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The sea ahead is still, seemingly heavy as the bright full moon shines down on the coast. Wyll welcomes the quiet, the silence and peace that his life has been missing for so long.
His legs hang off the edge of the dock, tips of his feet nearly brushing against the calm waters surface. There’s only a few clouds to sully the otherwise dark and clear sky, Wyll staring out at the water with a quiet sigh.
A sigh of relief. Of fear and expectations.
He was free of his pact, finally, after all these years of torture and despair. No more were the days of parading around adhering to a fiend nor nights filled with taunts and devilish demands. His scars could properly heal, his heart could open up.
And his father had been saved. Wyll could finally prove his worthiness to him- he promises to.
All Wyll needed to do was awaken the Heart of the Gate.
Easy enough, he mentally mumbles. He’d been through Avernus, taming a Wyrm would be a piece of cake compared to what he’d done just hours ago.
Even with Mizora hanging around, living proof of the hell he’s been forced to endure the last seven years, confronting his father was by far the scariest thing he’s ever done before. Even more fearsome than facing the cult of Tiamat itself.
At the very least, his father had gotten the worst of it out first. To think my blood flows through those veins.
Wyll sighs out a note, kicking his feet idly. It’s a cooler night which he’s rather thankful for- it was hard enough to sleep with a devil hovering around his tent, radiating heat. The early summer air was unbearable at night and Wyll had more than enough reason to believe it to be Mizora’s doing.
He’s not sure how he’ll pay for saving his father but Wyll is determined to wake the Wyrm beneath Baldur’s Gate first.
Or, rather deal with this late night visitor.
“Well,” a voice sounds from behind, soothing and low, familiar. “Or should I say Wyll.”
Wyll’s heard it all before, but he smiles all the same, turning his head to the right as Gale’s sandals come to a stop beside him. He looks up at the man, his purple robe bunching up in his palms before he’s promptly coming to a seat on the edge of the dock with a groan.
Sighing out a tired note, Gale looks over at him. It’s not a very intimidating look but Wyll finds himself feeling small beneath his gaze, hands tightening over his thighs and a slow swallow of the weight that’s nestled in his throat.
“I always thought you to be an early sleeper,” Wyll starts then, his gaze flickering over the side of Gale’s features.
“Oh, I am,” Gale responds, sitting back onto his palms, head angled up to stare at the night sky. “Yet, in a rather odd turn of events, I find it rather hard to get some rest. Not too unlike you, I presume?”
Wyll chuckles softly, shaking his head as he looks back down at the water beneath their hanging shoes. “Lots to think about,” is all he really offers, kicking his legs once more. He doesn’t quite muster the brevity to look over at Gale, not even as the man sighs once more.
“Say,” Gale starts then, shifting once more with a big grin, “would you mind indulging me for a moment? You know my curiosity has no bounds.”
Wyll’s smile is rather instinctive, looking over with a raised brow. “Alright,” he starts, “but I won’t be taking any responsibility if you awaken Lae’zel.”
“No, no, nothing like that, I assure you,” Gale laughs out. He shifts once more, raising his right hand to his chest. “It’s merely a question for you.”
There’s an instinctive mental wince on Wyll’s part, his brows furrowing and a slight narrowing of his eyes. “A question?” he repeats.
Gale nods, dropping his hand from his own chest as he leans closer to Wyll, finger raised ahead of his face. “Just the one.”
It wasn’t like Gale had ever been unkind to him. Sure, he could be brash and his sense of humor tended to be rather… odd. Still, he never held any malice in his words- even when he’d discovered the true source of Wyll’s abilities.
Wyll braces himself, nodding all the same as he awaits his next words.
“Tell me, Wyll,” he starts, “what do you fear?”
What a loaded question.
Wyll feared more than he ever dared to say aloud. He was terrified of the devil that followed his every step, he was terrified of her- even if he did his damnedest to hide it. He feared hurting those closest to him, those he’d selfishly let into his caged heart, with the very curse he’d carried for seven years.
He feared his father. Even moreso, disappointing him.
