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Despite the cursed darkness that still covered the land, the atmosphere in camp was a little brighter than it had been over the past few days. With Dame Aylin free from captivity and Jaheira and her Harpers planning their assault on Moonrise Towers to defeat Ketheric Thorm once and for all, an aura of hope had managed to manifest itself around the campfire and between the tents. Even Shadowheart, who had just cause to be filled with grief upon the rejection of her lady Shar, felt oddly uplifted.
Gale found himself humming as he prepared dinner that night. Knowing that the party needed their strength for the battle ahead, he’d gone all out in choosing the supplies for the meal. Over the course of their time in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, he’d been careful in his rationing, but tonight, he’d broken open a supply pack, the wealth of smoked ham, dried fruits, and even a decadent Waterdhavian cheese wheel spilling forth into his eager palms. They would all eat well tonight.
For the first time in weeks, everything felt like it would be alright, even with the difficult battle looming ahead of them. After all, the party had wiped plenty of Absolute cultists from the face of the earth. And now that Ketheric’s little secret to immortality was no longer in his grasp, the once herculean task of destroying him felt practically within reach. And on top of all these welcome developments, Gale had Helena by his side. That alone made him feel as if he were the most powerful wizard in all of Faerun.
He looked up from his place by the fire and spotted her. She was making her rounds for the evening, checking in on each party member individually to make sure they were prepared for the fight ahead. A laugh shared with Karlach. A solemn shoulder touch bestowed upon Shadowheart. An excited exchange of battle strategies with Lae’zel. The light Helena brought to the face of each person she spoke to was palpable. She was so adored by everyone in camp, most of all by Gale himself. His heart nearly leapt from his chest as she turned her attentions to him.
“Supper nearly ready?” she asked, her arms winding around his waist from behind as she rested her chin on his shoulder and observed his preparations. Her voice was like the gentle ringing of the sweetest bells.
“Ready in a matter of moments, my love,” he replied. He turned his head and kissed her.
She sighed, rubbed his shoulders, and traced her fingers down his arms before bringing her palms to rest atop his hands, mirroring his motions as he cut into a slab of cured meat.
“Such skilled hands,” she murmured in his ear, her lips brushing against his earlobe. “From casting the most intricate of spells to crafting the most delicious of meals.” Her voice lowered, resonating like the velvety alto of a cello. “Not to mention their prowess in the bedroom.” Gale felt his skin flush with heat as Helena pressed her lips to his cheek.
“You flatter me,” he purred. “Truly. For my skill is merely a testament to the inspiration I gain from you each day. Your strength, your kindness…” He paused, easing the carving knife in and out of the meat with an agonizingly slow fluidity as Helena’s hand, gripped around his own, followed along with his movements. “Your responsiveness.”
Helena bit her lip and giggled lecherously, a sound so euphorically euphonic it made Gale light-headed. She pulled away from him, letting her hand linger on his back for a moment and tracing a star shape with her finger across his shoulder blade.
“Praise be to Eilistraee’s glory that I should have a lover like you, Gale of Waterdeep.” She winked at him before heading off towards Astarion’s tent. Gale inhaled deeply through his nose, filling his lungs with the wafting remnants of her scent as she went: peach and petrichor.
“Praise be, indeed,” he muttered to himself and he turned his attention back to dinner. But he gave a small shriek of surprise as he saw the tall, powerful form of the drow paladin illuminated by the firelight, her arms folded over her chest. “Gods above! I, er, didn’t see you there, Minthara.”
“Peace, wizard,” Minthara huffed, holding up her hand. “I am merely here to observe your work. A great battle awaits us tomorrow and we can afford no missteps such as improperly prepared sustenance.” Gale furrowed his brow.
“I’ve prepared several meals for this party and there hasn’t been a single case of food poisoning, thank you very much.” Minthara’s gaze was stoney and difficult to read.
“Good. While it cannot be denied that you are a great mage, it is gratifying to hear that you are of use in camp as well.”
“Why, thank you, Minthara,” Gale said, an unexpected smile spreading across his face. “Not like you to give me a compliment.”
