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But he didn't know if they were traveling together, or had gone their separate ways after last night.
All he knew was that he found blood all over his table, completely drenching his notes, a discarded bucket lying on the stone floor.
And he was missing a few books, a few of his remaining books missing a few pages, his bookshelves looking a little battered.
But he didn't write either of them. Didn't try to speak with them again, and he wouldn't, not unless he had something to report, or complain about.
They weren't his friends, his lovers, or even his allies.
They were his pawns.
He was also their pawn.
Only their gods would decide who would survive in the end. Maybe only one of them. Maybe none of them.
Whatever happened, Ketheric Thorm was just glad that he wasn't going to see either of them at Moonrise again any time soon.
The days that followed their defeat of the Elder Brain pass in an exhausted haze, blurring together into a mess that Tav couldn’t have kept straight if she tried.
At some point the cheering in the streets slowly fades as the high of having surviving slowly bleeds into the weight of being the ones who survived, and the sounds that drift up from the streets become more solemn, for a time: shifting rock and rubble, the seemingly endless calls for a far too short supply of clerics.
At some point, they had managed to track Astarion down and get him safely back to their room at the Elf Song.
At some point, Tav had had to explain to Duke Ravengard that his son was already gone, back to battle the endless fires of Avernus beside Karlach. There had been no time for goodbyes and no time for regrets, because there had simply been no time.
At some point, drinks were had, plans were made, and accolades were waved off. Little by little their room at the Elf Song Tavern, once crowded and loud and alive and vibrant, began to grow quiet and empty as her companions began to drift away to piece their own lives back together as best they could.
Halsin is the first to take his leave, eager to escape the bustle of the city and return to the comfort of nature in the Emerald Grove. He would have left sooner, but before he could, Tav had had to make peace with the fact that he would be taking her beloved owlbear with him.
It had taken a lot of back and forth, with Tav’s tearful protests on one side and Gale and Halsin’s calm, patient reasoning on the other for her to finally come around. She had known they were right, of course: not only was her once-little companion now far too big to be comfortably kept in the city, but he wouldn’t have been happy there. He deserved a safe, comfortable home of his own, where he could grow and thrive. Hidden away in a bustling tavern was no place for a mighty creature such as him.
Neither, Gale was sure to add, lest she get any ideas, was a wizard’s tower.
It was a better life for him, Tav knew, to go with Halsin and find a home near the Grove, where the druids could keep an eye on him while still letting him be wild and free. Still, she spent a good, long while with her face buried in the owlbear’s course feathers, whispering teary promises that she would visit as often as she could.
Shadowheart decides to seek out the nearby Selunite enclave that Isobel and Aylin had made their own home, opting to stick close to the city and begin the slow process of building herself a new life, free at last from the guiding hand of a vengeful god.
Jaheira returns to her own home, for the first time in a long time, to face the playful ire of her family, with Yenna and Grub in tow.
"There is always room for one more stray cub," she says. And if there isn’t, she tells them, then she’ll make some. Minsc follows with them, for the time being, and Tav’s not certain what he’ll get up to once the dust finally settles, but she’s sure she’ll be hearing about it in bard songs throughout the Storm Coast soon enough.
And after that, for the first time, it’s just the two of them left, in the empty and quiet of their room in the Elf Song. The weight everything they had gone through catches up to her all at once, as if she’d been held up by some invisible strings that had suddenly been severed, and Gale very nearly has to carry her to the bed.
She curls herself into his chest, pressing her body against his as close as she possibly can, and finally allows herself to rest.
They stay there for a long time, neither of them speaking, Tav with her head pressed to Gale’s chest and Gale with his arms around her back, his cheek resting on the top of her head. The sun rises, and Gale combs his fingers through her hair. The sun sets, and Gale’s chest rises and falls, slow and steady and calm and alive.
Truly, that was Tav’s greatest and most proudest achievement, she thinks. Sod the Absolute, the Dead Three and their Chosen, and and all the rest of them: her friends are alive.
Astarion’s alive, even if he’s confined once more to the shadows of the night or the dubious safety of the Underdark. He’s got his work cut out for him, trying to help guide the other spawn through their newfound freedom, but he’d promised to stay in touch, and even accepted the sending stone Tav had insisted he take with him—if with a grudging, theatrical eye-roll.
Jaheira had promised to keep an eye on him, at least.
Karlach is alive, and while the thought of her having to return to Avernus fills Tav with dread, at least she has Wyll by her side, and the House of Hope to take refuge until they can find some way to stabilize her infernal engine and get her back to the city—her true home.
