Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aureliana Raiwënen stares down at the midwife, mind clouded with pain and her breath coming in heaves when she hears she’s given birth to a daughter. The child is small, wailing, and bloody.

Her mouth twists in a wry grin.

Funny, how birth is so similar to death in the heat of battle.

“Is she healthy?”

It has been her main concern, once she had realized her poor luck; elves did not have the same cycles as humans, longer between bleedings, and the realization that she was with child came months too late to do anything about it.

Her need to scratch an itch, seek release, and he’d been handsome enough, bold enough—for all her precaution, she had underestimated the renowned fecundity of halflings.

“Looks to be, my lady.”

The baby has all her fingers and toes, long ears with tips that would unfurl over the next few months but she could already see that they would be less pointed than an elf’s, and would stick out more as well. A disappointment, but one that could be overlooked, if the child inherited even half her mother’s elegance and beauty.

Fey courts are no place for infants.

The baby begins to cry, and the midwife helps her position the squirming thing at her breast, explains how to help her latch and how to break it if needed. Aureliana expects to feel…something, staring into her daughter’s face as she nursed, storm-blue eyes slipping closed.

Instead she feels…hollow. Empty of all emotion.

No love, no attachment, only the need to plan.

She’d met the shepherd around Bospir, and to the backwater she would return. It would be easy enough to ask around for the man, and once she was allowed to travel, she would be on her way.

Aureliana resents the routine she is forced into, the scant amounts of sleep and the feedings and changings—the midwives make it easier with their visits but it is not enough.

She does not bother with a name.

Three months later she is allowed to leave, and the baby goes into a woven basket as Aureliana slips into the night, a hood drawn close to hide her hair and face as she disappears, stepping out of one plane and into another. The baby doesn’t so much as cry out, but the sensation still makes Aureliana’s stomach lurch and she has to put a hand over her mouth for a few moments and breathe deeply before her body settles and she can walk without nausea.

It’s nearly winter in Cormyr, and her breath mists with each step, ears twitching for the sounds of bells around a goat’s neck or the light of a lantern among the trees.

With her sharp hearing it does not take long to find him. She moves through the mist like a spirit, soundless and light as air, and it’s only when she steps into the firelight of the halfling’s camp that he notices her at all.

“Good evening, shepherd.”

The man startles, eyes narrowed in suspicion before she draws her hood back and recognition spreads slowly over his face. “Never thought I’d see you again,” he says sharply.

“I would say the same,” she answers, because she truly had never expected to see him again. “But the world has other intentions for us, it seems, and I have a…gift for you.”

Aureliana places the basket between them, and the man peers inside.

“What the hell am I meant to do with a baby?” Loren Büller is fifty-five, and has never in his life considered children…but there’s one in his arms now, small with a shock of auburn hair that falls somewhere between his shade of brown and the gold of the elf before him.

He can’t even remember her name, and he thinks, distantly, he should feel terrible about it.

He doesn’t.

“That is for you to determine,” she says smoothly. “I will leave raising her to you, and will set measures in place for her education, should she survive to maturity.”

She’s not sure whether the baby will, not sure if a genetic mix of halfling and elf will work out or cause fatal internal issue. But if she does—

“If she does, she will come with me to court and train under me to serve as a diplomat. It is not an easy life, but I feel you will prepare her accordingly.”

The child will learn multiple languages naturally, explore the world unimpeded by the minds of men. Aureliana has seen this in her dreams, an auburn-haired child racing through the tall grass, a young woman at the eye of a storm.

“Sod that,” he snaps, but when he looks up Aureliana is already fading into the mist, as simply as she had appeared. “Hey!”

There is no reply but the gold of her hair is growing more and more distant.

“Did you give her a name?” He calls out after the elf, but the golden light is gone and only steely darkness is left. “Fuck’s sake.”

The child does not cry, but blue eyes stare up at him and he sees flint in them, cold and iron and determined.

A name comes easily.

Ferris is five, and free.

“You’ll mind your flock and turn for home when the leaves begin to color,” her father says gruffly. She only sees him in winter, but he looks tired. More than usual. “Here.”

The crook is twice her size, and a bit too heavy for her to hold, but she has learned that complaints get you nothing, even valid ones. She forces her arms to hold it upright, because it is the first thing her father has ever given her, aside from her name.

“Sheep know their way home even if you don’t,” he turns away, ready to mind his goats.

“Yes, father.”

Those two words are the first and only she says to him before they part ways. She can barely manage the crook and her arms tire quickly, palms blistering against the wood. The pack on her back helps her balance, and the sheep are content to stravage their way rather than set a quick pace.

Ferris isn’t sure where she is going, but her feet carry her anyway, and it’s only the sun setting that stops her. She can count to how many sheep she’s got in her flock, and she does so from a boulder, carefully tallying from one to thirty; no one is there to admonish her from using her fingers to do the counting. They’re all there, and she decides that the boulder is as good a place as any to sleep.

She curls up tight and wraps her blanket around herself, spring still cold enough to frost, and closes her eyes. To human eyes, she may as well be part of the boulder itself, a little lump at the top.

It’s heaven, to roam the fields and run free in summer’s golden light. Ferris finds her voice soon after, another girl with her cattle teaching her kulning. Their high, piercing cries echo across the plains, birds of prey on two legs as they bound across fields of long grass and wildflowers.

She never sees the girl again.

She’s the closest thing Ferris ever has to a friend, and she walks the same path until the dirt remembers her feet and the grass grows aside the track, but no one ever calls out to her, and she never hears kulning across the plains again.

Ferris never stops sending her voice out into the wind, hoping to hear a haunting, melodic reply.

It never comes.

The world narrows to her feet, the track, and her flock. Anything else is a dream she doesn’t dare dwell on.

Ferris is ten, and taller than her father, likely stronger too.

None of that matters.

Her father’s sharp slap still burns her cheek, but Ferris does not let any tears fall. Her eyes remain dry, and she does not even cry out. There’s no one who would help her, anyway, no one for her to turn to for comfort.

“You’ll speak common or nothing,” he spits. Ferris is quiet, but there is defiance in her eyes.

It frightens Loren how much those eyes look like her mother’s, the sky before a violent summer storm.

“Yes, father.”

He doesn’t even ask where she’d learned Elvish.

Ferris is confused by the adults in her life, the ones who care for her in winter praise her mind and encourage her to learn everything she can, but her father lashes out to the point where she stills her tongue to near-muteness.

This is the first time he’s ever hit her.

Something in her knows it will not be the last, but she vows to make it harder. If she was stronger, if she was smarter, he’d think twice about striking her again—but she knows that adults are to be deferred to and respected. There’s a war in her, and Ferris leaves early that year, grown into her crook and her stride is sure.

She does not say goodbye.

The temptation to not return runs strong in her veins, but when the leaves turn so does she.

Ferris hates her feet.

She hates herself.

She hates the people who made her and abandoned her, hates her blood and her heart and her mind and wishes she could rip out the parts of her that are different—but she doesn’t know where those parts are, and doesn’t know if they can be separated from the rest.

If she tears out her heart, who is Ferris?

If she abandons her mind, what is left?

If she spills all her blood, her body makes more, a betrayal marrow-deep that will not let her die.

Ancient songs lift her soul to the stars, and she pleads with them to take her away, to guide her, but the notes don’t reach high enough and the clouds dampen the sound, and no one hears her cries save the sheep and the cicadas and the wind.

She is seventeen when she bleeds for the first time, and it is only her years of animal husbandry that keep her from panicky thinking; all mammals she knows—dogs, horses, sheep, goats— have estrus periods, it makes sense that she would have them eventually.

Damned inconvenient though.

She makes sure her hood hides her ears when she shyly asks a merchant’s wife at the next village for help, claiming a dead mother and a lack of knowledge; as far as she was concerned, both things were true. The woman tuts and Ferris endures the routine of pity for a motherless child but takes the instructions on hygiene with thanks.

She knows she looks younger than her summers show, and Ferris uses it to her every advantage. Her ear tips are hidden, her eyes wide and blue and sometimes shimmering with tears—not because she feels anything, but because tears are a weapon to be wielded.

Just another blade.

Ferris is nineteen, almost twenty, and she is told not to reach for her crook come spring.

“You’re to go to Baldur’s Gate. For university. Your mother’s wishes.”

Loren does not often speak about her mother, and when he does the words are cruel, made to sink into her skin and flay her for their similarities. As if Ferris is supposed to know them, and supposed to remove that part of her like a cancer—but she doesn’t know the difference, the point where Loren ends and her mother begins. A name lingers on her tongue, but it’s a flash that fades quickly.

He hands her a letter, thick and heavy, and all of it bound to a package. She opens that first, thick green wool spilling soft over her hands, the embroidery of silvery-green sage the finest thing she has ever held. Not even merchant’s wives had clothes this fine. It’s a tabard, the kind she’s seen on soldiers, and she folds it carefully and picks up the letter.

My daughter,

When you come of age, a place is secured for you at Baldur’s Gate; you are to learn the classical languages and courtly manners expected of a diplomat and a lady, and I will meet you at the end of your third year to determine whether you are prepared for a life at court.

It is my hope that you’ve taken little after your father; if you are anything like myself, you are clever, sharp and cold as ice.

You are my blood, but let us pray you are cut from the same cloth.

Perhaps you have grown into the colors of the house I serve; may they guide you and protect you as you travel from childhood into the world of adults.

Your mother,

Aureliana Raiwënen

When her father goes to sleep, Ferris burns the letter. There’s no point in keeping it.

The ground begins to thaw and she hitches a ride on a wagon of hay departing for the nearest city, a single bag on her back and her feet bare; she has never owned more than her winter boots, and will have to buy shoes in the city.

She buys good, sturdy boots, mostly trading the value of them, and laces them well around her ankles.

It’s a long walk to Baldur’s Gate, but she can probably charm her way into safe passage. Worth a shot, at least. She ends up on a caravan, minding their goats, and Ferris finds a rhythm in the days of travel.

Just another spring, just another spring.

Ferris is twenty-one and more alone than she has ever been. She wishes she’d stayed with Catriona in their shared room, wishes she’d never agreed to this patronage, but wishes are not real and she has to suffer her choices and weather the storm.

He’d been clever in his isolation, careful not to leave marks where anyone could see. Ferris attends classes, lectures, but is always whisked away back to the manor house where her patron lives. She is a novelty to be shown off, a bird in a gilded cage.

She is not surprised, the first night he comes to her room. Ferris has known men.

Unfortunately, she has not known cruelty like this.

She wears long sleeved dresses until the bruises on her wrists heal, and she aches between her thighs; it hurts to move, hurts to sit through lectures, but her face is stone and as iron as her will. Ferris knows what they whisper about bards, about her, and now she knows that this abuse is not a secret.

This is not a monster in the dark.

This is one that lurks at the edges and when its growl grows too loud, someone throws it a bone, a scrap, something to appease and amuse until the monster grows bored and the growling begins anew.

No one else will suffer.

Ferris will not break.

She is punished harshly when she lands a kick or scratch, but she takes them in silence, almost smirking. It infuriates him more. The rage in his eyes makes her fight harder, even when it comes at such a cost.

If she’s lucky, he’ll kill her.

He comes close, a few times.

Suffocation no longer scares her, at any rate.

Before Baldur’s Gate she had been a solitary creature, and she only becomes more distant. Cat moves into other circles, Ferris no longer around enough to include. It’s safer, Ferris thinks, better for everyone. The further Cat is from her, the further she will be from harm.

She doesn’t fault her, not one bit.

Ferris knows she is not easy to love.

It softens the blows, to believe she deserves them.

When she is asked to declare her college, her voice is hard as iron.

“College of Swords.”

She will never be weak again.

Ferris is twenty-four, and disgraced.

Her mother’s retreating back is all she sees, even as hands roam her body and she finds her mind drifting away, desperately trying to reach out.

Help me, she pleads to no one.

Help me, help me, please.

No one hears her.

No one comes.

If she was in her own skin, she’d be panicking. Instead she floats, distant and detached and operating like an automaton—wound up to perform and knowing nothing else.

You disgust me, she says from the corner of her mind, curled away carefully from the rest of herself. You are nothing. You are trash.

The problem is that it’s still her, when she resurfaces. It’s still her when she feels safe enough to claw her way back into her bones, wearing herself like an ill-fitting suit in Ferris-like proportions.

The problem is, he likes her present. He likes her fighting, and Ferris refuses to break. She cannot decide whether she is foolish to thrash her wings against her cage, or if there’s still something to fight for. At night, it’s the darkness. In the cold light of dawn, it’s less clear.

She fights because the alternative is to fall.

She isn’t ready to fall.

Not unless she can bring him down with her.

She endures and endures and endures, erodes and erodes and erodes. He gets more creative. He invites others in. Ferris learns what rope burn feels like, and how to treat it. She learns when to cry, and who likes it when she does.

She learns to sing through it, voice unwavering, and play through it too. It amuses them to no end, a party trick brought out just for these men.

Erosion is a part of nature.

And what is nature if not cruel?

Nature fights her back as well, and Ferris knows suddenly how her mother must have felt, but all it gets her is additional pain.

She is split open, parts of her removed, and the midwife who oversees it all looks sick and terrified, but Ferris cannot blame her; she’s sure the woman’s silence was bought, and she knows it’s enough that she’ll never say a word, but will see Ferris’ face in her every nightmare. The woman is not allowed to heal her scar, and Ferris knows it to be another mark of ownership, visible on her body.

He doesn’t let her bleed out, and she hates that she is grateful that he waits a week to tie her to a saddle horse, available for his guests’ entertainment and use.

The pain is blinding but she does not cry.

She cannot scream either, but that’s for different reasons.

She bleeds and bleeds and bleeds until all she knows is the exact color of her blood. She wonders if his blood would run a different color.

Ferris looks at her bow, at the taut hairs, and tightens them until it snaps in her hands, two halves of a whole idea of salvation.

Ferris is twenty-five, and free.

They’ve saved the Grove, and Halsin, and there’s a party. She cannot remember the last time she was at a party and she herself was not the entertainment.

Astarion tops up her wine, Shadowheart gives her a wink, and Karlach laughs until she wheezes. Wyll twirls her around like a princess until she is dizzy and Lae’zel scoffs when she wobbles. Gale catches her and carefully lowers her to the ground, his smile indulgent.

To think, less than a tenday ago she’d considered a quick death the only escape—now she’s infected with a parasite, surrounded by friends, and somehow beginning to think that maybe she did not deserve the life she’d had before, that things were not her fault.

It’s a dangerous line of thinking.

The wine is blood red when it splashes across her knuckles and she suddenly feels ill. It’s all too much, freedom, and she cannot remember what it’s like to not have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Halsin mistakes her queasy look and gently replaces her goblet with a jug of water, and there might be something healing in the gentle pat he gives her shoulder—or perhaps he is simply that warm.

Friends. Friends.

She’s never had friends before.

Ferris prays to every god she never loses them.

It might kill her, and for the first time in a long time, she does not want to die.

She is twenty-six and still alive, by some miracle. Everyone is, somehow, and yet she feels so empty. So hollow.

It eats away at her.

She rots from the inside, her bones the only thing keeping her shape, her skin stretched across them like a puppet. Ferris wakes, she sleeps, she wanders around the tower like a ghost.

Gale is her North Star, the shining beacon she tries to follow, but she has forgotten how to navigate. Ferris has always been able to rely on her feet to carry her home, no matter where she is or how far she has roamed, they know where to take her in the end—but everything is shadowed and confusing, and Ferris…well, she didn’t expect to make it this far and the path she’d been on has suddenly branched.

She doesn’t know where to go, so she stagnates.

But she’s fine, really, she’s fine! Simply tired, only ever tired, but she can see the doubt beginning to cloud Gale’s eyes and it tinges the miasma of her rot with panic.

Help me, she pleads, praying that Gale or Tara could read minds.

Help me, help me, please.

No one hears her.

No one can help her if she does not ask, and Ferris had learned long ago that asking was weakness; asking was to invite suffering and pain. The only thing asking got you was a stinging hand.

It’s Morena who pulls her out, who forces her to the surface when she is drowning in plain sight. It’s Morena who steps in and mothers her without the pity or judgment—if it’s there, she buries it deep where Ferris cannot see it.

She learns how kind strangers can be.

She learns how to find her way once more.

Morena doesn’t set her on the path, but she hands her a compass, a map, tools that she’d never needed before when life was just her and a flock of sheep. Her feet are not enough to manage the burden on her shoulders and she learns what can be discarded, what can be made smaller until her load lightens.

Grief she struggles with most—Ferris has never learned how.

Raging against it does nothing and it is a lead weight in her assortment of baggage until one day she takes a step forward, then another.

Ferris grows strong enough to manage it, until grief fits in the palm of her hand and is worried smooth like a stone; it fits in her pocket, always there and always weighing her down, but smaller and lighter with time’s erosion.

She is twenty-seven, and Gale spins her around and around until she is breathless with laughter, flush with happiness, and terrified at the love writ plain across his face. She can name it, now, and that makes it real, makes it worse.

Ferris does not deserve it.

She’s a broken thing, anger and grief held together with string and glue, but she’ll never be the same. A broken violin will never resonate as it once had, but Gale holds all the pieces of her and never for a moment looks disappointed with what he has.

It’s terrifying.

She wants more.

Her heart beats loud in her chest, but she has not yet discovered how to separate ‘love’ and ‘fear’, and wonders if they are the same.

Chapter Text

The fallout, as he suspected it would be, is immense.

Firstly, he doesn’t return with his bard in tow. He doesn’t even return with Astarion; the elf had glanced between Gale and Ferris the night before they were set to return, all gathered around the dying fire with Halsin nearby, and had chosen to stay with the bard. All things considered, it was probably for the best. She needed him more.

The tower is too quiet and he cannot stand Tara’s pitying stares. His mother’s pointed questions are worse.

“Why did you leave without her?”

“When will she be returning?”

“Is she going to travel home alone?”

“Is she alright?”

He thinks she is.

Gale hopes she is, rather, because he doesn’t know. Ferris can’t use Sending to tell him about her day in twenty-five words or less and he misses it dearly.

Secondly, he realizes just how intimately she had woven herself into the fabric of his life. He has made space for her in all manner of ways, in his tower—their tower—his life, his heart and mind.

He loves her.

He should have said it sooner, if he’d said it sooner maybe she would have come back with him…

Morena Dekarios sits him down gently with a hot cup of very strong tea and tells him to get a grip once she realizes that something is not being said, that there was some argument or discussion kept between her son and his bard.

“Ferris will be back, right as rain. The way you’re explaining things, she’s helping a friend, and when has our dear girl not stepped in to help someone?”

She doesn’t know the half of it, does not know just how far Ferris has gone for him, for all of them. How far she’d just gone. Gale cannot tell her.

Not yet.

“You’re right, of course,” he plasters on a smile he does not feel, drinks his tea like a dutiful son, and goes to pine in the library; he sorts their notes into piles, binds them together, files them accordingly. Ferris had done extensive research into theoretical spell crafting and he wants to go over her work when he’s in a better space for it. Until then it goes with everything else written by her careful hand: in a pile, in a drawer, out of sight.

It feels like mourning.

He sleeps on the sofa and ignores the protests of his back the next day when he returns to Blackstaff.

The letters come from Astarion, and Gale reads them religiously. All of them live in a drawer in his desk, and he keeps them tied with one of Ferris’ lesser-used ribbons. It’s a light sage, so delicate as to be nearly white in bright sunlight, and she hesitates to use it because she doesn’t want to dirty the shimmery fabric. He’d found it near Mystra’s alter, perhaps used as a bookmark at some point, and it hurts him to see it there—nothing of Ferris belongs near her, especially not now.

She insists you need time, that she’s giving you space, but I have told her over and over again that if she believes her own words, Halsin should check her for head trauma. Our bard seems to truly think you will be well without her, did you not profess your love with the usual level of articulation?

Gale writes back, of course he does. Letters are slow, and he misses the convenience of twenty-five words or less. Astarion mostly ignores his poor attempts at conveying that he’s fine, likely because he knows it’s a lie and is being his version of polite.

Do not fret darling, whether she has said it or not, she loves you. I catch her pining now and then, staring in the direction of Waterdeep; I’ve no doubt that if she followed her feet, our bard would find her way back to you without issue. There is something about her, something that amuses Halsin deeply it seems. He continues to nudge her gently in the way of returning, but she insists on staying ‘a little longer’ no matter how terribly it seems to hurt.

He wants her back so badly.

Shall I tell her she is breaking your heart with her extended absence? Oh, that would be equally cruel to her, I know. Ferris is not a delicate creature, but her heart bruises like a peach and they go deep enough to linger. I have forgotten the taste of peaches, but do not fear—I will not have a taste of yours.

Though Astarion stays, for the most part, impartial, he cannot help being his usual self; it’s a relief, somehow, to know someone can change so drastically and yet remain exactly the same.

He takes immense comfort in it, and holds that hope for his bard close to his heart.

Ferris is sleeping less, far too restless. I would tease her, if I did not already know you keep separate beds (you, wizard, are the strongest of us all for that, do you not have eyes? Gods, man, open them!). Repeatedly, I have told her the best thing to do is return to your tower and your arms.

Did you know her punches have only gotten stronger? What are you feeding her over there?

Oh, and it goes without saying, wizard: if you tell her I said anything, I don’t care how deeply the two of you love each other, I will end you.

She has not said anything to Halsin about her lack of magic, she has not said anything to anyone. I think she has fully accepted it, now, but she seems to forget. As much as she insisted that her magic was not as bound to her day-to-day as yours, she stumbles quite often. She’ll need you, Gale, and you need to be a rock instead of a sad, doe-eyed wizard. For her.

All he can do is wait.

Gale spends an embarrassing amount of time staring out over the waves. He tells himself he’s not pining, but his lies are not convincing even when they’re part of an internal monologue.

Three days later, the door opens and Gale quite literally drops what he is doing—he can clean up the mess later, magic away the stew spattered across his kitchen floor—and has Ferris in his arms before she even has a chance to say ‘hello’. Usually she would laugh, usually she would protest, but she simply curls into his arms, tucks her face into the scratchy stubble on his neck, and lets her tension bleed out.

“Sorry for making you wait,” she murmurs against his skin. “I should have come home sooner, but I wasn’t sure how to handle everything. I needed—“

“You don’t need to explain, you never need to explain the want for space or time, Ferris.” There’s no space between them now. Gale’s fingers are tangled in her hair, in the laces of her wide belt; she’s not in the clothes she’d left in, and everything is slightly too large.

It’s then he remembers, guiltily, that they’d only planned on being in Baldur’s Gate for that one full day and she hadn’t brought more than something to sleep in. “Dare I ask whose clothes those are?”

Despite the red rim to her eyes, Ferris’ face is dry and she rolls her eyes. “A combination of people’s hand-me-downs, no need to worry about my honor or…whatever you’re thinking.”

“I like the belt,” he playfully tugs the laces. “Suits you.”

Under his hands, Ferris has gone still. He takes a step back, gives her space to breathe, and he does not let his fingers trail over her waist the way he wishes he was able.

There’s a flush to her cheeks and the tops of her ears. “Sorry.”

It’s like they’re back at the beginning, when Ferris was not sure where she was allowed, what was expected of her. Gale supposes a confession of love will do that, especially when it isn’t returned verbally. He’s not sure she’s ever said those words to another person and meant it.

Actually, he’s not sure she’s ever said them at all in a romantic context.

“Well you can’t stand in the entryway all day, come on.” He opens the door wider and bows with a sweep of his arm. “It’s your home too, and we have a lot to discuss.”

She nods and follows him in, kicking off her boots. “We’re going to have to figure out how to tell people. I’m not known for my magic the way you are, but it’s going to be noticable.”

Gale is glad she’s using ‘we’, and that he’s included in the discussion at all. “It’s your choice entirely, and I will follow your lead here. I’m more surprised no one has found out yet.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t tell Halsin. Nor did Astarion. It’s not like I use magic often and there was no chance at all of someone who doesn’t know me putting the pieces together. Or…well, a lack of pieces I suppose.”

It’s still the three of them with their little secret, the three of them, and the gods, and the godsdamned Wish. Gale breathes in deeply through his nose, exhaling twice as long.

“So no one has tried anything?”

She shakes her head again. “Gale, I don’t know if I want them to. This is no one’s problem, no one’s burden but mine, and I’m alright with it.”

The set of her shoulder, the straightness of her back—she looks almost regal, as if she is handing him an edict or a royal decree. Even in hand-me-down, worn-out traveling clothes that she’d probably built a house in—

“How did you get back?”

Ferris glances away, but her posture does not change. Nor does she move from the entry. “The intent was to teleport to the top of the tower, but something went wrong. Maybe my mind wandered while I was using the scroll, but I ended up over by The God Catcher, in Sea Ward.”

“Not too far a walk then, I thought for a moment you’d ridden back but Astarion’s letters—“

She turns bright red and that is what gets her furiously shedding the rest of her traveling layers. “That godsdamned traitor promised me he was going to respect my privacy. I’ll Wish him out of existence, I swear.”

Gale suspects this has been a common threat in her time away, and that joking about Wish spells was a regular occurrence. He’s not sure if he can find the humor in it. “If it helps, he didn’t say anything explicit about you?”

“Why am I hearing a question?”

“It’s Astarion, he can’t help but be a gossip and it just so happens that there’s little else to talk about in the wake of what happened in Baldur’s Gate, between the Wish and—“ he snaps his mouth shut but remembers the feeling of her lips on his, and the smile she’d worn, and the warmth of her against his body. “Well, in the wake of everything.”

From the flush on her cheeks suddenly darkening, Ferris remembers just as vividly as he did. A kiss in a bar, her rings still in the pocket closest to his heart.

They don’t discuss it further.

Morena finds out alarmingly fast, and entirely by accident. She and Ferris are cooking, experimenting, and Morena’s sleeve catches on a sharp edge, tearing just a little.

“Ferris, dear, could you?”

When she holds out her sleeve Ferris doesn’t immediately move; her face is pale and she looks stricken, panicked, sick all at once. Gale, too, has frozen in the corner and his mother sighs.

He’s always been a terrible actor, but Ferris has no such excuse—he’s seen her act her way out of multiple issues much more perilous than his mother. Unfortunately, they’re both far too obvious.

“Out with it.” She looks from her son to the bard, incredibly done with whatever secret they are hiding. “Immediately.”

Ferris may not have a mother in the upbringing sense; but she knows when The Tone should be heeded.. Gale doesn’t even try to stop her, only lets his head fall into his hands as his bard begins.

“Firstly, you must promise not to be mad.”

“I will do no such thing,” his mother does not even entertain the request.

“Secondly,” Ferris continues; she’s likely assumed Morena would refuse outright to not be upset. “This was a choice I made, of my own free will, and I would choose it in every lifetime if I had to.”

“I hope you realize how little that does to assuage my fears,” the older woman sighs. “Noted. Now, explain.”

The bard takes a deep breath.

“I can no longer use magic. I made a Wish to restore our friend Astarion’s humanity and the cost was my magic and then some. I’ve become something of a vacuum for it, I think, but we haven’t exactly been experimenting.”

Morena makes good on her lack of promise.

She shouts at him, shouts at Ferris, shouts at Tara when she walks into the kitchen to see what the fuss is about, curses Astarion, and handful of gods, and then Gale once more, demanding they reach out to their friends to try something, anything.

Through it all, Ferris sits silently but Gale can see a storm brewing despite her lack of protest. His mother has come in like a rogue wave, but this time isn’t like that initial trip to the tailor; no, Ferris doesn’t bother to stand strong, or protest. She simply shuts part of herself away and he watches the clouds gather when she agrees.

They play host to many in the coming weeks. It means they share a bed, more often than not—there are other rooms, on the second floor proper (that he and Ferris had frantically cleaned and organized, putting everything into place or into the storeroom across from the kitchen), but there are only so many places everyone can rest and when he opens his bedroom door one night to find Ferris in an old shirt, hair braided and feet bare, he wishes he was anything other than exhausted.

More than that, he wishes he knew where they stood, and he knows firsthand just how dangerous a Wish can be.

“We don’t have enough rooms for everyone,” she says simply, shoulders straight and head high. “So it’s best if I sleep with you, until everyone has had their attempt at…fixing me.”

She says it with such disgust and he winces. “Come in, I’ll get the spare blankets out for you.”

Ferris sleeps atop the covers, a respectable, chaste distance between them where silence and unsaid words yawn as wide as a chasm.

The tower becomes almost crowded.

Shadowheart comes, tries everything— greater, lesser, and restorations in between. It’ nice to meet her parents and hear about their little home, Ferris’ eyes going soft. Halsin comes to Waterdeep with Astarion in tow, Jaheira too.

Aylin even has a go, after Isobel.

Everyone tries, everyone fails, and all the while Ferris smiles and reassures them that she is well, she is fine, she is simply less her magic, not less herself.

‘Truly,’ Gale thinks. ‘It’s the performance of a lifetime.’

“I’m alright,” she pats Halsin’s head as he kneels before her, forehead on her knees as he begs her forgiveness. It would be comical, given the difference in their sizes, but Gale can see the sadness in the hunch of the druid’s shoulders. “There’s nothing to forgive, no one has done anything wrong, thank you for trying all the same.”

She is gracious, she is calm, and it makes him rage inside. All the magic in the world had once been at his fingertips and now he is useless to her—less than useless, as they discover quickly. Ferris has been right: she is a magic sinkhole, something about her siphoning away enchantments like his orb had done, but this feeds nothing, fuels nothing they can discern.

It terrifies him.

“I’m fine,” she flutters her hands, trying and failing to put on a smile that will calm him enough that he stops hovering. “I promise, Gale. I am well, there is nothing wrong.”

“This has to be some cruel trick, some revenge.” His brow furrows. “You’re sure—“

It’s not a conversation they should be having right now, the both of them exhausted and walking on eggshells. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers white with how hard she grips the sheets.

“Would it help if I strip for you?” Her lips curls in a disgust she cannot quite mask. “So that you can see I don’t have some Netherese mark on me and that it’s not some trick by your goddess?”

“No, no of course not!”

She curls her arms around herself, protective and smaller for it. “This is not about you, Gale.”

It never was, but the parallels terrify him, worry him, and he cannot help but think it.

“I know that,” he takes a step forward. “It’s unusual, I’ve never heard of anything like this before, not until my own folly. It is different, but…”

Ferris forces her shoulders to relax, rises and takes his hands. “I’m sure it’s just some magic deficit I’m accounting for; no one has ever made a Wish like I did, at least not that we know of. For it to cost all my magic and then some would not be out of the realms of possibility.”

Gale wonders how she’d been correct in her prediction, before they’d set out for Baldur’s Gate.

He lets it go, at least enough to not hover and treat her as something entirely breakable. Gale tries to keep himself calm, and Ferris does her best to remember, at all times, that she has no magic, that she cannot touch the torches on the wall or light the stove with a snap of her fingers.

She especially tries to remember when he is around, because the anguish on his face makes her want to break down.

It helps to know that Gale loves her.

Well.

He loved her— Ferris is not too sure it still stands.

Chapter Text

He has always been able to see the war in her, the desire for casual affection and touch and the dislike of anyone who isn’t a close friend. Once she had gotten comfortable with everyone at camp, touch had become something she delighted in. Shadowheart or Wyll braiding her hair, pressed against Astarion or Halsin while they did something— Lae’zel was not big on touch, but Ferris would hang around her until told off; her usually bubbly personality a little much for the githyanki even on the best of days. She and Karlach were absolute terrors, their combination of energy and charm like a storm.

Gale, warm and human and deemed safe, was often the target of a quick cuddle. Ferris would lean against his legs while they sat around the fire, drape herself over his back in a loose hug to see what he was reading, always somewhere within his orbit once they settled down for the days.

He, Halsin, and Astarion would bend down and press glancing kisses into her hair, affectionate and friendly. Wyll, bless him, treated Ferris as one would a younger sibling—little gifts would find their way into her bag, and he would put flowers into her braids while they walked. Shadowheart and Astarion adopted her into their wine and gossip nights with ease. It truly seemed she could fit in anywhere.

It’s just another night, just another evening after fighting their way through goblins and thorn bushes and mud, exhausted but alive, and all thankful to finally be starting in on dinner. Gale’s hands are sore from gripping his staff so tightly, and his fingers ached around the knife. They’re all mostly settled in for the evening, readying for rest or finishing chores.

“Ferris!” Wyll has something behind his back and a wide grin on his face. “I’ve got something for you.”

She tips back on the log to look at him, fingers stilling where she’d been stripping a spring of rosemary. “Like what?”

“Tada!” He shakes out the bundle of pale blue linen, slightly adjusting his hold once he worked out where things were. “A dress! It didn’t seem right for you other ladies, apologies.”

Lae’zel scoffs, Karlach laughs, and Shadowheart rolls her eyes. “Blue isn’t any of our colors, go on Ferris.”

Ferris peels herself away from her warm spot between Halsin and Karlach, skipping over to Wyll. “It looks like it’ll fit, I might need to take it in.”

“You will not,” Astarion shouts from inside his tent. “I’ve seen your hems, darling.”

“Alright well, let me in so I can try it on and and you can stab me with pins.”

“I’m very careful, hush.” The tent flap opens anyway, and Ferris slips inside.

“And none of us are concerned about that.”

“Not in the least,” Shadowheart cuts a hard glare at Gale’s question. “If you’d pay attention, you’d know that.”

He shrugs and accepts Halsin’s pat on the back, the large elf settling into Ferris’ place with the herbs. “All is well, do not worry.”

A few minutes later, Ferris pops out looking shockingly more put together than when she’d entered— Astarion had smoothed her hair and worked out a few tangles, it seemed. “It’s a bit long, but maybe I’ll grow.”

“Not at twenty-five, darling.” Astarion emerges with pins between his lips, clearly chasing after Ferris. “Hold still, you little demon.”

Ferris’ eyes gleam with mischief and Astarion sees it in the split second before she tries to bolt; he does not often flaunt his vampiric strength or speed around them, but a hand darts out to grab the ties about her waist, physically dragging her back as she laughs.

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’ll ruin your pretty new gift with mud and leaves. A dreadful shame, when it brings out your eyes so beautifully. Doesn’t the color suit her, Gale?”

Astarion bats his lashes even as his mouth curls up in a smirk.

‘Bastard,’ Gale thinks. ‘Flaunting her in front of me, when they’re—‘

“It suits you nicely, Ferris.” He is proud of his diplomatic answer.

She smiles at him, open and far less guarded than usual and it feels like something strangely private. Astarion, seemingly satisfied, continues pinning as everyone else goes about their evening. Gale’s attention is split between finishing the dinner and multiple conversations and Ferris.

Until Astarion places a hand on her hip.

Until Ferris flinches and isn’t quick enough to hide it.

Astarion immediately murmurs something in her ear and Ferris closes her eyes, nods, and he can see the attempt at collection; no one has noticed this odd slip, no one—

She meets Gale’s eyes and it’s lost. She looks terrified.

“Astarion, step away please.”

The elf has the audacity to scoff. “You cannot fix this, wizard.” He does not move away, nor does he move any closer to Ferris. His hand, however, remains on her hip.

“Is something the matter?” It’s Shadowheart, from across the fire. Everyone’s eyes are on them now, on Ferris and Astarion and darting to Gale.

“Everything is fine,” Ferris says too quickly. “Please, it’s a misunderstanding.”

“There’s nothing to misunderstand”

“There is everything to misunderstand, you arrogant fool,” Astarion snaps and Gale sees Shadowheart rise from the corner of his vision, but she does not look ready for a fight.

Gale really does not want to drag this out in front of everyone, but Astarion leaves him no choice.

“She flinched away from your touch and yet your hand remains, my friend. Perhaps you’d consider removing it before this conversation continues.”

Both Wyll and Halsin look worried that this will turn physical, but Karlach is concerned. Lae’zel, as ever, continues to sharpen her swords. Gale could kiss her for her normalcy in this moment, but he does enjoy living, thank you very much.

“Please, Gale.” Ferris glances up at Astarion’s furious expression. “It really is a silly misunderstanding, he just startled me is all.”

Her eyes are pleading, but Gale does not want to let the matter drop.

“It goes far beyond that, do not lie. We can help you, Ferris.”

He means it too, everyone would side with her if Astarion was causing her harm beyond the agreed upon bloodletting.

Ferris closes her eyes, opens them after a deep breath. Her shoulders square the slightest bit, and Astarion whispers ‘don’t do this’ so quietly that Gale’s human ears almost miss it.

“You’re right, Gale. There is more: I flinched because I do not like being touched,” her eyes glance back to Astarion once more. “It is not our friend’s doing; please, he is blameless here, and I will not see an attempt to drag his reputation through the mud.”

“I’m perfectly capable of my own slander,” he adds, trying to ease the tense mood.

It doesn’t work.

“You touch us all the time. Shadowheart and I touch you too,” Karlach says slowly. “You don’t flinch then.”

“Yes,” Ferris agrees, slightly desperate. “I touch you. It is not usually the other way around. Especially with men.”

Karlach’s face falls at the same moment Halsin and Shadowheart’s harden. Wyll stiffens, and even the rhythmic surety of Lae’zel’s whetstone falters.

Astarion looks murderous, but it’s targeted specifically at Gale as he stabs pins back into their cushion; the wizard is under no illusion that the elf would rather it were his knife into Gale’s flesh. Repeatedly, until dead.

Gale arrives at the same conclusion everyone else does, but far too late to undo the damage he has caused

“Oh.” It is the understatement of a lifetime. “Well. Yes, a misunderstanding indeed.”

“I shall endeavor to remember this, little bird.” Halsin’s voice is low and gentle. “But what would you like us to do?”

He means the men of camp, himself included. Ferris will initiate touch with all of them, but rarely is she touched in return. The pattern is stupidly clear once Gale give is a moment of thought.

“Be patient with me,” she rubs her temple, wincing as the action stabs pins into her skin. Astarion tuts.

“If you really want to have this conversation, you’re going to have it in comfortable, familiar clothes,” he does not touch her, but he uses his body to shepherd her into his tent once more. “It will make things easier. I assure you.”

“Less pins, at least,” she forces a laugh. “One moment.”

They disappear behind the tent flap to Elvish whispers, Astarion’ angered and Ferris resigned.

Gale…well. “I feel like the most unmitigated ass.”

“As you should,” Shadowheart snaps.

“So you knew? It seems Astarion was privy as well— should I start a book club to rival wine and gossip club?”

“Please,” Wyll hisses. “Either keep it down or stop fighting.”

There’s a tense moment when Ferris emerges again, Astarion behind her like a pale shadows; a spine, holding her upright and strong, perhaps, white as bone already. The bard settles near the fire, clearing her throat, buying herself time.

“Well,” Ferris curls her fingers into the fabric of her trousers to still the shaking of her hands. “You’re all going to want to sit down for this, I think.”

Chapter Text

A few days after everyone leaves, Gale slides her rings back to her across the table. “I’d hoped to enchant these for you, but given the circumstances…I don’t think it will work.”

Ferris slips them back on, the bands of metal familiar on her fingers. She even has slight tan lines to indicate where they usually rested, the spots disappearing quickly under the rings. “It’s alright.”

Gale tries not to think about Astarion’s suggestion of returning them on bended knee, especially because they still aren’t talking about what he’d said to her and how she had not said it in kind; tea seems like a good enough time as any. “My mother will likely pay us a visit later, I’m not sure how she’ll be but at least we can say there were attempts made.”

“I’m so tired,” Ferris says, and he privately agrees with her. They’re both exhausted, both too strung out from lack of sleep and the efforts of being around so many people. Both of them cannot wait to return to normal—and Ferris misses her bed. She’d been sleeping so stiffly to keep herself an appropriate distance from Gale; she doesn’t know what her lack of magic will do to him, given close, extended proximity. The last thing she wants is for it to suck him dry.

“I know,” he rests a hand on the back of her neck, warmth bleeding into her muscles and it’s far easier to relax. She doesn’t feel the tingle of magic like she used to, but that’s alright. It’s still Gale. “I am beginning to see the appeal of running away to live in the woods, maybe there is something to it.”

She snorts. “Well, we can always pack up to Bospir. Plenty of room.”

“No need to converse with the neighbors beyond a ‘baa baa’ here and there.”

It dissolves her into near-hysteric giggles and Ferris shakes her whole body. “I’m going to go lay down, that was far too funny and it’s not a good enough joke to warrant such a reaction.”

Ferris does not make it far, opting to sink into the sitting room’s plush sofa; she looks so small, nearly swallowed up by the cushions when she goes boneless and tips her head back. The rise and fall of her chest are steady, even, and he forces himself to match them.

He can be strong for her, if he has to be.

And he has to be.

They get a blessed hour before there’s a knock on the door and…voices?

Ferris beats him to the entry and he is just in time to see Catriona bowl the bard over with a hug, nearly sending the two of them sprawling across the stones. His mother tuts in disapproval, but there’s a fondness in her gaze that suggests it’s less about the behavior itself and more about potentially falling against a hard floor.

“I didn’t expect to see you!” Ferris is smothered in Cat’s chest, and she doesn’t try to struggle away as her friend strokes her hair. “I’d have thought you were back home by now.”

“I was asked to perform, during Dragondown. In your place, I might add—the vendor was very upset to find you were not home, but apparently a helpful tressym and wizard supplied my name in your place. Which I thank you for, by the way,” Cat looks up at Gale. “Paid my rent for the rest of the year and then some.”

Ferris finally manages to pull free but she doesn’t let go of Cat. It’s the most intimate human contact Gale’s seen her have since Baldur’s Gate and he tries not to be jealous. “So you’re sticking around for a bit?”

“Of course,” she scoffs, carefully slipping out of her shoes without jostling Ferris. “I’m not going to abandon you in your time of need.”

The bard’s face falls and Morena purses her lips. “I’d have thought you’d possessed an ounce more tact than Miss Ferris here, but I was incorrect in that assumption it seems.”

“What do you mean?” Ferris asks through a forced smile.

“I was unable to visit when I’d heard you’d returned—I was on my way when I ran into Mrs. Dekarios and she said you were unwell and had a stream of visitors, that I shouldn’t trouble you just yet. Is it…good news?”

“Gods help me,” Gale looks at the ceiling while Ferris inhales so sharply she starts to cough rather violently as she flaps her hands at her friend in what he thinks means ‘no’.

“No,” she wheezes, still trying to catch her breath. “Not possible.”

Cat tips her head and the wizard can see her doing some calculation in her head, putting pieces together; his mother says nothing, merely hangs up the scarf that had protected her hair from the rather rough wind that had kicked up at the start of autumn.

“Oh,” the other woman says simply, wrapping an arm around Ferris’ shoulders. “Well, at least it’s not bad news then, if you’re up and about.”

“Would you believe,” his bard says cheerily. “That it’s neither?”

“Not at all,” Cat smiles back, the edge of it sharp.

“May we at least take our seats for this next bit?” Morena pushes both girls forward and Gale leads the way to the kitchen. It’s neutral ground, and likely the least chaotic room in the tower at the moment. No one had occupied it, at least, during the merry-go-round of visitors. “I suspect Miss Catriona will have a similar reaction to me, and we will need—Gale, might you unstop that decanter, just in case? And pour me a measure, there’s a good boy. What a dutiful son I have.”

“Laying it on a bit thick,” he sighs as he passes her the glass.

“Just setting the tone.”

Ferris sits primly. “If it’s duty and obedience you expect, I have terrible news for you regarding my overall personality and life choice.”

“My dear, I wouldn’t have you any other way,” Morena pours with a heavy hand. “My son, on the other hand, knows when to do as he’s told.”

Catriona watches them closely, watches Gale too. “Has someone died? Gods, the mood in the room is hard to read.”

“No, sorry,” Ferris says brightly. “I’ve only lost the ability to use magic after making a Wish in service to a friend.”

Gale didn’t know one person could cause an uproar to the degree the other bard manages. Cat shakes Ferris and she simply allows it, a rag doll in her friend’s hands. “Ferris, you cannot just say that, you cannot. Explain, immediately, and Mrs. Dekarios if you could pour me about two fingers—make it three, actually—Ferris what do you mean?”

“Exactly as I said,” she replies simply. “I used a Wish spell to help a friend walk in the sun again, and the cost was the entirety of my magic. I cannot use it, it cannot be used on me to the same degree as before.”

Ferris’ hands move to cast Dancing Lights and the silence that fills the room when nothing happens could be cut with a knife. Catriona’s fingers begin to tremble and it makes the teacup rattle against its saucer, a shake that Gale can feel in his bones, resonating through his teeth.

“You’re serious.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

“And you’ve known,” Cat turns to his mother. “For how long?”

The older woman shrugs as elegantly as she can manage. “Perhaps a tenday. It’s been a lot to take in, if I’m honest.”

“There must be some way to fix it,” Cat’s hand finds her shoulder and Ferris feels the warmth of magic leech away through her clothes, the touch of it like fog rolling across the bay—never merging with the water, always atop and separate. The moment she realizes that nothing happens, Cat steps back and stares at her palms as though they’re burned.

“I—you—it felt like a bottomless well of…Ferris, what have you done?”

A look crosses his bard’s face, and Gale feels a cold chill creep up his spine. They’d just gotten their home back, a touch of normalcy, and now she’s being dragged through it all again, a defense of her decision and study.

Ferris purses her lips.

“Nothing I wouldn’t do again, even knowing the consequences. I was damaged goods before this,” Ferris shrugs. “What’s another mark?”

Morena slams her teacup down. “Don’t you dare speak about yourself that way. I may not know the whole of your story, but I know enough. This changes nothing, has nothing to do with—“

There is a sick gleam to Ferris’ eyes that Gale has not seen in some time— the glance he shares with Catriona confirms he is not the only one with a sinking feeling in his gut. I’ve had enough, the look says. I’ve had enough and the only way out is to bring everyone down with me, ruin it all until I push everyone away.

“If you’re all going to treat me like bruised fruit you may as well know the full extent of the damage. Perhaps it’s time.” Ferris mimics the way his mother often puts down her teacup, carefully, aligning the pattern. It’s deliberate in its mockery and Morena purses her lips. “After all, the only one who knows this sad story is Gale.”

Gale doesn’t think he’s imagining the chill in the room now. “Don’t do this,” he pleads.

Catriona’s eyes grow sharp. “What story? The Wish? Or is there something more?”

“Oh this goes beyond the Wish, and it is the only story that matters when it comes to my life, it seems.” Ferris straightens her skirt, the vision of propriety and poise. “For three-and-a-half years, my patron in Baldur’s Gate raped and tortured me in every way he possibly could. And then some.”

Morena makes a startled noise and Cat’s eyes go wide. If Ferris notices, she does not react. The story is begun, and it won’t stop now.

“It started during our first year, do you remember Cat? The Solstice Gala, my twentieth birthday.”

Twentieth, he sees his mother mouth the word, horror dawning on her face. Halflings are considered adults at twenty.

Twenty, just barely.

Gale hates this story.

Catriona looks ill as Ferris recounts the gala, and he realizes this is the same story but a different shade of it. Before, they were all strangers. Now there is someone who was there, who saw first-hand the person who would commit atrocities and knew nothing.

“He was so handsome, you said so yourself. How flattering it was to be complimented so, how wonderful to have a powerful man interested in little old me, the girl from a backwater in a borrowed gown that was too large. Remember how you’d help me cut my hair the tenday prior? He hated how short it was, and at the time I was so embarrassed to not be what he expected. Well, after that Gala, after he made sure I had no family or other people in the city, he decided it was safe enough to take me away.”

“Ferris—“

“The professors all knew what kind of monster he was. That he had done this before. And they let him, Cat. They let him take me away under the guise of being a benevolent patron, someone to foster my creativity and elevate my station, someone to help me rise to my mother’s diplomatic expectations.

“All he did was tear me down, over and over. He delighted in breaking us—told me himself, the night my mother disowned me.”

“Ferris.” Gale prays for some divine intervention but there is none coming. When he tries again, his mother holds up a hand; her eyes do not leave the bard, however. Her ability to tell an engaging story does not change when the content is her own ruin, and that makes it all the more difficult to swallow. It’s told with the same gravitas of an epic, and she has them all enraptured.

‘Let it happen,’ Morena’s posture says.

Gale is familiar with rot and decay and putrefaction, and he understands that this wound needs to be cleaned before any healing can happen. He’d thought it scarred, or at least scabbed over, but it’s picked raw and the blood is not red and clean but septic and black.

She needs to tell this whole story.

Ferris needs to bleed red.

“I fought against it all, and my breaking point was thinking graduation would save me— only to find I had not met the requirements to do so, and would have to continue my education, and wasn’t it lucky I had a patron willing to pay for it?”

She takes a deep breath, another.

This story hurts her to tell, rips open old wounds and makes them weep fresh, the deepest scars torn asunder to expose her inner workings.

Gale wishes she would stop, that she would let anyone help her staunch the flow of blood, but it’s too late.

The story is almost over.

He wishes it had never begun.

“I knew they were wrong, that I’d completed the assignment they’d marked as missing because I’d kept every single one. My academic standing was a point of pride because despite his love of pain and the control he had over me, I was still a student. It would have been suspicious for a student with a wealthy patron to go missing suddenly, so here I was with the exact paper they said I did not have.

“And I pleaded to go, I told him I’d do anything he wanted if he let me attend just one graduation party. Gods, the look in his eyes. He knew he was close to owning me completely, but I still had hope.

“He allowed me to leave, and I slipped my papers into my dress so as to not carry a bag. I’ve never run faster and I demanded to see the dean, the cantankerous old windbag, and I waved that paper in his face, demanded he hand me my diploma that instant.

“He tried to insist it was just a mistake, that there was no harm meant, but I knew better at that point. I asked him how much he was paid for me. How much another year of my life was worth to him and to the college, and how long he planned on letting it continue.”

Cat shakes her head, knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the table. There was no longer steam rising off anyone’s tea.

“He looked me in the eye and said ‘it would be better if you’d broken early like the others’ when he handed me that little sheet of paper I saw as my ticket to freedom. Like it was my fault he had to accept money from that monster, like it was my fault in any way.”

Ferris looks up from her tea for the first time since starting her tale, brows heavy with anger. “I was so close to escaping too, but I’d left my violin. I should have fled the city with the clothes on my back but I needed it. Going back was my downfall.”

She swallows and Gale carefully extends a hand, palm up, for her to take if she wants. Her blood is almost red again.

“I thought, ‘someone has seen me, he can’t touch me now’, like a little piece of paper was going to stop him from laying his hands on me. I was so stupid. If I’d thought him sadistic before, I was wrong, I was so wrong. I defied him and then I tried to flaunt it. I’d bested him, I was clever, I was strong—but I wasn’t. Not really. Previously he’d been rough, but never violent. The fact that I could have escaped from him…things took a turn.

“I was stupid: I’d removed the last bit of safety I had. As a student, I was safe. Graduated, no one would notice or care about me anymore, and I had no family to care. My father didn’t expect my return, my mother made sure to disown me in a way that could cause the most upset and leave no room for other interpretation. The closest I had was you, Cat, and you’d moved on.”

“I didn’t—“

“I know,” Ferris soothes, her rhythm somehow unbroken. “I know, and there is no blame to place here. And that’s the worst part of it, I think. That the blame falls on an institution meant to educate and protect, a person with money and power. Untouchable entities, and they all knew of their immunity.”

It was why she hadn’t been surprised about Ketheric, about Gortash. Ferris was used to an abuse of power, and had accepted it all at face value.

“He kept me tied up for months, taking sick delight in my new, more…restrictive captivity before he brought a surgeon in,” Ferris’ voice does not falter but Morena has her hand firmly over her mouth, dawning horror on her face. “He’s noticed some changes, you can imagine exactly what they were. Said he needed to have me fixed, that it wouldn’t do to sire pups with a mongrel bitch.”

Gale hates this part in particular, because he’s seen the scar. Seen it fresh and split and held her insides in.

“You’re meant to rest for at least a month, after a procedure like that. He brought in one of the old wives, to heal me just enough. He had guests to entertain that night, after all.”

Gale closes his eyes, desperate to keep the images out as Ferris continues.

“Hours after he had me spayed like a dog, he had me strapped to the saddle horse for his guests to use as they liked— almost, I was gagged. He couldn’t stand the screaming.

“That went on a few tendays. I was never allowed to rest, to fully recover, but I planned my escape all the same. I knew I was getting out, but the ‘how’ of it had yet to be determined once I made the decision.”

Cat looks ill, and her grip on her cup is white-knuckled. His mother could pass as a statue and he knows she’s seeing Ferris the way he does now, the frayed and bloodied edges of her, the sharpness of a blade and the agony of a raw nerve. Morena is seeing past the façade of his bard, and the only thing more shocking would be if Ferris pulled her heart from her chest and laid it before them, still beating and attached.

He remembers how fresh the wound had been beneath his palms, how fragile the girl had seemed. “Ferris, how did you escape? You said the Nautiloid took you—“

She looks to him. “It did. After I had jumped from my window with my violin.“

Gale closes his eyes when Morena gasps and Cat lets out a keening cry. It’s too much. It will always be too much.

“The afterlife was very strange for about twenty minutes before I realized that I wasn’t actually dead, and that I wasn’t dreaming either,” she says pleasantly, as if they’re all discussing the weather, or a new show at the theater. “Besides, I lived, didn’t I?”

It’s the tone that betrays her. Gale knows her well enough to hear the carefully practiced diplomat beneath the surface.

Deflect. Disguise. Protect everyone at the cost of myself.

He’s overly familiar, and looks at her hands.

Ferris’ knuckles are white and he can see the trickle of blood running down the grooves of her palm where her nails have bitten through skin. Usually he would wait for her to relax, would not touch her otherwise, but healing magic is less effective on her now and she needs her hands.

Gale takes the nearest one and forces her fingers to uncurl, pressing his thumb into the center of her palm to soothe aches she did not know were there. Crescents of blood stain her short nails and arc across the meat of her hand, and Gale wants nothing more than to kiss each broken point and beg her for—

He’s not sure.

Forgiveness isn’t the right word.

Absolution…no. He wants her to know she is loved and safe and protected, wants to beg her to see it.

She stares at the red under her nails, her story finished. “Now you know.”

She waits for judgment to be passed, for disgust to be shown, but neither woman moves for a moment. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Cat stands and walks from the room—she doesn’t leave, simply stands outside in the hall in silence. Gale a just see the edge of her tall, slim form where she sits on the old bench, lost among the coats with boots and shoes scattered around her. His mother, bless her, meets Ferris’ exhausted looks with one of her own.

“Well,” she picks up her cold tea and takes a resigned sip. “In hindsight, this explains quite a lot.”

Ferris bursts out laughing, curling over the hand that Gale still holds between his own. It borders on hysterical, the edges of it too panicked and sharp. “You know,” she wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “It rather does.”

“Gale, darling, warm these for us.” Morena holds out her tea and slides Catriona’s to him as well. He runs a thumb over Ferris’ nail marks, willing any of his power to heal her; the best that happens is that the bleeding stops and he sighs, heating the tea again before grabbing a salve from the garden window.

“I can do it,” Ferris protests once Gale starts to rub it into her cuts. “You don’t need to coddle me.”

“Perhaps I’m doing it because I want to,” his tone is sharper than he intends, and his mother shoots him a glare. “I’m not doing it because you need help, Songbird. I’m doing it because I this is how I can help you in this moment, and I do wish help. Please, allow me.”

It’s not a question, and Ferris settles as much as she can while he applies the salve; truly this is the better way, any lingering magic would have been lost the second she touched it, but at least this will have a chance. They’ve discovered that physical applications such as poultices and creams and salves are only mildly impacted by whatever means had robbed her of magic and turned her into a sinkhole for Weave.

Catriona slips back inside, still looking ill.

“Oh!” Ferris perks up, and the fact that her ears lift from their drooped state brings him a sense of relief. “Gale warmed up your tea, it should be-“

“I’m sorry.” Cat blurts out, cutting Ferris off.

“Apology accepted. Now, your tea should be the right temperature to drink again, Gale’s ever so good at getting the amount of warmth exactly right.”

Ferris nudges the teacup closer, minding the saucer while Gale works on her other hand.

“Ferris—“

“Cat,” she sighs. “I know. Trust me, I know. But it’s over and done. He’s dead and I made sure of it.”

Morena chokes.

“Anyway!” Ferris moves on quickly. “As I was saying, it’s not fine, but it’s alright. You didn’t know. You’d no way of knowing. Your roommate and friend of barely half a year was whisked away by a reputable man and still attended every class and lecture.”

“But—“

“You had no way of knowing. If anything, I’m sorry. To both of you. It’s…a lot, I know.”

“Karlach chopped down a tree about it, after she told us.” Gale fishes some linen off the drying rack in the corner, slightly damp but dry enough to bind Ferris’ palms and keep as much salve on as possible.

“Wyll went off into the bushes to vomit, about half-way through, if I recall.” Her eyes glaze for a moment before she shakes herself back.

Gale sinks heavily onto his own stool, exhausted; he knows there will be nightmares, he knows he will see Ferris in them. Knows that he’ll see her bloodied and beaten and worse. He closes his eyes and murmurs a spell to heat both his tea and the whole kettle again— he’s going to need it.

“How do you…how can you keep going?” Cat’s eyes are rimmed red but her face is dry. It startles him only for a moment; of course she wouldn’t cry in front of Ferris. Who would the tears be for?

“Spite is a powerful motivator.”

“Ferris.”

“Don’t scold me, wizard. I know where you sleep.” His bard observes the neat linen wrap around her palm, tied and tucked so it wouldn’t be a bother. “But in all seriousness, I found a reason to keep going. A few, actually—a whole new family. I found people who cared whether I woke up every morning, who learned the pieces of me and how to put them back together, and I did the same for them.”

It is an understatement, but Gale doesn’t weigh in.

“There was an adjustment period, however. I was more akin to a semi-feral cat than a person for a bit.”

“Gale, is this true?” Catriona glances over at him, her back straight as a rod. It’s impressive, how well she carries herself in the face of Ferris’ revealed past. His mother is still doing her best statue impression, eyes locked on his bard and cataloging her every move.

“It certainly is. We would toss her scraps of food to tempt her close enough to pet, at the risk of a few scratches,” he replies, attempting to keep his tone light despite the bone-deep exhaustion. “She’s tame enough to handle now, look how well she’s adjusted to living indoors.”

His mother shoots him a disapproving glare but he ignores it in favor of Ferris’ snort. If she thinks it’s funny, then it’s alright—and he knows which lines to cross and when.

Uncomfortable silence falls, thick and cloying. Ferris shifts in her seat and Morena clears her throat. “I think we should all take a nice, bracing walk down to the inn, the one that has the good chowder.”

Ferris is full of far-too-rich soup, plenty of white wine, and a good amount of crusty bread; much like the first time she’d had clam chowder, Gale had absentmindedly town her off pieces to dip and she’d swapped their pieces more than once in a careful slight of hand that made Cat snort into her wine.

Morena insisted on walking the other bard home, much to Cat’s chagrin and insistence that she could make it home on herself. It leaves Ferris and Gale to wander back through the fog that swirl around their ankles, snake-like and cool.

“It’s like snow,” she muses. “I never really liked proper snow, but the plains would get a dusting. Never enough to fully cover.”

He makes a noise of acknowledgment, trying to imagine it as she describes it; it almost feels like there’s something missing between her words. Whereas before there was a power in them, something that would transport him away to the degree he could see her visions manifest—now there’s shadows and unknown halls he has to turn down only to find there is more nothing. It takes them to their door and just inside.

Gale doesn’t know what to say, or if he has anything to offer. It feels like there’s little to say as they make their way up the stairs; he considers breaking off into the library to stay up as long as possible to avoid nightmares, but Ferris keeps going and he follows as he always does.

“Goodnight, then.” She stands at her door and stretches, and he can hear her shoulder popping more firmly back into the socket.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says in a rush, desperate to get the words out before cowardice can freeze his tongue. “Please.”

Ferris stares at him as though he’s grown another head. “That’s quite forward of you, Gale.”

“Not—no,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s selfish of me to request, I know, but the last time you told your story, I had dreams—nightmares of you. And I could not bear to see you that way again, if I can help it. I thought, perhaps, having you near would assuage those thoughts.”

She looks down at her hands, at the neat linen wrappings he’d done to keep the salve on while allowing her full use of her hands. “I have the same nightmares,” she admits quietly. “Memories I’d prefer to stay forgotten relived in torturous detail.”

The first time she’d told them all, Gale had a dream. It had started pleasantly enough, all of them happy and alive and dancing at some grand event. Ferris playing her violin. And then it turned sour—he could not help her as a sea of hands ripped off her gown, as knives cut her skin, as she was used over and over while men and women laughed and eagerly waited their turn, and he could not reach her no matter how hard he fought. None of them could. He’d seen every one of them fighting the crowd to get to her.

In hindsight, it may have been the same, shared dream.

“Stay with me,” he says again.

If she’s with him, he can reach her.

If she’s with him, he can protect her, he can save her from his own mind.

Ferris fidgets with the edge of her sweater. “Alright. Alright, let me change into something more comfortable. I don’t intend to sleep in a dress.”

He nods, glancing up the stairs. “I’ll pull some extra blankets out of the trunk.”

It gets a small smile from her, and Ferris slips into her room, leaving the door open just a hair; it’s her way of saying ‘I’m coming out in a moment’, and he breathes a sigh of relief before heading up to his room. The window gets closed with a wave of his hand, magic in place of fingers so he can work on digging through for the warmest blankets. Ferris would be less cold if she were under the covers with him, but he also knows she will refuse.

They’re sailing strange tides, since Baldur’s Gate.

A knock on the door jamb has him looking up at Ferris in what he assumes to be a nightgown and the gigantic sweater she’d gotten for her birthday. She looks so much smaller, so much younger than her twenty-seven years.

“Usual sides?”

It’s odd that they have usual sides now; after sharing for over a tenday while people came and went from the tower, they’d worked out a system. He offers her a smile and holds out the pile of blankets. “I suppose we can stick to tradition.”

Ferris piles herself under the blankets, rocking slightly to tuck in the sides beneath her to keep the warmer air in. He joins her a moment later, the candles and lights fading to embers with a flick of the wrist. It casts them into night, the light of the moon and stars coming in from the window and the quickly-cooling fire are all the light that remains.

It’s quiet for a few breaths, and Ferris is unnaturally still; she’s waiting for him to speak, knows he wants to say something. He jokes that there is a sixth sense she’s developed for it, and she does not disagree.

“You father was wrong,” Gale says into the darkness. “You’re impossibly strong, Ferris. More than I could ever imagine being.”

“I’m resilient.” His human eyes cannot see in the darkness but he feels her roll over to face him. “I’d hope I’m strong too, I have to be.”

“You don’t, not all the time. You can be a complex person without being the rock upon which everything breaks, Ferris.”

She laughs and laces their fingers together, a tether in the dark. “I’m not the rock, I’m the wave crashing against a cliff, over and over until, one day, I’ve done it enough that I’ve eroded away the base and the top comes crashing down. Perhaps it hurts me. Perhaps I manage to move out of the way of the slide. Unfortunately, that’s one of the things only time can tell.”

He likes the feeling of their hands together; bold, he moves a touch closer, shifting to his side to face her even if he can barely see the outline of her body under the covers in the dim bedroom.

“And what are you now?”

Ferris thinks, her breathing low and even. The rhythm of it lulls him to the edge of sleep.

“I am Ferris,” she whispers. “And I am on a knife’s edge between my future and my past.”

Gale wants to reply but sleep has pulled him under and her voice is fading quickly into the hazy realm of sleep.

“With you, I’m just Ferris, and it feels like enough.”

He does not dream, and when he wakes, she is gone.

Chapter Text

Elminster is barely gone before Ferris, for lack of a better description, promptly flies off the handle. “No one is dying,” she snaps. “Fuck the gods. Every single one. Fuck Elminster, fuck Mystra, fuck this—no one in my goddamn camp is dying for a deity or devil.”

No one has ever seen her this angry, and it is a level of passionate fury unexpected of their small bard, to the point where Wyll flinches when she points to him as she makes her way through the list of things no one will be dying for.

All in all, it’s a rather short list.

It’s the first time he’s ever heard her directly blaspheme and so blatantly. Ferris has heard him speak of Mystra, of being her Chosen, of the Weave and his folly with a polite smile that never quite reached her eyes. It riles him, but he tries to placate her. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand—“

“Of course I don’t understand! She abandoned you, left you for dead, and now she sees a convenient way to be rid of you for good—and she knows you well enough to know you’ll bark like a dog for her, roll over and happily die a martyr for a goddess who would sooner be rid of you than allow you back into her good graces.”

The whole camp is silent; no one dares breathe. Wyll looks like he wants to step between them, ever the galant prince, but Astarion takes his elbow with the slightest shake of his head. ‘Let them sort it out,’ the unspoken command.

“How dare you,” his vision is red, his fury crackling in his palms; a lesser person would back down at the display of magic but Ferris squares her shoulders, ready to call his bluff or take a blow. She would, too, just to prove a point. “You’re nothing but a stubborn child, upset at not getting her way.”

“I’m upset because I don’t want you to die, I don’t want any of us to die.” Ferris digs in her heels. “Forgive me for caring about you, I won’t make that mistake twice. Enjoy death, Gale—you’ve certainly led a life worthy of a lackluster ending.”

After the day they’ve all had, dragging themselves out of the Underdark after surviving Moonrise, and Elminster’s appearance…well. Gale’s had enough. The bard’s words cut deep and he can feel there’s no magic behind them, no cantrip making them sharper—it’s all her and her keen eye, seeing right through him.

It’s too much, and it blinds him with rage.

“Alright.” Wyll grabs Gale’s shoulders and bodily turns him around, steering him toward Karlach and Halsin just as Astarion and Shadowheart move for Ferris. Lae’zel toes the scorch mark on the ground where his spell had landed, a hair from Ferris’ feet. The githyanki seems impressed and her eyes follow the bard closely.

Ferris, haze behind the lingering, fading rage, had not even flinched, she just looked…sad. Resigned. Hurt.

Disappointed.

Gale hates himself for losing control, grinds his teeth as Wyll forces him down onto the log by the fire. “Let’s all take a moment to collect ourselves,” the man says calmly. Gale wants to shake him. “The extended exposure to the curse is getting to everyone, I think.”

“Gale, mate. Is there anything we can do?” Karlach keeps rocking back and forth, heel to toe, and Gale wants to shake her too. Instead, he takes a deep breath.

“No, thank you. I think I need to be alone for a time.”

The three exchange concerned looks.

“I won’t wander off, I’ll just be in my tent. Please, I just… time is the only thing for it.”

Halsin pats his shoulder. “Of course, my friend. Time to reflect is important in matters like this.”

It’s best that he be alone, really. Great wizards often were, the life of solitude choosing them and not the other way around—funny, that he should finally find people worth living for only to lose them.

He hates beyond anything that Ferris is right.

“Are you quite done?” Shadowheart leans against a tree, eying Ferris’ mangled, bloody hand. “I only hope I have enough magic left in me to fix that.”

“I can fix it myself,” the bard grits out against the pain; she thinks she can see the gleam of bone across her knuckles, and she swallows down the nausea. “Fuck.”

“I did suggest that, darling, but you insisted on taking it out on one of these poor trees. Shame, really. Hate sex can be wild.”

“I don’t hate him,” Ferris sucks in a breath before steeling herself against the agony of her bones knitting back together. “That’s the worst part.”

“You called him a dog, Songbird,” even Astarion cannot keep the surprise from his voice. “I’ve never seen you so vicious.”

Ferris wants to punch the tree one last time to really prove her point, but her hand aches and she just wants to lay down and pray nothing wakes her before morning; with their luck, she might manage three hours of sleep before everything goes promptly to the Hells and they are forced to endure an early morning to save themselves and the world. The rough bark is smeared with blood, slick and red, and she sighs before flexing her fingers.

There’s a few breaks but nothing jutting out, and one out of place; she grits her teeth as she pops it back in, and Astarion makes a disguised noise from behind her. Once she’s sure everything is lined up, she lets healing magic do its work, humming a song of new growth and new leaves, of winding streams and dapples light on the forest floor.

“I needed to get my point across,” she says once the magic runs its course; it’s not entirely healed, there’s some patches of skin that are a little more raw than anything but she’s too tired for more. “You know I’m not a sweet little débutante.”

“Exactly Astation, just because she looks sweet doesn’t mean she doesn’t have claws,” Shadowheart takes her mostly healed hand and does some additional work. “Don’t want you to scar too badly.”

“My healing job wasn’t that terrible,” the bard complains. Shadowheart just chuckles and carefully rechecks the straightness of all her fingers before casting. Ferris doesn’t even flinch as she does it, despite how much her hand must still hurt, and the other elves try not to think about why that is.

“Not to seem incredibly out of character,” Astarion sprawls himself across the rock he’s been perched on, stretching. “But I think you should apologize.”

Both women stare at him as though he’s grown tentacles from his face and he can’t help but check to make sure he hasn’t. Ferris looks down at her hand, skin unblemished and healthy once more, despite the blood everywhere. Underneath the surface it’s fully mended.

She wishes she was, too, that healing was as simple as knitting the parts of herself back together.

“How can I face him after what I said?”

Understanding crosses Shadowheart’s face but Astarion cuts her off before she can speak. “As easily as you do anything else, sweet thing. You’ll be forgiven.”

“You seem sure of that. I insulted his goddess pretty badly.” Ferris winces as the words replay in her mind. “And I did call him a dog.”

“Oh he’ll forgive you,” Shadowheart passes a few coins to Astarion, unable to completely hide the action from the bard’s perceptive eyes. “Gale—“

“Is understanding to a fault,” the man cuts her off quickly, a glance between them. “Let’s head back, I rather enjoy the safety of a group when we’re this close to that blasted curse. I don’t trust that we’re out of danger and it’s draining me dry—I suppose I know what you feel like, dear Bird.”

“Ha, very funny.”

“You know,” he hums. “I rather am.”

It’s not a far walk back to camp and all of them exchange terrible jokes along the way, trying to shake the unease. The second they entire the firelight, Wyll, Halsin, and Karlach all point to the wizard’s tent.

“What a warm welcome,” Astarion says far too loudly. Ferris only sighs and makes her way over to the rich purple drapes of fabric, the barest hint of light escaping. She can hear the conversation behind her, the roar of blood in her ears.

“Gale?” It comes out just louder than a whisper. “May I come in?”

The blue glow of Mage Hand pulls the flap aside just enough for her to slip in before it falls back into place, cutting off the warm firelight glow, but her eyes are sharper than a human’s and the dim light suits her just fine. Gale’s there, surrounded by open books and scattered parchment, head in his hands and fingers tangled in his curls. There is clearly a year or more of research here and he is the eye of his own storm.

He doesn’t look at her. “If you’ve come to apologize—“

“Which I have,” she carefully picks her way through the academic detritus. “Only for my words, not the sentiment behind them or why I said them.”

Ferris eases her hands into his hair, relieved as his relax and fall away; the clutch of them looked painful, bordering on rigor. Clever fingers dig in lightly, soothingly, and Gale sighs.

“I suppose I deserve them,” he leans into her touch, just slightly. “You aren’t known to be a liar. Not a good one, at least.”

She wishes it were the truth; it’s hard to lie to Gale, but only about certain things. Lying comes as second nature to her, words tripping merrily off her silver tongue in whatever way will serve her best. Ferris has lied since the moment she could speak. ‘I’m not hungry, thank you’ mixed in with ‘my father will be home soon, don’t worry’ and ‘I’m alright, really’. She’s lied about her health, she’s kept secrets from everyone—including her sheep. It’s hard to trust, and its far easier to exist in the space between truths, the murky gray gaps where she can lose the shepherd’s daughter-turned-warrior bard, but Gale deserves as much truth as she can muster.

Even if it hurts to haul herself into the light.

“There is only one thing I lied about,” she murmurs, fingers still in his hair and working out tension. “And it’s that I’ll always care, Gale.”

Carefully extracting herself, Ferris attempts a smile.

“I’d mourn you for the rest of my years, not just for the friend I’ve lost but for the man I know you’re capable of becoming.” She kneels before his crossed legs, looking up into his face. “You’re more than a martyr, Gale Dekarios. So much more.”

Two things happen in rapid succession, so fast she barely has time to blink: one, Gale casts Silence around them, and two, she’s been knocked back onto her palms and her lip is bleeding because he’s kissing her, desperately.

Ferris’ arms shake trying to hold herself up but the overwhelming, sudden closeness of the wizard and the shock of it all is too much. She allows Gale to lay her back, closing off a part of herself; if this is what he needs, if this is what it takes for him to live, she’ll do anything.

“You said you’d show me Waterdeep,” she breathes between kisses. “That you’d introduce me to Tara and your mother.”

Maybe this could be real, if she pretended hard enough. At least she could remind him, slow him down.

“I did,” his lips trace the cords of her throat. “I will. I’ll show you everything, I promise.”

Her breathing hitches when his hands find the ties of her shirt, tugging them loose enough that he can continue down to smear her blood across her collar bones, delicate arches of vivid red against the peach-cream of her skin. He needs more, wants more—Gale’s hand finds her hip and he presses closer, the difference in their size more evident.

Ferris breaks.

She scrambles back, putting space between them. It takes him a guilty moment to realized it wasn’t determination on her face, but fear; on Ferris’ the two are often the same.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, his lips still stained with her blood. “I—“

Ferris touches her split lip, wincing as she heals it. Her fingers come away with blood and for the first time he notices that she’s covered in it; her hands, her throat, her chest. Some of it, at least, is his doing.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she reaches forward, sitting up, but Gale moves away this time.

“Not for your lip, but gods know I’m sorry for that too,” he runs a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have—I wanted to. And I shouldn’t, but in the Weave you—”

Ferris remembers the concept of a shared, desired closeness, the warmth and safety and…whatever she’d imagined in their magic lesson, the abstract feelings that Gale had interpreted as romantic affection.

“It’s fine,” she tries again; she’s never felt romantic affection in her entire life, but she knows how to act. “If this is what you need, it’s alright.”

Gale feels ill. “But you don’t want the same thing.”

He moves to drop Silence but Ferris stills his hand.

“I’m sorry for the way I said things, truly, but the fact that I want you to live is unchanged,” she turns his hand over in both of hers, tracing the lines of his palm with a focused reverence. “I…I don’t know what that means yet, and I know it’s selfish, but I’d like to find out, I think. It’ll take time, but I think Gale Dekarios holds just as much, if not more promise than Gale of Waterdeep.”

When she kisses his knuckles, her lips stain his warm skin and her hands smear blood against his wrist and fingers where she holds him in place.

“Your hand—“

“Is fine,” she breaths a laugh and it makes every hair on his arms rise in ticklish response. “You can thank Shadowheart for the detail work, I was more than satisfied with simply knitting my bones back together.”

Ferris stands and he rises to his knees, catching her wrist when she turns to leave; she smiles fondly as he thinks of something to say, mouth opening and closing with each aborted attempt at voice the magnitude of his thanks and growing affection—it’s beyond affection, really, but anything more would frighten her, he’s sure of that.

“Consider living, Gale,” she whispers. “If not for yourself, then for the possibilities— because there is another way, there is always another way.”

She’s going to damn well find it.

Chapter Text

Ferris adapts quickly, gracefully as anything.

She carries matches in her pocket for candles that would usually light in the presence of magic if she doesn’t feel like carrying around one of the lamps Gale had unearthed for her. Most of time she carries them for his benefit; the tower never truly gets dark enough to be of concern, and Ferris can see as well as any elf in such conditions. A few instances where he was startled enough to drop whatever he was holding later, Ferris started keeping candle stubs and matches on her person.

Occasionally she forgets and wanders into the real darkness of the library before sheepishly coming back, grabbing a candle or lamp and rambling out again. She still plays and sings, still dances around the kitchen in the warm afternoon light while she bakes or cooks or makes tea. She still lights her incense, still talks to his goddess, the goddess of fucking magic as though she has not been robbed of a part of herself.

She has always been the strongest of them, whether it was evident to her or not. She would deny it, he’s sure.

It is his one, solid truth.

He’s still sure of that, still knows she is the most human part of him in a way that grounds and affirms, keeps his feet planted on solid earth and his lungs filling with air. Even though the whole of their lives has been upset and thrown into chaos.

Gale tries to remember softness, tries to remember that he loves her—well, he doesn’t have to remember that part, it’s suffused into every fiber of his being, into his marrow. Loving her is the easiest thing he has ever done, and that makes the disagreements all the more difficult to handle.

Everything is on its side, everything is strange and terrifying. He loves her so much that he might burst with it, but Ferris struggles against help, against assistance, against the best of his intentions.

Gale tries to understand.

His bard goes about her life as though nothing has changed, she is careful and courteous, precise and calm. She can twist truths to her advantage, can smile sweetly and change any subject in her favor. It means that no one suspects, no one outside their circle, and the truth festers between four people in a city of far more.

It feels insurmountable to exist the way she does. The way she continues as if nothing has changed, as if nothing is wrong, as if she has not been failed and hurt at every turn in her first twenty-five years of life. Would he have been able to survive what she did? Gale has been used, yes, discarded—but he’ll see a shadow of Ferris at times, when she moves slower or more cautiously, or slips into the darkness of a doorway to hide without knowing why.

He wants to understand, he wants so badly to understand, but the tipping point reveals itself without warning.

It had been such a little thing too, such a comically small little thing.

Ferris hands him an enchanted map, one that would highlight the area the person spoke aloud, and could even offer navigation based on the last time the road was traveled. It was something she had done many, many times.

Only this time she is different.

Only this time, the enchantment is gone when it touched his hand and he’d pursed his lips. It was a complicated bit of spell work, one that would take weeks to redo, and Ferris realizes what she’s done at the same moment he resigns himself to having the extra work. “Gale, I’m so sorry.”

She tucks her hands into her sleeves, and then into her armpits; she hunches the slightest bit and it hurts him to see her look so small because of him. Gale bites back a sigh, the parchment dead in his hand for a few moments before there is a tingle of magic that seeps back.

“It’s alright, the framework of the enchantment is simple enough, but redoing it to the same degree will take me some time,” he weighs the scroll in his palm. “However, I think this will take less time than anticipated; even now there’s magic coming back into it, perhaps the enchantment is so old that there’s no way to fully dispel it.

“Really? I thought it was a complex enchantment—I’m sorry, I should have had my gloves on, I’m—“

He fights back a sigh. “Please, there is no need to apologize. It’s an enchantment, these things are not life or death. Likely thanks to your…talks, I have not fallen as far as I’d thought from Mystra’s favor.”

His the process of re-enchanting elements of his home had become easier, the lingering scent of roses and magic fading the moment he notices, and Ferris says nothing about it.

At no point does it occur to him that these are likely small mercies, an almost imperceivable pity, and not for his benefit.

“I haven’t noticed,” she snaps. “I can no longer see and taste the Weave the way I used to. I cannot inhale magic and exhale something new.”

It’s not usually a sensitive subject, and he pushes onward. “I’m sure it is thanks to your worship—“

It’s the wrong word to use.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Gale.” She does not usually curse in such a way and it stops him. “It is not worship. I do not pray. I am no cleric or paladin of any god, I expect nothing. I am no one’s Chosen, no one’s Champion. And I find I rather like it that way.”

She’s stubbornly crossed her arms, feet spread and he knows that if he tried to knock her over that he’d be hard-pressed to do so. Ferris does not bend so easily, but she does tip her head back to look at him.

“You said you were my champion,” he corrects. “That you would fight for me whenever I had need.”

“And I will be your champion, but I cannot fight your inner turmoil unless you make it flesh. I am not a solution. I am not the cause of your possible return to favor, I am not even the cause of your salvation.”

He reaches out for a stray strand of hair, loosed in her simmering anger. “You sell yourself short.”

“And you are an arrogant fool, Gale Dekarios.” Ferris shoves him away, ready to bring out her teeth if she had to; her bark is just as bad as her bite and her blood is burning, hands itching for a fight. “Gods damn you for it.”

“They already have,” he snapped. “You act as though I don’t know my own shortcomings, my ‘inner turmoil’ as you put it.”

“If you know them, then act!”

They’re not arguing about the map any longer, or about Ferris’ constant need to apologize. No, it’s about turning words into knives and inflicting pain—all the hurt they’ve kept inside, to themselves, manifest onto the other person in invisible cuts.

“As if you have a place to lecture me on this subject.” He rounds the table and Ferris fights the urge to flinch back away from him. “You, who hides from your fear behind a mask as you let it consume you. You let it dictate your life—“

The letter knife that had been on the table embeds itself into the wood by his head and Gale inhales sharply as the metal wobbles. Ferris looks panicked, hands flexing as though she is fighting the urge to clench them into fists.

Worse: she looks terrified not of him, but of herself.

He had not even seen her move.

Gale, more than once, had threatened their companions with incineration but he suddenly realized that he wouldn’t even be able to get out an incantation if he was against Ferris. His blood would be pooling beneath his corpse before he got two words in; it won’t come to that, he knows in his bones that Ferris would distract and flee rather than hurt him.

Even in her panic, Ferris prepares for the worst. “I don’t run. I solve my problems, Gale. Don’t become one.”

It’s cold; her walls are up, her eyes vacant. It’s a defense, and he knows the only thing to do is wait it out.

It’s not about the map, and it’s gone far enough.

“If this is how you solve them,” he yanks the knife from the wood with some difficulty, trying to keep his voice light. “Then you’re no different than a common murderer.”

“I already am,” she reminds him coolly. “I’ve blood on my hands, blood that has nothing to do with saving Baldur’s Gate. I watched a man bleed out after I stabbed him with a broken bow.”

He stills.

“I lied to you, to your mother, to everyone—I didn’t simply flee Baldur’s Gate, I fled it a murderer. My patron is dead not because of the Netherbrain but because of careful planning.”

It should be a sobering revelation but Gales finds he cannot care for the fate of a man he never knew, especially one so cruel.

“Why lie?” He hold the letter opener close, as if it will do any good. He is not afraid of her, but he thinks, perhaps, he should be. “He’s dead already, why lie?”

“My reputation was ruined long before I knew I had one, but yours still has some room to be sullied. Not enough to be laid low by a goddess and told to off yourself by the famous Elminster—no, you’re housing the woman who murdered a Baldurian noble.”

“Enough,” he snaps. “Enough of this. It doesn’t matter any longer.”

“You don’t tell me what is ‘enough’,” Ferris shouts back. “You act as though you know me, but you do not know the lengths to which I will go to survive. To live. You don’t know what I did!”

“Then tell me,” Gale pleads. “I cannot know you if you do not allow it, Ferris. Tell me, and I promise I will not judge you—have I ever?”

He takes a careful step forward.

“You are not a burden, Ferris. Nothing you could say to me would change my opinion of you.”

She goes still on her next exhale and he can sense that she’s on the brink of something; he wishes he knew what she needed. When she looks up at him and meets his eyes, he extends his hand—whether she bites it or takes it is entirely up to her.

“I don’t want to remember,” she whispers, bypassing his hand entirely and pressing herself against him, arms around his waist. “You say you won’t pass judgment, that you want to know me, but how can you when I don’t want to remember?”

Carefully, he settles on hand on her back. “I would never make you tell me, Songbird. You know this. But I cannot know you unless you let yourself be known. Don’t snort at me, you know fully well that I am correct.”

The library goes quiet save for their breathing, the sounds of Waterdeep outside a distant mimicry of normalcy.

“Sometimes I prick my fingers, when I sew,” she mumbles. “To see that my blood is still red, and that it’s there at all. That I’m alive, and this isn’t a dream.”

The hollow acceptance of her eyes in the fire, the stillness of her hand. The emptiness of her voice. Gale strokes her hair, kisses her brow. “It’s not a dream.”

“I broke my bow,” she continues as if she had not heard him. “I snapped it in half, knowing he would be upset and I suffered the beating with worse afterward and swallowed down disgust when I had to use pretty words to beg for a new one. I showed him the pieces, but when he left the room, I only handed the servant half of it.”

Her hands flex against his back. “The wood was so sharp.”

Gale had seen her wield knives, swords, seen those hands create beautiful music and end lives. He stays quiet, and her fingers tap out some unfamiliar rhythm on his spine.

“I got a new bow the night I was meant to perform, and I gave the best performance of my life. I told him I wanted to thank him for his generosity, that it was a beautiful bow. And he thought he’d won—I’d never offered myself before, he’d always simply taken. I’d hidden the shiv under my pillow, I—“

The silken sheets against her back, his hands running up her thighs, the harsh press of fingers into her; she hides the wince behind a moan, palms her breasts to put on a show. He likes it when she does that, and it stops him from using his teeth. Ferris hates the bite marks he so loves to litter across them. Forcing her hips into a mimicry of pleasured movement, gods she should have been an actress. The sick gleam of his eyes as he lines himself up but this won’t do, she needs him supine for this.

‘Let me, my lord,’ she makes the words so pretty, smooth enough to make a succubus proud, sits up and ignores the ache between her thighs. ‘I have another show for you to enjoy.’

It’s easier to hide the pain, she can tip her head back and moan as she takes him inside, the stretch painful and dry. Her obvious pain excites him, the slickness of precome easing the way because she certainly isn’t aroused enough for this.

‘Ride hard,’ his fingers dig into her thighs. ‘I’m going to put you away wet, little thing. My prized mare.’

She can feel him jerk, the right clench of her muscles doing her no favors as she sets a slow pace. He slaps her hip hard enough to sting, as though he’s encouraging on a horse in the hunt.

‘Faster. Harder. You know how I like it.’

‘Forgive me my lord,’ she plants her hands on either side of his head, letting the tears come as she fucks herself on his cock. ‘I forget my use.’

He grips her hips and plants his heels, thrusting into her hard and fast enough that Ferris is pushed forward and she cries out in pain when his teeth find a nipple. ‘You’d do well to remember it, little whore. Remember who you belong to.’

His mouth is stained with her blood; he’d broken skin, and his thrusts are losing rhythm as he approaches his peak.

Another bite to her breast, a harsh suck. ‘I should have let you get further along, given these tits some use before I spayed you. Maybe we can still get them going.’

Ferris closes her eyes and does not hide her tears as he grunts; she’s so close to her shiv, she can just feel the edge of it—he thrusts again, harder, and she’s thrown forward enough to get her hand fully around it.

She rears back, triumphant, and there is a flash of confusion in his eyes, and understanding the moment she stabs the sharpened remains of her bow into his artery, through his throat, and out the other side.

Ferris swallows. “It was the first time I’d ever spilled human blood with the intent to kill, the first time someone’s blood other than my own stained those sheets. I stabbed the bastard in the neck and waited until he’d gone cold between my legs to get up and dress myself. I put on my old clothes, the ones I’d arrived in Baldur’s Gate in, held my violin close, and stepped out of the fifth-story window.”

This part he knows already; Ferris has not stepped away from him, still pressed close and he is not about to move away from her, not when she needs this.

“I was covered in blood when you met me,” Ferris finishes. “What was visible was not mine.”

He isn’t sure what to say. “Ferris—“

“I’m sorry.”

Gale can feel his robes growing damp, and Ferris hides her face entirely. Her shoulder shake the slightest bit, almost imperceptibly, and he lets her cry.

“I’m so sorry,” her breath hitches as she tries to collect herself.

“For what?”

It takes her a few minutes to calm herself enough to reply, breath coming in irregular hitches and gasps. Gale only waits, the hand between her shoulders making small, comforting circles as the hiccups finally cease.

“Well, the letter knife was uncalled for,” she mumbles into his clothing. “But I’m sorry I’m difficult. I’m sorry that I’m not the same Ferris you brought back to Waterdeep after the Netherbrain, I’m sorry everything keeps changing and I can’t be normal for even a moment. I’m sorry I make everything complicated and that I don’t fit neatly into your life, and I never have. I don’t think I ever will—“

“I didn’t think this would be easy, Ferris.” He rubs her back, careful to keep his hand high on her small frame. “You are a person, and people change, they grow. You are not a static thing like a vase or paperweight, you’re people. But you are right, the knife was uncalled for.”

It’s as much a reminder for him as it is for her.

And it’s even more clear that she does not fully buy into his words. “Why bother at all?”

“I care for you, deeply,” He insists. “Surely you know that.”

“I—“ she finds herself unable to deny it. “I don’t understand why.”

Gale shakes his head. “I don’t need you to understand it, only to know that I do.”

Neither of them are walking on eggshells, but there is a tacit understanding that something is not finished, and something is not right in the tower. It makes his mother scowl and Tara fluff every time a conversation turns sharp and there is marked effort to calm themselves before continuing on with their days and lives. Time marches on, and they drag their feet to follow; Ferris pulling him forward, and Gale trying to turn back.

Difficult but manageable. So much, and not enough.

Ferris thinks out loud as she looks at the books she’d pulled for him, shuffling through the titles in her arms. “Do you think we could try an experiment with enclosed flame? Candles are all well and good, but around the books… I’m surprised you haven’t told me off yet.”

It’s half a laugh as she places the books before him and looks into his face; Ferris takes a step back before he can force his expression into something more neutral, or other than anger.

“I’m sorry—“

“No—no, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Gale drags a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. “I only—I’m not angry with you, but at myself.”

For his repeated failure, for his inability to fix her or solve her problems. What use is love when it cannot right what needs to be mended?

She reaches out a tentative hand, sighs when he doesn’t move and instead moves herself, around the back of his chair. “Please don’t be. Please.” He is still tense and she closes her eyes, winds her arms tightly around his neck and buries her face into his hair. “I would do it again, and again. It cannot be undone, my choice is made.”

If he holds her he isn’t sure he’s selfless enough to let go but he tries anyway. A hand encircles her wrists, warm and grounding. She fits so perfectly against him and he tries to focus on that alone before his human ears manage to catch the words she is breathing out, softly enough that he wouldn’t have heard them if she wasn’t so close.

“I’m sorry, Gale,” repeated like a prayer, a chant. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s like being doused with ice water, the sudden realization that this could have been him, a magic-less mage, and that Mystra’s appearance in Ferris’ dream was not coincidence: it needed to be her. Mystra would have known that Ferris would choose to sacrifice herself in place of anyone else, to whatever end, especially if it was to protect him. Especially if it were to protect him against Mystra’s influence.

He stands abruptly, catches Ferris by the arm when she stumbles.

“Gale? I didn’t mean—“ she looks worried, alarmed even as she finds her feet and steadies herself. “Gale, don’t.”

“I’ll be back.”

It’s so late that it’s almost early but the lights in the temple always burn and he burns too. There is no one around to stop him as he yanks off his cloak, throws it to the floor, shouts at the statue of his goddess.

“Was this to be my fate?” He calls up to cold, unfeeling marble and wonders at how similar it was to an astral form. “Have you done this so that I look in a mirror every time I meet her eyes, and see my own hubris staring back at me?”

There is no answer and he falls to his knees hard enough that pain shoots through them and his head drops into his hands.

“Why?” He grips his hair. “Why?”

He hears footsteps but does not look up—someone must have come to see what the shouting was about, and finding a supplicant in impassioned plea on their knees before a goddess is not unusual. They retreat again, and he lowers his voice.

“Why?”

A whisper of rose water, a breeze off the sea that carries salt and lemongrass. It’s not what he associates with his goddess, so unfamiliar that he feels wrong-footed.

“She made her wish known.”

It sounds so simple. So reasonable.

“She cannot even use enchantments or scrolls, she has been robbed of something that everyone can do—“ he looks up, pleading.

“This is not about you.” It stops him. Hadn’t Ferris said the same thing? “She made her wish known. Do you think I reveled in seeing her magic taken? The girl amuses me, do you think I take pleasure in this? I am the Goddess of Magic, Gale Dekarios. Whether I am worshiped or not I am everywhere—everywhere except within that girl.”

There’s a sigh in the air, heavy.

“There are more gods than I that demanded payment. I can only ease the burden so much, for her sake.” The roar in his head drops away suddenly, terrifyingly. “You are lucky it was just her magic.”

Gale drops his head into his hands again, heels of his palms pressed against his eyes to make colors spark bright in the darkness; it’s cool, almost cold in the temple, and the silence gives him time to think. Everything swirls around in his mind, threads of a larger tapestry but he can no longer see the pattern in them, or how he’s supposed to put them back on the loom when they’re snarled and torn, and he doesn’t remember what the design was meant to be.

That he could have lost her entirely, that Ferris could simply have gone—

He is not sure how long he kneels there, entirely lost, but a boot scuffs on the polished floor and Gale does not need to look up to know that Ferris has found him; she takes his lack of reaction to mean that he has not heard her, and she speaks in a low voice edged with panic. “Gale?”

He shakes his head.

Her steps are light but audible, like she’s approaching a startled animal. Even in boots, he has no doubt that she could manage to be soundless if she so desired. How often had she slipped on silent feet without his notice? Too many times to count.

“Please come home.”

A cold hand brushes the hair away from his neck to rest in a way where Ferris can feel his pulse. It’s deliberate and he knows this, it’s something that she does. Another endearing quirk.

“Every day I look into the eyes of a man who is in mourning for someone who is there in front of him, alive and whole—and yet you weep here as though it’s my grave. You don’t need to be here, Gale. I’ve told you that it’s fine. Truly. You don’t need to pray or supplicate yourself over something I came to terms with long before I even made that wish.