“That would be because it was not a compliment,” she shrugged. “It is merely a relief to know that my fellow drow is not obliged to pick up your slack.” Minthara craned her neck to look over Gale’s shoulder towards Astarion’s tent. “She’s taken you to be her lover, correct? Our fearless and merciful leader?”
“Well, we’ve taken each other as lovers, yes.” Gale felt his stomach contort uncomfortably as Minthara gave him a condescending smirk.
“Of course.” She let out a sigh as her eyes flitted back over Gale’s shoulder towards Astarion’s tent again. “I must say, wizard, I am rather impressed with you. I didn’t think many humans would be willing to participate in drow culture to this extent.” Gale raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m very supportive of Helena’s worship of Eilistraee and everything that comes with it. After all, Mystra and Eilistraee are cosmic allies. And I, myself, am a man of an ongoing education. Helena’s culture does not fly in the face of my goddess and I am happy to learn all that she has to teach me about her own. Why shouldn’t I be willing to participate?”
“You misunderstand me,” Minthara said flatly. “I was not speaking of Helena’s religious leanings. I was speaking of her taking multiple partners, as is common for women to do in our culture.” Gale’s blood ran cold as Minthara gestured behind him.
He turned to see Helena and Astarion standing at the entrance to Astarion’s tent. They were quietly whispering to each other, occasionally breaking into a laugh.
“I believe you are mistaken,” Gale replied, but there was a waver in his voice that even he couldn’t ignore.
Minthara was quiet for a moment, silently observing the drow and the high elf. Helena leaned in and placed her hand on Astarion’s shoulder, drawing him into an embrace. A common gesture between the two of them, and one which Gale had seen many times without much thought. But in this moment, with Minthara’s skeptical gaze boring a hole into his soul, he felt a flicker of apprehension.
“I see. Well, then. Perhaps her familiarity with males speaks more to her Seldarine upbringing.” Minthara grabbed a handful of dried apple slices from the supply pack and popped one in her mouth before turning her back on Gale and heading towards her tent. “I look forward to the meal, wizard.”
+++
Hope can turn the tide of battle. But war and violence take their toll regardless. The assault on Moonrise had been more than they were expecting. The final battle against the Apostle of Myrkul had taken every last effort from the party, leaving them exhausted, but with renewed purpose: to retrieve the Netherstones from the remaining two of the Absolute’s chosen. But first, they had the many-days walk to Baldur’s Gate.
Minthara’s words had been ringing in Gale’s ears ever since that night, twisting his stomach into impossible knots. He thought he’d been clear with Helena about his stance on monogamy when she’d asked him. But perhaps it didn’t matter how he felt. His feelings certainly hadn’t mattered to Mystra when she cast him aside. They’d been journeying for two days now. Gale knew he had been rather distant with Helena and he’d hardly said a word to Astarion. Every time he saw the two of them together, bile rose in his throat.
As he sat by the campfire, poking at the embers to keep it alight, he tried to keep his eyes from drifting to Astarion’s tent. He knew Helena was there. Astarion had been dealt a rather devastating blow during the fight with the visage of the dead god and Helena had been, in Gale’s opinion, a little overly attentive in her ministrations.
At first, he’d understood. He’d been worried himself. The sight of his vampiric companion as he was slashed across the chest by the Apostle’s deadly scythe had struck Gale to his core, despite the sour pit of jealousy curdling within him. He’d even breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Helena healed Astarion and the wound knit itself back together, bringing him back from the brink.
But in the following days, Gale felt his lungs seize every time Helena rested her sweet little hand against Astarion’s chest. He bit his tongue each time she murmured into the elf’s ear. He silently seethed at each concerned flick of her eyes towards the vampire spawn as they walked the road to Baldur’s Gate. He stared into the fire. If anyone asked, he would simply tell them his eyes were watering from the smoke and not from the flame in his heart that burned worse than the Netherese orb ever had.
