Chapter Text
There’s a crack, a crack, in everything —
That’s how the light gets in.
— Leonard Cohen
For a moment, Barcus simply stared back at Tav, blinking rapidly—as if he had just been blinded by the full concentrated brightness of the sun.
“You—you did???” So many feelings sparked through Barcus that it was as if a firework had been set off in his very chest. Chief among them, of course, were a relief so overwhelming it nearly sent him to his knees—and a simultaneous thrill of exhilaration. A giddy joy that swallowed his consciousness whole and spat him back up into the world dizzy, shaking, and disoriented.
“But that means… Wulbren!” Laughter burst forth from Barcus like a lark song heralding spring, after a gloomy winter that had long out-stayed its welcome. He felt as though he’d just chugged an entire barrel of ale. His stomach was turning somersaults. His hands shaking. His face suddenly numb.
But none of that mattered. Not in the slightest. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, but his heart was too crowded by more important things to feel a single drop of shame about it. “WULBREN!” he cried out again, launching himself to his feet, and dashed in the direction indicated by Tav.
The interceding moments and his surroundings were an insignificant blur, as his awareness narrowed to Wulbren’s familiar silhouette.
He was already seated at a table toward the rear of the inn, conversing with a few other gnomes unfamiliar to Barcus. Oddly, he hadn’t so much as glanced in Barcus’ direction. Barcus supposed that in the din of all the other reunions happening, he simply must not have heard.
“Wulbren, it’s me!” he excitedly blurted once more.
The other gnome held up a finger without so much as turning his head. “In a moment,” he said in a cool, annnoyed tone. With the sort of brusqueness usually reserved for misbehaving children whose antics are disrupting their parents’ very important dealings. Only when Tav approached and forced his attention did Wulbren turn and finally acknowledge Barcus more directly.
“Ah. Ach,” he remarked distractedly. “I heard you might be about. How the devil did you get stuck here, Barcus?”
“I’m not stuck,” Barcus replied with a small self-conscious chuckle. “I came to find you, of course!”
“Why would you do a foolish thing like that? Really, Barcus,” Wulbren scolded, a mild disdain seeping through every word. Clear implication being that Barcus was an utter incompetent – and could hardly be trusted to look after himself.
Taken aback by the casual dismissiveness in his old friend’s tone, Barcus chuckled awkwardly. “Unfortunately for me, I’m your friend. Rescuing you from mortal peril is my right!” he declared, with a theatrical puffing out of his chest and pulling back of his shoulders.
“But you didn’t rescue me, did you? I rescued myself. With the aid of this… helper,” Wulbren waved vaguely in Tav’s direction. “You don’t belong here, Barcus. As soon as the way is clear… pack up and head to Baldur’s Gate.”
Stunned, Barcus stuttered back after a moment, “But… W-Wulbren. The rune powder. We need to discuss what you’re going to— ”
“I SAID GO HOME!” Wulbren exploded, a sudden wildness shining in his eyes. A breath later, however, he attempted to skate past the moment as if it had never occurred—schooling his features into the calm, professional façade of great and stoic leader once more. And certainly offering no apologies. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a great deal to do.”
“Well… there we have it. Wulbren is safe and sound. Thanks to you. I—I owe you a great deal.” A slight quiver was evident in Barcus’ words, despite his best efforts to hide it. He rallied a weak smile, tilted his head in genuine gratitude, and attempted to busy himself with more practical matters… like settling his obligation by providing Tav with that powerful new explosive weapon he had promised.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Legs rubbery from exhaustion, Gale limped and sighed his way to the bar. He ordered an ale and settled back with a tired smile on his face to watch the reunion unfold.
Truth be told, he was near ready to keel over from exhaustion. All had not gone according to the original stealth-based plan at Moonrise Towers, and the party had to fight their way through several long and bloody skirmishes to assist the imprisoned gnomes and tieflings in escaping. Gale’s robes and hair were singed, his magical reserves entirely depleted, his body battered and bruised. He had seriously considered asking Karlach to carry him back to the inn, pride be damned.
Despite his bone-weariness, Gale couldn’t resist staying for just a few minutes to witness and absorb some of the joy presently suffusing the tap room. In times as dark as these, with every breath of air taken in the Shadow-Cursed Lands seemingly choking one’s lungs and draining one’s soul, the chances for such reprieve were few and far between. He’d be damned if he was going to miss it completely due to inconveniently aching knees and a throbbing head.
Gale slumped back more deeply into his chair with a soft sigh and sipped his ale, taking in the celebratory atmosphere and warmth of the nearby hearth with half-lidded eyes. Add a book in his lap and a tressym perched upon his shoulder… and a slightly softer, better padded chair… and this would be as near enough to bliss as Gale needed in that moment. Setting aside all aches and pains and grim worries for the future.
His peace was disturbed a few moments later by an angry shout… shortly followed by Tav’s incredulous hiss.
