If the answer were so simple, why didn't she do it sooner? Why did she let you edge so close to a needless death?

[ It's snapped over his shoulder, fists clenched at his side, far more affected than Astarion wants to be. He hadn't realized how little they spoke of Gale's devotion while together, an unacknowledged shadow that crackled as dangerously as the orb in Gale's chest.

Gale's hand touches his shoulder, and Astarion trembles, the rigid hold he's had on himself dissolving into emotion. Gale speaks of Mystra with yearning, but not just her. I want - he starts to say, and Astarion can't bear to think of how that sentence ends. How he wants it to.

You're jealous of her. It's worth a long, hysterical laugh that he doesn't have in him, the envy of a goddess. Who is Astarion compared to magic itself? Just a distraction, a simple comfort on the road. She is everything, and Gale has made that clear since the beginning. Astarion just refused to look at that squirming truth in the light, when Gale was so solid beneath him, the hand of the gods inconsequential compared to the warm, broad hand on his waist, a sweet mouth parting against his own.

Astarion does turn to him, but doesn't lift his gaze, afraid he'll crumble if he does. ]

We don't even know the shape of what we're facing yet. For you to accept this without question when there are people who care for you, when I -

[ His voice cracks. He swallows the words, shakes his head sharply. ]

I don't trust her. Not with you, not with our cause.