Dance Amongst The Roses | Astarion x OC | Gale x OC

Chapter 18: Gale's Truth

They hurried back to the campgrounds, conveniently situated just beyond the crèche's entrance. As they entered the safety of their territory, the wizard turned to the group, weariness etched into his expression. Seeking solace, his eyes found Lilith, knowing she would likely be the most understanding.

"Go ahead, you're among friends," Lilith reassured him with a comforting smile.

"I might just be about to change that," he sighed heavily.

Christinus arched an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. Despite typically being one of the most loquacious members of the team, he remained unusually silent, adding an air of intrigue to the moment.

"You all need to understand who I truly am, and who I once was," the wizard began, his voice carrying the weight of years of burden. "I am but a mere shadow of the promise I once held. I was once hailed as a wizard prodigy, capable not only of controlling the Weave but of weaving it like a master musician or poet. My talents drew the attention of the mother of magic herself, the goddess Mystra."

A hush fell over the group as he paused, the gravity of his words sinking in.

"She revealed herself to me, becoming not just my teacher but my muse. And in time, even my lover," he confessed, his voice tinged with a mixture of reverence and regret.

Christinus couldn't conceal his shock, his face contorting with disbelief. Glancing sideways, he met Astarion's gaze, the shared incredulity palpable between them.

Lilith, intrigued by the complexity of such a relationship, remained composed as she posed her question, her curiosity unmasked. "Are you suggesting you were intimate with her?"

His response came with a nod, a subtle smile gracing his lips. "Indeed. Our connection was profound - body, mind, and soul."

 The notion of Gale sharing intimacy with a deity wasn't easy for Christinus to digest. How could a mere mortal like himself find favor in the eyes of a goddess? "She seems remarkably benevolent," he muttered, earning a snort of amusement from Astarion.

"But despite all that, I craved more," Gale continued, delving into the depths of his desires. "You see, as powerful as we may become as wizards, the Weave remains a mystery, tethered by Mystra's will. Yet, in her presence, I felt as if I stood at the brink, glimpsing the vast wonders beyond. I yearned to transcend her limitations."

The elf's interest was piqued further. "And how did you intend to achieve such a feat?"

"I attempted to persuade her," Gale confessed, his tone revealing a mix of determination and regret. "I begged and bargained, swearing my devotion was solely to her service. But she merely smiled and urged me to find contentment. It's unfathomable to me now, having shared a bed with a goddess, that I still sought validation. And so, I endeavored to prove my worthiness. Now, we stand at the crux of my misjudgment. Would you prefer the journey to its culmination, or shall I recount the tale in full?"

"The details, please," Christinus nodded, his curiosity piqued.

"Very well, here goes," He began. "Once upon a very long time ago, a mighty lord resided in a tower. But not just any tower, mind you, it was a flying tower, soaring above the realms. I'll save the intricate history for another tale, but the essence of it is this: he harbored ambitions to usurp the goddess of magic, to ascend to godhood himself. Though he came tantalizingly close, his hubris led to his downfall. His empire, Netheril, crumbled as he was petrified. The magic unleashed that day was cataclysmic, akin to the primal chaos preceding creation. Even the Weave, the fabric of magic itself, fractured and shattered under the strain. All magic vanished from mortal grasp until the day Mystra returned, reuniting the fractured shards of the Weave. Or so I believed, until my studies uncovered a Netherese tome, holding a shard of the Weave beyond her reach."