Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Produce Flame

[Conjuration Cantrip]

A flickering flame appears in your hand. The flame remains there for the duration and harms neither you nor your equipment.

She glared at him from afar, making no effort to hide it. Subtlety didn't come naturally to her.  

Gale, clad in his pristine camp attire, hovered over the cooking pot with his back to her, diligently mixing or adding spices, dutifully preoccupied with his designated camp chore, never looking behind himself to see Tav kneeling over an unlit campfire and glaring daggers into his back.  

A moment of realization hit her, mortification coloring her cheeks. What the hells was she doing? Shaking her head, she carried on and struck the flint against the steel, watching tiny sparks fly but failing to catch fire.   

She struck again. And again. And again. This was utterly ridiculous. If she'd steady her nerves for a moment she could cast a bloody cantrip and have this fire started 10 minutes ago. Instead, she stubbornly held onto her frustration, refusing failure, and struck once more.  

Her gaze mindlessly wandered back to the wizard, watching him lift the ladle to his lips, give the concoction a taste, and triumphantly grin at the results. Something ugly stirred in her, tightening her grasp on the flint and striking too hard. With a faint snap, it split in half and fell into the ashes.

“Gods fucking damn it,” she cursed, rolling up her sleeve to rifle through the dust. Rather than using her eyes to look for the lost tool, she kept them glued on Gale, observing his perfect little cooking fire with his perfect little cauldron, a perfect little dinner boiling inside. No doubt he conjured that fire with a flick of the wrist and some fancy words.  

“Interesting technique,” a cool voice spoke from behind. “I don't think I've seen someone start a fire from the slag before.”

Tav quickly dropped her gaze and returned to the task with full attention, pointedly ignoring the remark and continuing to feel around.   

A dark figure wandered into view, carrying a bucket of fresh water, clearly successful in her duties. Resting one hand on her hip, Shadowheart looked down at Tav with a playful smile.  

“Is there any reason you're playing in the debris?” 

“The flint broke,” Tav grumbled, patting around aggressively, no doubt burying the flint deeper.  

“Doesn't quite answer my question.”  

Exasperated, Tav finally looked up. “I need it to start the fire.” 

“Is that right? Last I checked, you have no problems starting fires.”

Shame suddenly struck her heart, breaking her eye contact with the cleric and back down into the ashes. She had no trouble starting fires, but controlling the fire was another matter. Just a few hours prior, a stray fire bolt flew from her fingertips and caught poor Wyll's sleeve. Thank the gods he wasn't hurt, but the same couldn't be said for her pride. One should know better than to take a comment from their resident Sharran personally.      

From the corner of her vision, she saw the bucket placed on the ground and Shadowheart kneeling, positioning herself back into view.

“I'm sure Wyll's wardrobe has suffered worse encounters than a slight singe. If anything, he's long overdue for a new tunic. His camp clothes are looking rather threadbare, wouldn't you say?”

Tav allowed herself a rueful smile, amused at her friend’s attempts to comfort her while still making derogatory jests at others' expense.  

With her clean hand, she massaged her temple, hoping to smooth away the onset headache. “I'm hoping to avoid any mishaps for a while,” she confessed. “I figured flint would be the easiest way to do it.”  

Shadowheart pursed her lips, then peered down at Tav's hand in the fire pit and tilted her chin slightly, gesturing for her to remove it from the ashes. She snapped her fingers and whispered, “Ex Amino.” 

A tiny blue flame flashed at the tips of her thumb and pointer as if she were holding a match between the two fingers and she lit the kindle under the firewood. Within seconds a small fire steadily grew, along with Tav's relieved grin.   

“Perhaps tomorrow we could trade chores,” Shadowheart said nonchalantly, standing and grabbing the bucket. “Come on.” She turned and began to stride away without looking to see if Tav would follow, but of course, she would. Catching up and matching her pace, Shadowheart didn't meet her eyes, but the cleric smirked all the same.  

Tav couldn't help but admire that she was capable of maintaining such a calm demeanor in every situation they’ve encountered so far. Even releasing her from her pod, she was far more collected than any other person would be. Rare occasions seemed to bother her: bickering with Lae’zel or finding Selunite items, but she could easily return to her indifferent self and focus on their mission.  

That's precisely what everyone needed: someone who can take control and keep it. If Shadowheart remained her friend through this ordeal, maybe she'd pick up some of her mature traits. Regardless, having her around helped her feel more at ease.  

Their brief conversation lightened her mood, but it quickly sank when she realized they were walking toward him.  

“Gale,” Shadowheart called out, catching his attention faster than Tav was prepared for. 

The wizard looked up from his cooking and grinned at the approaching pair. “Ah, Shadowheart, Tav. Excellent timing. I was just in need of more water.”  

Turn around and walk away, she ordered herself. Don't give him a chance to get to you. Just walk away.   

“I do try to be punctual,” the cleric replied, dropping the bucket on the cooking workspace and scanning the scraps. “Stew, I presume?”    

Gale nodded approvingly. “Keen eye, although without more water it would soon be reduced to Traveler's Slop. Unfortunately, this meal won't be up to my usual standard. One can only do so much with so few edible ingredients. Even an archmage has his limitations.”  

Tav’s jaw tightened until it ached, though it didn’t stop any words from spilling out of her sneering mouth. “Couldn't you conjure the water yourself instead of making someone else do it? Surely an archmage can handle that.”

Shadowheart lifted a brow at the snide remark but remained silent, something she should’ve done from the start. Despite her immediate regret, she lifted her chin and rolled her shoulders back, ready for whatever stupid thing he would say next.   

“Indeed I could, rather easily,” he answered plainly. “But evocation doesn't conjure camaraderie. I'm thankful for the assistance.” He bent at the waist and gave them a bow; whether mocking or sincere, she wasn't sure.  

“Oh, spare me,” she murmured, rolling her eyes.  

As he rose, his eyes glanced over to the steadily burning bonfire, then directly to Tav, unease growing within her. A coy smile spread on his face, something wicked darkening his brown eyes. In the back of her mind, hindsight reminded her that she should've walked away from the start. 

“I must say, I'm delighted to see this evening's fire finally going,” he added, igniting her nerves. “I couldn't help but notice you struggling with those tools earlier, but I'm glad someone was able to help you.”  

Instead of saying something clever or anything coherent, she merely sputtered at him, the indignation flushing her cheeks and silencing her brain.     

“Should you find yourself struggling yet again, I'd be more than happy to assist.” He connected his hands behind his back, looking egregiously confident. “No need to be intimidated.”  

Outrage simmered within, restoring her ability to spout sarcasm. “Pray tell, why should I be intimidated?” 

“Well, that's the only conclusion I could reach after witnessing your repeated attempts to light a fire and gawk from the other side of camp,” he countered, a frustrated edge hidden in his demeanor.  

“Forgive me for not seeking your counsel, but I couldn't bear to inconvenience the great Gale of Waterdeep, so I kept to myself. Something that may be unfamiliar to your vast repertoire of talents.” She took an intimidating step forward, locking her eyes with his and ignoring the comment about her staring.   

His smile twitched. “I'm perfectly capable of minding myself, but as a gentleman, I felt it polite to offer my repertoire of talents to those in need.”  

She took another step. “Need is a strong word.” 

This time he took a step and glared down at her, the distance between them closing fast. Soon he'll be close enough to strangle.  

“Need best reflects my observations, but rest assured, I’m at your service regardless. Should you ever overcome your trepidation, perhaps I could teach you a fairly simple cantrip for lighting fires; something even you could manage.”  

Before she could give one more biting retort, he lifted his hand to his face, gesturing at his temple with a cheeky grin. “You've got a little something right there, by the way.”

Any remaining self-control snapped, disintegrating from the blazing fire churning in her chest. A magical heat pooled in her fingertips, muscles twitching for release, ready to ignite the cocky bastard and his arrogant smile.  

“Oh, I'll show you a simple cantrip–”

She suddenly felt an arm snake around her own, effectively cutting the surge of magic. With an iron grip, Shadowheart slid her hand into Tav’s, the leftover heat making the cleric flinch. “Sounds like a perfect opportunity to wash up before dinner,” she grinned, pulling Tav by the arm. “We'll leave you to it.” 

Gale’s pompous expression seemed to falter, giving way to something unreadable.  His lips pressed into a thin line, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. 

Tav didn’t have time to wonder; the two were already gone, with Shadowheart forcefully guiding her toward the river.   

For a while Tav stumbled along, her temper barely waning, though her friend had yet to acknowledge it. Throughout their adventures, Shadowheart remained unphased by her unruly temperament, earnestly capable of dousing Tav's fire without snuffing out the embers. Eventually, she’d let her vent because, unlike herself, Shadowheart knew exactly when to show emotion.  

Once at the bank, Shadowheart released her grasp and spun Tav to face her, crossing her arms in an unamused fashion. “What was that?”  

Tav kept her eyes on her boots, rubbing away the ache on her arm. “What was what?”  

She knew better than to play dumb, especially with a woman trained in brutal interrogation methods, but she hoped the situation would be dropped if it was clear she didn't want to discuss it. She glanced up and found the cleric staring at her, her expression unreadable but her bright eyes searching her soul. An uneasy guilt overcame her, oddly reminiscent of her mother waiting for her to confess to pulling her siblings' hair.      

“He started it.”   

Are you a fool? she scolded herself. Shadowheart likely wouldn't grace that pathetic explanation with a response but Tav decided to dig her grave deeper.  

“Well, you heard him!” she argued with no one. “Those remarks of his were far worse than anything I said.  If any other moron tried that with you, you'd probably punch them into the next tenday.”  

Unsurprisingly, her tirade was met with more silence.   

“He’s just got such a cocky attitude about everything, it’s a miracle no one has cut his tongue out! It drives me crazy that he won’t get off his ‘Chosen-arch-mage-prodigy’ pedestal for two seconds and get dirt under his nails. Hells, he probably doesn’t know what dirt is since he’s spent his whole life in a wizard’s tower–or maybe he does since he acts like he knows everything–”  

She started to pace, digging her nails into her rapidly warming palms, her blood rolling to a boil.

“Gale is just so… he’s so… I can’t stand that smug look on his face! He waves around a wand and opens a fancy book then pretends he’s better than everyone else, but he’s not! No one is better than anyone else! What gives him the right?!”

Pent-up rage exploded, flames suddenly bursting from her body and igniting the grass beneath her feet. With a gasp, she shook the magic from her hands and frantically stamped out the flames around her, leaving behind a singed circle. She glanced at Shadowheart, whose face never gave way to shock or even mild surprise. Her friend had her hands resting on her hips, seemingly amused.  

“See? I knew you had no problem lighting fires.”

