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Usually, Falorin was all about learning from Gale.
There was something soothing —and dare he say, intimate— in hearing about magic from his perspective, in experiencing the world through his eyes. Even when Falorin knew of a subject, he simply adored Gale's passion for wizardry, so more often than not he indulged his need to share his knowledge.
This time, however, was not one of those moments.
The shadow-cursed lands already set Falorin on edge enough as is. When they came across Balthazar's ritual circle, its dark magics resonated with those inside him, leaving a bitter taste lingering on his tongue.
But Gale seemed to be of two minds on the matter. On one hand, he would upset Mystra for even considering to dabble in such magic. On the other, destroying a potential tool that could wield the shadows would leave it "wasted, arguably." His words, not Fal's.
Falorin took what he thought was the logical solution, a compromise to satisfy them all.
He told Gale to let him deal with the circle, and Gale's response?
"Deal with it how?" he asked, his tone skeptical, doubtful. "I hate to pull rank, but I was once Mystra's chosen. Destroying magic like this was my bread and butter." And because Gale —in typical wizard fashion— didn't seem to know when to stop talking, he dug himself deeper into that hole, rubbing salt into Falorin's wounds. "Oh, or did you wish to use it? I assure you — it's pointless. You'll have nothing more than a sore head and a very dissatisfied wizard to show for it."
Falorin stared at him, the shadows inside him festering.
From their position at the door, Astarion and Lae'zel watched the scene unfold.
Astarion sighed at Gale with a shake of his head. "Foot, meet mouth. Do you actually hear yourself when you speak at times?"
Lae'zel, on the other hand, scowled at the sudden tension.
"He questioned Falorin's talents, did he not?" she asked, wrinkling her nose in disdain.
Gale's eyes widened. He looked at Fal in a panic, who simply continued to gaze back at him, his brow furrowed, lips pursed.
"I–I didn't—" Gale stammered, but Lae'zel was quick to interrupt.
"If you doubt him so, then perhaps you should duel," Lae'zel suggested, her voice as sharp as steel. "Let's see if he proves worthy of your high standards."
"What?!" Gale gaped at her. "No! We—Falorin and I are not going to duel."
"Shame," Astarion muttered, eyeing him up and down, unimpressed. "I would've loved to see him wipe the floors with you."
"Agreed," Lae'zel said.
"Guys," Falorin scolded. He cast them a warning glance, since clearly what happened was a matter between him and Gale, and only them. "Enough."
They begrudgingly stood down.
Silently, Falorin turned back to the workbench.
Taking Gale's earlier words into account, Falorin used his magic to gather the remaining essence of the pixie corpses, along with the heavy dose of Shadow Weave from the circle, and he turned it onto one of the broken lanterns.
He modified the casting gesture as he suggested, and that was it. He was done.
Falorin crafted the lantern himself, yet he felt no triumph.
If anything, he only felt a growing emptiness inside him.
Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the room.
Lae'zel and Astarion were quick to clear the way, but Falorin stopped to shove the lantern into Astarion's arms.
"There," he muttered. "Make use of it."
With that, he rushed out of Balthazar's quarters.
Gale was right on his heels, shoving past the others to get to him.
They made their way out onto the adjacent balcony that overlooked the cursed lands around them.
"Falorin, wait!"
The second his hand reached for his, Falorin snatched away and turned on him, his left pupil appearing to expand until it consumed his eye entirely, left with a void of black, inky darkness in its wake.
All of the warmth —that radiant glow of his— was drained from his skin. It turned a sickly, pale gray instead, and all of the luster of his vibrant hair faded away, dulled into an almost colorless state.
"And why should I?" Falorin hissed, mindful of the ears that might be listening out below. "So you, Mystra's former Chosen, can try and teach your fellow wizard something else that I already know?"
"Okay." Gale released a bitter laugh, wagging a finger at him. "Now, that was uncalled for."
"Was it, though?" Falorin countered.
"Maybe I should chalk this all up to being some side effect of the Shadow Weave."
"No," Falorin said, blunt as could be. "This is Falorin talking, not the Shadow Weave. Because, the way I see it, patronizing me in front of our friends was uncalled for, yet that didn't stop you from doing so, did it?"
Gale huffed.
"Was it really so terrible that I would rather rely on past, proven experience than beginner's luck?" he asked.
"'Beginner's luck'?" Falorin seethed, lips spread to bare sharp teeth in his direction. Little, web-like cracks formed throughout the surface of his skin, spilling over with wispy shadows. "Damn it, Gale, look at me. I have been living with dark magic inside of me for years now. I have spent decades pouring over every tome, every sentence, every word, every letter about the most ancient and forbidden magics out there in search of something —anything— that could remove this curse, so don't you fucking dare pass my knowledge off as 'beginner's luck' when I only even did it so you wouldn't be exposed to that much Shadow Weave to begin with."
His breath caught, voice breaking.
As soon as Falorin felt his eye burn with the beginning of tears, he turned away from Gale, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, as if that would somehow keep him from falling apart.
All at once, his anger left, a heavy sorrow taking its place.
"I didn't want to risk it corrupting you," Falorin whispered.
The thought alone made his chest ache.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he quickly clasped a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob, but he couldn't quite hide the slight hitch of his shoulders.
Gale extended a hand to him without thinking, to comfort him, but Fal quickly darted away once he felt him drawing closer.
"No," he gasped. "You shouldn't touch me while I'm like this." He shook his head, glancing down at the ground between them. "I could hurt you."
"You won't."
Gale didn't hesitate.
Before Falorin could stop him, he stepped forward and cupped his cheeks.
Falorin winced, but he felt no urge to feed, to drain the life's essence from his body.
No, even then, when all was darkness within him, Gale's very presence —their bond— was a light to keep the shadows at bay.
Stunned speechless, Falorin looked up, only to find Gale already staring back at him, his expression reverent.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, tracing his thumb along the curve of his lips.
Falorin gave a tearful laugh.
"And you're still in trouble," he replied, to which Gale smiled sheepishly in turn.
"Understandably so." He rested his forehead upon Fal's. Their tadpoles resonated in a purr. "I hope you know that I do not doubt your abilities, and I am truly sorry for ever making you feel that way. Your intelligence is a marvel to bear witness to, and I am grateful to be able to share in it every day. It's just that you know as well as I that, if all those components had not been handled with great care, then the spell would have been as quick to backfire on us as it would have been to benefit us. You say that you did not want it to corrupt me, but I was worried about what it would do to you."
At that, Falorin spared him a wobbly smile.
"We really are quite the pair, aren't we?"
"That, we are, my dear, but I wouldn't have it any other way."
As if he wouldn't melt upon hearing that.
Throwing his arms around his shoulders, Falorin dragged him down into an eager kiss.
Caught off guard, Gale yelped at the sudden yank, but he instantly settled into Falorin's embrace, holding him close as their lips found each other.
Warmth spread throughout Falorin's chest, his love for Gale burning brighter than the sun itself.
That love reached out far and wide, spanning from head to toe. Slowly but surely, Falorin returned to his usual self.
It might not have been a cure per se; but for the moment, it was enough, burning away the shadows that remained.