And they will, Tav is certain of that. Dammon is still working tirelessly on finding a solution, together with the Gondians and the knowledge they were able to salvage from the remains of the Steel Watch foundry, and he’s sure he’ll find an answer, somewhere. Somehow.
Tav’s not sure how long it will take, but she believes Dammon when he tells her he won’t give up until he can get Karlach back.
Lae’zel is alive, living out her greatest dream atop the back of a great dragon, off to free her people from Vlaakith’s control. It was going to be a long, bloody, nearly impossible battle, and Tav knew that Lae’zel wouldn’t have had it any other way.
And Gale—Gale is alive, solid and warm and intact, arms and legs tangled with hers in the too-small bed, the pulse of the Netherese orb in his chest still steady and stable where it rests high in his chest.
The damned orb. That’s first on the list, once they finally have the energy to drag themselves out of this bed and back out into the waiting world. The Crown of Karsus is still in the water, somewhere, and Mystra is still waiting for them to deliver it to her, dangling the promise of freedom for Gale in front of them, just beyond their reach.
Tav has plans for that—ideas, half-formed and foggy but getting clearer. Favors that are owed, that she plans on collecting, just as soon as she can summon the will to leave the warmth of Gale’s embrace for longer than a few moments at a time.
The thought of which, at this particular moment, is inconceivable to her. The frantic shouting and clambering outside have finally calmed down, as the worst of the aftermath has been sorted through, and there’s the faint sounds of laughter and music drifting up through the floorboards from the tavern below, once again swelling with patrons happy to drink their relief and grief away in equal measure.
This moment is slow, and soft, and warm, and Tav means to treasure it.
She takes a long, slow inhale through her nose where it’s pressed against Gale’s collar—the hint of smoke, salt, the lavender scented soap the tavern provided—and lets it out in a sigh. Her breath fans warm across his skin, over the dark lines that mark where the orb was burned into him, over the scattered dark hairs that disappear beneath his shirt collar.
Gale shifts slightly, the hand that’s pressed against the base of her spine rubbing slow circles. A caress for a caress.
Tav moves slowly and carefully, keeping herself pressed as close to him as possible as she lifts her head from his chest to look up at his face resting on the pillow beside her. He watches her through half-closed eyes, low lidded and soft in the dim light of the few candles they’d bother to light in the room.
She holds his gaze, searching his eyes for nothing in particular; basking in the warm wonder of simply sharing this space, this moment, with him, without the specter of impending doom hanging over their heads, for the first time since they’d met.
Gale moves the hand on her back up to cradle her face, smoothing his palm up over the curve of her spine and up her neck, sweeping his thumb over her jaw in a slow caress, and they stay like that for a long moment, close enough that their breath mingles between them, simply watching one another.
She isn’t sure which one of them moves first—perhaps they move at the same time, drawn together as they always have been by some invisible pull towards one another—but he tips his head down to her and she tilts hers up to him and then their lips are meeting in a slow, gentle kiss.
Tav’s eyes slip closed as his lips move against hers. For perhaps the first time there is no sense of urgency or desperation to their kiss; no threat on the horizon that makes them cling to one another as if this may be their last chance to do so.
Gale kisses her slowly, tenderly as if for their first time, savoring the moment as if to commit every sensation to memory. He shifts his other hand out from beneath the pillows to cradle her face in both hands, holding her against him.
He shifts on the bed slightly, pulling her closer to him still, and changes the angle of their kiss, teasing at the seem of her lips with his tongue. Tav parts her lips for him with a dreamy sigh, the tiniest ghost of a whimper catching in her throat as he deepens their kiss. The brush of his tongue over hers, slow and teasing, sends a shower of sparks through her, liquid heat that spills through her whole body until she’s shifting her hips against his, chasing some friction of relief.
Tav brings her hands to his front, smoothing down over the soft fabric of his shirt in a slow drag down to his waist. She slips them underneath the loose hem, suddenly seized with the need to touch, to feel the warmth of his skin under her palms, to explore the feel of him, savoring the soft scratch of the coarse hair on his chest, the way he shudders slightly against her when she curls her fingers to gently scrape her blunt nails over his skin.
Gale keeps one hand on her face, his lips never leaving hers, as he smooths the other down her front, palming at her breast through the thin fabric of her tunic. Her breath hitches and she keens softly into his kiss when he moves his hand away for the briefest moment to unfasten the simple buttons holding it closed, nimble fingers making short work of them and pushing them aside until she can shrug out of the garment, letting it slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor, forgotten.
