Academia Daydreams

Words, wishes, wanderings.

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You'll start tomorrow?

Tomorrow doesn't count; it's not here yet.

Do it today.

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You flutter

Into my mind

And out

Barely a breath stir of wind

A wing beat

Shifting reality

To cradle your existence

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XXVII: You Know Better, Babe

(full fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“I must beg your forgiveness,” Gale murmured. “I did not mean to imply I would choose death if you did not acquiesce. Consider the matter closed. I swear to never speak of this again.”

Tilting her face up, Umbra frowned, blessing him with her concern once more. Ever giving to the undeserving. “No, I know that's not what you meant. It's just… I can't be the reason you choose to live. I'm empty, Gale. Pieces of me are missing and I may never find them again. I can't promise you a future; you can't put your hopes on us.”

Relief crashed over Gale. He lifted one shaking hand, giving her time to move away before running his thumb across her cheek. “Is that all? Umbra, if I promised to not put my hopes in tomorrow, or the days after, would it change anything? Could you give this moment alone a chance?”

Eyes unreadable, Umbra studied his. She brushed her palm up his arm to rest on his chest, over the dormant orb. The pressure exposed a new and far more terrifying hunger in him. With excruciating slowness, she leaned towards him, erasing distance until their breaths mingled. Gale burned in anticipation but didn't move; she had to come to him. He wouldn't leave room for misunderstanding.

Then her lips finally – finally – met his and he breathed her in like a man drowning. She gasped into his desperate kiss and he swallowed the sound, pressing himself to her body, enveloping her. He never wanted to let go. When he pulled back her eyes were already glazing, fixated on him. Fire started low in his groin. She opened her mouth but he pressed a finger to it, and she obediently closed it.

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XXVI: Before the Wave Hits

(full fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“Very pragmatic,” the orc said, her anger fading to skepticism. “But very boring. Let's see if there's anything interesting in this brain of yours.”

Even prepared, Z'rell's touch shocked. It tore at hopes, stroked over desires, clawed through fears, savoring every taste of Umbra's existence. It was violating. Umbra felt exposed, naked. Z'rell searched for proof of faith, rooting to find where her passion lay and what drove her to Moonrise. Umbra wanted to retreat back into herself, to hide from the grip like hands inside her soul, but that would give Z'rell exactly what she wanted.

What Z'rell wanted… if infatuation was what the orc looked for, Umbra could deliver. It would humiliate her, but if it saved them she had to try. Bracing herself, she latched onto the orc's presence, and gave her passion.

Aching of a glance half met – a single silver lock, falling always out of place, fingers fisted to stop from reaching out unbidden – inelegant hands and bodies dancing in almost touches – warm eyes, deep enough to drown, holding the world in them for breathless moments – words swallowed down, churning nauseous, excited and fearful of what might happen if said aloud – scarring like a tear track down a face – longing looks when no one watched, studying a body built by intention, sudden clenching need as muscle flexed with the work – a kiss, bittersweet and intoxicating and gone too quickly, its headiness replaced with unbearable mortification even as she knew nothing else would sate her again –

A thread of something deeper underlay all of it, one Umbra could not hide, though she left it unnamed. Until Z'rell named it for her.

“You love such a pathetic man?” Z'rell said it derisively, as if convinced she'd misunderstood. Pointedly, she removed herself from Umbra's mind, and Umbra thrust Gale's stunned awareness out with her. She did not want to feel when his surprise changed.

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XXV: Down to His New Home

(full fic: Crawling Back to You, by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“Perhaps I should have accepted your offer of tutelage,” Gale said to Lae'zel, eyeing a second ghoul. “A sword in hand is a far more effective deterrent to those who cannot identify magic users.”

“I am threat enough for both of us, though I commend your passion,” Lae'zel said seriously, missing the sarcasm. “But if possible we must stay our blades. Interrogation will be our weapon; answers first, bloodshed later.”

Gale stared. “That is shockingly sensible of you.”

“G’lyck.” She clicked the sound at him, tossing her hair indignantly.

Hush.

