Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love, beyond run-of-the-mill physicality.”

“EEWWWW, are you going to try to teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what?”

“...Well, actually, I was thinking of poetry.”

“Oops, sorry. Although, now that I think of it… is mage hand especially hard to learn?”

The blue, ethereal hand shimmered, its translucent surface showing a distorted reflection of the wide grin on Karlach’s face.

“Yess!!” She celebrated, throwing her hands into the air in triumph. 

“Perfect!” Gale complimented, proud of both her for being able to learn it, and himself for being able to teach it to someone with next to no prior experience with magic. “That's the hard bit done. Now that you can summon it, you just need a bit of practice controlling it, and you'll be well away.” 

She waved her hand and watched it move similarly. The movements were awkward and stuttered, unlike Gale's mage hand which moved with the same grace and control of his own practised gestures, but she was sure with a bit of practice she'd have it down in no time. 

Eventually she dismissed it with the dismissal gesture he'd shown her previously, thrilled to see that that worked as well. 

“Thanks, Gale. I can't wait to try this out!”

“You'll have to let me know how it goes. Within the limits of your own privacy, of course.” 

“Heh, I don't mind telling you anything. Wyll might not appreciate that, though.” 

“Very true. I will leave it to your discretion, and I will leave you to practice. Unless you'd like me to stay to offer any further advice I may think necessary to improve your casting technique?”

“Actually… there was another favour I was going to ask you for.”

His eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“My time is yours. What do you need?” 

“Well… I was thinking, maybe it would be nice to write a poem… but I can’t write poems for shit. If you don’t mind, maybe you could help me write one?” She looked a bit awkward as she asked, worrying she’d already taken up too much of his time, but his eyes lit up at the request. 

“‘If I don’t mind’? Karlach, first you ask me to teach you a spell, then you ask me to help you write a poem. This is quickly turning into my ideal evening!” He said excitedly. 

“Wow, you and I have very different ideas of what makes an ideal evening,” she laughed. She liked Gale, but there was so much about him she could never get her head around. 

“As we should. If we were all the same life would be quite dull. Now,” he produced, seemingly out of nowhere, a small book and a quill, and sat down cross-legged, “where shall we start?” 

She sat down with him, chuckling to herself. 

“Do you always keep an emergency book and quill with you?” 

“At all times. So, what sort of poem shall we go for? Metre or free verse?” 

She gave him a blank look. 

“...Do you want it to rhyme or not?” he asked instead, deciding to start simple given the look of complete bewilderment on her face. 

“Oh, well it's a poem, it has to rhyme!” 

“Heh, not at all, there’s no requirement of a poem for it to rhyme. But we can certainly make it rhyme if you’d like,” he said, seeing the slight hint of disappointment in her face at the mere suggestion of a poem that doesn’t rhyme. “Now, for the metre. I’ve always been partial to the common metre myself, though I do like a bit of iambic pentameter. Or we could go completely wild and choose something like-”

He stopped as he saw the blank look turn increasingly to one of confusion, starting to borderline regret. 

“You know what? Maybe I should worry about this. You just tell me what you want to go in the poem,” he said, much to her relief. She still wasn’t sure what the answer was, but she at least understood the question.

“I’m not really sure, to be honest…” 

“Well, why don’t we start with what you like about Wyll?” 

It didn’t take long before fond words of praise and adoration were falling from her lips, filled with her excitement, her enthusiasm, her love. She spoke about how she’d become so used to being surrounded by devils she’d forgotten there could be people as selfless as him. The conversation moved to what she wanted to do with him, how she longed to hug him, kiss him, dance with him… and other activities, of course. They spoke of her time in the Hells, her struggles, the pain, the loneliness, the endless fight to survive, the hope of escape that she never gave up on. She told him about the first night after they’d been taken, before she’d met any of their group, completely unable to sleep as she stared up at the stars, crying with happiness. She’d spent every night imagining them, longing to see them again, and now here they were. Of course, she’d spent every night imagining other things too, and now she was desperate to make those dreams a reality, to make up for the years of her life that she’d lost. 

It ended up being a very emotional evening, more so than Gale had expected. He’d known about her past, of course, but they’d never discussed it in such great detail, and seeing such raw and painful emotion from her led to more than a few tears shed on both sides. 

Eventually the poem was nearing completion. A few last tweaks, a final copy on a new page away from the scribbles and scattered ideas of the previous page, and it was ready. 

