Work Text:
She thought she’d managed to hide her breakdown from everyone.
It had been inevitable. As hard as she tried to throw herself into the moment and enjoy the simple pleasure of touch again, Dammon’s dire warning remained burned into her mind. Sooner rather than later. What did that even mean, anyway?
So she got her (relatively) cold pint of ale at Last Light, hugged everyone who would let her, petted Scratch and their new owlbear friend until her arms got tired. She laughed, and talked too loud, and stumbled over her words in front of her childhood hero, and every moment of it felt amazing. Then, when the night grew dark and the rest of her companions took their beds, Karlach crept out on the balcony of the inn and sat there, staring up at the shimmering shield of light that protected the place.
There was a time, maybe, when she’d first been sent to Avernus, that she’d been afraid of dying. Before she learned that there, in Zariel’s domain, there was far worse to fear than an end to suffering. So, she’d stopped thinking about dying and started thinking about escape.
She’d finally managed it, too. Not because of anything she’d done, really, but still. She was free, and ever since life had been great. One of her most dogged enemies was now her friend and a good one at that. She had a proper set of traveling companions and a cause worth fighting for. What else did a person need? Even with the tadpole issue, things had been good. Real good.
And then, the engine. The damned engine. She was too hot for this world, literally. The infernal machinery that had replaced her heart was melting down, and the only cure was Avernus. Avernus, the place she had sworn she would never return to the moment she smelled fresh, non-sulfurous air again.
She’d never go back. If it killed her, then it killed. At least she’d be going out on a high note, right?
Warm tears swam up in her eyes, and she desperately scrubbed them away. This was stupid. She was not crying over this, not yet anyway. Not when she could be enjoying what was left of her life instead.
There were footsteps behind her, approaching with intent, and she said, quickly, “I’m alright, thanks, just enjoying the view.” She didn’t look back, but she assumed it was probably Wyll or Tav. “I don’t want to talk about it, still. Just trying to enjoy myself, y‘know.”
“Maybe I can help with that.”
Gale’s voice. Not what she’d expected, and now she did turn toward him, curious. He held up a bottle of wine. “I was struggling to sleep so I decided to have a drink. Saw you sitting there and thought you might like one too, though if you’d rather not…”
“No, I’d love a drink.” She gestured to the space beside her. “Please.”
He sat, setting the bottle and two goblets between them. The cups were remarkably clean, given that one of the tiefling kids had likely dug them out from under the bar somewhere and then left them sitting on the bar. Opening the bottle, he poured the deep, red liquid into the glasses. It was Turmishan, she was pretty sure, she could smell the heaviness of the flavor from here.
Lifting a glass, Gale tilted his head, thoughtful. Then, he said, “Perhaps you should make a toast. Mine is…rather morbid.”
“Well, now I have to hear it.” She picked up her own glass, raising it in a mirror to him.”
“Right, well then.” He smiled, gesturing with his free hand dramatically. “To the rest of our lives, however long they may be.”
Now that she could drink to. “Cheers, mate.” She clinked her goblet against his, then took a big swig. The wine was cool on her tongue, luxurious and sweet. Before tonight, how long had it been since she’d had a truly cold drink, one not heated up by the base temperature of her hands or her surroundings?
For a while, they just chatted, about their journey in the Shadowlands so far, about their reunion with some of the tieflings from the grove, about that awful cambion Raphael. Soon enough, they got into a second glass.
After drinking deeply, she turned to look over at Gale. He was quiet, gazing up at the silver shield that surrounded them. Trying to understand its mechanism perhaps, or maybe just admiring it. He looked better than he’d looked in the last several days. Well, physically anyway. He was less pale, able to sit up straight without doubling over in pain or exhaustion. Also though, looking at his eyes, she didn’t get the sense that he’d been sleeping very well.
Karlach couldn’t say she knew much about the Gods. Devils had been her overseers and tormentors for so long, that she had nearly forgotten the Gods her family had worshiped when she was a child. Frankly, she was starting to think that a lot of Gods (or wannabe Gods, in some cases) weren’t all they cracked up to be.
There was Vlaakith, who offered only a false treatment to the tadpole and would order the death of Lae’zel who’d never been anything but loyal. There was Shar, who plagued even an utterly devoted follower like Shadowheart with a painful wound in the hand. And there was Mystra, the supposedly good Goddess, who would order not just a follower but a lover to kill himself.
Well, former lover, but still. And sure, you could argue he was better off now, at least now he got to decide for himself when to go. But how could you be expected to say no to a Goddess? To your Goddess? It just didn’t seem right.
“You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” Karlach blurted out. Then, she flinched. “Sorry, sorry, forget I said anything.”
“No, please,” Gale shook his head, “you don’t need to apologize.”
“I just…” She just didn’t like it. The wine had gone to her head and she didn’t like it one damned bit. “If you don’t want to talk about it…”
“Actually, I think I do.” He drained his goblet, set it down, rested his arms on his knees. He didn’t look at her. “It’s been strange, thinking about it. It’s been hanging over my head for so long, there’s a sense of relief in knowing it’s under my control.”
