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He’d initially made the ring because he was aging. Getting older might not have bothered him so much if it weren’t for the fact that every time he saw Mystra, she was ageless and unchanging, the appearance of a woman as young as the day they first met.
Gale, by contrast, noted the lines starting to fade into his face like creased parchment. Bracketing his mouth from smiles, etching into his forehead from frowning over a particularly absorbing magical treatise.
So yes, he made the ring so that he’d look younger.
Not young, per se. If he’d stayed looking like a fresh young twenty-something, it would be far too obvious. The ring simply smoothed things out, gave the impression that he was aging, but aging well. That the years were being kind to him.
Then came his failure, and nothing was being kind to him except Tara.
He’d considered consuming the magic within the ring, but he was clinging to the remains of his pride with both hands. He wouldn’t do it. He had to let himself keep just this one thing. Just one thing to make him feel that he was worth looking at.
Of course, a year in his tower wasn’t good to his figure. He’d always had a scholar’s soft physique, but a few months in he noticed that his belly was starting to puff. Ironic, really, since he was so miserable he didn’t taste the food in his mouth.
Gale found he didn’t care. He was already worthless in Mystra’s eyes. His waistline wouldn’t matter if the Orb detonated. Nobody was looking at him in his tower except Tara, who was charitable enough not to mention his appearance, the few times he didn’t wear the ring.
Some of his older clothes grew too tight to fit into, so he relegated them to the back of his wardrobe, and left it at that.
*
Some part of him had expected to trim a little, once he’d started wandering the wilds with their little party of allies. With all the walking they’d been doing, he was probably the fittest he’d ever been, but he wasn’t getting any slimmer.
Dieting would have been a stupid thing to do. Hunger would make him dizzy which could make him fail at a vital moment. He couldn’t afford to lose focus.
It probably didn’t help that he’d started to enjoy food again; enjoy cooking for the group; enjoy a plate of something warm at the end of a hard day.
Enjoy the small smile from Tav when he handed them a steaming bowl.
Yes, there was contrast between his own figure, without the ring’s illusion, and the hardened warriors around him, but he told himself he didn’t care. They didn’t know what he looked like under the illusion. He was capable of handling himself in a fight. The extra padding was probably a boon when the fire died down and the night’s cold drew in, before someone added a fresh log, building up the warmth again.
A boon, right up until it wasn’t.
Because he’d fallen for Tav. Fallen for small smiles and kind words, and listening to him ramble, and replying in a way that showed they really had listened. Fallen for the way their muscles moved under their jerkin, for the way they offered him a hand and gods, they could probably throw him over their shoulder.
He thought, hoped, that maybe, perhaps they felt the same way.
And he couldn’t be with them through an illusion. And he knew what he looked like without it.
Heftier around the waist. Greyer in the hair. Worry lines that hadn’t been there before the Orb forced its way into his chest.
But he had to try. He might die; he might die by misadventure, or he might die when his control over the Orb finally snapped, or he might die because detonating the Orb was the only way out of a bad situation.
If he was going to try, he was going to say he’d given it his best shot, in the circumstances.
When the time came, his hair was neat, his beard freshly trimmed, his clothes among the nicer ones they’d found on their travels, in a style that did its best to flatter his body, though once the illusion was off, there would be no hiding the fact that his waist was thicker.
He filled the sky full of an aurora for them. Not real, but beautiful, nonetheless.
They talked. By some miracle, Tav returned his feelings.
He permitted himself a single kiss before he came clean. Something he’d be able to remember in his darker moments. Something he could have before things, perhaps, fell apart.
Gale stood. Tav stood too, facing him.
“There’s, ah, something I need to tell you,” Gale admitted, “Before we go any further with this.” He twisted the ring on his finger nervously. “I, ah, wear a minor illusion spell. I can’t in good conscience carry on with you unless you know what’s underneath it.”
He swallowed, then pulled the ring off, and waited for the disappointment.
Tav’s face fell. Gale opened his mouth to explain himself, but Tav got there first. “You look tired. Are you sleeping?”
Gale realised it wasn’t disappointment in their eyes, but concern. “I… well, not as much as I’d like. I’m used to more comfortable surroundings.” He was used to a four-poster with a good mattress. Sleeping on the ground in a bedroll was killing his back. “Yes, but… the rest of me.” He gestured at himself.
Older. Greying. Paunchy.
“I could get used to it,” said Tav.
“Luckily for you, you don’t have to. I can just slip the ring on and –”
Gale moved to put the ring back on, but Tav clasped his hand before he could. “I think we should lay out some ground rules.”
He was frozen there, not wanting Tav to see him like this, but not wanting to pull away from their hand so he could return the ring to his finger. “I – yes. Ground rules. Of course. Whatever you like.”
Ground rules implied that there was something to have ground rules about. Which meant he might not have totally ruined things.
“I don’t want you to wear the ring when we’re alone together.”
“What?” Usually Gale knew exactly what he wanted to say. But now he was struggling to find the words. What could he say? That the grey was only going to set in more? That puzzling over the tadpoles would make the frown lines set in deeper? That the spare weight was even more obvious when he was undressed? Tav could see how he looked. “But…”
“I don’t want to be with an illusion,” Tav told him. “I want to be with you. The real you.”
“But you don’t have to. You can have the better version; the version that’s not this.”
“If this is the version of you that’s real, then it’s always going to be the better version. No matter what.” Tav closed Gale’s hand around the ring. “Now put that ring in your pocket. I want to kiss the real you.”
Gale took a steadying breath, and obliged. Tav didn’t recoil. They kissed back just the same as before. His heart was running a mile a minute, but somehow – somehow Tav still wanted him. Wanted him as this.
Gale did his best to smile, and allowed himself to be wanted.
*
That night, he’d offered the chance to make love in the Weave. He’d promised no more illusions, but at least in the Weave, physicality was less obvious.
But Tav had wanted reality.
He hadn’t made love in his own body since his early twenties, but he’d pulled out all the stops anyway. Mostly because he wanted to be with them, to please them, to share the deep intimacy together. But partly because he desperately needed to do well enough. To do well by them.
Thankfully, Tav had enjoyed it just as much as he had, though it has surprised him how eager they were to touch him – the true version of his body, not the trimmed-down, sleeker version he presented to the world. He could remember their fingers digging into the plump flesh of his love handles and they pulled him closer, eager and wanting. His softness pillowed against Tav’s flat stomach.
It was morning now – earlier than he usually rose. His back and knees were informing him that he’d athletically overstepped last night, but Gale could not regret his efforts.
Beside him, he felt Tav stir. Their arms sought him out under the covers, until they were curled up together, close as anything.
“Let’s stay like this a while,” Tav murmured. “Just until we have to get up.”
Gale couldn’t agree more.