[His sudden return to the bloody patch of the Sword Coast that he and his companions had temporarily come to call home was a terribly rude awakening.
He had always thought, perhaps foolishly, that when his time came to check out of the hotel, when he had no choice but to return to Faerun to take care of those matters he had left untended, that he would at least have the opportunity to say goodbye, to reiterate that he had a plan. As it stood, he had been granted no such grace: rather than awakening in the room that he had altered to reflect his beloved tower, he found himself on the cold ground and looking up at convex ceiling of his tent, alone, his bedroll doing little to soften the stone beneath him. The bustling sounds of a morning at camp and the smell of the lower city told him precisely where he was.
Baldur's Gate.
His heart sinks. All at once, he recalls precisely what trials he faces here, in addition to what he had left behind. His own promise resonates, the assurance that he would find his way back to the woman he had come to love so deeply— a promise he has absolutely no intention of breaking.
First, he has to live— and for the first time since he had set out on this journey, he wants to.]
✨🌹
[The days following the defeat of the Netherbrain are surreal, to say the least. So much has happened in such a short time that Gale has been able to do little but focus on what's directly ahead of him, but not once has he forgotten his goal, his reason for wanting to make it through— once, he would have been at peace with allowing his death to mean something, but now he has higher goals, greater ambitions, and they do their part to help him pull through to the end. Their victory is hard-won and not without casualties— much of the city has suffered immensely, but it still stands and that is a greater relief than most are willing to admit.
The Crown of Karsus is returned to Mystra, the truth of its nature revealed. She offers forgiveness, or what she would consider to be such, and Gale's answer is no longer what he'd once thought it might be. What he had once thought to be love now rings terribly hollow, and he does not allow himself to be baited by the implication that he might be Chosen of Mystra once more— instead, he will walk a different path, though Mystra will never be able to cease hearing him when he calls upon the Weave. As a wizard, he remains as much in her service as any of his ilk, but as people, they have gone their separate ways.
The orb is removed from his chest, though its mark on him remains. He is still a long way from what had once been his full power, but given room to recover, he now has the opportunity to mend his relationship with the Weave itself, to restore that connection and become his old self again— or, perhaps, a new version of Gale entirely. No longer Gale of Waterdeep, wizard of great renown and scholar of considerable acclaim, but Gale Dekarios— a wizard and dedicated scholar of intentionally moderate renown, intent on dedicating his talents to serving the magical community in new ways.
Days turn into weeks, then months. When he is able, he dedicates his time to planar studies and the potential for traveling between worlds beyond the planar system itself. The potential is certainly there, but no spell has yet been developed, no method defined, and even Elminster has little to offer but encouragement.
"If anyone can manage it, my boy, I believe it would be you. You have always been meant for great things. I am glad to see you have gained the wisdom with which to temper that ambition of yours."
He and a few of his companions remain in Baldur's Gate to assist in rebuilding, in aiding the locals in recovering from all that the Chosen of the Dead Three had put them through, but every spare moment he has, his efforts are tireless. He uses every resource available to him, including spending long days within Ramazith Tower with the permission of its new master. He foregoes sleep more often than he ought, but the goal, he feels, is well worth it.
Whatever it takes, he is determined to find his way.]
✨🌹
[It's Rolan who brings the house out past the harbor to Gale's attention initially, his response being a puzzled furrow of the brow as he pauses in helping himself to a number of Ramazith's tomes to further his research. Though it is raised as an odd curiosity, it is agreed that it ought to be investigated, strange as it is— though the city has certainly seen stranger in recent months. Gale can only hope this might be the harmless kind of strange, but something in his gut tells him that he ought to have a look for himself before the Flaming Fist gets involved.
When he arrives at the harbor, across from the Water Queen's House, it appears that he isn't the only one whose attention had been drawn that way— Shadowheart is there before him, looking out to sea with her arms folded across her chest, frowning thoughtfully.
"Here I was about to go looking for you to see what you might make of this. I can't imagine Umberlee's followers will be content to let it remain undisturbed for long."]
