#netherese magic

[moontheoretist]

Arcane Hunger as Chronic Pain

I always wondered why in Astarion's case the tadpole "changed the rules" but it didn't do the same for Gale. This is such a small hint, but it's still there. It was hinting since the day one that Netherese magic was involved. I believe that because Gale's Orb is a result of a weave that was created with Netherese magic, the tadpole changed with the same magic only exacerbates the disease. Hence why feeding the Orb with the artifacts suddenly stopped working as it should. I can't even imagine how terrifying that must have been for Gale to see that the treatment he used for so long suddenly started failing him.

The very same magic that for Astarion made him be able to walk in the sun, enter houses and cross rivers, while I suspect for Karlach it was responsible for keeping her alive, for Gale was a literal death sentence. If Mystra in her infinite assholery didn't decide to stop the clock on the Orb for the sake of using it as the ultimate weapon to kill both her ex-boyfriend and the Absolute, Gale would be in great pain in Act 2 and Act 3. (Albeit I must admit it's kinda big decision considering that Mystra is Weave, so when she lets the Orb feed of her weave it's like some kind of magical cannibalism that can hurt her or can even kill her if prolonged? And ok, prop's to her for sacrificing herself like this for the mission, but still, telling your ex to kill himself is not good and in the end she groomed him, so this whole situation with him trying to impress her was kinda her fault too when she ignored her godhood and the imbalance in their relationship and didn't realize that unequal relationship is not something that anybody could accept. She as a goddess should have known this relationship is doomed simply by the fact that to her Gale will never be her equal, always be her subject, hers to command as one of her Chosen and always lesser than her, and should have just ended it before Gale got stupid ideas OR not get together with him in the first place as a responsible fucking adult).

If you traveled with Gale in your party, it was very much visible how much pain the Orb caused him when it inflicted Arcane Hunger on him. It's a miracle that he managed to walk through the entire Act 1, considering how quickly the artifact treatment failed him. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility if for the half of the Act 1 Gale was bedridden due to chronic pain (I'm seriously surprised I didn't see any fanfics using this idea for some angst yet). But because it's a game, and he is a companion, he had to be able to accompany you, that's why Arcane Hunger status stops appearing after the 3rd Artifact fails to sate the Orb, and you have the Conversation with Gale about his affliction for real. If it was not a game after this Gale would either have to try to consume even more artifacts to sate the Orb (which doesn't happen, he never asks you for more after the 3rd one fails) or he would be in constant pain, barely able to walk. Lying in his tent and suffering in silence while the party got increasingly worried about his state.

[chocopinda]

She is SO much more than just a cat!!!

[alpacalamamama]

‘Birth of The Weave Eater’

This is from my very self-indulgent AU where a fraction of Karsus’ will remains within the Netherese weave, and thus, within Gale.

(Alt version below)

[kettls]

I returned my sorry carcass to another pottery painting event, armed with 10 spells/cantrips; a specially-purchased personal brush set; and severe anxiety at only having 2 turns (okay, 2 hours) to cast them all successfully upon a solitary drinking vessel.

Vessel of Arcane Pep and Vim:

+2 to Wisdom saving throws upon use, use once per short rest (when I get up from my desk to boil the kettle).

I now have a little set of 'low-key bg3 merch' to my name - and I eventually got a li'l plant from Søstrene Grene for my Netherese vase.

And now I need ideas for when I inevitably go back again... Anyone?

[utterdrip]

astarion being so conscious about what a big weird fuckin group the tadpole’d are like yelling at them hands fluttering about

“we’re conspicuous enough as this merry band of freaks! can you! be normal!”

