so I had a disclaimer about how this is a joke but then I read the actual dialogue again and uh. he fully actually did.
First, some things about the Dukes that the game does not make clear:
* There are four of them, all with the gender-neutral title of Duke, and the ‘first among equals’ is the Grand Duke, which is currently Ulder Ravengard. In BG3 there appear to only be three Dukes (then two when Stelmane dies) because they haven’t replaced Thalamra Vanthampur, who turned out to be involved in that whole Descent business and a worshipper of Zariel. The other initially surviving Duke, Dillard Portyr, is among the dead in Wyrm's Rock when you go confront Gortash
* The Dukes are elected by the Parliament of Peers (a large number of whom Gortash appears to have killed), then they select the Grand Duke amongst themselves
* Because of this, there is usually sufficient pressure for the Dukes to not all just be patriars (which is what the patriars would want), and they generally also have representatives of Lower City/merchant interests (like Stelmane)
* Dukes serve for life
* It is not a hereditary position. I cannot stress this one enough. Ulder being a Duke means nothing for Wyll becoming a Duke in turn, except that maybe in the future people will think fondly of him if they liked his dad, or some people might think he inherited natural political acumen or something. But there is no “my father’s seat” for Wyll to automatically step into, he would have to be elected.
(This is a slight digression, but Ravengard is a Duke because conventionally (but not automatically), the Marshal of the Flaming Fist is a Duke. That means that his seat more than any of the others actually does have someone more poised to step in, but that person is probably Liara Portyr.)
Okay anyway. Duke Wyll abolished the council. Look:
Summary, if it's hard to read:
Wyll disbanded and reformed the Council because the patriars were "all too eager to abandon their oaths and bend the knee" to Gortash. The council is now Wyll and (if they lived) Ulder, Florrick (or Cordula Eltan, if she died), and Liara Portyr. I think if Ulder is dead, there are only three of them, and he mentions that eventually Parliament will elect a fourth. When? Don't worry about it.
So obviously this is absolutely crazy. The Council of Four was mysteriously disbanded (by who? why was this needed, since Ravengard was the only surviving member anyway?) and replaced entirely with officers of the Flaming Fist. You know, the mercenary company who protect the city because they're paid to. Wyll isn't technically a member, but there is a world where he ends up commanding them, and he's also the son of one of the other members, so like. We are not assembling a council of varied views and backgrounds here.
All the more so because Wyll really hammers home in other places his "Ravengard blood" (he is one generation of earned nobility, it's not much to brag about). Florrick is probably a commoner, but Liara and Cordula are obviously both patriars-- Liara the niece of one of the recently-murdered members of the Council of Four.
And also: what has actually changed? Why did the Council need to be disbanded for this to happen? Well, because there's no way that Parliament would agree to elect two more members of the Flaming Fist, plus the current Grand Duke's son. One imagines everything else is the same: now that they're in, they'll serve for life. And possibly institute some system of inheritance for seats, since that seems to be what they're doing already, particularly with Wyll and Liara, and a bit with Cordula as well when the dialogue (and her fancy Duke title) emphasizes her descent from Fist founder Eltan.
It is, completely unintentionally, the perfect evil Wyll ending. Convinced that only he and his friends/family can wield power responsibly in the face of the patriars' cowardice, he seizes power for himself in order to force the wealthy to contribute to building the city in the way he unilaterally deems fit. His duty, as he says in the dialogue above, is only to the citizens of Baldur's Gate... as opposed, one assumes, to the patriars, the wealthy, and presumably anyone else Wyll deems unworthy. His personal moral judgement is law.
(And that's not even getting into how the title he offers the player is 'Duke of the Coast.' I'm sorry, is that yours to claim????)
We are sleeping on the potential of evil Wyll IMO. A Wyll who becomes evil gradually through a series of good intentions and blind spots and morally grey choices? And still manages to remain recognisably Wyll with all his kindness and righteousness and self-sacrificing bravery still present, albeit warped? So much more satisfying and interesting than the black and white, cartoon villain evil endings most of the others get. And what an amazingly tragic, fitting end to his beginning: making a pact with a devil. He can just keep on making pacts with devils in a variety of different forms, each decision seeming reasonable, but the sum total of which slowly turn him into something else entirely.
