Chapter Text
Cheerful music rang through the air as Gale made his way back to his tent. Perhaps he’d feel better about the evening if his nerves weren’t ramped up just agonizingly so. For hours, he’d been looking for a moment to pull Faelyth aside and confess his burgeoning feelings for her, and what a beautiful night to do just that. A clear sky revealed countless twinkling stars across the vast cosmos, and the full moon provided ample light to see every delightful detail.
And Faelyth was especially alluring tonight. She had to know the captivating effect her top would have on the other people, and this may have been the reason she’d been difficult to speak to. She wore an enticing backless top, with the front strategically hiding only what was necessary to preserve her modesty. But the deep purple and silver colors of the fabric made Gale wonder if she may have picked it out for him. Those were his favorite colors, after all.
Alas, her divine beauty alone did not command his admiration. There was a gentleness to Faelyth, a quiet attentiveness that extended to all in their odd little fellowship—but most pointedly, to him. She never questioned him. Never hesitated when he asked for magical artifacts to stave off the agony the Netherese Orb put him through on a regular basis. It stirred something in him—something that reminded him of Tara. Ever faithful Tara, his tireless ally in more arcane pursuits, was now a world away. And yet, in Faelyth’s gaze, in the simple grace of her care, he’d found a flicker of that same constancy. It was… comforting. Dangerous, perhaps. But comforting.
Shaking the thoughts free from his head, he sat down on the blanket in front of his tent before dipping his hands into the bucket of cool water to cleanse the lingering heat of his face. He simply could not keep daydreaming and fantasizing about the woman all night, or else he’d combust. Soon, she’d be around from meandering with the others to come and visit, he was sure.
“Enjoying the evening, I hope,” came a deep, easy rumble beside him.
Gale looked up, lips parting into a pleasant smile as he recognized the imposing figure of Halsin. A recent addition to their merry band and soon-to-be their guide through the shadow-cursed lands—and, if he were honest, one welcomed by all. The man seemed as kindhearted as he was unwaveringly stalwart. As a powerful druid and a soon-to-be guide through the most perilously dangerous lands they’d yet to encounter, he would be absolutely imperative to their survival. Gale gestured to the ground beside him, grateful for the distraction from his tangled nerves.
“Indeed,” Gale said, smoothing his tone to something conversational. “Festivities such as this aren’t usually my forte, but there is something to be said for maintaining high spirits. Rather infectious, wouldn’t you agree?”
Halsin grinned as he settled in beside him, folding his broad frame with surprising grace.
“I’d agree with that, my friend. It’s good to see you in calmer company—the goblin camp didn’t leave much room for introductions.”
“Halsin, isn’t it? Gale of Waterdeep.” He inclined his head with practiced elegance.
“A pleasure, Gale. I’ve been meaning to speak with you, truly—but battle tends to steal the hours from more civil pursuits.”
“And I’ve been insatiably curious about you,” Gale admitted, a lopsided smile curling at his lips. “I hoped you wouldn’t mind indulging in a few questions, now that we’ve a moment to breathe.”
“Oi!”
A loud thud cut through the quiet moment—the unmistakable sound of a barrel hitting the ground. They both turned to see Karlach grinning wide, her teeth flashing in the firelight as she dropped a handful of empty glasses on top with a clatter.
“You two were lookin’ a bit dry over here,” she called, already sauntering away with a casual wave. “Thought I’d share the love with this side of camp. Don’t drink it all without me!”
With a chuckle, Halsin nodded toward the barrel. “Well then. I’d be delighted to trade knowledge—over a drink, of course.”
“And a game?” Gale offered, ever the scholar. “I find a bit of memory work in the evenings keeps the mind from growing soft.”
With Halsin’s swift agreement and their cups filled, Gale focused on his connection to the Weave and uttered a short incantation under his breath. The magic swirled through the air into dozens of small, glittery squares that emerged between the two. Halsin’s eyes sparkled in quiet awe.
“Pick two squares, see if they match,” Gale said, gesturing to the spread. “And as for ground rules, each successful pair earns you a question. If a question is not something you feel comfortable answering, the asker can ask a new question. Any objections?”
Halsin leaned forward, hands clasped across his legs. “None from me.”
“Excellent. Guests first.”
They fell into an easy rhythm as the game unfolded between them, wine in hand and laughter drifting in from the heart of the camp. The revelry grew louder with each round—someone belted a bawdy ballad off-key, and Gale suspected, with no small amusement, that it might be Karlach attempting harmony with a tambourine.
By the fifth round, Halsin revealed a familiar glyph—the mate to a card turned over just a moment prior. Both men leaned in with anticipation, eyes catching briefly. Halsin’s large hand hovered over the second square, then flipped it with quiet certainty.
A match.
A question was owed.
What would he ask? Something personal? Something revealing?
Halsin stroked his smooth chin in thought. “I’ve heard that many wizards—and more than a few sorcerers—bond with a familiar during their training. Do you have one?”