[hard cut to astarion panting over the possibility of killing some githyanki scouts]

[fiberpunk027]

Chapter 33: Crown

Rating: M/E

Pairing: Gale/Tiefling Tav Wild Magic Sorcerer

Trigger Warnings for this Chapter: Spirits, possession, and general death

Summary:

Gale returned his attention to the dark trio’s argument trying to hone in on what was being discussed. They were discussing taking their army to march upon Baldur’s Gate, an army they expected Thorm to lead. His eye was drawn to a bright stone on the hand of the man, Gortash. He wasn’t aware of Baldurian politics but something felt off as he looked at the man's oily complexion. He watched as the trio continued to bicker. The changeling brandished her dagger, inlaid with a similarly shaped stone of a red color. There was something on the tip of his tongue about these stones, something he found familiar but couldn’t quite place. Thorm turned around and he realized where he’d seen this type of stone before, it was inlaid on his breastplate. Each of these fearsome people controlled one piece of a larger puzzle. It seemed these stones when joined together provided them with great power, but what was that power and why did it seem so familiar?

[twixstari]

Oh NO, the implications of what could happen to Gale if the dead three had him and the orb in his chest…. Even more Nether magic for them to mess with and try to use to control the brain

ISNT THAT TERRIFYING :3 i had ideas for how you'd have to kill him, take his tadpole out, and then revive him so the Absolute doesn't have access to a nuclear Gale. i still have to flesh him out more but ty for the inspiration

[abysskeeper]

Me: Weird that as a wizard you can't call out Gale's story for being about Karsus

Game:

Me: Oh...here we go

Game:

Me: Oh HERE we go

Game:

Me: Oh HERE WE GO

[skyheld]

gatt's camp tent starts out empty save from the barest necessities. he has a bedroll, his armour and weapons, and little else. he doesn't know what to put in there. it's the first time he has more than a bedroll in a barracks to call his own, so the possibility of collecting things, owning things has never really been there before.

more things are added to it gradually. at first it's mostly things he's given - you can pretty much pick up whatever and give it to him, and if he doesn't outright dislike it he'll probably keep it. more weapons, more armour, but also whatever decorations and trinkets are found along the way. he adds a rug for the floor and maybe a simple stool to sit on. eventually, things of his own choosing start appearing and gifts he never cared for are removed as he begins to actually tailor his space according to his own taste, but it will still be somewhat dependent on the type of gifts he received before - giving him a lot of weapons will turn his tent into an arsenal, while more everyday objects will create a less warlike space.

[hanalghilan]

stardust au is really just if tavira and gale met before she got married

[blackbyrenflowers]

One thing BG3 players may not have known about Karsus is that he wasn't trying to become a god for the hell of it. His homeland of Netheril was at war with the phaerimm, a race of extremely powerful magical aberrations. Multiple cities had already fallen to them by the time he had developed his spell Karsus's avatar.

(Side note: High Netherese civilization was located on flying mountain tops that were severed from the ground and flipped upside to serve as a base for the city. So when I say fall, I mean fall.)

Karsus developed his spell to steal the powers of a god so he could destroy the phaerimm and save his people. The spell was actually only temporary in nature (though he didn't appear to know this), and he picked Mystryl (Mystra's former incarnation) as he reasoned the powerful goddess of magic was the best target.

The problem that Karsus didn't realize until it was too late was that Mystryl maintained the use of all magic in the universe. As her powers were lost, all magic in the world began to fluctuate wildly and she was forced to sacrifice herself to stop Karsus, which caused all magic to briefly stop, sending Netheril and its floating cities crashing to the ground.

Karsus wasn't some megalomaniac wizard who saw godhood as his birthright and killed Mystryl to get it - he was a person with good intentions who wanted to save his home and his family but ended up causing an unimaginable amount of destruction, and in his last moments his heart broke over how he had accidentally doomed them all.

Anyways, here's an unrelated Gale quote about Lorroakan seeking godhood:

[thefandomcassandra]

La'zel And Gale Have Good Personal Quests, You Just Don't Like Them As Much As Asterion Or Shadowheart Or Wyll And That Makes Me Sad, Frankly

Every Time You Complain About How Mean La'ezel And Shadowheart Are, I Become More Sapphic And Spitefully In Love With Them Both

[prismalmelonman]

Touching on Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas being a bit undermined in parts of the fandom

So one thing I notice on Twitter is how some people act about the bg3 characters whose abuses were perpetuated by women.

