#bg3ficfeb

Elspeth offers her hand, and he takes it in his own as he climbs over her. A shiver runs through him at the sensation of her hands on his back. Gods, it's been so long since he's touched someone like this. A mortal, even longer. He only just began daring to touch himself again. After a year abstaining from excitement of any kind in fear of the orb, having that feeling be sated felt... odd. Like the ball could drop again at any moment. But as the days went on and he finally felt like he was not a ticking time bomb ready to level a city at the drop of a hat, he began to allow his mind to wander, his fantasies to take hold of him, his thoughts before drifting off to sleep to be consumed by her. Elspeth. Even her name on his tongue stirs electricity inside of him. He started slow, testing the waters with just a few gentle strokes, keeping as quiet as possible in his tent, but even the feeling of his own hand made him let out an intense breath of relief, of pleasure. After a few days of this, he concluded that the orb was indeed still stable, and he truly let his desires take hold of him. Every day, he watched her travel, fight, plan, strategize. Every day, she spoke to him with genuine interest and curiosity. He was beginning to accept that maybe she actually did enjoy his company. After all, she could take her pick of companions to socialize with. And she did make an effort with everyone, that was true. But he'd taken notice of the way she'd ask him for spell concentration advice, inquire about his studies back home--hells, she would even walk all the way across camp to ask him to open a jar for her when Karlach or Wyll were clearly closer to the food chest and obviously stronger than him.

So he began to let himself think of her, imagine her hand was the one exploring under his covers, wondering what her lips would feel like on his. What kind of kisser was she? Soft and tender? Passionate and eager? He didn't much care, really. He just wanted her. Soon his thoughts would drift to her body. The first night that he let himself imagine her unclothed, he came within seconds. And he has thought about it every night since, even daring to imagine what it would feel like to be inside her. Wondering what positions are her favorite and which ones she's never tried. He feels confident that he can last a perfectly average amount of time now, here with her. And considering this may be his last night alive, he knew he had to take a chance.

She caresses his face, pulling him in for a kiss, deliberate and tender before increasing in passion. A sense of desperation is palpable in them both. She tugs at the hem of his tunic, and he rises to his knees to let her take it off. Her soft hands run down his chest and abdomen as she admires his body. It's the first time he's been touched since Mystra. The first time he's been touched by mortal hands in years. The warmth of her palms feels like home. He has to take a moment to feel it all, to place his hands on hers, now resting on his thighs, to let the sensation of her flesh, her presence fully sink in.

"Gale," she says softly, "are you alright?"

He nods.

"More than alright." He leans back over her, pressing kisses to her neck. "Just taking you in."

He slides his hands under her top, sighing with relief and excitement when he realizes she's not wearing a bra. He pulls the shirt over her head to reveal modestly sized but plump, perky breasts, prickling from the cool night air.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he says as he runs his hands over them, ducking his head and savoring the soft skin on his face. She reaches for his pants and he reaches for hers, becoming a tangle of limbs increasingly bare.

"I've wanted this for so long," Elspeth breathes, discarding the last article of clothing to the side of the bed. He hovers above her, kissing her lips between words.

"So have I," he says. "Since the day you pulled me out of that rock, I've dreamed of knowing you this intimately."

He lifts up to kneel between her legs, spreading them slowly apart, growing harder than he thought possible at the pink wetness he finds there. He places his hands on her hips and trails kisses down, stopping before he gets there. Her panting grows heavy with anticipation.

They meet eyes across her body as his hands move closer and closer.

"May I?"

She nods fervently, running her hand through his hair. He kisses her wrist before dropping his head and putting his tongue to good use. She writhes in pleasure as he tastes her, and hells, she tastes good. He's sure this must be the nectar of the gods, Elspeth Ambrosia.

The sensation of her nails gently trailing across his scalp makes him moan into her, which makes her grip his hair and push her hips up to his face. She writhes in pleasure, squealing softly between quickened breaths, before coaxing his face up with a hand on his chin. He lifts his head, meeting her eyes as she looks down her body. He can feel his heart swell at the pure love and longing in her expression, and he wants nothing but to take her, to love her, to make her feel pleasures unimaginable. Elspeth pulls him up, kissing his wet face with fervor, her tongue running over his lips, asking for permission to push into his mouth and tangle with his own. In a smooth motion, without breaking their kiss, she brings her legs up towards her chest and angles her hips. The tip of him feels her warmth, just barely touching him, and effortlessly he pushes himself into her, groaning as her heat envelops him. He pulls away from her kiss, wanting to see her face as she moans, wanting to know she's enjoying herself as much as he is. He gets his answer when she gives him a sensual smile and whispers "I love you."