“You have no idea,” Tav spat, words clipped and precise, eyes flashing like shards of ice, “what he had to GO through to find you!” They were leaning aggressively into Wulbren’s space, looking for all the world like a hungry tiger about to tear the throat of the self-proclaimed “leader” and “liberator” to bloody ribbons.
In reply, Wulbren scoffed, with a prideful lift of his chin. “Neither of you has any clue what’s at stake – and why should you? It’s Iron Hand Gnome business."
When Tav suggested that he could show a bit more gratitude to those who had played a significant hand in saving his life, Wulbren (completely non-facetiously, it seemed -- narcissistic bastard!), blandly replied, “Oh? Surely Barcus will take care of that?”
At that last, Gale clenched his teeth and his fists and called upon all his years of wizardly discipline to contain himself—in order to refrain from thunderwaving the great noble liberator and world-class prick Wulbren Bongle right out of the inn and into the shadow-cursed wastes beyond.
But speaking of Barcus… come to think of it... where was he?
While Tav continued to ream the other gnome out for his extreme callousness, selfishness, and all-around idiocy (a well-earned reaming, if ever Gale had heard one), the wizard’s eyes roamed the large room anxiously, searching for him.
They all knew how deeply Barcus cared for Wulbren. How frantic he had been over concern for his old friend’s welfare. Frankly, he had thought and spoken of little else since they had first made his acquaintance. Gale could only imagine how badly the shouted rebuff he had heard earlier must have stung.
Gale frowned to himself, setting his mug of ale down, awkwardly twisting his head this way and that to peer past the crowd. No, he didn’t see Barcus anywhere. He hesitated, drumming his fingers anxiously on the table. He understood the need for solitude. For privately licking one’s wounds, in the face of unexpected pain. Gods knew he did. He had, after all, languished in his tower, wallowing in abject misery, for more than a year after Mystra cast him aside. Entirely alone. (He’d even done his best to drive his beloved tressym away.)
So yes, Gale understood. And the detached scholarly part of him lectured that he should respect Barcus’ desire for time alone. Asserted that it was up to the gnome to the process his feelings in his own time. That there was nothing Gale could truly do to speed his recovery or ease his hurt.
Still… he couldn’t suppress an anxious ripple of concern. Worries about what the gnome might do if left to his own devices took cruel root in his brain. He didn’t know if Barcus had the same self-destructive tendencies that he himself had. Or the same tendency to pin all his value and purpose in life on a single thing (or person). But… he had the uncomfortable creeping feeling that they had more in common than he had ever truly recognized or thought to examine before.
And as that realization settled, he could hardly bear to think of it. Barcus suffering alone—as Gale had in those days. Heart hemorrhaging, will to live flickering dangerously low. He remembered it all in painful clarity. And he could bear even less the thought of Barcus’ brave, hardy, little flame ever flickering out. Surely it wouldn't be too great a crime for him to simply check on the fellow? Just for a moment?
Decision made and aching body protesting, he rose to his feet with a barely suppressed groan and began wandering the grounds of the Last Light Inn, as entirely “casually” as he could. Looking for no one and nothing in particular, of course... while simultaneously doing his best to avoid unnecessary chatter.
He found the gnome outside, with a bottle of Arkhen’s Hoard in hand, mostly drained – gazing silently out upon the water.
“Barcus,” he greeted politely, striving for neutral and non-threatening. “Would you mind terribly if I joined you for a moment? I found myself needing a break from all the noise and havoc. A few moments spent by the water in your fine company would be a welcome respite.”
Barcus gestured beside himself with a small, self-deprecating laugh, and gave an exaggerated bow. “As you wish. Rather funny that you ask at all, actually. It doesn’t seem as though I have much of a say about… well… much of anything these days.” He tilted the bottle to his lips, taking several more deep gulps, before setting it aside.
Gale noted the slight sway of his shoulders, the slurring around the edges of his words, but refrained from commenting. He was hardly one to judge. He'd found comfort in the bottom of a bottle more than once himself. (Well, tried to find such comfort, anyway. He didn't recall it ever being a smashing success. But when you've nothing else...)
Gale quietly studied Barcus’ face in profile as he sat beside him. The alcohol had brought a deep lavender flush to the gnome’s slate-blue cheeks... like the reflection of a rosy sunset on dark deep waters. The contrast struck Gale as particularly lovely—a faint blush rising to his own cheeks at the thought. He suppressed the urge to voice the sentiment (now was hardly the time). Cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully instead. “Well. It must be said that others lacking the wisdom to take one’s counsel do not necessarily diminish the wisdom of said counsel itself. And…” his voice gentled. “For what it’s worth, Barcus… I, for one, value your insights greatly.”
Barcus gave another sharp bark of laughter. “Wisdom? Is that what they’re calling it these days? Throwing oneself into precarious situations one isn’t capable of handling, without any clear plan? A would-be rescuer having to be rescued time and time again as a result of his own… foolishness and inadequacies?” He sat with his arms wrapped around his folded knees. Shivering slightly in the evening breeze.