The incredulous look on Tav’s face cracked Shadowheart’s facade, reducing the woman to giggles that she tried hiding behind her hand–wildly out of character for their fierce Sharran. Tav couldn’t decide which was more embarrassing: having a tantrum as a grown woman, nearly catching herself on fire after an uncontrolled surge of magic, or the designated ‘cool girl’ laughing at her for it.  

Having nowhere else to hide, Tav buried her face in her warm hands and groaned. “Any chance you could forget that little display?” 

“Already forgotten. Do you feel better now?”

Tav weakly grumbled into her hands.  

“That good, huh?”

With a frustrated groan, she lifted her head, running her fingers through her nest of hair. “I’m only making things worse,” she admitted, grimacing like she drank a bitter elixir. “You’re right… I should apologize to him.”

Shadowheart scoffed. “Who said anything about apologizing?” 

Tav blinked. “Isn’t that why you dragged me here? To tell me I was being rude and that I should say sorry?”

A bemused grin curled along her pale lips. “I've never apologized for my less-than-friendly remarks, I'm not about to tell others to do so. And you're right, if a stranger spoke to me like that I'd reduce them to ash. I simply want to know why you wanted to eviscerate the man currently cooking our dinner, and perhaps recommend waiting until after dinner. We still need to eat and I'm a terrible cook.” 

Tav managed to snort, her body releasing the tension she held onto, though her brows still knit together. Her eyes wandered across the river, watching the sun dip beyond the horizon. Stepping out of the burned grass, she slumped down along the bank and then took a deep, cleansing breath.  

For a while, the two remained silent. Tav nestled her hands in her lap, twiddling her fingers, hoping the answer would spontaneously burst into her consciousness like a wild magic surge, though she knew better than to rely on a stroke of luck like that.    

What was she feeling? If it had a name, it didn't warrant such pettiness. Even though he was a self-righteous fop, Gale was still an ally, something they were sorely lacking. In just a few short weeks, she’d made more enemies than she knew how to handle; she didn’t need to create more, especially someone who was moderately useful. 

At the very least, she could begrudgingly admit his skill earned his place as Mystra’s Chosen. Having spent a lifetime studying the Weave, he would know how to control it like another limb. If she could put her pride aside, maybe she could ask for a tip or two, though that scenario would only happen when elephants fly.  

It was impossible to ignore the bristling of her skin whenever he spoke. The insurmountable effort it took to resist biting his head off whenever he got too close. The dreadful conclusion she reached every time she faced him: he's gifted in magic, while she's cursed with it.  

Shadowheart sat next to Tav, breaking the silence first. “You don't have to share anything, you know. Privacy is sacred; it's one of Lady Shar's core values, along with letting go of the worldly things that hold us back.”

Tav's hands tightened into fists, running her thumbs across her knuckles, letting out a despondent chuckle. “A good rule to live by… it’s no wonder you can keep it together better than most, Shad.”  

She flipped her dark braid over her shoulder. “Yes, I really am something, aren’t I?”

Tav leaned over and nudged her with her elbow, eliciting another uncharacteristic laugh. Another silence followed, this time far more comfortable, the two simply admiring the river, the evening sun reflecting off the water as if pure light flowed through the forest. Shadowheart leaned back until she was sprawled on the grass, pillowing her hands behind her head, looking so relaxed one would think she was on holiday.  

“Unfortunately, my Lady's ways aren't inherently known to everyone,” she breathed, gazing at the sky. “Few understand how difficult it can be to walk in Her holy shadow. Sometimes people need to talk about their problems before letting them go.”  

Curling her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, Tav rested her chin on her knees, biting her lower lip until it hurt.      

“And I hope you know,” Shadowheart continued, dropping her lighthearted tone, “if he's done something to you, his precious little goddess can't save him from my wrath.”  

Tav's lip quivered before breaking into a smile. “Have I mentioned you're my favorite companion?”  

“You could stand to mention it more often.”

The two laughed again, tension easing off Tav's shoulders once more. Daylight gave way to darkness, painting the sky in mixed hues of crimson and violet. Lively sounds of summer began to ebb, the world preparing to rest alongside them. Leaning toward the water, she examined her reflection and clicked her tongue disapprovingly–there was soot on her face, right where he said it was.  

In a quick motion, she dipped her hands into the river and splashed water onto her face, clearing away the residue and cooling her down. After wiping away the droplets, she looked at her palms: soggy, dirty, nail marks embedded deep in her skin.  

“Maybe I'm just jealous,” Tav settled on. It wasn't a lie, but it didn't feel like the whole truth. “I'm sure you've noticed I have trouble with magic: not just using it in combat or doing simple chores, but keeping it… contained.”

She peeked over to Shadowheart, who was now upright and listening intently.  

“I didn't get these abilities until recently if you can believe it,” she continued. “Unfortunately I'm not a bard, so I'll spare you from my storytelling abilities.” Her voice trailed off, the story refusing to come out of her mouth, but she cleared her throat and pushed on. “One morning, the magic was just there. It wouldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. So my family had me shipped off, hoping I could learn to control it, but on the way I was abducted by the mind flayer ship–” 

“Wait a second,” she interrupted, piecing her story together. “You became a sorceress only a few weeks ago?” 

Tav shrugged. “Technically a few months, but yes. I haven't had time to learn, so I'm working with what I've got.” 

She kept her eyes on the ground, fiddling with a blade of grass. “I've been lucky so far… except for Wyll… burning the ground a few minutes ago… and almost burning Gale. Dumb luck can only carry me so far–I could endanger everyone if I lose my temper again, and you all deserve better than that.”  

Evening crept in, enveloping them in unsettling darkness. The world felt more hushed as if everything in existence was listening to her pathetic tale and whispering behind her back. 

Part of her expected Shadowheart to remain silent, allowing her misery to be spoken of and promptly lost to the void. Another part of her feared Shadowheart would order her to leave, abandoning her new friends and her best chance of survival. They were all so powerful, each one deadly and brilliant in their own right; they couldn't risk being weighed down by her.

Instead, she merely asked, “What did you do before the magic appeared?”  

The unexpected question caught her off guard, giving her anxious heart whiplash. She paused to look up, seeing the familiar sight of stars peeking through the veil of night, trying to remember simpler times.   

“I was… am the daughter of a noble,” she hesitated, unsure of the truth. “I worked as my father's aide, but that was mostly so he could keep an eye on me. I'd help him with meetings, organizing resources, silly paperwork things.”

Shadowheart hummed at her response, making her stomach turn. Maybe it didn't sound useful? Perhaps they wouldn't abandon an unpredictable sorcerer, but they'd abandon a desk jockey.  

“In my free time, I was an ace at riding,” she quickly added. “Deadly with a crossbow, too. My siblings and I went camping constantly, so I can hunt and read maps and make shelter in a pinch–” 

Her rambling was cut off by Shadowheart resting a hand on hers, her touch cool and comforting. “Relax, this isn't an interview, I was just curious.”  

The cleric gazed around, admiring the growing darkness. “I don't remember much of my life before my Mistress, although it doesn't matter. What matters are the skills I possess now that can further my Lady's will. To a degree, the same can apply to you.”  

Shadowheart turned to her, shadows obscuring details of her face, but Tav could still see the resolve in her eyes.  

“You're more capable than you realize. If you think magic will hold you back, don't use it. Not until you're ready. And if you have an excess of magic, come out here to freeze the river, blow up boulders, or burn the trees. In the meantime, we'll find you a crossbow to make use of the skills you do have. We're in this together, after all.”  

She squeezed Tav's hand, giving her a warm smile that could crack any frigid heart.  

“And don't presume you're the only mess in this party; I can smell everyone's emotional baggage from a mile away, especially Gale.”

Tav snorted, wiping away a tear she didn't realize she had shed.  

“I wager we'll be on the road for some time. If you're feeling particularly generous, you can rescue his hide when he inevitably runs out of spells. Perhaps that will shut him up, although I highly doubt it.”

In a swift motion, Shadowheart rose to her feet, offering an outstretched hand. “Now then, enough moping. Let's return to camp–it's getting too dark, even for me.” 

With a grin, Tav grabbed her hand and was hoisted to her feet, feeling remarkably lighter.  

As the pair walked in comfortable silence, the cozy ambiance of the camp grew until they found their party surrounding a roaring campfire, eating and having lively conversations. Tav noticed Gale standing near the cookpot, happily pouring a generous serving into Karlach’s bowl.  

Shadowheart started toward the group, but Tav hesitated, lingering behind. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back, cocking her head to the side, wordlessly asking if she would join. Tav held up her hands and shook her head; she wasn't ready to be around Gale yet, and her emotional turmoil likely ruined her appetite.  

Shadowheart gave an understanding smile and resumed her path. Turning in the opposite direction, Tav wandered toward her tent, thankful to retreat to her modest sanctuary.  

While their conversation put her mind at ease for the time being, something unnerving remained. The fire looked excellent, thanks to Shadowheart. The food was probably delicious because of Gale. It didn't seem right to reap the rewards of their work when she only caused problems along the way. No, it was only fair to host a pity party this evening–she could join them again when she earned it.  

Lost in self-deprecation, she ducked into her tent and heard a splash against her foot, snapping her back to reality and nearly making her fall. Managing to catch herself, she realigned her balance and then whipped her head around to locate whatever she knocked over.  

To her surprise, she found two items at the threshold of her tent: a bowl full of food and a small loaf of bread.  

She scanned her surroundings, searching for a culprit that was long gone, then kneeled and examined the bowl's contents: noting the sliced vegetables and evenly cut meat, it appeared to be a large serving of this evening's dinner.  

Grabbing it with both hands, she wafted the scent under her nose for further inspection: delightfully savory and faintly earthy, possibly from foraged herbs. With her mouth already watering, she took a long sip, gulping down the liquid and ravenously devouring the solids. She didn't even notice the spoon placed neatly beside the bread until she was halfway through the bowl.  

With the greater part of her hunger satisfied, she held the bowl in her lap and drummed her fingers against it, watching everyone at the campfire and wondering who left it for her.  

Shadowheart had an alibi, plus she would probably just hand it to her instead of leaving it like a secret gift.  

Wyll and Karlach would have left it, so she chalked them up as a maybe.      

Lae’zel wouldn't, and she would probably berate her for accepting food from an unknown source… then she would estimate when Tav would die from poisoning.  

Astarion wouldn't either, unless he wanted something from her or was the one trying to poison her, so she listed him as a maybe and would see how she felt later.  

And Gale… 

With less malice and more curiosity, she watched him carefully: he was finally sitting around the fire, probably waiting until everyone was served before helping himself. Prim and proper as always, he politely ate and watched his comrades talk around him, smiling once in a while and speaking when spoken to.  