Something tells me that we ought to take a look before they or the Flaming Fist get any ideas.
[The cleric chuffs softly, bracing a hand against her hip.
"I'll accompany you, if you like. I can't say I've ever seen a house like it."]
Darkness had engulfed her vision the second she opened the door. It was a rush of sensation, magic energies both knowable and foreign crackled around her and all at once shut down Amelia's entire bodily system. No, she wasn't dead; she could register her body going numb and falling onto the floor. What irritated her most was that she was conscious, but not at the same time, aware, but unable to do much about it.
The witch tries not to panic. It was an inconvenience, but in light of what was done, there was an academic explanation to it. If she had successfully opened a door that led to Faerun, the energy required to open it and subsequently transport herself and her entire house would be astoundingly substantial. Regarding her own presence, she is by definition a foreigner and her partial blackout most likely served a purpose in diminishing her presence to make her less threatening to the many internal and external forces of this world. Most of all, her own body needed the rest and readjustment from the sudden travel.
Yes. That's exactly it, thinks the witch self-assuringly.
...
...
In truth, rationalizing helps keep her troubled mind at bay. How long has it been? Will she ever wake up? Did she end up in a location far from where Gale could be or even worse, the wrong world?
An unknowable amount of hours later, she's finally able to open her eyes and sit up. Her head is throbbing, but everything else seems to be in order. The room she's in is concerningly empty, but...]
Is that water...?
[There's one large window gracing her with the view of the outside. It's not her garden or the canopy of trees from Blackgale. Instead, the usual scenery is replaced by an open sky, languid waves, and a mysterious cityscape in the distance.
The witch feels her heart thump against her chest as she stands and stares. Is this it? Did she really make it? But she still feels too weak to move and too cautious to just run out the door without properly assessing the new environment.
With her hand against the walls, Amelia makes her way to her living room where her wind chimes hang from the ceiling.
It was time to send a scout.]
✨🌹
[The mysterious abode isn't just sitting in the water. Its foundation is like a small island, grassy and surrounded by flowers such as poppies, daisies, cosmos, and roses. Other than those, the signs of life were few.
Something does emerge from a window, flapping its glass wings while its metal tubes and attachments tingle and chime beneath it. The glass butterfly makes one flight around the house before moving away and towards the shore. It hovers in the air as if looking for something, someone...
And very soon, it flies towards a certain wizard and half-elf who had been observing from afar.]
[The appearance of an new island alone would have been enough to draw attention, however small it may be, but there is something about the house and garden resting atop it that strikes Gale as somehow familiar despite the fact that he knows for certain he has never seen either. It's something more than their appearance; a resonance of sorts, and the fact that he feels it from this distance speaks to its significance— all the more reason to investigate more closely.
He deploys a Mage Hand to start untying the ropes mooring the fishing boat he and Shadowheart have opted to 'borrow' while the cleric proceeds to loosen those at the back, both adventurers having securely lowered themselves from the docks without managing to draw attention to themselves. Though he doesn't expect trouble, he would prefer that they be able to set out without having to field any unnecessary questions, and in that respect, they seem to be quite fortunate.
They're hardly five meters out from the dock when something flying above them catches his eye; sunlight hits the colored glass as it approaches from the direction of the small island, the hue marking it as distinctly different from the seabirds circling the harbor, and the moment he catches a glimpse of the windchimes hanging from it, his breath catches, his grip against the stern of the boat tightening.
Could it be?
He wants to believe it, even if part of him is cautious of being too hopeful for fear of disappointment— that resonance, the nature of the scout that had been sent forth, the otherworldly design of the dwelling itself. It's enough to tell him that it truly could be, and by the gods, if anyone were going to be clever enough to manage this trick before he did—
He quickly looks back to his companion, his eyes bright with a wild, almost manic quality that Shadowheart has not had occasion to see in him for some time, and she raises an eyebrow coolly in question as he quickly gets to his feet, clearly calculating something in that head of his, the wheels turning rapidly as he sorts himself.]
Stay here— all of a sudden, I have a hunch as to what we might find up ahead. I'm going.