“I can understand that, I think.” Certainly, now she could, after all the drama with her infernal engine.
“Nobody else seems relieved, though.” He sounded a little upset at this. “This is a solution to the Absolute and to the problem of the orb all in one. It’s the one chance I’m ever going to get at redemption, and it feels like nobody wants to let it happen.”
“Of course we don’t.” A warmth of anger rose through her face into her ears. Not anger at him, exactly, but frustration at the whole situation. “You really thought people would be happy, that you’re going to die?”
He shrugged, and she scowled. Finally, he turned to look at her, and she realized he was near tears, brown eyes shiny in the elevated moonlight. “I’ve been on borrowed time ever since the orb infected me, and I’ve always known it. I’ve lived in dread that my ultimate explosion would, at best meaninglessly flatten the landscape, and at worst doom thousands of innocents to a fiery demise.” His voice shook a little as he said, ”If you could guarantee that your death would accomplish something good and that you could absolve yourself of the worst thing you ever did, wouldn’t you do it?”
“I–” She thought she knew the answer, but the words died on her lips. It was hard to argue when he put it like that. “Shit, I don’t know. Yesterday, I would have insisted there had to be another way, but today…I don’t know.”
“I think you do know. More than you think.” His fingers curled tighter around the goblet. “You have a solution in front of you, a solution you won’t take. A solution you can’t take. This is not me criticizing you for it, by the way, I understand where you’re coming from completely. That’s your choice.” He rested his free hand on his chest, looking down. “This is mine.”
“Hells.” Karlach swigged the last of her wine, shaking her head. “I guess if worst comes to worst, we can destroy this heart of the Absolute or whatever we find is in charge of it all together. Make absolutely sure no trace of it remains.”
“It would be my honor.” Gale offered a half-bow and a slight smile, which faded as he said, “I am very sorry, about what you learned from Dammon. I know there’s not much I can do but if you ever want to talk about it, or not talk about it,” he gestured to the bottle, “please do not hesitate to ask.”
“Same to you, mate.” She also, somehow, found herself smiling. In Avernus, she’d started to forget how much lighter a friend could make the burdens, make the pain. She wouldn’t lose that, not for another 100 years of life. Not for anything. “I really want to hug you, right now, is that alright, or—“
He straightened, opening his arms, and Karlach moved into them, probably a little too fast. The wine bottle shivered when she lightly bumped into it but remained upright. She put her arms around his neck, and he slid his around her torso, resting one hand on her shoulder and another on her back. It was a good hug, one of the better ones she’d had that day, though she didn’t exactly have a large group to judge against.
Into his shoulder, she said, “Tell me it gets easier?”
“Than it feels tonight? Almost certainly. But, well,” he hesitated, just for a moment, “I don’t know if I ever stopped thinking about it, really, it just circled on an orbit in my mind, always coming back. Maybe you’ll do better though. As a wizard, thinking far too hard about something is very much up my alley.”
“Right.” She sighed and pulled back. Not all the way, just enough to look him in the eye. “My plan is to enjoy every possible moment I have left in my life, whether that’s one day or one year. Promise me you’ll at least try to do the same.”
“I promise. I swear it, even.” He squeezed her arm. “There might still be an answer, a diabolist might be able to help. I wish I had my library, then I could really do the research but what I’m saying is, don’t lose hope.”
“Never.” And she didn’t say it, because she felt like she’d already pushed him enough, but she thought, And I’ll never give up on you either.
They stayed like that for a moment, looking at each other. Staring into his brown eyes, she saw so much weight, so much loneliness. Did he see the same, looking back into hers? Then though he smiled and leaned away to fill up the cups with more wine. Handing hers over he said, “Cheers.”
Karlach clinked their goblets together. “Cheers, mate.”
Later, after they’d drunk some more, Gale fell asleep leaning on her shoulder. She stayed very quiet and still, not wanting to wake him. He needed the sleep, the relief from the anxiety. For once she didn’t feel as desperate a need to fidget, or constantly keep moving. She felt the heat in her chest, felt the engine humming, but it wasn’t emanating out into the rest of her body. What a relief that was. What a pleasure to have someone so casually make contact with her, to feel comfortable with her.
If she had to die, at least she got to have this first. This was good. This was so good.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped at them with the back of her hand. No one came to interrupt her this time, so it took more than a few minutes for them to stop. Then, she picked up Gale (he wasn’t light but it wasn’t difficult for her) and headed for where the rest of their crew had bedded down for the night. She set him down on his bedroll and then dragged hers over next to his. When she lay down, he reached over and squeezed his hand. She squeezed back, then didn’t let go.
There was a point when the infernal engine had first been installed, where she wondered if it had changed her fundamentally. If she was still a person. That feeling had started to creep back when she'd been given her death sentence. She'd been fundamentally changed, turned heartless, transformed into something mechanical and doomed. The time she'd spent with Gale, his warm skin on hers, comforted her. He was still a person, and she was too. And, most importantly, neither of them had to be alone in it, not anymore. She fell asleep, their fingers interlaced, sadness and fear of the future going out like the tide. It would return, inevitably, but it did not continue to trouble her that night.