Gale specifically for this reason (but I will touch on others)bbecause I see him dismissed super often as "can't get over his ex".

But Gale's case obviously be has the line of Mystra being like "she was my muse, my teacher, and then my lover" and sure to some that's a red flag in itself (when it comes to adults I don't really give a fuck about teacher/student) but if you view it from not only Gale's own words "ive been connected with the weave for as long as i can remember"

And that doesn't distract from his genuine love of magic of course. And it also doesn't mean that he's actually been in connection with mystra for an amount of time.

However, if you ascend Gale, and he becomes a god, you get a bunch of new little things. Tara reminiscing of course, but you get a letter from Elminster, detailing that Mystra had Elminster scope out Gale when he was eight!

And sure is that pretty cool that he's a prodigy that got the attention of the goddess of magic at that age? Yes. Mystra is, however, known in forgotten Realms lore to seek young young boys who are in tune with magic to make into her chosen. And from context clues, her chosen can be anything from Elminster and Volo, dedicated wizards who try to keep things in check, etc etc. or they're somewhat of playthings to her.

Minsc also has a conversation where me mentions that weave-touched boys in his homeland were hidden away to hone their craft, then suspecting that it was because of Mystra, given Gale's case.

Gale always seems so proud that he got to bed a goddess, and on the surface, hell yeah, that's cool.

Gale continued to have her attention even as he went to Blackstaff Academy, and Mystra eventually did take him on as an apprentice directly to her, later making him her chosen, and sleeping with him.

The reason it bothers me that people dismiss all of Gale's stuff to just "he can't get over his ex" is because that's is like almost textbook grooming? She was in his life from a young age, shaping and moulding him up as he grew up to be her perfect chosen, rewarding him by sleeping with him, and so on. And then of course casting him away when he has his folly with the netherese orb (and to be fair, it very well could have looked like to her that he was trying to seize the power himself and yes the orb does siphon off weave. That is a problem for the mistress of the weave yes).

But she also tells gale to KILL HIMSELF for her forgiveness.

Gale is much more than "unable to be over his ex" this woman was in his life since he was a kid. She's almost all he has ever known. If course it's going to be difficult for him to 1. Say no to her. 2. Get over the fact that he's lost someone that he spent his literal entire life dedicated to. Honestly if asked, I don't even think Gale would acknowledge or really see that what he went through was, in fact, abuse until it was spelled out in front of him. (Which does happen somewhat with the player character pleading to him that killing himself for mystra's forgiveness is actually horrific and that he should in fact be angry for how he was treated)

Similarly, and this one has been discussed a lot, Wyll and Mizora. Wyll was 17 and actively trying to help his people. 17, in a vulnerable state, willing to do anything to help and prove himself. Mizora very clearly took advantage of him, and regards him as a "pet", refers to him being "leashed", and so on. Personally, I do dislike the sexualization of their relationship, because it very much is also grooming (although a different type. Rather than manipulating and shaping his life from the ground up, she takes advantage of a vulnerable and desperate state to manipulate and contract Wyll into doing her bidding. I won't go too deep I to this one because it has been discussed to hell and back. But I did wanna touch on Wyll's situation as well.

Also, Halsin as well, though that has also been discussed in many retrospectives by a very good friend of mine. Halsin's trauma often get dismissed due to his polyamory, open sexual nature, and his own somewhat diminishing/dismissal of it, which honestly I love the representation of, cause for a while I did that with my own trauma. Halsin was a sex slave to a house of Lolth-Sworn drow, a matriarchal society, where the men are generally used as fodder or for breeding, though male Lolth-Sworn drow can be wizards and rise in the ranks if wizardry, but are limited everywhere else. (Minthara mentions that the third male, and every subsequent male child after third are killed for being"useless"). Halsin often referred to them as "hosts" rather than being captors, (though he does touch on that if the Player Character threatens to sell him back into slavery). Again, everything I'd have to say here for Halsin has entirely been discussed top to bottom by a friend, their link is below!!