[He speaks quickly, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and the cleric furrows her brow, even if she trusts his judgment— mostly.
"Are you sure you should be running off alone? If you get yourself killed, at least Karlach and Wyll are going to be very disappointed."
He chuckles warmly, tracing the rune for flight in the air with a few precise flicks of his wrist before he gently pushes off from the boat by propping a boot against one of the planks that serves as a seat.]
If my hunch is correct, it's not a potential enemy we'll find there— quite the opposite!
[The butterfly windchime is within proximity of the wizard and pauses to hover above his head. Sunlight shines through its glass wings and its metal tubes sing to Gale as if beckoning him to follow.
Meanwhile, Amelia had weakly laid herself on her sofa, eyes closed and breathing softly. Waiting. And much to her surprise, she didn't need to wait all that long. Her roof rattles and her other windchimes relay the message of the scout like a glorious choir. She bolts upright, eyes widened and her heart thumping against her chest.
Did I do it?
Adrenaline floods her veins and the magic in her hair begins to circulate erratically through every strand, giving her enough energy to stand up and drag herself to the door.
Will he be there on the other side?
One of her worst fears while trying to open a gate was the many obstacles that Gale had to face all while she was worlds away. There was the Orb, the tadpole in his brain, and so many other dangers that Faerun had to throw at him and his party. Yes, he was always more than capable even in his weakened state and yet the most miniscule of doubts remained like a scab in her mind, itching to be scratched so that it could grow and paralyze her even more.
But she didn't get this far only to stop now. The front door opens and she's greeted with a wave of coastal air washing over her face and through her hair. She struggles to regain her balance, but manages, staring at the city in the distance. There are many ships of various sizes and dots of people and other signs of life. And further ahead, she hears her lone windchime echo in the distance near a boat...]
... Gale.
[Amelia takes the first step and stumbles, falling to one knee before pushing herself up.]
Gale...!
[Her voice isn't strong enough yet and neither are her faculties as she almost takes a step on the edge of the makeshift island to tumble into the water. The witch swears and looks down at her feet surrounded by flowers, back at the small figures in the distance and back at her feet again.
She closes her yes and takes a deep breath and then a few steps backwards. She counts to ten. The Emerald Witch lets her magic pulse through her body, steadfast and enticing to the same forces that the wizard of Waterdeep uses towards her. She feels it respond and intertwine with her own being. Her mind clears itself of everything except for a singular image. A path to him.
And then she sprints forward. Earth, grass, and flowers burst to life beneath her feet with smaller ones of emerald green magic sparking with each step she makes across the water.
This wasn't the finish line. This is a new beginning.]
[Even at a great distance, there is no mistaking her. A flash of brilliant red, the unmistakable ripple of magic that stands apart from the Weave and yet remains familiar to him, the arcane pulse that may well be the Emerald Witch's heartbeat.
She had done it. He had toiled for months, intent on finding his way back to her, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he is truly glad to have been shown up— he had never doubted her, not for a moment; his heart had always been equal parts brilliant and stubborn.
He races towards her, water rippling in his wake as his spell breaks the surface tension and he leaves his companion behind, no longer bearing thought for anything but the woman running across the water towards him— that he is still alive to see her again, that they have conquered the divide between worlds to see one another are both miracles in their own right, and nothing matters but reaching her.]
Amelia!
[She calls his name, and he pushes himself forward; nothing else registers and time itself feels suspended. He is near breathless, momentarily lost for words when he reaches her, extending a hand to catch her arm and pull her into a tight embrace, twining his arms around her and burying his face against her hair. His heart beats fit to burst out of his chest before it catches in his throat; he inhales the scent of her for the first time in months and slowly, steadily finds his voice, holding her against his chest as they both hover above the water, and a laugh escapes him, amazed and half-startled.]
I should have known you would be the one to crack it, my heart.
[Her heart leaps as he becomes clearer in her view and it hastens her feet as flower petals and blades of grass fly all around her. When he calls her name her heart gets caught in her throat and there's almost a small fear of this being too good to be true and that there will be one last second mistake that would make this all disappear.