His hair was half-up, thin streaks of silver now visible in his chestnut hair. Fine creases wrinkled the corners of his eyes, faint tendrils of violet reaching up his neck, reminding her of a kraken dragging a ship to its doom. Perhaps he had a wild streak at some point and got a bizarre tattoo, the remainder of its image a mystery under his shirt.  

She noticed his posture was dreadful at first: hunched over with elbows on his knees, then he would readjust and sit up straight until he eventually slouched again. It was fascinating to witness–he almost seemed human. 

Some time must have passed as she watched him, as it appeared everyone else had disbanded and retired for the evening. After finishing his meal, he set his bowl to the side and replaced it with a book, cracking open its binding and drinking in its contents, brows furrowed deep in thought. Satisfied from her meal, she kicked off her boots, shed her tunic, and readied herself for bed.    

The door of her tent remained open, yielding an uninterrupted view of Gale reading, so she laid on her side and kept watching. He flipped through the pages rather quickly, so she assumed he'd either read it before or was just glossing over the contents until she shook her head and let out an aggravated sigh. No, it was probably a brand-new book, and he had some kind of photographic memory. His tower in Waterdeep was likely built from the books he memorized cover to cover, endless stacks of nonfiction, history, mathematics, and rhetoric, all arranged perfectly by title and author.

The thought of such a devastatingly boring place made her yawn, her eyes fluttering to a close. With her last waking thought, she decided that Gale couldn't have been the one to leave her food.

Even though it was clearly him. But she would never admit that.  

Gale peeked over his shoulder, Tav now sleeping peacefully inside her tent, then shut his book with one hand. He heaved a long sigh, lifting himself and stretching his arms over his head. Rubbing the back of his neck, he closed his eyes and cursed himself. His hand dragged down until it touched his orb; the pain would make it impossible to sleep tonight, so he might as well keep himself occupied.  

Picking up his empty bowl, he glanced back and patiently waited for a chance to approach. One boisterous snore later, he began to inch over to her tent before slowly reaching in to steal her empty bowl. He snatched his arm back as if taking a bowl from a sleeping displacer beast, sighing with relief when she remained still.  

Taking the briefest opportunity to stare, he remarked how relaxed her face looked when it wasn't contorted with rage.  She almost looked like a different person entirely--one that was kinder, happier, more confident when he wasn't around.  

He tore his eyes off her sleeping form, reminding himself that creeping around at night and watching a woman sleep was something only a tactless degenerate would do.  

Ever the hypocrite, he took one more peek, then untied the string that held the door of her tent open, gently unfurling it until it reached the ground.  

“I suppose I'll try again tomorrow,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Beacon of Hope

[Level 3 Abjuration]

This spell bestows hope and vitality. Choose any number of creatures within range. For the duration, each target has advantage on Wisdom saving throws and death saving throws.

Setting up camp proved to be an awkward affair when surrounded by strangers–or perhaps it was just him, as he chose a location that rested comfortably away from everyone else.

Gale discovered a lovely corner of nature at the edge of the camp, featuring a short path leading to the river: the ideal place to wash up or find solitude with his thoughts.  

His spot was next to the esteemed “Blade of Frontiers”, though he preferred Wyll. He was a gallant fellow, sharing the same tadpole affliction but choosing to worry about his infernal target instead. He must have been quite the adventurer, too, as he had his tent pitched in mere minutes while Gale was still struggling with his own.  

A born and bred city-dweller, he wasn't familiar with camping. He owned a tent for emergencies but opted for a comfortable inn during his travels. In hindsight, he should have known how to pitch it before an emergency, but he assumed a brand-new tent would include assembly instructions. A twinge of vexation struck as he saw the sun beginning to set, his tent remaining in shambles.  

Normally he'd have no problem asking Wyll for assistance: his pride could take a small hit if it meant he could sleep comfortably. Alas, Wyll was already off hunting dinner with their other new addition, the fearsome gith warrior Lae'zel, leaving Gale with inferior survival skills.  

He mulled over the pieces but saw no logical way they would fit together, so he remained kneeling on the ground, stakes, and sticks scattered about, cursing the fact that their party was miles away from civilization.  

“Need a hand?” a newly familiar voice asked, heat now rising up his collar. He looked up and found Tav inspecting his mess, holding a bundle of firewood. 

“Any hand that you can spare, or any new knees if you've got them,” he groaned wearily. “It appears that I've misplaced the instructions.”

She snorted, setting the wood down and moving to kneel beside him. “Scoot over, then,” she urged, and he obliged. “Instruction books won't help much anyway.” Then she began working immediately, efficiently organizing the equipment he left strewn about.  

“That appears to be the case; everyone else in our merry troupe seems to have managed adequately without one,” he muttered, his embarrassment deepening.  

“Not necessarily–I had to help Astarion too. He was a little more…” Her head tilted in thought. “...agitated, one could say. I had to intervene before he started slicing his tent with daggers.”  

That didn't surprise him in the slightest. “Ah, well, it seems that he and I are of a similar ilk then. Not much camping to be done in Waterdeep I'm afraid, though you may be surprised to learn that I've never had any desire to do so.”  

He carefully watched her flatten out the tarp and feed rope through it, mostly to learn but fascinated that she appeared to be doing so with ease.  

“You, however, appear to be a natural,” he commented, eliciting a sheepish smile from her. “Were you a wilderness-dweller before our plight?” 

“Moreso when I was a child, but yes. I've probably set up hundreds of tents.”  

“Repetition can make masters of us all. But, as I said, I've never possessed the desire to do so. Unfamiliar territory and all that, you understand. Back home I spent countless days honing my known abilities in the comfort of a library rather than learning new ones outdoors.”  

“No shame in that,” she said, pulling on the ropes and lifting the tent to a standing position. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses, and we prefer leaning into what we're good at.”

“Quite right, though we cannot rely on our strengths in perpetuity. Ever and anon, our limitations must be called upon, and our very survival could rest upon our willingness to answer that call. Maybe a touch dramatic in the case of setting up a tent, but I digress.”   

She chucked, driving a stake into the ground with a mallet. “Quite the poet, aren't you? If wizardry doesn't work out for you, I think you'd make a lovely bard.”  

“Oh, I'm known to try my hand at poetry, should the mood take me. However, enduring my singing is a fate I wouldn't wish upon my worst foe.”  

“I'll keep that in mind if we need to use some drastic measures to question someone.” Her playful tone filled him with cautious optimism, daring him to test the waters.   

“And I'll have to remember that you, my lady, are a sadist.”

This time she laughed, rich and full, and warmth slowly spread through his chest. Her mirth was bright as fire, nearly as vibrant as her untamed magic. 

He recalled their earlier battle, not long after she freed him from the stone, as a group of adventurers were ambushed by goblins outside a tiefling encampment. Without warning she rushed to their aid but missed nearly every shot of magic she fired. After some attempts she opted for area-of-effect attacks, hitting the enemies but narrowly missing their party in the process.  

The sheer ferocity of her spells left him in awe: a small fire bolt was normally no bigger than an apple, yet she easily conjured ones twice that size. Her ice blasts spread farther than anticipated, encapsulating entire trees rather than leaving a small patch of frost. He envied the wealth of raw magic that stirred within her, though he couldn't help but wonder about the extent of her training. If she had any at all.  

“You're not versed in magic, are you?”

Her movements screeched to a halt, pausing ominously at his question. “Of course I am,” she answered, though not meeting his gaze. “I have as much magic in me as you.”  

He shrank at his poor choice of words. Care to try again, Mr. Dekarios? he could hear Tara ask.

“Oh, I do apologize. I meant to ask are you studied in magic. Namely, are you a wizard? Which you are not.”  

She struck the stake with surprising force before looking up at him with dangerous eyes. “Why would that matter?”  

Are you daft? Don't insult the woman! his inner Tara urged.

“It matters very little, I assure you!”

“Seems to matter enough to bring it up in conversation.”

“Merely a curiosity–”

Tav shot up to her feet with surprising speed, glaring at him menacingly.

“Then allow me to sate it, mage,” she hissed as if the title was blasphemous.  

Though he knew she was challenging him, there was a chance to explain himself. If she lacked training, he would be more than willing to teach her. If nothing else, he could at least attempt to diffuse the situation.  

“One couldn't help but notice that your use of the Weave appears to be a little… undisciplined, but that's hardly a crime on your part. I only meant to ask–”

“Undisciplined?” she repeated, gripping the mallet until her knuckles turned white. 

He took a cautionary step back. “It isn't a bad thing–”

“I might've missed a few shots during today's battle but we still won–that's all that matters. More discipline wouldn't have changed the outcome.”  

In that moment, the shock from her statement eviscerated his good sense. Surely she didn't believe such hogwash! Although her passionate reaction would indicate she wholeheartedly believed her own ridiculous words, it was downright foolhardy. He couldn't let it stand, regardless of her anger.  

“Please tell me you're joking,” he replied, defiance coursing through his nerves. “If you possessed more control over your abilities, our victory would have been secured sooner, and it would have been safer for everyone. Casting an acid cantrip and merely hoping it will hit your opponent is not a sound strategy!”  

“Well, in case you didn't realize, a group was being attacked by goblins. There was no time for strategy! If there was time to make a plan, I wouldn't have used magic in the first place.”  

Gale noticed that her voice wavered, but she continued her tirade: “Lives were at risk, and I don't know if you've been in battle before, but safety isn't exactly at the forefront of everyone's mind during that time.”

“It should be when it comes to our allies,” he gestured broadly to the camp, his cheeks burning with ire.

“Everyone handled themselves fine, you're the only one here with an issue.”

“Perhaps that's because, unlike our new comrades, I happen to be an archmage. I know that luck isn't a proper substitute for poor magical technique!”   

“Oh, well if we're talking about techniques, allow me to critique yours: we won't always have time for you to flip through a spell book and find the perfect incantation. You need to think on your feet or stay out of the way.”

Gale huffed, trying not to laugh in her face. “I hardly need to reference a spell book nowadays, but being prepared with one is hardly a malefaction–” 

“Gods, do you carry around a thesaurus with your stupid spell book?”  

“–and if you can manage it, you would do well to pause ever-so-briefly and think about your next move before you start casting spells so capriciously!”

“None of us got hurt–”

“We may not be so fortunate next time! If you continue, you could harm someone or yourself!” 

“You're being ridiculous!”

“You insist upon being reckless!”

“Don't speak like you know anything about me!”

“I know you're acting like an imprudent brat who will get us all killed because of your damn ego!”

They were both taken aback by his outburst. He seldom raised his voice, spoke over others, or insulted someone. Has he gone utterly mad? Just a moment ago they were laughing together, and now he seemed determined to anger a dangerously powerful sorceress.  

