Chapter Text
He stepped back from the marble silhouette towering above the altar. Many mystic statues were watching over the peaceful temple and yet, as always, he was only there for one.
For her.
Gale opened his eyes.
The colors swirled and danced, awfully similar to the swooping sensation in his belly still settling slowly. Crossing planes of existence as a terribly mortal human wasn't something one usually got used to. It always managed to set his body on that peculiar edge where skin and bones sang with the faintest traces of astral energy.
He breathed once, twice. The ground regained its stability and the world its contours. The whispers of the streets poured into the room once again, joining the soft prayer of the priest further behind him. He hadn't been gone for long, Gale guessed, if the man was still attending to the same deity somewhere on his right…
At another time, in another place, it would probably have bothered him. How quickly Mystra took care of his visit, of their bargain, of the last mission she had given him. After working on the Crown of Karsus for weeks, fishing it out of the depths of the Chionthar, reforging each piece and weaving its power back to its original glory, he had half a mind to expect more. After all, the thought of this meeting had haunted him many nights… And yet. Seeing his ex-lover wasn't even the first thing in his mind waking up this morning.
Gale flexed his fingers. The weight of the Crown was gone. No more Karsus weave.
Or, well… The circle on his chest remained, if only for a couple of hours. A brief exchange, one last offering, and the promise of waking up a free man had been his. Just like that, easy as pie! He could start back at square one, or just a few squares back, and go back home. Sleep one more night at the Elfsong before taking the road to Waterdeep, along with Shadowheart and her desire to visit a temple of Selûne away from Baldur’s Gate. Head back to his tower while she'd visit the House of the Moon and whatever she would decide to do after. He could start working on something for Karlach's heart, for the next time he was going to see her and Wyll, perhaps study a way to keep in touch with them and Lae'zel across the planes. He could even try to help out rebuilding Baldur's Gate, the Shadowlands, or whichever he desired…
He was free. Free from the tadpole, free of being Mystra’s Chosen, and very soon, free of the orb. He was free of doing whatever, in a new and terrifying way.
And maybe… Maybe this was the issue. He was tethering on the edge of everything and nothing, and somehow, for whatever reason, his mind kept leading him back to the tavern they spent what could have been the last days of their lives. To wine and good company, to playful bickering and… Friends. Comrades of misfortune with whom he conquered the odds. People he was going to miss so dearly… And yes, admittedly most of them were already moving on, Minthara and Minsc having done so earlier that week. But Gale was the one to leave tonight… Well, him and Shadowheart. They had said their goodbyes last night, to the one remaining member of their party still camping with them.
Gale contemplated the chalice of blood red wine lingering on Tyr's altar. He was going to miss him. And all of them, of course… But truth to be told, with an added month after the Absolute’s defeat, the pale elf had managed to weave his way in Gale's life in a way few had ever managed to. Astarion would probably kill him for that, but the wizard was happy to call him his friend.
His dearest friend even, if Tara wasn't in the competition.
The words from their earlier conversation floated back to him. The quiet understanding. The truths they had allowed themselves to share. And of course, the--
Gale winced.
He blinked, scanning his surroundings. What could have…? Something had snapped him back to reality. The priest was finishing his service, the sun was setting behind the stained glass, everything was normal. And yet…
Something wasn't right. Something… in the air. All around him. Some kind of heaviness, a new form of pressure. A buzzing, like the anticipation of a lightning strike. The sparks near a barrel of gunpowder.
Gale staggered back. Not the air, no. The Weave. Quaking and trembling, smelling of ozone and something more, much more dangerous.
Not the Weave then... The Karsite Weave.
Head buzzing, hands sweaty, the wizard pulled at his collar to glance at the orb. Its dim purple glow brightened at the contact of the air, swirling onto itself just a little faster. But that was fine. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt! Gale could have laughed if he wasn't mesmerized by the way it was… beating.
It wasn't pulsing, it was beating. Pacing itself exactly in time with his own heart.
Erratic and wild, loud and frenetic. Scared.
Terrified.
If Gale had learnt one thing from this whole journey, it was to dissect which thoughts and feelings were his own, and which were not. And, as insane as it was, Gale wasn't scared.
Worried, maybe a bit miffed? Sure.
But terrified? No. Certainly not.
Yet, his pulse was reacting as if fear was the only thing in his veins. In his chest. In…
The orb.
And as Gale connected the dots of Mystra, promises, and orb removal; as relief finally started to quiet his mind, pain exploded. A searing, blinding pain, crushing his head, spreading down his every bone.
Vaguely, he noticed the floor now right in front of his eyesight, the tremors of his throat as he screamed, and a panicked voice at his side. But the pain was devouring his thoughts, bleeding them in an indiscernible mess of sharp edges. It hurt. It hurt so much Gale couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't be. It was destroying him.
It hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt.
Briefly, Gale wondered if that was it. If Mystra had changed her mind, kept the Crown and cast him away… Him, the wizard who didn't have anything more to offer her. Who wasn’t useful anymore. Maybe this was just it, and the warnings of his friends were true, and Astarion had been right, which he would be delighted to know if only Gale stayed sane long enough to tell him. It was only an instant, but the doubt remained, a dull ache to accompany the rest.
And then, finally, the pain dimmed.
And finally, the tension around him unweaved and cleared, leaving only one pressure point on his chest like a finger pointing at the orb. He let the tears roll from his cheeks as the familiar touch eased away the pain, prodding at the knot of magic slowly killing him to lift his burden.
He was wrong. She was holding her end of the bargain.
For the first time in one year and a half, Gale let go of the breath he was holding. The tainted Weave was flowing out of him like a river, like a breath held in too long. It was leaving, and it felt so damn good.
Or it did, until it didn't. Until his lungs were empty and yet air and magic was still pouring out endlessly. The headache was coming back and along with it the raging pulse, so much quieter than it was moments ago. It was screaming at him to inhale, to cut the flow from hollowing him out, just like empty lungs begging for air.
Gale grit his teeth. Mystra, no matter what he was feeling about her at the moment, was removing the orb. The piece of tainted magic that was constantly trying to kill him. She was removing the disease. That's what he bargained for.
Then why in the Nine Hells did it have to hurt so bad? Why did it feel like he was being ripped in two? What was he doing wrong? What more could he possibly do??
Let the exhale take him, and he had no idea what would be left of him.
Inhale, as part of him was begging him to do, and he was sure that a part of him he wasn't ready to lose would be ripped to shreds.
His mind was already stretching so thin. He had to do something. Ideas, thoughts, wishes and feelings all swirled together, blurred and messy. Bigger than him. So much bigger…
So, Gale made his choice.
He held his breath.