than most seemed to think, but when it came to blood ailments there was no doubt in Gale’s mind. This pus-like liquid needed to be extracted, so Astarion’s body could have some respite from its toxic effects.
Grabbing his lancet, Gale waited until Astarion was in the chirurgical chair, feet immersed in a basin filled with warm water. A treatise published a few decades ago recommended all material to be heated as much as possible before any intervention, proving with numbers to back it up a net increase in survival at the end of the surgeries. Gale had quickly adopted the routine, seeing an apparent improvement in the well being of his patients since he put the method in use.
Once his patient gave him his approval, Gale slipped his gloves on and kneeled next to the naked leg, adjusting his glasses over his eyes and focusing on the work in front of him. First he rubbed the calf, making sure the blood circulated properly in the leg and foot. Astarion’s blood being as thick as it was, this step could not be neglected, lest the entire procedure would be rendered useless. Then, he secured a tourniquet around the middle of the calf, the leather putting pressure on the veins and assuring a sufficient flow for the intervention to take place.
“Clench your leg now, if you’d please,” Gale requested. He waited until the vein was clearly visible beneath the pale skin to quickly jab the lancet in the vessel on the inside of his leg, just above the foot. The gash was made parallel to the vein to ensure it would merely incise it rather than slicing it in half. Immediately, a thick and much too pale liquid started to pour out of the wound, flowing out much quicker than Gale first observed when Astarion arrived — it had taken an incredible pressure to make the clots of white leave the veins that day. The frequent bloodlettings were the reasons for the improvement, Gale was certain of it. Once he deemed the flow sufficient, he grabbed another blade and slipped it underneath the vessel. Sticking it into the tissue underlying, he assured the opened vein stayed fixed in place to prevent the first lancet from completely cutting the blood flow into Astarion’s foot.
Then, it was only a matter of waiting. The plasma ran along the calf, then mixed into the water, rapidly changing its translucence into a more pinkish colour. Gale used it to follow the volume of blood his patient was losing. Depending on the days and general state of Astarion, the flow never stayed the same. With one eye on his patient’s face and another on the tint of the water, Gale stayed kneeled there for as many minutes as were necessary.
Astarion was naturally pale, but Gale had spent enough time admiring him to know when the pallor switched from his usual shade to something more pallid, sicker — and therefore when to end the procedure. To take too much would not help him, but a sufficient amount needed to be collected to have a significant impact.
Slowly and carefully, Gale removed the blade and lancet, then grabbed a nearby roll of bandage to put good pressure on the wound before removing the tourniquet. Astarion’s wounds tended to bleed longer than most patients, so Gale made sure to squeeze the bandage extra tight around the leg. The extensive bleeding was the reason behind his choice to bleed open his leg rather than the traditional arm. The bandage was as tight as it needed to be and it was less frustrating for someone unmoving to temporarily lose the use of a leg than of an arm.
Gale took off his gloves, stained in that thick, viscous blood. Astarion looked exhausted, but was still smiling softly at him, always finding strength in himself to offer some of those sweet reassurances of his well being. Gale found it entirely irresistible.
“Let me bring you back to your room,” he hummed, taking control of the rolling bed once more to bring it back to the room he occupied. Gale had tried to argue in Astarion’s place for him to receive a personal room, but alas his patient was not considered important enough to have that privilege, nor did he have the money to buy it.
Astarion didn’t answer, but Gale didn’t take too much worry in that. Bloodlettings were an exhausting operation for patients in such a fragile state, although essential to their survival. And despite it all, Astarion still had a serene expression, as if he had full faith in Gale’s expertise to cure him. Heavens above, Gale wanted to. He’d do everything in his power to help that man.
Once back in the room, Gale eased Astarion up in a sitting position. His patient swayed but Gale stabilised him, one arm around his shoulders, to make sure he wouldn’t fall from his bed. As usual, Astarion leaned into his touch, the scent of medical soap filling Gale’s nostrils when those bright blond hair stopped just next to his face. Those gentle touches were a sign that Astarion felt just as he did, Gale knew it — Astarion always made sure their touches lasted longer than they needed to.
