Chapter Text
The first time Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep met Tav, he was stuck in a rock.
Technically, a magic sigil, but a rock none the less. Not his most heroic entrance, and certainly not the way he'd like to be introduced.
He's stuck a hand out for help, and received a slap in return. Funny. Shortly after, he was pulled from the assured death sentence and met a vaguely familiar face.
He's seen her on the nautaloid ship briefly, running by with a Gith, a half-elf, and a intellect devourer shortly behind. The type of person who gathered allies as a crow collect trinkets, made anyone friends. Now she was short an intellect devourer and gained a pale elf.
Tav. No last name, and offered precious little of her own backstory. Just a bard with a newfound mission: remove the tadpoles, and deal with whatever hilarity ensued later.
She graciously invited him back to her camp; he'd promised a delicious meal, and delivered. Quickly, he became the camp cook. Tav didn't make the task easy; offering him ten bottles of wine and a single potato to cook with happened more often than not. One time she even had an entire owl bear egg sitting in the food options, though she told him to not touch it; maybe they'd need it later. He always cooked something decent though.
Tav's skill with people was notable. She'd split up fights between the Gith Lae'zel and the half-elf Shadowheart. She recruited a human warlock named Wyll, and ended the hunt he had put out on a fierce tielfing named Karlach. Everywhere Tav went, she made allies, friends, saved the lives of both people and animals. There were scowls thrown her way when she threw herself into every issue she came across, but nobody left her side.
Their camp life was fun. She brought the vampire elf Astarion with her on expeditions when they required lock-picking and sneaking. Karlach and Lae'zel were brute strength. Shadowheart healed the party, though she seemed more content dealing damage than nursing wounds. Wyll seemed to want to stay at camp after his transformation regarding his patron Mizura; from a human to a devil.
Then there was Gale. She handled him rather delicately. He'd told her of his condition, and she was wary of him exploding at a moment's notice. So she gave him magical objects, hoping to stave off a quick and painless death. To her record, she didn't pry for more information, let him tell her at his pace.
She was kind. She was noble. She was good.
These are the thoughts that plagued Gale of Dekarios as he walked up to his home in Waterdeep, wondering if his wife was behind the doors. After saving the world, he and Tav had gotten married, retreated to a quiet life. She was happy, with him.
And he wanted more. To be worthy of the person who saved countless lives. He wanted to be more for her. An ascent to Godhood. She never asked for it; he was already exactly what she needed.
So he left. To become more. He didn't listen to her, and she didn't beg him to stay. Just nodded solemnly when he told her what he was setting off to do.
"As long as you're happy," she'd said. "That's all I want for you, Gale."
And now he returned, defeated. How long had it been? Years, surely. He wasn't sure how many.
Gale stood in front of the door he knew so well, and raised his hand to knock.