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- “Here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you.”
- It must have appeared strangely intimate to their companions when he had knelt down in front of Tilia and clasped his fingers around her hand, almost like a parody of a man preparing to propose. She had frowned, her expression bewildered with questions he had not given her the opportunity to ask. Not because he had wanted to dismiss her; he would never humiliate her with such an irreverence. Adjacent to being the leader of their troupe, she was the one person he had grown to trust the most: with her decisions, with aiding him with his rather hapless condition. With his life.
- At this moment, she did not – could not yet – understand why he had chosen this position. Fortunately, she appeared to reciprocate his trust well enough to follow his request without demanding further explanation.
- It might have seemed like simply another instance of his whimsical extravagance to their companions, for some of them had been very vocal in expressing how very dramatic they perceived wizards in general.
- Yet, the truth was that kneeling down was the only position befitting for his state. He was the villain here. The liar. The man who had not only disappointed and enraged his goddess, but who had endangered their troupe; who had concealed the mortifying truth of his folly from them until now, until he had no other chance than to confess.
- True enough, he could have decided to simply let down his mental guard enough so Tilia’s and his tadpole could connect, no physical contact was necessary to do so. In view of the current situation, however, this would have felt most insufficient. He, the villain, the sinner, the man confessing, had to kneel and bow his head in shame and subservience. He did not deserve to be at eye level with Tilia, much less to stand taller than her. To show his repentance for his betrayal of their group, to beg for her and their mercy, he had to kneel. There was no other way.
- Adjacent to it, there was the small but not quite inconsequential detail that when he was to open his mind for her, the pain his orb caused him would be allowed to surge freely through his body, like one big disruptive force of nature. He was uncertain if he would be able to stay on his feet once this happened.
- Indeed, the untamed pain – and the arcane hunger that went hand in hand with it – turned out to be so unfathomably atrocious he was not even able to keep his eyes open. The one thing that kept him sane as he let the full, unadorned extent of his folly play out in front of Tilia, was her hand on his chest, pressing against the scar the orb had left on his skin.
- He clung to her touch like a drowning man would cling to a raft, not letting go of her hand even after he had let her see everything. He knew that this would be the end of their journey together, had known from the beginning that she would cast him out once he told her the truth and showed her who he really was.
- So he needed to memorize the feeling of her hand in his: her warmth, the softness of her skin that was only broken by the calluses on her knuckles. This was most likely the last opportunity he was granted to touch another person.
- He still held her hand when he finally dared to open his eyes again and look at her, watching her expression change from surprise to shock to sheer horror. He did not break their eye contact, a silent plea to forgive him written all over his face. It was fruitless and impudent. She could not condone him. Even if she would find a way to excuse his folly, which he wholeheartedly doubted, there was no way she could forgive him for the imminent danger he posed. She would cast him out. She was the leader of their group, responsible for the success of their mission, in charge of taking care of the others.
- Still kneeling, he patiently awaited the verbalization of her judgment. Waited for her to shout at him, to curse him, to chase him off. Waited for a reaction that never came. For a seemingly endless while, she simply looked at him. Then, eventually, she broke the insufferable silence.
- “How are you still alive?”
- It was barely more than a whisper, forming the same question he had asked himself every single day for the past year. He had managed to develop an appropriate hypothesis in time, of course. One he would gladly explain, if only to spend more precious moments in their – her - company. He knew, however, that she had not asked for a scientific treatise of the matter. Nor had she asked for the avowal that it would have only been just if the orb would have killed him instantly.
- “Thankfully, the moment I absorbed the fragment wasn’t enough to kill me outright. It was only the beginning.”
- Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and came back to his feet.
- “This Netherese blight...this orb, for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed. As long as I absorb traces of the Weave from potent enough sources, it remains quiet. Were it ever to fully destabilise, however…”
- Tilia swallowed. “You will die.”
- “Rather worse, actually. I will erupt. I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I’d say even a fragment as small as the one I carry...It’d level a city the size of Waterdeep.”
- Behind Tilia, Lae’zel narrowed her eyes.
- “You thrice-damned rotten bastard! You’ve been the greatest threat to our lives all this time.” She nearly spat out the words.
- He held up his hand, a fruitless attempt to appease her. “I swear to you I wasn’t. But I’ve no choice but to admit I am now. Perhaps it would be best if I leave and put as much distance between us as I can before the orb erupts.”
- The Githyanki nodded, according to his expectations. Not that her opinion mattered much to him in this moment, it was a mere marginal note in the periphery of his perception. What he waited for was for Tilia to approve of this idea. Once again, their leader did not behave as he did expect her to. Instead, she started chewing on her lower lip, one of her endearing little mannerisms, something she did regularly when she was dwelling on something.
