Work Text:
Eleint 3, 1496 DR
"Hmmm," Gale muttered, scratching his head over the blueprints and instruction sheets arrayed before him. "The catalog promised this was an easy setup, but it failed to mention that it was only easy if one had an assistant."
He looked at Tara, who was doing her best to look like she had suddenly discovered she had somewhere very important to be. "No," he said to himself. "No opposable thumbs."
"Exactly right! These paws do not labor, Mr. Dekarios," Tara declared. "Why not send to Vajra? She has any number of eager apprentices who would be thrilled for the chance to learn from you."
Gale shook his head vehemently. "This is not a learning opportunity, Tara. This project is much too important for that. This is to be a lush sanctuary! I envision a blooming garden at any time of year, where Alyss and I may come out to enjoy the sunset—or whatever diversions we choose to enjoy—in the midst of warmth and beauty, whatever the season."
"Ugh," Tara replied, unimpressed. "Please do not speak to me of your diversions! You are truly determined to make every last corner of this tower unsuitable for the quiet enjoyment of respectable tressyms, aren't you?"
"It's my tower, Tara," Gale returned. "I'll use it as I see fit. Now," He turned back to his plans, "what I need is someone who understands this project the way I do. Someone who thinks like—wait. That's it! I'm sure I have all of the components."
"I know exactly what you're thinking, Mr. Dekarios, and I strongly advise against it. You remember what happened with the … oh." Tara trailed off, because Gale had already gone.
He returned with a floating barrel, which upended itself obligingly to reveal a mound of snow as tall as he was. The cold of it rolled across the rooftop, sharp and clean. "Now, let me just set everything up. A simulacrum will be the perfect assistant. This will take a while, of course, but on the whole I think it will be considerably more efficient."
It was only a short while after he began, however, that there was a great crack as though a giant whip had snapped somewhere very close. The tower swayed, as if caught in some cosmic wind. When it stilled, there was not one Gale standing on the rooftop, but three. The two new arrivals looked at each other, and then at the original, with evident and considerable interest.
"Oh dear," said Gale, looking between the pair of simulacra. "That won't do." He raised a hand, gesturing at the extra Gale and spoke the dismissal. Nothing happened. The third Gale remained, looking as though he had quite a lot of thoughts on the matter. The second attempt, Gale tried to dismiss both at once. Still nothing. He grumbled, then tried again slowly, with more care than the first two attempts. One copy stood with an expression edging toward smug. The other outright chuckled.
"Well," said Gale, "this is a problem."
"I seem to observe," one of them began at the same moment, "that the current situation was not—"
"What are we working on, chaps?" said the other brightly, already surveying the array of diagrams, instruction sheets, glass, and metal parts with a gleam in his eye.
All three stopped. They looked at one another for a long moment. Then: "It seems as though there was an astral flux at the precise moment the spell was cast—" The three voices all spoke at once, using the same words and the same cadence. They broke off simultaneously, and the silence that followed was thick with the bemusement of three men who had each just heard themselves interrupted by themselves.
"The project will have to wait," Gale said at last, studying his creations with an expression caught somewhere between consternation and academic interest, "until we've addressed this rather more immediate problem."
"If I might," one offered, "you still need at least one of us. Perhaps you need only determine how to dispel one and keep the other, or find some means of merging the two. I seem to recall in Morthimer's treatise on duplication theory that there is a passage on—"
"I say, the more the merrier," the third interjected cheerfully. "We're here now, and you still need the help. Let's just get on with it, lads."
"Hang on," the original Gale said. "Let me think for a moment."
"I'll need to consult your library," said the intellectual Gale. Meanwhile, the active one was already sorting parts and squinting at the blueprints. Concerningly, he produced a quill from somewhere and began making notations and alterations directly on them.
"No," said the original Gale, trying to retain some modicum of authority. "No library. Actually, let's focus on the project. We need only reorder the responsibilities slightly. I will direct the construction and perform the enchantments—"
"Why should you get to do the enchantments?" The intellectual Gale looked affronted.
"Excuse me?" The original Gale looked equally affronted. "I am the original. I summoned you to assist me. Therefore, you will assist me as I command." Surely that was self-evident?
"Assist can be interpreted in many different ways," the intellectual Gale argued. "One could assert, for example, that a greater intellect taking the lead is the most effective form of assistance."
"The greater intellect is taking the lead," the original Gale said, hearing more defensiveness than he liked in his voice. "Now," he removed the blueprints from the active Gale's hands, doing his best to ignore the alterations already made to them, "why don't we start setting up the frame?"
The intellectual Gale shook his head. "I suggest we begin by assessing our relative competencies. This one," he nodded toward the active Gale, "seems most suited to manual labour." That earned him a glare. "You are likely best suited to the finer areas of construction. Which leaves the magic to me," he declared. "After all, I have never bungled a simulacrum spell, and this project is too important for mistakes."
