[ Bollocks, he’d hoped Astarion had forgotten that exchange. Still better than pressing the bruise beneath his rejection. It’s not that he has no interest in Astarion on a surface level, but Gale has no stomach for casual affairs, and his heart remains in another’s grasp. ]

Yes, well. [ primly, ] I imagine my worship is the least of her interests, as a servant of the Lady of Love. [ in the truest sense of the word, anyway. He pivots from the shelf, book held against his chest, to return to the table. While he hadn’t planned on staying long, he finds himself in need of wine, to answer Astarion’s question. ]

[ filling one glass, then another; ever the gentleman. ] My given name is indeed Gale Dekarios, [ though he doubts Astarion had considered otherwise. ] but I am a wizard of some renown, known across the continent by my title and present position as the Archmage of Waterdeep. [ A tip of his head to catch Astarion’s eye, in acknowledgement of how silly it is to say that in his hometown. ]

Until very recently, I was a Chosen of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra. [ A world of longing, imbued in her name alone. ] A role I held for some time. Almost a decade. [ A beat. ] And, perhaps more relevantly, I was also her lover.

[ He tips his glass, taking a generous swig of the red before refilling it. A Waterdhavian signature, meant for tourists and locals alike — and not meant to be downed so unceremoniously. ]