He keeps his thrusts slow, pushing a little deeper into her each time and savoring every noise that comes from her lips, unable to keep himself from kissing them for more than a few moments. Graceful fingers caress his face, his shoulders, his back. When they run across his scalp again, he can feel himself getting too close to completely unraveling.

"You are phenomenal," he mutters into her neck as he pulls himself out of her. "I want this to last forever."

Twisting to the side, El guides him onto his back and swings a leg over his waist, reciprocating the kisses he trailed along her neck.

"Then let's take our time."

Gale wraps his arms around her body, hugging her tight to his chest as if she might float away. Her skin is soft and warm against his own. She rests her head on his shoulder and runs her fingers through his hair as she presses lingering kisses to his cheek. The orb on his chest glows a pulsating violet.

"Does it hurt when it does that?" she asks, touching the scarred skin with a gentle fingertip.

"Sometimes," he answers. "But not right now."

Her lips move down his neck to the center of his chest. She kisses its center with a tenderness that he doesn't know he's ever felt from another being. It surprises him. He rests a hand on the back of her head and presses a kiss to her starlight blonde hair.

Gods, he's in love with this woman. A love deeper than he's ever known.

Their kissing grows heavier as passion overtakes them again. Giving him a full view of her body, Elspeth hovers over him before she lowers herself to take all of him inside, exhaling as she does. A rhythm finds their hips as she rides him, his thumb rubbing circles over that most sensitive spot until she's crying out with pleasure, all restraint abandoned.

Hands on her waist, Gale flips her to her back, pushing one of her legs up to her chest as he thrusts into her again and again, still rubbing circles between her thighs, finally letting his body take over as his mind goes quiet. One of her hands grips the forearm he's using to hold himself up, the other gripping the sheets as her cries grow louder and louder. He feels her begin to tighten and pulsate around him, and as she lets out the most intense sound she's made so far, pleasure washes over him. A consuming, overwhelming, heavenly climax that gives way to relief. Peace. Complete and utter satisfaction.

Both breathing heavily, Gale collapses next to Elspeth as they stare up at the canopy above them. She pulls back the sheets and slides underneath them, lifting the fabric for Gale to do the same. He snuggles close to her, takes her into his arms, and kisses her forehead. To hold her close is a bliss he's never known with another lover, mortal or otherwise. It's the first time he's felt like himself in a year. It's the first time he's felt wholly, fully content in his life.

Day 4 - The rest of the companions heard Tav/Durge going at it

“Tchk, do they not know the whole woods can hear them?” Lae’zel winced at the latest echo of a moan from the trees, trying to focus on sharpening her blade without slicing through her own finger in the process.

Gale tried in vain to stare harder at his book, as if reading the words loud enough in his head might drown them out. “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of paper to scribe out Zone of Silence for them. You’d think they might make the effort to learn one bloody spell so we can get a night’s sleep-”  

“Was that a tree breaking? Gods I hope they’re not bringing the place down around them.” Wyll looked as concerned as he was flustered, sorting through the supplies in his pack like it was the most interesting task in the world. “What I’d do for a house with some thick walls right now.” 

“I think it’s cute.” Karlach grinned, her heart glowing slightly. “At least someone is getting some action around here.” 

“If they don’t stop getting action I shall be asking Lady Shar to wipe these memories from my head too.” Shadowheart groaned, standing to walk back to her tent. “I’m going to at least try to get some sleep, I suggest you all do the same. You know they’re all elves, right?” 

“Ah of course, Halsin, Astarion, our fearless leader,” Gale’s words were punctuated by a distinctly loud cry from the aforementioned leader that anyone else might’ve mistaken for distress. “They’ll get just as much rest from their trance as we could be getting if it wasn’t too loud to sleep.” He directed his grumble to the treeline, as if the foliage might pass on his displeasure at the disturbance. 

“Do you think they’d notice if I-”

“Karlach, sit back down, you are not going out there to spy on them.” Wyll put a hand on her elbow, pulling her back down to sit beside him.

“I wasn’t going to ask if I could join in or anything.” She complained. “You never let me have any fun.” 

“I would hardly describe being an unwelcome pair of eyes to the affairs of those three as fun, istik.” Lae’zel put her sword aside, satisfied it would be sharp enough to deal with any enemies in the morning. “You should follow the secretive one’s lead and get some sleep, our foes will not hesitate to slice open your gut should you pause to yawn.” 

“That…does not paint a particularly pleasant picture.” Gale closed his book, standing to return to his tent, resolving himself to cast silence on himself once he got there. “Remind me not to ask for any Githyanki bedtime stories next time we’re around the fire this late.”

