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A gentle tugging at her blankets wakes Morena, and she opens her eyes, squinting to see in the dark room without her glasses.
“Gale?” she whispers. “Is that you?”
She already knows it’s him. The poor boy has been struggling with nightmares ever since his father left.
“Mhm,” Gale mumbles, reaching up for her. She sits up in bed and scoops the child up with her, sitting him down on her lap. His hair has fallen into his eyes, and she brushes it back, seeing his face is red and damp from crying.
“Did you have a bad dream, my dear?” she asks, and he nods, lip quivering. She pulls him close to her, embracing him, and he buries his face in her chest, sniffling.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she soothes, smoothing the back of his hair down. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. You’re safe here, love.”
Gale curls further into her, and she kisses the top of his head. “Do you want to stay with Mummy tonight?” she asks.
She feels him nod against her breast, and she smiles. “My darling boy.”
“I don’t understand why you can’t just be happy for me,” Gale scowls. “You know I’ve always been destined for greatness.”
“Greatness is one thing, Gale,” Morena insists, “but romancing the goddess of magic herself is quite another! You realize what dangers you could be in? What might happen to you, should you lose her favor?”
“I’m well aware of the risks.” Gale glares down into his cup of tea. “I believe I can surpass them. I am Mystra’s Chosen, not just some fling. I love her, and she loves me in return, and we’re going to do great things together, Mother.”
Morena leans forward. “I’m sure Elminster thought the same thing, once.”
Gale’s jaw drops, and his face turns red. “How dare you bring him into this!”
“I rather think we should bring Elminster into this,” Morena jabs. “Perhaps he could show you exactly what you’re getting yourself into, and convince you to abandon this folly!”
“It’s not folly, Mother, it’s love, and furthermore it is the greatest accomplishment to my name thus far!” Gale gets to his feet, taking his cup of tea and dumping it into the washbasin.
Morena likewise rises from her chair, standing in front of him and putting her hands on his chest. “Gale, please, listen to me. You know I think the world of you, and I know you’re capable of so many wonderful things, but-”
“Then trust me to know what I’m doing, Mother!” Gale snaps. “This isn’t some secondary school romance you can goad me away from, this is a real, adult relationship that I am very much capable of handling! You have no concept of the things I’ll be able to achieve as Mystra’s partner, of the magic I’ll be able to command. I’m going to change the world, and if you can’t support me in that, then I don’t know how to continue this conversation.”
Only now does Morena see the wetness in Gale’s eyes, the betrayal and desperation on his face. It’s breaking his heart to argue with her, just as it is breaking hers. But will it break her heart more to encourage him and lose him?
“I need time to think,” she finally says, voice quiet. “I…I don’t want to lose you.”
“You aren’t going to lose me,” Gale says resolutely, “I promise.”
“Well met! I am a magical projection of Gale of Waterdeep. The archmage is currently unavailable for social niceties, but I am here in his place and can take any message you have for him.”
Morena stares at the glowing blue mockery of her son, and her stomach drops.
She’s always had access to his tower, always been allowed to visit whenever she pleased. She had been here just a tenday ago, and Gale had seemed fine, if a bit antsy for reasons he refused to explain. But now his door is locked, his curtains drawn, and popping out of the wall next to the door is that damned projection.
“Tell him his mother would like to speak to him,” Morena commands.
The projection winces. “I’m afraid I cannot do that,” it says. “No one is allowed to enter this tower at present. I must warn you that any attempts to do so will be met with appropriate resistance and force.”
Her eyes go wide. “Force? He would harm me for trying to enter his tower?”
The projection nods. “No one is allowed to enter the tower at present.”
Morena shakes her head, pounding on the door. “Gale! Stop this madness at once and speak to me!”
There is no noise from beyond the door, but on one particularly hard knock Morena feels herself being shoved backwards, and she stumbles on the cobblestones, nearly falling over. Immediately she gets back to her feet, running for the door again, and this time the shove is even more forceful.
“Please, milady,” the projection squeaks, “he would not want you to hurt yourself.”
“Then he should open this damned door!” Morena shrieks, throwing herself against the wood. She’s immediately flung backwards, landing hard on the pavement, and the only thing more painful than that is the fact that despite her cries the door still does not open.
“Milady, please,” the projection begs, “no one is allowed to enter the tower. I am truly sorry.”
She returns to Gale’s tower, at first every day and then a few times a tenday. She sends him letters. She begs Tara, the only creature able to enter the tower, for an explanation. But she receives no answers, no reply, and no entry. Whatever Gale has done to himself, he is not willing to share it with her, not willing to let her help.
She blames herself, thinking there must be something she should have done differently, something she should have said. She curses him, furious that he would turn his own mother away when he’s clearly suffering from some affliction. She worries that she may never see him again, that something horrible must have happened to him.
And then the people start coming to her. Reporters at her doorstep, solicitors. All of them trying to wheedle information out of her that she does not have, trying to ruin her son when he is already ruined. She has heard the rumors that he has lost Mystra’s favor, and she can only think that she saw it coming and didn’t do enough to stop it.
