Chapter Text
You cursed yourself for getting in such a position as you heaved a bloodied body onto your goose down bed sheets, dark sticky crimson clinging to your skin and the front of your white nightgown. The body landed with a soft flump, leaving a suspicious looking trail of blood towards the center of your bed. Normally you were against opening the door for strange men in the middle of the night, but a gunshot wound to the stomach usually prohibited acts of violence, unless the attacker wanted to bleed out to death, so you deemed it safe enough. You made sure to grab a fire poker from the fireplace on your way back from the medicine cabinet, just in case.
Blood was beginning to pool underneath the man, signaling that if you were to do anything, it had to be done with haste. Fighting back a gag at the tangy metal aroma, you undid his vest and undershirt, pulling it off and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The bullet had thankfully wedged itself near the surface of his flesh making it an easy grab with a pair of tweezers. The wound itself proved to be more of a challenge. Stitches were required to stop the bleeding, but the needle slipped around between your fingers, and attempting to wipe the slick blood off your hands just made more of a mess. After a bit of adjusting, and a lot of wiping, you finally managed a messy line of seven uneven stitches.
For the first time in the past half hour, the thumping of your heartbeat began to fade from your ears, allowing you to process what had just happened.
You took a moment to look him over. He looked around your age. Around twenty– no, twenty-one? It was hard to tell with so much hair in his face. From what you could make out, he appeared to be a reasonably attractive man. Perhaps a bit unkempt, you thought, but as to be expected at this time of night. With his chestnut brown hair, he vaguely reminded you of Clyde, your childhood dog. Though intended as a compliment, you made a mental note to keep that one to yourself when–if ever–he awoke. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that was drawing you to the curve of his jawline, but with a start, you realize you had been staring for far too long. Blinking away your daydreams, you see the scene in front of you as it truly is.
There was a body in your bed.
You frantically reach over the bed to press two fingers firmly against his neck, feeling around for a pulse. Was he even still alive? A slow and faint periodical throb against your fingertips pulls a heavy sigh of relief out of your weary body, and you slump against the side of the bed. Thank the gods.
Unfortunately, the fact he was alive did not solve the strange-man-in-bed issue. Once he had been securely wrapped in several layers of bandages–any more and he may appear mummified–you weren’t sure what else there was to do. So, you recruited the only person in the household that could keep their mouth shut. Your older sister, Euphemia.
“By Jove, sister… you’ve killed a man…” Euphemia looked pale-faced and wide eyed in horror at the seemingly lifeless body and blood adorning your room.
“Stop it.” You hissed under your breath, closing the bedroom door behind her. “He’s not dead. And would you keep your voice down?”
Euphemia looked from you to the body, then to your crimson hands and nightgown. “Are you to tell me he is… sleeping?” She asked, incredulously, her voice quavering.
You sighed, exasperated. You grabbed her wrist, much to her resistance, and forcefully pressed her fingers against his neck. “There. He is very much alive. Now will you please help me?”
Your sister sighed in relief. “Gods… He looks mauled.” She eyed your butchered stitchings. “Not a slight on your abilities, of course. Spoken from a place of love.”
“Mock me all you want when we break fast, sister.” You toss her a wet washcloth. “As for now, make haste and wipe down the headboard. I’ll deal with the floor.”
“I merely jest.” She replied, rounding the bed beside the body.
As she approached the unconscious man, she froze, the cloth in her hand dropped to the ground as you heard a sharp intake of breath. Startled, you jump up from your knees.
“Hells, are you hurt?” You turned, expecting to see a splinter or bruise. Alas, Euphemia just stood shell shocked, staring down towards the body. You looked at the man yourself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Euphemia leaned closer to the body and swept the hair from his face. “I’ve seen this man’s portrait before.” She crouched beside him, studying his features. “It was in a museum of art from other nations.” Closing her eyes, she recounted the museum. “It was a family portrait. So this must be…” Euphemia turned back to you, mystified. “The Viscount of Waterdeep.”
You stared at her. “...Who?”
“The Viscount, Lord Gale Dekarios.”
✣ ✣ ✣
The rest of the night–technically the early morning–passed surprisingly peacefully, with the only hiccup being a lack of bed space. Euphemia made sure to chide you thoroughly for even suggesting that she take Gale to her room instead. In your defense, he had a larger bed than yours. After some back and forth, Euphemia declared that she’d be ruined if someone found her alone with a foreign Viscount, and her hopes of being courted would be gone. You, however, were newer to the season and very much single–which she didn’t hesitate to enunciate–and therefore could afford a scandal or two.
Cursing her under your breath, you reluctantly slipped under the covers, a good sixteen inches apart from the supposed Viscount. Despite everything, you easily drift off into a sound sleep.
A sudden shift in the bed startles you awake. Groggily, you sat up to see early morning sunrays softly beaming through your windows. Your mind clouds with exhaustion as you attempt to recall the night prior. In your fatigue you barely manage to picture a sharp jawline and soft brown hair. A dream, you conclude. Just another fantasy to forget about. You were about to lean back down when you heard the soft squeak of your bed spring from beside you, followed by a hushed murmur.
“Shit.”
Turning towards the voice, you came face to face with a pair of warm chestnut eyes, staring straight back at you. Lord Gale Dekarios–very much not from a dream–stood with one knee on your bed and his other foot on your floor, attempting to leave without a sound. His face was tense with pain and his hand pressed over the wet bandages covering his wound.
You made no move to stop him, merely watching as he gawked at you dumbstruck like a child with his hand trapped in a cookie jar. “What are you doing?” you asked.
It was as if you had two heads with the way he stared at you.
“My deepest apologies for the intrusion last night,” he managed to stammer out, quickly collecting himself and beginning to stand from the bed. “By Jove, I will leave right away-”
“Why?” You cut him off.
He choked out a confused sputter. “Pardon?”
You gestured to his bloodied bandages. “You are injured. Are you not?”
His eyes flicked to the wound before returning to your questioning gaze. “I am.” He replied, slowly.
“So sit. Unless you mean to walk home.” Standing from the bed, you scoured the room for the remainder of the bandages you brought from before.
Gale hesitantly perched himself on the edge of your bed frame, unsure how to proceed. After a couple moments of watching you flit around the room, he cleared his throat. “Pray tell, which residence am I in the company of?”
Upon gathering the materials and medicines, you sat across from him, laying out the paraphernalia in between you both. “This is the Neredras Manor,” you replied, beginning to work on replacing his dark, oxidized bandages.
From up close you could finally make out his facial features in detail. His jawline was as you remembered, but his hair was finger-combed back against his neck, almost brushing against his shoulders. His atmosphere had changed as well. Despite his grim injuries, a warm feeling surrounded him, almost like an aura of liveliness. You leaned into him, passing the bundle of old bandages around his body as you unwrapped. In such close proximity you just barely manage to make out faint traces of spicy cinnamon, crisp parchment, and freshly lit firewood.
You froze and pulled back sharply. You had completely forgotten yourself. He hadn’t noticed, had he? You glanced up briefly, only to be immediately met by chestnut eyes that bore into you with a thousand-yard stare, and lips ever so slightly muttering to himself as if he was lost in thought.
“...Pretty.” Gale whispered, barely intelligible.
“What?”
Upon realizing you were staring right back at him, he quickly averted his eyes, finally breaking out of his stupor. “Sorry?” He cleared his throat, struggling to meet your gaze.
“Pretty?” You repeated, confused.
Gale sputtered, seemingly caught off guard before a look of mortified realization crossed his features. “Morning,” he declared abruptly. “Y-You are morning.” He paused. “I mean, it is morning.” He paused again. “I mean, It is a pretty morning,” he finally managed, eyes settling back on yours as a pale flush of pink crept up his neck, threatening to wrap around his cheeks.
You attempted to raise the back of your palm to feel his forehead, concerned, only to be intercepted by Gale as he caught your wrist and brought it back down to your lap.
“I assure you, I am perfectly well,” he took a deep breath, composing himself. “And usually better at this.” He added, pressing a customary kiss to the back of your hand. “All this and you don’t even know my name.”
“Well, actually–” you began.
“Gale Dekarios,” he vaunted, chest almost puffed, and you swear you’ve seen images of birds of paradise performing similar moves during a mating dance. Knowing he was a Viscount made the visual match far too well and you failed to stifle a chortle.
“Pleased to make your–” Gale faltered slightly at your reaction. “Did I do something?”
Struggling to pull yourself together, you shake your head breathlessly. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just, I know who you are already.”
He looked puzzled. “You do?”
Nodding, you let out a deep breath, overcoming your brief laughing fit. “My older sister is quite the socialite. She recognized you from your portrait.”
From his impressed expression, you caught yourself wondering if they would be a good match. Euphemia was always fond of the idea of marrying a Viscount, like your mother had, not to mention she was up to date on all the drama of the ton.
An unfamiliar sensation twisted in your gut, unnoticeable until you focused on it. You hadn’t had breakfast yet so it was likely just hunger. But strangely, this hunger was creeping up from your stomach, almost residing in your chest with a faint pang.
You stood up sharply, pushing down the strange feelings. “You must be hungry, my Lord.”