The original Gale spluttered. "You have never cast a simulacrum spell. You are not even an hour old. You will do as I say. That is your purpose."
Meanwhile, the active Gale had decided that since the others insisted on wasting time arguing, he would simply begin. The original Gale caught movement at the edge of his vision and turned to find that the third had already assembled two pieces of the frame and was making alterations to them that very definitely were not on the plans.
"Stop changing the plans and follow the instructions properly," he ordered, already at the end of his rope.
"But your plans are too boring," the active Gale insisted. "This is for Alyss. It needs to be beautiful. As beautiful as she is." A dreamy look settled over his face.
The original Gale's frown deepened. "What is or isn't suitable for Alyss is not your decision to make."
"That's right," the active Gale said, brightening. "It's hers! Is she at home?" His eyes cut toward the door leading into the tower. "Perhaps I should go and ask her." He was already moving.
"You are not to go and ask her." The original Gale stepped into his path. "In fact, you are forbidden from going into the tower at all. We will stay out here and work until the project is done."
This had precisely the opposite effect from what was intended. All pretense of work ceased. "If you'd just look, you'd see my changes are genuine improvements," the active Gale argued, gesturing at the ironwork.
"Just follow the instructions, or we'll never finish," the original and the intellectual said together, then turned to stare at each other, momentarily united in astonishment at their own agreement. The unity didn't last. They clashed almost immediately over the precise application of the enchantments, an argument that kept being interrupted by the need to physically prevent the active Gale from adding further embellishments to the ironwork frame, which had the effect of making every step take several times longer than it should have.
"She loves butterflies," the active Gale said, with the air of a man settling a matter definitively. "She should have butterflies."
This made the original Gale angrier than he cared to admit. Why hadn't he thought of butterflies? "We need to actually finish this before winter," he said. At the exact same moment, the intellectual Gale said, "at the rate you're transmuting the ironwork into decorative sculpture, this will take until spring." They looked at each other.
"It would also take considerably longer," the original said, with some coldness, "if we double-bind the enchantments at each join, as you insist on suggesting."
"That is a matter of structural safety," the intellectual replied, with equal pomposity, "not mere embellishment."
The argument continued in this manner. Every objection was immediately met with a counter-objection. Every moment of accidental agreement was immediately followed by a fresh disagreement. All three Gales were slightly different, but in one respect they were identical: all three were extraordinarily good at arguing, and none of them intended to stop.
After approximately twenty minutes of this, Tara remarked, "well, I think I'll be off. It's mackerel season, and the fishmongers should be tossing their scraps about now." There was no pause in the discussion. She shook her head, spread her wings, and departed.
Eventually—by what process none of them could have precisely described—they arrived at a working arrangement that satisfied no one but was minimally tolerable. The original Gale secured the right to direct the enchantments in exchange for ceding the blueprints and instructions to the intellectual Gale. That left the building to the active Gale. The original had steeled himself for another argument, but the active Gale accepted his assignment with an agreeableness that was, frankly, unnerving. The original Gale decided to let it go. Work needed to begin, and this was, at least, a beginning.
***
They managed to get some work done after that, although the arguments continued. About an hour in, the door to the roof opened and Alyss walked out. She was half-dressed, with her robe fluttering open over a creamy muslin chemise, her hair flowing down her back like warm honey, and she was in the process of clasping a bracelet around her wrist.
"Gale," she said, "have you seen my hairnet?" She stopped dead. Three Gales stood frozen in the act of jockeying over the proper angle for a support rod. All three took in her state of undress and her hair shining loose in the sun, and their expressions went soft and smitten at the exact same moment, which was both very sweet and faintly alarming. She took in the scene, her eyes moving over each of them before stopping, without difficulty or doubt, on the actual Gale. "Should I be concerned about this, my love?"
"No, no," he said. "My simulacrum spell went in an unexpected direction this morning, but once we are done with this project, I will take care of it." He tried to sound more confident than he felt.
"Are you going to introduce me to your friends?"
"I am Gale," the active one said, stepping smoothly forward, taking her hand, and bowing over it to press his lips to her knuckles.
"And I am Gale," said the intellectual one, offering a stiff, formal bow.
"That's not going to work," she said, shaking her head. She turned to the active one still before her and smoothly extricated her hand from his. "You," she said, "are Dale."
He smiled charmingly. "You may call me anything you like, my beauty."
"Wonderful. And you," she turned to the intellectual one, "are—" she paused, running through possibilities. "Gabe," she supplied.
"I am most certainly not!" He huffed indignantly.
"You are," said both Dale and Gale.
He scowled and grumbled but made no further protest.
Alyss turned back to Gale and drew him aside. The other two made no move to give them privacy. "I am going to the Temple of Good Cheer to give lessons and make my devotions. Will you be all right?" She glanced skeptically at Dale and Gabe.
"Going to the temple? By yourself?" Dale took a step closer. "Perhaps I should accompany you, just to be certain you arrive safely."
