Work Text:
Asters, begonias, chrysanthemums, daisies, elderflowers...
As the group trudged along glumly through the dimly lit paths of the cursed forest, Gale's mind was cataloguing all the various flowering plants he knew, trying to find the perfect one. He'd already mentally recited the entirety of Faerunian Flora and Fauna as he could remember it (the "Three F's," as he called it), so now he'd resorted to going through all the flowers he could name alphabetically. How he longed to be back in Waterdeep and have access to its study and its voluminous library! He was certain he had a copy of The Language of Flowers lying about somewhere to consult. But, alas, he was stuck in the middle-of-nowhere with a mindflayer tadpole infesting his brain like an ill-mannered pigeon roosting in the eaves of a temple.
Still, it wasn't all bad, Gale mused. It was humbling, of course, to be forced to rely on his wits and the most rudimentary of magics again, to be forced to fight for life and limb against the most loathsome beasts, but what he'd really valued from his mindflayer kidnapping caper was...meeting her. Ophelia, cleric of the moon goddess Selune, had become the de facto leader of their little group of mindflayer refugees, and she took to the role with quiet grace.
She'd led them through the muck of goblin camps and the gloom of the Underdark with nary a complaint (if only Astarion could practice keeping his grievances to himself...), and now they were here, which was, well, it was technically forward progress in their quest to cure the illithid infection, but it wasn't really any better. Certainly the endless shadows of the cursed lands around Moonrise Towers were less smelly than goblins, but the constant gray was a drain on morale.
Which is what sent him on this mental floral quest in the first place. Ophelia might not admit it out loud, but Gale could see she was tiring. She used her powers to summon daylight around her to beat back the shadows each time they ventured out from the Last Light Inn, and while effective at keeping the curse from consuming them, it ate away at her energy. What a burden it must be to be their literal and proverbial light in the darkness! The strain of it was written daily on her weary face, in the growing shadows under her eyes and the pinched look of her mouth. Gale had already confessed to her how fighting by her side got his blood pumping and was rather...invigorating, and while saucy flirtations certainly had their place, the wizard thought it was about time he aimed for a more gallant gesture.
As they stumbled into the relative safety of the Last Light Inn's walls, each member of the group wandered off to their own little sanctuaries. Gale would have typically retreated to his room on the top floor, but he needed a change of scenery to help fuel his creativity. Although he was a wizard of no small renown, after all, even he was vulnerable to the general malaise of these lands. Maybe a trip to the tranquility of the nearby lake (such as it was) would inspire him. At this time of night, there were few others around outside, and Gale quickly found a quiet spot to sit and muse. He clutched a small, thin branch in his hand and studied it.
The lake water lapped gently at the grassy shore, and it might have been pleasant, except for the persistent gloom that lingered in the air. It was certainly far from the cozy warm glow of his study in Waterdeep. Gale sighed. Oh well, he was nothing if not resourceful, so he would simply have to make do. The wizard fidgeted with his robes, idly brushing a spot of dirt from his knee. In truth, he was procrastinating - but only a very little! He had some idea of what he wanted to do, but where to begin...?
A rose, he decided with some finality. Gale had considered crafting a moonflower, but it seemed a bit too, well, on the nose for a cleric of Selune (and, besides, he wasn't completely sure what a moonflower even looked like, but roses he knew beyond a doubt). Roses were very traditional courting gifts, besides, so one could hardly make a mistake there, right? The wizard summoned his magic and his creativity and set to work.
While Gale would never admit to being weak in any of the socially acceptable schools of magic (he'd never fussed much with necromancy: too much legal scrutiny and, besides, rather gross and smelly), he would be lying if he claimed that he hadn't lost some of his mastery of transmutation when the tadpole took hold. Evocation and illusion were his greatest strengths now, but an illusory rose just wasn't much of a gift, now was it? No, no, something more solid was required.
A moment's hesitation, then Gale flicked his wrist and summoned the magic to transform the plain stick into a flower: light purple tendrils of energy circled the wood, willing it to change shape. In the blink of an eye, Gale held a rose in his hand, a stick no longer. It wasn't his most efficient work (he'd had to resort to a little more raw power than he was used to for what would have previously been so simple a task), but he was pleased with the results. Not all wizards could craft a transfigured object that would retain its shape for long, but Gale was confident this rose would last forever....or, at the least, a very long time. Another wave of his hand, and he added an aura of delicate rose scent to the flower. It was a subtle but very impressive feat, he had to admit, for creating illusory smells that lasted in perpetuity was almost unheard of. Gale of Waterdeep may have lost some of his powers to the mind flayers, but certainly not all!
The rose was a single stem with two perfectly branching sets of leaves and blunted thorns, topped with a lovely pale pink flower in half-bloom, its petals opening and curling outward just so. Perfection, if Gale said so himself. Perhaps even an improvement upon nature, for the thorns would not prick and the colors and fragrance would never fade. Beautiful - just like the woman who was to be its recipient.