Gale’s eyes flicked around your face, almost as if he was studying you. “I could eat,” he finally spoke. “And please, just Gale.”
Nodding quickly, you turned on your heel and briskly left your room, closing the door behind you. The twinge in your chest finally simmered, leaving your cheeks slightly flushed and blood nearly warm. You let yourself fall against your door, breathing deeply.
Suitors had come and gone before, and once he healed, Gale Dekarios would be nothing more than a man you met for a day.
Chapter 2
Summary:
sorry for the long wait! this ch is extra long (and the following will likely be similar lengths). next chapters shouldn't take this long, promise!
Chapter Text
It goes without saying that you had absolutely zero plan for taking in a near-corpse. Amongst the various other oversights, you were particularly struggling with finding a way to sneak breakfast into your room every morning. Despite Gale’s remarks, you thought yourself to be fairly crafty. The good ol’ ‘stuff-a-pancake-in-your-pocket’ trick was one of your proudest ideas, even if your company refused to see the ingenuity of your ways. You thought it worked well enough for the time being, but with Gale’s slow healing and several pockets worth of maple syrup, you reluctantly decided to look for other options.
Unfortunately, your search was ultimately cut short one night in the kitchen by none other than Sebastian Neredras, your eldest sibling.
“Put the bread down.” Sebastian spoke from the doorway, arms crossed. Ever since your father had died, Sebastian had taken on a more authoritative role with you and Euphemia. Though you would assume that he had more important things to worry about than interrogating you at eleven at night.
Turning slowly to face him, you slipped the thick piece of focaccia into your dress pocket. “What bread?”
He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Tav Neredras,” he began, hauntingly calm.
Yikes. Full name.
“What is it for?” Sebastian continued, sternly.
From behind him, you could see Euphemia watching from the foyer, distraught.
“Don’t look at her. Look at me.” He shifted his weight, blocking Euphemia with his body. “Bread. Explain. Now.”
You tore off a piece of the focaccia in your pocket and popped it into your mouth. “Midnight snack?”
Sebastian’s fingers tightened into a fist and he took another slow breath in. Turning around, he diverted his attention to your sister. “Phemie, by Jove, my fist will–lovingly–be through this wall if you don’t tell me this instant.
You focused all your efforts into burning a stare into your poor sister’s eyes. Out of everyone you’ve ever met, she had the loosest tongue by far.
She apologetically met your stare as she blurted out, “He’s a Viscount!”
From the doorway, you watched as Sebastian’s posture visibly stiffened and he turned with bone-chilling fluidity. “And who, exactly, is ‘he?’”
Mustering up your best innocent smile, you cleared your throat. “Gale Dekarios.”
“–of Waterdeep.” Euphemia chimed quietly.
Sebastian hastily strode towards the guest room with Euphemia in tow. He had just barely placed one hand on the door knob when your sister cleared her throat, eyes flashing towards your bedroom door.
In disbelief, Sebastian slowly crouched to his knees as if all energy had finally left his body. His eyes closed and his chest heaved with several drawn out breaths. “Tell me you didn’t.”
You silently teetered on your heels. “I, uh, I think we both know.”
His breath came out all at once in a shaky exhale. “Phemie, please offer the Viscount a proper dinner.” Sebastian slumped against the wall, utterly defeated. “I will set up the guest room.”
“What about-
Sebastian held up a hand, cutting you off with his eyes still closed. “I can’t- I don’t- I’m not even going to start with you.” Pointing to the corner of the dining room, he waved you away. “Just sit. Sit and think about your actions.”
✣ ✣ ✣
To your surprise, a fortnight passed by fairly smoothly. Sebastian most definitely not gotten used to Gale’s presence, but he was handling it… well. Gale was more like a house pet than anything else. You and your siblings each took on different roles when it came to caring for the Viscount. Euphemia started to cook larger portions for each meal while you managed his healing process. Sebastian probably helped in some way as well, though he was quite adamant that it was not his issue to deal with.
Gale seemed to be faring well, despite his situation. You had been routinely checking up on his wound, changing the bandages when needed, and tracking the medication that he was on. Despite your consistent encounters, you knew almost nothing about the Viscount and vice versa. Well, that was until about a couple days after he was ‘accepted’ by Sebastian and moved into the guest room.
It began slowly.
Every so often when you came to check on Gale or bring him dinner, he somehow found a way to slip in a question about your personal life. Your favorite colors, foods, flowers, all of which he managed to slowly pluck out of you, night after night. Honestly, you were pretty astonished at his perseverance. However, you were perhaps even more astonished at your own reciprocity, easily relinquishing facts and anecdotes about yourself each time he asked. You were fond of most colors with the exception for certain shades of orange, you could not stand tomatoes, and you were particularly fond of eglantine flowers.
Occasionally you even found yourself asking questions back to him. After only a week you learned that he prefers the color violet, enjoys fancy wine, and his favorite flower is–appropriately–the violet.
“I never did ask,” you began one night, sitting down for the routine bandage change. “How did you manage to get this?” With the wound exposed you could see the ripples where the bullet tore his skin alongside the taut scarring that covered the edges.
Gale bristled as you pressed a cold cloth dipped in medicine against his abdomen. “It was a duel,” he explained. “I had received a letter from someone, requesting to meet on the outskirts of Waterdeep.”
You removed the cloth to apply more ointment. “Sounds like quite some havey-cavey business.”
He chuckled, humorlessly. “I’d have realized it sooner had the letter been adequately labeled with the true correspondent.” Sitting up, Gale leaned towards you, allowing for easier access to his wound. “In place of the woman I was expecting was a man who demanded an affair of honor–a duel, in her name.”
For some reason you couldn’t fight back a sharp pain in your chest at the mention of his old flame. Well… you assumed it was old. “I suppose tabletop games are more your style,” you offered, attempting to liven the gloomy atmosphere.
Gale let out a heavy breath, his body easing at your change of subject, seemingly relieved. He placed a hand on the new white gauze covering his abdomen, thanking you quietly as you collected the old bandages and exited his room.
As you walked down the hallway, you found yourself heading towards the withdrawing room. Adorning the walls were your paintings from over the years, a variety of several still life subjects and a couple portraits of your siblings. The soft glow of moonlight beamed into the room, illuminating the thin layer of dust on each surface, appropriate for the lack of usage in the past couple months. You had been so occupied with Gale’s condition that you hadn’t had the chance to even think about painting. The more you examined your surroundings, bittersweet nostalgia festered in your gut, tugging you towards your abandoned easel.
A quick paint wouldn’t do any harm, you thought to yourself, placing a fresh canvas on the platform and settling into the stool. You stared at the large white cloth for a couple minutes, considering your subjects. There was still life of course, but you had painted pretty much everything in the room already. Well, everything except the old chessboard. For as long as you remember, that chessboard had never moved from the small table in the corner. Sebastian had spent hours in your youth attempting to teach you the most popular openings, despite your inability to remember which way the ‘horse’ piece moved. A subject for another time, you decided, looking for something else.
A faint glow of purple caught your eye through the window. Looking closer, you spotted a small patch of violets in the garden, accompanied by various other colorful flowers.That’s right, Euphemia loved floriography and had taken an interest in gardening several years ago. Before your father’s death, she had several flora related projects. One of which being an attempt at a rainbow garden with ombre flowers packed neatly in the dirt.
Instinctively, you felt your hand rise, placing quick strokes along the canvas and blocking out the basic shapes of the garden. Once you were satisfied with the sketch, you fished around for your palette and paints, blowing off the dust and flicking away dried pieces stuck to the tubes. It didn’t take long for you to fall into a rhythm, painting like you had years ago. Maybe it was the way your mind quietly wandered, or the soft scratch of bristles on canvas, but you found yourself drifting off as you worked. Your movements slowed until finally, you let your head rest in your arms beside the abandoned paint palette.
The next thing you knew, a warm palm gently nudged you awake. The moonlight from before had been replaced with bright morning sunbeams that bore down onto you and your painting as you awoke.
“A bit of an odd place to sleep, but whatever suits your fancy,” a warm voice resounded in your ear, startling away your grogginess.
You jolted awake to see Gale observing your unfinished painting, looking it over.
“Oh, good morning.” You yawned, stretching your aching back.
Gale’s attention turned back to you, standing quietly off to the side.
Gale?
Standing?
Snapping upright in your stool you stared at him, standing right in front of you as if perfectly fine. “What are you doing up?” You rushed to your feet, placing a hand underneath his arm and hustling him into the chair beside the old chessboard.
“There’s no need for this,” he complained, but sat anyway despite his protests.
Surely it hadn’t healed that fast?
You hesitantly nudged the bandage covering his stitches, waiting for a response. To your surprise, he made no move to flinch or push you away.
“Nothing?”
He shrugged in reply.
“How bizarre..” you pondered out loud. What could have possibly quickened the process so much? You certainly weren’t that good at medicine.
If Gale was surprised, he didn’t show it. In fact, he looked quite bored of the topic, as if his good health was old news. Instead, his focus turned to the dusty chess board.
“Do you play?” he asked, instinctively setting up the board.
It had certainly been a while. You barely remembered what the pieces did. You knew the pawn and King can one square per turn, but that’s about where your memory left off.