“I would make it again, I would make it in every lifetime and universe. If this is something you cannot or will not accept, tell me now—tell me, because I can’t carry on like everything is fine when it’s not. I can’t keep biting my tongue from saying the wrong thing, I worry that every conversation I will be an argument. If seeing me or having me around is going to cause you pain, then I will leave.”

He is a coward for not looking at her earlier but now he is glad he didn’t—mostly because he chokes on a laugh that borders on hysterical. Ferris had likely sprinted out after him because her boots are not laced, her stockings are mismatched, and she’s thrown on a coat that isn’t buttoned correctly, housecoat swapped out at the door. “Did you run through Waterdeep in your nightdress to find me?”

“Of course I did, you insufferable bastard—unless Mystra took your sight.” She tips her head to look up at the statue, squinting into the darkness despite being able to see perfectly well. “If you’re here being stupid, it seems like something she’d do.”

“Ferris.” The hand at the nape of his neck squeezes in acknowledgment, and he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she hums, always infuriatingly kind. “But saying ‘sorry’ isn’t enough anymore, for either of us. Not for this. I need to know that this isn’t going to become a misguided obsession. I need—oh.”

From where he kneels, it is a simple thing to turn and wind his arms around her waist, to press his face into her stomach and sigh out the last of the tension and breath in lemongrass and sunshine. “You, Ferris, you’re so much stronger than you’ve ever needed to be. You have apologized over and over when you’ve done nothing wrong and I have dragged us backward while you’ve tried to move forward. Please,” he swallows, hard. “Please, don’t go.”

A hand pets through his hair, gently untangling the curls. “If you’re sure.”

“I was wrong and thinking only of myself,” he tightens his arms to feel the rise and fall of Ferris’ sides as she breathes. “It’s one of my flaws, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

She chuckles and it reverberates through him. “If you were wrong, so was I. You’re right, I bottle everything inside, pressurized until I break, and I become cruel to those I care for in an attempt to push them away. I have always been alone, before, and it is hard to let people in, and see their help as anything other than pity.”

“That you can still somehow mistake love for pity, after all we’ve been through, shocks me.” Gale carefully peels away, suddenly aware of his knees aching on the cold marble that bites and bruises. Ferris offers him a hand, clasping his wrist to haul him up with her deceptive strength, as though she can tell he’s in pain. “Shall we vow to be better people? Here’s as good a place as any—it’s a temple, after all.”

Ferris looks around, and he can see a levity returning to her eyes. “Let’s not do that to Mystra, she’s already suffered enough of our idiocy,” she tugs on the arm of his shirt. “Knowing we’re both blind to our flaws until someone’s begging the gods for aid is enough of a deterrent for me.”

There is no immediate desire to return to their rooms, to the tower, neither of them wants to sleep after running through the streets and the cold; the bard’s cheeks are pink with chill and exertion, and he fares no better—his hair is completely wild and he’s sure his face is splotchy after letting himself cry, emotions leeching from him and leaving him drained of everything but exhaustion. Despite that feeling, bone deep, Gale has no plans to let Ferris out of his sight, not for the next few hours.

Her fingers are twined with his, swinging between them as Ferris picks their route home, chosen entirely for the views in the fog. Temples and historical buildings loom up from the mist that begins to burn away with the sun. The colors bleed in and Ferris’ hand is warm in his, and it feels right to be wandering the streets of Waterdeep in their nightclothes and mismatched outfits.

“I love you,” he tugs her hand, pulling her gently to a stop.

She turns around, bemused. “You really must stop saying that just after I’ve prevented you from doing something foolish or potentially harmful, Gale.”

“Well alright, my timing continues to need improvement, but the feeling behind it is genuine. I do love you.”

Ferris turns to him and takes his other hand, steps into his space and tips her head back to look at him. “Timing and location. Take note, wizard: ‘in the street wearing our bedclothes’ is just as bad as ‘on a dock with someone between us’. But I know, and I am your champion. This will not change.”

It’s good thing that the bard has an unerring sense of direction, because Gale has no idea how to get them home from where they are, regardless of the rising sun and lifting fog. She has led them through the early hours as though through a dream, and he continues to follow where she goes. Waterdeep begins to wake up around them, slow and sure and with a steadily growing noise; Ferris has them at the front door just in time to avoid anyone wondering what a professor and well-known wizard was doing out in his nightclothes with a young woman who seemed pulled from a fairytale.

“Oh thank goodness,” Tara barrels into his chest the moment Gale steps through the door, Ferris ducking quickly out of the way. “Mister Dekarios, do not run out like that! You’re lucky that Miss Ferris cared enough to find you—into the kitchen, this instant. You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch a chill, wandering around this early. Your hem is damp, oh just sit down.”

They’re both herded into the warm, dark kitchen by a ruffled tressym, Tara tutting all the while and fussing over the state of Gale’s hair, Ferris’ stockings, their clothing.

“I can’t tell if she’d make a better herding dog, or a nanny dog,” Ferris mumbles under her breath as a thick sweater is dropped onto her without ceremony, Tara bustling around to get the fire higher, and something warm into their hands. There’s an herbal tea blend that does a number to combat a head cold, but it tastes foul and Ferris secretly hopes the tressym opts for normal tea instead of additional punishment.

“I heard that,” comes the reply, the jar following closely behind Tara as it’s tugged by magic. “Don’t make that face, you know you can put honey in it.”

“Whiskey too? For medicinal purposes, of course.” She winks at Gale, who glances over at the decanter. “It’ll really and truly kick whatever might take root.”

A blanket has thumped down onto Gale, stopping him from moving, and he bundles into it. “Can’t we at least do this in the library?”

“No,” Tara’s tone brokers no argument. “Absolutely not. If you must occupy yourselves while you warm up, I will permit Ferris to gather a few books and return immediately.”

She burrows herself into the sweater, already dreading leaving the warmth of the kitchen. “You heard her, Gale. What book do you want?”

“Surprise me,” he sighs, leaning back into his chair and letting the blanket swallow him a little more. “Something light, after the morning we’ve had.”

There’s tutting from Tara as she magically spoons dried herbs into the teapot, eyes on Ferris as she scurries from the room. “It wouldn’t be a long morning if both of you weren’t utter children.”

She isn’t wrong, which is the hardest thing to admit. Gale doesn’t enjoy defeat or humiliation, and this is a heady combination of both that has him questioning the way he’d handled a few past relationships in his youth. Given, both he and Ferris are well out of their teens and should know better, it’s hard to break habits.

Especially for her.

The bard slips back in, passing Gale a slim work of fiction he did not remember owning while she sits down with an analysis on ancient languages. “Did you, perhaps, mistake which volume you just handed me?”

Ferris sits down just as Tara places the mugs before them, her nose wrinkling at the smell of the herbs. “No, there’s no mistake,” she reaches for the honey with one hand and the other unstoppers a flask and pours a measure into her tea. Tara either ignores it, or declines to chastise her in favor of Ferris actually drinking the whole mug. A sickeningly large scoop of honey finds its way in and she looks up at him as she stirs. “You asked for something light, and you have received it. Apparently it’s quire good, Cat recommended it to me and lent me her copy, so treat it well.”

He holds out his hand and Ferris places the flask into it, all pretense gone. “When have you ever known me to abuse a book?”

“Both of you cease bantering to delay the inevitable and drink your tea before I take drastic measures,” Tara sits between them on the table, her stare disapproving. “Go on.”

He toasts to Ferris when he lifts his mug, watching her do the same; it’s warm enough to drink but not quite hot enough to burn, which was Tara’s first mistake. The second is underestimating how much the bard hated the taste of the damn tea. Ferris swirls the liquid in her mug, meets his eyes, and knocks the whole thing back in two swallows.

“Miss Ferris!”

The bard gags, grabbing the honey spoon and popping it into her mouth. “Gods I hate that stuff.” It’s garbled around the spoon and Gale composes himself; laughing will only earn him Tara’s ire and, right now, it’s firmly focused on Ferris.

“I will make it hot enough to burn next time you try a thing like that!” If they’d thought Tara fluffed and indignant before this, they were both wrong. “Infuriating, the pair of you.”

“There won’t be a next time, Tara,” Ferris licks honey off her fingers, staring right at Gale. “We exchanged vows in a temple and everything.”

His adamant ‘we did no such thing!’ is lost under Tara’s tirade about how neither of them should be left alone, and why wasn’t she told, and does his mother know, she’s going to tell his mother this instant unless one of them clarifies. It does take some time but he manages to soothe her with little to no help from Ferris, who cracks open her book and smiles the whole time as he panics.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” he mumbles as he sips at his own tea, flipping the novel to the first page.

“Immensely,” she manages around a yawn, rolling her shoulders. “You should try it some time, causing trouble is so rewarding.”

“Hmm.”

The book she’d handed him is engaging, so much so that he doesn’t notice the sky lighten; he is, however, entirely aware of Ferris when she gets up to make herself regular tea, when she shifts and tucks her feet under her, when she sighs and stretches and yawns. Perhaps he’s too aware.

It’s Ferris' third yawn that has him sighing and closing his book, admitting defeat. “Alright, I think it’s time both of us got some sleep. It’s been…well, ‘a long day’ feels like a tremendous understatement here.”

She yawns again. “If you so insist, I suppose I can be convinced that my bed is more appealing than this wooden chair.”

They quickly clear off the table, books and blankets securely in their grasps and the mugs set aside to deal with after they’ve both gotten some sleep. Climbing the stairs seems like an impossible task, but he bids Ferris goodnight at the landing and pauses for her reply.

Her hand hovers over the door handle, her ears low and flat; she expects chastisement, reprisal, but he’s not yet sure why. “Before, I lamented that I did not know the version of you who lived this life, and that I did not know where to fit in among the parts of your whole.”

“I remember.”

He waits.

Ferris’ shoulders are tight and he can see the cords of her neck with how she’s chosen to wear her hair, a low twist that would not be out of place in working districts, a change from her more elaborate braids. She didn’t have time to secure it before chasing him. “Now the opposite is true: I know you, Gale. but I no longer know myself. I cannot be the woman you once knew because I was never her in the first place,” Ferris’ nails bite into her palms. “It was entirely an act. You want the real Ferris? Well. So do I, Gale. I want desperately to know who I am and what I want, because I have never known.

“I have always been what is expected, I have always played a part, and now that I’m not—now that I’m safe and have the luxury of a home to go back to, I don’t know who I am.”

She twists away when he reaches for her, and Gale’s heart breaks. “It’s alright,” he assures her softly. “You’re figuring it all out, and when you’ve mapped the whole of yourself I will still be here. I can promise you that.”

“But what if you don’t like her?” She glares at him through gathering tears that he knows she will not allow to spill until she is in the privacy of her own room, alone and in the dark. “What if I end up someone you hate?”

“Impossible.” This time when he reaches out, Ferris holds still and allows herself to be folded into the barest of embraces. It’s more blanket than arm, but he would rather be ridiculous than not hold her a second longer. “I would prefer to have that than an act. And I’ll have the best guide in the Realms to take me through the new twists and turns—the cartographer herself.”

It gets a short, sharp laugh and he’s eternally grateful for it. Ferris nuzzles gently into his chest, enjoying the soft velvet of his robes for a moment before she steps away. “I think I’ll go out tonight.”

“With Catriona?”

She shakes her head, braid swaying. “I need to breathe.”

“Alright,” he cups her cheek in a hand, tipping her head back to look at her. “Enjoy your evening then—I won’t make the mistake of telling you to behave, but I would like to not post bail with the Watch if possible.”

Her laugh is reward enough, bright and clear rather than the edge of derision its had for a tenday now, a laugh to hide pain or fear. “I’ll do my best,” she hesitates before she turns her face and kisses his palm. “No promises.”

She is nearly gone before he calls out.

“Ferris?” His tone has her pausing at the door, head turning back to face him as she waits for whatever he has to say. “You are allowed to grieve. For what was, for what might have been. It doesn’t need to make sense, but you are allowed to feel sadness for a loss that does not feel like one.”

All he gets is a nod before she is gone, the door to her room clicking shut softly.

His hearing is too human to know that Ferris does not lock it when he goes.

Gale only manages a few hours of sleep before he absolutely must begin his walk over to the Academy, delaying it as much as possible; Ferris’ door is closed when he passes it, a sign that she is likely still asleep. Lately, she has been in the habit of leaving it cracked to indicate she is inside and welcoming of conversation, and wide open when she is not in. His system is quite the opposite, but he’s not about to lecture her on what she feels most comfortable with.

He understands her needs for space.

Blessedly, his students are relatively calm and attentive with little chaos to handle. If he’d had to put out fires on only the slightest bit of rest, Gale might have simply let the Academy burn and hope no one knew he’d allowed it. No one else seems to recognize his exhaustion, or are too polite to comment on it, which he is grateful for.

Even better, it seems that Tara has not told his mother about Ferris’ joke regarding an exchanging of vows, for there are no angry messages left on his desk, no summons to dinner or to her home.

“She’ll be the death of me,” he sighs to the ceiling of his office, closing his eyes for a few precious moments before senior students make their various appearances for mentorship or guidance, or even a nudge in a different directions for their graduation work. Most, if not all of them are independent and polite, and some of them were researched-based. A few more hours and he could return home, enjoy some peace. It would be nicer to have Ferris there, but it’s very likely she will be gone before he even begins the walk back from the Academy.

The sun is long set by the time he locks his office door, knowing that it will not hold against any pranks or attempts by his students to check their grades again, and certainly not against whatever the bard does when she’s bored, but it’s easier to have a mundane, simple lock than to replace a door or redo an enchantment. He finds the lack of challenge its own deterrent. It’s a nice walk, pleasant and temperate, the lamps lit and casting golden light on slightly damp stones.

Gale decides to take the longer route that takes him along the water, enjoying the company of other people as they move through their lives. There’s taverns and inns and shops still open for business and the bustle keeps him moving along in the flow of it all, the conversations and laughter bearing him closer to home via snippets of noise through open doors.

The nearest one swings open, a stentorian voice rings out, clear even through the irregular swinging of the tavern door and he knows immediately and without hesitation that it’s Ferris singing. It’s not a song he hears her do often but here, surrounded by sailors and working men, is the best place for it to be appreciated. Ferris’ range is not a secret, but she’s not often invited to galas to belt out shanties in a tenor that shakes his bones.

Gale cannot help his curiosity and slips inside, well aware that his teaching robes will get stares; he simply has to see if Ferris has tucked her hair up in her favorite disguise. He’d know her sound anywhere, would know her even if the gods took his hearing and sight. Sure enough, there’s a young man on the table, playing a fiddle tune with such force that bow hairs have snapped. It’s not her violin, however, the wood less red and more battered than she’d ever allow. The sailors are riotously happy, singing along and stomping their feet, their rowdy cheering clearly all the fuel Ferris needs to carry on.

She hops down, dancing back to the hearth and Gale realizes what is different—it’s not that Ferris looks like a young man, he’s seen that before: it’s that there’s no magic.

None.

There had always been an undercurrent of Weave to her playing, he realizes now, a draw of one magical thing to another, channeled by her instrument or voice. It’s gone entirely. No one else in the tavern notices or seems to care.

No one knows what they’re missing after all.

When Ferris’ eyes catch on Gale, lingering by the door, there’s a sad, empty hunger in them for the barest moment before she turns away and carries on with her lively reel.

Gale leaves shortly after, letting Ferris mourn alone.

Chapter Text

“You’re taking rejection well, I see,” Gale falls into step with Wyll, both of them glancing ahead where Ferris walks with Shadowheart and Lae’zel; from the animated motions, it sounds like strategy planning. “How’s the heart?”

“No more or less wounded than it was before I proposed courtship,” Wyll laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing. He’s young but his joy is written on his face in clear lines. “It was not that her heart belongs to another, but that she is enjoying freedom and discovering it herself. I’m almost glad she said ‘no’, rather than going along with what someone else wanted. Progress, at least.”

It’s true that Ferris was overly agreeable, tending to stretch herself thin in order to please others and make herself useful.

“Still,” Gale pauses as he navigates some roots that the ladies easily hopped over, even if Karlach managed to trip. “I thought of everyone it would be you, you’re closest in age and you’re a steady fellow.”

“Ah, I’m too impulsive by far, but that’s a tale I’ll save for another time.” The warlock helps him down the other side of the trees, glancing over his shoulder as Lae’zel barks a laugh; Shadowheart has boosted Ferris into a tree and the small bard scrambles up as eager as a squirrel, quickly disappearing into the branches to get a lay of the land. “You should listen to her, one of these days. Really listen.”

Gale makes an offended noise. “I do listen.”

“When it suits you,” Wyll says kindly. “You have a tendency to talk. I think there are things she doesn’t say, between the words she does.”

A haunted look around the eyes, a tightness to her smiles, the careful way she words things and often leaves people with more questions than answers.

There’s a shout and Karlach catches Ferris when she tumbles out of the leaves like a baby bird, limbs every which way and leaves in her hair.

“I suppose—you’re right, of course, my friend. I shall try and be better.”

He notices her eyes linger on certain bushes and plants, her fingers twitching toward them as they pass; Gale lengthens his stride to walk nearer to her, and clears his throat. Ferris doesn’t startle, likely because she is constantly on alert and aware of where everyone is.

“Is there something we should know about those plants? Medicinal properties, perhaps?”

Ferris plucks a leaf off one of the bushes as they pass this time, crushing it between her fingers and holding it out to him. “There’s nothing medicinal I know of, unless your goal is to poison, but the smell is nice, and it seems to keep insects away.”

It reminds him of mint and white wine, sharp and herbal. “Interesting.”

She gives him an amused smile. “You don’t need to lie, Gale.”

“I’m not lying,” he insists, taking another smell of the leaf and rubbing it between his fingers. “I’m trying to place the smell, there’s something there…maybe oranges?”

The bard shrugs. “I’ve never had an orange, I wouldn’t know.”

“Never had—“

“Ferris! I need your help with something, you’ve got little hands!” Karlach’s voice comes from off-trail and the bard perks up immediately.

“Coming!” She turns to Gale, suddenly serious. “Don’t eat that.”

He’s left holding a leaf, utterly baffled, and hands it off to Wyll when the man reaches for it curiously and takes a sniff. “That went well.”

Gale says nothing, but the sharp scent lingers long after they’ve settled for the night. It’s at the edge of his consciousness even as sleep claims him.

They’re talking about nothing in particular when it shifts to clothing. Astarion waxes poetic about different fabrics, lamenting Gale’s love of velvet and Wyll’s leather vest in turn, despite both men protesting that they’re comfortable, and surely Karlach’s chosen camp clothes were less suited to relaxing? Lae’zel points out that Karlach would likely burn other fabrics, and everyone immediately turns on her instead.

Ferris is quiet, watching the conversation like it’s a sporting event; usually she has things to say, but she’s still and observant, clearly trying to not be noticed.

It fails. Once Astarion catches Gale watching her, he ropes her in.

“And then there’s Ferris, whose shirt is too large and her skirt looks like it has seen better days.”

She pouts. “I made this skirt.”

The elf scoffs. “What, when you were ten?”

“Yes, actually.”

There’s a beat of silence and then the sort of loud, if gentle, chaos that comes with discovery; Astarion grills her on the specifics of its construction, Shadowheart is fascinated that it looks as good as it does, Wyll compliments the light embroidery work as the bard walks them through the skirt and its lifespan.

But Gale decides to listen to Wyll, and try and hear what she does not say instead.

To have survived for fifteen years, a skirt would have to be made of incredibly sturdy material; true, it’s gone a bit thin in places, but Ferris has cleverly worked patches to its underside and disguised them with decorative stitching. He can see the patterns in it, now, the areas where it would have worn from repeated use. The color is faded, but he doesn’t think it was anything flashy at its inception, likely a gray or tan or green that would have faded her into the scrub as she roamed. Having it tie in the front and back meant that it could be adjusted as she grew, as weight was gained or lost. It also meant she could tie it higher or lower if needed. There were minimal seams to repair, given the easy construction—it was the skirt of someone who needed clothing to last, for whatever reason, something even the hands of a child could maintain.

Simple, sturdy, reliable, much like Ferris herself on the surface with the layers underneath.

“Surely we can improve upon that,” Astarion says, clearly taking her measure using the span of his hands; he is careful not to touch her, but Ferris laughs as she moves where he directs.

“I don’t think you can, how can anything compare with a skirt I’ve made last for more than half my life?”

“It can be less ragged, for one,” he replies, and Ferris looks at the hem, truly worn in places despite her creative repair work. “And nicer generally. You are allowed more than one set of clothes in life.”

Their eyes meet and Gale suddenly feels as though he is watching a private conversation until Ferris shrugs and goes to sit back down with as much of a flounce as her skirt allows, which isn’t much. “I do own pants, now, thanks to Lae’zel.”

“Tch,” the woman turns up her nose. “It is not out of kindness, but necessity. It is easier to spar with you when you are less concerned with the condition of your clothing.”

Ferris smiles brightly. “Well, thank you anyway, I do appreciate them.”

The githyanki grumbles the rest of the night, swearing to never bestow kindness to the bard again.

No one believes her.

It has taken much searching and quite a bit of bargaining, but Gale holds a prize far more precious than any magical object in his palm.

“Here.”

Ferris wrinkles her nose, confused. “What is that?”

“An orange,” Gale digs his thumb into the rind and a flash of citrus hits their noses as he peels part of it away, explaining what he is doing the entire time under Ferris’ curious eyes until he’s got a fistful of rind and pith, presenting the peeled fruit to their bard. “It’ll break away into sections, if you pull from that middle bit, put your thumbs in, yes like that.”

It comes away in halves, and halves again, until Ferris has her hands full. “Alright? And do I peel away this casing?”

“No, it’s edible,” he grins, expectant. “Go on.”

Shadowheart has slowed her pace to glance over her shoulder. “A gold piece says you hate it based on the texture.”

“Why wouldn’t I like the texture?” Ferris puts an entire piece in her mouth, chews, and then gags. “Oh, oh no.”

“Keep chewing?” Gale suggests gently even as the bard makes a disgusted face. “It’s just an orange.”

“There’s bits, and the casing is slimy,” she says around the mouthful before swallowing it down, fighting back a retch. “Oh that was awful, who enjoys these?”

“A lot of people,” Shadowheart takes a piece from her hands and eats it calmly. “You’re just strange about food sometimes.”

He hadn’t even thought about that when he’d bought the damn thing, hunting the market high and low; Ferris would eat almost anything as long as it wasn’t slimy, and wasn’t celery. He’d had to stop putting it in soups and stews, the bard insisting the smell and flavor permeated everything. Even if she didn’t see him cooking, she could tell if he’d used any celery in a meal and seek out something else. Thankfully, no one else cared whether a soup lacked it, and things were fine.

“There are ways to avoid the texture, if you enjoy the taste,” he takes the remaining orange pieces and splits them between himself and Shadowheart. “So?”

The bard is quiet for a moment, her tongue clearly poking around her mouth for any pulp that had gotten caught in her teeth. “It didn’t taste horrible, all things considered.”

He’ll take what he can get in this case as Ferris passes over a gold piece to a far too pleased cleric. The orange is sweet, like sugar and sunshine, and he wonders if she’d enjoy just the juice.

“Gale’s been trying to steal you away from us, I think,” Astarion sighs dramatically, leaning against her side. “The thing with the bush, then the orange, and he believes I’m a bad influence.”

“You are a bad influence,” Shadowheart pours more wine and Ferris shoves Astarion back up so that her arm is free to reach for the bottle herself. “There’s nothing wrong with getting to know our companions a little more.”

“But he talks so much,” the elf whines, and both the girls roll their eyes. “Oh stop, don’t pretend you enjoy when he prattles on.”

Ferris’ ears go pink at the tips. “When I’m doing something and he’s talking, I imagine it’s almost like trancing. He has a certain cadence that’s relaxing.”

“Yes, when he’s not lecturing, he can have quite a pleasant voice,” Shadowheart agrees, a small smirk on her lips. “Unfortunate then, that he’s often lecturing—oh, have you heard his elvish? He tried to strike up a conversation with me the other evening,” Shadowheart snorts into her wine, taking a long drink before she clears her throat and does her best Gale impression; it has Ferris doubled over, swatting at the cleric ineffectively as tears form in her eyes.

“Stop, stop, you’re butchering both the impression and his accent,” she nearly sobs with laughter.

“It’s no worse than yours,” Astarion points out. “Strange as it is.”

The bard makes a face then, displeased. “Well at least I can do a decent imitation of people. And his accent isn’t that terrible, it’s academic. Far more formal than most people speak on the daily.”

Astarion takes a long drink of wine before he sighs and passes his glass to Shadowheart. “Still tastes like ash, unfortunately. The bouquet never makes it beyond the nose. Plums, blackberry, chocolate…” he looks wistful for a moment before his attention snaps to Ferris. “How long are you going to let your shirt go un-mended?”

The tips of her ears go pink. “You can’t tell if I pleat it a certain way and tuck it in, it’s fine.”

“It is not,” he sniffs, and Shadowheart nods. “See, even our Lady of Darkness agrees. Go put on the spare one Wyll found and then hand that one to me. No arguments.”

Ferris does grumble under her breath, but there’s no recognizable words for him to fight back on as she grabs said shirt from her bag and slips into Shadowheart’s tent to change.

It’ll likely be the only chance he has to speak with her tonight, and if he doesn’t act now, Gale’s sure he won’t be able to get Ferris’ attention until tomorrow. The other two elves are fiercely protective of her, especially now that he’s started ‘sniffing around her’, which he takes offense to—he’s not a dog, he’s only trying to be friendly, and there’s nothing untoward about getting to know one’s companions, and he can hear when Astarion is being rude, even if his hearing is only human—

“I’ll be out in a moment, Star—oh, Gale, hello.” Ferris has her ripped shirt in hand, no doubt intending to mend it once she had settled. She’s wearing one he does not recognize, but it is clearly borrowed and gaping at the collar. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, yes. I don’t mean to pull you away from semi-nightly elven gossip, but I found a text in the last building and would very much like your help translating.”

She glances over at Shadowheart, and the cleric raises an eyebrow that clearly says ‘do you need rescuing?’

“Ah, I’m not sure how much help I can be, but I’d be more than happy to try.” She’s folding and refolding her shirt, and he can see the tear in it now, long and ragged down the side; he hadn’t noticed the rip before, had thought the pleating at the front a newly found interest in fashion…or an attempt at it, he was not an authority on such things.

“Excellent, my tent—“

“It’s such a nice evening,” Ferris rushes the words out. “Let’s sit outside and enjoy it.”

If Gale finds her request odd he says nothing, only gesturing politely for her to walk ahead. Ferris hands off her shirt to Astarion when they pass her with a shrug, and Gale does not miss the silent nods exchanged.

“Let me fetch the book, one moment—please, make yourself comfortable.” He ducks inside and Ferris settles onto a cushion, legs crossed neatly as she waits. When he emerges a moment later, it’s with a thick tome that looks older than Astarion. “Here we are.”

Ferris takes the book as Gale sits down, sighing once he gets comfortable; she was not wrong, it was a lovely evening. Perfectly cool with the slight breeze, but warm enough that the burn of the fire was comforting rather than a necessity. The bard traces her fingers over the cover, enjoying the feel of the leather.

“It’s definitely old, but it’s Elvish,” she says pleasantly. “Which I thought you knew, what bit were you stuck on?”

“Well, I would like to think I have a handle on such a commonly spoken language, but there’s nothing like the eye and tongue of a native speaker.”

He misses the way Ferris flinches, but realizes that she would not know how which section he needed her help with. “Oh, allow me,” the book trades hands and Gale opens to a passage. “Here.”

Ferris reads two lines. “It’s an old dialect, but it’s not difficult. This, here,” she skims her finger under a word and Gale leans over to read. “It’s like modern elvish, but the ‘ay’ sound is replaced by an ‘eh’ instead. This character here is that sound.”

“So this passage would read…’a tincture dark with syrup—‘“

“‘Dark as’,” Ferris corrects. “This ending indicates a comparison.”

“Hmm,” the wizard shifts the book to catch the light better. “I trust your eyes more than mine. ‘A tincture dark as syrup for…for a rattle in the chest…will no doubt cure both cough and breath’, that’s odd.”

When he looks to Ferris, she shrugs. “Coughing and shortness of breath, I think. If you are wheezing, you can’t take full, proper breaths.”

“You know this dialect well,” he says pleasantly, and Ferris has enough experience with traps to know when she’s been snared. “Why don’t you speak Elvish with Astarion and Shadowheart?”

The loop of the trap tightens around her ankle, but if she doesn’t struggle then nothing can happen; the wizard thinks himself a hunter but he’s never before had to kill a suffering animal— Ferris will gnaw off her own leg if she must.

“They find my accent odd, so we speak common.”

“Is it regional?” Gale asks. Ferris tips her head, a voiceless question. “You’re from Cormyr, was there a regional accent of elvish in that area?”

The bard glances away. “I wouldn’t know.”

Unfortunately for her, Gale is not stupid. Doubly unfortunate, he’s excellent at puzzles and putting pieces together. Her admission is all he needs to realize that Elvish is not her native tongue, as he’d suspected. While he is not as adept at reading her body language, the tense set of her shoulder and the tightness of her hands, he can see the way her brows furrow the slightest amount.

“Who taught you, then, if not an elf?” Cormyr’s elven population was not massive, in fact it was a relatively small percentage of the overall, but plenty of people would have spoken it and she was perfectly fluent in the Cormanthan dialect as well as more standard Chondathan. “They must have been an excellent teacher, and you an apt pupil.”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” she adjusts to curl over her knees, the book forgotten in Gale’s lap.

“Oh I don’t know,” he keeps his tone pleasant and curious, trying not to seem like he’s prying. “How strange could it be?”

“I learned to sing the same way,” she says. “From a dryad.”

Gale blinks.

Stares.

Blinks again.

“A dryad.”

“I think.” Ferris is pointedly not looking at him, eyes fixed on the grass of their camp location and her fingers looping idling around the end of her braid, twisting the hair over and over in a soothing habit. “I was very young.”

He thinks of a wizard, too young by far and dazzled by magic and spectacle. “How young?”

Halflings and elves aged slowly, to be sure, but Ferris has mentioned before that she seemed similar enough to a human child to use their milestones as a basis for her own. She thinks a moment, brows furrowed, and Gale turns the page of the book for something to do. “Five?” She hesitates a moment. “Turning six, the solstice happened after I set out each year with my herd.”

He thinks, for a moment, that her measurements are horribly skewed from having to grow up too quickly.

Five years old and alone in the world. Gale tried to imagine himself at that age, independent and without any adults. “That’s terribly young.”

She nods. “It was, wasn’t it? Nothing for it now. o entertain myself, I would sing or hum or talk to fill the silence. There were times when I couldn’t bear it, being so alone, even when I was incredibly accustomed to it. When I reached my grazing place, there was a corpse of trees that I would settle in. She was there, of course, her tree was among them.”

Gale has so many questions he wants answered, so many clarifications, but he lets her speak, the words still coming. He’s learning to listen to the gaps between them, even when it hurts to think of a child alone.

“It was nice, to have a friend—well, I’m not sure she would have considered me a friend, but there’s no way to ask now. A few years before I left for Baldur’s Gate, the trees were cut down for lumber and hauled away.”

“And she taught you language, music?”

Ferris glances up at him, as though realizing he’s still there. “And magic. Any magic I learned from her, along with the music.”

It explains why her magic leans more toward healing, toward nature; her magical aptitude is more akin to their druid friend, and she’ll have much to learn from him should Halsin accompany them further. There is silence for a moment, and she leans in closer to look at the next page of the book; her lips move as she reads in a whisper, mouth shaping out words in a language that existed before either of them were born.

There’s an ache in the dialect, a longing that only comes through when she speaks in Elvish.

“Ferris, where did your violin come from?”

He’s seen it, just a normal violin that the bard hesitates to take out in combat—hesitates to take out at all, really. She must care for it a great deal, to not wish to put it at risk.

When she meets his eyes, there’s something cautious there. “Why?”

“I’m curious,” he says simply. Gale has his suspicions, of course, but if Ferris has secrets he won’t push her on spilling them here and now. “There’s no need to answer if you don’t wish to do so—“

“She gave it to me, from her tree.” Ferris rises quickly, brushing grass from her pants; there’s a hint of red rimming her eyes and an anger in them. “Good night, Gale.”

He hesitates before clearing his throat, looking up at her. “I’d like to be truthful, if I may.”

She hasn’t run yet, and he think, perhaps, the anger is not directed at him. Ferris nods.

“I am not the most polished of individuals when it comes to….making friends. It is not something that came easily to me as a child, and certainly not as an adult, now.” Gale glances out over their camp. “It feels nearly like a miracle that no one has told me off as often as I’d expect, and that people are understanding of my condition.”

Ferris tips her head, curious as to where he is going with his rambling. He cannot blame her, as strange as this conversation has been overall. “I don’t have Wyll’s easy charm, or Astarion’s posh nature, but I choose my words carefully and deliberately. When I tell someone they’re wonderful, I mean it,” he makes sure to meet her gaze. “And I do think you are wonderful.”

“Oh,” she says, surprised. Gale is pleased to see the beginnings of tears have vanished from her face. “Well—you don’t think my accent is strange, right?”

“What? No, not at all.” He doesn’t see the correlation, but there is clearly something complex happening in Ferris’ mind before she takes a deep breath.

“And you don’t think I’m strange?”

The questions are almost childish, but there’s a weight behind them, an importance. “There is nothing wrong with being a little strange. I wouldn’t say anyone in this party is what one would deem ‘normal’, but no. I don’t think you’re any stranger than average.”

“Alright. Alright, well…thank you.”

“You’re welcome?”

Ferris nods once, and then walks away.

He has no idea what’s going on anymore, but Gale hopes it’s going well, at least.

Chapter Text

Being up with the dawn is an old habit she has yet to break, but time and leisure have made her slow down just enough to be clumsy. Ferris braids her hair with her eyes closed, enjoying the distant indications of a waking Waterdeep—until her elbow bumps something.

It’s instinct to abandon her tasks and reach for the object before her mind even registers what she’s got clutched in her hand, cool ceramic caught by nimble fingers as the enchanted pitcher swings.

Well.

Formerly enchanted.

Ferris sighs and sets it on the floor, finishing her braid before slipping on a sweater over her nightshirt. There’s no true need for modesty here in the tower, but she doesn’t feel right without something else when leaving her room. She doesn’t unbutton the cardigan she’d stolen from Gale after the solstice party, simply pulling it over her head; the wool is a comfort, and the added weight of it is reassuring as she does up a few more of the wooden toggles than usual before grabbing the pitcher and slipping the lock.

“Tara!” She hisses into the early morning gray of the landing, holding the now-empty jug. Her voice is hardly above a whisper but, much like her, the tressym has sharp ears. “Tara, are you in? I need your assistance with something, if you’d be so kind.”

Ferris waits a moment before she hears a soft thud from above, then Tara softly padding across the landing and down the stairs. “Whatever is the matter?”

She purses her lips and puts the pitcher on the floor, sitting next to it sadly. “I touched it—it was falling, I forgot and I touched it.”

Perhaps it would have been better to let it shatter on the floor, or maybe it had had some sort of enchantment against breaking.

Now she’ll never find out.

“Oh. Well—“

“I don’t want Gale to know,” she interrupts the tressym before she can make her suggestion. “He’s dealing with so much already due to my…condition, I don’t want to add another thing to the pile. Please, please don’t tell Gale—“

“Don’t tell Gale what?”

Ferris jerks back in surprise as he sleepily descends the stairs, knocking over the pitcher with her foot.

“Is everything alright, Tara? You left quite suddenly.” Before Ferris can nudge the pitcher behind her back, his eyes land on it. “Ah.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you with it, it’s—“ she scrambles to apologize, trying and failing to hide the object in question. “I can simply fill it as a normal pitcher, or if you wanted to redo it, we can move it somewhere else where I’m in no danger of forgetting—“

Gale sighs and the sound cuts her to her core.

‘He’s bored of you,’ a little voice says. ‘He’s tired of all your foolish, wasteful errors.’

He reaches out for the pitcher but Ferris snatches it back, ashamed.

“It is a waste of magic,” she turns away, ears red. “You need it for other things, for teaching, you shouldn’t waste it on redoing enchantments because of my silly mistakes.”

Gale slowly, carefully reaches for the pitcher again and it’s only then Ferris realizes how tightly she’s holding it, knuckles white. Honestly, she’s a little surprised it has not cracked. She lets him take it, set it aside on the landing before sinking down next to her; his knees will protest this later, she is sure, but he will not complain. Not where she can hear.

Her hands are folded into his and she can feel the warmth of magic in his skin where it sinks into hers and dies.

Just like everything else. She’s a burden, a curse, and she was better off wandering the plains of Cormyr with her damned sheep. At least out there, alone, there was no one to disappoint but herself. Perhaps her father, but she is far from him now, far from his cold anger and judgment and punishments…gods, she hopes Gale doesn’t punish her for this. Her hands are in his, he’s so much larger, he could easily—

He strokes a thumb over her palm, tracing her lifeline. ““I can use my magic how I wish,” his touch is gentle, and she shivers. “And you, Ferris, are not a waste of magic. Helping the people I love is not a waste of any kind.”

She wishes she could feel the electric tingle of the Weave in her veins, like she used to when he touched her. It was always a pleasant thrill, and she’d know him through blindness and deafness for that alone. Now, it’s just another touch. It sparks a little, a tug near her heart that makes her feel queasy, but it’s nothing like before. She pulls away.

“I wish you could touch me,” Ferris curls her fingers into fists, closing herself off. “It used to feel so different.”

Gale tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, having come loose from her braid. “I am touching you,” he says kindly, offering her his hand once again. “You’ll get used to it, of all of us you adapted most quickly.”

Ferris freezes, her hand half-way to his. “This is how you felt, isn’t it?”

He looks down at her, puzzled. “Pardon?”

“This…emptiness. The lack of magic, when the Orb was pulling it from you, from the things around you,” she turns her hands over, watching the tendons in her hands move when she twists her fingers and flexes them open and closed. “Is that why it bothered you? Why you thought it was a punishment?”

Gale looks away quickly. “Perhaps I should endeavor to be less like an open book.”

“Perhaps you should assume I’m literate,” she snorts. “You could have told me, I’ve only just now put the pieces together, you foolish man.”

“We’ve both been so wrapped up in our own versions of this tale, haven’t we? Two tellings of the same story, only just now realizing the narrative is eerily similar.” He phrases it as a question but Ferris hears it as a reply, an affirmative.

‘We’ve both been blind,’ he doesn’t say. ‘We’ve both been foolish.’

She leans her head on his shoulder as he shifts closer to her, pulling the pitcher into her lap to rest in the cradle of her crossed legs. “I’ve been unkind,” Ferris murmurs into the dim light. “You only wanted to help, and your experience was from a place different than mine. I should have listened to you more closely, what you weren’t saying rather than what you were.”

If she’d thought the conversation over after she’d chased Gale to the temple, Ferris could not have been more wrong. As much as she would like to never discuss it again, hide it away like everything else and bury it deep, Gale was right—this isn’t something she can hide forever, ignore until it goes away.

Gale shakes his head, curls and waves brushing over her as he leans down to rest his head atop hers. “It’s not on you to be a mind reader, Ferris. You were never broken, I never should have approached it that way. If I’d been more…tactful, perhaps you wouldn’t try to hide something as inconsequential as a water pitcher,” his tone is teasing, but there’s a sadness to it. “Your trust in me…I never wish for it to feel misplaced, or transactional. That you thought yourself a waste of magic—I feel such shame to have failed you like that, as both a friend and someone who loves you.”

She presses a little closer. “I’m still getting used to it all. I’ll make mistakes.”

They both know she isn’t talking about the pitcher.

“I’ll forgive yours if you forgive mine,” he lets his lips linger against the crown of her head, not quite a kiss. “Let us vow to talk about these things, rather than hide them. Maladies flourish in the dark.”

Ferris does not make promises she cannot keep. “You should go back to bed, wizard,” she says lightly. “It’s early yet, I’m sorry to have woken you.”

“Technically I woke him,” Tara chimes in from the steps, startling them both. “Either way, you should both get up from the floor—perhaps Miss Ferris can take my place, I’d rather like to stretch my wings. It’s shaping up to be a lovely morning.”

They watch her pad down a few steps before leaping into a glide, carried on silent wings to the garden window most likely; it’s easiest to fly off from, or so she’s said.

“Well,” Gale slaps his palms against his thighs as he makes to stand, the gesture reminding her of old halfling men as they leave a gathering. “A few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt, I think I’ll—“

“May I come?” She scrambles up, offering him a hand.

He looks a little sheepish. “You don’t have to listen to Tara, she means well but there are differences between tressym and human culture.”

“I’d like to,” she waits, hand still extended.

“And you don’t need to,” he adds.

“I want to.” Ferris wiggles her fingers. “Come on. You’re wasting precious time—it’ll be dawn proper by the time your old knees make it up the steps.”

Gale takes her hand and she hauls him up, leveraging her body weight. “She’ll be incredibly smug.”

“Let her,” Ferris follows him up the stairs to his bedroom. “We don’t give her or your mother or Cat near enough gossip anyway.”

It’s still warm beneath Gale’s blankets and Ferris wriggles down into them, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands to achieve maximum comfort. She doesn’t flinch nearly as much as she used to when Gale slides in next to her, and it’s easy enough to mask by pressing against his back, slipping a hand over his side to rest atop his heart.

“We don’t need to give them anything to gossip about, Ferris,” his voice is kind but she can feel the longing when he rests his hand over hers, traces the bones of her wrist with a reverence she still fears facing. “Not that I’m objecting, I do enjoy this.”

She buries her face between his shoulder blades and feels his sigh. “They’ll gossip anyway.”

“True enough, but that doesn’t mean you need to encourage it if you don’t want—“

“Gale Dekarios, if I didn’t want to be here I wouldn’t be.” It comes out a little more harshly than she intended. “Please, please know that. Even if I shy away, or hesitate a moment too long, I am here because I want to be. I just…I need time.”

He carefully laces their fingers together. “Alright. Yes, alright.”

Ferris’ breaths deepen into something like sleep, not quite the trance of elves but not the full sleep of other races; Gale lays very, very still and tries not to fixate on how Ferris had flinched when he’d first taken her hands into his.

He does not close his eyes again.

“I have to go away for a few days,” Gale says over dinner. Ferris had experimented with bread again, and they’ve got a braided loaf with cheese and spices that tastes like the food vendors of Baldur’s Gate smelled. He isn’t sure what she was trying to replicate, but it was delicious with the grilled muscles and white wine.

She glances up at him. “Well, I’ll try not to burn the place down or anything, I suppose.”

“No, I mean…” Gale hesitates. There’s things he wants to ask, things he wants to say but doesn’t know how to express and fearing how they’d get butchered on the way from heart to mouth and come out wrong. ‘Do you want to come with me’ isn’t correct, it’s too condescending and sounds like he doesn’t believe she’s capable. ‘Would you like someone to stay with you’ is the same, treats her like a child.

Ferris smiles, butters and salts a slice of bread and passes it to him. “I’ll be alright, Gale. If I need more than Tara’s considerable company, I can always seek out Cat, or your mother. It may seem lonely to the average person, but I do not lack for friends.”

He sits back, relieved and now with bread to settle the wine that suddenly seems like too much. “I’ve got to accompany a few older students on a research venture, something anthropological in nature, I’m told.”

“Goodness, you seem very excited,” she laughed. “Is it the students or the subject matter?”

“Both,” he finishes his bread. “It is not my area of expertise, but I am one of the younger professors and the area has been known to have a bandit or two, so they’d like someone with a bit of combat experience to accompany the boys.”

Ferris makes a little noise, something between agreement and amusement, already thinking of how much fun Gale would have, despite his grumbling. “It’ll be just like the old days, perhaps less chaotic even. At least they’ll respect your authority.”

“Ha ha, aren’t you funny?” He leans back, considering another glass of wine. “Would you like to come up to the library with me? Take the air, enjoy the sunset?”

It’s a bold ask, for them. For anyone else, it would be tame. She only hesitates a moment before rising and offering Gale her hand. “Alright.”

She follows on his heels, a silent shadow that burns impossibly bright, and settles in next to him on the lounge; Ferris tucks her feet into her skirt and presses their arms together as they watch the waves, the sunset, the ships and clouds.

“I leave the day after next, from the Academy,” Gale moves deliberately, looping an arm behind her back and settling his hand just above her elbow. “If all goes to plan, I’ll return at the end of the tenday to the tower itself.”

Ferris glances up at him. “Is this because I can’t Send you messages anymore? Or receive them if anything were to go wrong, or you were delayed?”

He sighs, pointedly does not meet her eyes but he can feel them boring holes into him, bright and alert. “I will not deny it was…comforting, when you were away, to know you were well and when to expect you back. Were anything to happen, you would have been able to Send a message. Now, however, it’s not possible.”

“But you’re the one going away,” she nudges him. “I’ll be safe here, locked away like a princess in a storybook tower and you’ll be managing a gaggle of children. Of the two of us, your upcoming tenday is far more chaotic.”

It earns her a playful tug on her braid, and Gale rests his head atop hers, giving her plenty of time to move away or redirect him. “As though I’d dare lock you away from the world. Promise you’ll at least avoid arrest, I doubt Morena would be so happy as to post bail.”

“Does Tara know where the bail fund is, or should I alert Catriona to her elevated status? Everyone needs a list of people willing to bail them out.”

“You’re not going to get arrested, so there’s no point,” he levels her a pleading look. “Yes?”

“I promise not to get myself locked up over a misunderstanding again.” Ferris rolls her eyes. “Really, Gale, it’s not my fault they filed my street performance permit under your surname, and it was quite easy to clear up once you arrived.”

Her tone is bright, and far too chipper for someone who has seen the inside of Waterdeep’s holding cells. Gale sighs into his hands; it’s going to be a long series of days.

Truly, there was nothing worse than being caught up with a bunch of teenage boys on a research trip where the weather goes south. Two days into an otherwise fine adventure and then he had to contend with mud, arguments, frustration, and soaked documents. It turns out that students were far worse than a collection of adults from different backgrounds—at least the adults could be trusted to sort out their problems.

Or kill each other.

Honestly, if students were allowed to punch each other, he assumes that things would have gone smoother. As it is, he’s glad to see the familiar flat roof of his tower and hear the lap of the waves against the ocean walls; his replacement had appeared to take over responsibility of the boys and take them to their next destination, and he had been more relieved in that moment than he’d been when they’d saved the world. There’s a breeze that brings salt and clean air, no longer the smell of mud and wet tents. A relief, truly, and he takes deep breaths in pure enjoyment before going down to locate Ferris, if she’s in. The second he’s properly inside he hears the front door shut far harder than usual and he’s barely reached the landing before Ferris turns the corner, chest heaving and cheeks red from exertion that doesn’t detract from the delight in her eyes when she calls out his name.

Her hands are perfumed with basil, the sweet green scent of tomatoes vines in sun, and green onion; he can tell she’s been in the garden and has rushed in to greet him. One look at her feet confirms it, bare and dirty.

“You didn’t have to rush in,” he tweaks her nose and Ferris swats his hand away. “How are the tomatoes?”

“My personal nightmare,” she grumbles. “They’re growing wild and the neighbors have started turning me down when I offer them. How can one have too many tomatoes?”

“Perhaps you should try having less of a green thumb, my dear.” Gale keeps scissors in his pockets now, cutting the rosemary on his way out of the gate and giving it away on his walk to the Academy. The rest hangs in his office, overwhelming and drying beautifully. At least he has the excuse that it’s for spells—hard to justify handing out tomatoes as large as his fist to his students and claiming they’re for the same purpose. Some of the boys have started simply eating them when he does, idly working through their allotted fistful of bright cherry tomatoes, sweet as candy, as he lectures.

The damned rosemary plant seems to rejoice in his viscous, daily pruning, and accepts the challenge of remaining fragrant, abundant, and lush no matter how much he cuts away.

“It’s all the magic I have now,” Ferris purses her lips when she sees her feet and Gale notices the blush of sun across her shoulders and cheeks, the tips of her ears. Her pockets bulge with tomatoes and he can see basil as well.

Gale brushes some dirt from her face, only succeeding in smudging it; the earth has more a claim to her than he does, he’s come to accept. “We will simply have to get more creative, then. Surely there’s more ways to cook tomatoes.”

The larger garden up the street with community plots boasts an area for hosting, surrounded by grass and roses and citrus and all manner of other things. Ferris delights in maintaining them, and it has morphed from something wild and dying to a manicured space that even his mother comments on when she passes. There’s a sign in front of their allocated patch that begs, in multiple languages, for people to take whatever they please.

Ferris, he’s noticed, spends more time there now than before. It’s as though she no longer finds purpose among the books of the library, or the little front garden where she keeps all the spell components. His heart lurches—of course, of course she would seek out solid earth and sun. Spells and their parts hold nothing for her. The devoted research had been for a purpose, now fulfilled.

To whatever end.

“Gale?”

“Apologies, Ferris. My mind was wandering to all our nightshade-adjacent recipes and what culinary wonders lay ahead of us.”

She snorts. “Liar.”

Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a handful of strawberries, offering them up in her palm; her fingers are stained with green and red, sticky as a child’s, and he recognizes an olive branch when it’s extended.

“Thank you.”

“I know, Gale. I know it’s hard. But it’s alright,” before he can reach for a berry, she plucks one, the brightest and reddest of them, and brings it to his lips. “The past is the past, what’s done is done. Whenever you lose yourself to the ‘what if’s, remember that I am here, and real, and with you.”

He cannot argue because when he opens his mouth it’s immediately filled with strawberry—warmed from her pockets or from the sun, he cannot be sure. It’s sweet and over-ripe, but it’s perfect.

“Cat and I were thinking of going to the baths in a short while,” she offers him another berry and he accepts it the same as the first, with perhaps a little more finesse. Ferris is watching his mouth intently, and does not blush when he catches her staring.

There are a number of things he could say. ‘Are you sure?’ lingers longest, followed by ‘that sounds delightful, enjoy’. Evidently, Gale’s confusion is written on his face.

“She doesn’t have a bath in her rooms and said she was in need of a soak after a performance she had last night. It was my suggestion, actually.”

“And you’re alright with it?”

“I’m not sure.” This time a berry goes into her mouth instead of his, and he loves the color the juice stains her lips. “I’ll certainly find out. It’s only…I thought you’d be back later in the day and I’d have dinner ready, at least.”

He cannot hide the smile that stretches across his face. “Did you, perhaps, miss me the slightest amount?”

Ferris shoves the rest of the berries into his hands, face as red as the juice that stains her fingers. “Nothing of the sort, Gale Dekarios. I thought it would be nice, after spending days out in the woods with feral boys.”

She stalks up the stairs, radiating her embarrassment as a knock sounds at the front door. Gale pulls it open and Cat gawks up at him; he supposes that, after a few days roughing it again, he looks a mess. There may even be twigs in his hair, but he won’t know until he looks in a mirror—either way, he smiles brightly. “Good morning Catriona, please come in. Would you like some tomatoes? Perhaps a large quantity to share with your neighbors and friends?”

“Do not give her any tomatoes!” Ferris leans precariously over the rail and Gale has a brief moment to wonder if Feather Fall would even help, should she fall. “Cat, under no circumstances should you take tomatoes, it creates a devil’s bargain under which you’ll be henceforth obligated to accept various nightshades from our garden.”

The dark haired bard rolls her eyes. “Get your things, I swear I’ll leave without you!” She waits until Ferris has disappeared into her room before she turns to Gale. “Make up a basket and I will gladly accept this hellish bargain; there’s plenty of young men in the adjacent boarding house that I could cook for.”

Gale nods, extending his cupped hands. “Strawberry?”

“What an incredibly strange household,” Cat says brightly as she takes the least battered berry and holds it up to the light to admire all the seeds among the red flesh before popping it into her mouth. “I promise not to keep her too long so that you can get…reacquainted after your long absence.”

“I was only gone half a tenday,” he sighs.

“You’d think it was the end of the world, the way Ferris carried on. Don’t tell her I said anything, but I think she was a bit lost without you here,” Cat leans closer to whisper the last bit, mindful of the smaller woman’s keen hearing. “She didn’t even remember to cheat when we went to your lady mother’s home for bridge.”

“For Ferris to have not cheated at cards…truly dire.”

“Truly!” Cat straightens quickly at the sound of Ferris racing across the landing and he thinks she might have a touch of elven hearing in her blood. “Are you ready? I’ll have her back before supper, Professor.”

“He’s not my minder,” Ferris rolls her eyes as she slips her boots on, not bothering to lace them. “Really, Cat, don’t tease.”

“I’ll stop teasing when you do.”

Gale stands in the hall, strawberries still cradled between his palms as he listens to the retreating sounds of the women bickering. An incredibly strange household indeed.

The teasing doesn’t stop all the way to the baths, her friend spinning up more and more outlandish tales of how Ferris would greet Gale upon their return just to see her face get redder and redder. “You’ll burst through the door and leap into his arms,” she sighs. “He’ll hold you close, before sweeping you up and carrying you to his bedroom—“

“I cannot believe you’re this delusional.”

“I cannot believe you’re this blind,” her friend replies lightly. “Perhaps you won’t even make it out of the front hall; the door will close and he’ll have your dress off in an instant while your clever little fingers work on his trousers.”

Ferris coughs, flushed to her ears. “If your musical talents ever flee you, there’s always the chance you could write bodice rippers. You’ve quite the tongue.”

“I do!” Cat grins as she holds open the door, sketching out a low bow that makes Ferris roll her eyes. “And you, little thing, are my muse. The longing, the yearning, it’s such good inspiration. Why, I’ve written multiple ballads about a wandering bard and her wizard lover…be a dear and help with my laces?”

It’s all Ferris can do to keep her hands from trembling as she assists Cat with her more complicated dress; she’s in a skirt and shirt, her jacket thrown over the top. She’s always felt smaller next to her friend—not in a bad way, and Cat has certainly never made her feel anything other than loved, but the level of refinement that the other bard exudes makes Ferris look like the shepherd girl she’d always been. “I hope you’re joking about the ballads.”

“I am not,” Cat takes over and spins Ferris around once she’s got her shirt off. “Still in short stays? Well, that makes it easier, I don’t have to help you with your laces.”

“You’ll have to pry my stays off my cold, dead body if you want me in anything else,” she gets down to her chemise before Cat’s even fully out of her dress. “Oh, turn around. I’ll get your corset.”

There is a sigh of relief and her friend acquiesces easily “Thank you, my hands are aching something terrible after last night. It was endless hours of playing and it hurts to even hold a cup of tea, which was embarrassing this morning, this poor gentleman looked terrified at my claw hands,” she tells Ferris the story of a would-be suitor as they finish undressing and make their way to the baths proper.

Cat winces at her scar, low and jagged and ugly across the slight curve of her lower stomach. “Turn around, I’ll soap your back.”

She complies and Cat is careful to brush the stray hair off the back of Ferris’ neck, some of the strands too short to make it into her braid when it twists around her head like a crown. The smaller woman sighs and relaxes into the touch.

“You used to be jumpy,” Cat teases.

Ferris gives a lazy shrug. “I had to adjust to being touched; it’s hard to flinch away when you’re having various injuries tended.”

Shadowheart and Halsin had done wonderful jobs of healing her wounds, only one ever leaving even the hint of a scar; the druid guessed it was either her lineage or her resilience, but Shadowheart put it down to stubbornness at a cellular-level. The other bard lingers at the round mark the bolt left when it passed through her shoulder, luckily missing bone and only rending soft flesh.

“That’s a horrifying thought,” her friend said cheerily, dumping a bucket of warm water over the smaller bard’s back to clear the soap. “At least your freckles are cute.”

They swap places, Cat sitting down while Ferris lathers her hands; her fingers are almost always cold, and it’s more to warm them than it is for the soap. “Gale thinks they are.”

“Oh?” There’s a glint in Cat’s eyes when she looks over her shoulder expectantly. “Tell me more.”

“Well clearly he’s seen them before but—“

“My dear friend, that ‘but’ had better contain gossip juicer than an overripe pear.”

Ferris rolls her eyes and lathers the soap for lack of anything to do with her hands otherwise. “But not like that. I was in a dress with a low back. And we have bathed together—“

Cat nearly falls off the stool in an effort to turn around, agog.

“—out of necessity! There is little privacy when adventuring, once or twice we all bathed together in a river. Most of the time we would split off into our groups, women and men, but every so often it was just easier or safer. And then when we were sharing a room—“

“Ferris, you can’t keep saying things like that, you can’t.” Cat is clutching her chest dramatically. “You are too pure to lead me on like this, I know you haven’t fucked him but every new sentence out of your mouth could be the start of a bodice ripper novel and the one following into a completely boring genre I don’t care to imagine.”

An older woman snorts a laugh and Cat clears her throat, lowering her voice to a more reasonable tone.

“Either tell me you then ravaged him or let us get into the baths, my feet are aching.”

Ferris fake swoons. “Catriona, would you believe I did so…with tongue?”

It gets her splashed in the face with an entire bucket of water that makes her choke as she laughs, her friend’s face bright red in friendly frustration before she stalks off to the water to soak. “You’re awful. Just awful!”

The air is deliciously warm, slightly perfumed with herbs and oils; Ferris breathes deep, letting it all sink into her lungs and suffuse through her body to give her strength and the confidence to put one foot in front of the other. She is not used to being so bare before strangers, but Cat’s confident shoulder are her focal point and Ferris follows her to the water and steps in, hissing when her skin burns.

A few older woman, hair more gray than anything, tut to themselves at the sight of Ferris’ scar but it’s no more than the clucking of mother hens. It sends ice down her spine for a moment before she remembers to breathe and sinks into the water. It’s not a scar that hurts physically, not anymore, and it wasn’t something she otherwise minded the results of. The explaining, the pity, that was what she hated.

Cat bumps their shoulders together. “Don’t drown.”

“I’m not that short,” she grumbles, but the deepest part of the baths does require her to be on her tip-toes so she isn’t up to her chin. Rather than allow Cat the satisfaction, Ferris opts to settle onto a bench and close her eyes.

“Does the tower not have hot water?”

Ferris winces a bit. “I have to be careful, with the taps. They’re enchanted and—“

“And you have to touch the tub with your bare skin to bathe,” Cat sighs when she nods. “So what, you’ve been scrubbing down with cold water at your washbasin—oh my gods you have. Ferris. My dearest little idiot, how have you survived?”

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience!”

Dark eyes narrow at her, carefully scanning her face. “If that wizard so much as suggests you’re anything but the light of his life, I will end him.”

“Calm down, he wouldn’t.” She certainly hopes he wouldn’t, but Ferris wishes she were sure. “It’s me, I’m the problem.”

Cat sighs. “My dear, sweet, precious little Ferry, you’re not a problem. You keep saying there’s nothing about you to fix, and if that’s the case then why don’t you start acting like it? Throw a hand towel over the taps and let them live there, perhaps ask your wizard what’s the enchanted bit and see if he can’t relocate it.”

She tips her head. “How do you mean?”

“Well,” Cat stretches luxuriously and Ferris hears her friend’s shoulder pop. “For example, the heating runes in this bath are under the floor; there’s no chance of you touching them. The taps could be hot or cold, but once the water is in the baths, it’ll heat to whatever temperature.”

“Huh.”

“I cannot believe you didn’t study magic in school,” Cat laments. “You’d have been so good at it, but then you wouldn’t have those lovely, muscled shoulders.”

Ferris shrugs, rolling out her joints. “You’d have them too, if you’d taken up a sword.”

It earns her a scoff. “I need my hands, Ferry. Not all of us can sing.”

When Cat’s hands alight on her shoulders, Ferris doesn’t flinch; delicate fingers trace the exit scar of the bolt that had nearly taken her out and she presses her palm to where it had entered. There’s no ache, not anymore (those first few days after waking had been hellish, masking her pain and pushing forward to concern as few people as possible), but it’s a reminder all the same of how close she’d come to losing everything she’d fought for and promised.

“How you manage to persist every single day after what you’ve lived,” Cat murmurs softly. “I’ll never know. But I am thankful you’re here despite it all.”

All the close calls, all the pain and struggle and exhaustion…

“The world will have to try a lot harder to get rid of me,” she laughs. “I wouldn’t say it’s worth it, but at least I have you and Morena and Tara—“

“Quite suspicious that you’ve left the wizard until the end,” Cat teases. “Is there anything to that?”

Ferris smiles, mischief in her eyes. “Saving the best for last.”

Cat dunks her under the water and when she comes up sputtering, they’re both being chastised for their ‘childish behavior’; neither of them feel the least bit sorry…and it’s very likely, in Ferris’ opinion, that it will happen again.

Their lives are a collection of mismatched mugs on the shelf, chipped and stained and on display. Delicate porcelain and sturdy clay, painted and sculpted and gilded and carved, they are so many things.

When Ferris cradles one between her palms, Gale remembers all the times he’d held it before she came into his life, remembers the feel of the curled handle between his third and fourth finger, the way his thumb would rest along the upper curves of it. He sees the way her own hands shape themselves over the fired, glazed clay, idly stroking at a ridge as steam rises into her face.

‘I cannot imagine my life without her,’ he thinks fondly as he watches Ferris half-walk, half-dance around the kitchen; she’s barefoot on the stone floor, her footsteps almost silent and the swish of her skirts falls in time with her humming, a metronome of fabric and motion. The Gale of before, the Gale who had shut himself away and hidden from the world could not have dreamed of this happiness. Then again, he isn’t sure he could have dreamed up Ferris if he tried—not even in wildest dreams.

The ballad she’s humming flows into a reel and the kitchen smells of mint, and Gale is struck with the sudden clarity that things will be alright. That everything will work out—perhaps not as predicted, but when did they ever, with Ferris involved? It gets a chuckle out of him and she glances up, curious and warm.

“What’s so funny?”

He shrugs. “It’s hard to articulate. I suppose I was thinking that life is like our collection of mugs.”

“Eclectic?”

Gale smiles. “Something like that.”

Chapter Text

Ferris has never been one for prayer, but she does well enough with conversation so that is what she sets her mind to, letting her feet carry her away from camp until there is no sound of her friends, no indication anyone can hear her.

Gale had made the Weave manifest itself in galaxy swirls around them, and while it was pretty, Ferris was more used to using her nose than her eyes when it came to Mystra’s domain. She takes a deep breath, another, calling magic into her palms until the air around her at hinted rose water and sweetness, cloying even in small amounts.

The Weave is here, and so is Mystra.

“I know you can hear me,” she speaks at her normal volume, no need to shout at the Lady of Mysteries. “And I’ve come to tell you that I will not let him die. He does your wonders, and you would see him a martyr rather than an emissary. No one that capable, that masterful, should die for a petty cause.”

There is no response. She doesn’t expect one.

“If he is in need of a champion, I will become one. I will throw down my gauntlet against any god or devil for anyone here, know that. I will fight for them all.”

The air presses in against her, nearly suffocating, but Ferris is well-practiced in being choked of life. She does not change her breathing, does not panic. There is no point anyway; if a goddess wanted her dead, then dead she would be. It’s almost soothing to think that way. She had nearly died at the hands of a man, what was the wrath of something she couldn’t see after those horrors?

Nothing Mystra could do would be worse than what she had already suffered.

She deserves so much more, they all do, and they are striving for it every single day. Every new dawn and each breath drawn was in defiance of their pasts and the laid paths of their futures. Ferris would see them all reborn as they wished, whole and hale and happy. If it was in her power, she would do it.

Even if it wasn’t, she would fight to her last breath.

“You do not frighten me.” Her voice is steady even as it is swallowed by the crushing weight. “I am made of sterner stuff than that, and I am the champion of Gale Dekarios. Speak your challenge or leave me be.”

She’s going to be struck down, she’s going to feel the full wrath of a goddess—

The oxygen returns to the air and her lungs fill with easy, brightness bursting across her vision once more as she stands just a bit taller. Ferris nods once, straightens her swords, and turns back to camp; just another evening of normalcy, all things considered. At least they hadn’t been attacked by inter-dimensional beings again.

“Had a nice walk, did you?” Shadowheart doesn’t glance up from stitching a rip in her trousers. “Gale nearly had a fit when he couldn’t find you, I made up something about needing privacy but you ought to reassure him all the same.”

Ferris rolls her eyes but thanks her anyway, wandering leisurely through the tents until she reaches the wizard’s. “Gale? I’m back, and alive. I know that’s often a concern, but I swear I didn’t do anything life-threatening on my quest to stretch my legs.”

Gale stumbles from the opening, pulled open by a Mage Hand. “You shouldn’t wander off alone, Ferris. It’s dangerous—“

He didn’t know the half of it.

“Wizard, I spent twenty years roaming the plains with only some sheep for company, I can handle a walk in the woods with a group of powerful friends within shouting distance.”

“Well yes, I suppose…why are your eyes bloodshot?”

“What?”

“Your eyes,” he steps closer, peering at her face and Ferris is stupid enough to rise to the challenge rather than look away. “They weren’t like this when you went on your ‘stroll’.”

“I’m not sure what I’m being accused of—did you just sniff me?” She twists away slightly, brows furrowing in confusion as Gale sniffs again, this time more exaggerated. “What in the Hells?”

“It’s not pipe weed, clearly. I’ve only see that level of burst capillaries when someone is deprived of air for a long period of time, or there was trauma to the head. You didn’t fall, did you?”

“Nothing so boring as that, Gale. I’m fine. Look,” she spreads her arms and takes a step back so he can get the full measure of her. “No scrapes, no bruises. Maybe I had a good, long cry.”

He narrows his eyes. “Doubtful, your nose gets all red when you actually do.”

“It’s nice that you notice me at my worst,” she shrugs and goes to step away but Gale grabs her wrist; it’s not hard, just enough to keep her in place for a moment.

“Not just at your worst,” he says, clearing his throat as he lets her go. Ferris rubs her wrist. “And I’m glad you’re…I’m glad you took your swords, at least.”

“Of course,” Ferris smiles. “What’s bard without her silver and steel? A storyteller needs both her sharp tongue and something to make a point.”

He doesn’t need to know; in fact it’s better if he doesn’t. Gale Dekarios, former Chosen of Mystra, does not need to know that she’s already challenged his goddess and that it’s a standing invitation.

Mystra could strike her down at any time.

‘And it would be well worth it,’ she thinks as the wizard smiles at her passable attempt at humor.

‘The world will not make martyrs of us,’ she vows again, solidifying it in her heart until it beats with new purpose. ‘We can and will write our own futures, and I will do whatever I must to make that happen.’

Ferris is their champion.

She’ll rise to any challenge, cross her blades and stand tall.

Chapter Text

“And so if you place your feet thusly—yes?” Gale pauses his instruction at the sight of a raised hand. One of the youngest of the class, new, whose name slips from his mind. He’s usually better with names, but he has had other things occupying his waking and dreaming hours.

“Sir, will Miss Ferris be back?”

Ah, not the new student then. The one who looked like him. Gavin? Gavon? Graven?

All eyes are on him and Gale does his best to seem nonchalant. “Miss Ferris has been very busy helping a friend and hasn’t been herself lately; I will ask her, but make no guarantees on her behalf.”

He should feel betrayed, or at least mildly upset; in truth, she is the better combat instructor in both nature and practice. Her hands have known staff and sword far longer than his, and she’d specifically trained for this. That they liked her better is no surprise—children were like cats, gravitating toward those who liked them least. That, and she treated them like she would any adult.

“Children want respect, they want more than anything to be grown-up,” she’d told them when they’d found Arabella and no one had been able to calm her until Ferris crossed her arms and stopped talking to her like she was small or weak, or something to be pitied.

He tries not to think about all the gentle words that had never been said to her.

Gale does his best to remember that fact and, judging by the bemused looks Ferris would give him when he practiced lectures, he was getting closer.

“Are you not married anymore, is that why you’re sad?”

“I—what?” Certainly an unexpected question.

“You look sad, sir,” another boy pipes up. “We thought maybe it had to do with why Miss Ferris ain’t come ‘round again.”

He winces. “Well, let’s start with your grammar there. It has nothing to do with why Miss Ferris has not come around again, Lidl. Furthermore, I continue to be unmarried and have never been so; there is no reason to worry on that front.” Gale casts his eyes around. “Miss Ferris is still my dear friend, she has simply been unwell after assisting one of our former companions. I assure you, you do not worry. I’ll tell her you miss her instruction, and I will make the necessary inquiries—“

Across the yard, the bell chimes the hour and the boys scramble to put their staffs away. He sighs, put out that he had not finished his instruction but relieved that the line of questioning was now over.

“Remember to do your homework! Practice your footwork and stances!”

Gale prays the older boys will be more focused, or at least more enthusiastic in their drills as they take up their preferred weapons and spread out across the yard, glancing around.

“Sir,” says Symon. “Where is Miss Ferris?”

He groans into his hands.

“I’d like to formally request a more permanent arrangement regarding Miss Ferris’ instruction of the boys in combat training and drills,” he slides some papers across the desk, exhausted. “I’d hoped they wouldn’t notice her extended absence, and this hinges entirely on her agreement, but they do enjoy her lessons.”

The dean looks up at him, bemused and a little concerned. It’s not that Ferris was a regular sight on the Academy ground, but she absolutely was present enough that even the dean seemed to have missed her.

Perhaps if he knew how often she would disguise herself as a student or page to sneak in he would feel differently, but Gale was not going to give up her secret. It was fun to see a hint of that familiar chestnut hair across the dining hall when she’d come in dressed as a student for a meal, and always amusing to find things left on his desk by ‘a helpful young man’.

“Where has she been?”

“Truly? She only returned a few tendays ago, traveling from Baldur’s Gate by way of Reithwin,” Gale straightens his cuffs. “She has been assisting our friends, and settling back in after doing so; it was…a difficult time.”

“Ah. This explains your distraction, at least,” the man sits back, patient. “If she so wishes, we’d love to have her. Perhaps we’ll have more than you as battle mages and competent adventurers in the future. We cannot send her off on school outings, of course, but if it spares you the scrapes and bruises, I count it as a benefit to the Academy.”

“Well,” he stands. “I will extend the offer officially and see if she is inclined.”

It’s not a long walk back to the tower, but it certainly seems like it today; usually he doesn’t feel like it drags on him but when he sees the rosemary by the gate, the smell burns his nose, suddenly offensive. Astarion had slipped him Ferris’ two rings to enchant, and Speak with Animals his suggestion, but it turned out that Ferris was both quick to pick up Tressymspeak and Tara was more than willing to speak in any language Ferris wished. He hasn’t asked about the mice lately, if the deal Ferris had with them needed to be renegotiated.

One thing they had noticed, collectively, in those early days, was that Ferris was less able to determine which language was coming from her mouth. A simple enough thing to resolve when Gale himself knew many, but the words she needed would escape her; Common and Elvish bled together from her tongue, heavily accented and in a dialect old enough that he struggled to understand her at times—especially when regional Cormyr dominated the more standard Common. She would stare at a word in a book or on a scroll, look to Gale, and ask ‘what is this word’ in perfect, lilting Celestial.

Blessedly it faded to its usual levels and she shrugged it off as her brain reforging the links of itself without magic. All her linguistic and musical talents existed outside of her connection to the song of creation, but there were holes to be patched in the garment of her being and the process of mending was both visible and painful to watch from the outside, no matter how fine she seemed to be throughout.

It was not a comforting thought to Gale, and he could see the unease on Tara’s face as well. To be rewritten without magic meant that there would be no space left for it, no return.

Ferris assures them that all is well in the worst possible way.

“We had a boy get kicked in the head by a horse, and he got better— but he had to relearn things along the way. He’s completely fine now!”

Gale does his best not to think too hard about that.

There is a note on the counter when he arrives home that states Ferris is out with Cat; he cannot tell if it’s for an engagement, a contract, or if she and her friend are out causing light trouble to amuse themselves. It’s unlikely they’ll be get into too much trouble again, Ferris is fast and Cat can talk, so he makes a plate and heads to the library to read until his eyes get too tired to carry on. There’s no telling when the two of them will be back, if Ferris returns at all—more often than not, if a gig goes into the small hours of the morning, she’ll simply remain with Catriona and return once the sun is up, happy and sleep-rumpled with stories of who danced with who and a recounting of the night’s songs.

Gale does not sleep well that night, rolling the snaffle bit ring between his fingers and wondering how best to enchant it, if Speak with Animals was really the best option, or if perhaps he should opt for something different. He keeps the two rings on a chain, nestled in the circle of the orb scar or in an inner pocket of his robes depending on how often he feels like wearing them as opposed to simply carrying them; the chain itches, and he laments not getting something made of finer metal—it’s the more secure method of keeping them close.

Both are fitting places, as near to his heart as he can get them.

Astarion’s suggestions are sound, and Gale spends time and great care on the enchantments once he abandons sleep. They weave into the bands and sink into the silver, sure and strong. They’re perfect, or as close as he can get them.

“Here,” he clears his throat the next morning, taking a seat on the stool next to her. She’d slipped in about an hour earlier and changed out of her finer clothes into a shirt he assumes was once his and hose, the whole ensemble topped off with a gigantic cardigan that has her swimming in knit. It’s quite an endearing look. “For you.”

The rings, the enchantments, are perfect. He’s taken great care to try and make them usable, to make them stronger than the pull of whatever turns the bard into a sinkhole that siphons away all magic.

And yet—

When Ferris puts them on, nothing happens. When she tries to use them, nothing happens. She looks up at him, eyes sad, and apologizes.

“You put in so much effort, I’m sorry to see it wasted. I’m sure they were perfect.”

‘Perfect in ways I am not,’ she doesn’t say.

It’s what Gale hears.

“No matter,” he pats her hand, prepared with a distraction. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d like to come back to the Academy, as a combat instructor, on a more regular, employed basis. No need to cast, and you can lightly bruise a few children, I know you so enjoy that.”

Ferris smiles and seizes the opportunity to move away from their previous topic. “Oh, then I won’t have to be a boy anymore.”

“I’m sure the dean would love to hear all about how easily you can sneak your way onto the grounds, that will go over a treat.”

They don’t talk about the rings, Ferris agreeing to speak with the dean and work out a class schedule; the don’t talk about them, but Gale’s eyes fix on how she fiddles with them, the once-familiar weight now foreign as they settle onto her hands once more. She twists the vines around and around as she talks, joking about handing the largest boy, “the one with the broad shoulders”, a mace and seeing how he fares. He says something to caution against it, she laughs, and his eyes move to her well-muscles legs as she swings them to hop off her stool, saying something about real clothes, if she’s going to the Academy with him.

A new normal begins to establish itself, standing on shaky legs and wobbling forward a few steps, a fawn taking its first, trembling attempts. It’s a shame, really; they’d finally found proper footing and now a landslide has taken it out from under them. He hadn’t help but try to arrest it—all things considered, perhaps he should have waited to profess his affection.

Too late now, in any case.

Gale experiments.

He has to, for Ferris.

“So I cannot use scrolls or enchantments or magical objects, and they do not work while I am touching them. However, they work when I am not.” She bounces on her toes. “I know you’ll hate it, but what if I wear gloves? A thin layer between me and an object, to test? And only with safe things once we discover them, like the handle-“

“Please don’t call the palm candle a ‘handle’,” Gale sighs. “A portmanteau of ‘hand’ and ‘candle’ is an existing word.”

“It makes it funnier,” she pushes, leaning forward into his space. “Please? I promise to be careful.”

“Alright, alright.” It is easy to give into her enthusiasm, and he needs a break. “I’m going to lie down, if I fall asleep, wake me if you need help.”

“Of course, my wizard, of course.”

He and Tara exchange a look that says ‘I’ll watch her’ to answer his unasked question. Ferris does not go far beyond his documentation, but still.

They experiment, together this time.

She cannot ‘hold’ a magical flame, and anything she touches is siphoned of its power the instant there is contact with the skin. He discovers that her suggestion of glass was a simple place to start, but it had to be a certain thickness, had to suspend the flame a certain distance from her hand. They try a few different kinds of gloves as well at Ferris’ insistence; frustratingly, they discover that the glass cannot be of magical construct or origin. The delicate domes must be blown and shaped with no element of Weave, and explaining that to the disgruntled glassblowers of Waterdeep was not either of their favorite tasks. In the end, it’s the bard’s smooth talking that convinces them that it’s for academic purposes and smooths any ruffled feathers.

Ferris makes notes and keeps him sane, a look of mild amusement on her face the entire time he mutters and measures and tries, tries, tries, fails, fails, fails.

“I should be studied, I think,” she says one day when Gale curses at a sputtering flame. “I must be of interest to the Academy at the very minimum. Perhaps I can make a show of it.”

“You are not a thing to be studied,” he grits out, ignoring the fact that they are the ones currently studying her as she described and he sets to work adjusting the enchantment while Ferris makes note of what did not work. She can tell that she’s soured his mood and tries to soothe him back to a level of normal frustration.

“You have a subject that can explicitly consent to experimentation, Gale—is that not valuable?”

Tara chirps from her window seat, ears flat and to the sides. “Perhaps this idea of experimentation can be revisited.”

“I only—“ Ferris relents when she sees Tara’s narrowed eyes and the pain in Gale’s face, her attempt at humor misplaced. “Of course.”

She dutifully extends her hand when Gale gets a flame going in the newest glass globe; the previous one, which has lasted a week, shattered in Ferris’ palm after five minutes of continuous contact and she’d sustained a few cuts. Her fingers still bear the bandages, and privately Gale hopes they don’t scar. She doesn’t mind but the thought of leaving a lasting mark on her, from his actions, sickens him.

“Describe how it feels.”

It’s in her unbandaged palm, which causes him mild stress but Ferris rotates her wrist, fingers firmly wrapped around the glass as though she hasn’t been burned before. The flame remains an inch from the glass on all sides, tracking when she moves and rotates the globe.

“Warm, but not uncomfortable. Not sure if that’s your residual heat or the flame itself. Glass feels solid and isn’t doing anything strange like vibrating or rapidly cooling like that one time. The flame seems alright—“

Without warning, the glass cracks and Ferris is quick to drop it from her palm. It’s sand before it hits the ground, the grains trickling through the air like dust motes. She cringes and looks up. “I’ll fetch the broom.”

“Perhaps we pick this up again tomorrow?” Gale is looking over their notes, and Tara has joined him, nose close to the papers as she searches for a solution as well. “I believe you’re due to meet Catriona in an hour and you should ice that palm.”

Ferris eyes the slight burn, her palm lightly blistered. “I’ll stick it in the ocean, the salt will help.”

He nods and makes a noise that could be agreement, and Ferris slips away.

That evening, after she and Cat leave, Gale buys matches and lantern oil and feels hollow when he passes over the coin for both. He can no longer bear the spark of hope in Ferris’ eyes that glows the moment before failure, the loosening in his chest that constricts harder and faster with each broken globe. He cannot be the source of her burns and scars.

Ferris says nothing when she finds old oil lamps around the tower; they are in her room, the library, the kitchen. She begins to use them without question, and they don’t bring up the subject of experimentation again.

Gale buys candles and parchment and plain ink. The clerk asks him if he’s made a mistake, picked up the wrong pot by accident. His smile does not reach his eyes when he says ‘no, no mistake, plain ink for non-magical use’.

It’s been years since he used normal ink, especially of this quality. Ferris insists on student-quality ink when buying it for herself, keeping Gale’s magical and higher quality stock for only final drafts of spells and scrolls. She’ll thin the bottle as well, make it last as long as possible by adding water and ash to stretch the ink until it’s a spidery gray and she can be bullied into a refill.

Keeping a larger refill bottle on hand can’t hurt, especially because it’s now the only thing she’ll likely be able to use. It’s one thing they have not tested, mainly due in part to Ferris’ dislike of wasting money. Gale can insist it’s not a waste until he’s blue, that he can always get more or make his own, but Ferris stands firm.

“I’m not going to be any more of an inconvenience than I already am.”

That hurts more than anything else, that she is back to viewing herself as an inconvenience. Ferris had hidden all number of wounds from them in the early days, all number of hurts and fears because she did not want to be a burden.

“We’ll find out eventually,” he tries. “Why not on purpose rather than an accident later?”

Adamant that there will be no mistakes, Ferris takes to wearing gloves as she’d previously suggested. They’re strange constructions, thin and supple, only covering her palms and fingers. It’s clear to Gale that they’re an inconvenience for a woman who touches everything, who loves to know the feel of a flower petal between her fingers, the exact texture of a brick as they walk along the roads. She has to remove them for her cello.

Ferris doesn’t touch her violin, not anymore.

She’d asked him whether he could sense any magic in it, if there was any enchantment or lingering warmth to the wood, the last remaining part of a friend within. Gale had checked it over with a precision he reserved for special occasions, even asked another professor to take a look to be as sure as possible.

“Not even remotely magical,” the man had shaken his head and given Gale a look that said ‘are you daft’. “Just wood.”

Taking it to a druid got him the same answer.

“Nothing but inert wood.”

Still, she does not take the risk and confines herself to pipe and cello and voice.

For all that she did not use magic to play, Ferris feels like she’s learning all over again. There’s a strangeness to the notes now, an emptiness that she must fill to make the songs full and bright again, to get the audience engaged fully with her voice, her playing. If Cat notices when they go out tavern hopping, she politely does not mention it. Just as she does not mention the lack of violin and the new affinity for pipes.

Gale does not either, but she can see it in his face, see that something is strange with her, within her—or without. Ferris doesn’t think she’s outwardly changed; there’s no brand or mark on her that says she’s a sinkhole for Weave and other magics.

She teaches two days each tenday at the Academy and the boys are happy to see her. No longer attached to Gale, Ferris is fully on her own to instruct as she sees fit. When asked for a lesson plan, she’d given the dean a strange look.

“Sir, with all due respect, it’s combat training. They whack at each other with practice swords and staffs and my goal is to see them sustain minimal bruises with maximal learning. There’s nothing as finicky or precise as spell craft or casting.”

In the end she’d submitted one anyway, trying to remember everything she’d been taught as a College of Swords bard. Footwork, yes. Calisthenics, that was surely something the dean would look at and deem impressive despite it being little more than additional exercise. The boys did not and would not care whether it was ‘come try to hit me’ or ‘work through this move on a straw dummy’, they were happy to get out of their lecture halls for a few hours each tenday and work through their frustrations and fears with a blunt weapon.

From what little Ferris remembers of being a child, it was not the best of times.

When the boys sustained injuries, she’d send them off to the healer.

“Why can’t you handle it, miss?”

The boy has tears in his eyes when he approaches her, the student he’d been sparring with looking immensely guilty. A dislocated finger or two, and a nasty bruise; the boy would need to be healed to write.

“I can set your fingers, but—“ she cleared her throat to buy herself a moment of time, mind racing. “Unfortunately as an official instructor, any injuries sustained in my class must be looked at by a proper healer and documented to prove I’m not beating you for no reason. No more under the table cantrips and healing spells. I really am sorry.”

“I’ll take him,” his sparring partner says.

“Will the setting hurt?”

“Oh, like punching a brick wall,” Ferris says brightly. “Would you like me to do it, or the healer? It’ll hurt just as much, healing spells are the same as manually putting things back in place, unfortunately.”

The boy pales but extends his hand and Ferris doesn’t wait, popping the finger back in and checking the others. “Well, you’ve not broken anything, that’s good. Nothing more effective at teaching you to block with the blade and not the pommel, it’s a lesson I had to learn myself.”

There are silvery scars across her knuckles, old now, and faded to only certain lighting and angles. She shows them her left hand with a grin. “You’ve got much better healers here than we did in university.”

War stories distract enough that there are no further incidents.

Obviously her lack of healing goes over a treat, and when asked why didn’t simply wave her hand and fix the boy herself, Ferris plays dumb and gives the same logic.

“If accidents have to be reported in other classes, it seemed only right I follow the same rules. I keep them as safe as I can, but they are swinging around weapons and sometimes lessons are learned in split knuckles and bruised arms.”

‘At least,’ she thinks. ‘I’m not teaching them to brawl.’

While funny, it would have ended poorly.

No one questions her further, and Ferris breathes a sigh of relief, vowing to get some basic supplies like gauze and non-magical ointment for aches and calluses and burst blisters. There will be plenty in the coming months, she’s sure.

Until then…well, she’s an excellent actress.

“Do you think you’ll perform again?”

Cat’s head rests in her lap, delicate hands resting on her stomach while Ferris’ play through her short, bobbed hair, idly twirling and twisting.

“Hmm?”

“Your violin. Do you think you’ll perform again,” her friend does not open her eyes, but Ferris knows she is acutely aware of how her words sting at her skin like bees. “Or is teaching little boys swordplay your new career path?”

“Some of them are nearly men, don’t be rude.” She tugs a lock of her friend’s hair where it curls around her finger and Cat doesn’t even flinch. “To tell you the truth, I’m not entirely sure. I don’t need to worry about money, I don’t much care whether people know my name. I’m not…well, I’m not not happy, but there’s part of me missing, and I can’t tell whether it’s a lack of music or magic.”

Cat sits up slowly, stretching. “Come to the docks with me tonight,” she taps Ferris’ nose. “Bring your violin and we’ll play up a storm to rival Waterdeep’s worst winter hurricanes.”

While her hands are strong and worn, Ferris’ face aches from maintaining a false smile as she agrees.

After all, it’s just another set of muscles to relearn the use of.

They walk home from the gardens, Cat’s skin slightly darker from the sun and Ferris’ redder, and she promises to meet at ‘that lopsided tavern with the fish sign’ after nightfall. With her violin. She watches Cat wave until she’s no longer visible, a new and ridiculous tradition, before letting her shoulders slump and the corners of her mouth turn down. The route back to the tower seems far longer than usual.

She’s barely got her boots off before Gale pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Hello, there’s fresh bread for tea and—“ he stops, looking her up and down. “Are you alright?”

“A bit sunburned, nothing more.”

“Ah, I’ve an ointment for that, if you’d like.”

Ferris considers his offer, and then considers the sting of pain as a reminder that she is, somehow, still alive and she is, somehow, capable of feeling. “Alright.”

“I don’t remember it being magical, but I can apply it for you just in case,” he shepherds her in and, before she can protest, Ferris is sat at the table with tea, two thick slices of bread with butter and honey and salt, and Tara’s watchful gaze from the garden window. The tressym looks resplendent in the golden sun, surrounded by greenery and flowering things. Ferris says as much around a mouthful of bread.

Tara sniffs, wings ruffling at the compliment; Ferris can tell she’s equal parts pleased and embarrassed, mainly because she knows that Tara was quietly told to make sure she didn’t wander off. “You’ve got honey on your nose.”

“It’s good for sunburn,” she replies, wiping it away with her thumb before popping it into her mouth to chase the sweetness. In truth, she hadn’t gotten too burned, there’s a more pronounced redness to her cheeks, the tips of her ears, but nothing that looks painful or out of place. If anything, it looks as though she’s had too much to drink. Ferris finishes one slice of bread, downs half her tea, and starts on the other piece as Gale comes back. He looks pleased to see her eating, and she takes a deliberately large bite.

“Shall I do your ears while you finish?”

“Yes please,” she takes a sip of tea. “It’s nothing too bad, it will fade on its own.”

“But I’m sure it itches, in the meantime.”

He isn’t wrong but, rather than admit it, Ferris shrugs. “No more than healing skin ever does, really,” but she sits still as he carefully handles the tips of her ears, blushed just beyond pink. She has to focus very, very hard on sitting still, actually, because each stroke of Gale’s fingers send lightning down her spine; it’s like she’s too close to a lightning spell again, hairs standing on end, but the shivery pleasure is far nicer than she’d realized. Both elves and halflings had sensitive ears, but she’d assumed her reaction would be dulled to nothing—after all, it doesn’t feel like this when she has to touch them herself. It might tickle a little, but nothing like this. Nothing like—

“Does it hurt? You keep making little noises like I’m pinching or rubbing too hard.”

Gale’s pleasant voice startles her out of her haze and Ferris jolts to attention. Of course he hadn’t thought anything of it, he’s seen her tug at her ears absentmindedly with no outward reaction. “Perhaps they’re more sunburned than I’d thought,” she murmurs, trying to ignore how her whole body feels alert.

“I’ll be more gentle.” His touch lightens and Ferris’ nails dig into the wood of the seat, nearly lurches from her spot at the near caress. “Is that better?”

Yes. No. ‘Dear gods, what is wrong with me?’

“It’s fine.”

Ferris shifts again and leans forward over the table, fiddling with the mug Gale had left on the table; it’s thick clay, hand molded rather than thrown, and peaked ridges sweep up along the sides. She traces them with her thumb, digging in whenever she finds a sharp section of glazed clay as she presses her thighs together to ignore the tingling that concentrates at the base of her spine.

“Nearly done,” Gale says pleasantly, as though he’s trying to reassure her that the worst is soon over. “Did you have plans this evening?”

“Cat is forcing me out.”

“How terrible for you, and how inconsiderate of her.” His tone is flat but he cannot hide the slight smile when Ferris turns to him with a scowl. “I was going to see if you’d like to take a walk after dinner, it’s supposed to be a very temperate night.”

She sighs, reaching up to tug at her earlobe absentmindedly; there’s no ‘zing’ when she does it. “I need you to do me a favor.”

If Gale is worried about what manner of request she’s about to make, he does not show it. “Anything.”

Ferris hesitates a moment before pulling the gloves out of her pocket. “Burn these.”

“What, right now?”

“If you’d like, but take them from me and don’t let me have them again if you decide to do it at a later time and date,” she wants to hang onto them, wants to keep them as a shield. Maybe she can dip her fingertips in wax to play, maybe she can—

The gloves are forced into Gale’s hands and Ferris bolts from the kitchen as he calls out her name, concern clear in his tone. She ignores it, racing up the stairs to her room and shutting the door behind her, perhaps a bit too hard. Her chest heaves with with each breath and tears prick at her eyes.

It’s stupid, she hasn’t even had the gloves for that long but she can’t play with them on.

She can’t live like this.

Gale doesn’t mind if she messes up, he doesn’t mind redoing enchantments or making new ink. He doesn’t mind at all.

Ferris can’t ignore the problem anymore, and the problem is that she’s chosen to ignore as much as possible. She’s not changed if she doesn’t acknowledge it, she’s fine if she can make a joke—even at her own expense. She’s still alright if she just keeps continuing to live as thought she really is.

Pressing the heels of her palms, still smarting from all the experimentation burns and cuts, Ferris sinks to the floor with her back pressed against the wood of the door, fighting the tears that threaten to spill because she’s twenty-six and absolutely not going to panic about this. Absolutely not, there is no way. She’s survived so much more and she simply needs to get over this and accept change as it comes instead of shutting her eyes to it.

“Ferris?”

She hears Gale’s soft knock, and then a rustling as he sits next to her door with a sigh.

“Your knees are going to protest, wizard,” she croaks out, embarrassed that her voice sounds so wrecked. “I’m fine.”

There’s a murmured spell and then the scent of burning cloth. “I’m not so sure you are, bard. He doesn’t say anything more for a few minutes, allowing Ferris to collect herself. Once her breathing steadies and there are no more dangerously hitched breaths, he begins again. “It’s difficult. You’ve said as much yourself and I thought…I thought you were saying it because you believed it already. Not to make yourself believe.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Oh, like night and day,” he drums his fingers against the floor and Ferris recognizes it as a reel she’d sung under her breath a few days ago. “Vastly different, and I’m a fool for thinking all was well, for not looking. Forgive me.”

“Only if you’ll forgive my own foolishness.”

“I will when you’re done,” Gale says. “Until then, I’m here for the burns and scrapes and tears, I do hope you know that.”

It is not a weakness, to ask for help.

Ferris repeats it in her head until it becomes another unconscious thread woven into her daily thoughts, like the lyrics of a song that linger in deep sleep, waking to her lips when she needs them. Once they settle, Ferris cracks open the door. “I’ve one more favor to ask, then.”

“Anything.”

He says it so easily, so readily and with so much affection that she can’t stand it, and Gale laughs when she wrinkles her nose at him. “Someday you’ll regret saying ‘anything’ before you’ve heard the ask.”

“Not if it’s for you,” he says earnestly.

Ferris might start believing him, if he keeps looking at her so fondly.

“I can’t believe you brought your wizard,” Cat rolls her eyes. “Good evening, Gale.”

His hands are deep in his pockets, robes exchanged for far more plain clothes; he’ll never look like a dockworker but he makes a passable working man. If no one looks too closely at the state of his hands and the well-kept nails, he could easily be a shopkeeper or merchant. Ferris thinks she’s done a fantastic job of making the wizard fit in a little more for this small adventure.

“Catriona,” he inclines his head the way a lower man might, rather than his usual bow, and it gets him a pleased hum from both bards. “I was told you had planned something tonight?”

“Yes,” she loops her arm around Ferris’ waist and draws the bard in. “Ferris is going to play her violin and prove to herself that she’s capable of being more than a schoolmarm.”

It gets her an eye roll. “The boys call me ‘miss’, and I’m hardly strict enough to earn the title of ‘schoolmarm’.”

“Schoolmarm, swordmistress, whatever they call you. You’re a bard, Ferris.”

Gale watches her mouth open, then close just as quickly as Ferris purses her lips.

Shepherd. Student. Hero. She’s worn so many titles over her short years, so many heavy burdens around her neck, that being anything but ‘Ferris’ feels overwhelming. Gale rests a hand on her shoulder. “There’s always Bospir.”