But Gale doesn't disappear. He extends his hand towards her and pulls her into his arms and her own automatically wraps around him. His warmth envelopes her in a way nothing else, no one else ever could and the witch chokes down a sob that threatens to escape her from all the sheer relief and the overwhelming success of hope that shakes her very foundation.
For once, a miracle didn't go wrong for the Emerald Witch.
She takes a deep and shuddery breath as she finds her voice.]
You're... You're alive.
[Amelia doesn't even care that her words come out raspy or about her lack of composure in her tone. Her hands find their way to his face and she only draws back enough to look into his eyes while her thumb traces his cheek.]
[He laughs again as he turns his face into her touch; there is genuine joy there, but something else, as well— disbelief, perhaps, that this has truly come to pass, at all that had come before this.]
You almost were.
[There's a faint smile as he makes that particular confession, and his hold on her tightens just slightly, as though if he doesn't hold on tightly enough, she'll slip away as suddenly as she'd appeared— something he absolutely cannot risk, and the weight of his gaze as she meets it is broken only by the threat of tears that has begun.]
Then I remembered I had something to fight to live for— a promise to keep. This once, I am overjoyed to have been outdone.
[It didn't matter which of them found the other first, only that they had.]
[If she was more collected in the moment, she would have admitted she needed a push in the right direction via the Witch King, but that's neither here nor there. Gale in front of her and being in each other's arms, is all that matters. His admittance and the intensity of his gaze causes unavoidable tears to well up in the corner of her eyes. Amelia defiantly rubs them away with the back of her fist]
Well... [Hold on, she'll reach up catch any tears from her beloved's eyes while holding his face.]
I think you'll be pleased to know you were always going to be my most pressing matter. Home itself isn't in any dire straits compared to... Well, I'm here now anyways.
[The witch glances back and forth and behind Gale, noting that there is a boat with someone witnessing their reunion.]
Should we go back to shore? There's a lot to catch up on and... Oh, god. How long has it been for you?
[Probably not years, thankfully, but it had been at least three months for her.]
[His smile crooks fondly to one side as her thumb gently swipes away the tears that threaten to fall— she, too, had been his utmost priority, once he had been free to pursue it, and he can only pull her into another tight embrace for a moment, unable to truly express his gladness in words. It was not often that Gale of Waterdeep found himself unable to articulate something, but some moments were too big for even his vocabulary to sufficiently capture.]
If I weren't holding you right now, I would hardly believe it— even so, it almost feels too good to be true, but—
[She draws his attention to the boat he had left behind; he looks back just in time to see Shadowheart raise a hand to hail them, and he exhales another peal of awed laughter, shaking his head.]
You're quite right. We've much to talk about, and we would be better served by having our feet on dry land. [He turns just enough to gesture broadly towards the docks, his smile blooming wider.] Welcome, my love, to Baldur's Gate— the Sword Coast's 'Halfway to Everywhere.'
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sunfloras2024-11-22 08:40 pm
it's time at last for the reunion of all time
He had always thought, perhaps foolishly, that when his time came to check out of the hotel, when he had no choice but to return to Faerun to take care of those matters he had left untended, that he would at least have the opportunity to say goodbye, to reiterate that he had a plan. As it stood, he had been granted no such grace: rather than awakening in the room that he had altered to reflect his beloved tower, he found himself on the cold ground and looking up at convex ceiling of his tent, alone, his bedroll doing little to soften the stone beneath him. The bustling sounds of a morning at camp and the smell of the lower city told him precisely where he was.
Baldur's Gate.
His heart sinks. All at once, he recalls precisely what trials he faces here, in addition to what he had left behind. His own promise resonates, the assurance that he would find his way back to the woman he had come to love so deeply— a promise he has absolutely no intention of breaking.
First, he has to live— and for the first time since he had set out on this journey, he wants to.]