The room around them is warm, but the heat of Gale’s palm against her skin still makes her shiver as he brings his hand back to cover her breast, kneading gently.
Tav moans into his mouth as his fingers tease her nipple, rolling and pinching the stiff pebbled peak. She shifts against him, angling her hips to press more firmly into his as desire begins to coil low in her belly, hot and tight.
Gale rolls his hips against hers, still holding her against him, still kissing her slowly, even as he continues to massage her breast in his hand, even as she can feel the insistent press of his hardening length against her hip.
They take their time, undressing each other slowly, discovering and mapping out every freckle and scar, savoring every newly exposed inch of skin with a kiss or caress. This is not a stolen night of passion and comfort, in the woods beneath a falsely glittering sky, near-certain doom waiting for them on the horizon, nor is it a quiet fumble in the confines of their tent, trying to keep as quiet as possible so as not to disturb their nearby companions.
For the first time since they’ve known one another there is no ticking clock on their lives. For the first time, there is nothing and no one but the two of them, alone together for what is truly the first time. There is only the soft crackle of the fireplace, the the quiet pant of their breathing.
They stay pressed together, only shifting enough so that Tav can hitch her legs around the sharp curve of Gale’s waist when he finally takes himself in hand and sinks inside of her with a low groan, slow and smooth.
The sheer relief of it drives a breathy gasp from her as she arches her back, relishing the slow, burning stretch of his cock inside of her, and she rocks her hips against his trying to pull him closer even as he sinks himself into her up to the hilt. She tangles one hand in his hair and keeps the other on his chest, feeling the rapid thunder of his heartbeat as he begins to move his hips.
Gale leans over her, letting her pull him close so that their chests are pressed together, her hand still pressed over his heart between them. He drags his lips over the curve of her jaw, sucking soft kisses into the tender skin of her throat. She rolls her hips up to meet him in time with his thrusts, slow and even and so deep it makes her nearly dizzy, tiny black bursts of stars beginning to blur her vision as they move together.
Tav’s orgasm builds slowly, but it crashes through her like a blazing inferno, and she comes apart with the sound of Gale’s name leaving her lips on a broken whimper that drags him over the edge with her as he presses his lips to hers in a messy kiss.
They cling to each other for the rest of the night, and Tav falls asleep with her face still buried in the crook of Gale’s neck, her palm pressed over the steady beat of his heart, and his hand rubbling soothing circles into her back.
It’s not without reluctance that they untangle themselves from one another when the morning comes, but as the bright sun spills through the windows once more Tav finds herself filled with a renewed sense of determination.
Today they will finally set the wheels in motion for retrieving the Crown from the depths of the Gray Harbor. It’s going to be quite the undertaking, but in comparison to everything else they’ve faced in the past week, it seems an almost easy task.
First, they’ll need to pay a visit to Duke Ravengard and Counselor Florrick, to enlist the help of some heavier muscle than the two of them alone. And from there, to the Water Queen’s House, to speak with Flood Tide Allandra and see if her and her temple will be willing to assist them.
And they will, thinks Tav, because they have to. There is simply no world that Tav could accept where they don’t get this done. Not after everything they’ve gone through to get here.
And then they’ll return the Crown to Mystra, and finally put an end to the endless gnawing hunger of the Netherese orb in Gale’s chest.
She had asked him what the first thing he wanted to do was, once he’s finally free of the burden that’s been slowly devouring him for the better part of a year.
Find a quiet place in the forest where he can cast the biggest spell he can think of, to test the return of the abilities that had been sapped from him? Teleport them to Neverwinter, just to see if he can? Cast a dozen Globes of Invulnerability around the city and start a ring of fight clubs with Minsc?
Gale had laughed—her favorite sound—and shaken his head. "As tempting as that all sounds, I think I’ll have to decline."
There was only one thing he wanted to do he wanted to do once he was finally free, he told her. Only one thing he wanted at all, really, more than anything.
He wanted to take her home.
Tav takes a quick breath to steady herself as the two of them wait for their chance at an audience with Ravengard and Florrick.
They’re going to help them. They have to. Even if Tav has to pull out every stop, use every possible guilt trip to convince them. They saved the whole bleeding city, after all, not to mention the two of them individually. Multiple times, in fact. It’s the least they can do.
Excitement begins to build within her at the thought that the end might truly be in sight.
She’s always wanted to see a real wizard’s tower.