“Steady now,” he whispered, waiting until he was certain his patient wouldn’t keel over the second he let go of him. Astarion swayed for a few seconds before digging his hands in the sheets of his bed, holding on for dear life. He then sent Gale another of his distinctive smiles, so full of determination that Gale had no choice but to offer one of his own back .
“Ready when you are doctor,” Astarion said, already looking much better. He pointed to the bottle next to his bed with his chin. “Same poison as usual, I assume?”
Gale nodded, grabbing the designated bottle. On the label, in big letters, was written ‘Fowler’s solution’. Then, a bit lower, ‘Danger : Poison’. A mix of potassium bicarbonate and arsenic was bound to have ill effects on the healthy, but for those on the verge of death there was much help to be found in the deadliest mixtures. To fight fire by fire, as one might say. To fight the incurable with the death-inducing.
“Same poison as usual,” Gale confirmed with a nod, pouring a quarter of the bottle in a small glass he had brought with it. If Astarion noticed the increase in the dosage, he made no comment about it. “Do you require my help to drink it?”
His patient did not need any help, Gale knew it. As weak as the bloodletting might have made him, Astarion was much more resilient than anyone Gale had ever seen before. And yet, those bright curls bounced slightly as Astarion nodded his approval, that ever lasting grin on his face. “If you’d please, Doctor.”
And so, Gale grabbed the glass with one hand and gently pushed back Astarion’s head with the other until he was sufficiently inclined back. He brought the glass to those soft-looking lips, watching them part with fascination. It was an act they both gladly participated in, in front of the unaware eyes of the rest of the room, who only saw routine. But Gale knew better. He knew those half lidded eyes were meant for him alone, he knew the loud gulps were not due to fatigue. Astarion faked choking on a sip, and Gale tapped his back to make sure all the liquid reached his stomach, letting his hand brush over his clothes a second longer than necessary.
Then Astarion looked up at him with a soft and knowing smile, and Gale fell just a bit more for his patient.
Astarion would heal, Gale knew it. He would make sure of it.
And once Astarion left this cursed place, Gale could bring him home and they’d live the love story Astarion’s blasted condition prevented them from experiencing in the hospital.
It was only a matter of time.
“Rest, Astarion,” Gale whispered as he helped the man lay back down, treasuring how his eyes fluttered shut and his entire face almost instantly relaxed.
“Thank you, doctor,” were Astarion’s last words before falling asleep, looking immediately more peaceful.
Gale’s heart swelled in his chest. He couldn’t wait for Astarion to feel better.
“You are going too fast doctor,” Astarion whined, feet dragging along the dirt road they were currently walking on side by side, Gale’s arm wrapped around Astarion’s waist and the other hand holding Astarioin’s arm around his shoulders, his body leaning against his side.“How am I to keep up? I am still recovering, need I remind you? Besides, it’s dreadfully dark out there, I cannot see a single thing… Perhaps you ought to give me your glasses.”
Gale laughed, supporting a bit more of his weight. It was dark indeed, as Gale had tried to convince his colleagues to keep Astarion as long as possible in the hospital. He had managed to win them a few days but no matter how weak his dearest was, others had taken priority and Gale had to free him out of the place himself, in the middle of the night. It wasn’t as dreadful as Astarion made it seem though. Now that his love had recovered from his illness, the world was open to them.
But first, they needed to reach Gale’s house. A carriage had brought them close enough, but there was still half an hour of walking to reach his place and Astarion’s stay in the hospital had left him terribly weak, muscles stiff and uncooperative. With his arm around Gale’s neck, the doctor found himself almost fully carrying Astarion. He didn’t mind, of course not, but he was most renowned for the prowesses of his mind, not of his muscles. The walk might not be excruciatingly long, but Gale was struggling to carry along Astarion’s weight in addition to his own — even if his love was dreadfully thin.