Gale felt the reprimand in his head, Umbra's presence clinging to it like a perfume, lingering faintly after she pulled away like her scent had lingered on his clothes all the day before, teasing him with agonizing memories of their almost. An inappropriate heat licked low in his belly, his treacherous eyes following her hips as they swayed hypnotically in front of him. Why did he always want her most when danger was prominent? And how did her mere presence manage to make him lose focus on his divinely appointed task over and over again? Swallowing hard, Gale forced his thoughts back to his impending demise as they approached the large ornate doors on the other side of the grand hall.

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XXIV: Your Reflection Can't Offer a Word

(fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“You're Al Yhadi.” He spoke it like a curse.

A single nod, all the confirmation she could manage.

“Al Yhadi,” he hissed, a sneer back on his face and venom in his voice. “The Hand. Tyr's fist of judgment, the sword of justice, liberator of the downtrodden and forgotten.” He hurled the words at her, each striking harder than if he'd used his fist.

Mouth dry, Umbra stared. Was that how people spoke of her in Baldur's Gate? Sweat beaded her forehead as she strained for any hint of memory, but recent years remained firmly out of reach. An urge to scream welled in her chest. Anger for her impediment and terror for what he might say next. Breathing deeply, she shoved it back down. Knuckles white, her fingers ached from clenching her sword, but she didn't dare let go.

He scoffed at her silence. “You had plenty to say to that devil earlier. Or a few days ago when we had astral visitors, or at the grove, or any of the times before and in between when it suited your lofty aspirations of justice. Nevermind if your interference might be the very thing that damns us all, whether we've consented or no.”

“That's not true-”

“You have no right to speak for us,” he spoke over her. “Or to make promises on our behalf. Especially when you've done a shit job of keeping your promises before.”

“Astarion, stop. What is this really about?” Umbra demanded. She hadn't broken promises. She couldn't break promises. And how would he know, anyway?

“You might have killed him!” It came out pained. “He could still be killed, or as good as, and it would be your fault. And you did it all without bothering to fucking ask if he was willing.”

Something began to break inside her chest. Astarion hammered his spike deeper into the fissure, ruthlessly unphased by the blood he spilled with each word. Umbra folded her arms, holding her invisible protection close, hiding her wounds away beneath unflappable calm. “You heard him just now. Wyll has no issue with what I did.”

“As if he would tell you,” Astarion snapped. “He's too good, and regardless, you had no right. Not when you have no idea who you are, let alone what you're capable of. Even without your memories you're no different. Pretending to be some pillar of righteousness, recklessly committing to save every pathetic creature you come across, heedless of what might happen should you fail.” His chest heaved, moving as emphasis to his anger rather than any need to breathe. “Destroy yourself if you must, but I won't let you take him or myself down with you.”

“No one is forcing you to stay.” A pathetic offer and they both knew it. None of them would make it on their own, not while they were hunted.

Astarion gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You say you'll bring justice to those who think they're above the law, but you subvert that same law you so piously uphold in your every action. You're no better than those elites you punish.” He spat the last words before striding away, vanishing as suddenly as he'd appeared and leaving her with terrible new uncertainties pooling in her mind.

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XXIII: Be Known in its Aching

(fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“Gale.” It trembled in the air between them, spoken as a question.

“You must understand, I'm not-” his throat closed again, refusing to speak the lies that might save him from this predicament. Mouth working, he fought to form the words he wanted. “I was merely taking time to recover. I'm afraid the thrill of combat left me… overexcited.” Those were not the words he wanted. Gale snapped his mouth closed before anymore could escape.

Swishing of tattered fabric signaled her slow advance, moving into the refracted light. It shone a halo around her, though she appeared more succubus than angel to him now.

The undone ties of Umbra's shirt let it hang loose, sliding far enough to reveal a scar he hadn't seen before curling from bare shoulder to collarbone. He suppressed a sudden urge to run his tongue along the pale line. A glittering drop rolled down her bronzed neck and disappeared beneath the hem riding perilously low over the swell of her chest. A glance lower showed only a cord holding up her overlarge trousers, a trivial obstacle, one he could remove with a single tug. Gale's knees nearly buckled. When he met her eyes again, she tilted her head, an invitation he longed to accept.