Her eyes remained wide with shock, reeling from his biting words.  

“I…” he hesitated, an apology dying on his tongue.  

Oh, my dear… he could hear Tara now.  What have you done?

The air between them felt strained, like a violin string about to snap. Gale anxiously awaited her outburst, hoping she would say or do something that would break this accursed tension. Instead, she simply stared at him as if he'd slapped her but remained still long enough for him to regard her features that he failed to notice before.  

Her eyes were wide enough to shine in the evening light and he noted they were a divine shade of hazel: vibrant greens and warming golden browns in a hypnotizing pool that could drown him. Shallow breaths escaped her slightly parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest warming his blood–

By the gods, was he some kind of animal? Insulting a lady then leering at her body like some kind of lecherous oaf. Tara would castrate him if she knew.  

A new voice rattled him back to consciousness, the intrepid voice of Wyll approaching the pair. 

“The conquering hero returns!” he proudly announced, grinning as he held up two freshly killed rabbits.  

They turned their heads to him and watched as his smile slowly faded. With self-conscious movements he lowered his arms, a wary look on his face.  

“Sorry,” he started, “I hope I didn't interrupt anything–”

Wyll tentatively took a few steps back, and both men flinched when Tav tossed the mallet near Gale's feet, a distinct black handprint burned into the handle.  

“No, you didn't interrupt a thing,” she told him, her gaze snapping back to Gale. “We're done here.”  

Hells, he couldn't leave her in this state. He met her blazing eyes, taking a bold step forward to stop her–whether to apologize, keep lecturing her, or continue staring at her, but he wasn't quick enough. Tav already turned and was storming back to her tent, leaving Gale standing stupidly in place.  

His ears were left burning, a sullen look settling on his face. With a defeated sigh, he bent over to gather the wood she left behind, trying to ignore Wyll's bewildered stare, and cleared his throat to make light conversation.

“Excellent hunt, Wyll,” he remarked, attempting to sound enthused. “I happen to make a fine rabbit stew, though it's a shame I don't have the ingredients to make the lembas bread that I often pair with it. Regardless, if no one has any objections, I could have a rather satisfying meal prepared before–”

“Gale.” Wyll interrupted, glaring at him with his unsettling stone eye. “Did something happen to Tav?”  

“Nothing at all!” he blurted. “She merely helped me pitch my tent.” 

Wyll stared at him quizzically, eyeing him up and down. “Is that a Waterdavian euphemism?”  

The wizard stammered, nearly dropping the wood Tav collected, his face now bright red. “By Tasha's cauldron, of course not! Do you not see the erected tent here?” he waved a free arm at his tent. “T-That is to say, Tav graciously came to me and saw my… lodgings were still unmade, so she quickly amended the situation. We had a minor dispute and then she stormed off, as you saw.”  

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, clinging to the wood bundle for dear life. Aside from his skill in magic, it seemed he also had a talent for making terrible first impressions. He wasn't sure how much more humiliation he could bear.  

“Forgive me,” he murmured, straightening his posture to salvage his pride. “I hope my unruly behavior didn't disrupt your evening. If you'll excuse me, I'll attend to this firewood and get dinner started.”

“Now wait a moment–” he heard Wyll start, but Gale had already given a polite bow and scurried away, leaving the man in his dust.  

An uncomfortably familiar sensation wormed its way into his gut, nauseating him and burning his face. Not since his academy days had he felt so flustered after a debacle.  

The entire interaction went far beyond his carefully cultivated demeanor: he had no problem debating, but she simply refused to listen to reason! That was no fault of his; as an academic, he attempted to convince her otherwise. If she would rather dig her heels in and catch herself on fire, she was more than welcome to do so. He isn't responsible for her… irresponsibility.  

Besides, she was still a stranger to him. They all were. Though she did free him from that rune and the group readily accepted him, he had no obligation to stay. Given how many infected hosts they've come across so far, it was likely he could find someone else searching for a cure too. Someone more stable, mature, willing to listen instead of argue and make a scene–

A sudden, agonizing pain ripped through his entire being, forcing him to drop the wood and throw his hand over his heart. A hiss escaped through his clenched teeth as he doubled over, holding his chest in an attempt to soothe the metaphorical beast. Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck as realization dawned on him: he'd gone days without a magical artifact and currently didn't possess one.  

He hastily glanced around for others, then mustered his strength to lurch toward the woods to hide. Bracing his weight against a tree, he began his rudimentary routine of easing the pain: he tried staying upright, arching his back to stretch his chest. He slowed his labored breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, and calmed his mind by rationalizing his situation.   

Time to think... What could he do? In his state, he couldn't venture out in search of an artifact alone, or rely on the chance to find new companions who would be willing to help with his orb and his tadpole.  

He briefly considered asking one of his current acquaintances if they had any magical items: “Pardon me, but would you have an item imbued with the Weave that holds no sentimental or monetary value? If so, could I take it off your hands for reasons I cannot fully explain?” 

No, no. That wouldn't do at all, even though he was desperate. Regardless of his choice, he needed time to build trust with others–his best chance of survival was likely with his current pack, but he would have to wait until he came across an artifact himself or when someone proved generous enough to help him with little clarification. 

He slowly sank to the ground, helplessly looking up at the light shining through the trees, knowing all the divine in Faerûn were silently observing the downtrodden. While he knew it was a meaningless endeavor, he closed his eyes and prayed to his goddess: not for a cure, those prayers have long remained unanswered. Instead, he prayed to encounter a kind soul, a paragon of virtue, to alleviate his burden.  

The following days crawled by, each hour more excruciating than the last. 

By Mystra's grace, he was able to keep up with the party as they ventured through the Underdark, but he knew he couldn't keep up forever. The gradually increasing pain kept him awake throughout the night, leaving him frightfully exhausted and mindlessly following the group the next day.  

A freshly-horned Wyll would politely inquire about his condition but never pressed him for answers. Astarion would whine, refusing to drag him. Shadowheart would scold him, telling him to mind his business, but Lae'zel would sharply disagree with her, insisting that his symptoms were the start of ceremorphosis. Thankfully he was able to deceive her thus far, stating he was merely out of shape, though he was both grateful and annoyed that she so readily accepted his claim.  

Their newest friend, Karlach, was surprisingly gentle with him despite her rough disposition. She never pried, but assured him that she would “watch his 6”.

Tav was giving him the cold shoulder: she rarely spoke to him, barely acknowledged his presence, or simply turned her nose up and walked away from him. Oddly enough, it reminded him of an annoyed Tara. As such, he treated the situation as he would for the tressym: by leaving small peace offerings and making attempts at conversation. Despite this, she possessed a masterful ability to provoke him, or maybe lengthy travel hindered his temper, so whatever brief interactions they had ended with her stomping away time and again.    

Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed she was avoiding using magic entirely. The group found themselves in several battles as of late, and he noticed she obtained a small crossbow that she could harness with impressive accuracy. Despite their quarrel, he couldn't help his curiosity about her abilities; if she didn't use spells in combat, what outlet could she be using to keep her magic from being unleashed at random? If circumstances were different, he'd love to prod her for answers.  

However, there was precious little time to do anything but plead for help. The pain from his orb was a constant agony, a sure sign of disaster approaching, and he had no luck finding an artifact himself. His final hope rested with his companions.   

Even in his state, he took time to observe them: he’d note their interactions with the tiefling refugees, negotiations with the druids, and how they’d treat the goblins they encountered. Seldom few seemed like truly benevolent souls–the kind to help first and think later, and unfortunately for him, the one who fit that bill was Tav.  

Since they met, he's seen her perform deeds worthy of bards’ saga: taking on the responsibility of diplomacy between the druids and tieflings, fighting off harpies attempting to lure a lad into water, even standing in the way of a crossbow held by a grieving tiefling prepared to murder a goblin in cold blood. Frankly, he would almost consider her compassion to be a flaw, but Tav was the answer to his prayers. It was best not to look a gift sorceress in the mouth.   

All he needed now was a modicum of privacy and a splash of courage to ask for her help. Surely if he explained his predicament, she'd do all she could, even if she couldn't stand him.  

He felt his opportunity approaching as the group split to explore the Underdark; half remained at the camp, and the other half (including himself) eventually found themselves at the base of an otherworldly, impossibly large tree.  

The entirety glowed with an ethereal blue light like a beacon in the dark, the base twisting up from an endless abyss, its roots as wide as footpaths in Waterdeep. It hummed with energy, drawing them close like moths to a flame.  

Despite the enduring pain, Gale was utterly entranced; how could such a thing survive in this environment? What manner of bioluminescent magical properties did it possess? Could the leaves be harvested and studied with enough samples–

Karlach poked his shoulder with the knob of her great axe, making him wince. “Oy, what's with the glowin’ tree?” 

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “Truthfully, I was wondering the same, though not in those exact words. This tree is a marvelous specimen that I admittedly know nothing about. But, oh, if I had access to my collection tools, I'd surely have it figured out in no time.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel spat. “And we shall spend no time studying the ridiculous flora of this place. If your mushed rooms explode, one can only assume this tree will bring certain death. We press on, and you–” she pointed a sharp finger at Gale, “–will keep up, lest the fauna prove just as unforgiving.” 

The githyanki turned heel and marched on, a sheepish Gale preparing to trudge along without argument. Before taking a step, Karlach blocked him with the handle of her weapon against his aching chest. As he looked at her, she nodded her head back toward the mysterious tree.  

To his surprise, he saw Tav standing close to one of the large roots, reaching her hand out to touch it. Before he could call out, Karlach whistled sharply between her fingers, making both his and Tav's body jump. Thankfully she recoiled her fingers, turning her body to find the source of the sound.  

“You good there, soldier?” she called out, eyeing her carefully.  

Tav gave a half smile, a distant expression clouding her face. “Yeah, yeah,” she called back, “I'm fine, I'll catch up…” Slowly, she turned her head back to the tree, her body now eerily still. 

Lowering her great axe, she leaned over to Gale, unbearable heat radiating off her. “You might wanna go grab her,” she whispered. “I don't like that look in her eye. Catch up with us when you get her straightened out, yeah?”

He swallowed the protest trying to spill from his mouth; his pride or cowardice hesitated to help Tav, but Karlach was generously offering a private moment on a silver platter. He gave Karlach a nod, who playfully saluted him before striding away. Puffing out his chest, he limped over to the sorceress.  

As he got closer, the existing weakness in his body seemed to intensify with each step, gravity weighing heavier on his shoulders. Terror-stricken, his mind began to race: had he misread the signs of his arcane hunger, was his demise closer than he predicted? By the time he was standing next to Tav, he was stifling the grunts of pain that urged him to fall over and curl up. Her gaze shifted over to him, lifting a brow with a distinctly unamused expression. 