An easy question as well as a story he loved to tell. “Yes, I do. A tressym, no less—clever, imperious, and maddeningly independent. She’s stayed by my side, not out of obligation, I assure you, but sheer personal choice. Were I ever to call her my familiar aloud, she might claw my eyes out.”
Halsin’s eyes widened. “Tressyms are rare and discerning creatures. If one has chosen to remain with you, it speaks volumes.”
“I named her Tara. And, full disclosure, she came into this world as a result of a particularly dramatic tantrum on my part.”
That earned another quiet chuckle from the druid.
Gale continued, “I was young. Desperate to immerse myself in my magic. My parents denied me a kitten, repeatedly. So I took matters into my own hands. I pored over summoning spells until I found the right one. The result? A small, winged bundle of judgment and feathers, unimpressed from the moment she appeared.”
Gale raked a hand through his hair, a fond flush coloring his cheeks. “Mother was livid. At least until Tara learned to speak. Then, of course, they were inseparable. Now, every visit home involves a campaign—from both of them—to see me married off. Gods forbid I so much as glance at someone too long.”
“You speak of them with such affection,” Halsin said. “Thank you for sharing your story with me.”
With a shared grin, the two turned once more to the shimmering arcane squares between them. Their game resumed with the same quiet rhythm, cards flipping in sequence, wine warming their limbs.
It didn’t take long before Gale turned over a new set and found a match.
“Ah. My turn, then.”
Dozens of questions pressed at the edges of his mind—intricate curiosities about the druidic relationship to the Weave, differences in spell-casting techniques, whether they kept companions like familiars, or how their rituals differed. All fascinating. All worth asking. And yet, none quite right.
This wasn’t a scholarly exchange. This was a conversation. Personal.
He breathed in and adjusted course.
“Perhaps it’s cliché,” Gale said, “but for someone who’s spent more hours in libraries than under open sky, all this still feels rather extraordinary. The wilds, the stars, the quiet—I imagine for you, it’s second nature. I’ve often wondered—”
“Have a good night, Wyll,” came a soft voice from across the fire.
His sentence vanished.
Gale pivoted in his seat, the game abandoned. Faelyth. She stepped away from the shoreline, firelight catching the curve of her cheek, the trailing motion of a farewell wave still falling from her fingers.
She was headed toward him.
“Pardon me,” he said, barely glancing at Halsin as he rose. He seized a clean cup and filled it, heart thudding with anticipation.
“I’m glad I caught you before you disappeared into the crowd again,” he greeted her, delighting in her slight smile. His gaze drifted from her face to her hands as her slender fingers brushed against his to grab the drink. “I… you look…”
He couldn’t help but notice the smooth contours of her form and explored in greater detail the revealing nature of her shirt. The way the thin fabric delicately clung to her breasts, allowing more than a tasteful view of the valley in between. His gaze traveled slowly up to her neck and face, enjoying the fullness of her lips, parted slightly, before she caught his gaze.
Her brow had ticked upward in disbelief. Her body tensed almost imperceptibly, like someone unsure whether to laugh it off or step away.
He’d been leering. Gods. He’d actually been leering.
Frantically, he cleared his dry throat, intent on focusing solely on her face from here on, and attempted to bring the conversation back on track. “Let me try again. Amid all this merriment, I wasn’t sure we’d have a chance to speak this evening. I was hoping you’d spare me a moment…”
There was a plan. Convince her to enjoy a quiet moment between them. Show her some beautiful magic, perhaps even teach her how to manipulate it. Hope it would successfully woo her, and this was all assuming he didn’t ruin everything with his faux pas just a moment prior. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment, but he couldn’t help hoping that perhaps she felt the same way he did about her. The shock, however, hadn’t left her face.
No. No more blunders. No more foolish ogling. Just sincerity and poise, as befitted a gentleman of Waterdeep.
“Gale—”
“Actually, there’s—”
“There you are, darling!”
The voice—silken and oh-so-pleased with himself—sliced through the moment like a dagger. Gale’s blood cooled with recognition, his jaw tightening on instinct as Astarion breezed into their conversation with all the subtlety of a cat sauntering into a room it intended to own.
Gale turned, too slow to stop the vampire from deftly removing the cup from Faelyth’s hand and replacing it within Gale’s own as he’d reached out to protest Astarion’s inclusion.
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, Gale—but you see, Fae promised me a dance, and it’s so very difficult to get a hold of this elusive lady in such an effervescent throng.”
He turned from Gale with a smirk, arm coiling around Faelyth’s shoulders in a gesture that was far too possessive to be anything but strategic. Astarion even had the gall to pull her against him, allowing him to see the same indecent view that Gale had briefly indulged in, and it left him seething.
What gave him pause, however, was the name he realized had slipped from the vampire’s lips.
“Fae? You call her Fae?”
He heard the question leave his mouth and winced. Too pointed. Too revealing. He knew it. Astarion knew it. And worse, the bastard enjoyed it.
“Why, certainly!”
And then, like salt in an already raw wound, Astarion’s fingers ghosted down Faelyth’s arm, slow and possessive, as though tracing invisible runes only he could read. Her skin prickled in response, and Gale—gods help him—couldn’t look away. The vampire took her hand like it was an afterthought, his lips brushing across her knuckles in a gesture so polished it belonged on a stage.
