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Merriment hung like smoke around the crowded campsite by the river. The air was filled with laughter as the tiefling refugees finally had a moment to indulge in revelry, all thanks to the party of intrepid adventurers who had wiped the looming threat of the goblin army from the map. Even Lae’zel was partaking in the festivities in her own way, sharing stories of glorious battles past with a crowd of tieflings too polite (or perhaps too afraid) to interrupt her.
Gale had already had a good amount of wine over the course of the evening. And why not? They’d had a tremendous victory in the desecrated Selunite temple and the Emerald Grove was once again safe. He couldn’t help but attribute a large part of their success to their fearless leader Helena, who utilized her presence as a drow to help the party infiltrate the encampment and kill the three leaders within. (Well, two of the leaders. She had stayed her hand when it came to the drow Minthara, but he understood. The paladin most likely couldn’t prove much of a threat without an army at her command, and if she found herself wandering around the Grove, he knew they could quell any kind of danger she could pose. Helena would see to that, surely.)
As his meandering mind once again landed on the subject of Helena, he took another sip of wine in an attempt to stop his stomach’s sudden churning. He casually glanced around the camp, eyes searching for a cascade of stark white wavy hair.
There she was. Perfectly lovely as always, a soft pink flush from indulging in drink tinging her light gray, nearly periwinkle, skin. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and Gale found himself wondering how the point of her ear would feel against his lips. An arcane heat prickled beneath the scar on his chest.
“Easy, old boy,” he told himself under his breath and he took another sip of wine.
But despite the orb’s warning flare, he couldn’t tear his eyes or thoughts away from her. Her genuine, warm smile. The same smile that she’d offered him on the day they met when she’d welcomed him into their merry band of misfits. The smile he found himself attempting to earn whenever he’d caught her attention for a moment on the road. The blueberry-colored freckles that sprinkled across her face and spilled down her shoulders. He remembered the thoughts he’d had about kissing each and every one of those delicate little marks, lavishing them in the attention they so rightly deserved.
Oh, the dreams he’d had after their little moment of magic together when he’d helped her channel Mystra’s Weave. At the very thought of the image Helena had shared with him that night, a shock of searing heat flooded his body. Yet, he held onto the image despite the pain. Her. Helena. A woman whose beauty, wit, and selflessness put the gods to shame. Her body pressed up against his as he desperately held her in his arms. Her fingers tightly tangled in his hair. Kissing him. Him of all people! Why, what could he possibly offer someone like her? If he wasn’t worthy of Mystra, mother of all magic, he certainly wasn’t worthy of her. Perfect her.
A pang of guilt reverberated in his stomach and he shook his head to rid his thoughts of such heresy. It was far from his right to compare a mortal woman to his goddess. No matter how much his blood caught aflame every time she looked at him with those steady, gray eyes. Oh, how he wanted to make those eyes roll back in pleasure. To see her soft white lashes fanned across her cheeks as he made her feel as wonderful as she made him feel every day.
His scar flickered purple, sending a ripple of pain through his body. He grimaced and sucked down the rest of his wine, gripping at his chest until it subsided, the light dimming once again.
“Gods help me,” he murmured.
When he returned to his senses, he noticed Helena was chatting with Astarion across the way. His grip tightened slightly on his goblet. Of course, he had no right to be jealous of Astarion. But it hadn’t slipped his notice that Helena’s conversations with the pale elf were easy and verged on the flirtatious. How many times had Astarion won the same beautiful smile from her that Gale had been trying to earn? But of course, how could she not be attracted to Astarion? Even Gale had to admit that the vampire was handsome and possessed a rogue-like charm that could bring any man or woman to their knees with ease. Gods, if he didn’t harbor such affection for Helena, even he himself might entertain the thought of what could happen were blood and Weave to mix.
Astarion’s lips curled into a rakish smirk as Helena took a swig from the bottle of wine he’d handed to her. Gale couldn’t hear what he was saying to her, but he knew what a man on the prowl for carnal pleasures looked like well enough. A glance through hooded eyes here, a caress of her shoulder there. Astarion was well-practiced, that could not be denied, a thought that sent Gale spiraling.
