Chapter Text

“I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry. Please come back to me.” 

Gale had spent some time pondering over the sending spell that he’d accidentally intercepted whilst channelling the weave. He didn’t recognise the person’s voice or have any memory of someone back home in Waterdeep who might have been missing his attention, especially someone declaring love to him, and yet somehow, he had ended up receiving the message, disrupting the delicate moment with a friend. During the moment he had believed it was simply the interference of the tadpole, or that Mystra was being somewhat coy; that was until the next day when similar words spoke out into his mind.

“I know you can’t reply. But know that I love you. Do you remember that day we sat and watched the clouds?”

He lay in his tent going over the details of the spell. He wanted to reply and yet with no knowledge of whom he was speaking to, he worried that it was an effect of his condition or possibly a trick of some kind. Looking at the clouds. He hadn’t taken the time to do that since he was a young boy, instead choosing to stay indoors amongst the tomes and scrolls he’d grown to love. There had been very few friends aside from Tara and the mephit, and he couldn’t note any moments of lying on the grass with any other person, let alone someone with some sort of infatuation with him. 

Days passed in silence as he trekked with his travelling companions. He’d tried to bring up the topic with Wyll only for him to question his sanity at hearing voices that weren’t those of other tadpole-occupied minds. Gale had tried channelling the weave alone from his tent in the hopes of triggering another message, only to have been unsuccessful; this little puzzle taking up far more of his thoughts than was necessary, and yet it was certainly better than the alternative of the orb or ceremorphosis which had plagued him earlier. 

Maybe it was that he was simply losing his mind from the tadpole or from the orb that caused his body to ache day in, and day out. Maybe too many magic items had finally taken their toll on his body, and this was the beginning of his mind breaking apart. He’d decided he would just monitor the issue. For now, at least, he was still in control of his senses, his skills in combat were improving after a year of barely casting even the simplest cantrip, and little by little he was even starting to make friends; A feat he was not too willing to be proud of.

***

The group walked in silence under the shade of the weeping willows that basked over the river. He could hear the croaking of a nearby frog and watched as it hopped onto a lily pad. Gale, stop licking the damn thing! The same voice he had heard a week previously and yet different, younger than it was before. He laughed at the fractured image of himself holding a small pink frog in his hand, his tongue at the ready, the voice adamantly telling him not to do it. Details of the markings on the frog’s back, the small white splotches and the way its yellow eyes bulged ever so slightly stood out so vividly to him and he could almost feel the weight of it in his hands, so much detail for something that he could not recollect. He tried but could not seem to envisage the face of the speaker though, nothing but a distorted shadow standing in front of him, and yet the voice was still as clear as the frog in his hands. 

Astarion swung his head around in Gale’s direction. “Going to share the joke, darling?”

Gale bit his tongue and lowered his head, hiding the smirk. “Oh, it was nothing. Just a stray memory.” A memory he couldn’t trace back to. Who was the person yelling? When had this moment even happened?

***

“Lúthien got admitted to Blackstaff. Figured you would want to know. You’d be proud of how well she is doing. We love you. Miss you.”

If only the fight with the hag hadn’t lasted as long. As Gale had received the message, he’d also been hit by a spell leaving him winded. By the time he had gotten around to responding, too much time had passed, and the effects of the sending spell had fizzled out, leaving the words as only a new memory to him. 

He had no recollection of anyone with the name Lúthien who was close to him, but still, he thought over it considerably. He sat by the campsite, going over the identities of colleagues and their possible children that he’d yet to find time to meet, but he only drew up blanks. Maybe it was someone his mother had mentioned at some point as she had gossiped about local women, trying to set him up with a partner. She’d respected his choices during his studying days, young men and women wooed in various ways, but Morena always wanted him to have someone more permanent, she’d certainly not been too pleased when that permanent choice had turned out to be Mystra herself. 

I really wish I could cash a Hold spell on you. Again, that voice, only this time with a small laugh as his fingers ran through their hair and he tenderly kissed the soft skin of their neck, as he slowly removed their shirt with his free hand. He chased the memory, trying to see the face, trying to solve the mystery that yet again presented itself in front of him. The memory faded in front of him, and he was left disappointed and confused, only the cracking of the fire taunting him.

***

“Shadowheart, may I ask you a rather personal question?” Gale hadn’t wanted to do this until he had exhausted all other options. He’d tried to trace the spell back but was unable to due to the time constraints; he’d repeatedly tried to ask Mystra for assistance only to be ignored as expected, but it was with his memory now coming into question that he felt it was time to ask for help more locally. 