"She is perfectly safe going from here to the temple during daylight," Gale said shortly.
"Thank you for your concern, Dale," Alyss said, taking a step back. "But my bodyguard, Kenzo, will accompany me. Besides, I'm sure you're needed here. From what I heard as I came out, you've been providing invaluable feedback on this project." She flashed Gale a mischievous look.
"That's right!" Dale turned to survey the work in progress with renewed purpose. "If I leave, these two will assuredly undo all of my improvements. I will see to it that this project gets done in a manner worthy of you."
"Very good," said Alyss. "I look forward to seeing your progress." She turned back to Gale, and the two of them stepped a little further from the others.
"Since you are going to the temple," Gale said, with a slightly sheepish expression, "perhaps you could put in a word with Milil? I'm sure I can reverse the spell on my own, but a little divine aid wouldn't go amiss."
"The last thing I would do is let Milil catch wind of this," Alyss said. "He would find it endlessly amusing and would have no inclination whatsoever to end such a delightful situation." She gave Gale a pointed look. "Perhaps you should consider a prayer to Mystra instead. If there is anyone in all the realms who doesn't want more Gales in the world, it is she."
Gale let out a surprised laugh. "You are entirely right about that. Though I fear she might simply delete all of us and be done with it."
"She had better not. I would have something to say about that," Alyss replied, with a fierceness that was not entirely in jest.
"I do love you," Gale said, in the tone of a man who is perpetually slightly astonished by his good fortune. Some of Dale’s concern had wormed its way into his heart, for he asked: "Will you be home for supper? The Guild of Chandlers and Lamplighters is still on strike, so even with Kenzo, I’d prefer you not be out after dark."
"No need to worry, love, I will be home well before dark. Will we be having guests for supper?" She glanced at Dale and Gabe, both staring at them with a complete absence of shame.
"I would like to say no, but since my efforts to send them away have so far proved fruitless, let's prepare for the worst." A disgruntled sound came from Gabe's direction. "Simulacra don't eat, but I am depressingly certain they will want to be involved somehow."
"You will sort this out. You always do." Alyss reached up and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "In the meantime, try not to kill each other. I would very much like to keep my favorite Gale in one piece by the end of the day."
He pulled her in close. "Your hairnet is in the second drawer of your vanity. Say hello to Kenzo for me. Oh, and when you return this evening, I'd suggest avoiding the rooftop for the time being. Enjoy your day, my love."
She leaned into him and kissed him deeply. His hands slipped beneath the open robe and drew her closer, and for a moment both of them forgot entirely that they had an audience with familiar faces and expressions of unguarded longing.
When Alyss finally pulled back, Gale tried not to look as though he was gloating, although he actually was, a little. She squeezed his hand, then turned to leave, and found herself face to face with Dale, his arms spread wide in naked optimism.
"No," said Alyss and Gale together.
Dale's face fell. As she glided past, Alyss paused to rest a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Be good," she told him. "I will be so disappointed if you make trouble. More than that, I am counting on you to make sure he behaves." She tilted her head toward Gabe, who stiffened at the periphery of the conversation, craning to make out what was being said.
Dale's hand went immediately to the shoulder she had touched. "I will not let you down, my beauty," he said, with great feeling. "You may count on me entirely."
With a final wink at Gale, she disappeared back into the tower, leaving the three of them to their own devices.
***
After Alyss left, the three Gales set to work again. The project progressed much as it had begun. Gale and Gabe argued endlessly about technique, while Dale continually attempted to go off the rails and make ever more elaborate alterations to the plan.
At some point, Alyss returned, because the sound of a violin drifted up to the roof from the balcony below. Dale immediately wanted to stop working and go down to listen. After some discussion, he was persuaded that he could hear perfectly well from where they were.
Alyss must have woven some magic into her song, because soon all three wizards quieted. As the melodies wound their way around the half-built structure, the three men fell into an unexpected harmony. Dale worked diligently at the frame, Gale enchanted each juncture as Dale finished it, and Gabe ensured that Dale had the correct parts and Gale had the correct incantations at each step. When the last notes finally faded, the sun had begun to dip toward the horizon and the harbor was filling with fishing boats heading in with the day's catch.
"Is it almost supper time?" Dale asked eagerly.
"You don't eat," Gale reminded him.
"I know, but I want to make something special for Alyss," Dale said. "I have some ideas."
"I will make supper. You will stay out of the way," Gale said firmly.
"What will you make?" Gabe asked, suddenly interested.
"I have some nice cuts of beef." Gale answered without thinking it through. "I was thinking of pan-searing them with herb butter, and asparagus on the side."
"Pan-searing is acceptable," Gabe said, with the air of a man making a significant concession, "but if you want the optimal cook, I'd recommend a reverse sear, then deglaze with that fruit liqueur we have in the cupboard and a little vinegar."
