#Vincent Gale | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

namig42 · 2 months ago

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Alright, Vincent gets an epilogue. I want some closure for him too, so please enjoy.

Vincent (Together Again)

Read it on Ao3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Summary: Astarion brings Vincent back to camp and finds a way for them to speak.

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“Well?” Astarion’s voice rang from nearby.

“If my hypothesis is correct…” A friendly, intellectual voice spoke. Through his glazed stare and dirty jar, Vincent saw a man with a well groomed beard come close to the glass and examine what was left of himself.

“Spit it out, Gale!” Astarion said impatiently.

“If my hypothesis is correct,” the man named Gale said slowly only to spite Astarion, “then he should be able to communicate at the very least if there is a consciousness left in that skull.”

“Well then? What are you waiting for?”

“You do realize it’s only a temporary solution,” the wise man spoke softly as he stood up straight to face Astarion. “The tadpoles won’t be around forever. We need to be rid of them eventually.”

“I’m well aware, thank you.” Astarion said with a harsh glare and a sharp tone. “I just…” That gaze of his softened and looked towards Vincent. “I need to know if he’s truly gone.”

The Gale man sighed and placed a gentle, friendly hand on Astarion’s shoulder. “Alright, then let’s give it a go.”

Vincent watched the man in purple leave to go talk to a large half-orc on the other side of the camp shrouded in darkness. They were still in the shadow-cursed lands it seemed, and Astarion’s party consisted of more friends than just the ones from the tavern. It made Vincent glad to know that Astarion had found companions, though he still didn’t quite understand how he had escaped Cazador or what this talk was of tadpoles.

While Gale spoke candidly with that terrifyingly large half-orc that smiled down at him, Astarion squatted next to Vincent’s jar and stared straight into Vincent’s dazed red eyes. Will I really be able to talk to him? Vincent thought, thinking about what Gale had just told Astarion about being able to communicate.

“I hope you’re still in there…” Astarion whispered to the jar. It was likely meant to only be heard by him, but the soft sound came through to Vincent. He hoped desperately that this would work.

After a minute, Gale returned with something in his hand. A few of the other party members came around as well, curious to see if Astarion’s old friend was still in there. The large red tiefling and the other, smaller devil man came along with the half-orc and a massive wood elf. There was a crowd for the show, and Vincent was the headline.

Astarion looked up as Gale tapped him lightly on the shoulder. With a nod of recognition, Astarion stood up and took a hesitant step away from Vincent so that Gale could come close to the jar. Vincent saw Gale hold something above the tank and heard the man say, “If you are indeed in there Vincent, then I apologize for this. It’s a tad uncomfortable, but you will adjust.”

More uncomfortable than being severed from my body? Ha… that’s hilarious.

Gale gently dropped something into the jar. Vincent heard a soft squeak directly in his ear and felt something swimming around him. It was a bit nerve-wracking, and when the culprit came into sight, Vincent saw a tadpole from his worst nightmares. If he had seen that while fully himself, he would’ve squealed and flailed to get the horrid thing away from him, but he was frozen and filled with disgust and fear as the thing came close and latched onto his eyeball. The freakish thing crawled its way into his eye socket, and then Vincent felt something latch onto his brain.

“It took…” Gale said softly.

Ahhhh, that’s disgusting! Vincent thought in horror as he felt the thing digging into his brain. What in the hells is this?! What was that thing?!

Despite his terror, Vincent saw Astarion cover his mouth with a gasp. The rest of his companions seemed shocked too. “Vincent?!” Astarion bent down and smiled at Vincent’s head. “Is it really you? You’re still in there?”

Vincent was perplexed as he adjusted to the odd, wriggling feeling in his head. You… can hear me?

“Yes, we all can.” Astarion said with that wide smile of his. If Vincent could, he would have felt his face go slack and tears stream down his cheeks.

Astarion… You’re really here? You can hear me?

Astarion held the tank between his fair hands and beamed at his old friend. Yes Vincent, I’m here. We’re together again.

The rest of the party smiled and cheered as they watched the sweet spawn reunion. “Fascinating!” Gale exclaimed. “We’ll need to do some research then to see if there’s a way to return this Vincent to a body next…”

“Perhaps I may be of assistance,” the giant wood elf said kindly to the short human man.

“Wonderful!” Gale beamed. “Between the two of us, there’s bound to be something we can do for the poor fellow!”

“That’s so wild!” the big tiefling said with a huge smile. “I’m so happy for you, Star! You’ve got another friend!”

It looked like the tiefling was about to scoop Astarion off his feet in a tight hug, but the smaller tiefling grabbed her by her strong arm and pulled her back. “Karlach, they might want a moment.”

The woman named Karlach’s face dropped at the prospect of no hugs, “But-!”