Ferris blinks up at him, owlish for a moment before she bursts out laughing. “There’s always Bospir,” she agrees.

“Sickening,” Cat sniffs, but there’s no heat behind it. “Come on, let’s go.”

He catches sight of the lyre under her arm as he takes a seat at the bar, as far from the hearth as possible. Gale doesn’t want to attract any attention tonight, after all. Cat’s cloak is dramatically thrown off her shoulders, revealing quite a lovely gown that shows off her tall, curved figure. Generous skirts balanced a lower bust line and he sees more than one man elbow another, all eyes on the bards now as Ferris rolls her eyes, removing her jacket with far less flourish. If anyone is disappointed by her muted, simple dress there is no indication.

It takes a moment for her to tune, the violin having sat longer in its case than her cello or pipes. The wood gleams brightly in the firelight, flickering and alive in Ferris’ hands and her eyes turn a little sad as she gives the A string one last pluck and adjustment before she’s pleased with the accuracy of pitch.

Ferris places the instrument under her chin and everything falls away as her back straightens, her shoulders settle; there’s a practiced elegance to the way she raises her bow and hovers the hair over the strings.

Her eyes meet Cat’s, watching the subtle movement of her head as she counts them in; it’s as natural as anything to match their breaths and when Cat inhales sharply, Ferris draws her bow over the strings of her violin.

The chord rings clear, and she finally begins to believe that it will be alright.

Chapter Text

When they stop to bathe, the first time, both Wyll and Shadowheart nearly cry at the state of Ferris’ hair; there are snarls and sections have locked up, others matted. She tries to tug her fingers through it and the cleric makes a strangled noise before reaching for a comb, diving into her bag to pull it out before Ferris can find a knife to take drastic measures rather than compete with the tangles.

It’s a whole production, the warlock taking one side and Shadowheart the other, both of them forcing Ferris to sit still and chastising her as one would a child, much to the amusement of every other member of camp. Chores take longer, but at least they have entertainment.

“How did it get this bad?” Shadowheart laments, sectioning out a bit that she had managed to work through after a few minutes. “Hold that out of the way.”

Ferris obediently takes hold of the lock of her hair, idly twirling it between her fingers. “All I did was put it in a knot, out of the way.”

Wyll hums, his own hands carefully working; he winces when he tugs too hard, but Ferris doesn’t so much as blink. “I suspect that has something to do with it—have you brushed it out, in the time since we all came together?”

“No,” the bard shrugs. “Why?”

“Why?” Astarion looks offended. “Dear gods, how have you survived this long?”

“Once it was long enough it was always styled for me,” she tugs on a new strand that Shadowheart passes her, adding it to the first. “I didn’t have a choice.”

All of them sit with that, for a while; Gale starts in on dinner, Karlach and Lae’zel finish with the tents, Astarion produces a small bottle of oil to help with the worst of Ferris’ hair and considers that his contribution for the night. It’s nearly dark by the time Wyll and Shadowheart finish with the bard’s hair and it’s far longer than they’d all realized—nearly all the way down her back, straight as a pin.

“Shall I braid it for you?” Wyll asks, and they all see the thought behind his eyes: it’ll keep her hair from harm, at least, and be easier to manage thereafter.

“Yes please,” Ferris rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck, sore from sitting still and stiff for so long. “I’m used to braids, but never learned how to do them myself—I can do them on other people, or on horses in their manes and tails, or with grasses for weaving—“

“A proper country lass,” Astarion mutters just loud enough for everyone to hear, eyes glued to his book with practiced disinterest. Gale huffs out a laugh, covering it with a cough when he realizes Ferris is watching him intently.

“Here, pay attention to this one,” Shadowheart lets Wyll get started on one side and she takes the time to show Ferris the over-under pattern of a simple three strand braid, passing the lower part of it to Ferris to try; it’s different to doing it on another, and her clever fingers stumble.

“There’s so many types of braids,” Wyll finishes the other side, tying it off carefully. “Either way, you’re going to have to start brushing it. I’ve never seen hair like yours lock up.”

“Can you teach me?” Ferris turns quickly and the neat plaits Wyll had done swing. “Please?”

“Of course. Most of them are easy enough, and if we find someone who knows how to style ladies’ hair, they can teach you that as well. I can braid, but styling…well, that’s entirely different.”

Ferris nods. “Makes sense.”

“Did you used to wear it short?” Astarion asks from his spot, lounging in front of his tent; he still seems, for all the world, to be reading—but they know when he’s using it as a shield rather than entertainment. “Your hair. You said ‘when it got long’.”

“Yeah,” she is fascinated with how her hair moves, the weight of it now that it’s bound. “It used to be kept boy-short.”

“Oh that I must see,” the elf rises. “Someone here knows disguise magic, and you can tell them how it looked.”

“Me, but more androgynous,” she shrugs. “I responded to ‘boy’ and ‘sir’, it didn’t seem worth correcting people over. Far safer as well. I think I can pin it up still, to look like a boy.

The elf looks her over and notices Wyll doing the same; neither of them mean anything by it, but all of them are used to seeing their bard as only a woman. Still it’s a welcome change of subject, and one that can easily shift to teasing, lighter fare. “You are rather flat, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” she laughs. Ferris wraps the long braid around her hand, letting it loop over and over before letting go and watching it tumble. “Not all of us can have massive tits. I’d look ridiculous with anything larger than the handful I have.”

“What are we talking about?” Karlach strolls over, firewood gathered in her arms.

“Ah—“ there is no way Gale can cut in fast enough to stop Astarion once he’s decided on his entertainment.

“Ferris’ tits,” Astarion cuts him off with a wicked grin and the bard rolls her eyes.

“We were not,” she corrects. “We were talking about my lack of them.”

Karlach’s laughter catches like wildfire as she doubles over. “Oh but small ones are nice too, tits are tits.”

Gale is bright red and Wyll looks like he’s torn between excusing himself and participating in raunchier than usual talk.

“Female anatomy has its advantages and disadvantages,” Lae’zel cuts in. “In seduction it is an asset. In battle, a hindrance.”

“I’ve seen you after bathing,” Shadowheart uncorks a bottle of wine, clearly deciding that it will be more fun to rile than diffuse and Gale laments his usual backup. “You’re not as flat as you suggest.”

“It’s because she wears stays, darling,” Astarion accepts the wine when she offers and pours himself a hearty goblet, then another for Ferris.

“How would you know?” Karlach tugs at Ferris’ collar and the bard laughs, squirming away. “Come on, how would Fangs know?”

“Because he’s seen them,” Gale speaks up for the first time, shoving the newly-brought wood into the right shape for a cooking fire. “And this is his way of bragging about it.”

“Helping one’s companion lace up their underthings after they crushed their hand in a trapped chest is not exactly what I’d call a fun night,” the elf sighs. “I did tell you to mind your fingers, darling.”

“Hush,” Ferris nudges Gale to the side, holds two of the logs in place when his construction collapses. He mutters a thanks as he continues. “Yes, I wear stays. But they’re not really subtracting anything from the equation—we can’t all be as blessed as you Shadowheart—oh, Gale, mind where you’re placing that, you’ll collapse the whole pile!”

It collapses anyway and he’s keenly aware that she can likely see him flushed red.

“Your assets are quite generous,” Lae’zel eyes the cleric with the precision of a general. “It is good you are not an archer.”

Wyll speaks up before Shadowheart can start a fight. “I still cannot picture you with short hair, Ferris.”

“Perhaps our wizard can use some of his fancy magic to make a copy of our bard and she can direct the look,” Karlach teases, still trying to get a glimpse of Ferris’ stays. The bard rolls her eyes, sitting back once Gale has the fire going.

“Gods, Karlach, do you really want to see my tits that badly?”

“Everyone else has!”

“No one else has,” Astarion raises his goblet to the tiefling. “You’d be the first of us.”

“Shocking,” Gale mutters under his breath; it’s Ferris’ turn to go bright red, a little anger and a little embarrassment.

“How is it shocking?”

The wizard nearly drops the potato he’d started peeling. “Ah! I forget just how keen your hearing is, Ferris. I only meant that we all live and work in such close proximity to each other, it’s shocking you’ve managed to maintain such a level of privacy.”

“You fuck up one pole placement and your whole tent comes down,” Karlach laments. “What a night that was.”

“Your bare arse was a sight,” Astarion toasts her as she laughs. “Some of us are capable of privacy even in a group.”

The fact that Astarion claims he has not seen Ferris in the nude is surprising to Gale, if only because they have a habit of sneaking away from camp. Perhaps it was to satiate the spawn’s need for blood with some privacy, perhaps not. There is something unsaid between them, and he does not feel like prying. Especially when it makes something green-eyed and dangerous rise within him. “I’d appreciate some assistance with dinner, if anyone minds,” he says instead.

Karlach and Ferris settle close to each other, telling terrible jokes as they peel whatever Gale hands them.

“Buy me dinner first, woman,” the bard snorts in response to something.

“Gale, mate. Help me out. How much for a tater?”

He has an idea of what they’re discussing.

“Your weight in gold.”

“Fuck—what if I asked nicely, Birdy?”

“I’ll consider it. The least you could do is kiss me, then I wouldn’t feel bad about flashing you.”

Gale nearly takes his finger off.

They’re still laughing as Karlach leans forward and kisses Ferris’ cheek, wet and noisy and joking, but he sees Astarion quickly turn away to hide his own amusement.

He realizes why when Ferris sits up straighter, fingers going to the laces of her shirt. “Alright, Karlach, feast your eyes—“ she pulls the panels of fabric apart. “On these!”

Gale is not sure when the bard had managed the slight of hand to get two potatoes up her shirt and shoved down the top of her chemise, but the resulting uproarious laughter from the tiefling is something indeed; Karlach doubles over again, half-peeled potatoes go everywhere, and dinner is much delayed.

Ferris does let their barbarian remove the potatoes from her shirt after some teasing; Gale stirs their cook pot and does his best not to think about why he’s jealous as the group debates whether those two potatoes should be cherished or diced.

In the end, after a solemn comment that now everyone may partake in Ferris’ tits equally, they go into the soup.

Chapter Text

She starts tying the sash at her waist to the right rather than the left, he notices. Perhaps she had been doing it for some time, but typically Ferris favored her left side and would have the buckle of her belt there, the clasp of her cloak. For something to be on her right stands out.

It’s Cat who fills him in when Ferris steps away to converse with the older man who had invited them to his party.

“Congratulations are in order,” she gives him a glance, her hair as sleek and dark as a crow’s feather. “I suppose.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re officially courting, aren’t you?”

Gale nearly spits out his drink and Cat rolls her eyes. “The idea was floated—“

“She’s switched the side her bow is on,” the other woman explains. “Left is ‘available’ and right is ‘courting’, in Cormyr. I don’t even think she realizes she’s done it, knowing her.”

“For all her denial of traditional knowledge, she certainly has internalized it deeply,” he mumbles into his glass, hoping the flush to his face can be written off as alcohol. Truly unfortunate that no one has spiked the punch, then, because he’s got no real excuse and the other bard is wickedly sharp. He assumes it’s a learned trait of musicians. “Is it all of Cormyr, or the outlying regions?”

Cat shrugs. “As far as I know it’s one of those things done in low circles and high circles—it’s a whole to-do if you’re from money or power, but it’s just life for people like Ferris.”

Shepherds who thought ‘town’ was anything over five buildings, whose feet could carry them across the world and back without issue. What had Astarion said, ‘a proper country lass’? He supposes it’s true, as much as he knows of these things.

“You should dance with her,” Cat pats his arm knowingly. “I don’t think Waterdeep quite knows the difference between the left and right sash knot.”

He glances over her head as she moves away and sees a few young men chatting away with his bard; she doesn’t look cornered or uncomfortable, and he knows that she is more than capable of incapacitating anyone who would make her feel so, but jealously licks up his spine. Catriona is right, after all—Waterdeep doesn’t share the same pastoral traditions that Ferris is familiar with, and most people make formal announcements of courtships, especially ones that are quite likely to end in marriage shortly thereafter. It’s easy enough to make his way over, taller than most of the older folks at the gatherings; these must be their grandsons, or even great-grandsons, and the thought makes him feel immensely old.

“There you are, my dear,” he slides a possessive hand around her waist, settling his palm over her hip, just over the knot of her sash; his fingers dig in the slightest bit, wrinkling the lay of the fabric. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

She smiles up at him brightly and Gale sees more than one young man deflate a bit at her look. He isn’t one for preening in cases such as this, but it feels like a victory on par with bringing down the likes of the Netherbrain. “I’m sure I’m hard to spot in a crowd.”

A good head shorter than most, she does tend to get lost among the masses but Ferris is also strangely easy for him to find in mere moments, a pull toward her that he cannot explain. Her chosen greens shine like a new leaf in spring that draw his eye—even in dull colors she is always near enough that he can zero in on her location. Perhaps it’s a result of those months spent sculpting spells around her darting form, but Gale would know her anywhere, his bright, shining bard.

Whose knotted sash indicates they’re courting.

As with so many things, they should probably discuss it.

There’s a bit more polite, inane conversation before they break away and Gale lets his hand slip from Ferris’ waist; her smile dips a little, but does not break. His bard is skilled at wearing masks in all manner of company, but he is getting better as spotting them. “Are you alright, Ferris?”

“What? Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Her hands flutter for a moment, looking for something to fidget with before settling on her sash. He watches as she fusses with the knot, tightening and shifting it to settle more properly over her hip; it’s slipped since the start of the evening, moving to be closer to center, and she scowls at it. “I wish I’d brought a pin.”

“Shall I find you one, if the placement is critical?” Gale keeps his tone neutral, slightly teasing to fit their normal banter. There’s nothing in it to indicate that he’s aware of what it means, thanks to Catriona.

Ferris bites her lip, thinking as she twists her fingers into the loose ends of the sash. “If you don’t mind.”

“Stay there,” he plucks a glass off the platter of a nearby server, handing it to her to give her something else to do with her hands. “I’ll be right back.”

It’s nothing to find a ladies’ maid, easy as anything to procure a pin and give his effusive thanks. It’s just as simple to return to Ferris, the glass sweating beads of moisture as she casts her eyes around the crowd; she isn’t looking for him, but she knows where he is at all times. The two of them will always find each other, it seems.

“That was quick,” she reaches for it but Gale drops to a knee instead, glancing up when she makes a startled noise. “Can I help you?”

“No,” he smiles softly, pin in hand. “But I would be delighted if you’d allow me to help you, Songbird.”

She grumbles her ascent, glancing away but unable to hide the flush that comes to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. ‘It’s unusually easy to get her to blush these days,’ he thinks as he carefully pins the sash to her dress, checking to make sure it won’t slip. “There you go, secured to the best of my ability and hopefully it’ll hold.”

Ferris looks slightly bewildered as he stands, blinking up at him once he’s at full height and her mouth opens and closes a few times before she huffs out a ‘thank you’ and slips into the crowd, a minnow into the shoal.

‘We can talk when she’s ready,’ he tracks her unconsciously even as he moves in the opposite direction, two celestial bodies aware they orbit the other. ‘It won’t do to push, after all.’

He considers sparks and powder kegs as someone waves him into their sphere, but the memory of Ferris’ wide eyes and pink cheeks lingers far longer than it ought. By the time the event itself is over, both of them stumble back home to soak their feet and exchange gossip, leaning heavily against one another with mugs of chamomile tea. It’s pleasant, lovely even, and when Gale goes to bed all thoughts of Ferris’ wide eyes and parted lips when he’d been on his knees before her get pushed aside in favor of her slow smile and warm presence at his side.

Little does he know, Ferris does not do the same, the image of Gale on his knees seared into her head and haunting her as she stares resolutely at the ceiling, determined to either forget or understand why it felt she’d been struck by lightning.

A handful of tendays later, at a Blackstaff event, Ferris suddenly looks up at him.

“Do you still love me?”

Gale nearly drops the mallet, fumbling the shot; older students, soon to graduate, and staff are collected on the lawn, a series of party games and events set up to entertain before a luncheon. Ferris had straightened out his robes before they arrived, fussing with the lay of them and making sure the collar was flat. Her hands had lingered, and he perfectly recalled the way she’d licked her lips, pausing as though she was about to speak before shaking herself and pulling him out the door. Nothing had seemed amiss an hour ago and yet—

“Why would you fear my heart had changed, Songbird?” Takes her wrist gently, feeling her fluttering pulse. “Is everything alright? Have I given you some impression—“

“No! No, everything is fine.” She tugs her hand back, both palms pressed to her flushed cheeks. “I think perhaps I need to sit down. Excuse me, Professor.”

Right.

They are acquainted, familiar, and some even know of their living arrangements (though there was a hilarious rumor that Ferris was having an affair with a beautiful woman only a stone’s throw from the tower, which she and Catriona delighted in). He’s gotten more questions about that than he’s ever gotten about his relationship with her, and he is also more amused than threatened. Here they are the bard, the swordmistress, and Professor Dekarios—not Ferris and Gale.

Perhaps it is a safe place for her to ask this of him, in a space where they are not joined at the hip, in a space where he plays one role and she another. A place where she can hide behind a mask, should she have need of one.

“Trouble, Dekarios?” One of the alchemy professors sidles up, eyebrows waggling. Always ready to gossip, the alchemists.

“Ah, no. My friend was feeling a bit heated, her pulse a bit high. Nothing some rest in the shade and a cool drink won’t fix,” he supplies with a neutral smile. Just in case he had looked too familiar with her. “Forgive me, I shall be right back.”

In the time it takes for Gale to procure a glass of lemonade, wrapped carefully in a handkerchief to protect the enchanted glass that will keep and drink cool, Ferris’ cheeks are far less red and she is the picture of a composed lady on a bench in the shade. It’s still odd to see her this way, poised and elegant—it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it, but he takes far more joy in seeing her wild and windswept. Even in a carefully styled dress, her hair is beginning to escape the crown of braids and she looks more herself, more like the Ferris of battles and adventures than the Ferris of libraries and parties.

He loves them both.

“Here, mind the glass,” he takes a seat next to her, enjoying the shade. “I know this is not the time or place, keeping in grand tradition with my usual bumbling, but perhaps we should have a conversation.”

Ferris barely chokes on a sip of lemonade, disguising it as a small cough. “Impeccable timing, truly.”

“Alright, but I know myself and I know you. When things get difficult, you’ll distract—and I am a willing distractee. What better time and place than here and now?”

She huffs but says nothing, and he knows that is all the opening he’s going to get. “I wonder if you wouldn’t like things to change, between us,” he keeps his voice low, not trying to attract anyone’s attention. Ferris stiffens at his side and he watches her fingers tighten around the glass between her palms; the condensation glimmers in the light that filters through the gaps in the leaves, dancing across her face and making it hard to read her eyes.

“How would you like it to change?”

It’s nearly a whisper and he has to lean in to hear her. Ferris’ eyes are focused on the grounds, roaming over the festivities like she’s assessing threat levels and escape route.

“However you’d like, Songbird. Things only need to change if you want them to.” As much as he wants her at his side, officially, openly, if Ferris does not want the same he will respect that. He has to, to keep her—‘keep’ is a strong word, he doesn’t want that. “I fear you aren’t happy in our current situation, and I do so hate when you’re unhappy.”

Ferris is silent for a moment, eyes still wandering as she thinks. “What is the current situation?”

“You must know that I am not a man that gives my affection lightly, that my love is a devotion and not a fleeting thing.” Gale rests his hand on the bench between them, should she want to lay hers atop it. “And I would like others to know it.”

“I know, and it terrifies me.”

Not exactly what he wants to hear, because ‘terror’ and ‘devotion’ are not two things he would like Ferris to associate with him. Then again, based on her previous experience, those two things go hand-in-hand.

“Does it have to change?”

His heart sinks, but Gale does his best to put on a gentle smile. “No, not until you’d like it to, should that day ever come.”

When Ferris looks up at him she looks so terribly sad. “What if that day never comes, Gale? What will you do then?”

It’s his turn to gaze out across the fields at his students, their families, his fellow wizards and their fellow coworkers. The world seems so bright and beautiful, but he can’t quite see the same gleam anymore. “I will still love you, just as we are now. That, Ferris, is something I would not trade for the world.”

She lays her hand atop his, just as he’d wished, and he tells himself that it is enough.

High off the elation of a stellar performance, Cat and Ferris take their time returning to the other bard’s rooms, traipsing through the streets in their elegant clothes looking for all the world like two ladies out on the town. Once they’ve purchased wine and bread and various fruits and cheeses, and the door closes to Cat’s rooms, the gleaming facade comes away and both of them strip down to the bare minimum, luxuriating in the warm afternoon. Rich colors of silk drape carefully over the backs of chairs, glittering gold and gemstones scatter over flat surfaces as they settle on the floor.

Cat begins to carefully unwind the strand of gems, strung on a line of fine gold chain, from Ferris’ small braids; there were various braids that twisted back into a low bun, contained within a net of green and gold ribbons and it takes some concentration to not snag anything as he fingers work deftly, a harpist’s precision and care at the forefront.

“Would you be terribly surprised to find I need your help with more than my hair?” The smaller bard cuts the cheese and fruit into small pieces, perfect for picking up with fingers

“Ferris, my dearest friend who would never ask anything strange and imposing of me,” says Cat sweetly. “How can I help?”

“I must ask something strange and imposing of you.”

“Damn. Well, what is it?”

“I need your moral support and expert guidance in the ways of city courtship.”

Catriona spits out her tea. “Of all the things—“ she dabs delicately at her mouth. “Of course I’ll help you, but why not ask Gale? Or even his mother? Morena would be absolutely delighted to hear you’re officially courting.”

“It’s not…we haven’t announced it,” Ferris glances away. “So it’s not entirely official?”

Her dearest, closest friend groans into her hands. “We’re opening the wine for this, I don’t care how early it is because you’re going to start from the beginning, and you’re not going to leave anything out.

So Ferris does, wrestling with one cork, then two when Cat takes a deep breath in the middle and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“He keeps saying things can change when I’m ready,” Ferris passes Cat the bottle of wine. “What does that even mean?”

“Well, my darling dear, usually it means he’s waiting for you to do something.”

“But what?” She closes her eyes. “Cat, I was worried I wasn’t showing him the same level of affection he shows me so I took his hand and he asked if I was well. For holding his hand.”

Her friend narrows her eyes. “I have seen how he is with you, so I must ask: Ferris, do you kiss him? Touch him? You keep shaking your head, what on earth do you do then?”

“Sometimes when he’s at his desk I’ll put my arms around his neck,” she thinks hard. “When we pass close in the kitchen, I might touch his elbow or arm.”

“But he touches you.”

“Yes?” Ferris accepts the wine and takes a long sip. “He offers touch, and sometimes I take it. Or if we’re out, Gale’ll sometimes take my elbow or touch my back to steer me. He often kisses the top of my head, in passing.”

“And you enjoy this?”

She nods enthusiastically.

Catriona stares at her blankly. “Ferris. I ask this with all the love in my heart, do you ever have positive, of your own volition sexual thoughts? Not even about Gale, but generally.”

Ferris thinks.

She thinks for a long time.

“Yes?”

Her friend looks at her as if jumping out a window would be simpler than this conversation they’re having. It might be. “Gods preserve me, why are you saying that like it’s a question, they’re your thoughts.”

“Define ‘sexual’—“

“Fucking!” Cat throws her hands in the air and falls back against the cushions. “Him fucking you, you fucking him, him touching you in a non-platonic manner?”

“I didn’t used to!” Ferris groans into her hands this time. “I don’t know, I’ll start and then my mind will panic. The more I know him, the more they happen. Like we were making bread and I was watching his forearms flex and wondered how his fingers would feel— Cat it startled me so much I nearly burnt the toast.”

She doesn’t mention the ears.

“It startled you? To look at a man’s forearms?”

“To think that about him!”

“But you love him.”

“I— I think so?”

“There are not enough gods for me to pray to right now, Ferris— you think so?”

Ferris picks up a throw pillow and screams into it before answering. “I’ve never been in love before, Cat. What the fuck do I know about loving someone, being in love?”

Cat goes quiet, watches Ferris carefully as she fluffs the pillow and places it back amongst the hoard of cushions. “You say you don’t know about loving someone, yet you gave up magic so your friend could have a future free of his past. You asked me what Morena Dekarios might want for her birthday—she’s a terrifying woman, by the way—and you want desperately to understand your wizard. All those are ways of loving someone, you egg.”

“But being in love, that’s different.” Ferris pouts. “Everyone says it’s different.”

“And it is. You’ll know, and I hate to say it because it is ever so cliche, but you’ll know when you’re in love.”

“He loves me. He’s said it, and I can see in his eyes that he means it. That he desires me, but he never acts on it.”

“Do you want him to?” Cat asks simply. “Because I don’t think you have a yes or no answer, and until that’s a ‘yes’, I don’t think your gorgeous wizard is going to lay a hand on you.”

“You keep saying that. He’s not—“

“Ferris, he says he loves you and you live in his gods damned tower, every woman in this city knows he is taken, he is your wizard.”

It silences her, which is uncommon for Ferris; she will quietly observe the world, yes, but is not often shocked or cowed to it. Ferris assembles a stack of small bits, some bread and cheese and apple, staring at the little tower. “He’s ‘my wizard’ to everyone but me. It scares me, Cat, in ways I’ve never known. I feel stuck and uncertain, and I hate it.”

“Well I’ve never known you to feel uncertain,” she assembles her own bite of food and does not hesitate to eat it, watching Ferris carefully. “You truly think he’d be content to keep things as they are, madly in love with you but always at a distance?”

“Yes.” It’s the easiest answer she’s ever given, and fully confident.

“And you want things to change or, at least, to try?”

Ferris hesitates a moment, taking stock of herself and how she’d felt to see Gale on his knees, the strange lick of heat up her spine when she’d noticed the flex and strength in his forearms, the satisfaction of his lingering gaze in a crowd. She feels greedy, oddly selfish, and she wants more, even if she doesn’t quite know what that ‘more’ is, only that it settles just beneath her ribs and beats in time with her heart.

She feels sick.

She feels terrified.

She feels alive.

“I do.”

“Then you must step forward into the light, even if you aren’t ready to,” Cat pulls open the balcony doors and warm afternoon sun shines in. She looks, for all the world, like a performer on a stage. “The orchestra is tuned, the audience is quiet, and now it’s your must make your stage debut. You’re playing a duet, and he has given you your cue. ”

It calls to mind the first duet she’d ever played for an audience of more than her classmates, on a stage in Baldur’s Gate in a dress so deeply red it gleamed like fresh blood under the enchanted lights. ‘Lifetimes ago,’ she thinks, and remembers the queasy anxiety that had threatened to overtake her just before she stepped onto the stage until she met Cat’s eyes from her place in the wings as her one and only friend’s fingers flew over her harp. The calm reassurance, the steadiness that came from practice, exposure, and time. She’d been right then, and Cat was likely right about this too.

“Alright,” she says to the ceiling, the light casting dancing patterns over the plaster and warming her bare legs. “Alright.”

Cat lets the silence sit for a moment before a sly grin comes over her face. “Goodness, you really are in love with him.”

“Shut up—and do not even dare say ‘I told you so’.”

Her friend says nothing, but Ferris can feel the words in the long, slow sip of wine. She falls back against the pillows and cushions they’ve pulled to the floor, finally eating her little sandwich. “Let me come down from this performance first, please—and pass the wine when you’ve stopped being so smug.”

“Get it yourself,” Cat slumps against her, grinning. “I’m going to be smug for the rest of your life.”

She does get the wine herself, a new bottle of it from Cat’s small kitchen that earns her token protests until she shares it, the two of them taking turns drinking from the bottle as the shadows grow longer and the air cooler as it blows in from the balcony.

Ferris shivers as she gets up, closing the doors and flipping the latch to stop them rattling open again. It’s almost cold, especially in only her chemise, stays, and bloomers; the weather still clinging to winter despite the warm days and spring colors. “Dinner?”

Cat shakes her head slowly, lazy from wine and sunshine. “You’ve got a wizard to court, I’m not agreeing to dinner until you’re stepping out and consciously tying your sash to the right.”

Ferris’ hand freeze as she adjusts the belt of her skirt, the buckle over her right hip. “How…how long have I been doing it?”

Her friend hums. “At least since that old man’s party.”

She finishes dressing, throwing her jacket over her blouse; she’s only bothered tucking in the front of her shirt for appearances and the jacket will hide the worst of her fashion choices. “You might have told me.”

“And had you cease doing it?” Cat rolls her eyes. “No, I was building up my potential for gloating with each instance of you pinning your cloak on the right, doing up your belt on the right, the like. It’s so much sweeter to watch you have a small crisis about deciding you were courting before even telling your poor wizard.”

“I hate you,” she pulls on her boots. “I’ll see you in a few nights for Morena’s evening of cards?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Cat waves her out the door, hauling a blanket over her shoulders and snuggling into the pile of cushions and pillows. “Get home safe.”

She waves and makes sure to listen for the ‘snick’ of the lock behind her, the wards Ferris had set ages ago still in place. It’s a relief that she doesn’t have to ask Gale or someone else to redo them. Cat is more than capable of doing it herself, at least using some lesser magic to lock it from a distance, but it’s something they’d been doing since starting university. It’s a quick jaunt down the stairs and the breeze immediately catches her clothes with chill fingers that makes Ferris pull her jacket tighter. If she still had magic she’d be able to warm herself, but instead she walks faster, tucking her fingers into the cuffs of her over-sized jacket as she makes her way back to the tower. The wind picks up the closer she gets to the ocean until she reaches the row of houses that block the immediate chill. Her nose picks up the subtle scent of rosemary over the salt and she jogs to the gate, forming a plan.

She’s going straight up to Gale and tell him she loves him. She’s going right up to the library and tell him she loves him and that she wants them to be courting. She’s going to be confident, she’s going to be bold. Everything is going to be easy and perfect, and he’ll take her into his arms, overcome with emotion and tell her how delighted he is—

Ferris marches up to the library, not bothering to take off her satchel or coat at the door, determined and terrified as she crosses the threshold. Gale is at his desk, grading papers; he looks up when he hears her, aided by the fact that she has not taken off her boots either. “Ah, you’re back! How was your performance? You’ll have to tell me all about it once we’re settled, dinner should be ready—“

Emboldened by wine and her terrible influence of a friend, Ferris closes the distance and thunks her hands down on the wood of the desk, much the same way she had when she’d rushed to tell him her Wish idea. Gale raises a brow.

“Ferris?”

“I—“

‘I love you’ dies on her tongue the second she looks into his brown eyes. Ferris is not brave by nature, and she cannot do this to him, not until she is sure.

He’s your wizard.

“I want people to know we’re stepping out together. That you love me.”

Let everyone know that I am yours, so I can feel it too.

She watches his mouth form her words silently, terrified that she’s fucked it all up, puzzling through their meaning before his face lights up.

“Oh!” He sounds delighted and it breaks her heart a little that she’s denied him this joy for so long. “Would you like me to court you, then? I wasn’t sure of halfling or elven traditions, but I’ve done some reading if you’d had anything in mind. Or I could— oh, you’re crying. Ferris, oh my dear, here,” Gale pulls a handkerchief from a pocket, drying her face with impossible gentleness. “Let’s talk about it once you’ve had something to settle the wine. Don’t pretend, I can smell it on you despite the mint leaves. Catriona is clever, but I know that trick myself. It didn’t work on my mother either.”

He’s rambling as he goes to stand, likely to lead her to the sofa, but Ferris rounds the desk before he can, slipping into his lap with her arms around his neck. It’s not at all like she’d imagined, not at all like she’d planned, but it’s something. Gale isn’t entirely put off by her fumbling or inability to voice her wants, isn’t put off by her inexperience.

“Ferris, are you alright? Truly,” he murmurs it into her hair, a hand running gently through the parts of it that have tumbled from the elegant twist Cat had put it in after she’d finished taking out the braids and gems. “This is what you want, yes?”

“I’m fine,” she turns to press her face into his neck, the scratch of stubble distracting. “But I don’t know what you want from me, Gale. I don’t know what I want, so I can’t tell you. I can’t help you.”

“This is a good start,” he wraps his other arm around her hips. “Showing me what you want, and seeking affection on your terms.”

“You asked if I was well,” she scoffs. “When I held your hand.”

It had been only a little mortifying, and Ferris thinks that will keep her up for years to come as a random, reoccurring thought.

“A mistake, on my part,” he admits with a laugh. “I was so startled and did not know what to make of you seeking me out.”

“And now?”

“If you’re alright and this is of your own will, then I will gladly hold you for hours.”

“Your legs will fall asleep,” she points out. “And dinner will burn.”

“So be it.”

The light in the library had long been reduced to lamps, sun set and night settled hours prior. Dinner had indeed burned, but with some salvaging it was edible. Ferris, despite being tired, sits by the fire and pretends to read while she keeps her ears trained on Gale’s every move; waiting, listening.

‘People who are courting will share the same bed,’ Cat had told her. The thought makes Ferris nervous; of course she and Gale had shared a bed before, most often out of necessity. Even most recently it had been a comfort rather than anything else, but she supposes that’s the point—but it hadn’t made her fluttery and nauseous the way she feels now, panicky and sick.

Maybe she’s coming down with something.

Maybe it’s too soon.

“Ferris?”

She startles at Gale’s touch on her shoulder, a light tap of two fingers to get her attention without lingering. The book on her lap slips and she has to jerk forward to catch it, putting some distance between them. “Warn a girl!”

“I did, twice.” He has the audacity to look amused. “Called your name and got no answer, I thought you’d fallen asleep sitting up.”

“Not asleep, simply focused,” she snaps the book shut. “Consider me warned.”

There’s a smile fighting at the corner of his mouth at her affronted tone but Gale knows it will only serve to make her obstinate if he so much as smirks. “I was headed up to bed, did you need anything?”

“Ah, no…” Ferris’ eyes drop away and her fingers curl around the spine of the book, her other hand tracing letters embossed on the cover. “Actually, if it’s not too much to ask…I’d like to share your bed tonight.”

Gale chokes on a sharp inhale, thumping his chest as the bard scowls. “Share—share my—“

“Oh never mind!” She rises quickly and makes for the door. “Forget I said anything!”

Hurt, embarrassment, anger—Ferris has felt all these things before, but the combination of them in this way is so new. so sickening. She doesn’t even have a name for it until her fingers curl around the library door knob: rejection.

Gale’s rejecting her.

It hurts.

She wrenches open the door just as a hand closes around her upper arm and Gale is there, looking both alarmed and apologetic. “Ferris, I was surprised, I was not sure you were being serious or if you were having me on,” he loosens his grasp but she doesn’t pull away. “I’ll meet you upstairs, alright? If you truly want to share a bed, I’m more than willing. Surely you know this.”

Surely she does. It still feels foreign, to be wanted.

Loved.

Ferris braids her hair carefully, taking her time with it; the rhythmic pattern of her hands, the slight tugging at her scalp is grounding. For the third time that day she strips to her chemise and bloomers, hesitating before unlacing her stays and putting them in the closet. Instead she pulls out a sweater and slips it on, the sleeves falling well past her hands and the neck of it gaping open. She can always take it off if she feels more confident.

She has no idea what she’s doing.

Then again, does Gale?

It’s something to think about on her walk up the stairs; he’s older, yes, but does he have any idea what courtship entails beyond literature and tradition? Not that it matters, seeing as how her experience is ‘a tipsy-to-drunken conversation with her friend from university’ and terrible romance novels they’d all passed around camp.

The door is open and the light inviting, warm from where Gale has a few lanterns lit. They’ll be easy enough to snuff out with a wave of his hand, and she feels a lurch of regret at how easy it used to be. Fortunately it doesn’t last and Ferris takes a fortifying breath before she slips inside and allows the door to shut behind her, the creak just audible to Gale’s human ears.

“Shall we pull a second duvet from the chest?” Gale is already in bed, propped up against the headboard with a book open on his lap; it’s incredibly domestic and she cannot stop the slight smile as she shakes her head.

“No, it’s alright,” she crosses to the bed on silent feet, hesitating at the edge, hands hovering uncertainly. Gale pulls down the covers for her, absently patting the empty space beside him as he waves a hand to snuff the lights; only the one at his bedside remains, the barest light in the darkness. She plants her hands on the mattress, hopping up and then freezing as she debates whether or not to get close to him, whether that’s acceptable or wanted or if it’s too soon, too much—

Gale carefully takes her wrist, feeling the rapid beat of her heart under her skin; she shivers at the press of him and he gives her an encouraging smile. “Do you remember when you took that blow in the Shadow-Cursed Lands? And Shadowheart didn’t have enough magic to fully heal you?”

He knows that Ferris can see him in the dark, and knows that she is watching him intently. “I do. I was so cold.”

“And I was the only one who could warm you at the time,” he lets his fingers encircle her wrist completely, loose enough that she could break the hold but firm enough that it would ground her. “What is different to here and now?”

Ferris snorts. “We weren’t courting then.”

“Ah I see,” he nods, the start of a grin tugging at his lips. “So it was only alright for you to spend the night in my arms when we were not courting.”

“Gale,” she whines, and he can tell even without dark vision that she’s rolling her eyes. “Fine. Fine! I see your point. It’s no different, nothing has changed aside from some words and promises.”

“Indeed.”

“Shove over,” she squirms into his arms, presses back against his chest. “And try not to be too smug about it.”

She is soft against him, all bare skin and easy curves now that she’s properly fed; still small and tending toward slender, but she has filled out where she used to be sharp angles and bones. It delights him, to know that she flourishes here in Waterdeep— with him.

“What did I say about being smug?”

Instead of replying, Gale traces his fingers down her side, over the swell of her hip before smoothing his palm back up. “Is this alright?”

“Yes. It’s…nice.” Gale is being deliberate and heavy-handed, taking care to show where and when he’ll move next and it’s relaxing in a way she hadn’t anticipated. “So…research?”

“Oh, yes,” he says and she can hear the embarrassment in his tone. “I did some reading into what courtships tended to look like for elves and halflings, in case you had any ideas in mind. Didn’t want to be blindsided, you know how it is.”

Ferris is quite familiar with his need to combat the vast unknown with a basis of book learning but here he has far more knowledge than she. Courtship wasn’t the done thing, in Bospir—or, if it was, she wasn’t around to see it. Most people were married before winter, if at all possible, and weddings were quietly done if needed.

“I don’t, actually.” She gives an encouraging smile. “Tell me?”

“Well, elves have a lot of arranged marriages, there’s a certain detachment when it comes to having an extended lifespan as they do. Romantic entanglements vary depending on the type of elf—Halsin, for example—“

“Nature’s gifts and the bounties,” she snorts a laugh. “So many, many bounties.”

Gale coughs and she can tell his cheeks are red. “Yes. Ah, but halfling courtship tends to revolve around community and finding someone who fits into your life the way you’d like,” he says. “It’s interesting how much halfling you seem to have inherited, despite not living among them.”

“Oh?” Ferris settles in, burying her nose in the sweater. Gale’s tone has taken on the cadence of a lecture, but the lightness in it sounds like a story. “Tell me more.”

“There’s a love of song and nature, a general desire to get along with everyone, even if there are massive differences in culture and personality. They’re not usually leaders, but you we quite capable, my dear. You’re an excellent storyteller and know epics inside and out in ways that I’ve never encountered in human or elven bards, but that could just be your steel trap of a brain and a way with words wholly unique to you.”

She closes her eyes and shifts closer to Gale, pressing an ear to his chest so she can feel his voice as well as hear it, time his breaths and heartbeat to his words as hers deepen and slow to the cadence of his lecture.

It’s nice, to wake next to someone warm and soft; Ferris has no idea how much time has passed until she glances at the window and settles back in, closing her eyes and hoping for a bit more sleep before the days has to begin. She’s usually not so relaxed, but exceptions can be made.

Gale mumbles something behind her and the arm slung over her waist tightens and suddenly she feels trapped. Her heart rabbits, body tensing.

‘It’s just Gale,’ she reminds herself, but her back and shoulders do not relax. ‘It’s only Gale.’ There’s some shuffling behind her and, still mostly asleep, Gale tucks himself closer, nosing at her ear.

She shoots up and away, clutching at the sheet as she fights down panic.

“Ferris?”

The sleepy, confused blinking from Gale makes her feel incredibly guilty but it’s all she can do to breathe, breathe, breathe damn it—

“Are you alright?”

Gale can tell she isn’t, but it’s more polite to ask than to assume, and it gives her something to focus on; the sound of his voice, the lingering smell of parchment and sea salt, ink and lavender and him.

“No.” Gritting out that single word is one of the most painful experiences of her life, admitting weakness akin to being cut open or stabbed; Ferris curls over her knees, already half out of bed. Her sweater had slipped down over her shoulder and the whole thing, while loose and many sizes too large, suddenly feels as though it’s binding her tight as rope. Sweaty palms and weak fingers clutch at the lapels, hauling it back up and into place, knitwear armor to protect her from the world.

Blessedly, Gale doesn’t move aside from sitting up. He makes no attempt to reach toward her and she both hates and thanks him for it in the moment as she collects her breath, finally steadying herself.

“It was…it was too much, I think. I wasn’t…I’m not used to sharing a bed, being so close.” If she makes excuses, it will spare them both from guilt and from discussing it further. “I simply startled from a dream, that’s all.”

Unfortunately, she’s too wound up to be a convincing liar. Gale’s brows dip, the lines around his eyes deepening in thought.

“Is it something I did?”

She looks away suddenly and he knows he’s found his mark.

“Ferris, if it’s something I did, please tell me,” he offers Ferris a hand, his usual bridge between them, her’s to take should she choose. “I cannot fix it if I don’t know—“

The problem isn’t with Gale, that’s the root of it. The problem is her, and she cannot be fixed.

“It’s me, Gale. All you did was hold me closer and I can’t even handle that,” she swings herself out of bed, straightening her nightclothes. “You’ll be late for morning assembly if you don’t leave now.”

She’s gone before Gale can find the right words to say, and he cannot find her anywhere in the tower as he searches. It’s hard to tie his robes while climbing up and down stairs, hard to pull on socks and trousers, but he tries anyway and looks a mess when he makes it to the front door. In hindsight, checking there first would have been advisable; Ferris’ jacket and shoes are gone.

“Tara?” He calls out, up the stairs, wondering where the tressym is–or if she’s home at all. “Tara, if you’re here, please check in on my mother and see if Ferris has gone there.”

There’s no answer, and Gale hopes that his friend had accompanied Ferris to whatever destination she had in mint. She is more than capable of making any journey, but Tara is sharp enough to pick up on her moods and know when a friend is necessary for the walk…seen or unseen.

He tries to recall what he’d done exactly in that hazy space between waking and sleep but nothing comes to mind aside from what Ferris had said; he’d gotten closer to her, she had panicked and bolted as she was wont to do when something triggered her fight or flight reflex. She wasn’t one to freeze, and for once he is glad for it—he’d much rather she run or elbow him in the gut than suffer in terrified silence.

‘And now she thinks she’s a problem,’ he thinks as he laces his own boots.

Gods, he’d fucked that conversation up royally enough to deserve immediate coronation. Tara won’t save it, nor would she be likely to try.

There’s really nothing for it except to wait for Ferris to return.

Chapter Text

“And whose strapping young lad is this?” Gale hears Astarion’s voice ring out in laughter. “Halsin, did you multiply?”

It takes him a few moments longer to get the illusion looking natural to hide his beard, but the chaos outside the tent keeps drawing his attention. Astarion is absolutely cackling and he can hear Halsin’s booming laugh as well with everyone else in between. Eventually, he decides its passable enough and he emerges from his tent to chaos.

There’s a boy in the middle of camp looking stormy, his hair the same color as Halsin’s—no, a shade or two off.

“Ferris?”

She turns to him with a bright smile and he can see that it’s her, now, once he’s finally looking at her and seeing the minor alterations. the clothes are a mix of things, but he recognizes Astarion’s spare doublet. Her face twists up in mild disgust. “Oh Gale, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t shave the beard, no,” he sighs. “It’s part of the illusion. I assume you didn’t cut your hair.” It seems as though she’s carefully pinned and concealed it to look natural.

Ferris looks utterly relieved. “Well, I hope that this won’t last too long so we can all go back to normal.”

“I hope it lasts for quite some time,” Astarion teases, flicking at Ferris’ ear. “You make a passable boy, my dear. We’ll have to keep an eye on this one, he’s sure to break hearts if we aren’t careful.”

“Fuck off,” Ferris punches him in the shoulder, her voice dropping and Gale sees the lines blur. “I thought it would look strange to have a girl accompanied by a bunch of men, this will attract far less attention.”

Wyll straightens his borrowed robe; it’s hard to hide his horns, but Shadowheart had managed to change the color of his eyes to match and done something with his hair that makes him look less like Wyll and more like a stranger. Gale is in a jacket rather than his usual robes and the spare set looks good on the warlock. “You can keep those, if you like,” he says. “They fit you well.”

“Really?” The man twists to look behind himself. “I’m not sure I won’t trip on them, or have them tangle in my legs.”

Astarion has not bothered to disguise himself at all, outside of dressing a touch less flashy than his usual. It makes the wizard roll his eyes. “Should you not at least change the color of your hair?”

Ferris bounces over. “Match me, match me!”

“Absolutely not, little love,” he runs a hand through his curls. “It would clash with my skin tone.”

Shadowheart sighs. “Can we at least make you blond? There are only so many snobby elves with white hair, and you are a wanted spawn.”

“I take offense to that,” he sits obediently, despite the protest. “That you’d think I’d be blond, not that you find me snobby. I embrace that part of myself, it helps keep my standards high.”

“You’re only snobby when you think it’ll help,” Ferris snorts.

“Lower the pitch of your voice,” Halsin gestures between himself and the bard. “See if you can’t change your accent as well, little bird.”

She makes a face. “What accent?”

“You’re so very pastoral, darling,” Astarion lets Shadowheart style his hair, the dirty blond of it strange against the paleness of his skin. “And of all of us, you’re the most capable of changing how you sound.”

“You are like a predator that can wear many disguises,” Lae’zel nods appraisingly at her, amused. “A passable male, it is unfortunate that is not how you were made.”

Ferris shrugs, not bothered in the least by the observation. “Doesn’t much matter when I can be what I like, when I like,” her voice slips, the lines blur again, and Gale marvels at her control “As long as it doesn’t put you off, Lae’zel—I always thought you an equal opportunist in these matters.”

Halsin roars with laughter and Ferris fights back a smile as she cocks her hip and looks at her nails from down her nose. Gale doubles over when he meets Shadowheart’s eyes. Their now-blond Astarion sputters.

“You can’t simply use my voice and mannerisms, I am right here!”

“Gods, she does a convincing you,” Wyll circles Ferris and she preens much like Astarion would, coy and flirty. “You’re right, he’s going to break so many hearts.”

Gale can’t decide whether to be worried at how easily Ferris can become another person, or fascinated that she can be just as handsome as a man. When she smiles at him, his heart still beats that little bit faster, and that’s good enough for him.

“Oh, Gale, your beard is back,” Ferris’ voice breaks back into her own and she sounds far too pleased at such a simple change.

“Is it? Damn,” he ducks back into his tent. “One moment, I must have let my concentration slip too far from my grasp.”

Everyone sobers up after that, the finishing touches added to disguises; Wyll’s horns get adorned with gold and chains, carefully arranged by Ferris and Shadowheart, and Astarion’s curls get slicked back into a more simple style despite his protests. The elf retaliates accordingly.

“Funny, that seeing you disguised would have our wizard’s legendary concentration sliding from his grasp like silk,” he turns down the offer of a hat, looking mildly disgusted.

Her nose wrinkles. “Speak plainly, Astarion, I’ve no time to indulge in your veiled riddles and entendres.”

The elf sighs. “You’re no fun,” he pouts and Shadowheart and Karlach giggle. “Our dear wizard enjoys your company.”

“Everyone enjoys my company,” she studies her reflection in the small, shared mirror, frowning and adjusting the way her borrowed coat lays over her shoulders, her voice still clinging to the imitation of Astarion. “I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, but Gale really does,” Karlach goads, jealousy at being left behind entirely forgotten in favor of teasing—or attempted matchmaking. “Like really really.”

“This is childish. You should bed him.”

“Lae’zel!” Shadowheart just barely stops herself from shouting it.

“I speak truth.”

Ferris says nothing; the tips of her ears going pink are the only indication that she’s at all embarrassed. “Be that as it may, we have a job to do. And we should focus on it.”

Her voice dips into a rough tenor at the end, settling somewhere comfortable for her to speak at length without straining herself with all trace of her accent gone. She looks unfazed, as though this is not news to her, but Astarion and Shadowheart can see the lingering surprise in her face, the wideness of her heavy-lidded eyes. Over her head, the two share a look—one of them long-suffering, the other exasperated

It takes Gale a few minutes to gather himself enough to get his beard disguised, much to Ferris’ continuing dismay, and the four of them set off. Ahead, the wizard shows the warlock how to carry a staff more naturally as Wyll does his best not to trip on the hem of his robes; she wonders if it’s worth it to stop them and take the time to pin the edge up, if only to have Wyll move with more confidence rather than look like he’s in borrowed clothes.

Her hands are deep in her pockets, brow furrowed in thought.

“Your face will get stuck that way, it’s terribly unattractive,” Astarion tries to trip her but Ferris is always aware of her feet, even when her mind is wandering far and wide.

“I’m not concerned with my looks the way you are,” she teases back. “If you didn’t drink blood, I’d assume you bathed in it.”

“A myth, darling.”

It’s gotten her out of her head, at least, and they walk a few more steps in silence before Ferris clears her throat. “I need your opinion.”

“You’ll get what you ask for, so beware.”

She chews at her lip. “Do you think this is a good idea? Any of it. Me being in charge of things, the decisions I’m making.”

It’s not the question he was expecting, and Astarion has to rework his prepared response of ‘you could do better than the wizard’ (honestly, his money had been on Wyll at first but Ferris just had to go and be far too similar to him with her views of ‘love’ and ‘intimacy’ (laughable, foreign, something incomprehensible and not for them)).

Ferris is not as confident as she seems, he knows this. He’s got a keen eye for bullshit but he also doesn’t question her gut; it goes well enough, most of the time, and their little group of fools has the improvisation skills of a seasoned troupe.

This isn’t about her skills as a leader.

This is far more about her deepest, darkest insecurity—she’ll never voice it, and he’d never comment unprompted, despite being…well, him.

“Do you let me feed so you feel useful?” Astarion crosses his arms, staring straight ahead as they walk with the bard keeping pace at his side; if he looks at her, she’ll shy away, prey in the eye of a predator despite her own teeth and claws. “Or because you care?”

“Because I care,” she sighs, knowing he’s trying to make a point (and exactly which point). Ahead of them, Gale is showing Wyll how to properly hold a staff, despite the one in the warlock’s hands having no magical properties outside of being an unusually sturdy stick they’d found along the way. “I love you, you know I do. You are one of my friends and I’d fight to see you happy and well.”

“And the wizard, you feel that way about him as well?”

“The same,” she says firmly. “The same and nothing more. I…I am not sure I am capable of more, in all honesty. I've never felt…compelled."

She's bright red and Astarion pretends he hasn’t put together the pieces long, long ago. "Ah. Well, nothing wrong with that."

"Truly?"

Ferris looks up at him hopefully, eyes shining and bright, bluer for the flush to her cheeks. It makes her freckles stand out, and he can see a flash of what the wizard must see in her; kind and challenging and bright, like ice on a river that you're not sure if you can trust. He wonders if he's ever seen such a thing, tested the blade of a skate against it.

"Truly," he assures her, uncomfortable with sudden honesty and compassion. It grates against what he's had to be for so long. "Hurry up, we can't have those two getting too far ahead. They're useless without our brains and brawn."

She has to jog to keep up with his long strides, but the smile on her face does not falter.

Chapter Text

Ferris knows she is being tailed, is quite good at knowing actually, and is cheeky enough to buy a small fish from the market and hold it aloft as she steps into one of the winding side streets. It takes only a moment for Tara to float to her shoulder from a nearby roof.

“You left in a hurry,” Tara gently butts their heads together in greeting before she takes the fish from Ferris and jumps onto a barrel to eat. “Your socks don’t match.”

“I’m eccentric,” she shrugs, leaning against a shingled wall. “Maybe I wanted to wear two different sock.”

Tara rolls her eyes. “As you wish.”

“Oh go on, there’s more you want to say. I know there is.”

“I don’t know what goes on in your human dalliances, nor do I wish to, but I do know you went to bed together last night and both of you were out of sorts this morning.”

“A misunderstanding,” Ferris glances away. “It will sort itself out.”

“If you insist.” Tara finishes her fish and stretches luxuriously, wings quivering. “Perhaps a visit to Morena, then.”

“I was headed there, just picking up a few things.” Ferris shrugs her bag higher up on her shoulder. “It’s early enough that arriving without breakfast would be uncivilized.”

“Alright,” Tara hops up onto the low roof, picking her way across the tile. “I’ll let him know you’re well, at least?”

“Please.”

Ferris steps away, Tara slipping through the eaves with silent grace before she takes off toward the Academy.

His fellow professors laugh when Gale had come in flustered, and his inability to voice his concerns only made them tease. He knows it’s the good-natured desire of colleagues, but the reminder leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

It’s not until he sees Tara on his desk that he relaxes even a fraction. “Tara, please tell me—“

“Obviously she’s fine,” the tressym fluffs her wings. “Headed to your mother’s.”

“Hmm.” It’s not where he expected her to go, honestly; if anything, this seemed firmly in Catriona territory. His confusion shows and Tara sighs.

“Miss Catriona is away for a few days, which leaves your mother. I doubt your dear bard will find the advice she needs in a dockside bar,” she ruffles her feathers. “Now, I said as much to Miss Ferris, and I’ll repeat to you: I do not want the details, but I am not blind. Things seemed fine last night when she went into your bed and then the mood had soured this morning when Miss Ferris all but fled the house with mismatched socks.”

Guilt floods him as sure as bile rises up his throat. “And she said nothing to you?”

“Only that it was a misunderstanding. Don’t mistake me for her confidante, Mister Dekarios. Your bard holds me in high esteem, but I am not the one who holds her secrets.”

‘No one holds her secrets,’ he thinks as he sinks into his chair. ‘That’s part of the problem.’

“Thank you, Tara. I owe you.”

She uses lesser magic to open the window, hopping to the sill. “Miss Ferris has already bribed me, your payment shall have to be another day. Between the two of you and all the subsequent bribes, I fear I shall become quite plump.”

Ferris squirms in front of Morena’s door, suddenly wondering if this is the best place for her to be; she’s not going to say anything specific, nothing alarming, but she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. She can’t use Sending, she can’t go to Cat’s door and bat her lashes until she’s let in to lay on the floor in silence until she can find the words. She knocks before she can over think it.

“It’s a bit early for wine, my dear,” Morena barely hesitates when she opens the door to Ferris who stands with fresh buns in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “But I suppose exceptions can be made. Breakfast will have to be something more hearty.”

“Thank you,” the bard steps inside, shrugging off her jacket and kicking her shoes under the bench. Morena’s apartment is cozy and lived in, warm and bright where the tower has dark corners and long shadows. ‘A nice place to grow up in,’ she thinks. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, not at all dear.” Morena is in her housecoat, pulling out sausages and fish and potatoes. “Are you alright? You haven’t even done your hair.”

Ferris pops the cork on the wine, pours two large glasses and passes one over. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Fix your hair, you’ll feel better,” the older woman tuts. “Try the beginning, and we can sort it out from there.”

It’s an excuse for her, a reason to think and something to do with her hands. Ferris carefully weaves a four strand braid, the complexity of it calming and allowing her to center her mind. Then she tries.

“You are aware that Gale and I… we don’t…we aren’t…” she hesitates, tries again; Morena is as patient as her son and says nothing while Ferris works through her racing mind, all her hard concentration going up in smoke the second the words leave her mouth. “We are friends.”

“I’d assumed as much,” the older woman says kindly.

Ferris downs her wine in a single gulp. “But he’s said he loves me.” Everything rushes out and her eyes are burning. “Saying it back makes me want to walk into the ocean—I can’t say it back at all—I’m such a fool for not seeing it, or not realizing it sooner, but I don’t know how to—I don’t—Hells, I don’t even know if I’m in love with him.”

The pan drops to the stove with a clatter, upsetting the array of sausage and potatoes. “Well, at least he’s finally said something.”

“It’s too early for this, I am so sorry.” She hasn’t even sat down.

Morena, with incredible kindness, goes back to turning sausages in the pan. “Either way, the bridge has been crossed and the journey begun. I know it seems obvious, and Gale isn’t the best at communicating these things, but he does know you need time.”

“I left rather suddenly this morning. He was upset.”

Ferris drops into one of the chairs, head pillowed on her arms as she watches Morena cook. Wine on an empty stomach was, perhaps, a mistake.

“Why would he have reason to be upset? Here, have some food, you’ll be alright.” Morena nudges the fresh rolls toward her, continues frying up everything else.

The sunlight filters in through the curtains and the smell of breakfast grows stronger, hearty and warm. It’s perfect and gentle. She wonders if this is what it was like to grow up in a home, with a mother, with anyone. If it would always have been this nice. Morena slides a plate of fish and potatoes toward her, setting her own nearby.

“You’re good for him, you know that,” she pats Ferris on the shoulder. “He knows you, and knows you need patience and time.”

“Kindness or not, I’ve upset him.” Ferris stabs a potato. “I should know him better.”

“How are you meant to know him better?” The older woman is fishing for information, searching for a way to help.

“I…did Gale ever have any courtships?”

If Morena finds the question odd or abrupt, she doesn’t show it, and it clearly answers one of her own questions. “No, but it was not for lack of trying on my part. It’s quite difficult to separate a wizard from their books, and there was—well, I’m sure neither of us like to speak of her.”

Ferris nods, moving her food around. “Sounds like him.”

“In all honestly, dear, I think he simply wasn’t mature enough for it. Certainly not when he was your age. I’m sure any young woman would have found him insufferable to be around and any young man would have likely introduced him to their fist over a callous remark,” Morena sighs, sipping at her own glass of wine. “Might have done him some good, in hindsight.”

“He’s been put on his ass more than once,” Ferris snorts. “By more than just myself.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Both of them eat in relative silence, the sounds of Waterdeep picking up around them as people wake to their day. Breakfast is excellent and it’s clear where Gale got his cooking skills from, the rest of the wine dwindling in the bottle until Morena pours the remainder evenly into their glasses.

“Now that you’ve eaten--"

“How do I know if I love him?” The word stumbles on her tongue, clumsy and heavy with the newness of it. She almost spits it out, something sharp and sour. Even that word feels like ash on her tongue and tears prick at the corners of her eyes; she shoves another piece of potato into her mouth in retaliation.

“Love often takes some getting used to, believe me.”

She wishes Cat were here, the gentle kindness of Gale’s mother (oh gods) equal parts suffocating and reassuring. Morena has experience, she knows her son. It shouldn’t be this difficult. “Is he going to want me to get used to it, after this?” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “I feel pretty shit about things.”

“My dear, you’re doing just fine. There’s no manual for this sort of thing.”

“You say there’s no manual, but I’ve not even had examples. I can’t even say my father did his best.” Loren’s best, if it had been anything, was certainly not enough. She falls into a lull, trying to stay present. “I don’t know if I love him, but I do know that, if I did, I wouldn’t know how.”

“Your best is enough, Ferris,” Morena says kindly, sipping her wine before buttering another roll. “My son has seen you at your lowest. He’s seen you at your best, and all the moments between. You were not there for the start of his follies, but you stayed, and you fought, and you yet remain—despite his oddities and his bouts of idiocy. Oh, don’t look at me like that, I raised him, I’m allowed to point out that he can be a bit strange and dense to the woman who cares for him. It’s my right.”

Ferris is immensely glad she didn’t say ‘love’ and Morena smiles; both of them drift back into silence and breakfast. She was right, Ferris does feel immensely better after some food.

“I should apologize, though,” she decides half-way through another roll. “At best it was rude. At worst, I’ve hurt him.”

“You’ll be forgiven in an instant, if he doesn’t apologize to you first. I would put good money on him not even getting his coat off before he’s pleading with you.”

Ferris raises her eyebrows. “Am I waiting in the entry, in this scenario?”

“Of course.”

“Kitchen door,” she counters. “I bet he gets his coat and shoes off.”

“Consider it done.”

Ferris times the tea perfectly and pats herself on the back when she hears the door opening just as she removes the leaves; strong, dark tea with a swirl of cream. She holds Gale’s favorite mug and steps into the kitchen door just as the front opens and he spills inside, coat mostly off as he works on the lacing of a boot. It takes all her willpower not to laugh and to stand silently, waiting for him to look up.

He’s fully removed one boot before his coat snags on his elbows and he has to stand and remove it fully before starting in on the second, and it’s then he sees Ferris with his tea, silent and waiting.

“Ah! I didn’t see you there, Ferris. I hope I didn’t disturb you— is that my mug?”

“It’s for you, once you’ve gotten your coat off,” she replies evenly.

Gale summons a Mage Hand to help him, and he hangs it on a hook before reaching out to her. “Come here, please?”

A request, never a demand.

She steps forward and Gale takes the tea in one hand, sets it deliberately on the bench, the other at her back to pull her forward into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, my dear. I reacted poorly, and swiftly.”

Ferris sucks in a sharp breath, thrills at the way Gale’s hand tightens in his hold on her. It’s claiming, but never confining, he’s never felt like he’s holding her down or holding her back. She swears she can feel each whorl of his fingertips through her shirt, tingling and warm.

“I reacted strangely. You’re not the type of man to…try anything, and I know this. This isn’t…I don’t know what I’m doing, Gale. But I also want you to understand that I am doing my best because I want you to be happy and fulfilled— in all ways. Whatever that may be. I really am trying.”

The hand on her back is almost distracting now, she wants it to move lower, wants to be closer—Ferris shudders and Gale steps back slightly to put space between them, the hand on her back falling away while the other rises to gently, carefully cup her cheek.

“You fulfill me,” he murmurs, kissing her hair; she almost always smells like the salt air, now, sharp green citrus underneath. Of his home and hers. “Getting to be near you, being allowed to love you, oh it makes the sky bluer and the sun brighter.”

Gale kisses her between each phrase, on her temple, her forehead, her hair once more until she squirms away with a laugh; he thrills at the allowance of affection and he's sure it shows on his face and in his dumb-struck smile. “Get your tea and take off your other boot, gods’ sake man.”

“As you wish,” he bends, takes a sip of his tea, then starts on his other boot.

Ferris is nearly in the kitchen again when she pauses, watching him as he begins to hum.

“Gale?”

“Ferris.”

“I— you know I’m trying, right? I’m not just saying it, I mean it. I want you in whatever capacity I can handle; you’ll have me, and I want people to know but…”

“These things take time,” he takes his tea and steps up quietly beside her. “As long as you need me, I am at your side. However you want me, however you’re comfortable to have me.”

There is quite a loud, undignified slurp from the kitchen, one that deliberately announces one’s presence.

Gale freezes in the doorway, staring at his mother as she adds another lump of sugar to her tea. Ferris, gods damn her, breezes past to pull her mug down from the cabinet.

“Sorted it out, have you?” Morena says coyly, staring at her son over the rim of her cup.

“No, but we’re working on it.”

He does an impressive impersonation of a tomato. “No, absolutely not. I am not talking about this with my own mother.”

“But Gale,” Ferris says sweetly. “What if she has advice?”

“Which I do.”

“Which she does!”

“No,” he says firmly. “Mother, I love you, but no.”

“Alright,” Morena stands, looking only mildly put out. It should have been their first indication something was amiss. “But we should at least go out to celebrate.”

Both Ferris and Gale freeze, eyes locking.

“You didn’t,” he groans. “Ferris, you didn’t tell her we were courting, tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t!” The bard is bright red, all the way to her ears and down her neck. “I wouldn’t!”

Morena’s wickedly pleased grin has them both spiraling for a few moments longer before she puts them out of their miseries. “Ferris didn’t need to tell me, dear. It was only a matter of time, and I am a clever woman. It doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together; a flustered young woman seeking advice and reassurance, worried about a certain man who has more than once professed his love, what else could I have concluded? And you’ve both confirmed it now, which I do thank you for.”

His bard looks sick and Gale clears his throat, putting himself between his mother and Ferris as naturally as he can; it’s easy to take Ferris’ mug, prepare tea how she likes it. If his movements are a bit slower, it’s his business and no one else’s. “This is all very new, mother. It was discussed yesterday, and nothing concrete. I—we ask that you keep this information within the confidence of our kitchen, until we formally make an announcement.”

“And when will that be?” Morena doesn’t sound disappointed, she sounds delighted.

“Dunno,” Ferris’ ears droop and she glances quickly to Gale before her eyes focus on a crack in the stone. “It’s all to do with me, I’m afraid.”

“Ah,” his mother says kindly. “As long as it’s not my son holding you back, that’s fine. You take your time.”

Gale would roll his eyes if it wasn’t the exact result he’d hoped for: his mother will be far more hands off if she knows the hesitance is on Ferris’ part, of the bard’s asking and not his. Perhaps he should feel more upset about that, or at least annoyed, but he can’t see the point when Ferris’ ears are still low and she won’t look at anyone. All he wants is for her to smile and crack a joke, to settle back into her usual level of confidence and wit.

“If you don’t scare her off, mother, I think there’s a good chance we’ll be able to announce a courtship within the decade.”

Morena makes an affronted sound, swatting at her son; all he can hear is Ferris’ laugh, the flash of her true smile, and it makes the sting of the well-placed tea towel snap worth it.

Having a real kitchen again is one of Gale’s favorite things. All his spices are here, and Ferris has herbs going in the garden window. It’s a delight, to show her the little hidden things— the secret milk cupboard where bottles are placed in the early morning, the seemingly decorative diamond that pulls out to reveal his rolling pin. She hunts down other little treasures, but every time he reveals one she lights up like a child during Yule.

It’s all over once he shows her how to bake bread. What was once his task becomes hers and she gets experimental.

“This is a red pepper and cheese loaf,” she pushes a slice towards him, then the butter bell if he wants it. “I ground the pepper into a paste with some lemon and oil and combined it with shredded cheese. What do you think?”

The rosemary loaf from last week had been delicious, if a little herbal for most uses. This one smelled like it would clear his sinuses right out; Gale cut a hearty slice, then halved it to pass Ferris the heel.

Why she enjoyed the crustiest part of bread was beyond him, but she was happy to eat the heels whenever he handed them to her.

The red pepper had a slow burn that made him cough after he swallowed. “What oil did you use in the paste?”

“Chili oil,” she replies, taking a bite of her own bread. Her eyes widen, then narrow. “Too much.”

“Maybe a bit, but it’s fantastic. Imagine this with something more bland, like a potato or corn chowder.”

“Or stew.” She chewed thoughtfully. “We have options.”

There is no end to spices and seasonings, and herbs fresh from the garden; he cannot keep track of who she trades for what, an abundance of strange produce in their kitchen and in planter boxes a young man down the street had built specifically for her. It had made him jealous for the briefest moment but it was still his little garden that Ferris tended, smile bright and hands filthy more days than they were clean, weather permitting.

The box sits in full sun on the roof, on a ledge, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to notice it, unadorned, unobtrusive, and full of sandy soil. It isn’t until he touches up the arcane sigil on the roof and sees the purple flowers bloom that Gale bothers to ask Ferris what she’s doing.

“What?”

“On the roof, the flowers,” he gestures vaguely upward. “They’re blooming.”

She bolts from the room, flying up the stairs before he can blink and he trudges up after at a far slower pace; from the sound of it, she had taken the last set on all fours and the idea of it makes him smile. By the time he pokes his head out, Ferris is enraptured by the flowers, delicate petals among sharp-looking grass.

“Are you going to tell me what they are?”

“Saffron,” she murmurs, touching a finger to a soft petal. “I didn’t think it would grow at all.”

It tickles something in his brain. “How did you come by saffron?”

Rare, strange, he’s never seen it outside of the little vials in the market, never used it himself. It has uses in medicine and some spells, as a dye or fragrance.

“I was given some bulbs, but I didn’t think they’d take in Waterdeep. The climate is all wrong, but I thought maybe the full sun on the roof would help.”

The purple is very nearly the color of his old robes, the gold at the center akin to the cuffs of his sleeves; Gale doesn’t have those robes anymore. The condition they were in, no amount of laundering could erase the knowledge that they’d seen the insides of so very many monsters.

Crocus petals in an odd place, delicate and lovely, impossibly resilient to grow in unfamiliar territory and bloom despite the odds. Much like the bard that tends them, fascinated and awed in equal measure.

“How do you keep it so…lush? Nothing’s gotten to it up here, clearly, and even if you can’t converse with the mice and generally ‘feel’ the plants, well.”

Ferris hems and haws, and Gale isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. “Well, Tara helped me with the conversation, but the mice keep out the bugs in exchange for a crust of bread per week, and there are two falcons and an owl that keep it free of other birds and rats—we explained they’re forbidden from eating any mice here, and if there’s no birds for them, I’ll sometimes leave something out if they ask.”

He blinks. “You’ve tamed two falcons and an owl?”

“No, no,” she flaps her hands. “No, they aren’t tame! They’re more like—“

“Hired hands? Gaffers?”

“Fine, fine! They help out for a price, but they are not pets. They don’t live here, only the mice do, in the rosemary and under the front step stone. To hibernate.”

“My dear,” he sighs. “I don’t think this is what anyone means when they think of a ‘community garden’.”

She purses her lips. “And also they are allowed to take anything they need off the plants, or if it falls to the ground.”

“Who?”

“The mice, of course.”

He directs his gaze up at the clouds, watching them drift by.

“The chaos you create just by living is reward and punishment enough,” Gale sighs and Ferris looks torn between mild shame and a wild grin. “And gods help me, I cannot get enough.”

The smile wins out, sure as sunshine in summer. “Imagine how boring your life would be if I wasn’t in it,” she turns back to her work, carefully pulling the red strands from the flowers, cupping them delicately in a curved palm.

He makes sure his footsteps are loud as he comes up behind her, gives her every chance to stop him or redirect as he rests his chin on her head and lets his arms drape over the curve of her waist. “Boring? Hmm. A quiet tower, no half-scribbled poems or thoughts scattered about, random rocks used as paperweights. No fighting back that rosemary bush every time I come home, no wondering where strange plants come from…I suppose it would be peaceful.”

Gale is teasing, of course. In the early days, diving for the crown, begging scrolls of water breathing and potions of hill giant strength, he had struggled to imagine Ferris in Waterdeep; truth be told, he had struggled imagining Ferris anywhere at all. Here and now, on the roof of their home, there’s a sense of rightness, like something falling into place as the breeze plays around the hem of her skirts and the tattered ribbon in her hair threatens to come loose. Ferris turns in his arms, tipping her head back to take him in as her hands cradle the bright strands of saffron.

“There’s a market tomorrow,” Gale looks back at her hopefully. “I thought we might go together.”

Ferris gives him a blank stare and he finds himself at a loss before remembering that she has never been courted. He tries again, very aware of his palms at the curve of her waist.

“It’s a good place to be seen together, if that is still what you wish and it wasn’t simply the wine talking.”

“Oh. Oh!” The tips of her ears flush red. “Yes, that would be…nice, I think.”

He wishes she were more confident in her answer, but there’s not much for it. He also makes a note to be more clear about his intentions, specific in ways that someone used to romance and courtship would not need. Ferris has always kept him in her orbit, with he as the sun and her the precarious planet; it was Gale that always assumed she was in danger of sling-shotting away.

“Are you done up here?” She shifts to the side and he lets his hands fall away. “I was thinking I might try to make some of this into tea, if you’re interested.”

He’d try anything for her.

“Just a moment, I’d like to check on some of the smaller details of the circle,” Gale gives her a nudge to the ladder. “I will be down in just a moment, if you’d set the water to boil.”

Her smile reaches her eyes, and it’s extremely gratifying to know that it’s there because of him. There’s nothing to check with the sigils, his work precise as always, but Gale lingers a moment and reaches out to touch the flower petals as Ferris had, reverent and gentle, if only to share in her wonder.

“Is this a formal affair, or can I just wear skirts and a blouse?”

“It’s a trip to the market, Ferris, wear what you like,” he chuckles at the annoyed crinkle of her nose. “That will be fine, I’m sure. The only thing I would suggest not wearing would be your armor.”

Not that she doesn’t cut a fine figure in it, but because he hopes she never has cause to wear it again, ceremony aside.

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’m ready then, if you’ll help tie this damned ribbon. It keeps catching on a callous and I’m getting annoyed enough to consider wearing my hair unbound.”

There’s no real tradition in Waterdeep, at least not to his knowledge, about how women wear their hair. Usually young girls sport some sort of braid or bun until their old enough to keep it untangled, and married women tended toward bound styles, but there was no strict rule or structure. “I think you should,” he tries. “Unless there’s meaning to it, for you.”

Ferris frowns as she tries tying the ribbon again before glancing up at Gale. “I just don’t like it in my way,” she grumbles. It always surprises him that her hair is pin-straight rather than a tumble of waves. “I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much, if we’re not fighting or running from things.”

He can see her telling herself that it’s just a market, that there’s no danger to be had there, and that leaving her hair down isn’t a concern. Gale digs in the drawer behind him a moment, coming up triumphant with a few hair pins. “Here, hold still for me—these won’t match exactly, I think they’re from last time my mother was here and her hair is much darker—there, that should do it.”

She shakes her head, testing the pins where they hold her hair back. “That…that works, I suppose.”

Ferris looks both younger and older with her hair down; there’s something a touch more elven in her features from one angle, but her expressive eyes and rosy cheeks give her a girlish impression from another. ‘An optical illusion,’ he thinks, ‘for she’s seen so much at such a young age.’

A basket finds her way onto Ferris’ arm and she straightens her shoulder. “Shall we?”

“If you’d like,” he eyes her carefully, making sure the posture is not defensive or another form of armor. “Then let’s away.”

The sun is warm and yesterday’s wind has died down to a breeze that lifts the ends of Ferris’ hair; she may not here the song in it anymore but she knows the feeling, knows the measure of it in her blood and she skips ahead, twirling. Gale frets only a little, knowing that she’s more agile than to twist her ankle on the cobblestone. She looks beautiful, illuminated from within, and the fact that he is the only one to see it, here and now, is a gift.

“You look a bit too melancholy for such a fine afternoon, wizard.”

Gale startles when her voice comes from behind him and he playfully clutches at his chest. “Wear a bell next time, my goodness.”

“What are you thinking about?”

The road away from Bospir has been similar, Ferris full of energy that needed release, nerves without an outlet. He isn’t sure why she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet now, but he does realize how hard she’s containing herself. There’s no flora to bring back to him, no bright flowers to pluck and to place in his hair. “You,” he smiles, and he lets the sadness seep into it. “And how it’s impossible for a man such as myself to keep you.”

“Tether me not, and I’ll return to you time and time again. The only thing I fear is a gilded cage of love’s own making,” Ferris pats his arm. “It’s not my eye that roves, if that’s your concern, but my feet long to wander.”

“Oh I know your eye wouldn’t wander,” he teases. “Took long enough to focus on one thing, after all.”

She snorts a laugh that gets her a glare from an older woman as they reach the edge of the market; he ducks his head to hide his own laugh. “And what a thing: Waterdeep’s premiere wizard!”

There’s a sharp edge to it, but he’s distracted as a few people greet them, students or neighbors or people who know of them but don’t know them personally. Ferris is a solid presence at his side, but she isn’t as flashy as a minnow, not her usual bright self. It’s only then he realizes that she is pointedly avoiding anyone’s eyes. Passersby, shopkeepers, everyone is a stranger and her eyes are downcast. “Ferris?”

“I’m fine.”

His tone gave too much away, apparently. “And I’m not sure that’s true. Perhaps we revisit this idea at a later date.”

She flinches slightly at the word ‘date’ and it solidifies his choice. Gale gently guides them to a stall selling various wines and selects something suitably strange with no input from Ferris. It’s alarming, how quiet she is, and he privately resolves to fix it if he can. She has no issue speaking with strangers on her own, nor with him—until now. Perhaps their arms entwined was too much, perhaps the hand on her back had been too low.

It hurts, but he lets her go.

His hand drops away, and it’s like Ferris suddenly remembers how to breathe; Gale tries not to take it personally.

“Pomegranate will be a change from the monotony of grape wine, I think,” he accepts the bottle with a smile to find Ferris has already slipped two stalls down to haggle over soft cheeses and sticky-sweet dates. Gale’s ears are attentive to her every word; she is not loud, but there’s something about her, her voice that has him always aware when she speaks.

“But what do they taste like?” He hears her ask, nose wrinkles as she tries to imagine it. “The sweetest thing I’ve had is honey.”

“Here,” the other young woman laughs, fishing a date from a jar with a small stick and passing it to Ferris. “Only because I know you’ll buy them after you’ve tasted, they’re hard to resist.”

When Ferris pops it into her mouth and freezes, Gale does the mental gymnastics at the same time the woman tending the stall does. Neither of them can tell if she hates it or not. It’s mechanical, but Ferris remembers to chew and swallow, smiling politely. “It certainly was…I think I know someone who will enjoy them, however!”

It gets her a smile and Gale shifts ‘dates’ into the ‘dislike’ column in his list of ‘things to have Ferris try’. It’s possible that if they hadn’t been sweetened she would have been partial, much like figs, but it’s too late and she’s exchanged money for the little jar, turning to find him in the crowd like a sunflower to the sun. She darts over and presses the jar into his hands as she hisses “I hope you like dates” between her teeth with the smile still on her face.

“I take it dinner is going to be a collection of whatever we feel like putting on a platter and taking to the balcony?” Not that he minds, it’s one of his new favorite things; Ferris had never been one for full meals on the road, a habit that clung to her like the scent of smoke. “A nice evening for it, I think.”

“Maybe no more markets,” she breathes once they’re out of the crowd; Ferris’ shoulders relax a fraction but she is still poised, the same way she would be if they were facing down an unknown enemy with a ‘diplomacy-first’ approach. A honeyed word (or a sharp one) was usually enough. It’s only a few streets over to the tower and Gale knows the moment they’re through the door any semblance of composure will disappear and Ferris will shake her whole body like a dog, releasing tension and nerves.

The basket swings on her arm, a cadence that alternates with her step in a way that is measured enough to be intentional. “I thought it was pleasant enough,” he times his reach perfectly and pulls a few berries from the basket. “Did you not enjoy yourself?”

“I did, I just…it felt overwhelming, everyone’s eyes on us, even when they weren’t. Does that make sense?”

“A crowd-shy bard?” He laughs, but it’s not unkind and Ferris kicks a loose stone at him on her next stride, not breaking her rhythm in the slightest. “For all your bravado, I’d assumed you’d have been able to handle an afternoon outing to a market around the corner.”

“Plenty of bards are nervous in crowds,” she points out. “Not all of us are performers, Gale. Some are poets, historians, noble’s kept pets—“

Ferris chokes on her own attempted joke just as they get to the tower and he does not miss the way she presses her palm to the stone to ground herself, to remind herself of where she is and the company she now keeps.

“Shy, were you?” A careful change of subject.

“You take a girl from her sheep and drop her in a ballroom, see how it goes.”

“Well enough,” he bumps their shoulders together as they move around each other, putting things in their designated places. “I’ve seen first-hand.”

“I’d never sing in front of anyone before,” she says with a shrug. “I’d never been around more than about twenty people before traveling to Baldur’s Gate.”

She cuts a cluster of grapes and tosses them on the large, battered plate they have dubbed ‘the platter’; Gale dices day-old bread, pours some oil into a shallow bowl with salt and black pepper. “Your first time on stage must have been something to behold.”

Ferris stills, as though frozen in a memory, and Gale sees the way her fingers twitch, how her breath catches briefly, but she does not seem to be in a bad moment of her past. He waits for her to come back to herself before handing her the bottle of pomegranate wine and two bottles while he takes the tray.

“I wore a red gown, remember the color of Astarion’s eyes, before the Wish? That sort of red,” she leads on their way to the balcony. “It had an open back, and very long, full skirts because it belonged to Cat. We didn’t have time to hem it, and we certainly didn’t have time to do more than pin the shoulders of it.”

The cork pops easily and Ferris plays with the wax, warming it between her fingers as she continues.

“I had no idea what to play, I’d never even considered it—and I couldn’t read music, did you know that?” She shakes her head and admires the sea through the glass of her wine. “A bard who can’t read music, what a useless thing I was.”

“Never useless,” he says softly. “Different, unprepared, but never useless.”

Her smile is sad, and a little distant. “You didn’t know me then, but I’d like to believe that’s true, in hindsight. Cat nudged me on stage—more like pushed, but she’ll never admit to that—and I just…froze there for a moment.”

Gale can picture it, Ferris still and shocked and surrounded by lights and strangers, blinded by a life she’d never anticipated and possibly never would have chosen for herself. The fact that she could have been a nomad, a wandering shepherd if things had been only a little different, the fact that there might have been no one to save him, no one sitting here with him trying a new wine…it hurts, an ache deep in his bones. He can’t stop himself from reaching out, bridging the few inches between them to rest a hand on her upper back; it’s warm, under the curtain of her hair, and Ferris leans into it just a touch, enough to convince him not to move away.

“What did you play, in the end?”

“Truly? I don’t know. I closed my eyes, imagined being surrounded by trees again, and…”

He’s familiar with Ferris and her music.

They finish the bottle in silence, Ferris swirling the last of the garnet red around her glass; it goes purple at the edges, a shade he likes, but he’d always had rich tastes.

Next to him, Ferris shifts, taking his glass and setting it on the table; he watches her careful, deliberate moves, puzzled as to her intention until she rises to her knees and suddenly she’s pulling him down to rest against her, an awkward array of limbs and muttered curses as they work out the best arrangement of body parts. He does his best not to laugh when her elbow finds his ribs, when she gets a mouthful of shirt as he turns, but eventually they find the correct placement of joints and arms. Ferris is pressed back against the arm of the lounge, slightly reclined, and his head rests on her shoulder, the both of them looking out at the sea.

“It’s not you, Gale,” she speaks into his hair, breath tickling as she hides her face; her arms come around him and he relaxes into her touch. “It’s not crowded markets or too many people. It’s me. I’m a page scraped clean, a palimpsest, and I’m being rewritten even now. But it’s hard to know the next word when I don’t even know myself any longer. I’m sorry.”

“In your own time, Songbird. I will be here, and you may take your time. I know the reason for your hesitation, and I do not begrudge it in the least,” Her heart beats steady beneath him. “I am here, and I will not wander.”

His hand comes around her wrist and she does not flinch.

“I know.”

“Alright.”

For a while the only sounds that exist between them are shared breaths and the ocean as it comes and goes, steady and rhythmic as the beat of a heart. There’s a weight, and he is patient until Ferris finds the words she wants.

“I do not know how to live a soft life,” she murmurs and Gale remembers the hard ground and unfriendly of Bospir, remembers how it felt to trudge forward when all he wanted was rest, thinks of all the ways she had suffered. “It’s like learning to read music all over again, but this time I don’t know how the song is meant to sound. I’ll get things horribly wrong at time.”

“We both will.”

A small hand finds it way into his hair, twisting the curls and running through strands.

“But I’m choosing you. I haven’t lived a life conducive to making my own choices, many have been made for me—including coming to Waterdeep.” Ferris takes a deep breath, tasting salt and wine and the smoke from someone’s fire. “But Gale, I’m choosing to stay, I’m choosing you.”

“Gods,” he laughs. “You have no idea how much of a relief that is.”

He can feel her puzzlement, and does not need to see her face to know the exact way her brows scrunch together and her lips purse. “Really?”

“Truly, Ferris,” Gale closes his eyes and gives in to the petting of his hair. “It helps to hear you say it.”

‘No cages,’ he vows. ‘And no tethers.’

Chapter Text

Gale is a man who thrives on touch, on casual affection; a bumped shoulder here, the clasp of a hand there. Hells, he doesn’t even seem to mind when Karlach ruffles his hair after a fight, glowing as he laughs along with her. It’s something she can use, at least. Elminster had stabilized the damned orb, and the wizard was starved for any contact. He wanted her, that much was clear as well. The teasing and pointed comments from their companions, his lingering gaze, the desire to spend time with her and her alone—

She could do this.

If it would keep Gale alive, she could do this.

It’s not the same, it’s different because it’s her choice, but she feels sick inside. She can shut herself off, close herself away because she trusts him—Gale will be gentle, she’s sure.

She hopes.

He’s been so careful with her in the past, why would this time be different? Why would the hands that helped bind wounds and style her hair be any less kind when they—

It’s dark, everyone is asleep or in their tents, and she slips away from the fire, silent on her feet as she makes her way to Gale’s tent; there’s still a glow between the gaps, the barest hint of light. It could be that he’s asleep and the light is residual, kept so that if he wakes in the night he won’t be blind. It will be easiest if he’s sleep-soft and his mind blurry, and Ferris stops at the flap.

“Gale?” It’s barely a whisper and she hears a confused, tired noise in response, the sound of a man woken up by his name. “May I come inside?”

“Ferris?”

She takes it as a ‘yes’ and enters, the single little light doing the bare minimum to illuminate scattered books and papers; he’d fallen asleep while researching, probably, or copying down new spells. “Gale, I’ve been thinking.”

His lips are parted on a breath when she leans in to kiss him, unhurried and chaste, a simple taste of what she intends. She hopes he doesn’t push her away.

“Ferris?”

The next kiss is more insistent; she bullies her way into his space, a hand fisted in his shirt as the other traces his jaw.

It’s easy. It’s so easy to pretend that she wants this, wants him the way he wants her. It’s fine, it’s good—

She wishes any of that were true, wishes the sickening, sinking feeling in her stomach was easier to ignore. It gets worse when he kisses her back, the surprise worn off.

“Changed your mind, then?”

“Something like that,” she closes her eyes as Gale kisses down her neck, taking his time to enjoy the soft skin; if he had ages, he might even manage to map all her freckles.

They don’t have ages, unfortunately.

“Oh?”

Ferris swallows down the nausea and forces her eyes open. If she’s lucky, he’ll be gentle. He seems the gentle type. She is unlikely to find any pleasure, but that matters little in the overall scheme of things as they fall into place.

“If it would keep you here with me,” she breathes. “I’d give myself. One body for another, a life for a life. Fully, freely, I am yours.”

It’s then he can get a good look at her, and Gale’s heart stops for all the wrong reasons.

Her voice is steady, sure in a way that she reserves for declarations of war; it does not tremble, even as he watches the tears spill over her cheeks. Her hands, too, are steady—Ferris’ breath is calm, her actions measured. It is all a performance, and this is a role. The way she presses at his shoulders to lay him back, the way her fingers skim his chest, lingering in all the right places as though she knows him.

“Ferris, you don’t have do this,” Gale begs. “Do not give me false hope.”

“None of this is false,” she lies.

He cannot bear it.

This is not her.

This is not Ferris.

‘An act,’ he reminds himself. The distant look in her eyes, he’s seen it before. Astarion.

“I would have you,” he tries. “Freely, as you said, or not at all.”

Maybe it will pull her up even as she sinks down and the light fades from her eyes; he can see the moment he loses her completely, when resignation takes over.

“I’m here, aren’t I? Isn’t that freely enough?”

It’s not.

Not at all.

“Alright,” he closes his eyes a moment, mind racing. Ferris’ hands are distracting, the press of her hips is distracting, and Gale will remember this for the rest of his life even if it’s laced with shame. “Yes, alright. A life for a life, a body for a body.”

“There,” she purrs and Gale feels sick. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She leans down to kiss the path of the orb from just beneath his eye and he pushes her away; Ferris looks confused, panicked in a way that is real for the barest flash of a second before it’s gone. “A moment my dear,” the words are ash on his tongue, but he can act too. “I don’t have appropriate supplies. Wait here for me, I’ll fetch them.”

He doesn’t give her time to reply.

The second the tent flap falls, he feels bile rise in his throat. Astarion, he needs Astarion. Hells, Shadowheart or Halsin in a pinch—but there is a light in the elf’s tent, despite the hour so late it could be called early. Gale does not bother with pleasantries, yanking the flap open. “Astarion, help. Please.”

“Gods, man—did no one teach you manners? I could have been doing all sorts of things, some of which you—Gale? Oh heavens, if you’re going to be ill, mind the carpet.”

The hand over his mouth drags down his beard. “Ferris, she…I need you to get her out of my tent.”

“I don’t follow,” the elf is staring at him, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“It’s not her it—“ he doesn’t know how to explain this. “It’s an act. It’s not her.”

Understanding, then. Astarion rises quickly. “Go to Wyll. Spend the remainder of the night there. Or with Lae’zel, I don’t care. Don’t be here, and don’t be in your tent.”

“I—yes, I—thank you,” he stumbles out on Astarion’s heels before heading to Wyll’s tent, but from the back. Gale waits until he hears Astarion at his tent, hears his voice before he clears his throat and hisses “Wyll, it’s Gale. Can you let me in?”

It’s a few hours before Wyll would usually wake, and Gale hears a grumble. “Where’re you?”

“Back of the tent. I’ll explain later, but I can’t go back to mine.”

“S’alright. Yeah, come on.” The ties at the back corner of the tent pole loosen and Gale slips inside. “What time—“

“Early,” Gale confirms. “It’s—look, it’s not an emergency, you can go back to sleep. I just need a place to hide.”

Wyll glares at him. “You’ll tell me everything?”

“Once it’s sorted, yes. All the gossip in exchange for harboring your favorite wizard.”

“You’re our only wizard.”

“Why do people keep feeling the need to point that out?” Gale leans back against the tent pole, getting comfortable in as little space as possible. “Fine.”

Wyll falls back asleep quickly and Gale envies him. His ears, however human, strain for familiar voices.

He hopes he’d done the right thing.

Blessedly, Ferris is still dressed when Astarion breezes into Gale’s tent; she sits up quickly, frowning, but he speaks first.

“Up. Now. We are going on a walk.”

“No, I’m waiting for Gale.”

“He’s not coming back, darling. You’ve done enough damage, now get up or I will drag you out.”

It’s an empty threat; they’re fairly matched in a brawl and Astarion hopes he won’t have to escalate. There are a few options, one of which he certainly doesn’t want to take but will if he must.

Life is bleeding back into Ferris’ eyes at the edge, but the distance remains. “He wouldn’t leave,” she remains on the ground, leaning back again. It’s calculated, it’s rehearsed, and he has seen it before. If he were a weaker man, the tableau would have his heart beating faster…if his heart beat at all. “He wants me, I know he does. And if he wants me, maybe he’ll stay.”

Maybe he’ll choose to live for something.

For me.

She isn’t wrong about that, the wizard has been mooning after her for ages, ignorant of her own obliviousness. He and Shadowheart have been getting a kick out of it for several tendays now, but Astarion realizes that Ferris, for all her kindness, knows how to weaponize desire. She knows how to play it, as intimately as her violin.

It’s the only way to have control.

It’s a game he knows well.

Astarion drops to his knees. “As I said, darling, he isn’t coming.” His voice is almost a coo, it’s low and seductive. Some of his finest work since freedom, honestly. He leans forward and Ferris lowers; one of his hands is enough to pin both her wrists against the soft fabric of Gale’s bedroll. “But I’m here. I know how to savor a little treat—and aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”

He knows she does not like being pinned, and the fact that she doesn’t fight at all is alarming. A practiced smile spreads across Ferris’ face, and it doesn’t reach any higher, hollow and empty. She’s too far gone into the safety of her own mind.

Astarion closes his eyes, trails his nose along the edge of her jaw to tip her head back—he feels terrible about this, he really does, but either the pain will shock her out of it or he’ll drain her enough that he can get her out of Gale’s tent without a full-on brawl.

He presses an apologetic kiss to the slow pulse in her neck, just as he had the first time, before his fangs sink in. A promise, of sorts, between liars. All Ferris does is laugh, bitterly.

“A life for a life,” she murmurs. “Just a bit different than I’d expected. Promise me you’ll watch him, keep him alive.”

‘So that’s why you’ve given in so easily to being pinned and drained’, he thinks, hating the sour taste of disappointment and resignation in her blood. ‘Using the wizard’s affection would have worked, if only he knew you a sight less.’

A few mouthfuls is all he needs to tip the scales in his favor, and he pulls away quickly, hauling Ferris to her feet. “One foot in front of the other, dear girl. There you go.” He guides her toward a game trail. “Mind the roots. Let’s go for a stroll, hmm?”

She looks confused. “You’re not—“

“A drained bard is a useless bard,” he layers on be haughtiness. “I’ve far more interesting morsels to savor, bird. Don’t assume I’m as ravenous as you.”

The sun is just beginning to blush against the horizon when Ferris’ back goes ramrod straight, suddenly waking from a nightmare or a daze. Astarion does not move, only waits. Ferris sucks in a breath, then another, and he can tell when someone is going to make themselves sick.

“Back with us, are you?”

“Oh gods.”

“Hmm.”

She’s still breathing much too quickly and shallowly, especially considering how she usually does, and he can tell the moment it makes her ill.

“I—“ Ferris bolts away to vomit into a bush. Astarion watches, determining whether a gentle hand would be appreciate or viewed as pity. She heaves again, and he decides it would be pitying—and selfishly, he doesn’t enjoy people emptying their stomachs.

“You were quite caught up in there, darling. Copper for your thoughts?”

“I forced—oh, no.”