[The days following the defeat of the Netherbrain are surreal, to say the least. So much has happened in such a short time that Gale has been able to do little but focus on what's directly ahead of him, but not once has he forgotten his goal, his reason for wanting to make it through— once, he would have been at peace with allowing his death to mean something, but now he has higher goals, greater ambitions, and they do their part to help him pull through to the end. Their victory is hard-won and not without casualties— much of the city has suffered immensely, but it still stands and that is a greater relief than most are willing to admit.
The Crown of Karsus is returned to Mystra, the truth of its nature revealed. She offers forgiveness, or what she would consider to be such, and Gale's answer is no longer what he'd once thought it might be. What he had once thought to be love now rings terribly hollow, and he does not allow himself to be baited by the implication that he might be Chosen of Mystra once more— instead, he will walk a different path, though Mystra will never be able to cease hearing him when he calls upon the Weave. As a wizard, he remains as much in her service as any of his ilk, but as people, they have gone their separate ways.
The orb is removed from his chest, though its mark on him remains. He is still a long way from what had once been his full power, but given room to recover, he now has the opportunity to mend his relationship with the Weave itself, to restore that connection and become his old self again— or, perhaps, a new version of Gale entirely. No longer Gale of Waterdeep, wizard of great renown and scholar of considerable acclaim, but Gale Dekarios— a wizard and dedicated scholar of intentionally moderate renown, intent on dedicating his talents to serving the magical community in new ways.
Days turn into weeks, then months. When he is able, he dedicates his time to planar studies and the potential for traveling between worlds beyond the planar system itself. The potential is certainly there, but no spell has yet been developed, no method defined, and even Elminster has little to offer but encouragement.
"If anyone can manage it, my boy, I believe it would be you. You have always been meant for great things. I am glad to see you have gained the wisdom with which to temper that ambition of yours."
He and a few of his companions remain in Baldur's Gate to assist in rebuilding, in aiding the locals in recovering from all that the Chosen of the Dead Three had put them through, but every spare moment he has, his efforts are tireless. He uses every resource available to him, including spending long days within Ramazith Tower with the permission of its new master. He foregoes sleep more often than he ought, but the goal, he feels, is well worth it.
Whatever it takes, he is determined to find his way.]
[It's Rolan who brings the house out past the harbor to Gale's attention initially, his response being a puzzled furrow of the brow as he pauses in helping himself to a number of Ramazith's tomes to further his research. Though it is raised as an odd curiosity, it is agreed that it ought to be investigated, strange as it is— though the city has certainly seen stranger in recent months. Gale can only hope this might be the harmless kind of strange, but something in his gut tells him that he ought to have a look for himself before the Flaming Fist gets involved.
When he arrives at the harbor, across from the Water Queen's House, it appears that he isn't the only one whose attention had been drawn that way— Shadowheart is there before him, looking out to sea with her arms folded across her chest, frowning thoughtfully.
"Here I was about to go looking for you to see what you might make of this. I can't imagine Umberlee's followers will be content to let it remain undisturbed for long."]
Something tells me that we ought to take a look before they or the Flaming Fist get any ideas.
[The cleric chuffs softly, bracing a hand against her hip.
"I'll accompany you, if you like. I can't say I've ever seen a house like it."]
no subject
Darkness had engulfed her vision the second she opened the door. It was a rush of sensation, magic energies both knowable and foreign crackled around her and all at once shut down Amelia's entire bodily system. No, she wasn't dead; she could register her body going numb and falling onto the floor. What irritated her most was that she was conscious, but not at the same time, aware, but unable to do much about it.
The witch tries not to panic. It was an inconvenience, but in light of what was done, there was an academic explanation to it. If she had successfully opened a door that led to Faerun, the energy required to open it and subsequently transport herself and her entire house would be astoundingly substantial. Regarding her own presence, she is by definition a foreigner and her partial blackout most likely served a purpose in diminishing her presence to make her less threatening to the many internal and external forces of this world. Most of all, her own body needed the rest and readjustment from the sudden travel.
Yes. That's exactly it, thinks the witch self-assuringly.
...
...
In truth, rationalizing helps keep her troubled mind at bay. How long has it been? Will she ever wake up? Did she end up in a location far from where Gale could be or even worse, the wrong world?