“And- let me add,” Gale sounds out then, “I don’t want to hear what the Blade of Frontiers fears- no, I want to know what you fear, Wyll.”
There’s a pause. The water below them laps against the wooden dock, disturbing the silent night. Wyll finds himself at peril.
Wyll was someone who hadn’t truly seen the sun in years: a teenager, the embodiment of hope, an innocence rare of the sword coast.
Wyll had signed his life away at seventeen. He’d been lost in the terms and conditions of a pact he was too fraught to read. With tears and blood, with a missing eye and a broken heart, the Blade of Frontiers was born.
Wyll hasn’t been seen since- not really.
“I’ll answer first,” Gale goes on, seemingly unable, or unwilling, to wait in Wyll’s perilous silence. “I have taken on the greatest of foes, those who breathe the very weave itself, yet at the mere hiss of a snake, I am rendered utterly defenseless.”
Wyll stares for a moment. “A-A snake?!”
“That’s right, you heard it first,” Gale chuckles out, “the great Wizard of Waterdeep! Terrified of snakes. Once, I had Tara deal with one on the front step of my very home- terrible bastard. I’d nearly taken a plunge off the edge of the balcony had she not stepped in.”
The laugh that leaves Wyll’s lips is natural and sudden, his eyes crinkling as he shakes his head at the man. “You can’t be serious-”
“Oh, I am very serious,” Gale assures, leaning back onto his palms, his head thrown back as he stares up at the stars. His gray streaked brown locks rest freely over the nape of his neck, a faint smile on his lips. He looks over then, brow raised at Wyll. “I’ve done my half of the deal,” he starts, “it’s only fair you fulfill your half.”
Wyll turns back to the ocean. “You won’t tell the others?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
Gale goes as far as to draw an ‘x’ right over his heart, taking careful caution to heed clear of his marked skin. “On my mother and Tara.”
There’s a twitch of a smile on Wyll’s lips before he gives in, looking down at his lap. He takes a moment to just breathe, shaking his head once.
“The dark.”
Gale looks over immediately, brows raised and tilting his head. “The dark?” he repeats.
Heat crawls up Wyll’s neck, over the new ridges he’ll never adjust to. He nods once, clearing his throat. “I know, who would have thought the grand Blade of Frontiers was terrified of the dark of all things.”
“No one,” Gale answers immediately. “Not many people know the Blade of Frontiers as intimately as I do. I count myself lucky.”
Wyll laughs rather easily. “It’s a common fear,” he responds, “if only for the fact that it ails young children and not adults.”
“Oh psht,” Gale replies, waving off Wyll’s words with his palm. “There’s a very thin divide between one’s adulthood and one’s childhood, you know. I’d even wager there isn't one. It’s all just one big conundrum of discovering your true self.”
With a furrow of his brows, Wyll looks over at the other man, finding an odd smile on his lips.
“Oh gods, I’m starting to sound like old Elminster, aren’t I?” he asks.
It’s another genuine, hearty laugh from Wyll, his hand on his side as he shakes his head at the pale man, nearly rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he answers, “you didn’t say nearly as many words as he tends to.”
Gale gives him a slight nod, smiling all the same. “I suppose you’re right. What a relief.”
They laugh in unison and oddly enough, Wyll comes to realize he doesn’t feel that same heavy weight on his chest anymore. Instead, there’s a lighter feeling to the air, a kinder smile on his lips.
He shifts slightly. Gale sighs.
“Let me propose a deal,” the wizard begins, clearing his throat as he raises his palm. “I promise, there’ll be no hidden agreements nor infernal language, just a treaty between friends.”
Friends. Wyll hasn’t had those in years. “Alright,” he answers slowly.
With a flick of his wrist and mutter beneath his breath, a ball of light erupts in his palm, illuminating the darkness around them. It’s nothing extraordinary but Wyll’s heart jumps at the gesture all the same.
“I’ll ensure that you never face the dark alone,” Gale goes on, “but, and I extend my deepest gratitudes already, in the event I ever encounter those no-legged beasts again, I know I can count on you to strike them down.”