Once arrived, Gale let Astarion recover on the steps in front of his house, back leaning against the railings.
“How do you feel?” he asked as he sat down once the door was opened, deciding he was quite tired as well after all that walking and carrying. “Do you have any discomfort anywhere?”
“Nothing hurts anymore,” Astarion sighed with relief audible in his tone. There was no sun to shine on his traits, and yet his love was as beautiful under the moonlight than he had been in the sun, a white halo of silvery rays reflecting on his pale hair and paler skin. “I am glad to see us finally home. I am dreadfully exhausted and quite eager to see what your house actually looks like, darling. It better have as many books as you’ve promised it did.”
Gale laughed and leaned towards his sweetheart, pressing a gentle kiss to his cold forehead. Despite all those efforts he was still freezing, but Gale knew this could be a simple repercussion of the multiple bloodlettings his dearest had experienced during the past month. It would take a while for him to warm up, but he would. Gale would make sure to care for him in the meantime.
“Let’s get inside,” he decided, getting back up with a pained groan. He wasn’t getting any younger and his knees made sure to remind him that sitting on the hard floor was something he might have done with ease a decade ago, but would cost him much discomfort today.
“Help me up?” Astarion asked teasingly, clearly knowing already that Gale would assist him.
“Are you really going to make me carry you inside?” Gale sighed, although he had already grabbed his hand and pulled him up, slipping back in the same position that they had taken on the way to Gale’s house.
“Of course I am. You do know how much I enjoy being coddled, don’t you?”
Gale laughed louder but didn’t answer. He did know, and he didn’t mind one bit.
He grabbed Astarion and pulled him inside of the house, letting the door close behind him. Outside, the birds kept resting and the rodents kept foraging, undisturbed.
That night, they laid in bed side by side for the first time. Astarion rested on his back, one arm extended towards the middle of the bed and exploited by Gale as a pillow, who was on his side admiring the man now sharing his home. Gale couldn’t help but break the comfortable silence that had settled between them to voice his enamoured musings.
“Your magnificence is rather unfair, you know, although it does make me quite the lucky man. Your skin is shiny and resplendent under the moonlight and I envy your ability to pose completely still. It makes you look like a statue of ancient times, perfect under every angle, created with the hope of grabbing attention from higher beings residing in the firmament. You ought to give me your secret, now it is only the two of us here.”
Astarion laughed, the crystal sound so quiet even Gale had a hard time hearing it, although it didn’t make it any less perfect.
“My years are still getting to me,” Astarion countered, but Gale already knew whichever argument his beloved was about to use would fly high above his head. “My skin feels like it’s barely holding onto my bones recently, and my insides feel like they are bubbling with… something I couldn’t name even if I wanted to.”
Gale shook his head. The window behind Astarion cast moonlight upon his resting shape, and Gale saw none of the details Astarion was trying to point at. His love was a picture, a sculpture, a treasure to cherish and admire. Nothing in the world would convince him otherwise. The laws of nature could rewrite themselves and Gale would still think the same.
“Nonsense,” he declared after a moment of silence. Astarion liked the quiet very much, and he would not break it lest Gale prompted him to. Gale didn’t mind. It was a recent but quite endearing trait he had discovered about his dearest. Perhaps now that death wasn’t hanging above his head anymore Astarion had found a new way to appreciate his days.
“You could lose all of your skin and I'd love you as much as the first day I saw you,” Gale added after an instant. Astarion didn’t answer, but the small stretch on his lips was unmistakable to Gale, who was actively looking for it.
“You flatterer,” Astarion chastised, but there was nothing if not affection in his voice.
“You know how much I like the truth. I wouldn’t dare lie to you, my love.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Astarion declared, tone a bit more somber. “Just like you wouldn’t abandon me. I trust you.”
Gale shivered under the covers heated by his own body heat.
