Queen of Angry Moths

“Gortash is dead. But you’ve made me undying,” the fresh corpse spoke with a foreign voice. Its eyes and mouth glowed, drawing you in, stoking the fire of your blinding anger.

“No…no…NO! I won’t let you have him! No!”

Somewhere behind you, somebody called your name. Gale? Astarion? Shadowheart? You couldn’t tell. The voice was an audio-visual blur as if someone had filled your ears with cotton.

“Give him back! You can’t have him! Give. Him. Back!” Grabbing Gortash’s collar, you yanked his dead body against you in a desperate attempt to shake his soul back into him as the green glow faded. Nothing happened.

Anguish as hot as daggers summoned from the deepest pits of the hells buried themselves deep in your stomach, had you curl up. You had survived a tadpole infection, the fury of a devil, even torture; and yet, nothing compared to the pain you suffered now. It was a fist, a black fist perhaps, crushing and twisting your heart in your chest, making you choke and gasp for air. It’s not fair. Give him back. Give him back. Give him back!

You said it, over and over again, while your companions watched, hesitation washing over their exhausted faces.

“Shadowheart. Revive him. Do it. Do it now. Right now!”

The Sharran took a step back, hands raised in defence. “This…this is Gortash we’re talking about. I hate to say it but it’s probably for the best. Do you truly think he would not have betrayed us? We need to press on.”

She’s right, the Emperor added in your head. You clenched your fist, gritted your teeth and clutched your head. I’m sorry for your loss but we have no time to waste.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Your screams were hysterical, maniacal even. But here, inside the Astral Prism, you couldn’t care less. “Astarion…I need my bag. Where is my bag?”

“Bag? I don’t know where your bag is, darling.” He too took a step back at that.

Your chest was heaving, your face stained with tears and grief like you’d never experienced before. Enver Gortash belonged by your side. Enver was…is…the only person you ever loved. No one had the right to take him away from you. No one.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the vampire slip a small bag behind his back. A subtle action you would have rolled your eyes at under any other circumstances. This time, however, you were out for blood.

You let go of Gortash’s corpse with reluctance and rose to your feet. A single shove was all it took to make Astarion lose his balance. He caught himself the very moment you snatched your bag from him with a growl and then turned back around to face your dead lover.

“What is wrong with you?” Shadowheart exclaimed. You ignored her, kneeling down in the rubble as you rummaged through your bag to find the one most valuable item you had stolen from a merchant.

“I won’t let him have you. Come back to me. Come back…”

Gale spoke your name, interrupting your new-found mantra. “This is madness. Shadowheart is right, we can’t afford to stop now.”

“Then go! Leave! No one is asking you to stay,” you spat through gritted teeth, right as your hand closed around the scroll of Revivify. Pulling it out, you tossed your bag to the side and centred yourself. You took a deep breath and eventually, uttered the incantation. “Te curo!”

With your palm pressed against Gortash’s chest and your eyes shut, you willed the magic to flow from the scroll into you and subsequently, into him. For a long, agonising second, nothing happened. Then, with a start, Gortash gasped for air and sat up, coughing as if he’d died drowning. One by one, the burst veins in his brain and on his face healed and faded, his eyes returning to their original colour.

You didn’t breathe. Didn’t think. All you were capable of doing was throwing yourself into his arms before he could mutter a single word.

“What…happened?” His voice was raspier than usual, deeper too. You held him an arm’s length away from you, your hands cupping his cheeks.

“G-Gortash? Is it you?”

“Of course it’s me, who else would it be?” Relieved, you rested your forehead against his. It was only then, it seemed, that the memories of what had gone down at the Morphic Pool returned to him. He paled, his lips pressed together to a thin line.

Determination rippled through him, you could feel the energy, searing hot and angry. And yet, for the first time, there was something else. You’d seen it for the first time when the Netherstones failed, right before the Emperor had pulled you all out. It was fear.

Fear of what was to come. Fear of the consequences of his actions. You took your hand in his and squeezed, the pain of the warm metal of his rings digging into your palms a welcome distraction.

“Let’s go,” you whispered. “We have an Elder Brain to destroy.”

The silence within the sparsely decorated hostel room was pregnant, heavy and thick. You’d woken up with your ears ringing from the battle the day before, the hasty escape after and lastly, the most furious and yet most tender love-making so eager and raw you were still tangled up in your sheets now.

Warm rays of sunlight crept through the windows, their beams illuminating the wooden floor. The other side of the bed was cold, empty. Gortash must have been up already. You scoffed. He’d always been an early bird and oh, he was particular about how he wanted his coffee to be prepared. You’d happily make it for him every day from here on out. He was alive. And you’d come so close to losing him that you were willing to kiss his boots to keep him content. Give up everything you had just to be with him. Fuck. So this was what love felt like.