I've seen a number of posts now circulating that lists Larian's problems, and yet not one of them felt it worth including that Larian made many decisions based out of racism in developing Baldur's Gate 3 on those lists.
And no, I don't even just mean the stuff inherited from DnD's setting. I mean things like:
Rewriting Wyll last minute to try and appeal to racist fans, then proceeding to ignore him anyway (never bothering to fix his bugs but my god it sure is a relief that Astarion gets his facial animations changed 20 different times //sarcasm) [LINK]
Treating Black people and Asian people as interchangeable, shifting Karlach's appearance from Black coded to East Asian coded between Early Access and Full Release [LINK]
Let's have a little fun with game canon vs headcanon.
In the game, Mystra telling Gale to blow himself up isn't portrayed as malicious. It's really played off as a God being out of touch with how much a mortal might value their earthly life. Like a robot solving the trolley problem. Let's not forget that Midnight gave up her own humanity to restore magical balance to the world and become the new Mystra. Sacrifice is something she is not foreign to.
So it's actually a headcanon to view Mystra as having any malicious feelings regarding her request of Gale "doing the right thing" in her eyes. Far more utilitarian.
In any case, even I like playing with the idea in my headcanon that Mystra's behavior is that of a spurned Goddess. Triangulating Elminster because she couldn't possibly bring herself back down to Gale's level and reopen old wounds. Maybe she too wants to forget him and the feelings she allowed herself to have for him. How she lowered herself to meet a man face to face. Knew him intimately and loved him.
There's an interesting story to tell about a goddess with a mortal ex, and telling the story from her eyes. Some might say that emotions are inherently vulnerable. Imagine letting a man in only for him to try to tell you that he deserved more of you.
I like to imagine Mystra's boundary was both emotional and spiritual. She was not willing to open up fully to Gale and show all the humanity she still had left inside. Maybe there was a magic in her he could sense. Full of wonder of the world that she kept hidden. The true heart of a Goddess kept away from you. Wouldn't you try to cross that boundary as well?
But it still was a boundary cross. If Mystra had been actually petty or angry or upset towards Gale in the game, it would have showed a human side to her. How could a man reduce a Goddess to a weeping woman? Instead, her role in the game is to be above it. The dichotomy between her seemingly uncaring demand and her ultimately benevolent ask of him to prevent death is meant to emphasize the absence of and inhuman logic a God might possess.
"God told me to sacrifice myself to save humanity." vs "My ex told me to fuck off and die."
The canon is the former. The headcanon is the latter.
I love the idea of Gale whose love makes him dangerous. Gale who was Mystra’s Chosen once, and whose devotion runs deeper than his own life. Gale who would do anything, destroy anyone if it saved Tav. If it kept them safe. It’s not toxic; it’s not possessive in a way that restricts Tav’s autonomy or choice—but gods help the fool who tries to hurt them as long as they still choose him.
I posted about this a while back, but I love the idea of Tav falling in battle and Gale erupting, razing the battlefield with uncontrolled raw Weave, overdrawing and destroying anything that threatens them. Channeling more Weave than his body can handle, becoming again, for just a few minutes, the divinity-touched archmage he was when he was Mystra’s Chosen. Forcing life back into their body without a spell, pouring Weave into them until their breath returns. The party tries to approach and a blast decimates the ground at their feet—not meant to hurt, not meant to wound, just a warning. Don’t come closer. Don’t touch them. He doesn’t look up.
It’s not meant to be romantic. It’s not meant to be a “good” decision. It’s just who he is. He loved Mystra with the intensity of a devotee and a lover, and that’s the same framework he applies to other loves. His devotion IS terrifying. His love is deep, intense, and it is beautiful, it’s the same love that makes him attentive to Tav’s needs, the same love that makes him a romantic and someone who feels deeply and poetically. But it also makes him incredibly dangerous when someone crosses that line. Calm, with the certainty of a man who knows exactly what he will do for the person he loves. It IS scary. It IS something that probably makes the party wary afterward. He’s not sorry. He would do it again. It’s a price he will pay every time.
