Chapter Text
The wine had been Gale's companion for the better part of the evening. It was the deep Cormyrian red that usually helped dissolve the accumulated frustrations of another day spent grading endless, error-ridden essays on basic cantrip theory. Tonight, however, even his favorite vintage couldn't quite wash away the familiar ache of loneliness that had been his constant companion for months.
He sat in his usual corner of the Yawning Portal, surrounded by the comfortable din of Waterdeep's evening crowd, yet feeling apart from it all. The irony wasn't lost on him. Here he was, celebrated as one of the heroes of Baldur's Gate, a renowned professor at Blackstaff Academy, and he felt more isolated than ever. Fame turned out to be a particularly effective barrier to genuine connection.
The true companions that had once seemed inseparable had all gone their separate ways. He never left Waterdeep and it had been six months or more since any of them had visited. The last time, when Shadowheart stopped by for tea, he could see her thoughts wandering and her eyes glazing as he spoke at length of his latest studies, the book he just read, and his experiments with perfecting his soufflé.
He often found himself wondering if the choice he had made in the end had been worth it. He had done the right thing, the good thing. But what had it gotten him? He was withering away in the shadows when he could have been holding court among the stars.
This day had been especially trying. Hours spent in his laboratory, pursuing research that grew more dangerous with each passing week, chasing fragments of power he knew he should leave well alone. But the alternative felt like a different kind of death. The gnawing sense that he was wasting his time on mundane pursuits drove him back to his lab again and again.
A movement on the small stage caught his attention, and he looked up to see a half-elven bard taking her position. She was introduced as Alyss Brightwater and she was striking. She was elegant rather than gaudy, with honey-golden hair swept back in intricate plaits that twinkled subtly with gems. Her deep blue robes were rich and exquisitely tailored rather than flashy and ostentatious. Her arms were bare except for the golden bracelets that cradled her biceps. She was petite and slender and carried herself with a lightness and grace borne of many hours of practice. It was her eyes that truly captured him, brilliant blue and utterly focused as she raised her violin to her chin.
The first notes she drew from the instrument were lovely and it was clear why she left her arms bare. Her fingerwork and bow techniques were dazzling. But then something extraordinary happened. A golden aura began to shimmer around her, so subtle at first that Gale wondered if his wine-addled mind was playing tricks on him. But as the melody grew stronger, as her voice joined the violin in haunting harmony, the air seemed to thicken with magic.
Divine magic.
Suddenly, Gale was no longer sitting in a tavern in Waterdeep. He stood in an ancient forest, rain beginning to fall through the canopy above. Before him rose the ruins of an old tower, its broken stones moss-covered and weathered by centuries of neglect. Thunder rumbled overhead, and he found himself moving toward the shelter of the ruined walls.
He was not alone. A knight stood within the circular remains, his armor gleaming despite the growing storm. Beside him, a woman in flowing silks pressed close as the rain began in earnest. Gale knew, with the certainty that comes only in dreams or divine visions, that this was forbidden. She was the wife of the king, and the knight was the king’s most trusted guardian.
The storm drove them closer together in the shelter of ancient stones. When lightning illuminated the sky, Gale could see the longing in their faces, the weight of duty warring with desire. The knight reached out, brushing a shimmering drop of water from her hair, his fingers lingering in the soft strands. Their eyes met, and Gale felt his own breath catch as they drew closer, closer...
Their lips met in the ghost of a kiss, tender and desperate and heartbreaking in its brevity. But then a hunting horn sounded through the forest. The rain had stopped. The king was calling for his wife.
The knight melted back into the shadows as if he had never been, and the lady stood alone among the ruins, smoothing her silks and calling out a response to the distant horn. Alone with her secret, alone with a love that could never be acknowledged.
The song ended, and Gale crashed back into the present like a stone falling into still water. The tavern reformed around him. The voices, the clatter of dishes, the smell of ale and roasted meat slowly brought him back to the present. He raised a trembling hand to his cheek and found it wet with tears he didn't remember shedding.
The bard had left the stage and taken a seat at a corner table, accepting the wild applause and the admiring stares with gracious nods. But Gale could see something in her posture. She had the careful composure that spoke of someone accustomed to being approached, admired, and propositioned. The golden aura had faded completely, leaving her looking almost ordinary in the dim tavern light.
Almost. Those eyes still held depths that spoke of divine favor, of someone who understood what it meant to be touched by powers beyond mortal ken.
Perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was the lingering emotion from that extraordinary vision. Or perhaps it was simply the desperate loneliness of a man who had spent too many evenings drinking alone. Gale found himself standing before he'd consciously decided to move.
