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Chapter Text

“K’chakhi, what are you waiting for? Connect the transponders!” 

Lae’zel, the green skinned woman wielding a sword half her size, shouted across the helm towards where Umbra stood, fighting for balance as she tried to make sense of the flailing barbed tentacles in front of her. Her eyes and throat stung, smoke billowing around her. Near unbearable heat radiated through the space, sweat slicked her long black hair to her head and trickled down her face and neck. Glimpses of red flame wasteland flew by from the torn walls of the ship, and with a sickening lurch of her stomach, Umbra realized they were hurtling downward.  

The ship heaved again, and somewhere from behind Shadowheart screamed in pain. A strange wave of urgent certainty flooded through her.

Move! 

The urge seemed to come from outside herself, and Umbra found her hands moving without her own thought. Well, better something than nothing. She only hoped whatever was guiding her hands knew what it was doing. 

The tentacles glowed bright as they clasped together and a deep whirring sound began to vibrate through the floor. Umbra’s knuckles grew white as she desperately gripped apparatus, fingers slick with sweat, her body suddenly lifted off the floor from a sudden lack of gravity. A large yellow lizard eye peered in through the hole in the ship's wall, then in a blink it was gone. The following flash of light left Umbra reeling. 

Time seemed to warp around her, stretching and compressing all at once. Both an eternity and an instant later, the fire scorched sky outside was replaced with a brilliant blue. At the same moment, the ship tipped, and Umbra found herself dangling over a glimmering blue expanse of water. Her tenuous grip on the apparatus was all that stood between her and certain death. 

Her fingers slipped suddenly, sweat slick hands unable to hold her weight any longer. Terror clutched at her, a scream caught in her throat as she fell. But rather than plummeting towards the earth, she felt her body slam against the ship's far wall not even a second later, barely missing the yawning hole. 

Across from her, a purple skinned face and beady black eyes appraised her, grotesque tentacles where the mouth should be. She took in the abomination in a strangely surreal moment. A connection between her and the creature sparked through her mind, but before she could register what she was being told, her world went black. 

***

Umbra surfaced from inky black for a moment, mind tumbling in confusion. Her body felt weightless. Wind whistled from behind her, blowing loose hair into her face. She felt that she should be afraid. But of what, she could not recall. 

With a jerk hard enough to rattle her brain in her skull, it stopped suddenly. A strange voice whispered comfort to her mind, but she couldn't quite grasp what it said. 

She should open her eyes. 

She was so tired.

She slipped back into blissful oblivion.

***

Noon heat was the first thing Umbra registered as her awareness slowly returned. Her head pounded, making logical thought feel impossible. Her throat and mouth were dry, tongue feeling large and swollen. 

Routinely, she began to take inventory of her limbs, squeezing her eyes shut as she mentally examined herself for injuries. But besides the bruised ache of muscles and the thud of her head, she appeared to be more or less intact. Which was a miracle, considering- considering- 

Alarmed, Umbra sat up quickly, then had to stop and let her spinning vision catch up with the rest of her. When the glittering water and dry sand around her came into focus, she tried again, wincing at the pain lancing through her skull as she tried to remember. 

She had been… on a ship. A ship that now lay in a mangled mass of metal and organic material to her left. She'd been…in the sky. With… with… 

Umbra frowned. A name, two, came to her. Lae’zel and Shadowheart. Vaguely, she recalled hazy faces. A scream of pain. Not hers, she didn't think. 

Illithid.

The word appeared in her mind's eye, almost as if implanted. With it, a flood of blurred memories came.

Tentacles abomination, cloaked in black and purple, leaning over her. Wriggling white grin clutched in long taloned fingers. Horrible pain and a sickening squish as it crawled under her lid and behind her-

Umbra scrambled to the water's edge, dry heaving at the memory. Further pieces trickled through; waking in her pod, glass smashed open, allowing her to escape. A scramble to help release another victim. Nearly being halved by an over eager Githyanki blade.

Githyanki.

Where had that word come from? She hadn't heard it anywhere before. Right? Suddenly uncertain, she fumbled for memories further back, but they stayed just out of reach. He'd hand moved to her head, gingerly exploring the spot he'd pain blossomed from. Fingers came away sticky with blood. Just perfect. 

“By the bloody nine,” Umbra groaned aloud, hauling herself to her feet. Not only was she stranded only gods know where, possibly miles away from any sort of civilization, she had an incubating illithid tadpole in her brain and a concussion to boot. 

With a sigh, she leaned against a jutting wall of rock, letting the bizarreness of her situation sink in a moment. Then she squared her shoulders and started down the beach. Perhaps she remembered nothing from her past, but something in her core told her she needed to push on. She was a survivor. Standing around here, feeling sorry for her lot, would get her nowhere. And by Tyr's right hand, she refused to be crushed so easily. 

***

Gale Dekarios, Wizard of Waterdeep, prodigy graduate of Blackstaff Academy, Chosen of Mystra and Fallen Archmage, was well and truly stuck. 

Stuck, ironically, and perhaps predictably, in a mess of his own making. When the nautiloid began to fall, he had reached out, desperately searching for an anchor to focus his magic on. He had found it, of course, but navigating himself through the offered portal, a task that just over a year ago would have taken less effort than brewing tea, had proven rather difficult. Whether blame lay with lack of recent practice, his rather uncomfortable affliction (courtesy of Mystra), or the new companion lodged in his brain, Gale had found himself tangled in the weave rather than puppeteering its magical strands as he was accustomed to. 

One would think his years of study would come in handy just now, but there was a reason portals like this were reserved for more experienced practitioners: they were difficult to create in the first place, and a mishap could be the end of a person. 

Luckily, he wasn't dead yet. Perhaps he could-

Something tugged on the knotted weave around him. Yes, that would do nicely. Following the direction of the pull, Gale pushed his arm forward. The weave resisted at first, catching on his sleeve, then blessedly it gave way. He felt his lower arm released, a warm breeze moving across his fingers. 

“A hand? Anyone?” He called. Hopefully whoever was out there would be of a generous nature, or at least not prone to harming trapped wizards. As hoped, a calloused hand grasped his. Smaller then he would expect, considering the strength behind the tug that followed. A gnome, perhaps? Well, he'd find out soon enough. 

Gale did what he could to make the process easier for his savior, but the weave didn't seem eager to respond just now. Fortunately his rescuer didn't need much help. Only a moment passed before Gale found himself yanked through the portal opening. The sudden lack of resistance sent him stumbling forward, until he lost what little balance he had, and fell forward. Landing right on top of the most stunning creature he'd ever laid eyes on. 

“By the gods,” he breathed, his stomach giving a funny flip. Her own eyes, as warm and brown as his mother's fudge, were wide with surprise, her bow-shaped lips rounded in an ‘o’. Hair darker than midnight spread out behind. If it weren't for her soot stained appearance, he would have believed he was in the presence of divinity. Or rather, kneeling over it in an incredibly awkward and unbecoming manner. Damn it, Gale, get up and stop gawking like a teenage fool. You're nearly thirty, for Ao's sake. 

Gale scrambled backwards, pushing himself to his feet and brushing his hand off on his trousers before offering hand to the lady before him. “I'm terribly sorry,” he began, pulling her up. He prayed the flush he felt on his cheeks wasn't noticeable. “Let's try that again, shall we? Hello, I am Gale of Waterdeep. And I'm usually much better at this.”

“At introductions?” The lady’s voice was low and gentle, yet firm as the stone beneath him. Gale couldn't tell if her comment had been meant in jest, her raised eyebrow and skeptical expression not lending any insight. 

“At magic,” Gale replied. Best not to assume.

Sudden recognition dawned as he gave the lady a second look. “Say, but I know you, don't I? In a matter of speaking. You were on the nautiloid as well.”

The lady gave him a curt nod as she appraised him. Gale found himself becoming nervous under that stare, palms suddenly sweaty. “Then I can only assume you, too, were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion into the ocular region.” The words tumbled out of him, along with a laugh that sounded too loud in his ears. 

“That's a rather fancy way of saying ‘we’re fucked,’” the lady commented, her lips pressing into a line. Gale found himself wetting his own as he watched, and immediately chastised himself. He needed to get a bloody grip on himself. 

“Ah, yes, well,” Gale felt the heat rise higher in his cheeks. “Forgive me. Over a year with only books for companions has made me rather overzealous in my conversation.”

“I suppose you are in need of a healer as well?” A higher, musical voice spoke this comment. Gale turned, surprised to find another woman standing to his right. How had he not noticed her? Unlike the lady, her hair was gathered into a tight braid atop her head. Her features were sharper, her skin paler, and her gaze clearly suspicious. At least the lady was only skeptical. 

Gale coughed. “Yes, healer. Right. Brilliant deduction. You are aware, then, that the parasite we carry will turn us into mind flayers? A process known as ceremorphosis, and let me assure you, it is best avoided. You don't happen to be a cleric, by any chance, do you? Doctor? Surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a needle?” 

“No,” the lady spoke again. “I only have experience with small injuries, I think.”

“You think?” Gale asked, confused. The lady frowned at that, and he immediately regretted the question. Damn his penchant for questions. And for not shutting up when he clearly should. 

“I can't remember,” the lady explained. “I feel that I know something of small injuries, but I took a hit to the head during the fall, and can't remember anything from before being infected. So, I think.”

“Regardless,” the other woman cut in, arms folded over her chest. “You seem to know enough about our condition to know it's beyond most cleric's skills.”

“Most, no doubt,” Gale agreed, giving his most practiced and winning smile. “But I find myself hoping to be in the presence of the few. You don't happen to be one of them?” 

“No,” the lady said firmly. “But Shadowheart and I are going to search for one. I suppose having a wizard around won't hurt, if you have a mind to join.”

“Yes, that sounds lovely. I mean, I'd love to. That is, if it's not trouble.” Gale found the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop himself. Hopefully he'd have a chance to redeem himself if he travelled with the lady long enough, he thought, feeling mortified as she raised an eyebrow once more at his eagerness. 

“Alright, if you think he's worth it, then I'll trust your judgment,” the second women, Shadowheart, presumably, shrugged. “Let's just hope his skill in battle is better then his skill in portals.”

That made the lady's mouth twitch upwards, briefly and almost imperceptibly. Gale would have missed it if he hadn't been watching so closely. He shouldn't be watching so closely. But, as it were, he did notice, and felt both shagrined at being the subject of her amusement and elated to see her stony expression crack, however slightly.

“Trust me, I will endeavor to aid you in any way I can. And before I forget, thank you, for assisting me out of that wayward portal.” He added the last part hurriedly. At the very least, he could prevent the lady from thinking he had no manners to go with his fumbling tongue. 

“Of course. Come along, then; we suspect there's a settlement nearby. Oh, also, my name is Umbra.” The lady turned, leading the way down the path. Gale watched her a moment, before realizing he was meant to follow. 

Stupid, witless, imbecile. Gale berated himself as he followed, forcing his gaze up to the back of Umbra's head with an effort. Still, it hadn't gone too abysmally, he supposed, allowing a smile to play across his face. Yes, there would be time enough to rectify any damage done to her opinion of him. 

Chapter Text

Umbra leaned against a stone doorframe - surprisingly sturdy considering the state of the ruins around it - and frowned out into the darkening sky. It was going to rain, she could smell it on the air. Judging by the quickly gathering clouds, it wouldn't be a light drizzle, either. The original plan had been to take a cold supper here, then push on to find a better camping ground before dark, but she was sure none of her companions would willingly venture out now. Even as she mused, she could hear the sounds of fire crackling to life and the flap of fabric as a bedroll was laid out behind her. With one last displeased glance to the heavens, Umbra pushed off the doorframe and shut the heavy oak door. It closed with an ominous thud. 

The interior of the ruins weren't exactly homey, either. She found herself glancing over her shoulder as she peered about ten space, expecting to see some unwelcome intruder in every dark crevice. Instincts she didn't know how to read told her something was off. She couldn't quite place the feeling; not malicious, but not welcoming. Expectant. The storm had appeared too quickly to feel natural, this building too conveniently placed. Even the fight with the raiders had felt easier than it should have been, their arrows and spells and swords guided to land true. She felt they had stumbled into a place not meant for mortal or living, and somehow she was sure it had been virtually out of their control. 

You're imagining things, Umbra scolded herself silently as she joined the rest of her motley crew. It's just the tadpole. It's made you jumpy. Still, she couldn't quite ignore the queasy unease in her gut. As if her quiet misgivings weren't enough, she had the tension radiating between her companions to worry about too, so palpable she could almost taste it. 

Astarion, the bastard who had threatened her at knife point just a few hours ago, had claimed the corner nearest the door for himself. He lounged in the way a large cat lounged; lids only partly closed, muscles already half braced, ready to spring at a moment's notice. She wouldn't be surprised if a tail appeared behind him, twitching in anticipation. In the opposing corner, Shadowheart sat cross legged, examining a shortbow Umbra had found for her earlier. Unlike Astarion, the cleric didn't bother hiding her own wariness. Her shoulders were drawn taught, her foot bouncing restlessly. Then, of course, Gale-

Well, actually, Gale seemed fine. The only truly relaxed member of their party. Almost happy, even. In fact, at that moment the man’s mouth turned up in a smile for a moment, then puckered as he started to whistle. Umbra blinked, befuddled, watching the wizard. He sat next to the open hearth across the room, hair pulled back and sleeves rolled past his elbow, forearms plunged half into a bucket of sudsy water. The sight contrasted garishly against the strained gloom of the room. Gale looked up suddenly, as if sensing her gaze. His eyes crinkled in a smile as they met hers, warm and inviting. 

Umbra let them pull her across the room until she stood over the wizard. “You're doing dishes.” She motioned to the pot he was scrubbing, her eyebrows pinching in confusion. 

“I see your little knock to the head didn't take away your memory for the necessities of daily life.” Was his cheerful reply. 

“But-” Umbra tried to remember what she knew about magic. Gale paused too, looking up expectantly, gaze intense. “Don't you have magic?” She said finally. 

Gale chuckled and returned to scrubbing the pot in front of him. “Yes, I have magic, as you so eloquently put it. Not much at the moment, though, I'm afraid; that last fight took quite a bit out of me. But I wouldn't use magic for this, even if I had it. One's cookware deserves delicate attention and care. The best meals come from utensils that have been well maintained. Something these raiders didn't understand, if that state of this pot is anything to go by. I don't trust even my own magic to do the job as well as my hands can.”

Umbra considered this for a moment, then nodded and lowered herself to sit beside him. Once settled, she held out her hand. “I'll help. Do you have an extra cloth?” 

Her question was rewarded with a warm smile and a rag. Gale showed her the pile of utensils and dishes he'd collected from the half eaten meal they'd interrupted, and she set to work, letting her mind wander numbly as she did. Beside her, Gale returned to his whistling, which gave way to soft humming, and eventually silence. It didn't take her long to finish, and as she set the last fork into the designated bag, she found herself feeling more steady than she had all day. The mundane nature of the task leaving her grounded and calm.

Exhaustion was beginning to set in, now that she had stopped moving. Outside, she could here the rain pouring down, punctuated by an occasional thunderclap. In front of her, the fire danced, casting a soothing warmth over her face. Umbra let her already numbed mind free, allowing herself to be mesmerized by the flames. 

“Go to hell.” Gale's words were almost a whisper, she might have missed them if it weren't for the heavy sigh that followed. 

“Sorry?” She asked, turning to look at him, puzzled. What had she done to deserve that?

“Oh, no, not you.” He shook his head. “Just poorly making a point.”

Umbra waited, sensing there was more, watching as the wizard flexed his hands over the flames. His right hand moved to his chest a moment later, absently rubbing at a spot through his shirt just below his throat. “Go to hell,” he continued. “An everyday expression. So trivial, it's almost meaningless. But we've seen hell. It's real. And it isn't trivial.”

She nodded. Far from trivial, it had been terrifying. She shivered as snatches of memories flitted through her mind. “It feels like a lifetime ago,” she admitted. 

“Yes. And my life before that, more than a lifetime. All the things we've seen, devils, dragons, mind flayers. I remember studying them before. Mostly in my college days. They were… abstracts. Pictures on a page. So far removed from the charmed life I led, that part of me didn't truly believe in them until I saw them.” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “What a difference a day makes.”

Umbra sighed. “And now…” she let it trail off, the implication clear. 

Gale nodded. “We have tadpoles swimming through our heads like carnivorous foetie. That's not abstract.”

Something flickered in Umbra as she sat, savoring the moment of understanding and being understood, at least in this small part. It wasn't exactly an instinct, the impulse felt more practiced than that. Experienced, she thought. It was an urge to bolster her companion, lift the dour mood through determination and force of will. She shook her head stretching. “Brooding will get us nowhere, action will.”

“Of course,” Gale agreed. His tone was lighter again, but it sounded a little forced now, compared to his earlier cheer. “Forgive me. This ballet of flames invites reflection. But you're right.”

Umbra patted his arm. “Don't worry too much tonight. We'll be off first thing in the morning. Ao willing, we'll find someone who can help.” 

“Ao willing, and then some,” Shadowheart’s voice came from above them. “The way I see it, we're overdue for some good fortune.” Gale jumped visibly, and Umbra looked up to find the cleric's mouth drawn in a tight line.

“Ah, hello, Shadowheart.” Gale greeted. “We were just, ah, discussing the next steps. Care to join us?” 

“No.” Shadowheart’s response was clipped, and she turned to address Umbra. “I came to say that I'll take first watch. This place may be more secure than others, but I don't think we should let our guard down just yet.”

Gale coughed, earning a glare from the cleric. “Hm, right, well. If we're to find a healer before our wee one gets hungry, then we'd best get some rest. I'll take the second watch, if you'll be so kind as to wake me, Shadowheart?” 

Shadowheart gave a curt nod. With a puzzled shrug, Gale stood, brushed his trousers off, and wandered away to find his own bedroll. As soon as he was out of earshot, Shadowheart dropped to her heels, peering at Umbra. “What were you two talking about,” she whispered.

“What he said, our next steps.” Umbra raised an eyebrow, searching Shadowheart's face. What had gotten into her?

“I see.” Shadowheart scoffed. “I'd be careful with Gale, if I were you.”

Umbra glanced sharply at her companion. “You don't trust him?”

“I don't trust wizards.” She corrected. “All they care about is power. And right now, out focus needs to be finding a healer. You seem reliable, so I'm sure you understand.”

“Don't worry, we'll be off first thing in the morning,” Umbra offered a smile, standing as she repeated her earlier assurances. “Tell Gale to wake me when he's done with his watch.”

“Fine.” Shadowheart agreed. “Rest well.” 

The pale elf caught Umbra's attention as she walked from the fire, his eyes calculating. She paused, returning his stare. Astarion went tense. “Do you mind?” He snapped. “I'm ‘brooding.’” 

Umbra was sure her conversation with Gale had been too quite for the others to hear. Not so, apparently; she'd remember that about Astarion going forward. She shook her head, leaving the elf to his own devices. That one could be dangerous if they weren't careful, she was sure of it. But for now she needed sleep. Their party's problems would still be there to worry about in the morning. 

Chapter Text

“No more prayers, only silence.” Gale muttered, staring up at the menacing statue that towered above him. He spoke the words quietly, but they echoed through the vaulted ceiling chapel. They were further in the ruins they'd found yesterday, looking for a way out. The storm had caused some sort of block on the door they'd entered through during the night, leaving them with only one path forward. This room, along with another full of sarcophagi, had been on the other side of a locked door.

This room must have been used to worship and supplicate. At the statue's feet, an altar stood abandoned, the plaque on its front bearing markings in a language even Gale had never seen before. Sunlight filtered through cracks above, spotlighting the statue and lighting this lowered daise, which was surrounded by a gallery of sorts, separated by a crumbling railing. Remnants of chapel pews lay in rotting heaps along those walls, shrouded in darkness, except for the large hole smashed through the right wall. He could hear water trickling somewhere from that direction. 

No one acknowledged his sentence. They all stood deathly still, all feeling the oppressive weight he was sure. Gale could feel a magic older than his beloved Weave lurking around the edges of this place. They all spoke sparingly and in whispers, as if by silent agreement. They were clearly in the presence of something that demanded reverence. 

“Look here,” Umbra was the next to break the silence, and Gale's eyes snapped to her. She stood over a pile of bones wearing cloth so threadbare from time it could hardly be called clothing. “Armed scribes,” she continued, pointing to the dagger next to the bones, “but no sign of struggle.”

“I wonder what was so subversive about their words that they demanded protection.” Shadowheart mused, looking on. “Normally you can tell what god was worshiped. Not so here, though.”

“A forgotten god. It must be lonesome.” Gale added, running his fingers over the plaque’s illegible text. Memories of his own brush with divinity came to mind, moments being taught and guided by the goddess of magic he worshipped. She wasn't the first in her line of deities; what would it be like for her to become obsolete, forgotten as others replaced her role? The thought came of bitter resentment, and he immediately felt guilty for it. It was not her fault he'd fallen into his predicament. A wave of gnawing pain hit him simultaneously, and he fought to keep the grimace off his face, breathing deeply. He needed to hold on just a little longer. 

“Oh yes, by all means, let's stand around and conjecture on what deity wants us dead now.” Asterion quipped sarcastically. “Maybe he's so starved for attention that he'll remove our tadpoles, if we ask nicely enough.” He stood apart from them, still on the top step of the staircase down into the open space where they stood, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. 

“Perhaps a sacrifice would help our case. Do you think he has a fondness for pompous elf entrails?” Shadowheart snapped back. 

Astarion huffed. “Of course he would; anyone would want this. But I'm afraid there isn't enough to go around at the moment.”

“I'm sure we'll be alright without,” came the cleric's reply. 

“You've made your point, Astarion.” Umbra cut in before the bickering could continue, her voice stern. “You're right. We should go. It sounds like there's a stream just past that hole, it probably comes out through a cave entrance somewhere. We should follow it.”

Astarion preened, eyeing Shadowheart, who tossed her braid petulantly. Gale would have been amused, if he hadn't been struggling to breath. 

“A fine idea,” Gale did his best to keep the strain from his voice. “If it's not too much trouble, however, I need a moment before we continue. To put it as delicately as I can, nature is calling.”

Umbra nodded, her expression distracted. “Of course, go ahead. Astarion, come scout the opening with me. Shadowheart, wait here for Gale. If anything happens, yell. We won't go far.”

Gale moved carefully as he walked away, with practiced precision, not too quickly and not too stiff. He didn't want to give any indication to the others that he might not be in prime condition. That would only bring questions he could not answer. Besides, he didn't want to risk the group leaving him. They were his best chance to return home and prevent a catastrophe on the innocent people of this region. 

Once behind the nearest door, Gale let himself collapse against, mouth open as he fought against the pain for air, sweat beading on his forehead. His hand went to his chest, rubbing across where he knew the evidence of his affliction stained his skin, trying to soothe it. He needed magic, and quickly. 

Hands shaking, Gale fumbled with his pack. It took three tries before he could get the buckle open, and another excruciating minute before he found what he sought. Finally, however, he pulled a shiny silver ring from an inside pocket. Not wasting any time, he held it against his chest, and finally let go. 

Darkness raged up from within, a maddening emptiness. It consumed the offered magic, ripping it away with one violent pull. 

Gale gasped as the sensation faded, the hunger retreating into its usual place, lurking in the back of his awareness. He never allowed himself to forget about this threat completely, but for now, he could turn his attention to more pressing matters. 

Frowning, Gale looked at the ring in his hand, now useless except to be sold, before slipping it into his trousers pocket. It was the only magic item he'd had on him when the nautiloid spirited him away, and its calming effect wouldn't last for long. He would need to keep an eye out for other items, hopefully ones the rest of his companions wouldn't miss. 

