[ Gale reaches across the counter to cover Dom’s hand with his own. He knows that to speak his plans at alls re to burden Dom with them, but he knows no other way to secure his safety. And if he cannot protect everyone, if he cannot protect Astarion, he might as well protect one dear to him. A true innocent, regardless of his role in the game. ]
[ gently, ] I’m already dying, Dom. I admit I’m uncertain whether you could sense it, before, with how nascent your abilities are — but there is a rot within me. [ squeezing his hand. ] When I left my tower before all this, I thought I was undertaking a final adventure. A journey to meet my death alone in the remotest corner of my realm.
[ Diverted by happenstance or fate. With Astarion at his side now, he would say the latter. ]
And I am resisting that end, yet there is no guarantee I will overcome. [ It’s another coinflip. Spade or Heart. Death or divine mercy. ] Beyond this, I have nearly died a hundred times, resurrected by my goddess or a timely Cleric’s spell. Burnt and stabbed and choked by blackest magic itself. [ aching, ] If it is me, I shall weather it, as I have weathered all to date. And I shall return to you. That, I promise.
[ Even though he knows he shouldn’t. That he can guarantee nothing. He feels sure of it, somehow. Sure of Dom, as he was Astarion, Shadowheart, Ren. Even if he cannot protect them all, he can protect one person, from the fate he fears most of all. ]
[ There's been several times now that Dom has found himself breathing too hard, too quick, feeling dizzy and finding comfort in nothing but putting his head down and between his arms, hiding from the world as much as he'd been hiding from his thoughts. Every time someone he loved got hurt, named, poisoned, accused, tortured, killed, every time his friends had to watch someone die because this game refuses to ever be over. They promise time and again that the end is near, but no one can swear that that's a good thing. Something with its roots buried in evil cannot produce anything kind, and so all Dom can do is dread it. ]
Professor…
[ He feels it coming. Being too aware of his breathing, how much his chest expands, how the air passes through his throat and nose. How loud his heart would be, if his senses were still enhanced. Here he's been, talking and talking about everyone, when the man who reminds him of who he'd like his father to be tells him he marches toward something certain, something final. That all the other deaths have been chapters in his life, not the last word. ]
I'm sorry.
[ It's all he can say. If only that could be a spell, too — something to erase the misery of Gale's past and make everything ahead better. ]
[ It pains him, to see Don suffer. It agonises him, to be the cause of it, however indirectly. He knuckles damp from the corner of his eyes. Swallows hard. Sips his tea.
(That end would be more final than most, and he fears it still. If Mystra does not forgive him, there is nothing but the eternal dark.)
In time, he settles. ]
It’s all right. [ a beat. ] Well, it isn’t all right, but it is the grim reality of our situation. In any case, I’ve had quite enough of playing this game in accordance with its rules alone, awaiting the sharpened edge of word or blade. It’s much more dignified, I think, for Astarion and I to meet the tempest head-on.
[ And there is no world where Gale would allow him to face it alone. ]
Next? You continue to be brave, as you have been this whole time, whether you believe it or not. You stay close with your friends. You allow your professor to step forward, though you, Ren, and Melissa all might not wish it. You do not defend me, no matter what. In fact, if any ask if I am capable, as your teacher, or why the site of the burnings would smell of lavender, you speak true, when you know my magic as I know yours.
[ That fact, he still hasn’t accounted for himself. A red herring, like August’s hounds, or proof of his guilt. Flip the coin. See where it lands. Heart or Spade. Magician or archer. Witch or vampire. ]
I — I’ve resisted apprentices in the past, you know. Must’ve thought the famed [ exaggerating his posh accent, ] Gale of Waterdeep was above it all. [ Chosen of Mystra, Archmage of the finest city in the Sword Coast, envy of all. ] But it has been one of the great honours of my life to teach you, Dom. [ a small smile. ] And our lessons are not yet done.