Someone approached him and his spine stiffened. From the corner of his eye, he saw waves of white hair resting against blueberry-flecked skin. His stomach clenched and his mouth felt dry as Helena sat beside him, leaning her head gently upon his shoulder.
“I’m still getting used to seeing the stars again,” she sighed. “It’s like being able to breathe properly after a long swim.”
Gale noticed he was holding his breath.
“Mm,” he grunted curtly, nudging a hot coal closer to an unburned piece of firewood. They sat in silence for a moment, broken only by the crackle of the flames.
“I’ll be glad to arrive at Baldur’s Gate,” Helena said. “Get a room at the Elfsong, take a proper bath. And I’ll be relieved to pray at a proper shrine.” She paused, clearly waiting for him to respond, but he didn’t. She continued. “I imagine you’ll want to make a stop at Sorcerous Sundries? See if there is anything of interest in stock?”
“Of course.” The absence of his usual verbosity left an expansive void between Helena and himself. He felt her shift uncomfortably beside him.
“Though,” she cut herself off with a cough, “I’m a little anxious about confronting Cazador when we get there.” Gale gritted his teeth. “I mean, yes, we defeated the Chosen of Myrkul. But a vampire lord is a different creature entirely. And I have no idea if Astarion’s injury is going to leave him weakened in the long-term.”
“By all means,” Gale grumbled under his breath. “Mustn’t forget about Astarion.” He felt Helena’s eyes on him, but he glared straight ahead.
“My love.” The sotto voce tenderness in her voice tore him apart. “Is something wrong? You haven’t been yourself since we left the Shadow-Cursed Lands. You’re…quiet.”
Gale’s grip tightened around the stick he was using to poke the fire. He felt the rough wood digging into his palm. He squeezed tighter, funneling all the pain he’d felt in the past two days into his hand.
“I’m surprised you noticed I was here at all,” he fumed. “Given you’ve been attached to Astarion at the hip.” He finally turned to look at her. Her brow was creased with confusion and her expression made his stomach drop guiltily, but the heat of jealousy persevered.
“I was only making sure he was alright,” Helena said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“He’s walking, isn’t he?” Gale snarked. “It’s not like we have to roll him all the way to Baldur’s Gate.”
“He was gravely injured. He could have died, Gale.” The brass in her tone warned of a coming battle. But he didn’t care.
“Spare me, Helena. It’s not like he hasn’t died before.”
Helena’s eyes darkened like the sky before a thunderstorm.
“What an awful thing to say,” she hissed. “The man I love would never say something so horrid.”
“Oh, are you sure?” Gale sneered. “I feel like I’ve heard him say worse.”
“What in the hells are you talking about?”
“The man you love.” He stood to his feet. “You know. Astarion.” Gale could feel the attentions of the rest of the camp fall onto him. But it didn’t matter. The rage he’d felt for days was finally flowing out of him. The dam had been broken. “You think I haven’t noticed how you hang all over him? I’m not an idiot, Helena. I have eyes.”
Helena silently rose to her feet, planting her hands on her hips. Fury crackled like lightning across her face.
“Are you mad?”
Astarion quickly appeared at her side.
“Gale.” The vampire spoke as if trying to soothe a wild animal. “I assure you, there’s nothing going on between Helena and I. We cut everything off after the first time we went to Moonrise.”
Astarion rested a hand on her shoulder. Gale was flooded with the memory of Astarion escorting Helena into the forest during the tiefling party, his fanged grin taunting him from across camp. The wizard’s blood boiled and arcane energy crackled in his chest. He lunged and shoved Astarion away from Helena. The vampire yelped, reaching up to clutch at his healing wound.
“Stop touching her!” Gale shouted. “You had your opportunity to win her over and you didn’t. I did.”
Astarion gasped through the pain. He looked up at Gale and growled before surging forward into him, causing Gale to stumble backwards.
“No one is contesting that!” Astarion took a deep breath. “As I said, we ended things. You’re making a tremendous fuss over nothing.”
Gale slowly began to circle around Astarion, who mirrored his movements defensively. The wizard’s fingers twitched, aching with heat.