His legs carried him across the tavern floor, past tables full of merchants, sailors and local workers enjoying their evening meal. He knew he would probably make a fool of himself. His tongue had a tendency to tie itself in knots when faced with beauty, and his babble rarely impressed anyone outside lecture halls. But something about her performance had stripped away his inhibitions, leaving him raw and hopeful in equal measure.
"Forgive the intrusion," he began as he approached her table, offering what he hoped was a charming smile rather than a nervous grimace. "But I simply had to compliment you on that remarkable performance. That wasn't merely music, that was magic in the truest sense of the word."
She looked up at him with those brilliant blue eyes, and he felt his carefully rehearsed words scatter like leaves in a strong wind. There was wariness in them, but also curiosity.
"Might I?" He gestured somewhat awkwardly toward the chair across from her. "I'm Gale ... Gale Dekarios. And I must confess, I've spent considerable time studying the arcane arts, but what you just accomplished..." He shook his head in genuine wonder. "That transcended anything I've read about bardic magic in even the most comprehensive tomes."
The tears he'd wiped away were gone but the feelings that inspired them lingered, and he found himself speaking with more emotion than he usually displayed these days. "That story you wove of the knight and the lady felt more real than this tavern for those precious minutes. Tell me, do you always carry your audience so completely into your tales, or was tonight particularly blessed?"
She gestured to the empty chair, signaling a waiter to refill his glass, and Gale felt a flutter of hope. As he eagerly took a seat, she finally spoke. Her voice carried the trained cadence of a professional performer with an undertone of genuine warmth. “Gale Dekarios … the Gale of Waterdeep, I presume.” She knew who he was. Of course she did, his name now appeared in songs that shook the boards of Baldur’s Gate taverns nightly.
"You were lucky, Gale. Most nights I am but an ordinary bard, at least as ordinary as a bard can be. Tonight, the god Milil was with us and that was his gift. He is something like ... a patron of mine, so on rare occasions, I am blessed with such a visit."
Milil himself. Gale leaned forward, genuinely intrigued, his curiosity momentarily overriding his social awkwardness. "How extraordinary. I've read accounts of his interventions, but to witness it firsthand!" He paused, taking a sip of the wine she'd so graciously had refilled. "Though I suppose 'ordinary bard' hardly does you justice. The technical mastery alone was exceptional."
She looked at him with a considering eye. He understood that after a particularly good performance, a bard might be approached by fans, admirers, and also would-be patrons who would negotiate for their services. She was trying to determine which one he was. He shifted slightly, trying to find the right balance between genuine interest and respectability.
"I confess, I find myself curious about such divine patronage. In my own pursuits, I've had occasion to interact with divine powers, though rarely so benevolently." A shadow crossed his features briefly. "Your relationship with Milil seems harmonious. Is that presumptuous of me to observe?"
The bard studied him with those perceptive eyes, and he had the uncomfortable sensation of being catalogued, assessed. But there was kindness in her evaluation, not the cold calculation he'd grown to expect from those who approached him seeking favors or connections.
"It is never easy to catch the eye of a god," she said finally. "Milil has given me much. You might say he has given me everything. But he has taken much from me as well. It has been a long time since I have felt that my life was truly my own."
Gale found himself nodding with understanding. Here was someone who truly knew the weight of divine attention, the peculiar burden of being Chosen.
"Ah." The simple syllable carried weight, and he set down his wine glass with deliberate care. "Yes, I... I understand that sentiment rather intimately. The gods have a talent for making their gifts feel suspiciously like chains, don't they? When Milil calls, do you find yourself compelled to answer, or do you still retain the luxury of choice?"
He leaned back slightly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Forgive me if that sounds impertinent. Most people hear 'blessed by a god' and imagine nothing but glory and power, never considering the price tag attached. It's refreshing, I suppose, to speak with someone who might understand that particular weight. "
She paused, considering his question thoughtfully. "It's complicated," she finally replied. "Milil has never demanded anything of me. But at the same time … I have never refused him. Once you have tasted the gifts of a god, the fear of losing them is always lurking."
"Precisely." Gale felt a flush of recognition at her words. "That exquisite trap of divine favor—technically voluntary, practically inescapable."
She looked at him, and he saw her guard drop for the first time. Perhaps it was the strange kinship that they shared that emboldened her to lean toward him, her eyes full of curiosity and a tiny bit of mischief. He felt as if he were truly meeting her just now, though they had introduced themselves half a glass of wine ago.
"Some traps are tighter than others, and some chains more binding. Is it true what they say? That you were Mystra’s lover?"
The directness of the question made him pause, his wine glass halfway to his lips. For a moment, he considered deflecting with humor. It was his usual defense when the conversation turned too personal. But the fact that she knew what it was to be favored by a god, made him set aside his shields.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Though 'lover' carries mortal connotations that perhaps don't quite capture the reality of intimate communion with a goddess."