[ It feels wrong, and for the first time, Dom considers stepping up and saying he might be the person they're looking for. He thinks of the cages and remembers how his mothers would keep him in one when he was small, until the wolf grew too big and they resorted to more drastic measures. Silver, for the most part, until they realized how cruel it was to burn their son with it, learning from their horrible mistakes how to keep their son from killing an innocent in the most humane way possible. What would they think of these cages, what would they think of their son who may have failed them in the worst possible way?
Gale calls him back to the real world when he explains why he's resisted apprentices. It feels all the more important, an honor he hasn't quite known before, and then he's told that Gale is the one who feels honored—
He can't really control himself anymore. Dom gets up from his seat, walks around the table, throws his arms around Gale for a hug. The hug for his teacher, protector, and in a selfish little moment of wishful thinking, his father. ]
If they say my name, [ He sobs through his promise, ] I won't run away.
[ The hug steals the breath from his lungs, heart stuttering into his throat. He sees it — Dom coming, and yet he can’t quite parse it. His own father was gone long before his memory begins. And he has never had a pupil he loved so dearly, when he shrugged off the babbling apprentices assigned by the council, bookish and oh so eager to replace him. Never had a sibling, either, despite pestering his mother for any companion at all to soothe his loneliness. He had only his goddess, drawing him deeper into the Weave and further from his peers. Teacher, muse, lover. Encouraging him to ascend to higher heights and greater knowledge until he brushed too near her lofty remove.
He would like to be a better teacher than her, in more ways than the obvious. To gift praise gladly, rather than withhold it. To offer protection freely, rather than for the price of obedience.
When Gale faltered, Mystra left him to die. Perhaps he deserved that, for his foolishness and hubris, but he’ll not forsake Dom, who reminds him of the boy he once was, crying over setting his mother’s flowers aflame. A gentle heart, not a weak one. Gale holds Dom swiftly, easily, tightly, one hand sweeping up and down his back. Cheek pressed to the top of his head, content to stay entwined until his sobs ease. ]
There you are. [ Irrepressibly fond, despite everything. Spoken as if Dom has accomplished the prestige of a magic trick, in revealing the truth of his character. ] My dearest pupil. Brave and true.
[ Acting not in the absence of fear, but through its overwhelming presence. ]
I shall be there with you the whole time, should it come to that — but know I will do everything in my power to prevent it.
[ It's easier to let these overwhelming feelings go when his face is hidden, the careful weight of Gale's cheek on him, the warmth of his protection. His mothers have driven into him that male witches aren't supposed to be as powerful as their female counterparts, not out of hatred or contempt, but simply because those were the facts. Supposedly.
Dom has believed the same for that, led along by his coven once he miraculously stumbled into one, has fumbled almost every spell he tried on his own, and has only found his footing after Gale took him as an apprentice. It's easier to listen to his friends telling him he's more powerful than he gives himself credit for now, but it's also terrifying. It means that he's hiding behind something, holding onto an excuse like a chain clasped by his own hands. When they all go back — and they have to go back, they have to — he's going to let those chains go. If he fails, it won't be from lack (or fear) of trying. ]
Thanks, professor, [ Drawing back, wiping his face again, trying to look braver now. ] I didn't go last week, but I'll be there too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ gently, ] I’m already dying, Dom. I admit I’m uncertain whether you could sense it, before, with how nascent your abilities are — but there is a rot within me. [ squeezing his hand. ] When I left my tower before all this, I thought I was undertaking a final adventure. A journey to meet my death alone in the remotest corner of my realm.
[ Diverted by happenstance or fate. With Astarion at his side now, he would say the latter. ]
And I am resisting that end, yet there is no guarantee I will overcome. [ It’s another coinflip. Spade or Heart. Death or divine mercy. ] Beyond this, I have nearly died a hundred times, resurrected by my goddess or a timely Cleric’s spell. Burnt and stabbed and choked by blackest magic itself. [ aching, ] If it is me, I shall weather it, as I have weathered all to date. And I shall return to you. That, I promise.
