[Astarion is right, no matter how much the truth of it stings. Mystra was mortal once, as many deities were, but somewhere along the way, she lost the capacity for love, forgot how empowering and wonderful it can be, a true gift in an often bleak world. That might be his fate were he to pursue godhood; however, all he wants now is to give the crown to his former flame, to rid the world of it and the orb simultaneously. He just hopes she won't be so bitter as to ignore his plight a second time. This is the same goddess who - rather than help him after his years of servitude and devotion, not even attempting to comprehend that his mistake was on account of hubris and romantic dreams rather than malice - sent his dear friend Elminster with the news that she wanted him to obliterate himself for a chance at redemption in her eyes. To say she's above pettiness would be charitable, at best.

If nothing else, he has the fantastic memory of her eyeing the mark on his neck. It was a brief glance, and her expression said little, but the fact she noticed gave Gale a smile all the same. He rather does like the idea of having little marks that tell those around him that he is claimed - that someone chose him above all others.]

I know you will. I felt myself saddled with it on account of my own mistakes for so long. That feeling remains, but to know she knew what it was this whole time - that she called me selfish for not detonating myself when I had no idea it was the Karsite Weave within me...

[He trails off, his hand on Astarion's arm squeezing it tighter.]

I'll never fully be rid of her, not while I command the Weave, but I will be glad to be free of her influence. Of this chain she holds on me, a leash I never knew was there.