The half-orc that seemed much kinder than she looked gently took Karlach’s hand and gave her a soft kiss on her lips. “Come on, my love. Let’s leave them to their reunion.”

“But I’m just so happy for them~!” Karlach sobbed into her partner’s shoulder as the half-orc wrapped her arm around Karlach and led her back to their tent.

The party began to disband, leaving Astarion bent down next to Vincent. It was just the two of them now outside what Vincent could only assume to be Astarion’s tent. In the brief glimpse he caught of it earlier, he saw blood-stained rags and a silver mirror (a cruel irony) that felt like something only Astarion would have.

“You’re still alive…” Astarion said breathlessly, like he still couldn’t believe.

That’s one way to put it… Vincent said with a bite of sarcasm.

“Right…” Astarion sat on his knees and leaned his arms on the table that Vincent rested on. His eyes moved along the tubes that were still lodged into Vincent’s neck. The party had decided to leave those just in case they were integral to keeping Vincent alive. Astarion stared at them and resisted the urge to fiddle with the tip of one as he asked, “what happened that left you like this?”

I… I don’t know if I can talk about it. It’s difficult.

“Well, perhaps you can show me?” Astarion offered with a soft, supportive smile. “That’s a neat little trick these tadpoles offer.” Astarion demonstrated by showing Vincent the memory of when he first woke up after the nautiloid crash. The feeling of the sun on his skin without being turned to ash and how incredible it felt to feel alive again. Vincent could feel the astonishment and the joy that Astarion felt in that moment and could see the sight of a beach surrounded by burning alien debris so clearly.

The memory faded, and Astarion looked back at Vincent. “Funny, isn’t it? I’m infected with something that will turn me into a monster if something isn’t done, and yet I haven’t felt this good in centuries.”

There was a small part of Vincent that felt envious of Astarion for a moment. He had left the city and found freedom and friends, while Vincent had remained in a dark dungeon, trapped for years all alone with nightmares and shadows.

How long was I gone…?

Astarion sighed and slumped over on the table. “About fifty years… maybe sixty.”

Ah… What an insignificant amount of time that sounded like to an immortal. Only a handful of decades, and yet it felt like an eternity to Vincent.

“What in the hells happened, Vincent?”

With a heavy heart, Vincent recalled that day at the Waning Moon, making sure to think clearly so that Astarion would see it as well. He remembered Cazador’s command, the Sharran woman, the shadow-cursed land, Thisobald Thorm and his terrible drink, and the dreadful feeling that came when the master’s compulsion wouldn’t let him flee. The last, dreadful scene of Thisobald cutting into Vincent’s neck only flickered as the memory faded away. It was too much for Vincent to deal with.

Astarion looked at Vincent with a mix of feelings. Behind those sharp eyes was anger as well as sadness.

“Cazador…” Astarion spat. One more reason to kill the bastard, the rogue thought softly.

Ha, if only… Vincent said, recalling the times Astarion would offhandedly mention the same idea on their secret rendezvouses in the past.

“Actually,” Astarion said with a vindictive smile. “As fate would have it, I am now the person best suited to killing our old master.”

What? Are you serious?

“Oh, extremely. Thanks to our wriggling friend, I can resist his commands with ease, and with these companions I’ve found, killing a vampire lord is no longer a dream I have to lull myself to sleep with.”

A life without the master. Incredible…

“I’ll kill the master, and maybe even with these tadpole powers, become even stronger than my wildest dreams could have ever imagined.”

Vincent would have laughed if he could. Despite everything that had happened, Astarion hasn’t changed all that much. Those hypothetical scenarios he once said absent-mindedly were now something that could come to fruition, and yet that same spark in his eye from the old days was still there, only brighter and more lively now.

So you lead this party? Vincent inquired.

“Oh, of course~! They all follow my every command.” Astarion said dramatically with a flourish of his hand.

“Ha! In your dreams, Astarion,” a half elf girl called from a nearby tent.

“You may be quick, but I would gut myself like a fish before following a deceptor’s orders,” the green woman that licked sludge off the floor earlier spoke sternly.

Quite the crowd you’ve found, Vincent thought lightly.

“This group is full of weirdos,” Astarion said playfully as he looked around the camp, “but they make for interesting company.”

Perhaps you could tell me about them?

Astarion gladly obliged as he began to give his thoughts and opinions on everyone in camp. He moved next to Vincent and sat on a pillow as he spoke of each companion and thought of their faces to give Vincent a better glimpse of each of them.

He started with the companions that accompanied him to the tavern earlier that day. There was Lae’zel, the githyanki warrior who was coarse and crude, but one of their best fighters by far. Her tongue was as sharp as her silver sword and she had no sense of sensibility, but that’s what made her such a delight to be around. Her intense sincerity became increasingly laughable the more serious she was.

