Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Faeth’s heel collided so hard with the ghoul’s skull that she felt the bone give way before it crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Another charged her, empty face twisted into a screech as it raised a club over its head.

“Throw ‘em over here, soldier!” Karlach called from behind her. Faeth dodged the club as it came swinging for her, then grabbed the monster by the breastplate of its tattered armor and flipped it over her head with a practiced twist. It landed at Karlach’s feet, where she enthusiastically hacked it to pieces.

“Fuck yeah,” she hollered, swinging her flaming sword in a jubilant circle. “One more of these assholes left!”

Karlach charged past, maniacal joy written across her face, and Faeth spun to follow her. Her bare feet pounded the dirt path, the loose fabric of her gi whipping behind her as she ran to where Lae’zel was fighting the largest, most stubborn of the undead horrors that had besieged their party on their way back from casing Rosymorn Monastery. Lae’zel swung her broadsword with teeth-gritting fury, but the lumbering corpse proved harder to hit than expected. 

“On your right!” Faeth yelled as she sprinted ahead, dropping a shoulder into the monster’s decaying torso. She slammed it to the ground and rolled out of the way just in time for Lae’zel to behead it as Karlach’s fiery blade sizzled through its chest.

She lay on the ground for a moment, panting, sweat sticking dirt and wisps of hair to her forehead. Lae’zel’s shadow blocked the sun as she stood over her, high cheekbones splattered in monster viscera.

“It is done. Your empty hands are not as useless as I once thought.” 

“I’m deeply touched,” Faeth panted. The fighter stared down at her with a furrowed brow. She made no move to help her up. “Right, I’ll just—“

Faeth staggered to her feet and they hustled off in the direction of camp once more. Between Lae’zel’s githyanki expertise, Faeth’s intimate knowledge of reclusive religious traditions, and Karlach’s talent at smashing through walls, they’d managed to get a fairly good understanding of the temple housing the crèche and its layout. Tomorrow, the full crew would roll in. 

They arrived to find camp quiet, everyone dispersed on their own errands before they picked up and moved again. Fine by her. She had plenty to think about as it was. Lae’zel seemed set on her own agenda as well, nodding at them before heading off to her own tent. Faeth felt a scorching heat source sidle up next to her: Karlach.

“Oi,” she smirked. “Mind letting me know where you’re sleeping tonight? I wanna make sure I’m well clear if Gale opens a portal to Avernus the next time he—“

“Fuck’s sake!” Faeth laughed in mortification. She playfully punched Karlach on the arm, burning her knuckles. “ Ow. ”

“All right, only joking,” she smiled. “I’m glad you two finally got your shit together; I dunno how much more pining I could take. Anyway, I figured I’d give you this tidbit I nicked off that old weirdo by the monastery—it looks good but I can’t eat much of anything at the moment, obviously.”

She held her rucksack open for Faeth, revealing half a boule of crusty sourdough bread. She retrieved it with glee. Its proximity to Karlach had warmed it deliciously, and she moaned as she took a bite, then dove back in for more.

“Oh, that’s divine,” she said around a mouthful. “Thanks.”

“Ugh, don’t rub it in,” Karlach groaned wistfully. Faeth shot her an apologetic look, but didn’t slow down as she devoured the hunk of bread. Fighting was hungry work, and she’d just done plenty of it.

“Now that I’m fortified, I’m gonna go clear up my tent,” she said finally, popping the last wonderful bite into her mouth. “See if there’s anything salvageable.”

Her heap of singed fabric and blackened tent poles didn’t look any more promising than it had at dawn. She sighed, then scooped up the first piece of canvas and hauled it to the side. Another, then another. The Order of the Open Hand lived communally, so she’d never learned to grow attached to possessions—yet her gut still twisted a little as she searched for anything unscathed. She made a pile for the tent poles, salvaged a sewing kit, discovered her stool and little crate of books were blackened on the edges but otherwise intact. Her bedroll and camp clothes, wherever Gale had thrown them, seemed to have vaporized entirely.

Her kit. Her stomach dropped. That’s what was missing. That—that was actually a loss. She couldn’t replace those things until they came to a town, and they were headed far away from anything resembling civilization. Fuck. Her poor hair.

She picked up her stool under one arm and her books under the other, putting them away in her trunk for safekeeping. Gale’s contented gasps as she dragged her brush through his roots, the smell of her hair oil on his skin, came back to her with a pang. How long until she knew those pleasures again?

“Is that it?” Karlach appeared across from her and examined her mostly empty luggage. 

“That’s it,” she sighed. “I’m not mad, obviously, but…”

“It’s not what you wanted to happen, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Yeah.”

Karlach shifted from foot to foot, fidgety with excess energy. “I get you. I’m sure he’s torn up about it—he certainly looked it this morning. Bet you could make him grovel without trying too hard.”

Faeth huffed a laugh. While they were on the subject, though, she might as well press for details on what she’d meant by pining . “Hey, so. About that. What did you mean— I mean, did you really know? Before? People could tell?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding,” Karlach scoffed, but her smile gave away the affection in it. “He’s been miserable to watch. Every time you leave to take a bath or whatever at night, he just ‘happens’ to have some reading to do by the fire until you come back. He won’t eat unless you have your plate first. I swear to gods he actually cursed Astarion one time because he was getting too familiar.”

“No!” Faeth squeaked. “But he’s just a flirt, he doesn’t mean anything by it—“

“No joking, yeah? One minute Astarion’s all, ooh I’m feeling peckish, my darling, let me have a nibble , the next he’s puking his guts up behind a bush,” Karlach half-whispered, conspiratorial. “You tell me, mate.”

Faeth clapped a hand to her mouth and Karlach laughed, loud and long and happy. “Now that you’re no fun anymore, I’m gonna have to start keeping tabs on the githyanki and Haircut instead. Who knows when they’re gonna sort themselves out.”

“Gods, I know, it’s so bad —“

A chorus of snapping branches and leaves crunching underfoot drew her attention over Karlach’s shoulder, where Gale stepped out of the forest and into the warm, sultry light of the late afternoon. Faeth felt like she’d been kicked in the chest. He was a painting; he was art. His cloak billowed behind him in the breeze as he crossed the field to her, a relieved smile splitting his sun-bronzed face. Even his sweat made his cheekbones shine and his clothes cling to him appealingly. She was rooted to the spot as he drew near, and then suddenly, she was running.

He held his arms out to her, laughing. She skidded to a stop just as he caught her and she clung to him, her body rejoicing to wrap around his. 

“Hello, beloved.” The endearment in his gentle voice thrilled her.

“I like that one,” she answered, pulling back to look at him. His brown eyes were soft with amusement, his Roman nose smudged with dirt. “And hello. Is one day enough to miss you?”

“I should hope so, because I thought of nothing but you every moment you were away.” He leaned in and captured her smiling mouth, stubble scratching against her cheek.

“Get a room,” yelled Karlach. 

They broke apart with a peal of laughter. Gods, he was radiant when he was happy. Faeth intertwined her fingers with his, thumbs brushing. 

“If you’re available, I have an evening planned,” he said with a squeeze. “I certainly owe you a good time, among a litany of other debts, after last night.”

“Ooh,” she smiled. “I hope I’m presentable enough—it’s been a hell of a day. We ran into some Death Shepherds on our way back.”

“Ridiculous. The debris of battle is nothing more than a reminder of your ferocity, which I happen to like very much,” Gale intoned, bringing a faint blush to her cheeks. “I’m whisking you away. Come.” 

He led her by the hand back into the forest, the shade-cool air peppering her arms with goosebumps. They walked for a short distance until he stopped at the foot of a steep, craggy rock face. He stepped forward, then waved his hands in a smooth circle and incanted something brief. A silvery mist appeared before them and materialized into a veiled, shimmering archway. 

“This may make you dizzy,” he warned, “but it will be over in a blink. And, dare I say, eminently worth it.” Before she could formulate a question, he snaked an arm around her waist and spun them across the threshold into the portal. Faeth felt like she’d been thrown, flipping and twisting against a constantly-changing gravity, until they suddenly landed on their feet again. Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. 

“What—“ she gasped, leaning heavily into Gale’s chest, “the living hells was that?”

“A very short trip up a very tall mountain,” he said,  voice bright with amusement. “Look around, Faeth.” 

She straightened to find that they stood on the edge of a granite outcropping far above the treetops, higher than she’d known it was possible to climb. The lush carpet of the forest rolled out beneath them,  flowing over valleys and hills until it met the ocean where it shimmered at the horizon. The sky still shone blue, but the clouds had begun to take on the brilliant pinks and oranges of the coming sunset. The full force of it all overwhelmed her. Drinking in so much splendor at once felt impossible.

Gale’s hand brushed against her lower back, and she leaned into his touch. He wrapped his arm around her, anchoring her to him.

“What do you think?” There it was again, the little edge of uncertainty. As if he hadn’t magically teleported her to a place beyond her imagination.

“It’s incredible.” She shook her head, disbelieving. “We’re so high up; everything is so gorgeous. The air even feels different. I feel like a bird flying over Faerûn.”

She felt his breath catch in his chest as he pressed her closer. They stood in silence for a precious while, letting the crystalline mountain air breeze across their faces as the setting sun washed the landscape in gold. 

“In moments like this one, I wonder what kind of order could have shut the world away from you,” Gale murmured, his tone pitched with melancholy.

“I don’t know if it was shut away from me, or if I shut myself away from it,” she sighed. “I wasn’t mistreated; no one threatened me to stay at the monastery, I was just… okay with it. Happy enough, busy enough. I didn’t know I could want more.”

She tipped her head to lean on his shoulder, unable to tear her eyes away from the view in front of her just yet. How to explain her little life to someone defined by ambition? “Imagine that you’ve only ever eaten oatmeal. Even if someone described a steak to you in the minutest detail, even if you read about steak in a hundred books, you wouldn’t have a reference for what actually eating one is like. You couldn’t know . And then, oatmeal’s kept you alive your whole life, hasn’t it? Don’t you owe it some loyalty?”

“Someone owed you loyalty, as well, and they served you poorly when they didn’t encourage you to find your potential,” he countered. “The delights of our short mortal lives are just as ripe for you as they are for anyone else. It pains me deeply that you’ve only just begun to sample them. To expand your metaphor—steak is only one dish of thousands, and you were never even given a menu.”

She froze against him, stunned. She’d never considered that before. He had to stop just saying things that changed her entire self-perception; she could only take so many revelations per tenday.

He kissed the top of her head, squeezing her to him. “As it stands, though, I can at least be selfish in enjoying the endless opportunities to help you taste something new.”

“Right now, for example?” A hawk soared lazily over the forest beneath them, casting shadows on the treetops as he circled.

“Very much. I’ve watched thousands of sunsets from hundreds of vantages, both on earth and above it,” he lilted. “None have seized me body and soul like this one, seen through your wondering eyes.”

She turned to face him, her heart fluttering in her chest. His eyes, soft and thoughtful, met hers.

“How beauteous mankind is,” she murmured. She took his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, earning a small gasp. “O brave new world, that has such people in it.”

He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, grateful for once that she was tall enough to meet him eye to eye. She couldn’t have borne even a fraction more distance between them. He hummed low and pleased into her mouth as she pulled him in, and she sucked his bottom lip between her teeth for a tantalizing second.

“Gods,” he gasped, pulling back. “You kiss me as though you’re trying to kill me. I’m tempted to scuttle the rest of the evening just to have you on this cliff.”