“What's up with you?” she inquired, watching with an icy gaze as he caught his breath.  

He hunched over, holding onto his knees for support. “Quite exhausted… a good night's sleep would do me wonders.” 

“Adventuring turned out to be too much for you, huh?” she shrugged. “It's not for everyone. Feel free to head back to camp if you're feeling a little winded.”  

He bit his tongue, reminding himself that their lives were at risk if she got under his skin. “As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid it will have to wait. I was hoping to speak with you about something rather important–”

She held up a hand to silence him. “Quiet down. I want to try something.”  

He blinked, though unsurprised that she cut him off. She remained utterly fixated on the tree before her, as if debating whether or not to touch the bark. After a pause, she outstretched both her hands and held them in front of her body, magic crackling between her fingers but fizzling out just as quickly. A cautious smile curled her lips.  

A dark realization loomed over him like a thundering cloud; with his own hands, he tried to cast a simple cantrip but saw it fizzle just as hers did. His magic, their magic, was being snuffed out by the tree. He glanced up at it, but the look on his face was far less awestruck.  

“The tree isn't agreeing with you, is it?” he asked before staring at his trembling palms.  

She tilted her chin as a vague nod, paying him no mind.

“It's the same for me. We're sitting ducks in the presence of this tree, you and I.”

She cocked a brow at his words, though she remained focused ahead of her. “Speak for yourself, wizard. I still have my crossbow.”

Couldn't argue with that. “Quack.” 

Her lips tightened, though he wasn't sure if she was trying to stifle a laugh or was unamused with the conversation.  

“Regardless of your martial prowess, I suggest we distance ourselves from this Weave-sucking organism. This is no place to dawdle without all our abilities at the ready.”

“I don't need magic,” she snapped. “Though it would be in your best interest to waddle off,” she paused, looking him up and down. “And you should rest soon, you look like you got your ass handed to you… twice.”

“It certainly feels as such,” he groaned, placing his hands on his lower back and then stretching to straighten himself, disgusted by the cacophony of cracking bones. “But that is why I'm here now.”

"You want me to kick your ass a third time?"

"Tav, just hear me out–"

“So you're interrupting my thought process to complain about how tired you feel? Tsk tsk, you poor thing. You really ought to lay down.”  She looked at him again, lifting her brows expectantly. “Back at camp.”

Gods, give him strength. “I understand I'm intruding upon your fascination with this tree, but this is a delicate magical matter of critical importance.”

She placed a hand on her chest and gasped, feigning surprise. “My word, did I hear that correctly? You wanted to speak with me about an oh-so-delicate magical matter? I'm touched you'd consider some bratty, undisciplined sorceress to aid you.”  

He winced at the memory of his outburst. “Look, I realize I owe you an apology; I upset you and should have shown more decorum. Nevertheless, I hope to appeal to your admittedly altruistic attributes.”  

She gave him a blank look. “Care to repeat that in Common for me?”  

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wondered if Mystra found it amusing that his potential savior was as stubborn as a mule.    

“Against my better judgment, I've grown to trust you. I hoped we could put our differences aside so that I could ask for your help.”  

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “‘Against your better judgment’, huh? You're terrible at begging.”  

“Not something I do often. Trust me, I'm not overjoyed with the circumstances I've found myself in, and I wouldn't bother unless the situation was dire.”  

“Right…”  

Without warning, she slid her hand onto his forehead, then pressed it along the nape his neck, making him jump from his skin.  

“What in Mystra’s name are you doing?!” he exclaimed, flinching away from her touch.  

“Checking your temperature,” she stated simply, leaning forward to keep pressing her hand against him. “You look like death and you're talking nonsense, so you must be coming down with something.”

He huffed, trying to swat her hand away. “I am not sick! I may not be the picture of health at the moment but I guarantee my sanity is still intact. Your pestering, however, may be the catalyst that breaks it.”  

“I'll have my fingers crossed.”  

Eventually, she took a wide step back, thankfully well out of his personal space. With a thoughtful hum, she tapped her finger on her chin, examining him like a patient… or a specimen. “Maybe the tree takes your magic and your brain cells the closer you get to it. You're pretty dependent on the Weave, after all.”

He scoffed.  “While I won't argue with the latter, I find it unlikely that this parasitic plant has hindered my mind. I assure you, I've given this a great deal of thought and I come to the same abject conclusion every time: you are the only hope I have.”  

“It's fascinating that you can flatter and insult someone at the same time. But why me? Why not ask someone more… capable?”

Her words hit something deep within him, silencing whatever snappy comeback that would have come next. He gave her a fixed look, analyzing her curious expression, then swallowed the forming lump in his throat. “You're perfectly capable.”

An uneasy silence fell between them, much like when he insulted her days ago, one that made the air unbearably warm and had the wizard feeling more vulnerable than before he was siphoned of magic.

The surprise sincerity caught both of them off guard, and now she was watching him as if he were a predator ready to pounce. Dim blue light illuminated her features, highlighting her in such a way that could almost be described as divine if she didn't look so flabbergasted.  

Something overflowed within him, something gentle but genuine, softening his tone, begging him to continue. “More than capable, in fact. Truth be told, it's because of your capability that I trust you above others. You've been a valuable ally thus far. Although we tend to… be at odds with one another, I have never doubted you. And so I ask for your help because…”  

As he trailed off to find the words, she took a small, slow step forward, looking at him expectantly. He took a deep breath, letting go of air in his lungs he didn't realize he was holding.  

“I have more faith in you than myself, and I need help… please.”

He looked down at her, merely a breath apart–gods, they were closer than he realized–following her eyes as she studied his face. For this, he held perfectly still, not daring to blink.

Then, at long last, she cocked her head slightly, leaned in just enough to make him gasp, and gave him a coy smile.  

“So you do know how to beg…” she spoke softly, the warmth of her breath spreading goosebumps across his bare skin.

His heart plummeted to his stomach, his body stumbling back to regain some much-needed breathing room, his mind and mouth babbling livid nonsense at her. 

“D-Do you take s-some deranged pleasure making light of m-my misfortunes?! By the Weave, it should not be this-this difficult to ask for assistance in such a grave matter! A-And what possesses you to i-invade one’s personal space?! Why, I’ve never faced such ludicrous behavior in–”

His squawking was cut short when he saw her trembling, hiding a mischievous grin behind her hand. Finally, she dissolved into laughter, hugging her sides and doubling over as the residual embarrassment burned his face. It was remarkable that he hadn’t burst into flames yet, but watching as she made sport of him brought him closer to an explosive edge.  

“Oh, having a bit of fun, are you?” he snapped. “Well, I’m pleased that some humor can be found in my troubles.”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she amicably clapped a hand on his shoulder, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and an infuriatingly broad smile. “Gods, I haven’t laughed that hard since I was little.”

“Are you quite finished?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “For now. You’ll find that I’ll make several jokes at your expense as I help you with… Whatever it is that you need.”  

He opened his mouth to protest but stopped once he processed her words. His gaze fell to where her hand still rested, her touch pleasantly warm, then traced up her arm until his eyes met her own: it was the same selfless, steadfast look she gave the tieflings when she offered to find their missing leader, the same one that called for peace between Wyll and Karlach upon their hostile meeting, the same that comforted a grieving dog and lovingly invited him back to their camp.

“Did… you’re going to help me? Just like that?” he muttered in disbelief.

Tav nodded, her hand remaining firmly in place. “As long as you believe me capable enough, I’ll do whatever I can. You have my word.”  

Relief hit him like a tidal wave, a heartfelt smile slowly growing as he prepared to fall to his knees in gratitude. “T…Thank you, Tav. Truly. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“I truly don't. As desperate as you claim to be, you’ve given me no reason why, so I trust details will come to light later.” Her hand lifted off his shoulder, using her fingers to pinch his cheek. “After your heartfelt apology for calling me a brat.”

He rolled his eyes. “If I must, but I'm starting to think it suits you. Perhaps I'll call you that instead of Tav.”  

At this, she used her hand to pat his cheek. “Only if I get to call you a smartass.”

“You're incorrigible.”  

“See, that's a word a smartass would use,” she smiled, her hand resting gently on his cheek.  

For a moment, they stood in captivated silence; her thumb grazed his skin, tickling his beard, stealing his breath away once again. Something in his mind ordered him to push her hand away, but his body was already resisting the urge to lean further into her touch.  

Her eyes were seemingly lost until they suddenly narrowed, focusing on the left side of his face. “What's wrong with your tattoo?” 

Tattoo?

Adjusting her grip, she slid her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him dangerously close, examining his skin with her fingers, following the lines that led down his robes. Panic rose in his chest, his body now trying to pull away from her grasp. “T-Tav, wait–” 

“This… is this a scar?”

Beneath their feet the ground started to quake, amplifying intensity until their skulls rattled. Large branches began falling around them, so he threw a protective arm around her shoulders, using his body to shield her head. About a hundred meters in front of them, the earth cracked upwards in a continuous jagged line like something was about to burst free, burrowing ravenously in wide circles.  

In the distance, he could make out Lae’zel and Karlach, standing back-to-back with readied weapons as the creature closed in around them. Tav whipped out her crossbow, hastily loading an arrow and aiming it.  

“I'd save your ammunition, this fiend is undoubtedly a bulette,” he explained, holding on to her for balance. “Its hide is notorious for being impenetrable. Do you have a backup plan?” 

“You need to get out of here,” she urged. “Get some distance from the tree then teleport as far away as you can.”

“And then what?” 

The ground shook again as the creature circled past, nearly knocking himself over. Tav quickly wrapped a firm arm around his torso to steady him, never losing sight of her target.  

“Work on your apology for me, and we'll meet you back at camp later.” 

Fighting the blush blooming on his cheeks, he shook his head and glared at her. “That's a ridiculous plan if you could even call it that.”

“Karlach and Lae'zel are still here, and you're in no condition to fight. We can handle ourselves, but you need to get to safety.”  

“Have you already forgotten that bit I mentioned about its impenetrable hide? Blades and arrows will merely bounce off its body. I can help, but we must take a moment to consider our strategy–”

Honing in around their allies, the creature's circles enclosed tighter around them, breaking apart the ground until it collapsed entirely, devouring the two women.  

Everything that followed seemed to occur in slow motion: the screams of Lae’zel and Karlach, not their furious battle cries but ones of shock and terror, rang through the Underdark. Tav released her hold on Gale's body and raced toward the newly formed pit, firing her crossbow at the creature still tunneling underground. The loose arrow flew and struck the earth, the burrowing screeching to a halt. As she raced toward her comrades, the creature changed direction and began charging for her.  