“Of course I play,” you confidently countered, scooting your chair to sit across from him. “Quite masterfully, actually.”
Gale’s brows rose in disbelief. “”Really now? Well, I’ll be sure to perform at my highest.”
In a matter of about four turns, he had your King completely pinned in checkmate. From across the table, you glowered at the board.
“Yes, quite masterfully,” he chuckled, amused at your bewildered expression.
“These things are useless.” You toyed with the pawn between your fingers, tossing it back onto the board where it rolled miserably in a circle before coming to a pitiful stop. “What even is this?” You picked up a strange paintbrush-looking piece.
Gale stifled a laugh, watching you scowl at the small piece of wood like it killed your entire family. “That would be a bishop,” he spoke as he gently took it from you. Placing it on the board, he slid the piece diagonally across the squares.
“As far as it wants?”
“As far as it wants.”
You hummed, absently watching as he deftly reset the board. Gale seemed brighter today. Gone was his sickly hue, replaced with a much warmer liveliness.
He made two moves, starting by moving one of his pawns two spaces forward, then pushing out his bishop several paces diagonally.
“This is an opening. Bishop’s opening, if you want to get technical,” he told you, gesturing to the board. “It’s a specific series of moves to set up for a specific strategy.”
You stared as he deftly played against himself, taking pieces back and forth until he had won. And well, lost.
There was a sense of expertise in the way he moved around the board, as if years had been spent practicing. You found yourself wondering if he taught himself everything he knew, or if it was learned from someone else. Either way it was certainly impressive.
“So you’re an egghead?”
Gale shuddered dramatically, clutching his heart. “Harsh words! I’ll have you know, I prefer ‘well-read.’”
Alright, sure. You admit he was charismatic. The way he looked at you through eyes creased by a smile never failed to elicit a strange uplifted atmosphere. You couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter than air whenever he was around.
“My brother used to be really interested in chess,” you started. The ambience of warm sunlight and good company left you relaxed enough to begin rambling about whatever came to mind. “He tried to teach me but I didn’t get it at all so he gave up and tried to teach Euphemia, but that didn’t work out cause she felt bad about ‘getting her soldiers killed’ so he gave up again.”
You told him about your attachment to the knight piece, which you only recently learned was actually called a ‘knight’ and not a ‘horse’ like you originally thought.
On the subject of horses, you had one as a stuffed animal, actually. Bought from a local vendor and gifted to you by Sebastian for your tenth birthday. He had suggested horse-like names, like Chestnut, or Horace. But in childlike fashion, you settled on the name ‘Horse.’
“How creative,” Gale spoke, snapping you back into reality.
You stared at him puzzled for several seconds until coming to the mortifiying realization that you had bombarded him with tales of your childhood stuffed animal.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he grinned, a glint of mirth in his eyes.
The room felt significantly warmer than before, making you squirm in your seat. “You should’ve said something sooner.”
Gale chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, almost too earnestly to be genuine. “On the contrary, I’m a bit disappointed that I said anything at all. You showed no signs of stopping.”
“Please, don’t remind me.”
He waved you off, leaning back in his seat. “You listened to my chess talk. It’s only fair.”
You pursed your lips, still a bit mortified. “It’s your turn in that case. Drone on.”
“Drone?” He dramatically gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m offended, I was under the impression you were interested. Is chess not riveting to you?”
“What can I say? As a chess master, I need something more mentally stimulating.”
Something glinted behind Gale’s eyes as you spoke, breathing slowly out his nose as he watched you. As he leaned forward his earring swung lightly, catching your attention. You hadn’t noticed the little metal piece before. Circular in shape but adorned with a small purple gemstone, shining brighter than the average jewel. It seemed far more ostentatious than jewelry you expected Gale to wear. Somehow, the gaudy earring never seemed to catch your attention over the man who bore it.
“Something more stimulating?” He repeated, thoughtfully. “What do you know about mages?”
The sudden change in topic startled you back into attention. Mages were certainly uncommon, only few known people being able to wield such a power. Some thought that mages were too dangerous to live amongst the Ton. Others thought mages were nothing more than an old wives tale until a high ranking noble had revealed their innate abilities, but you had been busy in your painting phase while it happened. You hardly remembered how it ended. You silently chided yourself for not paying more attention to the happenings of the Ton. Perhaps Euphemia would remember. You made a mental note to ask her eventually.
Between nonbelievers and
“I know they exist,” you started, raking your brain for any helpful bits of information. “I know they are quite rare. I’ve never met one if that’s what you were asking.”
Gale inhaled shortly, shoulders rigid and tense. He fidgeted with the fabric of his shirt, gently rolling it between his fingers. “And if you met one, what would you think of them?”
“Did I know them prior to knowing they were a mage?” You asked, unsure of where he was headed.
He nodded.
With hesitation, you continued. “Then they would still be the same person, would they not? I don’t think it would change my impression of them.”
Gale exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding, shoulders easing slightly as he relaxed back into his chair. “Yes, I agree,” he replied, letting his hand return to the tabletop and releasing the fabric he was toying with. “Are you busy tonight?”
Your mind spun in confusion at another quick change in topic. “I believe so? Why do you ask all this?”
He waved you off, earring twinkling as he abruptly stood from the table. The air felt lighter than before and Gale now wore a bright smile, eagerly putting the chair back in its place. “I’d like to see you back here tonight after dinner. I have something to show you that I think you’d like.”
Feeling your cheeks redden, you sputtered. Meeting you late at night? Has he always been so forward? “But we aren’t even courting yet.”
Gale paused in shock as he failed to stop his smile from growing, his own ears beginning to bloom with pink. “Courting?” He repeated, voice soft and honeyed, the world pleasantly rolling off his tongue.
The feelings of mortification rushed back to you and all of a sudden you felt transparent in front of him. “I have greatly misunderstood, haven’t I?”
Blinking, he seemed to startle himself back into reality, clearing his throat. “My apologies, I hadn’t intended to imply… Not that I wouldn’t- I mean, only if you wanted- I just-” Gale stuttered, nervously cutting himself off and refusing to meet your gaze.
“I’ll be there.”
Gale’s eyes caught yours and he took a deep breath. “I promise I’ll make it worth your time.” He gave you one last look before withdrawing from the room, leaving you alone as the door swung closed.
Chapter 3
Notes:
this chapter went a bit differently pacing wise than I originally planned! Last chapter I added a 7th prospective chapter to the navigation post because I wasn't sure if I could fit everything into just 6. I think the 7th chapter is very likely to happen, so just letting you know ch6 wont be the last. btw I love reading your guys' comments both here and on tumblr, they're all so sweet and it's what keeps me posting so thank you to everyone who did that <3
Chapter Text
The metal handle of the withdrawing room bore cold through your hand as you hovered in front of the door. Your mind was reeling. Gale had mentioned magic and mages that morning, and he seemed quite adamant for your presence. Bending down to peek through the rusted keyhole, you squeezed one eye shut, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was to come. Your vision was fuzzy, blurred from old bits of metal that had rusted from years of unuse.
After your eyes finally began to focus, you could just barely make out a figure on the ground, toying with what almost looked like string? Like plucking invisible thread, Gale peeled apart the translucent strands, letting bits slip through his fingers in a breath of mist. The string between his fingertips glinted in the moonlight as he redirected it into a soft wave, the line following its path and deftly falling into place. A quiet gasp escaped your lips when the final pieces settled themselves in the air like brushstrokes of greens, blues, and purples in the air. Gale had painted an aurora into the air with nothing but his hands.
The warmth of your breath hit your face as you pressed closer against the door, subconsciously leaning against it harder in hopes of somehow seeing more. Too engrossed in the display, you failed to recognize the indicative clicking of the door latch coming undone. With a creak, the door swung open into the room and spat you out onto the floor, landing behind Gale in embarrassing proximity.
Gale leaped to his feet, swiping a hand through the aurora and waving away the remnants of the sparkling colors into the moonrays. “Gods, you caught me practicing,” he mumbled, brushing the dust from his clothes and smoothing the wrinkles. “I thought I had prepared well enough but– are you alright?”
Scrambling from the floor, you nodded, far too starstruck to answer him properly. “Aurora– in the air– moving with your fingers–” your sentences spewed out like strands of word vomit, unable to finish a single thought before beginning another. Mimicking his gestures from earlier, you waved your hands around, hoping they would convey your questions better than your words. You had to know more.
Gale paled and clasped his hands around yours to steady your erratic movements. “Please don’t be alarmed,” he begged, “I wanted to tell you, There just wasn’t– Never the right time–” Gale caught himself from blithering any further and took a deep breath. “Let us start over–”
“I’m not,” you interjected, forcing Gale to fall silent. “Not alarmed, I mean.” Grabbing one of the nearby chairs, you dragged it towards the center of the room and sat. “Don’t restart. I want this.” You motioned to himself and your surroundings. “I want it to be genuine. You in your entirety.”