[ Even though he knows he shouldn’t. That he can guarantee nothing. He feels sure of it, somehow. Sure of Dom, as he was Astarion, Shadowheart, Ren. Even if he cannot protect them all, he can protect one person, from the fate he fears most of all. ]
no subject
Professor…
[ He feels it coming. Being too aware of his breathing, how much his chest expands, how the air passes through his throat and nose. How loud his heart would be, if his senses were still enhanced. Here he's been, talking and talking about everyone, when the man who reminds him of who he'd like his father to be tells him he marches toward something certain, something final. That all the other deaths have been chapters in his life, not the last word. ]
I'm sorry.
[ It's all he can say. If only that could be a spell, too — something to erase the misery of Gale's past and make everything ahead better. ]
What do I do?
no subject
(That end would be more final than most, and he fears it still. If Mystra does not forgive him, there is nothing but the eternal dark.)
In time, he settles. ]
It’s all right. [ a beat. ] Well, it isn’t all right, but it is the grim reality of our situation. In any case, I’ve had quite enough of playing this game in accordance with its rules alone, awaiting the sharpened edge of word or blade. It’s much more dignified, I think, for Astarion and I to meet the tempest head-on.
[ And there is no world where Gale would allow him to face it alone. ]
Next? You continue to be brave, as you have been this whole time, whether you believe it or not. You stay close with your friends. You allow your professor to step forward, though you, Ren, and Melissa all might not wish it. You do not defend me, no matter what. In fact, if any ask if I am capable, as your teacher, or why the site of the burnings would smell of lavender, you speak true, when you know my magic as I know yours.
[ That fact, he still hasn’t accounted for himself. A red herring, like August’s hounds, or proof of his guilt. Flip the coin. See where it lands. Heart or Spade. Magician or archer. Witch or vampire. ]
I — I’ve resisted apprentices in the past, you know. Must’ve thought the famed [ exaggerating his posh accent, ] Gale of Waterdeep was above it all. [ Chosen of Mystra, Archmage of the finest city in the Sword Coast, envy of all. ] But it has been one of the great honours of my life to teach you, Dom. [ a small smile. ] And our lessons are not yet done.
no subject
Gale calls him back to the real world when he explains why he's resisted apprentices. It feels all the more important, an honor he hasn't quite known before, and then he's told that Gale is the one who feels honored—
He can't really control himself anymore. Dom gets up from his seat, walks around the table, throws his arms around Gale for a hug. The hug for his teacher, protector, and in a selfish little moment of wishful thinking, his father. ]
If they say my name, [ He sobs through his promise, ] I won't run away.
cw refs to grooming
He would like to be a better teacher than her, in more ways than the obvious. To gift praise gladly, rather than withhold it. To offer protection freely, rather than for the price of obedience.
When Gale faltered, Mystra left him to die. Perhaps he deserved that, for his foolishness and hubris, but he’ll not forsake Dom, who reminds him of the boy he once was, crying over setting his mother’s flowers aflame. A gentle heart, not a weak one. Gale holds Dom swiftly, easily, tightly, one hand sweeping up and down his back. Cheek pressed to the top of his head, content to stay entwined until his sobs ease. ]
There you are. [ Irrepressibly fond, despite everything. Spoken as if Dom has accomplished the prestige of a magic trick, in revealing the truth of his character. ] My dearest pupil. Brave and true.
[ Acting not in the absence of fear, but through its overwhelming presence. ]
I shall be there with you the whole time, should it come to that — but know I will do everything in my power to prevent it.
no subject
Dom has believed the same for that, led along by his coven once he miraculously stumbled into one, has fumbled almost every spell he tried on his own, and has only found his footing after Gale took him as an apprentice. It's easier to listen to his friends telling him he's more powerful than he gives himself credit for now, but it's also terrifying. It means that he's hiding behind something, holding onto an excuse like a chain clasped by his own hands. When they all go back — and they have to go back, they have to — he's going to let those chains go. If he fails, it won't be from lack (or fear) of trying. ]
Thanks, professor, [ Drawing back, wiping his face again, trying to look braver now. ] I didn't go last week, but I'll be there too.