"Asparagus?" Dale said. "You should try making those greenspear bundles that Alyss talked about. You know, the ones her mother used to make. I know you've been thinking about it, but you've been afraid you'll do it wrong. Let's do it tonight. She'll be so surprised and pleased."
"I will make the dinner I planned," Gale said sharply. "Both of you, stay out of it."
"I will make the dinner I planned," Gabe replied. "Alyss can decide which is better."
"Oh, that's a good idea," Dale said enthusiastically. "I'll make the greenspears, then."
Gale tried to stop them, but both Gabe and Dale were as single-minded as he was once they had fixed on an idea. All three ended up in the kitchen together, bumping into each other, jostling for stove space, and producing a truly impressive mess. At one point, all three found themselves gripping the same sauté pan and absolutely refusing to relinquish it. Gale lectured Dale on proper knife handling. Gabe lectured Gale on how to assess the doneness of meat by touch alone. The only saving grace was that Tara was still out and not present to observe any of it.
When Alyss came in for dinner, she found herself presented with three plates: Gale's pan-seared steak with herb butter and roasted asparagus; Gabe's reverse-seared steak, lacquered with a ruby-red glaze; and Dale's asparagus spears wrapped in thin ribbons of smoked ham.
"Well," she said, "this is quite a feast." She looked at Gale with barely suppressed laughter in her eyes.
"You know how I am," Gale said, with the exasperated air of a man who has spent the day discovering things about himself at close range. "They are the same, and I ... well, I believe I'm learning some things about myself today that I wasn't quite prepared for."
"I think you'll find," Gabe interrupted, "that my beef has been prepared in precisely the optimum way."
"And my greenspears will bring back lovely memories of your mother's table," Dale added. "I remember you mentioning them. I always remember everything you say." He offered her his most winning smile.
"And I," said Gale, "have simply made you dinner."
"Thank you all," Alyss said graciously, and reached for the bottle she had set on the table when she came in. "I took the liberty of picking this up on my way home. I thought you might appreciate it." It was a Berduskan Dark. She opened it and poured a generous measure into Gale's glass, then her own.
"You are a wonder," he told her. "You always know exactly what I need."
The two simulacra sat by and watched Alyss eat, attentive to her every reaction. She and Gale attempted some conversation, but it was difficult to fall properly into any topic with Dale and Gabe watching so closely. It didn’t help that both of them were constitutionally incapable of staying out of a discussion for long. Hardly a subject could be raised before one or the other cut in with observations and opinions of his own. When dinner finally drew to a close, Dale and Gabe asked simultaneously: "Well? Whose dinner was best?"
Alyss smiled. "Gabe," she said, turning to him first, "your steak was beautifully prepared. I can see exactly why you call that the optimal technique. I might have been served this at the finest restaurant in Waterdeep." Gabe went a deep crimson and fell silent.
She turned to Dale. "Your greenspears were lovely. They did indeed bring my mother's table to mind. Thank you for that." Dale flushed too, and shot a look of triumph at Gale, who made a point of not noticing.
"And you," she said, turning at last to Gale, "have done what you do best, and what you know I like best. A simple meal, prepared perfectly. Thank you, my love. Delicious, as always." Gale smiled at her artful management of them all. She rose from the table. "And now I think I'll go and practice for a while. I came away from the temple with some ideas I'd like to work through."
He rose with her and bent to say quietly, "And I will be in the library, trying to find a solution to our little problem. I'll come and find you once I've sent them on their way."
***
Gale headed to the library, with Dale and Gabe trailing behind him. "Stay where I can see you," he ordered. "And find something to read. Quietly."
Gabe was already studying the shelves. They were, as usual, in a certain amount of disarray. This was a personal library, after all, and one that was well-used by all inhabitants of the tower. Books lay scattered across every surface alongside notes, sheet music, and loose quills. Some volumes had been reshelved upside down, and within each section the organization had grown somewhat … approximate. A scatter of Alyss's hairpins lay forgotten on one of the tables, left there during some long reading session when she had loosened her hair and hadn't bothered to gather them up again.
"How do you find anything in this place?" Gabe threw his hands up as though confronting a genuine catastrophe. "Perhaps I can do some rearranging."
"It is perfectly fine as it is," Gale said firmly. "Do not reorganize. Find a book and read."
Gabe grumbled but turned to the nearest shelf. Then his eye caught the papers spread across Gale's worktable. "I could do far more than read," he said, drifting toward them with an expression of irresistible academic interest. "These notes, for instance. You are overlooking important edge cases. Morlyn's theorem of antiweave particles, for one."
"That is because Morlyn's theorem doesn't apply to fire-based arcane structures. It can't, because—" Gale stopped himself. Having Gabe absorbed in a problem would keep him occupied and, more importantly, quiet. "You know what? Go ahead. I'll be interested to see what you come up with."
"Wonderful!" Gabe began gathering materials at once, settling himself at the table with a familiarity that Gale found mildly aggravating.