His jaw softened and he nodded silently. “I suppose I’d quite like that…” He began, looking around the room for inspiration. “I had something more ostentatious planned, but that doesn’t feel right anymore.” Gale’s eyes locked onto your unfinished painting of Euphemia’s garden. “This however…”
You watched in a daze as Gale swept a hand over the canvas, the dried paint morphing at his touch. It was as if a breeze had come over the painting. What was once static scenery of flowerbeds and grass spotted through a window, now had begun to ripple. Each individual flower and blade of grass swayed as if it was caught in the wind and even the graphite outline of the window’s curtains drifted lightly.
Gale stood off to the side and faced the painting. Cupping his hands around his lips, he blew a puff of air and the garden trembled as if a gust of wind had blown through the field. As the wind grew stronger the curtains billowed and petals detached from their stems. One of the flowered bushes shook in the wind more ferociously than the others, shaking harder and harder until a single flower snapped off the branches.
The flower–small and pink–flew around the painting, carried by the wind which had now slowed to a zephyr. As the flower drifted closer, the pointed petals and golden center became more apparent. It was a sweet brier. Rosa rubiginosa, as Euphemia calls it. But more commonly known as–
“An eglantine rose,” Gale mused, catching the painted flower as it emerged from the canvas. Twirling it in his fingers, he carefully plucked off the small thorns covering the stem. Once cleared, he bent down and tucked it neatly behind your ear. “Your favorite, if I’m not mistaken?”
Dumbfounded, you raised a hand to stroke the flower sitting in your hair. Sure enough, the petals were smooth and velvet-like. It was a real eglantine rose. “I’m impressed you remembered…” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. It was hard to fight the rosiness creeping up your neck, accompanied by a familiar sense of transparency, though different than before. You weren’t quite sure if you minded it or not. It felt as though Gale could see right through you, or that you were bare before him. And yet, you made no move to cover yourself.
“If that trick isn’t called ‘gale force winds’ then I’ll be highly disappointed.”
Gale snorted, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I’ll admit I’ve never attempted to name any of my abilities before. Though, I suppose I wouldn’t be able to come up with anything like that on my own.”
“It’s a pity you’ll lose my naming prowess when you depart.”
“A day I have come to dread, it seems.” He chuckled nervously and slipped a hand into his pocket, retrieving a small coin purse. “I suppose I was dreading it more than I realized.” Undoing the drawstring, Gale produced a small necklace from the pouch. Hanging from the thin chain was a crystal pendant, unceremonious and unassuming. “When I eventually return to Waterdeep, I want to leave you with something… Apologies, I wasn’t sure what jewelry you preferred.”
You took the necklace in your hand, rolling the gemstone between your fingers. It looked deceptively light. The pendant bore a surprising amount of weight, indicative of high quality material.
“This is for me? Really?”
Gale nodded, chewing on his lower lip as he watched your expression closely.
A glimmer from within the necklace caught your eye. Suspended in the clear pendant were engraved stars, shining with all the colors of a sunset sky.
“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, undoing the clasp and holding it out for him to fasten around your neck.
Gale hurriedly took the chain and positioned himself behind you, draping the cold metal over your neck and lifting your hair aside.
You forced yourself to still and let his warm fingers brush against the nape of your neck as he fiddled with the fastener.
“That is most gratifying to hear,” He said, motioning for you to turn once he finished. “I would’ve asked whether you liked silver or gold, but I…” Gale trailed off, his eyes locking onto the pendant hanging just beneath your collarbone. Clearing his throat, his gaze flicked back up to meet your own. “It suits you nicely.”
You reached up to feel the necklace against your skin. “I rarely wear jewelry outside of balls. But this,” you closed your fingers around the crystal. “This I believe I’ll be wearing for a while.”
Gale raised an eyebrow, looking from the necklace, to the flower in your hair, then back to you. “You’ve been to the balls this season? How could I possibly have missed you?”
You fidgeted with the necklace. You were never particularly lucky when it came to courting. Ballroom dancing felt too monotonous to be worthwhile and in sensing your discomfort, no suitor had requested a second dance in one night. There was another time when a suitor had professed his undying devotion with a bouquet of amaranth barely a day after you mentioned your aversion to pollen.
Euphemia excitedly told you that amaranth represented longevity and in this case, longevity of love. You, however, found it to be the longevity of sneezing, which eventually solidified the poor suitor’s rejection.
Finally, you shrugged. “I don’t suppose we run in quite the same circle, Viscount.”
A warm hand brushed against your temple, slipping a couple strands of hair that threatened to cover your eyes off to the side. “I must be in the wrong circle then.” The back of Gale’s hand trailed down the side of your cheek and rested underneath your chin, gently tilting your face to look up at him.
Just as you began to feel his warm breath on your lips, the doors swung open once more and Euphemia strode in, her nose deep in a newspaper.
“Scandal of the season!” She cried, pacing back and forth in the room, not once looking up. “Newly made Dowager Duchess Mystra of Waterdeep swarmed with suitors come the following of Duke Elminster Aumar’s passing,” she recited, frantically flipping to the next page.
The warmth of Gale immediately disappeared as he rushed to read over Euphemia’s shoulder with you in quick pursuit.
“The mother of magic retreats in mourning and withdraws from the shortly upcoming ball hosted by Duke Ravengard of the Sword Coast,” she continued, letting Gale take the paper and read himself.
You rose to your tiptoes, trying to skim the paper over Gale’s tall frame. “The mother of magic? I thought she was just a normal mage?”
Gale shook his head, his fingers tangled in his hair, grasping it like it would disappear from his head. “The Duke and Duchess were some of the most powerful mages in Faerûn. Just the union between the two helped ease fears of magic across all of Waterdeep and even parts of Baldur’s Gate.”
You bit your lip. The opinions on mages were already precarious. The loss of a Duke would be difficult for any region, but a Duke of arcane magic would be difficult to replace. From what it seemed, the Dowager Duchess was still excruciatingly desirable. Despite only seeing a couple portraits of her, you’ve always noted her impossibly youthful appearance. Someone of her status would have no trouble…
“Remarrying.” Gale gripped the paper so hard it began to crease in his grip. “She’s surely remarrying.”
Euphemia took the crumpled newspaper. “You think so? Her mourning will last at least another half-year, a full year until she can remarry.”
He shook his head and pressed his lips together. “Her Grace is the face of mages all over the world. She cannot just vanish from society.”
You bit your lip, feeling helpless at the sight of Gale so disheveled. “Was the Duke unhealthy?”
Gale shook his head once more. “He was healthy as can be, and that’s what worries me. I need to attend the Ravengard’s Ball. There’s people I must talk to.”
That wasn’t possible. Gale had specifically requested for utmost discretion surrounding his presence in your manor. If he were to attend the ball, he would need to come from Waterdeep. Which meant…
“You’re leaving? Now?” You asked, reaching out and catching his wrist before you even realized you had moved.
Euphemia eyed the two of you silently. “I’ll request a carriage,” she said before turning away and leaving you alone with him..
Gale traced the flower behind your ear with a pained expression. “I know, I’m sorry it’s sooner than either of us would’ve liked.”
“Let me come with you,” you begged.
A hand snakes up your waist to lay over the necklace. From beneath his palm, your skin thrummed with warmth emitted a soft white light. When he pulled away after what felt like ages, the small pendant purred with life, glowing and dimming repetitively like a heartbeat. “If you need me, touch the crystal to relay a message. No matter where you are I will hear it and find you.”
“And if I come to the ball? Would you save a dance for me?” You leaned into him, memorizing the feel of his touch.
Gale nodded. “I’d put myself down on your dance card ten times if I must.”
You smiled sadly as he pulled away. “I’ll have quite the lonely eleventh dance.”
He took one step closer and tapped the necklace making it sway gently. “You only need to ask.” With a final parting glance, Gale let your joined hands drop as he turned and exited the room. You watched him thank Euphemia, asking her to give regards to Sebastian for him until finally Gale stepped into the prepared carriage and disappeared off into the night.
As you stood in the doorway staring out into the empty hallway, you felt the necklace thrum against your chest. Like a passing whisper caught in the wind, you felt the faintest voice in the back of your head.
Goodnight, Tav.
Chapter 4
Notes:
i am back!!! so sorry again for the giant gap but chapters should be coming out faster now that my finals season is coming to an end! sorry for the slight cliffhanger but im so excited for the plot to be picking up finally! hope you enjoy!
Chapter Text
Your scalp throbbed as another pin slid tightly against your neck, fastening the ribbon to your updo.
“Stop fidgeting, you’ll make it come loose,” Euphemia muttered from behind you, intently focused on threading the ribbon into a bow. Her nimble fingers smoothed and secured every hair into place, finalizing her work with a soft pat on the head. “How’s this?” She asked, spinning you around in the chair and holding up a hand mirror.
A soft breath escaped you as you observed your appearance. Balls were rarely something that generated excitement anymore and the prospect of love somehow garnered even less. Despite your past experiences, something churned within your stomach, suspiciously resembling the fluttering of butterflies. And to your growing surprise, it was almost as though you had missed such a feeling. “I think it’s lovely, Phemie.”
She pursed her lips and whipped you back around. “Lovely? I need gorgeous, I’m restarting.”
Her fingers barely graced the top of your head before a particularly loud and jarring cough resounded from the doorway.
“I refuse to be late to the Duke’s ball because of hair,” Sebastian drawled, dressed clad in black and lazily leaning against the doorframe.
