Work Text:
Tadeous gave her harp a few desultory plucks. Her current mood lent itself to discord, but the instrument would never tolerate that. She yearned for at least one dissonant note but true to its nature, it sang sweet and true.
She gave the small instrument a baleful look then pushed it aside. “There are times I wish I could turn you into kindling,” she whispered.
Not that it could ever happen. The harp was enchanted to never take damage. She could toss it off a cliff during a thunderstorm and there wouldn’t be so much as a scratch on it when retrieved.
Turning her back, she gazed through the opening of her tent to where the tents of the others were spread out beneath the craggy outcrop she had claimed for herself.
Calling them tents was laughable. A combination of sticks and dusty, ragged fabric picked up near the crash site were all that separated them from the elements should the weather turn angry. Hells, even a not-so-strong wind could send them flying into the river.
She had been the one to suggest seeking shelter in the old ruin they had discovered. It would keep the rain off their backs and perhaps supplement their meager supply of weapons and armor.
Her plan had fallen apart as soon as they met the first two bandits. Rather than risk a fight, she had charmed them into leaving. Unfortunately, she had been unable to do the same to the ones inside the ruin. As for the undead? Well, one of them had turned up at camp and refused to leave.
By the end of that little misadventure, they had agreed that scruffy tents in the wilderness felt safer. On the plus side, they had been able to amass a nice supply of meats and vegetables that Gale, the newest member of their rag-tag-group of nautiloid survivors, had immediately turned into a savory stew.
Gale. She honestly didn’t know what to make of him. Not one of the many thousands of heroic tales she had memorized mentioned pulling a wizard out of a rock. Swords yes, wizards no. Yet here he was and remarkably cheerful about it, all things considered.
He claimed to be an Archmage but she had her doubts. In her experience, wizards who had reached that height were well into their sixth or seventh decade. Gale had silver strands running through his chestnut brown hair, but he couldn’t be more than 40.
He was pleasant enough, certainly more so than Astarion or Shadowheart, but there was an undercurrent of hubris she found disconcerting. Excessive self-confidence was normal with wizards, but it seemed at odds with Gale’s personality. He was eager to please. Almost too eager.
She got the feeling that he was struggling, trying to cast much more difficult spells than he seemed capable of and it frustrated him.
Not that he wasn’t skilled at battle magic. For a man who claimed to live in a tower in Waterdeep with a cat and a wine cellar he was remarkably calm in a fight. Instead of panicking, he coolly cast his spells - to devastating effect.
She shrugged. They all had secrets. She would suss out his in time.
If they had time. They could all be sprouting tentacles in a tenday. Maybe they could find a knowledgeable healer who could remove their unwanted passengers, but it was unlikely. While she hadn’t made a study of mindflayers – customers generally didn’t throw coins at bards singing about them – she knew enough. Tadpole extraction wasn’t a simple procedure. Done incorrectly the consequences were lethal.
She rose and began pacing the confines of her tent. That line of thought wasn’t helpful. She could already feel the shadowy claws of despair and hopelessness digging into her mind. She had overextended herself and would soon pay the price.
She bowed her head, grabbing it with both hands. “Stay in control,” she muttered to herself. She closed her eyes, tried to bring up images from happier days but they skittered away from her like dry leaves in an autumn wind.
The voice of doubt she kept in a cage in her mind, snickered. When were you ever happy? “Quiet,” she murmured, her voice faint. She wanted to scream defiance but when had that ever worked. The claws sunk in deeper and she could feel the strength leaving her limbs. If she didn’t do something, she would be practically catatonic by morning.
She considered her options. There was always the easy way. She suspected Astarion would be up for it, especially if she offered her neck again. It would be mutually beneficial, but he wasn’t a well she wanted to tap too often - or at all really.
The hard way, then. She left her tent making her way in the direction of the small lake near the camp site. Withers wasn’t exactly a scintillating conversationalist, but he might have some esoteric bits of knowledge to share.
As she walked, a glint caught the corner of her eye. Gale’s telescope. He’d found it in the ruin. Why he would want to haul it around was anyone’s guess, but he was so excited by the discovery she had just shrugged when he asked her if she thought it would be useful.
Hmm. She rarely had an opportunity to look at the stars. Her evenings were spent in smoke-filled taverns or at the midnight soirees hosted by the nobles of whatever city she found herself in. Out here in the wilderness there were hundreds of them spilling across the sky like diamonds on a velvet tapestry.
Yes, the vast breathtaking canopy overhead might just remind her that there were things worth living for.