He found himself studying the burgundy depths of his wine, peering into the past. "It wasn't physical, not in any sense we'd recognize. It was union on a level that transcends the corporeal. Our minds, our essences, intertwined through the Weave itself. When she touched my consciousness, I could feel the pulse of magic throughout the cosmos."
Looking back up at her, the pain of his loss crept into his expression. "But that's precisely what made it so devastating when it ended. When you've shared that level of connection with divinity, mortal affection pales by comparison."
He took another sip, then added with characteristic honesty, "Though I'm beginning to suspect I’ve used that as an excuse to avoid the messy complications of actual human connection. Rather convenient, really—'Sorry, can't possibly love you properly, I've been ruined by a goddess.'"
The admission hung between them, more revealing than he'd intended. But instead of the judgment or pity he'd come to expect, he saw only understanding in her eyes and then a flash of something else.
“I am suddenly inspired. I would like to capture that in a song if you are willing.” She leaned forward, caught by an excitement that cracked her practiced composure. “There’s something in the story of a man who loved a goddess and lost her that I’d love to tell. If you’d allow it.”
His breath caught in surprise. He considered what it would mean to have his most intimate, most painful experience transformed into art.
"That's ... I never thought of it as the subject of a song. Most people treat it as scandalous gossip or a grandiose lie. I’ve never had anyone express interest in finding the universal truth in my very personal tragedy."
She winced at those last words, realizing what she had asked of him. “I overstepped, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Sometimes a song starts to compose itself in my head before I can stop it and once it’s there, I itch to bring it to life. But it’s not fair to ask for that story. It belongs to you, not me.”
He’s quiet for a while, swirling the wine in his glass as he thinks. "You know what? I think... I think I would like that, actually. The story deserves to be told properly. People already whisper about it wherever I go and what they say is just … crude. Maybe if there were a real song, a serious one, it wouldn’t be such a joke.”
He met her eyes directly, his voice growing more earnest. "But only if you promise me that you'll tell the truth of it. Not a romanticized version where love conquers all, nor a cautionary tale where hubris destroys everything. The messy, complicated truth of what it means to love something so far beyond your reach that the very act becomes its own form of destruction."
“I promise,” she replied. Her eyes were sincere and he found that he trusted her. “But before you agree, you must know I’m not just going to go off and write this. And it’s more than just telling me what happened in your own words. I need to observe you. I need to get to know you and understand who you are. Normally, I would do this through study, but since you're here ... well, I must warn you it might be an intensive process that will require many meetings and conversations.”
After months of loneliness, the prospect of having regular conversations with another person about things other than work was most welcome. He tried to control the grin that threatened to take over his face, and the effort caused him to totally lose control of his verbal response. "Spend time with a beautiful woman? I think I could find some time in my schedule for that."
He paused, the words hanging in the air as he realized what he'd just said . "I mean... from a purely professional standpoint, of course. For the song. My academic schedule is quite malleable. Very accommodating, really. I'm sure we could work out something mutually satisfying..."
His eyes widened in horror as he heard his own words . "That is to say! The arrangement for the song would be satisfying! In terms of ... of artistic fulfillment! Aesthetically satisfying only!"
Alyss was looking at him with amusement. “I think I am looking forward to this. We will start at the surface level. I will observe you at work. That should tell me something about you without too much disturbance of your own life. We can go deeper from there. Gradually. I will make sure to check in with you at every step of the way to make sure it is always … mutually satisfying.”
Gale's face went through several shades of red before settling on something approaching burgundy. "I... you... that's..." He cleared his throat, trying desperately to regain some semblance of dignity . "Yes. Quite. Mutual satisfaction in... in artistic endeavors is... is naturally the goal of any serious collaboration."
He tugged at his collar, which suddenly felt rather tight. "And I do appreciate your methodical approach. Very thorough. Very professional." He paused, realizing he had been staring at her lips since she had said 'mutually satisfying' and quickly looked away . "I should probably mention that I am a professor now, so you will be observing lectures with students present. So the, ah, observation process will be entirely supervised. Appropriately chaperoned, as it were."
He immediately realized how that sounded . "Not that we need chaperoning! I simply meant ... in case you were worried ... though I suppose there's nothing improper about... oh, gods, I'm making this worse, aren't I?"
She smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, it just keeps getting better. But maybe we should wrap this up. The late hour does strange things to a man’s tongue.”
By the time they parted ways, it was with plans to meet again. She would attend his lecture on Advanced Theoretical Applications of Evocation Magic to observe him in his element.
But Gale hoped, as he walked home through Waterdeep's lamplit streets, that her interest went beyond mere artistic curiosity. For the first time in months, he found himself genuinely looking forward to tomorrow.