Euphemia groaned and spun you once more to face your brother. “What do you think then? Is this good enough?”
Sebastian stared at her blankly. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. It is hair.”
She scoffed and turned back to the dresser, rummaging through the countless drawers. “Of course you wouldn’t know. You don’t even know how to tell the difference between black and navy. Just help me pick.” Turning back to face him, she held up two necklaces. One adorned with tiny rubies along a thin silver chain, and the other a single garnet pendant. “Which?”
Sebastian looked up from undoing his dark blue tie. “What?”
She rolled her eyes and held the necklaces higher.
He looked between the two over and over again. “The…The red one?” He asked, hesitantly.
Sebastian swore as a hairbrush flew past his shoulder, dodging just before it collided into him.
They’re both red, you absolute clod!”
Throwing the hairbrush back to Euphemia who caught it easily, Sebastian stalked out of the room and down the hallway. “I’ll be seeing red if we don’t leave soon!”
Euphemia glared in the direction he left. Putting down one of the necklaces, she leaned over you to drape the other across your neck. “Oh? When did you get a new necklace?” She paused, reaching out to examine the small crystal necklace Gale had given you.
“A couple nights ago.” You pulled your hair back to let her fawn over it. “From Gale,” You added sheepishly.
“The Viscount?!” Her eyebrows rose to her hairline and she leaned in, reducing her voice to a whisper. “You’re officially courting?”
You whipped around in your seat, “No, of course not! It was just a parting gift.” Your mind slipped back to the night he gave you the necklace. He was so close that if you just shivered your lips might’ve touched. Of course, however, they did not. And when you mistakenly brought up the topic of courting–to your absolute horror–Gale couldn’t even form a proper sentence in response. Surely courting was out of the cards regardless of the thrill in your heart that pounded whenever he was mentioned.
Euphemia stared down at you in disbelief as you finished explaining the interaction. “I don’t quite think his reaction was…as you interpreted.”
“I’m sure he just wanted to let me down easily,” You replied
“Courtship doesn’t need to be elaborate displays of affection, dearest,” She began. “It is often accompanied with spending time with each other, like promenades, or lunch.” Her eyes dropped to the pendant around your neck. “Among those, gifts are also quite common.”
The butterflies stirred giddily in your stomach. “You really think he’s trying to court me?”
Euphemia glanced towards the doorway where Sebastian had been before turning back to you. “The Viscount was a pleasure to host, but I think the ball would be the perfect chance to meet new potential suitors.”
You looked up at her. “New suitors?”
She bit her lip as concern briefly settled over her features. “You’ve never met the Viscount before because he rarely attends the balls.”
Something twisted in your chest. Something different than the butterflies that were now suspiciously silent. “But why would he skip them if he’s looking for someone to court?”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her soft hand pulling you out of the seat. “Just give the other suitors a chance.” She pleaded, gathering both your dance cards. “Sebastian is hoping you get a chance to talk to the Marquess.” Euphemia gave you one final pointed look before retreating down the hall and out the front door.
✣ ✣ ✣
The Ravengard estate was, to put it lightly, exceedingly glamorous. Arriving a tad late, the ball was already in full swing with a lively quartet and couples dancing lined the dance floor. The ballroom’s ceiling was patterned in blocks of intricate red and gold. The details trailed down walls, wrapping and weaving around the onlays ceremoniously. Draped against the back wall was a single red banner, thick in width and clad in deep red. Painted on the front was a silver emblem, picturing a knight’s helmet and a crimson fist, the familiar symbol of the Flaming Fist.
From what you remember of Euphemia’s ramblings, the Flaming Fist are the pride and joy of the Ravengard family. It was what elevated Grand Duke Ravengard to, well, the Grand Duke. The Sword Coast was the mother of Baldur’s Gate and the Flaming Fist their shield. It was customary for Baldurians to attend a ball hosted by the Ravengard, that much was certain. But for the citizens of Waterdeep? For such a long distance, many were only in attendance for their Duchess Mystra, and the now Late Duke Elminster. Some Waterdhavians may have pulled from the ball, opting to attend a more local event and perhaps mourn the loss of the Late Duke. However, there was sure to be at least one Waterdhavian in attendance.
“Not looking to dance?”
You whipped around to come face to face with Gale. Gone were the old clothes you had found in Sebastian's closet, instead replaced with a dark velvety tailcoat and golden buttons that fastened the fabric tight against his chest. You never considered Gale to be scruffy or anything of the like. Quite the opposite in fact. But with the ballroom lighting and a refreshed appearance, you admit your heartbeat quickened. You nearly reached out to him, catching yourself last second.
“Lord Dekarios,” you began, curtseying lightly as Euphemia taught. “Pleased to meet you.”
Gale's face fell and he stared at you as if you had just taken a dagger to his chest.
You cleared your throat, glancing around the busy ballroom and speaking lowly. “Was my discretion the past couple months all for naught?”
His brows furrowed until a relieved smile broke out across his face and he smiled nervously. “Ah yes! Pleased to meet you,” Gale said, almost over confidently. “For the very first time,” he added. “Never before.”
Gods, he really was terrible at this.
“Now that I’ve met you, I’ll ask again. No dancing?”
You pursed your lips as you recalled your previous attempts to dance with potential suitors. Despite your sour performance you really were trying your best. Unfortunately, your suitors seemed to have as much patience as a teacup and moved on as soon as the set finished. At least they had the etiquette to stay until the set finished. A feat as such deserved a mental applaud for their resolve.
You fiddled with the small dance card strapped to your wrist. “I’m an expert, I promise. But I wouldn’t recommend seeing it for yourself.”
Gale raised an eyebrow, a surprised chuckle escaping his lips. “I can’t help but be curious now.” He eyed the slip of paper between your fingers. “May I?” he asked, reaching for it.
You grimaced but relented and handed him the attached pencil. “Truly horrid you are doing this to me.”
He grinned in reply, happily writing his name into the one of the blank spaces. “Will you be as good a dancer as you are a chess master?”
Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “Will you talk about dancing as long as you did about chess? Horses and knights and bishops and kings. Tell me more about the knight’s opening, I’m sure it’ll be riveting.”
“It was the bishop’s opening, actually,” he said absently, still scribbling on your card.
“More like the bishop’s eye-closer, I’m surprised I didn’t fall asleep– what are you even writing that’s taking so long?”
Gale stifled a laugh as you pulled the pencil away from him and looked at your dance card. With surprisingly neat cursive, various versions of Gale Dekarios’ name sat in at least seven of the spots. The names ranged from his actual name in the first slot to the last which barely held any resemblance in the slightest.
‘Who the hells is Gray Delargo?!”
“That would be my alter ego,” he snorted, rather pleased with himself.
You scanned the card again. Glais Dalglish, George Dowey, even Dale Gekarios. Ignoring Gale’s laughter, you quickly counted each name.
“Ten?! You added ten of these?!”
“I said I would, didn’t I? Unless you’re asking for an eleventh.”
You snickered as you read through all the names. Skimming the rest you noticed a gap between the sixth and eighth dance. “I don’t suppose this is where you flee after seeing my dancing capabilities?”
He shook his head, seemingly recovered from his laughing fit. “That’s for when I talk to the Marquess. I can only hope he’s available for at least a moment tonight.”
You hummed and nodded, biting back the grin growing across your face. “I’m sure he’d love to dance with you.”
As the music died down, couples began to disperse from the dance floor in search of their next partner. In a flash, Gale had pulled you to the center of the ballroom. Before you could even understand what was happening, the band burst back to life with dignified intensity. His fingers pressed up against your hand and gently wrapped around it. With a push against your palm, Gale stepped towards you, forcing you to stumble backwards.
“What are you doing?” You questioned in a frantic whisper, thankful none of the other couples had noticed your jagged movements.
Gale tugged your hand again, this time pulling you closer as he took a step back. “Is this not the purpose of a dance card? I wrote my name for the third dance, it is the third dance, so we are dancing.”
You glowered at him as he took your waist, lightly spinning you perfectly in sync with the other dancers. “And you truly expect to participate in all, what, six trillion dances you’ve put yourself down for?”
“It was ten,” Gale commented, “And yes, all of which I quite intend to be present for.” He pulled you close with a prolonged grip on your hip and a far-from-modest keenness. “Unless you intend to imply you are not interested?” His eyes darted to the necklace hanging just below your collarbones with a glance so quick you questioned if it truly happened. “Though,” Gale continued, locking eyes with you once more and lowering his voice to a gravelly murmur. “Something tells me that is not the case.”
Warmth bloomed from the pit of your chest and you made no effort to refute it. Satisfied, he pulled away and continued to lead through the dance. With Gale, dancing felt natural; a sentiment you never thought you’d have the pleasure of having. For one single instant you could’ve sworn the other guests disappeared from the ballroom and only you and Gale remained. His eyes are brown, you note. A deep brown like the bark of burned firewood or an oversteeped early morning cup of tea. A brown that made his irises resemble that of clockwork and oh, how easy it is to see yourself spending the rest of your life with that brown.
