Staring into space 24/7

The vine blights at the gate had delayed them by ten minutes at most.

Elenion plucked a sharp, discordant note from his lute and whispered something beneath it, soft enough that Gale barely heard the words. The blight heard them. It recoiled as if the sound had split its roots, and Gale's lightning took it a heartbeat later.

It collapsed in a heap of twitching leaves and split vines.

Elenion lowered their lute, the final note of the spell still trembling in the air. Beside them, Gale let the lightning fade from his fingertips and looked down at the torn hem of his robe with the solemn grief of a man who had suffered a scholarly tragedy.

He had, however, failed to notice the leaves caught in his hair.

"Well," he said, "I believe we've established that the site is not entirely abandoned."

Elenion, still breathless, tried and tragically failed to stifle a laugh behind their hand.

Gale gave them a wounded look. "I fail to see what is so amusing."

"Sweetheart," they said with a smirk, "you have leaves in your hair."

He lifted a hand at once.

"And a twig in your beard."

His eyes widened. "That," he said as he brushed indignantly at his beard, "is field research."

Elenion laughed harder as they reached over and plucked the twig free themself.

"There," they said. "Your dignity is restored."

"An optimistic assessment," Gale muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips.

Together, they turned toward the gate. Vines had grown through the ironwork so thickly that the old hinges groaned as Gale's magic eased it open.

Inside, ivy climbed the pale stone walls. Birdsong echoed beneath the cracked dome. Ferns crowded the broken steps where astronomers had once stood with their instruments lifted toward the stars. Moss filled the grooves of a circular star-map beneath their boots, turning old constellations soft and green.

The observatory had not belonged solely to the stars for a very long time.

And yet Elenion could still see what it had been.

A place built for looking upward. A place the world had slowly, patiently, called back down.

Gale was already reaching for his journal before they were properly inside. Elenion couldn't help but smile as they ran their finger over the star clasp on their own journal.

They watched Gale kneel beside a fallen brass ring half-buried beneath fern roots. Then Elenion crouched near the center of the star-map and brushed loose moss from one of the carved constellations. They balanced their journal on one knee, sketching the pattern as Gale murmured a careful spell to lift dirt from the brass without disturbing the roots curled around it.

"Look," they said, tapping the page with the end of their quill. "This one has a local name. The villagers called it the Lantern-Bearer, but the old woman at the inn hummed a tune that sounded almost exactly like the second verse of Sails of Silver Light. Which means either the song traveled farther inland than I thought, or someone adapted the constellation myth for river folk."

Gale hummed. “And this dial is not purely astronomical. The inner ring measures seasonal drift, but the outer markings suggest planar observation, which would make the donor’s sketch either more accurate than expected or wildly lucky.”

Elenion looked up from their notes. “You seem happy.”

Gale’s spell dimmed between his fingers. "I am," he said, looking back at him. "Aren't you?"

Elenion glanced down at the star-map beneath their hand, then at the roots curling gently through the stone.

"Yes," they said, feeling themself smile. "I think I am."

They had come because of a donation to the Starlit Gallery: one damaged travel journal, three pressed leaves, and a half-legible sketch of a ruined observatory. Elenion had recognized the constellation in the margin from an old ballad, and Gale cross-referenced the name with an old academic catalogue.

Then Gale had taken leave from his lectures, and Elenion nearly backed out for fear that every display case in the museum might shatter the moment he stepped outside Waterdeep. In the end, he'd left it in trusted hands, and now they were pretending this wasn't also a holiday.

The road had led them through a small village near the High Forest, where people gave stories as readily as directions. A woman gave him fresh bread for the journey, a child sang half of their favorite folk song, and three different people gave contradictory warnings about the path through the trees.

He wrote the village name in the corner of the page.

Then his quill stilled.

He had forgotten how much he used to love that part of traveling. The unfamiliar faces, the old songs, the detours into antique shops and artisans’ stalls. The joy of knowing the world still had stories he had never heard.

Not the stages. Not the rented rooms and nights spent with strangers. Not the hunger of crowds.

Just this.

Gods, he had wanted to say yes when Lae’zel asked him to come to Chult. The Gallery had been too close to its preview gala for him to walk away, and he didn't regret staying. But he'd have loved to fight beside her again, to see the jungle and uncover whatever stories waited there.

Where had her road taken her this time?

Across the room, Gale’s voice trailed off mid-sentence.

"Len?" Gale’s voice softened. "You’ve gone very quiet, my love."

Elenion blinked down at his journal. "I was thinking about Lae’zel. About when she asked me to go to Chult."

"We can send to her tonight," Gale said.

“She could be anywhere by now.”

“Yes,” Gale said, “which is generally why one uses Sending.”

Elenion huffed a laugh.

"And if she replies only to insult our pace, our softness, or my beard," Gale added, "then we shall know she's well."

That laugh came easier.

They worked together in a quieter rhythm after that. Gale cleaned the brass dial with a careful spell, while Elenion made a rubbing of the star-map.

"Ah," Gale said softly, "Len. Look."

A shard of green glass no larger than Elenion's thumb had fallen between the roots. It must have broken from the old viewing lens centuries ago, but it still caught the light beautifully.

Elenion lifted it carefully into his palm.

"We shouldn't take the lens."

"You're certain?"

Elenion nodded. "It belongs here. But this…"

Gale hummed thoughtfully. "A fallen fragment," he said. "Already loose. Documented, contextualized, and not pried from any historically significant mechanism."

"Exactly."