Gale is not a scary man. He is gentle, endearingly charming, affectionate, kind. He treats Tav with the utmost respect for their autonomy and capability. But his devotion is not a choice. It is not something that can be reduced in intensity. It’s at the core of who he is. He is a man with the potential for great tyranny and cruelty based on his ability and prodigy, and he chooses goodness—but it should not be mistaken for weakness.
i've been thinking all day about how the worst "happy" epilogue endings make the characters' worlds so much smaller than when they began. gale should be happy teaching pupils he doesn't like about a subject that they don't love as much as he does, not following his passion for magic wherever it takes him and building new friendships now that he's spending his time with mortals and not a goddess. shadowheart should live quietly on a farm unable to ever stop dwelling on shar and not think about how when she was trapped in the cloister she wanted to travel and leave her mark on the world.
at least lae'zel's duty-bound ending acknowledges that this is the task she has to do before she feels free to pursue her own life, and it may not make her happy, but there are reasons it's still right. astarion no longer feels trapped by vampirism, he's learned how to live freely within the constraints and acknowledges it took him some time to figure out how to do that.
duke wyll does not exist within any of the political or social logic that the game establishes for baldur's gate, even setting aside that there is no way wyll would be happy in politics, and it's also an example of his world shrinking down to exclude all the things he used to care about and somehow that's supposed to make him happy.
anyway, i know the epilogue didn't even ship with the original version of the game so i can only imagine how rushed a lot of it was, but man it shows with some characters (and probably would have for lae'zel too if her ending weren't resolved in the actual finale rather than the epilogue).
Gale did not finish his request. A scroll had been misplaced and he suspected Tara of "improving" his filing system again – they would have words if she did this three or four more times, he swore – but his concern over the scroll was overridden by the scene now before him in the reading room.
A cloud of lights, amber and emerald and a brilliant blue, spun and darted in the air. Each light buzzed faintly; as Gale took a step into the room he could see they were, in fact, tiny moths, fluttering aimlessly.
Tara sat in the overstuffed chair next to the iron stove, staring vacantly at the moths she had undoubtedly conjured. The small table beside her was scattered with a mess of dried leaves, little trails through them about the size and shape of a cat's nose.
Not again.
"Mr. Dekarios," Tara said. Gale waited, but she appeared to have lost her train of thought. At least this time she was sitting quietly. The last time she'd found the catnip stash she'd gone on a rampage through the kitchen after chasing an invisible mephit through the tower, upsetting several priceless sculptures on the way.
"Mr. Dekarios. Hello. Have you ever..."
Her eyes were black pools, pupils fully dilated and reflecting the dancing lights before her.
"Have you ever really looked at your paws?"
Gale sighed.
"Scoot over," he said, resigned, and opened the drawer in the little table. A mahogany pipe rested inside, along with a small pouch.
Tara scooted, a bit less graceful than her usual feline slink. He sat, packed the pipe, and lit it. She'd be like this for another hour, at least; he might as well join her.
"Give me a moment," he said, "and we'll see about those paws."
I can!! It's demeaning. And I say this as someone who would die for her dogs. The comparison comes embedded with deeply unflattering connotations. I know how it's intended; they're a friendly, loyal, and happy breed—their eyes are big and irresistibly adorable, and they are always so happy to be here. Great family pets, too, wouldn't hurt a fly. All wonderful traits—for a dog. Start translating golden retriever behaviours to humans, however, and it's hard not to picture over-excitable, simple-minded, people-pleasing characters who need to be told what to do. They're the bubbly ones of the group, who can't be trusted to think, but they'll cheer you on no matter what you suggest.
Again, I love dogs, more than I love most humans—golden retrievers included. But that's what the comparison suggests. Same reason some people continue to feel physically uncomfortable when they hear the word 'moist.' It's not the word itself, it's what it evokes on a sensory level. And I know, it's literally not that serious. And that it's (hopefully) not what is actually meant. But much like 'yapper,' which continues to make my eye twitch every time, these kinds of 'funny' word choices come preloaded with implications that often prove unkind when you put more than two seconds of thought into them.
Shadowheart does not do anything until they return to camp, and even there, she does not speak. But there are few more proficient readers of a speaking silence than Astarion, and almost instantly he huffs, "Oh, what? Do you have something to say?"