Eventually, she simply runs out of tears to cry. She runs out of letters to write. (Tara promises she’s delivering them, but that’s probably just a platitude to keep her from going mad. Sometimes she thinks she will go mad.) She resigns herself to sitting by the window and staring out into the bay, wondering when she’ll hear from him.
And the one day, she goes to knock on the door of his tower and meets no resistance.
Her key fits in the lock as it should, and the sound of the door unlatching makes her heart race. She rushes inside, calling for her son. She checks the kitchen to find it dim and barren, the library to find the books dusty, the study to find the fireplace cold, the bedroom to find the bed made.
She begins to panic, screaming his name, but there is no answer. The tower is dreadfully silent, so silent she can hear her heart pounding as she checks room after room, terrified that she will throw open a door and find his lifeless body waiting for her.
But she doesn’t.
The tower is empty.
Gale is gone.
She ignores the knock at the door. She simply doesn’t have the energy for any more solicitors today.
But then the knock persists. And a voice calls out to her. One that has her getting to her feet before she can think about it.
The man on her doorstep is not the proud, spiffy archmage who went missing over a year ago. A thick beard covers his chin, and his temples are greying - greying, at such a young age - and he’s not as slim and muscular as he once was. But those eyes, those soulful brown things, have her biting her tongue to hold her composure.
This isn’t the first time she’s dealt with one of his ilk, though.
“It’s in poor taste to mock a grieving woman,” she says, her voice ragged. She still wears her mourning robes, from time to time. Holding the memorial service had helped to ease the pain of his loss a bit, and it had gotten a good deal of the gossip-mongers off her doorstep. But she still gets visitors, impostors, shapeshifters, trying to pretend they’re him, trying to swindle their way into his fortune and title.
The man frowns, confused. “It’s me, Mother,” he says, and his voice sounds so tired she once again fights not to believe him.
“My son is gone,” she grits. “You aren’t the first person to pretend otherwise. Please, it has been a long day.”
His jaw drops, but after a moment he nods, as if the unspoken request to prove himself is one he’s used to.
“You keep my baby teeth in a box in your wardrobe,” he says.
“Plenty of mothers do that,” she retorts.
“I burnt your rose bush on accident when I was eight summers old,” he continues.
“As many children do,” she shoots back.
Usually, most imposters grow desperate around this point. But this man almost seems proud of her. He leans in closer.
“The secret ingredient to your hundur sauce recipe is pickled ginger,” he whispers.
She gasps.
“It can’t be you,” she breathes, her hands shaking. “It can’t be. I lost you, I mourned you.”
He takes her hands, his now so much rougher than she remembers, and when she looks up at him she sees the tears in his eyes she knows so well.
“I’m so sorry,” he whimpers.
She throws herself around him, wailing, and he hugs her back so tightly she can hardly breathe. She finds herself babbling something, she’s not sure what, probably lamenting her loss, and he matches every word with an apology, just as broken.
Eventually she drags him inside for tea, and he tells her everything - about Mystra, about the Netherese magic that led to his isolation, about his kidnapping by The Absolute (which she’s shocked to hear isn’t just a rumor), about his multiple brushes with death.
“I couldn’t do it,” he says, “in the end. I wanted to. I thought if I could redeem myself in Mystra’s eyes, everything would be alright. But I couldn’t do it.”
He reaches across the table, taking her hand again, and the guilt on his face makes her start to tear up.
“I wanted to send word,” he says. “I wanted to tell you what happened. But I was scared. Scared I wouldn’t live long enough for my letter to arrive. Scared I would get your hopes up for nothing. Scared that, after pushing you away for so long, you wouldn’t have any room left for me in your heart.”
“I could never,” she insists. “I could never stop loving you, Gale. Every day since you locked yourself in that tower has been heartbreak anew. I would have loved to hear from you, even if just to know you were alive.”
He rises from his seat, kneeling in front of her chair and hugging her. “I cannot promise I will live forever, nor can I promise never to disappear again. But I won’t shut you out again. I won’t abandon you. You deserve more than that.”
“That’s all I ask for,” Morena warbles.
When he pulls away, she cups his face in her hands.
“So,” she says, “when did this start?” she scratches his beard.
He chuckles. “During my time in the tower. I’ve actually grown rather fond of it, though Tara has made her displeasure quite clear.”
“I’m sure she has,” Morena giggles. “She’s quite good at that.”
She looks Gale’s face over. “You look tired, love,” she says.
“I just got back into town today,” he explains. “I’m a bit weary from the road.”
“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” she offers. “I fear if I let you leave, I’ll wake in the morning and find all of this has been a dream.”
Gale smiles. “I’ll stay,” he says. “Truth be told, I’ve grown quite used to sharing space with other people over the last few months. I’m not sure I could handle the quiet of my tower just yet.”
“Then I’ll get your room ready,” she says, kissing him on the forehead.
“I love you, Mother,” he says softly, holding his hands over hers. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“You’re going to make me cry again,” she replies, already tearing up. “I missed you too, my darling boy.”