nymeriian

Emerging from his tent in the dying light, he stops to watch Nymeria as she sits, her back to the fire, slowly and meticulously combing out her long, dark waves. The heat of the flames is gently drying up all evidence of her extended river bath, which she had undoubtedly spent scrubbing her skin raw, attempting to remove any evidence of the day’s events.

She does this every time she bathes, like some sort of ritual and Gale is grateful to be able to witness it once more, relieved that he is still here but more so that she is. His unfocused gaze wanders to the undulating flames as memories of the day’s battle at the goblin camp spring forth. It was certainly a frightening one. Despite having Withers to bring back any fatalities, they still do not know how he does it, or why. He often lay awake at night, full of anxiety that their luck will one day soon run out, that Withers will have up and left or for some unforeseen reason he won’t be able to drag one of them back from the abyss. And what if it’s her?

His eyes snap back to the scene before the campfire, to check that she hasn’t miraculously vanished whilst his mind was absent. Thankfully Withers was able to bring her back today…Gale thinks they have all begun to work together as a team quite remarkably, despite nobody wanting to join him in studying his new tomes on battle strategy. He shakes the grim thoughts from his head as she shifts position to begin grooming the other half of her hair.

The sight of her committing this simple act makes his breath catch in his throat. He suddenly feels the overwhelming desire to offer to brush it for her, to speak quietly with her as he does, of everything and anything. But a painful pulse in his chest swiftly reminds him why he shouldn’t - can’t allow himself to approach her. He turns to leave, still needing to bathe himself when she spots him, and the flickering flames illuminate her wide and sincere smile.

She beckons him excitedly, “Gale! Do come and help me, my arms are unimaginably sore from today.”

What manner of Witch?! Gale thinks to himself in a blind rush of panic – how did she see into his very soul? The pure outrage of the coincidence makes Gale feel suddenly naked and a prickling heat creeps up his neck, an unavoidable consequence of his embarrassment.

She pouts, extending the brush in his direction and causing another painful pulse in his chest but this one from his aching heart, not the malignant bomb residing alongside it. How could he deny her anything? She who has opened his eyes to the undeniable beauty of mortality, the glory of the mundane – no, there is nothing mundane about her nor about being with her. Nothing so mundane could make his palms begin to sweat from a mere smile, from a simple request.

He is sat behind her and silently reaching for the brush before he can realise it.

“Thank you,” she says softly, as she presses it into his palm, her other hand affectionately cupping the underside of his in gratitude. Her liberality with physical touch never fails to impress him. He is too shy to reciprocate, as much as he craves to.

His response is hardly audible, “it is my pleasure…truly.”

Gale watches his secret desire come to life before his very eyes as he sweeps the delicately engraved wooden brush, some souvenir from the grove, over her clean hair, his free hand gently making chase through the soft strands to ensure there are no tangles left behind. Nymeria lets out a small noise, of pleasure or of approval he isn’t sure, and he sees the gooseflesh appear over her bare, freckled arms. He thanks the Gods that her eyes are closed against the aggressive purple glow that begins to emanate from his chest in response to the blessed sound and he moves quickly to try and hide it within the folds of his robe. To think this could have been lost to him forever…

“Gaaale,” a drawling voice calls from the darkness just beyond the fire’s reach, as night has since completely fallen. The two of them turn in unison to regard Astarion who has seemingly just returned from his turn in river, as his white curls are wetted and pushed back from his forehead. He stands with one hand placed on his hip, the other extended to his side, balancing a book on his pale palm.

“Is this your journal full of long incoherent ramblings of yearning for our lovely Miss Tavriel? Or is someone else in camp desperately in love with her? For, if so, I have been relentlessly teasing the wrong love-sick-pup!” He stalks around the fire toward them, lazily flicking through the pages as he speaks, intently annunciating each syllable.

“Wh-Ho-Have you been in my tent again?!” Gale chokes on his words, his pitch slipping higher than he had hoped and praying that his proximity to the fire excuses his suddenly flushed and twitchy appearance. Astarion’s teeth glint in the dim light as he flashes a mischievous grin and begins to read, in an exaggeratedly posh voice:

My beautiful Nymeria

Donned in purple like wisteria

She has a twinkle in her eye,

A star, stolen from Night’s sky

When I think of her, in my tent at night

My wizardly robes, they grow tight

Her forbidden walls, I cannot probe

For if I do, I may explode!

Then with one swift flip of his palm, he drops the book to the ground beside them, revealing that every page is unmarked…blank. Gale’s face burns violently as his mouth hangs agape in disbelief and perhaps for the first time in his life, words fail him.

Nymeria attempts to stifle her laugh before bursting into peals of delight. Gale’s head snaps around in fear but he finds no traces of anger, disgust or despair in her eyes, only joy. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, he finds himself grateful for Astarion and for the most severe mortification he has ever experienced. She shakes her head at Astarion in mock disapproval and jumps up, brushing dust from her clothes and leaving the space beside Gale cold and empty.

“Come on, star boy, let’s go and get ready for the party,” she juts her chin toward where Karlach has begun piling up a table with what looks to be an entire wine cellar’s worth of bottles.

“But I wrote six more verses!” The elf sulks.

“Go!”

Astarion takes the lead, giggling gleefully. Before disappearing, she turns to Gale and leans down, touching a hand under his cheek affectionately, her dark eyes glistening with understanding as she thanks him again for helping her. His hand unconsciously reaches up to cover hers and then all too soon, she is gone.

In that moment he decides that he will do it. Yes, at the celebration with the Tieflings tonight when the mood is high, he will confirm everyone’s suspicions of his feelings for Nymeria.

She deserves to know the truth, in his own words, not just from the unsubtle comments made daily by the rest of their companions. Well, he supposes he isn’t very subtle himself if even they have noticed. Besides, regardless of his feelings they cannot be pursued, lest he explode…literally. He is sad to admit Astarion’s poem was not so far fetched. Just being in her presence sets his heart to racing and its close proximity to the volatile magic he harbours inside him makes him nervous to say the least. But she deserves to know, incase withers cannot bring them back again. At the very least, getting it off of his chest could reduce any tension between them and if - if she feels the same, it would be good to know.