"Don't you?" she counters. "No, clearly not. It doesn't seem to have made much of a mark on you at all, bringing all those children to be killed or enslaved or who knows what."
"Don't," he snaps, jabbing a warning finger towards her. "I had no say in the things I did, you know that. Cazador commanded, I acted."
"And was it Cazador who commanded you to just forget it ever happened? Did you lie to us deliberately about why the Gur would be after you, or did it really just slip your mind?"
"You're the expert in lost memories, dear," Astarion drawls, poison smooth.
"Because of someone like you!" She lunges for him, but Karlach is quick and close, catching Shadowheart around the waist as Astarion only just bobs out of the way. "Because someone took me! I suppose I'm the lucky one, at least they cared they'd done it!"
Astarion swallows and fumblingly puts back on his sneer. "I don't see why we have to go making this about you."
"Astarion, mate, shut the fuck up," Karlach says. She hefts Shadowheart into half a hug, arm still firm around her waist, and says, "Come on, Fringe, we'll take a little walk."
He watches them go, Shadowheart's silver plait swinging, and the rest watch him, awkward and silent. He rounds on them with a snarl: "And what do you all want? Do you have something to say, too? Have you also somehow failed to understand that I had no choice?"
"You had no choice," Wyll agrees. "But of course, neither did they."
i feel. like on a fundamental level. i do not understand x reader fic. i am not exactly opposed to it because let a thousand blossoms bloom etc. but like. i genuinely don’t get it. it seems like the exact opposite of how i engage with fiction. like the whole point is that i’m not in there. i don’t wanna be in there. if i’m in there it’s going to be very stressful.
I do wonder who the fuck is going to watch the buffy sequel series besides fans of the OG series who want to throw things at it. I feel like this was already a poorly conceived plan but the decision to give us Another High School Girl Slays Vampires Except This Time She’s Doing It In 2025 is impressively bad. if they were making this for the fans they would make a weird little slice of life drama about buffy struggling with aging into a life she was convinced she’d never get to live as a teenager. obviously she’s dating spike (I am speaking directly to what I know the vast majority of the fans want, even if you the fan do not want this) and he’s got his own weird little adjustment thing going on because this is all very domesticated in a way he hasn’t ever experienced before. maybe they’re fostering a different teenage slayer to appeal to the new generation. buffy and willow talk about how this new slayer is widening her perspective on the horrible position the council put giles in but she can’t talk to giles without it being unspeakably weird because 20 years down the line their relationship is in tatters. The whole thing is about reckoning with living decades after you thought you were going to die, and seeing echoes of yourself in a little girl just like you. Do you KNOW how many people would watch this show
Wyll's relationship with his father intrigues me (as y'all might have noticed).
I'm old, and I have adult children, so I come at the topic from two different perspectives:
As the child who had a troubled relationship with essentially loving but flawed parents.
And as the parent who was deeply flawed, and both did and said many wrong things over the decades.
I want to hate Ulder for losing faith in his son so quickly, for kicking him out of the city instead of taking a deep breath and saying, You know what? This city isn't safe with you around. We're going elsewhere, and we're going to figure out what the fuck just happened.
I want to take Ulder by the shoulders and say, Dude, I get it. You felt like a failure as a parent and you felt confused and betrayed. You lashed out, and your kid took you very seriously and vanished.
When I was 17, I moved to Sydney for university – a big move for someone that age, but pretty common at the time. The night before I was scheduled to leave, my father, struggling to process big feelings, got very drunk and picked a huge fight with me, culminating in him screaming that he never wanted to see me again; don't bother ever coming back.
Folks, it hurt. It was devastating. Even though I was thrilled to be getting out of there, that farewell damn near broke me. And damn right I took it seriously. If he could speak those words to me, I figured, I could accept them and do what he said he wanted. I didn't talk to my parents for months.
At that age, having a parent, even one with whom you have a troubled relationship, tell you there's no room in their life for you anymore is... so difficult to process.
As a parent who's struggled to be there for my kids in the midst of a plethora of health issues and other challenges, I kinda get it, though. I've never kicked out one of my children, and I'd like to think I never would. But I know full well I've indicated in other ways that I can't give them as much space in my life as they'd like. I haven't always been there for them as much as they needed me to be.