His hand reached for yours once more and time is suddenly restored, the piano quartet jovial as ever. Through all the alacrity of the dance floor, you only momentarily caught a glimpse of Euphemia through the crowd, peering at you with large anxious eyes. In the midst of all the chasséing, waltzing, spinning, and turning, words of the Marquess and her concern merely flitted through your mind, effectively becoming null the second she left your sight. Your heart thrummed vividly against your chest, desperate for something, anything. Your bodies departed as the women shifted down the line to their new partner but his presence never fully leaves. Even as you moved two, then three people down the line, his eyes never left your form for a second. You couldn’t help but do the same and Gale grinned a bit wider when you returned to his arms.
Your heart thrashed dramatically, deciding that if something was to be done, it was this very instant. With hands moving on their own accord, you clutch the collar of his suit and lean into him. Instinctively, his hands cling to your waist. Letting your eyes fall closed, you pull him down and–
He freezes.
Gale’s form goes rigid under your touch and his grip tightens. Glancing up at him in confusion, you realize he’s staring directly beyond you looking as though he’s seen a ghost. All of a sudden you feel like a fish out of water but the ball doesn’t stop for just you. The couples beside you continue to soar across the dancefloor, the womens’ dresses brushing against your stationary body. Pivoting, you see nothing out of the ordinary other than Euphemia and Sebastian’s prying eyes.
Then all of a sudden Gale frantically pushed past you with wide eyes and a pale complexion. A cursory ‘one moment’ was all you were offered before he vanished into the crowd and out to the seemingly empty balcony.
You stood there for a couple moments, unable to process what had happened nor able to escape from the dance floor. You’ve had bad seasons before, that much was undeniable. But to your credit, never in all your life had someone fled from the ballroom without as much of an apology. Did you do something wrong? If you did, you certainly didn’t realize.
As the music surged to it’s finish, you realized tears brimmed in your eyes, blurring your vision. As the dancers left the floor and new ones began to take their place, you hurriedly searched for a place to escape. You took a couple steps forward and immediately got shoved out of the way by an incoming couple who looked you up and down strangely. A younger woman pushed around you to find her partner while another couple prepared to take the place behind you. Chest heaving, you desperately spun in place, searching for a route off the floor.
A dark figure threaded through the hoard of people to stand in front of you. Dressed in a long crimson tailcoat that enhanced his sepia skin, he offered a hand to you, bowing politely.
“Take my hand, I’ll shield you from everyone else,” he spoke lowly.
The moment your fingertips grazed his hand he pulled you towards his chest, pivoting to where he towered over you. “Breathe,” he reminded you. “There’s still a couple minutes before the quartet begins.”
You nodded, patting away salty beads of tears with the hem of your dress. “Thank you…”
With your vision cleared, you managed to finally get a better look at your supposed savior. His hair was braided to lay neatly against his scalp and concern graced over his soft features. “Of course.” He stepped away, still watching you carefully. “I would ask for a dance but I fear you may be in too much…” he paused as you sniffled. “...distress.”
Shaking your head you fished out your dance card. “I think leaving the floor now would put me in more distress than I began with.”
He snorted in surprise when he opened it to reveal the list of names scrawled onto the paper. “I can’t say I know a Lord Dale Gekarios, do you?”
Your cheeks burned as you handed him the accompanying pencil. “He seems to have fled.”
“Not to worry. I’ll just…” he scribbled into the empty slot and handed it back to you. “There.”
Etched into the card in simple script was the name “Ryll Wavengard.” You stared at the dark writing for several seconds in confusion.
“It’s Wyll,” He explained with a grin, noticing your lost expression. “Wyll Ravengard.”
Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, dropping to a curtsey as quick as your body could move. Marquess Wyll Ravengard, Son of the Grand Duke. “My Lord! Apologies, I– surely I would’ve noticed–”
Wyll quickly waved you off with a smile. “I take no offense. I find it rather refreshing.” The embroidered emblem of the Flaming Fist that you somehow missed earlier shone with silky threads as he bowed. “Would your chaperone approve of this dance? I would have asked for an introduction properly if we weren’t on a time limit.”
As you scanned the ballroom your eyes landed on Sebastian and Euphemia who were watching you intently, their gaze quickly averting when you spot them. “I doubt they have objections,” you told him with a smile, allowing Wyll to take your hand as the sweet violin fills the ballroom.
The dance started off slowly and Wyll stepped carefully as he led you through the beginning. To your relief, you actually recognized the movements as one of the first dances you ever learned. Silently thanking Euphemia for the weekly lessons, you managed to slip into a rhythm, carrying out each step to the best of your ability.
“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of dancing with?” Wyll asked.
You bit back the third apology of the night, instead opting to just introduce yourself. “My siblings are here as well.” As you gestured to Sebastian and Euphemia–who were getting significantly worse at pretending to be disinterested–Wyll’s smile brightened.
“Ah, Sebastian! I met him earlier tonight and it was quite the pleasure.” He glanced towards your brother, giving him a cursory smile as he continued to dance with you. “Have you been to a Ravengard ball before?”
You shook your head. “I haven’t. This is only my second season.”
“I’m surprised. You seem to fit right in.” Wyll hummed in thought.
Ignoring the initial reaction to disagree, you thanked him anyway. The rest of the dance went similarly. Wyll would ask a question and you would reply, followed by a moment of silence. It wasn’t unpleasant by any means, but you found yourself missing something–or someone.
Before you knew it the dance was over and the Marquess escorted you back to your siblings, bidding them a nice night. After a thorough questioning about the dance, you managed to convince them to give it a rest for now. Until then, you just waited, occasionally checking your dance card.
One by one the dances continued to pass. From the seventh, to the eighth, then the ninth.
By the tenth dance you had searched the entire ballroom and nearby wings of the estate only to come up empty handed.
At the top of the eleventh dance you finally gave up and begged Euphemia to let you return early, to which she pensively agreed.
✣ ✣ ✣
“I truly just cannot understand,” you whined to your sister as she pulled various pins from your hair. “One moment things are absolutely perfect and the other he vanishes from the face of the Earth!”
“Perhaps he’s–”
“I mean really, is he trying to avoid me? He still hasn’t moved his things from his room– the guest room.” The pin snags a strand of hair making you wince.
“Have you considered–”
You slumped back in the chair, absently rambling again. “Do you think I did something? I’m not much of a dancer but I thought I was getting the hang of it– Ow!”
Euphemia dropped a couple pins in the ceramic tray on your desk, threads of hair winding around each one. “If you just held still and let me reply, it wouldn’t have hurt,” she scoffed. “How much do you know about the Viscount?”
Pursing your lips you stared at her incredulously through the vanity mirror. “I know plenty! He favors the color violet, knows far too much about chess to be that attractive, and…” you decided to keep his mage status to yourself, “...other things.”
The hairbrush bristles made the back of your neck tingle as she ran it through your hair. “Those barely scratch the surface, love. How much do you truly know about him?”
You opened your mouth to protest but she continues.
“Have you ever stopped to wonder why the Viscount of Waterdeep is in Baldur’s Gate? Or maybe why you’ve never met him at a ball before, despite participating in far fewer seasons than him?”
The bundle of nerves twisted ominously in your stomach as her words settled in, “What are you talking about?”
She spun you around to face her, donning an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Please just consider that you may not have the entire story.”
Your heart beat quicker than usual, as if spurred on by her words. “Okay…’
“Get some sleep,” Euphemia said, patting your shoulder and retreating to her own bedroom.
As she disappeared from view you sat silently, staring at where she had been. She was right. There were so many things he never fully explained that lingered deep down in the back of your mind. You had just been so caught up in… well, him… that you didn’t think to question his secrecy.
You found yourself stationed in front of the guest bedroom doorway, hand hovering on the doorknob. Your heart craved answers and this was the only place you figured there might be. He abandoned you at the ball, who was he to care now?
The door swung open to reveal a relatively neat room. You hadn’t been inside since Euphemia fixed it up for Gale, and even then it still looked the same as it had years ago. The only change was the new navy bed sheets and dozens of papers littering the desk.
Along the top of the desk were several stamps and wax seals clearly used for letter sealing.
How odd. Gale hadn’t sent any letters since he sheltered in your manor.
A folded letter tucked into the back shelf of the desk caught your eye with its glittering mauve seal, shimmering with a silver dusting on the details. You traced the circular design with the pads of your fingers, trailing down each point of the star symbol. Where had you seen it before?
Curiosity took over and you couldn’t help but read its contents, unprepared for the violent sickness that overtook your body.
"Dearest Lord Dekarios,
Pray tell, how are you faring? I dare admit your correspondence has been missed. The Waterdeep Palace feels colder without your frequent visits.
Sources claim you are healthy. That is good. Make haste and return to me, we have much to discuss.
Yours heartily,
Duchess Aumar,
P.s. Duchess Dekarios has a ring to it, does it not?"
Your heart dropped to the floor and the bedroom walls crumbled down around you to join it. The past couple months you had spent with Gale flashed through your mind. Could you have known this sooner? The paper trembled in your grip as you reread it, praying new words would magically appear and confirm he had truly loved you all this time, but no such words manifested. You read it over and over, analyzing each letter.
Perhaps it was addressed incorrectly.
Perhaps there was another Lord of a similar name.
On the fifth read you resisted the urge to shred the paper to tiny bits and pieces. Destroying the letter wouldn’t repair the damage to your heart.