The curator in him did want the lens. But the museum didn't need to own every beautiful thing. The shard could come home with him, and the observatory could remain itself.

Elenion closed his fingers around the shard.

"When we get home," he said, "we should start a list."

Gale glanced over. "Of poorly maintained historical sites?"

"Of places worth seeing together."

"Ah,” Gale said, taking his hand. “A far more dangerous list."

By the time they finished, the first stars had begun to show through the broken dome, caught between the leaves of the young trees growing through the roof.

Elenion looked up.

The green made the stars feel closer somehow. Less like something distant he had to chase until he lost himself, and more like something waiting to be found along the road.

And maybe the road could still lead somewhere beautiful, so long as he had a home to return to.

The first thing the morning gave him was sunlight spilling through the curtains.

The second was the smell of eggs and butter from downstairs.

For one disoriented heartbeat, Elenion nearly panicked over how late he must've slept. Then the morning settled around him properly. Waterdeep was quiet beyond the window, the Starlit Gallery was closed for the day, and Gale was making breakfast.

He stayed in bed a moment longer, warm beneath the sheets as he slowly woke.

Once, he would've braced himself for cold sheets and an empty bed. It had always hurt less when he left first, slipping away before dawn rather than staying long enough to reach for warmth that had already vanished.

Now, he smelled breakfast on the stove and heard Gale humming softly downstairs, and never wondered if he'd been left.

He only smiled into the pillow. Of course Gale was there.

When he finally wandered downstairs, he found Gale with his sleeves rolled up and his hair loose from sleep, frowning at the eggs as if they had just presented an argument he found academically unsound. A plate of fruit and pancakes was already keeping warm beside him.

Sunlight poured through the window beside him, catching the gray in his hair and making it shine like threads of gold.

For a moment, all Elenion could do was stand in the doorway.

"Good morning, husband," Gale said, with a fondness that made his heart give a ridiculous little stumble.

Terribly rude of his husband to do this to him first thing in the morning.

"Morning, babe," he said softly.

"You know," Gale said, still facing the stove, "I can feel you staring."

Insufferable, really.

"I'm just admiring the breakfast."

"You are admiring me in the general direction of the breakfast."

"Can a man not appreciate both?"

Gale looked back at him then, smiling in the morning light, and Elenion pictured himself doing something truly embarrassing. Like crossing the room just to kiss Gale on the cheek, or writing an unbearably sincere song about the sunlight in his hair before the eggs were even done.

Thankfully, before he could get farther than one hopeless step, Tara landed on the windowsill with a flick of her wings. "Mr. Dekarios, I do hope there is something suitable for civilized company."

"Silverdew-Dekarios now, Tara," Gale said, far too quickly.

Tara blinked at him. "Yes, quite right. Mr. Silverdew-Dekarios, then."

Gale's ears went pink.

"A fine name," she added, her yellow eyes softening in the sunlight. "Though you must forgive an old friend for taking time to adjust. I have called you Dekarios since you were a boy lecturing his porridge on consistency, after all."

"Tara!" Gale protested. "I am not certain that story needed preserving."

"All important history must be preserved, Mr. Silverdew-Dekarios." Tara glanced at Elenion. "Surely your husband, of all people, understands that."

Elenion broke into laughter before he could stop himself.

At nearly the same moment, their rabbit Moonbow burst into the kitchen and thumped one little white paw against the floor with all the urgency of a creature who had never been fed in her life.

Gale let out a weary sigh before surrendering to the inevitable. He presented a portion of fish to Tara as if it were a royal offering, then crouched to set Moonbow's greens on the floor. She sniffed the plate twice as if confirming the quality of his work, and only then did she accept them.

“Your household management has improved,” Tara said.

"My gratitude overwhelms me," Gale deadpanned.

"It should."

Elenion was still smiling when sunlight slipped over Gale's hand as he returned to the pan. The gold half of his wedding band gleamed bright against his skin, tiny moon engravings shining where his fingers curled around the edge of the counter. Elenion's matching ring, of gold moons and silver stars, suddenly felt warm on his own hand.

Once, Gale had nearly left the world behind for something higher, colder, lonelier. A place in the heavens, a name in prayers. A light too distant to touch. He'd offered to carry Elenion's name further than any mortal stage ever could, until the whole world sang his praise. The kind of glory that would drown out every doubt.

And yet this was everything Elenion wanted.

He loved Gale in the sunlight because it did not make him distant.

It found him here.

It gilded the gray in his hair, warmed the floor beneath his feet, and caught on the ring he wore because he'd chosen this mortal life beside Elenion.

And somehow, Elenion had chosen it too.

Later, when breakfast had been eaten and Tara and Moonbow had declared themselves satisfied in their own ways, Gale offered him his hand.

"Walk with me, my star?"

"Always, my moonlight," Elenion said.

His heeled boots clicked over sun-dappled cobblestones as they walked through busy market streets full of peddlers, performers, and yellow awnings. Not too long ago, he would've felt the press of so many eyes on him and reached for a mask. But being seen like this, walking in daylight with Gale’s hand warm in his own, felt nothing like performance.

It felt like home.

If anyone is curious, their wedding bands are basically combined versions of these rings I found online. The silver one was Elenion's originally and the gold one was Gale's, but they get cut in half and fused together to make half-and-half wedding rings as per a common Sword Coast tradition.

(I don't have any art of how the fused rings actually look. I should probably get some or draw an MS paint doodle lol)

BG3 Pride Month prompt calendar: