This was the most delicate of matters. Something that had to be done with subtlety, with haste, and with no small amount of luck. Gale would never consider himself a master of any of these things, but in this moment, he would have to be, lest this one glimmer of an opportunity be for naught.

He carefully made his way through camp—the party had already left for their outing, so this was the most opportune time—and slid up to Astarion's tent. The vampire glanced up at him as he dawdled. "Can I help you, Gale?"

"Meet me by the fire," he whispered. "It's important."

Astarion's eyebrows rose, but he smiled as he shut his book. "Sneaking about, are we? I'm so proud of you."

Gale waited for him to go, then made his way to the next tent. Shadowheart knelt in front of it, looking deep in meditation. He hesitated, then hissed out her name. She peeked one eye open.

"What is it, Gale?"

"You're a fan of a nice drink, aren't you?"

Both eyes opened now, narrowing curiously before her lips turned up. "I've been known to be." In a slightly more urgent tone, she added, "Do you have something good?"

"I have something excellent. Meet me by the fire."

She looked him over for a moment, but ultimately pushed herself up to her feet and made haste to the fire. Gale went back to his tent, pulling out a small, beautifully carved box he'd tucked amongst his things, and three mismatched cups. He went to go sit by the fire, where Astarion and Shadowheart were waiting.

"So what is it that we're being so hush-hush about?" Astarion asked as Gale passed them each a cup. "It must be something good if you can't wait for the others to come back."

Gale's eyes flicked between them, then he picked up the box. "I found this in that town the goblins ransacked," he whispered. "I didn't think it was possible that they'd overlook something like this. But I suppose goblins never have had good taste. They probably didn't know what it was."

He opened the box, revealing a delicate, beautiful crystal bottle filled with ruby-red liquid. Carefully, he held it up to the light, where the sun caught on flecks of gold swirling through the red.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked, voice hushed.

Astarion leaned in, and Shadowheart's eyes went wide.

"Oh, by the Lady of Sorrows," she breathed. "Is that…?"

"Elverquisst," Gale said. "Yes. Distilled from sunshine and rare summer fruits." He brought it down for the others to see. "I had it once, years ago, in the House of Good Spirits back in Waterdeep. And if I'm right, there's a phrase that…well, let me try." Stilted, heavily-accented Elvish came from his lips. Nothing happened.

Astarion, watching in amusement at Gale's butchered attempt, held out his hand. "Good effort, darling. Let a native speaker try."

Once Gale passed it over, Astarion repeated the same phrase, the words smooth and melodic. As he finished, tiny pinpricks of bright silver light appeared in the bottle, forming a constellation. All three oohed and ahhed over the pretty effect.

"Is everyone all right?" The three of them froze as Wyll made his way to the fire. "I saw…is that elverquisst?"

"No." In typical rogue fashion, Astarion pulled the bottle close to him, shielding it from Wyll's line of sight. It might have been more successful if the bottle wasn't literally glowing through his shirt.

"Astarion," Gale said flatly, then looked up at Wyll. "Yes, it is. We were just about to pour it."

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?" Wyll asked, brows drawing together as both Shadowheart and Astarion grimaced at the question. "I'm sure they'd want to join in."

"Wyll, that is very noble of you to suggest," Gale said. "We are absolutely not doing that."

"What? Why?"

"Well, let's take a look at who's not here." Gale held up his hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. "There's Lae'zel, who's just grasped the concept that food can taste good. Karlach, who would no doubt enjoy a drink, but would down this entire bottle without so much as tasting it. Halsin, who would probably take one sip and spend the evening talking about how it's more fulfilling to get drunk off the…wind in the trees and the soft earth beneath your feet. And Falerin, who I can attest to having the worst taste known to Faerûn, given how I personally witnessed him lick a dead spider. Twice."

Wyll hesitated. "…point taken." He glanced about camp, then quickly took a seat beside Astarion, quieting his voice. "All right, pour me a glass before they come back."

Astarion smiled as Wyll leaned in, passing the bottle back to Gale. "Look at you, putting yourself first! I am so impressed."

Gale gathered the cups, snagging one more from the camp supplies for Wyll, then held up the first as he was about to pour. He paused, looking over at Astarion. "When I last had it, there was a whole ritual involved—chanting in Elvish, sharing from a goblet, that sort of thing. I don't suppose you'd know it?"

Astarion squinted. "Well, I…might remember. Here, give me a moment." He shut his eyes and sat up straight. After a moment, he uttered a phrase in Elvish, low and intoning, that he repeated several times. Both Gale and Wyll looked suitably impressed, but Shadowheart frowned.

"That's not a ritual," she said, stopping him mid-chant. "He's just saying 'I am chanting something important'."

"It's all about the inflection, darling," Astarion purred, then held out his cup. "But genuinely, fuck the ritual and pour, Gale."

Gale did indeed pour, with sparkles of starlight and sunlight catching the light as he did. Once each cup was filled, the four clinked them together in a toast. They each took a long sip, followed by the near erotic sounds of relief at finally having a really, really nice drink.

The first round was mostly spent in silence, aside from comments on the notes of resmer and the really superb smoothness and pleasant aftertaste. By the second round, all four were relaxed in their seats and much more chatty.