He'd sequestered himself in his tower for so long, with no company save for Tara’s. Time was when he’d thought himself a rather skilled lover. After all, he’d made love to a goddess many times over. Such a feat was surely enough to prove himself at least adequate in the bedroom. But now? Perhaps his lack of practice was an insurmountable obstacle. Not to mention the damned orb threatening to burst into cataclysmic destruction at the mere thought of Helena’s eyelashes.
Astarion leaned into Helena, whispering something in her ear that caused her smirk salaciously. Gale’s heart dropped into his stomach. What he wouldn’t give for her to look at him like that. Then came the waves of shame that washed over him like a riptide. He was foolish to think she would ever be interested in a man like him. A disgraced wizard, fallen from favor with nothing but a ticking time bomb in his chest to show for it. Her vision of them together was just an ephemeral thought caused by the intimacy of a quiet evening.
Why would she think twice about him?
Why would she desire him in any way?
Why would she be walking towards him this very moment?
Wait, what?
He set down his goblet and ran his hands over the front of his tunic to smooth the wrinkles from it. Not knowing where to look, he quickly decided to snap his gaze up to the stars.
“Gale!” Helena called. “Enjoying the party?”
He turned his eyes from the stars to her face and did his very best not to melt where he stood.
“Very much,” he smiled, mentally turning on his own charm. There. Astarion isn’t the only one in this camp who knows how to flirt. He gestured upwards to the heavens. “A beautiful night, don’t you think? Nothing like a brush with destruction to make one appreciate the majesty of the celestial canvas.” He paused, thoughts of home suddenly invading his mind. “It’s a view I would once have shared with my companion. Though definitely unaccompanied by such revelry. She preferred it when we were alone, curled up before a crackling hearth with some ancient, esoteric tome between us, ink glinting in the firelight…”
Helena smiled, but her face was creased with concern.
“You aren’t talking about Mystra again, are you?” she asked. Her tone was jovial, but he could tell there was still a hint of worry in it.
“By Ahgairon’s lost nose, no!” he exclaimed. “I speak of Tara, my tressym, assistant, my constant companion through all the ills and tribulations my hubris has thrust upon me.” He found himself suddenly spilling forth his thoughts from earlier in the evening. How Tara had been his only companion during his long self-inflicted exile, how he’d failed to do much to make her proud in the recent past whilst being deep in sorrow due to his condition. He did manage to turn his ramblings towards his gratitude for Tara rather than the fact that he had been staring at Helena across the camp for the entire evening. “After so long being cared for by someone else, it feels good to have repaid the favor. Not directly to Tara, but to those poor tieflings. I’m sure she would approve.”
As Helena asked more questions about Tara, Gale was pulled in by her sincerity. The way she hung on his every word as he described his beloved friend. As if he was the only man in the world. A vicious part of him hoped Astarion was watching.
“You remind me of her somewhat,” he said. “There’s a steeliness to you, an unwavering tenacity even in the face of, to be frank, quite dire odds. I wish she were here for me to make a formal introduction, but I would never ask her to undertake such a journey. She is safer at home.” He sighed. “Besides, she was always telling me I needed to spread my wings, so to speak. Find mortal friends, instead of hanging onto Mystra’s coattails. So that’s what I’m doing. I hope.”
Helena laughed and braced her weight on one hip, arms folded across her chest. Gale willed himself not to let his eyes wander up and down her form.
“Ooh, bad luck on that front, Gale,” she chuckled. “I’m actually a nymph in disguise, just waiting for the moment to strike.” She waggled her fingers at him in a humorous attempt at spookiness. Gale’s heart seized and all contact between his brain and his mouth seemed to be severed for a moment. In horror, he heard himself speak before he could think.
“Very funny. But as we all know, nymphs are sticklers when it comes to their bathing routines. You, my friend, haven’t been near a fresh spring in a tenday or more.” Helena raised an eyebrow, a smirk still lingering on her lips. Gale’s words continued to rush out of his mouth without any form of supervision. “Not that I don’t appreciate your musk. I actually rather like it.” A horrific silence ensued as Gale’s mind finally caught back up to his mouth. He gulped, feeling exposed and vulnerable under Helena’s unyielding gaze. “Well. This seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on.”