“I don’t think the Gith even do bedtime stories.” Wyll shrugged, looking towards Lae’zel’s tent.

“We do, actually, and a simple gut-stabbing would be considered too weak even for a helpless babe.” Her voice hissed from behind the canvas. With everyone else gone, Wyll and Karlach lingered a little longer by the fire, sharing a quiet laugh at the idea of Lae’zel as a toddler with an oversized sword complaining that her bedtime stories weren’t gory enough. 

“What about you, Karlach? Any fairytales, or at least good stories until we get peace enough to rest?” The warlock’s smile was disarming as usual. “I’m afraid all I can offer are the worn out classics, and they don’t seem to hold the same charm as they used to. Hard to imagine a dashing prince running off to play the hero and sweep a fair maiden off her feet when I look like this.”

“I don’t know, you look princely enough to me. And I’m not just saying that because I’ve spent years in Avernus surrounded by actual bloody demons, either.” She shuffled a little, her restless tail and glowing chest betraying her thoughts as usual. “The stories I have in my head now aren’t really suitable for children at bedtime.” 

The opulent hall, adorned with ornate gold and weathered stone, glimmered in luminous hues of gold as the stained glass filtered streams of light. Yet, the resplendent glow illuminated only one figure. His attire, adorned with bronze accents, shimmered against his sun-kissed complexion, further deepened by his dark wardrobe.

“Ah! Welcome!” His voice boomed, rattling around Durge’s mind, conjuring a feeling of familiarity that tugged at their heart.

“Gortash!” Karlach snarled. She sounded like a wild beast at the end of her chains, half-crazed by rage. It would take only Durge’s allowance for her to burn everything to the ground; even without it, she might still snap should Gortash say the right or wrong thing. “This is it! I can practically taste his blood from here!”

“Karlach!” Wyll urged, voicing his concern for his father. But Karlach looked wild, so ready to strike that Durge doubted she heard him.

Gently brushing hands with Karlach was like placing their hand within a roaring fire. But Durge swallowed the yelp, using the slight contact to grab Karlach’s attention. Meeting the flames that burned within her gaze, Durge urged softly in what they hoped was a calming tone. “I couldn’t bear to see Gortash get his hands on you again,” they squeezed Karlach’s hand. “Let’s wait for a more opportune moment.”

Karlach sank with a deep breath, her skin cooling and the flames returning to a more comfortable heat. “I hate how you can do that.” She whispered in defeat, squeezing Durge’s hand and letting go with a grimace upon seeing the burn that now resided there.

Stepping closer, Durge’s mind churned, trying to decipher the sudden swell of emotion this man’s face conjured and how their body vibrated with anticipation.

For a moment, Durge regarded Duke Ulder Ravengard, but his mind was an empty husk, a pawn to the absolute awaiting orders.

“My lord, it seems your guest has arrived.” Ulder bowed their head to Gortash, Wyll tensing.

“Exquisite timing, as always.” Cerulean blue eyes bore into Durge’s red glare, a smile more tender than it should for a stranger, pulling on his lips.

“Lord Enver Gortash at your service.” He spoke of Kethric Thorms’ downfall, and a sadistic satisfaction rose up at the memory of the man’s death. But then he looked at Karlach, and Durge felt rage not only for Karlach but also for how the word darling rolled off Gortash’s tongue. It felt almost like jealousy.

Then he spoke of the netherstones and the elder brain; as crucial as that was, Durge was fixated on his mouth. A tirade of emotions swept through Durge, their fingertips tingling, begging to touch the enigmatic lordling.

And then, before they could stop, words came tumbling out, sounding so much more confused and lost than Durge ever wanted to be known. So much of themselves was missing, and despite fighting the dark urge as best they could, Durge desperately wanted to know themselves and the life they’d lived. “Do you know me?”

“Of course, we were partners,” There was a flash of heat not only in Gortash’s blue eyes but also in Durge’s stomach. “You, I, and Kethric were in on this plan from the start.”

For some reason, Durge felt disappointed.

“I seem to have trusted you once before, and it ruined me.” Durge leered through clenched teeth. They were a Bhaalspaw with a fractured mind and no true memories of who they had been before they awoke on the Mindflayer ship and began the journey to rid themselves of the parasitic tadpole that chewed through their hole-riddled mind and uncover who had tried to kill them. Durge suspected that Gortash may be the key to knowing who they had been before they ended up on that ship. A flicker of a memory fluttered through their tattered and hole-addled mind. There was something painfully familiar about the phony lordling before them, their heart fluttering and fingertips aching to reach out, to touch or maime, Durge didn’t know. They had already felled Myrkull’s chosen, and even though Kethric had recognized Durge, Durge had not been overcome with these odd emotions; they hadn’t even felt any familiarity with the now-dead general of Myrkull’s undead army.

“Together, we can restore authority over the elder brain.” Gortash grinned. “I am changed,” Durge sneered. “I have no interest in whatever plan we concocted; I wish only to avenge myself and be rid of this accursed tadpole.”

“Then our goals are still aligned!” He grinned. “Ousting Orin and helping you reclaim your birthright would be my greatest honor,” Gortash spoke in a hush. Still, his tone was sincere before shifting into a business-like manner. “With Kethric gone, Orin proves treacherous. She wants the netherstones for herself.” He sneered. “She only cares about blood.” Gortash gestured to them. “And your blood and mine are of particular interest to her.”

Durge clenched their fists. They had suspected as much. If they were a Blaahspawn, and Orin worshiped Blaah, the god of murder, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume it was Orin who had tried to kill them.

“I cannot trust easily,” Durge spoke, the dark urge subdued but not extinguished. “But if your words hold truth, and if ousting Orin aligns with my path to vengeance, then we may have an alliance of necessity.”

“Understandable.” Gortash grinned. “Why don’t we step into my office? There are matters I would like to discuss without... extra ears.” His eyes took in Durge’s company.

It was an eclectic assortment of victims of the tadpole, each with a tragic past and circumstance to overcome. Karlach, Astarion, Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, and Halsin: the only one without a tadpole. Though Durge had no memory of who they had been before the tadpole, they were lucky and happy to have their company. Particularly Astarion and Halsin.

“Hardly.” Astarion scoffed. The vampire’s gaze hardened upon Gortash. His suspicion seeped from his crimson gaze, sticking in the tension-filled room. “Not a chance, you scheming–”

But Durge was already following Gortash.

“Durge.” He croaked out, clutching Durge’s arm in an uncharacteristic display of desperation. It felt too much like handing Durge over to the wolves and hoping they’d return.

But then Durge met Astarion’s gaze, not wavering or holding fear within those crimson eyes. “Just a moment, Astarion.” Durge soothed, bringing their free hand to gently cradle Astarion’s cheek, thumb smoothing away the distress that danced in Astarion’s icy red gaze. Durge looked deeply into Astarion’s eyes, that gentle smile settling Astarion’s troubled heart. A reassurance. A promise. “I’ll be right back.”

Gortash turned around with his smooth words to say, “Hurry along, I won’t keep you too long,” already on the move, with Astarion growling like a starved dog. However, Astarion was halted as Durge gently brushed their lips against his hand, a sign of tenderness that sent shivers down Astarion’s spine and ignited something protective within him. Durge was far too important to risk.

“You had better be.” He warned lowly to Gortash’s retreating form, glaring at the man’s back before turning his eyes back to Durge, dropping his voice to a mere whisper for Durge alone. “Stay sharp. We’ve fought too hard to be taken out now.” Durge smiled before looking up at Halsin and offering him a reassuring squeeze of his hand as they passed.

When the pair reached Gortash’s office, a surprisingly humble room for such an extravagantly dressed man, Durge felt their chest constricting, an unnatural tightness that no measure of strength or spell could loosen. Durge could hear the beating of their own heart resonating loudly within the walls of their skull. Their head pounded, filling with disjointed fragments of memories that danced teasingly out of reach. Something deep within stirred, reacting to Gortash’s presence as he shut the heavy wooden door behind them.

“Relax,” Gortash turned and offered a tight smile, though his usual charm was not fully present in his deep voice. He approached the window, hands on the sill as he glanced out over the land stretched beyond.

Durge bites their lip, tasting the iron flavor of blood. Even without a memory of who they used to be, Durge’s instincts and gut intuition remained a formidable part of their psyche, and they didn’t trust Gortash. And yet... something lingered at the back of their mind, a fond remembrance and gentle whispers of warmth and care they couldn’t comprehend.

“You remember us, don’t you?” Gortash asked softly. It felt more a challenge than a question, and Durge clenched their hands. A flood of disjointed memories welled within Durge. Though some were more distinct than others, the feelings of warmth, confusion, and sorrow mingled together to create a cacophony of dissonance in Durge’s mind.

“Gortash,” Durge’s voice hardened as they squared their shoulders, maintaining the distance between them. The word sat heavily on their tongue, carrying a bitterness they could not place. “If this is what you wanted to speak about, then this conversation is over.”

There was a cold flash of emptiness in Gortash’s eyes that, for a split second, caused Durge’s heart to clench uncomfortably. And then it was gone, replaced by that charming mask once again. But that fleeting emotion shook Durge.

Durge paused. “Were-” they struggled to form the words. “Were we in love?” Durge’s question hung in the air between them, shrouding the room in tension.

Gortash drew in a shaky breath, folding his arms across his chest as he closed his eyes momentarily, opening them again to pin Durge with a heavy gaze. His usual charm disappeared, revealing a vulnerable man who clearly hadn’t expected such a question.

“I like to think so,” he answered softly, without the usual veneer of confidence and charisma he wore. His gaze dropped to his boots, “But when I lost you, I thought my heart would stop beating too.” He confessed, his eyes not daring to meet Durge’s. Something clenched inside Durge; it was sorrow and regret, but they weren’t their own. A long lost feeling that buried deep within, so foreign yet so familiar.

Following his confession, Durge remained rooted to the spot, struggling to process Gortash’s confession. After a while, Gortash stood and walked toward Durge, stopping in front of them with barely a hand’s breadth between them.

Gortash broke the distance and whispered in a husky voice full of desperate hope and anguish. “I’ve missed you.” His fingers hesitated near Durge’s face before gently grazing their skin.

His act was so swift and spontaneous that Durge barely registered it until it was happening. Gortash had closed the distance and pressed his lips against Durge’s, pulling them closer, crushing his body against theirs. His fingers tangled in their hair.

Lost in the throes of memories and connection, Durge surrendered and responded to the kiss as Durge’s tattered memory sought something familiar in Gortash’s taste and warmth; they could almost feel their old selves tingle in their veins. A lingering sweetness fluttered within their chest. Overwhelmed by their mutual need and yearning, they met him halfway, their guarded suspicion replaced by growing warmth.

However, as quickly as the memories welled up, Durge cut off the kiss. Stunned and overwhelmed, they stepped back, attempting to catch their breath and clear the mental fog clouding their rationality.

“Whatever we had is over, Gortash,” Durge spat, their voice catching slightly in their throat as they grappled with their feelings. Durge wiped their mouth with the back of their hand as if to rid the lingering taste of Gortash. “We’re nothing.”

Gortash regarded Durge, a shimmer of heartache crossing his handsome face before he quickly wiped it away with a sardonic smile. Eyes darkening. “That is where you are mistaken, darling,” Gortash moved towards Durge, predatory. Durge could feel his voice vibrate against their skin, each word stinging. “We were never over.” Gortash seemed to radiate certainty; an eerie air of resolve clung to him as though he intended to claim Durge back. “I have always cherished you, Durge, even if you don’t remember your body does,” Gortash’s tone was painfully sincere, which made Durge wince internally. His words seemed to open up a wound in Durge, yet their body felt the flicker of emotions stirring beneath their skin. The flame that once danced in Gortash’s eyes burned brighter as his hands softly cradled Durge’s face, “And I have every intention of reminding you, love.” His fingers slid over their cheek, pushing away a stray lock of hair before sliding around Durge’s neck. His thumb brushed over their lips, and Durge almost felt something soften in their chest.

“But-”

“I’m patient, my dear. I’ll wait.” He said softly, leaning closer to kiss their forehead softly.

“I hate you.” Durge rasped out. Their fingers tightened into fists at their side, rage coloring their voice.

“You love me,” Gortash said simply. There was a challenge in his eyes, an intensity Durge had missed.

“I…” Durge stuttered, faltering under his intense gaze.

“That’s right, you do. And you can’t deny that.” He murmured against Durge’s ear, a note of certainty weaving into his voice.

Durge swallowed hard. “Even if I did, I am no longer the person I once was. We can’t go back, Gortash.” Durge spat, tugging away from his grip. They stood, both figuratively and literally, at odds with each other.

He was silent for a moment, eyes lingering on Durge. A sigh slipped from his lips before he said, “Even if that is the case, it changes nothing. My feelings haven’t altered. We will sort this out together, just like old times.” Gortash said resolutely, turning his back towards them as if to shut out the hurt he had been unable to hide.

He was immovable, like a sturdy rock standing against a violent sea. Durge tried to speak, to push away his claim. To tell him to get over whatever phantom was stuck in his head because they were not the person he claimed to remember.

But as Durge opened their mouth to speak, Gortash suddenly closed the distance, clasping Durge’s chin firmly, drawing them to look into his cerulean blue eyes. “We’ll have all the time in the world once you get the last netherstone from Orin.”

In that moment, Durge knew the inevitable truth. Despite all that they wished for, despite all the confusion, there was an undeniable connection. It was raw and turbulent, much like the man who held their gaze, not flinching, not yielding.

Durge pulled back sharply from his grip. Their breath hitched as a strange pain gripped their chest. “We’ll see about that, Gortash.” They bit out.