Sidestepping the chair, she inched closer, her outline sharpening. She pinned him with a wide eyed stare, searching his face. Wicked lips parted slightly, halfway mouthing his name again.

Inches away, warmth from her body mixed with his, close enough for Gale to smell the soap she'd washed her hair with and the metallic tang of demon blood yet lingering where it had splattered. It sent ripples of heat through him, his stomach clenching in anticipation.

Gale closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, his half bun snagging on splintered wood as he wet his lips. Dry mouthed, he refused to look back at his temptress, knowing it would mean the end of his self control if he did. Praying to every god and goddess he'd ever learned of, he begged them to keep her from uttering that fateful syllable.

“Gale.”

His prayers had fallen on deaf ears.

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XXII: No Control of the Body

(fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

Dense fog, thickened over the past few hours, swallowed what little light feeble courtyard fires offered as he passed over a small footbridge. Stumbling off the bridge and into a rocky shore, his hand made unexpected contact with a sturdy surface. He sagged gratefully and lowered to sit against it, letting out the soft moan he'd held since battle ended.

Dropping his head into his hands, Gale groaned again, images of Umbra replaying unbidden behind his closed lids. The dance-like wielding of her sword, her muscles flexing with each practiced movement, her steady control through even the most harrying skirmish. Seeing her so well contained made him want to do things no gentleman should dare to dream of, let alone dwell on the way he did. He wanted to peel back each layer of her well crafted composure until she lay raw and unfettered before him.

Forget Mystra and her charge, at this rate Umbra would drive him to his death without even laying so much as a finger on him.

A soft noise brought his head up. Peering into the darkness, Gale could just make out a figure approaching. With a soft word, half a dozen little orbs lit the space between him and the figure, and he let out an exasperated sigh. Whatever trickster god had played this cruel prank on him, he wished them an eternity of equally painful torment.

“Stop.” Gale desperately raised his hand and the figure stilled. “Please, Umbra, don't come any closer.”

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XXI: The Worst We Fear Lets Fall Its Weight

(fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

Jaheira rested her interlaced fingers in her lap. “We have more urgent matters to discuss. Specifically, what this mind worm as you put it means for you and your company. There is an… air about you. Though we have not spoken face to face before, I can tell there is something - alien, to you now. Answer me true and do not lie: the parasite is changing you, isn't it?”

“...yes.” It was the only answer she could give. The parasite was not just changing her, but was evolving itself. Her awareness of Gale, who was engaged in conversation just a room away, was testament to that.

Face hardening, Jaheira leaned in. Her hand glowed hot orange-white, a spell half formed as she hissed her next words. “Outside that door, there are good men and good women, stranded here - two feet in the grave.” Inches away now, Jaheira’s eyes searched Umbra's face, revealing desperation. “If we are to survive, I have no choice but to trust you. Can I?”

“You can.” Umbra let all her divine authority fill those words, turning the assurance into an oath as binding as any she'd uttered. For a moment, the oath opened a path to Viryn and a confusing rush of approval, before snapping firmly closed, leaving Umbra reeling from the unexpected contact.

Retreating back to her chair, Jaheira slumped, deep lines of exhaustion in her face. “I have every reason to be cautious.” She sounded as if she was trying to console herself. “I’ve traced people like you, people with parasites in their brains, all the way from Baldur's Gate. The Cult of the Absolute is spreading through the city – quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation. I would have shared our concerns with you before we left, but it was too much of a risk. Instead we tracked them to this ancient village only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.”

Umbra flexed her fingers nearly imperceptively at the news. “What are you implying?”

Jaheira shook her head. “I'm not entirely sure myself. He was a Sharran, once. Took to building an army of Dark Justiciars beneath this very village. We made it our business to see him deposed – dead and buried. But he's returned.” She scowled. “Not only does General Kethric Thorm live again–”

“Wait.” Umbra started at the name. “Thorm? The man you killed was Kethric Thorm?”