Swinging his pack onto his back again, Gale finally took in his surroundings, noticing the empty coffins around him for the first time. What a foreboding place this was. The sooner they were out, the better. With one last glance, he turned to leave, but a glimmer of metal caught his eye from a shelf by the door. His recent incident still fresh, he reached into the cramped space, and pulled out a book. 

It was almost weightless in his hand, and surprisingly free of dust or any signs of aging. The cover was green, embossed in gold filigree, and locked shut with a sturdy lock right on the front. 

A chained up book in a long-forgotten temple. How curious. He let his fingers drift along the cover, testing the lock. “Ah, temptation, my old friend, we meet again.” He whispered to himself, his curiosity fighting with the heavy gloom settling in. 

He was seconds away from letting his curiosity win, when a knock on the door made him jump, startling the book from his hand. He bent to retrieve it once more, when the door cracked open less then an inch.

“Gale?” Umbra's voice was hesitant, laced with concern. “You alright? You've been in here for over ten minutes.”

“Yes, I'm fine. I apologize. Just got distracted, is all. I'm coming.” Flustered, Gale straightened, giving Umbra a sheepish look as she pushed the door further open. 

“What did you find?” She asked, moving closer to peer at the book. The scent of soil and smoke wanted from her, mingling with a faded floral undertone. A fading perfume, perhaps? Altogether it wasn't an unpleasant mix of scents, if an unusual one. 

Umbra looked up at him, her eyebrows raised in question, and Gale suddenly realized he'd been staring. Flustered all over again, he looked away, his own eyes now trained on the book. 

“Right, sorry. What did I find? I'm not sure. Well, a book, obviously, of some sort. But it doesn't appear to be as old as this temple. Perhaps left here by some other wanderer.” A thought occurred to him, and Gale felt himself smile, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers once more. “I was just about to find out what's inside, if you want to watch.”

Umbra watched him a moment before nodding, her face and unchanged mask. Except, he thought, her eyes. They seemed to widen just slightly, dancing eagerly. Smiling wider now, he lifted the book, placing his hand over the lock with a flourish. 

“I think, with a little magic, this lock can be convinced to share it's secrets. Watch, now, a master at work.”

Focusing, Gale reached for the Weave, letting it twine around his fingers as he searched for the thread that would pull it all loose. Seconds stretched on before he found it, but as he reached to tug, he felt his control slip and lost hold of it altogether. He let out a huff of frustration, turning the book over and examining it from all angles. 

“This book appears determined to hold it's secrets safe,” Gale spoke finally, apologetic. “Perhaps if I bring it along, with some time I'll be able to unravel the enchantment…” he trailed off as Umbra reached forward, resting her own hand on the book. 

“May I?” She asked softly. 

“Go right ahead,” Gale nodded, and she lifted it gingerly, bringing it close to her face to examine. "Though I don't believe you'll find any more success. I spent two entire semesters at Blackstaff on lock and curse breaking, along with many years indulging my curiosity by untangling spells just like these. If I only had access to my tower, I'm sure I'd have this sorted in an instant. Less, even. You see there's this particularly interesting treaty on-” 

Gale broke off as Umbra settled the book against a shelf and, in one fluid movement, smashed the lock against stone. Something metallic snapped. When Umbra turned the book over, the lock lay in two pieces, dangling off the book. 

“Well, uh, that's one way to do it,” Gale coughed, feeling his ears begin to burn. “I assure you, I would have discovered a way through, if I'd had the correct resources. I am quite the accomplished wizard, even with our-” he was cut off again, this time by Umbra's gentle touch on his arm. 

“I know.” It was all she said, but her voice seemed to carry the weight of a hundred reassurances. Her eyes shone with amusement, but not mockery. A small sigh escaped Gale's lips, but he fell silent, unwilling to make a further fool of himself. How he kept managing to stumble so idiotically in front of her, he didn't know. His year of exile, probably. He'd gone too long with no other person to talk to. 

Umbra pulled her hand away, carefully opening the book, standing close enough for Gale to read over her shoulder. He got another whiff of her scent as he did so, and it seemed to do something funny to his brain. Scolding himself silently, he forced his attention to the pages she was flipping through. 

Writing was scrawled across the pages, unintelligible now. While the outside of the book seemed relatively intact, the ink on these pages suggested many decades had passed since anyone had read them. An impression came to him, the sense of names, listed one after the other. He stared harder, reaching once more for the Weave, letting it this time overlay the words. The words shifted on the page and in moments became clear. 

“Was that your doing?” Umbra asked, running a finger down the page. 

Gale made a sound in the affirmative, pleased he'd been able to be of some help after all. “These are old gods,” he whispered after a moment, leaning further down to get a better view. “Pantheons that rose and fell many times over, long before the Second Sundering.”

“This book, or someone who owns this book, is recording it all.” Umbra's breath whispered across Gale’s cheek as she spoke. He froze, only now noticing how close they were. Her scent left him feeling heady. They turned to look at one another simultaneously, barely more than an inch apart, so close he could count each of her long eyelashes. Her eyes were unreadable now, but she didn't move away, and Gale hardly dare breath. The moment felt charged and heavy. 

Voices rose outside, breaking the strange spell, and they jumped apart. Gale felt heat on his cheeks (by Mystra, was he blushing again?), but Umbra only set the book down, appearing unruffled by what had happened. Without a word, she hurried back into the large chapel space. Gale waited another moment, watching her go, as he collected himself. What on earth had that been? What had nearly happened? 

“Shadowheart, I swear, if you don't pull your head out of your bloody arse and let me past-” 

“Oh, shut up, Astarion. You're not the slick bastard you pretend to be. Just keep out of my- ahh!” 

Click

At Shadowheart's yell and the resounding tick of a mechanism, Gale rushed from the room. Shadowheart and Astarion lay in a tangled pile, presumably having lost their balance in whatever struggle they'd gotten into. 

Umbra strode towards them, shoulders set and mouth turned down, clearly displeased with the two. But before she could reach them, a sound of popping and scraping came, as four barely clothed skeletons stumbled to their feet and began an attack. 

Chapter Text

Clamour filled the air in the grove, a pleasant hum of activity, belying the fear or uncertainty in the faces of everyone they passed. A clear like separated the druids and tieflings, drawn plainly for all to understand; the infernal outsiders were unwelcome any longer. Something about that bothered Umbra. Something that ran deeper than the obvious cruelty of forcing helpless refugees from a safe place, knowing they would die as a result. Something to ponder on later, after they'd seen the local healer and, hopefully, solved their most pressing issue.

In truth, Umbra had little hope they would find healing here. Judging by the hostile looks sent their way from the occasional druid, she assumed her own group had only been permitted entry because of their help killing the would-be goblin raiders. Relying solely on their meager good will here would be unwise. 

Umbra paused halfway through the tiefling camp, turning about to her companions. Shadowheart, Astarion, Gale, and now Lae'zel, recently freed from a hunting trap. Wyll, the Blade of the Frontiers and folk hero himself, joined them as well; unfortunately carrying the same tadpole as the rest of them. They looked at her expectantly. Gods, when had she become the leader? The weight of the task felt heavy. She didn't think she wanted to be responsible for their survival; but it didn't seem she had a choice. They had chosen her to lead, so she would do her best. 

“Lae'zel, find the man who saw your kin. Get directions for us. If Nettie isn't able to help, then we'll need another course. Wyll, go with her.” Umbra pursed her lips, then added. “Make sure she doesn't kill anyone.”

“Ha!” Lae'zel let out a derisive laugh. “You think this mere she'lak could stop me?”

“I think our need for a safe place to rest for a night would stop you,” Umbra replied, giving Lae'zel a sharp look. “We need proper rest if we have to find your chreche.”

Lae'zel frowned, but didn't protest again, instead spinning on her heel to stalk away. Wyll shot her a thumbs up and a grin before following after her. Umbra had sent him for his already good reputation within the grove, but she doubted he could do much of anything against Lae'zel. She could only pray serendipity would be on her side in this. 

Pushing her worry down, Umbra turned to the others. “Astarion, explore a little, find space for us to set up camp among the tieflings for the night. Shadowheart, see if the druid merchant has any supplies we can use. Help Astarion set up camp when you're done.”

Astarion made a face. “While I'm flattered you would trust me with the task, wouldn't I be more use helping you ‘persuade’ the healer?” 

“No.” Umbra turned her sharp look into the elf now as his shoulders slumped, his mouth in a pout. 

“Come along,” Shadowheart pulled at Astarion’s arm. “Help me with the bargaining, and I'll let you do all the easy tasks later.”

“Oh, you are a dear, Shadowheart,” Astarion drawled, allowing himself to be pulled away. “You see, these hands of mine; they're simply too beautiful to become calloused.” 

Shadowheart gave a retort to this, but they were too far now to hear what it was. It didn't sound nearly as venomous as their interactions had been the day before, however, which was a relief. 

“And our fearless leader conquers the dissenting crowd once more,” Gale said, giving the two companions an amused look as they disappeared round a bend. “Please, what task do you have for me? I am at your service, as always.” 

Umbra let out a soft sigh, allowing her mouth to soften from its sharp line as she turned to Gale. The wizard had been surprisingly congenial about everything, considering the tension between their other companions. Warmth trickled into her chest, gratitude for his support so far. She let it leak into her normally firm voice as she spoke. 

“You're coming with me. Besides Lae'zel, you know the most about our condition. I may need your help explaining everything to the healer. Also, I can trust you won't stab her.”

Gale laughed at that. His eyes crinkled around the edges when he laughed or smiled, she'd noticed. It made his gaze look even warmer than usual. She liked that. She was coming to like a lot about this wizard, from the brief time they'd spent traveling together. That was another train of thought best saved for safer times. 

The two made their way through the tiefling encampment in silence. Well, mostly silent. Gale hummed as they went, the same almost familiar tune he'd been whistling before. 

“What is that song called?” Umbra asked after a while, curiosity winning out. 

Gale went quiet. The moment stretched, long enough she wondered if he didn't intend to answer. “A Crown on the Heart,” he finally replied, his voice soft. “It's a poem put to music about a king's hubris, his fall, and his eventual return to the throne in triumph. My mother sang it to me often as a lullaby when I was young. I've, uh, found a new appreciation for it as of late.”

Umbra glanced over at him, sensing the somber turn. “It seems familiar somehow.”

“I'm not surprised. The bard who composed the music was quite well renowned, I'm sure she ensured its popularity.” 

Umbra hummed, letting the matter rest. They continued forward, passing through the last tents that lined what was the tiefling camp. A short path twisted around a corner ahead, disappearing down a flight of steps. Loud voices came from that direction, not yet intelligible, but angry and getting louder. She shared a concerned look with Gale before quickening her pace. 

“She's just a child!” A woman's voice wailed across the distance. “Give me my child back! You can't do this!”

An animalistic roar sounded. Umbra broke into a run, turning the corner to see a tiefling man dragging a woman away from the line of druids below. She collapsed in his arms, sobbing loudly. Umbra felt her gut wrench in sympathy, her own eyes burning with tears and anger. 

“What is this about?” Umbra asked, fighting to keep her fury from her voice. The tiefling couple looked up and stared a moment, before the woman launched towards her. 

“You're the one who helped stop those goblins! Please, you must help me. They have my daughter; they took my Arabella!” She begged, grasping Umbra's arm desperately. 

“Your daughter is a thief, hellspawn.” One of the druids, a darker woman, snapped. “Khaga will judge her crime and impart punishment. Do not try to interfere, stranger.”

Umbra glared at the druid. “I helped save you. Does that sort of debt mean nothing among druids?” 

“Not in times of danger. Permission to stay until our ritual is complete is thanks enough. Now begone-” the druid was interrupted by halfling, and bent to listen as the shorter man whispered in her ear. She frowned, then her face cleared. “It seems Khaga wants to speak with you,” she said, looking back at Umbra. “But step carefully; you are being watched.”

“Don't worry,” Umbra spoke to the woman softly. “I'll find Arabella and do what I can to bring her back. I promise.” 

The promise spilled from her lips heavily. It felt… binding. 

Law. Loyalty. Responsibility. 

The words surfaced from hazy depths of memory. They were words she'd sworn… an oath made at some point. But even as she snatched at the rest of the memory, it slipped away, back into the murky pool her mind had become. It left only this awareness: she needed to keep this promise, as truthfully as she could, or something bad would happen. 

Another puzzle for her growing list. 

Once more, Umbra pushed her questions down.

Past the stairs, they entered a circular space. Most of it was encircled by the cliff side, stone arches acting as a perimeter between the space and the beach not far off. Droning voices, chanting in unison, filled the air. Druids stood in circle around a fountain, a stone idol placed in the center. Runic patterns were carved throughout the circle. The rest of the space was covered in soft grass, wildflowers lacking their way through. This part of the grove was overflowing with magic. Even she could feel it. Curiously, she turned to watch Gale's face. It looked more peaceful than she had yet seen it. 

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, gesturing around the open space as he noticed her look. “This place. Magic weighs heavier here, seeking solace in root and soil. Grounding, you might say. It's different from Mystra’s Weave. Sturdier. I haven't felt so at peace in days.” His eyebrows lowered, then. His face growing serious. “How can the druids attempt such a cruel act with magic like this?” 

“We will stop it. Or at least try to.” Umbra said, adding the last part as a caution. Best not to make promises she couldn't keep until she knew what was going on with her. 

They had been directed to a stone door, carved with runes similar to the ones in the circle. Khaga was further inside. The stone door lifted at a touch. As they passed into the cool interior, a chill ran through Umbra. Deeper than just a sudden lack of sunlight. The same earthy magic flower through this cavern, but it twisted with a darker power. 

“Rancid,” Gale mumbled, his nose scrunching in disgust. Excellent description, Umbra agreed silently. 

The sight below made Umbra's blood boil. A young tiefling girl, Arabella if she had to guess, stood trembling. Her already grey toned face had gone deathly pale, her eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. A snake slithered its way across the floor to cool in front of her, its tongue darting out, tasting the girl's terror. A pale woman with a harsh face stood over her, and a darker man hovered nearby, face twisted in revulsion and concern. 

“Please! I'm sorry!” Arabella whimpered, eyeing the snake. 

“This is madness, Khaga!” The man addressed the harsh woman, his voice strained. “She's just a-”

“A what, Rath?” Khaga spat. “A thief? A poison? A threat?”

“A child.” Umbra interrupted. She was seething now, not sure where this fury stemmed from. She only knew that for some reason, she hated this sort of injustice. 

“She's a parasite.” Khaga spun to face the newcomers, her face turning red in her anger. “She eats our food, drinks our water, and steals our most holy idol in thanks. Rath, lock her up. She remains here until the right is complete. And keep still, devil,” Khaga added, leaning close to the girl, her voice dripping with venom to match her snake's. “Teela is restless.”

The snake hissed at her name, lifting its head higher. Umbra bristled; no child should ever feel the sort of fear she saw on Arabella’s face. No child should be faced with death in that way. 

“Come, Khaga.” Rath protested. “We took back the idol. Surely, we can-”

“Do it.” Khaga commanded. 

“No,” Umbra crossed the distance. Something hotter than fury burned in her chest now. Practiced words pushed against her lips, and she let them spill out, uncaring as to where she learned them so long as they served her purpose. 

“No,” she repeated. “I will judge the child. I am versed in the law, sworn to uphold justice. Make your case so I may decide.”

Khaga's mouth twisted in a sneer, but she nodded in deference. “Very well. I'll defer to your ruling. My circle has offered grace to these outsiders. We gave them shelter from storm. We nourished their bellies. In return, these devils lured in a horde of goblins and this spawn stole the one relic that might keep us safe. We've taken back our relic, but I will keep the fiend caged until our protection right is complete.” 

Khaga stood taller, waiting for a verdict. Umbra ignored her stare. “And you, child,” she spoke kindly to Arabella. “Tell me, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I… I was scared.” Arabella stammered. “They said when the right was over, we'd have to leave. But there's goblins out there! And worse! And it's nice here. So I- I took the idol. I thought maybe then we could stay. Please let me go, I'll be good, I swear!” 

“Hmph.” Khaga crossed her arms. “Well, paladin? What say you?”

Umbra pulled herself up, matching Khaga's silent challenge. “Justice means nothing without mercy. Let her go.”

“Oh, thank you!” Arabella squealed. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you!”

Displeased, Khaga hissed, summoning her snake to her side as she spoke to the child. “Out, thief. My grace has its limits.”

No further urging was required to send Arabella racing up the steps and out the door. Umbra made a note to check on her later. For now, she had some choice words to give this druid. 

Chapter Text

Gale squeezed his eyes shut and dropped into the water, submerging himself completely a moment before resurfacing. He takes his hair back, breathing deep and relishing being clean. The grove may not be the peak of civilization, but at least they new a little of hygiene. If these bathing springs hadn't been offered to them, Gale felt he would have risked the harpie beach out of shere desperation to be rid of the dirt. 

The grove had grown quiet as evening approached, leaving this secluded grotto relatively silent, apart from the occasional laugh or call that echoed down through the cavern. 

Taking his time, Gale scrubbed each inch of himself at least twice. Dried viscera and caked mud came off, washed away in the bubbling stream that flowed towards lower springs. The chunks that came from his hair and beard especially made him nearly vomit. The soap they were given was harsh, scented with the animal fat it was made of, so different from the many scented soaps in his tower. Yet another luxury he had taken for granted even while isolated. 

Not that he really minded. There were some things he missed of course, the softness of his bed mostly, and he was sure to miss others while this adventure continued. But for the first time in months, he actually felt alive. He no longer dreaded waking each morning. If he didn't dwell too long on either of his parasites, he could consider his situation practically enjoyable. 

Once finished, Gale wrapped the soap carefully in its paper and set it aside before settling into the water, letting his muscles relax. A quiet incantation heated the spring from slightly chilled to pleasantly warm. He groaned, the heat giving relief to his aching knees and back. If any of the druid knew they'd likely lecture him about the delicate ecosystem he was probably disrupting, but luckily for him, they were avoiding this part of their grove for the time being.

Head falling back to rest against the stones, Gale closed his eyes, the events of the past few days washing over him. Escaping mind flayers, exploring a long forgotten crypt, finding a mummified necromancer (whom, Gale suspected, was much more than he let on), saving tiefling children left and right, and now finding themselves shoved in the middle of a feud, asked to pick sides. How did Umbra do it? Never appearing fazed by each new dilemma, processing the information they found and deciding their course. Not to mention keeping their group from killing each other every few minutes. 

An image surfaced, Umbra stepping in front of the aimed crossbow, heedless of how the tiefling wielding it shook. His face flushed in memory of what he had felt then, and he sunk further in the water, hiding his face in shame despite not a soul being there to see it this time. She had just been so magnificent, eyes blazing and stance firm, her authority unquestionable. That crossbow might have gone off at any second by simple accident. Yet she'd stood, unmoved, shielding the helpless goblin with her own body. It had left him in awe. The only conviction he'd ever held so strongly to was Mystra and her Weave. He couldn't imagine holding belief so strongly that he would stay true to it, even without remembering why he did. 

She had been agitated, as the moment had stretched, he was sure; her pointer finger had drummed anxiously against her torso, barely seen under her folded arms. While Umbra didn't show much expression, he had begun noticing small changes in her face or posture that seemed to indicate varies emotions, tells she could not quite hide behind her customary mask. It made him wonder what had happened to instill the need to suppress what she showed so intensely. It made him want to continue observing her, collecting each piece of new information about her as he went. 

Pain shot through Gale's chest, and he grimaced, rubbing the purple-black tendrils that crossed his skin. That was a new development, too; a worsening of his condition that seemed to coincide with thoughts of the lady. Its insistence meant he could not ignore the sordid truth of his feelings. 

Gale was attracted to her. Appallingly so. It was simply his long exile, he was sure. A year without human contact would turn anyone to their base instincts at the first chance. 

Nothing could come of it, of course. It was merely an attachment formed by necessity and the excitement of adventure. The fact of his condition and her memory loss made it completely impossible to consider any alternative. He could not impose his disaster on another, and she likely had lived ones waiting for her to remember them. Besides, she'd shown only the most basic of friendliness to him. It was clear this issue was one sided. 

Another image came unbidden; Umbra, mask slipping slightly to show concern as she held his hand in hers, reassuring him after nearly dying herself at the hands of that imbecile druid. Even now he felt his anger returning, but more strongly was her warmth, the grip of her fingers. It caused heat to coil low in his gut, pulling a low groan from his throat. 

His hand left off its soothing circles on his chest, moving lower down his body. The sharp pain had faded into a throb, beating in time with his heart and, to put it crudely, his cock. The latter was stiffening quickly, and flared briefly as he took the length in his hand. 

Gale hesitated though, unable for some reason to move his hand and give himself the release. It wasn't that he was a pride, by any means. Not did he hold any delusions as to chivalry when it came to releasing desire brought on by unsuspecting women, so long as they were not burdened with the results. But he hadn't indulged in this manner for years. Not since he was a young teenage boy. Not since his devotion to Mystra. Nor even during his year of isolation and mourning. 

Once again, he saw Umbra in his mind. Her eyes, full of expression. Her body, lithe and strong. He wanted her, desperately. But wouldn't giving into even this small temptation lead to complications? If he allowed this, wouldn't he continue to long for more?

Hadn't he learned his lesson already, to not even dream of grasping things beyond his reach? 

In an instant, Gale let the water go cold, and gasped at the contrast. What had been pleasantly chilled before now felt frigid after the heat. It swiftly rectified his condition, however, and in a swift movement he lifted himself onto the stone floor of the grotto. That was enough relaxation for now, Gale decided, quickly dressing. Further musings in that direction would do no good for anyone involved. 

A last spike of chest pain brought another problem to his mind. He would need to consume the Weave again, and soon. But he had been unsuccessful in finding any item that the rest of his companions wouldn't miss. More than that, he didn't want to deceive the others in that way. It felt wrong, even if it was to keep them alive and well along with himself. 

Gale came to a decision as he strode from the grotto, ignoring the thread of uncertainty he felt. He would tell Umbra of his condition. At least part of it. Perhaps he would leave the “walking explosion ready to kill everyone should I detonate” bit out, but at the very least, he would explain his need for magical items. She'd been understanding of other sensitivities so far, and he felt almost sure that at the very least she wouldn't send him packing for his request. He would try the honest route first, and take the consequences of it as they came. 

***

Umbra paced, fingering a slip of torn paper in her hand, reading the words over and over again. 

Khaga.

Swamp-docks. Tree. Meet me. Alone. 

Olodan. 

She didn't know what the message meant, but her gut told her it was related to everything amiss in the grove. Khaga was involved in something more than evicting innocent tieflings. 

But could she, in good consciencness, use this evidence? The way Astarion smirked when asked where he'd found it left her suspicious.

“Don't question a gift, darling,” he'd drawled. “And don't think I'm doing this from the goodness of my heart. Since you seem determined to help these pathetic devils, it's in my best interest to hurry the process along. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll take a walk.” And he'd sauntered off before she could press for anything more.

Damned elves. 

He was right, though. If they could find this tree perhaps they would discover what Khaga actually has planned. Umbra had promised to look for Halsin, of course, but she wasn't sure they would be able to find him, or if he was even alive to be found. 

A soft cough brought her to a sudden stop, her features going blank by default. But it was only Gale. She let her stance relax somewhat at the recognition. He was coming from the direction of the baths, if you could call pools of cave water baths. His hair was still wet, combed back, the ends curling slightly. Peeking from his partly unbuttoned shirt was a trailing pattern of black and purple tendrils, twisting along his unexpectedly toned chest, tapering out right above his stomach. 

“I apologize, I didn't mean to interrupt.” Gale said. 

Umbra snapped her eyes back to his face, feeling suddenly guilty for where her gaze had been wandering. “No, you're not. Not inturrupting anything that is.” She spoke hurriedly. “I was just pondering our next step.”

Gale nodded, glancing past her. “Have you decided, then? Whether we make for the creche or for Halsin?”