Faeth giggled—a rare sound for her, unfamiliar in her ears. “You absolutely won’t. Gale of Waterdeep would never pass up a chance to show off.”

His mouth twitched in an answering smile. “I’m humbled to know my character is so easily laid bare,” he quipped. “Shall we, then?” 

He offered his elbow to her, and she took it with an affectionate eye roll. He led her toward a tall, arching opening in the rock face that opened into a shallow cave, flooded with fading daylight. The dull roar of rushing water echoed in her ears. As they drew nearer, the real reason for their visit came into view, and Faeth couldn’t contain her smile: the cave sheltered a small waterfall that fed into an inviting cerulean pool.

“I know it’s your ritual to bathe in the evenings,” he explained. “I happened to know of a hot spring here on the mountain. I thought, if you’d like, we could take the waters together.”

“You happened to know of a hidden spring high up on a mountain,” she asked, incredulous, “conveniently close to our campsite in the wildest part of the Sword Coast?”

He pressed his lips together. “I called in a favor.”

She kissed his cheek. He was unbelievable. “Remind me to ask for the story sometime. Thank you, this is going to feel so good.” 

She started unfastening the sturdy belt that kept her top in place, but he covered her hands with his own. 

“Please,” he said, softly. “Let me?” 

The air in the cave suddenly felt warmer, more humid, as she dropped her arms to her sides. Gale undressed her slowly, with infinite care–first unthreading her belt from around her waist and then peeling open the wrapped front of her gi. The brush of his fingers up her body as he shrugged it off one of her shoulders made her shiver. When his lips followed, gently mouthing at the newly exposed dip of her collarbone, a surprised moan escaped her throat. Desire flooded her, deepened her breathing and lidded her eyes. 

He slid her top down her arms with a smooth motion and let it fall to the granite floor, followed shortly by her undershirt. He stepped back, admiring her, and Faeth lifted her chin a fraction as he drank her in. 

Her body was her life’s work. The strength in her shoulders and the lithe power in her torso were hard-won from decades of fighting, and she carried them with pride. Even the other monks she’d taken to bed had traced the soft planes of her muscles under her skin with marveling hands—and Gale seemed just as affected. But, there was a sharper, darker edge of need in his expression as well, a mysterious spark in his eyes.

Her blood rushed hard in her ears, anticipation curling inside her as she realized. She was strong, and he liked that. She clenched and unclenched her hand experimentally, and he bit his lip as he watched the muscles in her forearm ripple beneath her skin. Suddenly, with a squirming in her skull, she felt the caress of his mind brushing against hers, projecting whispers of his thoughts—was he meaning to, or was it his chaotic magic reaching for her again? She didn’t dare open her end of the connection and risk invading his privacy. Even still, brief scenes from his imagination echoed through hers.

Gale on his knees in front of her, hard and wanting, hair twisted in her grip. Her own face serene and radiant as she takes him by the throat and lays him to the stone floor. A ragged moan on his breath as she pins him down hard and guides his head to her cunt—

Faeth stifled a gasp. Heat roared through her as more flashes of his most carnal desires played out in her mind’s eye. She preferred to take charge in bed, sure, but no one had ever wanted her like this . She could feel his brutal need to serve her, to let her try him and test him so he could earn her praise, running through his thoughts like an undertow. Oh, her darling. So desperate to be good enough for someone.

If this was really what he craved tonight, Faeth was confident she could give him everything he needed. They could take a step beyond when she’d told him to touch himself or when he’d cheekily asked her to fuck him into the ground. She could take her time reducing him to a panting, writhing, transcendent mess, and when he was spent, she could wrap him in her arms until dawn. But, just seeing into his wild imaginings wasn’t enough for her to act on. If Gale wanted to submit to her, she needed to hear him ask her for it by name.

Didn’t mean she couldn’t help him along, though.

She raised an eyebrow at him and tugged at her pants’ drawstring, undoing the knot. He shook himself back to the present and, gods save her, knelt in front of her. He was so keen to please her that it made her heart ache. His hands grasped her hips and then slid down, taking her clothes with them as he skimmed down her legs. She stepped out of her pants, naked and towering over him. 

“Thank you, angel,” she said, threading her fingers into his hair and gently guiding him to look up at her. “Now fold them for me.” His pupils blew wide and his cheekbones pinkened. His excited thoughts thrilled at the edges of hers again, like music heard from the next room.

She released him and watched as he gathered her clothes where they lay scattered on the floor, folded them with care, and picked them up in a neat stack as he rose to his feet.

“Perfect. You’re so good to me,” she said, delighting in the way his flush deepened at her praise. “You can put them just outside.” She did prefer to air her clothes at night, but she also wasn’t keen on having even more of her belongings incinerated if she could help it. He paced to the mouth of the cave and laid her clothes out—individually and a safe distance away, as if he knew her exact motivations. He probably did.

Faeth smiled and held a hand out to him as he returned to her. He took it and kissed her knuckles, eyes bright and intense. With a tug, she brought him closer, until their faces were almost touching. He let out a shuddering breath, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled with want.

“I’m going to get in,” she said, eyes lingering on his mouth. “Undress and join me.”

“ Yes,” he breathed. “Except—just one moment—“

He reached into one of the pockets in his voluminous robe and produced a new bar of herbal soap, her herbal soap, wrapped with a muslin washcloth embroidered in purple thread. She accepted it with a soft cry of joy, bringing it to her nose and inhaling the familiar scent. Somehow, he’d found its exact duplicate.

“Gale, how… I made this soap myself before I was infected, this isn’t possible,” she stammered.

“As I said.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying and failing to mask how proud he was. “I called in a favor.”

She grabbed the front of his cloak and kissed him hard, feeling his smile against her lips.

“I haven’t said it in this plane yet,” she murmured, earnest and low. “I love you.”

“I love you ardently,” he answered. “I had hoped that you still held me in the same regard after—well. I would have understood if you no longer wanted me at your side after losing so many of your earthly possessions to my affliction.” 

“You couldn’t help it. And, I knew you would take good care of me,” she said simply. His breath hitched faintly and eyes darkened again. Oh, angel, she thought. Let me show you how good you are.

“I will,” he swore. “Always. Please, go ahead—I’ll join you shortly.”

She pressed one more kiss to his lips, light and sweet, and sauntered over to the pool. Wisps of steam filled her lungs with a mineral tang as she perched on the edge, dipping one foot in to test the temperature. To her surprise, it was luxuriously warm but not scalding—like a lake after a long, hot day, or a perfect cup of tea. She sank in, groaning with relief as the hot water soothed her weary muscles. She lathered the soap with the cloth to do a quick wash and thrilled at how the steam amplified its comforting, herbaceous scent.

Free of the day’s grime at last, she waded in until the water came up to her chest, then kicked her feet up to float on her back. The tension released from her shoulders as she drifted, watching the reflection of the water dance on the cave ceiling. Meanwhile, her mind raced with what to do next. Be safe for him. Give him the space to ask for what he really wants. Find which threads to pull and let him fall apart completely.

A small splash made her look around. Gale, naked and lovely, had eased himself into the steaming waters and was wading toward her. In one hand, a cold bottle of champagne gathered condensation. The other held two crystal glasses.

“You,” she beamed, standing, “are the most indulgent man in Faerûn.”

His eyes crinkled with earnest joy. “Or, perhaps,” he intoned, “you are the woman most worthy of being indulged.”

She took the glasses from him so that he could pop the cork with a gentle twist, pouring each of them a sparkling cup. They clinked their goblets together, eyes locking as they toasted. As he sipped his champagne, Gale’s intense gaze continued to burn into hers. They were so close to the precipice now—he just had to ask.

“This is incredible. You do so much for me,” she said, casually as she could muster. 

“Not enough,” he deflected immediately.

“What would be enough, Gale?” Her gentle frankness pinned him to the spot. For once, he seemed speechless. She took a languorous sip of her champagne, observing the quickened rise and fall of his lean-muscled chest.

“I— nothing. Nothing could be enough.” Oh, her heart.

“You’re mine. That’s enough, forever.” His champagne glass trembled in his hand. On the edge of her consciousness, his joy and disbelief was so loud that it made her want to cry. “But, if you’re still unsure, I think you have some ideas about how I can convince you.” 

She stepped closer, letting her tits brush against him. “Angel, I’m so ready to give you everything you want. But I can’t, unless you say it.”

His breath stuttered and heaved. She grazed her nose up the side of his neck and mouthed slow, encouraging kisses from his ear down the hollow of his cheekbone.

“You told me that I deserved mercy,” Gale began, voice thick. She paused, heart racing. “What if, for a little while, I do not want it?”

“You want enough to feel like prostrating yourself before me. You want to serve until you feel worthy.” 

“Please.”

She stepped back and took his chin in her hand, her blood singing in her veins. “Thank you for letting me in,” she said. “First—everything we do like this is for our shared pleasure, and we can stop anytime. I would sooner die than hurt you. All right?”

He nodded. His eyes shone, bright with emotion and want.

“I need words, sweetheart.”

“I love you. Yes,” he rasped. No turning back now.

“Good,” she said lowly. He shivered in her hand. She took a cold sip of her champagne, then sealed her lips over Gale’s and poured it from her mouth into his. He swallowed. “Such a good boy.”

Chapter Text

They kissed their way back to the side of the spring, frantic and clumsy, tossing the wine and glasses down so hard something definitely broke. Gale waved his hand and the mess disappeared in a flash of light. 

“Where— what?” Faeth asked in the brief moments her lips left his.

“Ethereal plane, don’t worry about it,” he panted. 

“Fucking brilliant.” She hopped backwards to sit on the rough granite edge of the pool, drawing him between her spread legs. He gazed up at her from where he still stood hip-deep in the steaming water, eyes black with need. 

“Have you ever been with someone like this before?” She asked, soft and serious. The last golden rays of sunlight poured through the cave’s vaulted chambers, painting his features in Caravaggio colors as evening slipped into twilight. His high brow, the cut of his cheekbone beneath his stubble, the loose brown curls dripping spring water onto his broad collarbones could have inspired masterpieces.

He shook his head, color rising in his cheeks. “No, I—before you, I’d only shared a bed with Mystra, and that was something else entirely. I’m quite out of my depth.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she soothed. “I was just curious. I’m excited to figure this out together. Here’s something I’ve done before: if you don’t like something or want to stop, tap me three times.” 

She took his hand and draped it on her knee. “Show me.”

His elegant fingers tapped against her thigh.

“Always a quick study,” she smiled, and he returned it with visible relief. “And what do you think I’ll do if you ask me to stop?”

“You’ll stop.”

“Right away. No questions asked.” 

Faeth reached for the crown of his head and took a fistful of his hair, taking care to give it a firm tug as she did. His lips parted as a shaky breath left his lungs. “I’m going to make that beautiful brain melt out of your ears by the end of the night,” she rasped. 

“Faeth,” he pleaded, the swirling lines of his Netherese scar twisting with the rise and fall of his chest. “Devour me.”

She tilted his head back and sealed her mouth over his in a deep, claiming kiss. The whimper he made when her tongue slid past his lips and caressed against his made her inner thighs clench. She tugged him to press harder against her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and slid her other hand up the line of his body until it came to rest on his pulse point.

He tipped his head back further, eager. Her hand just rested against his flushed skin. She spanned his throat with gentle fingers and he tried to lean into her touch, generate some sweet pressure, but she wouldn’t give it to him. The mists of his thoughts rushing against her mind flared with impatience.

