Chapter Text
Free from mindflayer parasites and an impending apocalypse, Gale had to admit that the Coast Way was rather pleasant. Or perhaps it was just the company.
They were a three and a half day's walk south of Baldur's Gate, the myriad possessions they had acquired during their misadventure having been packed up and shipped to Waterdeep. Despite Octavia's attempts to pawn off most of their possessions onto other members of their little adventuring party, they'd still managed to fill three rather large trunks - mostly thanks to Gale's insistence that books didn't mind laying about, and he'd be loath to accidentally dispose of something that he didn't have a copy of in his library at home.
The two tendays that had elapsed since the fall of the Netherbrain had staunched the flow of refugees from Baldur's Gate somewhat, but there scarcely passed an hour in which they didn't see at least a trade wagon or two, not to mention the occasional pilgrim to Candlekeep. Despite having crossed into Elient, the leaves had yet to turn, and the only indication that they were on the cusp of autumn was the occasional cold breeze from the coast and the ever-present perfume of dry grass underfoot.
The midafternoon sun was warm, and Octavia had peeled off the top half of her robe, letting it hang loose behind her, the sleeves of her undershirt rolled to the elbow. She wore a broad-brimmed hat and dark glasses, the tadpole's protection from the sun having vanished along with it. The effect reminded Gale of the society women who watched the regattas during fleet week - all rumpled linen and oversized hats, peering through ornate binoculars at the brightly-colored sailboats that skipped along the distant waves.
While his terrace didn’t have the best view of the festivities, it was nothing that a clever application of magic couldn’t fix. He could picture Octavia there, her feet propped against the railing, shirt half-unbuttoned. She would be lazing against the bench, pretending not to notice as he pressed his lips to her cheek, her jaw, her neck. He would peel back the thin fabric of her shirt ever so slowly, to reveal the the scales that cascaded over the crest of her shoulder like–
“Gale?”
They’d stopped in the middle of the road, Octavia’s hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, love?”
He shook his head. “Just lost in thought.”
“Thinking about what?” She hiked up her robe and started off toward a patch of bushes a dozen or so yards from the road. “There’s some blackberries over here - want some?”
“I am feeling a mite peckish,” he replied, tailing after her. “I was just thinking about everything that I want to show you in Waterdeep.” Not completely a lie - his fantasizing *did* involve Fleetswake, after all. “With any luck, we should make it there by God’s Day, although I can’t say I’m particularly anxious to deal with any kind of divinity after…” he waved his hand vaguely, not bothering to finish the statement.
Octavia laughed. “I hope you’ll forgive me for dragging you to a temple in the ass end of Faerǔn, then.”
“It’s a few days’ walk from Candlekeep - hardly the middle of nowhere. And the journey has been positively bucolic - nothing like a long stroll through the countryside to make one appreciate making it through an apocalypse in one piece.”
“So long as I’m not poked to death by this fucking bush first,” Olivia said, starting to roll down her sleeves. “Everything easy is picked over.”
“My love, need I remind you that you are traveling with a most accomplished wizard?” With a few quick gestures, a pair of mage hands blinked into existence, darting swiftly into the brambles.
“Showoff.” She stuck out her tongue, nose wrinkling adorably.
“Hardly - in fact, I’m rather surprised that an accomplished spellcaster like you didn’t think of it herself.”
Octavia huffed out a laugh, and adjusted her hat so that she could plant a kiss on Gale’s nose. “Accomplished, hm? Not sure if you’re trying to insult me or flatter me.”
“Oh, I could only ever flatter you, darling,” he replied, and was met with a radiant smile. Something swelled in the space in his chest the orb had left behind, and he brought his hand up to cover it in reflex, finding only the slight rise of scar tissue and not the light that he was instinctually trying to conceal.
Octavia’s gaze followed his hand, but she said nothing, bringing her fingers up to rest across his, slate grey against his olive skin.
Gale coughed, swallowing the sudden tightness in his throat as the mage hands bearing their roadside harvest returned from the bush. “Shall we?”
Gods, how close he’d come to losing this.
***
It was late afternoon by the time they reached the signpost for Pella’s Wish. The path lead off into rolling fields and paddocks clothed in the green-gold of early autumn, vanishing behind an orchard laden with what looked to be pears. A hawk flew in a lazy arc above the grass before diving out of sight.
“The town’s about two hours or so past the fork.” Octavia stopped for a moment, fanning herself with her hat, the air still warm despite the lengthening shadows. “Temple’s another hour or so from the square. There’s an inn - I figured we’d eat there and stay the night, and head on to Our Lord of Endurance in the morning.”