Frowning, Jaheira nodded. “Why? What do you know?”

“I…” There was something, just on the edge of her understanding, just out of reach. Damn it! Why now? Why when everything was so perilous? “He and Enver Gortash are working together.” She answered solemnly.

Jaheria cursed. “The bastard. I knew he was foul, but I never thought- I at least assumed he would be no worse than the rest of the politicians. And with the dukes considering handing Baldur's Gate to him on a silver platter. This is far worse than I imagined.”

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XX: A Salesman or a Soldier

(fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“Put pressure on him.” Gale advised. “His position is no weaker than yours. Attack those pieces around his Cyric, and you may be able to dethrone it.”

Mol only considered the knight in her hand for a moment before she followed Gale’s suggestion, capturing a pawn and placing the white king in checkmate. Raphael smiled unperturbed, and in fact looked rather pleased. “My, the Theskan Double Counter Gambit. Vicious.” He chuckled, once more scrutinizing Gale. “Exactly what I would have done.”

Wiggling in an uncharacteristically childlike way, Mol smiled smugly. “How's that for Calimshan rules?”

“Brava! Lovely work.” Raphael accepted his defeat with a nod. “I see I was right to make you the offer I did. You will consider it, won't you?”

Mol gave no acknowledgement that she'd heard the devil's question, instead sliding off her chair and striding away with confidence of a woman thrice her age. Her nonchalance did not leave Gale feeling reassured though. He knew all too well how easily a young person's head could be turned with fine promises from those much more experienced in these games. He hoped Mol did not think she could outwit an archdevil. Perhaps he should speak to her later, just to be sure. 

Amused, Raphael watched the child go. “What a lovely specimen she is. A blushing apple, begging to be plucked.” 

“One you're eager to pollute with your foul worms of thought.” Gale countered, mouth soured at the devil's words. He would most definitely be having a talk with Mol later. 

“Ah, as for you.” Raphael leaned back, fingers drumming thoughtfully over his chair’s arm. “The Theskan move suggestion was inspired. I had no idea you played.”

“Didn't you?” 

Raphael's eyebrows arched upwards. “Contrary to what some may believe, I don't know everything. We'll call this an informed guess. I know you and I are alike in our love of a challenge, and mastery of lanceboard is a challenge all great minds of this era aspire to, ergo an well placed stab in the dark. And I'd wager that isn't the only thing we have in common, either.”

Gale grit his teeth at the implication. “You and I are nothing alike, devil.

A sardonic chuckle from the fiend further sparked Gale's annoyance. “Aren't we?” Raphael gave him a toothy smile. “I'd beg to differ on that point. After all, wasn't your fall from divine favor the consequence of your ambition?” 

Those words were like a gut punched and Gale found himself unable to breath for a moment. 

“Yes, I know all about your little falling out with your Mistress of Magic.” The devil was openly gloating. “But don't worry, you're not the first to find yourself in your position, and I'd be a hypocrite to hold it against you. I believe ambition is an admirable trait, one that drives our society forward. Those with courage to follow such ambition secure a place among the great names of history. I only wonder, will you have the courage to follow yours? With a little help, I could propel you farther than you've ever dreamed.”

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Chapter XIX: The Drug, The Dark, The Light, The Flame

(fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

Gale felt it first. A terrible cold terror flooded throughout his veins, and in shock he dropped the pack he'd been holding – Astarion's, he thought – letting it fall haphazardly onto the pile of other packs and supplies, gathered from where they'd fallen when battle started. This fear… wasn't his, but it filled him regardless. The tadpole connection he shared with Umbra, strengthened by the many times they had willingly opened to each other, reflexively responded to her frantic grasp for help. Her scream echoed through his mind, a sound from his nightmares. All other thoughts fled, his intention to maintain space for her sake evaporating as finding her becoming his only point of focus.