Dale, meanwhile, had helped himself to a slim volume of poetry and a sheet of fresh parchment, and was already uncapping a quill with the purposeful air of a man with something to say. Gale had a very clear sense of what that something would be. He forced himself not to protest. He left his two doubles to their respective projects and pulled out every text he owned that might conceivably explain why a simulacrum dismissal had failed so completely.
He was deep into his third book, with depressingly little progress to show for it, when Dale appeared at his elbow.
"Listen," Dale said. "I've been thinking. It's getting late, and I'm still here. That means you haven't solved this yet. It's dark outside now, and unless a miracle presents itself in the next few hours, we're all going to be spending the night."
Gale looked up at him though narrowed eyes. Dale looked like he was working his way toward something Gale wasn’t going to like. "You don't need to sleep," Gale said. "I will keep working until I find the solution. We will all be right here until I do."
Dale drew his chair a little closer and lowered his voice. "But aren't you even a little bit curious?"
The question had no obvious referent, and yet Gale had the uncomfortable sense that he understood it perfectly. "As much as I suspect I'll regret asking, curious about what?"
"Well," Dale said, "I am you, and you are me. In that sense, Alyss belongs to both of us equally. Don't you want to know what it would be like if the three of us were to share your bed together?"
"What?!" Gale pushed back from the table. "No. I have not wondered that, and I have no interest whatsoever in finding out." To his deep dismay, something in the back of his mind had already begun to wonder, just slightly.
"Think of how we could please her," Dale said, his eyes alight with the possibilities. "And each other," he added, with a lifted eyebrow. "It isn't so different from pleasuring yourself, when you consider it. And I have all your memories, so I know rather well how familiar you are with that particular pastime. I know exactly what she likes. I know exactly what you like."
"Stop," Gale said. "I will not debate this with you. This is not a matter of logic. If you truly are me, you should know precisely why I will not entertain this fantasy. To see Alyss touched by another, even another who is identical to myself, is not something my heart could bear." He held Dale's gaze. "Think carefully about what you're proposing. If you were accepted, you would also have to watch me with her."
Dale was quiet for a moment. He had clearly arrived with a counter-argument prepared, but the image Gale had presented him was doing its work, displacing everything else. "I see your point," he said at last.
"Then you'll let this go? You'll let your thoughts of Alyss go?" Gale pressed two fingers to his temple, where a dull pressure had begun to build. He would infinitely rather have three more Gabes than a single Dale, he reflected.
"I'll let this go," Dale said. "But if you change your mind—"
"I won't," said Gale, and turned back to his books.
Dale lingered a moment longer, then wandered off. Gale did not particularly care where, provided he was left in peace. Even so, it took him quite some time to shake loose the images Dale had left behind.
***
Alyss had been in her music room for several hours, making notes on her current composition and trying out phrases on her violin. She could sense it was getting late, because her eyes were getting tired. She suspected Gale wasn’t going to be coming to bed until he found a way to undo the simulacra situation. She was just deciding to wrap up and go up to bed on her own when she heard a gentle knock at the door. She set down her bow. "Come in," she said.
The door opened and Gale poked his head around it. "It’s me," he said, “mind if I join you for a while?”
She studied him as he stepped inside. "Have you managed to dispel the others yet?"
He sighed and shook his head, pulling up a chair beside her. "I'm afraid not. If I can't work it out by tomorrow, I'll go to Blackstaff. There will be something useful in the library there, and if not, one of the senior apprentices might be able to help."
Alyss looked him over, noting the tired eyes and the slight droop in his shoulders. "Why not get some rest first? I know you could stay up all night working on this, but perhaps a break will do you good."
Those tired eyes warmed. "Alyss," he said softly, "you’ve been so wonderful about all of this. I know it's been troublesome, but you've taken it beautifully in your stride. I noticed the music you played this afternoon. I’m not sure what magic you wove into it, but it helped." He smiled at her. "I was truly blessed by Milil when he brought you to me."
Alyss tilted her head and gave Gale a shy, pleased smile. “I have known from the start that life with you would be full of unexpected surprises, and you have known the same about me. What has brought on this mood all of the sudden? Is everything all right?”
He moved his chair closer and took both her hands in his. "Everything is always all right when I'm with you," he said. "You are everything I ever imagined when I dreamed of love. With you I’m the man I always should have been, and I can no longer imagine my life without you."
He took a breath and hesitated, then he seemed to come to a decision. Still holding her hands, he moved from the chair to his knee.
"Alyss," he said, with a slight tremor in his voice, "will you marry me?"
"No," she replied.
He stared at her. The silence stretched, and she let it. At last he broke it. "You won't?" He sounded stunned, and deeply unhappy.
"No," she said, with quiet regret. "I won't. I'm sorry."
"But … why?" His hands slipped from hers, and he slumped to the floor.
"Because you’re not him, Dale."
He stayed very still. "I could be," he said. "I could try to be more like him."
"No." Her voice was gentle. "You could never be him. He is more than what you know of him. You don't have his soul, and that is a difference I can feel."