Anyway, long story short, I dislike it a lot when Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas and abuses get diminished, even if/when the character themself doesn't see or acknowledge the abuse in the same lens that we, the players, do.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

What's really funny is Gale having all the arrogance of an Archwizard but the Netherese Orb ate all his magic (it's canon I don't have the quote but it's a thing) and THEN he got tadpoled which Wyll mentions Nerfs Them (used to be able to do a lot more prior to being infected, was more powerful)

So we have this level 1 wizard acting like hot shit and Tav being like??? Man he's got the Hubris AND HE DOES but like he USED TO BE ABLE TO BACK IT UP and now he cant but he still stands there in his velveteen pajamas acting like he hasn't just been nerfed down to nothing as well as having the literal goddess of magic break up with him like

Man got fucking STEPPED on by the universe and it DUG ITS HEEL IN for good measure and he still has the balls to pull out lines like

"Oh I meant are you STUDIED in magic? Are you a WIZARD? I thought not ✨✨✨✨"

[sorceresssundries]

Of Pain and Pleasure

Warnings: Talk of chronic pain. Masturbation.

Length: 2.5k of self-indulgence.

Summary: A wizard cursed with a volatile, dark magic discovers that his growing sexual frustration is making the Netherese orb embedded in his chest more painful and unstable. How does he deal with this issue? By having a wank, obviously!

The once-charmed locket lay useless and stripped in the dew-damp grass. The usual feeling of relief—a fire smothered and a hunger sated—was absent. The Netherese flames still licked at him, his breathing not yet back to its natural rhythm, and his ribs felt as though they were stretched and warped around something too big for them to hold. They were. The pain was too big for his flimsy mortal bones to contain.

Panic began to mix with the dull, pulsing ache, making it worse. Any kind of spiral, any desperate feeling that tightened his chest, slipped down into the relentless pit and antagonised the gluttonous curse that was settled there. The tendrils of the orb had not only marked his skin but coiled their way around his nerves, fraying and gnawing. They wrapped around him so intently that he could no longer tell which hunger was his and which belonged to the orb.

Count, he thought to himself between audible, struggling breaths. You have to count.

He imagined climbing the stairs of the tower, with morning light spilling over the walls as Tara’s soft pawprints padded along beside him. One step at a time.

He imagined picking up a book he had the luxury of lazily savouring by the fire on a rainy day, feeling the thrum of pages against his fingers, counting each one until he found where he left off. One page at a time.

He counted the times Tav had touched him. Seventeen. There had been seventeen touches. The last time was when she had taken his hand for no other reason than that she thought he needed it. He had. He always needed it. He had wanted to raise her hand to his lips and brush his mouth against her bloodied knuckles. He craved her touch like a bare branch craves spring.

The yawning ache stretched itself out again, threatening him, pressing the jagged edges against his lungs until each breath felt like it would split him open.

Okay… bad… not helping.

At first, he had been confused - he had spent over a year in his tower absorbing slivers of weave from various magical items, and it had been enough. He could live a relatively normal, albeit isolated, life. The pain would arrive every now again like a familiar stranger and he would be able to keep it at bay, there were rules it obeyed and patterns it followed. 

Then he met Tav...

He thought of her smile, and another flame licked at his insides. The realisation struck him like a blow: it was his hunger for Tav that was making the orb unstable. His discontent, his desperation for her, was becoming dangerous. The orb’s power wasn’t growing stronger—his resolve was crumbling. The barriers he had erected to contain the orb’s influence were weakening. His control was slipping through his fingers, and the terrifying truth was that he didn’t know how to stop it.

