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Chapter Text

Gale, god of ambition, felt a sudden pull towards the mortal planes, an irresistible tug that went far beyond mere calling upon his divine self. It wasn’t a prayer, nor an offering, just a quiet whisper into the night sky, yet it felt like the dying shriek of an ancient soul. He couldn’t turn himself away, he had to come looking. The nature of his ambition, whether he remembered it or not, was rooted in deep desire of learning, of curiosity, something stirred inside him, a feeling lost forgotten. Why not? He decided. One little peek. The woman, a half elf with chestnut hair and eyes so dark that ate the moon’s reflection, sat by her balcony at the upper city in Baldur’s Gate, parchment in hand, ink and quill on the floor. She gazed at the ocean, lips pursed, eyes strained. He wanted to take that bit of stray hair loose by the side of her cheek and tuck it behind her ear, but he was to remain unseen. What ails you? He whispered into her ear. She shivered. She whispered her desire into the darkness again, to be free of her patron’s clutches, her golden chains, to be free and create and make a name for herself through ink-stained fingers, pain and happiness. He felt her guilt, of course. People were starving on the streets, and there she was, wanting for nothing, gold in her pockets, the finest robes and dresses, exquisite wines. Gale could feel her sorrow, the ache for something real, to break free, for courage. Would he dare? It was a worthy ambition, he could see she was brave. But something held her back, what could it possibly be? He whispered in her ear: you are worthy, you can do anything you set your heart to. She smiled, but Gale could notice the shadow of a doubt in her eyes, not of herself, no, but something else, something he couldn’t grasp.

The woman fell asleep in her couch, and Gale made sure she was warm through the night, contemplating her, guarding her dreams, hopes and desires. Wondering.

Stardust, was her name. Bard, painter, writer of impossible tales- all for the amusement of her patron, of course. Gale watched her, always curious, her fingers quick with a quill, her throat the home of a thousand beautiful songs. She left tiny offerings to Deneir, asking for a lucid mind and endless tales, but those offerings? They were unnecessary. Gale could see her, day and night, her fingers raw, stained, muttering stories to herself before jolting them down like lightening, he? He was raptured. She was fire, passion, creation herself. She didn’t need Deneir to guide her quill, nor him to push her to greatness: she was already immense. But she didn’t know it. Would he dare? To show himself? He couldn’t. He had been once the mortal in the situation, admired, illuminated by a goddess, then tossed aside. But surely, this was different. Mystra never really cared for him, she wanted to use him, then discard him most literally. The bard? She was starlight, a little storm brewing in a bottle. She could not be contained any more than the ocean can be contained. It can be tamed, for a moment, but the waves? The tide? Oh, the ocean always finds a way to reclaim its domains. Stardust, the bard, she was a force of nature. Gale stopped listening to prayers, day by day they seemed more and more ridiculous. Because of her.

A fine day of fall, after a whole month of very respectful watching, he decided it had been enough. He couldn’t keep on being a shadow around her, he was a god, yes, but it didn’t give him the right to lurk inside her house. He felt embarrassed, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He hid behind a large tree by the doorway and, unseen by prying eyes, he casted a glamor on himself: the old Gale, before the netherese crown, before defeating the absolute. His hair, brown with streaks of grey, his skin caramel and sunkissed. He had missed his human appearance, but never allowed himself to think about it until then. He had given up so much to reach godhood, he couldn’t afford to second-guess himself, to give Mystra a reason to tell him she KNEW he didn’t have it in him, that he was nothing and would always be nothing, a mere mortal. Recently, he didn’t really care much, to be honest. He couldn’t wait to see her, for her to see him. What would he say? Hello, I’m Gale, god of ambition? Yes, maybe. It could go right or very very wrong. He decided against it. He couldn’t just appear in her house, what would Astarion do? Meet her in a public place, yes. Casual. Even gods were known to come down to have fun sometimes with the mortals, occasionally. He never followed her outside the house, but he knew she sometimes went to a tabern nearby after her performances with her patriar patron. She always arrived happy from there, her cheeks flushed, her spirits high. He would meet her there that night.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Gale sat by the bar, his human form unfamiliar after so long. He ordered a waterdhavian wiskey, it burned his throat as it went down, his cheeks flushed. She would be there, any second. The tavern was unusually quiet that night, wasn’t it? He remembered it bustling, people dancing, talking, but that night? Eyes low, whispers. He had been so focused on the bard, on Stardust, that he wasn’t aware of the latest news, could that be? That some patriar involved in a scandal was among them? Stardust avoided gossip, would she avoid the place that particular night? He was sweating. His body, his human body, was sweating. He, the god of ambition, didn’t get anxiety, of course. He wanted to see her and he would, one way or another, if not that night some other night. Right? Of course. Gale ordered another whiskey, to hold this time, to keep his hands occupied.