Shadowheart shuffled uncomfortably near her tent, preparing herself for what was to come. “That depends on how personal it is, Gale.”

He smirked. “It is nothing untoward, I can assure you of that. It’s in regard to your memory dilemma.”

She relaxed her shoulders. “It’s not so much a dilemma as it is my life, but what would you like to know?”

“Do you ever find yourself remembering occurrences that had once been removed? The voice of a friend, a tender moment, perhaps?” He let his voice trail off and the question lingered for a moment to give her time to think on what an appropriate answer would be.

“No. No, I can’t say I do. My memories are completely lost to me as you already know. Why do you ask?”

Gale’s disappointment with her reply was buried under his usual positive demeanour. So, it was completely possible that he was just going mad, the orb destroying his senses with each passing day or the tadpole chewing at his frontal lobe. “Ah, just a fleeting curiosity is all. Pay it no mind.”

She shot him a sceptical look but let the issue die. “Very well. If that’s how it is.”

***

“Darling, you look a tad pale.” Astarion stroked the side of Gale’s face with the delicate pad of his fingertip. “Maybe tonight we should hold off on any activities.”

Gale sighed. He’d somehow fallen into this routine with Astarion of late-night soirees, sharing wine and not really speaking much before eventually ending up in the forest or more comfortably one of their tents together. Tonight had been no different. It was only as he had removed his robe that Astarion had chosen to hold back for once and begun to ask questions. “I’ve just had a considerable amount on my mind recently.”

“Haven’t we all, but isn’t that why we have been cavorting in the shadows?” Astarion ran his tongue down the faint markings on Gale’s neck. He’d never bite. Not after the incident last time but the way he heard Gale’s heart rate increase let him know that Gale enjoyed this walk along the precipice and so he’d continue to threaten it. 

Gale leaned into the subtle touch, allowing his eyes to close, his mind drifting to earlier nights of similar sensations. Such an undignified position to find oneself in. Gale was kissing their abdomen, suckling at their flesh beneath him as they spoke. That same voice was haunting him even now. He tried to bring himself back to Astarion’s touch, to the cold hands that moved further down his body and yet he still felt disconnected from it all. 

“Love, what is going on with you tonight?” Astarion’s sudden move away brought him back to reality.

Gale pulled at his robe, sitting up and covering his body. “I apologise. Maybe you’re right and tonight is not on the cards for us.”

“We could always do something else.” Astarion lay down on the bedroll trying to coerce Gale over to him, not happy with how the evening had been going. 

“ Hey, I really wish you were here right now… Things have just been tough without you. I love you. Miss you.”

Gale heard the message in his head and instantly began to leave the tent knowing now was his only chance to reply. He could hear the confused yell of Astarion behind him along with a few choice words in Elvish. None of which was important at this moment though as he climbed into his tent and focussed on the spell that had been sent to him. It was now or never if he wanted answers. He thought over what he wanted to say, the words he should speak knowing whatever answer he gave would inevitably invite this stranger further into his life, but he needed to know. “ Who is this? Why do you keep on contacting me? Am I meant to know you?”

***

Despite the day’s requirement for his attention, he had found his mind wandering constantly back to the messages, to the memories. He’d tried to apologise to Astarion but received nothing but a disinterested remark and a comment on how their nights together were over, something that surprisingly Gale wasn’t as bothered about as he’d initially believed he would be. Right now, it was the memories he’d been having that had been provoking more of a reaction within him. He didn’t know what would cause them to suddenly flash before his eyes, only that he longed to have more of them, to feel the connection with that other person more than the touch of anyone else around him. 

Dawn turned to dusk, and he sat alone waiting for the now familiar voice to speak to him. Doubts had begun to creep in more and more as the hours had passed by and he’d started to question again if maybe he had just been losing his mind. As he lay his head down, his eyes grew heavy and he let sleep take him, wishing he could hear them once again. 

The night was full of unrest, moments he couldn’t piece together merging with events of the recent days, laughter and wine shared in rooms he did not recognise, and the touch of a soft hand upon his chest. Rook to queen six. I do believe that means I’ve won. Had he ever lost a game of lanceboard? Not that he could recall and yet these words made him smile, a subtle familiarity of the time stirring something within him. 

“ Gale? Is that really you? You’re alive?”

The sending spell interrupted his sleep, but he was unable to tell where his dreams ended and reality began, his body not allowing his mind much further than the partial acknowledgement of the voice speaking to him.