“You’ll get what I give you,” she murmured against his mouth. “Greedy thing.”

Revelation dawned on his face as he realized that not being choked could be part of the experience. 

“You’re learning,” she crooned, stroking up and down the column of his neck with feather-light pressure. A shudder wracked through his body. “That’s the thing about asking me for ruin, angel. I bring you there. And you let me, because you’re so fucking desperate.”

Gale swayed under the spell of her words, knees weak. Her strong legs steadied him as she dove to suck a bruise at the corner of his jaw, pressing her fingertips into his neck ever so slightly. His fingers scrabbled to grab the ledge with white-knuckle urgency as he keened and gasped. 

“I can’t believe how badly you need this. You’re breaking my heart. Am I truly the first one to give it to you?” Faeth pulled his earlobe between her teeth, and his body shook helplessly from the stimulation.

“Truly,” he ground out. 

She finally squeezed just enough to be felt, his neck thrumming with the pounding of his pulse and his back going rigid as she counted to three in her head. When she released him, he buckled so hard she had to hold him up by his hair. “Say it.”

“You’re the first one. Only one.” He was slurring his words again, the way he did when he was really starting to melt. Her chest tightened with affection. 

“Good boy, waiting for me. It must have been exhausting—having to be so brilliant, having to work so hard.” She pulled back to look him in the face and almost reached her peak from the sight alone. He was wrecked . Flushed, panting, unsteady in her grip. Gorgeous. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just be good for me. Let me take what I want. Nothing else matters.”

His eyes fluttered, a quiet moan in the back of his throat, and the steady patter of his thoughts receded into a soft, wordless hum. Faeth found herself in awe of the gravity of the moment, frozen in place as she cradled him. She knew Gale—she’d been him, for about thirty seconds. His gears never stopped turning. Yet here, wrapped in her body, with his Adam’s apple in the hollow of her hand, everything fell silent. For a rare moment in his long and legendary life, he wasn’t striving. He was just here. With her.

White-hot need blazed through her at the thought, along with a snarling protective instinct and a sense of absolute rightness . The universe had aligned just for her to make it to him, to this cave, to this conclusion.

“This, my angel. This is enough,” she whispered, gazing deep into the dark eyes focused unrelentingly on her. Her fingers found where his blood rushed hardest and pressed into the meat of his neck. One, two, three—a hot flush spread over his face, his pupils blew wide—four, five—she licked into his open mouth in a brutal approximation of a kiss and he whined desperately around it—six. 

She let go of his neck and he collapsed forward onto her, a broken, cathartic shout wrenching from his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and took his weight, peppering his hair and forehead with kisses and murmuring encouragement. His shoulders heaved in her embrace; his shaking fingers grasped for purchase on her back. 

“Good or bad?” she asked, a twinge of concern in her stomach. 

“ Good ,” he panted, his high cheekbone pillowed against her breast. “I— that was—“

She shushed him, gently scratching her blunt nails over his back in soothing circles. Her lips pressed to his temple in a slow rhythm, affirming and reaffirming how she adored him. In time, his ragged breaths slowed.

“Gods,” he sighed. “Faeth.” She hummed into his hair and gave him another kiss, but didn’t say anything. This was his space to talk.

“How did you— that might be uncouth to ask. Forgive me.” Ever the gentleman, even as he recovered from practically begging to be choked harder.

“You’re making direct contact with both my tits, beloved; you don’t have to worry about couth .”

He spluttered a surprised laugh. “Is there a social workaround when both breasts are present?”

“If that’s what it takes for you, sure,” she grinned. 

“Very well. I’m curious about where you learned to do… any of this. I feel as though you know my body and mind better than I do myself. You almost brought me off with your words and hands alone, and you made it seem like I was doing you a favor.”

She smiled at him in adoration, shaking her head. His brain was switched on again, and it was hungry for information—but his fundamental assumptions were entirely wrong.

“You were doing me a favor, although I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” she said, leaning back to see him face to face. Confusion crinkled his brow adorably. “Let’s take this conversation somewhere more comfortable. Did you bring a bedroll up here?”

His eyes sparkled, bemusement replaced with barely-contained anticipation. “You could say that, yes.” Faeth helped him out of the spring with an easy tug, and their wet footsteps echoed throughout the cave as he led her away from the main chamber and toward a sheer rock face at the back. She eyed him uneasily, not keen for another teleportation experience. 

“No dimensional doors this time,” he smirked, taking both her hands in his. “This is my bread and butter: illusion.”

He walked backwards, taking them on a collision course with the granite wall. She winced right as the back of his head was about to crack against it, but no sound came—and instead, the air around her changed. 

She opened her eyes to find herself in a round, sweeping alcove hewn into the side of the stone mountaintop. One entire wall and most of the ceiling was open to the night air, offering an unbroken view of the stars from horizon to zenith. A frankly enormous four-poster bed draped in purple silks beckoned from the far side of the room, just beyond where a fire crackled merrily in a round hearth. She whipped around and saw the rock wall they passed through was as smooth and unbroken as before.

“ Gale, ” she breathed. He squeezed her hands, practically glowing with pride.

A cool breeze flowed in from the forest below, and Faeth shivered. They’d been so wrapped up in excitement that she’d quite forgotten they were both naked.

“Let’s not catch a chill,” he lilted. “Let me show you something.” He steered her toward a tall oak wardrobe and placed her palm on it, covering her hand with his. 

“Imagine what you want to wear. Anything. Hold it in your mind’s eye.” Faeth closed her eyes and pictured the first thing that came to her—a soft woolen tunic she’d once seen on a wealthy pilgrim visiting the Order. Cream colored, a shallow but wide neck opening, and billowing sleeves. Gale hummed in appreciation. 

“Oh, you’ll be exquisite in that,” he chuckled. He whipped the wardrobe open and there, on a hanger, was the tunic. In disbelief, Faeth reached out and took it in her hands–it was softer than anything she’d ever worn, and lustrous in the firelight. She slipped it over her head and its hem fell into place just above her knees. The fabric felt like the summer sun, warm and luxurious against her skin. 

“Go on, let me drink you in.” Gale held his hand up and let her spin, openly admiring her. Faeth blushed.

“You can’t catch your death either,” she said, planting his hand on the wardrobe. “Make something to match me.”

He grinned as he closed his eyes, making a show of concentrating hard. Magic pulsed from their hands into the wooden door. She opened it to find a plush-looking cream shirt and brown breeches. 

“You know, I half expected you to just imagine the same tunic,” she quipped as he slid the breeches on. 

“Perhaps some other time,” he said, winking. “I didn’t want to detract from how edible you look in cashmere.”

“Cashmere!” she exclaimed, smoothing nervous hands down the skirt. “Isn’t that expensive?”

“It’s only an illusion, for now,” he clarified. He slipped the shirt over his head and tucked it into his breeches. “But if we get out of this alive, I’m buying you one of those in every color.”

“And several in purple, I imagine.”

He laughed. “If you’ll indulge me.”

“Always.”

Faeth crossed the room and lounged on the bed. To her surprise, he didn’t join her. Instead, Gale ducked into a small cupboard and emerged with a tray of food that could have been ripped straight from an oil painting. Slices of figs and apples drizzled with glistening honey, little bites of cheese, paper-thin sheets of cured meat arranged into artful ripples.

“Your repast, my queen,” he intoned, setting the tray in front of them as he settled in next to her. 

“Gods, Gale, how did you have time to do all of this?” She reached for a halved fig and tentatively took a bite. Juicy, sun-sweetened pulp laced with sticky honey filled her mouth. “This is real food; you had to get this from somewhere.”

“Oh, easily. A cold cellar here, a fig orchard there, you know.” He selected a square of cheese and laid it across an apple slice, taking a bite.

“I really don’t,” she said, laying her free hand across his on the bedspread. “Thank you. Words fail me to describe how generous you are with me.”

His thumb hooked over hers, caressing, as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Faeth, I don’t know how to make myself clearer. I would crawl the earth on my hands and knees to clear the stones from under your footsteps.”

She could almost hear the orchestra swell as she met his bright, sincere gaze. Yesterday, she’d been shocked Gale wanted to make plans together at all. Tonight, she could just make out a new possibility dawning on the horizon: their plans stretched much farther into the future than just a vacation in Waterdeep.

“I think,” she said, a slow smile illuminating her expression, “with an extraordinarily patient tutor, I might begin to understand someday.”

From the way he beamed back at her, Gale caught her meaning immediately. They breathed a shared laugh of joy and awe, their fingers entwining. 

They sat in happy quiet for a while as they ate. Faeth recreated his cheese-and-apple concoction and found it delicious. He wrapped a translucent sheet of cured pork around half a fig and held it to her lips, inviting her to try. She took it from him with a delicate bite and kissed the honey from his fingertips. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

“Before you dazzled me with all of this, you had questions for me,” she said, gathering one last morsel from the tray. 

He hummed in agreement. “Yes. I’m curious about—most things about you, if I’m honest. I want to know more about how you learned to take control the way you do. But don’t feel compelled to—”

“Everything about me is yours to discover,” she interrupted, waving a hand. “I think I was eighteen? Another adept and I had started spending some nights together, and she asked me to pin her wrists to the bed while I pleasured her. She loved it, I loved it. Things kind of just went from there.”

“Fascinating,” he said, to Faeth’s amusement. Behind the veneer of his curiosity, however, she didn’t miss the way his cheeks had pinkened. Oh.

“What else… a little later on, there was an artist who had come to the temple to paint a fresco. I learned a lot about how gratifying giving and taking power can be from them,” she continued, watching his face closely. Gale raised his eyebrows, expression open and interested. “They wanted to beg and grovel and for me to deny them. Or for me to tell them how worthless they were. I thought it would feel, I don’t know, cruel? But when I saw how much they liked it, I understood what an immense amount of trust they were putting in me. To only hurt them in the ways they wanted to be hurt.”

He blushed properly, a delicious little tremble on his breath. “What, ah—how would you speak to them in those moments?”

“Oh, what did they enjoy? Something like—” She looked into his eyes and let her voice slink out in a sultry rasp. “Dumb little slut. Only good for something when you’re on your knees.”

Gale’s other hand found the bedspread as well, steadying him as his eyes unfocused for a moment.

“So fucking useless, can’t do anything right but come. Beg me. Beg for the chance to prove me right.” She leaned into his space, letting their noses brush. “How did those words feel?”

“Entirely new,” he sighed. “Freeing. As though no one expected anything of me but my basest instincts.” She slanted their mouths together, sweet and soft. How intense these last days must have felt for him. When he first told her that he’d been lover to a goddess, she’d made some assumptions about their dynamic—but it seemed playing with submission was foreign territory to him. He’d called his time with Mystra “something else entirely” earlier. She itched to know what he meant. 

Maybe he’d satisfy her curiosity sometime. For now, while he was exploring, all she wanted to do was guide him.

She scooted to the head of the bed and settled against the pillows, beckoning him to join her. He was at her side in a moment, pulling her into the crook of his arm while she curled up against him. The crackling fire and the vast expanse of the stars spread before them in inky chiaroscuro. He kissed the top of her head—she loved when he did that—and she pressed a few brief kisses to his chest.

“You’ve had so many varied and thrilling experiences in the realm of pleasure. It’s rare that I find myself so behind in a subject,” he mused, stroking his fingers through her silver hair. “You make an extraordinarily patient lover.”