An unknowable amount of hours later, she's finally able to open her eyes and sit up. Her head is throbbing, but everything else seems to be in order. The room she's in is concerningly empty, but...]
Is that water...?
[There's one large window gracing her with the view of the outside. It's not her garden or the canopy of trees from Blackgale. Instead, the usual scenery is replaced by an open sky, languid waves, and a mysterious cityscape in the distance.
The witch feels her heart thump against her chest as she stands and stares. Is this it? Did she really make it? But she still feels too weak to move and too cautious to just run out the door without properly assessing the new environment.
With her hand against the walls, Amelia makes her way to her living room where her wind chimes hang from the ceiling.
It was time to send a scout.]
[The mysterious abode isn't just sitting in the water. Its foundation is like a small island, grassy and surrounded by flowers such as poppies, daisies, cosmos, and roses. Other than those, the signs of life were few.
Something does emerge from a window, flapping its glass wings while its metal tubes and attachments tingle and chime beneath it. The glass butterfly makes one flight around the house before moving away and towards the shore. It hovers in the air as if looking for something, someone...
And very soon, it flies towards a certain wizard and half-elf who had been observing from afar.]
no subject
He deploys a Mage Hand to start untying the ropes mooring the fishing boat he and Shadowheart have opted to 'borrow' while the cleric proceeds to loosen those at the back, both adventurers having securely lowered themselves from the docks without managing to draw attention to themselves. Though he doesn't expect trouble, he would prefer that they be able to set out without having to field any unnecessary questions, and in that respect, they seem to be quite fortunate.
They're hardly five meters out from the dock when something flying above them catches his eye; sunlight hits the colored glass as it approaches from the direction of the small island, the hue marking it as distinctly different from the seabirds circling the harbor, and the moment he catches a glimpse of the windchimes hanging from it, his breath catches, his grip against the stern of the boat tightening.
Could it be?
He wants to believe it, even if part of him is cautious of being too hopeful for fear of disappointment— that resonance, the nature of the scout that had been sent forth, the otherworldly design of the dwelling itself. It's enough to tell him that it truly could be, and by the gods, if anyone were going to be clever enough to manage this trick before he did—
He quickly looks back to his companion, his eyes bright with a wild, almost manic quality that Shadowheart has not had occasion to see in him for some time, and she raises an eyebrow coolly in question as he quickly gets to his feet, clearly calculating something in that head of his, the wheels turning rapidly as he sorts himself.]
Stay here— all of a sudden, I have a hunch as to what we might find up ahead. I'm going.
[He speaks quickly, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and the cleric furrows her brow, even if she trusts his judgment— mostly.
"Are you sure you should be running off alone? If you get yourself killed, at least Karlach and Wyll are going to be very disappointed."
He chuckles warmly, tracing the rune for flight in the air with a few precise flicks of his wrist before he gently pushes off from the boat by propping a boot against one of the planks that serves as a seat.]
If my hunch is correct, it's not a potential enemy we'll find there— quite the opposite!
no subject
Meanwhile, Amelia had weakly laid herself on her sofa, eyes closed and breathing softly. Waiting. And much to her surprise, she didn't need to wait all that long. Her roof rattles and her other windchimes relay the message of the scout like a glorious choir. She bolts upright, eyes widened and her heart thumping against her chest.
Did I do it?
Adrenaline floods her veins and the magic in her hair begins to circulate erratically through every strand, giving her enough energy to stand up and drag herself to the door.
Will he be there on the other side?
One of her worst fears while trying to open a gate was the many obstacles that Gale had to face all while she was worlds away. There was the Orb, the tadpole in his brain, and so many other dangers that Faerun had to throw at him and his party. Yes, he was always more than capable even in his weakened state and yet the most miniscule of doubts remained like a scab in her mind, itching to be scratched so that it could grow and paralyze her even more.
But she didn't get this far only to stop now. The front door opens and she's greeted with a wave of coastal air washing over her face and through her hair. She struggles to regain her balance, but manages, staring at the city in the distance. There are many ships of various sizes and dots of people and other signs of life. And further ahead, she hears her lone windchime echo in the distance near a boat...]