Dale was quiet for a moment, absorbing this. He remained where he was. "If he asked you," he said at last, "would you say yes?"
Alyss hesitated. "When I am ready."
"He wants to," Dale said. "But he's afraid. He's afraid you'll say no. Just like—" He looked at the floor. "Just like you did to me."
Alyss lowered herself to the floor beside him. "I won't say no to him," she said. "But I still have things I need to address within myself. I thought I had survived all the effects of losing my parents so young, but it seems there are still new fears to discover." She picked at the sleeve of her robe, unsure why she was telling this to a simulacrum, except that something about it felt safe. "I don't know why the thought of marriage frightens me, when we are already wed in all the ways that matter. I only know that it does. But knowing it, I think I can overcome it." She paused. "I think he knows this about me, on some level."
"I think you're right," Dale said. "And I think he'll know when you're ready." He looked at her profile, at her slender fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve. "He's so lucky," he said quietly. "I hope he always remembers that."
Alyss turned to look at him, studying the small differences that made him not quite her Gale. Then she leaned in and kissed him. There was no heat in it, only tenderness and gratitude for loving her and for listening.
When she drew back, Dale's face had gone quite red. "He's going to know," he said. "When I go. Whatever went wrong with the spell, Gabe and I aren't quite normal. We're more like pieces of him. What I've done tonight, he'll remember it."
"That's all right," Alyss said, rising from the floor and offering him her hand. "I think he'll understand. Now." She looked at him steadily. "I think it's time you went back to the library, don't you?"
Dale took the offered hand and let her pull him to his feet. "Yes," he said. "I suppose you're right." Then a grin broke through, the bravado returning in a rush. "I only wish I could be there when he remembers. I really do wish I could see his face."
Alyss shook her head, suppressing a smile of her own. He let his hand linger in hers until just an instant before she would have drawn it back. Then he turned and left with a wink, leaving her to her composition.
***
As Alyss was tidying the living area and banking the fire before bed, there was a sudden shimmer at the centre of the room. A portal was forming. She stepped back, watching the opening take shape in the middle of her carpet. There were only two beings who could bypass the tower's wards to step through directly like that, so she was not remotely surprised when both of them emerged.
Tara stepped through first, tail swishing. She was followed, with evident reluctance, by Elminster, who looked very much like a man who would rather be anywhere else.
"Oh good, you're here," Tara said to Alyss. "Let me guess: those doppelgangers are still around?"
"I'm afraid so," Alyss replied. "They're all in the library. I haven't heard a ruckus in nearly thirty minutes, but Gale also hasn’t come out, which means he hasn't found a way to dispel them yet."
"That boy." Elminster shook his head. "He must not yet have found the connection 'twixt the psychic energies of the astral plane and the divergence of his spell. Wilt thou bring me to him?" He gave Alyss a short bow.
"With pleasure." She led them down the stairs to the library, where they found Gale, Dale, and Gabe bent around a large tome, arguing in low voices.
"Gale, m'boy," said Elminster, "hast thou truly cast a seventh-level working without consulting the planar fluxes? I had thought thee well beyond such elementary oversights."
All three heads snapped up.
"There hasn't been an astral flux in years!" Gale protested.
At the same moment, Gabe rose and crossed to Elminster, his face alight with something close to hero-worship. "Elminster! I am so pleased to make your acquaintance." He seized the old man's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "I would dearly love, if you could spare a moment, to discuss some theorems I've developed today."
"Oh, dear boy." Elminster extracted his hand with some difficulty. "I am afraid I have come to reunite thee with thy originator, and there is no time for theorizing. It hath already been nigh on twelve hours since thou camest into being. With each hour that passeth, 'twill grow harder for Gale to be reunited with thee."
"What? What do you mean?" Gale rose to his feet.
"When thou cast the spell during an astral flux, the psychic energies of that plane drew a splinter of thy consciousness and set it within each of thy simulacra," the old wizard explained. "The more independent experience and memory they gather, the harder it becomes for thee to take them back into thyself."
"Oh," said Gale slowly. "And that's why the dismissal failed, because of those slivers of my own consciousness."
"Exactly so. Those slivers anchor thy simulacra into being, and must be returned to thee before either can be dispelled."
"Hmph," said Tara. "Good thing one of us had the sense to consult an expert. Even if he did make me beat him twice at lanceboard before he'd agree to come."
"I let thee win the second game," Elminster said, with great dignity, "for I had grown curious, hearing thy tales of the different Gales, and wished to see them for myself."
"Mm-hm," said Tara, in a tone that made clear exactly how much of that she believed.
"In any case," Elminster went on, "I must return thy slivers forthwith. Be warned: it will be disorienting and painful." He turned to Alyss. "Stand ready to support him."
She nodded and moved closer to Gale.
Elminster looked between Dale and Gabe. "Hast thou any final words, before you go?" He asked it gently, as though he understood that their existence had meant something to them, however brief it had been. Also curiously, as if he greatly wished to hear what they might say.