She sighed into his touch even as her stomach clenched with anxiety. This was it. If he was going to have her history, he deserved to have all of it.

“As do you.” She kept her eyes fixed forward. “You said you were out of your depth earlier. So am I.”

His hand paused. He was clearly waiting for her to continue. She took a breath and steeled herself. 

“I’ve shared my bed. I’ve never shared my heart.” A hot, embarrassed flush crept up her neck as she felt, rather than heard, his gasp. 

“Oh, Faeth.” 

“When I told you I loved you last night,” she continued, determined to get the words out, “it was the first time I’d ever said it. You’re the only one.” 

He turned to face her on the pillows, his arms still wrapped loosely around her. His eyes shone with an inscrutable emotion—Sadness? Disappointment?

“Think about it, Gale: I’m a monk. I was born a monk, and until a couple tenday ago, I thought I was going to die a monk. Partners, romance, marriage… none of that happens for us. My plan was to make illuminated manuscripts and teach martial arts for about two hundred years and then keel over from old age.” The words were rushing out of her in a desperate babble, anything to remove the pity from his expression. 

“And then all of this started. I decided not to go back to the Order. I found you. You chose me. And now—Gods, I love you. I’m so in love with you. All I think about is how to keep you—”

He kissed her hard, rolling his warm, solid body on top of hers. She opened for his caressing tongue, tangled her fingers in his thick hair. As he settled between her legs, the hard press of his cock on her belly brought a moan to her lips. 

“Hear my soul speak,” he recited, tenderly cradling her head in his hand as he studied her lips, her eyes, her vivid blush. Her heart fluttered against her ribs. “The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.”

“There resides, to make me slave to it,” she continued. Of course Gale would communicate best via The Tempest. “Are you saying you're my Ferdinand?”

“I will be every lover the Bard ever wrote, and Marlowe besides,” he said, with an intensity that bordered on religious fervor. He was holding himself above her on his elbow, the lush curtain of his brown waves obscuring the world around her. She felt like they were the only two people in the universe. “I will scatter our bed with flower petals, dissolve pearls into your wine like Marc Anthony did for Cleopatra, travel the planes to present new delights to your perfect eyes. I will be true to you all the days of my life. As every god as my witness, Faeth, I will love you enough for all the years you were deprived and tenfold more.”

Faeth’s vision swam as a seismic shift happened somewhere deep inside her, shaking her old life loose and revealing something new in its place. Something enormous beyond her reckoning. She stared up at him speechlessly, her breath coming in shallow, overwhelmed stutters. It was all she could do to nod.

“How long we had to wait for each other,” he swore, mouthing slow, hot kisses up her neck. “How cruel I thought my fate before I saw where it led. No more. As long as you’ll have me, I will spend my days making you the happiest of creatures.”

Unable to restrain herself for another moment, she crashed her lips to his and hooked an ankle around the back of his legs. With a jerk of her hip, she flipped him under her and straddled him, her throbbing sex bare against his breeches. His wide and wild eyes met hers as she slammed him down onto the pillows, lust coloring the high points of his cheeks.

“As long as I’ll have you,” she panted, “I’m certain, is an awfully long time.”

He squirmed underneath her weight, eagerness rolling off him. “I shall clear my schedule.”

“Remember what to do if you want me to stop?” she whispered, spreading her hands greedily up the planes of his ribs. He tapped her leg three times. “Good boy.”

Gale shuddered, and she bit back a moan from how he ground against her clit. “Yes, you. So perfect for me.” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and twisted it in her fist, almost lifting his shoulders from the mattress. “You got me so worked up, darling. Gonna put your sweet mouth to work.” 

She dragged him back down the bed until he sprawled in the very middle, then lifted the hem of her tunic for him. His chest heaved and his gaze heated her skin as she rucked it up around her waist. His eager arms looped under her legs, maneuvering their bodies until his face was buried in her cunt. He moaned deep and long at the contact and Faeth saw stars as she came on the spot. 

“Oh, oh, fuck,” she yelped as her body released with quick waves of pleasure. “More, more, don’t stop, fuck—“

Broad hands gripped her hips as he laved and mouthed at her from between her thighs. White light burned at the corners of her vision, leaving her gasping for air. 

“I’m gonna— gods, Gale, yes,” she whined, hips bucking against his face. His nose brushed against her clit in a shocking wave of pleasure and another orgasm wracked through her, twice as strong as the first. A wavering shout tore from her throat and her desperate fingers pulled at his hair. When she came back to herself, she looked down to see his eyes shut in concentration as he delved deeper. “That’s right, you’re not done. I fucking own you.” 

An impassioned moan reverberated through her core and his brow creased in pleasure. Gently, she swiveled her hips, swirling her folds against his lips and tongue as he worked her to another peak. If she had an orb, the thought came to her, she would have leveled the countryside by now. The pressure building between her legs was exquisite.

“You wanted to serve me. You fucking begged. Do it. Make me finish all over that pretty face. Let me use you to come,” she ground out, riding him harder. He whimpered into her cunt and the sound almost killed her. “Yes . Yes, yes, fuck, so good, good fucking boy, I’m gonna comeohfuckGale–”

His fingertips dug into the muscles of her thighs as he pulled her down hard, gave her no way to escape the full force of this orgasm as it slammed into her. Her eyes rolled back into her head as every nerve in her body caught fire at once. She could feel her walls clench agonizingly hard and sweet, over and over again, seeking him as she rode out the pleasure. Finally, when the adrenaline tapered away, she collapsed onto her side with shaking legs. Beside her, Gale gasped to catch his breath, one arm thrown over his eyes.

She crawled back to him and pressed a kiss to his lips, messy with the evidence of her. 

“I’m going to go get us some water,” she panted. She traced a fingertip along the lines of his scar, down the sinews of his neck to where the orb pulsed erratically in his chest. “And then, I have an idea.”

Chapter Text

Faeth sat against the headboard, drinking out of a carafe of water Gale had chilled for them. His chestnut hair spilled across her tunic as his head reclined heavy and relaxed in her lap, his long legs dangling over the side of the bed. Her fingertip traced delicate, lazy patterns over the geometry of his face—across his forehead, down the bridge of his strong nose, connecting the freckles dotting his cheekbones. In the moonlight mixed with the fire’s orange flicker, he seemed otherworldly, neither mortal nor divine. Especially, she considered, while they were surrounded on all sides by the fruits of his magical prowess.

“So all of this is illusion magic?” she asked. His eyes opened again and fixed her with that singular focus he had.

“A majority of the fixtures in this room are, yes,” he answered. She carefully poured a sip of cool water past his lips, and he drank it gratefully. “I conjured them from the Weave, and they’ll dissolve back there when we return to camp.”

She considered the purple silk canopies that fluttered overhead. They were woven from individual threads, with gold embroidery constellations scattered across them. She rolled the rich flannel of his beautiful shirt between her fingers, observing how soft and fine it felt. It was craftsmanship, of a sort, and he was a master.

“Could you make me, I don’t know, a chair? Just a simple wooden one, no armrests or anything like that.” He cocked a brow up at her as his ego rose to the bait. Without looking, he performed a series of delicate hand movements and gestured to the foot of the bed. An ornate mahogany chair appeared there, Baroque swirls and carvings covering every conceivable surface. Without armrests, though, as requested. Faeth laughed and shook her head at him, and he rolled his eyes with a smirk. Cocky bastard.

“What next, my dove, a toothbrush? Perhaps a pair of socks,” he teased. “You have a pliant archmage in your lap. Think grandly.”

“Or,” she countered, “I can think simply, and you can work within those constraints to make it grand. Unless that sort of modernism is beneath Gale of Waterdeep.”

“Shocking, to have my great talents maligned in my own bed,” he grumbled. “Name your challenge, pretty monk.”

“Rope. Three lengths of it.” His bright eyes snapped to hers, and a wicked smile pulled at her lips. “If my archmage is feeling especially pliant .”

His breath caught in his throat for a moment. A few brief gestures later, three neat coils of dark purple rope swished into existence on the bedspread. The man did have an aesthetic.

“Perfect.” She stooped to kiss him, awkward given their angle, but he returned it with warmth. “I want you in that chair.” 

He slid to his feet and rounded the bed as Faeth watched hungrily. He settled in, facing her from across the expanse of the duvet, and reached to remove his shirt—but she held up a hand.

“Your clothes stay on until I take them off,” she corrected, letting her voice drop into a low and sultry drawl. She rolled forward onto her hands and knees and slowly crawled toward him, pinning him down with her gaze. His pupils dilated. “But if you’re so desperate to follow instructions, you can put your arms behind your back. Hold your elbows.”

Fumbling, he reached around the back of the chair and did as she said. The deep neck of his shirt fell open appealingly as his posture straightened, revealing a touch of chest hair along with the full expanse of his swirling scar and the angry pulse of Netherese energy inside him. Faeth noted how it seemed to respond to her proximity, flickering wildly as she neared him and settled on her knees at the edge of the bed. 

I need to talk to you, Faeth thought, focusing on the glowing light piercing through his skin as she opened the gates of her mind. Not Gale. You.  

Silence. It was a stupid idea anyway; who knew if the thing was even sentient–

A deep, eldritch hum vibrated within her skull. Her parasite practically screamed with glee. Okay.

Thanks, uh, hello, she responded. She slid her hands up her thighs, taking her dress with them, to keep Gale distracted. He didn’t seem to notice she was communicating with his unwelcome passenger. I don’t know what you get out of me being here, but it seems like it’s something. If we can work together this one time, I’ll make it worth your while. 

The hum returned, sounding as curious as a disembodied magic orb could. As she made her pitch, emboldened by her tadpole’s enthusiasm, she rose on her knees and arched her back, shaking out her loose, shining hair and tossing it to cascade over one shoulder. She skimmed a hand up the smooth plane of her stomach and palmed her breast with a firm hand through her tunic, squeezing and bouncing it. Gale’s eyes bulged in a way that made her concerned for his blood pressure.

Fascinating. Pleasure doing business with you, she finished, shutting her end of the connection. Power, sour and electric, buzzed faintly through her veins as the presence waned. She didn’t welcome it, but she also had to admit it felt amazing–like she could lift a fully-laden cart over her head without breaking a sweat.

She smirked at him, biting her lip as she looked him over. Gale, ever a rule-follower, still clasped his arms behind him on the chair in front of her. His knees splayed out to the sides, his erection thick and desperate under the tight wrapper of his breeches. Wide eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair.

Faeth sat back on the edge of the bed and spread her legs wide, giving him an unobstructed view, and trailed a touch down the line of her body, between her breasts, into the apex of her thighs. Her callused fingers stroked gently at the wet heat under her skirt. As she brushed soft circles over her clit, she dipped two fingers of her other hand past her entrance, making her back bow as she found a sweet bundle of nerves deep inside herself. She rolled her eyes on a luxuriant moan. In front of her, Gale’s hips jerked involuntarily. A sheen of sweat broke out on his brow from the sheer effort of restraining himself, but his hands never moved. Poor, sweet thing.

She withdrew her fingers with a noise that pulled a whimper from his throat, then slinked off the bed and leaned over his panting form. Slowly, insistently, she pushed those same two fingers into his mouth. His eyes slid closed as he sucked them clean, and she couldn’t stop herself from pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

“You’re trying very, very hard to be good,” she lilted into his ear. “Let me make it so easy for you.”

