Chapter Text
Compared to oh, say, the gaping wounds and gushing blood that Karlach and Lae'zel bore in the aftermath of their latest sojourn into the sewers of Baldur’s Gate, Gale felt like some minor magical lightning burns could wait. When Shadowheart at last turned to him, looking ghost-pale and utterly drained, spattered in their friends’ blood, he held up his hands in demurral.
“If it’s still painful in the morning, I’ll come to you,” he said, and Shadowheart nodded, clearly relieved.
He and Shadowheart were often among the first to wake, she to pray, he to study his spellbook. Which was, he mused, not exactly not praying, especially now. Mystra’s blessing sat new and strange upon him, he so constantly conscious of it, he wondered if it was visible to others.
His hands tingled with phantom sparks as he tried to study, and he decided it probably would be best to trouble Shadowheart for a bit of relief. It occurred to him, as he made his way quietly across their rather lavish rooms in the Elfsong to the corner where she prayed, that he didn’t think he and Shadowheart had really spoken since that day in the Stormshore Tabernacle. In fact, it occurred to him that she had, perhaps, been avoiding him.
Some might think twice after such a realization, but simply allowing misunderstandings to fester would only tear their little group apart in time, and they had enough to be worrying about. So he made his way over undeterred, waiting quietly in the doorway until Shadowheart lowered her hands and raised her head.
“Oh,” she said, clearly surprised. “Gale. Did you need healing after all?”
“If you don’t mind terribly.”
She gestured him over, and he lowered himself to the floor next to her with a soft grunt. Normally, she’d make some arch comment about his age, his bad knees, something, but she just started murmuring the healing incantation, avoiding his gaze.
“Is something the matter?” he blurted out. She looked up, surprised again, the spell fizzling out from his interruption. “I can’t help but notice that you seem… well, I don’t think any of us have ever gotten a healing without some kind of commentary on our intelligence, speed, or recklessness. I was beginning to think it was an essential verbal component for you,” he added, hoping for a smile.
Shadowheart didn’t smile. She blushed slightly and looked away.
“I apologize, I…” She clasped her hands together, her customary unconscious posture when nervous, one hand cupped protectively over the curse-wound on the back of the other. She sighed and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I confess I don’t know… I don’t know what to say to you at the minute. I don’t know what to say to the Chosen of Mystra.”
Gale felt himself flush, a bizarre mix of pride and embarrassment and half a dozen other feelings with no sufficiently nuanced name in Common. “I must point out that you are the one who told me to ask for her forgiveness.”
“Yes, of course I did!” Shadowheart said, then quickly remembered that their friends were still sleeping. Lower, she continued, “I know better than anyone that no good comes of tempting a goddess’s wrath. We’ve already seen what Mystra will try to do when she’s angry. If there were any way for me to placate Shar…”
“You did nothing to deserve her treatment of you,” Gale said, surprised by the fierceness in his own tone, the surge of protectiveness towards her. “You can’t compare…”
“She wanted me for her Chosen,” Shadowheart said quietly. “When we were looking at those books in the Temple library, there was one… it said that the Chosen of Shar would slay the Nightsong. It was… she wanted it to be me. The stolen Selûnite to slay Selûne’s child.” Her voice was quiet still, but her tone soured into bitterness. “At the end of the Gauntlet, I heard her voice in my head. That I would cleanse her church, lead it to a new dawn.”
“And only at the cost of Dame Aylin’s life,” Gale said dryly.
“And what price would you have paid?” Shadowheart retorted. “From the sound of it, you really could have been just like your beloved Karsus. You could have destroyed the Weave all over again, if not even more.”
“And do you really think I have not paid for that mistake enough?” Gale replied. He didn’t like to get heated with his companions, not at all, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Should I have died? Should Mystra punish me, as Shar punishes you?”
Oh, he didn’t mean that. He regretted it the moment the words were out, before he could even see the anger and hurt shining in Shadowheart’s eyes. She looked away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for, and not at all what I truly feel.”
Still not looking at him, Shadowheart waved a dismissive hand. Then she raised her palms and mumbled the incantation, healing light pooling in her cupped hands, which she then pressed against Gale’s burned arms. The prickling electric feeling faded at once, the burn marks smoothed away.
Her hands still on top of his, her eyes still lowered, Shadowheart said, “I’m frightened for you, Gale. I don’t think any good comes of being looked at too closely by a god, whether it’s Shar or Selûne or Mystra.”
“Mystra protects me now,” Gale said, baffled. Everything was as it was meant to be, he was who he was meant to be, and if one of the feelings mixed into that confusing nameless jumble felt suspiciously like an unshakeable sadness, that was probably a natural response to the state of things. “I feel her power. Her purpose for me is no more than what we all already hope to achieve. I entirely understand your concern, given your experiences, but I assure you, Shadowheart. There is nothing to fear.”
Shadowheart pulled her hands away. “Yes. I hope you’re right.”