“Lucky for us, the wizard came and got me before you’d done too much damage.” He examines his nails as Ferris wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “He’s smitten, but he’s keen enough to know when you’re you, apparently.”

If he were at all romantic, he’d call it sweet.

She sinks down next to him with a drawn out groan, leaning forward over her crossed legs until she’s as flat as she can be; Astarion nudges her. “Flexible, how interesting.”

“If I get as small as possible, maybe the dirt will accept me and swallow me whole.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes. “That is solely for me—and Shadowheart, but if you tell her I said she was prone to dramatics I will kill you, darling.”

Ferris snorts, a puff of dirt rushing away from her face. “I’ll be sure to tell her the moment we return, then.”

“Oh, you poor child, having to face down the man who was kind enough to not take advantage of your vulnerable state and would absolutely say nothing about it if you did not want to discuss it further.” Astarion kicks at her lightly, more scuffing the dirt than anything. “I may not see eye-to-eye with the wizard, but he is at least decent.”

“High praise from you,” Ferris rights herself, clothes far worse for wear than they were a few minutes prior. The rising sun has her hair lit with flame, the copper of it shining through. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“For what, minding you until sunrise?”

“For understanding. For getting me out. For helping. You didn’t have to.”

As much as he hates his clothes being dirty, he tugs at Ferris’ sleeve until she leans against him, both watching the sun’s slow climb. “‘Never again’, you said. Never again when you aren’t in control.”

The bard says nothing, but she tenses. The two of them, ‘two sides of a coin’ someone had said once. It would have been so easy for her to sink into the dreaming sea until Gale had taken his fill, so easy to drown in the safety of her mind but they hadn’t let her. The wizard had known, and he’d found the one other person who would understand completely.

She’s never asked where Astation goes.

He doesn’t ask her.

Ferris opens her mouth, but he cuts her off.

“You’re to see Shadowheart or Halsin the second we return to camp, you’re going to be exhausted and woozy, and I will not hear any argument.”

Suddenly, she’s aware of the ache in her neck and instinctively slapping her palm over it makes the punctures sting. “Did you—“

“It was the easiest way to keep you from putting up a fight on the way out.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t thank me, it makes it sound like I’m good.”

“My apologies, I forgot you were the worst person to ever walk the earth,” Ferris teases.

Astarion preens. “That’s more like it, darling.”

“Just awful—dreadful, even.”

“Alright—“ he makes to pinch her, but Ferris is faster.

She scrambles away, taking a few playful steps back as she pretends to faint. “Truly a devil incarnate, a terror, a tartar!”

When Ferris spins away to run she swoons for real, and he catches her by the arm, keeping her mostly on her feet. “Be careful, dearest. All those compliments will go to my head.”

“Can’t have your ego getting too large for all the sneaking you do.”

“I can and will drop you.”

“I know.”

“Gods, you sound fond. Let’s go, clearly there was more blood loss than I anticipated, or you’re out of our senses,” he gently shoves her into the trees. “Either way, you still need breakfast.”

Wyll forcibly pulls Karlach away as she tries to eavesdrop on what will still likely be a less-than-private conversation and Gale’s cheeks turn a shade pinker than before as the tiefling protests.

“Well, I suppose this is as close to a closed door as we’ll get, though I supposed those are dangerous territory now,” Ferris crosses her arms and stands as tall as she can. “I’d like to apologize for my actions. They…I…”

She deflates some, ears drooping.

“I don’t want you to go,” Ferris says after a moment. “I don’t, Gale. That is the truth of it, and I was willing to do anything to keep you here. To give you anything you wanted, hoping it would be enough. The only value I’ve ever had is measured in flesh, and I thought…because you kissed me before, after Elminster left, I thought maybe…”

She reaches for his hands and Gale can do little to protest, baffled as he is; he hasn’t expected her to apologize, had had a whole speech prepared, but it seems wholly unnecessary now.

“Stay with us,” she pleads as she marvels at his hands, and how they fit in hers. “Stay with me, Gale, and see tomorrow. Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“Ferris—“

“Promise me.” It’s a demand. He can either do it or he can walk away. “There are other ways, and we will find them. We’re strong enough to bring down all of Moonrise without you sacrificing yourself, promise me. Promise me, and see this through to the end—or be strong enough to not go alone.”

A life for a life.

She has no idea what she is promising, the enormity of it, but Gale knows she means every word. That she would stay by his side; he is terrified and drowning in it.

He’s never felt lighter.

He’s never felt more lost.

He’s never felt more seen.

Gale swallows.

“I promise,” he lies.

When Ferris smiles up at him and squeezes his hands, he wonders if he’ll be strong enough to follow through, or if the last thing he remembers in this life will be the brightness in her eyes and the promise of a future she doesn’t know she’s offering.

Chapter Text

Ferris is covered in flour, sleeves of a linen dress rolled up and tied back as she kneads dough when the knock comes at the door. She swipes a forearm over her face, panicking. There is no way Gale would have heard it from the library, and the kitchen is quite close—Tara is away, it’s just her.

The knock comes again and she dusts her hands off as best she can. “Just a moment!”

She stumbles over the threshold of the kitchen, wrenching open the door just as the projection of Gale begins his message—the magic tingles as it disperses around her, showering her in purple sparks where she bursts through his chest.

“Hello!” The uniform is immediately recognizable; it’s a boy from Blackstaff, sent as a messenger. “One moment, I’ll go fetch Professor Dekarios.“

“I’m not—the message isn’t for the professor, miss.” The boy turns red as he pats down his pockets, producing a card. “It’s for Miss Büller, for you.”

“But why?“ She can hear Gale coming down the stairs, likely summoned by the lack of her singing. They’ve shared enough time and space at this point that he’d picked up on two things: a singing Ferris is a happy Ferris, and if the singing suddenly stops then something has gone wrong.

“Oh here’s the Professor now.”

“Hello, Silas,” Gale says over her head. If he’s noticed Ferris is covered in flour and bits of dough, he says nothing. It’s normal enough. “How are you?”

“I am well, Professor,” the boy stammers. “I’ve an invitation for Miss Büller.”

“Ga—Professor Dekarios, if you would be so kind.” She holds her hands aloft. “I’m a bit sticky.”

“Of course. Silas,” he holds out his hand and the boy carefully places an invitation within. It’s glossy and gilded, and she thinks it might be embossed. “Thank you. I’ll see you in class tomorrow, don’t forget your essay on the methods of—“

“Yes, yes, let the boy go.” Ferris elbows Gale in the side, using her body to shove him back inside so she can close the door before he can start a full-blown lecture. “Thank you so much, I will pass on any correspondence with Professor Dekarios, get back to school safely—“

A Mage Hand yanks the door closed as she is pulled inside by her apron strings, barely managing to conceal a squeak of surprise as Gale rubs at his ribs. “Elbowing me in the side, you’re such a child.”

He turns the invitation over, holding it up to the light from the window to try and see the inside of the card. Ferris ignores the flour on her hands as she shoves him into the kitchen, and if she rubs her hands a little too hard against them to really work the flour into his clothes, that’s for her to know and him to Prestidigitate away later.

“Go on, open it!”

“It’s your invitation, bard.”

“Yes, and I’m covered in flour. Open the damn thing.” She goes back to her dough, finishing the kneading and shaping it into boules. “And read it aloud, you confounding man.”

He rolls his eyes, breaking the seal with his thumb and flicking it open with the flourish as he cleared his throat. “Miss Ferris Büller is invited to perform,“ he glances over at her, trying to read her face; she’s not upset at the use of her surname, but her eyes gone a little stormy. “At the home of blah blah blah, oh! You may invite a guest.”

“I don’t need a chaperone, Gale.”

“No, but if you’d like one.”

“I wonder if your mother is free,” she wipes her hands on her apron, finally done with the loaves of bread for the week.

“You’re a cruel mistress,” he sighs dramatically. “Our songbird has sharpened her beak and claws.”

She takes the invitation, reading over it herself. It’s much easier to do in her head, and she’s relieved Gale had stopped when he had and distracted her.

Ferris has never been invited to perform anywhere as a soloist—she’d been paraded around in Baldur’s Gate at her patron’s whims, loaned out and used like a show pony. The Netherbrain had provided her escape, and for the first time in her life she’d been able to perform freely…and even then it wasn’t until the celebration after the Grove that she’d played at all. The one thing she had done after was an audition she’d gotten thanks to Gale.

“How are you, Bird?” He holds out a hand and she moves into it so that it rests just below her shoulder blades as she looks over the invitation again.

“I’m not sure,” she says honestly, glancing up to meet his eyes. “I feel…like a real bard.”

“You’ve always been a real bard.” He takes the opportunity to press his lips to the crown of her head. “I am honored to act as your messenger boy.”

“Hush, help me cover these loaves for their second rise and I’ll give it a think.” It’s quick work, but Ferris remains quiet as she wipes down counter tops and puts things back in their place; Gale waits as patiently as ever, leaving space for her to find the words. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

It’s not what he was expecting her to say. “You do not, I agree.”

“Come with me.”

When he looks up her eyes are electric, alert and focused. “If that is what you wish, of course.”

“No, I mean—“ Ferris bites her lip. “Not as a chaperone. As a guest.”

He stills, eyes fixed on the envelope that is addressed to her, that uses her proper surname instead of his or instead of leaving it off. “You have plenty of time to decide, how about you give it some thought?”

Ferris sighs and slips around him to start dinner. “I said I wanted you to come, but if you think I’ll change my mind, I will pretend to give it some thought.”

They go back and forth for almost an entire tenday.

“It’s like you don’t want to go,” Ferris complains. “I’ve said I’d like you there, you keep saying ‘give it thought’. If you don’t give me a straight answer, I’ll take Cat or your mother—Hells, I’ll ask Tara if she’d like to come.”

“Forgive my abundance of caution, but since we haven’t announced our courtship publicly and there seems to be no intention of doing so—which is fine, don’t mistake my words as judgment—but if you’d rather people not talk…”

“I don’t care if people talk,” she tugs at the end of her braid. They’d just come back from a walk and she’s properly windswept, cheeks pink from weather and exertion. “People already talk, if they want to act like we’re together then nothing we can say or do will change that.”

Gale sighs. “That’s incredibly pragmatic, truly, but this is adding fuel to the fire. Library?”

“Yes, I should think so,” she nods. “I’ve got a book to finish up.”

They untangle scarves and hang coats, moving easily around each other in the transition from entry to stairs as Ferris goes first; she has a tendency to dart up in a manner that Gale cannot with his creaky knees and if the bard is behind him she gets antsy at his ‘glacial’ pace.

There is a slight issue with this arrangement, however.

He needs to stop staring.

He needs to, but he can’t.

As he sees it, the problem is Ferris’ trousers. Not the trousers themselves, nor the material—no, the problem is that they fit now. Properly.

The bard has always been in fighting shape, unused to leisure and excess, always moving and working and all manner of things keeping her frame lithe.

But.

But she is also eating regular meals, balanced meals. She is able to eat until she is full, and goddess help him because she somehow becomes more beautiful. Ferris looks healthier, no longer frail in her build but far more capable and developed, purpose-built rather than need-based.

Gale really wished he’d noticed some other way, and not how nicely the material of her trousers fits around the new curve of her waist and hips. It’s driving him wild and he wants—

“Are they too tight?” Ferris turns to look back at her own backside, a small frown on her face even as Gale’s mouth dries at the elegant twist of her body; she truly has no idea. “I don’t know if—“

“You fill them out nicely,” he blurts it out too quickly and Ferris stares. “Well, the body adapts and changes with proper nutrition and you keep fit what with your adventures for the shop keepers and your own training, it’s only natural your muscles and body accommodate this new lifestyle.”

“Oh,” she says happily. “Does the same principle apply to breast size?”

He’s going to die.

“Ah that I am…not less sure about, but I am not an expert on the physical. However, I can make an educated guess.”

“I was wondering why I had to loosen my stays a bit to get them on. It’s annoying.”

He’s absolutely going to die.

“Hmm,” Gale clears his throat. “Yes, proper meals have done you a world of good. Even your hair looks like a fire has lit it from within.”

“Alright, alright,” she sighs. “No need for poetry.”

The doors to the balcony are open and the library is almost cold, given the weather lately. Summer, unseasonably cool, had slid into a lackluster autumn with winter nipping at its heels, constantly threatening frost or ice without delivering on either, instead washing the city and sea in gray. He doesn’t mind, but he can tell it’s driving Ferris slightly mad.

“What are you planning to wear, since we’re on the topic? You’ve only a tenday to have something made—which isn’t an issue but…”

Ferris, already wrapped in a blanket, stares up at him with wide eyes.

“Ah.”

“Cat, I need to borrow a dress.”

The utter joy on her friend’s face was terrifying. “And I take it you want me to select one because whatever you need it for is imminent?”

Ferris ignores the obvious slight against her time management skills. “I want you to select a dress you don’t mind me wearing—“

She is hauled up the stairs and into what Cat calls her ‘dressing room’, which is really just a glorified hallway where her friend hangs things. There’s so much fabric of various colors, completely overwhelming. “One of the downsizes of performing,” Cat laments as she pulls aside skirts and petticoats. “One collects so many gowns.”

Everything Ferris has ever had, prior to Waterdeep, has been borrowed or a gift. “Well, some of us do. I think I’ve got one, proper. Oh, two I suppose—there’s the one Morena didn’t want back.”

“Gods help us, Ferris. Are you sure you don’t want to have something made to perform in? Something yours?”

She’s been wearing the borrowed black gown, not sure whether there was a time or place to wear the blue one again. “There…the one that isn’t Morena’s…it’s quite um,” she purses her lips. “It’s quite nice.”

Cat pauses in her shuffling. “What’s is made of?”

“It’s blue.”

“You’re hopeless,” Cat tosses a pile of fabric at her. “Try this on or describe it to me.”

The gray of the dress reminds Ferris of doves’ feathers, soft and delicate and she feels like handling it too much will dissolve it—spun sugar in water. It laces up the back, a corset-style bodice, so her arms will be free to move as she likes. Good for playing a violin or harp, more exposed than she prefers. It reminds her of something her patron would have dressed her in and Ferris shudders as the smooth fabric slides over her hands.

“It’s a very dark blue, like the night sky,” she begins unbuttoning her blouse. “Studded with pearls that look like stars.”

“You wore it much too recently, people will remember that dress. Especially because you matched Gale.” Cat sighs from just the other side of the door; it’s not ever properly closed but Ferris doesn’t care as she slides her blouse and skirt off. “And you cannot wear the chemise and stays with that, off they come.”

She sheds them obediently, watching the fabric pile around her feet. At least Cat keeps her rooms warm and she doesn’t feel the unpleasant prickle of goose-flesh rise at her arms. “Are you sure this is going to fit me? You’ve got a much larger chest than I have.”

“But you’ve got a nice, wide ribcage and shoulders,” Cat teases. “And your chest has developed nicely now that you’re eating properly and not saving the world.”

“Gods, you and Gale,” Ferris hikes up the dress, tightening the lowest laces so she can manage all the fabric. “Is the whole of Waterdeep to comment on how I’ve had to loosen my stays?”

The door bangs open. “He didn’t.”

Ferris sighs. “Well, get a good look while you’re here I suppose,” she doesn’t bother covering up as she adjusts the dress and pulls the laces tighter before twisting it the right way around. “And no, he didn’t, but he did mention my trousers finally fitting properly.”

Her friend is not bothering to hide her laughter as she helps Ferris straighten the bodice and do up the laces. “I should have assumed, he’d never be so bold.”

When she finishes, Cat pulls Ferris’ hair up into a low, messy knot to get an idea of how it will look once she’s styled properly and both girls go silent for a moment as they take it all in.

“You have to wear this one,” Cat breathes, trailing her fingers across Ferris’ shoulders in a way that tickles and makes her squirm. “It’s gorgeous, and it brings out your eyes.”

“I haven’t tried anything else on,” the other bard insists, even as she takes in her figure. Cat was right, the storminess of them is more apparent than usual, the light color making them shine, and she fills it out perfectly and it highlights her strong shoulders and arms; the dove coloring makes her look ethereal without washing her out, the gray leaning warm instead of cool. Cat’s more olive skin tone and Ferris’ peach coloring didn’t often lend themselves to easy sharing of clothes but the fabric and almost iridescent undertones of the gray work well.

“You’d hate them, plus this is the only one I kept from when I was a student, the rest are likely far too long.”

“Ass,” she shrugs. “Alright, this one will serve. Do you want it back?”

Cat taps a finger against her lips. “Depends, what do you plan to get up to in it?”

“Nothing,” Ferris twists in the mirror, watching how the skirts play around her legs. “But I’ll need to hem it, and I need to know what kind of stitch to use—something easily removed, or something more sturdy.”

There’s a long slit up the legs that she’ll have to work around, but it won’t be too much of an issue; there’s so much fabric that it will be easily hidden and she plays standing rather than sitting, so it’s unlikely anyone else will notice unless she has occasion to twirl rather vigorously. Cat's eyes linger when she sticks her leg out, testing what movements would be too revealing. "You're going to give that poor wizard heart palpitations."

Ferris grins. 

“That’s a lovely color.”

Ferris glances up from her hemming to see Gale on the steps. “My dress for the performance,” she hums, setting aside her needle for a moment. “I’ve given it some thought, as you suggested, and I still would like you to accompany me.”

Gale reaches out to touch the silk, watches it slide over his fingers like water. “I don’t know if I’ve anything to match you—“

“Dear gods, we don’t need to match, Gale. Just wear something nice, you might even be required to wear your Academy robes.”

“I certainly hope not!” He barks a laugh. “That would be truly awful.”

“Ask tomorrow, if there’s a dress code for you to follow,” she takes up her needle once more. “I’ve got more hemming to do, there’s so many layers to this damn thing and I can’t take any of them out without looking sad and droopy.”

It takes her the rest of the tenday to finish, the pleating and layers giving her trouble as she made minor alterations and swapped out the laces for a darker gray ribbon that faded to white at the ends; she’d dyed it herself in the kitchen, quite pleased with the results, and it looked lovely against the dress fabric itself.

The evening of, it’s warm enough for Ferris to opt for a shawl instead of a jacket, but Gale brings an extra all the same in case she should want it for the return journey. “The night will only get colder, my dear,” he reminds her as he wraps a scarf around his own throat. “Better to be prepared than frostbitten.”

She snorts. “I’ll simply sprint through the streets like a ghost and make it home long before the cold can claim me.”

There’s a pleased shine to Gale’s eyes when she says ‘home’, a far more frequent thing now. No matter how often she says it, he always looks delighted.

“I’m surprised how well that gown fits,” he says as the door clicks behind them; Ferris misses being able to hear the magic at work, guarding their shared home, but she knows it’s working all the same. “Catriona is quite a bit taller and ah—“

“Yes, yes, we all know Cat is better endowed than I,” she rolls her eyes and opens the gate a little more angrily than intended. “Apparently it’s from university, must have been after I’d left our shared housing. She’s a little taller, and was a bit less…soft.”

“I was going to say ‘less muscled’,” he rests a hand on her lower back, fingers tracing along the ribbon. “Years of handling a sword have sculpted you beautifully.”

She blames the chill on her flushed ears and Ferris’ grip on her violin case tighten. “That’s part of the reason I think she chose it for me, said my arms and shoulders would look lovely and make up for the lack of tits.”

“I wouldn’t call it a ‘lack’, they’re—“ Gale chokes and she gives him a slow, sly smile.

“They’re what, Gale?”

“This conversation isn’t really appropriate for any setting outside of ‘intimate’, perhaps with some privacy…”

“No one’s listening, come on. Tell me what you think,” she teases, rolling her shoulders back so the rise of her chest is just visible beneath the shawl; usually she hates corset-style bodices but this one has given her the slightest amount of lift and she can see Gale’s internal panic as her movement draws his gaze. “Unless it’s cruel, then I’d prefer not to hear.”

She knows he won’t be.

“They’re,” he chokes on his own words. “Proportional.”

Ferris bursts out laughing and almost trips; his hands tangled in her laces save her from a true stumble. “Oh thank the gods, I’d be so upset if they weren’t proportional.”

“Oh, enough,” he groans dramatically, pulling Ferris along. “Spare me, I beg you.”

“One more question and then I promise to be on my best behavior,” she cannot hide her grin, nor the feral edge to it. “Please”?

“I don’t believe you,” he shifts the spare coat and scarf to his other arm, which unfortunately removes the warm weight from her back. “But go on, one final question and then you’re on your version of your best behavior.”

He knows her far too well, which would be alarming if it didn’t please her so much. No one has ever known her the way Gale has; not Cat, not Astarion, no one. He’d taken the time to learn her and, rather than slip past her defenses, found the truest and surest way in. Instead of an army, he’d brought warmth and kindness and she didn’t feel at all like she’d been laid bare or flayed open. No, it was being suffused with sunlight after being in the shade for so long, well and properly warmed.

It’s…nice.

“Alright, here it is: do you like them?”

“Do I—“ he startles. “I abstain from answering.”

“You can’t abstain!”

“You didn’t say I wasn’t allowed, and you cannot change the rules in hindsight because you didn’t think of every possible loophole, which is quite unlike you, my dear. Perhaps if you were thinking less about your assets, you’d have noticed the openings in your question.”

There’s no point in being upset, even jokingly, because Gale’s entirely correct. ‘Besides,’ she thinks, humming as they walk side-by-side, close enough that their hands brush almost constantly. ‘He liked me well enough when I was skin and bones and tangled hair. Cleaning up nicely won’t sway him if he’s as smitten as he says.’

Gale taps her shoulder to get her attention. “Shawl, Miss Ferris.”

“Oh, of course.” She let’s him remove it, focused entirely on the warmth of his fingers where they barely brush her skin. “I didn’t think we’d arrived.”

“It’s an interesting building,” Gale slips into his lecture tone and she turns to watch him as his eyes roam the columns and lights. “Technically we have crossed the threshold, but there is a large atrium. It’s quite old, considered historic, and the good professor loans it out from time to time for events, in addition to hosting his own.”

The space is crowded with guests and there’s a stage near to them, just a bit above shoulder-level of most of the gathered people, that looks out over a beautifully cultivated pond. The chill in the air does not make its way past the columns, the enchantments and torches keeping them well-warmed. “I suppose this is me,” Ferris places her violin on the stage. Her instructions, if they could be called that, were to play ‘whenever you and Professor Dekarios arrive and then have a bit of a break’.

She assumed that the other professor would find her at some point to discuss the music, thank her, and make suggestions for a second set later in the evening as things settled down. When she’d voiced her concern to Gale about a lack of structure, he’d shrugged. “The man’s more about a good time than an organized one, but he’s an excellent curator and teacher.” There had been mumbling about his lesson plans, however.

In the moment before she takes the steps up to the stage, Gale clears his throat; she turns to him, confused. Had she forgotten something?

“May I?”

Ferris has no idea what he’s asking, but it’s Gale; he wouldn’t ask anything she would shy from. “Of course.”

He takes her hand, slowly brings it to his lips; she can feel his breath, but she it’s his eyes that she focuses on, warm and welcoming.

The kiss to her knuckles is no surprise, despite the very public setting.

No, the surprise is how it lingers, how it feels like a spark the traces up her veins, suffusing warmth through the whole of her even after Gale pulls away and murmurs ‘find me, after.’

It’s been a long time since she’d felt like there was magic in her veins, felt songs bubble up inside her like a wellspring to burst forth from her fingertips or her throat. The opposite of drowning, she’d once tried to explain to Wyll. ‘The water isn’t trying to get into my lungs, I’m trying to get it out.’

The room atrium is grand, lovely, and echoes beautifully in a way that Ferris plays with, allowing sounds to swell loud, double up, bounce back. Columns arch up and surround her like trees, stoic and solid, and if she closes her eyes she can pretend that the distant sound of the sea is the whisper of leaves instead. Not that she doesn’t love the sea, not that it doesn’t call to her, but white stone doesn’t inspire the same awe as curved branches and vaulting canopies, where mysteries hide in the dappled spaces and glimmer in the light.

It’s how her eyes can find Gale in a crowd, always, even if it’s just for the briefest moment, the flash of a bright wing as it cuts through the sun.

For the first time in a long time, Ferris is as loud and unruly as she wants. She knows the music, she knows the measures by heart, and knows how to play them in the stuffy way a professor would like, the same way a teacher would nod and approve of. But she doesn’t need that. She needs improvised double-stops, needs to press down on low notes and have them growl out their words. High notes are flung out like birds fleeing a tree top, winged darts that hurry on their way. She leans into unhurried vibrato like swaying into a wind, finds her way among the trees until she reaches the end.

She feels…strange, after the last note rings out. Not hollow, nothing like that, but like there’s something missing—it isn’t until she sees Gale smiling at her from across the room that everything clicks into place and she feels complete. It’s like her magic has returned and she can feel the electricity of his gaze, the spark, taste it on the air. The whole of her crackles to life, sudden and solid.

Ferris’ hands shake as she carefully puts her violin away, nervous in new ways. It’s unsettling, there’s something pulling her towards him, and she wants nothing more than to bound over like an excited dog and bask in his words and praise and attention.

Ferris would hate it, if she didn’t want it so badly.

Forcing a calm she does not feel, she clicks the latches of the case shut and picks up a glass, mingling her way over to the crowd that’s gathered around her wizard.

Her wizard.

Oh.

That’s new, to think it so jealously.

She burns as she makes her way over, something sizzling up her spine, something dangerously untamed.

Need?

Want.

Heady and unfamiliar.

Both emotions tangle together as she slides into the circle of people, close enough to brush elbows with Gale and the touch of heat through his sleeve sparks the fire in her to an inferno. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The touch of fabric against her arm feels electric, warm from the wizard’s body and the press of people in a crowd. He smiles at her, indulgent.

“Of course not,” his hand rests against her lower back, covering her skin where the dress is open. He’s so warm, so real, and she feels possessed in a way she’s never experienced. Not owned, not kept—loved, she supposes.

“We were discussing your performance. Excellent as always.”

There are murmurs of agreement and Ferris opens her mouth to respond but Gale moves his hand slightly as he steps closer to her side and she has cover her sharp inhale with a cough. “Apologies—for all my breathing exercises I have a terrible habit of doing it wrong.”

It gets polite laughter and she sips whatever is in the glass in her hand, cool and bubbling.

“Is everything alright?” Gale leans over to whisper it in her ear and Ferris shivers. “You’re more flushed than usual.”

The hand at her back is steady and grounding, but she can feel each whorl of his fingerprints against her skin, every line of his palm, and she wants—

Boldly, she takes his hand. “Come with me a moment,” she sets her glass down. “Apologies for the second time in as many minutes, I need to discuss some logistics regarding an enchantment later in the set.”

No one questions them as she drags Gale away, desperate to leave the crowded ballroom before she does…something, she honestly isn’t sure what her plan is, if she has one.

She wants Gale, somehow. That’s clear, that is obvious.

She wants to crawl inside his chest and replace his heart, wants to beat for him forever. Wants to touch him as much as possible, press so closely they merge into one.

Wants to know what he tastes like, needs to know how his skin feels under her tongue, her teeth—

Gods what is wrong with her?

Her ears twitch and listen intently for any room where there isn’t conversation or people, entirely attuned to the party. Gale, mercifully, trails behind her without question. The first quiet door she comes to is wrenched open and Ferris hauls the wizard inside.

The lock barely has time to click shut before she presses Gale back against heavy, dark wood, hauling him down by the collar to kiss him.

Everything in her life—past, present, future—aligns in the span of a heartbeat and then he is kissing her back. Ferris remembers what he tastes like, now, and his gasp of surprise is all the invitation she needs to push her luck; she slips her hand around the back of his neck, dipping below the collar of his robes to touch more skin, more Gale. He’s so hot beneath his clothes and she whines.

He doesn’t separate them as he spins them, guides her back, kissing her with just as much want and desperation. Ferris is pressed against a shelf and Gale steals the breath from her lungs and her heart from her chest. The fact that he wants her, still, is exhilarating and terrifying all at once, but she’s no longer afraid of it. Of herself.

She can separate out the parts of her that doubt and show them the parts that wonder.

They are mirrored, after all.

Gale shifts against her and her feet leave the floor just a bit; he slides a thigh between her legs and she breaks away to gasp at the novelty of friction. Nothing has ever felt like this before.

“I—“ Ferris is panting, her heart racing faster than it ever had in battle, than it ever had when she’d made deals with devils. “Gale, I—“

He makes a strange, high-pitched noise that makes her head spin. His hands are trembling, he is trembling, and Ferris marvels. “Please, tell me what you want. I can bear it no longer.”

“Touch me,” she arches against him. “Touch me, please.”

Gods be damned, it didn’t matter where they were. A hand twists into her hair and the other finds the laces at the back of her dress as he hauls her forward to claim her mouth, dragging her along his thigh in the process of getting as close to her as physically possible. It’s everything he had hoped for, yearned for, and when Ferris pushes forward and whines his name so sweetly when he draws back for breath, he knows he’ll never find anything better than this.

“We should go home, damn the rest of your performance,” he breathes it between kisses that trace her jaw. It startles her back a touch and he carefully sets her on her feet. A choice, a moment to think about what she wants. “Although, getting caught in the library would be exhilarating.”

She can’t say he’s wrong and she stands on tiptoe to kiss him again. “Gale, please.”

The adrenaline of a performance, of possibly getting caught so shortly after she’d asked to be publicly courted in their own, odd way has her feeling like she has not in ages, like there’s magic running through her veins again and the only thing she needs to survive is him and this electrifying thrill of newly discovered, deep-rooted want. At her ‘please’, Gale surges forward again and Ferris follows his lead, rocks against his thigh, sighs sweetly against his cheek.

It nearly undoes him.

“What do you want?” He groans it against her neck, breath hot; it makes her gasp and arch into his hold. “Tell me, and I will devote myself to making it a reality.”

They should go home, but Gale’s hand has found the slit of her dress and the first touch of his fingers against her thigh is a brand, searing in a way that feels permanent. This is not the time or the place, but for the first time in her life, Ferris wants.

It’s terrifying, it’s entirely new, and she wants Gale Dekarios, professor, wizard, and former Chosen of Mystra to fuck her against the shelves in a stranger’s library.

She’s never wanted sex before, but she’s certain she wants it now.

“Touch me,” she begs again, unable to articulate any further—she doesn’t have the vocabulary for the things she wants, the things she needs in this moment and his fingers dig into the meat of her thigh hard enough that his nails sting when he hikes her leg up and presses forward to kiss her; she responds in kind, tugging just this side of rough when her hand moves into his hair to anchor him close enough that she could breathe the air that left his lungs. “Take me.”

She isn’t even sure what language comes from her mouth in the moment, but Gale groans against her lips and kisses her harder, hard enough to knock her head back into the shelves behind her; in any other situation it would hurt, but here and now the spark of pain flares just bright enough that she wants more. It illuminates every other sensation in her body, against her skin.

There’s the heavy thud of the door and voices, light making its way through the stacks; Ferris grabs him and moves so quickly that Gale nearly falls on his face when she pulls them around the side of the shelf…just before the professor who had hired her passes by, telling a group of other guests about his collection. She’s got a hand over his mouth, eyes wild as she goes perfectly still; from where his hand rests on the side of her neck, cradling her face, Gale can feel her rabbiting pulse, feel when she swallows and finally breathes again.

A very small part of him marvels at her breath control, and a much more forward part of his brain wonders at it’s more…base uses.

“Gods above and below,” she sighs it out, her whole body going limp against the shelf. Gale lets his head fall against her shoulder to muffle his laughter against her skin when she pulls her hand away. “That was close.”

“So?” He pants against her neck. “How do I compare?”

He means it as a joke, an awful one, and is glad when Ferris laughs. “How do you compare to a single instance fumbling in an ancient hay loft and a man who kept me prisoner?” She pets a hand through his hair. “Far superior, congratulations.”

They go quiet, listening closely as the tour continues but moves away from them; Ferris’ ears quiver and he wants nothing more than to trace the shell of them with his quill-calloused fingers. Instead, he steps away. “We should ah, discuss what just happened.”

Ferris looks up at him. “Why?”

“Wh—Ferris, prior to this, you and I have not even so much as kissed since Baldur’s Gate and you practically drag me into a stranger’s library and put my hands on you.”

Right.

Right, she had done that.

The lingering embers are doused so suddenly, a feeling akin to raw egg slithering down from the top of her head to the base of her spine. Arousal turns to shame in seconds and she can see the moment Gale realizes it as well. “Sorry,” she glances away, mumbling it out in her embarrassment.

“No, Ferris, don’t apologize,” Gale stops. “Wait, what are you apologizing for, actually?”

“Accosting you, not asking first?” She gives a little shrug. “I saw you across the room and I…I don’t know how to explain it, Gale. I wanted. And I thought you wanted me as well.”

“I very, very much do,” he moves his hand from her shoulder to her face, turning her to look at him once more. “It was all very sudden, that’s all. We can revisit this whenever you’d like. Perhaps somewhere safer and more comfortable than a library.”

She pouts. “I was rather hoping you’d fuck me against the shelves.”

‘Gods above and below, she’ll be the death of me,’ he thinks, rubbing a hand over his eyes. It’s not as though he hadn’t had the same thought, hadn’t imagined Ferris pressed against rows of towering books, clinging desperately to a higher shelf as he fucks into her with abandon, muffling her cries with his hand and returning to the party after, the both of them in ruins.

“I didn’t say it would never happen,” he sighs. “But not for a first time.”

Ferris brightens and takes his hand. “Excellent. Now, I have a set to finish, do I look sufficiently put together or are our tenuous reputations about to take another blow?”

Her dress is wrinkled, her hair is falling out of its careful arrangement, her lips are red. Selfishly, he wants everyone to know what they’d done—or rather, what people think they’ve done.

“A moment, bard.” Gale removes a gold and pearl pin from her hair and the whole style falls apart, cascading in loose waves over her shoulders; he runs his hands through it, tipping her head back to kiss her breathless simply because he can, now. The pin goes into his own hair, and he admires his work. “Stunning.”

Ferris flicks open his collar and undoes a few buttons. “My compliments to the maker of the mess,” she teases. “Shall we walk back arm-in-arm?”

“Let’s.”

So many pairs of eyes turn to them when Ferris reenters the ballroom, and some linger on him when she takes the stage again and begins to play. Gale can hear whispers, see the understanding on people’s faces.

Gale and the bard.

Ferris and the wizard.

Ferris and Gale Dekarios.

When she catches his eyes across the room, nothing else matters. Gale winks back and raises a glass of sparkling wine in mock salute, a toast to his beloved.

His bard.

Chapter Text

Tomorrow morning, they’ll stage their assault on Moonrise. Tomorrow morning, they might walk to their deaths, but they’ll do so with spells at the ready and blades drawn.

If you’d asked Ferris a year ago how she imagined her life would end, it wouldn’t have been even remotely close to the looming of the false dawn.

A noble end, should it come, but something in her heart whispers that there is more to come, more ahead. It sounds like the wind through trees, through dry grass on the plains of Cormyr, like—

“Ferris.”

Gale.

Like Gale’s voice, pleased and warm and kind; like his endless chatter as they walk, they cook, they spar. For a moment she thinks she’d imagined it, that it was truly just the sound of her soul, but she can hear him start a sentence, stumble, start…

Silence again, only the sounds of their breathing.

“You know I’d never ask anything you weren’t willing to give,” he begins, and her blood runs cold. They’re out by the fire, completely open to their companion’s gazes, and she tries not to think about anything other than the roar of her breath in her ears. “But…could you sing? Nothing more than a lullaby, if you were willing.”

The roaring falls away suddenly and she turns to face him. “What?”

“If you were willing,” he begins again. “More than anything, I’d like to hear you sing one last time.”

“It won’t be once more, Gale,” she sits up, stretches her legs out. “Because you aren’t going to die.”

I simply won’t allow it.

“Anything could happen tomorrow. And…I would take comfort in it, to hear and remember a song from your lips.”

“If you don’t die, I’ll sing you whatever you ask, whenever you ask,” Ferris yawns, trying to pull a lullaby from the depths of her memory, something soft and gentle before she learned that there was no place for such things in a life like hers. Nothing comes, but there is a song rising up, deep within her. “Close your eyes, and listen.”

It’s a song of hope, gentle and low in her chest; the rise and fall of her voice reminds him of clouds, drifting and forming, the large, billowing towers that become pastel monuments as the sky turns shades of orange and pink. Gale can imagine what it must be like among them, drifting and beautiful, a thing of light that exists to be seen and admired. Her voice is like a warm spring rain, cleansing and joyous, and when it fades out and his eyes open again, Gale thinks he understands redemption.

“Thank you,” he holds out his hand and she takes it, squeezing gently. “I’ll never forget it.”

Ferris’ smile is sadder than he expects. “I should hope now; it was for you, Gale.” When he looks at her quizzically, she purses her lips. “It’s how I feel, when I am with you.”

“Oh.”

Really, what else can he say?

“I’d like you to promise me something,” Ferris’ voice still has the remnants of magic, the song fading into the air between them. “Actually promise me—and I would rather you not lie, if you’re unwilling. Promise me that we will not be separated tomorrow. That you’ll stay with me, no matter what.”

It’s not asking him to live. It’s not asking him to reconsider. “If I—“

“I know what I’m asking, wizard.”

If you die, I do too.

It’s strong motivation to reconsider, but there’s nothing she’s asking that would be out of order. “I promise.”

It’s going as well as can be expected for them.

That is to say it’s all going to shit in a spectacular manner.

Jaheira is at her side, a panther as lethal as a wraith, and she cannot see the others but she can hear them. Magic zings across her skin, the familiar electricity of their wizard but with an alarming flare of urgency, and she turns.

She can see Gale considering it, sees the teleportation magic beginning at his fingertips and his mouth moving despite his promise—and he promised, damn him. She can see him making a decision that will change the course of everything, every imagined future they’d discussed with their friends around the fire because how is she supposed to live when he’ll have her forever mourning?

She also sees the bolt that heads straight for him.

Ferris is exhausted, she’s so godsdamned tired but there’s still some magic left in her bones.

There's still a breath between her and Gale.

There’s still time.

Dimension Door lands her a foot away from him, and she turns to deflect the bolt with her sword but she’s so tired—

There’s a sickening crunch of metal into chain into flesh into bone back into flesh and mail again. There’s pain, and a scream that might be hers.

There’s Gale’s hands, one around her waist and the other stretched out in a claw and the familiar tang of Shatter hits her tongue—or maybe it’s her own blood.

He’s calling for Shadowheart, for Halsin, for anyone with a potion or with healing magic. She’s falling so slowly, oh. Oh, he must be laying her down.

It hurts so much, but he’s still here. He’s still here, he’s breathing, and he’s furious with her. There will be a lecture later but she won’t here a word of it, marveling at the flush to his face and the wild gesticulation of his hands and the way he paces when he’s angry. He’s saying something now that sounds like a mix of begging and reprimand.

You foolish girl, you idiot. Stay awake a little longer, please don’t close your eyes.

She wants to listen, she really, really does but she’s so tired.

Ferris hums herself a lullaby.

‘Death,’ she thinks, ‘is strangely quiet.’

Her eyes are hard to open, like they’ve been closed too long, gummy and raw and a rustle of pages alerts her to the presence of—

“There you are, darling.”

A book is set aside and a cool hand brushes hair off her face, then a damp cloth carefully wipes at her eyes. She blinks a few times, but it’s hard to focus.

“Very like you to finally wake up once everyone else has gone to sleep. You quite upset our dearest wizard, it was a sight.”

She would talk back, but her throat is so dry—Astarion sits her up as he continues, pressing a glass to her lips and tipping it carefully. The bastard doesn’t let her chug it down, forcing her to take small, measured sips.

“The way he tells it, if you hadn’t gotten your sword up for that attempted parry, that bolt would have gone through your soft, foolish heart,” he clicks his tongue. “For Gale, of all people. He was beside himself, darling, it was awful to see, he rivaled Jaheira when it came to tooth and claw.”

“Is everyone—“

“Alive, yes. Battered, bruised, worried sick over your heroics, but alive.” Astarion flicks her nose. “You were about to ruin our perfect streak. Extremely inconsiderate of you.”

Ferris is lowered back to the bedroll in what looks like Halsin’s tent. “I’m very sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Another click of his tongue. “Lying is unbecoming, don’t make a habit of it.”

Silence then, companionable but also charged with a number of questions. She counts to thirty before she opens her mouth.

“Two nights, and those of us who trance have been looking after you during that time so the ones who sleep can attempt to get enough of it to function. You’re lucky Jaheira was close enough to get to you, and you’re lucky Gale didn’t lash out at her. They loaded you up and got you to everyone. Our dear Shadowheart did her best, as the fight was ending, but you were…well, it didn’t look good.”

Ferris releases a breath. “And you said everyone else was fine?”

He shrugs. “Karlach has a concussion, Wyll’s shoulder got dislocated, Halsin got swiped across the chest, but that was the worst of it until you had to take a bolt for the wizard.”

“He’d have died.”

“Yes, and then dear old Withers would have hauled him back for us, if needed.” Astarion’s tone is disapproving, but his eyes are kinder than usual. She tries to relax, but her body aches with a mix of needing to run and needing the soreness worked out of her abused muscles. When she flexes her fingers she groans and the elf rummages around. “Here, for the pain. Now that you’re awake it’ll be easier to fully heal. There was something on the bolt, but to be honest I wasn’t listening when our healers were talking.”

Too busy watching the rise and fall of your chest, too busy making sure you were still breathing, she can feel it in the words he isn’t saying.

“I should wake the wizard.”

“What? No, don’t do that,” she tries to sit up but Astarion shoves her back with the toe of his boot. “Astarion.”

“I am under strict orders to wake him if you regain consciousness. It’s rather sweet, darling, he’s truly devoted.”

“Don’t say that,” she snaps. “I bet he threatened you.”

“Fireball, naturally. I don’t fancy incineration,” he rises, brushing off his pants. “Take it from me, little dove; cling tight to that softness while you can.”

He’s gone before Ferris can protest, and then before she can process what he’s said there’s scrambling and heavy footfalls, and then a disheveled wizard yanks open the tent flaps, breathing labored and eyes frantic. She gives a little wave from the bed roll and Gale collapses in the entry.

“Lady of Mysteries, you’re awake. You’re alive you’re—“

“Still here,” she smiles weakly. “Yeah. And don’t lecture me, I’ve already gotten an earful from Astarion and another stern talk is going to put me to sleep.”

“You should. Be asleep, I mean.” Gale hauls himself over to her side, unsure of what to do. “Rest while you can, because we head to Baldur’s Gate as soon as possible.”

When she struggles to sit up, Ferris winces at how matted her hair had become; someone had bathed her or magicked away the blood and grime, but her hair needs attention and Ferris casts her eyes around for a brush. Gale shifts to sit behind her, and she feels the wooden teeth of a comb begin to untangle the knots. She relaxes, eyes slipping shut.

“Fill me in?”

Gale does.

She can feel him keeping the lecture from his tone, trying to simply give her all the information from the battle and following days. It’s much the same as Astarion’s account, but with more detail and less sarcastic commentary. Ferris is almost asleep again when his hands still and he sets the comb down.

“Ferris.”

“Mmm?”

“Promise me something.”

She opens her eyes, hazy with exhaustion and smiles. “Let me guess, ‘promise me that we will not be separated’, right?”

“That’s right,” he brushes her hair back from her eyes, carefully separating out strands and beginning to braid. “I want you to promise that you’ll stay with me, no matter what.”

Ferris tilts her head so he can access the rest of her hair. “What happens when I do? Will I get to see Waterdeep and meet your mother? And Tara?”

There’s amusement in his tone. “I’ve already promised you that, bard.”

“Alright then,” she smiles as he ties off her braid. “I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what,” she agrees, and the sees that Gale has braided the butter yellow ribbon into her hair the way she likes, neatly and carefully. “I’m sure you didn’t get much sleep but if you’d like to—“

Gale has already settled in, giving Astarion’s choice of reading material a disgusted glance. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

She isn’t sure how to voice what she wants. Ferris is cold, her body aches, and Gale is always so damned warm. “Come down here then, if you insist on staying. I’ve lost too much blood and everything feels like ice.”

His mouth opens, closes again. “I suppose that’s alright,” he says meekly as he sits next to her; Ferris can hear his knees creak on the way down and instantly feels guilty over her request. The moment he’s beside her though, she can feel her whole body thaw.

“You’re like the first day of spring,” she closes her eyes as Gale gets comfortable. “The one that melts the frost off the grass and makes the world smell like damn earth and a coming storm.”

“Oh?” She can hear his smile. “I don’t know if we have that in Waterdeep. The salt air doesn’t really allow for true freezes, but there is some snow, when thing get properly cold. Not too much, mind you, but enough that it looks like a storybook at times. You’ll have to spend the seasons there and let me know, your nose is far better than mine at any rate—given, your hearing and eyes are better, so I’m assuming your nose is more attuned as well.”

“Mmm.”

“Something to think about, in the future,” he shifts again and Ferris can feel him lay down, mostly propped up against a nearby tent pole; she hopes theres a cushion behind his back. “If you’re to stay with me, and I with you.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, enjoying how warm she finally is. “Sort it out later, I’m tired.”

“Of course,” she hears pages flip as Gale finds a more suitable chapter, or goes back to the beginning. “My apologies, Ferris. I hope you’re at a temperature where you can rest comfortably.”

She is. Everything aches less, the pain less acute. His steady breaths, the whisper of pages turning…

It’s all suddenly manageable, with Gale there.

Chapter Text

“There’s an event Cat wants me to attend in a few days, we don’t have any plans do we?”

Blessedly, they are the only people around at the moment, other couples at a fair distance. Ferris had shyly asked if he wanted to ‘take the air’, which was her way of attempting a joke; the more formally she said something, the more un-serious it was intended to be.

In this instance ‘taking the air’ is a walking tour of Waterdeep’s main sculptures and statues, an activity he does not mind in the least. He remembered doing them as a boy, and had planned one for his students—it’s not strange for Ferris to know of them, but for her to make the request of an outing…well, he certainly wouldn’t refuse her. They aren’t official things, and if Ferris pays more attention to lichen than plaques or history, well.

He’s used to Ferris.

“I don’t believe we have anything planned,” he glances sideways at where she’s crouched, scraping a bit of moss away with her thumb to look at it more closely; she’ll replace it before they move on, slotting it back. “Or if we do it’s nothing that cannot be moved to accommodate.”

Ferris presses against his side as she continues to stare at the moss and he imagines the heat of her skin beneath the layers they’re both wearing; she’d got two coats on, and his scarf with the excuse that Gale’s beard would keep him warm enough to not need it and that he should sacrifice it for her use—both of them ignore the fact that he’d suggested she bring her own.

“I’ll let her know when I see her tomorrow, then.”

They are recognized on their walk but neither of them mind. Gale stops to talk with parents, other professors, old acquaintances, anyone who greets him. Ferris waits politely, but is mostly ignored. A few of his younger students call out hello’s to her specifically and it warms his heart a little to see her wave back in reply.

“Your adoring public,” he bends to murmur in her ear. She swats him away and he does not miss the flush that comes.

“Perhaps I should best more people in combat,” she raises an eyebrow. “Or would that be ill-advised?”

“It’s certainly not the conventional way to make friends,” Gale admits. “And I would be very sad if you were properly jailed. The tower would be so empty.”

Ferris gives an overly dramatic sigh. “Alright, Gale. For you, I will avoid true imprisonment. I make no promises about holding, however.” She glances up at him from beneath her lashes. “Imagine the jokes if I did, though—“

“Absolutely not,” he tightens his hold on her arm for a moment, a squeeze before letting go. “Let’s not find out what the inside of a prison looks like first-hand, my dear. The jokes would be far less funny.”

The sun decides to quit after sending weak beams through the clouds and Ferris begins to shiver more violently, or at least to a point where he notices. She’s too proud to say anything, and she won’t let her teeth chatter; she shoves her hands into her pockets and hunches into the warmth of her clothing.

“Let’s make our way back,” he makes sure his hand is warm before he rests it against the back of her neck and Ferris immediately melts into it, eyes closed as her feet continue onward with confidence. There’s no way she could have memorized every stone, each crack, but Ferris does not stumble.

“I have a quick errand to run, need to stop in and grab a last ingredient for the salad I’m bringing to your mother’s,” she sighs. “But I’ll meet you back home.”

They are about to separate and Gale removes his hand, watching Ferris cycle through the stages of grief when he does. “I promise to have something warm waiting for you.”

She smiles brightly and instead of kissing her as he wants, he takes her small, cold hand and presses his lips to the back of it, trying to suffuse her with a murmured spell for warmth even though he knows it will do little more than ghost over her skin, delicate and ineffectual as a breath. It seems to be appreciated anyway and her fingers curl over his to squeeze gently. “Thank you, Gale. For the promise and the attempted magic.”

Caught out, he shrugs as he straightens, the hold on her hand lingering. “Stay warm.”

Ferris shoves him lightly toward the tower. “I’ll make no promises I can’t keep.”

The tower is quiet and slightly warm, and Gale heats it further, just barely to the point that makes sweat begin to bead at his collar. It’ll be a more comfortable temperature by the time Ferris returns, and perhaps she’ll need only one thick sweater. The air has been icy as of late and Ferris, even with a touch more weight on her bones, is still unused to the seasons. Every time they step into a shop or room, she unfurls like a flower faces the sun; she’s definitely wearing more layers when she goes out and especially when she teaches swordplay (classes have been cut back, as the weather does not often cooperate, and she often burrows into a squat, plush chair in his office to warm up before returning to the tower after finishing for the day).

The air is comfortable, as he suspected, and floral now as he makes his way to the kitchen where there’s a riot of color.

“I am genuinely afraid to ask what the tulips are for,” he joins her at the counter as she strips the flowers. Gale had heard her tumble in, finishing up the spell he’d been grading before coming down. “The window for planting is short and I believe you’ve missed it—actually, where did you even find them?”

“Market,” she says happily. “And they’re for eating.”

“For…for eating.”

Ferris gives him a look that reads as ‘is your hearing going?’ as she continues her work. “Yeah? They’re edible. If you don’t like the look of them, I can lightly batter and fry them like I did the squash blossoms. Mostly they’re getting mixed into the salad, but I bought extra.”

“I find myself forgetting just how many edible plants you’re aware of,” he sits across from her, taking a white tulip in his hands; the petals are soft and a little waxy, likely grown in a greenhouse and intended for bright table decoration as rain and cold came to make everything miserable. “And you simply eat the petals?”

“Try it if you don’t believe me,” she reaches across the table with the red tulip she has been deflowering and tickles his nose with it. “Some will make their way into a vase, no need to be alarmed at the quantity.”

Gale strips a petal and pops it into his mouth before he can think too much about the concept of eating a tulip. It’s sweet and floral, the slightest sour edge creeping in.

“Surprisingly good,” he concedes. “I wasn’t anticipating it to taste like anything.”

“There’s plenty of things you’d be surprised at the taste of,” Ferris points out, rattling off plants and flowers; he watches her with intense focus, her fingers ever-moving and her voice flowing even in her excitement. She could be a flower herself, bright and beautiful.

“Ferris?”

“Yes, Gale?” Her hands still have not stilled.

“May I kiss you?”

Flowers don’t really make sound when they fall, he learns; the soft petals and short stem barely a whisper against the worktop as Ferris’ fingers finally fumble at their task. “What an odd question,” she laughs after a moment of scrambling for words. “You want to? Now?”

‘I always want to’, he thinks but does not say, not wanting to alarm her as to the nature of his thoughts—and not just as of late. If he admits to it now, he would have to admit that he’s wanted her for an embarrassingly long time. The first time she’d laughed at something he’d said, he’d desperately wanted to taste that sound, directly from the source. It hadn’t been as alarming a realization for him as it may have once been, were he a younger man.

“Yes, but only if you’d like me to.”

Ferris leans across the petal-strewn worktop and kisses him instead.

It’s more determination than passion, but that’s alright, and Gale brings a hand up to cradle her cheek; she freezes for a moment before relaxing again, leaning a bit further to deep the kiss. She tastes floral and spicy, had probably been partaking in the tulip petals long before he’d come into the kitchen, and when he dares run his tongue along her lower lip Ferris makes a broken, desperate noise.

There’s too much worktop between them, too much space and she wants to be as close as possible, as close as they were against the library shelves. She’s off her stool and standing between his bent legs faster than he’d thought possible and is pulling him down to kiss again, again, again.

Eventually his need for air overcomes his need to know her every breath and Gale pulls back after one last, lingering kiss. Ferris’ lips are swollen, her eyes feverishly bright. “Is it always that nice? Kissing, I mean.”

“It can be.”

A strand of her hair has come loose and he carefully tucks it away, heart near to bursting as she turns to nuzzle into his palm. Ferris’ hands tuck into his robes, roaming without intent. “We should do it more, I think. Successful experimentation requires multiple trials, as you well know.”

She pushes his robes from his shoulders, the neck of them catching at the bend of his arms; he hadn’t even noticed her undoing and fastenings, but he certainly notices when cool fingers meet skin under his shirt and he hisses. Ferris steps closer, properly between his thighs now.

“Caught your breath, have you?”

“I have,” he laughs. “If you insist on undressing me, I must insist we take this somewhere more comfortable.” Gale’s hands grip her hips; he goes to move her and the moment shatters.

Ferris is out of his reach in a heartbeat, the basket of petals upended in her panicked retreat; if there’d been a knife on the worktop, he’s sure she would have grabbed it on instinct. As it is, she’s breathing shallowly, hand shaking and knees threatening to give way as she backs up against the table.

“Ferris,” he tries gently. “Ferris, it’s alright. It’s only me.”

She crumples to the floor and he can’t even reach out to catch her. Her fingers curl into the petals and the room fills with the scent of tulips where they crush under the slightest pressure. Gale can tell she’s trying to breathe normally but each deep inhale catches and holds too long, unintentional and jarring.

“Ferris.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps and Ferris wobbles back to her feet, palms sticky with ruined flower petals. “I—“

Gale reaches out a hand and she flinches away again, trying to remember just one minute earlier when all she’d wanted was for him to hold her, to touch her. She’d been fine, damn it! She had been fine and then he’d done exactly what she’d longed for and it was like someone had hit her with an ice spell. When she can finally meet his eyes again, Gale looks a horrible mix of sad and worried. Perhaps slightly alarmed as well.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he says gently. “It’s alright. I won’t touch you again, you’re alright.”

She wants to scream, she wants to tear her hair out, she wants to feel her patron’s blood soak into the sheets as he chokes on it because she wants Gale to touch her, she wants him and someone else had ruined it, ruined her, before they’d ever met and it wasn’t enough that he was dead because she was still broken.

“You aren’t ruined.” Gale bends down to pick up petals, the ones she hadn’t made a mess of when she’d needed the additional support of the floor. “And you aren’t broken—if anything, you have ghosts.”

He glances up at her. “I know it probably doesn’t help, but I love you. Ghosts and all. This is something we can figure out, if we must. If you want.”

“I do.”

“Alright,” he nods and she watches him stand slowly, taking the petals to the sink to wash them. All his movements are deliberate and telegraphed for her and she wants to thank him but Ferris cannot find words at the moment. She pulls out a chair and sinks into it, putting her head into her hands and forcing the heels of her palms against her eyes to stop the tears as she listens to the flow of water and Gale’s easy humming as he cleans up after her mistakes yet again.

“Perhaps if you touch me,” he says after a moment. “That seemed fine, it was only when I touched you that things went a little sideways.”

“Maybe,” she sighs. “I don’t know. It was fine in the library—it felt like I’d die if you didn’t touch me, then.”

“Adrenaline from your performance, or from the risk of being seen?” Ferris can hear his shrug even though all she can see is sparks from behind closed lids. “It was rather sudden.”

“You touch me all the time!” She slams her hands down on the table, the dim light in the kitchen too bright as she blinks open her eyes. “Constantly!”

Gale makes a thoughtful noise. “True, you have a point, but those touches are not related to ah, such intimacy. They’re intimate, yes, but they are not done in the heat of passion or with a sexual intent.”

She considers this as Gale dries the petals and puts them back in the basket.

“So I touch you, when we’re…intimate,” she frowns. “But you won’t touch me?”

“I’ve a better idea.” He steps closer to her, but still an arm’s length away, before extending his hands, palm up. “You can direct me. If you are in control, perhaps it will not be so overwhelming.”

Ferris’ heart is no longer in danger of rabbiting from her chest and she takes one of Gale’s hands, settling it on her waist. The other goes to the back of her head and she folds herself into a hug of her own making, sighing out the last of her tension as Gale squeezes tighter.

“It seems intention does matter,” he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “As well as context.”

“It’s stupid,” she grumbles. “I want you to touch me, it shouldn’t be this hard.”

Gale says nothing, but he doesn’t let her go. Not for a long time.

He thinks of her ghosts, holds her closer, and does not comment on the tears that soak into his shirt.

The next morning, Catriona is far too pleased that Ferris is able to join her and she quickly finds out why.

“You might have told me it was a costume party,” the small bard complains into her tea as Cat picks apart a finger sandwich to remove the cucumber, which she puts delicately onto Ferris’ place.

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t have wanted to come,” Cat takes a bite and chews with exaggerated poise. “Besides, think of it as a fashion show rather than a costume party. I am wearing a gown made in the spirit of winter, and you will be autumn.”

Ferris does not bother to use a fork, picking the cucumbers up with her fingers. “But if it’s tonight—“

“I got your measurements from Morena Dekarios, who was very willing to betray you.” Cat waves her indignant away. “All I had to do was agree to cards.”

“You’re going to love cards, that’s hardly an exchange on her part. I think she likes having young ladies around for variety.”

Cat snorts. “She keeps you around because you cheat and it makes the games more fun, so you aren’t wrong there. That,” she raises her eyebrows. “And her son is very attached to you, and you to him. I think she expects you to slip up and admit you’ve been married this whole time.”

She tugs at her braid, leaning back with a huff. “She’s going to be disappointed.”

“I’ll bet anything she’s pulled together some sort of trousseau for you,” Cat teases. “Silks, lace, lovely white linens.

Ferris reaches out and takes her friend’s hands, looks into her eyes. “Cat, I cannot stress this enough: Gale and I are not married.”

“Yet.”

“Gale and I,” she says again. “Are not married. We have no plans to be married.”

Frustratingly, Cat waves it away in the same manner everyone does. “Yes, yes, I am painfully aware. I’ll never walk you down the aisle, I’ll never…hmm, what do weddings entail?”

“No idea,” Ferris shrugs. “Not like I’ve been either.”

“Damnation.” The curse gets Cat a shocked glare from a group of ladies as they leave. She rolls her eyes in response. “Alright, next time we’ll go to a tavern, or somewhere off the market. This is insufferable.”

“You suggested it!” Ferris shrugs on her multiple coats. “Anyway, how am I meant to get this dress?”

There’s a sharp grin on Catriona’s face. “Oh, I have it hanging in my rooms. Come along, my dear little autumnal creature.”

She’s going to regret this, she’s almost sure.

Ferris smuggles the dress into the tower and up to her room with ease, as she often has large quantities of fabric to make her own clothes. It’s not strange for her to have armfuls of cloth, but it’s unusual for the quality to be so fine. Thankfully, Gale is tucked into the library and doesn’t do more than give her a wave as she passes, not bothering to glance up.

She has a few hours to get her nerve up, to get this dress on.

It’s a lot of layers.

She’d made the mistake of lying to Cat and saying she had a chemise without straps, so her first order of business is to modify one of her own—the only silk one she has. Yes, it had come from Morena and no, she isn’t going to look at that too deeply beyond the woman’s misplaced hopes for her, and her son. If the intent was seduction, it was doomed to fail anyway: Ferris is hopeless at true seduction, and that’s the end of it. The straps are tucked in and sewn in with a few, loose stitches, and she folds the top over a pale ribbon; a running stitch holds it in place, invisible as she works it into the actual seam of the chemise. When she removes them, later, there will be barely a hint that she’d made any quick alterations.

It does, however, shorten the whole thing by about two inches, and it was short to begin with. That said, it works, and will easily be hidden by the bodice of the gown.

She has to make a few quick changes, like bringing up the front of the gown a barely noticeable amount so she won’t trip on it when moving. Cat hadn’t been able to guarantee that she wouldn’t be dancing, so it’s better to be safe than sprawled out across the floor.

By the time she brushes out her hair and finds some stockings she can put under the whole thing to keep her warm, Tara has noticed her efforts and hops up onto the window seat, watching Ferris try to wrangle the layers of delicate lace and do up the bodice at the same time.

“Would you like some help?”

She gives the tressym a grateful look. “Do you mind? I need a few more pairs of hands for this, I think, and I don’t want to bother Gale.”

The problem, they discover almost immediately, is that Tara must use magic…and her magic doesn’t last as long around Ferris as Gale’s does. “Damn,” Tara hisses. “You may need to ask Mr. Dekarios after all.”

Ferris takes a deep breath, preparing herself to brave the stairs in her current state, arms full of fabric and trying to maintain some level of modesty. She manages the journey without tripping, tapping the toe of her dress boot against the door frame.

“Gale?”

“Ferris.”

Her tone is syrup-sweet, and he knows it well; he’s about to be asked for something that could be as simple as ‘where did you put the black salt’ or as wild as ‘would you be upset if I’d, perhaps, hired some goats to nibble down the grass’. For the record, he wasn’t at all surprised by the goats—but he’d entirely forgotten they had black salt.

When he looks up, he does not expect to find Ferris, looking a bit shy and mostly in a silk slip while holding up the bodice of a dress and a whole cloud of warmly colored fabric. “Could you help? I need an extra set of hands. Tara did give it a go, but,” she shrugs and her hair falls gently over the slope of her shoulder. He wishes it was his doing, and that he was following that path with his mouth, but he can save that for a more private, guilt-ridden moment of fancy. “Well, she doesn’t exactly have thumbs.”

She doesn’t mention the magic.

“Tara—“ ‘is actually quite good at doing up complicated laces and buttons’ dies in his throat when the tressym in question glares at him from Ferris’ feet before stalking away. She’d turned traitor, then, unable to find a solution that didn’t involve interrupting him. “—did her best, I’m sure. Come here, let’s do you—no, get you done. Finish you off—oh get in here and turn around, do not laugh at my poor wording.”

“Thank you,” she gathers more her skirts and bounds over with far more grace than expected. He tries not to stare as she repositions the bust and slip. “I feel so naked without stays, but the dress has boning and Cat says it would ruin the silhouette.”

He adds Cat to the list of traitors. “And where are you and Miss Catriona going that warrants such daring?”

“An art thing,” she waves the hand not holding the bust in place as Gale begins the careful straightening of laces. A piece falls to the floor and Ferris swears. “Ah, hold on, there’s a shirt element to this damned thing.”

She let’s go of the dress.

And bends to pick up the sheer shirt.

In nothing but her white silk slip held up with a ribbon tied above her chest, the top folded over to hide the delicate bow. It’s similar to a piece of clothing he’s seen before, but it’s clear Ferris had made hers rather than have something crafted for the occasion. He can see the full extent of her shoulder blades, the full array of freckles, the way she’s adjusted and tied the shift.

Gale tries not to outwardly panic. He must do an excellent job because Ferris turns back to him, still talking as she does up the tiny, black pearl buttons on the top half of a sheer lace shirt. It will likely tuck into the bodice, but the pattern of it makes Ferris look like she’s swirled over with tattoos up to her neck where the high collar lays flush over her pretty, freckled skin.

The dress, he can’t help but notice, still lays puddled at her feet.

“Something about ‘textile as art’ it’s a whole study of it, and this is one of the dresses that was made—but fashion isn’t function and I don’t have a lady to dress me, so it falls to you to be my valet.”

“Wonderful,” he croaks out as Ferris bends again to gather the dress. “Let’s get you laced up and sent off then, I’m sure Cat will take fault with my work and make her own adjustments.”

“I’ll tell her off, defend your honor.”

She really shouldn’t, he’s having less than honorable thoughts about her in this very moment. Their new closeness is a curse as much as it is a blessing. “Much appreciated, my little swordswoman.”

“A veritable Blade of Waterdeep.”

“Waterdeep doesn’t deserve you.”

Ferris sniffs. “Fine, Blade of Dekarios. Just for you,” his heart stops a moment. “And for your lady mother. And Tara. And Cat, but that’s different. Well, she can count right? You’d loan me out.”

“Only for the worthiest of causes.” He gives a final tug. “Like defending her honor, or attending exhibitions about textiles as art as one of the pieces on display. Here, pull your hair forward and out of the way please.”

Gale sweeps his hand across her shoulders, and Ferris takes the gathered hair in her hands, pulling it out of the way as he finishes with the laces; there’s some straightening and tightening, making sure everything lays flat and looks as intended.

‘It’s quite a fetching dress,’ he admits privately once he gets the full view. The color is wonderful on Ferris, not something she usually wears, a rusty red that brings out her hair and freckles; the whole of her becomes an autumn leaf, the lace over her chest and arms leading into a darker bodice that flares out over layered skirts of similar colors with the lace reappearing in some places. She is the season itself and all its warmth, and if Gale was told she was a goddess of the fall, he’d believe it in that moment. “Stunning.”

Ferris swishes the skirts, a pleased smile on her face at the soft sound of cloth on cloth, the weight of them moving around her. “It is a rather nice dress, isn’t it?”

“I meant you in it,” he corrects gently. Ferris freezes, then looks down at herself.

“Oh.” She looks up. “I’m…rather more exposed than I anticipated.”

‘Than she was used to,’ he thinks. Though her arms are entirely covered, he understands what she means; there is a sense of seeing the forest through the trees, the way her freckled skin shows through the pattern of the lace, sunlight coming through a canopy and dappling the world in shadow.

“Would a jacket ruin the look?” He offers. “It might get cold on the way over and back, certainly after sundown.”

“I think it would be fine, I’m sure Cat will make me leave it at her’s before we walk over to the party anyway.”

Her fingers trace the edge of the lace over and over, and he recognizes that she would rather fist the fabric of her skirts but these are far too fine for her to wrinkle. Gale lays a hand over hers, realizing that her boots must have a significant heel because she stands taller than usual while he’s seated in his chair. “Would you like company on the walk over?”

There is no additional excuse, no thing he’d forgotten at Blackstaff, no imagined errand. An offer, plain and simple if she’d like. Ferris’ hands spasm with the desire to hold something, the need to do anything other than be still.

“That might be nice.”

He tips his head, patient.

“I—yes. Yes, I’d very much like your company,” she says more firmly, resolute in her final decision. After another moment, she leans in to kiss him; it’s only a simple press of lips, dry and warm, and her hand slips into his collar. He flinches back with a hiss at how cold her fingers are and Ferris laughs apologetically, taking a step back to help him up. “Let’s go, I’m sure there will be a whole to-do about my hair. Cat’s not used to styling length.”

Gale thinks of the other bard’s short, dark hair and nods. “Shame you can’t just braid it as usual.”

“I’m sure I could, but it would need to be fancy enough to match the dress, or I’ll get told off.” She hesitates, her hand lingering over her jacket.

“Here, take mine,” he holds out his coat and Ferris pauses briefly before accepting it; it’s longer and slightly warmer, a touch more waterproof but they are not anticipating rain or other precipitation. Those things are nice but, more importantly, it’s Gale’s coat. Very clearly Gale’s coat based on size and color, and it would smell like him. Even if no one else could tell, it would linger on her dress, a comfort for her and her alone. He doesn’t wait for her to turn him down, holding it open for her to slip her arms inside. Ferris doesn’t bother cuffing the sleeves, far more focused on how gently Gale pulled her hair from the collar as he smoothed it down.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “It makes up for the typical lack of layers.”

“True, you are short the usual chemise, stays, blouse, and sweater. I thought it would be a welcome weight.”

The air bites at her face the moment they step out the door, cold and sharp. “I didn’t know you paid such close attention to my state of dress, Gale.”

It sets him to stuttering, trying to come up with some excuse for this statement; he stumbles over phrases about her clothing, her body. She takes it all at its intended value (none) and enjoys the flow of the wizard’s voice. The coolness of the air hides her flush but it certainly deepens Gale’s, his tan skin turning darker and darker as he continues to dig himself into a verbal hole.

“It’s not that I am aware of your state of dress,” he finally takes a deep enough breath to steady himself. “Rather that I am aware of you.”

They’re outside of Catriona’s door, the warm glow of Waterdeep’s magic lights coming out to turn the wizard golden. He looks like the sun, like dawn and fire, and Ferris is overcome with a sudden need to burn and be consumed completely. It sparks low in the same, shivery way Gale touching her ears had.

“Gale, I—“ she tips her head up, eyes bright and searching when the door bangs open.

“Ferris, get in here this instant, we have to do your hair—oh,” Cat’s tone changes instantly to something far sweeter. “Hello, Gale. I’d invite you in, but two young ladies and at this time of night?”

He nods, face stern. “My honor must be protected, you are incredibly right.”

Ferris snorts and shoulders Cat aside, turning on the stairs. “I shouldn’t be too late.”

“Would you like me to wait up?”

She shakes her head, some of her long hair catching on the lace. Catriona rolls her eyes. “And this is why we have to put your hair up. I’ll have her back before morning, Professor Dekarios, I promise.”

“Have a lovely evening, ladies,” he bows deeply but does not miss Ferris sticking out her tongue as the door closes between them.

Spring’s dress makes Ferris want to throw up into the nearest vase.

It’s white with a few layers of delicate green gauze that lay like the petals of a flower over her hips, the stitching like veins of darker green and gold. Her bodice is studded with blossoms themselves, a riot of color against the white with no real pattern to them.

She’d worn something similar, for her patron.

He’d stained it red with her own blood, a red that matched the roses on the bodice when she stared at it on the floor, ruined and filthy. It had been the thing she’d fixed her eyes on as she drifted away.

Cat shakes her gently. “Ferris?”

“It’s nothing,” she says, voice hoarse. There’s no way the designer of the gown could have known how it would end up, and if she’s lucky there will be zero recognition from the woman herself, an older elf with silvery hair and gnarled hands. Ferris knows her, and she knows that the woman is old enough that her eyesight had been failing at the time of her gown’s creation. “Let’s move inside.”

“Shall we not greet—“

“I can’t,” she chokes. “Not right now. Cat, I can’t.”

The pleading in her voice is enough that Cat switches from ‘confused’ to ‘protective’ in an instant, putting Ferris on her other side and slipping them in a side entrance with a few amused servants. Let them think they’re away for a youthful dalliance or meeting paramours, it’s better than being recognized and forced to come to terms with an event from her past.

She’s here for Catriona, she’s here with Catriona, and her friend won’t let anything happen to her. Ferris is safe, she’s in Waterdeep, and the man who’d harmed her had bled out beneath her, she could feel his blood on her hands, hot and sticky and so red, red like her own, red like the gown, and it’s so odd that they’d bled the same color, so strange that monsters had the same hearts—

A cold glass is pressed to her forehead and Ferris startles out of her mind, tripping over the hem of her autumnal gown.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow,” Cat chides, but her eyes are soft. “Or if you’re determined, let me share the burden. I can take it Ferris, more than you’d think. The world isn’t always kind to us.”

“Do I need to kill someone?”

She’s only joking a little bit.

Cat shakes her head. “No, I found my own revenge.”

They’re out on a balcony and Cat closes the doors so that the growing sounds of the party become distant and muffled. Ferris sips at her whiskey. “I was thinking about how we have the same color blood as the monsters that masquerade as men.”

“Lovely!” Cat presses their shoulders together and Ferris passes her drink, watching Cat’s smile dim the slightest bit. “We fight our own battles, don’t we? College of Sword or not, the women of the world are more than pretty smiles.”

“We are gods,” Ferris tips her head back and stares at the stars. “Smaller, but no less powerful on our own scale.”

Cat rolls her eyes and takes Ferris’ glass from her, enjoying the burn of whiskey. “Gods, eh? Your wizard must be truly excellent in bed to have you declaring women gods and casually blaspheming after a few sips of spirits.”

Ferris chokes on air and Cat sighs deeply, patting her back and passing the glass over again so the smaller bard can knock it back, gasping. “He’s not—“

“Tragic.”

“Cat,” Ferris coughs around her laugh, the whiskey fighting the sharp inhale for the reason why she thumps at her sternum. “My gods, no. We…no. We haven’t. I wouldn’t know.”

She makes a disappointed face. “And here I’d heard you were courting.”

“Who told you?” A sudden panic floods her veins, too much all at once and it makes her feel faint. “Morena? Did she say something?”

“What?” Cat shakes her head. “No, it was the baker at the corner shop a few streets over from you, she said you’d been out in each others’ company more often, and close company at that. Was she right?”

Ferris glances away and it’s all the confirmation Cat needs; she crows her victory loud enough that a few people look their way through the doors of the patio. All they see is an excited young woman sweeping her friend into a wild embrace that spins them around and around until both are laughing, tears in their eyes. Once her feet touch the ground, Ferris sobers again, wiping at her eyes.

“We’re courting, I think. In our own way, and we haven’t announced it, we won’t until I…until I’m sure this is the right idea. I still don’t know, Cat. What if I’m simply incapable of love?”

Her friend waves her off. “You’re plenty capable of love, darling. Attraction, however…” her dark eyes skim the crowd and she points out a tall man, his hair blond and closely cropped; in his red jacket he looks regal, military, and Ferris cocks her head. “He’s fine to look at, does that ignite the same feeling as your wizard’s forearms?”

“Fuck off,” Ferris laughs as she moves to the rail, shifting her weight. “I’ll leave right now, I’ll jump the railing and you’ll have to explain why the ‘spirit of autumn’ has disappeared from the festivities.”

“See,” the other woman drapes an arm across Ferris’ shoulders, the perfect height to pull off such a thing. “You can feel attraction, sporadically and apparently only with rolled-up sleeves involved. Say, shall we ask the dashing young captain—ah, no you don’t.” She fists the skirts of Ferris’ dress as the small bard swings a leg over the railing, the massive amount of fabric hiding the motion from all but Cat. “Put your leg back on this side of the railing or I will pick you up like a naughty child.”

“Yes, mother dear.” Ferris relents, hopping off the railing. “It really is complicated, Cat. I wish it wasn’t. I wish I understood.”

It gets her ear a solid flick and Ferris feels nothing of the silken warmth that had flowed down her spine when Gale had touched them.

“You’ll be fine, I promise,” Cat says cheerily, looping their arms together. “Come along, the embodiments of winter and autumn must return to the party so that spring and summer don’t get all the attention.”

What she wants more than anything is to escape from the warmth of the party, which extends to the balcony. She wants to leap over the rail and race across the city until she’s among the trees with only the moonlight and owls for company. She allows herself to be led inside, allows Cat to push the young captain upon her for a dance; he’s lovely, he keeps his hands polite and barely touches her when they waltz, trained for propriety.

When he bows smoothly, Ferris curtsies and watches the flex of his fingers, expecting to feel the same way she does when Gale makes a similar motion, or when he casts spells.

Curiously, she feels nothing at all.

When she arrives home, Ferris is in her own clothing, her hair is a good six inches shorter and, to his surprise, loosely curling.

“Ferris,” he nods at her. “Did you cut your hair?”

She looks offended. “Of course not, I’ve been forbidden from touching it with any sharp object.”

Gale had hidden the scissors a few weeks ago and, to her credit, it’s a good enough cut that it doesn’t look like Ferris had made acquaintance with the business end of a dagger. Still not a professional job, however.

“Alright. Did Catriona cut your hair?”

“Perhaps.”

It looks nice, falling just past the bottom of her shoulder blades in waves that he’s sure had been pin curls earlier in the evening, likely at Catriona’s hand. Ferris looks elegant with her hair up, and in the gown she’d left in it’s entirely possible that hair and any cosmetics would come later. She looks up at him and yes, there is still a smudge of color to her lips and khol at the corners of her eyes that she hasn’t managed to wipe away yet.

Gale pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wetting the corner and murmuring a request to hold still; Ferris tilts her head back and closes her eyes, waiting for him to fix whatever he’s spotted. It’s a far cry from how she’d squirmed away then, and certainly different than how she would flinch away from all touch as he takes her chin in hand, angling her toward the light as he carefully erases the last of the makeup from her face.

The low fire catches her flushed cheeks and sets off her freckles, and he wants to kiss her again, almost dies until he remembers that he is to follow Ferris’ directive. Would she taste like wine? Whiskey? His breath catches and Gale strokes along the shell of her ear, absently tucking a strand of loose hair away.

Ferris’ lashes flutter as that unfamiliar, silky heat makes her want to squirm out of her skin. She hold perfectly still and hopes that he’ll do it again but Gale draws away, hands falling to his sides as though he isn’t sure what to do with them if he isn’t touching her.

She thinks she wants him to.

She isn’t sure.

Gale clears his throat. “Well, I think that was the last of whatever Catriona put on your face.”

“There was a stain, on my lips.” She isn’t sure why she offer that information, but when Gale’s eyes fall to her mouth she swallows instinctively, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips as they part slightly. “You should—could you check?”

In her head, Ferris imagines Gale reaching out to cradle her face as gently as he would a flower bud, fingers just at the edge of her jaw as he tips her head up to meet her half-way, pressing their lips together so sweetly she might burst. Butterflies rise up in her stomach, threatening to burst forth from her throat if she dares to speak, and Gale steps forward, his hand coming up—her eyes slip closed and Ferris holds her breath.

His thumb wipes over her bottom lip and she blinks back to herself, puzzled as he looks at his finger rather than into her eyes. “There’s no transfer, so whatever was there is long gone, or at least not at risk of smudging.”

“Oh.” She isn’t sure how to handle the sudden wash of disappointment that turns her insides to ice, nor the sickening feeling of despair. In books this seems easier, more straightforward, but since when has her life ever gone to plan? Gale pulls his hand away and she misses the care in his touch instantly. “Alright. Well, good night, I suppose.”

“I—Ferris, did you want something?”

“You,” she replies. “I was hoping you’d kiss me.”

Gale sighs. “I want to, but unless you direct me to—“

“We didn’t say that extended to kissing!”

“It stands to reason that it would, I assumed you would prefer it.”

Ferris squares her shoulders and tips her head back. “The touching we’ll work on, but kiss me whenever you’d like. And I hope to all the gods that you’ll do it right here and now.”

He does.

Chapter Text

Ferris is observant, she has to be; her ability to take in details in an instant, to recognize potential dangers, to document the world around her—all of these things have kept her safe as a child and then as an adult.

Well, as safe as circumstances always allowed.

The world is not kind to those who were small and naive, in her limited experience. There’s not really anyone else to ask, especially in their strange party, and her immediate goals are as follows:

Survive.

Don’t piss off anyone stronger than her.

Ferris thinks they’re good, achievable goals and work well together. If she can avoid making anyone too angry, if she can make herself seem useful or invaluable, it will be far easier to exist within the confines of this new social circle where everyone steps on toes and snaps their teeth in displays similar to that of dogs.

Wisely, she does not say any of that aloud, choosing to observe and only speak when spoken to—and wouldn’t her lady mother be proud of her for it? Ferris does not smile at the thought; smiling would encourage conversation, invite someone to ask ‘why’ and then she’d be noticed when her goal was to do the observing. Most of their group are shit at secrecy, and it’s quite an easy task to puzzle them out.

Shadowheart is lying about something, but she can’t put her finger on what. It doesn’t seem to be anything that could harm their group, so Ferris ignores it. It’s easiest after all. Gale is hiding something as well, and does an equally bad job of it. He gets winded easily, exhausted when the rest of them are fine, and it is clearly beyond the natural excuse of ‘bookish wizard’ that he tries to sell them. Ferris is tempted to ask if he’s got a bridge as well, but she’s sure Gale would launch into some lecture about the origin of the phrase, or how she was using it incorrectly.

Wyll, conversely, seems incapable of lying and sees Ferris as something to be handled delicately. She can’t tell if he thinks she’s younger than her years, or if he’s just that fucking good. A combination of both is mostly likely, but she casually mentions university and graduating, and she is treated less like a child after that. He still presents her with little daisies and tries to make her laugh, not at all deterred by her serious nature.

Lae’zel would run her through without hesitation, and Ferris gives her a wide berth; the githyanaki itches for a fight and, while trained well, Ferris knows she will not win against a warrior like Lae’zel. Karlach is her polar opposite—a ray of sunshine with a past that could have been better, but she tries to stay positive. She finds it admirable, and quietly adopts the attitude for herself as much as she can, shadowing Karlach’s large form and making attempts to talk with her even when she is not spoken to first. It clearly pleases the large tiefling, and Ferris finds herself adopted in as easily as a stray cat would be.

Speaking of stray cats…

The first thing she had notices was his eyes. The second was the lack of pulse when he had her pinned, and then when she shook his hand. The third was his elongated canines.

‘Well, he is out in the sun,’ she’d thought as she took her hand back. ‘Perhaps he just has strange teeth…the lack of pulse is odd, however.’

Ferris was unconcerned then, and continues to be.

Then the animals begin warning her of a pale creature hunting at night. She looks directly at Astarion Ancunín when a squirrel tells her to be wary of the pale hunter in elven form, and she sees his eyes narrow under her scrutiny.

Ferris is not stupid, but she also does not want to start trouble when none exists. There’s no need to kick a hornets’ nest, or to bother a sunning snake. The dark circles beneath the elf’s eyes worsen over the next few days and his attitude becomes increasingly shitty (even for him), but no one has hauled back and punched him for his whining so she ignores it too; she finds him abrasive, aloof, posh, fussy—a house cat grown fat and lazy finally turned out to hunt with little success.

It’s her mistake, then, for forgetting that even the most pampered cat is a capable beast with claws and teeth.

It’s telling as well that it’s not Astarion trying to bite her neck that makes her panic, but the fact that she is being held down, restrained under a man. He rolls away, barely dodging a punch thrown with all the power of adrenaline behind it.

“You’re too perceptive for your own good,” he complains as Ferris’ wills her hummingbird heart to slow. She can see how those red eyes zero in at the flutter in her throat. “Just a nibble?”

“Animals not doing it for you? Nothing to hunt around here?” She sits up, curling over herself. Small, make yourself small. “You know, the moment I shook your hand I knew you weren’t…alive. But with the sun, I didn’t know what variety of thing you were.”

“Not a thing,” he spits, his lip curling in a combination of disgust and anger. “I’m a person.”

There is something familiar in his eyes then, and Ferris hates that she can place it. “You’re right. My apologies, Astarion. You’ve been a capable fighter and a fine companion. Of course you are more than a thing.”

He sniffs, and seems to relax a little. “Yes. Well.” There is a pause as he considers how to continue. “You aren’t going to stab me? Alert the others?”

“No.” The two of them look at each other, two predators assessing now that they’ve been presented with new information; she knows what he is, he knows she’s more than capable of fighting back. “Why me?”

“You’re far more clever than I’d anticipated, it’s an inconvenience,” he examines his nails. “But you’re also the smallest. The weakest—well, physically, if one can gain the upper hand.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to assume they could control me with brute force,” she snorts. “Men, all the same.”

“That sort of thing is not my intent. I’m no rapist, I’m simply hungry,” the venom fades into a petulant whine. “Just a little, my dear. You’d be my first.”

“First?”

“I was expressly forbidden to drink from thinking creatures, from people.” He sees her open her mouth. “And before you say ‘all creatures can think’, don’t. It’s not the same.”

Ferris sighs, then shrugs. “Alright.”

“And I—what?”

“Alright.”

“You’re…frankly you’re handling this so well it’s alarming.”

She yawns, nearly on cue. “I’m tired, Astarion. I just want to sleep. One night without weird dreams or shit happening to us. Not all of us can trance.”

He laughs, high and tittering. “Fair enough, darling.”

She lays back down and he watches her closely as she gazes at the stars. They are both waiting.

“Will it hurt?”

When Astarion swings his leg over hers and braces his hands on either side of her head, Ferris seems smaller, younger than she had when asleep. Her entire body goes rigid, at the edge of flight, and he knows better than to assume it’s from being so close to a predator. He shifts so he’s no longer between her legs but disguises it as getting more comfortable and feels Ferris relax the slightest bit.

He sees no point in lying to her, not when she can see through him.

“Yes.”

She closes her eyes. “Try not to kill me. You’ll have to explain everything to a far less kind audience.”

He kisses her neck and she shudders just before his teeth sink in.

To his own credit, he does try to make it hurt as little as possible—but Ferris doesn’t have much extra on her bones. At least she doesn’t squirm around like an animal.

Strangely she relaxes further, far more trusting than she should be as her eyes flutter closed and her breathing deepens.

‘She’s going away,’ he thinks as he watches her face, feels her pulse. ‘There’s somewhere in her mind that’s safe.’

Astarion gets a few more good mouthfuls before a small, deceptively strong hand wraps around his bicep and squeezes. When he doesn’t stop, her nails dig in and he pulls away with a wince.

“I think,” she slurs out. “I might be a bit too small to make a filling meal.”

He feels…almost alive again. He feels powerful. Unstoppable, but there is resignation in Ferris’ eyes instead of the expected fear and it’s more sobering than a stake to the heart.

“You’ve done me a kindness, bard.”

“Sure,” she waves him off, settling her hand over the bite mark and he sees the glow of healing magic. “Lemme sleep now.”

Astarion considers his options, measures and weighs with care; she’s clever, hard to manipulate, but what Ferris seems to want above all else is to matter, even though she’s quiet and aloof. To be useful and wanted, and doesn’t he know how that feels? He can use this to his advantage, and perhaps she won’t see through it for long enough that he can ingratiate himself more firmly into both her good graces and the rest of their party.

People are attracted to confidence and Ferris exudes it, intentionally or not. It would be easy.

Her chest rises and falls evenly, her pulse slow, but she will live. Likely she’ll have a shit day tomorrow, and a clear bruise, but she’ll live.

The bruise the next morning is livid and dark, and it gets him a glares from Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll. Let them think what they want, Ferris doesn’t address it nor does she call attention to it, and the party carries on as usual other than Astarion being given a wide berth. Shadowheart had been closer to him before, and the concept of a friend was appealing, but now she lingers closer to Wyll and Gale, and even Lae’zel.

Karlach doesn’t seem to care either way, happily enjoying the day and loudly talking to Ferris about combat techniques as they stroll along. He has nothing to add, but he sticks close to the two women; neither are likely to chase him off, and if he’s seen with Ferris, the rest of them will start to associate him with the bard.

Her violin is nestled between her shoulder blades, cradled in a case—and now that he thinks about, Astarion is not sure he’s ever seen it out beyond the woman cleaning the strings and polishing the wood. Her swords cross behind her, bright and lethal, and when she laughs it startles him back to the present. It’s such a rare thing, and it’s often Karlach that pulls them from her. It draws both Gale and Wyll like moths to flame and he watches them carefully, almost as carefully as Ferris does. It’s as though she doesn’t trust them, and she doesn’t let them get too close. She stays close to Karlach, the tiefling a physical buffer and natural deterrent.

All they have to do is take down this goblin encampment and really, how hard can it be?

No one will get in his way should he make clear attempts to cover their little songbird, but he does need her to live. Everyone else does a spectacular job of ensuring her safety, especially Gale.

Particularly Gale.

It’s annoying, how close he tries to get to the bard; he needs her more than she needs him, with her bloodhound nose for magical objects that she hands over without considering their value and the wizard is sickeningly grateful for it. He’s been looking particularly shit the past few days but doesn’t slow them down too much.

Until the damn camp when Astarion thinks his entire plan will go up in smoke, when Gale falls to his knees and Ferris darts over with hands ready to heal, when the wizard presses her palm to his chest and he can see the world slow around the two of them like it’s a godsdamned storybook. A fight rages on around them but Gale is talking and Ferris helps him up, hands clasped together with a look of determination on her face.

Astarion needs to make his move and quickly, before everything goes to shit. At least he can take it out on the goblins for now, and hopefully that idiot druid isn’t dead yet.

Ferris’ eyes lock onto his across the fire and when she smiles it’s easy and true; it’s not a smile she’s given to anyone, at least not consciously, and she blames it on the flow of wine, the atmosphere, the music. It’s strange to be loved, strange to be wanted and respected and sought out. She enjoy it, but it’s overwhelming and the more people approach her and thank her, touch her, the more she wishes to crawl out of her skin. The thanks begin to itch, the joy begins to grate. When Wyll pull her away to dance, she relaxes into his arms.

“How do you stand it?” she grumbles. “Being a beloved hero.”

He laughs, spins her out and then pulls her close. The only time she doesn’t mind being touched like this is when they’re dancing, and Wyll is often an exception to the rule anyway; he never lets his hands wander, never so much as looks at her inappropriately. Truly, he’s a prince. A hero, handsome and kind and wonderful.

“Not cut out for it?” He teases.

“Absolutely not,” she replies quickly. “I’d love to run off into the woods right this instant, the only thing stopping me is your footwork.”

When the song lulls, the pause before another starts, he bows and kisses the back of her hand. “If it helps,” he smiles broadly. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

She doesn’t believe him, not full, but he’s so honest that it’s something she tucks into the back of her mind, ready to pull out the next time she doubts herself. Wyll is called away for another dance and he gives her fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze before he leaves her alone, a reminder that she is alright. She watches him go and sees Astarion merge into the trees, a pale shadows that fades like a ghost. There’s no words exchanged, but she knows he wants her to follow. Ferris doesn’t do so immediately, taking her time and slipping away once there are no eyes on her. It’s an art she’s perfected, as someone who disliked being the center of attention but often finding herself in the eye of the storm.

The sounds of the party die away, and there is precious little by way of animal chatter—it’s how she knows she’s going the right direction, prey silent in the wake of a dangerous predator. Astarion stands, marble white and gleaming in a clearing. It’s beautiful, somewhere she’d like to have discovered on her own, but she does not mind sharing it.

“Hello, darling.”

She’s never seen him as a predator before, but here and now she’s beginning to understand why people fear wolves. The hair on her arms prickles, stands up, and her skin feels too tight, her heart kicks up, she feels like she’s been hit with an ice spell.

“Astarion—“ his mouth is on hers and she finds her back against the rough surface of a tree; the bark bites through her shirt, sharper than the man’s teeth. She fists her hands in his collar and tries again, turning away with a gasp; she forgets the man doesn’t need air. “Please—“

Mechanically, she knows what a ‘good’ kiss feels like, she’s has a few in her life. Ferris knows she’s a capable kisser, and Astarion is as well, but this is rote. Practiced. Calculated. The world falls away, her mind quiets into its safe place and she can feel herself retreating for her own protection. The sweetest nothings are being whispered in her ear, but she cannot hear them.

“That’s it, sweet thing. No need to be so modest,” he kisses down the column of her throat and Ferris leans her head back, eyes sightless. She may as well close them, and she does. It’s always easier—

Look at me. Open your eyes. Look at me.

The thought skims her mind just as Astarion’s sharp canines just graze the swell of her breast as his hands find her belt, and the unfamiliar familiarity of it all crashes down with the force of a waterfall; she’d never been allowed belts or pants, never had healing bruises from a vampire’s meal jolt pain across her skin. The hands fisted in his shirt have feeling in them again, and she shoves him away.

“No.”

“No?”

“You don’t want me,” she glances away, ashamed that she cannot look at him in this moment, her confidence and strength withered in the harsh light of truth. “You want what you think I can give you.”

Protection. Strength.

People don’t want her, they want their idea of her: the bard, the diplomat, the shepherd. The dutiful daughter, the fearless warrior, the maiden, the mother, the whore—her nails bite into her palm, not long enough to draw blood when she still keeps them performance-ready, trimmed and neat. It hurts more to be here and now, with someone she’d trusted not to use her like this, someone who knew himself what it was like.

“That’s not true darling,” Astarion’s sensual purr has a hint of something desperate as he closes in on her again; Ferris flinches away, stance defensive, and he stops, face dark with frustration. “Come now, there’s no need—“

He steps into her space and there’s a knife pressed against his gut, the point threatening to draw blood; her breath is quick, and there’s panic in her eyes. “Don’t. Don’t do this. You don’t want this either, you don’t have to—I’ll protect you, Astarion. I swear if, but I don’t need—we don’t—“ Ferris sucks in a breath and her hands tremble. “Please.”

“Does the idea of having sex with me really repulse you so?” He doesn’t move away, does not so much as glance down; Astarion knows it’s the knife that Shadowheart had given her. Silver, sharp, easily concealed in feminine clothes to protect from monsters. “Darling, I’m hurt.”

“This isn’t fucking funny, Astarion,” she snaps, and the tremble in her hands becomes more pronounced. The point just digs in, and despite the tadpole there’s a burn like a bee sting. “Never again. I finally have a choice and no one will ever take that from me again.”

It’s more than she should have said. It’s far less than she should say. Recognition thaws Astarion’s practiced leer into something curious, softer. “Never again?”

Ferris curses and steps back, the thick, dark red of Astarion’s blood staining the tip of her knife and blooming sluggishly across his stomach. “Sorry,” she mumbles, reaching a hand forward. “I can heal that, if you’d lift your shirt.”

“Goodness,” he teases, falling easily back into the familiar pattern of secrets to mask the horrors and silence to hide the past. “And here I thought you wouldn’t want to get me out of my clothes after all.”

“Fuck off,” she wrinkles her nose as she presses her palm against his cold skin, suffusing magic into the area and feeling the skin knit back up. Ferris gently pulls the fabric from him and Mends it, concentrating the magic like the finest of needles as the threads weave together again. “I can’t get the blood out. Sorry.”