There was no compromise with Gortash. He had his own peculiar way of stirring the still waters, making the familiar unfathomable, pulling out an obscure string of feelings that Durge had so stubbornly kept hidden beneath a carefully maintained façade of stoicism.

Gortash chuckled dryly, turning his back towards Durge, crossing his hands behind him as he looked out the window. He was content with his ultimatum.

And in that moment, despite their fragmented and distorted memory, Durge was acutely aware of the storm that awaited them in their shared future. For better or for worse, Durge was aware that Gortash had set them on a path, a storm that neither could escape.

With that, Durge slipped out the door, leaving Gortash behind. Their body tingled from the brief yet intimate encounter, leaving their mind spinning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

wolfYLady: I posted this on my other accounts and got some request to continue so I have another chapter up with another on the way!

Please be kind and leave a comment, I would love to know what you think of my angsty work!

———

Dani moved to the railing of the terrace, placing her hands on the wood and leaning her weight against it. It felt as real as any she’d touched in Baldur’s Gate, worn smooth by craftsmen, time, and weather. She closed her eyes and soaked in the warmth of the setting sun and the salt of the briny sea air. Just like home…

She knew it was all illusion and fantasy, that the magic was merely tricking her mind into feeling the weight of the wood and smelling the scent of the sea. But for the moment, she wanted to exist in that illusion. After so many days surrounded by decay, the warmth and light of even a setting sun was like a balm to her spirit and body.

She felt Gale join her at the railing and she opened her eyes, turning to look at him. But his gaze was on the horizon, a deeply thoughtful, almost sorrowful expression on his face. Despite the obvious concentration it must take to make and maintain this illusion, his mind was clearly on the future and the choice he felt was all but inevitable. He gazed at the horizon like a man who knew he would never see such a sight again.

She wanted to reach out and caress his cheek, turn his face back to hers, kiss him until he forgot all his worries. But she settled, for now, with taking his hand.

He glanced down, as if surprised, and then met her gaze. He gave her a soft smile. 

“What do you think?” he asked.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I love it. I could spend every evening watching the sunset here, with you.” 

“Could you?” He seemed surprised by her words, lifting his head to gaze out over the ocean again, as if looking at it a little differently than before.

“Once all of this is over, yes. I’m a sucker for a good sunset.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to smile at her little remark, but he was lost in thought once more, his eyes scanning the world around them. Memorizing, she realized, or perfecting the memory. As though this might truly be the last night his eyes beheld the scene.

She couldn’t let him stay lost in his thoughts. She tugged on his hand, leading him back to the cushioned bench that sat off to one side. There, she sat down and patted the space beside her, inviting him to join her. He smiled faintly. 

“My favorite spot,” he said, gesturing toward her. He settled beside her, body close, shoulders brushing. “Many times, evening turned to night and back to daybreak once more while I sat here, lost in words.”

She raised her eyebrows playfully at him. “Oh? Up all night reading? I do love that rebellious streak of yours.”

He gave her a teasing, half-mischievous look. “Allow me to live dangerously while I still can.”

His words, though said with humor, made her smile falter. She didn’t want to think about that now. His possible death. Not while they were, for the moment, surrounded by the comforts of home, his home, far, far away from the Absolute.

“What sorts of books did you read?” she asked. “It can’t have all been spell tomes. At least, I hope not.”

He chuckled. “No, not all spell tomes or magical theory, though there was plenty of that as well. I’d read just about anything I could get my hands on, if it interested me. History, philosophy, literature, poetry…romance…”

He shifted to reveal a book on the side table behind him. “This,” he said, reaching for the book, “might just be all of that wrapped in one.”

Dani glanced at the cover and instantly recognized it. “Is that…?”

“The Art of the Night,” he said, running his hand over the cover. It depicted a man and a woman in sensual embrace, their bodies fluid and ethereal. Around the woman’s head was a round halo of divinity, like a thin crescent moon in the starry sky that surrounded them. “It details the first thousand nights of a newlywed king and queen. They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time-honored and newly acquired.”

His thumb idly traced the halo of divinity around the woman’s head. “The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself.”

“I’m familiar with this story,” Dani said, reaching for the book. He gave it willingly, watching as she traced a finger along the curving lines of the woman’s body.

She recalled what she knew…what she had memorized, back when she’d gotten her hands on a version of the king and queen’s story a couple of years ago. She hadn’t kept it long, because her troupe had to travel light and books were heavy, so she had only memorized a few pages to entertain her fancy when she could no longer read the physical copy. It wasn't much, but what she did remember was that this tale was more than fairy tale. It was sheer, poetic eroticism, beautiful and haunting, alluring and sensual.