... Gale.
[Amelia takes the first step and stumbles, falling to one knee before pushing herself up.]
Gale...!
[Her voice isn't strong enough yet and neither are her faculties as she almost takes a step on the edge of the makeshift island to tumble into the water. The witch swears and looks down at her feet surrounded by flowers, back at the small figures in the distance and back at her feet again.
She closes her yes and takes a deep breath and then a few steps backwards. She counts to ten. The Emerald Witch lets her magic pulse through her body, steadfast and enticing to the same forces that the wizard of Waterdeep uses towards her. She feels it respond and intertwine with her own being. Her mind clears itself of everything except for a singular image. A path to him.
And then she sprints forward. Earth, grass, and flowers burst to life beneath her feet with smaller ones of emerald green magic sparking with each step she makes across the water.
This wasn't the finish line. This is a new beginning.]
GALE!!
no subject
She had done it. He had toiled for months, intent on finding his way back to her, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he is truly glad to have been shown up— he had never doubted her, not for a moment; his heart had always been equal parts brilliant and stubborn.
He races towards her, water rippling in his wake as his spell breaks the surface tension and he leaves his companion behind, no longer bearing thought for anything but the woman running across the water towards him— that he is still alive to see her again, that they have conquered the divide between worlds to see one another are both miracles in their own right, and nothing matters but reaching her.]
Amelia!
[She calls his name, and he pushes himself forward; nothing else registers and time itself feels suspended. He is near breathless, momentarily lost for words when he reaches her, extending a hand to catch her arm and pull her into a tight embrace, twining his arms around her and burying his face against her hair. His heart beats fit to burst out of his chest before it catches in his throat; he inhales the scent of her for the first time in months and slowly, steadily finds his voice, holding her against his chest as they both hover above the water, and a laugh escapes him, amazed and half-startled.]
I should have known you would be the one to crack it, my heart.
no subject
But Gale doesn't disappear. He extends his hand towards her and pulls her into his arms and her own automatically wraps around him. His warmth envelopes her in a way nothing else, no one else ever could and the witch chokes down a sob that threatens to escape her from all the sheer relief and the overwhelming success of hope that shakes her very foundation.
For once, a miracle didn't go wrong for the Emerald Witch.
She takes a deep and shuddery breath as she finds her voice.]
You're... You're alive.
[Amelia doesn't even care that her words come out raspy or about her lack of composure in her tone. Her hands find their way to his face and she only draws back enough to look into his eyes while her thumb traces his cheek.]
I thought I'd be too late.
no subject
You almost were.
[There's a faint smile as he makes that particular confession, and his hold on her tightens just slightly, as though if he doesn't hold on tightly enough, she'll slip away as suddenly as she'd appeared— something he absolutely cannot risk, and the weight of his gaze as she meets it is broken only by the threat of tears that has begun.]
Then I remembered I had something to fight to live for— a promise to keep. This once, I am overjoyed to have been outdone.
[It didn't matter which of them found the other first, only that they had.]
no subject
Well... [Hold on, she'll reach up catch any tears from her beloved's eyes while holding his face.]
I think you'll be pleased to know you were always going to be my most pressing matter. Home itself isn't in any dire straits compared to... Well, I'm here now anyways.
[The witch glances back and forth and behind Gale, noting that there is a boat with someone witnessing their reunion.]
Should we go back to shore? There's a lot to catch up on and... Oh, god. How long has it been for you?
[Probably not years, thankfully, but it had been at least three months for her.]
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If I weren't holding you right now, I would hardly believe it— even so, it almost feels too good to be true, but—
[She draws his attention to the boat he had left behind; he looks back just in time to see Shadowheart raise a hand to hail them, and he exhales another peal of awed laughter, shaking his head.]
You're quite right. We've much to talk about, and we would be better served by having our feet on dry land. [He turns just enough to gesture broadly towards the docks, his smile blooming wider.] Welcome, my love, to Baldur's Gate— the Sword Coast's 'Halfway to Everywhere.'