“We'll try to find Halsin first.” Umbra replied. “Lae'zel wasn't happy when I told her, of course, but there's something bigger happening in Faerun than just tadpole infestation. This Absolute: our predicament is tied to it, I'm sure. If Halsin knows anything, we need to find him, and it's only a days trek away. I can't be sure, but… I feel… that we'll be alright waiting a little longer.”

Gale nodded, and they fell silent. It was unlike him to have so little to say. She searched his face, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. He looked ready to bolt for some reason. 

“Gale?” She asked. He jumped at his name, and stiffened as she approached. 

Umbra halted, watching him. He reminded her of a skittish young deer. Maybe not a deer, actually. He was too tall, standing half a foot over herself, and too broad for such a dainty creature. 

She waited a moment, letting him settle again, before trying to speak once more. “Gale, something is troubling you.”

His hand raked through his hair, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes, there is. I… Well, I was going to wait, but no better time than the present, as they say. Umbra, I think there's something you'd better know about me. If we're to continue traveling together.” 

Umbra nodded, waiting. Gale took a breath. He seemed to be steeling himself against something. She wondered what secret he'd been hiding to warrant this reaction. 

“I've been… observing you. As we've traveled. I want you to know that I like what I've seen.” Umbra's stomach fluttered at that, though he added hurriedly. “As our leader, I mean. You've handled this all admirably well. You stood in front of that crossbow to prevent a murder. You managed to convince Khaga to release the girl. More than that, you've brought this band of misfits together.”

Umbra flushed at the unexpected praise. “I've only done what any of you would.” 

“No, I don't think so,” Gale objected. “You shouldn't sell yourself so short. I don't believe any of us could do what you have done, and I know not all of us would have wanted to.”

It was her turn not to meet his eyes, and she realized she'd gone completely still as he spoke. The complete honesty in his voice was undoing a knot inside her chest that she hadn't realized was there. 

Gale frowned, his words coming slower now, as if he was choosing them carefully. “What I'm trying to say, is that I've come to trust you. Now, I'm hoping you will place your trust in me. Our journey is bound to last a while yet, and as such, I feel compelled to speak. I'll have you know that I didn't intend to trouble you with this issue. In fact, I've never told another living soul about this. Unless you count my cat. But I'm afraid I can't deal with it privately any longer. You see, I… have a condition. Different from the parasite we share, but just as deadly.”

“Can it be cured?” She asked hesitantly after a moment. 

“No, it cannot be cured. And I assure you, I've left no page unturned in reaching that conclusion.” His voice was sad as he said this. He sounded defeated. “I suppose I'd best say it outright. Put simply, I need magical items. Not to use in the usual way. I need to absorb the Weave within the items. I know I'm asking for a lot. Any item we find could be the difference between life and death in coming battles. But I hope you believe me when I say my condition would bring certain disaster if left untreated.” 

Umbra took a tentative step towards him, then another, until she stood directly in front of the wizard. She looked up into his face intently, and he met her gaze. He didn't expect her to believe him, she realized. He told her all this, for what purpose she wasn't sure, fully expecting to be doubted. That spoke to the truth of what he said more than anything else, in her opinion. 

Could she trust Gale? He'd been the easiest to rely on so far. He didn't bicker with the others and did more than his fair share of their daily chores. Beyond that, he had supported every decision she made. All of that could be a rise to earn her trust and find an opportunity to cheat her. It had happened to her before, her instinct told her as much, though she couldn't remember when or how. Without her memories, she was left with only her own intuition as a guide. 

Her intuition was telling her to trust him. At least, she hoped it was her intuition. 

Connect to his mind. Force the truth from him.

The urge definitely came from outside her own thoughts this time. It came from the tadpole. She was becoming sure of that. This gave her uncertainty a final push. The tadpole could most definitely not be trusted. 

“Alright. I believe you.” 

“Just like that?” 

Umbra pursed her lips. “I know there's something more. But you've proven yourself so far. I do hope you'll tell me everything before too long, though.”

Relief washed over Gale's face, along with a smile, a warm and genuine one that made her stomach flip. “Thank you. I promise your trust is not misplaced. In time I will tell you the rest, but for now it is irrelevant to our task, except for the bit where I must consume Weave soon to avoid catastrophe.”

Nodding, Umbra reached for her pouch and fished out an amulet, holding it out to him by the chain. He only stared, shock written across his face. Umbra's mouth twitched in amusement. She took his hand, feeling his arm stiffen at her touch. It was so much larger than hers, fingers slim for a man, and softer than her own, speaking to the years he spent in study. She turned it over and closed his fingers around the amulet, pressing her other hand on top. 

“Take it,” she said simply. “Tell me when you need another.”

Gale looked at her another moment, his pupils dilated in the low light, then his eyes closed and his arm dropped to his side. “Thank you, Umbra. You don't know… how much this means. I- thank you.”

Chapter Text

“Ow- damn it.” Gale glowered down at his pointer finger, beads of blood squeezing from a cut. That's what he got for letting his mind wander while wielding a knife. 

Sucking on the wound, Gale put the dirtied knife aside and turned to check on the bread rolls he'd set to rise. Ambitious, perhaps, for a wilderness meal, but he'd needed something to focus on while stuck in camp all day. 

He couldn't believe Umbra had made him stay behind! Shadowheart had done a perfectly acceptable job of healing him after the spider fight yesterday; his formerly broken ribs barely hurt at all now. Besides, they were only scouting today, not seeking out combat. Two groups had gone out in separate directions to find the encampment, the plan to gather information and infiltrate tomorrow. He would have been perfectly fine to join them. 

But Gale had been left to watch the camp, his arguments dying on his lips with one stern look from the lady. She could be terrifying when she wanted to. But being here, with too much quiet, left him chafing. It allowed his mind to wander far too much, and he didn't want to think just now. So he set to cooking. At least he would have something to offer when the adventurers returned. And he desperately needed to keep his mind off of-

“Oh, now that does smell heavenly.” Astarion, the other sod stuck in camp and the source of Gale's current distracted state, sat up from where he had been sunbathing a few feet away. 

“Does it really? Coming from a vampire, that must mean I've ruined it somehow.” Gale shot back. 

Astarion huffed. “A spawn. And I wasn't talking about the food. Well, at least not what you would consider food.”

“Are you really asking to feed on me right now?”

“Of course not,” Astarion laughed. “Unless you're offering?” 

“No.” Gale's response was clipped as he turned back to the food, carefully finishing the carrots he'd been slicing. 

“My, you are in a sour mood today. Perhaps Umbra was wrong about you.” 

That was a low blow. Gale clenched his mouth shut, veins throbbing. He wanted to hit the elf. Violence wasn't an urge he felt often, but that ridiculous smirk was utterly goading. “What did she say?” Gale ground out, grating at the glee on the elf's face as he took the bait. 

“Hmm, worried? It wasn't anything serious, just a friendly conjecture on our companions. In our shared hypothetical opinion, your blood would be as rich as a well-aged Brandy. But with your change in disposition, I find myself wondering whether you wouldn't have a more…sour flavor.”

Gale rolled his eyes at this. Childish, perhaps, but Astarion seemed to bring out the worst in him. “I'm not going to let you find out, if that's what you're wondering.”

“Why, I'm hurt, Gale.” Astarion gave an exaggerated pout. “I would never stray from Umbra so easily. She was my first, after all.”

The spoon Gale had just picked up bent suddenly as his hold on it tightened. 

“She was delicious.” Astarion continued, his voice almost a whine, circling the wizard. “So soft underneath, so willing.”

“Astarion.” Gale warned, but the elf ignored it. 

“Her neck is so small, have you noticed? But she's strong. Her capability makes her surrender so much sweeter. Just the memory makes me want more. I wonder if she'd let me visit her again tonight.”

“Astarion,” Gale cut in. The elf stopped, eyebrows raised. Gale took a breath then spoke measuredly. “If you leave Umbra alone, I will let you feed on me instead.”

The vampire actually looked startled, though he recovered quickly, laughing to cover it up. “Spoilsport, you've ruined my fun. But what an unexpectedly selfless offer. I would consider it, but now that I've had a chance to inspect you,” here Astarion stepped closer, taking in a long breath, “I'm afraid I can't accept. Something fowl seems to have tainted your blood. I'm not eager for food poisoning anytime soon.”

Astarion stepped away, moving around to face Gale. He folded his arms and cocked his head, assessing. “You know, if you're so worried, you should make a move yourself. One sided pining won't help win the prize, especially when others are in the game.”

“I'm not pining,” Gale snapped.

“Hmm. I'm afraid jealousy isn't a good look on you, Gale. Green isn't your color.” Astarion hummed. 

“And I don't need advice from you.” Gale growled. 

“Oh, very well, if you want to be obstinate.” Astarion shrugged. “Well, I'm going to find dinner. All this talk of blood has left me feeling peckish.”

Gale kept his eyes down, refusing to acknowledge the elf. Astarion clicked his tongue but moved off; Gale didn't look up until he could no longer hear the elf's light footsteps. 

Once alone, Gale's shoulders slumped. He scrubbed his hand over his face then raked it through his hair, pulling the already loose bun free. He shouldn't let Astarion get to him. He had no right to feel the way he did, let alone try to dissuade others from pursuing her if they wanted to. He had no claim on Umbra, however much he might wish otherwise; and she owed no loyalty to him.

And yet… he couldn't get the image out of his head. Of Astarion laid out over her, head nuzzling against her neck. Of Umbra's hand on the elf's chest, while her other tangled in his white hair, cradling his head. Of the soft gasp she gave, just barely loud enough in the silence to reach Gale from where he watched through a small opening in his tent flap. 

It made him sick. He wished he hadn't seen it. He cursed his ridiculous propensity for tea when he couldn't sleep. He should have closed the flap immediately, leaving them to whatever private moment they were having. 

But he'd been frozen, too stunned to move. They'd parted after what felt like an eternity, Umbra gently pushing Astarion away, but they'd paused for a moment, lips inches apart. When Astarion finally stood and stalked away, Gale had crawled back into his bedroll and proceeded to stare up at his canvased ceiling, too numb to sleep. The scene played over and over in his mind until morning light seeped through the tent walls and sounds of his companions awakening signaled time to begin breakfast. 

Umbra's explanation of Astarion’s nature had done little to soothe his spirit. In fact, knowing she offered her unconditional support to another in the same manner she had to him only served to sour his mood further. It was entirely his fault, for thinking their moment had been special somehow, but he couldn't help it. 

Gale scowled as he continued the food preparation, setting the bread to bake and sauteing the vegetables. His mother used to tell him cooking was the best salve to a troubled mind, but he wasn't sure that was true for him just now. 

“She is not his fate. But neither is she thine.” Withers’ gravelly voice made Gale jump, the skeleton appearing at his side seemingly from nowhere. 

“I appreciate the concern, Withers, but I'm afraid your ability to comfort has eroded from your time in the tomb.” 

“I seek not to comfort. Only warn and guide where my hand is needed.” Withers responded. “Thou art one such soul. Thou and thine companions are set upon a predestined journey, but not all factors have been decided. Thine case, for example, is one fated to end in early tragedy.”

Gale snorted. “I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. Such pronouncements are to be expected from a former god of death.”

“Thou hast discovered mine former name then?” Withers asked. 

“Jergal, Lord of Death, fallen in the sundering. Or stepped down, rather. Though why you've chosen to return now I have yet to deduce.” Gale explained. 

Withers watched him a moment before speaking. “It is as thou sayest. Mine return has been prophesied, though it hast faded from the minds of mortals. I am here to offer services and to record how thine fates perform.”

“Tell me, then, when am I fated to die a tragic early death?” Gale asked. He was momentarily hyper aware of the ticking bomb in his chest. 

“Ah, that is not a service I offer. For the telling of fortune is not a decided business. I only offer thee the warning, and a reminder that fate is not entirely set, should one choose to take hold of it.” 

Gale slammed the lid down on the pot and turned, angry words on his tongue, but Withers had gone. Instead, he muttered to himself, letting years of practice take over as he finished the meal. First a pesky anemic vampire and then a moldy used up ex god; as if he needed their sympathy or encouragement. As if anyone understood precisely how little control he had over his own future at the moment. 

He didn't have much time to sulk. Dinner was finished in less then ten minutes, and the scouting groups were heard returning soon after that. Thankfully, his mood went unnoticed by the returnees, their focus entirely on a new stray in the form of a one horned tiefling.

Gale found himself drifting along quietly through the evening's conversation, letting the others lead for once. Not even the usually gratifying enthusiasm over his meal was able to pull him from his self-indulgent wallowing that evening. 

As they split off one by one, leaving the fire to attend to their own preparations, Gale found his way to his own tent. He left the flap open to invite a breeze in, creating a cozy atmosphere for a little light reading. But it was no use. He found himself stroking the now Weave-empty amulet worn under his shirt, the words on the page no better than scribbles as far as his focus was concerned. 

Eventually he gave up on the tome, snapping it shut and tossing it into a pile with a heavy sigh. He should sleep soon, they needed rest for the morrow. 

“Gale?” 

His heart leapt at his name. Stop that, he scolded himself, turning what he hoped was a reassuring smile to Umbra. She seemed to take that as invitation and settled onto a cushion next to him. Gale could see her soften slightly as she did so. 

“Gale, I was wondering - would you tell me what you know of paladins?” Umbra asked when it was clear Gale didn't intend to speak first. 

“Paladins?” He asked, turning to look at her. His eyes however fell on the two little pricks in her neck, and he looked away again. 

“Yes,” Umbra continued, unphased. “Bits and pieces of memory have been coming back to me today, and I think I may have been a paladin before being abducted. Or, still am, I suppose. But I can't remember the details.”

“Ah, I see. Well, simply put, a paladin is one who dedicates their life and sword to a cause. They take an oath, and so long as they hold to that path, they are granted divine abilities.” Gale explained. “Do you remember what your oath was?”

Umbra shook her head. “No. Not entirely. Except - well, I do recall the words ‘law, loyalty, responsibility.’ They feel significant.”

“That sounds right,” Gale nodded, squirming under her focused attention. “But I'm afraid I can't help further. Each path is personal. That's likely a part of yours, but only you and whoever you swore it to will know what the rest is.”

“I thought as much,” Umbra sighed. “Thank you anyway.”

Gale hummed in acknowledgement, and they fell silent, a tension building up between them. He wanted to reach towards her, to ask right out how she felt, to do the selfish thing and make her his, if she'd let him. 

“Insult my queen again and you will know the wrath of the gish.” Lae'zel’s voice cut through the night, bringing Gale's head up. The githyanki stood over their cleric, sword drawn. 

“There is no insult in honesty.” Shadowheart snapped, tossing her braid. 

“Then come; we will spar. Let that settle this argument. Or are you too afraid to stand by your cowardly words?”

“I'd better intervene,” Umbra said quietly to Gale, her mouth close to his ear. He shivered as her breath brushed his neck.

He watched her walk away, her shoulders squaring just a tad further and her most commanding expression slip into place. She was astonishing. And for that very reason, he must never allow his deepest wants take hold.

Chapter Text

Clang of sword on sword split the night air, disturbing the otherwise peaceful night. Umbra's sword ricocheted off of Lae'zel's, and she used the reversed momentum to spin on her heel, dropping just in time to avoid the Githyanki’s swing. Her sword swung upwards now, but Lae'zel stepped back gracefully. Another duck, a slash, their swords clanging once more. 

Umbra welcomed it all. She relished how her muscles responded, her limbs moving exactly as she wanted them to. When she had first fallen from the nautiloid her skills had felt rusty, any step in battle precarious. But with daily practice her skill was returning. Sweat dripped down her face and neck, and her cotton shirt stuck to her back. But she charged back in, even as Lae'zel halted long enough to allow her to yield if she was finished. 

Clash of metal was her answer, and her companion welcomed it, a toothy grin across her face in a strange approximation of glee. 

There was barely a moment between the connection before Lae'zel executed an expert twist with her hand, sending Umbra's sword flying across camp. It landed inches away from where Scratch was sleeping, sending the poor dog scampering to Shadowheart's side in terror. The cleric welcomed him, letting him flop across her lap, pulling a laugh from her and from Karlach, who lounged next to her. 

“Sorry,” Umbra called, retrieving her sword, before turning, shifting into her stance once more. 

Lae'zel, however, was setting her own down. “Enough for one night. While a warriors commitment to perfection is an excellent trait, over exhaustion will serve neither of us well.”

“Fine,” Umbra relented. “You fought well. I look forward to watching you exterminate out enemies tomorrow.”

“Vlaakith gha’g shkath zai.” Lae'zel answered with a nod of her head. “If my queen will it. Rest well.”

Umbra watched Lae'zel leave the circle of firelight, settling down to oil her sword as she did religiously every night before sleep. Umbra knew she should follow suit, but she couldn't bring herself to quiet down just yet. The day had left her too unnerved. She'd hoped sparring would wear her out, enough to stop her mind's racing, but it had only awoken her body and left her focused. 

She didn't want to be focused right now. 

“I'm going for a walk.” Umbra called to her companions, dropping her sword by her own tent. “Send Scratch for me if anything happens.” Will waved in acknowledgement from across the clearing, and Umbra slipped away into the trees. 

Their mission to rescue Halsin had been a success, but it had left more than a few bodies in their wake. Bodies of villains like Dror Ragzlin, of course. But innocents had died too. In particular, the faces of Brynna and Andrick, the two siblings they'd found lost in the woods only a handful of days ago, mourning their dying brother. Did they deserve to die with the rest, lives cut short simply because a higher being manipulated them? 

No more innocents, Umbra decided. I will fight if I have to, but I won't kill anymore innocents. I'd be exactly like them if it weren't for that artifact protecting us. 

Umbra glanced up as she wandered into a clearing and marveled at the heavens above her. So vast. If she'd ever seen the skies like this, she couldn't recall it. Perhaps she could find gratitude for her memory loss if it allowed her to appreciate moments like this for a second first time. 

The air around her was muggy, though not as thick as it had been earlier, grass spongy under her feet. During the fading afternoon light this wetland had been warm and welcoming, now it seemed mysterious, an enchantment summoned by the nearly full moon’s light. Umbra closed her eyes, listening to the night sounds. Out here, away from her group, she felt her self imposed restrictions melt away. Her shoulders loosened, posture slumping. It was as if the same magic that transformed the landscape was casting a spell over her. 

A murmur of words caught her attention, and she tilted her head, listening closer. They came again, and she smiled now at the familiar cadence. 

Gale.

When had he snuck out of camp? She should have noticed. As their leader, she was supposed to keep track of her companions, to make sure they were accounted and cared for.

No matter. She could check on him here and now. Or, perhaps, simply spend a moment with him. She found herself gravitating to him often these days, wanting his opinion or to see what information he could offer. She was coming to rely on him. 

That should scare her. 

It didn't.  

Her reservations seemed to be as far out of reach as her restraints were, stripped away by the same strange magic. 

Speaking of magic. A faint blue light now came from her left, the direction she'd heard Gale's voice. Freed by the moon's spell, she grinned, indulging her curious side as she crept towards him. 

Gale leaned against a tree, partially hidden by the heavy bows that fell past him to stretch towards the water. She stopped, watching him from where reeds concealed her. He held a blue-white image of a woman in his hand, his face sorrowful as he stared at it. Her own chest twisted with an ugly pang as she watched. Who was she, for him to gaze with such emotion? 

Not entirely ready to confront why that bothered her, Umbra stepped forward, coming into the open. But Gale didn't notice her, too caught up in the image he created. 

“Pretty.” Umbra said, frowning. Gale jumped. He did that frequently, didn't he. 

“Oh! Umbra. You're…here. Sorry, I was, um- I was miles away. I thought you were sparring.” He shifted, looking past her towards the camp. That wouldn't do. She wanted him to look at her, something he seemed determined to avoid of late. 

“Mhmm,” Umbra hummed, catching a last glimpse of the woman's face before Gale dropped the image. Normally, she would have let it go, asked if he was alright. But she wasn't quite normal tonight. “That figure. You conjured it, yes? Who is she? Is she someone important to you?”

“No, no. She's no one. Really.” He denied in a rush. “Just… practicing an old incantation.”

Umbra braced her hands on her hips and leaned forward, skeptical. He seemed caught off guard by that, and tried to take a step back, only to find the tree behind him. Something predatory from deep within pushed her forward as well. The resulting look of near panic on his face would have made her feel guilty at any other time, but right now she found it mildly amusing. 

“Be honest, Gale. I saw the way you were looking at her. That's not a look you give to ‘no one.’”

Gale looked down at her, then relented. “What can I say? She's…she's Mystra. I don't know how to describe it. A… need, to see her sometimes, to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence.” His expression turned wistful, almost worshipful. “No sculpture nor painting could ever do her justice; only the fabric that she, herself, is and embodies.”

That explained it, Umbra supposed. His goddess. The very power he welded. Still, it didn't completely add up. 

“The Weave.” Gale continued. Now that he had started, he would find. “Mystra is all magic. As far as I'm concerned, she's all creation.”

“You're impressively devoted. In fact, you almost sound like a smitten school boy.” Umbra teased. 

“Ha! It is a kind of love, I suppose.” Gale smiled softly. He stared upwards, mouth moving as if searching for the right words. He continued eventually, slowly. “Magic is… my life. I've been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it. It's like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses.” Gale looked at her now, sounding hesitant and hopeful. “Would you like to experience this?”

Umbra smiled. “Yes.”

“Then follow my lead.” In his element, Gale morphed from wavering to confident. He stood up straight and held his arms out, left hand over the other. He moved his palms together, then apart, then switched his right hand to hover over his left. Finally, he finished the maneuver by opening his palms outward, as if pushing something out and away from himself. Sure enough, a pulse of purple-blue energy pulsed from his hands. 

“Now you.” Gale nodded to her. 

Slowly, Umbra copied his movements. Nothing. She frowned, and tried again. 

“Be confident, you hesitate too much at the end. Here.” Gale moved to stand behind her. She felt his warmth seep through to her back. He reached around her, gently guiding her hands. She felt the power building between her palms this time and was pleased to see a light, only a little weaker than his, burst forth. A feeling wrapped around her - like a kind word and a kind touch, at the same time. She smiled at its comfortable warmth. 

“Excellent.” His praise whispered past her ear, stoking a warmth within her that had nothing to do with the magic. But then he stepped away, taking his body heat with him. 

Gale turned her to look at him. “There's more. Repeat after me. Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.”

“Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.” Umbra spoke slowly, moving her lips the way he had. Watching him watch her lips - interesting. The words tasted sweet as she spoke them. Contentment came next, as she finished the incantation. A sense that all was well. And…a floral scent. 

“Rosewater?” She asked, dropping her head back to look full on his face as he nodded. 

“Very good.” Gale's eyes were intense on her, and it took him a moment to continue. “Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of harmony. As true as you can, in whatever form it might take for you.”

Harmony. What did that mean to her? She had so little memory of what it might have meant before. But it was here, in this moment, in the moments they'd shared until now. When she found a place to rest her burden for just a little while, forgetting her troubles with this wizard. That seemed harmonic to her. She held that thought in her mind, a tune coming unbidden from her lips; the very one she'd heard Gale singing on numerous occasions now.

Umbra spun. Someone was here, with them. Holding them. It was the woman Gale had been holding in his palm. She wanted to be upset, to feel anything negative about the interruption, but she couldn't. Instead, she felt as if she was being wrapped up in someone's embrace, cloaked in peace. She accepted the sensation, throwing her head back as she laughed, relaxing completely for the first time in days. The Weave was not done though; anticipation bubbled in her chest. Anticipation for something intimate. Anticipation for… for Gale. 

Gale laughed, mirroring her joy, and took her hands in his. “You did it. You're channeling the Weave. How does it feel?”

“It's… it's amazing.” She gasped, her head still tipped skyward, eyes closed. “Magical, even sensual. You're a wonderful teacher.”

“Hmm, oh, I know.” 

Something deep in his voice brought Umbra back around. She felt as though he might burn a hole through her, with how fiercely he was watching her. The Weave moved around them, connecting them in a joined experience. She could have forgotten everything else at that moment, her entire thought bent on those eyes. She could drown in those eyes. 

The sudden intimacy of the moment startled her, but she shoved that annoying awareness away. She didn't want the moon-granted release to end just yet. She wanted to be this Umbra for a little longer. 

She wanted to be here, with Gale, for a little longer. That revelation was its own source of shock. Why had she waited so long to acknowledge what this really was? Was the other, more restrained version of herself truly that afraid?

Time stretched and didn't all at once. The magic tangling between them strengthened. Umbra stepped forward, and this time, Gale didn't try back away. Not that he could have run any further than last time, trapped against the trunk as he was. In an instance, Umbra understood the nature of their connection. Like the tadpoles, yet gentler. Whatever she felt or imagined or wished for, he would know it too. He sensed her hesitance, she could read it in his face. He seemed wary as well. She tangled her fingers with his, standing so close they were everything but touching, she found her resolve and let her imagination free. 

Leaning in, eyes locked, heat coiling in her belly. Moving ever so slowly. Until, with a pounding heartbeat, her lips met his. Melting into each other, exploring, growing hungry-

Gale let go of her hands, his breath sucked in sharply. The loss of contact was enough to dissolve the image. His emotions crashed into her now, embarrassed and apprehensive. Finally, the spell on her broke. Shame filled her. She'd let herself go, and imposed on a friend. This is why her restraint was so important. 

This is why she must hold herself apart. 

“No! I just… I didn't think…” Gale reached for her hand again. He had sensed all her self doubt as well, it seemed. Just perfect. 

Gale took her chin in his other hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. Another emotion swelled from him - elation. The unexpectedness of it stunned Umbra into stillness. “I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting…” Gale was earnest and desperate. Wanting to reassure, needing her to understand. Scared of something that was not her. She felt it all as he stumbled over words. “But it is a pleasant image, to be sure. Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome.”

They didn't move, simply feeling everything together. But then the Weave began to evaporate, and with it their connection. Whatever precipice they stood on disappeared, plummeting them back to the cold and lonesome night that was reality. Gale released her. She wanted to chase after his touch, but her own inhibitions had returned, keeping her still. 

Gale cleared his throat, looking away. “There it goes. How easily things slip away, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining.”

“Thank you for teaching me.” Umbra said, her formal tone back in its practiced place as she stepped aside, giving him room to pass. 

He did so, careful not to touch her as he went. She watched him go, hugging herself with one arm, the other hand clasped over her mouth, trying to hold on the gaping emptiness that settled in her stomach. 

Chapter Text

“What’s the first thing you'll do when we make it back to Baldur’s Gate, Shadowheart?” Karlach asked, practically bouncing, her tail nearly tripping Gale as he followed her up the dusty, barely there trail. 

“Eat.” Shadowheart's answer was quick, turning to flash Karlach a bright smile from where she walked alongside the tiefling. “As much as I can for as long as I can. Gale's cooking is well enough, but it's no Elfsong fair.”

Startled by Karlach's loud laugh, a bird flew up from a bush, barely clearing the top of Gale's head in its panic. He shot a weak glare at the tiefling, but she was looking ahead and didn't notice, talking animatedly. “Brilliant plan. I think I'll join you after bashing some deserving bugger's head in. Maybe Wyll and I can settle who's the better drinker while we're at it.”

“You won't win that wager easily,” Wyll called from somewhere behind Gale, where he had fallen back to speak with Lae'zel and Astarion. 

Lae'zel’s snort followed. “Such conjecture is pointless if we continue to waste time on every pathetic istik in need of saving. Ending the vile hag might have been a worthy achievement, but this endeavor to seek help from the druid will bear no fruit, and leave us as far from my kin and our cure as we were before.”

Shadowheart spun, nearly tripping on a tree roots, to glare at the githyanki. “If you have a problem with-”

“Lae'zel!” Gale cut in, speaking loudly over the cleric as he reached to steady her. “I was wondering about your queen, Vlaakith. The tales that reach us of her are terrifying. I assume that's not how you would describe her?”

“Vlaakith is unity.” Lae'zel sniffed. She held her head high and marched past where Gale and Shadowheart had stopped. “Fear and beauty. Life and unlife. Eyes like onyx. Teeth like daggers. There is none more perfect.”

“Sounds vile. I assume the meaning of ‘perfect’ got lost in translation.” Shadowheart grumbled.

“Your childish antics are tiring, Shadowheart,” Lae'zel shot back. “By all means leave if I'm so distasteful to travel with.”

“Alright, that's enough.” Wyll interrupted this time, jogging forward and sharing an exasperated look with Gale. “We're all on the same side here. Disparaging individual religious beliefs isn't exactly the best use of our time, is it, Shadowheart?”

“Agreed.” Lae'zel gave her unnerving toothy grin. “Let her come at me, I will cull the weakness from-”

“I meant,” Wyll interjected, “if we're going to get out of breath by talking while we march, we should at least spend it getting to know each other. You know, finding common ground.”

“Eugh, how boring.” Astarion moaned. “I was hoping for a bit of entertainment. What sort of common ground are you even hoping to find out? We don't have another romance blossoming in the camp, do we?”

“Another?” Wyll laughed. “Has someone caught our vampire's eye? I'm afraid I'm the wrong person to ask about that sort of thing. I wouldn't recognize romance if it hit me square in the head.”

“So you've never had a lover then?” Astarion asked, eyebrow raised, ignoring Wyll's original question. 

Wyll shrugged, stopping to hold back the limb of a tree from across the path as the others passed by. “Afraid not. Have you?”

Shadowheart pounced on the question. “Yes, Astarion. Is there someone waiting for you in Baldur's Gate, perhaps?” 

The vampire laughed sardonically. “I have to pick just one? Please. It would be a disservice to the public to limit myself to only one lover. I am a man of many appetites, after all.” 

“What about you?” Karlach asked the cleric. “Got a sweetheart back home?” 

“Ha! No.” Shadowheart wasn't quite so enthusiastic with her answer this time. “There's someone waiting for me there, but they'd hardly fit the term ‘sweetheart.’”

“Well aren't we a fine group of bachelors.” Wyll teased, letting go of the branch to follow them up the path. 

Ahead, Gale could see the trail grow steeper, a series of rocky ledges they would have to climb. Umbra, a good twenty laces ahead of them, was already pulling herself up the slope. He wondered how the lady accomplished it with such grace. His own knees began to hurt just looking at it. At least the grove and its bathing cavern would be waiting somewhere on the other side. 

Lae'zel clicked her tongue in derision. “Don't place us all in the same boat, devil.”

Unphased, Wyll turned to the githyanki. “Why? Do you have someone to tell us about?”

“...no.”

Wyll laughed, shoulders shaking, throwing his head back at the unusually abashed response. A series of soft chuckles came from the others. Gale added his own smile to the mix, forcing a carefree air. He hoped his companions wouldn't notice his lack of enthusiasm too much. 

“No, no, she has a point.” Astarion's tone suggested mischief as they reached the first outcropping. “For someone with so much presumed talent and prestige, our resident wizard has been awfully quiet on the matter of lovers.”

Gale was going to kill the damned creature. 

Everyone was waiting now, expectantly. Gale grunted as he climbed the ridge, using it as an excuse for his delayed response. What could Astarion possibly hope to gain with this sort of assault? Did the elf actually fancy Umbra himself? Was he merely trying to get under his skin? Not an unlikely possibility, given what he knew of Astarion so far. He could simply be bored; perhaps he found Gale's reaction a few days ago just that entertaining 

Gale's eyes slipped to the lady in question, accepting Wyll's offered hand as he finished the climb. She had maintained a careful distance from him - and everyone else - over the past day and a half. Even now, she stood much further ahead, patiently watching and waiting but keeping far enough apart to not be engaged in the conversation too directly. Their eyes met, briefly, and he caught a flash of some unnamed emotion in her before she looked away. 

The feeling he'd sensed from her came flooding back to memory. Insecurity, shame, even disgust. She had been so dauntless before, serene even, her mask tossed aside. Her assertiveness overrode his own good sense, and left him breathless, helpless to do anything but bend to her whims. 

But it had all changed the instance he had hesitated. Chains wrapped back around the lady, a cage disguised as an anchor. He cursed himself for being the catalyst. He cursed the person who had taught her to cloak herself thus, so thoroughly that it became her natural state. Gale had wanted to pull her back in, take off that armor piece by piece, until he could see her soul. The glimpses he saw through her armor chinks were already intoxicating, he wanted to know what losing himself in the uncovered Umbra would feel like. If only he hadn't pulled away, then maybe-

Dull aches exploded into sharp throbs in his chest, pulling a low grunt from him. Gale coughed to cover up the sound as the pain faded once more. The reminder was clear, though. Had he let events continue as they were headed, both he and Umbra and their entire party would have been ended in an instant. He couldn't risk setting his condition off. 

The impossibility of his predicament left an empty hole in his chest. 

“I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint,” Gale said finally, brushing invisible dust from his vest to avoid anyone's gaze. “A year in exile doesn't exactly aid in those sorts of endeavors; any woman who would have quickly lost patience with me, I'm afraid.”

“Really? A nice bloke like you?” Karlach asked. “I'm sure we could find someone who would be willing to put up with your quirks. Oi, Umbra!”

Gale choked, panicking. Next to him, Astarion grinned catlike. The lady turned, allowing the tiefling to catch up to her. 

“You know a bit about people. Gale here is moaning about not having a girl, what do you think? Think we can find someone that'll put up with him?”

Umbra glanced at Gale, eyes unreadable, then back to Karlach. “I'm sure he'll find someone when he's ready.”

“Hear that, Gale? If Umbra doesn't think you're hopeless, then you can do anything!”

“Considering the members who make up our group, I'm not sure that's the comfort you think it is.” Shadowheart said sarcastically. 

“Ah, don't listen to her,” Karlach laughed, falling into step with Gale. “We'll get a wench for you somewhere. Maybe I'll even give it a ride myself, when I get my engine sorted out.” 

Gale felt his face go bright red at the wink Karlach gave him. Mystra preserve him, was his current condition not punishment enough?

Blessedly, his torture was interrupted by a shout from Wyll. The druid grove was just over the hill. The news gave the party a fresh wave of energy, eager to reach their destination and a safe hearth for the evening. Gale hung back, watching the others rush ahead. It was becoming difficult to breath now, but he did his best to hide that fact. Just a little farther, he promised himself, then he could find some magical items to soothe the hunger. 

He should have asked Umbra for an item yesterday. He should have asked two days ago, actually. But he had waited, not wanting to add to her worries until Halsin was secured and safe. And then… Well, he couldn't exactly ask the lady now, after rejecting her the way he had. He wouldn't stoop to that level of brazen. 

Gale considered his other companions as he pushed after them. Perhaps Karlach or Wyll would be sympathetic to his plight. He wouldn't ask them to give up their items, per se, but they could help keep an eye out for anything no one else wanted. 

Despite his best efforts, Gale began to lag further behind. It took all his focus to keep a grimace off his face. The hungry power in his chest was starting to grow, tendrils darkening and stretching. He felt them squirming under his skin, up his neck and tickling his cheek. Across his chest, sneaking into his arm, extending down his stomach. Every surface of them burned like a hundred little needles. 

His situation was far more dire than he had realized. This wasn't normal. He should have at least twelve more hours before his symptoms began to manifest beyond the dull ache, and another full day before it approached this level of painful. Something was very, very wrong. 

They were not far from the grove now. He could see the gate ahead, beginning to open from Umbra's call. He could see her taking note of each companion as they joined her, always aware of those she considered under her care. Predictably, her attention fell on him last, her demeanor changing as she did so. Imperceptible to the average person probably, but Gale could see it; her shoulders squared, her knees slightly bent, her mouth thinning just barely. He cursed internally for causing her any sort of concern. 

“Apologies,” Gale said brightly as he finally approached. “My body isn't what it once was, which wasn't much, considering my aptitude for long hours of study. Why don't you let me find us a spot to camp while you hurry to Halsin; he'll want the note we found.”

“I'll help,” Wyll offered. “I'm sure Umbra doesn't need all of us there when she confronts Khaga.”

Gale nodded his thanks. That would be perfect. As soon as the others were out for earshot, he could consult the warlock. Surely the Blade of Frontiers would be willing to help a friend. 

“Gale will come with me.” Everyone stopped short at Umbra's pronouncement. “He was with me before. His testimony will be needed. Set up camp and get some rest.” A wave of her hand indicated she was dismissing everyone but Gale. With frowns and dismissive shrugs, the rest of the group broke off, heading to the left. Resigned, Gale turned and followed Umbra deeper into the grove. His condition would simply have to wait a little longer. 

Just before they reached the steps downward, however, Gale was caught off guard as Umbra darted off the path, yanking him with her. He found himself pulled into a recess, hidden from anyone on the main path. Mere inches separated him from the lady who was surely going to be the death of him. One hand came to his chest, right over the swirling magic in his chest, causing pain to shoot through his body as his heart rate spiked. She pushed him back until he stumbled into the rocky depression, his back pressed as far as it could go, trying to leave vital space between them and halfway sitting as he did so, his weight supported precariously. 

Umbra's hand left his chest just when Gale was sure he would explode. He watched her movements hypnotically as she stood over him, unable to look away as she stripped one bracer from her wrist, then the other. 

Gale wet his lips, swallowing hard. “Umbra, wh-what… please… I ca-”

“Hush.” Her command felt like a decree, his body responding before his mind could process. Further protest fell dead on his lips. 

He should at the very least push her away, the sane part of his brain told him. But if he touched her, Gale was sure he would be undone. There were worse ways to die than at the hand of a lady such as Umbra, the less sane part of himself reasoned. At least it would fit the tragic component of Withers' summarization. A moment of madness took him, and he nearly closed the distance between them himself. 

Before he could lose himself to the mania, Umbra shoved her bracers to his chest. Understanding dawned slowly, and Gale recoiled. 

“No, Umbra, I can't. You need these. I'm alright for now, I can find something else.” He tried to push them away, but Umbra had maneuvered him out of all leverage and held insistent. 

“I need you more.”

Gale sagged back, the whispered confession stripping him of his defense. He had no more strength to resist. Guilt filled him as he sucked in the Weave. This relief she offered didn't belong to one such as himself, but he took what she gave all the same. The orb he held inside consumed it, shredding it with more violence than usual. He gasped and grunted, sweat beading as he weathered the pain. 

“Something's wrong.” Umbra spoke aloud his fears, her attention fixed on his face. 

“It didn't work… like it normally does.” He affirmed between gasping breaths. “Normally, absorbing the Weave…is like a torrent of…rain, released to quench the flaming forest. But…this. It was only a trickle. The flames still lick against their cage.”

Without a thread of hesitation, Umbra reached for the amulet around her neck, prepared to pull it off. Gale's hand shot out, stopping her. “No, that's not what I meant. I don't need more. Those bracers should have been more than enough. There's something else happening, but I…don't know what it could be.”

“What's happening with you, Gale? Why do you look so afraid?” The lady leaned closer, eyebrows knitting together. 

Gale shook his head. There was no point in telling her the extent of the danger. She didn't need another weight on her shoulders. Should his condition ever progress to that point, he would simply slip away. With enough of a head start, she might not even hear the explosion when it happened. 

“I'll be alright. I promise.”

Umbra didn't look convinced, but she moved back. “Whatever you're hiding, I hope eventually you'll trust me enough to shoulder it with you.”

“I'm not-” 

“You are hiding things, Gale of Waterdeep. About your condition and about your past. I won't press the issue,” she spoke quickly, hand up to cut off his protest, “but I saw a little the other night. I'm not angry with you, for not returning my feelings. There's someone else, I think. I won't insert myself where there clearly isn't any room. I apologize for forcing that on you. Just know I will still be your companion in our quest, and your friend should you wish it, no further expectations than that.”

A new panic filled Gale as Umbra stepped away. He reached for her arm, his touch making her pause. “That's not it, Umbra. I promise you. I… as I said, that was a welcome thought. I was simply surprised. But, I can't. Not yet. I…”

His voice trailed off, failing him. He couldn't say more without explaining everything. Umbra gave him an understanding smile, her mask quickly covering the sadness in her eyes. 

“Rest. I'll speak with Halsin, then come back for you.”

And Gale could do nothing but let her go.

Chapter Text

Drink slurred voices and shouts of laughter gave a discordant refrain to the tieflings celebration, lit by an appropriately ridiculous bonfire. Umbra sat obscured in shadow from a rocky overhang, a nearly empty wine bottle in her hand. Less than half had been left when she confiscated it from Astarion; it wasn't nearly enough for her current needs. She wanted to sleep like the dead tonight. Passing the bottle between her hands idly, she wondered where Mol had disappeared to and whether the child-thief had started selling her horde of extra alcohol yet. 

Unfortunately, though her eyelids had begun to hang heavy, she found herself unable to sleep. Instead she watched the light flicker hypnotically, images of epic battles and heroic deeds and swooning maidens sprang to life between the flames and its shadows, puppeteered by the very source of her vexation. 

It was a heartwarming scene. The bard, Alfira, along with Karlach, took turns spinning tales for the children of the camp. Next to them sat Gale of Waterdeep, his face cast in sharply shadowed contrast, a focused crease between his eyebrows and his lips curved into a smile. His fingers moving delicately, coaxing the fire to obey his whim. 

Those fingers held her attention captive, too. His hands were large, but not ungraceful. She remembered how soft they had been when she held them, the strength she could feel from them. His sleeves were folded back, as he was prone to do each evening, and his movements showed muscle flexing across his forearms. He unwittingly stoked heat in her body, hot desire licking over her skin. Thoughts of what those dexterous hands could do, places they could caress and squeeze…

Gods, surely she wasn't so depraved as this, to pathetically lust after a man who held affection for another. To continue wanting when she had promised not to bother him with her one sided pining. Forcing her eyes away, Umbra took another long drink, but within seconds her gaze wandered back to Gale, unable to look away for long. 

This was getting ridiculous. She had been soundly rejected. Probably a good thing, too; for all she knew, some partner was waiting, worrying over her disappearance while she wantonly pursued this damned wizard. But, though she felt something important had been left behind in Baldur's Gate, she was fairly sure it hadn't been a lover. If she had broken a vow, she would have known by now. Still, she couldn't be completely sure. Not while her memories were only trickling back to her. 

“I was going to ask why you were alone all the way over here, but I'd wager it's your glare that scared them away.” Shadowheart's observation cut through Umbra's brooding as the cleric dropped to the ground next to her. 

Umbra sighed internally. She didn't particularly feel social right now, but if Shadowheart was seeking her out suddenly, then she should at least hear her out. “What's wrong?”

“Wrong? Does something have to be wrong for us to talk?” Umbra only raised an eyebrow at this, pulling a snort from Shadowheart. “Alright, you've made your point. Now are you going to share that or not?”

Reluctantly, Umbra handed the bottle to Shadowheart, her eyes roving back to the fireside scene as the cleric drank. 

“You know, I never thought I'd ever come to care for people like that.” Shadowheart broke the silence again. At a questioning look, she elaborated. “Desperate people. These refugees. It feels odd, to have helped them.” 

“Not so odd. It was the right thing.” 

Her companion shook her head. “Your pragmatism on the matter is just as odd, if not more so. Most people don't view choices so plainly. But enough, let's not debate right and wrong tonight. Actually , I came over to find some comfort in commiserating with a different sort of desperate person.”

Umbra scowled and reached for the bottle, but Shadowheart held it out of reach. “You know, that's the first time I've seen you make any real expression. You're always so… stoic.” 

“Give it, or I'll show you how stoic I can be.”

Shadowheart laughed, but relented. “You could go talk to him, you know. It'd be better than moping in the shadows.”

“I thought you wanted miserable company.” Umbra said wryly, wiping a few errant drops from her mouth. 

“I didn't say miserable. Are you miserable?”

“No.” Umbra frowned, then gestured towards the fire. “I did speak to him briefly earlier. He compared me to his cat.”

“That's…” Shadowheart blinked. “Oh, wow. That's actually impressive. Did he really think flirting like that would get him somewhere? No wonder you're hiding.”

“No, it wasn't flirting.” 

Shadowheart poked her side. “I don't know. He's been following you around like a lost puppy most days.” 

“I said it's not like that.” Umbra repeated. “He…has someone else.”

Clicking her tongue in sympathy, Shadowheart shook her head. “You poor thing.”

Umbra only took another drink in response. She wasn't particularly interested in exposing all her turbulent inner thoughts to the cleric, regardless of how highly she had come to consider the younger woman. “What of you, Shadowheart? Why are you looking to commiserate?” 

Shadowheart let out a dramatic groan. “Because I'm unbelievably horny.”

Umbra choked on the wine, shocked at the directness. The cleric patted her back soothingly until her coughing fit subsided, an impish smile on her face. “I didn't realize you were so prudish.” She teased, once Umbra could mostly breath again. 

“Who?” Umbra asked, wiping her eyes. 

“Oh, well, no one in particular. Just pent up, you know, with all the… excitement.” The younger woman glanced away, flustered. Her gaze darted across the camp, but away again before Umbra could catch which direction her glance had been directed. 

Liar. But Umbra didn't push further. Instead, she raised the bottle once more, then looked at it with a frown. When had she finished the wine? Hmm, no matter, she'd track down another. 

“Leaving already?” Shadowheart asked as Umbra made a move to stand. Umbra just waved the empty bottle at her in explanation. “I see. Go on, then. I'll just enjoy this splendid vintage on my own.”

Umbra crossed her arms as Shadowheart produced another bottle from thin air. “You had that, and still took mine?”

“I thought I'd need a way to keep your attention. This was a good strategy, I presume?”

“Well you have it, so yes.” Umbra leaned against the wall, holding her hand out. 

Rather than hand her the bottle, however, Shadowheart reached up and used her hand to pull herself to her feet. “Don't worry, I'll share,” she chuckled at the look Umbra sent her. “But not here. I don't feel like sharing with others, and besides, we both need a break from our distractions.”

“Alright.” Umbra agreed. “You have somewhere in mind?”

Shadowheart did have a place in mind. An outcropping of rock, hidden behind foliage and a rogue spray of waterfall. Sounds of merrymaking faded as they entered. The sudden silence gave an impression of distance, of having been plucked from their nightmare into a time completely separate. It was a good place for one last drink. A drink she was eager for now, her previous buzz already beginning to fade. Apparently she was quite resilient when it came to alcohol. It made her wonder whether she had often imbibed, and if so, what had driven her to it. 

“First, a toast, I think.” Shadowheart said, producing two cups and pouring wine into each. She waited for Umbra to settle herself, legs dangling off the edge, before handing her one. “Any suggestions?”

Umbra's lips twitched. “To being bloody pent up.”

“Ha! Was that a joke? I didn't know you knew how to joke.” The cleric raised her glass however, touching it to Umbra's. “But why not. To being pent up, with no release in sight; may we both find more amenable sources of desire before long.”

“I thought you said there was no one in particular.” Umbra said innocently. 

Shadowheart scoffed. “Please. Don't insult my intelligence, I know you didn't believe me. But I'm not revealing who, so don't pry.”

“Fine. But only because you brought the wine.” Umbra relented. She drained her glass, then refilled it, and drained it again.  

“Stop it!” Shadowheart demanded, reaching for the bottle. “Leave at least some for me. You're not the only one who's trying to drown feelings tonight.”

It was Umbra's turn, however, to hold the bottle out of reach. “Mm, no. You bribed me for some company, this is my fair due.”

“That is not fair.” Shadowheart complained, lunging for the bottle. 