And all the while, his eyes never left Gale’s. “That, and many other things.”
It was no flirtation. It was a performance. And Gale was the unwilling audience.
This means war. His fingers twitched uselessly at his sides.
A palm settled on his shoulder, grounding him. Gale startled slightly, then relaxed. Halsin. Of course.
“Hah! Spirits are indeed running high at these kinds of celebrations. What does the lady herself say to all of this?”
Gale was glad for Halsin’s gentle presence, thankful for his new friend’s silent assurance that he was there, ready to lend strength and solidarity.
But none of that mattered. Not really.
Because now, Faelyth had to choose.
After only a fleeting moment of indecision, she shifted her gaze to Gale before meeting Astarion’s eyes. “Truth be told, I... I would like to dance, yes.”
The blow was not unexpected, but it landed all the same. His chest constricted, breath catching faintly as hope shriveled like parchment at the edge of a flame. His shoulders slackened. But the hand on his shoulder remained.
“You win some, you lose some, my friend,” Halsin said, voice warm with sympathy but free of pity. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance for a rematch. But for now, shall we return to our game? I believe it was your turn.”
Gale offered a faint smile—more reflex than anything else. It was something. He appreciated the effort, even if it barely touched the slow, simmering ache in his chest. Rejection wasn’t new to him, but it still left that familiar hollow feeling of disappointment in its wake. He cast one last glance toward the revelers around the fire. Toward Faelyth, wrapped in Astarion’s arms as they twirled around the other dancers. Gale looked away. He couldn’t bear to watch her continue to choose Astarion.
Part of him considered retreating to his tent, to sleep off the embarrassment. But his legs stayed rooted, his fists clenched tight.
Halsin’s grip slipped down to his forearm and Gale forced himself to relax. Spending the evening with Halsin would certainly be a more productive use of his time.
“There’s a clearing just beyond the treeline,” Halsin offered. “A quiet place. I find it helps, sometimes, to let the night air clear the heart as well as the head. Would you join me?”
“I think I’d like that,” he murmured.
They abandoned the path, slipping past tents and lantern light until the hum of laughter and song gave way to the rustle of leaves and the rhythmic lapping of water at the riverbank. They crossed the scattered stepping stones in calm silence. Gale said nothing, and Halsin didn’t press him. It was enough, for now, simply to walk.
The two walked through a thin copse of trees, leading into a small clearing awash in moonlight. Wildflowers dotted across the grass in pale shades of violet and cream, waving with the breeze. The twinkling light of dozens of fireflies danced across the field.
Gale gasped. It was beautiful here. Quiet in the way few places ever wore. The deep ache in his chest loosened ever so slightly.
Behind him, Halsin grunted. He had settled in the grass, hands tucked behind his head, gazing up at the canopy of stars.
Gale lingered for a moment longer. It was soothing, finding peace in the fragrant blossoms, whispering wind, and the moon’s soft glow. Sighing, he turned and sank down beside Halsin, folding his legs neatly beneath him.
“I think I’m beginning to understand. It’s enchanting out here.” Gale tilted his head back, letting his gaze climb toward the stars. “Do you ever tire of it? Sleeping beneath the sky, I mean.”
“Each sky is its own story,” Hasin replied. “The stars shift, the wind changes—no two nights are the same. I’ve laid beneath them more times than I could count, and still, I find myself staring as if it were the first.”
Gale nodded, arms looped around his knees. “I can see how.”
He drew his knees close, resting his cheek against them. Eyes closed, he let the silence stretch. A flicker of sorrow still lingered, but it no longer owned him. Not here.
“I only wish I could experience more than just a fleeting taste of this.” The words fell from his mouth before he knew it, and his eyes flashed open as he realized what he said aloud.
Halsin turned toward him. “Then stay a while longer. I’d be honored to share it with you.”
Gale hesitated for a moment, but Halsin didn’t falter. He held Gale’s gaze, and Gale could see nothing but sincerity and comfort. Gale nodded, a smile quirking at his lips.
Halsin squeezed Gale’s arm before standing. Magic surged from the man, and fur burst forth in ripples, limbs stretching, spine realigning. The transformation was seamless, powerful. Where the man had been, a massive bear stood beside him.
He sank down next to Gale, the thick fur creating an inviting and cozy space. Gale leaned back, pleasantly surprised to find himself sinking into the warmth of the fur, rendering his bedroll unnecessary to ward off the evening chill.
“Are you sure that this is ok?” Gale asked, nerves causing a wavering note in his voice.
Halsin huffed and affectionately nudged him with a gentle bump of his head. The nudge nearly knocked Gale off balance, eliciting a surprised sputter. Halsin winked, laying his head on the ground by Gale’s side. Gale couldn’t resist the infectious laughter that bubbled up within him, and he tenderly placed his hands in the soft fur between the druid’s ears, scratching gently.
“Very well. Thank you… for everything.”