What's the moral of the story? I honestly don't know, except that so many of the takes I see on Ulder and Wyll are either what a terrible father or no, he was a great father and did the only thing he could! And I don't agree with either extreme.
Ulder wasn't the only person who could keep Baldur's Gate safe. But he was the only person who could have kept Wyll safe. And I think he got lost in his responsibilities and failed to recognise that.
The fact that Wyll survived losing his home, family, and friends all in one go is a testament both to his character and the strength that Ulder taught him as a child. I just wish he'd never had to find and use that strength so young.
we should at least consider the possibility that Gale's surprise/embarrassment during the magic lesson kiss is because at first he mistook them for his own thoughts. 🥴
my problem with shadowheart's parent-saving points is that they're just completely random. the story never explains why learning these scraps of shadowheart's past would make her likelier to feel like she'd rather save her parents than save herself. if anything, it feels like the opposite: she's presented with these scraps of answers, and none of them makes her feel better or more whole--mostly, she greets them with a sort of resigned realisation that the events are in the past, and there's not only no way to recover the truth, there's no point. she already mourned whoever her mentor was; she now is making the mark she dreamed of making when she drew on that building.
if it's going to make sense, then i think we'd need to see each memory increasing shadowheart's frustration and longing to know more. these scraps are tantalising and unsatisfying--her parents will know the whole truth.
but that would then imo require the resolution being that her parents actually knew her for a very brief period of her life when she was very young. they don't have some inherent, profoundly truthful knowledge of her because of their shared blood (and i am desperate to meet the writer who feels like THEIR PARENTS understand them more profoundly than anyone else they've met in life since). they've seen more of her acting like a sharran than acting like her "true" self (as of age 8). the life they'd built for her was one she was on the brink of beginning to outgrow. they don't have the answers either.
i'd reverse the meaning of those 'points': the more scraps of her old self she finds around the city, the more she realises that frantically piecing them together in search of who she is now is futile. she already is herself, and can become whoever she wants to be, as long as she's free.
Funny how Shadowheart's whole story in the parent-saving arc is the inverse of the usual hero's journey-ish plot structure where the protagonist has to realise they've outgrown their parental figures and learn to rely on themselves, and this is presented by the game as the emotionally more satisfying outcome
I think one very interesting thing re interpreting gale's story as being about grooming and how people treat mystra is that there is a scene in act2 where we are shown and told that raphael is starting to groom mol and the difference in how people treat that vs mystra
I think this is interesting 1 because I think it shows if the writers really intended for gale's and mystra's relationship to be read as her grooming him they would've done that in a much more direct and hard to misinterpret way and 2 because even if you interpret mystra as a groomer I neverrr see people treat raphael with the same vitriol and kneejerk reaction of cursing him out under art/posts about him or harassing people who talk about him. not only that but people tend to ignore what he does to both mol and hope and being a fan of his or having an oc romance him (as a headcanon because of course you can't actually do that in game) is seen as very normal and not a problem at all. AND people were even asking the devs for a raphael (+gortash) romance before they announced they wouldn't do any more updates.
like for me the problem is people will exaggerate the actions of female characters who have wronged a male character often turning something from a shitty thing to do to something objectively evil and heinous to the point that if you talk about them in any way that isn't negative or disavowing them you will be labelled an abuse apologist meanwhile male characters can canonically manipulate, torture and assault people (the main victims of this often being women/girls) while those actions are met with a shrug and handwaved away like just another story beat in favour of focusing on their more entertaining and flattering sides
like people are so emotionally connected to the idea of a woman hurting a man that they see red everytime she's brought up and fantasize about harming her vs male characters doing the same or worse being politely ignored or commonly thirsted over by #villainlovers
and regardless of how you feel about mystra or any other female character similar to her I think this is worth pondering especially with how quickly people jump to gendered insults🧘🏻
the leftism leaving people's bodies when they continue to hound someone over behavior that was accounted for, apologized for, and corrected years ago - people got on board for prison abolition then said "and let's replace that with perpetual ostracization and shame to the point where they can no longer function in society :) this is better because We, The Community, are pushing them toward suicide"
every time I read a take that's like "hey actually offender registers are a good thing" or "lock this person up and throw away the key" or "this person did this thing ten years ago and even though they served their time in prison I think they should still be punished societally" I become acutely aware of every hour that I spent studying the criminal justice system during my law degree.