The fight wasn’t over yet, of course. After the Nautiloids attacked and the githyanki soared through the skies, realisation spread among the Baldurians, especially the Flaming Fist. The realisation that their beloved archduke Lord Enver Gortash must have had a hand in the making of the Absolute, that they had been led on and deceived. But not all hope was lost. He’d survived doubters and assassination attempts before. Elder Ravenguard was dead, after all. He’d reclaim the throne of Baldur’s Gate, and return it to a state of glory. You both would. Patience was a virtue. Gortash knew that better than anyone.

“Enver.” You rarely used his first name. He didn’t want you to. His first name, he’d told you once, reminded him of his parents and the horrors they’d inflicted on him for being different and eventually, for enslaving him to a devil. Right now, however, it felt right.

He had his back turned to you when you climbed out of bed and threw on your laced underdress, facing the open door leading out to the small balcony. He was dressed already, too. Something was missing though.

His long coat was a mess. Ruined. The golden ornaments once adorning the fine leather, Banite symbols, had been ripped off and laid scattered on the floorboards. It had left ugly, irreparable holes in the material. Was that blood on the sleeve? He must have cut himself on the sharp ends while tearing them off. One last, unwilling sacrifice for the Black Lord.

“You mean to turn your back on him.” It wasn’t a question, for it didn’t need an answer.

“Bane hadbecome my purpose long before I escaped from the House of Hope. He whispered in my ear, promised me glory and recognition. I had nothing else, no one else. Bane’s determination was what kept me alive. I gave my life to his cause. And he discarded mine because I failed him. I always believed…” He paused and for a moment you wondered whether he was battling…tears? “I always believed I was strong enough. That, should I die in my attempt to lay Baldur’s Gate at the Black Lord’s feet, I would gladly receive my punishment.” He paused yet again. “I remember. I remember the agony and the pain I endured at his hand before I was resurrected. I feared Bane in life as was my duty and I feared him even more in death. I did everything he asked me to do. I was loyal. More than that…I was devoted. I deserve better than an eternity of suffering.”

A single nod. A single nod was all it had taken for your relief to take hold. When you’d stood on top of the hideous Elder Brain, the Emperor channelling the power of the Netherstones to bring the crown back under control…victory would have been temporary, even with the temptation scouring your veins.

There were other ways to rule. Ways that did not come with the looming threat of turning into an Illithid slave. The brain had to die. It was the only way. You’d feared his reaction, feared the rejection that would follow. It didn’t come. Instead…he’d nodded and surprised you in ways you’d never thought possible.

“I’m the one keeping you alive now,” you finally said. “You don’t need Bane. You never needed him to begin with.”

Gortash turned around at last, the faintest hint of surprise marking his ragged features. There were no tears staining his face, his eyes, however, were bloodshot and tired. The events of last night had taken a toll on him. On everyone. But especially on him who’d cheated death.

“I turned my back on the Lord of Murder himself and lived to tell the tale. You survived an eternity of suffering at the hands of the Black Lord. Together, we will be unstoppable,” you continued.

“I only survived because you brought me back, my dear. I am…weak on my own. Powerless without Bane’s power flowing through my veins.” In other words, because of his failure, he now felt the same way he had felt back in the House of Hope. Defenceless. Meagre. Insignificant. But…he had no reason to.

You tilted your head. Never before had you heard your lover speak such candid and insecure words. Ever since that fateful event inside the Astral Prism, something between you had changed. It was one thing to form an alliance in an attempt to rule over the Sword Coast together…it was another to bring back your beloved from the grave.

“Powerless? Weak?” You smirked. “May I remind you who convinced the Flaming Fist to keep out the many refugees seeking entrance into the city? May I remind you who enslaved an entire people to build an army of Steel Watchers for him? Who gained the nobles’ and patrons’ trust simply by whispering sweet lies into their ears? You have a gift, Enver. You are cunning, manipulative, shrewd and an artificer like I’ve never seen one. You never needed Bane to exercise your dominance and your tyranny. Bane needed you to exercise his. And…” You motioned at the bustling Rivingtonians beneath you. “…look at them now. You could have the people’s favour still. Until we’re ready, we’ll operate from the shadows.”

“Together.” The corners of his lips twitched. You nodded. “In which case I’d like to visit my office at Wyrm’s Rock if it still stands. The engagement ring I had made for you is in my safe.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes widening. “E-Engagement ring?”

“Did you think we were going to rule over Baldur’s Gate as friends?” he said, his tone almost mocking.

You shook your head, a dumb grin spreading on your face. “Enver Gortash, I love you.”

His face fell, almost as if he’d never heard anyone utter those words to him before. Well, it was a first for you to say it to someone too.

“We’ll make the trip today. I will have you wed to me before nightfall.”