“Do not feel the need to delay on my account,” Gale replied, although privately he did not relish the thought of meeting three dozen Ilmateri without so much as dinner. “I’m certain they’re eager to see you.”
She made a small noise of assent. “Probably a little too eager. I wouldn’t do that to you -” she grimaced, “or me.”
“I wish I could say the same, but there is a… not insubstantial chance that Tara and my mother will track us down before we’ve been in Waterdeep but an hour.” He had been intentionally vague as to the exact nature of their plans in his Sendings to them, only promising that he’d be back by mid-Marpenoth. Although this seemed to mollify them both somewhat, he had a feeling that the only thing saving him from a thorough tongue-lashing was the 25-word limit on Sendings. It wasn’t as though he didn’t deserve it, and it would thoroughly distract the two of them from Octavia, at least.
“What have you told them?” she asked, her expression unreadable, a tightness in her voice that he’d previously only heard before battle. Something twisted behind Gale’s ribs.
He took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before bringing it to his lips. “That I’m alive, and I’ll be back to Waterdeep in a few tendays, and that I’ll be bringing someone quite remarkable that I’d like them to meet.”
Octavia signed, launching a stone down the road with a well-aimed kick. “Sorry. I’m just nervous.” A small laugh bubbled up from her chest, and she laced her fingers with his. “Scared shitless, actually.”
“While my family can be… formidable, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. They’ll love you,” Gale replied. “They’ll love you because I love you.”
Even during his time as Chosen, they’d never stopped trying to introduce him to accomplished men and women, plying him to settle down with someone mortal. If Tara and his mother had known about the nature of his relationship with Mystra, they’d never mentioned it, instead inviting a steady stream of surprise guests over for tea in hopes that one of them would stick. To return with someone so brave, intelligent, kind, and most importantly mortal - well, it was hard to imagine they’d be anything but ecstatic.
“Easy for you to say,” said Octavia, her gaze returning to the road. “You’re an in-law’s dream.”
“You’re the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, love. That’s hardly something to-”
She whirled around to face him, taking him by the shoulders. “No, Gale, you don’t understand. You’re handsome, well-mannered, can cook, you own a home in Waterdeep for fuck’s sake-”
“Tower-” he said, unable to stifle the urge to correct her. Octavia gave him a glare that threatened to scorch off his eyebrows, but continued.
“And that’s without any of the ‘Gale of Waterdeep’ or ‘saving the world’ business.” Octavia ran her hands down the sides of her face, fingertips digging into the scales splashed along her cheekbones and temple. “Ugh, I just- gah! Forget I said anything.” She threw up her hands and set off down the road at as fast a pace she could manage without breaking into a run.
The weave stretched and twisted in her wake, sending tiny sparks of sensation over Gale’s skin, bringing with it the scent of fire and iron. A cold spike of fear shot through him as he jogged to catch up. Gods, not now, not again-
“Octavia!”
His plea was like a tether, snapping her to a stop. The pressure on the weave dissipated, Octavia’s body visibly deflating as it did. “I’m being an ass,” said Octavia, so quietly that Gale almost didn’t hear it. “But I’m also not the kind of woman you bring home to meet your family.”
He almost wanted to laugh. Her, perhaps the most remarkable person he’d ever had the privilege of knowing, expressing the faintest shred of doubt that she was worthy of one of the most foolish wizards that had ever lived.
Gale caught her chin in his hand, and gently brought her gaze up from the ground to meet his own. Although she stood a half-head taller than him, she seemed suddenly small, fragile.
She took a great, shaking breath, and continued. “I’m a drow - a huge one. I own three shirts. My magic sometimes gets away from me when I’m upset. I’ve lived in a temple my whole life, but I’m not allowed to take vows because I’d make a terrible cleric. I-”
Gale’s fingers had made their way up the side of her face, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone. She leaned into the touch. “You have pulled me back from the depths of my despair and the heights of my folly. Your beauty is matched only by your cleverness, your compassion. You have thwarted gods, slain devils, lifted curses - to even know you is a blessing that I am unworthy of. To love you, knowing that I am loved in return, makes me the luckiest man in Faerûn. If Tara and my mother are unable to see that - well, more the fool them.
By the time he had finished, his fingers were wet with tears.
“Thank you.” The corner of her mouth quirked upward against his palm. “But stop saying you don’t deserve me.” A finger pressed to his lips before he could respond. “You do have to listen to your own advice, sometimes.”
A difficult task, but he could try.