There’s more than just the shirt she’s apologizing for, they both know it. Stars above them, ground below, and secrets in between.

Astarion pats her on the head as he goes in the direction of the stream, pausing just before he leaves the clearing for the dark safety of the trees. “For what it’s worth darling,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Ferris’ ears to hear. “I’m glad you stopped me.”

She says nothing, does not even watch him disappear, only sinks to her knees in the grass and digs her fingers in, letting soil press into the whorls of her skin and under her nails. If she breathes deeply enough, she can taste everything on the air—the woodsmoke, the wine, the sweat of bodies in their revelry, all of them wholly unaware of what had just happened. Astarion wouldn’t breathe a word of it, that much she knew. It was unlikely anyone would suspect what transpired, or at least not be able to guess how it went.

‘I’m glad you stopped me.’

He didn’t want this either, didn’t want her. It’s a relief now, rather than a sudden, crashing disappointment, and both of those things are new. The disappointment in not being desired is oddly sick and queasy, strange and heavy. It settles in her gut, but the relief of not being used and being understood, knowing someone else understood. Astarion doesn’t know the details, but he knows.

It’s only when the silence presses in, muffling everything else, that the words come out, even though he’s too far away to hear them now.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “For understanding, for knowing.”

Chapter Text

Thus begins a game of chicken Ferris plays with herself and, to his own detriment, Gale—though he is a willing participant. He kisses her now, the freedom to do so even more intoxicating than the taste of her; Ferris often chews on mint, crushes lantana and basil and rosemary between her fingers, and he can smell them lingering on her skin when she sighs and threads her fingers into his hair, keeping him close as he kisses her until she’s satisfied (which takes a while, but he doesn’t mind) or he must return to whatever he was doing. She kisses him the way he used to kiss her, gentle presses to the top of his head, his brow, his temple, and darts in to kiss the corner of his mouth, quick as a minnow.

Ferris flashes bright and bold, and seems to thrill at the ability to touch him. She’ll stand between his legs when he’s seated and lean in close, taller than him for once as she traces the lines of his neck and shoulders with her palms, memorizing them as her breath catches and her lashes flutter, distracted when Gale tips his head back to kiss her.

She isn’t unfamiliar with men, but the concept of control and having it is entirely foreign—and that might make it worse. Ferris is by no means cruel, and not deliberately teasing, but her curiosity and wandering hands light a fire that makes him burn.

Especially as she grows bolder.

Her eyes will linger a touch too long, catching his, and she’ll stare him down and say “strip”.

Not an order, never an order, but he follows it anyway, methodically and carefully, never rushing and always aware of Ferris’ eyes. At times they’re merely curious, others they’re heated; either way, they roam his form, linger in certain places that he didn’t think warranted much attention. Ferris seems to love the sweep of his clavicle, the length of his forearms. He keeps fit, despite the lack of constant adventure, and he is not ashamed at the softness comfort brings, but the things Ferris’ lingers on are not because she dislikes them. Not that it mattered, because Gale would flay himself of his own skin if she asked, to show her how his heart beat for her, and her alone. Perhaps she would cradle it with the same care and gentleness she shows flower buds, or maybe she would hold it tightly, squeeze until he was gasping.

He’d let her, and the thought isn’t terrifying.

He’d let her.

“Stop,” she’ll say once he’s out of his robes or shirt (his skin still mercifully holding him together) and his trousers are open, a flush down his neck to his chest in a way that makes his scar stand out, strange and pale. Ferris will rise, approach, and assess like he is a game of lanceboard and he allows her to touch him, gentle and curious until she grows bolder.

Sometimes she’ll kiss him while her hands roam, and the second he can feel her slip into rote memory she’ll break away and leave, eyes sharp like cornered prey; detumescence has Gale weighing the merits of patience or his own hand on multiple occasions.

Other times she will simply sit in his lap, rest her head in the crook of his neck, and bring his hands around to hold her, shaking as she adjusts to being held beyond a simple embrace. Gale talks, voice low and calming like the streams she so loves to watch. He whispers affection and words of love into her hair as Ferris quiets, holds him in return.

Sometimes, gods help him, sometimes she will slam her book shut and stalk over as though he’d offended her, falling to her knees and waiting for his nod before she undoes his belt and his trousers and tugs them down just far enough to suck him off.

The first time she’d done it had been a shock, Gale sputtering excuses while she glared up. “I think I’ll like it more if I’m in control,” she’d said, determined. “Please?”

And, selfishly, he’d let her.

Gale had gripped the arms of his chair with enough force that they threatened to crack, fighting back restless energy as Ferris pulled him from his trousers, already half hard at the sight of her on her knees; she’d looked incredibly smug but Gale hadn’t had time to comment on it before her lips traced down a vein and her tongue licked up the underside of his cock, swallowing him down eagerly.

Her mouth is wicked on a good day, all witty retorts or charming, infuriatingly sweet poetry that drips like honey from her lips. Gale is convinced that there’s still magic there when she sings.

He is certainly convinced of it when she’s on her knees.

It’s maddening.

He doesn’t touch her, not unless she explicitly tells him to or places his hands herself.

He wants to touch her.

Truthfully, he has tried—allows her to place his hands but Ferris shies away or startles when he tries to do more than simply hold her and it’s better he doesn’t. She lets him know where his hands can be, and he welcomes the guidance, relishing each second he can hold her, touch her—

It’s not enough.

And it’s one of those days.

There’s a gleam in her eyes, the start of a wicked idea, and Gale quickly makes a note of where he is in the essay he is grading before Ferris can cross the room; he wonders how far she’ll allow herself to go this time as she stops before him, hesitating. They’re used to this, the pause where she considers the approach, the attempt, the possibilities. She knows he won’t hurt her. He knows she trusts him. Ferris takes a deep breath.

“Robes.”

Gale undoes his robes, leaves them hanging open, and watches her eyes follow his hands with each clasp; she’s always liked his hands. When he finishes, he sits back, waiting.

Ferris’s hands reach up to her cardigan and she undoes the toggles, the wood of them tapping against the floor when she allows it to slide off her arms. She’s in an old shirt with her stays over top, comfortable trousers for around the house—not yet dressed for the day and cannot help but wonder if she’d planned this.

“This is new,” he says pleasantly, teasingly. There’s a bravery in her face that makes him think the teasing would be welcome. Ferris glances up at him through her lashes and he knows something is different here.

“Shirt,” she replies, and he obeys once more. His wrap shirt hangs open, his chest on display. When she turns around, Gale thinks the game over until she clears her throat. “Laces, please.”

His hands do not shake when he loosens the laces of her stay, but it’s a close thing. A bit of wiggling on her part, and they join her cardigan on the floor as she turns around.

She takes his hands and places them on her waist, under the soft fabric of his old shirt taking the place of her usual her chemise, taking a shuddering breath and holding it for a count of four that he can hear in her head. “Off.”

Gale does not breathe as he skims his hands up over her ribs, her arms, until the fabric whispers to the pile and Ferris is bare from the waist up. She takes his hands again, places them so the dips of his forefinger and thumb cradle the underside of her breasts.

He doesn’t move.

“Touch.”

The gods must love him today. Gale drags skin over skin to palm her breasts, delighting at her sucked-in gasp and subsequent sigh when he thumbs over a nipple, feeling it pebble under his touch. It’s better than he’d imagined, touching his bard—his bard—and he meets her eyes, waiting, wanting.

Ferris kisses him and he makes a happy little groan when her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer; his other hand falls to her hip, a safe, clothed area, and she steps forward. When she tips her head back, Gale presses kiss after kiss down her throat, over her clavicle, the tops of her breasts. She moves to straddle his lap, and the fingers in his hair twitch before tightening and guiding his mouth to a nipple.

He must have been very well behaved in a past life to deserve this now.

Ferris is panting in his lap, eyes wide as they move from Gale’s lips to his flushed cheeks and back again, and she reaches up to thread her fingers into his hair. “Is this alright?”

She asks it so softly, so delicately. He smiles and leans into her touch. “Of course. If you’re alright, that is.”

A short nod, and she gives his hair a little tug, experimental in its purpose, and he moves with it, willing and calm. Showing her that it was alright, that she is in control, even as she loses it. Each flick of his tongue, each wet suck has her hips twitching and he does nothing to discourage the movement; in fact, he uses the hand on her waist to help her develop a rhythm that has him dangerously aroused too.

‘This is how it will feel when she rides you,’ his traitorous mind supplies and the thought alone is enough to push him to the edge.

“Gale,” she gasps, grinding against him; he pulls back and she collapses, breath hot against his neck. “Gale, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t, how could he?

Ferris keeps the rhythm he’d helped her set, a frustrated knit to her brows; his other hand falls to her waist, and he encourages her to tilt her pelvis. She yelps, sudden and sharp, but any concern he has is instantly alleviated when Ferris repeats the movement. “Oh, that’s—“

She is close to…something. She isn’t sure what, but it feels like electricity, like how it used to feel when Gale touched her and the Weave crackled under her skin and in her blood; if she can only chase it, run it down—her wizard is focused on her face, watching closely as she pants like an animal, base and coming apart at the seams. Something, it’s something, it’s looming, and—her breath stops, the world stills, and suddenly she is falling.

The sharp smell of her arousal, sour-sweet, pulls her back into the present and she freezes; his hands don’t move, he doesn’t move, even as he longs to grind up against her and chase his own release. Gale closes his eyes, his head falling to rest against her clavicle and fights instinct; Ferris knows what he wants, and she loves giving in to him, but she needs to reassemble herself and remember how to stop shaking so she can give him the least of what he’s owed.

Her breath comes in short staccato bursts, lengthening by the second until it has returned to normal and he braces himself for her absence, to take himself in-hand and think about all he wants to do but will not.

Not yet.

Not without her consent.

Someday he’ll take her and it will be so sweet, so earned, so longed for—

All thoughts flee when Ferris moves again, rocking down into his lap. When his hands tighten to keep her there, she smiles; there’s a lingering sadness in it and he isn’t sure why, he can’t find the words to ask and, even if he had them, he’s not sure Ferris would be able to explain either. “Take what you need,” Ferris kisses his jaw, his cheek, his nose, then his lips. “Go on. I trust you, go on and take it, wizard.”

He wants to.

She trusts him, and he wants to.

So he does.

Gale pulls her down as he thrusts up against her, grinding hard with each press to chase his release through gritted teeth and gods save him because Ferris is helping, moving of her own accord and whispering in his ear.

Gale hasn’t spilled in his trousers since he was a teen, but he’s certain that he’s going to now, and he doesn’t hate the idea. In his lap, Ferris arches and lets her head fall back and he cannot help himself; he takes a nipple into his mouth and she moans so loudly he thinks she’s in pain. It’s not until her fingers hold him close and she demands his mouth that he continues, letting his eyes slip shut as his singular focus becomes her again.

Ferris huffs in what might be exasperation when his movements become languid, sensual rather than a frantic chase, but she says nothing, only threads her hands into his hair as he brings a hand up to palm her other breast. Every small hitch of her breath is audible, and each little sound is added to his inventory of her; Gale releases her nipple with a wet ‘pop’ and her laugh is softly indignant. He wants to move to the other, but a tug to his hair has his eyes meeting hers, dark with want.

“Tell me what you’re imagining,” she kisses his cheek, the high point just under his eye. “I want to hear it.”

She is rocking in counterpoint with his slowed thrusts and there is sweat beginning to dampen her hairline. Gale groans into her neck with a force that startles him, even as his fingers dig into her hips.

“You,” he gasps. “You, and all the ways I want to take you, fill you, all the ways I want to have you.” He holds her down and grinds, the dampness of her trousers startling. ‘I caused this,’ his mind supplies greedily. ‘I make her feel this way, no one else.’ His lips graze the junction of her neck and shoulder and when Ferris whimpers softly, his control snaps.

“I want to know you in ways no other person ever will, completely and fully. I want to watch you come apart over and over by my hand, my power—no one else’s.”

He should still his tongue, he should stop before he scares her, but Ferris is gasping and meeting his every thrust and he hears that new, telltale hitch in her breath that he is just coming to know: if he’s guessed right he has her on the edge again, and the thought thrills him.

“I want you so terribly it makes me feel monstrous,” one of his arms comes up to encourage the arch of her back, and he rewards her with a playful bite to her left breast; her whine is all the reward he could want in this moment. “I love you so completely it terrifies me.”

She’s known worse monsters than him.

“Less words,” she squirms from his light hold, leaning forward to kiss him and use his shoulders as leverage to grind down, sharp and quick thrusts that have him seeing stars. The dampest part of her is right over the head of his cock and it’s driving him to madness. She brings his wayward hand back to her hip. “Want to see you, come on. Use me, wizard.”

Gale throws his head back and thrusts up into her heat a handful of times more before he spills, his trousers damp with more than just her now. Ferris doesn’t fight against his hold so much as she uses it as her own leverage and she shudders against him, eyes closed and lips parted, and he cannot resist kissing her, soft and sweet between gasping breaths as she comes down, as they both come down.

The gentle moment does not last long.

Ferris’ breath stutters and she sits up, pushing away from him and putting some space between their chests—he mourns it immediately.

He’s never been so bold before, never defied her whims, but having her fall apart in his arms twice, so open and soft and beautiful…he needs her. His hands press against the tops of her thighs, begging her to stay.

“It’s alright,” he says softly. “Please, do not go yet.”

He shouldn’t have kissed her like that, but there was something so different about this time, about Ferris allowing him to see her pleasure, allowing herself to have it; Gale suspects that after she disappears, she does not touch herself—a far cry from his near-immediate fumbling to strip his cock almost painfully until he finds relief at the thought of her. He’s too much, too needy, too human, imperfect and clinging and mortal.

Shame bubbles up, then, a sickness in his gut that had not come those times before, and Ferris must see something in his face because the panic of being restrained, even minutely, fades fast into concern.

“Gale?” A delicate hand brushes the hair back from his face and he shudders out a sigh.

‘She has callouses,’ he reminds himself; Mystra’s hands, celestial or otherwise, had never known work or scar, and Ferris is present and alive and, despite her own fears, still in his lap.

“Have I done something wrong?”

Ferris’ voice is quiet and he can feel the shame bleed away. “No, sweet thing, you’ve done nothing wrong. You mustn’t let my silly needs—“

“They’re not ‘silly’,”she interrupts before he can fully pull the rug over his emotions. “You looked…like I get, sometimes.”

‘Far away, on a shore no one can pull me back from,’ she means.

“I…Mystra, she…” he begins, suddenly aware of how sticky they both are, how raw and human and spent from mutual pleasure and here he is, starting to talk about a former lover. “If I promise to have this conversation after we have both cleaned up, would that be alright? I can’t, I—not like this.”

Ferris kisses his cheek, chaste and sweet. “Five minutes.”

“Ten, my dear. I need additional time to collect myself.”

She tips her head. “Do you want me to stay with you? Not talking, just…near you?”

Would it be better, to have her in his orbit? Knowing that she was close enough to touch, corporeal and keen on her promises?

‘Yes,’ he thinks, but all he can do is nod.

When the bard stands on trembling, coltish legs, some of the satisfaction of a job well done replaces the hollow ache in his chest as Ferris leads them up the stairs to his room; his shirt and robes are mostly off so he sheds them like a snake does skin. He only hesitates a moment before removing his trousers and smalls as well, but is not shocked to find Ferris standing near him with a damp cloth and an expectant expression, already in one of his oversized shirts, her own trousers somewhere among his own scattered clothes. Gratefully, he takes it and turns away to wipe himself clean, grimacing at the tackiness of cooled spend.

He could magic it away, but it feels wrong.

The cloth is rinsed out and he startles when Ferris presses herself flush against his back, skin cool where they touch. When he opens his mouth to speak, she shushes him. “You still have another six minutes.”

If he wants it. If he needs it.

He does.

Ferris tangles their fingers together and leads him to bed; he hates the brave set of her face, hates that it’s there because of his silly need to feel someone real and warm near him, hates that he is making her do this without explaining first—and then she wraps herself around him from behind, holding him as sweetly as she can manage, and he feels tears prick at his eyes.

“Mystra was not one for post-coital afterglow,” he murmurs, immediately thankful Ferris has chosen to not face him. It’s easier, and he knows she’s done it on purpose because she is the same way, unable to show her weaknesses. “My pleasure was secondary, something I am entirely alright with, but even then there was a feeling of being…used. Like something cheap, and then cast aside once it had served its purpose. Nothing like what you—“

“It’s not a competition,” she kisses his shoulder and he can feel her lips move when she speaks. “I promise you, both these things can exist in the same space and still not make either of us more or less.”

“If you say so, I suppose it must be true.” Gale closes his fingers over the small bones of her wrists, feeling the pulse there.

Warm. Real. Warm. Here.

“The times before, they were alright. I have not hidden this from you for your sake, so please do not think uncharitably of yourself.”

“If you say so,” the imitation of his voice says between his shoulder blades and Gale cannot help the huffed laugh.

“I do say so. This was different. Seeing you take your pleasure—I have known no greater satisfaction, truly. Having you come apart in my arms and be so open, so vulnerable,” his hand tightens and Ferris shifts closer. “I needed to hold you, after. To know you were real, and that you weren’t going to cast me aside. Being able to share pleasure with you made it all very real.”

“Turn over,” she demands, and Gale goes willingly in the circle of her arms to tuck his face into the curve of her neck, a space quickly becoming his favorite. Before he can hesitate, Ferris hauls his arm up and places it comfortably where her waist dips, and Gale relaxes into her hold. “I have been selfish—“

“You have been finding ways to reclaim part of yourself,” he corrects.

“I have been selfish,” Ferris continues anyway, fingers looping through a curl of his hair. “What you need is just as important, a piece to this puzzle I think. You are right in assuming that it’s not dissimilar to my own experience. I did not know that there was anything that came after, Gale. I am familiar with beasts of many kinds, but softer things are still a novelty. It is not wrong or selfish to want to be close to someone, I think.”

“It would be more convincing if you didn’t sound like you were giving a speech to the troops before marching against an impossible enemy.”

“Shush, wizard. I’m doing my best,” she holds him tighter. “This, I think I can do. I was…scared. It is not something I have known before. There are not many good feelings I associate with sex.”

He knows, and his grip tightens.

“But today,” she hesitates. “Today something felt…today I wanted, and a small part of my mind told me how I might seek it out. And I…”

A strange anxiety slides over his skin. “Ferris, was that your first orgasm with another person?”

She mumbles something and he misses it.

“Pardon?”

“I think so?”

Gods help him. Gods save him, rather.

“Well,” he says before he can stop himself. “Do let me know if you enjoyed it, and I will make myself available for future experimentation. That is to say, I would very much like to give you pleasure—not that receiving and witnessing are any chore, gods no, but I am quite skilled with my hands, as you know, and I’ve been told my mouth has its uses, and I am going to stop talking now.”

“I like your forearms,” Ferris blurts out in response, face entirely red despite Gale being the one embarrassing himself. “Before I knew, Astarion used to tease me for how much I talked about your hands—remember that time Karlach choked and he was dying laughing? It was because you’d rolled up your sleeves and I made this strange little whimper and it sent Karlach over the edge.”

He did remember, and he remembered how uncharacteristically well Astarion took his scolding for laughing at Karlach’s plight, a genuine smile on his face and mirth in his eyes—not at his friend choking, no, at Ferris’ reaction to him merely rolling up his damned sleeves. Gale laughs into her neck and feels her giggling as well.

“Well. If you’d ever like to know first-hand just how dexterous I am, do be sure to let me know.”

The two of them settle, Ferris tracing patterns across his shoulders and down her spin as far as she can reach; his own arm remains heavy over her hips, an anchor; he’s not sure if it’s for her, a reminder to stay, or for him to know she’s there and real. It’s strange, to know she’s about to speak before she does, to feel the rumble of her voice beginning in her chest. “Before…to take my pleasure at all seemed foreign. I wasn’t aware it could feel so…” she tries to search for words and he waits, patient. “Good?”

“I’d hope it was better than good,” he teases before sobering. “Ferris, perhaps before we go further, it would be best if I knew what bothers you.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong—“ she starts to protest, trying to sit up but he tightens his arm around her and he can see the flash of fear across her face. “Gale.”

“There, like that. The moments where you try to bury the fear, those. What makes you worry, what makes you fear this?” He strokes a finger along the shell of her ear and watches her eyes flutter shut. “Tell me, so I never make you afraid.”

She snorts. “Let’s start by setting realistic goals, wizard,” Ferris shifts them so that Gale is on his back, her body half on him like a blanket. His shirt twists around her hips and he’s aware of the bare skin of her leg as it rests over his own. “There will likely always be things that frighten me and that’s simply how it will be—the difference is that it’s you, and I trust you not to hurt me. You aren’t him, and I am not the same person I once was. The truth is, Gale, I want you to hold me. I want to feel all of you, enveloping me to the point where it’s almost overwhelming. Or at least I think I do. The idea of it isn’t unappealing, especially in the moment, and I think that terrifies me more than any other possibility.”

Gale kisses at the soft skin of her neck, memorizing the spray of freckles along her jaw as he murmurs encouragement against her pulse. ‘I love you so completely it terrifies me.’ His own words snake back into his mind and he would never dare place a label on what Ferris feels, but he sees that panicked push and pull in her, the same one he’d felt in those initial days before the storm had passed and he’d floated on the sea of knowing and wanting and loving, kept above the water by glances and laughter and fleeting happiness. He has never felt so buoyant.

“I liked seeing you lose yourself,” Ferris’ hand in his hair stills a moment. “I felt…it didn’t feel like I was being used as a means to an end. It was different because it was you.”

“Well, I will continue to be myself for as long as you’ll have me, and very likely after that.”

Gale looks up into Ferris’ face, her brows slightly furrowed as she searches his eyes, the quirk of his mouth before she kisses his nose, then his cheek.

“There’s not going to be an ‘after me’, Gale. I promised you that much.”

When their lips meet, it’s soft; there’s no urgency, only quiet promise.

He wishes she’d just say that she loved him, anything less devastating than the continued vows to stay with him, always at his side. Love feels far more manageable, far simpler, than such declarations.

Neither of them have ever been simple.

Chapter Text

Fool’s spring comes, thawing the city just enough to fool everyone into thinking they can put away their winter garb and begin to consider airing out homes, beating quilts, and planting bulbs.

More importantly, Ferris thaws too.

She brushes herself against Gale like a contented cat, flinching far less when he reaches for her, languid and pleased. Quite often he ends up with a lap full of her, though it doesn’t always end with mutual frottage. Most of the time she simply wishes to be close; if she could bury herself in his chest and remain there forever, she would.

Gale, for his part, is still careful with his touches. He is more liberal with them, and waits for Ferris to settle rather than not reaching for her at all. It’s something both of them have come to understand and enjoy as they learn each other.

She is nothing like Mystra.

He is nothing like a Baldur’s Gate lording.

One thing he does learn is that Ferris is far less concerned with her enjoyment than she is his, often getting caught up in her head. She loves to touch, to kiss, to stoke the flames higher and higher now that she knows there won’t be disastrous consequences, that she can explore to her heart’s content.

She takes her time now, and it very well may be the death of him.

Gale does his own exploration, with slightly more intent. Discovering new ways to pull a variety of sweet sounds from his bard is a constant delight, a game all his own where there is no way to lose.

The only one unamused is Tara.

“For gods’ sake, can you at least act upon your base natures in private?”

Gale hides his face in the crook of Ferris’ neck as she shakes with laughter, his hands still under her shirt. From her spot on his lap, Ferris tries to sound at least a little composed. “Apologies, Tara,” she says and Gale thinks it’s going well until she continues. “But in our defense, I wouldn’t call myself a quiet person, and Gale certainly isn’t.”

Both he and Tara sputter and trip over their replies, everyone suddenly indignant rather than embarrassed. He and Ferris do their best to remember to at least close doors, if not lock them, and Tara takes to knocking more often than before. Apparently, before the bard had moved in, there was never any untoward behaviors for the tressym to worry about. Ferris doesn’t take offense, simply shrugs at the likely truth.

On the brighter side, it encourages Ferris to think about things outside their stone walls and locked doors; now that she’s grown more comfortable with his hands in various private places, it doesn’t startle her when she’s touched in less intimate ways. He keeps his hands mostly to himself, in public, and it starts to make her itch, longing for the familiarity she’s grown used to.

“You can touch me,” Ferris announces with no small degree of determination, lacing her boots for their trip to the market. “When we’re out.”

The phrasing sends his mind spiraling, she can see it clear as day.

“Ah, I will endeavor to remember that. Thank you, my dear.”

He does remember; a hand on her back, never low enough to be suggestive, a touch to her hip or arm to steer her, whichever was closest. She only flinches once or twice, catching herself quickly, both of them early in the day.

The touches are not anything erotic or untoward, but Gale touching her—the sense of possessiveness heats her blood until she thinks it must show on her face. The sun of false spring is still weak enough that she isn’t likely to burn, but she hopes people read any flush as exertion rather than the still strange novelty of simmering arousal.

‘Is this normal?’ She has to focus on the placement of her feet to stay upright. ‘How do people manage?’

A broad hand lingers at the small of her back and Ferris sucks in a breath before she can stop herself.

“Are you alright?”

“Perfectly,” she replies with complete composure. Gale believes her, and Ferris heats by incidents, itching to get home while outwardly acting the perfect image of a lady. It’s not easy, but she has always been a consummate professional in these matters, an excellent actress.

The second they’re home, however, Ferris presses Gale back against the closed door, desperate to be as close to him as possible.

“Please,” she begs, hands fumbling with the button fly of his trousers. “Gale please.”

She likes this, the control she has despite being the one on her knees; it was never like this, before, but she also had never asked for it, never wanted or saw the appeal beyond some slight preparation before her patron would—Ferris shudders, the memory falling away as she leans forward and breathes in Gale and his floral, bookish scent. He smells more like a man here, at the crease where thigh meets groin, from her limited experience.

“Ferris, what—“

“Please,” she insists again, somehow still shy of begging. “I want to put my mouth on you.”

He could say ‘no’, he’s said it a few times before when he was too tired or, on one memorable occasion, too filthy—but Ferris can tell he enjoys her mouth. Better still, she knows she’s good at this. Gale’s clever fingers brush loose strands of hair from her face before he nods. “Alright, do as you like.”

Ferris likes to start slow.

A deep inhale as she strokes from root to tip, leaning in to truly absorb the uniquely male smell; a sigh as she traces her tongue over the tip before kissing down his shaft and licking her way back up to seal her lips over the head, tasting salt and heat. His fingers tighten in her hair when she relaxes her tongue and throat, taking more of him. Gale, she assumes, is a little longer than average, but thick. When she sucks him in earnest, her lips stretch obscenely around his cock, almost enough to hurt. It forces her to be careful, methodical, and it takes him apart with exquisite results.

It undoes her as well.

“How am I supposed to live like this, Gale?” Her lips are red and wet when she pulls back and licks over them, panting for breath and gazing up at him with feverish eyes. “Is it always this burning, all-consuming need?”

“It’s bound to simmer eventually,” he tangles his fingers in her now loose braid, all the strands tumbling free and wild down her back. ‘And far faster if you’d let me take care of you,’ he wants to add, but he doesn’t push Ferris any farther than she is willing to go.

Even thought he wants more than anything to turn them around, to pin her to the door and press his thigh between her legs, to rock her against it until she’s trembling. The almost youthful process of clumsy, pleasurable discovery is more new to both of them than Gale would ever say aloud and, if she suspects anything, Ferris will have to pry that admission from him; he’s no novice, certainly, but his experiences in mortal flesh were limited—at least there were some acts he could fall back on. It would be easier to wow the bard with magic, with every ounce of power at his disposal, but there is something to be said for very human instincts. To be the focus of her newly found desire and not need any magic for to have done so is an experience all its own.

‘We’ll have to connect our souls the more traditional way,’ he thinks before Ferris’ mouth envelops him once more and sentences longer than a few words escape him.

Magic could never again compare.

It’s unfortunate then, that fool’s spring ends with raging storms that flood parts of the city and wash out others; Ferris brings her roof plants inside and worries over the mice in the front garden, building a stone rise for them in case the plants and carefully maintained slope cannot keep water away from the tower. It dampens everyone’s moods, and he watches as Ferris’ attitude shifts towards that of a trapped animal.

The rain doesn’t stop her from going out, doesn’t stop her from wandering the city; she may not be able to use enchantments to keep her dry, but her long waxed coat does a decent job. She does the work herself, explaining the process to a fascinated Catriona in the sitting room of the tower as rain batters the windows, a tin of wax sitting in a warm bowl of water.

“Once it’s liquid, you simply coat the fabric,” she dips a soft rag into the liquid wax, working it over the surface of the coat. “Can you make sure the water stays warm enough that it doesn’t harden?”

“And you do this all the time?” Cat checks the temperature of the water with a finger, murmuring a spell to keep it heated. “Seems…tedious.”

Ferris nods, focused on a seam near the shoulder. “It’s not light work, but it works and I am used to the process by now. I had to do it to my clothes while I was out with my herds. It’ll have to dry before it can be worn, and you only do the outside.”

"Will it be dry enough to wear later, when we visit my mother for dinner?”

The bard curses up a storm to rival the one outside and Cat sighs, giving Gale a knowing look. “I’m going to translate for you: the string of expletives so creative they’d make a poet weep roughly amounts to ‘no’ in the Common tongue, but a very emphatic and negative version of it, rather than a softer ‘no’.”

“Didn’t know there were hard and soft versions of the word,” the wizard pushes a tray of cut apples toward the women, which Ferris takes with an endearing scowl. “Should I help it along, when you finish? I’m sure there’s a spell I can whip up to dry something without heat.”

“It would speed the process,” Cat gives the smaller bard a nudge, crunching down. “At least you’d stay dry and not look like a wet rat.”

“I don’t look like a rat!” Ferris nearly knocks the bowl of water over, and with it the wax. “I simply do not look my best when waterlogged. And who does? You look like a sad crow.”

“Crows are elegant at all times,” Cat tosses her short, dark hair, and Gale is reminded of feathers. Her eyes narrow, considering her friend more closely. “A stoat then.”

Ferris doesn’t argue, content to no longer be compared to a rat.

Gale, wisely, says nothing. He has little to add and, besides, he knows well enough that he looks like a wet dog when he’s caught out in the rain. Enough people have said so, including Ferris, all their companions, his mother, and various coworkers.

“I think I’ll leave now, while there’s a slight break in the rain,” Catriona stands and stretches. “It’s supposed to last the rest of the tenday and I am hoping my roof doesn’t leak.”

“If it does, just come bother Gale until he fixes it,” Ferris is carefully finishing the second sleeve of her coat as she glances up. “Or that young sorcerer you’ve been talking about.”

There is gossip he knows he is missing, but between Ferris and his mother, and the regular addition of Catriona, there is plenty to go around. Frankly, he’s not bothered to learn the names of any of Cat’s suitors or paramours, no matter how often Ferris updates him. The young woman has a cloud of them around her like flies, buzzing for her attention.

‘She never goes off with them,’ Ferris had told him after he expressed minor concern; the harpist had a cluster of gentlemen vying for her eye at the moment, and Ferris had slipped away for air, appearing at his side as though she’d materialized. ‘She’s never taken them seriously, everyone thinks that bards are easy and another pretty notch in their belts. They’re all bound to be disappointed in a moment when she comes over here to us, just watch.’

Sure enough, Gale was given some pointed glares when Catriona excused herself and flitted over to where they stand, Ferris taking her arm.

‘Dreadful company,’ she had sighed, patting Ferris’ hand. ‘Let’s go somewhere fun.’

They had ended up at the seediest tavern Waterdeep had to offer, and Gale had to admit it was far more fun than pretending to be friendly with someone who had once tried to pass his work off as their own. The logic he’d been given, when he had inquired as to their destination, was that ‘at least men there don’t try to woo you’.

“Don’t waste your time with sorcerers, Cat,” he calls as the bard makes her way to the entry, Ferris on her heels. “I have plenty of young professors if you’re looking for overly studious types.”

Laughter meets his ears and Cat pokes her head around the door frame. “If my roof leaks, I shall request the most bookish lad you can send me.”

“Be nice,” Ferris’ voice sounds a little more distant, likely from the kitchen. “Or he really will and then you’ll end up living in a tower and attending far too many educational talks.”

Gale politely does not mention that Ferris sneaks into those talks of her own free will, and the door opens and shuts quickly, keeping as much water as possible outside rather than in. When Ferris reappears and peels her coat off the floor, he nods his head at it. “Need me to dry the front?”

The back had been done earlier that morning, the whole of it finally waterproof once more. “That would be lovely, as I could then braid my hair so your mother doesn’t attempt to style it again.”

It had been a disaster, Ferris’ straight hair resisting any sort of direction and frustrating everyone involved and turning a lovely afternoon as stormy as the present weather.

“She means well,” he points out. They both know it to be true. “I’m just picking up a few things, you could always stay home if you wished.”

Ferris tips her head. “What things?”

“This and that,” he waves her off. “Go on, I’ll dry this and we can try to take the same advantage of the break in the rain.”

They finish at roughly the same time, Ferris’ hair in a single, simple braid down her back to keep it under the coat and out of the way. She’s taken to wearing it more loosely, as of late, but it has returned to its severe, no-nonsense style. The weather holds at a drizzle until they’re nearly to Morena’s flat, and the two of them end up in a mad dash to the door.

Ferris handily beats him, but when she sees the look on his face she doesn’t crow her victory.

“Just my knees,” he assures her. “This weather isn’t kind to them, but it’s truly nothing.”

Her skeptical look is quickly replaced with a smile when Morena opens the door, ushering them both inside and pressing warm broth into both their hands, tutting at how wet they’d gotten and how they’d better not catch a chill.

“Oh, Gale, everything is laid out on the table for you, please take what you need. It’s mostly going to waste here, I’ve not the same aptitude for this as you.”

“Everyone is low on spell components, it seems,” he sighs as he sorts through what his mother has and thinks of what he still needs, the bard at his elbow clearly doing her own calculations if the dip in her brow and her frown are any indication. “The horrid weather has not helped, it’s washed out a few roads and some things have yet to reach the city.”

Ferris perks up. “I could go,” she offers. “If the weather lets up a bit. I could meet the convoys, or there’s nearby cliffs that have—“

“Absolutely not,” he cuts her off, familiar with where she is imagining. Ferris, he knows, often climbs them to play her pipes without bothering the neighbors; the sound still carries out over parts of Waterdeep, faint with wind and distance but familiar all the same. “It’s far too much of a risk in the current weather, there’s been more than one mudslide. No, without magic or a way to communicate difficulties, I’d rather you not.”

He knows he has made an error when she stiffens beside him.

“You cannot shelter me simply because I no longer have magic,” Ferris twists away from his side and Morena looks like she wants to say something, perhaps offer clarity or soften the blow, but Gale is far faster at putting his foot in his mouth.

“How can I keep you safe if you insist on doing dangerous things?”

Ferris goes still and his mother sighs.

“Gale, I could drop you where you stand, before you even uttered more than a word. In what world do you think I am incapable of protecting myself?”

“You’re not incapable of protecting yourself,” he turns to bundle dried components together, worried about how little there actually is as he ties off twine around a handful of sprigs. “If there’s any manner of weapon or threat, you’re absolutely capable—but you cannot best a mudslide, you cannot predict when rain has weakened the root systems of trees holding the rocks in place, you cannot outrun a flood. No, it’s simply too dangerous for anyone, magic or otherwise,” he quickly adds.

Ferris is not appeased.

“You talk as though I was raised in a comfortable home and not out in nature.”

“You’re no druid, Ferris,” he wraps the last of the herbs. “You were a shepherd.”

“But perhaps when the rain does let up,” his mother tries. “It shouldn’t be more than the remainder of the tenday, you know how these storms are, Gale.”

Ferris stares at the herbs and components left on the table, then at Gale, then at Morena. “Those won’t last the tenday.”

They won’t. Everyone in the room knows it.

“I will make them last.”

“A paragon of moderation,” his mother rolls her eyes, and he’s more surprised that the words don’t come from Ferris. “I think, perhaps, we leave this conversation for tomorrow and the storms outside.”

It’s as harsh a scolding as she’ll give with Ferris around which is, by all accounts, an extremely gentle one. He sees the bard purse her lips, biting back a comment for the sake of peace; she shakes out her hands and begins to clean off the table. “Apologies, Mrs. Dekarios.”

Morena waves it off. “Couples fight over far less, I’m surprised it took this long for the two of you to disagree in front of another person.”

“We disagree in front of Tara,” Gale grits out, setting his bag down and helping set the table. It’s a ritual that calms him, and he follows after Ferris to flip the tea cups to their proper position. “She has witnessed plenty of arguments.”

“What to make for dinner is not an argument,” his mother clucks her tongue. “And, according to Tara, you’ve done far more than disagree in front of her.”

Ferris’ quick reflexes are the only reason there aren’t shards of porcelain on Morena’s floor, her hands cradling the cup Gale had been setting to rights.

“Mother!”

‘This,’ he decides as Ferris tries to talk them both out of the hole of their own making (and Tara’s complaints to his lady mother). ‘Is shaping up to be the tea in history.’

The ache in his knee brings Gale out of his reading, a palm digging into the muscles around the joint as he glances to the window; the sky, for mid-afternoon, is too dark coming off the bay. Storms, while beautiful, were not his favorite thing. Not if they didn’t come in small, chestnut-haired packages.

It had been a quiet few days in the tower, Ferris speaking when spoken to but otherwise being completely silent. Not that she was prone to chatter unless prompted, but he had grown used to song in all corners of their home—silence was a new and unusual torture.

“Tara, would you mind bringing a message to Ferris and my mother? Either she comes back quickly or waits out the weather there. With the winds the way they are, the rain might come in sideways.”

Tara takes one look at the grimace on his face and the hand massaging his knee before she stretches, saying nothing, for once, about playing messenger. “Of course, Mr. Dekarios. I’ll be back quickly.”

His mother’s house is not far, he suspects it will take Tara about fifteen minutes total to travel, relay, and return as long as the wind is favorable in one direction or the other. He is entirely unprepared for her to come hurtling in the balcony doors in half the time, soaked and frantic.

“She’s not there!” Tara shakes herself, trying to dry off. “Mrs. Dekarios has not seen her all day, she never went to your mother’s.”

Gale’s heart sinks, and all he can focus on is that Ferris is gone, disappeared without telling anyone where.

“Why would she vanish like this? It’s quite unlike her.” He’s quickly putting his things away, already planning a route to follow in his search. “Has she confided anything in you at all?”

Tara flicks her tail, water drops spraying in a neat arc. “I am not her bosom companion, nor am I well versed in the ways of human domestic spats. You’d do well to ask your lady mother. She will have far more insight for you, and perhaps some possible solutions while we all look.”

He glances to the door, the tower dimmer for Ferris’ absence. She wouldn’t run off without saying something, she wouldn’t simply disappear—while she did enjoy being alone, she had always made note of any adventures that took her outside the city walls and places far beyond.

“Your mother is checking taverns near her.” Tara darts past him down the stairs to the entry hall. “You should check around here—“

“She wouldn’t take her violin out in this, and she doesn’t sing at these establishments, that’s saved for places farther afield.” Gale doesn’t bother with the clasps on his cloak. ”I’ll meet my mother—“

“I’m coming with you,” Tara says quickly. “No point in minding an empty tower, especially when she’s likely to turn up along the way.”

Tara soars above him, the white and orange parts of her flashing against the darkness of the storm as she darts from one building to the next, checking down different side streets

They meet his mother while on the road, the rain picking back up with determination. “As full as the local taverns are, your bard is not in them,” she calls out over the rising sound of rain on stone, escalating to a roar. Tara drops from the sky, startling him slightly. “Come on, no point in getting soaked.”

Gale follows her in, Tara on his shoulders, and doing his best to dry their clothes even as his mother shakes off her cloak and hangs it without care, used to a lack of regular magic. It’s something he used to do without thinking, a small act of love for the woman who raised him. “Would you like a wax jacket?”

“Hmm?” Morena is seated at the table; she had already started to busy herself cutting an onion, and Gale understands her need to see him fed, or at least the need to do something with her hands rather than worry. “My cloak is fine, why would I need a wax jacket?”

He shrugs, and picks up a knife when he is slid a few carrots. “Ferris has one, it’s convenient now that she cannot dry her own clothing with magic. Useful in the current climate.”

It’s meant to be light conversation, but the absence of his bard eats away at the silence between words. He lets it, and glances to Tara in front of the hearth; she’s waiting, watching.

“Did you ever resolve…?” Blessedly, his mother allows the question to trail off, but Gale knows what she’s speaking of—how could he not, when it’s been lingering in his own mind?

“Unfortunately, no. It’s been very quiet in the tower these days; Ferris has a tendency to go quiet when she’s not sure of herself, or of where things stand, but if I push she shuts down even further.” He doesn’t like to think of those days, the ones right after they’d saved Baldur’s Gate.

“My dear, idiot son,” Morena sighs. “While I know Ferris will return, I believe she no longer knows your intentions.”

“How can she doubt my intention when it’s good? Wanting to keep her safe is not morally wrong, I fail to see the issue.”

Morena sighs through her nose again. “Truly. Truly an idiot,” she pats him gently on the hand. “She does not need you to shelter her, Gale, and has said as much. Ferris needs to know that she is not an obligation to you.”

“I have told her as such, in those words.”

“When? When all this was new? Perhaps she needs to hear it again now that things have settled, and changed once more. You weren’t courting, there was less entanglement; this is Ferris we are discussing, and when have you know her to enjoy being ensnared?”

“I have never known her to need such reassurances,” Gale pinches the bridge of his nose. “She is a competent leader, I have seen her on the battlefield, I have seen her best far more terrifying things than whether to stay in a place that makes her unhappy.”

“Hearts are not the same as foes, my boy.” She scratches behind Tara’s ear and the tressym purrs delightedly. “Hearts are gentle things.”

He knows this. He knows it well, has held his own, battered and broken and bleeding before. Gale has wept over it, raged over it, begged over it, but knows it is resilient and capable.

When he pictures his heart, he sees Ferris.

“Oh.”

“Ah there’s the clever boy I raised.”

Morena’s tone is somehow both loving and sarcastic, but he supposes that is a skill learned in parenting a wizard, or perhaps parenting in general. He’ll have to ask colleagues that have them. Rain spatters the glass in gusts, sharp and loud when it strikes almost sideways. “I should return to the tower,” he says, already dreading the walk back. He passes the diced carrots over to Morena. “She’ll return in her own time, and it’s quite likely she’s hunkered down to wait out the worst of it.”

“I believe the worst has passed,” his mother corrects. “But your little nomad will know best, she’s quite adept at reading weather patterns and winds.”

It’s true enough, and Gale tries to remind himself of that fact as he rises, mindful of his aching knee. Ferris survived well enough before them, before him. She can handle herself in far more situations than he can, especially without magic. He’s nearly done up the toggles on his coat when his mother pointedly clears her throat.

“Remind her how much she means to you.” He turns to face her. “This is all because you fear losing her, unable to help if she were to come to harm. Remind her that this is not an attempt to control her, but born of a desire to protect her in any way you can…whether she needs it or not.”

Sage advice from a woman who had suffered his own early bids for independence. “I will,” he nods. “At least, I will try. It is not an easy thing to communicate.”

“I know,” she smiles, reassuringly. “But I’m sure she’ll understand if you make a big enough fool of yourself.”

“Your confidence in me works miracles, mother,” he sighs. “Tara, are you coming?”

The tressym ruffles her feathers indignantly. “Absolutely not, it’s still pouring and I am tired of going out in a storm because Miss Ferris feels an itch for adventure.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Tara, mother dear,” he performs a sweeping bow. “As you were, ladies.”

When the door closes behind him, Morena sighs.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” She asks as Tara trills behind her, stretching and then fluttering to the carpet before the hearth to shake out her wings. “Gale has always charged into these things, and I fear that girl needs a steady hand as well as a steady heart.”

“Mrs. Dekarios, I do not gossip lightly,” the tressym says as she basks in the warmth of the fire, fully extending her wings. “But seeing as how they positively reek of each other these days, I think they will be able to sort themselves out well enough.”

“Well,” Morena settles back, watching the rain. “That’s something.”

There is a long beat of silence, the rain and fire competing for the loudest sounds in the room before Morena hums thoughtfully.

“You aren’t staying because of the rain, are you Tara?”

“You, Mrs. Dekarios, are a wise woman.”

Despite the darkness and the downpour, the figure is unmistakably Ferris. Gale runs to her, heedless of the wet stones and the way his knees protest sharply.

“There you are!”

Ferris nearly drops whatever she’s holding, and Gale can tell she’s soaked through. There’s mud on her shirt that hasn’t been washed away by the rain yet, but otherwise she seems as usual and entirely unbothered by the weather.

His hold on her shoulders must be bruising but Gale cannot let go. “Do you have any idea how worried we were? And just where were you, Ferris? Out in this storm, gods-“

She clutches the wrapped package closer to her chest, eyes wide in alarm as she looks up at Gale, wincing when he shakes her; her reply is mumbled and lost in the storm.

“Ferris!”

“Spell components!” She shoves the package at him and he fumbles for it, the smell familiar now that he’s holding it. “You said you needed certain components and that the climb was rough on your knees in this sort of weather.”

“Why did you tell me you were going to my mother’s? Ferris, we thought something terrible had happened—you were nowhere to be found, I was so worried you weren’t coming home at all. Gods,” he bends to hold her tightly, crushing the carefully protected herbs between them. “But you’re alright, you aren’t hurt?”

“I’m fine!” Ferris shoulders past him, cold and wet and angry. “I left a note, I said I’d be going elsewhere to run an errand!”

He hadn’t seen a note, but…he hadn’t really looked for one. The expression on his face slides from confusion at her words to anger at himself for not even looking for a reason why Ferris would have left, or lied; she wasn’t one for lying, preferring to be clever with her words but never altering the truth beyond what it was.

Ferris’ ears droop before he can assure her that he isn’t upset at her, but at himself.

“Let’s just go back to the tower and you can shout some more and I can do whatever you think will make it up to you.”

Something about the wording makes him feel sick inside, twisting and roiling like snakes.

“I want you to be safe,” he says as gently as he can, taking her by the shoulders. “It wasn’t just me who was worried, my mother and Tara are quite upset as well, these storms come fast and hard.”

She shrugs him off and mumbles something about having this conversation in dry clothes. The rain is still near-blinding, but both of them know the way home by heart; Gale with time and Ferris with skill. In fact, as he follows her, he’s convinced that they were home faster than he’d anticipated. She walks quickly, boldly, as though the rain is nothing to her and Gale is forced to remember that she has lived most of her life outside and alone. It’s a fact he prefers to forget, if only because neglect is uncomfortable to contemplate when he thinks of Ferris. Wonderful, chaotic, bright and brilliant. So warm and gentle. It takes conscious effort to remember that she is not as soft as she might seem.

Her hair is dark with rain, a deep chestnut that borders on oak, rich and long down her back and all he can do is follow in her wake as she cuts through the gloom like a ship through waves.

The door closes behind him before he realizes they are home and Ferris is shaking herself off and kicking her sodden boots to the tray they keep for this purpose. Even her stockings are wet, sticking to her skin and making a sucking noise as they’re drawn out of her boots.

“Ferris,” he reaches out, but she is already moving away and he finds himself a bit angry at her. “Ferris.”

She snatches the package of components and stalks her way to the library to drop them off where Gale can sort them out as he likes, and he is quickly on her heels.

“I am begging you, Ferris—I cannot make amends if I do not know how to do the mending. Where are the fractures? The cracks? Let me at least try to repair this.”

“You like the idea of me,” she snaps. “You like the idea of me, domesticated—you would not have enjoyed me nearly as much if I had not been abducted into adventure, and I would prefer not to have this conversation while ruining your damned carpets.”

“That is not true,” he reaches for her but she pulls away, glaring. “Ferris, it may be that our paths would never have crossed, but it is untrue that I only enjoy you as I think you are now. If you are not happy—“

‘She’s afraid,’ he realizes. ‘She’s trying to be cut out, like a disease.’

Gale holds things he loves close, but Ferris pushes them away to keep them safe. The end goal is the same, but the approach could not be more different. Even as she brings home spell components, thinking of him and his needs, what she could do for him, Ferris tries to put distance between them. She cannot be hurt by a disagreement if she’s at arm’s length.

The rain is merely a convenient escalation of their earlier argument.

He takes hold of her arm then, and does not let go when she tries to flinch away; the brief look of alarm is enough to have him loosen his grasp but not to let go completely. “I will never send you away, but I will not keep you here. You are free to go where you like, and if you wish to be elsewhere, even if it’s as close as the market or as far as the end of the world, I will not stand in your way.”

Her breath is coming in great heaves and the redness extends down her neck; he can tell she doesn’t believe him, even now. Gale takes a step forward and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It is not about domestication, it’s about safety. You’re more than capable of defending yourself, but if you climb and fall, you have no magic to catch yourself—and if you’ve not told us where you were off to, we would have no idea where to look. It terrifies me, Ferris. I will not cage you, but I ask that you at least tell someone where you’re going, just in case.

“You were never meant to sit by the hearth and darn socks or mend clothes or tend house. The thought of you like that pains me, frankly. I like you like this,” he murmurs. “A little wild, a little stormy…”

He gazes at her fondly, his dripping wet bard with fire in her eyes and a splotchy redness to her cheeks as understanding blooms slowly across her features. “You’d have made a capable witch.”

It does get a laugh out of her, a small, breathy huff. “Don’t try to make me feel better, I had you worried out of your mind. I…I wanted it to be a surprise; I know how you get in weather like this, and I thought, if I could do something to make you feel better…” Ferris steps forward, a slight frown on her face. “You’ve said nothing about me ruining your carpets.”

Gale takes it for the acceptance it is. “To make a truly awful pun that does not at all match the previous tone of conversation, sod the carpets. Perhaps I wanted a reason to replace them and had yet to find one, which is proof that I do need you in my life, even for the smallest things.”

Her head falls to his chest as she groans, his terrible humor having its desired affect on her. “Let’s not argue, and let’s not make any more puns.”

“What should we do instead?”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when she leans up to kiss him, small, cold hands fisted in his robes; gods, he really should have warmed them, should have let her change out of her wet clothes and sit by the fire. Instead, they steal the heat from his skin, sharp in their chill as they find their way inside his shirt.

She is so cold.

Gale should fix that.

He steps them back until Ferris’ thighs hit his desk and she doesn’t hesitate to lift herself onto it, pushing the papers and books out of the way as Gale pushes her sodden jacket off her shoulders.

“You shouldn’t stay in wet clothes,” he says as best he can between kisses. Ferris nips at his lower lip and it sends electricity down his spine.

“You’ll remember that I wanted to change before being scolded, but I suppose it’s a good thing I have you to help me out of them,” she laughs against his cheek, fiddling with the laces of his shirt. “Go on.”

He tries to warm his hands with magic, despite it being sapped away in an instant. Ferris sighs against his mouth anyway, the fleeting warmth welcome all the same. He trails his fingers down her sides until he can pull her shirt up over her head, wet hair plastered to her bare skin and dripping on the wood of the desk. “I can stoke the fire,” he tries, but Ferris wraps her legs around his hips and pulls him forward.

“Stoke something else,” she teases.

“Not your best line,” he points out, and she kicks his ass with her heel when he tries to pull away; his robes are beginning to soak through where they touch. “But I suppose body heat will more than do.”

He sheds his robes as Ferris undoes the laces of her stays, then trousers, doing her best to wriggle out of the wet fabric; he ends up helping, peeling them off from the knee down and then warming his hands to run them up her thighs. She shudders at the contrast, taking a deep breath before reaching up for him.

“Gale?”

He goes willingly, easing her stays off and pressing soft kisses to her lips, her cheek, the tip of her nose before giving his answering ‘hmm?’

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I truly didn’t mean to worry you, or Tara, or your mother.”

“They’ll forgive you,” he leans down so their foreheads touch. “I should let them know you’re home, but that can wait until you’re warm.”

“And you?” She flutters her lashes and Gale walks into her trap.

“I’ve long done so.”

“And I forgive you, even if you didn’t bother looking for my note.” A piece of folded paper flicks up between them, preventing him from kissing Ferris’ teasing smile off her lips. His name, in her neat script, is clear on the page.

“Yes, yes, I’ll spare you from making a joke about my poor, human eyes and skip to my own apology.” He kisses a line down between her breasts, over her stomach, pressing warmth into her skin with his mouth and tongue, indulging every gasp and delighting in every breath giggle. By increments she warms, and her shivering lessens. “What do you want?”

“I—I’m not sure,” she admits, breathless. “You, but…”

“Shh, it’s alright,” he moves to give her space but Ferris locks her heels around his hips and pulls him forward, arching against him. “Ferris?”

“Please?” She rocks against him, and Gale bites back a groan. “Like this, I know you can.”

He hikes one leg up over his hip and grinds forward. “You’re gorgeous,” he pants, and Ferris reaches her hands up, eyes pleading, and he leans over her again; like this, she is perfectly positioned for Gale to kiss her, to turn his face into her neck and suck bruises into the soft, pale skin behind her ears where she can hide them with her braids. There’s freckles there, a secret made for him and only him to enjoy. “Just like this, this is all I could ever want.”

“You’re a liar,” she laughs as he nips at her earlobe. “But I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything.”

Gale tries to imagine what it will feel like to fuck into her like this, on his desk, tries to imagine her naked—not the regular nudity of shared baths in rivers and body heat when the temperature drops, the platonic kind he has grown familiar with. No, he imagines her exquisitely spread out under him, like this, arms up over her head and grasping at the edge of the desk as he thrusts into her.

He almost comes undone at the thought, and it must show on his face because Ferris laughs, bright and clear, flushed as she challenges him. “Come on, wizard. Show me what you’re made of.”

It sparks a dangerous idea in his head.

“Ferris,” he pauses, every fiber of his being focused on not chasing his pleasure like an over-eager novice. “My dear, may I try something?”

She pushes at his shoulders just enough so that he’ll sit up and look at her rather than tickle her neck with his words. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no, absolutely not. Magnificent, actually,” he steadies himself. “I would like to pleasure you.”

“But you are,” she looks confused. “I was rather enjoying myself.”

Ferris’ cheeks are still a splotchy red; parts of her skin are still cold, and she has no right to look so beautiful on his desk with just her chemise and drawers on. ‘Enjoying herself’ could mean a wide array of things, and she does not feel any burning need to seek out pleasure or completion; for all he knows, she’s happy to just leech his body heat as he uses her to see his own end.

He wants her undone, he wants her completely, he needs it like a man starved; Gale pulls away a bit more abruptly than intended, yanking Ferris to the edge of the desk and falling to his knees.

“Wh—Gale! What are you—“

She sits up, brows raised in surprise and he simply kisses her inner thigh, the soft spot just behind her knee, waiting for her to stop sputtering as something sour works its way into his heart. “With all the time you spend on your knees, I will assume you know. Has no one ever done this for you?”

“I—no, no one, but—“ she sucks in a breath, closes her eyes a moment. “Why?”

It’s not accusatory, nor is it nervous. Ferris, more than anything, is curious. She enjoys the act when giving, yes, but receiving is an unknown element that wrests of her control. It’s not simply a matter of letting go and enjoying all her body is capable of, it’s a matter of trust. Deep trust in him, and how well he knows her.

“Because I want you, I want to taste you, I want to show you pleasure the same way you so often show me.” Another kiss, slightly higher this time. “Please allow me to try, Songbird. I’ll stop at once if you say the word. Lay back.”

She does, legs shaking beneath his palms and he moves one hand to the curve of her hip, squeezing.

“There.” How had no one done this to her before? She’s a vision like this, laid out for him to taste; Gale wants to kiss each freckle, wants to mark new constellations only they know the name of into her skin with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. It’s a savage, animal desire and he forces it down.

Time enough for that later, should she want it.

His thumbs trace the waistband of her underclothes. “May I?”

Ferris nods, skeptical but still curious enough that he’s not discouraged and settles between her legs once more as he drags her smalls off and they are added to the damp discarded pile; he kisses the softness of her inner thigh again, fearing a new addiction while easing her into the idea of his mouth near her, on her, as he works his way slowly closer to her folds. This is a delicate art, one he prides himself on, but he is not used to introducing it to his partners. Those who make jokes about his clever tongue usually find themselves riding it and taking their pleasure.

He hopes Ferris sees the appeal.

Gale listens to her hitched breath as he mouths along the crease where thigh meets hip, cold from the rain even here, before he lets his tongue wander over her folds.

The hand on her hip stops Ferris from jerking away in surprise, but he loosens it to the barest hold, allowing her the freedom to move away if she wants to as he allows himself the slightest amount of pressure, no more than it takes to finally taste her. She gasps and, to his absolute delight, cants her hips down, chasing his mouth as he draws back.

“Gale—“

He doesn’t let her speak, does not want her to think about anything other than pleasure. He does not wait or tease, licking into her before letting his mouth close over her clit, tongue flicking and circling.

“Oh!” Her back arches and her hands sink into his hair again, tugging him closer as she moves and he revels in it. “Gale.”

His knees will protest later, but laid out on the desk Ferris is at the perfect height to devour—he has to hold himself back, remind himself that he needs to proceeds with more care than usual and not move too quickly if he wants her to relax, to enjoy herself. Time enough for everything later, if she decides she likes it.

Most of Ferris’ sounds would fall under the category of ‘breathy’, soft little things more akin to the turning of pages in a book, but when his fingers tighten on her hip and his tongue circles her hole she moans. It’s not a sound he’s ever heard before, not from her lips, and Ferris’ heel thumps playfully against his shoulder.

“I can feel your smirk, you know.”

“Oh, my apologies,” he says, mouthing more than kisses her thigh, unfocused on anything but the thought of continuing. “I can stop.”

Her nails scratch lightly at his scalp, affection rather than warning. “Don’t you dare.”

“As you wish, my love,” he bites this time and Ferris laughs before it trails off into breathy panting, his mouth finding far more intimate places to occupy. Gale explores, experiments, indulges; this is an art, and he does not rush, as badly as he wants to see Ferris unravel completely. Everyone has their buttons, and he sets to work finding every single one of Ferris’. Not too much pressure; normally teasing makes her flighty and impatient (a combination neither of them enjoy)—but here he can work lightly and she follows rather than leads.

That she trusts him enough to do so is a gift he will not forget.

“Oh,” she sighs. “That’s…nice.”

There’s no question, upward pitch. Gale mentally marks that down as a win, but not a victory. ‘Nice’ is not ‘oh gods don’t stop I’m close, please Gale’, and he’d like to see if he can get her there. Not always a guarantee with Ferris, if her nervousness or thoughts overwhelm, but it’s becoming more of a regular thing.

He presses in closer, slides his hands up her legs to hold her hips in place, and continues on with his experiments. While she doesn’t enjoy being fully restrained, Ferris does seem to like having some pressure to work against, something grounding, and his hands providing the barest suggestion of that has her gasping and moving against him more rhythmically.

Good.

Gale matches her, slow and steady like waves meeting the shore. He focuses more attention on her clit, determining what gets the best results; pointed or flat tongue, constant or rhythmically varied pressure, matching or counter-point to the movement of her body?

To her credit, Ferris does her best to offer feedback on an unfamiliar act. “Yes, ah, that—Gale.”

It’s an easy enough instruction to both interpret and follow, and he quickly works out exactly what makes those breathy gasps turn louder and louder. He keeps his pressure steady, his rhythm consistent, tongue flatter instead of more pointed, and lets her meet him rather than chasing her movement—but occasionally he’ll surprise her and it gets him the most delightful moans.

The muscles in her legs quiver as Ferris chases release, determined to find it. They both want it and if she can just—

“Please, I’m—“ she’s not sure, she doesn’t know, it feels different than the last time. “Gale.”

Gods but he can’t stop now, not when he can feel how near she is to the edge. He hums his acknowledgment, a low rumble in his chest that ends up groaned between her thighs and her breath catches, her muscles seize, and Ferris’ whole body goes ridged on a silent cry.

He does not stop, even as he can feel her pulse and taste the salt-sweet of her release, and Ferris jerks against his hold but does not say ‘stop’.

So he doesn’t.

Gale doubles his efforts, pressing in deeper, closer; he repositions himself so that his left arm is looped around her thigh, forearm pressing down over her hips to keep her in place, and he lets his thumb take over working her clit for a moment so he can speak and listen.

“Let me give you another,” he wants to be collected, but as she whines in over sensitivity, Gale cannot help but groan it into her thigh. “Please, I need—“

What he wants is for her to ride his face, but he’s nearly positive that would scare her enough that she wouldn’t come again. What he wants is for Ferris to use him until she’s sobbing for it, but that wording feels dangerously close to the very thing she avoids.

He settles for barely-coherent begging.

“I need to, let me try my love. Let me give you pleasure,” his erection strains against his trousers and he allows himself to touch, grinding up against the heel of his palm as he works her clit with a little more pressure. “I want, I need you to lose yourself for me.”

“Yes,” Ferris gasps, legs still trembling through the aftershocks; he hasn’t stopped touching her and it must be agony. “Please, please Gale.”

The wizard wastes no time, running his tongue through her folds and adjusting the pressure to her clit just before he thrusts his tongue into her.

Ferris sobs.

Her legs try to pull him in closer, but Gale goes willingly, a penitent on his knees; Ferris is trembling too much to fight as his broad shoulders spread her wider. The hand that had been in his hair falls away to the desk as she scrambles for something to hold onto and he slides his right arm up along her body until he can lace their fingers together. Ferris squeezes hard enough to make his bones ache, and he acts as her anchor.

Mystra be damned, he has a new goddess to worship, and he is nothing if not devoted.

His cunning psalms have called her forth, and when Ferris starts to move, starts to try and fuck herself on his tongue, he offers himself into her service. The roll of her hips is familiar, steady, and Gale lightens the pressure across her hips to let her find exactly what she likes; he purposely holds back, encouraging her to demand with her body and voice.

“More, please Gale.”

It’s difficult to reply when he’s otherwise occupied, and pulling back enough to do so feels like a sin, but he knows his goddess will forgive him.

“Tell me how you want it, Songbird.” He thinks back to how she’d had him at the precipice with only whispered demand. “Tell me all the ways you imagine us together while I make you fall apart.”

‘My hands, my power,’ he thinks as he sets to work, finding Ferris’ rhythm again while she gasps for word—as much as he loves to indulge her whims, he knows she enjoy his just as much.

“I—ah—on the desk,” she pants, struggling to form a sentence when he makes a sound of approval between her legs that sends sparks through her core. “Like we were before with you—your—you fucking me, papers everywhere.”

Gale’s imagined it too. He backs off, letting her talk with more clarity of mind. It will be easier to bring her to a second orgasm if there’s a moment for her to breathe.

“I’ve k-knocked over the ink, and—“ he does risk a quick glance to make sure this is still entirely fantasy and not Ferris’ way of saying ‘your work is in peril’. “And you’re not mad but, but it’s the good ink, and there’s something dark in your eyes, and you press your hand into it.”

He’s not sure where she’s going with this fantasy, but he rewards her with a curl of his tongue that makes her whine.

“You touch me, wherever you like. Anywhere, and the ink stains, it’s every place your hands have been so I remember that I’m all yours, I’m yours, Gale—keep me with you. Keep me, please.“

The possessive growl rips out of him and he tightens his hold again, squeezing her hand before he untangles their fingers, blood rushing back into them; the sharp tingling pain is nothing compared to how sweetly Ferris moans when he abandons the last of his restraint and devours her entirely. The bridge of his nose presses his thumb hard into her clit and she sobs when he fucks his tongue into her as deeply as he can.

Gale prides himself on technique and application thereof, but he’s got his face pressed as close to her as possible—so hard his teeth ache. Ferris’ hand finds his hair, pushing it out of his face with an impossible gentleness that something as feral and hungry as him does not deserve. It contrasts the desperate pleas that fall from her lips as her back bows, forcing him somehow closer.

“Please, please, please, don’t stop. Don’t stop now.”

He’d never.

Ferris’ breath has started to catch, her inhales short and sharp as her body tightens like a coiled spring; he wants to see her snap, wants to see that release of energy. He knows now that she turns quite red, like each orgasm brings her close to the sun, close enough to burn. He loves it.

When she comes, it’s near-silent. The whole of her seizes. Gale pushes as close as he can, waiting for her muscles to tremble after their rigor, everything rushing back with her breath. A few gasping seconds later, Ferris all but collapses and he is there to catch her, ease her down. All the while, his tongue never stops moving, long, easy licks where he can feel her pulsing and know when her orgasm finally, finally ends.

She pulls him from his genuflection, chest heaving. Her cheeks are red from exertion now, rather than cold, a flush that goes down her neck and chest, disappearing under her near-translucent chemise. “Well.”

“Well,” he echoes with a pleased grin, bringing a hand up to kiss her knuckles and ignoring the ways his knees crack when he stands. “Consensus?”

Ferris goes quiet, eyes glancing away, and Gale’s stomach drops. Too much, too fast, too demanding—that’s his fear. But she’s not running, not shaking apart with worry or terrible possibilities. She swallows hard and pulls him in with her heels, locking him between her thighs; with her knees over his hips, she’s lifted slightly off the wooden surface, angled perfectly to grind over his cock. “You can, if you’d like.”

She still won’t look at him.

Gale shakes his head, keeping his smile fond. “Perhaps another time.”

A frown pulls at her lips, shifting the carefully neutral look into something a little petulant. “You’re still hard, don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Alright, I won’t pretend.” He grinds against her, to make a point more than anything. “The things you do to me, you’d make gods weep.”

He can see her thinking, brows dipped just slightly in concentration, and she bites her lip.

“When I leave, and you’re still hard,” she rakes her gaze over his body. “What do you do?”

Gale opens his mouth to reply but Ferris shakes her head.

“Show me.”

Every thought falls away until it’s just Ferris spread out before him. Somehow, this feels more base than anything they’ve done before, but Gale reaches for the laces of his trousers all the same, unhurried, and he does not miss how closely Ferris observes the dexterous flicks of his fingers. It’s instant relief to shove his clothing down just enough to free his cock, proud and weeping from the tip. She licks her lips.

“I think about you, like this,” his voice is low, simmering with arousal. “The desk does feature heavily, as of late. You sprawled across it, bent over it,” Gale wraps his hand around the base of his cock, squeezing as he strokes slowly, slowly upward. Thin, clear spend leaks over his knuckles when he reaches the head and it drips down.

Onto Ferris’ quivering belly.

They both go silent and still, the crackle of the fire louder than a whip; Gale suddenly realizes just how compromising their positions are, Ferris bared to him from the waist down, his cock inches away from—it would be so easy to take her. To make her fantasy real, to fuck her, mark her, fill her.

“Gale—“

He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, just a moment to regain his composure. “It’s alright, my love. I am a weak man, but I am not that weak.”

“You could be,” she whispers. “It’s alright.”

“Gods, fuck,” he grits it out between clenched teeth and translucent spend drools past his fingers onto her skin. The little hitch of her breath is almost too much. “Not like this, the first time. I’ll have you in my bed, where you belong, and you’ll be just as pretty and flushed.”

Taking control of the moment, and himself, Gale risks a loose pump of his hand. “You’ll be well-prepared by my hands, my mouth. By the time you’re ready for my cock you’ll be boneless and begging.

“I want you to feel every inch of me, stretching you wide, opening for me and only me.” Ferris’ legs tighten around him and he has a split second to realize what she’s doing. “Ferris—“

“Here, watch your head a moment,” she focuses on not kicking him as she moves, and Gale would marvel at her core strength if he wasn’t so damned aroused. His bard is careful and he lets her arrange him, gasping when his cock slips against her wet folds before she closes her thighs around him, both legs over his left shoulder. He has no idea where she’s learned this trick and, right now, he finds he doesn’t care. “Keep going, tell me.”

Gale pulls back and then tentatively thrusts forward, the head of his cock just peaking from between her thighs when he looks down; she looks far too pleased with herself, and he silently agrees. He thrusts again, slowly, arms wrapped around her legs to keep her in place, before he pulls back almost completely.

“Like this,” he promises, pushing in inch by inch until he bottoms out. Between her slick arousal and his own leaking cock, the glide is sinfully smooth. “And I’d wait until you’re squirming, begging me to move.”

“Please,” she doesn’t hesitate to join in his fantasy, eyes fixed on his face with the same rapt attention she gives musical scores, learning him the same as the notes and measures. “Please move.”

“I want to savor it,” he kisses her ankle, her calf, the chill of her skin grounding against how hot he burns for her. “Slowly, that’s how I’ll start because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, Gale, please.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, picking up his pace and fucking the tight, wet space she’d made for him between her legs. “You need me, don’t you? Need me to fill you. Don’t worry, love, I’ll give you all that and more.”

He’s babbling, but he can’t stop; she had asked, after all, and he wants to tell her all of it. “I’ll fuck you so full you’ll be dripping for days, until you beg for my cock again. I’ll make you swell with my seed, show everyone that you’re mine.”

Ferris is familiar with men’s fantasies, of laying some deeply ingrained animal claim, but it’s different when Gale says it, different entirely. Different because she wants him to. It doesn’t scare her, when it’s Gale—and even though it’s not possible, it sends a thrill through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, and he leans down slightly, bending her. “I want it so badly, I need you. Give me everything.”

His thrusts are faster now, more erratic, and when his cock head pushes past her thighs it leaks down onto her mound, her belly. She pulls her chemise up, cool air making her gasp, and Gale moans, sinking his teeth into the soft swell of her calf for a moment before he presses an apologetic kiss to the skin.

“Ferris, I’m—where—“

“Mark me,” she doesn’t hesitate. “Claim me.”

Gale leans forward, turning her face into the curve of her knee as he groans, thrusting hard enough that the bard shifts up the desk a few inches each time he moves forward, his thighs hitting the edge of the wood, the pain a sharp contrast to the plush warmth of Ferris’ thighs. His seed paints her thighs, her stomach, and that’s all he sees before he has to close his eyes and ride out the feeling of his own orgasm; he can hear Ferris’ breathing, quickly calming. Her skin is no longer icy beneath his hands, and he presses a somewhat apologetic kiss to the inside of her knee before shifting and unfolding her as carefully as possible.

There’s a slight wince as she swings her right legs over his head before settling them around his hips again. “If you’re wondering, I do not recommend this method of stretching after a brisk mountain hike.”

He laughs and rubs at her thighs, trying to ease any soreness he may have contributed to. “Noted.”

Ferris trails a curious finger through his spend where it had landed between her breasts, across her stomach, before popping it into her mouth with a thoughtful hum. Weakly, his cock jerks between her thighs, one last fitful dribble pearling against her dark public hair.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“Perhaps,” she grins, licking her lips. “But what a death, eh? Here, let me up so I can grab a blanket off the lounge, I’m cold now that we’re not touching in as many places as possible.”

How she has this much energy after two orgasms he will never know, but he lets her up all the same, managing a glancing kiss to her temple before turning to address the pile of sodden clothes in front of the hearth.

He hisses when his knees protest and Ferris flits back over, blanket around her shoulders as she reaches for the pile of spell components. “Wait, I got something for you.”

“We’ve been over this, I am aware of why you went—are those cabbage leaves?”

As far as he’s aware, there’s no magical use for cabbage but Ferris looks pleased as she carefully crushes the leaves between her palms, bruising them before falling to her knees before him and sitting on her heels. “You’ll need to take your trousers off, I’m afraid.”

Spent as he is, his cock puts up a valiant effort at the sight, his bard in a translucent chemise and worn blanket, and it makes Ferris laugh as she eases his trousers off entirely. He uses her shoulders for stability as he steps out of them, and Ferris hums her approval. She presses a kiss to his thigh before layering the cabbage leaves over his knees. “It’s a trick I’ve learned. Ginger and turmeric are well and good when you ingest them, but there’s nothing better for joints than a cabbage.”

“I’d never have thought there were medicinal properties,” he watches her hands as they work. “We’ll have to bind this, correct?”

Ferris nods. “You should wear it for a few hours, at least, and then before bed I can reapply it. By morning you’ll feel like a man twenty years younger.” She pauses. “Well, at least your knees will. I can’t do much about the rest of you.”

“I’ll be sure to remember my age next time you get…mouthy.” He prestidigitates their clothing dry, pulling his trousers back up and handing Ferris her shirt. “Did you want to—“

She does not hesitate to take off her still-damp chemise, using it to clean off her stomach and thighs. “It’ll wash.”

“That’s not the point,” he sighs, watching her pull her shirt over her head, not bothering to do up the laces in the front. It’s the same shirt from their adventures, worn so thin that a stiff breeze could unravel the threads of it. There’s a liveliness to her as she tugs him to the chaise lounge, pulls him down onto it.

“We’re too far gone for you to be thinking about propriety, come and keep me warm,” she teases, curling up against his side; if she could purr, Gale is certain she would be doing so now. It’s peaceful, the storm raging on outside but the warmth of the library and his bard lull him into the delicate domesticity he’d never longed for until she’d come into his life.

“So,” he says finally. “We should ah…discuss…some of the things I said.”

Ferris tips her head. “Which things?”

“The,” he coughs. “The part about ah…filling you.”

“Oh,” she says brightly. “You did enjoy that, didn’t you? I’m more than happy to encourage your more base fantasies. In fact, I think you’d be surprised at how common that one is.”

She pats his back when he chokes on air, waiting for him for recover. “There are times when I forget how blunt you can be, dear gods.” He takes the offered comfort, and a moment to collect himself. “And how you handled the ah, livestock arrangements.”

“True but…Gale, it’s not possible.” She looks sad for a moment and he knows its on his behalf rather than hers. “I can’t actually conceive a child but if that’s something you want—“

“No, no that’s perfectly fine. It’s more the thought of you…the act of…ahem. Spilling within one’s partner and the potential rather than the outcome. If you’re amiable. I know not everyone is.”

A wild grin that shows her teeth crosses her face. “Oh I very much look forward to finding out.” She kisses him and he can feel her smile. There’s mischief in her eyes when she pulls back, settling once more against his side.

“The fact that you’re here with me is a miracle,” he tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, tracing the shell of it and watching her eyes slip closed like a content cat. He had always imagined a comfortable, if lonely, existence…and now there’s Ferris, driving him a little bit mad. “I do apologize, for earlier.”

“If this is what your apologies look like, I find myself not minding the occasional argument.”

“Ferris,” he allows a stern edge to creep in. “Truly. I am sorry. You’re right, I cannot keep you within these walls. You are far too wild for a leash, too free for a cage, and it’s wrong to assume I can ever take on the whole of the world for you. You are capable, you are strong. I do not try to do these things to control you, but because I love you.”

She lays her head against his chest, and Gale dares to bring his arms around her. He loves that he can do so without her flinching now, even thought it has taken some time; he no longer has to telegraph his every move, can hold her has he pleases until she gets bored of being still.

“Love is a terrible beast,” she murmurs, busy nuzzling into his chest; the tip of her nose is cold and he startles when it touches his bare skin. “A cruel, possessive thing that turns even the most well-meaning men into monsters. I’d rather you not love me at all.”

Gale doesn’t take offense, only holds her tighter. “Your love is just as terrible, my dear. It merely takes a different, far more self-sacrificing form.” His fingers tangle in her hair. “I’d prefer you alive and at my side, if it’s all the same to you.”

Ferris sighs and relaxes into his arms. “I suppose there are worse monsters than love.”

“There are,” he points out. “You’ve fought them.”

She bites his chest and he cannot help but laugh.

Chapter Text

All things considered, Ferris pulls herself together to an admirable degree when everyone gathers in the Elfsong. If she’s more subdued than usual, it’s only their core group that realizes it, only those who have spent their days and nights at her side. There are plans to be made, decisions to face, but for now there’s drinks and music and dancing because they’ve won.

There is always a cost, and they’ve paid it, but they’ve won.

That cost is visible, the absence of Wyll and Karlach, of Lae’zel. The way Astarion seems far more brittle, a bit more reserved. The way Ferris’ eyes are rimmed with red, her face pale.

When everyone shuffles off to bed, there is silence.

“One would think the weight of the world would be lifted,” Ferris says softly to the ceiling. “And yet, in saving it, it only feels heavier.”

No one replies.

There’s nothing to say.

It’s the last thing she says for days.

“She is heartsick,” Halsin murmurs; it does not keep Ferris from overhearing him, but it does offer some attempt at privacy. Their party has fractured further, now that Jaheira has gone back to her Harpers. Astarion moves through the shadows when he can, and tonight is one of the nights he sticks around, to hear what the druid has to say.

Gale fears his leaving, and knows it will be soon.

“So she’s fine,” Astarion crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. For all intents and purposes, he looks alright, but Gale can see the worry lingering in his eyes.

Halsin shakes his head. “Heart sickness is still a sickness, my friend. It takes time to heal. A safe place, a quiet one, where she can adjust to life anew,” he rubs his jaw. “Would that I could offer one, but rebuilding will take time.”

Behind him, Shadowheart clears her throat. “Gale, weren’t you always telling us about a certain tower in Waterdeep?”

Oh no.

Blood on his lips, Ferris in his tent, warm beneath him, arms shaking as she held herself up. A shelter of Silence, the way her pulse thrummed beneath his mouth as she trembled.

“I’ll show you everything, I promise.”

Closer, he wanted to be closer—she’s so alive, so small.

“You said you’d show me Waterdeep, that you’d introduce me to Tara and your mother.”

Kiss after kiss, blood on her skin—

“Gale?”

He tugs at the collar of his robes, called back to the present by Astarion as Shadowheart continues talking. Gods, he’s filthy; some river muck falls from his sleeves, algae or something worse. “Ah—“

“And your lady mother,” she adds. “And your tressym, why you have a family already. It would be perfect.”

“Tara is not my tressym, she is a friend. And I think we should leave this decision up to our bard, hmm?”

Gods he just wants to bathe but Halsin is shaking his damned head. “I fear she is not capable of making decisions in her current state.”

If he never offers, Ferris cannot turn him down. They won’t have to face the promises they made, before and after Moonrise. The fragile threads that held them together, severed like their tadpole connection, like their group of friends. Halsin claps him on the shoulder and descends the stairs, unbothered by Gale’s current indecision. The wizard turns to leave Shadowheart and Astarion to their gossip and scheming, his only thought being of a bath to wash away the river.

Astarion catches his wrist. “She cannot stay in Baldur’s Gate,” he hisses. “You will take her to Waterdeep, if you aren’t a fool.”

“You’re hurting me,” Gale yanks away. “Anything or anyone that would see her come to harm is gone, why should she not stay? You’re here, still.”

The hall is silent, and Gale readjusts the towel at his waist while Astarion glares at him; it’s not as malice-filled as the wizard expects, more like the spawn is searching him for some secret and is vexed he cannot find it.

“If you do not take her,” Shadowheart says firmly. “We will lose her.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever died of heart sickness.”

“She will slip away in the night and return to the backwater she was raised in, somewhere in Cormyr, and we will never see her again.”

Astarion’s tone brokers no arguments and it is Gale’s turn to search for something. “Has she said this?”

“No,” the other man concedes. “But she doesn’t need to, does she?”

‘It would be easier if she did,’ Gale thinks. If she said what she wanted, they wouldn’t be having this conversation; hells, Gale might be asleep by now. He thinks of Ferris, unmoving and silent in her own bed, barely existing beyond the basest of needs—even then Jen had to convince her to eat most days. The bard who helped everyone, unable to help them now.

He thinks about a promise made twice over, to stay together no matter what, and how both of them were liars through and through.

“She thinks she’s of no use anymore,” it dawns on him slowly. “After you came back—“

“There you go,” Astarion gives him a mocking little round of applause. “Figured it all out. She needs a purpose and a place to find it in, and she will not find it here. Perhaps in Reithwin, once that hulking beast of a druid gets it to some degree of repair, but until then the only place with a soft landing is Waterdeep. With you.”

Gale is exhausted.

“I’ll think on it. That is all I can promise.”

It’s less than he’d promised before.

The spawn nods, turning on his heel to stalk back into the shadows, and Shadowheart gives him a long look. “I know you think it’s not what she wants, but there’s nothing wrong with taking time to make an informed decision.”

‘If she wants to return to Cormyr,’ she doesn’t say. ‘Better for her to make that decision when she’s not in pain.’ Gale understands the value of distance, of all of them it’s something he has had to deal with repeatedly on their journey. It would have been far easier to think about sacrificing himself if the danger wasn’t immediate, looming, surrounding them and pressing in from all sides. Ferris helps him see things differently, a new set of eyes on a problem with a quick mind to accompany her opinion, freely given.

“Once I’m finished with this damn crown,” he says. “Once I can look at the future without an orb eating away at me, I will talk to her.”

Once he can imagine a future at all.

How had it once been so easy, when the end was looming? It had been so easy to make promises when ‘forever’ was a concept rather than a reality—when surviving from one day to the next was not a given and instead fought for and won at the end of a blade.

Another day, another piece of the crown dragged out of the river; Gale wants to celebrate, but the light is dying and he wants to get the last part. The faster this is over, the faster he can return to normal.

To Waterdeep.

Possibly with Ferris.

What a terrifying thought. He has done his best to not dwell on the idea.

He writes a letter to his mother. It isn’t ideal, but Gale is out of options—he also doesn’t want to surprise her upon his return, he can picture it going poorly. Showing up after suddenly disappearing, after sequestering himself in his tower? And with a young woman who looked far younger than her twenty-five years? She might just kill him for it. That’s not what he’d like Ferris to witness, especially from his lady mother, and a letter will have to suffice.

He tells Ferris all of this as he dries his hair, sitting on the edge of her bed as she faces the wall; if her sides weren’t moving with regular breaths, he might not believe her to be alive. As it is, she breathes slowly and deeply, far less often than the average person. It throws him off, at times.

“If I do survive the part of prodigal son, I think you’ll love the library,” he folds the towel, despairing at the ever-present smell of the river that seems to never leave his skin. “There’s a balcony where we’ll watch the sunsets, it looks out over the sea. There’s enchantments on the books and shelves to protect them from the salt air, and I love to leave the doors open in the afternoon to let the breeze waft through the curtains. I must sound ridiculous to you; I’m no poet, my words are not as lovely as yours and I cannot convey the loveliness of it. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

Ferris surprises him by sitting up, looking at him with wide eyes; they are vacant of most emotion, but they’re open, and focused.

“It sounds nice.”

He carefully, gently puts his hand on what he thinks is her foot. “It is.”

‘And you’re going to see it,’ he adds, wishing he could push the thought, the feeling, down a connection in their minds that no longer exists.

The bard says nothing, and he wants more than anything to see the storm light in her eyes again, the bright, sharp edge that could cut a man to the core.

“You’ll recall our promise, or remaining together,” Gale says gently. Ferris nods, barely. “I think you should come to Waterdeep, with me.”

It’s the first time he’s said it aloud. The first time it’s been suggested.

Gale sits delicately on the edge of the bed, away from where Ferris is curled over her knees and gazing out the window, unnaturally still and silent. Her bed nook is barren compare to everyone else’s and Gale remembers her staring at the open spaces like she was lost and unable to navigate home. They all have their trinkets and necessities and delights, and Ferris has a bit of ribbon for her hair, a very smooth stone, and a few hair pins.

The difference is startling.

“Shadowheart and Halsin think I should go, you mean.” She refuses to look at him, but that’s alright. It’s nothing personal, Ferris refuses to look at almost anyone these days, as if eye contact is too much, too personal. Too raw, too much of a risk, her eyes will give her away.

She hasn’t looked at him since the library conversation.

“Astarion agrees, and they all have good reasons.”

Sounds from the street filter in, a child crying, a woman laughing, dogs barking back and forth. It’s too much, the silence, and he carries on.

“I did promise to show it to you,” he reminds her gently. “But I cannot force you to accompany me.”

I promised to never be apart from you.

Ferris makes a sound that might have been agreement, might have been disagreement, might have been simple acknowledgment. He misses her, suddenly, the Ferris they’d once known, the bright and lively bard who was quick with her words and quicker with her sword.

“What do you want?”

That gets her attention. “What?”

“What do you want to do? You don’t seem partial to Baldur’s Gate, you don’t seem inclined to Waterdeep. So, I ask you: what do you, Ferris, want to do? If I can aid you, I will, whatever you desire. Our adventure is over, and if you would like that to be the end of our vows, it seems a natural conclusion.”

Her mouth opens. Closes. Her lips purse, and Ferris turns back to the window. “I’ll come to Waterdeep.”

“That is not your decision—“

“But it is a decision,” she says sharply, too brittle at the edges, and Gale remembers that he has to handle her with more delicacy than he’s used to. “And I am not inclined to break a promise, so go and tell the three listening outside the door that I’ll go with you and they can stop pretending I’m broken.”

“Then stop acting like it!” It comes out cruel and he knows it, but he cannot stop his voice. “Not everything is a story, not everyone gets what they want, not everything works out perfectly like in a fairy tale.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” She staggers to her feet, taller than him where he sits at the edge of the bed still. “Don’t you think I understand that fairy tales and happy endings aren’t for people like us?”

‘People like me,’ her eyes say. ‘People who don’t dream of better or more or anything beyond tomorrow’s sunrise and sunset.’

Gale rises stiffly, ignoring Ferris’ question as he straightens his robes. “I have business to attend to at the river, which is nearing completion. At the end of the tenday, we will accompany Halsin and a few wagons of supplies. I suggest if you have any personal business remaining in Baldur’s Gate, see to it now.”

The bard vibrates with anger and does not speak as he leaves, the door closing sharply behind him.

He wishes no one had followed him, but Gale is glad that it’s the druid and not one of the other elves. Halsin, usually, is an unbiased judge and that is what Gale needs in this moment, as much as he dislikes it.

“I’ve made her angry,” he begins, finding the words difficult to say. After all, he cares immensely and Ferris has thrown that care in his face, heedless of his intentions or desires. He had not made his own known, of course, but he expected it to go over a slight better than it had.

“She is not angry with you, my friend.” Halsin rests a strong hand on his shoulder. “She is angry with the world, and I believe our bard hopes you, of all people, would understand.”

Gale deflates. “I should have been kinder.”

The druid’s shrug surprises him. “Regardless of the method, she is out of bed and speaking. That is victory enough.”

When Gale returns that night, he is surprised to see Ferris and Astarion downstairs, fresh bruises on Ferris’ neck and a plate of food in front of her that she has picked at. If their body language is anything to go by, the elf is still trying to get her to eat more when he catches Gale’s eyes, giving him a nod before turning back to the bard.

Once he’s cured, they’ll travel to Waterdeep.

Once he’s reforged the damn crown, he’ll be forgiven by Mystra, whatever that looks like, and he can move on. They can move on.

He hopes Ferris can forgive him, eventually.

He’s not sure.

Chapter Text

Ferris hopes the boy won’t be too scarred after this as she closes her hand calmly around the blunted sword, steadying it in his trembling grasp.

“It’s alright,” she says calmly, blood beginning to leak from between her fingers, staining her clothes. She doesn’t raise her voice, tries not to call attention to what has happened, but the older members of the cohort have caught on that something isn’t right. “Don’t pull back, just let go. That’s it.”

The boy’s hand jerks away, as though electrified, and Ferris does her best not to grimace when it digs the blade in just that bit deeper.

“I—I—“

“It’s alright,” she repeats. The calmer she stays, the better this will go. She clears her throat, pulling the sword out and plunging the tip into the ground, hopefully before anyone can see the blood on it. “I’ll need someone to fetch Professor Dekarios, please. Until then, I’m going to take a seat here. If you’ll all remain within my sight, that would be ideal, but if you’re squeamish I will excuse you to sit on the benches.”

“Miss?” It’s a terrified warble of a question and she sighs.

“Rule number one when you’ve been stabbed, young wizards: remain calm. Rule number two: don’t remove the weapon. Knife, arrow, whatever it may be—especially if it’s gone through.”

One student looks like they might be ill, which doesn’t bode well for him unless he chooses a life of academia.

“But you removed the weapon, miss,” another stubbornly points out. Ferris feels slightly better; if they can adopt that tone, there’s at least one student not panicking.

“Yes, because I have experience with being stabbed and was able to assess that it would be fine to do so. Rule three: apply pressure like so—oh, someone catch Silas, he’s fainted.”

Gale’s lecture with a handful of independent study students is rudely interrupted by a frantic young man who struggles to catch his breath; the older ones stare at the boy, confused, then at Gale while the boy gulps in air. Spells fizzle out as concentration lapses, other burn out as the seconds tick by.

“Professor. Miss Ferris. Asked to get you. Been—please.”

“What’s happened?” Gale rounds the lectern, brow scrunching in concern. “Been what?”

“Stabbed,” the boy chokes out. “Please come.”

He doesn’t bother dismissing the older students; Gale sprints down the hall, the stairs, circling and winding until he’s blinking against the sun in the courtyard, scanning for where the bard had held her class that day. The students part for him when he reaches their cluster, all varying levels of concerned.

“She was speaking just fine, Professor, said it wasn’t so bad, but I think the shock’s worn off.” The student crouching beside Ferris looks up with wide eyes; he’s older but not as skilled, a late addition to Blackstaff’s roster. He has his palms pressed over a towel, soaked with blood.

“It hurts,” Ferris winces. “That’s all. It’s not a pleasant thing, being stabbed.”

“Step away, please,” Gale directs. “Fetch another professor; you’ll have a study hall.”

The boy nods, heedless of the blood on his hands as he begins to herd the rest of the boys away.

“Ferris, tell me it’ll be alright. Here, let’s lay you down.”

“Thank goodness one of them was useful,” she huffs what sounds like a laugh. “Parents are surgeons, apparently. Damned if it doesn’t still hurt.“

“I need you to say ‘yes’,” he’s cradling her head searching her eyes as another professor strides over, much faster than he had anticipated; it seems one of the other students had taken initiative and fetched an adult. The boy with blood on his hands is wiping them on his robes, seemingly filling the professor in on what had occurred. “Ferris.”

She trusts him more than anyone else in the world, would out her life in his hands. Ferris can stop pretending to be in control, Gale knows her rough edges, how to smooth them. He always knows. The dull ache in her head grows and there’s so many frantic words, so much happening around her.

‘It was an accident.’

Crying.

Begging.

An accident.

She pats a tear-stained cheek with a bloodied hand, doing her best attempt at shushing but she’s sure it comes out slurred now that she’s given up on maintaining her calm, outward presentation. “Swords are dangerous. I’m glad it was me and not someone else.”

Hands hover over her, not touching, someone leading the boys further away. Questions now, asked of her. Gale’s frantic, terrified eyes.

“Yes,” she remembers to say, and it comes out a gasp. “Yes, it’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”

Pain, bright and grounding and then Gale explaining that she’s difficult to heal, explains it away easily as mixed heritage. She loves him. So much. Things focus for a moment and she grabs his collar, the angle awkward with how he leans over her. “You tell that boy that this isn’t his fault,” she grits out, sweat on her brow. “Until you’re blue in the face or he believes it, whichever comes first. Not his fault. Accident.”

“You’ve been stabbed and all you can think about is someone else,” Gale manages to sigh, brow knitted in concentration. “Typical of you.”

“Just because I’ve got a new hole in me doesn’t mean I’ve changed.”

It makes Gale choke, magic ebbing a little as his focus slips at her terrible joke. “Hold still, and please refrain from whatever attempt at humor that was.”

“No promises, wizard.”

Words become hard again and Ferris opts to remove her hand from Gale’s robes and instead bite down hard on her fist to muffle a scream as magic stabs into her skin; she will not scare her charges any further, not today. Healing never felt good, the feeling of muscle and flesh and bone knitting back together terrifyingly visceral when it was within your own body. It’s slower now, and she hates it. Her body resists the magic, even as she wills it not to, even as she sends up a prayer she knows won’t be heard.

Thankfully, nothing critical had been hit, and there’s no pressing need beyond relieving her of her pain and stopping blood loss—she’d have been far more concerned if that wasn’t the case, but one benefit of her education was ‘learning which organs you did and did not need’. Gale presses his palm down more firmly and the ache becomes bright; she gasps, the world clear for a few seconds.

“Stay with me,” Gale murmurs, and another professor is at his side.

Ferris laughs. “Gale, it’s a flesh wound, I’m fine. Well, not fine, but I won’t die. It just hurts like a bitch, and the magic isn’t helping.”

“Alright, then don’t faint,” he replies. “If you need specific instruction.”

“Yes, Professor Dekarios.” Maybe if she downplays the pain, he’ll believe her.

When she breathes, she can feel the resistance where he’s pressing down, feel the magic knotting in her veins and tangling up instead of stitching together. If she didn’t feel so utterly shit, she would make a joke about the Weave, or something about tangling up a loom. Ferris sighs and does her best not to worry anyone further.

“Stop trying to act as though this is relaxing,” he hisses at her. “You’ve been stabbed.”

“By a child with a practice sword,” she point out, unhelpfully. “I am aware, I was present for it, not sure if you could tell from the blood.”

He doesn’t reply, his whole focus now on the spell. She can tell he’s just as confused as she is, trying to untangle the threads of it and stitch her back together, wondering why it snarls and resists his expert hand.

Another face, another professor, this one quite young, appears in her vision and Ferris wants to roll her eyes at the academic curiosity in the man’s eyes.

‘Damned wizards,’ she thinks, even as she makes a mental note to thank him for shepherding her students away.

“Dekarios, why isn’t it healing?”

“It’s harder to heal people with red hair,” Ferris lies. “This is has been a common issue in my life, hence all the scars.”

“Really? Damn, that’s inconvenient,” the other professor scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Wait, but you don’t—“

Gale snaps at him. “Corlin, if you’re not going to help, at least back away and let her breathe.”

The younger man holds up his hands, sitting back on his heels; his presence is frustrating Gale, that much she can be sure of even through the waves of pain as the knots of magic slowly untangle and stitch her wound together, muscle fiber by muscle fiber, capillary by capillary.

“I assume you’ve made sure my students are alright,” she says. “Take them inside, please, and see if you can’t settle them into their books like good little wizards.” It’ll get the other man away, and buy Gale a little more time to at least get her to stop bleeding. The man nods, rising smoothly as he glances over his shoulder, scanning the field. Between his legs, Ferris can see the cluster of students, terrified as a flock of chickens in the presence of a hawk. He strides back toward them, and the stiffness in Gale’s shoulders disappears a fraction.

“Good thing you’re a convincing liar.”

She hums in response, and something in her veins loosens a fraction, the magic flowing more easily. Ferris jerks away, shocked by the rush and tingle of it.

“Hold still,” he reminds her. “And don’t faint.”

A nod, and then she hums again, a tavern song. It’s like something shakes loose and the trickle becomes a flood. Her wound knits in mere heartbeats, and she’s fairly certain the ache in her shoulder is gone too, as well as the sniffle she’d woken with that signaled the proper coming of spring and all its pollen. Gale jerks back, the sparks of magic racing back up his arm to burrow back into his skin, waiting for their next use. She can almost smell it, that bright, saccharine scent of Gale’s magic.

“What the in the Hells?” Ferris bolts up, hand smoothing over her side. There’s not even a scar, and all she comes away with is her own blood. “Huh.”

She nearly falls when she tries to stand, blood loss taking its eventual toll; Gale catches her when she stumbles, and pain lances through her. It seems like the magic had healed her, but the euphoria of feeling well fades rapidly. Pain blooms through her gut, and she doesn’t have to look to know there will be a proper bruise there, angry and purple. “Well, this is terrible.”

It gets worse when the dean of faculty strides across the lawn, his face red with anger.

“Dekarios, Miss Büller.” The bard flinches at the use of her surname. “My office, immediately.”

His tone brokers no argument, and Gale wraps an arm around Ferris’ ribs as best he can; without carrying her, there is really no other options. “Students first,” she murmurs to him under her breath. “If you please. I suspect the lecture will be the same either way.”

A nod, and Gale walks them as steadily as he can to the quickly calming group of students under Corlin’s command. Ferris has seen him around, but never spoken with him at length or seen his style of teaching. He is not suited to panic, that much is clear from a brief assessment, and Ferris pulls away from Gale as she clears her throat and puts her hands on her hips. Immediately all nervous chatter stops and they stare, waiting for whatever order she is about to bark at them. Clearly this is a posture they are familiar with when it comes to instruction.

“Assistant Professor Corlin is taking charge of you for now, you will listen to him as you would me. Am I clear?” She waits for their murmurs of ascent or silent nods. “Good. Now, as you can see, swords are dangerous. However, I am alive and talking to you because of Professor Dekarios’ mastery of healing arts. As flashy and impressive as some spells are, keep in mind that the less showy spells are often just as important. A Fireball will clear a room, but a Cure Wounds will help you survive when you miscalculate the radius of said Fireball.

“Professor Corlin, they are under your care. Mind they behave, and they may have silent study on the lawn for the rest of the period.”

Corlin salutes her, grinning. “Yes ma’am.”

She turns, her back straight and her shoulders rigid with pain. Only Gale can see through what looks like confidence and strength, and only because he is a practiced study; it isn’t until she’s inside that she slumps against the wall, sucking in great gulps of air before pushing off again. “Fucking all Hells, that was the hardest speech I’ve ever given.”

“I suspect you’ll need your boundless charisma again in a few minutes,” he loops his arm around her again, shifting her weight so that he bears most of it, insignificant as it is compared to some burdens in his life. “I don’t know if you’ll manage to talk your way out of this one.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Gale,” she sets her mouth in a thin line, breathing through her nose before they begin going up the steps. Ferris does her best to keep her strides even, despite the ache in her side that radiates down her leg, settling in the ball of her hip. She’ll have to stretch it out after all this, make sure that it heals well enough to not impede her; she knows what a good healing job feels like, and what a rushed on feels like—this is the later, through no fault of Gale’s and entirely her own. Whatever stopped magic within her, whatever prevented its usual path, it was keeping her from the worst of the pain but not fully working. “I’ve got the most fascinating feedback later, with the healing spell.”

“Yes, something did happen,” he agrees. “But that is for tonight.”

“Tonight,” Ferris agrees, taking one last, deep breath before knocking on the door, listening for the booming ‘enter’. The two of them navigate the doors, and she isn’t even allowed to sit before the interrogation begins.

“What happened?”

Ferris is still bleary-eyed from pain and she sways when she turns to the dean, separating from Gale once more to stand on her own. “Accident. Swords are dangerous, even dulled ones. The boys learned that today.”

“An accident?”

She nods and Gale grips her elbow to steady her. “Yes sir. Even a practice sword with enough force can cause damage. I wasn’t wearing my leathers, usually don’t during drills, turned around as a boy stumbled. Sword, meet side.”

“I see.”

“It wasn’t his fault. I wear mail to spar, as do the boys at all times we use more than wood, but I often take it off to show them forms. Easier to see the body and how it moves,” she sinks into a chair. “After today, it’ll be required.”

There is a heavy silence, then.

“Resistant to magic, are you?” The dean is carefully looking at some papers, and Ferris recognizes them at the lesson plans she had cobbled together upon request. “Not ideal.”

“I agree. The curse of being half one thing, half another.”

“And here I was told it had to do with red hair.”

Ferris does not so much as blink, staring blandly at the dean. “My father has red hair, my mother doesn’t. It appears I was not as articulate as I should have been, on account of being stabbed.”

It takes all of Gale’s willpower not to snort out a laugh, because she delivers the explanation so calmly, so convincingly, that the average person would be more than inclined to believe her; bedsides, the only people in this room who knows her father’s hair is black are the two least likely to offer up that information in the current moment.

Unfortunately, this is not the average person sitting before them.

“I see,” comes the reply, just as evenly. It is not clear if he believes her or not from his tone. “You would understand then, if we were to want a sword master who could quickly resolve such things without issue?”

Gale stiffens but, beside him in the chair Ferris sighs. “You’re letting me go, I assume.”

The way she simply accepts it bristles him and he speaks before he can think better of it. “You can’t discriminate against those without magic,” Gale cuts in. “It’s illegal.”

At least, he thinks it is.

The dean looks at her oddly. “I thought this was about you being resistant to magic. Can you not use your own?”

“I’ve never had magic beyond cantrips, sir.” Ferris looks at her feet, scuffs the toe of her boot against the boards of the floor in a practiced moment of submission and embarrassment. “I am sorry if you have been lead to believe otherwise.”

Gale hates how easily she lies, and how smoothly she can spin a story from nothing, but notices that she admits no fault. Why would she?

“It would be better if you did, as this is an institution of magical learning. The ability to promptly heal is a necessity—and what if you’d been with child? We have a number of female staff, but in a position such as yours, quick healing is a must. If you aren’t inclined to think of your person, think of our students.”

“If I had been with child,” Ferris says sweetly, no hesitation. “It would be between me and my husband. As I am unwed, and also not affianced, this is not an appropriate conversation—nor one you would be having with a male member of your staff. You’ll also remember that I am a capable field medic without magic: I can splint bones, relocate a number of joints, dress wounds in lieu of immediate attention. In a true emergency, it would be best to have a skilled healer rather than a bard trained to kill, and I assure you sir: I am the latter.”

The dean of faculty’s face darkens.

“The Academy will make due in your absence.”

‘That’s it,’ Ferris thinks. ‘Nothing more for it.’

She stands smoothly and turns on her heel and only Gale sees the wince that crosses her face. “Please draft a formal letter of dismissal and have it sent to the tower. I will have it signed and returned with haste,” she glances back only once. “I have trained these students to protect themselves without magic, and I don’t think there is anything more of value I could contribute to their education than that. You’ve clearly never had to face death with nothing left to cast and only a dagger in your hand, sir, and respectfully? I hope you never have to know what that feels like.”

The door slams behind them and Ferris presses her palms into her eyes until colorful sparks dance through blackness; Gale’s arm comes around her a little softer this time and he holds her gently, until the blood on her shirt soaks into his robes and she feels like she can go on.

“I’ll take you home,” he says quietly, feeling Ferris shake her head.

“You still have class until fourth bell,” she reminds him. “I’ll hide away in the infirmary until then, see if they don’t have a non-magical poultice or ingredients for one.”

He shifts them carefully, maneuvering until he is supporting her weight once more. “Do you think your magical resistance extends to your blood once it is outside of you body?”

They navigate quite halls, most lectures still in session and only a few students passing them with curious glances; Ferris knows how these things go and she knows that there will be two stories that stem from this: one of her being stabbed, and another of her entanglement with Gale. The first will be greatly exaggerated, likely involving far more heroics, and the second will be twisted into some strange romantic tale that students whisper about when they think of great tales. The wizard who saved a woman and fell in love, or something equally ridiculous. She’s almost positive that one version of this tale will have her carried in Gale’s arms like a princess and it makes her laugh.

“Why the question about my blood?” She wipes her eyes with her free hand. “Thinking of some spell components?”

“No,” he tries and fails to hide a shockingly roguish grin. “I’m think of how difficult it will be for the dean to get that stain out of his chair.”

Ferris laughs hard enough to make her side ache and the pain makes her want to vomit. “You’re awful,” she chokes out. “Someone must have been a terrible influence on you.”

“It’s a continuing study,” he says happily and, before Ferris can protest, Gale has an arm beneath her knees and sweeps her up. “This will be much faster, there’s only a few minutes until lectures end and we have to navigate a sea of bodies.”

“Very practical of you,” Ferris clears her throat, ignoring the swoop of her stomach and the rapid beat of her heart (easier said than done, as each pulse makes the pain in her side flare). “My champion.”

The arm around her shoulders tightens slightly, the ghost of an embrace. “I am capable of stepping in when I must, as it seems my own champion is indisposed.

She snorts. “Shut up and take me to the infirmary, please. Your saccharine words are making me sick.”

They both know it’s a lie, and Gale’s smile doesn’t fade even when he deposits her into an empty bed and presses a kiss to her knuckles before the bells sound and he returns to his lectures, making her promise to rest and that he’ll see her shortly.

Ferris nods dutidully, and waits until the door closes behind him, pausing to listen for anyone else that might be in the room; she’s lucky, and there is no breathing but hers. She fills basin with water, hauling off her ruined shirt to wipe away blood and sweat and assess her bruising in the mirror.

“Could be worse,” she mutters to herself as she digs through a wardrobe of extra uniforms to find one that looks close enough her size to pass for ‘properly fitted’. It hides her figure and makes her look younger, and Ferris quickly takes down her coronet braid and makes two plaits instead, dangling down her back and secured with strips of her ruined shirt. Blackstaff has just enough female students that no one will look twice at her, even if she does prefer to be disguised as a boy.

She discards her old shirt and scrawls a note to Gale, waiting until the halls quiet before slipping out. A student with a note will not draw attention, a girl on an errand for a member of staff. Breaking into Gale’s office is easy, as usual—he’s stopped putting magical locks on it now that he knows how easily a good, old-fashioned tumbler device will stump students.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop her in the least.

Ferris folds the note so that it stands on his desk, clearly visible and addressed to him.

‘I’ve gone home. The infirmary has shit tea, and I didn’t want to be around for the start of the school gossip. Signed, your bard.’

After that, it’s easy to walk unnoticed through the halls and out of the Academy, her ears catching the start of rumors that swirl like cream into tea, mixing until truth and exaggeration become one.

The pain in her side is easy enough to compartmentalize as she makes her way back to the tower, slipping inside and leaning heavily on the door before remembering just how many gods damned stairs there were in the place.

“I should have waited for Gale,” she groans, resolving to a long, aching journey up to a hot bath and her own bed.

Stairs.

Ugh.

As it turns out, she was right to escape when she did.

“They’re saying I carried you off the green in my arms after bringing you back from the brink of death,” he groans, collapsing into his favorite chair. Ferris has long washed away the blood and sweat, changed into clean clothes with a pack of ice against her side. She snorts at the description, kissing his forehead and running her free hand through his hair as he continues. “Apparently I held you close and kissed you passionately, as though we were lovers.”

“Aren’t we?” She teases, and Gale’s face flushes red.

“Well, yes. I…I suppose we are,” he runs a hand over his face. “Though I am not sure how I feel about my students gossiping about our relationship.”

Ferris carefully settles herself into his lap, both of them mindful of her side. “I wouldn’t be too concerned,” she points out. “They don’t actually know we’re lovers, for one thing, and where’s the harm in becoming the legendary lovers of Blackstaff?”

“Oh don’t start,” he says, but Ferris can see the smile tugging at his lips; Gale knows the beginnings of a story when he hears it, and his bard leans closer to breathe it into his ear.

“A powerful wizard, a beautiful maiden, his magic and his kiss bringing her back to life after a terrible tragedy,” it’s sighed out wistfully before she leans back and he can see her sly smile. “It’s not too far from the truth, all things considered, but it’s far more romantic. The only bit wrong is the ‘maiden’ thing.”

“Ferris!”

She twines her arms around his neck before he can protest, kissing his cheek. “Hush, it’s not important to the story anyway.”

Gale “I thought you didn’t believe in fairy tales?”

“And what have I said about truth in story?” She stands with a stretch, only wincing a little. “It seems you’ve learned very little, Gale Dekarios.”

“I’ve learned that cabbage leaves have healing properties, that rosemary by the gate brings luck, and that you’ve been a fairy tale princess the entire time,” he shakes his head. “I cannot believe you’ve kept this from me, bard.”

“Hardly a princess,” she laughs, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. “Princesses don’t wear their wizard’s over-large shirts and nothing else.”

This time when he groans, it’s not exhaustion. “Ferris, you were stabbed this morning. You cannot be serious.”

She shrugs, turning to head up the stairs. “I’m feeling an understandable zest for life after my experience,” she calls back over her shoulder, hair falling like a curtain with the turn of her head to hide the constellation of freckles at the top of her spine. “Besides, you’re the one who said battle and near death experiences were turn ons.”

“I read it in a book! And it was about danger heightening one’s desire for—“ Ferris lets the shirt fall from her shoulders as she makes her way up, the lurid purple of her bruise just visible under the edges where she’d wrapped it, stark against her freckled skin as she disappears into the shadow of the landing. “You’re a terrible influence.”

Her voice projects, more of a challenge than a seduction. “Perhaps you should come put some sense into me.”

Gale knows that his bard’s hearing is unmatched; Ferris can hear the change in his breathing when he wakes, even if she’s multiple floors down. It seems like she can hear changes in the wind that bring rain or sun, but he has yet to test that. The point is, he knows that she hears him mutter ‘it won’t be sense I put in you’ as he picks up his shirt, still warm from her body, from the steps as he follows after her.

His hearing doesn’t need to be elf-keen to hear her resulting laughter.

The tower is filled with flowers again but not ones that Ferris collects herself. Wood sorrel, dewdrops, even some proper weeds—apparently Cat had found them herself, which explains the chaos of the arrangements. Once word had reached her of Ferris’ accidental stabbing, as the bard herself calls it, Cat had thrown herself into a tizzy of worry and scolding, usually in equal measure.

Gale appreciates that his bard has company while she recovers, even if the flowers make him sneeze, and his eyes itch.

Most important, the flowers make Ferris happy in their own strange way; she loves how wild things feel when compared to a cultivated garden. Their own front garden has a similar energy, Ferris planting things where they wished to be planted, according to her. “The speak to me, and tell me their perfect place.”

Gale can’t argue; it seemed to be working wonders, the whole garden growing lush and chaotic with an abundance of life. There are always bees or butterflies or other glittering insects, always cats napping in the shade or children plucking herbs that hang over the fence (by standing invitation to take what they please, if only because it helps keep everything contained and there is only so much rosemary one can have before it becomes too much rosemary).

If the garden still speaks to her, Ferris does not mention it. Secretly, he hopes it does, somehow, and that it was not another thing robbed of her to spare him and save another.

“You sacrifice so much,” he says softly as they walk home. His bard has plenty of time to wander again, and makes herself useful around the various shops and taverns, libraries and bakeries and the docks alike. Ferris will simply insert herself as though she has always been there, seamless integration a testament to her own talent. As her bruises faded and the pain in her hip lessened, she had begun to wander again, desperate for something to occupy her once more.

Today he had heard her singing some more gentle ballads, the sound of her carried to him on a breeze from an open door of a flower shop. Gale had waited patiently just inside the establishment for her to finish whatever she’d been tasked with, the smell of fresh blooms covering the singed scent of his robes. Her smile as she discarded her apron and bid the owner farewell was bright enough to put the early daffodils to shame. Finding her and walking home had become a new tradition, one he rather cherished. “I wonder, where the limit is, my dear.”

Ferris vaults herself up onto a wall, her feet at his shoulders as she walks along, as though she hadn’t just nimbly lifted herself like a breeze. It reminds him of another wall, what feels like a lifetime ago, and another conversation.

“I want to live.” Her voice is strong, emphatic. Gale hasn’t heard this level of conviction in a long time, and it’s captivating as only a bard’s speech can be. “Death doesn’t frighten me; I have know isolation and emptiness, but what I want is to be full, Gale— full of happiness and laughter and good wine, good books and better endings.

“I want to try all the things you offer me, even if it’s just to watch me make a face, and to try all that the world has as well. I want to see how many strands I can braid into a loaf of bread, I want to see every shade of sunrise and sunset and all the colors the ocean can be, Gale.”

He’s stunned to silence.

Ferris squares her shoulders, not looking down at him, and he sees the leader in her once more. “And you’re going to see it with me.”

It’s a drastic change from the catatonic young woman in the Elfsong, the no-nonsense leader with a sharp sense of humor. The scholar, the commander, the poet—

‘No,’ he realizes suddenly. ‘No, nothing has changed.”

Ferris has always been a dreamer. She simply dreamed differently and in less detail for so long. One can dream of safety and comfort and not know the shape of it. One can dream of friendship and love and still struggle with the hedgehog’s eternal dilemma.

Her dreams include him. Perhaps they always have.

Their shared vow certainly indicated that to be true.

“And I’m going to see it with you,” he agrees. “Now get back down here.”

He can hear her eye roll even as she acquiesces with a laugh, her hair and skirts a blur as she jumps from the wall and lands neatly on her feet. “We’ve weathered worse, Gale,” she says softly. “We’ll weather this too, I can promise you that.”

Even though he knows it to be true, he wishes the water wasn’t so choppy at every turn. ‘Smooth sailing would be both welcome and appreciated,’ he thinks as he follows her a few steps behind, taking simple enjoyment in knowing her down to her bones. ‘If only for her. She deserves to unfurl her sails without wondering if the rope will be ripped from her hands.’

To his horror and her amusement, Ferris becomes a subject of study. His students ask pointed equations, his fellow professors even more. She has not been explicitly banned from the school, and had visited Gale often enough to take lunch or drop off something he’d forgotten, but now it’s difficult to hide from curious eyes especially as the rumors swirl.

Apparently, from what he’s heard, they’re secretly engaged. Ferris is apparently half fae in that rumor, something he summoned from the ‘Wild in a quest for true love. She likes that rumor, and Gale secretly does as well. She seems wild enough for it, after all.

There is more curiosity about the truth, however (and to his disappointment, most people don’t even put much weight behind the secret engagement aspect of it). In response to those requests, most people get the standard shrug and ‘oh, it’s always been this way’. Only one student whose questions were too pointed to be ignored was given the truth.

“You see before you the consequences of high-level magic,” she flourishes her hands in a way that should have sent up sparks of light. “I made a Wish, and the price was my magic. All of it.”

The poor boy looks sick, and Gale knows that the idea of living without connection to the Weave, living without magic, is horrifying enough that the boy will be cautious in the future and may need to be coaxed into more complicated spell casting. It’s not Ferris’ intent and when she sees his fear she softens, extending a muffin she’d made that morning and brought for Gale. The boy hesitates, glancing at his professor, and sits down on the grass with them.

“Lucky for you,” she adds. “It’s very hard to accidentally Wish for something, especially if you use it as intended.”

“What did you Wish for, miss?”

Gale stills beside her, a respectful distance between their bodies but Ferris feels it and lays her hand over his before answering. “For simplicity’s sake, I Wished for a life restored. Not a resurrection, mind you, but something one might read about in a fairy tale.”

“Was it worth it?”

“That’s enough, Davis,” Gale says sharply, but Ferris squeezes his hand and he clears his throat; the boy looks throughly chastised, an embarrassed flush to his cheeks.

“Apologies miss. Professor,” he stands quickly, brushing grass off his knees.

“It was worth the cost to me,” the bard offers, an extension of an olive branch to show that no offense has been taken and no harm done. “I trust you’ll keep this in confidence, and remember that there is a price to magic.”

The boy nods solemnly before striding quickly back to the path that cuts between towers; Gale visible relaxes once its just the two of them again and Ferris elbows him. “Do be nice, Gale. They’re children, after all. However, if you’re keen to incinerate a fellow professor I will not stand in your way.”

He sighs and Ferris tugs him down to rest his head in her lap, skirts neatly arranged around her legs to keep her warm in the shade. “Was it wise, to tell him?”

“It will certainly solve the problems you’ve been having with him trying to learn beyond his current skill level,” she points out. “Especially now that only one of us can Mend clothing.”

Gale closes his eyes with a soft chuckle, the bard’s fingers working deftly through his hair as she scratches as his scalp in long, soothing motions. They have only a few more moments before the bells sound and he has to return to his lectern, but he intends to keep them peaceful to the last. The bard’s hands do not stop and she hums a tune he recognizes as an old folk tune, her fingers chasing away the tension in his face and the ache behind his eyes.

There are only a few more lectures and practical demonstrations before the spring exam period, and then a tenday to do his marking before things begin again.

“We should plan a trip,” he murmurs sleepily. It comes out more of a rumble than anything, but Ferris understands him and lightly scratches her acknowledgment. “How would you like to see Neverwinter?”

He wants to take her somewhere far away, to see the way her eyes lit from within when exploring a new place;

She hums thoughtfully. “Volo did give it a glowing review.”

Gale cannot help the disgusted sound that comes from his throat and Ferris’ accompanying laugh sounds as sweetly as the bell that summon him back to his profession.

They do not make it to Neverwinter, mostly because Gale had not planned on having so many papers to grade. Ferris politely tempers his disappointment by reminding him that they’d have had to travel by horseback anyway, and it does alleviate the sting somewhat. He loses himself to reading and corrections, vowing to have far less written sections in his next exams because truly, what was he thinking?

“Some of these students have terrible handwriting,” he laments when Ferris brings him a cup of tea (she disappears again for a moment, returning with a decanter and pouring a healthy amount of whiskey in at the sight of him). “This is taking far longer than it should.”

“Don’t forget to sleep,” she reminds him as she runs a soothing hand across his tight shoulders. “Or your body will do it for you.”

He knows.

The whiskey in his tea doesn’t help matters, warming him from the inside and relaxing his tense shoulder and neck, and—

When Gale bolts awake, the first thing he does is look for Ferris. He cannot hear her breathing the way she seems to be attuned to every sound he makes, but typically she is within his sight in the library, this late in the evening.

Well.

This early in the morning.

The lingering winter chill is less than tolerable to her, and he sees her curled up in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket on the rug. She’s pulled some pillows from the lounge, and Gale watches the rise and fall of her chest where she lays. It’s a comforting thing to watch, one he knows she also indulges in. More than once he has woken from a doze to find her eyes skimming his throat, his chest, or feeling her fingers brush down his arms or through his hair like a pleasant breeze, gentle as a dream.

He sighs and resigns himself to working until the day properly begins, papers still ungraded from when he’d fallen asleep, but they’re not under his cheek as he suspected— no, all the papers are off to the side and there are neat annotations on each one, in Ferris’ confident, easy mimicry of his own handwriting.

Often, he forgets she knows magic, the bard far preferring her own hands for tasks over any other method. Gale had, more than once, walked into the kitchen to see her standing on the counter to reach the top-most shelves in his larder rather than summoning a Mage Hand to assist.

“Magic is something I was born with, but it’s not something I use often.”

Gale had smiled. “You’d have me convinced if you didn’t love Cloud of Daggers so much.”

That was in the past, now. Ferris is back to climbing shelves and counters (he suspects she had never stopped, and only used her magic when he had been present to appease him).

Now she’s laid out on his hearth, a patchwork blanket cocooned around her small form, soundly asleep. He wonders if he should wake her when he realizes that none of the papers have actually been graded.

Right.

Ferris knows enough to provide thoughtful annotation, likely due to her degree covering basic magic, but she did not have the brief nor did she know what the papers would be marked out of, rubric lost in the shuffle between his office to his home library.

At least it would take an hour rather than several, or the rest of the morning. Gale skims her notes and annotations, adding his own when necessary; his students are familiar enough with his handwriting, but Ferris does a passable forgery and there are times when it’s difficult for him to tell which of them wrote what. Her only slip, at times when he can tell their handwriting apart, is her spelling. Ferris had learned her letters from a long outdated primer, and even more outdated books—which leads to charmingly archaic spellings of some words. There had been a language reform of the common tongue within the last century, some of the older staff still grumbling about it, but for her young age it had skipped Ferris over entirely. He’s still not even sure her first language was the common tongue, despite her insistence that it was.

It’s easy enough to finish his marking thanks to her, spelling and all, and he takes a moment to fondly watch the rise and fall of her chest under the old quilt, her hair far more red than usual as the flames began to dwindle and die among the ashes. Her braid had come loose at some point, hastily done as it was; she tied it back for sleep and, likely anticipating a quick nap, she had not been as thorough or tight in her braiding.

Gale stands and stretches with a few pops that match the dying fire, neatly stacking his papers before shuffling over the carpet and kneeling at the bard’s side.

“Ferris,” he gently strokes her hair back. “Come on, my love, how about sleeping in a bed instead of the hearth?”

She grumbles but sits up, bleary-eyes and the blanket wrapped tighter around her shoulders like a thick winter cloak. “But it’s warm here.”

She has been colder, lately, and it worries him.

“I can make your bed warm before you get in,” Gale attempts bribery, not wanting his bard to wake to aches and pains as she heals. “It’ll be far more comfortable.”

It makes her think a moment, and then Ferris looks up at him with sleepy eyes, darkened by her lashes; they’re the color of a coming storm, a deep gray-blue. “Can I sleep in your bed? With you?”

“Of course,” he doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I’ll even let you borrow one of my shirts to sleep in, if you’d like. Or we can nip into your room first.”

The bard’s fingers curl into the open collar of his robes, tugging him down into a slow, sleepy sort of kiss before she pulls away to yawn. “I can sleep in my chemise, it’s fine.”

They both know he’s not opposed.

“Alright,” he helps her up. “Not how I would have liked to spend my break from classes, but at least this is a pleasant way to end it.”

She sees less of him, that first tenday back. Ferris finds ways to amuse herself as usual, and today she slings her violin over her back, intent on locating a place to play. Most establishments around the tower know her, but she enjoy the docks just as much. The patrons there are riotously loud in their enjoyment, and some days she appreciates the chaos of a rowdy place over a one with more refined clientèle. Her feet take her along paths that have become second nature, the streets and alleys and cut throughs of Waterdeep as familiar as game trails now, her own veins not as meticulously mapped as this.

A scent stops her in her tracks, the cool, damp stones pressing in on either side of her as she twist back around to chase it, mindful of her instrument as she squeezes back through and follows her nose.

It’s that clam chowder, the same one she’d had upon her arrival in Waterdeep with Gale.

“Are you here to play?”

Ferris startles back to herself, and the poor man at the counter seems just as alarmed at her reaction.

“Apologies, miss. I thought—“

“I am, yes,” she says quickly. “I’m so sorry, I was lost in a memory. I’d love to play, if you’d have me.”

“Food, gold, lodging…?” The man waits for her to name her price.

She hasn’t been back here in ages, her face unfamiliar to the man as he continues to stare at her; it hurt too much to think about how hollow she had been, and this place too rooted in that memory. “I don’t usually take payment,” she says slowly. “But I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a bowl of chowder and a heel of bread if you have any left when I’m done.”

It gets her a hearty laugh. “Easy enough, but how do you survive if you don’t take payment?”

Gold coins exchanging hands over and over, an elaborate game of trying to find out where she belongs when she doesn’t know the rules. More than one set of clothes. Her armor on a stand, polished regularly but never worn again. Bread dough, saffron, wine, laughter. Gale’s mouth on hers, the scratch of his beard against her thighs, his hands warm as they curl over her hips. A room of her own, and patience beyond measure.

“I make due,” she shrugs off her violin, striding over to an unoccupied corner that’s been cleared of tables. It’s not in shadow, not too dim but also not too close to the fire to make her sweat in addition to allowing her an excellent view of the room. There are only three other people this early in the afternoon, one of whom appears to work there, given that the young woman is wiping down tables in anticipation of an evening crowd. “Any preferred songs I should add to my roster?”

They negotiate songs down to the version, and she procures a jug of water and a clay cup as well; it’s better to be prepared than not, and even if she doesn’t plan on singing it helps remind her to rest. The last thing she needs is her fingers bleeding.

She sits at the bar, this time, feet swinging happily as she speaks pleasantly about the weather in the long vowels of Elvish; the woman who had been cleaning tables is trying to learn, and Ferris is more than happy to assist her, her own mind working hard to stay in the more standard dialect rather than the one Astarion and Shadowheart had teased her for.

‘This is how it should had felt, after,’ she thinks. ‘Easy, good, instead of just more heartbreak and hiding it deep down for the sake of others.’

And Gale.

Gale had gently taken her hands, cleaned under her nails (she was particular about keeping her nails short and neat, and he had noticed and remembered, because Ferris doesn’t recall ever having told anyone about how she keeps her nails), had spoken so, so softly.

She doesn’t remember what he’d said.

It all matters, very suddenly, and the air leaves her lungs like someone’s struck her across the chest while she’d had her plate on.

“Miss, are you alright?”

No. Yes. Maybe.

“I will be,” she replies in Elvish. “Just another memory.”

When she plays that evening, there’s something longing in the sound, something lost and desperate to be remembered or found, every sweep of her bow like a plea for an unknown salvation. Even the happy songs take on a tinge of it, leaving the listening patrons hoping for just that touch of more, that final piece of the puzzle to fall into place, as though one single note will sound in the empty space between the others and complete all the harmonies they’ve ever heard. It’s Ferris’ own need coming through, and when Gale appears at the door well after dark and looking more than a bit haggard after a day of students and lectures, that final note sounds as he takes a seat. All the chords resolve, the puzzle completes itself, and everything lost is found between one breath and the next.

If she pours a little more of herself into subsequent songs, the only one who notices is her; now that the strange energy has dissipated, the patrons no longer cling to each note in hopes that it would right the wrongs of whatever was going on in the melodies.

Gale has long finished dinner and a glass of wine when Ferris packs up her violin, fingers aching nearly as much as her heart as she slides in next to him.

“You look exhausted as I feel,” she nudges him gently. “Ready to go home?”

“More than you could ever imagine,” he laughs in response, sliding a few coins across the bar. Ferris’ performance had resulted in a handful of coin tossed into her violin case and, with the precision and care of a thief, she swaps Gale’s silver for far more gold than a meal and glass of wine cost—even factoring in her own meal. She’s never seen the point in money, when there are things that matter far more.

Ferris twines their arms together, and they leave before anyone notices her sleight of hand trick.

It takes far longer than she would ever admit to work up the courage to ask her question. Gale’s long days last for the rest of the tenday, and it’s only after he’s had the opportunity to rest that she broaches the topic she should have brought up nearly a year ago.

“What did you say to me that day,” Ferris says carefully, looking up at Gale from across the library. “At the Elfsong?”

She is illuminated in the afternoon sun, the browns and greens and golds of her a forest all its own against the clear blue of the sky and the pale wisps of cloud. Gale isn’t sure he wants to tell her. “Does it matter?”

Ferris closes her book, looks at her hands. Turns them over. Gale remembers the blood, remembers the bruises and cuts. All he could think, at the time, was how carefully he had to be as he cleaned them; she needed her hands, he had to be delicate, he didn’t know if any of the bones were broken.

“I think…I think it does, now.” There’s a wrinkle in her brow as she tries to find the words to explain why she needs to know now, on a random spring day when the weather is perfect and the sky is clear. Now, when she feels safe enough to ask and knows that he will answer, and knows that if it hurts her that she will say so.

“I wasn’t sure what to say, really.” He pauses to clear his throat, to buy himself time. “You were so quiet, it was the first time I think that you’d ever been so still—truly, I was terrified that you’d never return to us and that it was all finally too much.

“It’s selfish. Halsin had offered to ‘mind’ you, as though you were a child. You didn’t need minding, you needed help and…as ashamed as I am to admit this, Ferris, I remember every word from when you tried to seduce me, to convince me to stay alive.”

Gale sees the moment the realization comes, dawning on her freckled face.

“This was before Shadowheart and Halsin decided it would be best for you to come with me, mind you. I missed your voice, your smile. Seeing you so empty…I spoke to you about my tower, about Waterdeep, and that I wanted to show it to you. That I’d give myself, one body for another, a life for a life.” Gale meets her eyes. “That fully, freely, I was yours, if only you would smile again.”

Ferris isn’t smiling now—she looks stunned and Gale returns to the scattered papers on his desk, sorting through them based on what type of magic the students had written about. Evocation one pile. Divination in another. The only sound for a long time is that of paper on paper, and their breathing. The light outside is beginning to take on an orange hue when Ferris speaks again.

“Did you mean it?”

It’s not what he had expected her to say but if Ferris was anything, it was unpredictable. “Of course.”

“And do you, still?”

“Surely you know the answer to that, Songbird.” She is sitting on the balcony of his tower, their shared home for over a year. She has regular outings with his mother, she knows his favorite blend of tea and exactly where he buys it. She is woven into every facet of his life, inescapable, but he does not care to flee. “You must.”

The bard runs her tongue over her teeth, looking anywhere but him as she answers.

“Then surely you know that I wasn’t lying, back then. You begged me not to give you false hope, and I told you none of it was false.”

“You lied.”

Ferris rises, re-shelving her book and shrugging as she crosses to his desk.

“Alright, well. If you want to get into the weeds of it then yes, I lied. I desperately wanted you to stay here with us, with me, and I was willing to go to any length to achieve that, but Gale,” she lays her hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop and consider her. “Do you really believe, after all this, that the words weren’t true?”

She breezes past him, and his world tilt on its axis once again.

Chapter Text

It’s all been decided, everything tied up in a neat little bow. Shadowheart—Jen, he supposes—is already gone, left that morning. Halsin lingers still, waiting for Gale to finish his business and Ferris to accompany them. The only one who will stay in Baldur’s Gate? Well.

“Astation.”

“Gods above—“ he chokes on his wine (bitter, but at least it makes him look ‘normal’ while sitting at the bar) as the bard seems to materialize beside him. “You ought to wear a bell, or perhaps some shoes. You’ll give a man a heart attack.”

Ferris looks haunted, dark smudges under her eyes. “I’d like you to come with me. I need…closure.”

He blinks down at her, taking in the state of her clothes and the sallow look to her skin. “Alright, but only after you’ve had a bath and someone, likely myself, has brushed your jacket at least. There’s time yet until sundown.”

She makes a noise of surprise as he steers her back toward the stairs and he sighs.

“You’d forgotten.”

Ferris doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t need to. Of course she had. Days had passed her by in her bed, silent and still, and entirely her fault. Her lost time is hers, and hers alone, and now that her leaving is imminent, looming, does she wake from her stupor.

He feels he isn’t being entirely fair, but he’s also had longer to learn how to hide his hurts, how to go so deep within himself that he circled back to normalcy. Ferris, in her simple, pure desire to be known (though she doesn’t seem to realize it) has a crippling sense of justice and fairness that life has yet to beat out of her. Astarion hopes life doesn’t get the chance as he follows her silently up the stairs.

She was far from being the good one of the group, far from purity and light, but she was their balance and the scale against which things were weighed; now the bowls and chain have tumbled from her grasp, she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

It isn’t until they’re back in their room, her jacket in his hands that she turns to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You may apologize after you’ve washed your hair, and I may even forgive you.”

Ferris looks like she might protest so Astarion grips her shoulders tightly and steers her toward the bath, even as she tries to squirm free; she’s too weak to be effective in her fighting, and he tries not to dwell on it. He stands expectantly and Ferris sighs dramatically.

“I can bathe myself.”

“I believe you, but I also know you well enough that you might just splash about and dunk your hair under. Strip.”

“This is undignified,” she grumbles even as she removes her jacket, handing it to him before starting in on the buttons of her shirt. “What will people think?”

It’s as close as he’s heard to a joke in ages, and Astarion allows himself a sharp smile; she throws her shirt as his head and he turns around as she continues to strip down. “People can think what they wish, but I’d hope they think about being a tad grateful to us for saving their sorry city.”

“Sometimes,” she says just louder than the splash of the water. “I wonder if it wasn’t better to let it all crumble.”

“Shall I share a little secret with you?” He folds her clothes, carefully handling them in the places they’ve gone thin and translucent. “I find myself wondering the same. It’s uncharitable, of course, I’ve heard there’s good people here, but I think you and I are entitled to a bit of selfish, doom-laden daydreaming.”

Ferris hums an elven durge as she soaps her hands, scrubbing at her scalp with far less gentleness than he’d have thought, but she doesn’t draw blood and doesn’t redden the skin so he lets her be as she continues the old song.

“Do tell me, darling, why am I coming on this closure outing and not our dear wizard?”

When she stands, Astarion can see her ribs and bruises that have not healed well, yellow and green across her skin in awful, rot-looking blooms. Normally they are colors she wears well, but this makes him feel vaguely ill.

“I…he won’t understand,” she wrings out her hair, accepting a towel. “He’ll try to fix it instead of just listening, and I don’t want solutions. There is no solution.”

Astarion understands that feeling well. Actions speak louder than words, and Ferris has need to scream without opening her mouth these days. It would be better if she could climb a mountain and let loose until her throat was raw and coppery, but this will have to do until she can be trusted not to disappear into the wild.

He brushes her jacket while she digs for clean clothes, Prestigitating her hair dry and braiding it quickly, her eyes on the window as the sun sinks fully below the horizon. “Do I pass muster?”

There’s a hint of teasing in her tone, a little sharpness that dares him to push back. ‘If only the bear and the wizard could be here for her first jab.’

“You’ll do for now,” he holds the door to the inn open and they slip out onto the street, blending seamlessly in with the crowd on feet light enough to make no sound. “But when we return, I will watch you eat an entire plate of food. Perhaps two, if you can stomach it, but with how bird-like you’ve been, I doubt your stomach will handle it.”

The topic of food puts a hitch in her step, barely noticeable.

“Have you been hungry?” She asks, as casually as she can managed. Astarion knows what she isn’t asking, whether or not he’s been eating, whether or not he’s found someone to replace her. Ferris needs to feel useful, and for a moment he hesitates. It’s uncharacteristic enough that she knows the answer is ‘yes’ and he is attempting to spare what little feeling she has left. “I’m glad, that makes one of us.”

Even if he was hungry, starving even, he would not have feed from Ferris as she is now. There’s a gauntness to her face, and while she has the same amount of blood as before, Astarion isn’t sure she would recover from it as quickly. A bloodless, hollowed husk of a girl—the wizard might kill him if he tried, no matter how attached the two of them were.

“Halsin has been quite kind,” he replies, aiming for aloof.

Ferris snorts. “Halsin, huh? What’s he taste like?”

She rolls her eyes. “The rest of us get tasting notes and all you’re giving him is ‘masculine’?”

“What do you want me to say, that he tastes like the scent of spring?” It earns him a scoff, so he continues. “You’re the poet, not I.”

“I’d thank the gods, but they don’t deserve that credit.” Ferris continues to lead them down narrow side streets and alleys, more and more detritus appearing the further they go. “Not after what they put us through.”

“Hmm,” Astarion lightly nudges her shoulder with his arm, seeing if he can get her to stumble. “And how do we feel about the wizard making yet another bargain with his beloved goddess?”

He isn’t expecting Ferris to scowl as hard as she does, her mouth going thin and brow furrowing. “I don’t like it.”

“You could tell him that,” he prompts. “Tell him that it’s a bad idea, and that the gods always hide tricks in their words.”

“He can do what he likes.”

“He’d listen to you, Gale likes you and—against all odds— trusts your judgment. If you found another way, he would consider it at the very least.”

She turns on him. “I don’t have a better plan. I don’t have any plans anymore, I can’t even decide what to do with my life and I’m being sent to Waterdeep because no one thinks I can handle myself anymore.”

“Can you?” Astarion plants his feet and Ferris whirls on him, still scowling. It’s such a rare look for her, to be angry and upset to this degree. More often than not, things rolled off her like water from a duck’s back. Gods, he really has been spending far too much time with Halsin. “Because I would think that after a tenday of sulking about how unfair the world is, perhaps someone does need to make a decision for you.”

They know each other too well: Ferris knows he’s right, and he knows that no one has ever made a decision for her that didn’t end in disaster. Her mother had decided she would go to Baldur’s Gate. Her professors had decided upon her patron. Their merry band of misfits had decided she was their leader. The remainder of said merry band had decided she was to go to Waterdeep with Gale. Astation’s hearing was just as sharp as hers, and his eyes just as keen; he knew what she was afraid of.

Ferris fears further disaster. That going with Gale will mean whatever they do or do not have will crumble, that there is nothing she can do to stop it because every other thing in her life has resulted in loss. If she goes to Waterdeep, she fears losing Gale despite their vows because yes, Astarion had heard them despite them being spoken in whispers. He’s also not blind, he knows there’s something there, or at least the foundations for it.

“Waterdeep will be good for you,” he adds. “The salt air will do you good.”

“I don’t need fresh air,” she says angrily, kicking at some smaller rubble. “And I’m not a child.”

Astarion watches it skitter down the street, hands in his pockets as he hums in acknowledgment. “You certainly are not, but you are acting your age.”

“Fuck you.” There’s no venom behind it and she understands the point he’s trying to make. The spawn tugs at the end of her braid.

“Of everyone, Gale is so used to seeing you a certain way: mature, collected, a leader. There’s nothing wrong with youth, of course,” he waves away her glare. “Give him time to adjust. You let the rest of us see you, at least a little, but never Gale. Why is that, I wonder?”

Why indeed.

“Of everyone, he needed a leader. A decision-maker. A decider.” Ferris shrugs, and kicks at a stone with far less anger than before. “We simply ran out of decisions and I’m no longer needed.”

“I think it’s more than that, darling, and we both know it,” he shrugs. “But if you’re going to choose denial, I will not take that from you.”

They’ve been following her feet, wandering the streets in the night. It feels good to have her swords at her back again, feels good to be out of bed. She may not have purpose, but she has a friend at her side and it will have to do for now.

Astarion, surprisingly, says nothing as she takes a left, then a right; they end up having to double back a few times thanks to rubble and collapsed fly ways and homes, but Ferris knows this place in her nightmares, scored deeply into the pathways of her brain, perhaps mapped in the wrinkles themselves. It will never leave her, even if the city is rebuilt without it.

They stand before a pile of ash and stone, presumably where a grand house once stood, if the others are anything to go by. Astarion nudges at what looks like the remains of a bronze door knocker, its mouth partially melted and ghoulishly wide. “Charming.”

It’s gone. Entirely gone. Raised, even.

“Astarion?”

“Darling.”

Ferris is far away, her voice small again. ‘A shame,’ he thinks. ‘Just when we’d gotten her flame back, it’s snuffed by memory.’ He waits.

“How did it feel, to kill Cazador?”

“Like everything and nothing.” He lets the words have their weight, their power. “Like the greatest relief and the weight of a thousand albatrosses around my neck, dragging me to the Hells. Like not enough, and too much all at once.”

She’s gone still again. “Like not enough,” the bard murmurs. “And too much all at once.”

A breeze shifts the finer ashes, the whole tableau moving slightly to their keen eyes. The house had been grand, surely. Many rooms, many levels. Ferris knew the ghosts here, but he did not; it is, for once, not his albatross. The haunted look to her eyes remains as she steps over the threshold, boots crunching slightly over the ruins of former finery.

‘The foyer, here,’ she remembers. The ballroom to the left, the sitting room and formal dining room to the right. The sweeping staircase up, splitting into two and taking one to the third level. There had been a beautiful skylight, the glass letting the sun and moon shine down upon the occupants of the house. Her room had been on the third floor, nearly with the servants in the attic.

There are no stairs now.

Astarion does not trail her in, only watches and waits; when she turns, there are silent tears streaked down her cheeks.

“Why do I just feel empty?”

He shrugs. “There’s no such thing as a perfect resolution, darling. If you expected a neat little bow, you’re shit out of that halfling luck.”

Ferris doesn’t laugh, only looks around at what remains. “I killed him,” she picks her way through rubble, over toward the rightmost back corner. “I killed him here, three floors up, just before I ended up on the Nautiloid. I made sure of it.”

“I know.”

“I killed him, I watched him bleed out to be sure.”

“I know.”

Her swords catch the moonlight, and Astarion realizes her hasn’t seen her violin since the Brain debacle.

“I killed him, I won. I’m free. So why don’t I feel anything?”

His steps toward her are clear, cautious. “You have felt quite a bit in the last few days, darling. Perhaps you’re fresh out.”

When she turns to him, there’s two trails of tears down her cheeks, silvery and bright. “Will it ever come back?”

Astarion thinks about all of Gale’s lectures, of a song sung just louder than a whisper in a language that had never been spoken before, and of promises exchanged where they thought no one else could hear; how either of them were foolish enough to not realize the depth of their words at the time and even now. Ferris will go to Waterdeep, Gale will be by her side.

Promise me we will never be separated.

If their stupidity isn’t captured in future wedding vows, he’ll have to do stealthy rewrites if only to see the dawning horror on both their faces when they realized they’d been overheard all those nights ago. The world has not been kind to Ferris, but Astarion hopes the future will treat her well, treat them both well. Gods know, the two of them have earned it by their own blood, sweat, and tears.

He’s beginning to understand now, why Ferris broke down when Halsin had hauled him back to the Elfsong.

“Yes,” he settles on a low wall, likely once something foundational. “But it will not be the same. You will not be the same, but you know that.”

She does.

Promise you’ll stay with me.

Ferris sinks to the ground and Astarion sits nearby as she silently cries to the stars.

Chapter Text

The coming of spring is one of the busiest times of the year for the both of them, Gale more often than not at the Academy and Ferris all over and around Waterdeep for various engagements. Cat has talked her into more duets and she’ll often come home long after him and collapse into bed fully clothed. More than once he’s been making breakfast and turns to find a bleary, disheveled bard wandering into the kitchen, following the smell of toast and sizzling butter with her skirts twisted halfway around and her shirt absolutely wrecked by wrinkles and creases brought on by a deep, dreamless sleep.

Occasionally, she’ll collapse into his bed and Gale will wake up to an armful of Ferris grumbling when he moves, even if it’s to hold her closer and kiss her sweetly.

“Don’t wait up,” he straightens the lapels of his jacket and smartens his tie in the mirror, making a mental note to dust the glass in the future.

“I won’t,” Ferris laughs from the kitchen. “Enjoy.”

“You were invited, you know.”

She knows. Gale had told her. It doesn’t change her mind, because she knows that the other wives, partners, or friends will not attend—it’s a lesson she has learned for herself, but it doesn’t stop the invitations from being extended. She’s good fun and often sets herself apart when things get boring, choosing to perform if it’s possible. “I know, but I’ve no desire to go drinking with a bunch of rowdy professors,” she teases. Carefully, delicately, she brushes the shoulders of his robes, an excuse to touch and fuss. “Go have your fun, Professor.”

He always likes the way it sounds coming from her mouth. “Alright, alright.” He cannot help but lean in and kiss her, a simple, warm press of lips. “Enjoy your quiet evening, do try not to miss me too much.”

That gets him a sly smile and a flush that makes Ferris’ freckles stand out. “Well. That I won’t promise,” the softness in her eyes sharpens to mischief as she grips his lapel and pulls him closer. “But I’ll do my best.”

This kiss is far less simple and he groans softly when they part for breath.

“You’ll make me late if you’re not careful.”

Ferris cocks her head in feigned innocence. “When have you known me to be careful? Also, showing up on time to a pub is awful, Gale, you’re not meant to do that. ‘On time’ is for parties with gilded invitations, and only if you’re the entertainment.”

They’ve had this conversation before, and knows exactly what she means, but if he doesn’t leave now, if he lingers here too close to her sharp smile, there’s a real danger he won’t leave at all. They so close to a holiday, so close to having all the time in the world to spend in each other’s company should they wish, and they just need to be patient.

“I will take my time on the walk over, so that I am not the first one there, will that satisfy?”

She rolls her eyes. “It will serve, but it’s nowhere near as fun as what I had planned.”

There’s a nervous energy around her, he realizes. Nothing unusual, but also far less common than when they first arrived over a year ago. “Is everything alright, my dear?”

“I was going to make you change out of that awful tie and into something more casual, but if that’s how you want to go out, I shall not stand in your way any longer.”

It’s a deflection he lets her have, and Gale leans in for another kiss. “Do try to behave, bard.”

“As usual, I promise nothing, wizard.”

When the door clicks shut behind him, Gale sighs, shaking out the tenseness in his shoulders. It’s not quite a warm night, not by Waterdeep’s standards, so the walk itself is pleasant and familiar as he heads in the direction of the Academy, turning down a street instead of up as he heads to their designated ‘no one was severely maimed during practical demonstrations this tenday’ location. The streets themselves are still quite populated, not unusual for the day but people are less inclined to linger when there’s a chill in the air, preferring the warmth and coziness of ‘indoors’ to the biting cold of ‘outdoors’. More and more shops have moved carts and stands to the front, preparing for the settling of spring when it properly comes instead of teasing the city during the day only to abandon them come sunset. Soon enough they’ll be able to drink and celebrate out of doors but until then Gale shoulders open the heavy, weathered door and finds himself assaulted with heat and noise, eyes adjusting before finding his fellows.

“Where’s your bard, Dekarios?”

He slides onto a stool, shoving Corlin’s elbow over to make room. “Hello to you as well, I suppose.”

It is still strange, still new, to hear Ferris referred to as ‘his’. Their courtship still has not been publicly announced, and he’s beginning to think it never will, given Ferris’ tendency to let things happen as they would. People knew, yet they never had to say a word. It felt like the natural conclusion of things, the only result people expected.

He blames his mother for the start of it, having them match at that party, taking advantage of having them leave together and directing gossip as needed. He also supposes that the student gossip of Professor Dekarios carrying a damsel to safety and magically healing her with a kiss (he doesn’t know who invented that bit, but Ferris had laughed so hard that she nearly made herself sick) has not helped when it comes to the talk of his fellow wizards and professors.

“Enjoying the peace that comes with not drinking until our pockets are empty—mind the—ah.” The barkeep manages to snatch away the mostly-finished glass before it gets knocked to the floor. “I see you’ve all gotten a head start.”

A very small part of him wishes he’d been there for the start, but another much larger part thinks ‘it would have been nice for Ferris to touch him longer’.

“That’s what happens when you’re late,” Alister chides. Gale does not point out that he cannot be more than ten minutes later than the designated hour, and that means they’ve been here prior to that.

“Ah leave him alone, I bet that same bard was the thing keeping him from post-practical celebrations,” Corlin’s laugh booms through the tavern, a far more upscale place than he usually frequents these days; its proximity to the Academy draws the oldest students, the professors, and a higher level of clientèle than dock-side establishments. When he’d recommended it to Ferris the first time, as a place to perform, she’d laughed at him.

‘If you want a receptive, paying audience, you go to the places no one else will,’ she’d explained after wiping tears from her eyes. ‘Stuffy rich folks and academics want to hear themselves talk. Sailors and workers want to escape from their lives, and a bit of song goes a long way. Especially once I get up on a table and pull out the double stops.’

“One should not put too much stock in rumor. It takes time to make sure I am free of tressym hair before stepping outside my tower,” Gale shrugs. “And if my friend has keener eyes than I, it would be foolish to turn down her assistance in that venture.”

“You young people, looking for romance,” Alister shakes his head. “Your whole life ahead of you and your head in the clouds.”

Corlin sighs into his drink. “All my friends are married, but I’ve found no one in this whole city.”

“Well if the rumors aren’t true, maybe Dekarios can introduce you to his ‘friend’. There’s something to be said about talented, beautiful, and smart, women. Say, Gale, do you think it’d be a good match?”

Even though it’s said to tease him, very clearly a joke, he stiffens. Every day Ferris stays with him feels like a gods-given miracle; he’s older, he’s a bit fumbling at times, he has a tendency to lecture, and his pride and ambition have the habit of blinding him.

Yet Ferris remains.

She and Corlin are of a similar age, true. He’s charismatic, intelligent, relatively reserved, humble for a wizard…

Ferris’ shy smile and fond look just hours earlier as she pretended to straighten his clothes, the touch of her hands, the way she’d glanced up from beneath her lashes, it lingers like the sweetest aftertaste.

“She’s courting someone, unfortunately.”

His younger colleague only sighs again. “You’re a lucky man.”

Gale chokes on his ale, sputtering as everyone laughs at his expense. “I never said it was me!”

“Don’t need to,” Alister’s laugh is booming. “It was only a matter of time, what with how you—what do the students say? Carried her off like a princess from a storybook after saving her from certain death.”

He takes a long drink. “We really ought to find out who started that bit of the rumor, it makes me sound far better than I really am.”

“What about her tall friend? The one who looks like she’d gladly stab me for asking the time of day?” Corlin glances to Gale.

“Catriona?” He shakes his head, imagining how best to broach the topic with the woman. As far as he knows, she has no real interest in courting anyone and, like him, Corlin seems a bird that mates for life. “She’s in my hair often enough, she and Ferris are thick as thieves. I’ll ask next time she visits. She may actually stab you, though.”

“That’s alright,” Corlin attempts what might have been a playful nudge but ends up something closer to a slam. “I know this professor who can heal with a kiss.”

Gale calls for more drinks, and lets Corlin topple off his stool in the process.

It’s an hour after Gale leave that Ferris puts on her own coat and boots and slips out the door, a determined set to her face usually reserved for complicated musical pieces or particularly stubborn stains. Tara follows at her heels, fussing.

“I don’t understand the need for secrecy,” the tressym weaves around Ferris’ feet. “Why—“

“It’s about magic,” Ferris admits as she shuts the gate, minding the near-wild rosemary bush that threatens to overtake the whole corner she’d planted it in. “I want to know more about bardic magic and Gale…it’s not that he doesn’t know, but I don’t want to give him hope.”

There are very few taboo topics in the tower, but this is one neither of them dare to approach. Tara makes a chirp of surprise. “But who could you possibly ask? The professors you know are all otherwise occupied and attending the same foolish, human revelry as Mr. Dekarios.”

She’s given it a lot of thought, lately, every time she felt a twinge in her side or how Gale’s hands had pressed there. Something had let his magic untangle and flow through her, something that was not the Weave. She is a dropped shuttle but the loom keeps on weaving whether she’s in it or not, but something had bumped her back into place for those few moments, fixing the pattern and righting her position in the race.

“I’m not asking a professor,” Ferris doesn’t slow her stride, setting her course by memory alone. “I’m going to ask the Goddess of Magic.”

The last time she had ‘wandered off on her own’, as they refer to the incident of Ferris taking initiative to gather spell components, had left everyone in a tizzy. Tara considers alerting someone to the bard’s foolishness, but a trip to a temple within the city walls is not at all cause for concern. Especially to Mystra’s temple, odd as the plan is.

The temple is empty when she arrives, Tara on her shoulders to avoid the snarl of people they’d had to navigate on their way here; most everyone has gone home for the evening by the time she crosses the threshold and it’s easy enough for Ferris to walk right up to the statue and sit at the base, leaning back against Mystra’s cold legs. Tara hops off and gives her a pointed look.

“I don’t like this.”

“I know,” Ferris says kindly. “I won’t ask you to stay, I’ll meet you at the docks in an hour, I don’t think this will be a long conversation…or a conversation at all, maybe just me talking to the air, and no one needs to witness that.”

The tressym sniffs, head held high as her tail as she makes her way out. “I expect a suitable bribe for my silence.”

“Of course,” she calls. “You know I’m good for it.”

She watches until the tressym’s shadow has entirely disappeared before settling back against the marble, warmed by her own heat.

“Hello,” Ferris begins, examining the cuff of her coat; it’s coming apart and she’ll have to patch it soon, but for now the fabric is soft and worn. She thumbs over it. “You’re probably not the right deity to ask, but the record shows I’m piss-poor at speaking with gods, so. Well. We’re at least acquainted.”

She can no longer taste magic but rose water tickles her nose and Ferris resist the urge to sneeze. ‘They really ought to lay off the perfumed water in the bowls here,’ she thinks. ‘It’s a bit much.’

“You did warn me, obviously. Or the Weave did. Gale talks like you’re the Weave and the Weave is you, but if I’m honest I sort of tune out the lectures once they get…poetic.”

Silence.

“Yeah, fair enough,” she sighs, resting her chin on her knees. An older man shuffles up, bowing to the statue before he glimpses her at the feet of the goddess; he quickly moves away. “Anyway, I had some questions about bardic magic and its origins. I’m cut off from the Weave, but—“

It’s a difficult thing to explain, how she’d felt on the grass of Blackstaff’s lawn, so Ferris hums instead, something easy and familiar and low in her chest that makes the sound vibrate and carry through the temple. If anyone listens, or is bothered by her music, there is no lecture about ‘appropriate behavior in a temple’ or whatever else. She closes her eyes and lets the song take over, lets it become the flow of blood through her veins, replacing the beat of her heart with a two-and-four emphasis until she is entirely music.

The world drops away and sweetness chokes her as Ferris falls. floundering through the Weave and her song forgotten as the last, cut-off note dies among other magic, far stronger than hers.

“—fuck’s sake!”

Her voice does not echo, but dies in the nothingness.

Something stabs into her chest, needle-sharp but grasping like a fist, seeking, seeking, seeking, and she sees shards of amethyst staining red as her heart races to spill her blood into the fabric of magic itself. Another stabs in, then another, and she watches passively as each new needle soaks to ruby, her life leeching away until five red lines run from her body into the ether. It looks like someone with long, rapier-like nails is reaching into her chest to steal her heart.

The sight should panic her, but at this point Ferris cannot imagine this going any other way.

‘Blaspheme one too many times and this is what you get,’ she thinks wryly, knowing exactly how much deeper the shards must go to pierce her heart and kill her as they push in, in, in.

Instead, they stop just as they touch the muscle, flashing in time with her pulse as it slows back to normal. Ferris breathes deeply, ignoring the sharp pain in her chest, and waits.

Waits.

Waits.

The amethyst shards pull loose with a wet, sucking sound and she sighs with relief until she sees the thin threads attached to each point, thrumming to the rhythm of her heart. It’s like her violin, like vocal cords, like a musical score. Tears prick at her eyes as she watches her very soul pulled taut and instead of a silent exhale, Ferris breathes music.

She doesn’t know the song.

She has always known the song.

It’s never existed before.

It’s older than the whole of the universe.

The strings strengthen, thicken, and snap away from the fingers, recoiling into her again with a force that threatens to wind her, but Ferris sings on. It’s not just her, there; it’s not just her any longer. She can feel others twined up in the fabric of her, others that feel like Cat and Tara and Morena and their merry band of adventurers. She can feel the absence of others in the space between notes, in the rests and gaps, as real as any note; silences in music are just as powerful as sound.

And there’s Gale.

He’s twisted up in her, bright and bold as lightning, flashing gold in her veins. He strikes her, burns away the undergrowth and makes her grow back twice as strong. Here, she can still taste that candied citrus of his spells, bright on her tongue before fading on then ext breath.

The sweetness is gone, but the music remains.

It never left.

It never will.

Ferris opens her eyes with a groan, rolling to her side to vomit up blood at Mystra’s cold, marble feet while a cleric of the Church of Mysteries mutters a prayer of thanks.

“Apparently I collapsed and started bleeding,” Ferris shrugs, entirely nonchalant about almost dying, and Cat rolls her eyes. “The cleric was trying to shake me awake but I wasn’t responsive or breathing. It was only a few moments. No open wounds to show though, but thanks for bringing me a clean shirt.”

If she showed up at home covered in blood with her shirt full of holes, Gale would ask questions and probably not like the answers. This assumed he was already home, which was unlikely, but Ferris did not want to take any chances.

“Only you could shrug off whatever the fuck your wizard’s goddess ex-lover did to you, this is a lot of blood.” In fact, her once white shirt is entirely crimson, darkening to brown with the march of time.

“Eh,” another shrug. “No additional bleeding, no harm done.”

Cat looks like he wants to shake her, and she does, in the end. She allows herself to go limp like a doll, and Cat drops her in disgust; blood loss makes Ferris stagger and she manages to catch herself before she meets paving stones. “I haven’t felt this shit since last time I let a vampire feed on me.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It is, actually,” Ferris is exhausted. “You’d like him. He’s not a vampire any longer, but I think you and he would get along famously.”

Catriona shoulders open the door to the tower, mumbling a Sending to Tara to let her know about the change of plans at Ferris’ insistence. “Why can you not have a single normal thing happen to you?” She complains, taking Ferris by the shoulders and steering her to sit down at the table before she can begin making tea or a sandwich. “Why can’t you just be normal?”

It’s said with such exasperated love that Ferris snorts. “Because if I was normal, you wouldn’t fuss over me. If I wasn’t odd, we wouldn’t have been friends in the first place.”

“This isn’t funny, Ferris.” Her friend slams down the sugar bowl, her hands trembling enough that the porcelain lid clatters. “What if you’d died, truly this time? What if something had gone terribly wrong, what if some stranger had to hand Gale your corpse?”

“Cat,” she tries, pleading. “Cat, I’m fine! I’m here, and you don’t have to worry. I’ve had so much worse—oh please, please don’t cry, you know I’m useless at this ‘comforting’ thing.”

She is smaller than her friend by a good measure but Ferris presses her face between Cat’s shoulder blades and loops her arms around her ribs, holding tight.

“I’m here, please don’t cry.”

“How do you heal?” Cat turns, leaning against the counter so she can look at Ferris; her fingers skim the buttons on the borrowed shirt and tears cling to her dark lashes like diamonds, or stars that refuse to fall. “How can you laugh it off time and time again?”

Ferris looks at her, letting the bone-deep sadness show in her eyes. “I don’t. I simply grow strong enough to encompass it rather than letting it consume. I know what darkness is, and I don’t fear it anymore.”

“I hate that,” Cat sniffs, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve before folding Ferris into a tight embrace. “You shouldn’t have to, I hate it so much.”

“I know,” Ferris replies, letting her eyes close as she turns her face into Cat’s neck, smelling salt and lavender and soap, stronger at the place where her friend’s pulse runs close to the surface. “I hate it too.”

There’s a scramble from the front door and it bangs open violently; both girls jump, untangling from each other as Tara comes screeching around the corner into the kitchen, tail fluffed and wings wild. “Miss Ferris!”

The tressym doesn’t sound concerned, she sounds livid.

‘I am in so much trouble,’ she thinks as she ducks behind Catriona, praying that Tara doesn’t take a page from Morena’s book and pick up a wooden spoon.

“Whatever fish you want, Tara, I promise!”

Cat wisely steps aside, leaving Ferris to fate and an angry, angry tressym. “I’ll just be in the sitting room, shall I?”

“Why do I smell blood?” Tara’s yellow eyes lock onto Ferris. “What did you do?!”

“Just remember,” Ferris takes a breath, holding her hands up in what she hopes will look like peaceful surrender; she’s still too weak from blood loss to outrun a magical creature, especially one as clever as Tara, and she only hopes she can talk her way out of this and still buy the tressym’s silence. “I said any fish you want, so please don’t be mad.”

Tara swings from livid to horrified to livid again as the story works through. “You should have told Mr. Dekarios what you were planning to do! What if she had decided to kill you? What if—“

“But she didn’t!” Ferris sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Tara, I needed an answer about magic, one that Gale doesn’t have. I told you. I didn’t want to get his hopes up, and I doubt Mystra would have answered me if he’d been there, Chosen or otherwise.”

“You foolish child, do you care so little for your own safety—“

“I said that too!” Cat calls from the other room.

“—and how much you mean to Mr. Dekarios? He would be distraught if anything happened to you and he could have made a difference in the outcome. Oh, he’s going to be so upset,” the tressym deflates, beginning to pace the counter top.

Cat chooses that moment to reemerge, a bottle of wine in her hands; Ferris notes that she’s already taken the liberty of uncorking it. “I believe I also pointed that out as well, but we both know that she won’t listen to anyone but Gale.”

“That’s a filthy lie,” Ferris heaves herself onto the counter, arms shaking with the effort (she really must stop losing so much blood) and takes down two glasses. “I listen to his mother.”

“You’re lucky I don’t go to her this instant,” Tara snaps, watching Ferris closely as she hops back to the floor with only the slightest wobble to her landing. “You must promise me you’ll tell Mr. Dekarios what’s happened.”

Ferris hesitates a moment; she knows she’ll have to, especially if Gale wants to get her clothes off any time soon. She wants Gale to get her clothes off nearly as much, so the chances he sees her marred skin are higher than they would have been a year ago. Both Tara and Cat watch her as her mind races, thinking of excuses and coming up with none that will delay the inevitable more than a few days.

“I will, Tara, I promise. I just need to process what it means. It’s not like Mystra used her words, all I had was—“

Cat takes a long drink directly from the bottle. “Shards of amethyst stabbed into your chest, we heard.”

The tressym sighs, following both girls to the sitting room and settling herself on the back of the sofa while they arrange their tangle of legs into something more comfortable, Ferris curled against the arm and back while Cat’s legs sprawl over hers.

“Read us something, bard,” Cat waves toward the small pile of books on the end table. “There must be something good in that stack.”

Ferris hauls out a book of erotic literature that was buried among the educational tomes with a wicked grin and Tara sighs again, a bubble of Silence shimmering over her like snowfall before settling into a slight warping of air as the tressym curls into a ball, her tail coming around her face and wings tucking in tight

“Pass the wine, Catriona dear. I’m going to do voices for each character.”

When Gale stumbles back through the door, it’s far later and far drunker than he would have anticipated, and far louder than he would have liked. Ferris’ ears are sharp, and even from higher floors he’s sure he’s making enough of a racket to wake her, if not summon her. He barely manages to hang his jacket and his shoes come off with great struggle; carefully, he slips into the kitchen for a glass of water. The two steps down are far more precarious than he remembers, but he manages to survive their navigation. He pulls a few mint leaves off the thriving little plant and grimaces as he chews them.

There is no noise from upstairs, no questioning bard to mock his pounding head, and Gale wonders, distantly, if she had gone out. She’ll wake if he sighs too loudly from the library, and yet she has not even poked her head in. Gale downs the glass and resolves himself to multiple flights of stairs. It takes him far too long to realize there’s a faint glow from the sitting room.

Ferris had said she would not wait up for him, and she had not—well, it seems she had made an attempt, at least. His bard is asleep on the sofa, a book open on her chest in a way that looks like she had fallen asleep in the middle of reading, an enchanted candle providing the low light that remains. Her mouth is slightly open, and one of her arms dangles from the sofa to just brush against the carpet.

Gale cannot stop his feet as he stumbles over and falls to his knees beside her, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “Sweet thing,” he murmurs, carefully bringing her dangling arm up to lay across her stomach even as he marks her page in the book and sets it aside. He doesn’t recognize the shirt she’s wearing, but it looks nice on her, and it’s soft under his fingers. “You’d be far more comfortable in bed.”

She does not stir, and Gale wonders if he had wandered into a dream; she is so still that only the rise and fall of her chest let him know she is alive. He could carry her, he supposes, resting his head against the arm of the sofa as he gazes fondly at her.

“Sweet girl,” he sighs to himself as he closes his eyes. “My precious songbird.”

Neither of them make it to bed; Gale falls asleep on the floor, and the last thing he sees is her sleeping form. Ferris shakes him awake a few hours later, dawn just beginning to sneak in through the curtains. “Gale, your back is going to ache if you don’t get up to bed.”

“Ferris,” he sighs, leaning forward to kiss her. The mint and ale mix terribly on his tongue but he cannot resist the sleepy, hazy concern on her face and needs to know her, touch her. A hand comes up to cradle her face as she leans in, a thumb skimming the shell of her ear. “Good morning.”

“It won’t be when you stand up, come on.”

She’s right, of course—his back screams at him when he stretches, multiple places cracking and crunching loud enough that it drowns out his groan. “I was so taken by your beauty, my love, I couldn’t resist sleeping at your side.”

“If you promise to stop the poetry, I’ll rub your back.”

Well, he can’t say no to that.

“Your bard was at the temple the night we went out,” Alister says before Gale even manages to sit down. “Curled at the feet of the goddess like a sleeping child.”

Corlin bows his head. “If only it were that peaceful.”

He looks at them both. “Well this is the first I’m hearing about it.”

They’d had a few quiet days at home after Ferris had convinced him to bed and pressed against his side so sweetly, enjoying the spring breeze off the ocean and reading on the balcony or with the doors open when it was a bit too brisk for long exposure.

“She was unresponsive for a few minutes before she suddenly came to and coughed up a concerning amount of blood.”

“Vomited, I heard.”

Gale is still processing the first part of the conversation. “She was where?”

“Mystra’s temple.”

He manages a sigh, leaning back into his chair; it seems this will be a less than restful break before he returns to his students. “If you knew Ferris, you’d know that coming to in a puddle of blood is not an uncommon occurrence, and not even one that really registers as alarming anymore,” he stares into his tea. “And she enjoys places of worship, her paying a visit to the Lady of Mysteries isn’t as out of place as you’d think, given my ah…history.”

Corlin raises a brow but Gale only shrugs.

“If it was worth discussing, she’d have brought it up,” he adds, trying not to reveal his unease. “Ferris isn’t one to keep secrets either.”

“Well, if what you’re saying is true, perhaps it would be best I not entangle myself with her friend—what was it, Catriona?” Corlin stirs an alarming amount of honey into his own cup, the clink of spoon against porcelain setting Gale’s teeth on edge. “I’m not sure I can deal with the level of adventure that comes with courting a bard.”

“Bah,” Alister waves a hand. “It’s not all bards. Just the ones with adventure in their blood.”

The conversation leans more heavily on Gale than he’d prefer, normally, but he’s more than willing to talk about his own adventures on the road if it distracts them from Ferris; he’s still not sure how much he should talk about her, about their courtship, and how much she would be comfortable with people knowing. Would it cross a line to reveal her friendship with a dryad? Her deeply-rooted need to care for shrines and temples to long-forgotten gods, or the small ones that watched over field and orchards? The way she would converse with his altar, as easily as a conversation over the breakfast table, two friends exchanging pleasantries in what was decidedly one-sided?

The lack of surety bothers him the rest of the day, lingering on the fringes of his mind as he walks students through pronunciation and somatic elements of spells, lifting an elbow here, a curve of the fingers there.

“Think of it like holding a violin,” he finds himself saying, noticing how one of his students collapsed their wrist a bit too much; watching Ferris play has paid strange dividends. “You want your fingers to curve, not fall flat; it’s informed by the position of the wrist, keep that straight. Yes, that’s it.”

He weaves among the others, eyes keen to find mistakes and correct them before they became habit. “Crafting spells is like playing an instrument: the more precise you are now, the more natural it will be later. These basic things are the foundation for everything that comes after. One cannot play a symphony before they learn their scales.”

Well, he can think of one person, but outliers don’t make good lesson material.

He doesn’t even mean to bring it up that night, both of them comfortable on the low, fat sofa in the library; Ferris has some borrowed novel held in front of her the same way an actor would hold a script. It’s thin enough that she’ll likely finish it in a few hours, her eyes darting over the page. It’s a lovely moment, domestic and delicate, and he tries not to shatter it upon opening his mouth.

“I hear you went to the temple,” he says casually.

Ferris curses beside him, snapping the book shut with a bit more violence than it probably warranted. “Bloody gossips.”

“I suppose it comes with being my bard: people talk,” he tugs her closer, arm around her waist as he bends to press their foreheads together. “Just as you will.”

She sighs, squirming free before beginning to unbutton her shirt. “To begin, just remember that I asked for Mystra’s…assistance, as it were.”

“I fail to see what this has to do with taking off—gods above and below, Ferris, what in the Hells?”

Her chest is riddled with scabs, the reminders of Mystra’s aid, all of it encompassed in a deep, dark bruise. Gale presses his palm against it, trying to understand, and his skin catches against rough, dried blood. It explains why she hadn’t been wearing her stays, to keep fabric from rubbing against damaged, pained skin.

“It’s worse than it looks,” she pats his hand. “She could have killed me.”

On his own chest, the scar of the orb itches, burns a reminder into his skin in a way he hasn’t felt in ages, and he is struck by how their positions are now reversed, and how she had once pressed her palm to his chest with a look of pity and worry and understanding.

“She could have—“

“But she didn’t!” Ferris lets her shirt fall free. “I’m still here at your side, as previously agreed, and I’m healing much faster than I would have if the wounds were non-magical. If anything it’s a blessing in its own way.”

Gale runs a hand over his face. “I cannot believe you would defend her.”

“If you’d asked me a year ago, I’d be in a similar state of disbelief. However, I’m surprised she spoke with me at all. Well, what passes for ‘speaking’, it was more of a magical vision in the Weave.”

There is quiet for a moment, only the pop of embers in the hearth echoing loud in the breaths between them while Gale waits for whatever she isn’t saying. Ferris’ face is both wistful and pained, and he knows there will be more words to come, once she figures out how to say them.

“I’d forgotten what it tasted like,” she whispers finally. “How sharp and sour and sweet.”

“You miss it,” he hooks their little fingers together as Ferris shakes her head.

“Not the way you think. I miss how it tasted on you. The familiar scent of spell work so I could pick you out on the battlefield. The way it would linger on your clothes and hair, that bright citrus scent. Like…like candied orange peels, but more true.”

Her eyes are sad when she meets his.

“I wish I’d tasted it more when I had the chance.”

When she kisses him, Gale pours the whole of himself into it; he’s propped up on one elbow, leaning precariously over her now and Ferris pulls him off balance with a laugh he feels more than hears, their mouths still connected and moving. It’s a mess of limbs, his robes tangling in his legs and her skirts catching in the mess, but Gale gets a leg between hers and the hand that isn’t holding him up presses against the aching bruise over her heart.

“Tell me,” he begs. “Tell me how to worship you. I am no bard, no master of pretty verse, but I will devote myself to you however you wish. I will take the place of your heart and beat for you, if I must. Anything to keep you here with me and away from deities.”

“Gale,” it comes out a half-moaned laugh as Ferris squirms away from where he kisses her neck. “You have me, I’ve sworn it up and down, remember?”

“Remind me,” he sucks a mark against her collar bone, desperate to leave his own bruises on her to rival his goddess’ work. “Remind me, so that I can turn them into a prayer for you and repeat it on my knees as many times as it takes.”

Beneath him, Ferris stills and he draws back, fighting to steady his breathing and racing heart.

“I really mean that much to you.”

It’s isn’t a question, but he can feel one in her words, the surprise and wonder at his devotion.

“Yes.”

Always so simple, always so direct; Ferris marvels at his ability to express his feelings and wishes she could do the same. Instead the words clog her throat, threaten to choke her the moment it all gets too much. Instead, she sinks her hands into Gale’s hair, pulling it free of its tie and tugs him up to kiss him properly, hoping that he’ll understand all the same. He seems to; his hold becomes less tight, less claiming, and gentles into something more familiar.

“I know I’ve said it before,” he says softly. “But I’d have loved to bring you into the Weave, to have our souls merge as one and know you completely.”

Gale rolls them onto their sides, , stroking over her ribs to settle his hand on her hip. She smiles up at him, broadly and openly.

“There’s no need.” A kiss, placed on the bridge of his nose, straight and strong. She loves his nose. “We’re already interwoven.”

“Oh?” Gale is both curious and teasing.

It doesn’t feel like the right time to bring up the details of her divine vision, her perhaps near-death. Eventually she will tell him, there’s no point in keeping secrets, but she wants to stay suspended in this soft, easy moment so it’s poetry he’ll get, dripping sweet from her mouth like honey.

“Everyone is a thread in the universal tapestry, a line of music in a cosmic symphony, and we each weave among the lives of others—in harmony, in dissonance, in unison. There are knots and snarls and tears and rests and key changes and all other sorts of things, but on very rare, very special occasions,” Ferris leans over him, her hair in glorious disarray. “Two lines of music come together, two threads twist, and they weave and harmonize the rest of the way through, forever, until the end.”

“That’s quite a declaration, my dear.” Gale tucks a strand of hair back and she rests her cheek against his palm when he settles it there, her lips brushing against skin in a way that makes him shiver. “‘Forever, until the end’, is it?”

She cannot say the words he does, so full of conviction and promise each time Gale says ‘I love you’. Instead, she settles for what she can say, the meaning the same even if the words are not.

“It is.”

Chapter Text

Ferris does not know what her mother looks like; her father had a few pointed barbs he liked to stick into her skin, ‘your mother’s eyes’, ‘your mother’s nose’, but it’s clear he remembers very little—likely little more than Ferris. When she was young, she liked to peer into still water and imagine a woman like her, someone that looked like her. A woman instead of a child, more graceful and much taller. She imagines sunlight and goodness, a woman who only wanted the best for her, a woman who had to give her up for her own good. She stopped those imaginings around the age of ten; they did not serve her, and there was a drought that year with precious little still water for her to spend time around.

It’s exactly why, twenty-three years later, Ferris recognizes the woman across the room.

She is golden and beautiful and everything like the imagined reflections, but Ferris sees the familiar slope of her nose and the stormy color of her eyes. Aureliana Raiwënen. The woman is like the dawn, shining, bright, a clarity to her that no painter or sculptor could ever capture. Her bow stills on the strings for a breath too long and fear lances through her, sharper than the crack of a whip. Too many people notice, too many eyes are on her, but if she stops playing—

Their eyes meet across the grand room, and Ferris thinks ‘does she know me?’ before a cruel hand finds her shoulder and fingers dig in hard.

“You’re the entertainment, sweet thing,” her patron coos dangerously. “If you will not play, we’ll have to put you to some other use.”

Ferris knows what this collection of people is capable of, what cruelty and creativity festers within them. She swallows hard.

“Forgive me, my lord, I can still—“

The back of his hand cracks across her face and Ferris remains on her feet through sheer force of will; if she falls, her violin might hit the cold, unforgiving marble and if it cracks she doesn’t know what she’ll do. She doesn’t know what she’ll be without the one thing she still cares about. Cut gemstone edges slice into her cheek, drawing bloody stripes that drip down her neck and soak into the translucent gauze, rendering it opaque. Funny, that her own suffering and blood would be the only thing to grant her an ounce of modesty.

It had been a clever compromise, something that would be more likely found in a brothel than in polite company, but she is only a bard.

She is only ever a thing to these people.

Men take what they want, and she has learned quickly that it is easier to simply say ‘yes’ or agree to whatever they ask because, while she is strong, she is small. Ferris does not smile, does not do things happily, but it’s better than waiting for broken bones to be healed. How many times has she let them take?

Too many.

Too much.

She isn’t sure how much more of her there is to take, but she knows they will find it.

Men always do.

Ferris does not outwardly shudder as she begins to play again but inside she feels sick, her gut going liquid and queasy. She can’t decide what’s worse: the way she goes hot and cold in rapid succession, or how badly she wants to vomit. She can’t for a few reasons. The first is that she doesn’t have anything in her stomach to come up, nothing but bile. The second is that, if she does, she is sure her patron will be furious enough to do her enough harm that there will be a healer involved. Usually, he restrains himself enough that no one else needs to be involved, especially before parties like this. For all the horrors, Ferris does enjoy these parties because she’s usually left alone for a day or two prior.

It could be better, but it could also be a lot worse.

She’s also allowed to close her eyes when she plays, which typically isn’t something he lets her do; he likes to see the fear, likes to watch the changes in her emotion from horror to hope to dread. Now, though, she can let the sounds of the party become a hush in the background of her mind, the murmur of a brook or the whisper of grass in a field. She longs for it, misses the peace immensely, misses being utterly alone with her sheep or goats. It flows from her heart down through the tips of her fingers, guiding the notes and the tune. What should have been an average performance, entirely lackluster, makes everyone pause their conversations to stare at the violinist in the middle of the room, ethereal in the gauze that floats around her with the slight movement of her body, thin and sharp at the elbows and shoulders. The eladrin see her as a sprite, something they’re familiar with; she’s something to be viewed from a distance, something not to be engaged with. She is the distant entertainment, talented and lovely but only there to be appreciated.

Those from the city see her as an object, something they can own and touch and use.

Ferris doesn’t hear the murmurs as they begin, still lost to the memories of sweeping planes and snow-capped mountains, far off in the distance. She is back in Cormyr, oblivious in her own mind, but the machinations of men find their way into other ears, ones curious to know how her daughter has such a position in society. It’s clear she is no lady, but she is still a student, there is time yet.

“Think you’ll get to have her tonight?”

“Not before me, you don’t.”

A harsh laugh.

“As if you mind, the sloppier it is the more you enjoy yourself.”

“Perhaps for the right amount of coin you can have your turn earlier.”

“She’s not making rounds tonight, you’ll have to make plans yourself.”

“Well we haven’t been told we can’t touch.”

Ferris is pulled from her reverie by a hand that slaps her flank; it isn’t a playful swat, it’s one meant to jolt her, meant to hurt. She doesn’t miss a single note, but she can no longer retreat to old memories where she’s safe and sheltered.

A throat clears, and she finishes the piece, the decrescendo on the final note offered up like a prayer. Ferris steels herself and turns.

Instead of the warmth she’d imagined, her mother is similar to the metal of her name, cold and unfeeling and molded into the woman that stands before Ferris. She has never been so seen, never been entirely flayed by someone’s eyes, but this stranger who shares her eyes and nose can see her down to her bones. She’s afraid of what the woman sees, if her time in Baldur’s Gate has damaged her beyond recognition. She wonders if this woman sees anything of the daughter she’d desired.

“Mother?”

Her voice is soft, weak, nothing like she wanted. A hardness takes over her mother’s face and Ferris knows there will be no help here, no savior.

“A disappointment,” the woman says, turning her face away. “You are no child of mine.”

Ferris doesn’t understand.

How can this woman with the power to save her, to help her, see the product of her body and turn away when her child is covered in their own blood, naked but for gauzy cloth that drapes over her form in a way that allows anyone to see the figure beneath; Ferris is sure that her mother has seen the way people’s hands have reached into the folds, run up her legs. She’s certainly seen the hard slap to her thigh.

Her mother walks away and her mind races. This is a misunderstanding, she clearly doesn’t realize that Ferris does not want this, that this is not her choice. It isn’t a party where she’s being passed around but she is clearly on display for those in attendance; her patron had not told her whether she would be expected to ‘perform’ later for a ‘private audience’, his way of informing her that she would be expected to—she swallows down bile.

It’s a misunderstanding, surely. Lady Raiwënen would help her, she had to. She is Ferris’ mother.

But she cannot call out. She cannot speak of what’s been done to her, cannot put the horror into words, at least not yet, and especially not here. Ferris thinks quickly. She needs her mother’s attention, she needs her to understand. There’s so many people here, so many eladrin. She knows their history, knows the old songs and how to us them. Ferris does not have much, but she has her voice.

So she uses it.

Ferris takes a deep breath and when she exhales, it is song. An old one, one she’s seen on the delicate scrolls that threaten to crumble at the next breath, the ones where the staff is implied and notes are barely specks on the parchment. When she arrived at university, Ferris couldn’t read music at all. She’d been shown sheets with lines and swirls and words in other languages and could only stare blankly; that wasn’t music to her, it was dead and cold on the page. That parchment, however…that parchment was alive. Those old cantos, the suggestion of how they were to be sung to an audience—Ferris had inhaled dust and mold and ink and exhales song, much like she is now.

It’s old, it’s in a form of Sylvan that predates the Espruar alphabet. She’s seen it written down only a handful of times, the script strange and the writer attempting to capture ancient thoughts in a less ancient form. The cantos speak of creation, the birth of the universe until the (now long ago) present moment, but they also speak of sadness and fear and uncertainty.

She sings those cantos now, voice strong and clear and pleading. There’s no proper translation, only the emotion and the meaning that seeps into those present. The humans all freeze, like deer facing down a hunter or a wolf; they cannot describe the feeling of emptiness and despair, but it settles like sickness, a shroud over them. A few of the eladrin gasp, the one her mother spends her evening close to going as far as to raise a hand up to her breast as she stares at Ferris with tears in her eyes. The bard wishes she knew what the words meant exactly, if only so she could speak to the woman.

‘I’m sorry,’ she’d say, looking up into those sparkling, dark eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to make you sad, but I saw no other way.’

Ferris has no translation but this: help me, save me, see me.

The spell she’d had over the crowd breaks when a hand fists into her hair and wrenches her off balance, the music cut off mid-word in a way that snaps everyone back to their senses. People blink, wondering why they’d felt to strange. She doesn’t see it, but the eladrin woman gathers her retinue and they begin to make for the door, her mother among them with a stony set to her face.

Her patron jerks her head back and the hold on Ferris’ hair makes her eyes water, tears leaking from the corners and down her cheeks as she grits her teeth against the pain. “You stupid little whore,” he snarls. “Embarrassing me on purpose, in front of guests. If you’re so eager to use your mouth, I have far better ideas.”

He nearly throws her to the ground, remembering at the last minute that he cannot be so openly cruel while in company; instead he lets his hand fall from her head to her arm, gripping so tightly that pain lances up and down, her fingers throbbing and tingling and her shoulder aching from the angle. “You will go to the sitting room, no more little party tricks,” he hisses in her ear while his eyes fix on the departing entourage. “I have some apologies to make for your behavior.”

She stumbles when he shoves past, arms spread in a jovial manner. “My lords and ladies, apologies—my little bard was unaware of how her music would effect the mood, she only wanted to show off in your presence, you know how artists are.”

The man adopts a sickeningly avuncular manner and someone takes her elbow. Ferris looks up, feeling ill. “Come along, little bird. Your cage awaits, and some people have paid good money to see you in it.”

Ferris struggles, twists, but there’s nowhere to run. All her strength is gone, bled out in a last act of rebellion for the night. She should have been more careful, should have come up with a plan far in advance of this. Usually she can find a way out of this, but she’s so tired of fighting.

She’s just so damned tired.

No gods are listening, or she would pray. People here don’t listen, so why would any deity?

“I beg you, my lord,” she puts the last of her energy into the act, forcing her voice to sound coy and sultry as they pass the last of the guests on the way to the sitting room by the large fire; her patron loves to host things there, in the warm, plush room that shows off his wealth and power. He’s also said it makes her hair look like it’s lit from within, but he’d been extremely drunk at the time. It was the only real compliment he’d ever paid her. “Allow me to put away my instrument before I attend you. You know how my patron gets when his things are damaged, he’d be extremely cross if I were to bring my instrument to harm.”

It is allowed, Ferris slipping into the nook that served as coat storage during colder months. A few people are there, as she’d hoped, and one of them is her mother. She quickly snaps the case shut, violin secure, and she turns to the women who had brought her into this world.

“Mother—Lady Raiwënen,” she reaches out to touch the rich velvet cloak her mother dons, stopping at the last moment when she receives a look of pure disgust. “Please, please—“

“I send you to school to follow in my footsteps, to study history, language, diplomacy, courtly arts.” The older woman looks down her nose. “And you squander it by whoring yourself out. He has money and power, that much is true, but you do not. You disappointment me. My daughter should be better.”

“I am,” she pleads. “I am, this isn’t—“

“Miss Ferris.”

Her patron’s voice is like ice down her spine. She turns, rigid, and her mother breezes past, doing up the clasps on her cloak. Like a whisper, she is gone.

“Do you not have somewhere to be?” He takes her arm again in that tight, agonizing grip, hauling to the sitting room and throwing her in, heedless of where and how she lands. The door bangs shut hard enough that it bounces, cracking back open just enough that she can see the entry and the last of the guests leaving, heedless of who is in the room with her.

It doesn’t matter.

She never cared all that much anyway.

If she doesn’t remember, it’s easier to forget.

She tries to move to the door, but hands pull her back and pin her.

The pale gauze spreads around her like aasimar wings and the marble is cool beneath her cheek, sticky where the cut on her cheek rests; the grip on her head forces her to look to the side. The bulk of the eladrin delegation has left but there are a few that linger, her mother being one of them as they finish saying their farewells. She fixes her eyes on the golden woman, pleading with her mind.

‘Please,’ she begs in silence as the man forces her legs apart.

‘Please,’ she begs as fabric tears.

Her mother glances toward the sitting room, the crack in the door; there is no way she doesn’t see her there with her keen, elven eyes, it’s impossible that she doesn’t see what is happening, or inferring what is about to happen.

‘Please.’

Then the woman is gone with the last of Ferris’ hope. She closes her eyes, tears joining blood on the floor.

She doesn’t plead again, for there is no one left to hear.

Chapter Text

The gloom and threat of rain linger for another tenday, the whole of Waterdeep glancing at the sky until, one day, the clouds break and the city blooms.

Shops open their fronts, windows thrown open with abandon, and linens flutter in the sea breeze as the population of Waterdeep airs out their sheets, carpets, and whatever else they can get to hang on a line. Ferris loves the snap of cloth when it goes taught on a gust, loves the newfound energy and life that comes with proper spring, and through it her own zeal returns. The nights are still cool but it doesn’t stop her from taking long walks through dark streets, listening to laughter and clinking glasses and song and life. Gale accompanies her often enough but his ears and eyes are not as keen. What he enjoys most is when he returns to the tower, ducking around their own sheets that hang in the garden (they’ll smell of sage and rosemary later, when he tumbles Ferris onto his bed, slowing becoming their bed, and rests his head on her middle as she listens to stories of his day, and then he hears hers) and hearing Ferris’ voice grow louder with proximity, a siren song that he follows on instinct, tethered to his bard by the sound of her songs.

“Another invitation for us,” he calls out to her as he removes his shoes; the weather is holding, gods be blessed, and he is thrilled to be able to switch from his boots to his usual loafers. His arms are bundled full of fabric and he is careful not to let it touch the floor. “The Open Lord of Waterdeep invites us to a party she is hosting, rain or shine.”

“Ah, our fair Lady Mage,” Ferris appears at his side, unburdening him of half the sheets. “And it won’t rain. I think we’re past that, but the wind still has teeth.”

“Indeed.” He follows her up the stairs, helping her puzzle through which sheets go where and shoving duvets back into their covers. Gale isn’t sure where Ferris had managed to dig up a set of sheets in butter yellow, but it suits her current mood; she hums as they work, quick to finish her bed and move onto his. “You’ll accompany me?”

“Of course,” she agrees. “It’s rare that I’m not the entertainment these days, it will be quite pleasant to remain at your side and gossip.”

It’s quite true; Ferris’ popularity has grown quietly but surely to the point where she turns down more than she accepts. Some of them are large, ornate things like the Open Lord will be hosting, but mostly Ferris will take the smaller gigs, the parties at taverns or in shared courtyards, turning down or reducing payment.

“Those who can afford it can pay for music,” she shrugs when he asks. “But it’s far more fun to play a wedding than a stuffy gala.”

It doesn’t seem to impact her demand with the upper class of the city—if anything it makes her more popular. If Ferris (often Ferris Dekarios on the gilded cards that are sent to the tower, which still sends a thrill through Gale when he sees them) accepts an invitation, it’s seen as a private victory, that she chose so-and-so’s party rather than someone else’s event.

To his knowledge, she has no real system for these, but watching people try and figure out what earns her favor is a novel form of entertainment for them both. They’ve wandered down to the library, and he spots a stack of letters on his desk that sparks his memory; he’s collected the mail and set aside anything for Ferris.

“There’s talk that an invitation that smells of sage is more likely to be accepted than others,” Gale hands her a pile of mail and the bard snorts, accepting and shuffling through them. Ferris pauses on one, picks it up, and sniffs it.

“Hmm, paper.”

He rolls his eyes and she sets the invitation aside; Gale isn’t sure if that’s the ‘accept’ or ‘decline’ pile starting, especially as Ferris continues to shuffle through, cycling the mail over and over, often handling the same envelope multiple times before it finds a pile. He tries to discern the rhythm, but fails after the third time a red card with silver ink makes an appearance in her hand, which draws Gale’s attention.

Excluding her two rings, simple and silver, Ferris is bare of jewels and other adornment. ‘She’ll need something for the party,’ he thinks. He pauses, fingers just hovering over her collar bone. “I ought to get you a necklace,” he murmurs, allowing his fingers to trail. “Is that of interest to you?”