“Gale, stop!” Helena yelled. He ignored her.
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You clearly love her.”
“Ugh, of course, I love her. It’s just that…”
“Ignis!”
Astarion dropped to the ground as the firebolt careened past his ear, singeing a lock of his hair. He cried out in agony as the scar on his chest took the brunt of his fall. Gale took a step forward, his fingertips already hot with another attack.
“Hey!” Wyll boomed as he stood between the wizard and the vampire. He reached out his hand and pressed his palm firmly against Gale’s chest. “That’s enough, Gale! Save it for the Absolute.”
Gale snarled as he strained against Wyll’s opposition. He watched as Helena fell to her knees beside Astarion, checking his injury. It looked like the scar had torn a bit and a little blood was blooming red across his shirt. Gale felt his throat tighten and his body went limp as the final traces of his rage burned away like dry grass. Bitter tears stung in the corners of his eyes.
“Couldn’t I have been enough?” At the sound of the raw, exposed pain in his voice, Helena looked up at him. “You said that you wanted me…for me. I told you I could give you more. Be more. But you said…you promised I was enough.”
Helena stared at him, mouth hung open in shock. She stood slowly and gestured to Shadowheart, who quickly made her way to take the tempest cleric’s place, chanting a healing spell over Astarion’s newly opened wound. Helena gently pushed past Wyll and reached for Gale, cupping his face in her hands.
As her fingertips grazed his skin, he could no longer hold back. Tears began falling down his cheeks as he reached up and grasped at her wrists. The tightness in his chest shuddered and he gasped for breath as he began to sob.
“Oh, beloved boy.” The thunder in Helena’s voice gave way to a more tender melody.
She quickly led him to his tent, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the party. Once in private, she rubbed her thumbs against his cheeks, catching his tears and swiping them away. They sat in silence for a moment as Gale did his best to catch his breath, though that hardly stopped his tears from flowing. Helena gently kissed his cheek before speaking again.
“You’ve always been more than enough, Gale. I swear by Eilistraee herself that Astarion and I are nothing but the closest of friends. I care for him deeply, yes, but not in the way I care for you, my love.”
Gale stared into her eyes. Gone were their storm clouds, leaving behind clear, twinkling twilight skies. Minthara’s words from two days past echoed once again in his mind and he swallowed hard.
“I…I can’t share you, Helena.” His voice wavered and cracked as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I know it is part of your culture to take more than one paramour, but I…It would break me.”
He expected to see her face fall, to see her expression shift into one of disappointment or, worse, disapproval. But her lips barely even twitched. She just continued to look into his eyes as they bubbled over with tears.
“Gale,” she said sternly, but lovingly, her hands trailing down to rest on his shoulders, “I don’t want anyone else. It’s true that Eilistraee teaches freedom in all things, even love. But the true freedom of the Dark Maiden includes the right to choose your own boundaries and limits. When we confessed our love for each other, I gave you my heart to hold in your hands. And you gave me yours with the expectation that I hold no other. I would not juggle such a precious thing as your heart for all the world.” She reached down and laced her fingers with his, bringing his hands to her lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “These hands channel great power through the Weave, yet they hold my heart so tenderly. Please trust that my own hands are equally skilled.”
His heart leapt into his throat and he pulled her lips to his, whimpering. He flung his arms around her desperately and kissed her as if she would vanish as soon as he released her from his embrace.
“Thank you,” he rasped, his lips dragging against hers as they broke apart for just a moment before crashing together again. When they came up for air once more, he panted, “I’m sorry.” He whined as she softly bit his lip and tangled her fingers in his hair. Each time they parted, he heard himself repeating pleadingly, “Thank you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you.”
“It’s alright, my love,” she murmured into his skin.
Despite his mistake, despite his moment of weakness, he was still hers. Her lover above all others. Her champion. Her Chosen. Gale felt as though he would never be close enough to her, no matter how tightly he held her. His begging for forgiveness melted into words of adoration through kiss-swollen lips.
“I love you, Helena. By the gods, I love you.”
“I love you too, Gale.”