rehabilitation and reintegration are, for the majority of people, not only possible but also desirable, and shame is a direct inhibitor to both of these.
people need to acknowledge and take accountability for their actions, yes. they need to understand who they hurt, and how. they need to understand any underlying problems and causational factors for their offending or actions. they need to understand the impact of their environment and social circles on their offending. those are all big steps and they take a lot of self-reflection. but they're all possible, especially when we make rehabilitative programmes available to people.
the core purposes of criminal justice should, theoretically, be rehabilitation, restoration, and reparation. but many people are far too focused on revenge and punishment for it to work that way. this leads not only to offenders being over-punished, ostracised, and institutionalised (making reoffending far more likely) but it also does absolutely nothing to help victims! we have to change the way we collectively view crime and justice if we want to improve outcomes for everyone.
a lot of punishment-focused systems could and should learn a lot from indigenous systems of justice such as tikanga Māori, where the focus is more on reparation, understanding, accountability, and restoration. (tikanga Māori approaches actually now form part of NZ's criminal justice system wherever appropriate, because they actually fucking work). but there's a whole other discussion re: incorporating indigenous forms of justice into a colonial system rather than replacing the whole system/enabling indigenous people to carry out their own customary practices instead of binding them to the colonial system/etc that I'm not going to get into here.
was thinking about roslin on my walk to work and realized i wanted to try pairing her as tav with gale. call this an experiment.
Roslin’s got it all under control. That’s what they say about her in the Harpers—here’s Roslin, she’s got it all under control! Well, actually, that’s what she says that they say in the Harpers, but no one she’s ever talking to knows enough about the Harpers to know that you don’t have enough time to talk during missions, and Roslin likes spinning stories enough to be an amazing bard.
The thing about being a bard, though, is that you have to like magic, and Roslin really doesn’t. Weirdly, despite being a sweet little scatterbrain who never really follows through on anything, Marigold has incredible focus when it comes to her arcane projects—she’s got every spell she needs perfectly memorized, every cantrip fired off before you can even blink. Roslin doesn’t have the patience to memorize the right words and wave her hands the right way, and she doesn’t really see the point. Hitting and cutting are both more effective. You waste an extra second chanting and you might end up dead.
Of course she’s nice to Gale. Jaheira drilled into her very early that you do have to be nice to wizards, even if you also need to keep an eye on them more than you do most people. Roslin’s got a whole book in her pack full of Jaheira witticisms, mostly because it annoys Jaheira tremendously when Roslin starts writing things down, but she does refer to it in times of crisis. Times like this one.
Leadership is not about showing off, Rosalie, it is about decisive action. Do not waste your time or mine by pretending not to pay attention.
So Roslin doesn’t pretend not to pay attention. It’s all still a performance, obviously, but she’s not letting anyone be in charge of the group who isn’t her, and everyone seems willing enough to fall in line when she puts her foot down. She’s got a lot of practice, after all, threading the needle neatly between “playful big sister” and “actual authority figure.” She got good at it in the Harpers, and she’s good at it with Marigold and Lenora, and she was good at it with—
She’s good at it with Jaheira’s kids. Let’s end that sentence there.
Astarion is a laugh and a half, but he sends a quiet shudder up her spine. She’d probably have gone for him if she’d met him in a tavern a year ago, and she doesn’t like what that says about her, especially when she finds out the truth about him. Shadowheart reminds her of Mari and Norie in equal measure—all of Norie’s prickly defensiveness, all of Mari’s overabundant sweetness—and Roslin can’t help but shower her in playful affection, which Shadowheart responds to with stiff, confused appreciation. (Helps that Roslin’s got the good sense not to ask questions. She doesn’t want anyone asking her any, after all.)
Lae’zel is iconic and Roslin’s obsessed with her. She asks Roslin for a tumble, Roslin says that tragically, she doesn’t swing that way, Lae’zel says, “You istik limit yourself outrageously,” and Roslin laughs hard enough that she almost falls over. They drill together every morning—stretches, then sparring—and there’s an incredible understanding there that thrills Roslin’s heart. She’s never met someone who likes the physicality of fighting in exactly the same way that she herself does.