Ferris shivers under his touch. “Don’t waste your coin. I don’t know the first thing about jewelery, the only reason I have these is because they were given to me.” She twists the snaffle bit ring around her finger; it could use a polish, and Gale doubts it’s been cleaned since it got picked up out of a crate on their adventures, beyond rinsing when Ferris washes hands. The fact that there’s no blood caked into the grooves is impressive, in his opinion, but time flakes away most flaws.

“Do you think Catriona has any mind for jewelery or should we ask my mother for something?” Morena has plenty of options, but Cat’s would be more modern and likely in line with Ferris’ non-existent taste.

She thinks a moment. “What manner of party?”

“Certainly more formal than our house clothes,” he teases. Ferris rolls her eyes and swats his hand away as his touch tickles up her neck. He takes in the soft, pale blue of the skirts of what she’s wearing. “Perhaps that gray dress will do.”

It gets him a raised brow. “Will you be able to keep your hands to yourself?”

Gale’s blood suddenly runs hotter, and he tries to keep his voice even. “You’d do well to remember that it was you who kissed me, dragging me off into a dark library of all places.”

Her eyes take on a mischievous glint, even as Ferris’ breath hitches slightly. “I remember quite well, wizard.” He has the sudden feeling of being prey, cornered in his own library, but it’s Ferris who back up slowly, step by deliberate step until her back is to the shelves. She’s bright against the dark wood, a beacon that calls to him. “Does the Open Lord have a library? Or perhaps we should revisit it here and now.”

He doesn’t need any more suggestion.

Gale is on her in moments, lifting her to meet his lips and using his body to press her back against the books; his touch is bolder, more sure, and he knows exactly what pressure to apply when he squeezes her hips. Ferris gasps softly and he tastes more than hears it before he pulls away to kiss the shell of her ear, teeth just grazing the lobe.

“Lock the door,” she pants, tangling her fingers in his hair and hitching one of her legs higher up his waist. Gale bites at her ear again and she whines, bucking her hips against him. “Gale, lock the door.”

They have had more than one scolding from Tara, and they don’t particularly want another. Gale doesn’t even look, just flicks his hand and hears the lock click into place; he has far more interesting things to focus on, like the way Ferris tightens her legs when his teeth graze her neck, or the sounds she makes whenever his fingers dig into a sensitive spot. He shifts her easily, getting a thigh between her legs as he pushes her skirts up. “How would you like this to go, my dear?”

“This is,” she pants between kisses. “This is a good start.”

Ferris no longer needs encouragement to chase her pleasure, no longer fears or doubts the instincts that tell her to rock against Gale’s solid thigh, his hands pushing and pulling in time with her to increase the pressure and friction. She’s bloomed with him, and it’s wonderful to be the one she trusts enough to enjoy herself. He wants desperately to touch her, taste her, be as close to her as possible. It’s not enough to have her up against the shelves, it’s not enough to feel anything other than skin on skin, warm and soft and flush with life and want.

“Gods, why are you wearing anything under this?” his hand slips up the leg of her bloomers, far enough that he can trace the ticklish seam of her thigh. “We’re at home, it’s damned inconvenient at times like these.”

It’s not a real complaint and it gets a breathy laugh out of Ferris as she squirms against him, shifting herself off his thigh so she can get her legs fully around his hips, her sex grinding against his aching cock. “Could you imagine how little would get done if I were to wear skirts with nothing underneath?”

“Yes.” Gale can imagine many, many different ways and the only thing getting done in the tower would be Ferris, as often as she wanted or would allow. “It’s quite a lovely day dream. You, teasing me every time you lift your skirts…I’d bend you over so many surfaces, take you with my fingers, or perhaps my mouth. We’ll never get anything accomplished with how I burn for you.”

Her bloomers are loose enough that he can just reach her folds, fingertips brushing against damp curls and hot flesh. Ferris jerks at the touch, arching her back and trying to get more of him. It’s not a good angle and Gale withdraws, much to her displeasure; when she whines, he shushes her gently.

“Gale.”

“It’s alright, my love. I’ll give you what you need.”

His beard tickles against her neck and she giggles, breathless and wanting. “And what do I need?”

“Me.”

He doesn’t even sound like he’s boasting or smug, simply stating fact, and the worst part is that he’s right. Ferris absolutely burns with need and when his hand returns to her hip and rocks her against his hardness, she arches and moans. It’s not the frantic passion of their previous library foray, it’s better. Better because he knows her body and she knows his. When Ferris tugs at his hair, he groans and leans heavily against her, heavy enough that she can feel the beat of his heart with hers, chest to chest.

“I’ll always need you,” she kisses his cheek, an act far too innocent for how she moves against him, especially as she reaches between them and palms his cock. “Always, Gale.”

It’s moments like this he holds dear, the gentle, easy lulls between the swells of passion and need, the soft admissions.

“You have a choice,” Gale brushes his nose along her jaw, tipping Ferris’ head back to nip at the soft skin just behind her ear. “Would you like my hands, or my mouth?”

She squirms against him, chest heaving; all she can focus on is the hot press of his cock through their layers of clothes. Ferris grinds down and Gale hisses, bucking up against her. The shelves dig into her back, a sharp contrast to the wizard at her front, his mouth and hands and body soft and warm. She could have him. Ferris knows this, and it’s the only thing she still fears. It’s not for lack of wanting—because she wants him, she does!— but her mind begins to race against her body, panic bubbling up to roil the surface of pleasure. What if she just let him, what if she simply…

“Ferris?”

“Your hands,” she gasps; where had her breath gone? She doesn’t remember holding it, but when panic sets in her lungs freeze up. Gale must have felt her chest still and she answers quickly before he can stop touching her. If he pulls away, she might die without him. “I want to be able to kiss you and hear all the things you say, please.”

His kiss is soft and reassuring. “Alright,” he squeezes her thigh. “We can make that happen, hmm?”

Spell-nimble fingers undo the thin tie of her bloomers and his palm presses hot against her belly, traveling with agonizing slowness. His fingers brush over her clit, part her folds with the same ease he opens a well-loved book, as though they have all the time in the world. When his fingers first sink into her, Ferris’ entire body relaxes. She feels whole, complete, and when Gale kisses her, it’s everything she could ever want in this moment.

“That’s it,” he nips at her ear, the curve of her jaw. Ferris tilts her hips and takes him a little deeper; it’s a tight fit to start with two and he has to work for the give of her body. Usually he’d begin with just the one, but the way Ferris moved against him and her needy sounds made him think it would be alright. “You’re doing so well, you feel exquisite.”

“Imagine what it’ll be like when it’s real,” she gasps when he slides further in and she tightens around the swell of his second knuckle.

Gale knows what she means, understand the sentiment because he knows it’ll be glorious should it ever happen. “This is real,” he kisses her and pushes himself closer; his wrist twinges at the awkward angle and difference in their heights and he hikes her up a bit, his unoccupied hand gripping the swell of her ass. “Real and perfect,” and then he’s in all the way, his fingers curling, reaching, seeking. He knows he’s found his goal when Ferris gasps, trailing off into begging.

“More, please.”

He obliges. Gale thrusts hard and her body gives, like he’s carving out space inside her for himself, a place only he can fill and Ferris loses herself to it. The thought of how he’d stretch her open on his cock (he’d be gentle, she knows Gale will be gentle and sweet until she’s ready for more, capable of taking all he can give) makes her shudder with a combination of fear and desire. It’s never felt good before, she’s never ached for someone this viscerally and terribly. He wants her but would never hurt her, he loves her and would never intentionally cause her pain.

Ferris closes her eyes and imagines it, imagined Gale fucking into her against the shelves with something far larger and longer than his fingers. Before the thought would have frightened her to the point of stopping, freezing up to the point of pain. Now, well…now it sparks something inside her and she can feel herself clench around Gale’s fingers, feels a rush of slick that coats his hand and between her thighs, easing his thrusts further.

“Gods, Gale. It’s so much.” She could have had this back in the library. “It’s perfect.”

It earns her a kiss, open-mouthed and messy. Her breaths are almost punched out of her to the rhythm of his thrusts, forcing her to remember each inhale and exhale. She pulls Gale close, hides her face in his shoulder, and he kisses her neck, still murmuring praise that Ferris cannot fully hear with how loud her heart is in her ears. There’s heat behind them, love and praise and encouragement. Every so often she catches a word, a phrase, and they fill her as completely as his fingers do; she clings to each of them. ‘So lovely’, ‘that’s it’, ‘perfect’, ‘so good’, and her name like a prayer. Ferris, Ferris, Ferris.

Gale pulls back just enough to speak properly, his lips moving against hers. “You’re so beautiful.”

That soft statement, said like a confession, makes her keen. Hot tears spring to her eyes as he brings her closer, closer—Gale bites down over her racing pulse and she shatters. He works her through it, still circling his palm against her clit but lightening the pressure to a suggestion as his fingers slow their movement until he’s still inside her, the last fluttering pulses of her orgasm fading as she regains her breath.

Gale keeps kissing her wherever he can, hot and open mouthed; the occasional scrape of his teeth make her shiver. Once her heart stops racing he withdraws as slowly as he can manage, careful when Ferris winces at the loss.

“Sorry, sorry,” he lowers her to the floor with a last, lingering kiss. “Too much?”

She shakes her head. “No, just a bit sore,” she admits under his gaze, not wanting to lie or disappoint him with an untruth. “One uses different muscles getting fucked against bookshelves, apparently.”

It earns her a laugh and she wants so badly to be able to hoard that golden, beautiful warmth that blooms within her for times when she needs it; she wants to cradle this joy in her hands like a butterfly, parting her palms to see the brightness and remember. Gale takes a step back and she mourns even the smallest distance.

“I suppose that you…” He suddenly turns red, turning away and clearing his throat. “You may need to wear something with a high collar.”

Ferris cranes her neck to see her reflection in the glass case behind them and she can see the beginnings of a bruise blooming where her shoulder meets her neck, the darkest points matching Gale’s canines; she traces over the arc with her thumb, rough callouses over soft skin.

“It could be worse,” her eyes meet his and Ferris can see the darkening of lust creep back in as he watches the path of her thumb. “Goodness Gale, do you need to be laid back against the sheets while I tell you how lovely you are? Or will the bookshelf serve?”

“You don’t have to—“

“You have a choice,” Ferris’ eyes drop to the noticeable bulge in his trousers, licking her kiss-bruised lips as she parrots his earlier words. “Would you like my hands, or my mouth?”

He doesn’t immediately reply, trying to calm his racing thoughts, and Ferris tips her head curiously.

“Or would you like something else?”

The thought of getting his cock out and rubbing off against her here, fully clothed in the library, sounds incredibly debauched but once his mind fixes on it there’s nothing he wants more. Gale swallows hard. “Do you have plans to be anywhere this afternoon?”

It’s clearly not what she was expecting him to say.

“No? Gale, what—“ He falls to his knees, hiking one of Ferris’ legs over his shoulders and pressing close until he can seal his mouth over her through the thin fabric of her bloomers, his own hands undoing the ties of his trousers until his cock is finally free and leaking precome onto the dark floors, pearling over his fingers; he groans, inhaling deeply as he frantically strokes himself. Ferris’ hand sink into his hair, her surprised gasp turning into a laughed moan.

“I have to have you,” Gale begs, breath hot over her still sensitive clit. “I need to.”

It shoots an electric combination of lust and fear up her spine; Gale’s desperation, his need, is thrilling in a way that she still struggles to untangle at times, especially when she is not in control of it.

"You have me,” she threads her hands through his hair, tugging. “Tell me what I can do for you, surely you won’t be satisfied like this, on the floor.”

Gale makes a noise of disagreement, still fisting his cock and pressing his forehead into her stomach. “You don’t have to do anything, my love,” he pants. “What I want more than anything is to—gods.”

It’s difficult to voice it without sounding crass, but Ferris trusts him. “Show me.”

One more steadying breath and Gale rises, picking Ferris up again but not bothering to rearrange her skirts as he presses her against the shelves once more; the fabric of her dress is soft and cool enough to make him shudder at the difference. Ferris wraps one arm around his neck but when she reaches for his cock, he gently redirects her. “You just hang on, my dear,” he puts the wandering hand on his shoulder. “Let me take what I need—it’s nothing you’re unwilling to give, I assure you.”

He offers reassurance as he adjusts his hold on her hips and thighs so that he’s able to thrust against her, cock sliding through the folds of her dress along the crease at the bend of her leg. The movement, the closeness, the position of her body, this feels like the closest they’ve come to fucking since Ferris had laid back on his desk in her wet clothes. Once she understands what he’s doing, once he finds an unhurried rhythm, she picks up the counterpoint, a slight furrow to her brow as she concentrates.

“Is this enough?” She kisses the corner of his mouth, matching each roll of his hips.

“I was already close from pleasuring you,” he admits, unembarrassed how riled she makes him, simply from allowing him to touch her. “Loving you is enough, this I considered an added bonus.”

She knows it, know he would be content with the occasional kiss. Ferris rewards him with a sharp bite to his earlobe, intent on making him lose his steady pace and then, hopefully, his control. It gets her a short, sharp thrust, sudden and surprising when compared to his original intent. When he groans, it rumbles through her chest with how close they are. “I thought you said you were close,” she kisses his neck, an apology for the slight sting of her teeth earlier even though he doesn’t mind. “There’s no need to impress me, take what you want, wizard.”

Gale sighs, thrusting harder and a touch faster but still quite in control of himself. “I am, but I want to make this moment last. I want to be close to you, I don’t want you to feel used.”

“There will be other moments,” she reminds him as she circles her hips and pulling a groan from him. “And it’s not using me if I’m giving you permission to do so, not the way we don’t like. It’s alright, Gale. You can let go, show me how much you want me.”

It pulls another groan from him, especially when she keeps rolling her hips and kissing his neck. Ferris isn’t one to leave marks, careful with her teeth, but she knows exactly the placement and pressure to use to avoid lasting marks, creating a trail with her lips and tongue that will fade by the end of the day. In fairness, he’s usually far more careful as well, if more apt to make a lasting claim.

This won’t be one of them, washed away with soap and water and hung out to dry but he’ll know, they’ll know, and the next time Ferris wears this dress both of them will run a bit hotter, wondering if a raised brow or a glance at the shelves will garner a repeat performance. Gale is so intent on the future that the present slips from him until Ferris’ voice brings him back, smack in the middle of a fantasy she’s weaving for them both, his suggestion from earlier echoed back to him.

“—just a dress or skirt, as a compromise, so you can have me easily,” she murmurs against his cheek, voice low. “Fucking me like you are now, taking your time even when I’m impatient and begging for more.”

Each pause is punctuated by a feather-light kiss, a suggestion rather than a distraction.

“Better than your fingers, a space just for you,” her breath hitches slightly, caught up in her own fantasy. “And when you finally fill me I’ll be reminded all day, sticky and aching between my thighs.”

He groans, pressing her harder against the shelves, breathing hard into the join of her neck and shoulder; Gale will apologize later and massage a salve into Ferris’ back to ease the pain he (‘we,’ Ferris insists, not at all upset) caused, not paying close attention to the shelves and how they might dig into skin and muscle and bone.

The idea that Ferris would take his suggestion and not wear anything under her skirts, that she has thought about him spilling inside her and feeling it slide down her legs later, a reminder of previous activities—

“Gods,” he chokes. “Ferris, gods.” It’s all he can manage, entirely occupied with the image of his bard, debauched and flushed and pleased. They’d come down from their high, like this, and then he’d ease her to the ground but not let her skirt fall yet, instead getting on his knees as he had earlier and using his mouth to clean the worst of the mess, before arranging the fabric and looking up at her, taking in his handiwork. Gale wants it so badly that he cannot find the words, only speeding up his thrusts. Ferris huffs a laugh, tightening her arms and encouraging him with the pull of her legs.

“I want that, Gale, everything you said,” she admits, holding on to him. Her whole body is hot from the friction, the heat of the day, how close together they are. “I want you.”

She hooks her ankles behind his back, locking her legs, and Gale gives a few hard, punctuated thrusts before he unloads himself into the folds of her dress, thighs quivering and arms burning with the effort to hold Ferris up after so much exertion. Her gentle hands stroke through his hair, scratch against his scalp; she does her best to shift her weight, easing Gale’s burden as he trembles through his orgasm. Once more he sets her down and gets a look at the mess he’s made.

“We’ll have to do some laundry,” he says sheepishly, looking down at the mess he’s made of Ferris’ dress. It’s entirely rumpled and wrinkled, and now stained. “Truly unfortunate, perhaps we shouldn’t bother to redress at all.”

“Hmm,” she pretends to think, turning around and glancing over her shoulder with a raised brow. “I do see the merits of your proposal, but it’s a shame I’m the only one getting undressed.”

Gale isn’t sure he’s ever removed his clothes faster before he undoes the ties at the back of her dress, and he hopes Tara will attribute the lack of ‘proper’ layers to the lazy heat of the day and a sudden sensitivity to the coming of summer.

The gray dress makes a reappearance ( Ferris had been right in assuming he would be unable to contain himself at the sight of her in it, especially now that she fills it out a bit more; his bard had gotten ready with plenty of time to spare, knowing that they’d be delayed by wandering hands and laughing kisses, both short of breath rushing out the door for reasons other than the very real possibility of being late) and Morena’s jewelry sits heavy at her throat; when she reaches up to touch it for the fifth time that evening, Gale takes her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers. “If it’s too distracting...”

Ferris shakes her head, but he still steps behind her, letting go to lift the back of her hair over her shoulder so he can see the chain where it hangs between her shoulder blades. He loosens the clasp and the necklace hangs lower, far less like a collar; the largest of the gems now rests over her clavicle. It suddenly feels like she can breathe easier and as Gale rearranges her hair she visibly relaxes.

“Are you sure you got your tadpole removed?” She teases, turning to lay a hand against his chest and smooth her palm over the lapel of his jacket. It’s usually as far as she goes, publicly, especially at large events. Ferris is always aware of her surroundings, knows there are eyes on them and knows that there will be whispers of how delicately Gale handled her, how clear his intent and demeanor. “You ability to read and understand my mind remains the same.”

“I never read your mind, my dear,” he replies. “I simply have come to know you.”

His bard smiles up at him, open and adoring. Even that is a rare thing in public. The enchanted lights sparkle in her eyes and he thinks ‘how did I get so lucky?’. Ferris looks ethereal, her cheeks flushed and pink and freckled; more time in the sun has scattered them across her face and chest, down her arms. The whole of her looks as though she’d been under a master’s brush, flicked so perfectly with paint to create the patterns and constellations he loves so much.

“We’ll have to find Cat, later, once she’s done performing.” Ferris’ finger traces the stitching along a button hole, absentminded but still enough to spark heat into him. “I promise not to get into trouble at the Open Lord’s lovely party.”

Gale is about to agree before he’s interrupted.

“I thought I recognized those unfortunate ears,” a cool voice comes from behind him; Ferris goes unnaturally, the same way she used to when confronted with a horrifying enemy, and when he turns around he expects to find a hag.

Instead, there is an ordinary elven woman. Her clothing is fashionable, but plain, made to not stand out amongst others but still appear pleasing to the eye. Her hair is blonde, the color of summer wheat in the sun, and he is about to ask who she is when he sees the familiar shade of Ferris’ eyes, the same delicate frame, the same shape of her nose.

“Mother,” his bard says coolly, detached in a way he has not seen in ages. “You seem well.”

This is the woman who all but abandoned her on her father’s equivalent of a doorstep, who disowned her when she need help most, who saw her daughter’s suffering as shame rather than truth.

“And I see you’ve moved on to Waterdeep’s high society,” those gray-blue eyes he so loves to see are strange in this woman’s face as they lock onto him. “A far cry better than Baldur’s Gate, especially with a wizard on your arm. I do hope you’re aware of her…proclivities.”

The last bit is directed at Gale, and he feels a lick of flame race through his blood at her words.

“I think you’re being rather rude for someone within Fireball distance,” he says cheerfully. “You’d do well to introduce yourself, madam, before you further insult a hero of Faerûn and savior of Baldur’s Gate.”

He does not expect the scoff. “Is that what they call common whores now?”

“We are leaving,” Ferris grabs his arm. “Have the day you deserve, mother, it was awful seeing you again—“

“We are not leaving without an apology.” Gale stands firm. He is well aware that Ferris, small as she is, could make him move if she chose but he roots himself. “This woman has been incredibly rude to you for no reason,” he turns to address the woman who looks so much and yet nothing like his bard. “And you are as much a guest at this event as Ferris is, so you’d do well to mind your tongue when addressing those a mage calls ‘friend’.”

“Gale, please.”

“Oh, you’re Gale Dekarios?” The way she says it somehow sounds both insulting and complimentary at once, but he can tell from the stillness in her face that she knew exactly who he was before she even approached them. “It is unfortunate that this was our first meeting, I’ve been told you have great influence both within Waterdeep and the Academy. No wonder my daughter has picked your…patronage.”

Ferris looks ill and his hand finds her back, a familiar weight against the world to ground her. It takes restraint, but he does not tangle his fingers in the laces at the back of the gown; the action has become almost second nature at this point, a teasing, playful touch that has no place here and now. The woman’s eyes are sharp, and he knows she takes it all in.

“Your daughter does not need a patron,” he corrects when it is clear Ferris is unable. “She has a name and reputation all her own.”

“I’m sure she does.”

He isn’t sure his bard is breathing and Gale knows he has to distract or otherwise intervene, get her to say something if only so she remembers that her lungs need oxygen and that flight is an alternative to freezing like a doe, hoping the wolf passes her by if she just remains still enough.

“Ferris,” his smile does not reach his eyes. “Do you have your silver knife, the one for monsters? I find I’d quite like to make introductions.”

“I’m afraid it’s at home. Where we should be going, I think, far away from here if one of us doesn’t want to post bail.”

The joke doesn’t land the way it usually does.

It’s all he can do to not physically recoil when the woman takes his arm. “Unfortunately, my dear, Master Dekarios needs to make his introduction to the Open Lord.” The woman has had eyes on them since they entered, damn her. It’s the only way she could know that he and Ferris haven’t yet spoken to their host and conveyed their thanks, praise, and other pleasantries one makes when invited to an affair of such scale and grandeur. They hadn’t even been there that long and yet in moments everything goes sideways. “You may leave after.”

Gale suddenly discovers where Ferris gets her strength from and he twists back to his bard. Ferris is doing her best impression of a thing gone to root, a statue in a garden. “Go find Catriona— do not leave without her, I don’t care if she hasn’t played yet. I will make whatever excuses I need to on her behalf. Find her and go straight to my mother’s. Do not go to the tower.”

‘Do not go where this woman can find you,’ he pleads to empty air, wishing magic could reach her. ‘Do not ruin the safe home you’ve built. ‘

The woman’s grip on his arm is tight, almost talon-like, and hatred rises like bile in his throat as he sees shades of his Ferris in her, ghosting in the corner of his eye because he refuses to look at her directly.

“I hope you do not think this a good first impression,” he says sharply. “As I do not take kindly to being forcibly removed from my companion.”

The woman doesn’t so much as shrug. “Perhaps I am doing you a favor, Master Dekarios.”

“You act as though you know your daughter beyond a few brief meetings. Tell me, do you feel any love for her?”

She pauses. “I loved her enough to have her raised in a safer place, far from the Wild. Is that not enough?”

‘Not enough to spare her from misery and torment and torture,’ he thinks. ‘Not enough to save her.’ Instead he says: “You truly believe that.”

“I do,” she sniffs, turning up her nose. “An education, paid for. A childhood outside of courts and politicking. Are those not sufficient?”

“Not in the least,” he sets his jaw and prepares to mind his manners; they are too close to the Open Lord and he does not want to cause an incident. Well, he does, but not where he can be seen by so many powerful witnesses. “And you’d do well to remember that fact.”

Before the woman can reply, he is greeted warmly.

“Master Dekarios, how wonderful to see you here. I’d worried you would decline, it can be so hard to drag wizard from their towers, academics from their studies, and teachers from their students, and you have the bane of being all three.” The Open Lord of Waterdeep smiles at him. “And you must be—“

“Aureliana Raiwënen,” she extends her hand. “Of Lord Lellvain’s court.”

A dignitary. Now he’s glad he hadn’t caused an incident.

“Oh!” Her hand is taken, the back of it patted accordingly. “My apologies, I thought I was finally being introduced to Master Dekarios’ friend.”

“My daughter is elsewhere,” she says simply, and Gale has to marvel at the ease with which Aureliana commands herself and control the conversation; clearly a trait Ferris had inherited. In one simple phrase, she has elevated herself within Waterdeep by connection to him, whether he wishes her to or not. “No doubt enjoying her youth.”

There’s a coldness behind her words, but only Gale knows their meaning.

“It’s well deserved, after what she’s accomplished with Master Dekarios—haven’t you heard?”

The woman laughs, light but embarrassed. Entirely for show. “I’m afraid we are only recently out of the Feywild, news is hard to come by there.”

“It was not hyperbole when I called her a hero,” Gale cannot keep the sharpness from his voice. “Ferris led a merry band of adventurers, myself included, against an invading army of Ilithids, brought down a cult, and saved not only Baldur’s Gate but the whole of Faerûn.”

I have her, Catriona’s voice cuts through the anger and tempers him slightly. Leaving for Morena’s. She’s fine but shaken, come soon. Send her regards to Open Lord, fuck Aureliana Raiwënen.

It seems that Ferris’ liberal use of Sending was catching on amongst her friends now that she herself couldn’t use it; the fact that she had gone almost immediately to Cat worries him. Ferris is not one to take order or suggestion if she thinks there may be better options, and clearly there were many things she could have chosen to do.

His impossibly strong, brave, wonderful bard is choosing to run away.

Strangely, he’s proud.

“Ferris sends her regards,” he inclines his head to the Open Lord and she smiles. “We’ll arrange something else I think, a more private meeting.”

“Of course. I do so wish to meet her.”

Something akin to frustration, or perhaps confusion crosses Aureliana’s face. “Does she not perform with a surname?”

Oh.

Oh, it seems she had expected Loren to give Ferris her surname, for her daughter to carry on her legacy despite her tarnished reputation.

He is going to enjoy this.

“Ferris prefers to not use her surname,” he smiles, and he can see the moment Aureliana realizes it’s genuine and not false. “She finds that ‘Büller’ doesn’t suit her, so she leaves it off. Blessedly, she’s famous enough that any post comes through with simply her given name, but occasionally there will be letters addressed to ‘Ferris Dekarios’—not that it’s correct, but she has full permission to use it if she wishes and she does not mind in the least. My mother and I are more than happy to have her in the Dekarios clan, informally for now and perhaps formally down the line.”

The elven woman is seething and he does not even mind when her nails begin to dig into his arm as the Open Lord laughs. “I made that assumption, I fear; however, it’s good to hear it’s a welcome one and not a source of controversy.”

“You simply must tell us why you picked a more traditionally dwarven name, Lady Raiwënen,” his smile turns sharp. “Perhaps a name with an iron meaning to match your golden one?”

A slight to both her and to Loren, despite the man being far away and oblivious. Gale hopes he sneezes at the mere thought of his contribution.

“It rolls off the tongue, does it not?” The Open Lord thinks a moment, a twinkle in her eyes as she glances at him, as though they share a private joke. “Ferris Dekarios, just delightful.”

Gale has thought the same for a while now. He prays Ferris will forgive him for his next words, but—

“As I said, currently it’s an informal use…but we view such invitations as preparation, a glimpse of the future.” When both Aureliana and the Open Lord stare at him, Gale does his best to seem a little shy. Not too much as to be ashamed or embarrassed, just enough. “Ah, forgive me—Ferris and I had hoped to announce our courtship properly, but there never seems to be the time. I suppose we’ll have to, now that love has unstayed my tongue.”

He allows premature congratulations to wash over him, enjoying the blatant shock on Aureliana’s face and hoping that Ferris won’t be overly upset at the strategic deployment of this information.

“Oh,” he adds, deciding to capitalize on what goodwill he’s garnered. “I do apologize, but I may have left Ferris in the the care of the harpist you hired for the evening, Miss Catriona Mariel?”

The Open Lord waves her hand. “The ensemble will survive without her, I’m sure. If they can’t, perhaps I should have thought to employ your bard as well, seeing as how they come in a set. Tell me, is there an art to getting her attention, or does she choose her engagements at random?”

Even the Open Lord of Waterdeep is trying to figure out how Ferris chooses where and when to play, as fickle as a breeze. Gale’s smile is genuine even as Aureliana’s fingers dig into his arm to pull him away from the receiving line. “You’ll have to ask yourself, even I am not privy to her whims—but if you want a better chance, I recommend it be as understated and common as possible. She loves to offer her services for small weddings and other such celebrations of the working people of the city.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” she says, looking out over the party. “But I cannot guarantee I know how to do ‘small’ or ‘understated’.”

He offers his thanks for the invitation one last time before submitting to the claw-like pull of the elven woman at his side. Aureliana is smart enough to lead him some distance away before letting him go. “You do not know my daughter,” she hisses. “If you are courting her and believe her truly worth your time.”

“You’ll notice that I did not ask for your input.” Gale shakes out his arm, smoothing the wrinkled fabric of his sleeve with distaste. It makes Aureliana puff up like an angry cat, ears twitching back just slightly; she does not outwardly look furious, but he can feel it rolling off in waves. “Nor do I care to hear it now.”

The woman straightens her spine, eyes cold. “I see. Forgive me, I must return to my courtly duties for the evening now that introductions have been made.”

Gale can see calculations being done behind that stare and he doesn’t like it. “You don’t deserve forgiveness but I will enjoy seeing the back of you, lady Raiwënen.”

“I see Ferris has fed you poison,” she says as she turns from him. The crowd unconsciously seems to part for her and it makes his palms itch with the urge to hurl something pointed and fiery at her back. “Let’s hope you don’t succumb before you realize there’s an antidote.”

He wants to go immediately to his mother’s, he wants to Haste his way through the streets of Waterdeep until he can hold Ferris safely in his arms and make sure she’s alright. His attention splits and he loses the woman in the crowd as a colleague comes up, pulling him into another conversation. It’s unlikely Aureliana will be able to leave, to follow her daughter immediately and he does not want her to tail him either. Gale hopes the discussion he joins is brief, or at least that he can beg off after an appropriate amount of time.

After all, antidotes are usually made from the poisons themselves and he does not want to find out what lady Raiwënen intends to do to make the one she thinks he so needs.

“Hello ladies, is there a reason you’re knocking down my door—Ferris, where’s my son?”

Cat shoulders her way inside as politely as she can manage, wincing at the older woman’s stormy expression. “It’s an emergency, we had to leave on short notice.”

“Why in the Realms would you be here if there’s an emergency? Surely the tower is better, or even your rooms Catriona,” Morena lets them in anyway, suspicion and concern at war on her face. “What’s going on?”

“I—“ Ferris is cut off by a knock on the door and the girls are leveled with an odd look. Cat grips her arm, tight enough to hurt and Ferris feels ill. There’s no way her mother could have appear so quickly, but then again Ferris had had magic. She certainly hadn’t gotten it from her father; the sick feeling works it’s way up her throat, threatening to make an appearance. “Mrs. Dekarios don’t—“

It’s too late. Polite impulse has Morena opening the door and there, smiling coolly, is Aureliana Raiwënen.

Up close, the similarities between mother and daughter are apparent, glaringly clear even. It only takes Morena a moment to catch on and she plasters on a smile. “You must be the esteemed mother I’ve heard so much about from our dear Ferris. Won’t you come in?”

Her tone says ‘fuck off’ but unfortunately Aureliana is not versed in the many nuances of Morena Dekarios’ voice they way Ferris has come to be. “Thank you, that is a kindness,” she steps over the threshold and Cat has to take Ferris’ elbow to stop her from shaking. “You must be Lady Dekarios.”

“Mrs. Dekarios, please.” Morena closes but does not lock the door, eyes cutting to the girls; it’ll save Gale time and energy to unlock when he arrives, which they all hope is soon. “I have no real station, and I’m too old to stand on formality.”

“You’re not that old,” Cat grumbles, her grip on her friend’s arm like a vice to hold her up. They’re all steered toward the living room, up the small set of stairs, and Cat does not leave Ferris’ side, sitting close to provide both support and a barrier, if needed. “Why are you here?”

They’ve all taken seats, all of them upright and tense but Aureliana has an additional air of grace and poise that no one else feels like attempting. The question does not bristle her, at least on the surface; Ferris knows she inherited her instincts from somewhere and, if she’s anything like her mother, Aureliana has caught onto the mood from the moment the door was opened, and she knows that Morena Dekarios and Catriona Mariel are not on her side of this conversation. She might not know how much, or what Ferris has told them about her past, but she would know that it’s enough for her to have no allies here.

‘She’ll choose to take the safest, softest route,’ she thinks. ‘She’ll talk first, then fight if she must, but more flies are snared with honey than vinegar.’

“Would a mother not want to congratulate her daughter on such an elevated courtship?”

Ferris is frozen, once again a doe before a wolf, but neither Morena nor Cat seem at all surprised, and it gives her the smallest sliver of courage. It appears her mother’s version of safe and soft is going for the throat and trying to get everyone wrong-footed to gain the upper hand…but if her allies already know, or at least give nothing away, she’s not lost her balance yet.

“Why are you really here, mother?”

Aureliana’s face remains perfectly neutral, but there’s a flicker of anger in her eyes at her daughter’s tone. “I was wrong to leave you, back in Baldur’s Gate,” she begins. “I should have taken you from there, brought you under my own wing

“I needn’t have worried, it seems, if you’re courting the Wizard of Waterdeep.”

Morena looks disgusted, Cat’s turned to stone, and Ferris feels a quiet, icy fury building in her gut. “Is that all I am to you? A bargaining chip to be used at your convenience?”

“It’s not the match I’d have chosen,” the elven woman concedes. “But it is extremely favorable.”

“It’s a far sight more than favorable,” Morena corrects. “It’s born of love, if that’s something you’re capable of comprehending.”

Cat barks a laugh that she (unconvincingly) hides with a cough and, for the first time since her ears were mentioned, Ferris sees the slightest crack in her mother’s facade; there is a twitch, barely perceptible, that ticks in her jaw, like Aureliana is trying her best not to scowl and it’s taking all her focus to prevent the downturn of her mouth. Such an expression would look unflattering on her mother’s sculpted face and, for once, Ferris is glad of her father’s rounded features that make it impossible for her to be taken serious when she tries to make the same expression. Gale always asks her if she’s trying to pout, or if he should actually worry.

“You’ll forgive me, Mrs. Dekarios, if I have difficulty believing such a thing in this case.” The pity edging into her tone comes across patronizing and Cat inhales sharply, drawing up like she’s getting ready to defend her interpretation of a piece of music and it’s Ferris’ turn to lay a hand on her arm. “The fault lies not with your son, but with my own daughter, I’m afraid. You see, as I lamented earlier, Ferris did not have the opportunity to learn courtly manners or etiquette befitting of a diplomat; she’s…something of a social climber, I’m disappointed to say. I worry for the reputation of our dear Gale—“

Ferris didn’t know she had a limit, but apparently it’s been found, reached, and crossed in an instant.

“You do not get to say his name as though you know him.” She doesn’t recognize her own voice, the accent sharpening in her mouth and tasting for all the world like glass. It’s the same voice she’d used to convince people to take their own lives, icy and sure and soothing all the same. Ferris cannot remember using it since her arrival in Waterdeep. It doesn’t be long here with these people, it does not belong in this life where she is loved and safe.

She’s not supposed to need her weapons anymore.

“Excuse me?” Aureliana is sickeningly polite. “Ferris, it’s quite rude to interrupt. Even the nobility of Baldur’s Gate should have taught you that.”

“You say you’re here to congratulate me on my courtship with Gale and the next breath you try to have it broken; tell me, is an engagement only good enough for you when you’re the one arranging it?” That gets a sound from Morena, but Ferris files it away for later conversation. “Am I not good enough unless you’re puppeting my strings? You would wield me like a knife, plant me in someone’s back to rot and fester just to serve your own needs.”

Aureliana opens her mouth to speak but Ferris cannot stop, the words won’t stop, the anger and the sadness and the questions she wants answered after close to thirty years won’t stop. Everything that was bottled up and set aside has been shaken to the point of bursting and now that the first cork has popped there is no way to prevent the chain reaction.

“If I wasn’t with Gale, would I even be of worth to you? You’d never have noticed me at all and I’d have been allowed to carry on in peace but now that I suddenly have connections you can use, you want to take me away, is that it? I’m not your daughter, I’m a lanceboard pawn, or a checker that’s finally been kinged. Just another thing to be played with, another piece on your board.”

Aureliana scoffs. “You certainly have the tongue of a bard,” she rises gracefully, smoothing the skirt of her gown. “I shall show myself out, but one hopes that you’ll find something more inspiring than childish bitterness in future.”

It earns the woman an affronted sound from Cat; Morena looks too shocked to say anything at all, but Ferris is not a terrified girl on the cold floor of a ballroom any longer.

“You inspire me to be nothing like you,” Ferris spits the words like poison, uncoiling like a snake to follow her mother to the door if only to make sure she leaves. Behind her there is a quick conversation as Morena and Cat debate following before she hears their feet on the stairs as well. “Everything I am is in spite of you.”

“Any self-confidence you have should be far less.” Aureliana stands in the door of Morena’s home and Ferris knows this is one last display meant to shame her, to ruin her and make her a terrified little girl. “You were meant to take the Raiwënen name, and perhaps you would have turned out better, but I cannot undo the many and varied mistakes of your sire.”

“I don’t want it,” she snaps back. “I don’t want either of those names. They’ve never served me, never protected me.”

“And ‘Dekarios’ has?”

“Yes!” It’s childish to stamp her foot, but she does it anyway. “The name and the man, and his mother, and his tressym. Do you know how many people I have had offer me their names? How many of my friends—“

“And how many of them did you sleep with, hmm?” Aureliana’s eyes sweep over Cat and Morena, both a few steps up. “Or do your they not know?”

“My friends know me to my core; my secrets are not theirs because I have none. A secret kept is a weakness guarded. They are aware of the torment and misery, and they have been present for the joy and the light in turn,” her voice cracks slightly and she stops herself for a moment. “And none of them, if you must know. Not all of us have to offer our bodies in exchange for power—“

The slap rings out and Morena is at her side than Ferris thought possible; she puts herself between her mother and the human woman, shoulders back and hands at her side even as her cheek stings.

She’s had worse, and her mother knows it. Ferris stands tall as her mother seethes.

“How dare you?”

“Bit hypocritical,” Ferris snaps, her accent edging into more rural tones. “To disown me for choices I did not make, but so ready to train me up for the same political purpose. To be a pawn used to make deals in whatever ways possible, or would I have been used as a bargaining chip in a politically advantageous marriage? Shame you couldn’t be the one to set my bride price, but it’s far too late for that and you know it.”

‘You saw,’ she does not say. ‘You saw and did nothing.’

Aureliana seethes, and for a moment Ferris regrets her words; it is entirely possible that her mother’s choices were not fully her own either, and that she had wanted the best for her. Arranged marriages weren’t uncommon, even in small, rural communities where there’s more sheep than men.

“You say those things as though you have not done the same, we are more alike than you care to admit. The Dekarios name is a powerful one,” Aureliana sneers. “I wish I could be proud that you’ve tempted such mage into your bed.”

“I’ve tempted no one,” Ferris crosses her arms. “If all you’re here to do is to try and drag my name through the mud, feel free. It’ll wash the second you leave, I’ve no doubt. Perhaps with enough wine I’ll be able to remove this whole evening from my memory and you along with it.”

Her mother thinks a moment, eyes glancing from Ferris to Morena to Cat as though she is trying to form a plan of attack, whose weaknesses to exploit. She finds none, and finally sets her gaze on Morena, determined to have the last word.

“Enjoy having a whore as your daughter, Madam Dekarios; I find I’m quite done with her.”

“Gladly,” Morena snaps. “I’d rather that than a career politician.”

Ferris snorts and Cat hides her laugh behind her hand, not bothering with a cough; this time, Aureliana knows exactly what they think of her.

“You will regret those words.” The elven woman turns on her heel and starts down the street when Ferris decides she is allowed to say everything and anything she could want, and that rubbing salt into wounds is something she is owed; this will be the last time she sees this woman, if she can help it.

“Silverbough,” she calls out. “Ravengard. Do you recognize those names?”

From the way Aureliana freezes, a gleaming figure on a dark street, she must. Ferris takes a step forward, then another. Morena stands in the doorway but does not stop her, and she can hear Cat join her quickly enough.

“Those were both names offered to me, as a friend. Not an ally, nor for political or personal gain. They were offered to me out of kindness. You may not have raised me in a court, and I may be just a bard, but my influence reaches far beyond Waterdeep, with bonds stronger than any alliance you could hope to make.”

Ferris is smaller. She is not as world-wise. She is young and terrified, but that will never stop her.

“I’ll give you a moment to rethink your comments about the Dekarios household,” she says sweetly. “Because if you so much as raise a finger toward them, if you so much as breathe an unkind word about them in your life, I will make sure you never speak again. I will leverage all goodwill I have gained to personally hunt you to the ends of this realm or any other for any harm or slight against my family, and I will delight in it.”

“I am your family—“

“No,” Ferris stands taller. “No, I have chosen my family. You and Loren may have been involved in my conception, you my birth, and he may have made sure I didn’t die until I was old enough to fulfill your whims, but he is not my father and you are not my mother.

“The closest I have ever known to a mother is here, in Morena Dekarios. If you think for a moment I would chose you over her, if I would chose a stranger over a woman who has done nothing but love me since the moment she laid eyes on me, you are blind.”

She can hear Cat murmuring behind her and knows a frantic message is being sent. She also knows that Gale can be here within seconds once he receives it, if he’s able, and that he will be far more inclined to action.

“I think you’ll want to leave now,”she smiles. “Unless you want to be on the receiving end of a nice, warm Fireball.”

Ferris does not wait for her mother to respond, does not pause to see her expression; she stalks back to the door, shoulders back and head held high, the posture of a lady, and her comportment lasts until the moment the door lock snicks into place. She gets two hitching breaths before the world closes in and she cannot remain on her feet.

“Oh my sweet girl,” Morena catches her as she sinks to the floor, tears flooding her eyes. “None of that now, hush. You are so strong, my dear. So brave—Catriona, darling, the kettle? And put a measure of whiskey, that’s a good idea for us all. Thank you—oh my love come here,” she lets Ferris sob into her shoulder as she rubs her back. “That’s alright, let go.”

She feels so empty and lost, unmoored completely and wholly; Aureliana Raiwënen is gone, and it’s just the three of them in Morena’s warm, comfortable home. Ferris does not deserve kindness or warmth or the family she has found, and she cries.

“You do, Ferris. You deserve all that and more, my darling girl.”

Ah. That must have been out loud then.

“Gale’s on his way.” Cat hovers nearby, glancing from her friend to the door. “It’ll be alright, I told him that if their paths should cross, he is to treat her as he would a demon. Gods above, what a witch.”

Ferris wants to laugh, she really does. This is Cat’s first encounter with her mother and it’s gone about as well as can be expected. Not that Ferris had ever expected to see the woman again. Absence has not made the heart grow fonder, and there is no space for the woman in her life, not anymore. She’s an adult, one who has grown into herself without the presence of a mother, and with the minimal presence of what one could call a father; Ferris isn’t sure whether she’s better for it. Would she have been stronger? Smarter? More refined?

“Here, let’s get you out of that gown, you’ve got a change of clothes here.” Morena bundles her into the spare room. “Catriona, my dear, could you help her? I’ll see to the tea.”

She changes hands and Cat talks her through every movement of her body.

“I’m coming around behind you, just undoing your laces.”

“Can you step out of this for me?”

“Chemise coming over your head, give me your arm.”

By the time Cat has her in a blouse and skirt the tea water has long since boiled and there’s a pot steeping on the low table by the hearth along with a bottle of whiskey that is about half gone. Ferris feels immensely guilty that any sort of fuss is being made over her. “You don’t need to do all this,” she swallows back a fresh swell of tears. “I’m really not worth the effort.”

Morena breathes out sharply through her nose but says nothing, only pours the tea and then pulls the cork from the whiskey.

“Ferris, I am going to say what Mrs. Dekarios will not, because she’s far more a lady than either of us.” Cat turns and takes her hands, making sure Ferris is looking into her eyes. “Shut up.”

“What—“

“Shut up,” her friend repeats happily. “You see, I know my friends are worth time and effort because I love them dearly. Therefore, because we are friends, you are worth the effort and we do need to do all this. Because I love you, and Mrs. Dekarios loves you, and your stupid wizard loves you as well. So shut up, drink your tea, and then feel free to complain about your mother.”

A cup is pressed into her hands. It’s one of the delicate ones, porcelain warm between her palms; the painted pattern is slightly risen and she traces a finger over it, focusing on the way it swoops and whirls.

“I don’t know what there is to say that I haven’t already told you,” she mutters, the words hoarse and pulled out of her from somewhere hollow between her ribs. “She disowned me. Aureliana Raiwënen may have given birth to me, but she has never been what one would call my mother in the ways that matter, but it still hurts.”

“Of course it does,” Morena reaches out, squeezes Ferris’ shoulder. “She comes back into your life, one you’ve carved out for yourself, one where you’re happy, and she does her best to tear you down.”

“She doesn’t know you, Ferris,” Cat adds softly but firmly. “She may think she does, but she only knows the version of you from years ago, one that was hurt and scared and lost. But that’s not you anymore.”

“Isn’t it?” She doesn’t look up or raise her voice, but her tone still cuts like ice. “How can you say that’s not me anymore when it’s the foundation for all that comes after?”

It takes her a moment to realize she is shaking and Morena tuts, rummaging around for a blanket and settling on a knit sweater lacking in toggles or buttons. “Here. Put that on. It’s not finished yet but it was meant for your birthday.”

“Oh.” Ferris slips her arms into it. “Thank you, but…isn’t it…?”

“Sized for my son, yes.” The older woman pours more whiskey into Ferris’ tea. “I give them to him in advance so he can wear the thing and you have time to eye it before stealing it once it smells enough like him.”

Ferris looks absolutely disgusted with herself and Cat tries not to laugh. “This explains so much about your casual wardrobe.”

Before she can defend herself, there’s a frantic clattering from the entrance. Gale’s voice, panicked as it is, immediately makes Ferris feel better when he calls out, clambering up the steps. “Ferris? Mother? Is everyone here, is everything alright—oh my dear, come here.”

The second he lays eyes on Ferris he sweeps her up into his arms; his heart thunders against her ear and she closes her eyes, listening as it calms the longer he holds her. There’s a conversation happening over her head but she assumes it’s about her mother and when she’d left, what had happened, what had been said.

“That damned woman had better think twice before coming ‘round again,” Gale says, and his words rumble through her ear. “The nerve, thinking she could barge into our lives and tear you down again. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, I couldn’t track where she’d gone. I thought perhaps she’d try the tower first but…”

Ferris gently extracts herself from his arms, knowing that he doesn’t want to let her go. In fact, his grip tightens slightly before he relaxes enough to let her take a step back.

“She wouldn’t have thought it possible if she didn’t view me as weak,” She scrubs at her eyes with her sleeve, bundled into the largest sweater Morena had on hand; he doesn’t recognize it, but it looks soft and comfortable, big enough to swallow his bard. “Maybe my father was right: I should have been stronger. I am stronger. I could have—“

“None of that,” he says firmly, but kindly. “There’s nothing you could have done, but you’re stronger now. Things are different. Protecting yourself out in the fields of Cormyr is very different than challenging a Baldur’s Gate noble. Stabbing a pitchfork through a stable boy’s foot? That is acceptable in Bospir—but you weren’t in Bospir, my love.”

Over her head, Gale looks from his mother to Cat; Morena takes the other bard by the elbow and steers her into the kitchen to offer them a little privacy. Unfortunately, in Morena’s flat there is no real diving line between one room and the next aside from the dining table that acts as a barrier of sorts. Either way, whatever is said here will be heard by everyone, not that he much cares. Cat and his mother are well aware of Ferris’ past and her life.

Ferris abandons her sleeve and cries directly into Gale’s chest, which he allows. Her hair is still unbound and he strokes through it, fingers catching on some tangles. She quiets as he works through them until her hair is smooth under his hands. There is some gentle puttering going on around the kitchen, low murmurs and the sounds of pots and pans clanking. It’s domestic, pleasant, and he can tell that hearing such normal activity centers his bard.

"Few have an unblemished history,”Gale holds her tightly, tipping her head back and pulling a much softer handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe away her tears. “You must continue to better yourself, as you have been.” He kisses her forehead. “You cannot condemn yourself.”

“It feels impossible to move on from it all.” Her face feels too hot and sticky with tears, despite Gale’s best efforts. “How can I, when…”

“You are your past, that is true, but you cannot change it,” he tucks Ferris’ long bangs back behind her ear. “Well, unless you’ve a new-found penchant for chronomancy, in which case I am not sure we’d be here. I don’t particularly like some of the choices I’ve made, but if I hadn’t made them…well.”

Ferris sighs, knowing how this conversation ends; they’ve had it before. “I suppose it’s fine, then, as long as I get to have you.”

“That you do, my love. Though I wouldn’t say ‘fine’, given—“ Gale cuts himself off. “Please don’t be upset.”

She doesn’t tense or seem nervous, more tired than anything. Whatever Gale has to say cannot be worse than what she’s already heard tonight. “That’s an excellent start to a conversation.”

“But I may have let slip to your mother and the Open Lord that we were courting.”

Ferris goes still. “Oh.”

“That’s alright,” Cat calls from the kitchen, determined to be entirely unhelpful. The harpist has her back to them, but they can all hear the smirk. “Ferris said you were engaged.”

“It was a poor choice of wording!” Ferris’ hands are moving rapidly. “I needed to make a point!”

Gale is taking this far better than anticipated, calm at her side; his hand moves from the small of her back to Ferris’ hip, keeping her close and anchored. His mother’s hawk-like eyes take it all in. “So you’re not engaged.”

“We’d have told you if we were,” he sighs, exasperated. “I promise, when it happens you’ll be the first to know.”

Morena’s eyebrows raise and Cat purses her lips in an heroic effort to say absolutely nothing, but Ferris only rolls her eyes and lets her forehead fall against Gale’s chest again. “You’re a fool.”

“A fool who’s staying for dinner,” Morena says firmly. “Catriona, dear, you are also invited to stay, it would be rude of me to send you home now and don’t waste our time with the usual social requirement of ‘oh no, I couldn’t’, I am not in the mood for waffling. From any of you,” she adds when Gale opens his mouth.

“Shall I set the table?” Cat offers. “Or would you prefer help in the kitchen?”

Gale laughs under his breath, trying not to draw too much attention. “I hope you’re not getting whiplash from this level of mothering,” he murmurs, keeping Ferris close. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“Probably for the best,” she replies. “It’s not ideal to murder a diplomat, no matter how shit of a mother she is. Now, if we could get her to commit some sort of crime…”

“There will be no crime,” Morena calls from the other room. “Now both of you help Catriona, we’re going to sit down and have a normal dinner with no talk of murder or crime or mention of that woman for the rest of the night. We can plot all we want tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

They are quiet on the walk back from dinner, Gale’s hand constantly on her as though he needed the tether to keep her near, though perhaps it was for her benefit, to keep her grounded. Ferris’ exhausted mind had been wrung of all emotion and she felt light-headed, entirely spent, and when they got to the tower it was all she could do to remove her shoes (unfortunately, Morena had not had an extra, more practical pair in her size) and her clothes before collapsing into her bed with a cold compress to prevent a headache.

She wakes from a nightmare only a few hours later—her cheek pressed to cold marble, too many grasping hands—and Ferris climbs the stairs and slips in beside Gale.

“Hello my dear,” he murmurs, lifting his arm when she attempts to curl close. “Everything alright?”

“No,” she replies, pressing the entire length of her body against him to take comfort in his softness and warmth. She cannot have that nightmare again when her wizard is the opposite of those fears.

“It will be, I’m here now.” Gale holds her close, his breathing closer to the rhythm of sleep than wakefulness, and she listens as it bleeds from one to the other and hopes that Gale’s soft promise will be enough to keep the darkness at bay for the rest of the night, even if she doesn’t manage any more sleep.

Ferris had hoped beyond hope that she’d seen the last of her mother the previous night but in keeping with the rest of her life, fate has more tricks to play on her in the form of a small, unassuming envelope in a few days-worth of their collected post, forgotten on the sideboard in favor of tea and toast consumed in close silence, pressed side by side on the sofa. It’s as though any word will shatter the peace they’ve clawed back after last night and Ferris is desperate to stay in her bubble, praying it won’t pop.

No one hears her prayers, obviously.

“Your collected requests,” Gale jokes as he hands over the stack. “Remember to smell each one.”

It earns him a careful half-smile and Ferris allows herself to think that maybe the horror is over as she shuffles through each thick, embossed card or folded piece of paper. A birth announcement on rough scrap paper, a coming of age celebration, and a funeral are quickly added to a pile as she considers the rest, ignoring anything with unnecessary levels of flourish. Gale watches her fondly over a second cup of tea as she shuffles through the rest so he sees the moment her face falls.

“Ferris?”

She doesn’t say anything, only holds up an ornate envelope that shimmers like a dragonfly’s wing in the golden light that filters in through the kitchen window. ‘Ferris Dekarios’ is neatly written on the front, the ink flowing from a dark green to black even as he watches. He does not recognize the wax seal on the back but clearly Ferris does.

“Lord Lellvain, eladrin nobility of some note. More importantly, it’s his court that is in Waterdeep, and that my mother is attached to.”

Gale remembers last night all too well.

“Burn it,” he says without hesitation. “Ferris, I think—“

But she’s already prying away the wax seal, the envelope unfolding itself to sigh onto the worktop as she reads the card within. It’s the same material, that same pearly, iridescence almost glowing by its own power. She reads it quickly before looking up at Gale’s horrified face and he knows what she’s going to say next, even though he wants nothing more than to spirit them both away to Candlekeep until the whole of that damned fey court is back in the realm they belong. Hells, he’d Teleport them to Bospir right now if he thought it would do any good.

There’s iron in Ferris’ eyes and voice and she turns the card to face him, laying it on the table so that it’s between the two of them; Gale can see that there’s a question on the back, asking her to perform what she chooses at a date that is uncomfortably close and yet too far away. He meets her eyes.

“I accept.”

A sizzle of magic draws his attention and he knows why Ferris had put the card down. It had been a while since she’d leeched the enchantment from something unless it was active, and clearly she’d anticipated that this invitation was be-spelled. As he watches, the question burns away, replaced with a location and a message of thanks in a language he barely understands.

The card remains between them, inert now, and Gale sighs. “Why would you accept? All this could be over.”

She shakes her head sadly. “It will never be over, Gale, only far away. There will be no peace until my mother is cold in the ground and even then there will always be the ghost of her. No,” she picks up the card. “This is not about peace of mind. This is about striking back, and I’m going to need you at my side if I’m going to pull it off.”

“I’m afraid to ask, my dear,” he says, but asks anyway. “Pull off what, exactly?”

“The greatest performance I will ever give in a role I have never wanted to play: the perfectly polite, diplomatic daughter Aureliana has always wanted, but one that is entirely outside her grasp.”

Gale nods, already anticipating their need for additional actors on this grand stage. “I will do what I can, but you know I’m a poor leading man.”

Ferris smiles at him, rounding the counter to kiss him soundly. “Thank you, Gale.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he tugs her braid. “We only have a a tenday to execute whatever your concocting, and I think you’ll need a few more people at your side to, as you said, ‘pull it off’.”

“Gather the troops then,” she kisses his cheek before darting away, catching herself at the door to turn back, a solemn smile on her face. “My mother is not done yet, I suspect. It’s time to draw up a battle plan.”

Unsurprisingly, the first people that become entangled in this web are his mother and his tressym.

“Absolutely not,” says Morena firmly. “This is a terrible idea, and I will not be made party to your continued misery, Ferris. I’m sorry, but I really do not think we should be baited into this.”

Tara sits quietly in the garden window, watching them all from the mint and basil as a predator considers their prey; if she has something to say, she’ll say it. Gale really isn’t sure how much help the tressym will be, but Ferris had asked for her presence and involvement and Tara had reluctantly agreed, likely anticipating she’d be used to run errands or some other such thing between their houses. As little as she liked it, Tara was party to Ferris’ plan and it seemed like everyone except Ferris had similar reservations.

“This invitation was likely sent out before any connection was made,” Ferris turns it over. Clearly she’s had the same thought and come to a different conclusion. “See, ‘Ferris Dekarios’—if this were Aureliana’s doing, I’d be ‘Lady Raiwënen’.”

The opalescent paper flashes in the candlelight and Gale swallows hard, already feeling ill at the thought of Ferris on a stage before the same court that had abandoned her all those years ago. Morena shakes her head. “You cannot perform for Lord Lellvain’s court, Ferris. This simply doesn’t feel like a good idea.”

‘You cannot go anywhere near your mother,’ he wants to say, but he knows she understand his expression. At his side, his mother purses her lips.

“Actually,” Ferris replies pleasantly. “I can and I will. But I will need your help, now more than ever, because we will be holding our own court.”

They both stare at her as she taps the corner of the card against the table, eyes distant in thought and bright despite the bruising under them, evidence of a sleepless night. Catriona insisting she rest with cool, damp towels over her eyes has spared her most of the puffy redness, thankfully, but there’s still a waxy quality to her skin that suggests she is not what one would call ‘well-rested’.

“I’m going to request the attendance of my esteemed family, the Lady Morena Dekarios and Professor Gale Dekarios, as well as an assistant. Additionally, I’d like to perform under the name ‘Dekarios’, if you’ll let me.” She glances to the two of them, utterly shocked and silent. “Morena, is there any specific cultural dress or something relating to the Dekarios name?”

The older woman shakes her head. “No but you could always wear excessive amounts of purple—“ she sucks in a breath. “Oh.”

Ferris smiles politely, knowingly; Gale feels he is missing a piece of a very important puzzle as his mother’s eyes fill with tears.

“You called me ‘Morena’.”

“I did.”

“Oh,” a hand comes up to muffle her sob, but there’s no point to it when she throws herself at the bard, holding her tightly. “You silly, silly girl.”

He is definitely missing something, but he suspects this moment is not for him. He tries to move the conversation forward.

“This ‘assistant’…”

“Cat, of course,” Ferris says, not bothering to escape Morena’s fussing but her voice is muffled in the woman’s shoulder. “Accompaniment will be welcome, and another friend in our pocket is, of course, a benefit to our cause.”

“And what purpose will I serve, or am I only here for moral support?” Tarra huffs from the window, flicking her tail. “I’ve heard little as to my involvement thus far.”

Ferris grins.

“Tara,” she begins. “How you feel about being a spy?”

Clearly this is a step up from what the tressym had anticipated because she preens. “I suppose I could be called upon when needed.”

“Excellent!” His bard claps her hands together and gently extracts herself from his mother’s grasp. “We have nearly all our pieces, now the rest of the planning can get underway.”

“What does this entail?” Gale still is not sure he is on board with this plan, but if Ferris is confident she can perform before the eladrin court he is in no position to stop her. At best, he can gently suggest she reconsider, as he has already done, but he does not see it being of much use.

The bard purses her lips. “I’ll have to make some calls, of course. Host a few members of the court. Morena, Gale, you’re part in this is to say anything that makes me seem like an upstanding member of high society. My involvement with…I don’t know, whatever fine, upstanding people do.”

“I will do my best not to mention your time in a holding cell,” Gale vows, a hand over his heart. “It will be easy enough to talk of your heroics.”

“And you do enough good, but I’ll stretch the truth and get the ladies at card to mention your name as well.” Morena pinches the bridge of her nose, a move she recognize from Gale. “Now, back to the topic that will take the most time to sort out: will you be wearing an obscene amount of purple or…”

Gale rolls his eyes so hard it hurts and Ferris snorts. “I’m not sure about all that. We could do something with the tabard,” Ferris cuts in. “Maybe style it differently?”

“Dearest, you wear it to spar,” Morena begins, then pauses. “I suppose…it has sleeves, yes?”

She nods. “And they go to about the elbow.”

He remembers something, a memory of regal elves and starlight and trees. “Mother, do you have those old story books, the ones with old Elven warriors?”

It could be a rhetorical question, but he knows better than to assume with his mother. “I do, Gale. I was saving them for—well, never mind that now, I’ll just pop out and get them—“

“I’ll fetch them,” Tara rises from the window with a luxurious stretch. “And something for dinner. This will be quite the day.”

Tara is incredibly right; they plot through lunch, and through dinner as well. The three of them argue about what Ferris will wear; Ferris insists the tabard is the way to go, Gale suggests the blue gown from the gala but Ferris sighs and says they’ll have to have it altered because she’s not an underfed adventurer anymore, a detail she adds when Morena’s eyes narrow in on her stomach. The gray gown she’d borrowed from Cat is off the list because she wears it so often, but Morena brings up dying it another color, or having it dyed by someone else so that no one makes a mess of Gale’s kitchen or mucks it up beyond saving. The corset back has adjusted well to Ferris’ broader shoulders and more defined hips, eliminating the need for alterations.

“Why do you want to wear the tabard?” Morena finally asks, head in her hands. “It’s not exactly formal or typical wear for such an event.”

Ferris goes quiet for a moment. “It’s the only thing my mother left to me, aside from setting up an education. Wearing it would be another thing to crack her facade.”

“If you’d said that at the start, I would have been all for it,” his mother rubs her eyes. “I think I will call it a day, then. We can come at this with fresh eyes tomorrow.”

Tara offers to accompany Morena home, night long-ago settled over the city, and the two of them retire to the library balcony to watch the stars reflect against the waves. It’s cool but not cold, and Ferris uses it as the perfect excuse to stick close to his warmth.

“Ferris, I don’t mean to sound a nag,” he begins and she tips her head back to rest on his shoulder, expectant. “But are you sure? About all this, I mean.”

She closes her eyes and hums softly, turning her face into his neck and breathing in, familiar with the smell of him and taking comfort in it. “I think…I think it’s less about being sure and more about needing to try. I need to reclaim something. And I don’t even know what it is I’m trying to grasp, Gale. I want…”

He tightens his arms around her, kissing her brow. “You don’t have much time to figure it out, but I’ll be here with you while you do.”

“That’s more than I ever could have hoped for,” she smiles. “Thank you, truly. When I sing, it will not just be for myself. It’ll be for you, for us.”

The thought makes him smile, being part of something that Ferris holds so dear. “I’ve not heard you sing since…well, I’ve heard you sing, but you have this cadence you fall into when you tell stories. When the songs have meaning, or you’re infusing them with power.” He doesn’t know how to explain this at all. “Remember when you asked me, a while ago, how I knew you’d visited an ash grove?”

“Yes?” She turns in his arms, expectant.

“I could see it. Your words, your story,” he waves vaguely, trying to convey the space around them. “I could see it.”

“Huh.”

Gale blinks down at her. “Am I the first person to ever tell you this?”

Ferris shrugs. “I just thought I was a good storyteller.”

“Only you wouldn’t be able to comprehend the fact that you’re talented and can do something special,” he kisses her cheek. It’s incredibly Ferris, a woman who could lead people into battle and be shocked when they looked to her for guidance. Good at stepping up, but not the best at realizing why people then expected her to continue to do it. “Perhaps you’ll manage it again.”

“Perhaps,” she agrees. “But let’s not count on it.”

It’s definitely for the best, but he secretly hopes for a minor miracle. Maybe he’ll pray, though he’s not sure to who; if they never answered on behalf of Ferris, there’s a chance they’ll answer him.

It’s mid-afternoon when she sets out from the tower with plans to grab some things from the market on her way to Morena’s; thanks to Tara’s initiative, Cat will meet her there and they’ll discuss logistics in advance of Gale’s coming from the Academy. He doesn’t have strong opinions on her hair or dress, especially now that they’ve decided on the tabard’s inclusion. Catriona apparently has a few ideas of how to style it when Tara had first filled her in, and the wizard need not be present for an elaborate and drawn-out game of dress-up. Truth be told, Ferris isn’t much looking forward to it herself. If she could wear a plain skirt and blouse she would, but that’s ‘not allowed’ and ‘will not ever be considered’, based on Morena’s comments from the previous night.

Her basket gets filled with produce, the first of the summer squash, green and yellow, and tomatoes. It’ll get turned into something delicious; Morena’s herb garden eclipses Gales, if only because its main use is cooking rather than spell components, and her space isn’t monopolized by a rosemary bush. Ferris considers a bundle of wild garlic when fear spikes through her chest and she whirls to defend herself.

Aureliana seizes her wrist in a grip so hard it hurts; she feels her bone grinding as she tries to twist away, her mother’s nails biting into her skin. Her heart races, assessing every breath and blink before forcing her body to relax.

They are in a market, a crowded one. For all her power as a visiting dignitary and member of a foreign court, Aureliana must still abide by Waterdeep’s laws. She cannot harm Ferris, nor can she take her anywhere she does not want to go and, in public, she can put up enough of a fight to attract notice. She is well-known, widely liked, these people will defend her, help her if she needs it.

Ferris squares her shoulder. “Release me.”

“If you promise to behave and listen to what I have to offer you.”

Ferris tries to yank away and the suddenness of it after she’d slackened makes her mother stumble. Her hold, however, remains a vice. “Nothing you have or say could tempt me.”

“You have not heard it.”

“I don’t need to—“

“Return to the Feywild with the court. Lord Lellvain seeks a wife and alliances in this realm; with your ties to Waterdeep, if they’re as strong as you imply, would greatly benefit both parties.” Aureliana’s voice is calm and clear. “You would have a title and throne, and claim to what you are owed, by birth, as my daughter.”

Ferris is stunned to silence and now that she has said her piece, Aureliana releases her.

“All I ask is you consider it.” Her mother turns away, ready to blend back into the crowd and return to the residence set aside for visiting courts; Ferris hope it is far, far from here and that the woman will have to walk the whole way among the common people of Waterdeep. She hopes her slippered feet get trod upon, with great force.

“You really think I would give up everything I have for a title?”

Aureliana glances back over her shoulder. “You are my daughter, Ferris, and you seem a practical sort. Forging ties to Waterdeep means frequent visits to strengthen them. You would still get to see the wizard, and you’d have so much more besides.”

Relegating Gale to a sometime affair—the bard goes red in the face, her breath catching at the cold shock of it. “Is that what my father was?”

Aureliana’s laugh is cold. “Don’t be a fool. I’d have chosen someone in Suzail if that were the case. No, your father was a mistake I made on the way to Arabel and nothing more.”

It goes without saying, then, that Ferris was a result of that mistake but before she can ask anything more her mother is gone in the crowd and Ferris want nothing more than to run, to move, to leap into the ocean and scream under the surface until her lungs are spent and she feels better.

The concept of marrying a stranger was always on the edge of her existence; if she had remained in Baldur’s Gate or Cormyr it would likely have been the done thing, the only difference being the caliber of husband—a man reeking of sheep and drink, or one reeking of perfume and drink. Before the cusp of adulthood, she’d assumed she’d be married off to whomever was closest in age with the best offer Loren could get for her, her life one of smaller horrors that could be managed with the right herbs and a profession that allowed her to disappear if she needed to.

She can’t disappear now.

Her breath hitches once, then again, and then there’s nothing left in her lungs and she’s drowning without water—

“Are you alright, child?” Ferris jumps at the touch of an elderly woman, moving so quickly that it nearly topples the stranger. “You’ve not moved in a few minutes, and you’re trembling something fierce.”

The bard swallows down her rage, her nausea, the rest of it all and forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You concern is appreciated, but I am fine.”

“Come sit in the shade for a few moments, then, before you’re on your way,” the woman takes her elbow, clearly not believing her, and begins to lead Ferris into the shadow cast by her small cart, bobbin lace displayed across the surface and dancing in the slight sea breeze where it dangled off the canopy. “I don’t mind the company.”

“Of course, thank you.”

How could she want to leave this place? How could she want to leave Gale and Morena? And beyond Waterdeep, how could she leave what remained of her friends on this plane? How could you leave a place where strangers were kind?

Ferris folds herself to the ground, tucking her skirts and politely refusing the woman’s stool, and leans her head against warm stone, closing her eyes and listening to the rhythmic clicking of bobbins as the woman works on her next piece to be displayed and sold. She hums softly as she works and the bard harmonizes just quietly enough that no one else can hear.

Her heart slows, her breathing deepens, and Ferris comes as close as she suspects she ever will to trancing. The way Astarion and Halsin described it was similar to a deep meditation but Ferris has never been able to fully let go of awareness unless she sleeps. The sound of the bobbins reminds her of knitting needles, and in the sun-drenched streets of a spring Waterdeep she’s reminded of a dusty porch far, far away from the coast. Ferris brings herself back to the surface, eyes squinting in the light.

“Better?” The woman does not look away from her work so Ferris responds verbally rather than nodding as she stands, dusting herself off and taking up her basket. “You looked like you’d had a fright.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” she eyes the woman’s wares. “Do you have anything that would make a nice trim? I’ll need it for a performance costume.”

A few coins exchange hands and Ferris carefully folds away the lace, tucking it into her pocket rather than her basket to avoid the possibility of it getting stained. It’s sure to please both Morena and Cat that she’s thought about her costume beyond the basics.

“And I hate to ask this, because I’m not sure if it’s offensive to your craft, but this piece,” Ferris touches a length of lace; it’s delicate and covered in star bursts in a way that reminds her of the Weave, the way Gale had described it. “Could it be stiffened with starch and used as a bookmark?”

The woman nods, humming thoughtfully. “Your wizard would like it, I’m sure. I could have it done as early as tomorrow, it’s a simple process.”

Ferris specifically did not say it was for Gale, but she supposes people know her now and, therefore, know her relationship to Gale, whatever they think it may be. Instead of denial, instead of trying to deflect, Ferris thanks the woman. “He’ll love it, I’m sure.”

The additional lace is paid for, with a promise for her return, and sets her feet on the path to Morena’s, only remembering too late that she never purchased garlic. At least she was right about the lace; Cat loves it and Morena thinks of a few ways it could be added in, and then comes Ferris’ least favorite part: pins.

She’s pinned into white fabric, then cream, then something Cat calls ‘ivory’ that looks almost exactly like the white and Ferris wisely says nothing when the other two women bicker. White is too bridal, the ivory matches the lace best, the cream doesn’t go as well with the tabard. However, she does not miss how wistful Morena becomes when she sees Ferris draped entirely in white with her hair down her back.

“Maybe someday,” Cat teases, and Ferris scowls, careful not to stick herself when she turns around. “Ivory doesn’t look as lovely with your skin, but with the tabard atop it there won’t be much of a difference.”

Morena agrees and the two of them fold and pin and discuss and Ferris stands obedient and still as a doll.

“Should we keep her in white until the wizard comes?”

“My son doesn’t need a heart attach,” Morena replies around a mouthful of pins, changing how the drape looks around Ferris’ hips. “We’re almost done, dear, then you can go back to your normal clothes.”

Ferris’ legs ache from standing for hours, moving where directed, and she thinks that if she has to hold her arms out any longer they may fall off her at the shoulder; she’s used to swords and fighting, keeping still is its own skill set that she has yet to adapt to. She’s allowed to haul on her blouse and skirt once more, just in time for Gale to arrive. His mother does glare when he doesn’t look away as Ferris buttons herself in, tucking the tails into her skirts, but it’s entirely without teeth.

“Goodness,” he says as he sets down his satchel. “This is quite a bit of white.”

“Giving you ideas?” Cat folds a length of—Ferris thinks it’s cream, but it might be bone, which is different than ivory, despite them being relatively the same. Ferris did endure a lecture about it, but she doesn’t remember.

It does make Gale clear his throat and Ferris files it away for later, along with the fact that he seems to enjoy her in light colors. Really, really enjoy when she wears grays and blues soft enough to lean cloud-white. Ferris smooths her skirts and hopes no one sees her blush.

“I was only stabbed with pins for a few hours before a color that somehow isn’t white was selected,” she brushes against Gale like a cat, crossing behind him and letting her hand trail across his back before she assists in putting away the additional fabric. “Plenty of yardage to go under the tabard.”

He hums thoughtfully, putting himself to work as well. “At least I only missed out on most of the fun.”

Ferris stacks the bolts neatly once they’re sorted out; some of them will be returned, but some will get turned into usable, everyday clothing. It’s good, soft cotton and Ferris runs her hands over it thoughtfully.

“What are you going to perform?” Morena begins fussing with Ferris’ hair as though it will be anything but braided; it’s come in thicker, richer and redder than before and it means her hair gleams like fire. “Have you already selected something?”

“Yes,” she says solemnly. “Something quite pointed. Something that Aureliana will remember but will wow the crowd.”

Gale pauses. “Those old cantos?”

The bard nods. “The same.”

His mother looks between them. “And Catriona will accompany you,” she glances at the other young woman, who flashes her a quick salute. “Will you need to rehearse?”

“Yes,” Cat cuts in before Ferris can speak. “If I’m playing with you, I need to know what you’re singing, Birdie.”

Ferris wrinkles her nose. “Don’t call me that, it sounds so strange coming from you.” It’s good-natured rather than a reprimand, but Gale privately agrees. “Whatever happened to ‘Ferry’?”

“Ferry?”

“Shut up, Gale—anyway, Cat, I can hum them for you.”

“No,” the other girl straightens her dress, sitting down as primly as possible. “No, you’ll sing them through.”

She hesitates, fingers twisting into the cuffs of her blouse; there’s a way she performs these, something that comes from a place deep within her that she can’t really describe. Even last time, even standing among friends, there had been that instinctive…something. The way Gale described her performance, Ferris wonders if she can do it again.

“I’ll do my best,” she swallows. “For those unfamiliar, these describe the creation of a safe haven, a sort of…cradle of life. They’re very old, so while they are Elvish it is possible the grammar and structure may not be familiar.”

It buys her enough time to breathe, to think. Regardless of what happens, Gale knows what these cantos are meant to sound like and she knows what they mean.

Ferris exhales until her lungs ache, then pulls in as much air as she can; the first lines are not complicated, but she prefers to sing them as smoothly as possible, finding they sound best that way. It’s not tentative but it’s quiet, Ferris listening to how sound moves and echoes in Morena’s sitting room, which places swallow sound and which bounce them back. As she builds the space around her, learns it, Ferris adjusts her position for the best possible sound. She draws out the last note, letting it fade naturally in the room until the only sound is her next inhale.

Then, suddenly, the room explodes in a riot of color and light. Gale cannot move, he cannot see anything or anyone aside from Ferris and his bard is raising trees with each breath, their branches spreading and filling until they’re in a forest, lush and green and mossy. The dew is golden, she is crowned in light, her hair is fire and her song is life itself. The crown-sky canopy covers them, the leaves quiver with anticipation, spring turns to autumn and instead of browning the foliage turns to golden lace. When winter comes and the shower of drifting light ends, when skeletal fingers loom, another breath has them bursting with buds, with flowers, with life.

Before he had been able to vaguely see the scene; now? Now he lives in it. His bard has found her voice at last, and the song that describes the making of a haven becomes the song of creation itself. When he weeps, his tears water the trees and become a stream that cuts through them, bright and bold as a knife. When he sighs, he becomes the wind that shakes the boughs. When he is filled to bursting with love, the sky becomes filled with stars that pulse with the beat of his heart.

Gale has heard this story before, heard it sung even, but nothing like this. Never like this. His timid bard from their tadpole days, the one who feared her voice, is gone entirely.

This Ferris is resplendent.

This Ferris is bold and wonderful, a flower in full bloom and he hadn’t realize it until this moment. The young woman he once knew, all snarls and thorns and a tightly-furled bud is finally something he can hold in his hand; she still has her thorns but now they serve purpose, now he doesn’t cut himself trying to get close and she does not bleed by simply trying to grow. She is a goddess herself, and he wonders how he ever worshiped before.

He is utterly besotted and the last note pulls something from his chest, strains him toward Ferris until they tangle and knot and become snarled in each other. Her eyes meet his and perhaps, he thinks, she can feel it too. He takes one step toward her, then another, another. At some point he had risen, become uprooted, and now his fingers graze the line of her jaw, feeling the last of the song as it leaves her.

The feeling of sunlight and new green leaves fade with the last echoes of her voice, and he glances to his mother and Cat, aware of their presence once more; the harpist has her hand over her mouth, and Morena is utterly still. Gale wonders what they saw. Was it the same as him? Was it different?

“Mother?”

Cat breaks the repose first and it’s like the bubble of calm pops. “That can happen when you sing?”

“I—“

“This whole time, this whole time you’ve been able to do that and I didn’t know?”

Gale turns Ferris’ face to his, ignoring Cat’s good-natured ranting, a gentle hand cradling her cheek as wide, blue eyes stare up at him; despite everything, she’s nearly shy.

“Well,” he murmurs, low enough that he cannot be heard over Morena and Cat’s arguing. “Now we know there’s some magic in you yet, Songbird.”

Gale is not sold on this plan, not entirely; he would rather tuck Ferris away, out of sight until the whole retinue is gone, until her mother is back in the Feywild and she can emerge once again, but Ferris is not a sparrow, she is a falcon. She has talons all her own.

The argument continues, Catt raking her fingers through her short hair. “Maybe we should dye the tabard gold? I don’t care if she looks best in green, it’s too connected with—“

“But if we make it similar to old illustrations, as we’ve planned, the whole effect will be less about the court and more about the history. The emphasis should be on Ferris’ performance and the meaning behind it, not on her connection to Lellvain’s court,” Morena insists, and Gale can sense the Teacher in her about to be unleashed.

“We should go,” he whispers, leaning in close enough that his breath tickles Ferris’ ear; she shudders and nods, taking a step back. “Ladies, I think it’s time we all went home and got a good night’s rest, and revisit with clearer heads in the morning. Breakfast at the tower?”

“The restaurant, the one around the corner from the florist that always has garishly blue roses,” Cat suggests. “It’s about the same distance between everyone and escape can be easy.”

“Ygrain will let us stay as long as we need,” Ferris adds. “I help her with the tables some mornings, she’s nice.”

Gale doesn’t question how Ferris came to know the owner of a restaurant well enough, because it’s so entirely her. “We’ll see you then,” he picks up his things and Ferris gathers whatever she’d come with. “Try not to be at each other’s throats over the color of Ferris’ tabard; we can always make the embroidery gold if needs must.”

It sets the two women off enough that they’re able to slip away without lengthy goodbyes, Ferris a fews steps ahead of him down the stairs and her ears twitching with each creaking board under his feet, hyper-aware of his presence.

The second the door closes behind them Morena and Cat’s bickering muffled through the heavy wood, Ferris hauls him down into a kiss. For all that it’s chaste, there’s a desperation behind it and she pulls back far too soon.

“Goodness,” he teases, trying to place her mood. “That was unexpected.”

“Take me home,” she demands, face determined and far too closed off for his liking.

“As you wish,” he holds out his arm and she takes it, strangely solemn. “I have my reservations about this event, Ferris. I want to make that plain. I cannot stop you, and I will not stop you if this is what you want. Truly want, not simply the logical conclusion and course of action. Whether it’s this performance or anything else.”

“I know.”

The streets of Waterdeep are winding down, people closing shutters and lighting lamps; long shadows stretch across the stones, the pastel colors fading to deep blue. Ferris is alert at his side, steps light. She’s the same way when battle-ready, on her toes and prepared to move.

Darkness has fully set when they arrive at the tower; Ferris toes her boots off, laces already loose and tucked-in behind the tongue, and she’s ready when Gale stands after hanging his bag and putting his shoes under the bench.

She takes his hand and tugs him along, past the door to the library where they would usually wind down after a long day, the bard with her nose in the first old book to catch her eye and Gale working on whatever new spell until he was spent and his brain quiet enough to sleep.

“I think we should go to bed,” she says, and when he hums in agreement Ferris moves a little more confidently.

Past her own door.

That in and of itself is not odd, she’s spent more than one night in his bed and Gale finds he enjoys waking up next to her. The topic of her, perhaps, moving her few personal items into his room (permanently making it theirs) has not yet been broached, but he wants it. He desperately wants Ferris to sleep in their bed every night, to make it their bed.

“A good idea,” he says, to stop his racing mind before he says something strange. “We’ll have an early morning, who knows how late I’d be working on that new spell, perhaps avoiding the library—”

She sighs.

“Gale,” his bard says, standing at his closed door. “I think you should take me to bed.”

‘Is that not what we’re doing?’ he opens his mouth, wondering what she could mean before everything catches up to him. “Oh.”

“Good ‘oh’, or bad ‘oh’?” Ferris’ eyes are sharp in the dark and he can see her cautiously hopeful, yet guarded expression. She is waiting to see if he wants her, waiting to see if he’ll understand.

Gale slides his fingers along her jaw to cradle her face before leaning down to kiss her; he does his best to keep most of the hunger out of it, to take things slow, but Ferris parts her lips on a sigh and fists her hands in the front of his robes and he cannot help but draw her close, press their bodies flush together.

“Good ‘oh’,” he says. “To make it absolutely clear, it’s a good ‘oh’. I was a little surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?” Her fingers set in on the toggles and ties.

He kisses her again, slower this time but no less passionate. “As I said, it’s been a long day.”

Her fingers undo the tie of his shirt and slip inside, seeking the warmth of his skin. “I’m not going to apologize for making it longer.”

Gale reaches around her with his free hand to open the door, guiding them both back as it creaks on its hinges and relocating from the knob to her hip once he’s able. “I’d never ask that of you.”

When Ferris’ thighs hit the side of the bed she stops, turning them so that it’s Gale that falls against the mattress; he only stumbles a little at the switch, nearly bringing down Ferris with him but she’s lighter on her feet and faster to respond to changes in balance. He leans back, hands fisting in the sheets as Ferris reaches for his trousers.

“We should move up the bed,” he murmurs, ducking his head to kiss her. “More room.”

“Alright,” she kisses his neck, his chest, soft and teasing. “Go on.”

The determination is still there, the focus, but that unsettling blankness from before, the kind that haunted his dreams, is absent and Gale goes easily, allowing Ferris to direct him as he lays himself out on the bed among the rumpled sheets; his existence is reduced to the heat of her mouth and the questing of her fingers as they map the whole of him. Every scar, every freckle, the piedmont of his rib cage. This, at least, is relatively familiar. She has touched him before, after all, but he’s not usually on his back and she doesn’t often have occasion to figure out where to place her legs or hands or knees. Gale attempts to arrange their limbs into a comfortable tangle; it’s exhilarating to be here, with her, and they do their best to figure out whose hand goes where without words, especially because his bard is determined to keep her mouth on him the whole time.

Her lips and tongue and teeth—gods save him, Ferris sinks her teeth into the curve of his hip, just above the waistline of his trousers and he jolts. She kisses the spot apologetically a moment later, licking further down.

Even this is familiar. She’d had her mouth on him more than a handful of times, and Gale often revisited those moments in private, with his own hand. He wasn’t ashamed of it (and hadn’t Ferris asked to watch before, focus rapt on the movement of his fingers and the way he’d twist his wrist at the top, studying him as intensely? And if he’d wondered if she was paying attention, Ferris had proven it the next day with her own hands and a pleased smile).

“I want you,” her nimble fingers have the laces of his trousers undone in moments, already tugging them down. His shirt is lost to the darkness or sheets—he cannot bring himself to care—and their combined efforts are enough to condemn his trousers to the same fate, his small clothes as well. “Completely. Entirely.” Gale pushes himself the rest of the way up the bed, settling more comfortably against his many pillows, and watches with hooded eyes as Ferris sets to work on her own clothes.

Her shirt comes away easily, the buttons halfway undone already, the skirt slips off and her stays follow. There’s only the briefest moment of hesitation, not shyness, and Ferris meets his eyes.

There’s no question there, and he has no answer or support to offer.

This is a line they’ve had yet to cross. She isn’t sure there’s a way back from it, and a little voice in the back of her head says ‘tell him what Aureliana offered’ and there’s a shock of cold that runs through her for a heartbeat. Gale lays beneath her, warm and pleased, his hair mussed and face flushed. ‘I could never give this up,’ she thinks, and in the next heartbeat she is warm again, leaning down to kiss him. It’s slow and soft, ad Ferris pours the whole of herself into it. ‘I could never be without him.’

“Alright?” Gale asks when she sits up again, slightly puzzled.

Ferris’ nose wrinkles and she pulls her chemise over her head. For all their many and varied activities, she’s always kept at least some of her clothes on and he has as well. Gale had never gotten to see his bard like this, wonderful and real and his, and he wants to sit up and touch her, to trace his hands down over her arms and back and across her collar bones and then down down down, but she doesn’t let him, leaning over to kiss him instead.

It’s filthy, it’s a little wild, and far too short for his liking, but Ferris trails those same kisses down his neck and torso and then the base of his cock and Gale finds he really doesn’t mind all that much, actually. Especially not when she gives him a wicked grin and sinks her mouth down on him, her hand wrapped firmly around the last few inches that do not quite fit in her mouth at the start.

“Gods, Ferris.” He’s torn between closing his eyes and watching her. Multiple languages and soft pallet exercises for singing and her plush lips—she’s as talented with her mouth as he claims to be. She’s never sucked him off from this angle, doesn’t know quite what to do with her hands now that she’s got him entirely in her mouth. They wander, teasing and light but never settling, never quite finding what they want. Then again, he isn’t quite certain to do with his either. Gale’s hands twitch at his sides when she accidentally hits a ticklish spot and he feels rather than hears Ferris’ noise of confusion before she pulls off.

“As long as you don’t…if it’s just a place for your hand…”

‘Don’t pull,’ she means. ‘Don’t force anything.’

Gale sits up a bit so he can tuck the eternally loose strands of hair behind her ear, lets his fingers trace the curve of her jaw to tip her chin up. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” She takes his hand and places it on top of her head. “It’s fine.”

Ferris doesn’t give him time to argue before she’s got her mouth on him again and Gale is lost to the feeling of whatever pattern she is tracing with her clever tongue on his cock. It’s wet and hot and wonderful but her ever-moving fingers are light enough on his skin so as to be distracting rather than arousing and it helps him walk the line of ‘too soon’ and ‘razor’s edge’ when Ferris’ tongue flick instantly just below the head before flattening as she works her way back down his shaft.

If he thought they’d be excused from the awkwardness of first times, the fumbling of learning another body, he’s sorely mistaken—but it also lacks the breathlessness, the laughter that comes with it. There’s something serious in the set of Ferris’ face instead of awed, and he wants to change that, wants her to be comfortable and relaxed. He’s likely to finish regardless and Gale wants her to feel just as good.

“Ferris,” he gasps, sitting up again in a way that gently pushes her back. “Let me please you.”

In truth he needs a moment—as much as he loves her mouth, there are other things he wants to do. Ferris sits back on her heels, still between his legs, with a hesitant expression. “You don’t have to.”

“I’d like to,” he insists, half laughing because when has he ever not taken the opportunity to make her gasp, to moan his name, to feel her shudder around his fingers or tongue? “It will make things easier as well.”

The room is too dark to tell properly, but he thinks he sees her stiffen. Gale can see the shine of her eyes, her lips, the slope of her shoulders. Her face itself is hard to read in the dim light.

“My dear, if this isn’t something you enjoy, we can—“

“I do! I just…” It comes out too loud and Ferris moves before he can say anything else. She stretches out along his side, kissing his neck; her fingers distract him with ruthless efficiency. “It’s always wonderful, you’re wonderful, Gale. But I want more.”

He smooths a hand up her side, marveling at the soft curves he finds. “And you’ll get more, my dear, but for now let me please you,” he tries again, gently pushing at her hip. Ferris shudders out a breath as she rolls onto her back, propped slightly against his pillows. “I’d love nothing more than to make you feel good. Let me do this for you.”

“Oh don’t beg,” she laughs, and there’s a sharp edge to it, something less than natural. “A man of your station? It’s unbecoming.”

“I’ll have to rectify this immediately, find my way back into your good graces,” he leans up to kiss her. “Allow me.”

Gale moves slowly over her until he’s between her legs, inch by inch and still kissing her to the point of distraction. She doesn’t startle or freeze up and it’s akin to bliss to mingle their breaths together, to taste her. Once he’s comfortable, he begins the path down; his beard tickles her collar bone, over her breasts. He settles his hands on her thighs as he takes a nipple into his mouth, reveling in her gasps and sighs.

One of her small hands threads into his hair, cradles the back of his skull as he does his best to make her squirm. He digs his fingers into her soft thighs when Ferris arches against him.

He can just smell her now, the sharp sweetness of arousal, and he hears her heartbeat as he kisses a trail down between her breasts. The muscles in her stomach jump and she twists away when he finds a ticklish spot and nips it. One of her knees jerks up and Gale barely manages to move out of its way. “Careful,” he keeps working his way down, undeterred, not wanting her to think of anything but him. “This is less fun when I’m struggling to catch my breath from a bruised rib.”

Gale doesn’t give her time to apologize or protest, licking into her with all the finesse of a man starved. He’ll never tire of it; every time Ferris reacts like it’s the first, like every time he gets on his knees it’s a surprise, a revelation. Every time it’s like it’s new and she’s shocked he would concern himself with her pleasure. And he does concern himself. He flattens his tongue over her entrance, licking up in a long, wet line until he fan flick the tip against her clit before closing his mouth over her and sucking lightly, the same way he does with her breasts, and circling with the barest hint of tongue every so often. It makes her jolt, makes her push against him, demanding—and he gives in without question, following the pace she sets and lets her lead him wherever she’d like to go.

He knows how she likes to be touched now, knows the exact right pressure to use when she pleads without using words; more than anything, Gale has learned to read her gasps and moans and breaths, but she’s quieter than usual and he has to strain for her sounds. He tries to think if they’ve done anything significant in his bed and his mind draws a blank. Drawing back to kiss her thigh, Gale teases a finger at her entrance. “Alright?”

Ferris usually loosens around his tongue with an immediacy that would go right to a man’s ego but today she’s remained tense. He doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, doesn’t think he’s been neglecting her needs, but he’s also not a fool; nerves could get the best of anyone at any time.

“Yes,” she squirms when he kisses her thigh again, wet and sloppy, meant to spark her nerves and distract her from whatever twisted through her mind. “I’m fine, keep going.”

A single finger almost feels like too much, a far cry from the library a few days earlier when she’d taken two. Gale returns his mouth to her sex and Ferris sucks in a breath as his tongue works over her clit with the teasing, light pressure she enjoys from him. It helps, and after a few minutes of gentle pressure and attention Gale manages to get his entire finger into her. He pulls out, pushes back in, curls it as he does so; Ferris sighs and her body relaxes the slightest bit, but Gale notices she is still far too tight and the way her shoulders release seems almost mechanical, learned rather than real.

Gale knows what Ferris wants, but he loves this and he could die a happy man if he could spend his last moments between her thighs. This is enough for him, to eat her out to her heart’s content; he doesn’t need to be inside her, they’ve both proven that many times over. He teases a second finger and she tenses up so he backs off, keeping just the one as doubt begins to spark in the back of his mind.

His bard, however, has other ideas.

“Now,” she tugs lightly at his hair to get his attention. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” He gives her thigh a squeeze as he draws back, Ferris’ body keeping a tight hold on him as he pulls his finger out slowly, carefully. “You’re still very tight and you haven’t—“

“I don’t care, please,” Ferris is more determined in her efforts; when she pulls him up the bed, tugs him closer and arches her back, his cock slides through her folds, slick from his efforts more than her arousal. His head goes a little fuzzy all the same at the closeness of it. Ferris jolts again but he isn’t sure if it’s from pleasure or instinct.

Her hands fall away once she has him where she wants him between her parted legs and Gale shifts slightly to touch her again, parting her folds and circling her entrance with his fingers; Ferris makes encouraging sounds, rocks against him and she might not care how well prepared she is, but he does and Gale wants to find the right angle so he doesn’t hurt her with that first press of their bodies. When he tries to push a finger inside, Ferris winces.

She looks so small beneath him, so impossibly, deceptively delicate as she blinks open her eyes; the tears that had caught in her lashes fall, and she seems almost startled to realize they existed in the first place. He moves his hand to her hip, calm and steadying.

“Ferris?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, closing her eyes again so she doesn’t have to meet his. “I don’t think I can do this. I want you, but I don’t think I can.”

Gale shifts back, careful not to touch her any more than necessary. It’s difficult to do, considering he’s hard and leaking between her spread legs; he flicks his fingers, the candles around the room sputtering to life.

Ferris looks heartbroken when she sits up, curling over her knees. “I’m sorry, Gale. I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, my love. It’s perfectly alright.” He strokes her hair back, braid coming loose from its tie. “I will not take what you are unwilling to give,” he tries to keep his voice even, calm. “I am many things, Ferris—proud, ambitious, stubborn, but I’ll not add anything that would hurt you to my list of faults.”