It takes another two weeks to fully dredge up all of the pieces of the Crown from the bottom of Gray Harbor, even with the assistance of the temple of the Wavemother. It’s a broken, mangled mess, but even still every piece radiates with malevolent energy that even Tav can sense, and the feeling grows stronger with every piece they recover. She can practically hear it whispering through her mind, calling to her. It wants to be reforged, to be used. It promises power, unlike any she’s ever held.
There was time in her life where that might have held some sway over her, but after everything she’s gone through in the past month, she simply tunes it out. She’s seen firsthand what that sort of power does to someone, and she wants nothing to do with it.
Gale feels the effects of it, too. Stronger than she does, she’s certain; the Netherese orb in his chest never stops glowing when they’re around the fragments, the dark, ancient energy within calling out to its kin, and he swears to her that it doesn’t hurt, but she can see the way his hands shake, even as he clenches them into fists to try and hide it.
This is Mystra’s true test, and they both know it.
The power to reshape the balance of the world—for better or ill—in the palm of his hands. Everything he has ever dreamed of and more, beyond the realm of anything he could ever hope to achieve in his lifetime, no matter how powerful of an archmage he became. A chance to not only wipe away the memory if his disgrace from the history books but to rewrite them all together.
It is a cup of poisoned water, held out to a man dying of thirst.
Gale grits his teeth and clenches his fists through the days and tosses and turns through the nights. He spends most nights awake and staring at the same page of a book, his eyes unfocused and unseeing. Tav remains at his side, her palm pressed flat over the pulsing heat of the mark seared into his skin, just below the hollow of his throat.
I am here. I am with you. We are in this together.
You can do this.
The dark circles beneath his eyes bear a striking resemblance to bruises by the time they’ve retrieved the final piece, and he wastes no time in throwing them all into a plain cloth sack that he’d found down by the docks and hauling the filthy, still dripping thing over to the Stormshore Tabernacle.
If the door had been closed, Tav’s pretty sure he would have kicked it open, but the door is open for them when they arrive, and Elminster is already there, standing beside the stone statue dedication to Mystra, alive and glowing with an open connection to the Weave, his hands clasped behind his back sagely.
Tav hovers behind Gale’s shoulder as he tosses the heavy sack at the foot of the statue. He’s breathing a little hard, from the journey up from the docks—or perhaps he’s seething, a little, Tav thinks.
Either way, Elminster glances down at the dripping bag at his feet, then back up to Gale, his pale eyes softening.
"Gale, my boy—"
"Don’t." Gale snaps.
Seething, then, thinks Tav. She feels a little rush of warm pride that she dutifully keeps off of her face.
To his credit, Elminster doesn’t seem particularly phased by the brittle edge in Gale’s tone. He merely blinks, and takes a moment or two to consider his words.
"I only wished to express how very proud of you I am, Gale." Elminster says, slowly and more carefully.
"Thank you." Gale’s voice is tight, but there’s slightly less bite in it now. "Now, please, Elminster—let us get this done and put an end to this whole sordid affair, shall we?"
"Quite so." Elminster nods and steps to the side, sweeping one hand out towards the statue in invitation.
Gale eyes the glowing effigy for a moment with a mixture of apprehension and dread, like he can’t quite manage to let himself be truly hopeful just yet.
Tav puts a hand on his shoulder and his attention snaps to her, his dark eyes wide. They calm a little when he looks at her, and his expression softens as she gives him her best reassuring smile.
"Go on, then." She says softly. "Go and give her what she wants, and then come back to me."
He stares at her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, before he steps close to her and grabs her by the waist, pulling her into a quick, hard kiss.
Tav brings her hands up to rest on his chest and kisses him back with equal passion.
He pulls away from her after a long moment, his hand slipping from her waist almost reluctantly, and he gives her a weary but still roguish grin.
"Always," he says, and gods help her, she hopes that that’s true.
He turns his attention back to the statue, and to where Elminster is doing his best to pretend to be very fascinated by a spot on the wall just past them, and a bit of the tension has eased from his shoulders as he reaches a hand out towards the stone, catching the threads of the Weave that stretch out towards him. He tightens his fist around them and pulls and then, just like that and without any fanfare, he is gone.
Tav sucks in a shuddering breath, anxiety roiling cold in her stomach as Elminster clears his throat and turns his attention back to the sack at his feet. He extends his hands out towards it, palms flat, and begins to recite an incantation that Tav couldn’t have followed if she tried.

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