A million thoughts crossed your mind and you gripped the sheet so hard it creased at the edge. The only saving grace was the glimmer of hope that flickered in the cavern of your chest that somehow, someway, there was something you had interpreted wrong.
“Why do you have that?” Gale’s voice cut through the room as he stared at you from the doorway, dreadfully horrified.
Whatever hope you had promptly extinguished as a flash of light caught your eye. In the moonlight, plain as day, was the unassuming earring he always wore–the one you had barely given a second thought. Round and silver with a simple star decal, the very same as the glittering sealed letter in your hand. It was her symbol. And he was wearing it.
Chapter Text
“How come you haven’t left, Gale?” You asked, paintbrush bristles dragging along the canvas in long, drawn-out strokes.
He raised an eyebrow as you broke the peaceful silence, staring down at the chess board in front of him. “I told you my situation earlier, did I not?” Gale replied, reaching over the table to capture a vulnerable pawn. “The letter I received lured me into a duel, and when I… failed… it left me with few options.”
“I know that much,” you chided. “But you’ve healed–hold that position–at least enough to take a carriage safely.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“You must have people to return to.
“That I do.”
You swirled the brush in the jar of water, tendrils of paint turning it a light shade of violet. “Then why haven’t you returned?”
Gale’s gaze unfocused as he stared blankly at the chessboard. “I… I do not know,” he admitted earnestly. “Everything awaits me back home, and that’s what frightens me. I don’t…” he trailed off, swallowing and straightening in his chair. “I just need time to mull over it all.”
His finite tone ended the conversation and you quietly returned to your painting, sitting back to view it in its entirety. “I believe I’ve finished,” you said, motioning him over.
The chair ground against the floor as Gale stood to see for himself.
“I think it turned out beautiful,” he breathed, examining each brush stroke with intimate fascination. “I look so… natural.”
You smiled, watching his expression far closer than the painting itself. “You are natural. In here, I mean,” you gestured to the withdrawing room. “We’re happy to have you here as long as you please.”
Being honest, it was getting difficult to imagine the manor without Gale in it. Upon hearing about his interest in literature, Euphemia had brought her entire collection from her room and had Sebastian set up a small bookshelf next to the chess board. It was hard to tell if Gale was as interested in botany books as much as she was, but he was appreciative nonetheless.
“You know, Sebastian quite enjoys chess. He’d be happy to play someone who actually knows what the pieces do.”
A smile spread across Gale’s lips as he tore his gaze from your painting. “That so? I must offer him a game.”
“Careful, he might not let you leave when he finds out,” you reply.
“I suppose I’ll have to stay a little longer then.”
✣ ✣ ✣
“Why do you have that?!” Gale repeated, rushing forward and ripping it from your hand like it was contraband. “You shouldn’t be in here.” He sidestepped you to rummage through the papers on the desk, searching for more missing letters.
“What did she mean by ‘Duchess Dekarios’?” You questioned, reaching out to catch his arm.
He waved your hand away, sparks flickering at his fingertips like firecrackers that threatened to ignite. “That,” Gale spat, shoving the letter deep into his breast pocket, “Is absolutely none of your business.”
You bristled, fingers tingling where his magic had shocked you. “It absolutely is my business! I thought- I thought we were-”
“Courting?” His eyes sliced to you. “Wouldn’t that be nice.” Papers crumpled beneath the pads of his fingers as he frantically snatched everything from the desk. “By the Gods, I’ll never get to make that choice for myself, will I?!”
Your head reeled in confusion and unanswered questions. “What are you talking about? Of course you–”
“Don’t,” he cut you off, icy and frozen over. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, I’ve known it since I was sixteen.” Gale paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair and gripping his temples. “If you had just let me–” he bit back the rest of his sentence, averting his gaze and swearing under his breath. “It’s my fault,” he said after a beat of silence, quieter now. “I shouldn’t have stayed. If I went back to her this wouldn’t have happened.”
At first your chest stung as if a hand had reached inside and squeezed the life out of your heart. After a moment of silence, the heartbreak wove itself into fury. You grabbed his shoulder, shoving him back to meet your mistied eyes. “What have you been doing all this time?! Was this your plan?” You jabbed a finger into his chest, forcing him to stumble back. “To lead me on until my third season and become a spinster?! I’ll have the whole Ton wondering why I haven’t found someone to marry while you’re back in Waterdeep with a Duchess!”
Gale’s shoulders dropped and he breathed out all his tension, voice softening. “That’s not it at all–”
“What does Duchess Dekarios mean?!” You urged.
“I loved her!” Gale cried out, tugging his hair back with a defeated expression. “That’s what it means. It means if she asked me to jump, I don’t ask ‘how high,’ I claw my way to the heavens to join her. It-It means– I must– I– I…” he trailed off and his voice cracked. “It means I can’t stop loving her.”
“And what about now?” You asked, voice so soft and hoarse he nearly missed it.
“What?”
“Do you love her now?”
Gale was silent for several moments. “I should go,” he finally replied, throwing the bedroom door open and hurrying out into the hallway.
The floorboards creaked as you rushed to follow him. “Gale, why won’t you just talk to me?!”
With a flick of his wrist the front doors swung outwards and a gust of cold air breezed past you, sending a chill down your spine. “Please, let me go,” he begged, turning to stop you in your tracks. “You don’t know how hard you’re making this for both of us.”
As he called for a carriage, your mind sprinted for something, anything to say to make him stay.
“Just– Stop it, will you? Come back– You– Gale just– Listen to me! Gods– I love you!”
Gale froze, one foot already on the carriage step and for a moment it looked like he was going to jump right in and never be seen again, but to your surprise he turned around and headed towards you once more.
“Gale, I–” The words clogged in your throat as his lips crashed into yours, a protective hand on the back of your head, pulling you in closer. Cinnamon and parchment enveloped your senses, replacing all thoughts in your mind with him and only him. His other palm trailed down from your jawline to your collarbone before dropping to grip your waist.
“I know.”
Before you knew it he was pulling away and static filled the air making your hairs stand on end. Rapid winds thrashed against your skin and you stumbled backwards into the manor. Gale faced you with dispirited eyes and an outstretched hand as arcane winds slammed the manor doors shut in front of you.
✣ ✣ ✣
“Pheems, please–”
Wood clicked together dully as Sebastian captured your second bishop, securing over half of your pieces while only three of his black pawns sat on your side of the table.
Euphemia didn’t even glance up from her newspaper. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m serious, just one game. She doesn’t–” He sighed, “Checkmate,” and slumped over in his seat. “She doesn’t even know the rules.”
She silently flipped the page.
“I know the rules, clod,” you snapped, shoving the board across the table and haphazardly flinging your captured king into his lap. “Castle goes that way–”
“The rook.”
“Horsie does the weird L-like shape–”
“The knight–”
“And this–shut the fuck up–is the bishop.”
Sebastian flinched as the piece collided with his forehead, whipping around to stare pointedly at Euphemia who conveniently lifted the paper to block his gaze.
He scoffed and pushed away from the table. “Whatever, I’m going to bed.”
The room fell silent as his footsteps faded from the door. A few beats of quiet after, you felt Euphemia lean over you, resetting the chess board to where it was previously.
You watched absently while rolling a pawn between your fingers.
Once the board was set, she rounded the table and took Sebastian’s place, eyeing you with a suspiciously pitying expression.
“I don’t want to talk,” you spoke finally.
She pursed her lips. “I didn’t say we would.”
“Especially not about the Viscount,” you continued, narrowing your eyes at her scrutinizing look.
“Wasn’t counting on it.”
Euphemia was never good at silence. Never has been. The two of you sat quietly, the only noise consisting of Euphemia’s periodical flipping of the newspaper. She made it about two pages before she let it fall to the table, pushing it aside.
“I used to prefer nasturtium,” Euphemia blurted.
You glance up at her, nose wrinkled in perplexion. “What?”
She swallowed, offering a small smile as she toyed with the cuticles of her nails. “Nasturtium flowers. They used to be my favorite.”
“You overestimate how relevant this is to me,” you instinctively snapped.
Euphemia inhaled shakily. “I… met a nasturtium flower once– tropaeolum, they’re also called.” Her eyes searched yours, flicking back and forth. “The second I saw them I knew I had a new favorite. We met in a… garden… a fancy one, like the Ravengard garden. She– the– the flower, I mean, was everything I wanted; warm and red like fire…” The corners of her lips upturned to a fond smile, “...resilient even in a world that was far from kind to her.”
You listened quietly as she dabbed her waterline with a handkerchief, whispering a ‘sorry’ under her breath.
“Flowers always liked me,” she continued. “Never had trouble growing them before. But this one…the soil– it wasn’t– I couldn't–” Her wavering voice cracked, struggling to finish her sentence. “At the time, someone like me shouldn’t be with a flower like her, so I couldn’t plant nasturtium, no matter how she begged me to. Me and Sebastian needed to… preserve the quality of our planter… so that when you became the age you are now, you could attend fancy gardens and get nasturtiums for yourself.”
“...And what of me now?”
