The Gods We Choose: Chapter XVI
Tamsin demands answers, gets more than she bargained for
Tamsin's mind spun, trying to process what he'd told her. She had so many questions—How had he learned of the orb's existence? What lengths had he gone to in order to find it? Why hadn't Mystra wanted it back when he returned with it? What was it like to wield Silver Fire? To be an instrument of divinity, in more ways than one…
She looked away, acutely aware of the tension mounting between them in the cramped tent, the vulnerable slump of his shoulders. She had stormed in on him in a fury; he had earned grace.
“I can only imagine what it must be like,” she mused aloud, “to commune with the Weave so directly; freely, not filtered through a god’s favor.” She tilted her head, considering. “Not sure I’d sacrifice a whole foot to know, but maybe a toe.”
Gale perked up at that. "I could show you, if you'd like," he offered. “Not like that,” he clarified quickly as, in unison, blood surged to their cheeks. “But I could—if you’re interested, er, for scholarly purposes, of course—show you a small glimpse of… well, of my life.”
Tamsin paused, her curiosity outweighing her embarrassment. She was no novice caster, it was true, but her access to the Weave was bound to Oghma, granted in exchange for her invocations to him; to simply reach out, seize it in hand, and manipulate it to her will, as Gale could, was another thing entirely.
She squinted at him, gauging his sincerity, and was surprised to find a boyish earnestness staring back at her. He was clearly hoping she’d accept the invitation. It was the same enthusiasm she had seen the first time she had met him, so long ago: bracketed by bookshelves, in his fine Blackstaff cloak, his eyes bright in a face still unweathered by age and its disappointments, even as the advent of manhood had begun to sharpen its planes.
A special treat: the lovely @trashmancer illustrated Tamsin & Gale's Weave scene just in time for this chapter to go up!