But Umbra deftly avoided her, managing to spring up and to the side despite the remaining fog of inebriation. With a growl of frustration, Shadowheart followed, but lost her balance as she tried to stand. Umbra reached to catch her, but only managed to lose her own footing in the process. In a sudden twist of their bodies they were on the ground again. A dull pain shot through her back, but to her relief, Shadowheart had landed on top of her. At least she'd saved the cleric from a hit to the head. In the morning she could requisition a little healing if her back hurt. 

“Sorry,” Shadowheart groaned against her sternum, lifting herself with one hand to give Umbra a sheepish look. “I haven't had that much to drink, I swear.”

“It's fine. Are you okay?” 

“Yes, I…” Shadowheart trailed off, her lips parting as she locked eyes with Umbra. “Um, listen… I have an idea. If you're comfortable with it, of course.” She paused to lick her lips before continuing. “We, uh, are both pent up, as you put it. And can't have who we really want. So, what if, maybe, we… helped each other?” 

Umbra could only stare in surprise. Surely, Shadowheart wasn't suggesting what she thought she was suggesting. 

The cleric must have seen her confusion. “Only if you want to. You can say no. It wouldn't mean anything, between us. But, well, you could pretend I'm Gale and I could pretend you're… whoever I want. Just to get some sort of relief. One's hand can only go so far.” Her face was bright red now, but she only bit her lip, face remaining resolute as she looked down at Umbra. 

Umbra's mind wandered to the image from earlier, of Gale commanding the Weave with his hands. Wondering what it would be like to be directed by those hands herself. The flames she'd felt earlier licked in her belly once more. 

“Alright,” Umbra gasped, nodding. 

“You're sure?”

In response, Umbra surged up on one arm, bringing her other hand to pull Shadowheart's mouth to hers. Shadowheart groaned against her, deepening the kiss. Hooking her leg under the cleric's for leverage, Umbra flipped them over, pressing her leg between Shadowheart's. She bucked against Umbra's leg instinctually, a gasp escaping her mouth. 

A memory tickled at the back of her brain, similar nights spent relieving tension with the occasional man or woman. Fellow soldiers, she realized. The memories were fuzzy and distant, partly from the alcohol, sure, but also because… because she was much younger in them. Strange. Had she not always been so upright, then? 

Umbra looked down at the woman under her, allowing herself to feel pleased at the disheveled picture. If she had been reckless like this once, it wouldn't hurt to indulge once more. She may not feel the same pull to this woman as she did to Gale, but there was no denying Shadowheart was attractive. If nothing else, this would be an enjoyable way to occupy the evening. And since she'd already been rejected, there was no reason to not find pleasure from other sources. 

She traced her hand lightly over Shadowheart's leather vest, relishing the sounds she caused, letting her body lead with obviously practiced hands. “Tell me,” she whispered. “What do you want? What sort of touch…” she ran fingers across bared chest and up around pale throat, “do you want most?” 

***

Gale let go of the Weave strands he'd been manipulating, allowing the fire to die down and cast its own shapes on the ground. Alfira strummed a soft lullaby as the last child dozed off. Gale moved to tuck a blanket around the child, not wanting to wake them by moving them. It was warm out tonight, and they were safely ensconced in the grove. The children would be safe here until morning. 

“You're a natural,” Karlach whispered, shooting him a wink. “You'll be great with your own one day, if you have any.”

Gale chuckled softly. “Thanks, but I don't exactly think that's in the cards for me. More than that, I'm a long way from having someone to consider such a decision with.”

“You're joking, right?” The tiefling raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Uh, well, no. I mean we're not exactly in a position to be thinking of that sort of thing, are we.” Gale fumbled for his own blanket, not looking up. 

“Mate. I've seen the way you look at her. And the way she looks back. You really going to be stupid enough to let her go?”

Gale sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. “It's not that simple, Karlach. I have more problems than just this tadpole. Dangerous problems. She doesn't want the empty life I have to offer.”

“Did she tell you that?” Karlach prodded. 

“No, of course not.” Gale bit out, exasperated. “I know what a life with me would be like. It would be cruel to even ask that of her - to ask that of anyone. More than that, Umbra still can't remember most of her life before this. How can I ask her to accept me when she doesn't even know what she left behind?” 

Arms crossed, Karlach watched him. “But she hasn't told you this.”

“Because I can't even ask her!” Gale threw up his hands. “How can I? I already…care about her, as much as one can come to care in just over a week of knowing each other. I won't subject her to that torment. I can't. I won't watch her suffer at my hand, regardless of how willingly she does so.”

Suddenly exhausted, Gale let his shoulders slump. Hesitantly, Karlach approached, hand hovering over his shoulder, her way of offering comfort without setting them both ablaze. “Just talk to her, Gale. Alright? Tell her what she would be facing and let her make her own decision. You can at least give her that much.”

“Right. Talking. I suppose I am good at that.” Sarcasm laced Gale's words.

Karlach rolled her eyes. “Just think on it, okay?”

“Sure. I'll think on it.”

“That's the spirit.” Karlach grinned at him. “Now I'm off to bed. Need to sleep this buzz off if we're leaving first thing tomorrow.”

Brooding, Gale turned to his own tent as well. He was lifting the flap when a tingle flashed through his brain. An offered connection, tadpole to tadpole. It was Umbra, he was sure, though he didn't know how he knew. But the echo of sensation that he felt on the other side of the offered link sent his blood rushing downward. 

What in the nine hells was she doing?

Flushed now, Gale tied the tent flap behind him. He lightly probed at the connection, fighting against his curiosity and desire. A prickling sensation crept along his chest and down his stomach, like fingers trailing downwards, causing a thrill of want to rush through his. He sucked air in sharply, his body held rigid to keep him from giving in to the need. Pain rushed from the orb in his chest, but not yet a concerning amount. Testing the waters, Gale sank to the floor, bracing hands on knees as he slowly opened the connection. 

Hands caressed up her legs, ghosting over her hips to slip under her loose cotton shirt. A shiver raced down her spine, a mouth claiming hers, warm and sweet as their tongues tangled. 

Pleasure flooded him instantly. Her pleasure, he realized, perceived in his own body as their awareness melded for a moment. He could feel fingers exploring, sense soft lips pressing against his own. Want rushed through him, desperate and needy and heady, his cock aching against his pants. 

Physical sensation was overlaid now with a mental visualization - hands larger, weight above heavier, the scent of spring water and parchment - a fantasy to cover reality. 

Him, Gale realized. Umbra was being properly fucked by another, a thought which made his blood boil with jealousy. And yet, she was imagining him as it happened. Wishing it was his hands on her body. He held to that revelation as a last lifeline to keep him from drowning, gasping and breathless. Terrified.

Gale cut the connection to find himself sweaty and shaken. Even that taste had pushed his limits. This was too dangerous a game to play as he was. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends in distress. Umbra would be his undoing one of these days. And he was already fraying.

Chapter Text

Blue and purple hues greeted her as Umbra blinked awake, swirling around distant stars that faded into black. She was back in the astral, mind stolen away while her body slept, for a second time. 

So much for sleeping like the dead. 

At least no hangover bothered her here, she mused, pushing herself up on her elbows. Though a strange tingling did resonate through her skull. Her tadpole protesting this place, most likely. It seemed to act up whenever her dream visitor interfered. 

Only a few places away the visitor himself landed, folding large feathered wings neatly behind his back. Long brown hair fell loose over his shoulders, and he stood clad in the same gold armor as before. The man smiled at her, offering his hand. “I promised I'd be back.”

“The attacks have waned?” Umbra asked, letting her visitor pull her up. 

“I have things under control. For now. But that's not what I'm here to discuss.” He stepped back, his smile understanding and voice patient. “You haven't been using the parasite’s power. You think you don't need it. But things haven't gone as expected, have they?” 

The way he spoke, slowly and pausing to gauge her reaction every other sentence, felt condescending. Umbra bristled internally, but schooled her features. “I don't think we were expecting anything, really. We've simply followed the closest lead. And Halsin does have helpful information.”

“Yes. And he is right; your parasite has been modified by magic. A magic that prevents it's removal. Death would be your reward if you tried.”

“Then what do you expect us to do? Simply accept our condition and pray we never turn?” Umbra crossed her arms. 

“Of course not.” The visitor spoke gently. “But you must understand. This parasite you carry is only one symptom of a larger infection, one that threatens all of Faerun and the realms beyond. These ‘true souls’ are infected with a parasite, changed with magic as yours is, which allows the Absolute to control them. This is how the cult continues to grow. Worse, the tadpole still has the capability to transform its host. When the order is given to do so, it will not be a matter of days; all those infected will be mind flayers in an instant.”

“I thought you could protect us.” 

“I can. I am.” His wings fluttered, the indication he gave of annoyance. “But I cannot protect all who have been infected. We must seek to cut out this cancer at the root, to save as many as we can. It is our duty. This false god must be flushed out and torn down, its cult scattered and destroyed so it may never rise again - that is the charge I am giving to you.”

“But why me?” Umbra pressed her hand to her chest in emphasis. “And who are you to give such a command? You claimed before to be my ally, you said I knew you once, but you refuse to explain. How do I know I can trust you?” 

His expression became painfully sad. “You did know me, once, and I hope you will know me again. You have been a sword of justice in mine and our god's name for many years. But as much as I wish to, it would be unwise for me to meddle while your body heals the hurt. I can only ask that you will trust me.”

Umbra shook her head. “How can I? When you won't share anything? You won't even tell me why I'm tasked with this charge, why I must carry the fate of hundreds when just the few near me already weigh heavy.”

“Because you're oath demands it!” The visitor roared, spreading his wings and lifting a foot off the ground. “You're oath, sworn to me, is your bond, as my oath sworn to Tyr is mine. I, Viryn, Solar of Tyr, have taken up this task. As one of my vassals on the mortal plane, what I ask becomes your holy duty.”

Electricity crackled around her, jolts shooting over her skin, as a veil was pulled from over her vision. For a moment he shone with a brightness that hurt to look at, searing her mind like the sun would sear her skin. His face was both terrible and beautiful to look at, and Umbra's heart pounded in her chest. Too stunned to speak, she sank to her knees, staring in awe at the Solar. He landed once more, the divine glory fading to tolerable levels as he approaches where she knelt, and dropped to one knee. His wings moved now to encircle her halfway and his eyes softened. 

“But you have forgotten. And trapped here, my ability to help has become limited. However, I think, perhaps…yes, I think I can do this much at least.” The man raised a finger to her forehead.

With a cutting tug, her head cleared, a fog she hadn't even realized was there dispersed from a corner of her mind. Young and trying to outrun a deep betrayal, enlisting, then years spent as a soldier. The many injustices she watched be perpetuated or ignored during those years. Guilt, heavy in her soul, driving her to chapels and temples in hopes of finding relief or understanding. And finally, taking up her sword for a higher purpose, an oath that both set her apart from others yet allowed her to live closer to the worst of society. Meeting out justice and mercy herself, guided by a higher truth she trusted unquestionably. These memories flashed across her awareness in seconds, leaving her dizzy and reeling. 

Folding in on herself, her head sank to the ground. She tasted salt and realized she was crying. Her hands trembled as she clutched at his upper arms, fingers twisting in his garment, clinging to the blessed solidity of the heavenly being who supported her. Viryn - she remembered the name now. Her guide, her beacon of truth. 

“Forgive me,” Umbra choked out. “I forgot. Forgive me. I- I-”

Viryn hushed her. “It's alright, child. There is nothing to forgive. You have done well until now, holding to your oaths even when you couldn't remember why. I should have restored these to you sooner, but I was afraid it would be too much all at once. I see I was wrong. You have always been one of my strongest followers. It seems you are far more resilient than even I knew.”

“But…how? Forgive me, I know I shouldn't question, but how are you here? With so many to guide, why are you here for me?” Umbra looked up at him now, wanting to understand, feeling a rush of relief at his approval.

“I have come to you because you need me most. But I need you, too. Myself and others have been trapped in a battle with allies of this false god, and my powers are limited because of it. I cannot go myself to handle this threat. But I am sending you, to be my hand, and the hand of Tyr’s justice.” Viryn watched her intently, until she bowed her head again, unable to maintain his piercing gaze. “Child, you are among my most capable. I would not ask you to bear this burden if I did not think you capable. I would not push if time was on our side.”

“Thine trust is my truth.” Umbra recited. “Thine word, my law. Thine counsel, my loyalty. Thine decree, my responsibility. I accept this charge you lay upon me.”

He smiled, and it filled her with joy. “Your devotion is noted, and your faith will be rewarded. You will not have to bear this alone; let your companions continue with you, if they are willing. I also will give as much help as I am able.”

A tremor shook the ground they stood on, cracks webbing across a barrier she hadn't noticed before. Viryn steadied her, but his attention was pulled to those cracks. “Hells,” he whispered. “They need me. I have to go.”

Umbra let him help her to her feet again, catching flashes of battling beings through the barrier. “What is going on over there?”

“Someone wants the power I use to protect you. We are holding the line at the moment, but I fear we may be worn down eventually.” Concern creased his face as he spoke. He turned back, urgency in his eyes. “You must find and destroy the source of the Absolute’s power before that happens. Go to Moonrise Towers, that's where the cultists have been gathering. Use the parasite’s power to convince them you are one of them. Once inside, search for the source.”

Umbra hesitated, then spoke once more, painfully aware of her impudence. “But, the tadpoles… they come from a source of evil. Surely as the hands of justice it would be damning to use it in this way. To feed it, to grow its power - it would stain my soul.”

“And yet you use it liberally among your friends, even so far as to magnify pleasures of the flesh.” Her guide quirked an amused eyebrow at her. 

“I, no, I wouldn't- I haven't-” Umbra flushed hot, shameful, though she wasn't sure what for. 

Viryn shook his head indulgently. “It's alright. Tyr, nor the rest of the Triad, damn such indulgences. But my point is made; there is little difference between such simple uses and harnessing the cursed power in the name of justice.”

She considered that, reddening now out of embarrassment for having questioned. “You're right. Forgive my brazenness. We will use whatever we can to accomplish your task.”

Viryn nodded. “Go, then, with the Triad's blessing. The world depends on it.” He raised his hand then, and Umbra felt herself pushed out of the space. Then she was falling into black, before landing suddenly, solidly back in her body.

Coming to with a start, Umbra half sat up, legs tangled in a blanket. It had been kicked mostly off at some point in the night. Squinting against the bright sun streaming through a gap in her tent flap, she held a hand to her spinning head. When had she come back to her tent? 

Memories surfaced for the second time that morning, though these ones were smoothed edged from a half-drunk haze. She had helped Shadowheart back to her own tent, the cleric staggering from the wine she had drunk after their… intercourse? It had been more transactional than intimate, really. It left her unsure of how to refer to the incident. 

Another memory surfaced, this one blurred by more than just alcohol. 

A wish, strong enough to send her imagination into overdrive, and an unintentional connection brushing against another mind. 

No. Umbra fell back into her pillow and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, letting out a groan of disbelief. She hadn't really done that, had she? It was a trick of the mind. A simple fantasy to satiate her for a moment, to help her find climax. There was absolutely no way she had invited Gale of Waterdeep to fuse with her mentally while she had sex. While she had drunk pity sex.

…Right?

Chapter Text

Gale scowled down into the cooking pot he was bent over, scrubbing its interior with unnecessary vigor. A pile of clean dishes were already stacked to the side, ready to be packed away. He had hoped the monotonous task of dishwashing would help center himself, help him think logically again. Unfortunately for him, logic was something he couldn't apply to Umbra. At least not in the academic way he was adept at. Rather than soothe him as it usually did, the repetitive chore had given him ample opportunity to brood, exacerbating his already ill mood to downright savage.

She was avoiding him, and she was hardly bothering to hide that fact, too. Four times now, he had attempted to approach Umbra, to find a moment for them to speak privately during these days since the tiefling party. Karlach's words weighed heavy, and the glimpse he'd been given of Umbra's feelings had eaten away at him as he lay sleepless in contemplation that night, leaving an acrid pool of guilt welling up in its wake. 

By the time dawn caressed the edges of the world, he had made up his mind. Umbra deserved to know what sort of man she had grown an attachment to and why it could never be. He owed her the truth about the pending disaster he really was. He would tell all and leave his judgement in her hands. 

Or so he had intended. And still intended, if he could ever get the damned lady to give him even half a moment of her time.

He didn't have time to give her space, to let her work through things or approach him first. The painful beating of the orb was growing each day, far more rapidly than was usual. He needed another magic item soon. It was that or leave, go far enough to minimize the damage. 

Gale was acutely aware of her presence, only a yard or so away. Clinking of bottles and rustling of papers as she sorted through the resources they'd scavenged that day drifted across the distance. Studiously refusing to look his way even as she moved to distribute various items to their companions, checking on each in turn. And leaving his share alone in a pile beside his tent. 

It was really too much to bear. 

With a soft curse, Gale dropped the soapy rag and reached for a dry one to wipe his hands. His loose linen shirt was half drenched from the wash water, but he didn't bother to change or wait for it to dry. It was high time he and Umbra cleared up whatever was causing this. He needed to make her hear him out at the very least. And if she never wanted anything to do with him again, then he would accept that; but he simply could not stand this agonizing dance of clipped exchanges and endless wondering.

Before he could think too long on it, Gale stood and strode towards Umbra. Her shoulders twitched upwards as he did so. Gale pressed his lips into a line; she was as aware of his presence as he was of hers, and still she went on pretending he didn't exist. 

“Umbra, can we talk?” Gale spoke softly, hoping the others wouldn't pay them any mind. Though it was probably futile. 

“Your share is by your tent.” Came the quick answer. 

Gale ground his teeth together at her dismissal. “Thank you. We still need to talk.”

“Is it about our supplies?” Umbra asked, still not looking up at him. “I know we're getting low. The mountain pass isn't ideal, but I might be able to forage something. Or perhaps Astarion can hunt something.”

“No! It's-” Gale stopped himself, taking a breath before continuing. “We should talk. Privately.”

Umbra stood, arms folded. He could see her finger tapping anxiously against her side. “Yeah, sure, no problem. Not right now, though. I promised to help Astarion-”

“Why do you keep running away?” Exasperated, it came out louder than Gale intended. Glancing towards the others, it was clear they had heard, though they pretended not to. Except for Astarion, who lounged with a smug look. It was always that bloody elf. Why was it always that bloody damned elf?

“I'm not running away.” Umbra's voice was calm, but she kept her eyes on the ground. 

Gale heard himself actually growl. She began to turn away, and his hand shot out, gripping her elbow. He leaned down, lowering his voice again. “My condition likes to be ignored as little as I do.”

That made her pause. When she turned this time, she did meet his eyes, but he could see her mask firmly in place. “Fine. Let's talk.”

You fool. Gale cursed himself as she watched her go. He hadn't wanted to do that. 

“Oi, magic man.” 

Gale looked up to where Karlach called to him. The well meaning tiefling gave him an encouraging grin and two thumbs up. “Hells take me.” He muttered, scrubbing his hand across his face. Then he followed the fading figure of Umbra into the underbrush. 

The lady was fast and night was falling, making it more difficult than usual to navigate safely over root and under branch. Gale was struggling for breath when he finally caught up. But she didn't give him a moment to recover before yanking a ring off her hand and shoving it against his chest. The contact sent his heart racing, despite the irritation behind the action. His orb swallowed the offered Weave before he had a chance to stop it. It had very little effect. Real fear began to flow cold in his veins. 

“Done? I'll leave something in your share of loot next time, so don't corner me again.” Umbra let the ring drop as she pulled away. Somehow, Gale managed to catch it. 

“Wait,” he said, reaching to stop her with his other hand. She spun away from his touch and he let his arm drop, instead putting all of his pleading into his words. “Please, Umbra. Just hear me out. I- You have to know who I was. Who I am. I want you to know.”

Her stance shifted at that, her shoulders unknotting only for her tenseness to move to her jaw, set with worry. The change told him she was listening as clearly as if she had spoken. The guilt that had been building resurfaced with force, and it was Gale’s turn to avert his eyes. He had practiced this speech, had carefully thought on what to say and how to say it. It felt so shallow and insufficient now that the moment was here.

“I, um, am not entirely sure where to start if I'm honest. The man I am now,” He tried, spreading his arms in a mocking gesture, “Is but a shadow of what I once was. I was a child prodigy, nurtured by the Weave as by a loving parent. As I grew I found I could do more than simply control the Weave, I could compose it. As a youth, my talents attracted attention from the mother of magic herself, the Lady of Mysteries. Mystra. She revealed herself to me when I was sixteen, and became my mentor and teacher. She shaped me. Into the wizard I became.”

His voice cracked here, and he cleared his throat. Umbra had let her own arms drop, her shield between them slipping away as she stepped closer. “Was she…?” Umbra's question trailed off, but he understood it all the same.

“Yes.” He nodded. “She was my teacher, but in time, she became my muse. And, later…she was my lover.” 

This, he realized, was a confession he feared most. He didn't want Umbra to know the depths of his folly. He didn't want to reveal that he had been shunned by a goddess, of all beings. Even if he wasn't cursed with this blight in his chest, who would want someone who had been cut off from divinity, who had fallen from such heights due to his own hubris?

His worry grew when Umbra didn't say anything. Chirping of crickets and the occasional croak of a frog in the distance filled the silence, forest evening sounds loud as the sun dipped behind the mountain. 

“You loved a goddess?” Umbra blurted out finally, shock apparent in the tilt of her head. 

“Yes.” Gale answered simply. 

Umbra shook her head, bringing a hand to her temple. “I'm sorry, I believe you, it's just- well, I'm trying to imagine what loving my own deity in that way would be like, but- I can't quite manage it. Viryn has always been near, but never…like that.”

Gale frowned. “Viryn?” 

“Oh.” Umbra exhaled, looking up at him. Her hand moved from her temple to rest on the side of her neck, half covered by her loose hair, awkward and uncertain. “Yes, Viryn. I swore my paladin oath to him. Technically I serve Tyr, I suppose, but Viryn is my conduit. He, uh, came to me the other night… after the party.”

After the party. Oh Gale remembered what happened after the party. Umbra's cheeks flushed as they stared at one another, mirroring the heat he felt on his own face and neck. The previously chill night seemed to warm rapidly. But then another thought occurred to him. 

“Our dream visitor showed up that night.” He spoke it like a statement, the question left unasked. Umbra only nodded and realization dawned. “Ah. That is…illuminating.”

“Gale.” 

How one word could leave a man breathless, he would never know. He stilled and waited, watching her partly open lips, shape exaggerated while she paused halfway to speaking, considering her next words. Gale found himself licking his own in response, mouth dry, barely aware of the action.

“I need to apologize.” She spoke finally, his attention snapped back to her. “For what happened that night. It was intrusive. And though it was done unintentionally, it was a breach of the promise I made. I hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable.”

Gale blinked. “What? No, Umbra, it's not that. I didn't dislike it at all. The opposite, in fact. But I can't. I can't…live normally. It's…” He came to a halting stop, for a rare moment at a loss for words. But perhaps he didn't need to speak. If he could not find the right words, then he would show her. 

Slowly, he sank to his knees and offered his hand. “Let me show you.”

Umbra studied him a moment before placing her hand in his. Her warmth melted his reservations, her strong calloused hand far more comforting than if it had been delicate and soft. He brought it to his chest, resting it right atop the blackened mark of the orb, and covered it with both of his. Then he opened his mind to her. 

Gale found himself pulled along through the memories. He could sense Umbra there, watching with him, as he relived the dreaded past. His longing to do more and be more. A wish to be a true partner and support, standing on a level, not equal to hers, but closer. To give her the best version he could be. Mystra's smiles and dismissive words always left him feeling inadequate. He could do so much more for her, if only she could see it. 

Hours of research flashed by next, sparked by a passing comment. Interest turning to borderline obsession. Ultimately rewarded with success, at long last acquiring the book that held a missing part of Mystra's power, sealed away until now. 