He hurt pretty much all the time now, but the greatest ache of all was from not touching Tav the way he wanted to. The ache of not peeling each piece of her sweat-soaked, blood-spattered clothes from her and kissing his way across every inch of her skin. He wanted to find each and every scar that flecked her skin, pale and iridescent like the inside of a salt-licked seashell. He wanted to lose himself in each hidden, secret place. The restraint of keeping himself from her was becoming too tight, too choking. His desperation stoked the already barely contained fire within him, threatening to burn him from the inside out, reducing him to nothing more than flecks of weave-tainted ash—and a crater the size of a city.

A few hours ago, with the dregs of adrenaline from a fierce fight still swirling through their systems, she had removed her shirt in front of him. and used it to wipe sweat and blood from her skin before dunking it in the river to clean. She had caught him staring at her, topless and unabashed. Why should she care? They were soldiers, not etiquette-bound nobles. But gods, the sight of her… Another wave of pain rocked him.

Something would have to be done. 

He managed to stumble his way back to his tent without attracting any attention. It was late, and most were still in bed or out hunting. The camp was quiet, the darkness a blanket that shielded him from prying eyes. Once inside, he collapsed onto his bedroll, finally giving the pain the attention it craved. Instead of pushing it down as he usually did, he let himself sink into it, hoping that by opening the door and inviting it in, the pain would take up residence for a while and then, having exhausted its welcome, eventually leave. It was a gamble, a desperate hope that by embracing the torment, he could somehow hasten its departure. But it didn’t seem to work. His thoughts kept drifting back to Tav, and his need for her was an ember that kept the pain simmering and spitting.

He lay there, hurting, and considered his options.

He could leave and eradicate the threat of harming everyone around him. But what would come first—the orb detonating or ceremorphosis? He couldn’t risk becoming a mind flayer with all that raw, destructive power nestled within him, waiting to be unleashed. God knows what kind of monster he would become, what horrors he might commit with such power at his disposal.

He could tell her? What if he confessed how much he wanted her, how every time he heard her laugh it was like a wave of pleasure sinking under his skin and rolling down his spine? She would be kind about it, he was certain. But would it be more painful to be open with his feelings and have them unreciprocated? To be both desperate and embarrassed? That could make things worse, he realised with a painful twinge. He could become the wizard who literally blew up from rejection. Not exactly how he imagined his legacy.

But what if she wanted him too? What if those moments when he felt her eyes on him were not from judgement, but from desire? He thought back to the magic lesson they had shared. It wasn’t what he had expected—just a few minutes where her scent and the sound of her rapid breathing danced in the air alongside the weave. Two opposing forces mingling and crackling around him, skimming across his skin in electrifying waves. Threads and caresses of purple and green, the scent of rosewater mingling with the spiced cinnamon that filled his lungs like warm cider on a cold midwinter night in Waterdeep. He had wanted to reach out, to slot his aching, starved fingers between hers. He wanted to feel warm again, to be warmed in the way only another person could offer.

Then, an image of a kiss slipped into his thoughts—simple and electric. She was thinking of kissing him, and he could almost feel the feather-light brush of her lips against his. The thought of kissing her back, of letting their fantasies intertwine so vividly that it was impossible to tell who was leading, filled him with a desperate longing. But as the desire for it to go further awoke within him, so did the pain. Doubts crept in, whispering that it was nothing more than a fleeting moment, two people getting carried away. 

The magic extinguished, the weave unravelled, and the sweetness died.

“How easily things slip away from us,” he had lamented, before bidding her goodnight and leaving in pain and embarrassment.

Now, he sighed as he thought of all the ways he wanted to touch her. His hand lay flat against the skin of his abdomen, and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine that the weight and warmth of his hand were hers. 

Every time she offered him a smile, he ached to kiss it, to taste the joy that bubbled up from within her. Yes, she was beautiful, with hips that swayed like music and eyes that contained entire universes, but it was her mind that truly captivated him. The quick, sharp bite of her wit, the effortless way she dispensed kindness…  It wasn’t just that he wanted to touch her—Gods, how he wanted to touch her—but he longed to know her, completely.