She took her fingers from his mouth and wiped them on his flushed cheek as he panted with want. Reaching behind her for the first coil of rope, she knelt before him and slowly passed the soft braid through her hands. Was this silk? It was definitely silk. His eyes followed the rope as she handled it, keen and intense.

“Relax, I’ve got you.” She maneuvered one of his legs into position against the chair leg and looped the rope around his ankle. Her deft fingers twisted and knotted it up his shin, binding him there. She slid her fingers along the rope where it lay against him to check the tension, and a frisson of goosebumps followed her touch under his breeches.

“Does that feel good? Am I hurting you?” she asked, low and gentle. He shook his head. “I need your words, please, angel. Especially because your hands are occupied at the moment.”

“Yes, it feels good. No, you aren’t hurting me,” he rasped.

“Just like that, my darling,” she said, kissing the inside of his knee and making him jolt in his seat. She tied his other leg to match the first, then stood with the final piece of rope to bind his arms. As she circled behind him, she let the silken rope trail over his body and across his neck. Even the lightest touches made him so responsive; it stoked her flames even higher to see him shiver.

She looped and tucked the rope around his joined forearms, hitching it with a knot she knew would come undone with a quick tug if needed. She circled him again, taking all of him in. With his legs lashed open, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat, his expression half-mad with desire, he made an absolute feast. He looked completely debauched already, and she hadn’t even touched him yet.

She took his chin in her fingers and tipped it up. “I meant what I said: I want your words. Use that talented tongue on me while I take you apart.”

“And what,” he rumbled, his deep voice rough with something that made her spine tingle, “would the lady like to hear?”

Her eyes never left his as she gracefully dropped to her knees again, sliding to the floor in front of him and skimming her hands up his bound shins. “Every little thought that passes through your wonderful head. No holding back.” She pressed her thumbs into the inside of his knees, where she knew he was sensitive, and slowly slid her hands upward. His body tensed. “Let me hear you. Open that mouth.”

“Gods,” he breathed, “I never knew. Never did I—could I have ever conceived such absolute peace. My mind empties of care when you command me. All day I’ve dreamed of ways to let you run me roughshod—” Faeth reached his hips and they stuttered beneath her touch. She slid one hand over his taut stomach, pressing him into his seat, while the other started to work on the laces of his breeches. As he trembled in her hands, she cocked an eyebrow at him to continue.

“ Ah, hells—want to be perfect, I crave it, always have, and I lost everything, until you arrived—” Faeth smirked wickedly as she switched tacks and instead gripped his waistband with strong fingers. “—it feels so easy. You make it so easy. Please, Faeth, please gods tell me again—”

The breeches shredded apart in her hands like wet paper as she tore them down the middle. His cock slapped heavily against his stomach as it sprang free, achingly hard, and Gale gasped for breath as he processed what she’d done. 

“Good boy, asking for what you want,” she said, and his face contorted in pleasure. She wrapped her fingers around him and pumped, his flushed skin already slick. “It’s so easy for you to be good for me because this is what you’re good for. Shaking and moaning so pretty while I ruin you.”

“Gods above, ” he swore, the tendons in his neck working visibly as his head hit the back of the chair. She licked a broad stripe from the root of him to the tip, then sucked the head past her lips. He made a sound like she’d stabbed him. As she gently bobbed her head, his cock grazing the roof of her mouth, he struggled uselessly against his bonds to push deeper. “You make me new. I’m undone. You burn me.”

The heat simmering in her belly scorched her. Fuck it. She released him with a kiss and deftly rose to her feet, his eyes enormous as they followed her. She peeled her tunic over her head, tossing it aside, and then balled her fists in the fabric of his shirt.

“If we get out of this alive,” she panted, “I’m buying you one of these in every color.” With a brutal yank, she ripped the luxurious flannel in half, letting the remnants hang off of his shoulders and frame the lush expanse of his naked torso. She stepped forward to straddle the chair and slowly, slowly sank down onto him, pressing her tits to his face as his cock found her entrance. He mouthed hot, open kisses to every inch of skin he could reach, straining against his pinned arms. 

Finally, she settled against his hips, full of him, face to face. The delicious stretch of taking him, the tension and trust and ecstasy thick between them, the way their closeness let her feel his pounding heartbeat as if it were her own—she felt incandescent. Like they were two halves of a cosmic circuit, finally connected.

She slipped a hand to the nape of his neck and gripped a handful of sweat-damp hair, bringing him closer. “I didn’t say stop.”

“Faeth,” he panted, eyes glassy. “Faeth, Faeth.” Gods, he was gone.

“Yes, say my name,” she growled. She ground their hips together, pushing him deeper into her again and again. 

His chant on her name grew breathier, more frantic, as she rocked against him. Colors exploded against her eyelids as the combination of their angle and position stimulated every conceivable part of her, and she had to grip the rungs of the chair for support. He was babbling now, syllables spilling from him in nonsensical strings, and she felt his abs clench beneath her.

“So close.” She tugged hard on his hair again and he keened, eyes fluttering. “You’re so close, I can feel it. Show me how much you love this.”

His mouth tried to form words, but they eluded him. She tightened her grip. “Thank me for fucking wrecking you.”

“Tha—thank you,” he groaned. 

“Thank you for what?” she ground out, riding him harder.

The pink blush dusting his cheekbones deepened red. “Thank you for fucking wrecking me.”

“Perfect. Come, you fucking come, ” she urged into his mouth as she crushed their lips together. His moan reverberated through her as he arched off the chair, waves of pleasure wracking his body.

The familiar, acrid rush of magic flooded the air around them, but she was ready for it this time. She let the sour, numbing force flow through her and into her parasite, which wriggled happily in response. With gritted teeth, she reached into the illithid bond between her and Gale and pulled . 

Her stomach lurched and a metaphysical wind rushed in her ears as their minds touched for a brief moment. The cacophony of two consciousnesses overlapping, plus mindflayer tadpoles and a Netherese fragment, felt like a brawl in a too-full tavern. This probably wasn’t the most elegant way of doing what she wanted to do, upon reflection, but she was already here. 

She gripped the chair white-knuckle hard as she gathered her detailed recollections of their night—every gaze he’d thrown at her, every moan she’d pulled from him, how she’d savored each precious one—and pushed them from her mind into his. She could feel his confusion as he tried to get his bearings in yet another moment of chaos, but as she slotted her memories into place next to his own, the warm glow of his delight suffused everything.

Exhausted but satisfied, she released the connection and sent them reeling back into their bodies. She was slumped onto his shoulder, sweat cooling on their skin in the night air. 

Gale panted, his head thrown back as his gasping breaths slowly calmed. She smiled against him, peppering his neck with kisses as they came down. “Did you have fun?”

Gale chuckled roughly. “To put it mildly, yes. And I’m touched that you asked. That’s a novelty.”

A brief flare of sadness and anger burned through her in response to his surprise. She sat up and gently captured his mouth, still a little unsteady. 

“I love you,” she said, bumping their foreheads together, “but even if you were just a handsome stranger I met in a tavern, I would still care that you had a good time.” His eyes shone suspiciously bright as he took in her face, and it occurred to her that she should probably get him somewhere comfortable. 

“I’ll get you untangled, and then we can soak in the spring for a while before we go to sleep. How does that sound?” 

“Like paradise.”

She carefully stood up and got to work. In the middle of untying his arms, it occurred to her that these were only illusory ropes. He could have dismissed them at any point—he was choosing to let her do this for him. Somehow, after everything they’d just done, the brush of her fingers against his skin as she freed him became more intimate still. She helped him to his feet and the shreds of his clothes fell around him in a heap. They both laughed.

Some giddy stumbling in the dark later, Faeth settled into his lap on a ledge by the lip of the spring. The hot water lapped at their chests, warming them against the midnight chill. Gale had summoned some kind of light source and set it to glow from the bottom of the pool, illuminating the entire cave in ethereal, swirling light. 

He drew her as close as he could, one bronze arm wrapping around her waist as they relaxed into the steam. They sat together, cozied up, just enjoying.

“You were radiant tonight,” she finally murmured. “And you set up the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, just for us. I’m so lucky.”

He ducked his head, hiding a bashful smile. “Impossible. The fortune is mine.” She pecked a kiss to his forehead, and he squeezed her closer. His voice was hesitant, as if he didn’t know where to begin. “What I asked of you tonight, what you gave me… it was like nothing I’ve experienced. I feel as though I wouldn’t want this every time, if that’s amenable? But sometimes, certainly.”

“Of course it’s amenable ,” she scoffed, before checking herself. The last thing he needed was to feel like she was condescending to him, right when he was speaking up. “I feel the same way, for what it’s worth. I’m grateful you told me.”

Shifting her in his arms, he kissed up her neck and into her hair.

“And I love when you kiss my hair,” she sighed. “No one’s done that before.”

She felt him smile before dropping two more kisses to her temple. “An unthinkable oversight.” 

As she leaned back to look at him, he skimmed a hand down her arm and lifted it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the tender skin at the crook of her elbow. She inhaled sharply. He kissed the inside of her wrist, the taut muscle of her shoulder, the back of her neck. His touch was intimate, searching, but there was no raw edge to it. There wasn’t a further destination for his attention. He was just—kissing her. Because he wanted to kiss her, and he wanted her to feel kissed. She followed his path with rapt attention, taken completely aback.

“I don’t receive the impression,” he said, lips trailing along her knuckles as he met her eyes, “that you are accustomed to being adored.” Her chest squeezed, hard. 

“I’m not,” she confessed. “Like I said. You’re the first.”

He gave her hand a final kiss before covering it with his own. “I suppose we’re both learning a new touch, in that case. I’m glad to be your tutor—even if it destroys me to think of you un-cherished all those years.”

“Are you? Accustomed to it, I mean,” she stumbled, unsure if this was pressing too far.

He paused. His fingers rubbed over the back of her hand meditatively for a few moments. “I… perhaps. Perhaps not, actually. It’s difficult to say.” She gave him an encouraging look, eager to learn as much as he wanted to tell her. His gaze drifted as he seemed to gather his thoughts.

“Do you remember how you told me your story? ‘Once there was a wizard,’ like it was a legend?” she asked. “Maybe a bit of narrative distance will make it easier.” He squeezed her fingers gratefully, coming back to the present moment with a small smile.

“I’m sure this is hardly the post-coital conversation you imagined,” he deflected, “but, if it’s truly all right—” She adjusted herself in his embrace, pulling his hand into her lap and making a show of getting comfortable.

“Once there was a wizard,” he began, falling into the familiar rhythm of his storytelling, “a young wizard, a prodigy who had known the Weave since his first breath. His prowess, as you know, drew the attention of the goddess of magic herself. She pulled him out of his tower, out of the mortal realm in which he felt so shackled, and rewarded his talents with what every young man craves: power, and sex.” His voice grew harsh on the last syllable in a way that sent a twinge of worry through her. She squeezed his hand, and he returned it with a deep breath.

“Their first night together set his heart aflame. She swore that not only would he be her Chosen, he would be favored above all others. He would gain power beyond his wildest reckoning, and at the same time, share the delights of her celestial bed. The young wizard abandoned all else and threw himself into the challenge, determined to uncover more of Mystra’s secrets than any before him.”

“How young?” asked Faeth, gently. “You keep saying it. How old were y—was the wizard when all of this happened?”