Karlach is hilarious. Wyll is a sweetheart. Of course Roslin knows him immediately—she wouldn’t be a Harper worth her salt if she didn’t recognize Duke Ravengard’s son—but no one here has figured out her line of work, least of all him, which she prefers. The Harpers aren’t exactly on Ulder Ravengard’s good side. At least, not all the time.
We strive to be equally annoying to every faction. STOP writing things down, Rosalie.
But Gale…
Roslin said she was being nice to him and she wasn’t lying. He’s got that affable wizard charm, kind of like a polished-to-shine version of Marigold. Marigold, But Better, which is a weird and disloyal thought to have about her sweet little baby best friend, but it does stick with Roslin like a burr in her shoe. He’s good at what he does. He’s casting low-level wizard spells with syrupy-smooth frustration, a sort of “this is beneath me, but I won’t let anyone see me bothered about it.” He smiles with the knife-sharp desperation of a man on the very edge.
He is very striking.
This is an extremely frustrating thing for Roslin to notice. She has a very regimented system when it comes to men. She picks a nice and uncomplicated boy, and when it gets complicated, the universe finds a reason to split them up. She has a mission, or he has to move, or some other wonderful thing that means she got a nice few weeks before it got messy.
She’s had flings with Harpers, obviously, so she doesn’t have any qualms about getting with a man on a mission, but it doesn’t feel like Gale’s built for that. The sweetness that Roslin is always drawn to is always unabashed in its sincerity. Gale is certainly sincere, but that twist of desperation suggests that there’s a degree of calculation to his kindness.
Wizards are smart as all fucking get-out, and Roslin picks her battles. She likes a boy she can run circles around, and one look at Gale makes it clear as day that her parlor tricks won’t work on him. She’s not going to waste her time.
+
Gale offers to cast with her. To show her how to cast.
Here’s where Roslin is supposed to say no. She’s certain in that moment that she’s about to say no. But she’s always had this dangerous little “fuck around and find out” part of her that can’t help it in a moment like this—that likes the idea of brushing her fingers against something she’s never touched before. She’s never going to be a wizard. She wants to know, even if only for a night, a fraction of what Marigold and Gale and that stuck-up little prick in the Emerald Grove all find so fascinating about the Weave.
“Okay,” she says, and shifts from foot to foot, not enjoying the feeling of being on unfamiliar terrain.
Gale’s eyes soften with affectionate understanding and she’s struck with the desire to tear something apart. “I understand your apprehension,” he says. “I’m sure I’d feel quite wrongfooted in your position. You’re a magnificently talented fighter, Roslin—I imagine it’s difficult to envision yourself doing anything else.”
This is why she doesn’t like him. He sees right through her skin and her skeleton into her soft, anxious, squishy brain, which is a one-person-only living situation, thanks. But forcing a smile and pretending he doesn’t see her seems strangely crueler than the cruel truth.
“I don’t like magic,” she admits. “I don’t get it. It takes too much time in a battle.”
“Well, it’s not just for fighting,” Gale points out. He extends his hands—brings them out—brings forward a ball of glowing light. “Shall we?”
Roslin mimics the gesture, feeling more than just a bit idiotic—and some strange thing wraps around her, through her, comforting and fizzy all in one. The tickle of real feeling behind her ribs terrifies her.
“And next—” Gale stops. His eyes flick over her tense mouth, her terse expression. “Roslin,” he says, brimming over with the kind of compassion you’re really not meant to expect from fucking wizards. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah!” she says quickly. “Yeah, just…”
The magic feels like possibility. When has Roslin felt hopeful about actually anything? Can Gale feel the nihilistic hopelessness that she tries so hard not to ever pay attention to? It’s easy with Jaheira, who understands without Roslin ever having to say it. Not so easy with people who don’t know the names and ages and faces of all of her ghosts.
“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” she says. Tears sting her eyes. “I wish I really could do it.”
Almost gently, Gale says, “You can, you know. Perhaps not all in one night, but…”
“Years and years of focused study,” says Roslin, trying to let misery tilt into a less real petulant sulkiness. “I’d have to put down my sword.”