Gale didn't want to watch. Didn't want to remember the elation turning to horror. This memory was one he had tried hard to bury beneath his grief and shame. But they were in his own mind, and he was left with no other option but to see his trembling hands eagerly open the leather bound time. 

There were no pages inside. No words. Only a mass of undulating black, a poisonous shred of Weave left to rot and corrupt. Before he could react, it pounced, digging with unforgiving ferocity and agony until it had woven itself into his very being. As agony dulled to a throb, a new sensation enveloped, a hunger grown from years of isolation. Insatiable, sending waves of a different sort of pain through him. 

Unable to witness what would come next, Gale closed the connection, pulling them from his mind. Umbra gasped, knees nearly buckling. She shakily gripped Gale's shoulder for support. Her hair fell over her face as he bowed forward, taking a moment to recover. It took a moment to reorient himself, as well. He was almost surprised to be back in the wilderness after such a vivid recollection. He became aware of Umbra's hand, fisting his shirt in a tight grip under his fingers. He didn't pull away, and neither did she. 

“How are you still alive?” Umbra asked, incredulous. Gale smiled at the question. Practical and straightforward, exactly what he would expect from the lady.

“When this orb didn't kill me outright, I shut myself away in my tower with only Tara as my companion. We discovered that, by absorbing the Weave from magical artifacts, the orb could be stabilized. However, since our abduction, it's become unpredictable. Magic doesn't calm it like it should. And it grows hungrier faster.” Gale bit the inside of his cheek, hesitating before he added. “It's become unstable. Any undue…excitement could push it over the edge.”

Umbra's eyes widened, understanding the implication of this. He hoped she would understand, at least a little, how desperately he wished it to not be so. 

“You see now the extent of my folly, and the magnitude of my curse. Should I lose control over this blight, I would not be the only one to suffer. The ensuing explosion would level everything for miles around.” Gale dropped his head, forcing himself to finish the tale. “I was granted pleasures few mortals cannot fathom, and yet I craved more. This blight has reduced me to what you see before you, this is all that is left now. You have seen all of me. I have no more secrets. If this betrayal is too much, if you can no longer trust me, then I will go. Just say the word.”

His stomach roiled with apprehension as he awaited judgment. By letting her in, he stripped away every flimsy partition that held him back, baring his very soul to her sentence. How appropriate, then, that he found himself kneeling in deference. He knew nothing of love without absolute devotion, knew not how to admire without giving himself to worship. He had knelt at the feet of a goddess before, pleading for power, then pleading for mercy. Gale would not plead now. This woman, embodiment of all that was good and strong and right, was more than a goddess could ever hope to be. He would gladly take whatever she gave.

Her hand on his cheek guided him to look back at her. She had closed the gap between them even further, and his heart leapt wildly at the closeness. “Why did you keep this from me? I thought we had grown closer. Why did you bear this alone?” 

A sudden lump in his throat made him choke. The confusion and pain, all for him, was written plainly across her face. Even during their private magic lesson, she had never shown such raw emotion. It cut him deeply to have been the cause this time. Those were not the reactions he wanted to be responsible for. Not with Umbra. 

“I had hoped you would never know this part of me.” He confessed in a trembling voice, his hand gripping hers desperately. “If a cure had been found quickly, I would have left long before this became anyone else's concern. You have more than enough to worry about as it is.”

Anger flashed in Umbra's eyes at this, and he recoiled, shocked. “You would have left? With no warning, just disappeared on me? Do you know what that would have done to me?”

“I, no, but-” he shook his head, searching for words to make her understand. “You don't want someone like me. Someone who must always stay apart, who cannot be with you as you deserve. I am ruined, Umbra. I am nothing anymore. It would have been better to end it quickly, before we formed an attachment that was bound to fail in the end.”

“That is not for you to decide!” Umbra shot at him, yanking her hand from his. “Not alone, at any rate. Gale, I- I've already lost so much of who I am. Don't make me lose who I've learned to be with you, too.”

Defeated, Gale slumped, resting back in his heels. He thought, after all this, she might finally understand why. He had hoped she would let him stay, of course. But at a distance. That she would want to end whatever this was, too. 

A moment later, Umbra was kneeling in front of him, pressing her knees to his. The last of the sunlight filtered between trees and lit her face, glowing with unworldly light. It felt as if, for the second time in his life, a goddess was revealing herself to him. But she did not tower over him as Mystra had, instead she joining him in the dirt, meeting him as he was. She reached forward to hold his face in both her hands, one thumb swiping a traitorous tear from where it ran down his cheek. “Please.” She begged. “Don't push me away anymore. At least be my friend. At least let us be that much.”

And Gale was gone. He had no more fight to give. A breeze blew strands of midnight hair across her face. Smoke and dirt and river water clung to her skin, barely a breath away. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. It took everything he had not to steal her breath with a kiss right then. 

Instead, Gale let his arms slowly encircle her, giving her time to pull away or stop him. But she only leaned in, returning the embrace. He tightened his hold, burrying his face into her shoulder, inhaling her heady scent. To be allowed to hold this woman; it was nothing short of miraculous. Tears he hadn't known he was capable of streamed silently down his cheeks, soaking into Umbra's shirt. She didn't seem to mind, though, only cradling his head in her arms. 

Gale couldn't have said why exactly he cried. Perhaps it was the relief of not being cast out, or the stress of this whole ordeal catching up to him. Maybe it was the weight of that year alone, every day spent in the torture of not knowing. It could even be the grief and remorse he felt for his stupidity that had gotten him here in the first place. Regardless of why, however, crying seemed to release something deep inside himself. When he finally pulled away, though not letting her go completely, his eyes were itchy and his head ached. 

Umbra gave him another moment before speaking. “You'll have to tell the others. Not everything, I don't think, but enough so they understand the danger. They deserve a say in this decision.”

“Of course.” Gale croaked, his voice hoarse. It was only fair. 

“But if they want you to leave,” Umbra continued, “I will go with you. No, hush. It is my choice. I will not argue this decision. And don't you dare try to leave without me. You've come to mean far too much for us to part ways now.”

“Even after knowing it all, that would truly be what you want?” Gale asked, unable to comprehend. 

“Yes. The only way to be rid of me is to tell me you do not want me .” Umbra gave him a sharp look. “Do you not want me, Gale?”

“I d- hmm.” His voice failed him as a warm rush filled his chest. Clearing his throat, he made another attempt. “I do want you. Umbra, yes, I want you. But-”

Her fingers on his lips silenced him, eyes searched his face as she smiled. “I know. It's okay, Gale. This is enough. Even if it is all we have, this is enough.”

Chapter Text

Pattering rain drops beat a tune against the rundown monastery, dripping through cracks to puddle along dirt crusted floors. Umbra knelt under one of the remaining ceilings, watching the downpour through a crumbling hole at the far end of the corridor. Behind her slept her companions, bedrolls laid out along the walls of the chapel-like space. It was the only dry room without corpses, fresh or otherwise, and as they weren't in a position to be picky, it became home for the night.  

Lae'zel was sure the creche was in this monastery, but after a run in with both kobolds and those ridiculous magic-allergic cats, she had been outnumbered in the vote between pushing on or making camp. Though Umbra had sat the vote out, she was privately glad for the delay. Handing their survival over to unknown Githyanki didn't sit right with her. And she wasn't the only one with reservations. 

Their path was dangerous as it was without entrusting their lives over to unknown people in a move that would be reckless at best. But she had given her oath. 

Umbra had volunteered for the first watch, wanting time to consider the predicament and to seek guidance. The first watch had trickled into the second, however, and she found herself still nowhere closer to a solution or consolation over the matter. Knowing she would get no sleep anytime soon, she decided against waking Wyll for his watch. Best to let the others who could rest get as much as possible. 

The air was fresh and clean with the scent of rain on dirt, and she breathed in deep breaths. Only fractionally aware of the world around her, she almost didn't catch the soft scuff of a shoe on stone, but ears practiced in staying alert jolted her back to the present. A second passed, two, listening, then she relaxed. The step was heavy and familiar. She turned, welcoming Gale with a nod of her head, her heart skipping a beat as it so often did when she saw him. His stance was relaxed, a book tucked under one arm and hair pulled half up, looking perfectly disheveled. His shirt hung half open, displaying the bruise colored marking of his orb. Tendrils trailed out from it and down his chest, drawing her eye lower. She liked what she saw. 

“You were praying.” He observed, standing over her. She nodded again, shifting to sit cross legged, trusting him to understand as he always seemed to. He watched her a moment, then joined her, setting the book to the side. She liked that about him; he could read her so well, she didn't have to say everything out loud, a relief considering she had always struggled with words. Worrying over whether she was saying exactly the right ones, or simply wanting to be quiet. It let her relax more easily with him.

Gale grunted as he lowered himself, and Umbra's mouth twitched. He glared at her sideways. “Don't laugh. Tired knees and a stiff back are no joking matter, a truth I'm sure you're well aware of.’

“I’m not, actually.” She shrugged, mouth twitching again at his incredulous look. 

“That cannot be possible.” He protested. “You have no discomfort of this nature? You cannot not be that much younger than I.”

“Younger, yes. By less than a year.” She answered primly, hands folded in her lap. Strangely, relaxing with him made her want to talk. More than she could remember ever wanting to, in the scant memories she had. 

Gale shook his head. “No, I won't accept that. No one older than twenty-five is without chronic aches and pains. Especially not with the physical strain your career requires.”

“A soldier's greatest weapon is their body; it must be cared for with as much detail as any other weapon.” Umbra explained.

“You assume great scholars don't appreciate the ways a healthy body sharpens the mind.” Gale clicked his tongue at her. “Do you think your soldier’s training is more effective than the proven methods of the learned?”

“Well when one doesn't waste time with books...”

Gale gasped dramatically. “Such disrespect. As if books could ever be a waste of time. Even the most troublesome student never would dare to speak such heresy. I've half a mind to punish you for such an insolent tongue.”

Raising an eyebrow, Umbra watched, pleased when the wizard's face suddenly flushed. They hadn't spoken about their conversation from two days ago, beyond his confession to the rest of their group, who all agreed nearly unanimously that he should stay. Instead they had circled each other, not really acknowledging what else had been confessed, nor daring to consider what it meant. 

“That's not, I mean to say, I'm sure your tongue is quite acceptable. For many things. No punishment required.” Gale sputtered, clearing his throat. It was adorable. 

Shifting a few inches closer, Umbra continued her relentless stare, relishing the way he startled. Wanting to talk more made her want to be bolder in other ways too. What a curious effect he had on her. 

“No, you were right.” She spoke low, a small smile finally making its way to her mouth. “I am quite insolent. Truly, I don't know where it comes from. A thorough teacher, and proper punishment, may be just what I need.”

To her surprise, he leaned forward, not backing away from her challenge. The way his lips curved sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. His eyes, dark with pupils blown wide, dropped to her lips. Then lower, pinning her in place with their weighty stare. Interesting. She'd remember that if they ever got his orb under control. 

“My excellent teaching skills have been well established at this point,” Gale drawled. “Previous, though exceptionally brief, students have said instruction under me was quite stimulating, especially with… hands on lessons. But I am a very demanding instructor, hence the briefness of their tutelage. I require absolute obedience. I wonder how well you would fair under such restrictions.”

Sucking in a breath, Umbra moved closer. Competition sparked inside her. “School never was my strong suit,” she murmured slowly, her hand tracing up his thigh as she drew out each word. “I'm sure I'll need lots and lots of correction, should you have the patience for it. Think you're up to the task, professor?” 

Groaning, Gale gripped her hand, stopping its trek towards his telltale hardness. The grimace on his face washed away the heat in a cold rush. Umbra cursed her lust-addled brain, the orb, and Mystra herself for good measure. And Gale, for always making her forget the iron clad self control she was supposed to have. The bastard. 

“I'm sorry. I should have realized.” 

“No, don't,” Gale gave her hand a squeeze before letting it go. “I encouraged it. By the nine hells, I need to get this orb sorted quickly.”

Lips pressed thin with concern, Umbra moved away an inch, watching closely as Gale breathed through the pain. She could tell when it subsided as the lines around his mouth smoothed. 

“Right. Best leave off that topic for now.” Gale smiled tightly. “I actually came to see whether you were alright. You looked incredibly tense earlier. While you were praying”

“You were supposed to be asleep.” Umbra accused, looking away. 

Gale shrugged. “Alas, my intellect keeps me far too engaged at times, robbing me of rest. The trials of being a genius. But you are deflecting. Is everything well?”

That was disconcerting. This man saw through her far too easily. Perhaps she didn't like him reading her so well after all. But now that he had asked, she found herself wanting to tell him. 

Viryn's words from only hours prior rose to the forefront of her mind. This place only offers death. Your eagerness for a cure is clouding your judgment. Turn back, before your ambition leads you to lose it all. 

“Viryn doesn't want us to go in.” She said, spine straightening. 

Gale frowned. “Did he say why?” 

Umbra shook her head. “Only that the Githyanki cannot be trusted. I…I'm not sure if he was excluding Lae'zel in that assessment.”

“Of course he was excluding Lae'zel.” Gale scoffed at the thought. “She, more than anyone, had been single mindedly seeking a cure and most vocal in her condemnation of this Absolute. I'm not sure if I trust the rest of her kind, but Lae'zel? I trust her with my life. Something I don't say lightly, considering the implications my death would have.”

“I trust her, too. I think.” She hadn't thought to not trust Lae'zel until Viryn had implied it. “But it does not matter whether I do or not. I gave my oath to aid her. I must abide by it.”

Gale leaned back again, resting his weight on one hand and bringing the other up to rub along his orb mark. A habit of his, when he was thinking hard. She moved her own hand to brush lightly over his fingers, tilting her head in question. 

With a sigh, he dropped his hand from his chest and turned to look at her. He looked at her cautiously, his brow furrowed. “Have you considered - Lae'zel has condemned the Absolute, yes, but… she has also condemned our dream visitor. Even after he revealed his identity as your guide.”

Umbra felt her shoulders tense. “What are you suggesting, Gale.”

“I'm not suggesting anything. Only, it came to mind, and I thought you should at least consider…”

“No.” Umbra was adamant. “Viryn, nor any guide to oathbound, would manipulate that way. And I would never follow someone who would try to smother disagreement like that."

“Of course not.” His voice was placating. “I apologize, it wasn't mean to upset you. It was barely a passing thought. Pay it no mind.”

Easier said than done, Umbra fumed. Just because his goddess manipulate and abandoned him was no excuse for questioning her own tenets. But as quickly as it came, the anger faded. That was unfair of her. It was no wonder he didn't trust divinity as entirely as she could, and really, she couldn't blame him. If anyone deserved blame for that damage, it was Mystra. 

“It seems I may have outstayed my welcome.” Gale's tone had a forced lightness to it that brought her head around sharply. “I meant to comfort or distract you, but instead I've only added to your concerns. Please, Umbra, don't dwell on what I said. I'll see you in the morning.”

Umbra's hand shot out, gripping Gale's arm and pulling him sharply back to sitting. “Nonsense. Stay.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, hesitating.

“When have I ever said what I didn't mean?” Umbra asked, confused. She didn't understand where this was coming from. “I'm not angry with you. You have every right to speak what is on your mind, even if I may not like it. That's no reason for you to leave.”

Gale opened his mouth, then closed it, frowing. “Alright.” He said finally. “I'll stay, then. If you're in the mood for my company still.”

“I'm sure.” She looped her arm in his, settling her head lightly on his shoulder. “Is this alright?” 

No answer came at first, and Umbra began to wonder if she had overstepped. But Gale cleared his throat, nodding, voice suspiciously thick. “Yes. This is perfect.”

Pleased, Umbra let herself relax further into him. “Right. I'm ready for you, then.”

“Ready?” He twisted his head to look at her. 

“For you to comfort or distract me.” She peered up at him, doing her best to look innocent. “That's what the book is for, isn't it?” 

Gale smiled eagerly. “Well, yes, in a way. It's a tome, detailing the Dawnmasters of this monastery. And the history of what may be a powerful weapon.”

Curious, Umbra shifted to better see as he opened the book on his lap. 

“I suspect, and my suspicions are not often wrong, that it may still be hidden within the monastery somewhere.” He continued, flipping nearly to the end. “Whoever kept this record tells of a struggle between Lathandar’s devotees and followers of Shar to retrieve a stolen weapon. At the end here, this monk spoke of gathering githyanki and discussions between the three living Dawnmasters as to whether they should use this weapon. Considering the state of the place, we can draw the conclusion that it was never used. And I doubt the githyanki know if it's existence, considering they didn't bother to use any part of these upper floors.”

Umbra smiled at the simple delight Gale clearly took in sharing this with her. His deep voice was animated, drawing her in. Or perhaps that was the mystery offered. She'd always been a bit too inquisitive, needing to know and understand a weakness that had gotten her in more than a little trouble from time to time. She had been reminded often since childhood that curiosity could kill the cat-

Startled, she sat up. She had almost remembered something. Something important. Vague impressions flitted through her mind, of poking her nose where it wasn't wanted. Being warned to turn a blind eye. She had found something dangerous that way, something that had upset someone very powerful. But beyond that… she couldn't recall. Damn it! 

“Umbra?” Gale's touch on her arm grounded her. 

“Let's find it.” She said hurriedly, trying to cover her unease. “This weapon of yours. It could be useful, or at the very least we'll discover something interesting.”

Gale's eyes told her he didn't buy her act, but thankfully he also knew now was not the time to press for explanations. A perfect balance of seeing her, yet letting her work through things before sharing them. Yes, she very much liked that about him. 

“Brilliant suggestion.” He grinned, accepting whatever answer her own gaze had shown him. “I believe the key may have something to do with the altars inside. Shall we have a look?” 

“Mmm, can you keep quiet enough not to wake our companions?” She teased. 

“I'll have you know I am quite adept at remaining quiet. In all sorts of situations.” Gale winked at her. Hells, he had no business looking at her that way. 

Standing, she offered her hand. “Try to keep up then, professor.”

Chapter Text

“Did we really have to take the long way back up?” Astarion whined, slumping onto the most convenient log near where Gale was building a cooking fire. He sympathized with the elf, but taking the lift back up the mountain was too much of a risk after angering an entire githyanki creche. They would have swarmed like bees to avenge their queen at the first glimpse of the offenders. 

“Would you rather have been target practice for the githyanki young?” Lae'zel didn't look up from the sword she was cleaning as she shot the words at Astarion. 

Wyll, laying a soothing hand on Astarion's shoulder, exchanged a worried look with Gale. To the elf's credit, he only stuck his tongue out at the githyanki rather than arguing further. “It's only that I'm not dressed for such long hikes.” He muttered sullenly, just loud enough for Wyll and Gale to hear. 

Next to Lae'zel, Umbra worked to carefully inspect the mace she had helped him procure, Astarion's daggers set to the side for her to clean next. Her mouth was tight with concern as she offered quiet companionship, but Gale remembered how it had danced in an almost smile when she caved to his coaxing to explore the corridor hidden behind the statues. He wanted to be the reason for that smile again, but right now his lady would want the chance to worry over their friend. 

His lady. When had he started thinking of her in those terms? She had always been noble in his opinion, divine even, but never in conjunction to himself. He liked the way it sounded, though. His. Except, he didn't know if she was his. He was hers, of course. Gods above, he was hers, and had been for over a while now. Perhaps he had always been hers; he never longed for his former goddess in the same selfish manner that he pined for Umbra. But, though he had confessed his want when she had asked, they hadn't actually discussed where they stood. 

They weren't friends, friends didn't look at one another the way they did. She had only asked about friendship, however neither of them had dared voice what more would be. But now was not the time to do so. They would have time, later, to explore what was between them. Time for him to find a solution to his problem, and time for her to decide he wasn't worth the wait. 

No. Gale shook his head. That was an unproductive line of thought. If Umbra did change her mind - and he wasn't entirely confident that she wouldn't - then he'd let her go. For now, he was going to cherish every moment his lady graced him with. He had spent long enough blind to what he had while wishing for more. 

Sighing audibly, Gale added wild rice to now boiling water, stolen from the giithyanki wares during their escape. The gith would be fine without, they had fewer mouths to feed, after all. He glanced once more to where Lae'zel sat, her face a studied concentration. She had set her sword down, and was now cradling a softly glowing green egg, black veins pacing over its shell. The scene was decidedly at odds with the vicious warrior he knew Lae'zel to be. 

There was a child in there, he thought, not quite able to wrap his mind around that fact. A whole child. Who would hatch, and need caring for and nurturing and teaching. The thought made him feel a little dizzy. A shadow fell over Gale's makeshift counter, Halsin’s unmistakable yet gentle presence interrupting his spiraling thoughts. Halsin held up a fresh cut of meat, his offering for the evening.

“Thank you.” Gale took the meat, laying it out on his makeshift countertop. He wasn't sure what animal it was, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ask. But it probably would suffice. 

“It's heartwarming.” Halsin mused, voice deep. Gale looked up in question, and the druid gestured towards where Karlach and Shadowheart worked to set up the Lae'zel's tent, heads bent low together, glancing towards githyanki in turns. “All of you, different in innumerable ways, yet you have each chosen to care for one another. I've seen hardship bring people together before, but never quite like this. I find myself feeling hopeful, despite our daunting task.”

Gale paused, staring at the meal he had begun, a meal with Lae'zel’s preference in mind. He hadn't really registered what he was doing. When had this ragtag band of strangers grown close enough to care about one another so much? When had he begun to care for them?

“Frankly, I don't believe we would have made it farther than that wretched beach if it wasn't for Umbra.” Gale admitted, practiced hands cutting the meat into even chunks. 

Halsin was quiet for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “You may be right; perhaps none of this could have begun without your leader. But don't sell yourself short, Gale. All of you offer something invaluable to the whole. Especially you,” he laughed. “I'm not sure I'd be nearly as content each evening with someone else manning the pot.”

With a pat on Gale's shoulder, Halsin moved off to some other task, leaving the wizard to contemplate. Hopeful; yes, that was a good description of what he was beginning to feel. He may be biased towards his lady, but his other companions had become dear to him, too. He watched them rally around Lae'zel, giving support in unique and possibly misguided ways, but with the best intentions nonetheless. Only a few days ago he had been on the receiving end of that concern. It had filled his heart in a way he hadn't experienced for years. He wondered at this as he methodically moved through the motions of cooking.

Perhaps this is what Tara had wanted for him all this time. His tressym had practically begged him to leave his tower some days, to go see his mother or reconnect with old colleagues. But he had been too afraid. Coward that he was, Gale had truly no intentions of seeking out mortal company ever again. His body was his sarcophagus, his heart beating a steady funeral march in time with the orb’s constant threat, the days blurring together as he lived an undead existence. To be uprooted so abruptly had been a relief. Forced to rely on strangers for his survival - actually fighting to survive at all - had reminded him that he was still very much alive. 

Gale mused on this, wondering at the contentment it brought to his awareness, as he finished the evening meal. Its sharp aroma drifted over the camp, summoning each member of the party more effectively than the Blackstaff dinner hall bell. Even Lae'zel left off her preparations to join the circle, accepting the bowl offered her, albeit far more quietly than she normally would have. Though, being labeled traitor by your goddess would do that to a person. 

Astarion joined the group too, settling in next to Wyll and rolling a coin over his finger in lieu of eating. “Next time we undertake a journey like this, we should bring a mule.” He broke the silence after a moment. 

“This again?” Gale asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, this again.” Astarion scowled. “My poor boots have been terribly abused. Do you know how hard it is to find real wyvern hide?” He stuck his foot out in emphasis, his face twisted in mourning over the scuffed leather and stained embroidery. 

Karlach huffed. “If you can afford that sort of fancy shit, surely you could get something better than a mule. A horse, or something.”

“Horses? Perish the thought. Those beasts are prone to biting.”

“Well so are you, yet we still keep you around.” Shadowheart's voice was heavy with sarcasm. 