“Gale, love, do you smell anything weird?” Astarion asked suddenly. He was sitting in a chair, a book open on his legs but wasn’t holding it anymore, looking instead straight ahead. There was a distinctive lack of emotions on his face, despite the curiosity in his tone.
Gale sat on the armrest of the chair and wrapped an arm around Astarion’s side, whose head went to rest on his shoulder. “I have not, no. Have you?”
“Yes,” Astarion confirmed immediately. “A pestilential odor, quite honestly unbearable. It comes and goes, but has been especially foul these past few days.”
Gale frowned and sniffed the air, but didn’t find anything other than the distinctive smell of his beloved. Still, Astarion had better senses than he did, and so Gale didn’t question it. If Astarion declared there was an odd smell in the air, Gale would take it as the truth and do something about it.
“Would you like me to buy a new perfume? You liked the bergamot-scented one I bought when you were in the hospital, didn’t you? Would you like me to get you a new one, stronger?”
Astarion hummed, body completely relaxed against Gale’s side. “I’d like that, yes. Especially if it means you pampering me. I cannot resist your charms, darling, especially when they imply buying expensive products for me.”
Gale laughed out loud. “And it is my greatest honour to do so. I know you have been feeling… untethered recently.” Astarion had been complaining these past few days, claiming his state was still deteriorating despite being out of the hospital. “I want to make you feel good about yourself, my love.”
Astarion stayed quiet for a moment. Gale scrambled for other words, for the statement that would ease his fears and worries.
“I’m not certain you can,” he answered after a long silence, “but I appreciate you trying.”
This time, Gale was the one mute. He could hear everything his love wasn’t saying, could hear the appreciation and care in his voice, could hear how much he loved Gale for being there and caring. Gale loved him back, tremendously.
“How about a dance?” Gale then offered, getting up from the armrest and extending a hand in Astarion’s direction. “Surely this would help. If I remember correctly, which I know I do, I promised you one soon after your arrival in the hospital.”
“Without music?” Astarion countered, not making a move to grab Gale’s hand. It wasn’t a refusal though, Gale knew as much. Instead of answering, he went to grab a disk for his phonograph.
“Better?” he challenged, coming back to stand in front of Astarion. After a silence, he grabbed both his love’s hands and pulled him up. Astarion didn’t offer any resistance, and instead rested his weight against Gale, making him almost fully carry him.
“I hope you don’t mind the heaviness,” Astarion teased back. Gale shook his head, he felt no difference at all when it came to Astarion’s weight.
“You are light as a feather, my dear,” he smiled, starting to move to the sounds of the music filling the room. Astarion followed along. He was tripping more often than not, but Gale didn’t mind. Astarion had warned him multiple times he was a terrible dancer and it didn’t stop Gale from enjoying their little moment.
“I feel bloated though,” Astarion complained, his body following as best as he could the gentle rhythm Gale was installing for the both of them. “Don’t lie, darling, I know you’ve noticed how round my stomach has become recently."
“It means you are recovering love,” Gale argued, resting one of his hands on Astarion’s waist instead of the middle of his back and Astarion’s arm almost slipped from around his shoulders with the sudden switch. “Don’t you remember the promise I made? I will love you forever, no matter what you look like.”
“I know that," Astarion scoffed. “But I do not want to be disfigured. Surely you can understand that?”
Gale could. Astarion was in a hard situation right now, with his body changing in ways that were completely out of control. Gale could understand the pain and doubt that could come with such reality.
“I understand. I will make sure everything stays under control, my dear. You have my word.”
Astarion didn’t answer, seemingly satisfied by the answer he had received. They kept dancing until the disk was over, and Astarion claimed he was growing tired. The sun was long below the horizon by now, so Gale agreed to help get into bed. He could do with a good night’s rest as well.
He had much to think about.
Weeks passed and Astarion’s mental state was hardly improving. It became hard for Gale to stay positive when he could see his love deteriorate with each passing day. The stress had made his pale hair start to fall out, and the discomfort he was speaking of forced Gale to open the windows and keep the temperatures low in their bedroom, despite being in the middle of the winter.
