[ It takes Gale another moment to fasten his robes, fussing over the lay of his usual vee, knuckles lingering on the mark of the orb. He was lucky, in the end, that Orin did not damage him enough to activate its destructive power. Unbidden, he recalls the roundabout praise on her sharp tongue, her every word now rattling about his skull. Do you feel powerful, Gale? Do you like it? He has met so few other Chosen before. Even in his disgraceful state, the mere presence of another intrigues him. ]

Then it’s settled. We’ll not be tricked again. [ Gale straightens his neckline and cards a hand back through his hair, freeing it from his collar. ]

Oh, [ amusement sparking in his eyes, ] are you offering to carry me? I’ve height and weight on you, I should think. [ said as he dismounts the raised cot too enthusiastically and (unintentionally) wobbles on landing, one hand back at his side, feeling for tears in the skin. The unsure-then-relieved look on his face suggests he doesn’t find any damage. His dodgy spellwork (and Astarion’s careful bandaging) holds. He splays both hands, as if to acknowledge this miracle. ]

Just a little lightheadedness. [ what with the blood loss. ] I’ll recover shortly, thanks in no small part to your fine handiwork. [ A beat. Gale glances elsewhere, then walks his eyes back to Astarion’s face. ] Thank you for coming to my aid, Astarion.