Moving silently, she arrived at Gale’s tent. She saw no light and heard slow, rhythmic breathing. The polite thing to do would be to wake him and ask for permission to use the telescope. Then again, he had taken an arrow to the shoulder during their last fight. A healing potion had closed the wound, but trauma was trauma. He needed his rest, she decided.
Examining the instrument, she noted it had been placed in such a way as to provide an excellent view of The Lady of Mystery. The constellation had appeared after Midnight’s ascension as the new Mystra. Not surprising given Gale’s vocation. Wizards always displayed an unhealthy attachment to their goddess.
She knew she probably shouldn’t disturb it. Gale seemed the sort who didn’t like people touching his things. Then again, if she moved it back into position he would never have to know. Carefully, she began adjusting the optical tube.
“You know it took ages to align that,” said a soft baritone voice behind her. "Getting the azimuth perfect was a chore in and of itself."
Tadeous jumped. The wizard was stealthier than she’d given him credit for.
“I apologize,” she muttered, heat suffusing her cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were awake.” She turned to face him, noting the scowl twisting his, admittedly, handsome features. “I was planning to put it back,” she added, defensively.
“Whether I was slumbering or not has nothing to do with the fact you took it upon yourself to touch my instrument.” His voice took on a lecturing tone. She hated being lectured.
“Permission should have been asked for and granted. That is the proper, nay, the mannerly way to do things.” He sounded pedantic, but his face was doing a poor job of hiding his irritation.
“I said I was going to put it back,” she snapped. This had been a mistake. She should have swallowed her misgivings and headed for Astarion’s tent. The monster in her head shouted gleefully as it felt the bars of its cage weaken.
“I didn’t see a light and your breathing was regular. What were you doing if not sleeping?”
“Paging through an excellent tome on Jergel. The former god of death is a fascinating creature,” he said, the urge to share information, temporarily overcoming his annoyance. “I mean what god decides to pack it in, give his power to some random strangers, and then call it a day?”
Gale’s eyes went distant as he considered the question, the transgression with the telescope momentarily forgotten. Glancing at her, perhaps hoping she would contribute to his speculations, reminded him and a sour look crossed his features.
“Anyway, I heard you skulking about and decided to see what you were up to. You’re lucky I didn’t cast a spell first and ask questions later. What were you trying to do?”
“I don't skulk." She couldn’t help feeling offended. Although, to be fair, they hardly knew each other. Still. “I'm insulted you think I do," she grumbled. "In any case, how could you read without a light?”
“Darkvision spell,” he countered. “And you have repeatedly dodged the essence of this conversation. To wit, why were you playing with my telescope? Are you even familiar with the workings of such a precise and delicate instrument?”
She heard the faint note of derision, the unspoken belief that a bard couldn’t possibly know anything about the tools reserved for wizards. She readied a retort, then swallowed it. She was technically in the wrong after all. Still, she wasn’t going to let his preconceptions go unanswered.
“I spent quite a lot of time with a wizard in Silverymoon,” she answered. “She loved the stars and taught me everything she knew.” She plastered an impish grin on her face. “I taught her a few things as well.”
There, that should take the wind out of his pompous sails, she thought. He seemed like a man who prided himself on his propriety. Any reference to sex would have him blushing at the very least. Maybe he would retreat inside his tent, leaving her to enjoy the night - if possible.
As expected, Gale began to splutter, ducking his head in embarrassment. His eyes met her chest. Realizing how that might be interpreted, he raised them, his gaze lingering on her breasts slightly longer than necessary.
Interesting. She had pegged him as a man mourning a lost love. Still, she supposed he had needs. She certainly did.
“That’s rather a lot of personal information,” he said, when he could talk again. “Too much really to be shared with a stranger, don’t you think?”
“You seemed very concerned that I laid a hand on your precious instrument,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “I simply wanted to assure you that I am very familiar with such things.” She smiled in an exaggeratedly seductive manner. “I have often been praised for my firm but gentle touch.”
Nonplused, Gale blinked several times, trying to formulate a reply. Then he shrugged and bowed in her direction.
“My apologies, then,” he said. “I, of all people, should know better than to judge a book by its cover. I’m simply not used to meeting bards with an interest in celestial bodies.”
She stepped closer to him, pulled his head close to her lips. “Bards are interested in many things, including celestial bodies,” she murmured in his ear.