Astarion kept telling him he trusted Gale, that everything would be alright, but Gale found himself obsessively searching through his books to find a way to improve his dearest’s health. To see his radiant love suffer like this, after everything he had been through, was heartbreaking in a way Gale was all too familiar with. Leaving the hospital and its horrors had been supposed to be the end of this anguish, not the beginning of another.
“Gale,” Astarion called in the frigid room that was their bedroom. “My skin itches. It’s unbearable, like something is crawling inside of me. Devouring me. It hurts terribly. My insides feel like they are being shredded and my brain perforated.”
Gale breathed in deeply, every observation sounding like a terrible accusation to his ears. A show of how unfit he was as a partner, unable to help his dearest.
“I will buy you creams,” Gale promised softly. He didn’t need to speak any louder for Astarion to hear him. Somehow, Astarion always managed to hear everything Gale said to him, even the words that never left the barrier of his lips. It used to be incredibly endearing, but now that Gale stopped being able to conceal his fears and worries from his love, it had transformed from boon to curse.
“Will they fix me?” Astarion asked, and Gale forced himself out of his thoughts.
“I think you are perfect as you are, my love. There is nothing to fix. However, they should help you feel better. Being itchy can be very uncomfortable.”
“It’s unbearable. I preferred being in the hospital to this.”
Gale nodded solemnly, the words landing deep into his chest. “I will make sure you feel as beautiful as you did when we left the hospital.”
The wind was howling in Gale’s ears, the cold biting hard into his skin. The sun was already starting to fall, despite his pocket watch indicating the middle of the afternoon. October would end soon and was taking with it both the sun and pleasant temperatures.
Gale hesitated, not for the first time since the beginning of his trip away from home. The manor he was standing in front of was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. There were trees surrounding it, and more trees surrounding those. It had taken hours to reach the remote place, too many for Gale to go back on his decision now.
It didn’t stop him from doubting but he needed to help Astarion, no matter the cost.
Gale knocked once on the large wooden door, much larger than he was. The sound echoed around him, clear despite the wind screaming in his ears.
He knew why he was there, the need to help Astarion was a constant thought in his desperate mind these days, but so was the doubt. Was the remedy worth the price the owner of the manor would ask of him? Gale knew it was — and yet.
His bag was filled with gold, but rumors were that Cazador Szarr had little interest in money. His prices were higher than material funds, and his services unconventional. Unfortunately, unconventional was what Gale needed for Astarion. Nothing else would work, nothing ese had worked. The creams and medicine did nothing, nor did the company and support Gale was giving him. Astarion kept deteriorating, and nothing seemed to stop it.
He could barely move out of the frigid room these days. He hated it, and so Gale hated it too. It had broken his heart to have to leave his love alone for the day, but if everything went well then Gale would finally have a solution to his affliction.
There were many rumors about Cazador Szarr. The man used to be a renowned noble in Baldur’s Gate, but these days he was barely more than a recluse. Everyone knew he had lived in his current manor for the past eighty years — a lifespan almost unheard of — and was succeeding his father who carried the exact same name for ninety years in the city, while this place was being built for his descendance. This was the first source of the rumors; one person living so long could be explained as a miracle, but two? Most concluded there must have been some kind of sorcery at play.
Then came the second issue : no one who went to the manor could remember what the man looked like. Some got what they came to search for, others didn’t, and none could place a face nor a voice on the man.
As a scientist, Gale struggled to believe the stories. And yet, here he was, bag full of gold and heart filled with tentative hope.
Slowly, the doors in front of him opened and a skeletal looking man appeared on the other side, dressed exactly as one would expect a butler to be. He was smaller than Gale, had two strands of hair on his head, and looked like he didn’t have anything other than skin on his bones. How he was even standing, Gale had no idea. There didn’t look to be any muscles there. In fact, the loose skin hanging on his face gave the impression that someone had grabbed a skeleton then donned it with the skin of a recently deceased person, but the fit was odd and some bits of flesh wrapped too tight in some places and too loose in others.