"Ahem." Gabe drew himself up, suddenly self-conscious, and turned to Gale. "I ... thank thee, for this day of existence," he said, with great formality, his speech suddenly taking on Elminster's cadences. "I would ask that thou examine the research I undertook on thy behalf. I believe thou wilt find it most illuminating."
Gale carefully kept his expression even. "I will take a look," he said.
Dale turned to Alyss. "Alyss. Please, remember me when I'm gone. Though we were never meant to be, you have been my muse through this long and laborious day. There's a poem for you on the table there. Don't let Gale claim it as his own. It's mine, and it came from the heart."
"Thank you," Alyss said. "I can't wait to read it." Her expression suggested she meant this with all her heart. "I won't forget you. Perhaps I'll write a song about today, with your names in it."
Dale's whole face lit. "Oh, I should like that very much. I won’t get to hear it, but just knowing it will exist is enough to make me happy."
Gabe was rather less delighted. "Couldn't you simply call me 'the more intelligent Gale,' rather than that dreadful name? It would be more accurate."
"It would not," said Gale, "and she will write the song as she sees fit. That's enough goodbyes. Elminster said time is short. Let's get this done."
Elminster drew a worn, tattered scrap of parchment from his robe and began to read from it, weaving threads of arcane power through the air between the three of them. Two streams of bright blue light poured from Dale and Gabe into Gale. With each line that touched him, he groaned and pressed his hands to his head. His consciousness fractured into three, and for a moment he experienced the world in triplicate. The overlapping memories were impossible to parse. He staggered, and was caught.
"I have you, my love." Alyss steadied him, guided him to the nearest chair, and settled herself on its arm, holding him as two sets of memories poured back into him and folded themselves into his own. It was every bit as unpleasant as Elminster had warned. Nothing made sense. He had been split into three and now had to put himself back together by hand, fitting each piece where it belonged in a puzzle that had no single correct solution. When at last his thoughts settled into something resembling order, he looked up to find that where Dale and Gabe had stood, there were only two small piles of snow, melting slowly into the flagstones.
Tara made a small, displeased sound. Gale's eyes lingered on the snow for a moment. They were troublesome, the pair of them, but they’d grown on him a little over the course of the day. Still, it wouldn't do to leave puddles in the library. He murmured a cantrip, and the snow vanished. As he steadied himself, one memory rose above the rest: Dale, in the music room, on his knees before Alyss. He turned to find her watching him, her expression careful. "Dale, he..." he began. Whatever he'd meant to say shifted before he completed his original thought. Alyss braced herself; she knew what he had seen, and that it had to be addressed. "He was right," Gale said. "Everything he said. It was true."
Alyss looked down at him. "So was everything I said."
He turned the memory over again, hearing her confession. He looked up at her, something uncertain in his face. "Then … you want to?" His voice shook slightly. He was afraid to even ask it outright. He was still afraid of the answer he'd spent so long dreading.
Alyss understood. She reached down and laid her hand against his cheek. "Yes," she said, and there was nothing uncertain in her voice at all. "When I am ready."
He pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her, not caring at all that one of the realm's foremost wizards and a deeply unimpressed tressym were both standing right there, watching the whole thing.
"Ahem," said Elminster. "I find that this magical working hath left me rather hungry. You wouldn't happen to have a few morsels to spare, for one who has just resolved a most considerable inconvenience?"
Gale pulled back from Alyss reluctantly. "I'm afraid we've already had supper," he said, his eyes never leaving hers.
"But we can certainly put together a late-night snack," Alyss said smoothly. "You've been an enormous help to us, Elminster."
"I would have worked it out myself," Gale muttered.
"I know you would have." She rose, drawing him up with her. "But now you don't have to, which means that instead of spending the rest of the night in the library with two men every bit as stubborn as you are, you can come to bed. With me." She raised an eyebrow, and the look she gave him left very little to the imagination.
For a moment, Gale looked entirely ready to abandon Elminster's snack in favour of immediately enjoying what Alyss was offering. However, she was already heading for the kitchen, leaving him no real choice but to follow. Tara trailed after them both, purring with immense self-satisfaction.
***
Alturiak 14, 1497 DR
In the deepest heart of winter, Gale and Alyss emerged onto the rooftop, putting their combined strength into shoving the door open against the accumulating snow. It was the heaviest fall of the season, and both were eager to watch it from the warmth of their new refuge above the city. Cloaked and booted, they made their way across the rooftop. Alyss stopped partway, tipping her face to the sky to watch the snowflakes perform their dizzying descent. Gale watched her instead. He'd seen his share of winter snowfalls. He had not yet had his fill of watching Alyss's face light up with delight at something she found beautiful. She stood there until the flakes began to dampen her cheeks and the cold had started to burn at her ears. Then she turned away and made for the structure at the roof's edge, already glowing from within, illuminated by small faerie lanterns, enchanted to kindle when someone drew near in the dark.