Her palm gently clasped around your own and she leaned in, lowering her voice. “I may have failed love, but I know flowers. You have a chance to have nasturtiums, I can’t watch you lose it like I did.”
The soft tapping of Euphemia’s nervous jittering along the wooden chess board filled the otherwise hushed room. You had always thought of your sister as impermeable, too joyous to have experienced the difficulties of life and courting.
Finding your words, you took a breath, releasing the tension you didn’t even realize you held. “I think I understand.”
“It’s alright even if you don’t,” she replied simply. “Just let me be here for you. Let me be your sister.”
You nodded, fearing that tears would fall if you tried to speak again.
“I should sleep,” Euphemia said, pushing away from the table and standing, blotting the corners of her eyes once more before turning to leave.
“Pheems,” you called out suddenly.
“Hm?”
“You said you used to prefer nasturtium. What do you fancy now?”
She paused, eyes unfocusing as she gave the question thought. “Pink camellia,” she responded with a light smile. “I think I fancy pink camellias.”
✣ ✣ ✣
The pale curtains rippled in the breeze from the window, letting moonlight stream in briefly, casting cloudy shadows along your walls as the fabric rustled. You tossed in the goose down comforter restlessly. After all the time you’d spent together, how much did you really know Gale? He liked books, chess, roast beef with Waterdhavian pudding, and you, at least you had assumed. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been courting you.
Although a bit obtuse as Euphemia liked to say, you could at least pick out textbook signs of interest including, but not limited to: magic shows past eleven without a chaperone and gifts upon gifts ranging from a simple allergy-friendly bouquet to a silver necklace. It really was all quite gentlemanly. Textbook chivalry. Though, in etiquette class you don’t recall “wearing the insignia of another woman during the courting process” to be in the list of courting rituals.
You swore, swinging your legs over the side of the mattress and stepping out into the cold hallway, mind far too restless to even consider sleep. Curse you, Gale. Ever since you debuted, Euphemia made a point to ingrain into your brain that suitors, much less men in general, were not worth losing sleep over. And yet, here you were, up at ungodly hours of the night pouring over every single newspaper you could find from your sister’s stash. Turns out, in the past decade of journalism, there was a stark lack of reports surrounding the Mother of Magic herself, Duchess Mystra. She did charity four years ago, how philanthropic. She had apparently held a ball six years ago, and another just two. ‘Terribly exclusive’ the paper read, and that ‘refusal of an invitation would be considered treason to the very crown of Tymora.’ Terribly ostentatious, it sounded. To your delight–or absolute ruin, you weren’t entirely sure–unlike the Waterdhavians, Baldurians could not have cared less about following the gatherings of Mystra over their own Crown, Queen Selûne. At least there would be solace in that the Mother of Magic had little reach over Our Lady in Silver.
And on the topic of crowns, thank the Gods for Waterdeep’s late Duchess Mystryl, who had truly done all of Faerûn a service in the overthrowing of King Karsus. If Waterdhavian patriotism and exclusivity wasn’t already bad enough under the influence of Mystra, many more than just the higher ton would suffer under the late–and bless the gods for it–Karsus of Netheril.
See, Euphemia? You were well versed in history.
Unfortunately that left few leads towards gathering what exactly made the Duchess so much more notable than yourself and captured Gale’s affections. You looked better. You weren’t over the age of, what, fifty? Sixty now? Which, frankly, should’ve been enough to dissuade Gale, even if she somehow had the face of someone barely over twenty-five.
Gale.
You missed him. You really did. And for some reason you couldn’t shake the feeling that he missed you too.
Before you knew it you were headed towards the guest room where Gale had been staying. The silver door knob was freezing to the touch and a chill ran down your back as you slowly stepped into the room. The hairs along your arms raised, ruffling your composure with an eerie tingle, skittering down your body from your neck to your feet.
Papers were strewn about, far messier than the state you’d last seen it in. Gale was neat. Sterile even. He would’ve never left his room like this, no matter the altercation you two found eachother in.
The desk chair had fallen onto its side. The powder blue curtains were pulled shut, casting the room into a darkness that rivaled your closet back in the harrowed nights of your adolescence. Everything was pitch black except for the crack beneath the door leading into the closet where the build-in wardrobe lived. Gale had rarely used it.
A soft glow, white like the moonlight, flickered from inside the room accompanied by a quiet humming; sickly sweet and hushed enough that you could convince yourself it wasn’t even there. Misted and translucent, you could just barely make out a beam of light that stretched from the door and out through the walls, taut like a tether. The air was static, thrumming with an energy that made your pulse quicken and your necklace tingle against your skin. Glancing around, you snatched up the trusty fire poker from the fireplace, readying it in your hand.
You took a deep breath and threw open the door, instantly swinging the sharp metal rod out in front of you like an axe.
There right in front of you, was none other than the Duchess herself, starkly similar to the portraits you had been studying the past hour. However, in place of warm skin and silky fabrics, her image was made up of light. Celestial strands of stars threaded together to create long black locks that melted into a dark mass that coated her arms, running down her body like a dress woven from a nebula.
You whipped the fire poker through the air with a soft gust, but to your surprise, it passed directly through her astral form as if she wasn’t even there in the first place.
When she turned to glance at you with eyes just as transparent as the rest of her skin, she cast you an almost pitiful expression, trailing up and down your form. For a moment she lingered on your necklace, eyes narrowing nearly indiscernibly.
“Ah, It’s just you,” she murmured, turning back to rummage through the closet in disappointment. “Pity.”
You gaped at her, fingers gripping the stick of metal a bit tighter. “Y-You– What– ‘Just me’?!”
“Unfortunately,” she responded, plucking out a dusty book from the shelf and inspecting it briefly before tossing it over her shoulder into the pile at her feet. “I suppose the fault is my own. I expected someone… grander.”
The insult would’ve hit harder had you been able to actually make out her features, but thankfully–or perhaps not–they were obscured by the cosmic glitter and transparency. What did hit hard, maybe even harder than when you took Gale into your arms the day he first appeared on your doorstep, was the earring she bore. Her crest, of course; identical to his.
You weren’t quite naturally gifted at anything like Gale was with the Weave, nor did you have a knack for romance and flora like your sister. Hells, even Sebastian had his little quirks that gave him at least more personality than a wet rag. But for the first time since you and your siblings inherited the family estate long before it was due, you were sure of something.
Mystra hardly cast you a look as she continued to toss books and clothes from the closet. “Really now, the staring is unbecoming. Surely your family taught you basic manners.”
“What is unbecoming is ransacking a manor in the dead of night,” you snap back, lifting the fire stick like a rapier. “What do you want from us?
“You?” she scoffs, “Gods, I couldn’t fathom wanting anything from you. Prithee believe when I tell you I am no more pleased about spending my evening here as you are.”
Her tone strikes a sharp chord in you and you slash at the first thing you see; a little misty strand running from her back and fading off after a couple feet.
“Insolent girl!” Mystra shrieks, and with the slightest wave of her hand you’re suddenly off balance, hurtling weightlessly into the wall. “Don’t you dare touch that!”
Air rushes back into your lungs as you gulp for breath, panting rapidly to restore the wind that she had knocked out. “Get out of my house,” you manage to spit out, voice wavering far too much to be threatening.
Keeping you flush against the wall, the Duchess turns back to the mess on the floor, kicking papers and ink wells around impatiently. “I have no time nor patience for this any longer, where is he?!”
Thrashing against her hold, you reach for a particularly large ink well and weakly throw it with the limited room you have. When that barely lands a foot ahead, you strike it hard with your shoe, sending jet black liquid all over the floors and soaking any books or papers beneath.
“You low-bred, insufferable, limpering fool!” Mystra howled, releasing the hold on you before releasing a hastily aimed glob of flames right past your head.
You just barely manage to dodge the next fiery attack, ducking around the strewn about furniture just in time for the ottoman you stood behind lit ablaze. The back of your neck sweltered from the proximity. Something cold and slick lands beside you, coating the side of your shoe and you instinctively manage to kick it off before the grease combusts with the rest of the fire, engulfing your discarded slipper. Flickering wisps of red hot flames snap at your legs, scorching whatever skin it could reach.
Suddenly, a wave of oppressive gravity pins you to your spot on the floor, and the Duchess readies another billowing orb that feels akin to the blazing sun.
You had a nasturtium, finally. You’re not losing him.
The moment your fingers finally grasp the silver pendant around your neck, a single word echoes in your head, reverberating off your skull and vibrating as it shoots far off into the distance in an almost corporeal form. And just as quickly as you call for help, a rush of something vaguely familiar fills your entire body, raising the hairs on your arm and giving the air around you a tinge of electricity. Before you know it you’re pushing a hand past the gravitational pull and light erupts from your fingertips, jolting across the room as if quickened by the nearby static.
Mystra steps back in surprise, a thin spherical veil rising from her feet and slowly caging her in.
The last thing you see before everything goes dark is the dark crackling energy zipping past the closing shield.
nilian on Chapter 1 Tue 17 Oct 2023 08:09AM UTC
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luminetti on Chapter 3 Sat 27 Jan 2024 06:54AM UTC
Last Edited Sat 27 Jan 2024 06:55AM UTC
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Last Edited Fri 26 Apr 2024 03:04PM UTC
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