Next was Karlach, the friendly tiefling who had a body that burnt like the hells and a spirit that burned even hotter than that. “She’s even stronger than the gith and clingier than ever these days.” Astarion gave a short summary of Karlach’s story in regards to her engine and her time in the hells, along with how annoyingly lovey dovey she and the half-orc were recently. Despite the disgust he feigned, he thought it sweet how happy the two giants were together. Vincent always knew Astarion was a bit of a romantic in his own way and found it sweet to see that side of him again.

Then there was Wyll, the handsome devil that originally was hunting Karlach down, and now the two of them were as thick as thieves. He wasn’t always a devil, that was only a recent development. “The horns suit him though, in my opinion.” Astarion showed Vincent a memory of Wyll when he was human, and Vincent had to agree. A handsome devil indeed. They shared a soft, coy chuckle before Astarion continued on.

There was Gale, the wizard who had a propensity for verbosity. “He’s set to explode any day now, but hopefully he’ll find a way to help you before detonating himself for his goddess.”

He laid with the goddess of magic? Really?

So he claims, Astarion thought softly. Personally I can’t imagine him being quite that charming, but events have proven him to be honest time and time again on this little quest.

Next was Shadowheart, a Sharran that had practically no memories and was an absolute delight to annoy. As the image of her face appeared in Vincent’s mind, he thought for a moment that the nightmares had returned and the Sharran from fifty years ago was back to haunt him. It took his mind a moment to find the difference between the two women; Shadowheart’s eyes were green instead of black, her ears had a soft point to them instead of normal human ears, and there was a scar across her nose.

Vincent wondered if Shadowheart was some reincarnation of the woman he once knew, but his mind was blissfully brought back to the present at the sound of Astarion’s soft snickering. It seemed that Shadowheart had been watering a plant by her tent and was knocked over by Lae’zel as the gith trained with a broadsword. The two began bickering and getting into each other’s faces, almost intimately close in their frustration. “They've already tried to kill each other once,” Astarion commented while watching the show, “but Wyndolyn interrupted them before it could become interesting. I'm still waiting for them to either kill each other or kiss.”

I'll bet you five gold that they kiss first, Vincent thought playfully. “Hm, I'll take that bet,” Astarion accepted with a grin.

Next up was the massive wood elf Halsin, a recent addition to the party. He's dreadfully in love with nature, almost annoyingly so, and even more frustratingly friendly. Not so bad in the looks department either, Vincent flirtily joked.

“Oh hush, you,” Astarion smiled as he waved Vincent's comment away, “but you're not wrong. He's quite taken though with our leader. It would take a blind man to miss the look he gives her.”

I thought you were the leader? Vincent teased.

“Well of course!” Astarion chirped charmingly, “but there's one person that everyone seems to trust for some odd reason.” Astarion thought of Wyndolyn’s face as she smiled at him and his compliment-seeking banter the other evening.

Wyndolyn, their half-orc leader that Astarion hadn't gotten along with at all at first. She seemed too brutish to do anything besides smash down doors back then, but with each decision, he realized that she was much more clever than he gave her credit for. She had a sensibility and kindness to her that the party seemed to lean on, even if she could still be brash and impulsive.

“She's the one who makes the important decisions. I spend my time on more important matters like being the most beautiful one in camp.”

I'm sure you do more than that. Vincent thought as he recalled the sight of Astarion’s friends holding him back at the tavern as he wept. Astarion cringed at the memory of his vulnerability and hid his face in his hands. “Ugh, don't remind me about that.”

You're loved, Astarion. You've made good friends.

“Oh please,” he waved off the idea of “friends.” “These freaks just need someone with an ounce of common sense to keep them from exploding or killing themselves for some goddess.” Despite Astarion’s insistence though, there was a soft, sincere smile that spread on his face as he looked around the camp at his companions.

There was a quiet moment then between the two spawn as Astarion scanned the camp for a moment, appreciating everyone going about their time, then eventually slumped over onto his round wooden table like a cat lazing about. His eyes were half-lidded as he turned his head to look at Vincent’s face and that hair of his that miraculously was still the same length as the day he left.

“You’re still just as handsome as ever,” Astarion said in a low voice.

Vincent managed to scoff in his mind. Darling, you must be joking.

“Well, you might not have those great legs anymore,” Astarion spoke with a teasing smile, “and you might not be as expressive as you once were, but despite everything, it’s still you.”

If Vincent had the hands to do it, he would’ve put one on Astarion’s head right then and pet those soft curls, then maybe even left him a kiss on his temple. To think that after all he endured in that darkness, Astarion still saw him as that same man he once was that went off around Baldur’s Gate, fetching things and acting out small requests for their dreadmaster. Taking a bauble here, committing a petty vengeance against some snide noble there; simple, small tasks that any fool could’ve done.

Do you think your friends will be able to help me? Vincent thought nervously as he was reminded of that insignificant life.

“I do,” Astarion said as he lifted his head off the table, “but don’t let them know I said that,” he whispered while hiding his mouth from the camp theatrically.

Vincent wanted to laugh, but he was still worried. Gale had said that this tadpole was only a temporary solution. How long was temporary? A day? A week?

Don’t worry, Astarion’s voice rang through Vincent’s woes. Even if the tadpole is removed and we can’t talk like this anymore, I’ll fix you. Magic, science, a deal with a devil, whatever it takes. We’ll see it through together.

Astarion… Thank you.

“Don’t thank me, darling. I just don’t like being in debt to others.”

Debt? Vincent thought, trying to recall what in the hells Astarion could’ve owed him at this point.

“You don’t remember our last little adventure back in the city?”

Memories are… a bit fuzzy these days. The thoughts of the nightmares mixing with reality intruded on Vincent’s mind.

Then let me show you. Astarion cut through the horrors by replaying the memory from his perspective that night half a century ago.

Vincent saw himself from Astarion’s eyes. He was tall and thin with that soft smile that he used to smile often with Astarion. His eyes looked soft and concerned as he held Astarion’s face in the memory. Astarion was panicking, and his vision was blurred slightly by tears that he refused to let fall. They were on a dark street that the moon didn’t shine on somewhere in the Lower City.

“I can’t go back. Not again.” Astarion spoke quickly in the dream, like he couldn’t breathe despite the fact that a vampire doesn’t need air in their lungs. Vincent softly rubbed his index finger along the cheek he held.

“Darling, the master won’t do anything to you. We can still salvage this.”

“I can’t bring someone back looking like this!” Astarion had spoken harshly and quietly through his teeth. Vincent couldn’t see Astarion’s face in the memory, but he began to recall this night in his own mind as he watched it play out.

Astarion had been beaten by a brute that he tried to lure back to the palace and looked worse for wear. His cheek was red and swollen, his eye a dark purple stain on his fair skin, and his hair dirtied and ruined from filthy, vulgar hands that gripped it tightly in the midst of everything. It had only been a coincidence that Vincent had found him on his way back from his own task after the attacker had abandoned Astarion in an alley.

“Yes you can. I’ll help you. If we work together, the master won’t have to be the wiser.”

“No, Vincent. I can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’ll do it for you, my friend.” Vincent had rested his forehead against Astarion’s, and the soft point of contact allowed Astarion to finally calm his nerves somewhat. Vincent’s large, delicate hands tore his own shirt to wipe at the dirt that was smeared on Astarion’s forehead, and he gently ran his fingers through Astarion’s hair in order to tidy it into its usual presentation. Once he was presentable, Vincent took Astarion’s hand and led the two back into a nearby tavern.

Together, they entered the Elfsong and sat on both sides of a poor, intoxicated woman at the bar, then easily seduced her with the prospect of having two handsome men all to herself. Vincent had taken charge of the endeavor with his sincere charm, and Astarion had only spoken a word or two to help move things along. He spent most of the night watching Vincent work and stared gratefully at his friend. Once at the palace entrance, Vincent left Astarion to make his delivery alone, and Astarion was spared punishment from their vindictive master.

Astarion, Vincent thought back in the present, you don’t owe me a debt for that.

“Of course I do,” Astarion said as he buried his face in his crossed arms on the table. “If not for you, I don’t know what Cazador would’ve done. He was especially awful at that time and waiting for me to slip up. He would’ve taken any excuse to punish me…”

Vincent tried not to think it aloud, but a part of him thought for a moment that this - him being a head in a jar now - maybe that was Astarion’s punishment. Despite how careful they were, maybe Cazador knew that Vincent had helped Astarion and wanted to keep Astarion isolated. He sent the one friend that he knew away with the intention of never coming back.

Gods… Vincent felt a chill run across the top of his head and down the remains of his neck at the realization of just how awful the master really was.

“What?” Astarion asked as he looked concerningly at Vincent.

He couldn’t tell him the truth. Astarion already had enough reason to hate the master, so telling him his theory might only make him blame himself more for Vincent’s current condition.

I… I just can’t believe you managed to find me. After all that time.

“Of course,” Astarion moved to hold Vincent’s jar. “You are here now, and you will get through this. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.” After his encouraging words, Astarion placed a soft kiss on the jar right where Vincent’s cheek was. Vincent felt a phantom of a tingle where the kiss should’ve been and wished for the contact of Astarion’s lips on his skin, to feel alive and whole again, but he still admired the gesture nonetheless.

Afterwards, Astarion smiled sweetly at his friend, and the two sat by Astarion’s tent all night reminiscing about their pleasant memories from the past, talking about their present, and dreaming about their future; a future where Vincent has a body once more and a face that could express the joy of being alive once again after an eternity of darkness.

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