Without slowing pace, Tav loaded another arrow and fired again. The arrow snapped on impact, the remains ricocheting off the cracking earth. Enormous claws exploded from the ground, rubble blasting in every direction, forcing Tav to shield her face with her arms. Clawing itself free from its tunnel, the monstrous bulette wasted no time and locked on to Tav, hurtling toward her with unstoppable ferocity.  

Gale didn't plan to sprint after her, adrenaline giving him enough strength to shove her out of the bulette's path, thus he did not brace his body for the impact of the rushing beast, flying through the air like a rag doll, or prioritize a safe landing several meters away from the tree, tumbling haphazardly until he stopped on his back just short of a ledge that would have dropped him into murky waters.  

He also did not account for the force he used to push Tav, which knocked the crossbow from her grasp and sent it flying into the darkness. By Mystra's grace, she managed to secure a landing, deftly rolling until stopping on her hands and knees, though he should have known that the bulette would now choose between two helpless morsels: a markswoman without her weapon or a wizard that just had his soul knocked out of him.  

His vision phased in and out of darkness, barely focusing on the creature or Tav, though he could make out the beast shifting its massive head between the two of them, huffing aggravated air out its nostrils while its claws stamped in place. He grit his teeth and moved to stand, but the excruciating soreness in his undoubtedly broken ribs forced him prone again.  

Groaning helplessly and clutching his aching sides, he was at an utter loss: there was no time to plan a battle strategy, no means to recover his strength or Tav's weapon, no way for the two of them to make a swift escape… 

But Tav could still get away.  

The bulette's head jerked to one side, pointing toward Tav, who was frantically throwing rocks at the creature and shouting for its attention. The rocks harmlessly rebounded off its armor but still garnered its attention, the beast now trudging toward her. He had to act now.

With a pained outcry, he lifted his arms and legs, striking the ground with his limbs.  

The bulette paused, digging its claws into the dirt and sniffing the air. He flailed harder, faster, beating the ground with all his might as pained tears rolled down his face. With an earth-shattering roar, the beast turned tail and began hurtling toward him. 

Gale couldn't hear whatever Tav was yelling; there was nothing but a constant ringing in his ears. His vision threatened to fade completely, but he could barely see the predator approaching. The tremors intensified, shaking him violently against the ground.  

Rolling to one side, he winced and decided to close his eyes. So this was it; just as he relished in the glimmer of hope Tav provided him, too. At least he died trying. Maybe the beast would ram through him and knock his body deeper into the Underdark, then everyone would be safe from him…

Mystra.

Elminster.

His mother.

Tara.

His friends.

…Tav.

“GALE–” 

Tav's scream pierced his consciousness, his eyes flying open and rapidly scanning around for her.  

As if in slow motion, he watched as the bulette continued stampeding toward him, Tav chasing after the beast with magical flames blazing from her hands. Reeling back, she launched one fire bolt after another with all her might, hitting the monster's armor but merely searing the hide. Despite the strength of her magic, she would need something more powerful than fire to take down the creature.  

Her magic…

In that moment, realization struck him like lightning, giving him a harebrained idea that could only end in catastrophe.  

With the remains of his courage, he lifted his arm and flicked his wrist, weakly drawing arcane symbols in the air, then uttered his verbal component.    

“Detono–”  

He could feel the overwhelming pulse of energy from the explosion, his last breath being knocked out of his lungs, finally giving in to oblivion.  

Chapter Text

Revivify 

[Level 3 Necromancy]

You touch a creature that has died within the last minute. That creature returns to life with 1 hit point.

A warble of sound barely roused Tav from dreamless sleep—but her eyes flew open as she awoke to rigorous (near violent) shaking. Lae'zel gripped her shoulders, claws digging into her skin.

"On your feet," the gith commanded. "There is still work to be done."

Tav forced herself upright, wincing as she cradled her throbbing head. Her surroundings were a blur. As her vision cleared, she saw Lae'zel kneeling at her side and Karlach looming overhead, both of them coated in filth. The fragmented ground bore no signs of a battle—only haphazard destruction without clear cause.

Weapon in hand, Karlach glanced around eagerly. "Where'd that giant fucker run off to? Its skull is late for a date with my axe."

"Who... who are we talking about...?" Tav slurred, swaying unsteadily.

With an exasperated sigh, Lae'zel grasped her chin, inspecting her eyes. "You are in no condition to fight. Return to camp and have Shadowheart tend your wounds."

"Can you get up?" Karlach peered over the gith’s shoulder. "I’d carry you if it wouldn’t burn your hide."

"Tchk! Tav is not some mewling pup—she will walk or she will be dragged," Lae'zel growled. "And she will be ever grateful to experience the limits of my mercy."

"Might have to drag her and Gale back, if we ever find the poor fella. I just hope he didn’t get eaten or somethin’.”

“Gale…” Tav looked around slowly, careful not to aggravate her blistering headache. No sign of him. No remnants, no trace. Something important tugged at her memory—but her eyelids were heavy, her thoughts slow and syrupy. Maybe Lae'zel would drag her if she just let herself pass out.

Karlach frowned. “Doesn’t seem like you know where he is either.”

“Focus.” Lae'zel tapped her cheek, sharp but not cruel. “What do you remember?”

Tav’s eyes flitted between their muddied faces, searching for something familiar. She remembered falling. Rushing to their side with her crossbow. She patted weakly around her waist and back, expecting the comforting weight of it—but found nothing. A prickle of irritation sparked. Where the hells had it gone? Shadowheart just bought her that crossbow.

But the thought of it made her nauseous. A chill of unease laced through her confusion. Panic stirred—irrational, outsized—and she didn’t know why.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced her battered mind to remember. Foggy flashes of combat emerged—and then, with sudden clarity:

Gale. He’d shoved her out of the way. Saved her from the bulette. And then—

Her eyes snapped open. She whirled around, her heart crashing in her chest like a war drum. Karlach and Lae’zel were saying something—probably to calm her—but their voices were muffled by the roar of her pulse.

There. A fresh crater near the cliffside. She remembered the explosion—the spell that had sent the bulette tumbling into the abyss. She ran, stumbling over loose stone, adrenaline drowning out the pain.

At the cliff’s edge, strewn among scattered debris, a twisted mound of earth caught her attention. Teetering near the drop, it barely concealed long, pale fingers.

Her breath hitched.

She dropped to her knees, clawing through the dirt, revealing Gale’s battered form—one side of his body buried, the other limp, dark with bruises and smeared blood. His eyes were closed, as if dreaming.

“No…” she breathed, her fingers trembling as they brushed his cheek. His skin was still warm. Barely. “No, no, no, no…”

She dug at the dirt in frantic handfuls, revealing more of him as Karlach and Lae’zel arrived.

“Holy shit,” Karlach murmured. “Did Gale fight that thing by himself?”

“K’chakhi,” Lae’zel spat, shaking her head. “Perhaps not as spineless as I thought. But a fool, to face such a creature alone.”

He wasn’t alone, Tav thought, agony blooming in her chest. I was there. And I was useless.

She had just cleared his chest when she realized—he wasn’t breathing.

“Gale?” she whispered, disbelief cracking her voice. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Gale!” Her voice rose in panic. She slapped his face—once, then again, harder. Nothing. Her own breath became ragged. Pressing her ear to his chest, she heard… nothing.

When she straightened, the world fell still. Soundless. Airless.

She stared at him in silent horror.

Then she moved—urgently, instinctively—pressing her palms to his chest. Rhythmic compressions. “C’mon, you bastard,” she pleaded, voice shaking. “You’re not dying here.” Bones cracked under her hands, and she flinched, but kept going. “C’mon! Don’t do this. Don’t you fucking do this—please don’t—”

A hand rested gently on her shoulder. She turned, wild-eyed—and met Lae’zel’s gaze. Her ochre eyes held something close to compassion.

“That’s enough, Tav,” she said—firm, but soft. “He is gone. And we must keep moving.”

She didn’t mention carrying his body. Didn’t speak of burial. There was only the implication: they would return to camp, leaving Gale behind to rot in the Underdark.

Perhaps that was githyanki custom. Or perhaps it was just… how things were.

But it didn’t feel right.

A droplet of water landed on Tav’s cheek. She wiped it away, assuming it was her own tear—until another hit Lae’zel’s face.

All three looked up. Overhead, a swirling knot of dark clouds hovered low, shedding a soft drizzle.

“What the hells?” Karlach murmured, the rain sizzling faintly on her skin.

Lae’zel clicked her tongue. Her gaze snapped to Tav.

Tav blinked. Her hands still rested on Gale’s chest—where a faint blue light now pulsed beneath her fingertips.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” Her voice broke. She lifted her hands, watching the glow flicker across her palms. Something inside her chest twisted and pulled, squeezing her lungs, her heart.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into skin. Tears streamed freely now. Her jaw set. And then—

She collapsed forward, her body curling over Gale’s as the sobs overtook her.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen…” Her voice was muffled against his blood-soaked robes, her fingers curling into the fabric, holding tight to what warmth remained. "I'm so sorry..."

The sounds of Tav’s cries were swallowed by the magical deluge, her two remaining companions sitting with her in respectful silence—mourning the loss of one of the few good people left in their world… a loss she felt responsible for. Eventually, she would have to stand, or Lae’zel would drag her back like the useless burden she feared she was. But for now, kneeling beside him, grieving, was the very least she could do.

Sudden gasps and the sharp shing! of drawn blades behind her cut through the silence, snapping Tav’s head around. Karlach and Lae’zel were already in fighting stances, facing an enemy that made her stomach drop.

Standing calmly with his hands clasped behind his back was Gale—or some translucent illusion of him—his eyes colorless, his smile unnervingly polite.

“Well met,” it intoned, voice dissonant and unearthly, as if dozens of Gales spoke at once. “I am a magical projection of Gale of Waterdeep. If you see this manifestation, it means I have prematurely perished.”

“Is this your doing too, soldier?” Karlach muttered, gripping her axe tightly, ready to strike.

“N-No… I don’t think so…” Tav whispered, dazed, waiting for the mirage to speak again—hoping to confirm they’d all lost their minds.

“However,” the projection continued, “for reasons that cannot be disclosed, it is of vital importance that my death be remedied at your earliest convenience.”

“Chk. I take back what I said about the wizard before,” Lae’zel sneered, tightening her grip on her sword. “A warrior would face his death head-on. Instead, his spirit chooses to haunt us—too cowardly to accept his fate.”

The projection nodded, as if acknowledging the insult, then resumed: “Rest assured, I do not speak out of self-preservation alone. Many lives depend on my return within the span of two days.” It held up two fingers, emphasizing the deadline, and locked its gaze on Tav. “I trust I’ve made myself clear.”

Without a hint of haste, the projection walked between the two armed women and loomed over Tav’s kneeling form. The sudden presence sent goosebumps racing across her skin. At this close range, she could see the rain slipping right through its massless body.