Wyll laughed. “His bark is much worse than his bite.”

“And I'm not offering any rides, if that's what you're thinking.” The vampire added. 

“Is that so?” Umbra raised a eyebrow, a gleam of mischief in her eyes that had Gale grinning like a school boy. “Whoever was in your tent the other night must have left desperately disappointed then.”

As one, five heads whipped round to stare at Astarion, who seemed to choke on air. Next to him, Wyll wouldn't meet anyone's eye, his hand placed suspiciously over his neck. Recovering, the elf let a lazy smile spread over his face. “Who I do or don't give rides to is no one's business but my own.”

Umbra nodded solemnly. “I'll remember that next time you proposition me.”

“He what?” Gale and Wyll exclaimed in identical disbelief. 

“Don't worry, Wyll, he's all yours. It was weeks ago now anyway.” Waving a dismissive hand, Umbra returned her attention to dinner.

“Darling,” the drawl in his voice bespoke trouble, and his languid gaze turned to Gale as he spoke. “Since when did you turn so pious? I'm not the one who disappeared all night with our lovely cleric during that little party in the grove.”

The circle was quiet for a moment, but before Umbra could respond, Shadowheart cut in. “Jealous? You needn't be. I certainly would consider you, if you ask nicely.”

Astarion gave a sardonic laughed. “No. You're pretty, but an incredibly deadly flower nonetheless. Not worth the risk.”

“It would be more convincing if you didn't oggle my neck while you said that.” Shadowheart sniffed. 

“Oh, but do keep calling her flower.” The group quieted once more as Lae'zel spoke, glaring at Shadowheart as she did. “She will love that.”

Shadowheart went stiff, the silence stretching an uncomfortable moment. Then Halsin laughed, joined a beat later by hesitant chuckles from the others. Flushed now, the cleric stood quickly and marched away from the fire. Karlach hurried after her, followed by the druid’s mirth and Lae'zel's lingering glare. 

“I apologize.” Halsin said, when he could speak again. “But it's a relief to hear you speak as your usual self, Lae'zel. Your friends have all been worried this day. Though if I may offer some advice? I think perhaps a conversation between you and our cleric may be overdue.”

“You may not.” Lae'zel's response was clipped, edged with finality. “I have no reason to speak to the k’chakhi. Whatever friction is between us lies entirely with her.”

Chapter Text

Insects buzzed and dust billowed from heavy footfalls as the adventurers wound their way up the mountain pass road. Sweat trickled down the small of Umbra's back, an uncomfortable itch made worse by the warm afternoon sun above, which threatened to roast her alive in her encasement of metal. Fortunately, her years of experience made it easy to ignore the discomfort. She wasn't marching through The Fangs of the Cloud Peaks again, after all. 

Distractedly, Umbra fingered a folded parchment, lagging behind the group. The letter was, presumably, from Moonrise, found by chance on one of those zealot corpses left by the githyanki's massacre. It contained two names - Ketheric Thorm and Enver Gortash. Both names itched in her brain, like the melody of a ballad whose lyrics she couldn't quite recall. Gortash, of course, had been mentioned by Karlach before. But until she had read his name in parallel to Ketheric Thorm, it had not felt important. Both names certainly felt important now, but damn it all, she couldn't put her finger on why. 

Day by day the darkness over her past was fading. Some days she remembered more than others, but all of it felt incredibly inconsequential. She was sure she remembered the majority of her time in the military, and most of her time serving Tyr through Viryn, but none of the details felt significant. Her childhood and adolescence, including whatever reason she had for running away to be a soldier, was still hazy, and she couldn't remember anything more recent than a few years ago. Her early childhood was lost to a fog, one which lifted a little each day, but her more recent past seemed locked behind a fortress wall. No matter how long she spent trying to break down that wall, hammering away at the mental block, the most she could do was lightly fracture the stone before she inevitably was forced to surrender to numbing migraines. When she felt well enough to try again, the fractures were repaired, and her memories no more accessible than before. 

A touch on her elbow brought her up short, only just in time to avoid running into Halsin's broad back. Gale smiled at the silent thanks she sent him, his eyes crinkling and his mouth quirking in that off kilter smile he so easily wore. Her stomach fluttered in a way that was most disconcerting for a well seasoned soldier. But, well, it felt nice, if far too distracting. 

“We're close. I can feel the shadow-curse from here.” Halsin's voice was low with trepidation, and it put Umbra on edge. She could sense something, too; a sinister undercurrent to the normal wildlife around them. It was colder than it should be for the season, even up in the mountains. Animal sounds were muted, trees and tall grass whispered with a wind that didn't blow, and a landscape that had been vibrant only a few yards back now was tinged with wilting greys and blacks. 

“It's dark.” Gale's breath brushed over her ear and Umbra started, her shoulders tensing. Very aware of his closeness, she kept her eyes forward, watching Astarion slink further down the path, followed by a much less stealthy Karlach. 

Careful not to move, Umbra spoke softly to the wizard. “What do you feel? I can sense the magic, but not much beyond that.”

“It's… hard to describe.” She could hear his frown in his tone, could imagine the crease between his eyebrows that she always wanted to smooth away. “I've never felt such a concentration of shadow magic. It's hungry, but not in the same way as my orb - the shadows hunger for more than just magic, they are grasping for the essence of life itself.”

“Is it safe?” Umbra asked, an entire host of questions in that one phrase. 

Gale chuckled, and despite the serious topic, it stoked warmth low in her belly. “Of course not. What part of our journey has been safe? However, if we avoid the stronger areas of the curse, I think we'll manage. Venturing too deep into the stronger parts though would be suicide to anyone not strong enough to wield the magic.”

Turning barely an inch, Umbra eyed the wizard, eyebrow raised. Understanding, Gale shook his head. “I could wield it, probably, but whether I should…that's a different question entirely.”

“And the answer is no.” Halsin spoke over his shoulder to them. “That power is one of pure decay, corrupting all who try to control it. It has even wormed its way into the very roots of the land, twisting old magics which normally cannot be touched by even the gods. Do not try to engage with it; simply being within its borders will be tempting fate enough.”

“Yet you intend to tamper with it, despite your warnings.” Lae'zel stood feet apart, arms folded as she too watched their companions ahead. “You are here to unravel the curse, is that not so?”

Halsin nodded solemnly. “Yes, it is a duty long overdue. Somewhere inside is trapped-” 

“Terribly sorry to interrupt,” Astarion's sarcastic tone cut off Halsin's response, clearly not sorry. He was leaning against the railing of a precarious looking bridge, Wyll hovering worriedly next to him. “But there is a very old man just below. Would you like me to take care of him for you, or…?”

“Astarion.” Wyll's voice was fond, yet exasperated. “We are not going to murder some helpless old man.”

Umbra strode forward to look down the mountain, ignoring the bickering between the two men. She heard the other three moving behind her. Below, as Halsin predicted, a heavy darkness shrouded the land at the base of the mountain. Looking at it made her insides squirm, every instinct telling her to turn around and try her luck elsewhere. The path leading downward consisted of a few sharp switchbacks, broken up by a few more bridges, each one in a worse state of disrepair than the one before. Just before the last bridge, where it connected a small jutting piece of ground to the ominous darkness, a wizened old man sat bent over on a large stone. As she watched, the old man raised his head. Gasping, it took all of her training to keep from stepping backwards and out of that piercing gaze. He was looking right at her, right through her even, his presence bearing down on her. 

“Gods above.” Gale leaned past her, squinting down. “That man is hardly helpless, Wyll. That is Elminster Aumar himself. Best to keep your boyfriend's more violent instincts in check from here on.”

Wyll's face blazed hot as Gale hurried ahead. “We're not boyfriends.” Astarion growled at the wizard, but Gale paid him no mind. 

Pressure lifted off Umbra and she sucked in a breath as Elminster's attention turned to her wizard. Finding her center once more, she straightened. “We might as well prepare to camp for the night.” She said, starting down the path herself. “If Elminster is even half as long winded as Gale, we'll be making no further progress before nightfall.”

***

“You're to be given a chance of redemption.” Elminster let his pronouncement hang over the camp. It wasn't exactly unexpected, the old man had insinuated he was here on behalf of Mystra, but Umbra felt her stomach drop all the same.

“Mystra would consider…forgiveness?” Gale's eyes widened, surprised, emotions warring across his face. 

Redemption. Forgiveness. Gale returned to the embrace of his goddess, the woman he had pined after for more than a year. What was she, in comparison? They weren't anything really, nothing more than a maybe. She had no reason to expect him to choose her, had no real reason to want him to refuse the offer. If he wanted to return, she could let him go. 

Yet the aching emptiness in her stomach refused to dissipate. 

Elminster's next words made the already gaping void twist with apprehension. “She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness. Mystra is aware of the misadventures that have befallen you both. She knows of your strife with the Absolute, that most insidious of evils.” 

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. 

Interesting. This could be a help - or a hinderence - we shall see. Viryn’s voice curled through her mind, apathetic and detached. It lit a rage within her.

“Enough!” Umbra commanded sharply, cutting Elminster off in the middle of a sentence, his mouth hanging comically open. “Gale, you cannot be forced to go through with this. We already know there is another way.”

Gale met her eyes then, and the resignation she saw there nearly broke her resolve. “She cannot force me. But, I think she trusts me to do what I must.”

Umbra wanted to laugh, and cry, and hit something until she hurt as much on the outside as she did inside, but she only stood frozen as she stared back at her wizard. It was madness, all of it. Redemption? This was no redemption. This was a convenient way to dispose of two threats at once, after which the farce of a goddess could wash her hands of the whole affair and forget about her wayward Chosen. The injustice of it burned underneath her skin, anger so hot it threatened to boil over in blind fury. This strength of emotion was something she hadn't felt in years, and she wasn't sure which direction she should unleash it towards first. 

“I will hear no more of this.” She spoke with finality, tone even and dangerously low. “You can tell your goddess that Gale is not a pawn she can sacrifice at will, and we will not aid him on such a mission. Absolute will fall, but we are in no need of assistance if such cheap means are all she can offer.” Umbra glared around the opening, daring anyone to argue. A twinge of displeasure from Viryn flitted through her mind at her blasphemy before he withdrew, but she did not care. Her oath was sworn to justice and law, ideals even gods were bound by. 

“As I have already said my sorry piece, I will let the matter rest.” The look of interest Elminster was giving her left her unsettled. “I have only to bestow unto thee, Gale, the charm I was bid, after which I will depart, my message delivered. What you do after this point is out of my hands entirely.”

When Elminster raised his hand to begin reciting the incantation, Umbra turned and disappeared into the night. She would not watch Gale be turned into a willing sacrifice. Once a safe distance from camp, she let herself collapse to her knees, her entire body trembling, and didn't move again for hours. 

Chapter Text

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.”

Elminster held Gale a moment longer, searching for what, he did not know. But a moment later he let go, lifted his pack, and bid farewell. Just as suddenly as he had appeared, the wizard was gone. 

The usual lighthearted banter was noticeably absence from their camp after Elminster's departure. Gale sat staring into dying embers as one by one his companions excused themselves to sleep, or simply slipped away in Astarion's case, leaving him to his silent reverie. He was somewhat aware of a desire to wait for Umbra's return, wanting to see her after it all, but he didn't even know what he would say. 

Hours passed, but Gale was barely aware of anything beyond the crackling coals and impossible burden he'd just been handed. Vaguely, he became aware of a presence, and looked up to see Lae'zel settle herself across from him. 

“First watch.” She explained. “It would be foolish to leave the task to you, in your current state.”

Gale nodded, but gave no response, turning his gaze back to the fire. Silence stretched, broken only by a scratching sound of something on stone. At first he didn't register the noise, but eventually curiosity tugged, and he looked up again. To his surprise, Lae'zel was scratching something onto a round disk with a sharp utensil in a manner suspiciously like writing. 

“Is that a terso tablet?” He asked, gesturing to the disk. 

“Chk.” Lae'zel scoffed. “If by ‘terso’ you mean tir'su, then yes. Really, I would expect one of your learning to not butcher such simple words.” 

“Forgive me. I did not have the opportunity to study the language with any native speaker.” Gale dropped his eyes again.

The scratching sound stopped though, and Lae'zel tapped her stencil against the disk. “G’lyck, you are truly hopeless. I am writing, if you must know, of our recent events in the creche. If my life has truly been a lie, it is my duty to record the truth for my kin to find, should I be cut down.”

Glad for the distraction, Gale sat up straighter, adding another log to the fire. “Do you believe our guardian, then? That your Vlaakith is hiding the truth from you.”

The githyanki stared silently down. The log popped as it heated, flames licking up the sides. “I don't know.” Lae'zel spoke finally. He had never heard such uncertainty from the warrior before. “I have spent these past days reciting the protocols, searching Vlaakith’s commands for any thread of deception; but I cannot trust my own mind. I cannot trust this intruder, either, however convinced Umbra is of its authenticity. Ghaik tricks can seem more convincing then reality at times.”

“You are without anchor, then, if neither your mind nor reality are reliable any longer.” Gale huffed, amused at the irony of their strangely parallel predicaments. 

“On the contrary.” Lae'zel gaze him a stern look. “Far from adrift, I am anchored by those my heart trusts when I cannot trust myself. It is why I follow Umbra still, she has proven herself a warrior worthy of such trust. As have…others, among our number.”

Those his heart trusts. At one time, Mystra would have been the answer to that riddle without a moment's hesitation. Yet, now, his heart longed for another goddess. One he chose, rather than was chosen by. How would the scales balance, if he was to weigh the two against one another? Gale felt afraid at the answer, even as it whispered in his soul. 

“I do not understand why you consider it, though.” Gale frowned in confusion at the comment, and Lae'zel continued. “Near as I can tell, Mystra is demanding your faith, yet holds no faith in you. Does she think you incapable of destroying the absolute with your own immense talents? Does she not know of the mighty company you keep? She seems only concerned for her own safety, heedless of lives lost to ensure it.”

Gale bristled at the accusation. “I'm sure she would not ask if there was another way. She must believe this our only option; is it not my duty, then, to ensure the Absolute's destruction regardless of the risk to my own life?” 

Lae'zel was quiet another moment. “While young, we are taught that as a nation we are only as strong as the weakest among us. But we cannot be stronger than the mightiest, either. Demanding as Vlaakith may be, her expectation is for each of her people to rise to their potential and succeed through their own merits. She would not give an order to needlessly sacrifice one's self, when she knows her warriors can overcome and live to fight again. If we needlessly sacrificed our strongest simply to remove an obstacle through the most convenient manner, we would be a pitiful excuse for an army indeed.”

“And yet, it is still the most convenient path, if not an easy one.” Gale muttered. “One we must at least consider. I won't so easily cast aside my goddess's mandates.”

“Bah - as you will. Perhaps you’ll find forgiveness in a fiery death. I only wonder why you would want to.” Lae'zel made a dismissive gesture in his direction, picking up her disk once more.

Scratch of stencil on stone resumed, and Gale stewed in the quiet. It was cold, the looming darkness only yards away creeping across the distance, eagerly waiting for new flesh to feed it. Frustrated, he rubbed his chest, habit taking over before he remembered the orb had been quieted. 

Why did he want forgiveness? He didn't, which was the crux of the issue. He had long since abandoned hope of redemption, and at some point in recent days, had found his idle daydreams turning from celestial wishes to hopes of mortal variety. More than simply no longer wishing to die, he wanted to live. He hadn't recognized his renewed craving for life until Elminster had pronounced an almost certain end to it. Confronted by the last few sands of his time trickling out, Gale wished more than ever for a way around the inevitable. But it was… inevitable. There was no reason to fight it. 

One day soon they would find the heart of the Absolute, of that he had no doubt. When that time came all that was required of him was to find a time and place, then let go. It was simple. With a mere thought he could ensure a future for everything he had come to hold dear, wiping the Absolute from existence. 

And himself along with it. 

Chapter Text

Umbra tossed in her bedroll, blanket twisting between her legs as she turned to try and find a comfortable position. Outside her tent, she could hear popping of logs on the fire and Karlach's familiar heavy step as the tiefling took a turn round the camp on her watch. 

Sighing in frustration, Umbra sat up, straightened her blankets, and curled under them once more. Determined to find sleep, she breathed deep, letting her eyes flutter closed. But as before, images flashed across her lids once they closed, affording no rest. 

A woman's mouth open in a silent scream, gold curls stained red. Large hands gripping the woman's shoulders, alternating between violently shaking her tiny frame and pounding her head against the floor. The scene blurred by hot, wet tears that wouldn't fall. 

Nails biting into her palms, Umbra tried to make her mind go blank. When that didn't work, she tried to pull other memories forward, or to list her morning tasks, but the imagery refused to be ignored. 

Red everywhere; on the floor, the walls, the chair. Red spilling over bare feet and seeping up the bottom edge of her nightgown. Red footprints behind her, glistening sinister in the lamplight when she glanced over her shoulder. Lamplight ahead of her, lighting the way down one corridor of what she somehow knew was a large mansion. Finally, a sound breaking the silence; the soft whimper of a baby's cry. 

Heart racing, Umbra sat up, throwing her covers off. Despite the unnatural cold of the shadow-curse, her linen shirt clung to her in wet, sweaty patches. She pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to scrub those images away. They were the same memories that had haunted her the previous night, alone and shivering on the forest floor, leaving her paralyzed until dawn had kissed the edge of the mountains. It seemed those same demons were determined to sabotage her rest for a second night in a row. 

For once, she was not eager to regain a memory. These were enemies she couldn't fight, couldn't fell with a sword. They lingered at the edges of her vision, threatening to drown her in their horrors if she let her guard down even a little, all the while tempting her curiosity with obscured details. Crucial puzzle pieces that would complete the picture of who she was, but reopening jagged wounds in her soul would be the price. 

She couldn't afford that tax just now. If even this vague recollection was enough to disable her, if only temporarily, she couldn't risk what a complete recall would do to her. Not when the world was relying on her.

Pulling a flask from her pack, Umbra sniffed at the cheap ale, then swallowed a mouthful. She grimaced as it went down, the burn on just the other side of pleasurable. Before the sensation could settle, she took another swallow, then corked the flask. Hopefully that would be enough. She wasn't the first soldier to silence monsters with drink, and she wouldn't be the last, but it was a remedy she'd rather not rely on. Keeping the flask near, she settled down once more, and finally managed to drift to that halfway unconscious state. 

Mere seconds later, however, she found herself bolting upright once more. She'd heard something. Umbra cocked her head and closed her eyes, focusing through the alcohol’s barely there haze. It came again, a wooshing sort of sound, more intentional than the wind brushing through branches. 

Umbra scrambled to pull on trousers before ducking out of her tent, snatching up her sword as she went. Her face hardened and her body tensed, alert for danger. 

Karlach stood by the campfire, squinting upwards at a growing speck in the sky. From the darkness behind her, Astarion stalked into the light, also looking up. His ears twitched in a remarkably catlike manner. 

“A dragon.” Lae'zel said, startling Umbra with her sudden appearance. Her friend's eyes were both determined and sad as she watched the figure near. “They come for me already.”

Gripping her sword tighter, Umbra laid a hand on Lae'zel's shoulder. Hopefully it would be enough to relay her support. She should probably wake the others, they would need everyone if they had to fight, but something held her in place. They weren't strong enough to face a dragon, let alone the experienced riders that came with them. Preparing would do little more than buy them a few extra minutes. It would be better to seem nonthreatening and try to talk their way out of this one, though the odds of this succeeding were only marginally better than the other option. 

With surprising silence, the dragon landed, tucking its wings neatly against its body as two black-clad figures slid to the ground. One, a female, stood back, her face hidden by a mask. The second strode forward, his sword swinging at his side in a falsely casual hold. Umbra's eyebrows twitched upwards as he stepped into the ring of firelight, revealing Voss, the githyanki who had spoken with them at the mountain pass bridge. 

“Supreme Kith’rak. Has Vlaakith sent you to slay me with your own blade?” Lae'zel stepped forward to face the man, though she kept her own sword sheathed. 

A presence swelled in Umbra's mind, Viryn's awareness resting fully on her. A rare hint of panic seeped from the solar to herself, raising her guard further. Who was this man, or the goddess he served, that even Tyr's Hand was afraid? 

The Kith’rak gave a bemused smile. “I've not come to slay you, Lae'zel. I've come to aid you.”

His unexpected words unsteadied Umbra momentarily, but Viryn’s proximity grounded her. Don't trust him. His warning whispered in her mind. She adjusted her sword grip in response. Yet she found herself surprised once more as the giithyanki knelt, moving slowly, and placed his blade on the ground. 

“Ska’kck kir Gith shabell’th. My blade rests. Mother Gith compels you to listen."

Umbra glanced over at Lae'zel, who looked back with a hesitance she'd never seen in her before. This was wholly unexpected, then. Umbra nodded for her to take the lead. Gratitude flashed across Lae'zel's face before she turned back to the Kith'rak. “Speak, then. My ear is yours.”

The githyanki looked relieved, as if he'd been unsure whether they would listen. “I know you carry the astral prism, Lae'zel. Within it lies the seed of Vlaakith's demise. And I intend to help you bring it to fruition.”

Lae'zel sucked in a sharp breath. “Vlaakith's demise?” She spat, anger lacing her tone. “Shka’keth. I should run you through for suggesting it.”

“You know not of what you speak, child.” Voss said. “Vlaakith is tyranny. She must fall. And the one who resides in the prism has the power to stand against her, the same power they use to protect you. I've sought their freedom for eons.”

Umbra frowned at that. If he was so loyal to Viryn, then why would the solar caution them against him? And what was this about eons? Her Oathbinder had not been trapped in the prism for nearly that long, she had seen him in the flesh more than once during her years as a paladin. 

He lies in order to garner trust. Viryn warned. See how he does not know enough to fabricate an accurate story? Voss is guessing, casting a wide net with his lies in hopes his vague answers will not be noticed. Ask him about me; he will evade the question.

“What do you know of the person in the prism?” Umbra asked. Approval flooded through her as she did so. 

Voss turned a calculating gaze on her. “If they have not said, they must have good reason. I will not be the one to betray them. But they have chosen you as an ally, and so I do the same.”

Evading, just as Viryn had said he would. And yet, why bother to speak with them at all? Vlaakith wanted her guide dead, and had sent out the order for the prism to be retrieved at all costs. Simply killing them would have been the quickest tactic. With that dragon, Voss could have scorched their camp without risking his own life and picked the prism from their ashes. His story didn't add up, but she couldn't decipher what motive might be behind this. 

“If we believe you,” Umbra said slowly. “What aid do you offer?”

“A chance to free the prisoner.” Voss let that sink in a moment before continuing, turning back to address Lae'zel. “When the prism first went missing, I feared the worst. Instead, you've granted me the opportunity I have long awaited. All that remains is obtaining the key to unchain them - and I've found someone I believe can provide it. All I ask is that you bring the prism to Baldur's Gate. I'll be waiting in a taproom called Sharess’ Caress. That is where we will decide the fate of our people. Lae'zel - together we can break out chains, and be Vlaakith's slaves no longer.”

“A chance to free the prisoner.” Voss let that sink in a moment before continuing, turning back to address Lae'zel. “When the prism first went missing, I feared the worst. Instead, you've granted me the opportunity I have long awaited. All that remains is obtaining the key to unchain them - and I've found someone I believe can provide it. All I ask is that you bring the prism to Baldur's Gate. I'll be waiting in a taproom called Sharess’ Caress. That is where we will decide the fate of our people. Lae'zel - together we can break out chains, and be Vlaakith's slaves no longer.”

Lae'zel's face twisted in derision, even as uncertainty glinted in her eyes. “I am no slave, jhe’stil Kith'rak.” She spoke the title mockingly. “The Undying Queen is my freedom. It is she who will purify me, and she who will ascend me.”

