Work Text:
The morning had been calm and almost pleasant, dappled sunlight spilling through the canopy of trees as the group made their way along the forest trail. Gale walked ahead, staff tapping against the uneven path, while Astarion followed close behind. Bringing up the rear were Karlach and Shadowheart, chatting quietly as they walked.
It happened without warning. Gale stopped mid-step, his body going rigid, and before anyone could ask what was wrong, he collapsed to the ground. His staff clattered against the rocks, and a sharp gasp escaped his lips.
"Gale!" Astarion was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees beside Gale. "What's happening?"
The answer came in the form of a faint glow emanating from Gale's chest, the orb embedded there pulsing erratically with a sickly, unstable light.
"His orb," Shadowheart said, her voice grim as she knelt on Gale's other side. Her sharp eyes assessed him quickly, and she reached out to touch his forehead. "Something's very wrong. And whatever's happening, it's getting worse."
Worry darkened Karlach's features. "We need to move him," she said, her broad shoulders tense with urgency. "Let's get to somewhere safe." Without waiting for a response, she bent down and gently scooped Gale into her arms. He let out a faint groan, his head lolling against her shoulder as the orb flickered ominously.
"The cave nearby." She glanced back at Shadowheart and Astarion. "The one we passed not long ago. It'll have to do."
Astarion hesitated, his hand lingering on Gale's as Karlach began to move. For a moment, he looked like he might protest, but then he nodded, his jaw tight. "Lead the way," he said, his voice clipped.
~
Inside the cave, the air was cool and damp. Shadowheart unfurled a bedroll, upon which Karlach laid Gale down, her hands careful as she positioned him to ease his breathing.
Gale's eyes fluttered open briefly, his gaze unfocused. "The orb…" he rasped. "It's… unstable. I can feel it."
"We can see that," Astarion said sharply, though there was a tremor beneath the sarcasm. He crouched beside Gale, his pale hand brushing against Gale's cheek. "Care to explain why you didn't tell us about this sooner?"
Gale tried to respond, but his words were lost in a pained exhale.
"Enough," Shadowheart interjected. "This isn't the time for scolding. He needs help, and fast."
Karlach, who had been pacing restlessly near the entrance to the cave, turned back to the group. "Then let's figure it out now," she said firmly. "What do we have to do to fix this? What does Gale need?"
The group fell silent, the tension thick as they exchanged uncertain glances.
Finally, Gale found his voice. "There's… a way," he murmured, gesturing toward his chest with one trembling hand. "But it won't be easy. And… I'll need all of you." Sweat beaded on his brow, plain to see under the eerie, pulsating glow of the orb. "I can try to stabilize the… the orb, but I'll need to examine it… directly." He swallowed hard, his body tensing.
"Directly?" Karlach's eyes narrowed. "You mean from inside you? How the hell do we manage that without making things worse?"
Shadowheart frowned. "You're suggesting surgery, aren't you?"
Gale nodded weakly, the resolve in his voice wavering. "Yes… but not just that. I can't rely on you alone to… to understand the magic at play." He shifted slightly, grimacing against the movement. "I'll need to conjure a simulacrum, to… to see for myself. Cast spells through it. I'll have to… remain conscious. And I—I'll need all my wits. That means no potions, no numbing magicks."
"That's madness," Astarion snapped. His eyes darted to Gale's chest, where the orb's pulsing light grew more erratic. "You expect to remain awake while we cut your chest open? Do you know how much that will hurt?"
"I know," Gale murmured, his tone laced with resignation. "But we don't have a choice. It's tied to me in such complicated ways that I couldn't begin to…" his voice trailed off. "There's no other way," he concluded firmly.
Karlach ran a hand through her short hair, pacing again as she processed the plan. "So, let me get this straight. Shadowheart does the cutting, I do the cauterizing, and you conjure a copy of yourself to figure out what the hell is going on with that thing in your chest. And through all of this, you stay awake and focused?"
"Yes," Gale said simply, though the weight of the task was evident in his eyes.
"Oh, I do love a plan that involves cutting into someone," Astarion commented, breaking the silence that ensued. But despite his flippant words, his voice was strained and his hand tightened on Gale's wrist.
Gale gave him a pained half-smile, then looked down at his chest with a sigh. "Let's do it quickly, before I change my mind."
Shadowheart turned to Karlach to confer, while Astarion lingered by Gale's side. "Just don't die on me," he whispered, trying and failing to keep the desperation he felt out of his voice. "I'm not ready to lose you."
"I'm counting on you," Gale said tenderly, his voice hoarse.
Then, Gale raised a trembling hand, the faint glow of magic sparking to life at his fingertips, and a shimmering outline coalesced into shape beside him. It was a perfect replica of himself apart from its eerily calm expression, a stark contrast to the pain etched into the real Gale's face.
"Ready, Gale?" asked Shadowheart. "We do this now, no turning back." Her gaze flickered between him and the simulacrum as she prepared for the first incision.
"We've got you," reassured Karlach. "We're going to get through this."