The finished greenhouse was an enchanting thing: decorative ironwork framed the glass with butterflies, flowers, and trailing vines, as Dale had envisioned. Every joint was reinforced with double-bound enchantments, as Gabe had insisted upon. Gale had finished the construction with the help of two Blackstaff apprentices, who had proven eminently more agreeable than his simulacra. Alyss had filled the interior with flowers and comfortable furnishings, and in the time since it had been completed, they’d made it wholly and unmistakably theirs.
Inside, they shed their cloaks and boots at the door and turned to each other in the dreamlike light. Gale drew Alyss close and kissed a last stubborn snowflake from the tip of her nose. "What did you want to show me, my heart? I can't imagine anything lovelier than you in that dress against a backdrop of moonflowers, but you always manage to surprise me."
Alyss touched the violin at her back. "It isn't something I want to show you. It's something I want to play for you. Something I've been working on these past months." She took his hand. "Come."
She led him to the cushioned bench at the centre of the space, surrounded on all sides by orchids, lilies, hibiscus, jasmine, moonflower, and the newest addition: small pots of cyclamen, blooming red and white around the room's perimeter. The air was warm and faintly humid, rich with the mingled scents of flowers that had no business blooming in the depths of winter.
Gale settled onto the bench and found waiting on a nearby table a decanter of the Cormyrian red he favored. Alyss gestured toward it, and he poured himself a glass and prepared to give her his full attention.
She had dressed for this. He took in the fine figure she cut in her signature dark midnight blue, threaded through with gold that clung to her curves before flaring into full skirts that swayed gently as she moved. His eyes followed the line of her bare arms, ringed with gold bracelets, and took in her hair braided and jeweled so she glittered in the faerie light. This was no casual performance. She was dressed in the finery she wore to perform at nobles’ houses. He leaned forward, suddenly intent on hearing whatever she had come here to tell him tonight through her music.
As she raised her violin to her shoulder, she looked at him and he saw something in her eyes he had never seen before. She was nervous. The realization made him nervous too, and he sipped his wine to calm himself. When she set her bow to the strings he caught the faintest tremor in her hand. He had never seen her show nerves before, not even when she had played before Laeral Silverhand herself. Then she began, and he forgot everything else.
Years ago she had played him a song of their love. Then, it had been both a tribute and a warning, in the days when he had been about to lose her. This was a continuation of that song. He heard the same strains in it, the ones that spoke of quiet evenings in the tower, of a life built between two people. This time however, beneath the love wasn’t sadness, but fear. A powerful, illogical fear that clutched at the heart and whispered that loving always led to loss.
Tears sprang to his eyes as he realized this was Alyss’s fear. He had heard Alyss speak of it to Dale in the music room, through memories that were not entirely his own. Then the melody shifted, as she gathered herself and turned to face what frightened her. Not in one brave stroke like she would face more physical monsters, but steadily and stubbornly, with the help of those who loved her. She faced her fears step by careful step until at last only the love was left, larger and stronger than it had been before. It rose in a tide of notes that seemed to move around him like an embrace. It told him, in the language she spoke most fluently, that she was ready for whatever came next.
When the last note faded, she lowered her bow and looked at him with a love that was almost painful to receive. By the time she had set her violin carefully away, he was there, gathering her into his arms.
He had made many plans for this moment. Grand plans: the perfect setting, the perfect words, and the perfect accompaniment. He’d revised and rehearsed the details over many months. Every one of them fell away. What remained was simply holding her and asking her, plainly, to be his wife.
His heart hammered. Her music had always spoken to him as clearly as words. That was her gift, and he trusted it. But there was still that voice, the one that had never quite been silenced, which told him that when he reached for things beyond his deserving, he failed. Spectacularly, and at great cost. He was so afraid that he very nearly missed it when she said yes. So soft was her voice, and so loud were his own thoughts. "Yes?" He repeated it back to her as a question. He had to be certain.
"Yes," she said again, laughing through her tears, and sealed it with a kiss. He led her to the bench and drew her down beside him.
"If the answer is truly yes," he said, "then I believe I should give you this." He reached into the pocket where it had been waiting, longer than he cared to admit, and produced a delicate ring of golden flowers set with tiny blue stones, each one the precise shade of her eyes. He took her hand and slid it onto her finger.
Alyss held her hand to the light, tracing the tiny flowers with her fingertip. "It's beautiful, Gale," she said quietly. "I'm very proud to wear it."
After that, words seemed beside the point. The snow fell thick and silent against the glass above them, while inside the cyclamen bloomed and the jasmine sweetened the air. They found other diversions to mark the occasion in the bower he had built for her. The bower that might never have been finished at all, if three extraordinarily opinionated wizards had not eventually found their way to working together, to some extent. Gale, for his part, chose not to dwell on how much of his happiness he owed to Dale's scheming. Some debts were better left unacknowledged.