He turned, a shout from inside the building reaching him at the same moment. Shadowheart paused at the door on her way out, then spun and rushed back inside. That fear did become his own then. Gale followed at a sprint, grabbing the doorframe as he swung through and came to a sudden halt.

Inside, the elf in Harper blue knelt over an armored figure and Shadowheart joined him as Gale stared in horror. Vaguely his mind noted the others; Karlach hovering a few feet away, Lae'zel standing next to her arms crossed and stance wide, Astarion and Wyll next to the drider corpse. Gale paid them no attention, his vision tunneled to where Umbra lay unconscious on the rotting floor. Frantically he hurried forward and pushed the elf aside. His heart raced as he looked down in disbelief at the wrongness of it. Umbra was always strong and vibrant, even when she was reserved. She shouldn't be laying limp on the ground. His mind tried to comprehend it, but no other word came to him. It was just so… wrong.

Dropping to his knees, he took her face in both hands. She was warm and breathing, but that barely relieved his anxiety. “What happened?” He demanded, an anger growing in response to his fear. “Will she be alright? Can you do anything? Damn it, what happened?”

“She fought valiantly.” Lae'zel said from above him. “She felled the beast and saved a companion. No warrior could ask for a more worthy death.”

Gale looked up sharply. “She… what? Worthy? You think dying here, in this miserable wasteland would be worthy?”

“Don't you think so? That's what you plan to do once we reach Moonrise, isn't it?” Lae'zel held his gaze. Gale's mouth worked, the growing anger ready to spill out towards the githyanki.

“She's not dead.” Shadowheart snapped, cutting him off. “And she'll be fine. Give me space. And Lae'zel, stop goading him.” Shadowheart pushed his hands away and gave him a pointed look that he ignored, refusing to move. Though weak, he could still feel Umbra through their connection. He could feel how afraid she was, how trapped and alone she felt, and he wasn't going anywhere until she knew she wasn't.

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Chapter XVIII - That Part of You Was Ripped Away

(fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“Wyll!”

The shriek from Astarion set Umbra's heart racing, fast enough for blood to pound in her eyes, sounds of fighting muffled. She had somehow ended up outside the building, and frantically pushed through a gap in rotting wall planks towards Astarion’s voice. Wyll was on the other side, lying limp under the drider, who grinned manically.

Letting out a yell, Umbra rushed the creature. It reared, standing on its four back legs as her sword passed under its body.

Umbra stepped back, putting her weight on her right foot as the drider swept back down, snapping at her with a pair of strange, mandible-like arms that protruded from just below its human half. She dropped to a crouch, then rolled forward and found herself staring up at a hairy but vulnerable underbelly. The creature screamed as she stabbed upwards, bucking in an attempt to remove itself. All its writhing did was force its body along the sword, opening a deep cut lengthwise as Kar'niss buckled backwards, and Umbra fought to hold the sword upright to keep the creature from collapsing on her. Viscera spilled from the cavity along with a foul liquid that steamed as it touched dying foliage.

Someone shoved against the drider, pushing it the rest of the way off Umbra to reveal Lae’zel. Umbra accepted the githyanki’s hand, letting her friend help pull her to her feet. Slightly dazed, she became aware of a trickle of something warm running down over her shoulder and under her armor. Leaning lightly on her sword, she gingerly touched the wound, fingers coming away bloody and smelling of the same foul liquid that had burst from the drider. She would need to clean this soon.

A soft groan brought her back to the present. Remembering why she had rushed the drider in the first place, Umbra let her sword fall and rushed to where Wyll lay only a few feet away. Astarion was already there, face hard as he bent over the warlock. She knelt beside him, raising her hand to get his attention but not reaching for his arm or shoulder like she might with the others. Physical touch, she had noticed, was not a preferred method of comfort or communication for the pale elf.

“He's breathing,” Astarion informed her. “But he's not responding. The only wound I can find is this slice across his chest. It's not deep, it shouldn't be fatal. So why is he not saying anything?” This last sentence came out harsh, accusatory, though Umbra knew it was only Astarion's fear.