He heard it, then, suddenly: her laughter, that irresistible little snort she did when she was too excited. She didn’t care how it sounded, she needed to let her laugh out, and oh, it was contagious indeed. He smiled, took a sip of his whiskey and turned around to find her in the middle of the crowd, small and energetic she filled the whole room somehow. All eyes were now on her, on her violin strapped to her back, all ears on her funny quips to her bandmates. She was bright, like a handful of stars. She left her cape perched on a chair and approached the bar, right on his direction. His heart raced, surely a completely normal reaction to be surprised, nothing else. He turned around, quickly. How would he introduce himself? Hello, I’m Gale Dekarios, I like books, cats, and a good bottle of wine? I’m the god of Ambition, by the way, and you are? No, that wouldn’t work. If only Tara was there, but she decided to disappear on him as soon as he ascended, that stubborn tressym. Tara would know what to do. What would Tara— hmm. Tara. His trusted Tressym, it had been months since she last saw her. Tara would probably scold him for following that woman around, sneaking, but what could he do? Gods couldn’t just meet people at bars. He couldn’t let her know who he was, not yet. He was curious about her, that’s all.

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“You’re staring, wizard” she said, putting her violin on the table. That man looked oddly familiar, she couldn’t quite pinpoint how. Maybe he’d been at one of her patron’s parties? She had fans all over Feirun. The man smiled, jumped off his highchair with the grace of a sheep rolling from the mountainside. A fan, definitely. He blushed as she beckoned him to sit next to her, making room at the small table. She noticed him inspecting her violin, he wouldn’t dare, would he? People usually wanted to touch it, grab the bow and feel it in their hands- which she absolutely loathed. The man didn’t touch the violin, but looked at her with a rather charming smile on his face, his brown eyes glistening.

“I know the work of this luthier, what an excellent craftsmanship. The bow, made of the finest horse hair, the hours upon hours he takes refining the scroll’s shape to fit the bard’s personality, those pegs! Dare I say, the details crafted from unicorn horn? Ethically sourced, of course, and imbued with the weave itself. Hm. Some specks of netherese magic as well, I know for a fact. An excellent piece, one of, if not THE finest he’s crafted to the date”

“True, all of that” she said, caressing the glossy finish of her instrument. “You play? Mr…”

“Dekarios” he hesitated for a second “Dale Dekarios”. “I don’t play myself, no, but I do appreciate a good instrument and I’ve been keeping an eye on master Glitterbeard for a while, I think he will very soon come to great fame and glory. A man of great ambitions, that one, and ability to match”

Stardust took a good look at this “Dale”, not his real name, she was sure. Not that she judged. None knew her real name either and she liked it that way.

“Do you come here often, mr. Dekarios? I think I’ve seen you around” she had it, at the tip of her brain. A glimpse, a shadow. Where had she seen him before?

“Ahem, no, no I have a most common face, that’s all. People mistake me for other fellows all the time, quite annoying I must say specially when said fellows are being chased down by the guild for swindling or whatnot” was he sweating? He was nervous. She didn’t like that one bit, what was he hiding from her? What did he want? Did her patron hire him to make sure she wasn’t getting tips for playing? She wasn’t allowed to, she couldn’t profit with HIS music. Judging from his robes, however, mr. Dekarios wasn’t from Baldur’s Gate at all: those were the most Waterdhavian robes she’d seen in her life, embroidered with golden threads, pearls, a deep purple only the richest people could afford.

“Did you enjoy the show? How long are you staying in Baldur’s gate?”

“How did you-? Truth to be told, I don’t know, I only just arrived from Waterdeep”

As soon as he mentioned the words FROM WATERDEEP, it all came rushing to her. Dale, suspiciously similar to GALE. The Gale of Waterdeep, now Gale the god of Ambition. Sitting with her, at her table. Gale wasn’t known for mingling with humans, not yet at least. His reign was still very new, less than a year, but his name was being whispered all over the halls of the art scene in Baldur’s Gate: everyone wanted to be more, to be famous, rich, the best of the best in a craft that only rewarded the very best and starved the barely competent or the average. Painting, sculpture, music, acting, a pit filled with fiery beasts with no qualms in devouring each other. She wanted none of that. What would the god of ambition want with someone who denied him? She wouldn’t let him know she knew who he was, of course. She needed to know what he was planning.