The pain blazed and the orb glowed in warning, but… perhaps… if he were slow and cautious…

The ache of his erection was tormenting him. It had been so long since he had pleasured himself, since he had even allowed himself to consider it... His need had been buried under layers of control and discipline, suppressed by the fear of what might happen if he let go. But now, that control was slipping, overshadowed by his longing for her. He wondered if indulging, even for just a moment, might offer some relief—even if only briefly.

He settled himself, letting out a slow, measured breath as his fingers traced across the soft skin of his navel, following the line of dark hair down to where he was rock hard. At first, he held himself gently, the sensation unfamiliar and almost foreign after so long. But it wasn’t long before the softness gave way to urgency, his hand gripping more tightly as he began to move his hips into his own grasp. The thought of Tav pleasuring him like this was too delicious to be subtle, and the fantasy burned bright in his mind.

He imagined drawing sounds from her that no one else had ever heard, sounds she herself didn’t even know she was capable of making. The thought of it sent shivers down his spine. and he began to stroke himself faster as he envisioned her losing herself to the waves of pleasure he would bring. Her taut, practised muscles losing control as they wrapped around his head, her body writhing with each flick of his tongue.

In his fantasy, he saw himself having to be more and more forceful to keep her still, his hands gripping her hips as his tongue pressed and stroked, building her up only to make her fall apart. He wanted to unravel her, to take her to heights she had never imagined. He audibly moaned as he imagined the sounds she would make, the way her body would respond to his touch. The thought of her yielding to him, of her body quaking with ecstasy, was almost more than he could bear.

He stopped himself before he came, not wanting the fantasy to end. He was desperately close, and already leaking. He wanted to make the most of this time with Tav, even if it was only in his own head. The pain was still there, but he paid it very little attention.

It had been such a long time since he had luxuriated in the raw, primal pleasures of mortal sexuality with another person—the slick sheen of sweat on skin, the burn of stretched muscles, the sound of uncontrollable lust released in ragged, blissed-out breaths. Yes, the merging of souls and the celestial sharing of pleasure was an experience beyond compare, a union that transcended the physical, but it never quite sated the hunger that still burned within him, a hunger that was flesh-bound and raw. He was a chosen, a prodigy of magic, an illusionist of unparalleled skill. He could bend reality to his will and conjure wonders from thin air. But, he was also a man. A man who now lay in the dark solitude of his tent, his hand wrapped tightly around his hard, leaking cock, aching for the very human experience of sinking into Tav’s eager cunt.

His breath quickened as he stroked himself again, and In the quiet darkness of the tent, he surrendered to the fantasy, his mind painting vivid images of Tav’s body arching beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers digging into his back as he thrust into her with a fervour that bordered on desperation. He could almost taste the salt of her skin, almost feel the quiver of her thighs as she reached the peak of her pleasure.

He was a master of illusions, but this—this was no illusion. It was a deep, salacious desire that nothing could dispel. And as he lay there, his hand moving faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he knew that no amount of magic could satisfy the longing he felt for her. He needed her in a way that was as ancient and undeniable as the stars themselves.

As his pleasure built, his pain receded. It was becoming nothing more than a background pulse to the roar of his fantasy. Nothing else mattered at that moment. All he knew was Tav. He lost himself, letting himself be carried away to another place, where pleasure eclipsed pain, and desire became the only reality.

He was the orb, and her touch were the slivers of magic he needed to keep himself together. 

He imagined her gasping out his name in pure, undiluted pleasure and it sent him crashing over the precipice. He choked out breaths as he came, imagining he was spilling inside her cunt or down her throat. 

He lay there, spent and mellow in his post-orgasmic state, waiting for the inevitable return of the pain. He braced himself, expecting the familiar surge of agony to claw its way back, to push into his ribs and split him apart once more. But... it didn’t. The hurt was still there, a steady throb beneath his skin, but it was different now—muted, like a muffled voice through a wall rather than the blaring, all-consuming force it had been. 

He exhaled, more content now that he had allowed himself some release. The tension that had coiled so tightly within him had eased, and even the orb seemed to sense his momentary peace, its energy dimming as if it, too, had curled up for the night.