“I possess upon my deceased person a magical item capable of restoring me. However, due to its value and rarity, it is protected by a multi-layered security protocol.”

The illusion paused, waiting for Tav to act. Hesitantly, she glanced down at the real Gale—cold and lifeless at her knees.

“Oh gods… Sorry about this…” she murmured, swallowing the knot in her throat. Turning away, she gently patted along his body, careful to avoid any injuries, until her fingers brushed something firm—like the corner of a book. Curiosity piqued, she lifted his robes and pulled free a small leather package wrapped in several colored threads.

Above them, the storm softened until it ceased entirely, leaving the trio soaked and silent.

Tav looked back to the ghostly Gale, who now smiled at her. Karlach and Lae’zel exchanged bewildered glances as they lowered their weapons.

“Very good, Tav. I will now explain the protocol,” the projection said, seemingly pleased despite its monotone voice. Suddenly, Tav’s pounding headache surged back with a vengeance.

Tav dipped her rag back into the water bucket, wringing out the excess before easing it onto the knot on her head. She sighed in relief at the cool sensation.

Time was impossible to tell in the Underdark, but judging by her companions’ exhaustion, it was probably evening above. Or maybe their thorough ass-kicking just left them feeling especially drained.

Around their makeshift camp, luminous foliage dotted the cavern walls and ceiling, crafting a faint impression of stars. The sight made her ache for the surface.

She sat quietly by the campfire, absently prodding the flames with a stick, her eyes fixed on Gale’s tent.

Shadowheart crawled out now and then, emerging with a bowl of water and bloodied rags before retreating with fresh supplies. The only sounds were murmured voices, and faint bursts of blue light peeking from beneath the tent’s walls.

Tav must have been watching for some time—she had to add more logs to the fire to keep it alive.

“How ya holding up, soldier?” came a kind voice. Their sweet barbarian, now dry and clad in camp clothes, plopped down beside her. The warmth from Karlach’s body soothed something inside Tav.

“I’ve had worse,” Tav replied, pulling the rag off her head to dip it back in the bucket. “But at least I didn’t die.”

Karlach grinned, easygoing as ever. “That’s always a plus. Poor guy’s just so… squishy, y’know? But he’s a smart egg—really knows how to plan ahead.”

Tav flinched but kept her eyes narrowed on the fire. “Yeah… good thing he anticipated his death.”

Clenching the rag, she shoved it back into the bucket, rewetting it before settling it on her head. Even as water dripped down her face, she caught Karlach watching her from the corner of her eye.

“You sure you’re alright? Seems like you hit your head harder than we thought.”

“I’m fine…” Tav started but perked up when the tent flap shifted. Shadowheart crawled out again, this time carrying more dirty water and stained rags, before sighing and heading toward the nearby stream.

Karlach glanced back and forth between Shadowheart and Tav several times before a pleased sound escaped her. “Oooh, I see. You’re still worried about him.”

“Nope.” Tav answered flatly, readjusting the rag.

Karlach raised a brow at the curt response. “You literally made a sad little storm cloud when you thought he died.”

“Not on purpose… and he did die.”

“It’s alright, soldier! He’s back with us, getting patched up real nice. After a good night’s sleep, he’ll be as good as new.”

A tense silence followed Karlach’s encouragement, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m sure it was scary seeing him… like that, even for a little bit. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if you two got along, but you were pretty torn up about it. But I reckon you’d get kinda weepy if anyone else died.”

Tav huffed through her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching faintly. “Probably.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Karlach continued, “I got a little teary-eyed myself, but I was probably more stunned than sad.” She looked back at the fire, a wry smile on her face. “I guess it’s been a while since I lost someone I cared about. Almost forgot what it felt like…”

A somber silence followed. Tav studied her friend’s face carefully, quietly admiring the peace beneath her blazing eyes. Her strong body was bruised and scarred—battle wounds layered over years of surviving the Hells. Despite being such a hardened warrior, Karlach saw the best in her, making the truth taste bitter.

“It… it’s not just that,” Tav admitted, looking back. “Of course I was upset when he died, but… he didn’t have to. I could’ve saved him. You and Lae’zel weren’t there, but I lost my crossbow—and I couldn’t use this stupid magic to save him.”

“C’mon, you can’t blame yourself for that—”

Her grip tightened on the rag, wringing more water onto her face. “He beat that thing alone, on the brink of death, using magic. He saved me… he saved himself, and I couldn’t…”

Her voice trailed off. Her friend listened patiently as she vented her wounded pride. Gods, she felt like an arsehole. Frustration clouded her mind and her headache throbbed anew.

“It seems like he knew none of us could save him. So he rigged up that weird projection to bring him back once we inevitably failed.”

Karlach hummed thoughtfully, watching Tav’s thoughts like a dance overhead. “Hmm… Well, if you ask me, I don’t think that’s why he has it.”

Tav blinked as water dripped down her temple. “What do you mean?”

The tiefling leaned back on her hands, choosing her words carefully. “If I had to guess, he probably has that… What did he call it? ‘Scroll of Tidy Redecoration?’” She spun her hand, trying to summon the words.

Tav smirked. “True Resurrection.”

Karlach snapped her fingers. “Yeah, that’s it. Anyway, you heard his ghost earlier. He probably has it because he knows he’s squishy and there’s something important he’s gotta do before he kicks the bucket for real.”

Her headache pounded behind her eyes as faint memories of Gale floated forward: a desperate plea, something he needed her help with…

“And that scroll sounds pretty rare, so I don’t think he’d trust that with just anyone. The ghost didn’t even look at me and Lae,” she pointed a finger at Tav, a shrewd smile playing on her face. “It walked right up to you.”

A flush of embarrassment burned her cheeks, and she turned back to the fire. “It probably did that because I was the closest to him,” she rationalized, dipping the rag again—desperate to cool herself.

“Maybe, maybe…” Karlach drawled, enjoyment plain in her voice. “But is that what you actually believe?”

Tav resisted an incredulous look, but her face betrayed her, darkening as she averted her eyes from the smug tiefling.

In all her mortification, she didn’t notice Shadowheart silently appear at her side.

“Tav,” Shadowheart said softly, making her jump.

Looking up, Tav saw dark circles under the cleric’s eyes, her face paler and more exhausted than before.

“Shad,” she sighed, pressing a hand to her chest in relief. “Gods… tell me, how is he?”

“He’s better than he was,” Shadowheart said, less pleased than expected. “But there’s something else.”

The two women stood to attention, panic tightening Tav’s bruised heart.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m not sure,” Shadowheart admitted. “I’ve completely healed his physical wounds, but…” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “He keeps writhing in agony. He’s sweating buckets—sometimes it seems like he’s in so much pain, he can barely hear me.”

Karlach and Tav exchanged worried looks before turning back to her.

“When I tried to examine him thoroughly, he stopped me,” Shadowheart continued, confusion plain in her voice. “He refused to explain, assured me it had nothing to do with the tadpole. So I did what I could for the night.”

“Maybe he’s shy and doesn’t like thorough examinations?” Karlach offered.

Shadowheart shook her head. “Doubtful. Even if he was, I’d ignore it and try to heal him anyway. He’s hiding something I can’t see, and whatever it is, it’s causing him great pain.”

“This is ridiculous! Of all the times to be his stupid, headstrong self,” Tav lamented, giving the cleric a pleading look. “If he’s being stubborn, make him tell you!”

“I can hardly fault him for keeping things to himself, even if it pains him.” Shadowheart glanced at her hand, quietly admiring the dark wound embedded in her skin. “I actually respect him for it.”

“So we’re just going to let some mysterious illness kill him again because he doesn’t want to talk?”

“I’ve done all I can, Tav,” Shadowheart said, her voice edged. “Whatever it is goes beyond my healing. I need to call upon my Dark Lady and pray for answers.”

Tav turned to Karlach, who looked just as worried. “Karlach, talk some sense into her. We can’t just leave him in pain!”

Karlach looked between them, shrinking beneath their gazes, before putting hands on hips, sighing, and scuffing her boot in the dirt. Her usual lighthearted tone dropped.

“You’re sure he’s not going to tell you?”

Shadowheart nodded solemnly.

The tiefling shook her head, meeting Tav’s eyes with the same grave stare. “Then it’s out of our hands, Tavie,” she said, her displeasure clear. “If Gale wants to tell us what’s wrong, he will.”

Tav glanced between them, scoffing softly in disbelief, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. Shadowheart gently rested a hand on her shoulder—a quiet apology and reassurance.

“I promise I’ll try again in the morning, Tav,” she said, exhaustion plain in her voice. “Shar will guide me on the right path, but for now… we have to wait.”

Karlach gave a sympathetic look. “I know you’re worried, but all we can do is sleep. Then you can check on Gale bright and early.”

Tav rolled her eyes. As if she’d be the first to check on him—a ridiculous thought she wouldn’t dignify with a response. She merely nodded, letting the two women retreat to their tents.

Using her bucket of water, she poured it slowly over the fire, eyeing Gale’s tent with taut muscles and furrowed brows.

It would be pointless to check on him. Shadowheart had tended to his wounds, but whatever mysterious ailment plagued him, his lips were sealed for the first time in his life.

She wasn’t going to check on him. Absolutely not.

Pulling back the tent flap, Tav was unsurprised to be greeted by the familiar scent of a library. Faint notes of medicinal herbs hung in the air, but they were overwhelmed by the rich aroma of old books.

His tent was cluttered in the way only a wizard’s could be—tomes, scrolls, alchemical tools, star charts, and arcane miscellanea covered nearly every inch of floor. It was like someone had crammed an entire wizard tower into a ten-foot canvas square. Tav crawled in carefully, wary not to crush any fragile paper or knock over delicate glass. Her eyes found him instantly—and she froze.

By all appearances, he was intact and stable. Bandages were wrapped neatly around his torso and head, and a translucent salve shimmered across his bruises and cuts. Shadowheart had done a superb job, not that Tav expected any less.

What she didn’t expect… were his abs.

She hadn’t seen Gale shirtless before. In close camp quarters she’d already caught glimpses of Wyll and Astarion sans shirts, but she had avoided Gale with practiced ease. So she had no idea that beneath those flowing robes and layered tunics were the most ridiculously well-defined muscles she’d ever seen on a man.

Her face turned a violent shade of red.

She stood there, silent and stunned, until Gale stirred—turning his head toward her with a tired half-smile that sent a warm, unwelcome flutter through her chest.