“Hello?” Gale asked, when the person kept staring at him silently, to the point of it becoming eerie. He didn’t enjoy having to look at the frankly repulsing man standing in front of him. “I am... Gale. Or Doctor Dekarios. I’d like to meet Lord Szarr. Would you be so amendable as to show me the way?”
The man nodded wordlessly. He turned around and walked into the manor, not waiting to see if Gale was following; which he was, obviously.
They walked through dark but spotless rooms, looking maintained despite the fact no one seemed to reside in them. Not a book out of place, not a single piece of discarded accessories on the furniture nor a forgotten cup of tea or glass of wine sitting on top of a table. There was no sign indicating a potential life between the walls, and the observation did not appease Gale’s nerves.
His guide stopped in front of a room, its door slightly ajar. Inside, Gale could only guess the glow of a lit fireplace, and the sound of a page being turned over the crackling of the burning wood.
“You may enter,” a collected voice called from the other side of the door, and Gale was momentarily frozen in place. His body reacted by itself, feet dragging him into the room, while his heart started to hammer in his chest, his hair raised on its ends and his breathing quickened. Gale was calm, he didn’t fear the man nor did he think himself in danger, and yet his body was reacting as if he was about to face a wolf, a bear, or any similarly dangerous and unpredictable creature.
Lord Szarr looked normal. Such was Gale’s first thought when his eyes landed on the man. He had long black hair and a very pale skin coveted by aristocracy these days — to separate them from the working class who were forced to spend their days in the sun. He was dressed lavishly, a clear depiction of wealth. There was no sign of the rumored monstrous face that would make anyone looking at him forget his appearance.
Most importantly, this was not the face of someone who allegedly had lived eighty years. Gale had a hard time coming up with an explanation for that particular assessment.
“You certainly look quite out of place, doctor. What is the reason for your arrival?”
Confusion flooded Gale’s brain for a second. How did he know his profession? Had he somehow heard Gale present himself to his butler? It was not realistically envisageable and yet, somehow, Gale knew it was the truth.
“I seek aid,” Gale answered cautiously, deciding it would be best for his own sake not to question the man too much. Lord Szarr was still looking at his book, seemingly disinterested in Gale’s presence, but he hadn’t turned a page in a long minute. Gale knew he had his attention, even if it didn’t seem so. It was an unexpectedly chilling thought.
“I do not doubt that,” Lord Szarr answered cooly, finally closing his book. “No one comes here until they exhaust every other option. What is it you are seeking, doctor? Luck? Eternal life? The heart of an unattainable dear?”
“A remedy. My beloved is unwell, and nothing works anymore. His state keeps deteriorating with the days, to the point bugs are starting to take interest in his resting body. He cannot move anymore, and has become extremely quiet. I worry, and I cannot help him. Therefore, here I stand, seeking your help.”
Cazador Szarr got up in a sudden move, towering above Gale. Gale didn’t think himself to be short, and yet the man must be at least a full head taller than he was.
“Such flowery language,” the lord spoke again, amusement shining freely between his words, a wolf disguising his canines with a honeyed facade. “But I can indulge you. Your medicine failed and now you wish to bring your lover back to your side. Such a selfish act, yet you are here with nothing but selflessness in your heart. You must know the price will be heavy, don’t you?”
Gale wanted Astarion to be able to experience a life his illness had stolen from him. He wanted him standing in the sun, smiling and laughing in a way he hadn’t in months. He wanted to see him able to dance again, to walk next to Gale in town, to feel warm and loved once more.
“I have gold,” he announced, opening the bag he was holding in front of him. There was a small fortune in there, but it earned him no reaction in the lord.
“You must know I have no interest in wealth, doctor.”