Gale pulled away, anger forgotten, enthusiasm in his eyes. “Most excellent! Do you subscribe to the World Axis view of the cosmos or the Great Wheel model? I know the World Axis view is preferred by most scholars, but I can’t help but think the Great Wheel model does a much better job of explaining the relationship of the Planes to the gods.” He punctuated his words with an animated wave of his hands.
Tadeous stared at him. During their exchange she had felt a familiar heat coiling in her core. Briefly, she had thought the night might not be a total loss after all, but the excitement on his face and in his voice had nothing to do with her proximity, whisper, or double entendres. Was she missing something?
“Perhaps that is something we could discuss inside your tent,” she suggested. Surly, he couldn’t be that obtuse?
“Why?” he countered, “Visual aids will make it so much easier to understand the theoretical implications."
"The theoretical implications... of course. We wouldn't want to misunderstand those," she said. She suppressed a smile. Apparently, he was that obtuse.
Then again. She glanced at him. He was studiously looking just over her shoulder at the telescope. He suddenly seemed despondent.
Gods, the man changed moods faster than she changed clothes. She felt an urge to gently turn his head in her direction and press her lips against his just to see how he reacted.
She swallowed the impulse. Changing the subject, she asked, “"How are you feeling?"
“What?” He turned his attention back to her, confused.
“You took an arrow to the shoulder,” she reminded him. “I wondered if it was bothering you.”
“Oh, well, no.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “Not that I’m used to being mistaken for a pin cushion, you understand. Such things don’t normally happen to wizards comfortably doing research in their towers. But with the help of a healing potion and the excellent services of our good cleric, I’m doing quite well. Thank you for your concern.”
“I should be the one thanking you. Without your firebolt, I would have been skewered,” Tadeous said, only just realizing that she had never properly thanked the mage for his timely use of the spell. The creature had gone up in flames. Its compatriot, however, had gotten off a shot with its bow while Gale was distracted.
“Oh, it was nothing,” he said, with a minute shake of the head. “You would have done the same for me.”
“Are you sure?” she joked. “We've only just met.”
He smiled at her words. “You seem like a trustworthy person and, failing that, someone who knows the value of a good ally, especially one proficient in the wizardly arts.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgement.
“That was quite the battle, however. I had no idea how chaotic such things could be,” he said. “It was quite stimulating.” His smile faded. Something about the fight was bothering him.
“Stimulating is one word for it,” she said. “Personally, I find the threat of imminent demise to be more terrifying than stimulating. Perhaps it’s different for wizards?” There, she’d given him an opening.
Gale was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’m sure you think a wizard of my caliber has engaged in many such skirmishes,” he started, his voice hesitant. “But the truth is, this was my first.” His brown eyes took on a somber cast as if his words might have disappointed.
She bit back the joke she had been about to make. “I see,” she said, instead. “Well, you acquitted yourself well.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he responded. His shoulders slumped and he looked utterly dejected.
That stung. She was an excellent liar. “No, really. I don’t think we could have prevailed if you hadn’t been with us.”
He sighed, expression unchanging, but she noticed his shoulders straightened a little.
It’s just that…” he trailed off then took a deep breath. “You may find this hard to believe but I’ve never killed anyone before,” he admitted.
“I know," Tadeous said, trying to keep her expression neutral.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How?”
“The vomiting, kind of gave it away,” she answered, neutrality giving way to a wry smile.
“Ah, yes, that would indeed let the tressym out of the bag, so to speak.”
Gale motioned for her to sit. Like the others, he had rescued a small rug to serve as a sort of door mat. Settling back on his elbows, lost in thought he said, “I learned combat magic at Blackstaff Academy, of course. I don’t want you to think I’m entirely self-taught.”
It hadn’t even occurred to her. She looked at him expectantly, encouraging him to continue.
"I got high marks, best in the class if I'm being honest.” He couldn’t hide the note of pride. “My instructor said I could decimate an entire army by myself if I wanted."
He sighed again. "But there is a gigantic chasm between a firebolt thrown at a practice dummy and watching a group of bandits being annihilated because said firebolt hit a barrel of explosives. Practice dummies don’t scream in agony for one thing, nor do they smell like roasted pork.”
There was apprehension and sorrow in his eyes. “If possible, I really don’t want to have to do that again." He held up a hand to forestall any argument she might make to the contrary. "I know that’s unlikely, given the predicament, we find ourselves in, but killing is not my forte. I’m guessing by your demeanor and lack of a more violent physical response that you have killed before.”
“Once or twice. Purely in self-defense.” Well, maybe more than that and not always in self-defense, but now was not the time to say it.
“Does it get easier?”