“Tav,” he greeted with a groan, attempting to sit up. “What a surprise…”

“Y-yes, well…” she began, flustered, promptly looking anywhere but at him as he eased into a cross-legged position. “Shadowheart said you weren’t feeling well, so I just—”

“No need to explain yourself,” he interrupted, holding up a hand—far less pompous than usual—before wincing and clutching his side. “Ah… apologies. She did excellent work, but some wounds require miracles rather than medicine.”

She blinked. No sarcasm, no smugness. Just… gratitude. It was unsettling. Gale being relaxed in her presence was a surefire sign something was deeply wrong. Perhaps he was on death’s doorstep.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, Tav focusing hard on everything in the tent except the shirtless man in front of her.

Gale cleared his throat. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to thank you for reviving me.”

“It wasn’t easy,” she muttered, fingers fiddling in her lap. “Your instructions were… elaborate.”

“Deliberately so. One, to ensure only someone who truly wished for my return would go through the trouble. And two,” he added with a sly smile that twisted her stomach, “I do enjoy a bit of theatrical flair in my puzzles.”

Despite herself, Tav smiled faintly. “Clever. Almost too clever. I couldn’t have done it without the others.”

“Then I owe them thanks as well,” he said warmly. “Come morning, I’ll tell them so.”

She hummed a vague response, her gaze drifting to the floor. He looked fine—too fine. Alive. Whole. Smiling. Yet something unknown still plagued him, something he refused to name. Her fingers tightened, trying to anchor her swirling thoughts.

“So… you’re really okay?” she asked, her voice tight.

“Much better, thanks to you. And the others, of course.” He smiled again, soft and unguarded.

“Good,” she muttered—and then hurled a book at his chest.

The spine smacked him with a satisfying thump, earning a startled squawk from the wizard.

“Ow! What in the hells was that for?!”

She was already reaching for a scroll. “This is for being a damned fool!”

Another book hit him in the ribs.

“Careful!” he yelped, raising his arms. “Some of those are first editions!”

“What is wrong with you?!” she snapped, hurling another.

“Me?! I’m not the one attacking an injured man with his own library!”

She lobbed a flask at his stomach.

“I told you to run!”

“Technically I did run—”

A measuring tool caught him square in the side.

“I was worried sick!”

“And this is how you express concern?! This is wildly inappropriate! I saved your life!”

Her fury surged. Grabbing a hefty almanac with both hands, she beat him across his side.

“Nobody—asked—you—to—do—that!” she punctuated each word with a whack.

“Did you want me to abandon you while you stood there with a crossbow I warned you wouldn’t work?!” he shouted, now cowering.

“I thought you were smart! I thought you’d actually listen to me and save your own damn life!”

“Alright—alright—I’m sorry!”

She froze.

Book raised. Breathing heavy. Arm trembling.

Gale peeked out from behind his hands. When nothing struck him, he slowly lowered them. The two stared at one another, panting—Tav with righteous fury and Gale with wide-eyed caution, like a man who had narrowly avoided death twice in one day.

“You’re… sorry?” she repeated, stunned.

He sighed, rolling his eyes despite himself. “Is it that hard to believe?”

“For you, yes.”

She dropped the book beside her with a thud, scooting back slightly.

He winced, shifting upright again, and she resisted the urge to reach out. “You’re right to be angry,” he said, voice quieter now. “It was reckless. I put myself in danger, and for a moment, you thought I was gone. That must’ve been… terrifying. Even if I’m not your favorite person.”

The weight of his words hit harder than any book ever could.

“I’m sorry too,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “You did what I would’ve done. What I do all the time… It’s no wonder you hate me—”

“I don’t hate you.”

She blinked, startled by his sudden firmness. His voice and eyes both carried a certainty that made her heart stutter.

“I… don’t hate you either,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the pile of scattered books. “I’m just… sensitive.”

“You don’t say?” Gale gestured at the carnage around them with a smirk. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Anyway,” she said, narrowing her eyes despite the smile tugging at her lips, “I’m glad you’re not dead. But what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he admitted, sheepish. “You once said I needed to think on my feet—so I did.”

“Not like that, you idiot.”

His grin widened, a blush finally blooming on his cheeks. “I’m still a novice at this. I just did what felt right.”

“Thinking on your feet isn’t the same as getting yourself killed.”

“Oh, so now there are rules for improvisation?” He gave her a mock-offended look. “You’re impossible to please.”

“Just… don’t ever do it again, alright?”

“In all fairness,” he said as he adjusted back into a seated pose, “you charged in first. I merely saved you from your own recklessness.”

A scroll bounced off his shoulder. He sighed, long-suffering.

“That’s different,” she huffed.

“Hardly.”

As he reached to gather his belongings, he suddenly dropped them with a grimace, his hand pressing to his ribs. Tav’s smug satisfaction faded, guilt creeping back in as she watched him wince from the pain—pain she might’ve worsened.

“Look, I’m sorry about your ribs,” she muttered, rubbing her arm. “I don’t know if Shadowheart was able to heal them, but it was all I could think of—”

“It’s not my ribs that hurt,” he groaned, hunched over and panting.

Before she could ask what he meant, Gale looked up and met her eyes, his expression suddenly grave.

“Do you remember what I tried to tell you before the battle?” he asked, his brow furrowing as his pupils seemed to tremble.

Her head still ached, memories muddled from the blow she’d taken. Whatever conversation he was referring to had been cut short. “Not exactly,” she admitted cautiously.

He shook his head, extending his hand. “That’s alright. I feel... more certain now. But it would be better if I show you. Please—give me your hand.”

She stared at his hand, expecting a trick, maybe a quip. But he said nothing more, just waited with surprising patience. Slowly, she reached out, sliding her fingers into his. He guided her hand to his chest, pressing her palm flat over his heart. Both of them flushed as he gently brought his other hand up, holding hers in place.

A faint lilac glow began to rise beneath her touch, seeping through his skin, tracing the lines of old scars and new wounds. The light climbed his throat, coiling up toward his eye, pulsing ominously. Then the shadows came—darkness swirling around him, drawn inward like water spiraling into a drain.

His body seized, wracked with sudden violence. He clung to her hand like a lifeline, muscles straining, lips pulled back in a grimace of pain.

“G-Gale?!” she cried, grabbing his shoulder with her free hand. “What’s happening? Talk to me!”

Instead of answering, his gaze locked with hers—and a cold, familiar pressure touched the edge of her thoughts. He was opening his mind to her. Truly opening it. No walls, no clever barriers. Unlike the others, Gale had never allowed anyone inside his thoughts until now.

She hesitated, heart pounding, but he nodded, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple.

“It’s alright,” he gasped, brushing the edge of her mind. “Please, Tav…”

Her tadpole stirred, thrashing in her skull. She let it guide her across the threshold—and was instantly consumed.

She saw everything.

Gale’s mother. The flicker of joy in his eyes as he cast his first spell. The winged cat summoned in secret. His brilliant rise at the academy. The soft, divine presence always lingering behind him. Mystra’s voice—gentle, powerful—guiding his young hands. Her touch as she made him hers.

She felt his love for her. Pure. Radiant. Reckless.

She felt the moment it all shattered—the raw, tearing agony of a failed ritual, the ancient hunger burrowing into his chest, and the silence that followed. The exile. The shame. The terrible thirst that remained.

A hunger for the Weave.

She saw what he'd become: a living conduit of destructive magic, forced to consume enchanted trinkets to keep the monster inside him quiet. She saw Tara’s intervention. A simple bauble. A brief reprieve.

She saw herself, through his eyes: all fire and thorns, impossible and fascinating, the contradiction he hadn’t expected. The softness of her hand against his cheek. The promise she made—one she didn’t remember.

Then the link broke, and she reeled back into her body. The tent spun. Gale slumped, breath ragged, his hand still clutched tightly around hers.

“You’re alright,” she whispered, brushing the sweat from his brow with trembling fingers. “Just breathe. Deep breaths.”

He obeyed, shakily inhaling through his nose and exhaling through parted lips.

“How are you still alive?” she breathed.

“In part, because of you,” he replied, offering a wan, crooked smile. “Absorbing the fragment didn’t kill me—at least not right away. It was only the beginning.”

He released her hand from his chest, though his fingers lingered, his thumb resting in her palm—hot to the touch.

“This Netherese… thing—this orb—is lodged inside me. And it needs to be fed.”

Her blood ran cold.

“As long as I consume potent sources of the Weave, it stays calm. But if it destabilizes…”

“I don’t want to hear this,” she whispered.

“I will erupt.”

The silence that followed was worse than screaming. She stared at him like she had the first time she found his body: certain she was losing him again.

He pressed on, quietly. “I don’t know the full extent of the blast radius. But given my research into Netherese magic… even a fragment like mine could level Waterdeep.”

She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

And still, she held him tighter.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. The use of we surprised them both.

“There’s no solution,” he said, forehead brushing hers. “Only delay. I buy time, little by little. That’s all I can do.”

“What about Mystra?” she asked, desperate. “If anyone—”

“She can’t,” he interrupted, eyes shut tight. “Or she won’t. My disobedience cost me everything. My magic. My place. Her love.”

His voice cracked. The mighty archmage, broken down to a trembling man, clinging to the one person still holding on.

“This must feel like a betrayal,” he continued, drawing a slow breath. “You deserve to know. But if it’s too much—if you feel endangered—just say the word, and I’ll leave.”

Leave?

The thought turned her stomach. After all this, after holding him together in her arms, he thought she could just let go.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered, pulling him into a crushing embrace.

He froze, stiff in her arms, until slowly—cautiously—he returned it, arms slipping around her waist.

“It’s not stupid,” he said, voice thin. “Staying puts you all in danger.”

“Shut up.”

“There’s no cure—”

“I don’t care.”

“Tav, please—”

“No, Gale,” she hissed, squeezing him tighter. “Gods damn it, just shut up for once in your insufferable life and let me help you.”

He stopped. Not because he understood—but because for the first time, he believed her.

He managed to obey, more from the overwhelming shock and relief that accompanied her reassurance, her dedication, her obstinate vow to help him when she had every reason to turn him away.

They remained like that for a long time—silent, pressed together in the dim, cluttered warmth of his tent, surrounded by scattered books and glassware and the lingering weight of revelation. His breath slowed against her shoulder, and her hand never left his back, fingers curled into the fabric of his bandages like she could anchor him there, keep him tethered.

Eventually, he murmured, barely audible against her skin, “You’re going to regret this.”

She gave a quiet huff that might’ve been a laugh—or maybe the start of a sob. “Probably. But not tonight.”

Gale shifted back enough to look at her, his brow furrowed, a dozen unspoken fears still lingering in his expression. “Then what now?”

Tav glanced at him, then down at her hand still holding his. “Now… we find you more magic items. And after that? We figure it out.”

He gave her a tired smile, the kind that almost hurt to look at. “Together?”

Her gaze softened. “Together.”