Helena’s eyes became hooded and the smirk on her face became less jovial and more sultry. Gale’s heart pounded against his ribs with such force he was sure it would break through.
“Don’t stop now,” she purred. “What else do you like about me?”
Gale’s thoughts sped through his mind in an instant. The way she was looking at him. The tone in her voice. The way she was leaning in towards him. He could make that vision she’d shared with him a reality. He could have her. All he had to do was play along with the game she’d already put in motion. Suddenly, he felt an ache in his chest. Not the kind caused by a lovesick heart. The kind caused by devastating magic. He swallowed the rising lump in his throat and steeled himself.
“Were I to recite that list, I fear we’d still be here at dusk tomorrow. Many things, I assure you, but a conversation better saved for another time.” He glanced down at his scar and laughed ruefully. “With my condition as volatile as it is, I fear any undue, er, excitement, may tip it over the edge. So to speak.” His heart sank as he saw Helena’s face fall a bit with disappointment. There was nothing he wanted more than to make her smile again. “Go, indulge in the frivolities – they’re good for the heart.” He bit back his own disappointment and forced a convivial tone. “And mine will be all the lighter, to see you enjoying yourself.”
Helena stared at him for a moment, her eyes scanning his expression. He did his best to appear relaxed and happy, even though his heart was sinking in the mud beneath his boots. Her eyebrows twitched for a split second before she shook her head and smiled again.
“Alright,” she said warmly, reaching out and running her fingertips over his shoulder. “You enjoy yourself too.”
The phantom traces of her touch lingered as she walked back towards the party. Gale’s heart raced and the sting of tears clung behind his eyes. He reached up, his own fingers tracing the path hers had taken on his shoulder. He let out a heavy sigh and picked up his goblet, refilling it from one of the bottles of wine from the collection he’d squirreled away for the evening. Whatever he needed to do to ease this torture.
Towards the end of the evening, when most of the crowd had dissipated, Gale found himself in conversation with the tiefling wizard Rolan. It was a welcome distraction, to converse with a peer. Though he did find Rolan perhaps a bit overly proud of his accomplishments.
Gods, is this what people think I sound like?
As Rolan chattered away about his upcoming apprenticeship under the wizard Lorroakan, Gale caught a glimpse of Helena over his shoulder. She was talking to Astarion again, drinking Ashaba Dusk directly from the bottle. Astarion reached over and lifted her chin with his index finger, pulling her closer to him and tilting her gaze up to meet his own. Gale’s mind fully disconnected from Rolan’s words, honed in on the interaction between his traveling companions.
Astarion smiled and murmured something in her ear, his fangs bared in the firelight. Helena nodded in response, finishing off the bottle of wine in her hand and tossing it to the ground. The vampire’s hand traveled from her chin, tracing his long fingers down her neck, across her shoulder, and down her arm until he latched her hand in his. He began to back up, pulling her from the firelight into the moonlit woods surrounding the camp. Astarion’s eyes flicked away from Helena and over to Gale. The two men held eye contact for just a moment, a nauseating smirk slipping across Astarion’s lips as he and Helena disappeared from sight.
“-and they all say Lorroakan is the greatest wizard in Baldur’s Gate. But that should come as no surprise. He did select me as his apprentice, after all.”
Gale’s mind came careening back into the present, realizing he had no idea what Rolan had been saying for the last few minutes.
“I…I apologize,” he said vacantly. “I’m afraid I’ve grown quite tired. All the events of the day. I think I need to retire for the evening.” He bid a quick farewell to Rolan, who seemed a little irked at being so hastily shooed from the camp but went quietly enough.
Gale slid into the privacy of his tent and collapsed onto his bedroll. His whole body tensed as he held back tears. She was right there. His mind flashed to the vision she’d shared with him. Her mouth crashing down onto his. His hands exploring every curve of her form. He could have had her in that very moment, lying beneath him in his tent.
She was right there.
His scar burned angrily and bolts of pain ricocheted through his body, pushing him over the edge. He began to tremble as bitter tears began to freely stream down his face. His chest ached. His entire body ached. He convulsed as he was wracked with sobs before finally burying his face in his bedroll to muffle them.
“Gods damn it,” he choked. “Gods damn it all.”