Gale’s smile quirks with affectionate amusement and she feels a sudden pulse of vindictive dislike. How dare he look at her like she’s some sweet little cupcake? That’s Marigold, Lenora, silly little rich girls with a safety net to trip down into. Roslin’s a woman of substance. Roslin is a fucking dynamo.
“I can, though,” she says, quickly, a little defensively.
“I wasn’t doubting you,” says Gale.
“You were, a little. You know people can tell when you’re being patronizing, right?”
Gale’s eyebrows shoot up.
Roslin sighs through her teeth. “Sorry,” she says, then again, “sorry. I’m not good at being the student. I don’t—like—”
“When people see that you don’t know things,” says Gale. “I do know that much.”
He does sound a touch irritated, which makes Roslin feel a little safer. She doesn’t like the way he looks at her when it isn’t at least a little annoyed. He’s got the soft eyes of all the sorts of boys she likes to kiss, and she needs to make sure she doesn’t forget—
“Repeat after me,” he says, and she does.
The words feel old and lofty and dramatic. History is a messy thing. Roslin’s has too many dead bodies to count (one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine) and she much prefers to live in the now. Being a fighter means you make your own rules. Being a wizard means that there are usually some pretty good reasons for the rules people made up before you, because there were nine to twelve smart idiots who tried the same thing you did and blew up a city in the process.
Being a wizard means you sort of have to pay attention to your past.
“Now,” says Gale. “Try to imagine the concept of harmony. Best as you can.”
Roslin is all a jumble and she knows that he can feel it. The magic strips her back, layer by layer, which is maybe why she doesn’t like it. Easy for Marigold, whose feelings are always spilling everywhere—easy for that arsehole in the grove made of nothing but confident idiocy—easy for Gale, sweet as a knife someone used to spread out strawberry jam.
But she’s not going to trip up and fall in the dirt. She wants him to see that she can do this just as well as anything else—see it, and be impressed by it, and, and—
Somehow that’s what she’s imagining. Her on steady ground, sure of herself, no tadpole in her mind gumming up the works and making it harder to swing a sword. Her with borrowed magic at her hands, wandering through a world she doesn’t understand without feeling acutely aware of her own limitations. Harmony. That’s what it would look like.
The tension snaps and bursts and Roslin tastes—
Of course she’s going to think about Marigold in a moment like this. Marigold’s a bakery wizard. Roslin’s tasted magic a thousand times, had it melt in her mouth in a perfectly eclectic collection of flavors, because Marigold needed something tested, because Marigold wanted to give her a sweet treat, because being Marigold’s friend means magic’s sticking to your fingertips in frosting and honey. But the taste has always been sculpted, deliberately refined into exactly what Marigold wants it to be.
This isn’t that. It tastes like what it feels like when you’re a little kid eating flour, or raw eggs, or something else that you know you’re not supposed to be eating—not the flavor, but the feeling. The baffled delight that this strange thing in your mouth can be a cake or a cookie or a whole five-course meal. The flickering understanding that you are holding possibility in your hands and your mouth.
Gale feels it too. He smiles like it’s something he’s familiar with. He glances to Roslin, and something about her face must be different, because his own expression gives way to something newly vulnerable. And she was wrong about him—that pastiche of tenderness he gives out like it’s nothing really was nothing for him to give. She’s never had him look at her like that before.
It’s a flutter of a thought, only a moment, but it reaches him nonetheless. She’s not sure how intentional it actually is. She only knows that she finds herself thinking about kissing him, and then thinks to herself, he ought to know. And then he does.
Gale colors. He says, “Well!”
Roslin takes a step back, mostly accidentally. The night feels much colder.
Gale says, again, “Well! Not that I don’t—I just didn’t think—” and then takes in Roslin’s expression and seems to think better of saying anything at all on the subject of kissing. “Thank you,” he says instead. “Really, Roslin. Thank you.”
“Rosalie,” she says.
With her family gone, only Jaheira has ever called Roslin by her given name.
“Rosalie,” he repeats, a note of soft wonder to every syllable.
“Only when we’re alone,” she says quickly.
And she’s turned on her heel, hurrying away, with the distinct sense that she’s cracked the whole universe open in a single instant. No telling what’s inside.