Another figure joined them then. “Let me see.” Shadowheart urged, reaching to uncover Wyll's chest. The wound was superficial as Astarion had said, but it smelled awful. She and Shadowheart covered their noses as the stench wafted up. “Venom.” Shadowheart guessed. “From that drider. I'll need to find an antidote, there's one in my pack outside. Don't move him until I return.”

“It will be alright.” Umbra offered quietly. When Astarion didn't respond, she sighed and pushed to her feet. He just needed some time.

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Chapter XVII - But Still My Heart is Heavy

(full fic: Crawling Back to You by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“I worship Shar, Lady of Loss.”

Gale was not surprised at the confession. “And you believe she is protecting you somehow?”

Shadowheart turned to eye him. “Is that all?”

“All what?”

“You aren't going to castigate me for my religion? Tell me how evil a deity I follow?”

Gale shrugged. “One's deity doesn't always reflect the truth of one's heart. My own faith hasn't always lead me true, despite the teachings of my goddess. I am in no position to judge yours.”

Shadowheart relaxed. “That is surprisingly pragmatic.”

“I have been known to be pragmatic on occasion.”

Shadowheart let out a laugh. “Gale, no one would describe you as pragmatic. Especially when it comes to what - or who - you worship.”

“I believe we were discussing your worship, not mine.” Gale scowled. “What makes you think Shar is blessing you, anyway? I take it she does not often interfere with her acolytes?”

“If she does, most have no recollection of it.”

The offhand way she said this gave Gale pause. A deity who hid her workings from her followers was unusual.

“But I feel it is the only explanation for what has been happening.” Shadowheart continued. “The shadow curse…it doesn't seem to affect as it does others. Not as badly, at least. I believe Lady Shar is blessing me, protecting me where others are left to face her wrath. It this is true, then it means I have her favor. It means she loves me. It must! But still, part of me is unsure… Which is why I asked you, as you know what it is to be favored by a goddess.”

To be favored by a goddess. Yes, he had known what that was like. And…he wasn't sure it was so desirous a position as many might think.

“I don't think my experience will be of much use to you.” Gale said. “Mystra… she never tried to hide her intentions. She was quite clear about making me her Chosen.”

“Yes, but how did it feel.” Shadowheart pressed.

“... overwhelming.” Gale spoke softly after a moment. “When her attention was on me in anyway, even when she wasn't physically present, I could feel the weight of it. At first I found it uncomfortable, to be so scrutinized. Then I was intoxicated by it. I couldn't get enough of her attention. But always it felt suffocating, though I was content to drown in her favor.”

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Don't be afraid of rejection. In fact, seek out rejection, embrace it. Often the only thing standing between us and our dreams is the assumed 'no' we might receive.

And if you are told no? So what? People won't remember you for how often you are told 'no'. They'll remember the greatness you achieve every time you find a 'yes.'

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Chapter XVI: Something as Hollow as Trust

(full fic: Crawling Back to You, by Wordwyrm on AO3)

“So,” Astarion spoke, breaking the ensuing silence. “You're going to war with Vlaakith. To ‘break your chains’ as it were. Good for you.”

“Your sincerity in this is… unsettling.” Lae'zel replied dryly, retrieving her sword. She frowned down at the dust now clinging to the blade. The polishing cloth would likely be coming out soon.

“Wonders never cease.”

Shadowheart's voice carried through the camp. As one, the four of them turned to find their cleric leaning against a tree in the shadows. Distracted by Viryn's presence in her head, Umbra hadn't heard her approaching.

Nearby, Gale was emerging from his tent, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Umbra's heart missed a beat at his disheveled appearance. “What's this about war?” He grumbled, voice husky. She was absolutely not going to think about how that affected her. Nor how he stumbled to a halt when his eyes met hers, turning her skin hot before he closed them, unable to hold her gaze.

The action twisted in her already wrenching gut, adding to the other emptiness.

“Lae'zel is turning against her lich queen.” Shadowheart supplied. “Far more readily than I ever would have expected.”

