[ Gale looks like a sad puppy abandoned in a box on the side of the road. Astarion can't begin to relate to what magic is to Gale—more than a tool, more than a passion; a religion—but he has to fight his own face falling all the same. Gods, is this empathy he's feeling? He's gone soft. Unlike Gale, however, he does manage to hide his own frown. With feigned nonchalance, he waves a hand. ]

It's only a matter of time, I'm sure.

[ He isn't sure. Gale wasn't only affected by the tadpole, but the orb, too. Something that powerful siphoning away one's magical abilities — it can't be easy to get them back. ]

Besides, you've already more than enough arcane talent to come through. [ Dryly: ] And that's me saying so, so it must be true.

[ Astarion isn't in the habit of giving out undeserved praise. Sometimes, he isn't even in the habit of giving out deserved praise. There's no one on this planet more devoted to magical studies or more annoyingly clever than Gale. (If there were, he might have gone to them instead of showing up at Gale's door pleading for help. The very thought of what he's done is humiliating, tempered only by the knowledge that Gale was already working on it.)

Leaning back in his chair: ] I'm not particularly well-versed in wizardry — despite your endless jabbering. [ The dig is less sharp than it might have been, back when they'd first met. It's wry, almost amused at the memory of Gale's nattering on about magic. ] But I can't imagine magical amplifiers like that are just lying around.