“Not really. Or at least it shouldn’t."
Was that true or was she just telling him what he wanted to hear? She didn’t know. The first time was always the hardest. Seeing the light die in someone’s eyes, knowing the same could happen to you. Would it always hurt him, or would he become comfortably numb?
Looking at him, miserable, tired and in desperate need of comfort, she wasn’t sure which would be better. She found herself hoping he wouldn’t become inured to the violence.
She put a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to soothe. He looked at her appreciatively and placed his hand over hers. Her skin prickled as their eyes met. If she moved her head just a fraction, their lips would meet. She started to turn toward him.
Gale’s eyes widened and he hurriedly stood. “Oh, but where are my manners,” he said. “You came to stargaze, not listen to the prattlings of a down-on-his-luck wizard. If you promise to put it back exactly the way you found it, the telescope is yours for the rest of the evening.”
“We could take turns,” she offered. She found that she didn’t want to part ways. There was more to Gale than arrogance. Much more.
Talking to him for just a few minutes had restored some of her equilibrium. “I noticed you were looking at The Lady of Mystery. I’m not as familiar with that constellation as I am with others. Perhaps we could discuss it.”
Gale looked in the direction of the constellation. “Ah, yes. Just a fleeting bit of fancy on my part. The new Mystra would laugh at me for gazing at the harbinger of her predecessor.” He shrugged. "Best not to dwell on such things.”
Tadeous couldn’t help but think there was more to it than that. Gale of Waterdeep was not as much of an open book as he pretended to be.
“Well, as we don’t know what tomorrow will bring, I should probably review my spell book,” Gale said. Now it was his turn to change the subject. “Do you think we might need a cloud of fog to obscure our movements?”
Tadeous considered the question. “It couldn’t hurt,” she answered.
Gale nodded. “I wish you pleasant rest of your evening then.”
“Good night, Gale,” she replied, feeling somehow disappointed. The conversation had been a pleasant one, distracting her and even giving her a bit of hope. Although she couldn’t help feeling a smidgeon of regret that it hadn’t gone further.
“Perhaps we could speak on another night,” she said. “I would enjoy discussing some of your theories. The mages I met at Candlekeep seemed to believe bards couldn’t possibly understand the heights their intellect could reach."
Gale chuckled softly. “We can be a pompous lot. I think I would enjoy engaging in more late-night conversations with you. He entered his tent, whispering. “Good night, Tadeous Valmenor, or Tav if you prefer.”
She gasped at the use of her real name. “How?”
Gale turned at the entrance and raised an eyebrow. “I would be a poor Waterdahvian indeed if I didn’t recognize the Beautiful Bard of Waterdeep,” he said.
She winced at the epithet. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve heard me play.”
“Oh, I haven’t. Wizards aren’t usually invited to the sort of parties you play at. People seem to think we are all sticks in the mud. You don’t play at the local taverns anymore, I understand. A pity, your music does lift the spirit.”
She gave him a wary look, her heart sinking into her stomach. “I play at taverns, just not as myself.”
Muttering an incantation, she exchanged her short, teal-dipped blonde curls for long dark waves. Her half-elf ears for human ones. A scar bisected her brows.
“Magical,” Gale exclaimed with more enthusiasm than her trick probably warranted. “And you can keep the illusion going? Bards play for hours.”
She nodded.
“Fantastic. I know more than a few wizards who couldn’t do that. You are full of surprises, aren’t you.” He looked delighted. “Of course I didn’t recognize you by your appearance, you know.
She looked askance at him.
“It was your harp. Only Waterdeep’s most famous bard plays an ebony harp with ancient Elven runes inscribed on the pillar in gold.”
“That doesn’t mean a bard from another city doesn’t have the same harp,” she muttered.
“Not with those enchantments,” Gale’s excitement seemed to grow with every word. “I don’t suppose I could have a closer look at it. The way the spells are woven together so expertly... The work of a master craftsman, obviously.”
Despite her dismay at being recognized, Tadeous found his enthusiasm contagious. The cloud of melancholy that had plagued her since the encounter with the bandits lifted and she found she could think clearly again. That a simple conversation could do that was…surprising.
“Don’t worry,” Gale said. “You obviously don’t want the others to know so they shan’t hear it from me. Good night, I’ve enjoyed our conversation.”
“As have I,” she replied. “I meant it about discussing your theories.”
“I am at your command,” he said with a bow. He entered his tent, leaving her to the telescope and the stars.
She sighed. The Wizard of Waterdeep was going to be a problem for her in more ways than one.