[ 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}
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.