“It’s done!” he said proudly, handing the book to Karlach. “Or at least, a first draft is done. We can edit or alter anything you wish. Also I’m afraid it may not quite be factually accurate in some places, such are our syllabic restrictions.” 

She had no idea what a syllabic restriction was, but she didn’t ask for now as she took the book and began reading. As her eyes ran over his neat handwriting, she found tears starting to well in them once more.

3000 days I burnt inside, 
Fire in my scars, 
3000 days spent trapped below, 
Dreaming of the stars. 
Every night I longed to touch, 
Each night I yearned to love, 
And every fight I longed to find 
Escape to life above. 
Now finally I find I'm free, 
Salvation came at last, 
And now I sit beneath the trees 
And look up at the stars. 
But where before the love I sought 
From anyone would do, 
Now I find that in my mind 
There's only thoughts of you. 
Your kindness and your bravery, 
Your courage and your wit, 
Remind me there's good in the world,
And you're the source of it. 
These scars of isolation burn, 
But your touch holds the cure, 
The hugs I've missed, a stolen kiss, 
They fill my dreams and more. 
3000 days I spent alone, 
But these dreams will soon be ours, 
And when they are we'll dance my dear, 
Underneath the stars.

“Gale…” she whispered, in shock. She couldn’t believe how well he’d captured how she felt. “This is… incredible…” 

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head in a small bow. “I’m glad you like it. I hope you feel it’s accurately captured how you feel,” he added in a slightly softer tone. Writing a poem from someone else’s point of view wasn’t easy, especially someone who had been through so much. Though he did have some of his own experience of isolation that he could draw on… it was very different from hers of course, though there had been the odd thing she’d said that made him realise they had more in common than he’d thought. 

“It has,” she assured him. “Wyll is never gonna believe I wrote this,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head. 

“Well, tell him I helped you. Say we workshopped it,” he offered. She chuckled softly and looked at the poem again. 

“I can’t believe you wrote it so quickly,” she commented. 

“Ahh, well, I’ve had a lot of practice. Poetry has always been one of my favourite ways to express how I feel for the one I love,” he said, casting his mind back to the hours he’d spent on his balcony, writing poetry about whoever had captured his heart at the time, filled with love and inspiration. 

“Yeah? Your partners are very lucky, this is so romantic!” 

“Hmm, some were more appreciative than others,” he murmured, thinking mostly of Mystra, who’d never been interested in such things. He’d quickly given up writing any poems for her, she was far more interested in his magic. 

“Well anyone who doesn’t appreciate it isn’t worth your time,” Karlach decided firmly. Gale went very quiet for a moment. He still didn’t know how he felt about Mystra… up until getting abducted he was still firmly in love with her and desperate for her to return, but since this little adventure started he’d found Mystra occupied his mind less and less, his thoughts instead turning to someone new. 

“Perhaps you’re right…” he said quietly, though it wasn’t a revelation that came easily to him. 

“I am right. You trust Mama K on this,” she told him with a warm smile that he couldn’t help but return. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, touched that someone found his poetry to be worth appreciating. Karlach looked down at the book again, her eyes running over the words once more. 

“Hmm… maybe there is one bit I can change, you know, to make it more me ,” she said, holding her hand out for the quill. He gave it to her and leant over as she wrote, curious to see what change she would make. He watched as she crossed out the last line and replaced it with “Til you’re seeing stars”. 

“Perfect!” she declared happily. He had to chuckle slightly - he preferred his version from a poetic standpoint, but he had to admit, this was version definitely more Karlach . 

“Can I borrow this book?” she asked, looking over at him. “Til I’ve memorised it.”

He waved for her to give the book back to him. She did so and he carefully ripped the page out and handed it to her. It was certainly not something he’d normally do to a book, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured into trying to memorise it as quickly as possible to get the book back to him. 

“Thanks again, Gale,” she said, smiling as she looked at the page. “Once I can, I’m gonna give you a big ol’ hug for this!” 

“I can’t wait,” he said sincerely. “I’ll let you get going, then. I expect a dramatic reading once it’s memorised.” 

“You got it,” she said with a grin, then stood up and headed off. 

He stayed there for a bit, just the gentle sounds of the rustling leaves around him as Karlach’s words echoed in his mind. He’d honestly forgotten how much he enjoyed writing poems after getting so out of the habit of it during his time with Mystra. Maybe it was something to pick up again… especially if he had someone who would appreciate it. 

He looked down at the book, quill in hand, a small smile on his lips as he began writing an ode to the kind adventurer that had pulled him out of that portal not so long ago.