“The wizard had completed his education by then, so just shy of his twentieth birthday,” Gale replied. Bile rose at the back of her throat. Sure, she’d had plenty of sex when she was that age—with other young adepts. A nineteen year old wizard and the immortal deity controlling his access to magic felt repulsive as a pairing. And Mystra had sought him out? Faeth fought to maintain a neutral expression.

“That is quite young, you’re right,” she stated, carefully. “Thank you for humoring me; please continue.”

“At first, Mystra visited him every night, it seemed, to show him more of the Weave and more of her affections. He grew stronger with each passing day and began to earn renown among his fellow wizards. For some, that renown even came with invitations to dinner, to their estates, to their bedchambers. The wizard spurned them all. In his heart, he was a married man. How could he betray the goddess who gave him everything, who filled his days with excitement and his nights with pleasure? How would he even explain this to a mortal lover, if he took one?”

“He didn’t tell anyone,” she breathed, her veins icing over.

“No,” he emphasized. “But some other Chosen he met, older sages, knew. They warned the wizard that great men had been driven to madness by the caprice of Mystra’s whims, but he didn’t listen. And then, years later, the young man found that his nights were more frequently spent alone. He found Mystra distracted, the ecstasy of her full attention gone, her indulgence turned to annoyance. She moved on, to whom or what, he didn’t know. And he was ordinary again. Alone, yet still hopelessly in love.”

“And that was when he sought the piece of Weave from Karsus’ Folly,” she surmised. “To get her attention.”

“Indeed. A grave mistake. One that cast him out of her good graces entirely, leaving him a mere fraction of the archmage who once commanded such respect.” His free hand drifted absentmindedly across his chest. “Not that it mattered. In all likelihood, he would be dead soon.”

“Can I say?” she interjected, breaking his roman a clef framing to speak plainly. “What she did wasn't love, and what you did wasn't folly. You were just barely a man, and she was a goddess. What happened with the Netherese tome—maybe it was some of your hubris, sure, but it was also her carelessness. One person in this story should have known better, and it wasn’t you.”

His brown eyes, fathomless in the dark of the cave, gazed back at her in contemplative silence. She pressed on. “Look, I’m not a magic user. You know I can’t relate much to the way you talk about the Weave, even if I love to listen to you. But I did let your orb into my brain about an hour ago—”

“You what? ” he spluttered.

“—I bargained with it to make our minds touch so I could copy my memories of tonight into you, which we do need to talk about because I have a point to make. Anyway,” she bulldozed on, “I got a taste of what using magic is like. It’s intoxicating; I felt like I could knock out a bugbear with my left hand. I completely understand why you wanted more of it. You know who else understands that craving, probably better than anyone? The goddess of magic. She toyed with you, knowing you needed her for everything and she didn’t need you at all.” 

Gale stared at her, his lips parted and his brow drawn down in shock. She wasn’t sure he’d heard a word she’d said after admitting she’d communed with the orb. “I—I assumed that was another accident. You channeled a burst of Netherese magic through the mindflayer tadpole in your brain,” he clarified, “with absolutely no training or safety measures, so that I could have your memories of our lovemaking?”

“Yes.”

“Why? ”

“You need to see them,” she explained, exasperated. “I don’t want you to think I’m ‘doing you a favor,’ as you said, when you give me control, so I'm showing you my end of things. I’m guessing you haven’t looked at them?”

“No,” he sighed, swiping a hand down his face, “no, I’ve been quite occupied.”

“Please, beloved,” she wheedled, drawing out the endearment. “I know it’s been a long night, but just—please, let me show you. Close your eyes.” 

With a long-suffering exhale, he let his eyes slip closed. “Thank you,” she said. She took a deep breath, in and out, and he reluctantly followed her cue. “Imagine kneeling in front of that chair. Remember how the ropes felt under your hands.” 

Gale let out a small gasp. It had worked. His eyes darted behind his eyelids, reliving the memories she’d planted in him.

“What emotion comes to you, looking at the person who let you tie them up?” she asked, after a few moments. She was improvising from how she used to lead guided meditations for pilgrims, a skill she desperately hoped would translate.

“Joy,” his deep voice answered immediately. “I’m happy, grateful. I love him.”

“You tell him he’s good, right? Why do you say that?”

“Because he is. And my heart aches with how badly he needs to know it—” He tensed under her and she scrambled to face him head-on, straddling his legs and throwing her arms around him. 

“Would you ever hurt him?” she urged.

“No. Never.”

“Of course not. So, how much control does he really have right now, tied up in that chair?”

He took a slow, deep breath. His eyebrows raised in surprise. “A- all of it.”

“Why?”

“Because he trusts me.”

“Yes. Yes, you’ve got it.”

“And I would go to the ends of Faerûn to keep his trust. It's the most precious thing he could give me.”

“That’s right." She leaned closer; he was almost there. "And how do you feel about that? Is it a burden?”

“No. Not a burden,” he scoffed. Realization dawned on his features. His eyes flew open as he clutched her face in his hands. “It’s a privilege.”

“Exactly,” she beamed, and their lips crashed together with thrilling finality. If she tasted a wayward bit of salt on his skin, she didn’t comment on it, but she did hug him tighter. 

“I understand,” he finally said, brushing his nose against hers as they broke apart. “I need some time before I can discuss it further, but I understand everything, sweet creature. Thank you.”

“Of course,” she soothed. “The night’s getting on. Let’s go to bed.”

Hand in hand, they trailed back into the magnificent room he’d conjured, to the oversized bed under the stars. The moon was at its highest, shining cool and silver among the soft darkness of the night sky, and its beams threw every texture into stark relief as he threw back the many blankets and let them slide in among the pillows. She turned on her side and he pressed himself along her back, nestling their bodies together and hitching one of his legs over her hip. 

“Sleep well, my heart,” he rumbled. “I shall be here when you wake.”

“As will I, you’ve made sure of that,” she chuckled, although she drew his leg further around her all the same. “Goodnight, Gale.”

“Goodnight.”

Exhausted in every capacity, with Gale’s soft breath rhythmic against the back of her neck, she slid into a deep sleep. For the first night in what felt like aeons, she did not dream of anything at all.

Chapter Text

The first blush of dawn spilled pale light into the room on top of the mountain, and Gale stirred. He opened his eyes, already thinking of how lovely it would be to kiss Faeth awake—but his arms clutched around nothing on the sheets in front of him. 

Alone, hissed a voice from the cold depths of his subconscious. No matter what. Nothing changes.

Panic rose in his throat. After everything they’d talked about, how hard he’d tried, he still couldn’t stop it from happening again—

A strong arm tightened around his ribcage. He froze. He noticed long hair tickling the back of his neck and spilling over his shoulder, shining silver in the weak sunlight, and a wave of relief crashed through him as his foggy senses finally registered the solid weight of Faeth’s body along his back. She held him in much the same way he had when they’d drifted off, with her arm wrapped around him and one leg thrown possessively over his hip. Every muscle in his body relaxed into her embrace. They needed to get back to camp early before the day’s raid on Rosymorn, but not just yet. He could let himself have this just a little while longer. 

He delicately rested his hand on hers where it spread over his stomach, careful not to wake her. It had been two days now since he’d confessed his affections, and the sweet shock of her reciprocation still hadn’t worn off. He thought he’d done a thorough job of laying out all the reasons he was a poor choice—the arrogance, the fall from on high, the death sentence simmering bright and angry in his chest—but still, she was here, contented and tranquil in the bed he’d made for them, the heat of her skin mingling with his own. Miraculous.

In another life, a gentler one, he could have wooed her properly. Waited to hold her hand until after dinner; written her verses instead of reciting someone else’s. They could have healed together in the slow way love changes people. His girl—she deserved softness, yet had seemingly never known it. Even last night, when all he did was trail his lips over her skin, she’d looked at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes, as though he’d just invented the kiss. If he could only survive their adventure, he would spend the rest of his days proving that his arms were a safe place to rest. 

He startled, inhaling sharply. How long had it been since he’d actually wished to survive something?

She stirred out of sleep behind him with a tender little groan, and he pressed her hand to his stomach to keep it in place. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” came her sleep-rough voice from over his shoulder, and a giddy thrill shot through him at the endearment. “Are you comfortable? Sorry, I kind of grappled you.”

“My dearest, I have never been more at ease in my life,” he murmured, only slightly embellishing. She hummed happily, but her hand still shifted on his stomach and he couldn’t bear the loss of her touch so soon.

“Stay with me.” He felt her breath catch behind him for a beat. Suddenly, she ensnared him, there was no other verb for it—her other arm burrowing under his armpit to wrap around his chest and her leg twining around his like a judo hold. Her lips pressed warm and insistent to the back of his neck once, twice, but she said nothing. A long sigh escaped him as he melted into her embrace.

“What were you thinking about?” she finally asked, in that infinitely soft tone she took when she was worried about him.

“I was mourning a beginning for us that didn’t involve mindflayers or angry deities,” he admitted, sparing her the details of how he got there. “One where, perhaps, we met in line at the bakery, or browsing at a bookshop."

“That sounds nice. Maybe we would have reached for the same volume of Chaucer at the same time.” 

He breathed a laugh. “In my imagining, it was Astrophil and Stella, but I’ll concede you a bit of Chaucer.”

She kissed his shoulder. “How would you have charmed me in said bookshop?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’d be swooned by sweet nothings in Old Common?”

“It’s improbable,” she answered drily. Not impossible, though, he noted for a later date. How would Different Gale go about enticing Different Faeth?

“I would offer to let you have the book,” he speculated, “and you would, of course, refuse my charity. I would bend to your wishes, but say that my pride required that I at least invite you for a libation as a sign of my gratitude. Perhaps my favorite little mead house, just around the corner?”

Faeth squeezed him tighter, a rare giggle bubbling up from her chest. Her cheek felt hotter against his back—he’d made her blush. With a pang, he realized that she’d likely never been invited for drinks outside of the fantasy they were building. 

“And when you weren’t looking,” he continued, “I would slip the Chaucer into your bag anyway. With my tower’s address in the frontispiece, and a note saying that I only accept returns in person.”

“Sir, for shame, I am a lady,” she exclaimed in self-deprecating mock indignation, and he laughed even as his heart ached a little more. To him, she was a lady. Worthier by half than any of the upper crust he’d encountered. “Being plied with mead and given indecent invitations by strange wizards? What of my honor?”

“Oh, nevermind the gossip, my love, I’d make an honest woman of you posthaste,” he said before the words registered in his distracted brain.

Gods above. He’d just offhandedly suggested that he would marry her. 

He would. Obviously. But traditionally, one waited more than 48 hours before broaching the topic. And now he’d ruined a perfectly good morning, as her silence behind him certainly confirmed.

“Hmm.” She rested her chin on his shoulder. Here it came, the gentle letdown, and he braced for its arrival. 

“You know something?” she mused, a curious lilt in her voice. “I genuinely believe you would.”

Deep in the whirring machinery of Gale’s brain, something skipped a gear. 

“By the Weave, the sun rises ever higher! We must get back to camp,” he said briskly, perhaps louder than intended. “There will be more time for lovers’ talk after we find whatever macabre device Lae’zel insists is in this crèche. Come.”

Faeth, mercifully, didn’t comment, but spun him in her arms and kissed the breath out of him before rolling out of bed and padding away toward the illusory wall and the cave exit beyond. He stumbled to his feet and followed behind, shamelessly appreciating the roll of her hips. Her back, as well—he’d never even considered a back could be alluring, but hers was such a contrast between corded muscle and feminine softness that it held his fascination.