Wyll’s lips split into a smile instantly. “You can count on the Blade of Frontiers anytime.”
“No, no.” Gale shakes his head. “I want to call on Wyll.”
For a beat, Wyll is unsure how to proceed, his frame still and mismatched, cursed eyes locked right onto Gale’s.
His shoulders fall. “Alright,” he murmurs, “Wyll, at your service.”
Gale’s smile returns, the light in his palm finally dissipating as he stretches his palm over, setting it down onto Wyll’s bicep. It’s a heavy but not overbearing touch, one that leaves Wyll nearly nervous.
His smile is gone but the look in his eyes is familiar, one Wyll’s seen in his very reflection- when he caught a rare glimpse of himself in a broken mirror or still water. It’s nearing despair, understanding swimming in his gaze with a flicker of pain.
“I know what it’s like, Wyll,” he begins, quieter, “to have the very weight of the world placed on your shoulders by one you trust, the one you love. And I know what that kind of weight can do to your soul- to your very sense of being.”
He shakes his head slightly. “Wyrm or no wyrm. Ansur or not, you have what it takes to take down the Absolute. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”
Wyll tries and fails to produce a fake smile, anything to push Gale away from the true source of his self solitude, his loneliness.
His fear.
But his words are tumbling out faster than he can stop them. Perhaps it’s the last seven years of holding everything in, of hiding his darkest secrets and keeping everyone who ever looked his way from ever seeing the real man behind the Blade. It was too risky, the threat of being forced away once more too great.
He blames his words on the years of solitude and the years of heartache.
“If I-I don’t awaken the Wyrm, then everything I’ve ever done, all that I’ve sacrificed, is for naught,” Wyll explains, eyes locked down onto his scarred palms. “I finally have the chance to prove myself to my father, real, tangible evidence of the man I’ve become…”
A huff leaves his lips, his eyes screwing shut once more. For a minute, the silence is welcome, a change from the unruly waters of his mind.
“You do understand what happened seven years ago wasn’t your fault, Wyll?” Gale asks then, earning Wyll’s gaze.
Wyll shakes his head. “It wasn’t my fault that the cult appeared, no,” he mumbles in response, “and truly, I would do it all again if it meant keeping the people of Baldur’s Gate safe. Without a beat of hesitation, I would.”
There’s a sigh and Wyll feels something strum within his chest. “I just… I wish I could’ve spoken to my father. I wish…”
He works his jaw and for a moment, there’s an odd stinging in his eyes. It feels unnatural, unwelcoming- it feels borderline hostile and Wyll’s hands start to shake.
“I just wish he-he would’ve tried,” Wyll stammers out, his throat dangerously tight and eyes locked out at sea. “T-To understand. To believe m-me. I-I couldn’t explain anything but I just wish he would have… I’m his boy.”
The noise that leaves Wyll then is rather abrupt and mortifying, his shoulders straightening up as he reaches a trembling hand up to his face. He’s quick to rub his eyes with the flat of his palm, nearly jolting when Gale’s palm comes to a rest over his bare upper arm.
“I-I don’t- I don’t mean to be so childish,” he spits out bitterly, sniffling and pushing back the tears in his eyes. He blinks rather rapidly, staring out at the sea once more. He can feel Gale’s eyes on him, nearly searing into his skin as Wyll shudders. He tries and fails to convey any real words, preparing himself to miserably make his way back to his tent and somehow avoid his father as well.
And Gale.
“Wyll,” the man sounds out softly, shaking his head once as Wyll instinctively meets his gaze. “You’re allowed to mourn what you’ve lost- all the time, the years-”
“I can’t cry,” Wyll cuts in harshly, “sh-she’ll show up.”
Gale’s frown is instant and Wyll’s quick to clear his throat. He doesn’t bother with an explanation, and judging by the angered look on Gale’s face, his words carry the weight of the burden he's held for the last few years.