She stood and wandered a step or two away, opening the book and flipping through the first few pages, her eyes skimming the text. It wasn’t precisely the same as the tale she’d read. In the margins of the text, on nearly every page, there were magic symbols and words. Each night was embellished with the markings for a spell or a ritual, accompanied by poetic instructions on how to recreate the experiences and lessons the noble couple gained in their first three years of marriage. And, more than occasionally, the pages contained diagrams of the couple in the various ways they experienced their pleasure, drawn in the same fluid, ephemeral style as the cover. 

This copy, this version, wasn’t just the tale itself, she realized. It was both the romantic, erotic tale and a magical Quarta Sune, both poetry and sex manual, mixing in magic and making the hypothetical romance of the king and queen entirely possible, if one knew how to manipulate the spells.

She turned to a passage she knew well, almost by heart. She was quiet a moment, reconnecting with the words, before she began to speak them softly, a note of fondness in her voice.

“‘That night, the king met his beloved once more in their chambers,’” she read. 

“‘Dearest one,’ said he,  ‘Gold I have given thee,  and jewels from my store;  chains for thy neck  and bands for thy wrists;  and still, thine eyes shine more brilliantly  than any treasure in my kingdom. 

‘What gem in all the realms  can be more precious than thy gaze?  What more can I give to you,  my beloved, so that you may know  the ardent depths of my heart?  What more, when thine eyes alone  make all riches seem as dull iron?’

‘Tender-hearted king,’ said the queen,  ‘I need neither gold nor gems;  my love is not so cheaply bought  nor so willingly sold.  And yet, already thou possess  that which I long for most.  Thy steady gaze, my love,  and thy faithful hand are all I ask.’”

Gale stood and joined her, brushing nearly against her back as he looked over her shoulder and spoke the next few lines softly in her ear.

“‘Come, take my hand,  and look beyond this simple visage. I will bare my soul to thee, this night,  and gaze boldly at thine. For more than bone and blood are we, but spirits merely housed in flesh.’”

Dani’s breath caught, her mind distracted by the way his breath stirred her hair, by how close his lips were to her neck. She turned her head slightly and found his dark eyes watching her. He hadn’t been reading the lines, but reciting them from memory.

She was at a loss for words. He was barely touching her and yet she felt like her entire body was slowly kindling aflame, warmth spreading from her core to her toes and the very tips of her horns. She clutched the book a little tighter, casting about for something to say.

“My, um…my copy didn’t have pictures,” she breathed. "Or spells."

He blinked, as if processing her words, and then chuckled, shaking his head. “You were missing out, then. Some of the later diagrams can be quite…fascinating.”

When he looked at her again, his smile was half-apologetic and half-admiring. “You know…I must have read that passage a thousand times, but never have I heard the words expressed so beautifully as you did now. You have a gift, Dani. You are…” 

He trailed off, his gaze slowly taking in the features of her face, lingering a moment on her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You are wonderful,” he breathed. “So wonderful I can scarcely believe any of this to be real.”

Dani didn’t know what to say to that. She felt lost in his brown-eyed gaze, trying to discern shades of deep amber from chestnut and mahogany, enchanted by the flecks of bronze that appeared in the light of the setting sun. She had never considered herself a fawning romantic, but staring into his eyes, she felt she could all too easily become one.

After several heartbeats, Gale dropped his gaze to the book, gently taking it from her hands. “Can I show you?” he asked, turning the pages. “What they mean? To experience love and pleasure in more ways than just the body?”

“You mean…like the gods do,” she said, turning to face him, the book between them. “Like you said before.”

“Precisely.” He smoothed flat the pages of the book, showing her two diagrams of hands, magic symbols and poetry surrounding the sketches. “Why confine ourselves to the pleasures of mortal flesh? It is but one stitch in a vast tapestry. Let me show you more.”

Something about the brightness in his eyes made her hesitate. He would know more than her what pleasures could exist outside the body, she supposed, and she trusted him. And yet…

As if sensing her hesitation, he closed his eyes in concentration. Dani felt herself grow lighter, floating apart from her body. The sky around them darkened and then shone with a million brilliant stars, draped with purple, blue, and red stardust shimmering in clouds and galaxies, appearing both within reach and endlessly far away. The more she turned her head to look, the more the structures and objects of Waterdeep fell away, leaving them in the expanse of beautiful, eternal space. Even their bodies were left behind. They existed now as spirits only, shining and translucent. 

“What do you think?” he asked again. “Beautiful, is it not?”

It was, but already she missed the real Gale. As a spirit, his eyes glowed with magic and she could see the stars through his body. But while the swirling galaxies and glittering stars were stunning, she missed his rich brown eyes. When she reached out to brush his arm, she found his body simultaneously tangible and intangible, as though a mere thought could allow her to phase through him completely. 