They emerged into the morning light, and Gale held up a hand against the bright, hateful sun. Faeth was gathering her clothes from where he’d laid them out yesterday (a faint shiver ran up his spine at the memory), shimmying back into the billowy garments that made up her daily wear. He dressed quickly, layering his clothes on as usual, but as he shrugged into his cloak, an unfamiliar weight in his pocket made him realize he’d forgotten something vital.

“Faeth!” he exclaimed, pacing over to her as she cinched the belt on her gi. She whipped to face him at once, dark green eyes startled and curious. 

“I didn’t mean to perturb,” he amended, embarrassed, “I realized I have one more gift to give you, if you’ll allow me.” She smiled, that quick half-smile that had a way of scattering his thoughts, and he rummaged around in his robe until his fingers closed over leather and brass.

“The final piece of my repentance.” He withdrew the roll containing her hair kit and held it out to her on upturned palms. 

She seized the roll from him and inspected it. “There’s no way. I thought this was— I couldn’t find it anywhere! How many favors did you call in?”

He laughed, ducking his head. “For that? None. Just meticulous cleaning and a liberal application of Mending. It was the least I could do.”

Her fingers closed around the roll as she considered his words. Meeting his eyes with a happy gleam, she kissed the leather before stowing it in her pocket. His heart fluttered in his chest. 

“I suppose it’s time for you to throw me through a magic door again?” she asked, sarcasm not quite masking her trepidation.

“I intended it as more of a waltz across the threshold, honestly, but yes.” He withdrew a scroll from his robe (no reason to exert his own power so early in the day) and recited its incantation. The parchment dissolved into a fine, silvery mist in his hands, which swirled through the air and materialized as a phantasmal archway. He extended his hand to her and she took it, palm clammy as it pressed against his.

“Together. Ready?” he asked, squeezing her fingers between his. She nodded. With confident step, he led them into the veil of Weave and out the other side, leaves and pebbles crunching under their feet as they landed in the forest at the foot of the mountain. 

He felt Faeth tremble beside him with a ragged exhale on her breath, and pulled her into a tight embrace. His back hit the rock face behind him as he supported her weight. It was humbling, exhilarating, and anxiety-inducing all at once, showing her the Weave. There was no telling how she’d react to any given spell—for example, despite her stout constitution, teleportation made her green around the gills. He wouldn’t spirit her away to such a remote height again. 

At least illusions seemed to suit her very well, he thought with a smirk. 

“Got your sea legs once more?” he asked, rubbing her back in small circles, as she’d done for him.

“Hurgh,” she responded. 

“There’s my venturesome warrior.” She planted a hand on the granite next to Gale’s head, pushing herself to meet him eye to eye. Even with a sheen of nervous sweat sticking strands of hair to her forehead, she was the loveliest thing in all the planes. She regarded him with an incredulous grin, but the set of her brow grew serious as she spoke. 

“I am your warrior. If things go sideways at this damned crèche—as they probably will—stay close. Promise me. I’ll protect my bookworm.”

He opened his mouth to defend his legendary reputation as an archmage, thank you so very much,  but a flicker of something new and raw in her expression held his tongue.

Fear. The same woman he’d seen punch a gnoll to death just days prior now balked at losing him. That was… a lot to take in, actually.

“I question if one wizard with bad knees is worthy of so much of your attention on the battlefield” he deflected in his smoothest delivery, pulling her in by her waist. “But, there is no place more honored for me than at your hand. You have my word.”

He slid his mouth over hers, eager to soothe her jangling nerves. She made a soft little noise in the back of her throat, and he deepened his kiss to chase it. 

“Oh, sweet Faeth,” he murmured, turning them so that she leaned against the wall and his body covered hers. “I’m here; I’m well. I know the weight of everything that’s befallen us is heavy, but we shall not be crushed. Not today.”

Between kisses, she spoke up in a timid voice. “Can you— would you mind saying it? Before we go back. I need to hear it.” 

His heart squeezed so hard that he thought it might stop entirely. He flattened his hands against the wall on either side of her head, barely brushing their noses together.

“I love you.” Her shoulders relaxed and she tipped her forehead against his, resting. “I loved you yesterday, I love you today, and I will love you—” 

Into the horizon of all time . Beyond where the gods can reach us. Until my wretched, unworthy heart beats its last. “—tomorrow.” 

“I love you. Thanks, sorry, I— thanks. We should get going,” she sighed. 

“No need for apologies, I’ll take any and all opportunities to sweeten your ear,” he grinned, worry still knitting his brow. As they set off down the path back to camp, he kept her hand tight in his. 

The journey to Rosymorn Monastery was smooth, if bleak. The sand-blasted landscape offered little shade from the heat of the day, so the shade of the abandoned temple felt like cool water on Gale’s skin as they hurried past the imposing doors and through the vaulted ruins. Corpses already scattered the floor, he noticed, both old and fresh. 

“Awfully violent sort,” he muttered. 

“Correct,” Lae’zel barked, although her shoulders straightened with pride. “Deny your nature and try not to waste time on idle prattle. There will be time to teach you the full history of the gith after we are purified.”

Gale actually quite liked the sound of a gith history lesson, but he also knew he was the only one who seemed at all interested in Lae’zel’s people. To belong among the astral plane, outside of physics, yet be trapped in this dirty little rock in a backwater galaxy—what a tragedy. She was young and fiery, sure, but the yearning under her bluster was deeply familiar. 

As they descended the long, crumbling steps into the bowels of the temple, Faeth appeared at his side. 

“We’re about to meet the guards,” she said. “Beyond this point, I have no idea what’s waiting for us.”

“Sounds like business as usual,” he answered, brushing a comforting hand down the small of her back. A tight chuckle escaped her. “We didn’t get this far by mere fortune. The lanceboard is set; let’s face our opponent head on.”

She ducked to kiss his cheekbone, lightning fast and feather light, before speeding up to address the two hulking githyanki guarding the entrance. With some smooth talk—and some decidedly rougher talk from an indignant Lae’zel—the four of them were ushered through into the crèche’s inner sanctum. Go I know not whither and fetch I know not what , he mused as they sped through the crumbling ruins. 

At the end of the torch-lit hallway, a door crackled with warding magic behind a cluster of quarreling, ornately adorned githyanki, who turned to look at them with suspicious scowls as they drew closer.  Faeth cast a look at him over her shoulder from the front of the pack, where Lae’zel was already engaging the delegation in heated conversation. He winked back. She smiled. 

Hours later, singed, battered, and thoroughly confused about whose side their party was on in the grand scheme of things, Gale staggered into the low evening sunlight. They’d all survived, thank the gods. Or, thank Faeth. He wasn’t sure who he believed in more at the moment. 

Yes, I am , he corrected himself as he beheld Faeth’s strapping form perched on a rock up the path in front of him, swinging her legs. Backlit by the sunset as she was, flushed and triumphant, smiling down at him, the very thrum of the universe seemed to radiate from her. The fervor she inspired in him felt more primal than any deity in the pantheon. She was the spark of life embodied.

“I’m proud of us! We helped Lae’zel renounce her entire ideology and destroy a spooky medical device with her brain,” she cheered down at him, Shadowheart, and a sulky Lae’zel. “Let’s get a move on, I’m starving. What’s Wyll got going for dinner, do you think?”

“Whatever it is, it would have been better if Gale made it,” Shadowheart grumbled. Even through the thick fog of his exhaustion, the compliment genuinely warmed his heart. He took on the cooking most nights because he simply enjoyed it, not for praise, but it was always a delight to hear that one’s efforts were appreciated. Faeth hopped down from her rock as they passed, taking his hand as naturally as if they’d been lovers for years, and the party dragged themselves homeward.

“You were transcendent,” he murmured to her. “I shall never tire of watching you on the battlefield.” Shadowheart, sensing things were about to get sentimental, rolled her eyes and hurried ahead to join Lae’zel at the front of the pack. 

“Oh, well. I’ve had forty-ish years of practice, I should hope I can put on a show at this point,” she demurred. Her ruddy cheeks glowed pinker as his approval sank in. 

“Indeed you can. I especially enjoyed when you pummeled that big fellow to the ground and then kicked him into the path of my fireball. Your fine eyes were brightened by the exercise.”

“I know that’s from Austen, you audacious flirt,” she moaned, throwing her head back, although a broad smile split her face. His heart leaped in his chest. 

As they passed through the narrow gorge that led from the sandy cliffs to their wooded campground, however, a familiar silhouette appeared in the middle of the path, and that same heart plummeted into his feet.

“Gale Dekarios!” called the cloaked, pointy-hatted figure.

“Is your last name Dekarios? I thought it was just ‘of Waterdeep,’” Faeth said with a furrowed brow.

“It is. I suppose it hasn’t come up, has it?” he replied, shoulders tensing with apprehension as they neared Elminster.

“We’ve had… other things on our minds,” she conceded, squeezing his hand in comfort. “For the record, mine’s Endureth.”

“Your full name is Faeth Endureth ?” He whipped his head to her, incredulous. 

“Take it up with the committee of priests who chose it, not me,” she groused. This was clearly a conversation she’d had many, many times before. “I’m just glad I don’t have a middle name, it’d probably be ‘Aeternam’ or something equally pious—”

“Ho there, wanderer.” Elminster was suddenly directly in front of them, startling the group. He was lucky Lae’zel didn’t immediately stab him on principle. “Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man.”

“Elminster,” Gale addressed him. The sage regarded him with evident pity as he took Gale in. He hasn’t seen me like this , he realized with a bitter flood of shame. He expected Gale the archmage, not Gale the disfavored, tadpoled embarrassment. As he tried in vain to extract any useful information from Elminster about the nature of his visit, Faeth’s brow furrowed skeptically at his old friend’s flowery language. 

“ She sent me,” Elminster finally confided in a hushed, reverent voice.“You know of whom I speak.” Faeth laced her fingers even tighter around his. The air rushed out of his lungs. Drowning, he was drowning. Just when he’d taken his first uncertain steps onto the shore of a new life, the vast sea of his past mistakes sucked him back into its icy depths. 

Around him, he vaguely noticed his companions talking to Elminster, entertaining his florid demands for wine and cheese back at camp with much more grace than he expected of them. Faeth gently tugged his dazed footsteps along as they traversed the short remaining distance together. 

“I’m here beside you,” she whispered into his ear, “but you’re in charge. Remember that. This is your story. No one else can write it, not me, not whoever your friend is, and especially not her .” She spat the last word with vitriol the likes of which he’d never seen from Faeth, and her indignation on his behalf gave him a sticking place on which to screw his courage. 

“I’m in charge,” he repeated, the words foreign in his mouth. 

“Damn fucking right you are. Lead the way, and I’ll follow you anywhere.” A knot of hope and anger and grief and gratitude tightened in his throat. 

“You are where my compass points,” he managed. “Let’s see what urgent business has Mystra sending Elminster after me like a foxhound.”

It was, well. Not exactly what he feared, but close to it. 

Redemption, Elminster called it. What she considers to be forgiveness.

That the Absolute was strong enough to pose a threat to the Weave came as a genuine shock. An even greater shock, however, was the revelation that Mystra had the power to pause the orb’s hungry progress through his soul. As Elminster’s eyes glowed white and magic’s once-comforting violet tendrils swirled around and through him, a new and unfamiliar indignation gathered steam. This whole time—she could have saved him. She could have stopped his suffering at any moment with a wave of the same ageless hand he’d once kissed. The only reason she wasn’t just leaving him to die was that now, she wanted him to die to protect her.