“Once we gain control o-of the wyrm, I’ll prove myself to my father once and for all.” He nods once. “And then… we’ll speak. Of course, we have to. I-I- He swore to me that we would make up for lost time-”
Gale’s sigh cuts straight into Wyll’s words, tearing apart his resolve as he looks over at the brunet man with big eyes.
“Wyll,” he starts, gentle and kind, a tone Wyll’s only heard once or twice before in his life, “you’ve proven yourself to all of Baldur’s Gate, to the whole damned Sword Coast , these last seven years.” He pauses to squeeze Wyll’s arm, words growing passionate as he leans in closer. “And most assuredly, what I understand more than anything, you’ve proven yourself to your father.”
He huffs out a heavy breath and Wyll isn’t even sure he’s breathing. Perhaps his need for air was another thing Mizora had taken from him.
“Your father owes you more apologies than he could ever word-”
Wyll shakes his head. “No- he couldn’t have known-”
“He couldn’t have known of the pact, but he knew his son,” Gale interrupts firmly, “and he should’ve known his son would never take part in such a pact if it weren’t for a very good reason.”
The words that leave Gale’s lips are somehow both relieving and nauseating, Wyll setting his jaw as he stares into his gaze.
“Argue all you’d like about your father’s duty to the city,” Gale challenges, “but a parent’s duty is always to their child first. No matter how great the cost or how damning the evidence, you were a boy.”
There’s a slight breeze, strong enough to give Wyll reason to break Gale’s gaze. He looks away from him, trying and failing to push back the weight in his eyes discreetly. The gentle touch of Gale’s palm doesn’t falter, even when Wyll takes a long moment to breathe.
He shifts his weight on the edge of the dock, sniffling once. “Thank you, Gale,” he murmurs, “I’m sure you didn’t follow me out here to witness such a pitiful display.”
“Actually,” Gale responds, squeezing his arm, “I followed you out here because I knew you weren’t alright. No one would be after a confrontation like the very one you endured. Gods know I’m a little nervous to see my mother after all this is over. I fear for the tips of my ears.”
A laugh leaves Wyll’s lips first, turning his head to give the man a look. “Your ears?” he repeats.
“Oh yes,” Gale chuckles right back, his palm dropping off of Wyll’s arm. “She’s got the grip of a displacer beast, and nails just as sharp! She may be a good few books shorter than me but she can get quite the grip on my ear lobes.”
They laugh in unison and Wyll can’t begin to place the feeling in his chest. There’s relief and joy, yet a mixture of anxiety and a happy helping of fear. He could nearly drown in it, his vision back onto the sea ahead.
Gale’s eyes join his as he starts to speak once more. “No matter what happens, Wyll, you’re a better man than Faerun deserves. You’re worth all the pride it has to offer.”
“I spent years chasing knowledge, chasing a goddess, all in the pursuit of being worthy,” Gale explains quietly, “I sacrificed so much… and in the end, I had all that I needed.”
Wyll’s own words reflect back in his mind. Gale’s got everything he needs… talent, nerve, and powerful allies at his side.
“And so do you,” Gale adds with a pat to Wyll’s thigh. “I hope you’ll come to see that.”
Wyll sets his jaw, uncharacteristically quiet, scared. He waits until Gale nods slowly, returning the small gesture with a tightening of his fist.
“And you as well,” Wyll offers as the man’s vision lands back onto the stars, his confidence returning as he sets his shoulders straight. “Mystra has done a number on you, but you’ve got the vision now to see you have everything you could ever need.”
Gale chuckles rather tiredly. “I’ve got friends and all the help,” he answers, “just like you.”
It takes the rest of Wyll’s brevity to respond with a small smile, Gale chuckling quietly as he climbs to a stand.
“Come on, we need our rest,” Gale starts with another yawn. “Tomorrow, I have the pleasure of accompanying you on our journey to the heart of Baldur’s Gate!”
There’s a twinge in Wyll’s chest, the heavy weight returning. But he doesn’t have a moment to address it, not when Gale’s already standing, palm outstretched for Wyll.
Wyll takes his hand, his help, and climbs to a stand.
The sea is calm, and for the first time in a very, very, long time, so is Wyll’s mind.