Gale breathed in. Of course he had known. However, Cazador did not give him the time to answer, and spoke up once more before Gale could take back his offer.
“However, this is quite the amount of gold you have there… I will take it all, and a promise with it.”
“A promise?”
The lord smiled, a wolf having finally caught the doe it was chasing. Gale felt incredibly small, this instant.
“The day you die, your body will belong to me. I will be free to do whatever I might want with it.”
Gale had been expecting a lot of things — a favor to be collected later, an easy access to medicine and drugs, contacts within the Faerunian medical association — anything material that could have a direct use for a reclusive lord. He hadn’t expected his corpse to be coveted by the man. What could he even do with it? Dissect it?
“Deal,” Gale answered before he could think about it too long. His death would hopefully be in a few decades still, decades he would be able to spend with his beloved if whatever cure Cazador would give him in return worked.
“Marvelous,” the man smiled, clearly pleased with himself and the conversation that had just happened. Gale’s body screamed at him to flee at the sight of the toothy grin, but he stood his ground and met the man’s gaze. There was a distinct hunger in his look, but Gale could not identify for what.
Then, the lord turned around and walked towards a bookcase on the side of the room. He perused the wall for a moment, before grabbing a thick tome and offering it to Gale.
The cover and binding was undeniably made out of human skin — Gale had seen enough corpses to recognise it. A screaming face was carved into it, with human teeth endebbed around a mouth wide open. Gale almost let go of it in shock, but he steadied his shaking grasp. “The remedy will be in there?” he asked, words trembling as much as his fingers.
“It will,” Lord Szarr answered, seemingly once more disinterested in the discussion as he walked to his seat and grabbed the book he had been reading once more. “You will understand once you open it, although I recommend only opening it once you are back in the confines of your own home.”
“And for… my body? Will you need a signed contract? A copy of my will?”
“No need. Your word is enough. Once you open the book, the deal will be sealed. I will come collect the payment in due time. Now leave. Godey will lead you out of the manor.”
Gale didn’t argue against the dismissal. The skeletal man, Godey, was once more standing at the door and Gale followed him out of the manor. He could have found his way back easily, but something told him Lord Szarr did not wish to have an unsupervised guest explore his hallways. Gale did not dare to defy that wish.
He stepped out of the manor, the howling wind once more screaming in his ears. Only then did Gale realise he hadn’t heard it once when entering the place. Puzzled, he started to walk back towards the town, where a carriage was waiting for him.
When he reached his home, Gale realised he had no idea what the lord had looked like.
Gale breathed in deeply, held his breath for a few seconds, then exhaled. Once, twice, three times. It would all go well, he said to the agitation in his mind, to the tremble in his hands, to the clenching in his stomach. It would all go well. Today, Astarion would be healed.
Today, Astarion would finally be able to experience life to its fullest.
The book offered to him by Cazador Szarr sat unassumingly on top of the small table in the middle of their living room, while Astarion’s unconscious body was lying on the ground, on the bare parquet. Gale had yet to open the book, every cell in his body fighting his mind whenever he thought about it too hard — until now.
The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the otherwise dark room with its silvery rays. Gale remembered how beautiful he found Astarion in the moonlight, that first night outside. No matter how thin and neglected he had been these past few weeks, Gale’s opinion hadn’t changed. Those fair hairs looked more white than blonde these days, but were still just as beautiful. He was wearing a silk gown that matched them, as Gale insisted on. It was a grand occasion, after all.
Another deep breath, in and out. Gale willed his hand into motion and grabbed the book.
“Just a few more instants, my love,” he whispered into the quiet room. “Soon, you will be healed.”
Gale wasn’t sure why he had waited another week after bringing the book back home. Astarion’s state was hardly improving, he couldn’t afford to wait for too long. And yet, he had. He wasn’t sure why he had waited for the clock to progress into the late hours of the night either. The hours had defiled in front of his eyes and Gale had simply waited, until now.