And to protect everyone else, ostensibly. But he knew better than to assign altruism to gods. 

Elminster enunciated the last syllable of his spell, and the swirling threads of Weave around him crackled with energy. Gale closed his eyes and braced himself. Whatever pain and suffering would be necessary to earn this reprieve from his folly would surely be great.

Instead, he felt five soft fingertips trail over his heart, inside his heart, in a lingering caress from a familiar touch. In its wake, the arcane hunger that had wracked him for years simply drained from his chest like a fading headache. His blood ran cold. Less than a tenday ago, the promises contained in that touch would have inspired him to throw himself into the heart of the Absolute without a moment’s thought. Now, though—he turned to look at Faeth, at the worry simmering behind her stoic features. Her feet were planted firmly on the patchy grass, heels digging into the dirt. Faeth Endureth. Faith endures. 

Saving Faerûn wasn’t up to him alone, no matter what the goddess of magic charged him with. Mystra had no conception of how utterly his circumstances had truly changed.

“To you,” Elminster turned to Faeth and her brows arched skyward, “I commit into care Gale himself. I count on you to shepherd him well on this strangest of journeys.”

“I am only his keeper as far as he is willing to be kept,” she returned sharply, folding her arms and squaring her broad shoulders. “And I am not inclined to accept any charge of yours, given that you’ve just told him to kill himself to appease a goddess I intend to fight immediately after we take care of the Absolute. Gale has already made clear that he’ll consider his options, and he can do as he wishes, but I will do everything in my power to show him the world is better with him in it. In plain speech: Mystra can get bent, and you can tell her I said so.”

Elminster reeled back a step, and Gale tried to cover his shocked laugh with a coughing fit. The spine on her could break rocks. Over Elminster’s shoulder, he saw Karlach give Faeth an enthusiastic thumbs-up. 

“The goddess of magic’s demands are not so easily shirked, my girl—” Elminster spluttered. Oh, old friend, appeal to authority combined with condescension was not the strategy for this one.

“It seems they are, actually,” she shrugged. “If Mystra wants me involved, she can walk her tender feet down here and pitch me on it. Or, she can just let me turn into a mindflayer. Until then—thanks for fixing Gale, I guess. Ilmater save you.”

Elminster sighed and looked at Gale beseechingly. Gale simply shook his head. By the stars, he loved her so. His big scary monk, ready to roundhouse kick magic itself on his behalf. Logically, the consequences of mouthing off to a divine messenger should have worried him—but he was only a man, and she was making it very challenging not to whisk her back up that mountain. His blood rushed southward so fast that it made him a little dizzy. 

“Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days,” he intoned in the practiced rhythm so familiar in his speech. “And yet—a notion born in lonely hours—come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself.”

The bearded wizard shot Faeth a meaningful glance. “Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.” He turned back to Gale, chagrin plain on his features. “Farewell, my friend.”

“Farewell, Elminster,” Gale returned, letting his voice soften with sincerity. Even if his message was grim, he was still relieved to see his old companion in the midst of this ordeal. It was nice to remember that he had friends. “I’m glad she chose you.”

With a tip of his pointed hat, Elminster vanished in an abrupt swirl of Weave. 

It seemed everyone in camp released a breath at once. Gale felt the pitying stares of his companions—and the curious glances some darted at Faeth. Accustomed as he was to public speaking, he just didn’t have the strength at the moment. The inside of his head was deafeningly loud, too many overlapping thoughts converging on his awareness at once, the pulse of his need too urgent. He unfurled his fingers from where they’d been clenched in a fist at his side, and she slid her hand into his. 

“You should have some time to process, I think. Do you want me to leave you to it?” she murmured, so low that only he could hear.

“No. No, I desire your company— if you don’t mind, that is,” he sighed, unable to miss how the firelight threw her delicate features into contrast with the blunt lines of her exquisite face. This was the most alive he’d felt in years. He would make her scream tonight. She squeezed his fingers in acquiescence, and he led them over to the grassy alcove where he’d pitched his cozy tent. 

“Go ahead and start dinner, but don’t you dare eat it all, Halsin!” she called behind her. 

As soon as the indigo tent flap closed behind them, Gale flicked his fingers and lit the clusters of candles scattered around his tent. He lifted a hand and recited his last spell for the day. A translucent dome of magic shimmered outward and disappeared into the humid evening air. 

“What was that?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Privacy,” he breathed, stepping into her space with the desperation of a man starved. She sucked in a breath of surprise when their eyes met, but he covered her mouth with his before she could analyze him.

“Mm!” Her curious noise reverberated through his lips and into his chest as he kissed her hard, one hand threading fingers into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. She’d left it down today instead of pulling it into her usual braids, and the effect in battle had been breathtaking. She’d become a silver comet of fists and rage like one of the war god’s valkyries, streaking across the vaulted marble chamber in a flurry of violence. Without the sucking ache in his chest dulling his thoughts, every detail of her felt new, bright, urgent.

“Finally, I can love you as a whole man,” he gasped, barely able to keep from kissing her long enough to convey his intentions. “For however long we have. I can’t bear to waste a moment, I must have you—“

“Don’t say that,” she pleaded, clutching his robes. “We have so much time, Gale, you don’t have to do as she says, we’ll find another way.”

He cupped her face in his hands. Her dark green eyes shone with unshed tears, knocking the breath out of his chest. It was strange to be loved, really loved. His problems weren’t his own anymore. 

“I am selfish,” he admitted, softly. “You know this. Between the fate of Faerûn and another brief hour with you, I could not choose Faerûn. Not unless there was truly no other way to save you.”

“There will be another way. We will find it. I won’t lose you.”

He kissed her again, softly this time, a silent promise. She finally relaxed into him as she understood. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and traced a hot line along his bottom lip, making his heart pound and his cock grow insistent in his breeches.

“What was it you said to me?” she whispered, pupils blown wide. “Devour me.”

“As you wish,” he smirked. He tumbled to lay on his bedroll, pulling her to land on top of him, and they yanked their clothes away until the full length of her naked body finally pressed against his. The sensation of her soft skin against the head of his cock made his hips jerk, and she bit his lip in response. Much more clumsily than she ever seemed to manage it, he flipped them over so that he hovered inches above her face, her splayed legs wrapping around his hips.

“Do you want me to teach you how to do that?” she asked, merriment shining in her features even as a flush crept up the column of her throat.

“Someday,” he agreed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “In this moment, however,” as he lined up with her entrance, “I would take you. Completely. Make you mine in my bed.”

He slid the first impossibly tight inches into her, pausing to let her accommodate him. He didn’t hold any grand illusions about his size, mind, he just hadn’t taken the time to warm her up as he preferred. From the gasp that escaped her, he surmised he’d made the right choice in going slowly.

“You hung every star in the sky,” he told her, capturing her half-lidded gaze. “You set the sun and the moon in motion; you coaxed the shore apart from the sea.”

“I didn’t. I’m just a temple adept from the Sunset Mountains,” she countered. Her green eyes never left his, didn’t seem to blink as she took him in.

“You did. I was there. I’m here still, watching you remake the universe around me.” Cautiously, he pressed in further still, burying himself deeper inside her. His arms shook from the effort of restraining himself, but he wouldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t. “The very fabric of reality seems to bend to your will. Neither sages nor deities mean a thing to my girl.”

She was silent for a moment, stealing eager hands along his back and tugging him closer, deeper, until he sank to the hilt. He sighed heavily into her neck as he relaxed into her embrace, feeling her walls flutter and stretch around him. Her plush lips brushed against his ear. 

“Your girl?” she asked, her voice small and tentative. Damn—he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, for fear that she wouldn’t enjoy such a juvenile endearment. But, if Elminster got to say it, then certainly he did. 

And factually, it was correct, after all. They belonged to each other. 

“My girl,” he affirmed, letting his voice drop an octave, and she shuddered beneath him. Oh, he could work with this. He pulled back until they barely remained connected and then pushed into her again, grinding their hips together so she could have the pressure on her clit he knew she liked, and her knees drew up to take him in deeper. 

“No one—” her eyes fluttered and rolled as he settled into a rhythm of deep, gentle thrusts, “—no one’s ever called me that.”

“Good. My girl is mine alone,” he murmured into her ear, ducking his head into the crook of her elegant neck to kiss along her pulse point. “She feels like silk wrapped around me, hot and tight and perfect. I crave her with every beat of her heart.” 

A pleased moan resonated in her chest, and she raked her blunt nails in delicious tracks down his back. He threaded an arm behind the bend in one of her legs, hitching her knee to drape across his shoulder. Deeper, tighter, his blood thundered in his veins as she arched beneath him. Gods above, she really was flexible. 

“More,” she gasped as he pumped into her, slamming his hips home again and again until her toes curled. “Talk— please—”

“Everything my girl wants, she gets,” he growled. “The riches and wonders of the earth belong to her, and I will fetch them to lay at her feet. Her skin is fresh parchment on which to write her praise, her hair spun from moonlight, and each time she confesses to loving me, I am reborn a new and braver creation—”

“Oh fuck, fuck ,” she gasped, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders. He leaned into the pain, centering himself in it, just to hang on long enough to let her shatter. He dipped forward to let their noses brush, the new angle spreading her open even further and letting him find the secret place inside her that put an ecstatic moan on her breath.

“I love her hopelessly. I love her without ceasing. I love her because I have no other choice, but it matters not, because I would choose her above all other temptations,” he swore, his own voice ragged with need as they hurtled toward completion. “I love her most when she comes all over my cock, when she writhes and keens because I fuck her so well, oh gods, Faeth, I feel you, I can feel you coming—” 

“Yesyesyesyes,” she cried, her eyes rolling back as the first wave of pleasure wracked her frame. He closed his eyes and put all of his remaining willpower into fucking her through her orgasm, gritting his teeth as she clenched impossibly hard and wet around him until release slammed through him too. Finally, he was present for this—not worried about incinerating their surroundings, not overwhelmed by an opportunistic burst of ravenous magic. White light exploded on the edges of his vision and he moaned into her mouth, the most primitive part of his brain screaming with satisfaction as he filled her with pulse after pulse of his spend. 

He rolled to the side, her smooth limbs tangled with his hairy arms and legs as they caught their breath.  In the dim and flickering light, the flush of her cheek and the shining riot of her hair were almost too lovely to behold at once. He focused on her eyes, dark and luminous with candlelight.

“I love you,” she whispered, a cautious smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t blow yourself up.”

He huffed a laugh. “If you insist.”

“I really do.”

They held each other, talking of everything and nothing, until Faeth’s grumbling stomach insisted they join the rest of their companions for dinner and a strategy session. Tomorrow, they descended into the Underdark. 

“The stew is lovely, Wyll,” Faeth chirped as she shoveled her second bowlful into her mouth from her seat next to Shadowheart. “The bits of salami really make it."

“It’s serviceable.” He shrugged, uncharacteristically humble for the Blade of Frontiers. “It would have been better if Gale made it.”

Gale paused mid-spoonful, catching Faeth’s wide-eyed gaze, then Shadowheart’s tight-lipped expression. All at once, the three of them burst into laughter. 

He pressed a hand to his heart as their chuckling subsided, where his hunger used to gnaw. He hadn’t felt so light there in years.