“Lies, Lae'zel, every last one.” Kith’rak Voss retorted, eyes flashing. “There is no purification, no ascension. The zaith’isk does not purify - it extracts memory and kills the infected. Nor does the lich queen glorify the ascended. She feeds on most all of them to grow her power and pursue godhood.”

“Madness!” Lae'zel cried, ripping her sword from its sheath. “You flood me with this… this heresy!”

Tension filled the air, heavy and suffocating. For Umbra time seemed to slow, seconds stretching as the world collectively held its breath. If Voss was a spy, killing him would be best, yet could they really take him on as they were? But if he was here to test Lae'zel, then attacking would be the best option, though he would then demand the prism from them. Which would, again, lead to an actual fight they were almost sure to lose. And if he was telling the truth? It would open a new host of questions. Would a potential opportunity to free Viryn be worth the risk of trusting Voss?

Umbra realized all of this at once, along with one other truth; this was not her decision to make. It was not she who had been named traitor by her deity, nor her faith that hung in the balance of what came next. It didn't matter that they would all be affected should this go badly. Only Lae'zel could choose her path from this point on; whether that was to follow the one outlined by Vlaakith, or one of her own making. Her vows would not have her meddle in such a critical choice for another soul. She would simply handle the outcome, as she had every challenge thus far. 

“Lae'zel.” Umbra waited for her friend to meet her eyes. “Is this what you really want?” 

Lae'zel's lower lip trembled, her eyes wide and… scared. Umbra had never seen the githyanki afraid before. Yet Lae'zel grit her teeth and raised her weapon, only to thrust it downwards into the dirt. “I served Vlaakith the whole of my life. Learned her words, fought her battles, yet she names me Hshar’lak.” She nearly choked on the word, voice heavy with emotion as she stared at her sword. A moment passed before she looked to Voss. “Your words carry truth. I will meet you in Baldur's Gate. Do not make me regret it.”

Standing, Voss lifted his own sword once more, and Umbra tensed, preparing for a fight. She could hear Astarion and Karlach shifting behind her, as well. But the githyanki didn't move to strike as he stood, instead sheathing his weapon and offering his hand to Lae'zel. She accepted the proffered hand, clasping his forearm close to his elbow as he grasped hers in return. 

They stood silently, searching each other's faces, and Voss smiled. “Lae'zel. I see T’lak’ma Ghir in you. Together, we will be our people's light.”

Voss let go and dug into a pouch at his side, pulling out a strange object. It appeared to be some sort of metal shaped into a pointing hand, a long chain attached at its base. “Take this.” He said, handing the object to Umbra. “It is a qua'nith - a psionic detector. The queen’s warriors hunt you. The qua'nith will sound out when you near their portals. Hear its cry and prepare for battle - or slip away.”

The device was cold and heavier than it looked. Umbra felt a soft hum of power running through it, a constant static across her palms. She nodded her understanding and thanks to the Kith'rak. He returned the gesture and stepped back. “I should go. Vlaakith's gaze pierces the seas and skies. She believes me loyal - and I cannot afford her mistrust. Keep the astral prism close. Let no one take it from you. Slay any who try. I will be waiting.” 

As silently as they came, Voss and the masked figure with him mounted the dragon once more and launched back into the sky. The dragon's wings sent a ripple of air through the camp, rippling through clothing and hair and stirring up dust. With their departure, Umbra felt Viryn withdraw as well, leaving an emptiness and a sense of disapproval in his stead that made her stomach sick. She shoved the feeling down, dampening it under a carefully crafted layer of forced calm. It wasn't against her oath to disobey her guide, but she didn't want to disappoint him all the same. She would find time later to pay penance. 

“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. 

For once, Shadowheart had no comeback. Her mouth hung slightly open and her eyes seemed glazed over as she watched Lae'zel turn away. Wordlessly, the gith made for her tent, face thoughtful. 

A half-grunt, half-snort from one of the other tents drew their attention away from Lae'zel. Umbra glanced at where the noise came from and cocked her eyebrow at Astarion. The elf shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, grinning shamelessly. 

“Astarion,” Karlach eyed him. “You wouldn't happen to be hiding a certain Blade in your tent, would you?” 

“More than one, darling. I am quite adept at handling them.” 

“And he managed to sleep through all this excitement?” Shadowheart quipped, finding her voice again. 

Astarion gave a sly look. “Sword play can tire one out. Especially one as passionate for it as Wyll.” 

“Oh Ao preserve me.” Gale exclaimed, running a hand over his face. “Is that why you wanted me to cast a silencing spell earlier?” 

At the dismay in his voice, Karlach clapped a hand over her mouth, trying her best to smother her laughter, her shoulders shaking. She was not very successful. 

Chapter Text

Tendrils of shadow lurked inches away from where Gale walked, hungrily waiting for any of their party to stray from the cold circle of lantern light carried by their arachnidian guide. 

“They must stay in the light, your majesty!” The eight-legged and many-eyed creature mumbled. “They must not wander!” 

The creature, a drider called Kar’niss, had kept up this muttering chant since it had appeared and agreed to guide them to Moonrise Towers. Gale hardly paid it any mind now. They all were acutely aware of the consequences wandering would bring, a constant mad ramble was hardly necessary. Not that he cared to point that out to the drider. Their kind was not known for patience or sanity, traits already rare in the drow and often lost during the transformation of drow into drider. It was for this reason and no other that he kept his gaze on the unnerving creature, ready to move should anything provoke it to attack. He was definitely not watching the sturdy female figure who walked beside the drider.

“... Gale? Gale!” Shadowheart hissed next to him, bringing his head around sharply. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“Um…” Gale shook his head. How long had Shadowheart been speaking to him? He hadn't been paying attention to anything but the drider for at least half an hour now. With a sigh, he forced his focus into the cleric. “I apologize, Shadowheart. I was… distracted. What were you saying?” 

Shadowheart glanced towards the front of their group and rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn't comment on his preoccupation. “I was asking,” she huffed, “how one knows when their being blessed by their goddess? Directly protected or something of the sort, like a deity might offer to favored followers.” 

“That varies greatly depending on the deity.” Gale frowned at the unusual question. “Why? Who even is your goddess?” 

“I'm not sure I can say.” Shadowheart hesitated. 

Gale shrugged. “It's your business, but I won't be of much help if I don't know.”

They continued silently for a moment, Shadowheart watching her feet and Gale watching Shadowheart. Come to think of it, the cleric had never spoken much of her religion, though it was always clear she had one. Her reticence made him suspect it was an unpopular deity. 

“Shar.” She said finally, her voice already defiant. “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.”

“Exactly!” An ecstatic smile spread over his friend's face. He'd never seen her so animated before. “That's exactly what I feel! The others, they don't understand what it means to be devoted. Not like we do. It feels as though I could be crushed and tossed aside at anytime, but the moments when she shows her love for me, it makes all the pain worth it. We are taught to look for Shar in the absence of all else, and here under this curse I feel her. I must be right. She does favor me!” 

That… wasn't quite what Gale had meant. He watched Shadowheart, half listening as she gushed over her goddess. He didn't know much about the Lady of Loss, but from his studies she seemed to demand complete sacrifice from her followers. It was strange to watch the cleric speak so enthuastically of divinely ordained self-destruction. 

It's no different from what you have been asked. 

The thought wriggled unbidden into his mind, but Gale quickly squashed it. 

She seems only concerned for her own safety, heedless of lives lost to ensure it.

It was Lae’zel’s words that surfaced next. 

Does she think you incapable of destroying the absolute with your own immense talents? Does she not know of the mighty company you keep? 

Like a second parasite in his brain, her words from the night before refused to leave him alone. But she was wrong. His task was different. Mystra hadn't demanded he sacrifice himself for some soulless ideal. She was asking for a sacrifice, yes, but one that would save lives rather than lose them. His own redemption was trivial benefit, one he felt surprisingly apathetic about. 

A shout from Kar’niss ahead spared Gale from having to ponder that line of thinking further. His companions and the cultists came to a sudden stop around him, one of the goblins muttering darkly at the delay. 

“Something's wrong. Majesty.” The drider hissed, head jerking back and forth as he called a challenge into the dark. “Who's there? Show yourself!” 

“Harper's, attack!” An answering challenge came from within a crumbling building by the wayside. “Kill the cultists - and get that lantern!” 

“Heretics!” The drider shouted, and cultists surged forward instantly towards the ambushers. But Gale waited, as did the other companions, all looking expectantly towards Umbra for her signal. 

Umbra turned to glance at them, her eyes almost instantly finding Gale's. He held the gaze steady, heart swelling to have been sought out by her over the others. Setting her jaw, she nodded just slightly, and Gale knew it was decided. He shifted into a former stance, preparing to cast his first spell even before Umbra could draw her sword. 

“To me!” She shouted, sword raised, her profile outlined sharply as Gale's bolts of fire flew past her. “Death to the Absolute!” 

Chapter Text

Gale's firebolts lit the battlefield for a brief moment, blinding against the darkness of the curse. He so often spoke of his current abilities as though it was an embarrassment compared to his peak as Mystra’s Chosen, yet in moments like this Umbra found herself awed by how clearly gifted he still was with magic. 

Using the moment of illumination, Umbra rushed forward, swiping her sword to the right to finish off the poor goblin who had received the brunt of Gale's attack. Two figures stood atop the crumbling building, one aimed a bow at combatants below, and one was flourishing their hands as strands of Weave built between fingers. She glimpsed two more figures rushing from the shadows to her left. A few feet ahead, the drider stood encased in a glowing silver-yellow orb.

“It's using Sanctuary!” Shadowheart called from next to her, moving past towards the cultists. “We won't be able to do a thing to it while that's up!” 

Cursing, Umbra turned away to find a new target. She'd stay close, but Shadowheart would not be mistaken about a protection spell like that. As she turned, she caught sight of a gruff, bearded Harper stumbling back from a bugbear’s blow. “Stay down!” She shouted at him, lunging to block the bugbear's next strike, giving the man time to regain his feet. Another moment, and the bugbear fell, stabbed through the neck by the man while Umbra held defense. The Harper nodded to her as they both turned back to the battle. 

“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. 

Another brief wave of wooziness washed over her as she balanced. Her arm was beginning to ache, too. She wiggled her fingers, testing, and could hardly feel them. Treating this wound should probably move further up on her list of priorities, but first she needed to deal with the Harpers. They could be a tedious lot to deal with. 

That thought gave Umbra pause. How did she know what Harpers were like? She was not given the luxury of time to puzzle it out.

Near Kar’niss’ body lay the lamp it had carried, pale light spilling over uprooted floor boards. A green skinned elf with small eyes and high cheekbones was bending down to pick it up. He was likely in charge here. 

The Harper turned towards her as she approached, but kept his eyes on the lamp. “Incredible.” She heard him mutter as she neared. “A light so radiant, not even the curse can dim it.” The light flickered just barely as he spoke, and Umbra thought she heard a high-pitched twitter. She must be more lightheaded than she realized, if she was hearing things. 

“You.” The elf finally looked at her, through the close to blinding light of the lantern. “Talk. Why would a cultist turn on it's own kind?”

A fair accusation, Umbra supposed. She raised her hands in acquiescence. “We aren't with them. They took us prisoner.” It wasn't exactly a lie, she reasoned. They were prisoners so long as the damned tadpole was in their heads. 

“No…” The Harper gasped as Umbra spoke, his posture relaxing. Confused, she waited tense as he raised the lamp until it only illuminated instead of blinding her eyes. His face went slack with shock and he took a step closer. “Al Yadhi? But, how? You- we thought- well, with Gortash and the- the trial, we all assumed…” 

It was Umbra's turn to stand still in shock. Al Yadhi. Of The Hand. A title, as the feminine preposition implied. It was…an unusual word, to use as a title. Alzhedo was a very rule bound language. But, what even was Alzhedo? Why did she recognize those words? Even as she considered it, she realized her thoughts had always sounded that way in her head. She hadn't forgotten the language, she merely hadn't realized she was habitually translating her words for the sake of those she spoke with. Alzhedo…it was not a common tongue here, in the north.

All this, coming to her in an instant, left her reeling. Her earlier dizziness was returning, too. The Harper had moved closer and was saying something she could not hear as he dropped the lantern, reaching to grab her by the shoulders with both hands. She did note a look of concern on his face, though. Was he still worried? About her allegiance?

Before he could reach her, however, Umbra felt her knees buckle from under her. She couldn't feel any of her limbs. A faint shout made it through the ringing, just seconds before it all went black. 

Chapter Text

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.

Shadowheart sighed. “Fine. If you're going to stay you can help. Lift her so I can get this pauldron and cuirass off. I think she's been wounded on the shoulder.”

Following her instructions, Gale gently lifted Umbra to her side with one hand while he cradled her head and neck in the other, holding her up to allow Shadowheart access to straps and buckles. The cleric worked quickly, the pauldron coming off in moments. A stench rose as she removed it, and Gale had to fight not to gag. Underneath they found a shallow gash running along where bare skin met fabric padding and armor, over collarbone and shoulder that should have been covered by a helmet. There hadn't been enough time before the fight to put one on. 

Shadowheart wrinkled her nose at the wound as she gently probed, making yellow puss bubble up against graying skin. “Drider venom. It must have gotten into the wound when she killed it. She'll be fine once we disinfect it since it isn't deep. But the venom has a strong paralyzing effect that may take some time to wear off. I'll give her an antidote too, which should help speed it up a little, but we can't wait here. You. Branthos, was it?” Shadowheart looked up, and Gale followed her gaze to find the Harper still standing over them. He nodded in confirmation. “You must have come from somewhere. Do you have a camp nearby?” 

Branthos nodded again. “More than a camp. We've managed to maintain a stronghold at Last Light Inn, a final refuge against the dark. They will be safe to rest there.”

“A refuge?” Halsin spoke from where he stood in the doorway. “Someone has managed to keep the shadows at bay this far in?” 

“Yes. We have the blessing of Selune. Her gift allows us to fight back against the cultists.” Branthos explained. “We have been trying to discover how they keep from being consumed by shadows. That is why we were here today, and hopefully this lantern will give us answers, though… I'm not sure how much help it will actually be.”

“Of course it's Selune.” Shadowheart muttered, pulling a face. “The moon witch can't help but meddle even here. Gale, go get my pack. We need to clean this before we move her.”

Reluctantly, Gale did as asked, unable to find words to protest. It was strange how often he found himself with nothing to say when Umbra was involved. He hurried past Halsin, who briefly rested a comforting hand on his shoulder as he passed. He didn't want comfort right now. Not when he could still feel Umbra holding frantically to him and the connection they shared. An ache settled into his heart as he sorted through the packs, his breath catching in his throat. But he pushed that aside. Now was the time to act, not worry. After a moment he located Shadowhearts pack and returned to the others. 

Twenty minutes later Lae'zel lifted Wyll onto her back, sniping with Astarion the whole while even as she handled the unconscious Warlock with far more care than she seemed capable of. Halsin prepared to do the same with Umbra, but stopped at a touch from Gale. 

“Let me.” Gale nearly whispered the request.  

Halsin paused a moment, but then nodded, his eyes soft in understanding. He stepped back to allow for Gale to crouch down instead and helped lift Umbra, arranging her to sit as comfortably as possible. They tied her to him with fabric under her legs and around his chest, to prevent her from toppling. It was easier to maintain a hold on their mental connection this close together, and he could feel her desperation for it to hold. As he waited for the others to finish redistributing supplies, he tried to strengthen the bond, pushing his awareness further in. He caught glimpses of emotion, betrayal and more of that icy terror, but could go no further for the moment. Perhaps if he had the luxury of his entire focus he could force his way through to her, but for now he simply let comfort trickle across the mental distance. 

***

It was dark here, inside her own self. It wasn't bright or open like when Viryn called for her, or strangely unfocused the way a dream was. There was only darkness. And walls. Walls too black to see but knew were there all the same, hiding something on the other side. Or hiding her from whatever was on the other side. They stood immovable and fragile all at once and it terrified her. She wanted out. 

Umbra strained to move, but couldn't feel any part of her body. She hated that. There was something about being frozen, icy terror in her blood, that was too familiar. Even more worrying, she could feel a tugging from somewhere deeper, part of the cold darkness softening as if it would give way and let her fall endlessly. Desperately, she reached for her senses. If she could just hear someone then she could stay grounded in the forefront of her mind, where it was safe. There was an occasional buzz of voices fading in and out, but she couldn't make out words. The only reprieve from the dark was a single pinpoint of awareness, a bright strand extending from where she imagined her heart was, a faint link between herself and Gale of Waterdeep. 

Gale had come so quickly. He was nearby now, very near, and she felt a swell of too strong affection. It was admittedly embarrassing to think how instinctually she had reached for him, yet despite everything that had happened he had still run to her. And she held to him with everything she could muster. 

But it wasn't enough. Slowly, like sweaty fingers on a rocky cliff face, Umbra felt her hold slipping. The unseen walls turned from soft to fluid, a rushing torrent of emotions with no memory attached pulling at her until she was carried away with it, drowning in its swirls and eddies. The connection to Gale still shone from her imagined chest and she grasped it in a frenzied attempt to pull against the current, but that only threatened to snap the line altogether. So she gave herself over to the pounding current, letting her connection lengthen rather than break, a golden thread to guide her back out when the waters dried. 

***

It was another rush of remembering, similar to how Viryn had restored bits of her past. Only this was far more painful. The emotions were desperate to find their way back to where they belonged. Betrayal, terror, confusion. Love and heartbreak. Memories coming in waves that filled her lungs and left her gasping and dazed. 

It wasn't all bad, especially at first. In a haze she remembered late mornings and happy afternoons spent in a sort of garden filled with cacti and heavy leafed plants and bright tube-like flowers, all outlining sandy paths. She remembered a quiet nursemaid and a few other faceless attendants. She remembered a man, taller than any other she knew, who laughed like thunder and indulged her many questions as she watched him practice with his sword. The mameluk - one of her father's slave warriors - even gently guided her through her own sword flows as she grew older, smiling encouragement when, to her shock, handling the wooden practice sword was far more difficult than it looked. A part of her felt there was something missing from this happy picture, her heart aching from the nameless absence, but she couldn't recall what.

Umbra remembered the coming and going of men and women in fabulous clothes, bright and lightweight and ornamented in heavy gold. She remembered hiding in the foliage to watch as each was greeted and led to meet with her father, in the set of rooms she was never allowed near. 

And she remembered her father. An average man as far as appearance went, bald with a long braided beard as was the fashion and heavyset which spoke to the wealth he held. She remembered that he rarely spoke to her, and when he did it was in reprimand, though he was never harsh. She remembered, too, how she hoped those meetings he held went well. If they did, it would mean some bauble for her and, more importantly, it would mean her mother would smile. 

Her mother had the most beautiful smile, dazzling white teeth and a dimple in one cheek. Seipora wasn't brown like everyone else, her skin looked like milk and her hair was spun gold. She didn't wear the heavy jewelry or makeup others wore, except for when father took her smile. Then she would wear heavy blue eyeshadow and thick kohl. 

At some point Umbra had become aware of the almost disdainful looks those who visited wore, as if her house was somehow lacking something. She overheard conversations between maids, of parties and social events other young girls were expected to attend, and frequently caught looks of pity directed towards herself.

She hadn't been bothered by it though. Between her mother, who was admittedly smiling less often, and the distraction of sword training, she was content. 

Until shortly after she turned fifteen.

She had come awake with a start. A shout from down the hall, from her mother's room, urged her out of bed and into the cool night air that flowed through open corridors. 

“No! Tell him I said no. I won't allow it. I won't let him sell Umbra like a prize cow to the highest bidder. I don't care that she is of age now by law. It is a barbaric standard and I won't do it!” 

Peeking around the corner, Umbra saw her mother pacing back and forth and screaming this at the unfortunate manservant who had apparently delivered the crumpled note in Seipora’s hand. The man bowed his way back down the corridor until he was far enough to turn and hurry away without causing offense, but her mother didn't even notice. She continued pacing, muttering to herself in a manic way. 

Umbra shivered, dry desert air chilled her through the sleeveless white shift she wore and her bare toes curled on cold stone. “Maadyi?” She said softly. 

At her call her mother spun, and Umbra cringed back at her mother's wild eyes. But a moment later her mother composed herself and reached her arms towards Umbra, gathering her close when she ran to melt into her mother. “Mazha jhasina,” she whispered into her daughter's hair. “My darling. Why are you awake?”

“What was that about?” Umbra asked, ignoring her mother's question. “What does father want with me? He's never paid me any mind before.”

She felt her mother frown against her head. “Nevermind that. It's nothing for you to worry about. Syrinx hold us, you're freezing! Come, you can sleep with me tonight.” Umbra let herself be led into her mother's room, and was glad for the warm fire and plush rugs layering the floor. She rested against her mother, curling into the familiar warmth as she had when she was much younger and growing drowsy once more as her mother ran fingers through her hair. She was nearly asleep when another loud noise brought her abruptly awake again. 

“Seipora!” Her father roared, the word slurring strangely as he did. 

Her mother had that wild look again. “You have to hide!” She hissed and pulled Umbra off the bed. In seconds Umbra found herself shoved into a wardrobe, her mother glancing fearfully behind her. “Listen, whatever happens do not make a sound or let him find you here. I'll be alright, so no matter what you have to control yourself. Do you understand?” 

Umbra nodded mutely and Seipora pressed a hand to her cheek briefly before closing the doors. Through a crack in the doors, Umbra watched her mother straighten, every line of her body going statuesque still. Any trace of fear or anger disappeared, and when her father burst through the door a moment later he was met with a wall of calm. 

It only made him more furious. 

He railed at her mother, accusing her of undermining him, of trying to sink him into ruin. He yelled about the way nobles looked down on him, how he was excluded from usual society. Umbra for the first time realized the truth of her family's position in the world from this tirade, and she watched stunned as her father practically spit accusations in her mother's face. All the while her lovely mother remained unmoved. 

Finally, when he had calmed enough to quiet for a moment, her mother spoke in a measured tone. “She will not be married this way. It will be by proper courtship or not at all. I will not budge on this, Haseid.”

Haseid stared, jaw slack, then ground his teeth together. His jowls quivered in anger. Then his hands shot out, tightening around her mother's throat. 

Umbra wanted to look away, but it was as if she had turned into a statue herself. The fire no longer warmed her, and she couldn't so much as close her eyes as her limbs seized with her growing horror. 

It was golden curls stained red and blood pooling when the rugs couldn't absorb more. It was crunching of bone against stone and breath stolen in sobbing almost screams. It was red footprints glinting in candlelight as a little girl dashed away from the unrecognizable body her father had left behind in his drunken rage. It was the cry of some young child, the only other living creature who dared make a sound on this awful night. 

No. Umbra did not want to remember this. She did not want to remember the year that followed, each day filled with a cold dread, waiting for her father to turn on her too. 

As she cringed away from the memories, she became aware of a warmth in her chest. That glowing thread brightened, pulling gently. She followed and as she did the memories seemed to lose color until they faded altogether. Not forgotten, but less sharp, edges worn down with time's passing. 

In contrast the edges of herself were sharpening, awareness of her limbs coming back in a rush of tingling pain. Her throat choked up with relief. Sounds returned too, along with the sensation of someone stroking her hair in much the same way her mother had done that final night. But it wasn't her mother. These fingers were larger, though soft. She had imagined their touch almost daily for weeks now and recognized Gale at once. 

With a gasp Umbra came awake, her eyes snapping open to meet Gale's, who leaned over her in surprise and concern. 

“Umbra?” His voice was strained. “Can you hear me?” 

In response, Umbra threw herself at him. She would berate herself for her brazenness later, but for now she buried her face into his chest. He smelled of sandalwood and fire smoke and some sharp spice she couldn't name but recognized his recent cooking. She breathed in the comforting scent, settling further against him as his arms came up to hold her firmly, and let herself cry.