“I will not betray myself by dedicating my life to a goddess who would cut it short for her own gain.” The githyanki hissed, and Umbra caught the way Gale flinched at the words as Lae'zel’s voice grew. “Vlaakith has always been my might, and I the envoy of her will. But if Voss is right, and Vlaakith consumes the ascended to gain power, then I am mere livestock, bred to be harvested and devoured. Vlaakith'ka sivim hrath krash'ht. Only in Vlaakith may we find light. If this creed is a lie, if the reward for slaying a ghaik is only our own death, if there is no ascension, no tadpole purification, then I have not sinned against Vlaakith; she has sinned against me.” Her eyes burned as she spoke, she drew herself up to stand tall and firm. The lich queen was a fool to make an enemy out of one so determined.

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Chapter XV: He Knows, At Once, He Will Not Weather It

(full fic: Crawling Back to You, by Wordwyrm on AO3)

Gale kept his eyes forward, but could tell the moment Umbra turned to leave regardless. Her hands had been shaking as she gave her verdict, her face paling from its usual copper, making the faded scars across her cheek stand out sharply. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him, to let her collapse and allow him to be strong for them both as she was so often strong for other. But although the one obstacle that had been standing between them was about to be dissolved, a new wall rose up in its place, one he thought might be beyond his ability to surmount.

Sharp pain in his chest made him inhale sharply as Elminster worked, then the pain faded, and…nothing. The orb was silent. He could still sense the edges of its hunger if he searched, but in every other way it was as if the orb had never existed. His heart sounded loud in his ears with the sudden absence of the orb's thrumming.

What a gift, to have a return to normal, if only for a short while. He should be grateful; Mystra had offered a way back to her side, something he had never dreamed was a possibility. Yet, he could not find any enthusiasm for the gift.

Tragic, Withers had called it, if indeed this was the fate the former god had spoken of all those days ago. Was it tragic, then, to have a purpose given to his death? He had survived in borrowed time until now, anyway. This way, he could at least have meaning to the end. He had always been willing to die for those he loved, nothing had changed now except for the effectiveness of such a sacrifice.

“It is done. Both charge and charm have been committed to your care.” Elminster gave him a sorrowful, pitying look. It turned Gale's stomach sour to have his friend and former mentor be such witness to his downfall. Still, he would not have wanted to hear of this from any other.

“Thank you, Elminster. I'm glad she choose you.” He held out his hand. The older wizard took it, raising his left hand to grip Gale's shoulder simultaneously.

“Like moons make swell and Wayne the nescient seas, so too do sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet,” Elminster looked past Gale to where Umbra had disappeared, “even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will. Come what may, Gale; be a moon into yourself.”

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Chapter XIV: What About Me and My Aching

(full fic: Crawling Back to You, by Wordwyrm on AO3)

A task, then. It was how the gods worked, nothing new to her, but the wizard's hesitance did not sit well with her. Folding her arms, Umbra subtley pinched her inner bicep between knuckles, the twinge of pain clearing her mind. “Has your goddess sent you to assist, then? My oathbinder told me other deities were helping where they could, but I never imagined Mystra would send help to her former Chosen.”

Elminster gave her a thoughtful look. “I do not know of what other divine intervention you may have received, but as you say, it is the very purpose of my visit - in a roundabout sort of way.” His demeanor became grim. “You must know that the Absolute is more dangerous than you can possibly conceive. It threatens all who live - even those who are undying. It threatens the gods, the Weave, the very fabric of the universe itself. That is why I have come here to charge you, Gale, with it's destruction. Mystra believes only you can.”

Cold washed over Umbra, numbing every other emotion tumbling through her, unable to accept what Elminster was suggesting. Destroying the Absolute was already their mission. His goddess surely wouldn't ask-

“The orb.” Gale's somber acknowledgement sounded like a death knell in her head.

Mind going blank, Umbra only vaguely heard Elminster's confirmation and his explanation of how it would work. His admission of Mystra's ability to halt the orb, power she had withheld all this time, allowing Gale to suffer up to this point. She heard the appointment, the suicide mission placed on his shoulders, and saw his posture wilt at the weight of it.