“Barcus,” Gale began gently, placing a kind hand on the gnome’s knee. Barcus started slightly at the touch. It had been so long. So long since he’d felt the comfort of such a touch. He suppressed a shudder of pleasure at its warmth. Felt an inexplicable sense of shame at how good it felt. As if he was committing a crime by stealing a reward without having earned the prize. Without deserving it.
“I think you’re being rather hard on yourself. I think I would call the lengths you have gone to friendship—not foolishness. Courage. Loyalty. Devotion. In no dictionary that I’m aware of are these marks of idiocy. Or cause for shame. And,” he added dryly, “I have read through a great many dictionaries, you know. And I’ll thank you kindly not to judge! I’ll have you know that it is a most excellent and effective way for a youth with relatively few playmates, apart from his tressym, to pass the time!”
Barcus’ eyes remained downcast. His posture cramped. Making himself small. Even smaller than he already was. As if he could curl himself into a ball so tight he could cease to exist.
Gale regarded him with soft eyes. "I'm here for you, my friend," he quietly assured. Gave the knee upon which his hand was resting a gentle squeeze. And waited. Patiently.
Barcus sucked in a slow, painstaking breath. His eyes growing damp with the mists of fond memory.
“Wulbren…” his voice wavered dangerously. “He was one of the first, you know. One of the few. Not so many were eager to befriend a… a stuttering, undersized runt of a gnome. More interested in tinkering with machines than climbing, chasing, and tussling. I was… teased. Excluded. But Wulbren… he wasn’t one to care what others thought. Not then. He… he always took care of me.” He blinked several times, swallowed painfully. “I was never quite sure what he saw in me, though. I’m… still not.” Haltingly, he went on. “I guess,” he whispered resignedly, “that it shouldn’t surprise me that he found… better company, in the end.”
Something snapped inside of Gale. His tone turned suddenly bracingly cold and biting. Almost cruel. “If he’s truly lost sight of the value of your friendship, Barcus… then he’s a fool. Perhaps the greatest fool since Karsus walked Toril. You’ve more worth in your left PINKY than that egotistical blowhard has in his entire self-important body. And far more sense than he has in his glory-addled brain.”
Barcus flinched, his gaze snapping to Gale’s face. He sat for a moment, utterly stunned. Mouth agape. His own eyes searching the wizard’s a bit frantically, as his drink-addled brain struggled to comprehend this shift. The underlying meaning of the uncharacteristic viciousness in Gale’s tone.
He’d seen Gale’s supreme confidence in battle. The incredible crackling power he wielded, seemingly effortlessly, against their enemies. The fierceness and fearlessness with which he challenged injustice. Protected his friends. He supposed he’d simply never… counted himself among them.
And seeing that fierce protectiveness directed toward him… stirred the oddest, most confusing mix of feelings in Barcus. Had the seemingly impossible simultaneous effects of quickening his pulse… and making him feel… enveloped entirely in safe cottony clouds. As if the simple warmth from Gale’s hand on his knee… had somehow expanded into a protective bubble of warmth. As if that warmth had seeped into his very soul. As if he were glowing with it.
Barcus thought this might be what safety felt like. What trust felt like. What true friendship (as opposed to indentured servitude) felt like.
Tentatively, ever so slightly, he leaned closer to Gale’s side. If he’d been sober, he doubted it was an experiment he’d have had the courage to conduct. But he was drunk, and tired, and cold… and Gale… Gale was so safe. And so warm.
“Y-you… really do consider me a friend,” he spoke the words aloud, with a hesitant dawning wonder. But immediately feared that he’d overstepped, assumed too much. Terrified grey eyes flicked nervously back up to warm brown ones. “Don’t you?”
The tiny tremor in his voice made Gale’s heart dissolve into a sudden syrupy mess. He pulled the gnome closer to his side, wrapped an arm around him. Pulled his head closer still, tenderly inviting him to rest it on his shoulder.
Barcus felt a single shuddering intake and slow, soft expulsion of breath against his cheek.
“I do. And I daresay… one of the better friends I’ve ever had the pleasure of keeping.” He smiled gently at Barcus. “A fact for which I am… more than grateful.”
So they sat for a while. Hearts beating in quiet synchrony... until Gale’s own eyes began to drift lazily shut.
He shook himself out of the sleepy reverie, cleared his throat, and chirped brightly, “But that’s a conversation perhaps best reserved for another day. Sleep beckons... and I would follow.”
Gale stood. Stretched. Casually offered his hand to Barcus with a congenial smile. “Care to walk back together?”
“I—well—yes. I.. g-guess that would make sense,” the gnome stuttered back. Returning a polite, awkward smile of his own.
“Most excellent!” enthused Gale. In that endearingly cheerful way of his.
And even living under the Absolute's shadow. Even under those Shadow-Cursed skies. Even with his oldest friendship in the world in shambles... Barcus had to admit that in that moment... his heart felt just a little bit lighter. As walk back together they did. Hand in hand.