- “Is there nothing we could do?” she finally asked, honest empathy and the willingness to help in her expression where there should have been nothing but contempt and disdain.
- “We might chance upon a king’s collection of magical artifacts around the corner. We might cross paths with a miracle round the bend. Then again – we might not. All of this... it must feel like a betrayal. Say the word...and we’ll part ways.”
- It was of utmost importance that he made it absolutely clear that he would understand her decision. The only reason she had not cast him out yet, the reason she wasted time to listen to him where she could have already ventured forth on her journey to find a cure for the tadpoles in their heads, must be compassion. It was not reasonable, of course. As a druid, keeping the natural order was supposed to be the first priority for her actions. Trying to protect an overambitious wizard who had simply gotten what he deserved stood as a contradiction to it.
- And yet, a deep frown built on her brow as she shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
- “We’ve come this far together and we’ll continue on together. That is how it will be.”
- For a second, everyone stared at her. She stared back at her companions, and her expression made it clear she would not allow any objection. Stubborn and determined as nature itself. It truly was a sight for a poet to immortalize in a ballad.
- Lae’zel didn’t seem intimidated at all. She rolled her eyes at the exact moment Astarion gave the most derisive snort. He barely perceived it, still far too astonished by their leader’s reaction.
- “That is – a great relief. Oh, a great relief indeed. You truly are a soul that steels my own. From all my new-rallied heart I thank you. I thank you all. I understand if you stand against me.” A small nod to Lae’zel and Astarion, then he looked back to Tilia. “I’m humbled if you stand with me. Either way, I will do my best not to let you down. I stand at a precipice, but if you do not give up hope, neither shall I. I’ll fight, I’ll resist – as long as I can. Now, even I am tired of the sound of my own voice. Let us venture forth.”
- Relief and gratitude - washing over him, invigorating him and easing the burdens that lay ahead. For the rest of the day, he did not speak much, too afraid to destroy the wonder Tilia had created for him, almost sure that she would change her mind if he grated her with his propensity towards verbosity. For once in his life, this was no matter. He did show his gratitude in silence, conjuring up a rope so she could climb up a cliff, turning water into ice so it served as a bridge above a chasm. And he made sure that she got the most tender pieces of meat in her stew this evening.
- She surprised him once more when she did not only choose the spot next to him for dinner, but asked him to stay when the others retreated to their tents. Naturally, he agreed, made even sure to get a bottle of the best wine they had in camp to present her with something – anything – decent.
- “I wanted to thank you again, Tilia.”
- “What for?”
- “For the passionate plea you’ve held on my behalf. I...I want to assure you that I would have understood if you had asked me to go. I would not have argued. Neither would I have reproached you for your decision.”
- The look she gave him was a mystery. One definitely worth solving, but after the events of the day, with the orb festering in his chest and with at least one glass of wine too many, he did not have the tools for it.
- Finally, she shook her head. “I’ve said everything that had to be said. And treating you with basic decency is nothing you have to be grateful for.”
- “I-” he swallowed. “I am afraid I have to dissent here. I...am dangerous. Well, precisely, the orb in my chest is. Your decision bears a certain risk. One that is not so trifling.”
- “Travelling with strangers tends to be risky. And I think a wizard with a dangerous orb in his chest matches well with a vampire spawn and a warlord.”
- “This is surely one way to put it. Regardless, I pledge to you that if I ever know I am no longer able to stop the orb, I will do anything I can to ensure no one but me pays for my mistakes. I will find the remotest place on the surface of Faerun, or perhaps far below in the depths of the Underdark. I will await that death alone. I promise I will not betray your trust. You kept me by your side despite the menace that I am. If worst comes to worst, I will be gone long before the curtain falls.”
- Another long, indecipherable look from her. Then, she licked her lips and took his hand. “We will do everything to find a cure for it, Gale. And before you object, think about the tadpoles in our heads. All of us should’ve transformed into mindflayers by now. Yet, we haven’t. So, there’s a chance for you, too. And together, we can find it. Or at least, we can try.”
- Squeezing his hand lightly, she gave him a warm smile, one that made her eyes radiate in the light the campfire provided.
- “Thank you for being honest with us, Gale. Sleep well.”
- He looked after her even long after she had closed the flap of her tent, remembering the feeling of her hand in his, the image of her smile and her kind words filling his mind. The feelings of relief and gratitude had not lessened, quite the contrary. If he dug a little deeper, though, he would find an inkling of another emotion. Something...more. Something he had not felt in a long time and that he did not dare to name. The mere thought of it was foolish. Foolish – and dangerous.
- At this moment, the orb acted up once again, shooting another wave of burning pain through his chest. Dangerous indeed, he pondered as he glanced at Tilia’s tent for one last time before he retired for the night.