"Oh Gods," he thought, the embarrassment flooding in like a tide. He turned over, pressing his face into his pillow, his cheeks burning with shame. Was this really what it would take to keep the pain at bay?

An orgasm?! Was that the solution he had been desperately seeking? The idea was almost too absurd to entertain, yet the evidence lay in the calm that now settled over him. He couldn’t allow this to be the answer.

An alternative had to be found, and quickly. 

[avocado-writing]

Hello! Might I ask for the lovely bg3 guys hearing tav say they're love them in the middle of an argument please? Take your time!

Astarion

Who knows what you're arguing about. It could be something sincere (his ascention) or something inane (he took your soap without asking, again) but it still slips out all the same:

"You're lucky I love you, or I'd be really angry."

The two of you stop and stare at each other for a moment, before you let out a strangled little sound and exit the conversation.

Astarion is baffled. He wasn't expecting that. Except, he sort of was? He's been trying to get you to fall for him after all, so why does it feel so... nice to hear you say it? And why does he feel so guilty?

The two of you move on like nothing's happened for a while, the tension bubbling between the two of you, until eventually he can't take it any more.

The two of you are on watch one night and he blurts out, "I love you too."

You stare at him for a long moment, he's never felt smaller. "Are you being serious?" "Yes. I am."

You look so relieved. He brings you into his arms and the two of you stay embraced for the rest of the night.

Gale

It's like you're arguing about the bomb inside him.

He's arguing it's the best solution to your problems, you're telling him that he needs to care about himself more. You're getting so frustrated that tears are starting to sting hot in your eyes.

"I wish you loved yourself like I love you, Gale."

Ah, you didn't mean to let that slip out. The two of you let the quiet sink in. You go to move away, his silence crushing, but he reaches out to grab you - not hard, but enough so that you stay.

"You love me?"

Tears come, inevitably.

"Of course I love you, Gale, you utter fool."

You can see he wants to argue about that but for once just takes the insult, pulling you into his arms so tightly you feel like he'll keep you there forever. Yes, he is a fool for not seeing it earlier.

"I love you too. You are the most precious thing in my life. I'm sorry for worrying you... and you're right, of course. You're always right."

You sleep in his arms that evening, and the Netherese Orb is never mentioned again.

Wyll

Oh, Wyll. Why would you be arguing with this sweet, kind man?

Maybe you're begging him to try and get out of his contract with Mizora, take back hold of his own life again. He's arguing about duty, what he owes to Baldur's Gate.

"I wish you'd think for once about what you owe to me, Wyll. To yourself! I love you!"

His mouth falls open, he's flabbergasted. When you try and escape he doesn't let you, following you into the forest where you run, calling your name.

Eventually you slow down enough for him to catch you and bring you in for a sweet kiss, then press his forehead against yours.

"I love you too. Of course I love you. I hate that I ever made you feel anything less than my absolute priority. You are always the first in my heart."

The two of you sit down and have a long, healthy conversation about talking things out as a couple. Making decisions together. At the end of if you come out stronger, united as a team.

Halsin

Halsin is probably the most laid-back on this list, it's hard to think of something you'd really argue about.

It comes down to this: you aren't taking care of yourself enough. Not eating properly, sleeping properly, sharing your burdens. You are trying to shoulder it all.

He keeps telling you that you need to be kinder to yourself - you keep snapping that he isn't in charge, he doesn't know what it's like. He tells you he cares about you too much to see you in pain.

You're angry at first - who is he to tell you what to do - and then you're just sad; burying your face in his chest.

"I love you too much to argue with you, Halsin," you whisper, and his heart melts.

"I love you too, my heart. Let me take care of you."

He cooks you dinner and makes sure you eat it all, draws you a bath and helps you wash. His fingers are magic. He lays down with you on your bedroll and lets his body warm yours, keeping you tight against him, only drifting off himself when he is sure you are sound asleep.