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Gale pushed open the door to his tower and set his satchel on the floor. He loosened his cloak and rubbed at the stiffness in his shoulders, worn from standing before a room of apprentices all morning. Sunlight slanted across the floorboards, catching the dust motes drifting lazily in the air. The house was pleasantly quiet. Chairs sat slightly out of place, a few books lay open on tables, and the faint creak of wood sounded beneath his boots. He ran a hand through his hair, loosened his belt, and moved toward the living room, allowing himself to stretch after the day. The students had exceeded his expectations in their lessons, and the satisfaction lingered as he took a slow, even breath, enjoying the calm that filled the empty house.
Then a sharp, unfamiliar sound broke the silence. Gale froze, ears straining. At first it could have been a chair tipping over, but the rhythm made his stomach twist. Another sound followed, unmistakable this time—something forceful and urgent, like a struggle. Panic rose immediately; his mother had been staying in the guest bedroom. She certainly wasn’t strong enough to defend herself if someone had broken in.
He moved closer, each creak of the floorboards loud in the quiet tower. Hand hovering over the doorknob, fingers trembling, Gale considered calling for help. His voice caught. Every instinct screamed that he had to act. He exhaled slowly, gripped the knob, and pushed, bracing himself for whatever awaited.
He shoved the door open and froze. Morena lay half-buried under a tangle of sheets, one hand clutching the bedding while the other tugged frantically at a corner, trying to cover herself. Her hair spilled across her face, tangling around her fingers as she twisted and wriggled, knees jutting out awkwardly, every movement displacing the fabric further.
“Gale!” she gasped, yanking at the sheet, but it slid from beneath her like an overly-tired displacer beast. “Stop! Stop—oh Mystra, Gale, I—”
Volo stood between her legs, completely exposed, one hand planted on her stomach, the other gesturing like he was conducting an invisible orchestra. “Ah! Gale, my good fellow, perfect timing!” he boomed, spinning on one heel and pointing toward the bed. (Morena gasped as she was abruptly left empty.) “Your mother and I have just—well, finalized everything! The ceremony was splendid, the catering delightful, the enchanted floral arrangements positively divine! And now we are married! Legally, spiritually, and in every conceivable manner that matters!”
He leaned forward, grinning, as if unveiling an exciting old map of Faerûn. “Truly extraordinary woman, your mother! Quick-witted, courageous, magically brilliant! She recalled the secret ingredient in my famous stew spell without consulting a single recipe, Gale! The guests were awestruck! Some wept. Others fainted! And the cake—most attentive cake, I assure you!”
Morena’s foot shot out, kicking at Volo’s leg, and he stumbled backward, sending a corner of the sheet flying. It wrapped around her ankle, jerking her off balance as she lunged for it, twisting wildly to reclaim modesty. “Volo! Stop talking and help me cover—oh gods, Gale, I—”
“—And think of the magical synergy!” Volo continued, oblivious, flailing so wildly that a pillow toppled to the floor, knocking over a small table, sending a candlestick skittering across the boards. “Spellbooks combined, estates merged, collections cataloged! Every potion and scroll and map—an adventure in itself! Even the silverware was arranged according to mystical principles of balance and harmony!”
Sheets twisted and rolled around them like somebody had enchanted them. Morena jabbed at a corner, yanking it toward herself while Volo leaned forward to illustrate some grand point, flinging his arms so wide that a decorative cushion flew into the hallway, narrowly missing Gale’s boot. Morena kicked him again, dislodging another corner of the bedding, which tangled around Volo’s waist and sent him teetering toward the bedpost.
“Ah, Gale!” Volo shouted, pointing to a pillow now skewed across the floor. “You should have seen the ceremonial toast! Your mother’s precision! The way she held the goblet! A performance worthy of Waterdeep’s finest theatrics!”
Sheets, pillows, and a half-empty inkwell teetered precariously around them as Morena continued wrestling with the bedding, tugging with one hand while swatting at Volo with the other. Volo, entirely unbothered, continued his ecstatic declarations, gesturing so dramatically that a feather from a decorative fan floated into the air like confetti.
Gale’s eyes darted between the frantic sheets, his mother’s twisting limbs, and Volo’s wild, unashamed grin. His jaw worked, mouth opening and closing, hands twitching uselessly at his sides. He blinked, froze, entirely motionless, caught in the middle of the chaos.
Sheets wrapped around Morena like a living creature as she flailed, yanking desperately to regain modesty while simultaneously gesturing at Gale. “I—Gale, I can explain!” she cried, one arm sweeping across the bed in a panicked arc, the other tugging at the fabric that kept slipping off her shoulders.
Volo spun in place, arms flailing so dramatically that a pillow flew across the room and landed on the edge of a chair, teetering precariously. “Explain nothing, Gale!” he shouted, undaunted. “This is a joyous occasion! She is magnificent, I am thrilled, the timing is impeccable! We met at that inn—you know, the one with the animated gargoyle?—and instantly recognized each other’s genius!”
Morena kicked at Volo, sending a sheet tumbling to the floor, but he merely leaned over to grab it, gesturing grandly with it in one hand. “And the enchanted stew contest! You remember, Gale, the one with the fire-resistant muffins?—she aced it with unparalleled flair! Truly, a wizard of impeccable taste and skill!”
The sheets twisted around both of them again as Morena grabbed at a pillow, swatting at Volo while trying to cover herself. Volo flailed, sending the pillow ricocheting into a small table, which wobbled, then fell, spilling a jar of ink across the floor. Candlesticks toppled, a feathered quill rolled under the bed, and a chair teetered dangerously, forcing Morena to lean sideways to avoid another collision.
“And the way she handled the magical scrolls!” Volo continued, gesturing wildly toward the ceiling, then spinning to point at the toppled table. “The precision! The elegance! I simply had to secure her hand in matrimony immediately. Gale, you cannot imagine the audacity of our perfection!”
Morena tugged at another corner of the sheet, wrapping it awkwardly around herself, snapping it over her shoulder. “Volo! Stop narrating our love story and help me cover myself! Gale—oh gods, just—”
Volo leaned back dramatically, arms wide, nudging a pillow with his knee and sending it skittering across the floor. “And the toasts! The magical toasts! The confetti, Gale, the enchanted confetti! A triumph! Every detail recorded in meticulous fashion!”
Gale’s jaw worked, mouth opening and closing like a fish, hands twitching helplessly at his sides. His eyes darted between the chaotic sheets, his mother’s frantic struggle, and Volo’s gleeful gesturing, every gesture knocking another object to the floor.
Finally, he croaked, voice barely carrying over the chaos: “What are you doing?”
Volo blinked at Gale, grin widening, completely unbothered. He swept an arm toward Morena, as if presenting a prized artifact. “Your mother,” he said, voice bright and triumphant. “Was it not clear?”