#simon dnd

Because they'd gotten word about what he'd done in Neverwinter and sent a message to Targos requesting (with less than a hint of demanding) he return home. 

Bollocks. 

And to turn down an invitation by the Aumar family was… well, frowned upon. Greatly. 

Of course, he wouldn't have wished his parents on Edgin or young Kira. That would have been torture. But Kira likely would have loved to go to a fancy ball his parents would throw for whatever inane reason they could fathom and make Simon look like a fool all over again. 

"'Nother pint, m'lord?" A young barmaid with deep red hair of autumn leaves and a slight golden tan. Simon even spied pointed ears if his drunken state wasn't deceiving him. At least half-elven herself.

“Oh, aye!” 

Read the entire chapter here on AO3.

She smiled courteously, almost too politely, and poured a new pint of ale. 

"'Tis and I'm trying to avoid the Mr and Mrs like the plague! So let me…" 

"You mean… shit!" Simon flew out of bed, popped a sausage in his mouth, then levitated several articles of clothing, including his shoes and cloak, to him, letting each hang in the air as he wrestled himself into them one at a time. Alelia Aumar would have his head on a platter, labeled the 'Savior of Neverwinter' for all to see after Simon and Roserae's antics last night. 

The screaming had pushed his mother past the brink. But it was her own fault for walking in on them, literally tossing the sheets around. Good thing they weren't laughing so loud that she caught that, or she may have murdered them right there in the bed. 

Simon hurried. "It is imprudent for either of us to stay." 

“Why do I feel like you say that a lot, Mr. Aumar?” 

Stuffing another sausage in his mouth and chewing sloppily, Simon replied (mouth still overly full), “I do.” 

"M'lord?" she quipped at him, an aghast look on her face.

"Really? Now?" Simon tried to hurry her along as well.

There was a fuss happening outside his room. That meant Alelia Aumar knew he was awake. Or the staff knew, which essentially meant his mother knew… which meant this house was no longer safe. 

“Does my husband visit many beds?” Roserae seemed genuinely curious, even if she made light of the question. 

“No. I generally cannot afford… anything. Including a roof over my head. And if my wife worked in the Aumar household as long as she claims, she should know why we shouldn’t stay.” 

“That’s why I was leaving,” Roserae giggled. 

"You'd leave me?" Simon paused, standing on one foot trying to pull on his boot, his face waging war between mock and genuine hurt. "You're newly wed husband?" 

Not because she had a pleasing look… though truth be told, he kept his eye on her as much as possible. Doric still had a grip on his heart and he wanted to fix whatever had happened with them (once he knew what happened), but Roserae… he couldn't quite put his finger on his feelings for her. He wished he remembered her. 

No matter. Roserae's words rang true to him. He absolutely believed they'd known each other as children. Even if he didn't remember her in his childhood, that didn't mean that his parents didn't do something, such as altering his memory. Alelia Aumar, in fact, had been well known for her mind manipulations before she'd met and married Hemlis Aumar. If she didn't approve of Roserae and his relationship, she would absolutely take matters into her own hands. 

With an Aumar cloak pin wandering around their neighborhood and — worse yet — using magic in the open as he had, rumors would swirl fast. Not only was the Aumar heir home to Baldur's Gate, but he also stood for a tribe of Wild Elves known as slaves. 

And he'd married one. 

And that would spell trouble in his parent's eyes.

If Edgin Darvis taught Simon anything so far, when one lies… they need to sell it. All parties need to practice and know each part inside and out. They’d done it numerous times with Forge…

Bollocks! 

The mere thought of that prick still pained Simon. 

Think about the job. In this case, the job would be surviving through whatever clout-fueled social occasion his parents concocted and then telling them he wasn't returning to Baldur's Gate again before getting Roserae out of the city as well (as she would not survive long without him after this fiasco). 

“Gladly,” Simon responded to the closing door of his bedroom before retching again. 

Roserae sat on the bed, hand on his back rubbing in smooth circles. “Can’t believe they haven’t moved the chamber pots in all this time. Come now, lean over more.” 

Simon mumbled a few words, twisting his hands, and Roserae flew upward. Sitting or turning so he could see her pained his stomach even more. Really, Simon rolled on the bed in a curled ball instead, staring up at the ceiling.

Roserae caught herself on the chandelier, avoided the ornate molding, and sat cross-legged on a relatively bare part of the ceiling. “Nice work. You’ve gotten better.” 

Responding first with a groan, Simon rolled a little more and debated what would be best. A burp bubbled up, and behind it, yet another heave. 

"Still feeling well?" Roserae worked on her hair, making a braid, utterly nonplussed about her situation sitting upside down.

“You…" Simon tried, but there was too much power in his stomach. He heaved again. He reversed the spell and then sat up to find the chamber pot again.