There was something special about October 31st, at midnight. It was a knowledge well anchored in his anxious mind, that had appeared as soon as he had grabbed the book for the first time and now stubbornly refused to leave.
The clock was slowly progressing towards the dead of night, and Gale looked a last time to his lover’s closed eyes. Astarion had been terribly tired these past few weeks and hadn’t talked to him much. Gale didn’t worry, he knew it would all change soon. The wrong would be set right, and they would enjoy a quiet life together.
The clock rang midnight.
Gale opened the book. The book opened him in return.
Immediately, Gale knew everything he needed to know, and everything he shouldn’t have ever known.
He knew how to resurrect Astarion, knew how to make those eyes open by themselves for the first time since he had drawn his last breath, all those months ago.
Gale sang, without really meaning to. The language was unfamiliar to him, a symphony lost to time, and yet he knew his pronunciation to be perfect. The words held no meaning to his ears, but he knew the power they held.
For an instant, everything quieted. The clock stopped its incessant ringing, the wind became silent — the world paused. Gale was not part of it anymore. For the fraction of a second, Gale was elsewhere, drifting through times long passed and futures yet to come, through places that didn’t exist and ones simply yet to be discovered, through the heavens and the hells simultaneously — until he reached the domain of the dead.
Gale extended a hand, while his body kept still. He pleaded, while his voice kept singing.
Astarion answered for the first time in months, but Gale heard nothing.
The next moment, Gale was back in his body, in his living room, in his house, in his reality. The clock finished its ringing for midnight, the wind picked up once more. Gale breathed in. Looked down.
Astarion’s eyes were open.
One looked normal still, the eyelid holding it firmly in its socket. The other was a glaring red, with only a few tendrils of rotting skin holding it in place, slightly hanging out of its socket.
Astarion moved an arm.
There was barely any skin left on his bones, the bugs and rotting having stolen most of his flesh, and what was left of it took a sickly colour. In some places, the white skeleton was even visible, flesh devoured away.
Astarion rose to his feet.
A shoulder of the dress slipped along the upper arm, revealing a part of his ribcage, but Gale paid no attention to it. He couldn’t bear to look away from Astarion’s face. Half of it was hanging low, the muscles, skin and ligaments meant to hold it in place having long disappeared in front of the relentless assault of bugs and parasites, despite Gale’s best efforts to conserve his love’s corpse.
Astarion looked at him.
Gale had been so convinced Astarion would come back with the appearance he had when he died, instead of the decaying state he had been in. Magic and necromancy could already do the impossible and raise the dead, why would it not be able to also revert their condition?
“Astarion? My love?”
Astarion launched himself at Gale.
Gale cried out as his body was thrown on the ground, on his back, his head hitting hard the wooden floors as he fell. He barely had the time to blink and regain his bearings when he saw Astarion’s head lower towards his chest.
Gale opened his mouth to question him once more, to verify his lucidity, interrogate his actions. What left his lips was a gut-wrenching scream of pure pain as a jaw that should not be able to close bit deep into his skin, through his white shirt, tearing cloth and skin apart with terrifying ease.
Gale struggled and tried to push Astarion back from his chest, weakly grabbing at his shoulders to repel him, but the revived corpse did not move. Astarion slightly raised his head before biting down again, this time tearing through muscle and nerves.
Gale screamed louder as the resurrected body of his beloved dug a hole through his chest, bite by bite.
Tears flowed out of his eyes, his vision already fading away. The last conscious part of his brain wondered if Astarion was about to devour his heart, a punishment for having waited so long to revive him.
As if to prove him wrong Astarion rose from his chest in a crouching position, face and torso covered in blood, white gown covered in carmine. He stayed there for a few instants before rising back to his feet and turning around to walk towards an unlocked door, abandoning Gale’s bleeding out body on the floor.
Gale didn’t try to move. The last sight he beheld before passing out was his beloved’s hair, shining brightly in the moonlight and beautiful as ever — even when tainted with a deep crimson red.