Shadowheart's hands moved with practiced precision, and the knife slipped into Gale's flesh, the incision clean but deep. Gale gasped, his body tensing with the shock of the pain. Astarion immediately leaned closer, his hand on Gale's, willing him to stay alert, willing his magic to keep flowing.
"You're doing fine," Astarion whispered, trying to keep his voice low, soothing, and steady. "Stay with me, Gale. Just breathe. Breathe through it."
As Shadowheart continued cutting with practiced precision, Karlach occasionally leaning in to help with her white-hot touch, Gale's breathing grew shallow and erratic. His gaze darted around, as if searching for something to anchor him or to take his mind away from the pain.
Astarion's thumb brushed over his hand, a gesture that was as much for himself as it was for Gale. "Look at me, darling. Focus on my voice. You're not alone in this."
Gale's breathing hitched, and he forced his gaze up to Astarion, his eyes glassy. "It… hurts…"
"Focus on me, not the pain," encouraged Astarion. "You haven't been so insufferable all this while just for show, haven't you?" He forced a teasing smile, though it faltered as Gale's face contorted with pain once more.
Gale's lips trembled, and he shook his head weakly. "I—I can't... keep..."
"No," Astarion interrupted gently, his fingers tightening around Gale's. "Don't close your eyes. Don't you dare. You're not getting out of this that easily." He bent closer, his voice a low, urgent murmur. "I'm here. Stay awake for me. I need you, Gale."
"Almost there, soldier," Karlach said, calm and strong. "Just a little more."
Gale's lips trembled as he struggled to stay conscious, his gaze flicking between Astarion and the simulacrum of himself. With a wave of his hands, the simulacrum bent over the orb inside his chest.
"I need… I need to focus," Gale gasped, his voice strained. "I need to see… what's wrong."
He muttered a chant under his breath, his fingers twitching with the effort of coordination. He tried once, twice, to weave a temporary stabilization spell, but each time the magic sputtered out and faded. The simulacrum flickered dangerously, threatening to vanish into smoke.
"Stay with me, my love," Astarion urged, his tone dropping into something almost pleading. "You're stronger than this. I know you are. Don't you give up now."
Gale's eyes fluttered, and for a moment, it seemed like he might slip under. But, as if galvanized by the words, he forced a breath. He lifted his head just enough to keep his gaze on the faintly glowing simulacrum, resolve returning anew into his eyes. "All right," Gale murmured, his voice steadier now. "One more time."
Astarion's heart leapt in his chest. "You can do this, love," he whispered, hardly daring to move a muscle for fear of distracting Gale. "Just a little longer. We're right here."
"The orb—it's stabilizing," called Shadowheart, her voice tight. "Whatever you're doing, keep it up."
Gale's lips moved faintly, too weak for words, but his eyes darted to Astarion.
"I'm here," Astarion said, his voice cracking as he leaned closer. "You're not alone, Gale. We're all here. Just hold on. We're almost there."
"Just… need to seal..." Gale muttered, shaky but determined. His hands, though trembling, found a steady rhythm as he pushed his magic forward.
"Just a little more," Astarion repeated desperately, hoping against hope...
With a final burst of energy, Gale finished his spell, stabilizing the orb enough to halt its erratic pulsing. But there was no sign of triumph or celebration from him, only a ragged sigh of relief.
"I think…" he said, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, "…that's… enough for now." His lips quirked up in the faintest ghost of a smile. "Thank you… all of you." The words trailed off as his head slumped to the side, and his quivering body went limp.
Astarion stiffened, darting out a hand to cup Gale's cheek. "Gale? Gale!" He shook him lightly, willing the wizard to wake, but there was no response.
Karlach stepped forward and placed a calming hand on Astarion's arm. "Hey," she said softly. "He'll be alright. He just needs time to rest. You both do."
Astarion only stared at her, his features rigid, his hand not moving from Gale's face.
Shadowheart was already bending over Gale—checking his pulse, stitching up the incision down his chest. "His pulse is steady," she said quietly, her tone measured. "He's alive, Astarion. You can relax." Her hands moved with clinical precision, her expression inscrutable as she finished the final stitch and wiped away the remaining traces of blood. "We did what we could. He'll need time to recover—and we're all going to need more permanent solutions for the orb."
Astarion nodded, though his jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. "Relax, you say," he echoed, his voice faint. The thought of rest felt foreign, impossible, as he looked at Gale's pale face and the freshly stitched wound running down his chest.
Shadowheart sat back on her heels, her sharp gaze softening as she regarded him. "I'll leave him in your care, then. Keep an eye on him, and we'll figure out the rest when he wakes."
Astarion scoffed quietly, though there was no venom behind it. "Trust a wizard to always be so needlessly theatrical." He brushed a stray lock of damp hair from Gale's forehead, his touch lingering.
As Karlach and Shadowheart stepped away, Astarion stayed where he was, cradling Gale's unconscious form. "Wake up soon, darling," he whispered. "I'm not done being tormented by you yet."