Gale cast a few simple cantrips to clean off his robes and face, but he left his hair tousled - all the novels and romantic ballads said women liked that sort of thing, and since Gale hadn't wooed a mortal woman in, well, longer than he'd liked to admit, he figured he'd take a little harmless advice from the bards. He hoped his battle-fresh, windswept hair would make him look dashing, but he honestly wasn't sure: his last lover had been a goddess who hadn't much cared about mortal appearances, after all.
With a quick exhale of breath to steady himself, Gale started up the path back to the Last Light Inn, casting a quick spell to render the rose invisible briefly. The last thing he wanted was gossip among their little ragtag gang, especially if this attempt at romance failed, and he could just imagine the snide remarks Jaheira or Astarion would make.
In but a few minutes' time, the wizard was standing outside Ophelia's inn room door (thankfully she had her own quarters), and before he could talk himself out of it, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. There was an agonizing pause of a few seconds, and then Ophelia opened the door. Her hair, normally wound into a tight braid, was down and fell freely over her shoulders. Gale also noticed that she wore no shoes, just woolen socks, and instead of the tunic and breeches she typically wore under her armor and at camp, Ophelia wore a simple nightgown that hit her at the knees. He'd never seen her attire so visibly relaxed, and he was struck with just how beleaguered their entire acquaintance till this time had been. Although rustic, the Last Light Inn had given her a reprieve they hadn't had since escaping the Nautiloid.
"I'm sorry," Gale rushed out, "Am I interrupting your rest?"
Ophelia rubbed her eyes blearily and replied with a little laugh. "Well, yes - I didn't mean to fall asleep so soon - but it's all right. Is there something you need?"
Just like Ophelia - always eager to help, even arrogant wizards who may not deserve it. Gale pushed away the bitter thought and smiled for her. "Well, not need in the strictest sense, but I do have something for you." He gestured at the empty room behind her. "May I come in?"
"Of course," the cleric made way for him and shut the door behind them with a soft click. The relative quiet, safety, and privacy of the space echoed in Gale's ears: space to finally speak freely with Ophelia without travelling companions lingering within earshot. Well, then, no time like the present!
"You must know that there have been some...flirtations between us," Gale began, immediately regretting this blunt introductory line.
"I..." Ophelia flushed, apparently taken aback. "I...hope this has been agreeable?"
"Oh, more than," the wizard encouraged her with what he hoped was a winning smirk. "But I wanted to speak to you alone tonight to...formalize our tenuous relationship, as it were. Suggestive banter has its undeniable appeal, but I wish to woo you properly, to court you, to shower you with gifts and affection as you deserve."
Ophelia's deepening blush told him that he'd embarrassed her - and that was all the more proof that she hadn't been praised as highly nor as often in her life as she ought. Emboldened, Gale continued, "You've led our little merry band through trials unimaginable and somehow kept us all alive and working together despite some very obvious differences of personality and opinion.”
He conjured a dainty ball of light that flitted to her and danced along her arm and up her shoulder to float above her head. "You are a beacon of light, both literal and figurative, to us all. But, more so to me." Gale looked Ophelia straight in the eyes; despite the theatricality of the little light show, he wanted her to know that he spoke with candor and from the heart. "You had no responsibility to help me keep the Netherese Orb at bay - hells, you barely knew me - but you did so because your goodness and generosity are without peer in my acquaintance. It was not your duty to do so, but nevertheless your charity of spirit woke me from my years-long melancholy."
"Really, Gale, anyone would have -" Ophelia began, but the wizard interrupted her with a gentle smile and upheld palm.
"Please, let me finish my speech before I lose my nerve. Then, you may refute me as you like." Gale drew in a breath and began again. It would be an exaggeration to say he'd memorized these words, per se, but he had turned them over and over again in his mind and now they came pouring out.
"Your faith in me drew me out of my fugue state, and now I wander the world with fresh eyes, seeing again its beauty and wonder.” Gale opened his right hand and willed the rose into existence. “In this place, these shadowed lands filled with so much despair and ugliness, it is perhaps difficult to find the beauty, but I see it in this rose I’ve created for you and every time I look at your face.”
“Its color will never fade, nor will its sweet scent,” Gale said, their fingers touching as he gave her the flower. “I hope this little bit of beauty will remind you in some way of how very special you are to me, what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this darkness.”
Ophelia pressed the petals to her nose and inhaled. “Oh Gale, it’s beautiful. Thank you, truly. It is a wonderful gift.”
“And what beautiful words! I’m not sure I can offer such a speech in return, but perhaps this will do?” She pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss, the rose clutched in her hands, hands pressed against his chest. It was, Gale was pleased to admit, terribly romantic.
“I care very deeply about you as well, Gale. When I escaped the mindflayers I thought there was nothing left to life but scrabbling about for survival, but you’ve given me true joy and a reason to smile.”
With hands trembling a little from adrenaline, Gale stroked a finger through Ophelia’s hair, across her cheek. “And I hope to give you many more reasons to smile, but those can wait for tomorrow and the tomorrows after that.”
“For now,” Gale squeezed her hand in his own and then gently broke his embrace. “we’ve not quite finished saving the world, and you need your sleep, brave hero.”
Gale pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Sweet dreams, my dear.” And, with that, he left her to her rest, a smile on his face and butterflies dancing in his stomach.