She had no doubt that if they stayed like this, Gale would reveal a hundred avenues of pleasure she had never experienced before, but her selfish little heart didn’t want to be impressed by magic. She just wanted the man himself.

“It’s our first night together, Gale,” she said. She could still sense her body, somewhere in the material plane, and focused there, reaching out to it like an anchor. Outside of the galaxy illusion, she placed her hands over his and closed the book. The visions of galaxies melted away, their spectral bodies becoming physical and visible once more, though the illusion of Waterdeep remained. “Shouldn’t we start somewhere closer to the beginning? I want to experience you first. We'll have time to try all the rest later.”

He looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

“Gale,” she whispered softly, pressing her hand to his chest, over his heart. Her touch silenced him in an instant, though he still looked uncertain. “I’ve never been more sure. Tonight isn’t the end for us.”

This was what she wanted, more than the beautiful illusions or spectral experiences. She felt his heart beating beneath her palm, felt the warmth of his body. She wanted more of that. More of the real, touchable Gale, with his soft brown hair and his gentle, dark eyes. She wanted to slip her hands beneath his shirt and touch his skin, feel the way his muscles twitched or tensed when her fingers grazed over them. She longed to taste his lips and feel the weight of him against her and watch his face flush and see how far that flush traveled down his neck and chest.

With her other hand, she gently slipped the book from his grip and set it on the railing. She stepped into the space between them, filling it with her body, pressing her palm more firmly against his chest. “You are what I want, Gale. The real man in front of me. Not the illusion and not the fantasy."

"But—"

"You don’t have to worry about impressing me. I’m no goddess.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, placing his hand over hers. He said it as though it were a fact, irrefutable, and with such warmth that it made her breath hitch. 

She was used to admiration, entertainer that she was. She was used to praise. She was used to flattery. But the deep sincerity of his words and the way he looked at her was new. He spun poetry from mere words without even trying, and she was always caught off balance by the beauty of it.

But then his clever smile was back, and he said, “Trust me, I would know.”

She scoffed and gave him a light shove. He swayed on his heels but didn’t budge, chuckling at her feigned irritation.

“That said…" He kept ahold of her hand, threading his fingers with hers as he lowered them away from his chest. "Will you meet me halfway?”

“Halfway?”

He snapped his fingers and the balcony and sunset shifted, bookshelf-laden walls enclosing around them once more. But rather than his study, this room was a little smaller, a large canopied bed taking up the majority of the space. Stacks of books sat precariously on beside tables and spots on the floor while a fireplace burned cheerfully on one wall, a cushy armchair angled in front of it. Dani half expected to find Tara curled up in the armchair, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what Tara might look like.

“Your bedroom?” she asked, tilting her head. "In Waterdeep?"

“Indulge me,” he said. “Unless you’d like a canopy of stars once more.”

She shook her head. If this was a true, or mostly true, reflection of Gale’s room in Waterdeep, she was in no hurry to leave. She looked around with interest, but some of the details, like the words on the spines of books, shifted and blurred beneath her vision, as though Gale didn’t want her looking too closely. 

Not matter. She wasn’t here to read anyway.

“I’m sure you’ll find the bed more than comfortable,” he said. “And, should I soon find myself a little too distracted to maintain the rest of the illusion, the bed will remain. For a few hours, at least.”

She arched an eyebrow at him and he shrugged, offering no further comment. She grinned and hopped onto the bed, flopping back with her arms spread. He was right. It was solid beneath her, not at all an illusion, and it was certainly comfortable. Better than the bedrolls on hard ground that she’d been sleeping on this past month or so.

“Oh, I could get use to this,” she said, settling right in. “You’ll have to teach me this little spell.” She lifted a hand and gestured like she was revealing words on a banner. “Conjure Bed. School of…er…”

“Conjuration,” he finished, the humor obvious in his voice. “As the name implies.”

“Right, I could have guessed that.” She propped herself up on one elbow to find him watching her again, that same fond, enchanted look he’d worn the last few days, especially tonight. She held out her hand to him, an open invitation for him to join her. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

He opened his mouth as though to answer, paused, and then shook his head fondly. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He reached out and took her hand, climbing onto the bed with her. She lay back, cradling his face in her hands as he rested part of his weight against her, gazing down at her with a look so filled with love she could only smile and stare. 

There they were, those dark eyes she loved so much. There, too, was the oddly pleasant scratch of his beard against her palms, the softness of his hair as her fingertips sank into it, the heat and weight of his body as it pressed her into the downy mattress. Exactly as she wanted it.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His smile was gentle and loving, reflecting her words before he even spoke them. “I love you, too, Meridan Zavrai.”