"You know, this reminds me," Astarion said as Gale refilled his cup. "So, yes, I lured people to their deaths. That's bad, I hated it, we all acknowledge that, yes? But, from time to time, Cazador's cravings leaned a little more refined, and out of all my…siblings, I was the most well-suited for high society. So I'd be all dressed up, pretty as can be, and carted out to whatever big to-do was happening in Baldur's Gate." He gave a wistful sigh. "One of the few bright spots, really. The wine was always superb, the company was sparkling. But I always wondered how blood would pair with wine. Not mixed together, of course, but a sip of one, a sip of the other…" He took a drink, glancing around the group over his cup. "Though I don't suppose any of you are feeling quite as generous as dear Falerin?"

He got a resounding "No" in reply. Shadowheart, though, sat up a bit, back propped up against a sturdy stump as she pointed at Astarion over her glass.

"Okay, okay, all right, Astarion," she said, words slightly slurred. The elverquisst seemed to be hitting a bit harder than anticipated. "I knooow you've thought about this. I heard you talking with Falerin about it. So…" She gestured vaguely around the circle. "Who?"

Astarion blinked. "…who what, darling?"

"Who would you bite? Out of all of us. Not Fal, that's cheating."

"Oh, easy. Wyll."

Wyll, mid-drink, nearly choked at the reply, and he looked over at Astarion in surprise. "Really, me?"

"Oh, gods, yes." Astarion leaned over toward him, chin in his hand and a very pointy smile on his face. "You're such a goody-two-shoes, your blood must be the purest thing on the Sword Coast. And with the bit of devilry you have going on? It'd give you such a lovely bite."

Wyll laughed, a surprised little grin on his face. "Is it weird that I'm flattered?"

"It's more weird that it's not Gale," Shadowheart said, reaching over for the bottle to refill her cup.

"Oh, Gale tastes vile. No offense, of course."

Gale rolled his eyes as he drained his glass. "Well, I imagine the Netherese orb waiting to go off in me does sour things a bit," he says dryly.

Shadowheart sat up straight, frowning as she looked between the wizard and the vampire. "Did you bite Gale? When did you bite Gale?"

Astarion gave a long, irritated sigh. "I mistook him for one of the cultists we were fighting, back at the goblin camp. It was an accident."

"Which is why we look before we bite," Gale said.

"I apologized!" He made a face, then reached over for the bottle to refill Gale's glass. "And lesson clearly learned. It's like you've got acid in your veins."

Wyll, meanwhile, had gone thoughtfully silent through the exchange. He got up, moving over to sit beside Gale, and he set a hand on his arm. "All right, but your…the magic bomb in your chest. You're not actually going to blow that up, right?"

Gale, about to take a drink, paused as he looked at Wyll. "I…I mean, I am supposed to. Ordered by Mystra and all that."

"But you're not actually going to do it?" Wyll pressed.

Gale bit the inside of his lip, then took a long sip of his drink. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Well, for one, it'd blast all of us to the hells and beyond," Astarion said dryly. "Awful way to spend a day."

"I wouldn't do it with all of you around," Gale said, indignant. "I'd ensure it was just me and the Absolute."

"Well, yes, there is that, but even if you did out of range of us…" Wyll hesitated, grip tightening as he looked over to Shadowheart and Astarion. "Now, you all, everyone in this camp, are the best friends I have. I respect you all immensely, and I am so grateful that even with my pact with Mizora, you…"

"Oh, get on with it," Shadowheart said.

Wyll hesitated, then blurted out, "You cannot leave me alone with these people, Gale. They're all lunatics. Lunatics that I love dearly, but my gods, you all are fucking insane." His horned head fell to Gale's shoulder. "It's you and me against a sea of…Shar worshippers and tieflings on fire and vampires and gith and whatever the hells is wrong with Falerin. Please. The living magic bomb is the most normal one out of all of us, and I cannot lose that, Gale."

Gale looked a bit shocked at the sudden burst of emotion from Wyll, and he gave the Blade of Frontiers an awkward couple pats on the back. "I'm…flattered that you consider me normal. I actually am; I don't think anyone's called me that before."

Astarion, meanwhile, got up and went to go sit beside Shadowheart. He clinked his glass against hers. "Refill, darling?"

Shadowheart looked up at him. "Oh, yes, please. After all, it's us vampires and Shar worshippers against the world."

Wyll lifted his head, looking flustered. "Now, I didn't mean it like…I said that I…" He was cut off as Astarion and Shadowheart laughed.

"You see? Utterly pure and guileless," Astarion said. "I think that's the meanest thing you've said in your life. It's precious." He gestured toward him. "Come on, glasses in. I'll pour us the next round."


It was very late when the party returned to camp, eager to warm up by the fire after a hard day's adventuring. However, rather than the blazing campfire and dinner that typically awaited the group's return, they instead found smoldering ashes in the firepit, with cups scattered on the ground, a pretty crystal bottle that seemed to glow against the dirt, and the remaining camp members fast asleep—Gale's head against Wyll's horns, Wyll's cheek smushed against Gale's shoulder, Astarion's head fallen back against a stump, and Shadowheart curled cat-like with her head on the vampire's stomach, loose bits of hair stuck against her mouth.

It was hard to say exactly what had transpired while they were gone, but clearly it was a good time.