“You wouldn’t be! I want you, I want…“ she hiccups. “I’m sorry, I thought I could. I thought if I could—please, I can, I swear I can, Gale. I want you, I just—“

“Ferris.” If he remains calm, maybe she’ll settle too; it’s a vague hope rather than a guarantee. “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s get dressed for bed and we can simply talk. There’s no fault or blame.“

She’s let him go and he makes quick work of pulling on his small clothes, heart breaking with each or her hitched breath; Ferris is still hunched over her knees, shoulders shaking with every silent sob. Her grief and despair are as quiet as the rest of her emotions. When there’s no performance to be given, Ferris’ emotions tends toward silence. Her happiness, her anger, all the ones between had been clearly telegraphed and switched between as easily as someone removing one mask and putting on another as she worked out how to feel them herself. Gale wonders how often he had missed her suffering in those early days when they did not know each other well.

How often had Ferris lain beneath the stars, overwhelmed and alone?

He didn’t know then, and he certainly doesn’t know what to do now, this territory just as new and uncharted.

“It’s perfectly alright,” he tries again, hauling the soft knit blanket from the foot of the bed as he sits up, wrapping it around Ferris’ shoulders and guiding her to lean against his side; her nudity matters less than her comfort, and Gale knows that keeping her close is better than separating them. Skin on skin, warm human touch, anything to help. “You’re safe here, it’s been a very long day, so why don’t we lay down hmm?”

“Oh don’t make excuses for me,” she snaps, but he doesn’t let her pull away. It’s not often he uses his size and mass to his advantage, but he anchors her to his side now—something tells him if she leaves, she will not come back. It gets him a warning growl, but he does not let go. “I ruined something perfectly good.”

“You have ruined nothing,” he counters, pressing a kiss to her head. “There is time yet, and there’s nothing stopping us from trying again at a later date, but I think sleep is the best course of action for the both of us.”

Ferris swallows and he can see her trying to salvage something, anything, the tactician scrambling to claw back victory out of defeat. “You’re still hard,” she reaches how him. “I can—“

He catches her wrist. “No.”

A full sentence, a command, a bit sharper than he intended it to be. He’s not sure he’s ever denied her anything like this, explicitly, clearly, and now it’s a test for both of them. He’s accepted her refusals, verbal or otherwise, without pushing or bargaining. Ferris, even with her love of teasing him, similarly accepts his gentle, less direct methods. ‘I’m a bit too tired my love,’ and she’d kiss him before allowing the subject to change to something entirely mundane. ‘Not right now,’ he’d say, and Ferris would give the most put-out sigh she could manage before kissing his forehead and slipping away.

Gale feels the smallest bit guilty, then sick; he’d never denied Mystra, after all, and the goddess had taken far more liberties than his bard. He quickly pulls his hand away as though touching Ferris burns him, covering his mouth.

She’ll leave him now, of course she will. He should just let her do what she wants if it will please her but no, this is Ferris. Ferris who has only ever pushed him to be better, Ferris who relies on him, trusts him, loves him (he hopes she does, she’s never said it but everything she does, everything she doesn’t say, the gaps between her words speak of love and he hopes he truly does and does he need her to say it? Mystra never did and she’s cast him aside, does he only say it to Ferris to make her stay?). There’s a soft hand on his shoulder, hesitant and as delicate as a butterfly’s wing.

“I know, Gale,” she murmurs, not moving any closer. Silvery tear tracks still stain her cheeks, eyes rimmed red from crying but it’s entirely set aside for him, because he needs her. Not as often, not as openly, but he does. “It’s alright. I know.”

Because she does. Ferris knows what it’s like to say ‘no’ and have it ignored, blatantly.

There’s a moment of silence, a sharp inhale and for a moment he thinks she’ll push the subject, then—

“Can I stay?”

The hesitance in her voice, just above a whisper, forces him to focus on her voice. It pulls him out of his own head just enough that Gale can see her clearly.

“I’d like nothing more, my dear.”

He doesn’t say ‘I need you to stay’, he doesn’t say ‘please’, but whatever she sees on his face, in the way he’s curved over his knees is enough that she doesn’t require him to elaborate. Ferris has always been good at spotting patterns.

“And can—I can put on clothes, if you’d prefer.” She’s kept the blanket loosely around her shoulders, the candlelight not strong enough to keep her body from being mostly in shadow. It seems all the fight has gone out of her, leaving only an exhausted husk.

‘That makes two of us,’ he thinks. “Perhaps that would be for the best,” his voice is hoarse and he hates it.

“What a pair we make,” Ferris says jokingly as she hunts down her chemise. She finds Gale’s shirt first, holds it up and raises a brow in question and when he nods she slips it on and ties it loosely. “You say we can always try again but what if this is…what if…”

“I think,” he begins, lifting the covers so they can both slide under them, sitting up against the mess of pillows. “I think we’ve more than proven that we can find pleasure in other ways.”

She lays against his side, idly playing with the hair that trails down from his belly button and skimming the hem of his smalls; it tickles pleasantly and his own hand undoes what remains of her braid. It’s clear she’s trying to find words and Gale lets her, leaves the silence between them open.

“I worry about how much you’ll want to stay if I’m not…capable. And if this is how it always ends, with me in tears and you panicking, I don’t know if it will last.” Ferris brings her hand up to rest on his chest, right in the silvery circle of scars left as a reminder of his folly. “My adult life has revolved, predominantly, around my usefulness—either real or perceived. If I can’t be useful in the ways you want then I risk losing you, and don’t try to deny that you want to fuck me.”

The last part comes out bitterly, her vulgar language carefully chosen for its effectiveness, but he takes no offense. “If we’re going to be crass, I think you’ll find that I have been fucking you,” he points out. “In various ways that I quite enjoy, as you well know.”

“You know what I mean.” She sounds more exasperated at his correction than upset and the overwhelming flood of affection he feels at the wrinkle of her nose and the slight downturn of her mouth have him weak. “Damned wizard.”

He loves her. “Your damned wizard.”

It’s easy to fall back into the rumpled sheets and pillows, easy to bundle Ferris closer as he pulls the knit blanket around them both. It’s easy to tip her head up and kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. Ferris angles her face up a little more and he kisses her properly, reveling in her sigh as she relaxes into him—not quite boneless, she’s never so calm as to drop her guard entirely, but he will take his victories where he can get them.

When she finally pulls away, they’re both a little breathless; there’s a flush across her cheeks and nose that he quite likes far better than the previous tear-stained misery.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, as if anything louder than a whisper will break the softness of the moment.

Gale wishes there was something he could say, anything he could say, to make her believe that it was alright, that he truly didn’t mind. That he was content as they were, that nothing needed to change until she was ready, if she wanted.

He tries anyway.

“No matter what each day brings, you’re still my bard, my champion, my Ferris.” Gale aches for her, begs her to understand. “I love you entirely. My heart belongs to you, my soul belongs to you, I am yours to do with as you see fit. That is all I could ever desire.”

Ferris blinks away new tears. “You know me better than any other person ever has, better than myself. It’s not fair.”

“I’ve had much time to study, and I often cheat.”

“How can you cheat?”

Gale tweaks her nose. “If I tell you, I can’t use my tricks anymore. You’ll forgive an old man his secrets.”

She rolls over and for a moment he thinks she is leaving, but Ferris squirms back until they’re pressed together, her head just under his chin and her back against his front; she takes his arm and places it over her in a way that has him slightly atop her, a heavy, human blanket. “Is this alright?”

“This is perfect,” he presses another kiss to her hair. “If you are comfortable, I am comfortable. I could meet the god of sleep with my next breath with how content I feel holding you in my arms.”

“I’ll forgive you if you keep me warm.”

That, at least, is something he can do.

He’s surprised that Ferris is still there, in the morning. At some point in the night they had separated, and he has no doubt that it was Ferris who had straightened out the blankets and pulled them up over them both, the heavy knit one back at the foot of the bed. She had also slipped her chemise back on, and Gale wonders if she had been up for hours—long enough to fuss over things but coming back to his bed all the same to be there when he woke.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” His voice is low and rough, and Ferris’ eyes dart to his lips and then a little lower before she clears her throat.

“Perhaps. It felt rude to read a book.”

Now that he is awake, she wastes no time in bullying her way into his arms, more determined than coy. Gale holds her anyway. “How are you this morning?”

Ferris thinks for a few moments. “I’ve been better. Thank you, for…not.”

It isn’t a full thought or sentence, but he understands. “I care for you deeply; loving someone means not causing them intentional hurt, Ferris, and I would never do such a thing to you.”

Her lips brush the curve of his cheek, just where the faintest lines of the orb linger like silver spiderwebs under his skin. “I know, and thank you all the same,” she pulls away, not far, but enough to look down at him. “We have an hour before your mother and my friend bully their way into the sitting room to talk specifics.”

Gale throws an arm over his face and groans. “Why did you have to be so exciting, why couldn’t you have been a scholar, or a mathematician?”

She thumps him with a pillow and streaks away before he can retaliate, laughter echoing down the stairs; Gale takes a moment to breathe and steel himself for the chaos he can sense on the horizon.

The remainder of the tenday that follows is a whirlwind. There’s announcements and visits and dignitaries in their sitting room—that one nearly gives him a heart attack.

He never seen Ferris so put-together, so refined; her hair is loose around her shoulders, artfully so, and her clothing is nicer than usual. She rises graciously when he enters, entirely off balance by the woman that he sees before him. It’s Ferris, his Ferris, but not. There’s warping around the edges, something begging to be ripped away to reveal the true self beneath. “Professor Dekarios, sirs. A fellow hero, an archmage, and instructor at the Academy. Perhaps you’ve had a tour?”

Ferris winks at his baffled expression as he shakes hands and bows. One of the men replies, accent thick. “Yesterday we saw the school. Impressive.”

He knows they were there. Ferris, too, knows they were there—because she had made sure that they were doing combat training on the lawn at the exact moment the court passed through on their way to the grandest lecture halls. She made sure that her mother and the lord she served saw her fighting off six of his older students, a bit of fun rather than instruction now that she’s not the one running drills. Corlin is always more than happy to have Ferris beat some sense into the young wizards with blunted steel.

Ferris had not acknowledged the retinue at all.

The level of planning and strategy involved in all this is exhausting and he can see the toll it takes on his bard, hidden well but visible to him all the same.

A few more pleasantries are exchanged and the second the door closes behind the men, Ferris sinks down onto the sofa, head in her hands. “I can’t take much more, I am not made for this, Gale. Save me. please.”

He sits next to her, offering an arm. “Say the word and I will have you joining the Harpers tomorrow, one message to Jaheira and she’ll be here by nightfall.”

There’s an unspoken, uncomfortable truth between them and Ferris sighs into her hands before letting them fall to her lap, looking up at him with tired eyes.

“I hate that I’m good at this.”

Once she’s voiced it, Gale knows what the weight in his chest is. Ferris had been trained for this. She had been raised by a shepherd but had all the training of a diplomat, and a bard. She could play people like he could play lanceboard, with an ease that seemed to terrify her; it certainly did him, at times. He has, he reminds himself, watched her talk three people into killing themselves.

It is not magic.

It’s Ferris, her charisma, her inherent charm and poise and confidence in a deadly, beautiful package. The bright, tempting red of a nightshade berry and its pretty, purple flower.

“It’s what you were trained for,” he says simply, stretching his legs out. “And you, Ferris, are good at everything you do. It shouldn’t surprise you.”

“It doesn’t,” her voice is soft. “It never has. I’ve charmed people into providing me shelter, food, better trades. I’ve struck deals with men others deemed impossible to work with in order to strengthen my herds, to better our bloodlines. Even as a child, before university, I was manipulating people with a smile.”

“You needed to survive.”

“Survival is one thing. This is another.”

“Is it?” He turns to face her and waits until she looks at him. “You needed shelter, food, safety. You needed strong, hearty lambs and good wool. Ferris, you have survived so much by your own two hands, it should not be a terrible thing by now.”

“This isn’t survival.”

It’s not. She is safe, she is sheltered, she is loved by so many, and yet she is playing lords and ladies and scholars and their retinues like a familiar fiddle. All to prove a point. All to show her mother she was worth far more than her past.

“I think,” he says carefully. “In a way, it is. You have to show that you are strong, independent of her approval. And you are.”

Ferris melts into his side, exhausted from being so many things she is not, so many things she doesn’t want to be. She is not a diplomat, she is not a scholar, she is a bard. She is a good bard, an excellent one even, and more importantly she is his bard. He understands, he holds her up when she needs it and lets go when she doesn’t.

Gale understands exactly how she is strong, even if she doesn’t know herself.

“Thank you,” she speaks the words into his upper arm, nose squashed and voice muffled. “It’ll be over soon, and then I’ll finally be able to breathe again.”

“We’ll take that trip we never managed,” he strokes her hair. “Or we could go somewhere entirely different.”

“What’s the most remote place we can travel to? Let’s go there. We don’t have to tell anyone and we’ll stay as long as we want, no one else.” Ferris slides fully into his lap, pulling Gale down so he’s somewhat on top of her. It’s awkward and won’t last long, but it’s fine all the same. “Just the two of us—please, Gale?”

“If that’s what you wish.”

“It’s not, but—oh don’t groan, you’re the one who said ‘wish’ and you expect me to not make a terrible joke? Really, who do you think I am, let me have this.”

“I’m going to find the most remote location possible and stay there by myself so I can be spared your smart remarks for even a moment.”

Ferris doesn’t let him up, even as he threatens to go, and she kisses him again and again until he relents and relaxes into a warm, human blanket, her arms around his shoulders and their legs at awkward angles, but it’s nice to simply be. For a little while, at least, until her hips ache from the angle and his arms tingle sharply, and they’re forced back to the real world.

There is one more appointment she has to make, and it is the one she’s saved until last.

Ferris stands, head cranked back to look up at the building where the eladrin court is staying through the tenday. The building sparkles with enchantment and she wonders if her walking through the door will ruin them in some way. Steeling herself, she steps over the threshold.

Nothing fizzles out around her, nothing immediately changes, and Ferris breathes a sigh of relief before introducing herself to the waiting doorman. “Ferris Dekarios, Lord Lellvain is expecting me.”

Her name gets a spark of recognition and she is led down a hall, light sparkling golden and bright in a way that invokes contained fireworks or sparks from a forge. She likes it, and wonders if it’s something Gale would be able to replicate.

It’s distracting enough that she doesn’t realize they’ve entered a lush conservatory until a fern frond strokes her cheek and she startles with a gasp, taking in the veritable forest that surrounds them. There’s towering trees in shades of delicate pink she hadn’t thought possible, and doubts occur naturally; there’s a birch tree, or something like one, but instead of white the bark is gold, flaking away from an opal trunk. The veins in the leaves are golden too, and her eyes find wonder after wonder. It’s bright, alive, and unknown.

And she so does love to explore.

She’ll have to ask about the plants, if they’re real or magicked or native to this realm that have been altered to suit Lellvain’s tastes. If she had been expecting to wait on her own, she is sorely mistaken; Lord Lellvain lounges rather than sits, surrounded by flowers with shimmering petals and glinting stamens, the leaves almost crystalline.

‘There’s no way it can be real,’ she thinks, thanking the man who led her here as she tucks her skirts carefully beneath her, the way a lady would do. She can sense Lord Lellvain’s eyes on her, but not directly, not openly. It would be impolite to do so, and he is a lord. Ferris is used to silence, welcomes it more often than not, but she doesn’t want to be the first to speak. Breaking first is a weakness, so she sits and waits patiently, her breathing slowing as she scents the air, pulls out the plants and flowers she recognizes.

“Do you have a favorite flower?”

‘The problem with silence,’ Ferris thinks. ‘Is that one grows used to it.’ She doesn’t quite jump, but there is a slight startle and she can see the barest hint of a smirk.

“Is it trite to say ‘roses’?” She lets her vision slide from the fantastical flora, letting herself finally take in the man before her.

He’s slight, pale, and reminds her a little of Astarion cast in gold rather than dipped in silver moonlight. Eyes hazel, so light they seem yellow, and his hair curls just past his shoulders, pale as corn silk.

“That’s the answer of people who don’t know what else to say,” he watches her closely. “I’m sure you can do better. Aster, perhaps? Or something with more allure, like bittersweet nightshade?”

“Baby’s breath,” Ferris relents. “And meadowsweet, but I quite enjoy the variety of a wildflower meadow in spring.”

It gets her a sigh, but she can sense the good-naturedness of it; it’s something she’s come to identify, to differentiate between breaths. “At least you’re interesting. Come, eat, we have things to discuss and I find them unbearably dull.”

Ferris nods but doesn’t reach for anything.

“The things they say about fey food and drink are untrue,” Lord Lellvain says archly when Ferris politely ignores the platter of fruit and cheese, beautifully arranged. “Fairy stories.”

“You’ll forgive me, but I’ve found that there is truth in those stories.”

“Oh? Is that why you are so unimpressed by the illusions and enchantments that my court worked so hard on?” The man rests his chin on a fist, eyes dangerously bright with a curiosity she’s only seen in fey creatures. It’s silvery, shimmering, and Ferris thinks of her knife, the one Shadowheart gave her for monster. “Tell me, what cautionary tale did you cross?”

She mirrors his relaxed posture, her smile far more guarded. “To put it simply, I made a Wish.”

“For your wizard?”

“For a friend.”

Lellvain hums and picks a cluster of green grapes off the tray, bright and glossy and still damp from washing. “Well, Miss Büller—“

“Miss Dekarios,” she corrects, heart hammering. “If you don’t mind.”

The eladrin male plucks a grape from the stem, holding it delicately between two perfectly manicured nails; Ferris doesn’t hide her hands under her thighs but it’s a close thing. She’d pulled up carrots earlier and forgotten to scrub her nails, and she thinks her palms might still be slightly green. It’s no matter, because Lellvain is not looking at her hands. “And you are married to him?”

“I have made vows.”

Lellvain smiles knowingly, but not unkindly. It’s less a smirk and more the possession of a shared secret. “That is not a ‘yes’, my lady.”

She waves her hand, a very noble gesture of dismissal she had learned through observation rather than practiced use. “I wasn’t aware that you had such a fondness and respect for mortal paperwork, Lord Lellvain.”

“I will get straight to the point,” he dismisses her polite attempt at redirection. “You do not want an arranged marriage to me and, do forgive my rudeness, I do not want an arranged marriage to you.”

‘Fair enough,’ she thinks as the man pauses to pick another grape, his fine eyebrows scrunched into a scowl.

“And, from the sound of it, you already consider yourself to be married.”

“I never said that.” It comes out too quickly, in a panic, and Lellvain grins. “I have my own ties to Waterdeep and the Dekarios family, and in all honesty, I do not want to cave to my mother’s whims.”

The man’s eyes light up. “Yes, I had wondered about that. I’ve expressed no interest in marriage and suddenly Lady Raiwënen offers up a sacrificial daughter we weren’t aware she had. A talented young woman, educated and courtly, and a hero. Imagine my surprise.”

“Imagine mine,” Ferris sighs. “When she accosted me in the market a few days ago and nearly caused a scene.”

“She didn’t,” he leans in, primed for gossip and Ferris feels a strange, misplaced longing for something that never was. There’s a knowledge that, in another lifetime, in another world, the two of them might have worked. There’s a spark in his eyes that she could have liked, and perhaps she does.

Ferris grins. “She did.”

“One of the first nights we’d arrived, Aureliana came in like a storm,” he pulls a bottle of wine out of a bucket, the rattling of ice sparking along Ferris’ skin, and wrestles with the cork. It’s charming and uncoordinated, and the desperate need for a friend is evident in the fumble of his fingers. She spares him and takes the wine and the screw, gesturing for him to continue as she pins the cold glass between her knees. “I had not gotten used to the weather and was unable to attend, but that was when we found out she had a daughter at all.”

“Makes sense,” Ferris reaches for two cups, the crystal casting rainbows over their skin. She tucks her legs up under herself and Lellvain nearly vibrates with excitement. As she pours, Ferris keeps talking. “She dumped my with my halfling father, ignored me until after I’d come of age and mostly educated. I suppose she wanted to see what I was worth before debuting me in your court.”

“You’ve long come of age, so why now?”

“I’ll forgive you,” she snorts. “For assuming my age. But you’re not wrong. She found me…wanting. Aureliana saw me, decided I was not worth her effort, and abandoned me a second time.”

Leaving out the details, the silence between the words, allows Lellvain to draw his own conclusions. Scandal, vice, whatever he wishes to assign to her is easier than the truth.

“But you’re worthy of it now.”

“Because of Gale—of Professor Dekarios, and his ties to Waterdeep. The city, the Academy, the Open Lord.” She feels no bitterness in the truth. “If not for a series of misadventures and some blood on my hands, I wouldn’t be anyone of note.”

“Interesting,” he says, accepting his wine and swirling it around his glass. “Because I was told her daughter was a distinguished performer, a hero of Baldur’s Gate, and heard nothing of a wizard.”

“If she told you about the wizard, she’d have to explain that I’m not what one would call ‘open to marriage proposals from other men’,” she sips her own wine, berries and flora bursting across her tongue.

Lellvain rolls his eyes, not at her but at her mother’s behavior. “If she paid closer attention, she’d have noticed I wasn’t open to marriage proposals from women generally.”

She likes him immensely; Ferris picks up a few blackberries, popping them into her mouth. “It’s a shame she hid me away for whatever reason,” she says. “Imagine the trouble we’d have been if we’d known each other before this.”

“Hmm,” he stares at her over the rim of his cup. “Truly, I don’t see a deep need for ties to this city; while it would be nice, I don’t see a reason to sacrifice the two of it. In my eyes, this is just a way for your mother to dig in her claws to you and to myself.”

“I have an idea,” Ferris says slowly. “It will tie you and your court to Waterdeep for the rest of my natural life, irk my mother to no end with a degree of poetic justice, and come with a favor owed.”

Lellvain leans in. “Oh go on, I do love a favor.”

She takes a deep breath and then puts on her most charming smile, ready to do what she does best: talk herself out of a corner, and see how many people she can spare in the process.

Ferris takes a deep breath, then another.

“You will have to leave the tower, my dear.” Gale stands patiently at the garden gate, his finest dress robes out of place among the herbs and flowers. There is sickening lurch in her heart, to see how much he stands out in places where she thrives. He extends a hand.

“Please, don’t let me become something I never wanted to be,” she blurts suddenly. It’s far past time for her to be able to bow out; she’s set all the pieces, she owes people favors, and she needs to do this for herself. “I have to do this, but don’t let it…don’t let it change me.”

Gale smiles softly and comes back up the garden path.

“It won’t change you,” he assures her. “It’s like a bruise you keep pressing on to feel if it’s there,” He takes her hands. “It won’t heal if you don’t stop testing it.”

“Then how will I know when it’s gone?”

It’s easier to walk through the gate with her hand in Gale’s, it’s easier to breathe and focus on step after step.

“You’ll have to trust the rest of us to tell you, if you’d let us check,” he replies, exasperated but teasing.

“Why do I feel this is actually about all those times when I said I was fine and then everyone discovered that I’d actually been stabbed?” Ferris teases back, hindsight and survival making it far funnier than it ever was in the moment.

“It is, but it also applies to hurts you may not be able to see.”

They fall quiet, making it up the lane as the city winds down for the day; it’s peaceful as the sky goes full dark and Ferris’ heart calms with the sound of the waves, the steady push and pull.

This is her decision, this is her plan. This is her severing ties and standing free of lingering chains. “It’s strange to think I was meant to be a legacy, the shining image of my mother’s training and class in a demure little package. Now I’m simply a disappointment.”

“That you can think yourself a disappointment after all you’ve done, all you have accomplished, that is truly a feat.” Gale lets a hand rest against the small of her back, reassuring and warm. She doesn’t press into it, but Ferris also does not lean away when he steps closer. “I will prove it otherwise, whatever it takes.”

The green of her clothes does not blend with the skyline, does not meld her into the world around them. Here in Waterdeep, Ferris’ tabard marks her as a stranger apart from the rest. It’s a far cry from the lighter colors she has come to favor, the introduction of blues so soft as to lean gray, sage and cream as well; softer colors for a softer life, with no blood to stain things. She closes her eyes and lets the sea breeze drag at the strands of her hair that hang loose to frame her face, Catriona’s finest work; she’d been in earlier to style it and threatened Ferris quite soundly if she messed it up too badly.

“That task will have to wait, I’m afraid.” Ferris smooths the front of her tabard. “We should carry on, it’s still a ways to walk.”

He doesn’t want to leave this moment, this quiet understanding. Gale longs to keep her close, to shield her from prying eyes and cruel whispers, whatever rumors Ferris’ mother has decided to spread. “If we must.”

The streets of Waterdeep sparkle with light, the puddles reflecting the stars and lanterns and torches and creating galaxies that ripple wherever they step. It reminds him of being in the astral sea, surrounded by possibility, and on impulse he takes Ferris’ hand. He knows they have places to be, he knows they shouldn’t delay, but…

“Dance with me.” He guides her into a spin, the stars fracturing at their feet.

Her skirts flare out, a localized storm, before they catch around their legs, bright against his dark, formal robes. Ferris leans in and lets him lead.

“We’ll be late,” she laughs, uncaring. His hands settle on her hips and Gale lifts her, turning them around and around until they’re both dizzy. “And I don’t think this is dancing.”

“My apologies,” he lies. “I suppose I’ll have to put you down, then.”

“I didn’t say that,” Ferris lets her arms uncoil from around his neck, settling one on his chest as the other finds his, tangling their fingers together as he guides them into a waltz through the street. “Has anyone told you you’re a romantic, Gale Dekarios?”

“No one would dare accuse me of such a thing because they all know I’m a hopeless romantic,” he corrects. It makes her laugh and he wants nothing more than to run away with her, here and now, leaving the fey court wondering what happened to the bard they were promised.

Careful of the slick stones, Ferris pushes just enough that he knows she’s asking to lead and their steps change smoothly, practiced and sure. This time she spins him, smiling impossibly wide.

“Is it hopeless if it’s returned?”

When he returns to her they switch again. “Perhaps not,” he says, hand moving from her waist to the small of her back, lower than he’d have it in polite company; out here it’s only the stars to see them, mirrored above and below and reflecting in Ferris’ eyes. “Are you telling me there’s hope?”

“Why Gale,” she simpers, fluttering her lashes. “I didn’t know you were blind.” He scoffs and dips her, mindful of her braid; it dangles precariously close to a puddle, the twinkling lights threatening to swallow them both if he only let go. “Don’t drop me.”

“I would never.”

As much as he wants to fade into the night with her, to dance among the stars forever, they do run the risk of being late; each beat of his heart begs him to ignore propriety, to linger in the streets and dance until the sun rises and the stars disappear. “We ought to be on our way.”

Ferris doesn’t point out that she’d said it earlier, straightening her skirts and making sure none of the pins in her hair have fallen out. “Gale?”

“Hmm?”

“Promise to dance with me later.”

She turns to him and he thinks of dryads, of spring into summer, her hair the color of bark and her tabard of leaves. Gale takes her hand once more, holding it as gently as he would a butterfly. “Of course, love. I promise.”

The remainder of their walk is quiet but her hand never leaves his; Ferris gives the occasional squeeze and whenever he has to lift her over a particularly deep puddle, one that would go over the toes of her boots, their fingers remain entwined.

In fact, they remain connected for most of the night even after their arrival. Unless Ferris and Catriona are whisked off to speak with someone or the other about music, or Cat receives questions about Cormyr specifically, his bard is nearly glued to his side, always touching, always close. It doesn’t feel performatively possessive, as she’s seen some individuals behave. It’s a claim without a collar or leash, a comfort without fear of the rod. There’s no trick in Ferris’ affection and he returns it in kind.

Morena finds them a short time after they arrive and Ferris embraces her without hesitation, muffling her laughter in the thick brocade of the older woman’s jacket. His mother, to their little group’s amusement, has decided to go all-out on her dowager image.

“Goodness,” Cat says as she saunters over with two glasses of wine, handing one to Gale when Ferris shakes her head. “Congratulations on your many and varied holdings, Madam Dekarios. I had no idea.”

“Hush,” the woman tuts and Gale passes the glass on to her. “I supposed it wouldn’t do any harm to dress up more than usual. If people want to think your mother is a wealthy, landed widow, then they are more than welcome. I’ll not be offering personal information, and they are unlikely to ask. Such is the power of being an older, unmarried woman in richly-colored clothing.”

In fact, she looks like a ruby, or a dark spot of blood, in the room full of light, airy colors. His own robes stand out as well, marking them as apart, as different. Ferris’ tabard and light skirts place her firmly in the middle and Catriona had somehow either known or asked ahead, light yellow and cream swirling around her in a whisper of a gown that would be almost indecent anywhere else. Ferris lays a hand on his mother’s arm. “Don’t let anyone give you a hard time, Morena. And if they do…”

“You don’t have a sword on you, dear, but I’m sure if I need a champion we could certainly find one.”

“There will be no duels.” Gale pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering if he should have brought his staff after all. He’s about to say something to Ferris when he notices her attention fully shift, her back straightening just a hair more and steel replacing the warm, familial affection in her eyes. It does not take much to find Aureliana cutting her way through the crowd toward their little group, easy as they are to spot. He leans down to whisper in Ferris’ ear. “Stay or go?”

“I will not run,” she replies, unsmiling. Once her mother is close enough that it is clear they were, in fact, her targets, Ferris inclines her head. It’s not the usual level of deference one would show a visiting dignitary and enough of a slight that anyone paying attention would likely begin whispering behind their hands.

Especially with how similar mother and daughter are in appearance. Aureliana’s gown shimmers between green and gold, the colors always on the edge of each other when she shifts the slightest amount. Whereas Ferris’ darker hair is tied back in a braid, her mother’s hangs in curls down her back, but the tones of their skin, the shape of their faces, the color of their eyes…there is no doubt of Ferris’ parentage here in this room.

Gale wonders, for a moment, if anyone knew Aureliana had a daughter or if this is their first glimpse of it.

“Have you considered my offer?”

The air is near-frigid between them as Ferris makes a noise of acknowledgment before continuing. “I have given it the weight it is due.”

The wizard knows better than to let emotion show on his face in the presence of two incredibly perceptive women, four if he was counting his mother and Catriona, but surprise still crosses his face and Aureliana seizes on it, a wolf spotting a fresh lamb in the grass.

“You didn’t tell him,” she says, keeping her smile polite; her predator’s teeth remain hidden behind painted lips but it feels as though they close around his throat all the same.

“I did not tell him,” Ferris confirms. “It was unnecessary, because as I said, I gave your offer the consideration it was due: none. I will not accompany you back to the Feywild. I will not marry your Lord. I will not acknowledge whatever birthright I am owed as your child.

“You are not my family. I am going to remain in Waterdeep with the family I have chosen for myself, the life I have chosen for myself, and I will be happy in spite of you.” Ferris’ tone is firm and polite. “In fact, I brokered my own deal with Lord Lellvain, one whose terms he quite favors. Perhaps you’d do well to consider his wishes and needs when attempting to arrange his marriage.”

Ferris steps closer to Gale, lays a hand on his arm and turns it slightly away from her mother; it’s almost behind him and he almost turns toward it, but Ferris’ hands keep him facing forward. “Come, let’s find more pleasant company.”

It’s then he realizes Ferris has switched the ring she wears her snaffle bit ring on, from her middle to her ring finger. His quick glance confirms that she’s turned it around to hide the snaffle and only a simple, silver band shows. Her mother’s face goes red and Catriona, behind Gale’s back, slips a silver band on his ring finger to match. The angle of his arm makes far more sense and once it’s firmly on, Gale takes it back, resting his own hand on Ferris’ shoulder so that the ring is clearly visible.

“Let’s. Perhaps a dance or two, before someone else tries to steal you away from me.” The barb lands as intended and Cat snorts, taking Morena’s arm and gliding the two of them away from Aureliana’s sputtering anger. “Farewell, Lady Raiwënen. Or don’t, it’s up to you.”

Ferris purses her lips to hide a smile and allows herself to be led away, her eyes on Gale’s ring.

“Apologies for springing that on you,” she says softly. “It’s not that I thought you wouldn’t agree, but there wasn’t time. Cat and I schemed it up while she was attempting to curl my hair.”

He recalls the hushed conversation that stopped whenever he got too close, but assumed it was gossip. “Where did you get a silver ring big enough on such short notice?”

“Cat has a collection and she’s quite good at making adjustments on the fly; you’ll notice it’s not a solid band, but can be tightened with a squeeze.” Ferris runs her thumb over it when she takes his hand to dance. “If you wouldn’t mind wearing it the remainder of the night…”

“I’d wear it far longer for you,” he says earnestly. He would, he’d wear it for the rest of his life. It feels incredibly right, their matching-but-not silver bands.

Ferris gives him a smile edged with a bit of guilt and sadness. “You deserve better than a last-minute scheme.”

“It’s not about what I deserve,” he replies. If he got only what he deserved, he likely wouldn’t be alive, a thought he tries not to dwell on, instead focusing on the lovely pout on Ferris’ lips as she concentrates on the steps of the dance, one she’s less familiar with and needs to focus on to avoid his toes. “I’m quite happy with things as they are.”

She doesn’t doubt that, not exactly, but Ferris feels the silver warming under her fingers and her mind slips to more permanent options. Gale hadn’t exactly turned her down when she was…well, it wasn’t her finest moment, drunk at a bonfire for midsummer, but he hadn’t said ‘no’. She simply hadn’t brought it up again, his gentle redirection deterrent enough for her to reconsider at the time.

Now though…

“Pardon me, Miss Dekarios, but may I have the next dance?”

Gale, blessedly, does not so much as blink at the honeyed voice that had been a touch louder than what would be considered ‘polite’; it’s clear that Lord Lellvain had wanted all eyes on them, and the hush that falls over the gathered guests services it’s purpose. There’s mirth in his eyes as he looks to Gale.

“So long as your wizard doesn’t mind, that is.”

“He can spare me,” Ferris smiles and extends her hand, as lady-like as she can manage.

“Only because I know you’ll return.” Gale lets her go and Ferris allows herself to be led into the next dance, one she’s more familiar with; stepping on Gale’s toes is fine, but she doubts the fine silk slippers that Lellvain has on would survive her sturdier boots.

“Your dress is certainly unique,” he says, eyes tracing the embroidery across her shoulders and chest. “And familiar.”

“My only family heirloom,” she offers with fake solemnity. “As I’m sure you’re aware, it is in keeping with old styles worn by elven warriors.”

“Like in the stories. Goodness, you put so much weight into fairy tales.” His teasing is sharper than Gale’s, cutting and familiar. Ferris’ smile takes on a feral edge and she can see the moment it registers.

“They’ve very much shaped my life, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Lellvain tuts and spins her in such a way that the white (or ivory, or cream, or eggshell, she can’t remember) skirts beneath the tabard flare out; however, he doesn’t immediately pull her back in. Ferris knows when she’s being shown off and she can feel the eyes on her as the fabric settles, as everyone sees her posed like a dancer, a warrior of old. Her tabard might be old, might be frayed at the edges, but it has clearly seen battle. The rest of the court guard, arrayed similarly, has not survived nearly as much.

There had been much debate as to whether to fix the rips, patch the areas that had frayed or come loose. Ferris had been adamant that they remain worn. “I’m not just playing the part of a warrior,” she’d reminded Morena and Cat. “I am one.”

It served her well now and she stepped back in, the dance resuming.

“Who could guess your value as an entertainer went beyond your musical skills?” Lellvain’s voice is soft in her ear as he presses closer, no doubt to spark additional gossip later. “Had I known, I would have paid you more.”

“Hmm, I suppose you could always add on whatever you see fit.” Ferris’ hands fit nicely on the man’s delicate shoulder and captured in his own; he’s as slender as a willow, nothing like Gale’s taller, broader form. “But I am perfectly content with the terms set.”

“No fun.”

“Just like my mother,” she sighs and, judging from the way Lellvain’s head tips back with riotous, bright laughter that makes everyone stare at them once more, Ferris is spot-on.

“A terrible bore,” he confirms. “And I cannot even blame it on her being a parent, thanks to your absence.”

“I truly think, had we been raised together in court, we’d have been great friends.”

“And great trouble,” he confirms. The song ends and he steps back, pressing a kiss to the backs of Ferris’ fingers as he bows low, lower than a noble should. “I’ll expect to see you whenever I come to this charming city, and we shall see if that proves true and our temperaments can best fate, time, and distance.”

“I look forward to it, Lord Lellvain.” Ferris curtsies low, eyes on the floor as Lellvain walks into the crowd, his guard in tow, and after a moment Gale steps up to her side. “Goodness, I seem to be collecting odd friends.”

“I fear for Waterdeep,” he replies solemnly. “Adding a more powerful, more chaotic you might just bring down the city walls at last.”

“Can you imagine,” Ferris tries and fails to hide her giggles as Gale sweeps her up into another dance. “Lord Lellvain having to post bail?”

Gale, wisely, does not imagine it; there’s only so much chaos the city of Waterdeep can handle, real or hypothetical.

Another two dances and Ferris excuses herself to warm up, her body pleasantly buzzing, before she returns to the hall, keeping out of sight to avoid conversation. All she wants now is to breathe, to get through this next bit, and perhaps leave immediately. If she borrow a napkin or glove, Gale might even be able to whisk them away with minimal issue, but it’s easier for Ferris to hoist her skirts and sprint down the streets of Waterdeep to the chime of late night bells tolling the hour; should a child look out the window, she might even look like a princess from a storybook and wouldn’t that be fitting?

There’s no proper wing, no ‘off stage’ aside from some lush, decorative curtains, but Ferris is tucked away from view all the same, a master of making an entrance. There’s only one person who would know where to look, exactly which shadow she would choose to inhabit. Ferris can hear his familiar steps before Gale brushes the back of his hand across her shoulders as he steps close. “Nervous?”

“Never,” she replies solemnly. Her eyes are staring out across the room but Gale sees her ears twitch and knows that she is attuned to his every breath. “Bored without me?”

“Always, though Cat is quite the replacement. Perhaps…” he laughs as Ferris gently swats him, all of it playful and light. Her eyes are on him now, exactly as he wanted—no more scanning the faces of the crowd. “All in jest. I could never hope to replace you.”

Ferris shifts away from him and suddenly he fears he’s revealed too much, despite all the times he’d told her similar sentiments and even professed his love. She looks up, meets his eyes, and he can see a new sort of determination.

“I’d ask a favor of you.”

“Anything,” he breathes, and he means it. “Whatever you may ask, if it’s in my power—“

“You’ll make it so, I know. That said, I’d like you to make my tabard match you, Gale.” She runs her hands over the thick cloth of his sleeve, the indigo rich and deep. “Your new favorite shade.”

He knows what this is, what it means.

Ferris, on a stage, wearing his color—his claim. To show all of Waterdeep and the invited courts that Ferris, whomever she is and whomever she decides to be, is his.

“I—Ferris,” they have minutes before she needs to sing; there’s someone on the elevated platform now, giving introductions and announcements, reading about the choice of songs and the history of them. “Are you sure?”

His bard nods and he places his hands on her shoulders, the shade of indigo he’s now so fond of bleeding from the points of contact to drip down over the green that blended her into field and forest. The lighter green and yellow embroidery he makes shimmering gold; it brings out the autumn shades hidden in her hair and skin, brightens her stormy blue eyes like the sun breaking through dark clouds.

Mine, the color says. Mine.

Gale lets his hands fall away, but she catches them in her own, not ready to let go.

“You are my family,” she squeezes his hands, tightly, her thumb running over the silver band. “I know that now, you and your mother and Tara, you’re my family. I couldn’t have wished for a softer place to land.”

Gale swallows hard and feels incredibly bold as he kisses her knuckles, lingering to memorize the feel of her skin and the smell of the lotion she applied earlier, herbal and familiar. “That I could give this to you is, perhaps, my greatest point of pride. I have known a goddess, I have fought armies from other worlds, but finding myself at your side, the hero of your story even though I hardly begin to deserve it—to stand here with you is like nothing I have ever known.”

When he meets her eyes, he finds them brimming with tears even as she smiles. “It sounds an awful lot like you love me.”

They don’t have time, they never seem to have time.

The thick curtains are drawing back, revealing them to the world, and distantly he hears her announced as ‘Ferris Dekarios’; he’ll have to move away but she holds him there, not yet ready to let go even as the polite applause begins and she has to step on stage, but Gale has things he needs to say.

“I do,” he breathes. He can barely hear himself for the crowd, but he knows that Ferris is attuned to his every heartbeat. “You know I do.”

“Well,” she stands a bit straighter. “You should probably kiss me.”

Gale will not remember the exact cantos she sings, a far more extended performance than the one in his mother’s sitting room; he will not remember the thunderous applause and conversation and praise, but he remembers the arching green and gold trees and the night sky her voice creates, rippling like the puddles they danced through. He will not remember getting home or bidding Ferris goodnight at the door to her room (he will remember the scent of lemon grass and how resplendent she looks in his favorite shade of indigo, however, flush with victory).

What he will remember, for the rest of his days, it how it felt to kiss the woman he loves in full view of Waterdeep’s most influential members of society and the entirety of a foreign court; the softness of her lips, the curve of her pleased smile, the way she arched up to meet him half-way, and how his hand so perfectly fit the bend in her lower back, the sparkle of her eyes like a galaxy just before she took to the stage.

Ferris will remember every moment of the night in excruciating detail, if only for one reason:

It is the moment her mind and her heart reach the same conclusion.

Chapter Text

She’d heard that people who killed themselves ended up in the Hells, but Ferris didn’t expect to be there herself, more anticipating…well, fuck all, if she’s honest. This introductory nightmare to the rest of her un-life is fitting though, and fuck she has a splitting headache.

There’s a man, tall and dark and just as confused, pulling her from a pod. He’s trying to explain, trying to get her to follow, but none of it matters. She’s dead, after all. Ferris tries to explain this to Brom, tries to explain she killed herself and this is all just punishment—then there’s dragons, and fire, and githyanki and death isn’t as peaceful as people made it out to be.

Brom is shouting, someone else is shouting too, another woman, but then she’s falling again—

—thankfully, this time, there’s darkness.

Her life is a farce.

It has to be.

One of the great comedies, truly, because instead of being truly dead, well and properly fucking shuffled off this mortal coil, she’s stuck in a bush.

A thorn bush.

So stuck, in fact, she cannot pull herself out.

Ferris had fallen from the sky and instead of being splattered on the streets of Baldur’s Gate, instead of the scorching Hells, she’s in a bramble, upside down.

She kicks and struggles, scratching her arms, her legs, her face. A large thorn splits her brow and it’s only then she freezes, acutely aware of how close ‘brow’ and ‘eyeball’ are. Ferris forces one arm up to protect her face as she thrashes, still determined to be free.

A thousand cuts, maybe tens of thousands split her skin and drip red probably. Her face certainly drips drips drips, and she hopes that the bramble drinks it all up and flourishes, her bones caught up like a sparrow crushed in too-thick branches. Someone will find her someday, horrified and fascinated by the tatters of cloth, perhaps mummified flesh, the long, clean lines of bone. Would they know what she’d suffered, from her remains? Would they tell a story? Would anyone care?

Probably not.

It’s not comfortable, the bramble, but Ferris does get as relaxed as possible, aiming for a nap. She’s not entirely upside down anymore, so there’s no danger of dying immediately and she’s goddamned tired. Maybe the voices she’s hallucinating will finally shut up too—

Voice. A single voice.

“Hello?” She croaks, voice ruined by frustration and screaming and smoke and Hellsfire. A swallow, a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Is someone there?”

A woman, there’s a woman out there.

“I’m in this fucking bush, I’m stuck!” Ferris thrashes, uncaring as the thorns cut and rip again. “Here!”

The sharp points dig into her palms, rip into her calves; she’s almost sure her skin is entirely slick with blood and that the bramble she’s in will thrive thanks to her efforts. She’s making enough noise to be found, however, and the woman from before, the one she’d caught a glimpse of the moment before falling.

“Hold on, I’ll get you out,” the woman reaches in, her armor far more protective than Ferris’ tattered clothing, sticky with blood. Her hand slips once, twice, and she lunges forward to take her wrist, finally securing a hold as the woman hauls her out of the bush. Ferris bites her lip hard enough to split it, anything to keep from screaming as the larger branches hold her fast, tearing into her skin even more. “I can help you, just a moment.”

The bard stumbles, twisting around. “My violin—“

A dark braid swings into her vision and Ferris’ guard is up in an instant, but it’s just the other woman bending down to pick up the instrument case. “Let’s hope it’s as resilient as you,” she passes it to Ferris. “I’m Shadowheart.”

Ferris has heard stranger names, especially from classmates as they chose names they’d want to be known by. She hadn’t seen the point, especially because she wouldn’t be know by any other name than her own, should she make her way to court.

She certainly isn’t making it to court now, wherever that would be. She isn’t even sure her mother would care if she was dead, so perhaps this could be counted as a success—

The latches on the case pop satisfyingly, still tense, and when she opens it her violin lays nestled inside, the emerald velvet across the strings barely out of place. Her bow seems fine as well, and she strokes her fingers gently across the wood before closing the case once more. “Ferris,” she says hoarsely, trying not to make a fool of herself in front of a stranger. “What happened, where are we?”

‘This isn’t the Hells,’ she wants to say, but that much is obvious and the woman seems a few years older than her. Ferris will be damned if anyone thinks her a child right now, in her ripped clothes with her red-rimmed eyes. Although, with the elfin ears, it’s hard to tell if she’s a few years or a dew decades older.

“We crashed outside of Baldur’s Gate,” Shadowheart explains, gently taking one of her arms and healing Ferris’ cuts. “The Nautiloid went down, I woke among the remains.”

Nautiloid. Headache. Pods. A tall, dark stranger…

“Was there a man with you? Brom, he’s tall and has dark hair.”

She shakes her head. “He freed me, but I don’t…I couldn’t find a body.”

Ah.

Well.

Maybe Brom got what she’d been wanting: some eternal peace and quiet.

She doesn’t say that to Shadowheart. “Hopefully he’s at rest,” she tries instead, and it gets her a slight frown as the woman moves to her other arm. “Perhaps there are other survivors. I’m fine to walk, I can finish healing myself later.”

Shadowheart cocks her head. “If you’re sure.”

“Before it gets dark,” Ferris slings her violin across her back. “It’s easiest.”

The conversation as they move is stilted, but Shadowheart says she’s a half-elf, of more traditional origins. Ferris doesn’t say more than that she is as well. Her strange parentage isn’t a fitting topic, but her needs for a sword is.

“I’ll have to find one,” she mutters, mostly to herself, and she sees Shadowheart nod. Ferris is about to say something more when she stops, ears flicking. “I think there’s someone ahead.”

“I think there’s a clearing—“ Shadowheart begins, but Ferris darts ahead, assuming she’s less threatening than a woman in armor, but the other half-elf is on her heels, barely a breath behind. The light is bright and glinting off metal plates but smoke is thick too; Ferris squints and lifts a hand.

“There.”

The man is saying something but Ferris isn’t paying attention, her eyes scanning the wreckage for the man who’d pulled her from her pod, for anyone else that might need assistance or rescue. Or a weapon, really.

She senses she’s going down the moment before she does, shoving her violin to the side just as the man tackles her and cold steel presses to her throat. The first thing she registers is that he has no heartbeat, the second is that his skin is not warm from within like hers.

“You’ll tell me everything you know,” a voice purrs, and she inwardly shutters at the syrupy tone of it. “Or else.”

Ferris doesn’t hesitate, slamming her head back and rolling as the man swears. She doesn’t like to be restrained on the best of days, and this certainly isn’t what she would consider one of those. He holds his nose, strange red eyes on her.

“I feel like this could have gone better,” Shadowheart sighs, hauling Ferris up for the second time within the hour. “There’s no need for violence.”

Astarion, for that’s the elf’s name, joins them and grumbles the entire time. Her shepherd’s instincts, deep-rooted and sharp, keep him in her eyeline; something about him is setting her off, the same way a wolf would during lambing. Ferris can tell something is off, she knows something is off, but they’ve only just met and she is on edge. There’s the smell of burnt flesh, hot metal, ruined soil, crushed trees; the sap is sweet and cloying sugary and burnt and cardamom—

“Does anyone else smell that?”

Shadowheart sniffs the air but Astarion scoffs. “Smoke, that’s all.”

“No,” Ferris turns in a circle, focusing like a hound. “No, it’s not just..it’s…”

It’s easier to show than explain and Ferris takes off through the remaining trees, following the scent of magic. She doesn’t see the Weave, not the way wizards and sorcerers and others can, but magic of all kinds? It has a smell, to her at least. Among glowing wreckage, the edges red with heat, there’s another color, purple and pulsing in a rock wall beyond. A portal, to gods know where.

“There,” she says, triumphant. Astarion and Shadowheart doesn’t seem entirely enthused by the discovers, and in all fairness neither is she. But it’s something, and maybe magic can help them…but this magic is wrong. The scent is wrong, and there’s a underlying rot to it, unnatural and entirely strange. It doesn’t look stable. Ferris has never smelled magic like this, and she doesn’t much care for it but she reaches out all the same, fingers just brushing the edge. It shocks her, like static, and she stumbles a step back, shaking off the sting. “If there’s magic, there’s bound to be—“

“A hand? Anyone?”

The three of them startle; Astarion’s hands fly to the pommels of his daggers, Shadowheart grips her mace, and Ferris…well, Ferris puffs up like an angry cat, her fingers tingling with magic. She’s learned more about healing than harming, but if she can get close enough there’s damage to be done.

But it’s just a hand.

“Anyone?”

“Don’t touch it,” Astarion hisses. Shadowheart’s grip loosens slightly, but she does not drop her weapon.

The magic smells wrong. Something is wrong, and Ferris doesn’t know what, and she doesn’t know enough about magic to stabilize the portal herself. “Do either of you…” she gestures and the other two elves shake their heads. “Well, damn.”

Ferris grabs the hand firmly by the wrist and pulls, hard. Whomever this person is, they’re well and truly stuck. She plants her feet, channels all her strength into it while wishing she’d been allowed to train more, and yanks.

‘Whomever’ turns out to be a man, and said man lands atop her with an ‘oof’; Ferris doesn’t have the breath to make a noise of complaint, not that she’s given much opportunity.

“Hello, I’m Gale of Waterdeep.”

Oh no, she should have left him in the rock.

Everything about him is annoying, every movement and mannerism and Ferris wants to slink back to Astarion and Shadowheart, her elven cohort, like a wary stray cat. This ‘Gale of Waterdeep’ smells like roses and burnt sugar and the rot from earlier, and she wrinkles her nose in disgust; it makes her want to sneeze, but it’s not enough to actually trigger her and she’s discovered a new kind of Hell because Gale has not stopped moving his hand and she keeps flinching whenever he makes broad movements and she knows Astarion can tell—

Ferris has known Gale of Waterdeep for thirty seconds and she desperately wishes she knew chronomancy so she could un-know him. What comes out of her mouth, however, is this:

“Could you please get off me?”

“Oh! Yes, I am so sorry, my apologies, I’m usually better at this. Here—“

Gale pushes himself up off the ground, dusting his knees off; they’d creaked alarmingly as he rose. He extends a hand to Ferris, the same one she’d grabbed to pull him out, but she scrambles backward, seeking space before springing up. She does not bother dusting herself off as Gale did, knowing it’s rather pointless. Somehow the universe will find a way to out her on her ass again, likely within the hour.

It always does, lately.

“Fascinating,” Astarion murmurs under his breath when Ferris skirts around back to him and Shadowheart. “What’s next, little bard, a rabbit from a hat?”

It’s quiet enough that Gale’s human ears won’t pick up and Ferris’ nose twitches; the man is still talking animatedly, something about recognizing them from the Nautiloid, calling them ‘friends’ as Shadowheart begrudgingly answers his questions, and Ferris watches his hands. She doesn’t trust his hands.

“I don’t like him,” she hisses back in Elvish.

Astarion bursts out laughing.

“What manner of accent is that? Oh that’s awful. You’re something of a bumpkin, aren’t you?”

Ferris’ face flushes and she stalks ahead, deciding that Shadowheart is her favorite now and that Astarion can fuck off. They follow her, falling into line like ducklings, and Ferris wishes they’d just leave her alone to become a mind flayer or whatever Gale had said.

Only, Shadowheart says much the same thing when Ferris tries to speak to her, cutting through Gale’s babble. “He’s talkative,” she tries, tipping her head toward the wizard.

Shadowheart laughs. “What?”

Ferris doubles down, refusing to speak Common. “The wizard! He’s loud, he’s talkative, he’s annoying!”

Unfortunately their new friend latches on.

“Oh!” Gale turns his head. “Did you also learn Elvish from books?”

Ferris’ entire face goes red as everyone’s attention focuses on her, the wizard carrying on obliviously.

“That’s quite an old manner of speaking, very formal. I’ve only ever seen it in books and when one learns from literature it can be difficult to break the habit and adapt to modern terms of phrase. I myself has difficulty, especially having no elven friends to talk to in Waterdeep—“

“Surprised he’d any friends at all,” Astarion mutters, too low for the wizard’s ears to catch.

“We humans can…”

The wizard’s voice trails off and everyone stares at him this time. Ferris, quite pointedly, remains just as silent.

He hadn’t noticed her ears.

Ferris has no idea how he’d managed to miss them, large and obvious and just barely peeking out from her snarled hair.

“Oh. I do apologize, I’d assumed, rather wrongly it seems, that because you didn’t know modern Elvish—“

Ferris shoulders past him to continue down the path, the others close behind and eager to carry on rather than chat. If the they sees the embarrassed tears that sparkle on her lashes, they says nothing.

The four of them make camp to assess their options, quiet and on edge, still not sure of each other. Shadowheart is alright, but Ferris isn’t sure how she’ll fare between Astarion and Gale. One man is a liar, the other is a liar that won’t shut up. Everyone is hiding something and Ferris wants nothing more than to crawl back into her bramble and close her eyes; the thorns would keep her safe, protect her from the world. So what if she gets scratched up again?

There’s some supplies among the rubble and detritus of the ship but Ferris has never traveled with much. Her violin is a necessity. An absolutely wrecked sword gets belted across her chest, settled between her shoulders. It makes her feel better, safer, and she finds a tree to sit under, on the edge of the small group to assess the state of the steel.

“I can fix that, if you’d like.”

Gale is a careful five feet away, outside of sword-range; even if it’s dull and chipped, it is still a weapon. His eyes are fixed on Ferris’ sleeve, ripped open from the thorny scuffle earlier.

“No, thank you,” she says. “I can do it myself.”

“My way would be quicker than a needle and thread,” he protests, taking a step forward. Ferris is immediately alert, ears pinned flat, and Gale stills. “It’s a simple spell.”

“I’m not useless,” she snaps, pinching the seam together and forcing out the notes she uses for Mending under her breath where Gale is unlikely to hear them. It’s pitched low enough to be a rumble in her chest rather than a hum like she usually does, but her sleeve stitches together all the same. “See? All sorted.”

They’ll move on after a few hours, but Ferris hopes Gale leaves her alone. She isn’t used to company and pointedly ignores the wizard; she can feel his hesitation.

“Thank you,” he says finally. “For pulling me out of that rock.”

“You’re welcome.” Her tone is short and she wonders if he’ll say anything else, but after a moment she sees his robed legs move away and Ferris can breathe once more. Perhaps she can get this sword in decent working order before she has to get to her feet, haul herself up and keep walking.

It’s been a long time since she’s has to walk nearly as much as this.

She misses it.

There’s no crook in her hands, no sheep at her side, but her feet ache in a familiar way that puts her mind where it needs to be. Ferris knows how to herd things, how to get from one place to another. It’s less than an hour before they’re moving off again, headed back up the path past where they found Gale and heading north, as roughly as they can.

A caged githyanki named Lae’zel is next, and she calls Ferris a child almost immediately after they save her, so in the bard’s opinion, Lae’zel can fuck off. Shadowheart joins her in that sentiment, the two immediately at odds. Astarion, at her side, crosses his arms. “I cannot tell if they’ll kill each other or fuck first,” he sighs out the complaint. “Though I do wish they’d establish a preference for one or the other soon, all this wandering is quite boring.”

“Come on,” Ferris snaps, projecting her voice more than she means to, the entire day becoming hazy with exhaustion and nerves. “We don’t have time for this, either kill each other or let’s continue.”

Gale looks like he has something he wants to say, perhaps to convince the two women not to kill each other, but Ferris does not wait to see what happens next, taking off along the path and hoping that there will be any opportunity for rest.

A narrowly dodged crossbow bolt, sour-smelling with poison, whizzes past her temple and Ferris knows that, while she’s had worse days, this one is shaping up to hit the top twenty list rather quickly. “Astarion,” she shouts, the first name on her lips. “A little help?”

It’s quick, bloody, and Gale proves rather effective from a distance; she’s mildly pissed that he remains so clean.

They enter the Druid Grove, a bit worse for wear and more covered in goblin blood than most of them would like, and Ferris’ eyes find the man who’d helped them during the skirmish, tall and handsome and princely. He’s training children, off all things, and even Shadowheart grumbles a comment about how one can only be so good before it’s suspicious. But she knows of the Blade of Frontiers, and she knows of Wyll Ravengard, at least by proxy. When he mentions a Druid, Ferris sighs.

“We’re going to have to rescue him, aren’t we?”

“Worse,” Wyll gives a half smile. “We’re going to clear the goblins entirely.”

This declaration causes utter chaos in their small group, immediate squabbling and bargaining. What if they just saved the druid, what if they found other help and left the Grove to its own exclusionary problems? What if they tried to get outside help? Could the tieflings fight? They don’t come to a conclusion, but Wyll states, calmly and clearly, that he knows where the entrance is, and they should start immediately if they’re starting at all.

‘Thank gods, someone who can lead,’ Ferris thinks.

“Right,” she stands and rolls her shoulders. “I think we should head down to the river, get a better idea of where we are and if there’s back ways into the place, as tempting as it is to walk through the gates.”

There’s a scuffle with some gnolls and Ferris is about ready to call it a day, hoping this has all been a dream, but unfortunately for her it is not because across a very questionably bridge is a tiefling, similarly sticky with blood and doubled over, crackling with flame.

“Hey,” Ferris calls. “Hey!”

Better to announce herself, if the person is still in a battle haze, or out of it.

Before she can rest a hand on the tiefling’s shoulder, offer the slightest bit of healing, Wyll steps up to Ferris’ side, and he recognizes the woman, voice full of disdain. “Advocatus diaboli.”

“Thought I’d shaken you for good,” the woman grits out. She rises, the flames dying down, much taller than Ferris, but neither she nor Wyll step back. “That’ll teach me to underestimate you.”

“This is the devil you’ve been hunting?” Ferris’ mind searches for a name. “Karlach?”

“An honor,” she manages, but then—the thoughts in the woman’s mind overwhelm, far more than anyone else’s had. Fiery, roaring like a forge. The fighting they’d flown over, the Hells, Ferris’ entire body shudders as the tadpole wriggles and it’s enough lost time that Wyll has his blade out. The complexities of Hellish struggles are not the bard’s strong suit, but Ferris knows violence when she see it.

“I didn’t want to serve Zariel,” Karlach pleads. “I was forced to fight, I was enlisted against my will.”

It leaves a sickening feeling in Ferris’ gut because doesn’t she know what that’s like? “Enough, Wyll. Stand down.”

“You’re asking me to trust a devil?”

Ferris places her fingers on the end of his foil, the slightest pressure, and it tips to the ground; there is no resistance, and she knows he’ll be angry about it but that the threat of death is gone for now. “There’s no monsters here, Wyll.”

The monster hunter and the tiefling stare at each other for a moment longer, and Wyll’s shoulder slump. “You really are no devil.”

A truce, then, tentative but something at least.

“Let’s go back to the Grove,” Shadowheart suggests. “Get a proper rest behind some closed gates.”

No one argues with her, and they all shuffle back.

They talk as they walk and the bard finds it much easier to converse with the tiefling than anyone else, her tone and demeanor far more affable and open. Wyll doesn’t like her, but they’re not in the Hells anymore and sensibility, for once, wins out.

They find a place to collapse in the Grove, all of them varying levels of exhausted and bloodied. Ferris heals a few more of her cuts and bruises, and Shadowheart offers to do the rest, which she agrees to; pleasantly, it doesn’t require Shadowheart to touch her so Ferris feels better without having to come up with an excuse for flinching away. People break off to talk, to find food, but when Ferris stands and stretches, the only things on her mind are ‘find a bucket of water to bathe’ and ‘get some clothes that aren’t shredded’. She could do with an extra set while she Mends the current shirt and skirt, maybe a set of trousers would serve. Her chemise and stays are likely salvageable, nothing a good Prestidigitation can’t handle. It’s easy enough to find both, and she scrubs her skin pink behind a screen, the tiefling mother tutting over the state of her, likely assuming Ferris is younger than her twenty-and-five years.

When she returns, there’s a cluster of small flowers laid across her pillow, delicate and white with yellow centers; they remind her of eggs in a pan until the smell hits her nose and she remembers ‘daffodils’. Ferris sometimes sees them in spring, has walked through a field of them once and delighted in the soft brush of petals and their heady scent.

There’s no other note, nothing attached, but Shadowheart rolls over with a knowing smirk, watching as Ferris rolls the stalk between her fingers. “Our favorite wizard seemed quite eager to get in your good graces.”

Gale.

“He’s our only wizard,” she snaps back.

She ought to throw the flower into the fire, watch it curl and burn. In the lambent light it seems illuminated, ethereal, elegant and beautiful in all the ways Ferris is not. If she were a better bard, she might remember what daffodils meant. If she were a better daughter, she would know how to respond in kind.

Instead, all she knows is that daffodils are poisonous to both people and sheep, and they serve no purpose other than looking pretty in early spring.

She snorts, dropping it back to her pillow.

Useless. Delicate. Poisonous.

Just like her.

“I’m going for a walk.”

The flower is not there when she returns an hour later, her belly finally full and with some new information about the archdruid they’re meant to fetch back, but the scent lingers, a reminder of all she is not.

Gale is persistent, and she has stopped bristling every time he breathes; his hands have not hurt her, and he’s polite, if obtuse, but what wins her over is his knowledge of plants: their uses, their meaning, if they have magical properties. Ferris has her own knowledge and they often cross-reference when needed. It brings them together.

Everyone else is scattered around the Grove but she had not felt like socializing, choosing to stay behind with Shadowheart and guard their sad little camp from various, sticky tiefling fingers, and to wash their clothes.

“He likes you,” Shadowheart leans against a tree as Ferris pulls her bloodied shirt over her head; she would remove her chemise too, as it’s sticky with sweat but she doesn’t want to remove her stays if they’ve got to move quickly. She can handle washing her shirt quickly and putting it on damp. It’ll keep her cool at least.

“He likes everyone.”

The dark haired half-elf snorts but Ferris doesn’t take the bait. If it’s gossip about the wizard that she wants, the cleric will have to find Astarion. She is closest with the two of them, bound together by their ears and (Ferris insists) their shared language. The bard and Lae’zel are still at odds, still clashing. Perhaps they’re too similar, perhaps they’re too different. If they keep butting heads, it’s unlikely they’ll find out. She and Karlach get along, mainly because Karlach doesn’t try to touch her. She can’t touch her, in truth, but the fact that Ferris can spend time in her company and not have to worry sets her at ease.

And she likes Wyll. He’s kind, objectively handsome, and he doesn’t ask questions or dig too deeply.

“This is what my life should have been,” she laughs, breathless, as he spins her. They’re dancing, which is just as good as for practicing footwork and balance, and it gets his spirits up far more reliably than sparing or forms. The fact that Ferris knows the same dances helps immensely, and he delights in teaching her new ones.

“Dancing with the son of a Duke?” He raises a brow at her, but there’s curiosity in his tone that overtakes the teasing. “What sort of life would have allowed that, my lady?”

When Ferris shakes her head, however, he doesn’t press.

He never does.

They part with exaggerated bows, the tip of her braid almost dragging through the dirt, and she falls against a stump they’ve been using as a makeshift table, letting her eyes slip shut for a few blessed moments.

“You’re quite a skilled dancer.” Something rustles near her head but Ferris doesn’t move, determined to keep up her nonchalance even though every instinct tells her to scramble to her feet. “I didn’t know shepherds knew those things.”

“We know plenty,” she replies, eying the basket of vegetables that Gale sets down beside her. How he’s found such a bounty this close to the blighted village is beyond her, but no one had wanted to return to the Grove so they’re setting up about half way for the night, enjoying the peace that comes from a lack of screaming children and bellowing animals. They’ll have to be on guard for goblins and gnolls, but it’s a small price to pay. “Just because I am familiar with sheep and goats doesn’t exclude me from knowing how to dance.”

“That reel, however,” the wizard digs, he always has to dig. “The variation you were doing with Wyll, that’s only done in Baldur’s Gate. We’ve a different one in Waterdeep.”

“Well, Wyll taught me.”

It’s a lie, too fast, and they both know it. And Gale doesn’t seem to understand that she doesn’t want the issue pushed.

“If I recall, you helped him through the footwork for the middle bit—“

“Drop it, wizard,” she snaps. “Enough.”

She hauls a few ears of corn into her lap, ripping into them to temper herself; her tone has drawn unwanted attention and the tips of her ears heat.

“Sorry,” she mumbles sullenly, carefully setting aside the corn silk as she passes the ear to Gale. “It’s…something of a sore spot.”

“No need to apologize,” he replies easily, even though there was a need and they both knew it. “You are entitled to your secrets, as I am mine. As we all are. But do tell me one thing.”

Ferris tenses. There are many, many things Gale could ask, many dangerous things she doesn’t want to answer.

“Why are you separating out the corn silk?”

“Oh.” She perks up, turning to him when she passes the next ear. “It makes excellent tea!”

“You can make tea from that?”

“You can make tea from lots of things,” Ferris says, as safely as possible.

Gale smiles brightly. “You’ll have to teach me. In exchange, I’ll teach you the Waterdeep variation of that reel. No doubt you’ll dance circles around me, I’m nowhere near as elegant or practiced as Wyll, but it’s been ages since I’ve had a partner.”

"I’m sure you’re fine,” she says, neutral and hoping that Gale will move on from this topic; she hasn’t yet mastered the art of steering him the way Shadowheart and Wyll have, the two of them quite effective at getting the wizard off a subject in record time. Lae’zel just threatens him, which works but isn’t really Ferris’ style.

“Far better with my hands,” he wiggles his fingers in her direction and Ferris, on the ground, covered in corn husks, cannot help but burst out laughing. She doesn’t remember the last time it hurt to laugh, her lungs aching and her breath coming in gasps because she knows what Gale means, but he goes bright red the moment she doubles over. “Not like—I mean spell casting! It does translate, but that’s not—oh do stop, this is awful.”

“If that’s your technique,” she wheezes. “You should stick to magic.

Not that she really knows, but Ferris is almost entirely sure the joke lands as intended. Gale huffs, returning to the basket of vegetables. She sees him rub at his chest, the beginnings of a wince in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes as he grumbles.

It’s not her place to offer healing, or assistance. He’s not complained of anything officially, but she’s seen him look unwell on and off. ‘Adventuring must not agree with him,’ she thinks. Gale has soft hands, clearly not used to a life lived outdoors for any length of time. He’s mentioned a tower, a home, a family and career, and Ferris wonders what those things are like. In winter, as a small child, she would live with one of the families in Bospir in the old, crumbling hall. Gale speaks of rose gardens, of a loving mother.

She’s not jealous, not really, but there is a strange longing.

Ferris is about to ask something inane but Wyll and Astarion crash through the brush, covered in gnoll blood, and it gets pushed to the back of her mind, a cooking knife already up in a defensive position and corn husks scattered, and thoughts of domesticity are replaced with remembering where Astarion is when she tosses her improvised weapon and dives for her swords, hoping he catches it before the creature on their heels is even within the boundaries of their camp.

A few minutes later they’re dragging bodies away, sticky with blood that isn’t their own, and Gale stares mournfully at the good paring knife sticking out if the eye socket of one of the beasts. “Dinner will be delayed.”

“Blame the bard,” Astarion shrugs. “She tossed it to me—poorly, I might add. You should improve that technique.”

“Not if you’re going to complain about it,” she sighs, yanking it free and wiping it on her shirt before flipping the blade and offering it to Gale. “There, that should do.”

He looks like he might be ill, delicately taking it by the handle. “No,” he says, deadpan. “It will not.”

Dinner eventually gets made, but there is quite a bit of scrubbing that happens before the fire is even lit, and she wonders how anything ever gets made if Gale is this insistent on cleanliness; she wisely does not mention how she used to cook for herself, assuming it would end in a lecture of epic proportions that would also draw the ire of Astarion and the pity of Wyll.

The pale elf offers first watch and they all gladly agree, more than a little relieved to collapse into their tents (or, in Ferris’ case, next to the fire; she cannot stand to be covered, doesn’t like the feeling of being boxed in on all sides, and eventually everyone gives up). She’s woken for second watch and simply sits up, casting her gaze around with her ears quivering for anything out of the ordinary, but it seems the area is clear of gnolls and goblins for the time being.

It’s an easy hike back to the Grove, then a day of gathering what they truly need to attack. Everything they’ve learned indicates that the druid, Halsin, is still alive. There’s so much to bloody do, still, and Ferris longs for the simplicity of fields and sheep when she’s stopped by Mol and a pack of feral children, their fingers sticky in more ways than one as she shows them another trick, another slight of hand, much to Astarion’s amusement.

The group of them come together, lay out a plan…that immediately gets scrapped when they try to get help from Auntie Ethel that also goes to shit, as per the usual for their merry band of adventurers. The woman had set off Ferris’ alarm bells, and Shadowheart’s as well, but they don’t even get the joy of saying ‘we told you so’ because now there’s a dead hag, a pregnant woman and an undead man on their way to Baldur’s Gate, and they still have godsdamned parasites in their heads.

They head back to the Grove, diffuse far too many fights that they are not qualified to poke their heads into, and call it a day, promising themselves that tomorrow will be better. At least in the Grove, they can sleep peacefully and not have to set watches. Ferris does, however, keep her coin purse and valuables against her skin, under her stays. Those feral children cannot be trusted.

It’s in preparing to set off with half the group that she gets flagged down.

“Ferris,” Gale calls from just outside his tent. “A favor, if you could.”

He looks unwell, and she wonders if he’ll ask her to take over dinner preparation. They’re in the Grove, it’s not difficult to come by ingredients yet, but Ferris knows the beginnings of desperation when she sees them, far too familiar with blights and lean times from her childhood. “Are you alright?”

He waves her away and she notes the sallow look to his usually warm skin. “Just the heat of the day disagreeing with me,” he gestures dismissively. “Though I appreciate your concern. No, this is about magical objects. Some of our group are like magpies, hoarding valuables and the like, but I would be ever so grateful if you could part with one, for my research. I’ve used up my own supply—though it may render the object useless, so I don’t dare ask those that use them frequently.”

Ferris slips off a ring from her thumb. “Will this do?”

She knows its enchanted, the smell of magic lingering on it and it made her skin tingle; Gale’s eyes widen as he takes it in his palm. “I…are you sure?”

She shrugs. “I’m not using it, I’m not even sure what it does.”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience—“

“You’re not an inconvenience,” she sighs, reading between his words. “Just take the damn thing. And get some rest, you look terrible.”

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing back toward his tent. Ferris struggles to place the look but he seems…hungry. She steps back quickly, outside of arm’s reach, and then slips away before he can say anything more, never turning her back.

They draw closer to clearing out the goblin camp without even setting foot in it, seeing fewer and fewer on their scouting missions and in their intelligence gathering. They keep having to do other things, more things, help more people. She’s quite over it, but it does make her feel better, in the end.

It helps them develop their dynamic too.

Ferris and Astarion are quiet and move through trees with grace, silent on their feet, and Wyll proves an excellent tactician along with Karlach. The other all have their areas, splitting their time between the Grove and the outside world, figuring out how they’ll attack or infiltrate.

“I wasn’t allowed to speak Elvish,” Ferris blurts out a few days later when the conversation lulls while she assists in peeling yet more potatoes. Astarion and Wyll are scouting potential escape routes, Ferris nursing a twisted ankle that she hadn’t managed to fully resolve on her own, so she and Gale prepare dinner while they wait. “I didn’t have anyone to speak to, and when I tried speaking anything other than Common—“

She remembers the sting of her father’s hand, when she was small enough that he could slap her.

“Oh.” Gale pauses in his stirring, watching her carefully and thinking about how she would flinch away whenever he’d talk enthusiastically with his hands. “I don’t know what to say.”

Ferris swallows and returns to the potatoes, the last one in her hands. “I don’t think there’s anything to say about it. I just…I didn’t want you to think I was…”

“Ferris,” the wizard says gently. “I’d like to make something clear: you’re incredibly smart, and exceedingly clever. I’d never think less of someone for trying, or less of you for something like that.”

She nods, focused on the motion of her hands.

There’s nothing more to be said.

She thinks that is the end of it, think that she’ll be left alone and the subject entirely dropped, but Gale speaks to her in a number of languages (ignoring the snickers of Shadowheart and Astarion when it comes to his accented Elvish), asks her to translate older texts when he finds crossovers of her specialties. He asks about her education, formal and informal, compliments her success, her progress.

Above all, he learns.

His hands still when he speaks to her, he makes no attempt to touch. He waits to approach her until she’s settled, or lets her approach him. Ferris learns too. She learns about everyone, learns that they have her back and that, even when they’re at each others’ throats, they do share a goal. But she especially learns about Gale.

He trusts her, and she begins to trust him.

And then that trust gets tested the first time they make an organized push to rescue the archdruid Halsin. Ferris had never dreamed of being a leader, but she’s the one up front, the one leading their charge. She’s found some chain mail, two good swords, and the weight of them in her hands is familiar, comforting, right.

It’s going well…until it all goes to absolute shit because that’s her life in a nutshell. Because in the moment they need to move from one area to another, quickly and quietly, Gale falls to a knee and they get spotted where they aren’t supposed to be. The group splits, their roles clear by now, and Ferris rushes to Gale.

His heart beats under her hands, so fast, too fast, but he doesn’t look injured, not on the surface; Gale sticks to the back, sculpts his spells around them to provide cover and protection. Had someone come up from behind? She doesn’t touch him but her hands itch with energy, frantic as she tries to assess where the issue is; Gale gazes up at her like she hung the moon; Ferris has never been looked at like a solution, only ever a problem, and now here he is, on his knees, laying himself bare and begging her to help.

“Gale? What’s wrong, what do you need?” She’s already reaching for the ring around her neck, knowing it is somehow enchanted, but he stops her.

“You have to know who I was. You have to know who I really am.”

Ferris can hear the crunch of bone as Shadowheart’s mace lands heavily, the spatter of flesh and viscera across dirt. The don’t have time for this, but Gale is still talking about Mystra, his muse and then his lover. Ferris tucks that away for later as he lays his quest for power before her, the checks and balances Mystra keeps on the Weave and wizards and mortal power, and how he crossed them, never content with his lot.

And then it becomes a history lesson and she wants to shake him.

‘We’re in the middle of a battle,’ she thinks as Astarion darts past her in a blur, and she thinks she catches an eye roll as he sinks a knife into a goblin that was approaching them from the side.

“Here,” Gale reaches for her. “Place your hand over my heart, let me show you.”

‘Whatever gets this over with,’ she thinks, and Ferris lets him take her hand and lay it over his chest. His heart flutters for a moment before the tadpole draws her in and then she sees it all. The darkness, the Weave, the never-ending hunger.

It’s…a lot to take in. His hubris, his folly, the hope in his eyes.

“I—“ Ferris’ ears twitch and she steps to the side, narrowly dodging a crossbow bolt; it glances off a column and she wonders if armor wouldn’t go amiss. “I think now isn’t the time or place.”

Something explodes to their left and Ferris hauls the wizard up, pulling them toward cover while Karlach whoops with delight and yet another thing becomes shrapnel. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Their fingers are laced together, tight and hot and sticky with sweat; it cannot be pleasant, but Ferris gives him a brief squeeze before she draws her swords and turns to join the fray.

It isn’t until everyone is a bloody mess (alive, and most of it is not their blood) that Gale realizes Ferris had turned away from him instead of stepping back first. When she finds him, after, she hesitates for only a heartbeat before laying her hand on his shoulder and he feels instantly much better. Usually it’s Shadowheart who doles out the healing magic, with Ferris waiting until much, much later to metaphorically lick her own wounds in private, unwilling to be touched outside of her own terms.

“Don’t explode,” she pats his arm. Ferris’ eyes spark with mirth despite the group’s exhaustion and it’s the last thing his powder keg heart needs.

“For you?” Gale smiles. “I’ll do my best not to let you down.”

Chapter Text

Life returns to their version of normal. Gale goes to the Academy. Ferris does whatever jobs interest her, throwing in one or two to subsidize the others. She enjoys being able to give anonymous gifts to the people who need them more; it’s more money than she needs, or has ever made, and what doesn’t get given back gets put aside for…something.

Well, that ‘something’ has come, and she has a plan.

The first thing she needs is a time frame, so she sets herself one.

“Gale?” Ferris pokes her head into the library, eyes scanning for her wizard. She’d heard him puttering about earlier and hadn’t heard him leave, so the library was as good a guess as any—there were no mouth-watering smells from the kitchen, so that was easy to cross off.

She hears scrambling from his desk, papers shuffling, and she waltzes in just in time to see him shutting the top drawer. Ferris raises her brows but says nothing. ‘Everyone is entitled to their secrets,’ she thinks as her eyes rake over Gale’s flushed face and nervous smile.

“Hello my dear, whatever can I do for you?”

“A picnic, I think,” she perches herself on the arm of his chair, running a hand through his hair. He’d trimmed it recently, but it is still long enough for her to twirl between her musician’s fingers, to braid and play with when Gale rests his head in her lap. “Next Nine-day?”

It’ll give her the remainder of the month, which she sees as plenty of time. Then again, she’s simply…figured things out. She’ll figure it out again, no real fear or anxiety looming as her fingers twist into Gale’s curls.

“Yes,” he leans into her touch like a cat, eyes slipping closed. “Yes that sounds lovely and entirely within the realm of possibility. What inspired the request?”

She hums,, pretending to think. “Newfound confidence.”

“I do like the sound of that,” he dares an arm around her waist and Ferris relaxes into him, their bodies molding together. “Confidence suits you, you wear it as well as any finery or jewels.”

Ferris knows an opening when she sees it, and Gale seems to want this one quite badly. If she’s lucky, his mind is aligned with hers.

“I don’t wear jewels.” Shepherds have no need for diamonds and gold, and she’d never worn anything prior to their adventures. The gilding of her patron would weigh her down with melted in the ruins of that damned house, and she wouldn’t want those anyway. Things borrowed from Catriona and Morena are too glamorous and shiny, and Ferris wears exactly two rings that were both discovered along the road.

“You could, if you liked,” Gale’s eyes skim her throat. “Not everything needs to be heavy as a mantle you no longer wish to wear. Now, I myself am partial to amethyst, as you had probably guessed, a gem in my favorite shade and then some—are you keen on any?”

“You, Gale Dekarios,” she pinches his cheek and his eyes meet hers, dragging up her neck along the flutter of her pulse. “Are as subtle as a Fireball to the face.”

The wizard sighs heavily and pulls open the desk drawer. “I do apologize for my inability to keep a secret,” the papers spread across the desk and Ferris smiles. “But I was trying my hand as designing a necklace for you. I know that rings and bracelets are not your favorite to perform in—so perhaps something around your neck, based on the cut of gown you tend to favor I thought something like this.”

It’s a goldmine of sketches and ideas and there, at the bottom of the drawer, Ferris sees exactly what she wants and needs: rings. She pretends not to see, shifting her focus to the various sheets that Gale presents to her as he nudges the drawer closed, attempting to be subtle but the bard has always had keen eyes.

He taps one of the papers and Ferris takes in the design, a loose-looking, thin chain with a dangling amethyst teardrop that would settle just over the rise of her breasts, between them just enough that it wouldn’t swing. They’re nothing like the heavy, collar-like pieces she borrows from Morena when she needs adornment beyond her two simple rings, worn out of habit rather than vanity or need. Ferris prefers to put pins in her hair rather than jewelry on her body; pearls and gold shaped to look like flowers, combs with shimmering mother of pearl inlaid and delicate. They’re things she’s found in the market, or gifts of payment from craftsmen who wouldn’t otherwise be able to ‘afford’ her performances, just above the layperson but below the gentry.

If Gale wants a public claim to her, however, she is more than happy to let him have it.

“It’s nice,” she shuffles the papers. “This one too.”

It’s similar, but has three in a line, on a bar, meant to settle right between her collar bones at the base of her throat. Delicate, barely there. A crocus in spring, the first daffodil in a field.

“And gems, if any?”

Ferris slides away with a little wave. “You’ve seen what I look like wearing your colors. If you liked it, perhaps something with amethysts…I don’t know. Oh, which of them would be most pleasing to touch?”

Gale sputters, trying to parse her words. “What?”

“You love touching the jewelry when I have it on,” she says slyly, skimming her fingers between the gaps of her collar. “And that’s when it borrowed. This would be your design, your gift that you get to see and touch. So, which one?”

He clears his throat, embarrassed. “Horizontal, I think. More appropriate.”

“Perhaps the vertical one for home?”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Hmm. More like giving you an excuse.” Ferris pretends to turn away and Gale’s hand closes around her wrist, the softest, kindest sort of shackle.

“I don’t need an excuse,” he breathes, a flush high on his cheeks when he pulls her in for a kiss. “But…”

Ferris wants, more than anything, to lean in and take her place in his lap, to feel Gale’s hands on her hips, her back, wherever else he wanted to place them, really. She’s got him thinking, but she also knows he has a pile of essays to mark, especially if he’s spent time daydreaming about gifts for her to wear.

“Finish your marking, Gale Dekarios,” she murmurs against his lips. “Then I’ll hear your excuses.”

While she had never been the best tactician, Ferris knows how to craft a plan. Well, more accurately, she knows how to make all the pieces of what she wants fall into place. Sometimes they’re a bit off-center, sometimes they don’t actually pan out, but the overall idea comes together in the end and that’s all she really needs. The stakes here (marriage, if she’s lucky) are much lower than ‘life and death’, especially because she knows a few things will be simple. In place of Wyll, now, she has Catriona—and in all honesty, for this she thinks Wyll would do just as well, the romantic in him enthusiastic at the mere suggestion he’d get to plan any sort of engagement.

But she has the next best thing: her lovingly sarcastic foil.

“Cat,” Ferris says carefully as they walk, feet sore and fingers tired from hours of playing and dancing and standing. It had been a riotous party, ironically an engagement one “If I were to—“

“Yes.” It’s entirely deadpan, flat, serious.

Ferris makes a face. “You didn’t even hear what I was going to ask.”

“You don’t have to, I could hear it in your tone. If it’s anything involving you finally marrying your wizard, I am entirely in support. I will help in any way you ask, just please do it already.”

Well. That does make things easier.

“I was going to ask if it was a good idea, but clearly I know where you stand. And Morena, as well even though she hasn’t really said anything in a while.” She purses her lips. “I think at this point the whole of Waterdeep is waiting, especially after ah, recent events.”

“They are,” Cat sighs. “I’ve been telling you.”

Ferris scrunches her nose, half-way to a frown. “Alright well…I’m going to do it, and I’ll need a plan. And some co-conspirators. That means you, in case that wasn’t clear.”

They agree to meet tomorrow, and Ferris promises to have an update, and a more concrete plan.

Catriona will help her of course, and can handle the money and acquisition for Ferris (gladly, and likely with a degree of smugness). It’s her second conspirator that she’s worried about, one that could absolutely blow up the entire plan more spectacularly than when they’d harnessed the full, concentrated power of the sun

Ferris would love for a bit more support in this, would love if Astarion or Shadowheart were here, but she must work with what she has—which is far more than she’d ever thought she’d have, in the end. Ferris pokes her head into the kitchen and her heart beats faster when she catches sight of a tortoiseshell suggestion among the plants.

“Taraaaaa,” she approaches slowly and leans on the counter, standing on her toes to see into the garden window; the tressym is stretched out in the sun, her wings pillowed by mint and basil. “Might I ask a favor of you?”

“Let’s hear it.” Tara stretches but does not bother opening her eyes.

“Before I ask, just know I would never ask you to do anything that would betray or harm Gale in any way, and would only ask this of you because I think it will make him happy. Also, this would need to be kept incredibly secret.”

The tressym’s ears flick and she sits up, tucking her wings in. “I reserve the right to both refuse and to inform Mister Dekarios.”

Ferris doesn’t like the conditions, nor does she want Gale to know…but asking Tara is far easier than asking anyone else, and the tressym has warmed to her. “I need you to break into the locked drawer of his desk so I can copy the ring design he has in there.”

“Right now?” Tara’s whiskers twitch and Ferris notes a barely-concealed quiver to them.

“If you’re not busy.”

Tara hops to her shoulder, a familiar weight, and Ferris takes that as her sign to head to the library, the tressym a furry, feathery mantle that purrs as she climbs the stairs, slipping through the doors of the library and listening to make sure Gale isn’t at home. Both Ferris and Tara’s ears are attuned to the creaks and groans of the tower, so that they can differentiate them from the creaks and groans of their wizard.

Once she reaches the desk Tara jumps down, the lock on the drawer fizzling with magic before it clicks open. When Ferris raises a brow, the tressym sniffs. “It’s not really ‘breaking in’ when you’ve permission, and as Mister Dekarios’ companion of many years, I am privy to much of his life have decided that this falls under…shall we say, proper use of my powers. It is for good reason, after all.”

Ferris grins, immediately shuffling through the papers and noting their placement so she can put them back exactly as they were. However, when she gets to the rings she’d seen, her expression falls. “They’re split down the middle,” she frowns as she sketches on her own sheet of paper. The design isn’t intricate, but it’s enough that Ferris makes sure she copies his notes as well, her handwriting much clearer than Gale’s.

“Of course,” Tara’s tail flicks, curling around Ferris’ wrist where it holds the paper down; her ears are trained on the door, but since he is not currently in, Gale likely won’t be home for hours. Still, it’s better to be safe than sorry. “Why wouldn’t they be, it’s traditional.”

“They literally get cut in half?” She pauses, stares down at the paper. One of the rings is similar to the one she wears on her little finger, the silver vines made of two thin strands that are studded with emeralds, small circular leaves across the main band of it. The one Gale’s designed has amethyst flowers, small slivers of gemstone set in star burst patterns with similarly shaped gems for leaves. But his hand is so much larger, and the silver band is plain. “I’m…not sure that will work, with how much larger his hands are.”

“It usually isn’t a concern,” Tara peers down, glancing between the sheets to check her work. “But you do have delicate fingers. This may require some additional input, Miss Ferris. Human to be precise.”

“Thank you Tara, truly.” Ferris slides the drawer shut, making sure that it looks entirely undisturbed. “I promise that you won’t regret this.”

The tressym arches and flutters her wings. “I certainly hope not.”

Ferris immediately spirits the copies away to her room along with a few books she’s slowly managed to sneak away from the library without Gale noticing; one of them, a book of Waterdhavian traditions, had been slipped into her pocket the last time they’d had tea with Morena, and she doesn’t think the woman has noticed that it’s missing. If she has, she has not said anything.

The day slips away and she lights her lamps, panic growing along with the shadows as she reads up on ‘the done thing’ and compares Gale’s designs to the things described. There is no way. There’s no possible way.

She barely sleeps, her mind running through math she hasn’t had to do in years, circumference and radius and ring sizes and how how how—

Ferris barely puts herself together and rushes to meet Catriona, bursting into the tearoom. The bell over the door jingles wildly, discordant instead of a gently twinkling. Everyone is staring but she doesn’t care, she’s had more eyes on her for worse reasons as she scans the room, desperate until she sees a familiar black bob, sleek and unbothered by the chaos.

“Cat,” Ferris does not even sit down, frantic as she rounds the table. “What is this whole thing about rings? Splitting them?”

Her voice is too loud, she’s sure. Cat snorts and tugs the bard down into a chair before they can attract more attention than her entrance already had. “It’s a Waterdhavian thing, you split the wedding bands and fuse the halves together. Each gets half.”

“But our hands are so different!”

Cat shushes her, if only to stop the glares of the servers. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry your little head Ferris.”

“I hate you.”

“I already poured whiskey into your tea, you can’t hate me.”

“You’re right,” she takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment, letting the air suffuse her lungs. “I love you. Don’t tell Gale.”

“You say it to me, but have you told him?”

Tea comes out Ferris’ nose, burning both due to the temperature and the added alcohol.

“Ferris Maren Büller—“

“Not my middle name,” she chokes, trying to recover before Cat can continue. “I don’t have a middle name—“

“You’re about to propose to the most eligible bachelor in Waterdeep and you haven’t told him you love him?”

Ferris lets her head thunk against the table and Cat, realizing the attention that she’s now drawn, gently pats her shoulder as she mumbles. “It’s hard, you have no idea how hard it is.”

When Gale looks at her, eyes warm and sparkling with mischief, with affection, with exasperation, with so much love, all her bravery dies on her tongue. Every declaration of love she could dream of making seems incredibly trite, not large enough for the depth of her emotions. She doesn’t deserve him, doesn’t deserve to say those words to him, so she says everything else.

A violin bridge could be mended if broken, but it would never sound the same.

Gale had mended her, but what was she now but something that would never be correct again? He deserved something new and unbroken.

“Firstly,” Cat stirs some sugar into her tea. “It is extremely hard and you’re being very brave.”

“I am, thank you for noticing.”

“Secondly, you’ll have to tell him eventually.”

She knows. Ferris knows. “It’s not for lack of wanting, Cat. It’s…I don’t know. I see how he looks at me and I feel, deep down, that I don’t deserve any of it. That I’m living someone else’s life.”

“It feels too much like a fairy tale, doesn’t it?”

“I—“ Ferris pauses. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

“A poor shepherd girl, raised in the wild, being sent to the big city, facing adversity at every turn, only to be swept off her feet by a handsome wizard who sees her flaws and accepts them in turn? I’m sure I’ve read this one somewhere.”

Ferris rolls her eyes. “Now don’t forget the tale of the wizard, hamstrung by his own faults and follies, saved by a bard from nowhere who pulled him from a stone like a sword.”

“Sound like you two were made for each other, then.” The other bard leans back, teacup delicately cradled in her harpist’s fingers with an elegance Ferris can only feign. “Competing fairy tales, neither of them aware of the other until collision. Or wayward spell work. Now that we have that sorted out—oh don’t make a face, I’m trying to stop you from wallowing in ‘what if’s and whatnot—do you have any idea what stone…“

Her friend doesn’t finish before Ferris thunks down a massive chunk on the table, the slightest hint of pride lingering in the corners of her smile.

Catriona whistles long and low, plucking the jewel off the table and admiring it; the amethyst is raw and as large as her thumbnail, sparkling as it sends purple sprays across the table cloth and Ferris’ skin, freckling her a whole new color. “Where on earth did you find this, Ferris? It’s not exactly something you’d just…have.” She weighs it in her palm. “Then again, you were traipsing across the wilds, perhaps you had spare time and a yearning for the mines.”

The smaller bard clears her throat, glancing away, and her friend’s eyes narrow.

“Ferris,” she says sweetly. “Where did you get this?”

“So,” Ferris begins. “Remember how I um…so at the thing…Lord Lellvain openly praised my um, courtship with Gale? And addressed me specifically, to my face and in front of my mother, as ‘the young Lady Dekarios’—while also flirting with Morena, I am still processing that.”

The night had been…eventful, to say the least.

“No, you will not distract me,” Cat snaps her fingers. “What did you do?”

“I promised Lellvain my firstborn child, as he is not inclined to sire any of his own.”

Cat pales, then chokes, then collapses back into her chair in laughter. It draws the attention of the whole parlor and Ferris sips her tea as politely as she can while Cat collects herself, wiping away tears. “You did much better than Gale. He was furious for a moment before he remembered. ‘How could you do that without consulting me, how could you do that to our child’ and I just…stared at him until he realized.”

“You’re terrible.”

“My mother certainly has no idea I cannot have children, and should Gale and I ever change our minds toward it and adopt, the wording is specific enough that such a deal would never happen,” Ferris shrugs. “Lord Lellvain knew going into this deal that the intent was to incense my mother and he was entirely on board with it. He’s not partial to children, as it happens.”

“I cannot believe you,” Cat groans into her hands. “I cannot believe you managed to cut a better and worse deal than an arranged marriage.”

“I have been known to do the impossible.”

“Oh don’t look so smug, you’re an idiot. You got yours and a nice rock…whatever you do, do not tell Morena what you’ve done. She’ll get the spoon—perhaps one per hand, you’d well deserve it,” Cat looks more closely at the gem and then at the papers Ferris carefully takes out of her inner pocket. “I understand your concern about the rings now.”

“Would he consider it spitting in the face of tradition if I were to…not ignore his plain design, but to include it?” Ferris pulls a charcoal pencil from the twist of her braid. “So a plain silver band as the base, and then one that twists around it with the one he designed for me? That way it would be on both our fingers.”

Cat extends her hand for Ferris’ ring, the small one, and she passes it over. “You’re not getting the emeralds from this, they’re too small, but I think I see what you mean. Give that here,” she takes the pencil and flips over the paper, sketching quickly. “Something more like this?”

They both stare at the page before sighing. “This is hopeless.”

“Shall I Wish you had bigger hands?” Cat rolls Ferris’ ring between her fingers, slouching back in her chair. “What if they matched in spirit, rather than exactly?”

Ferris closes her eyes for a moment, mind wandering and shaping ideas before she takes the pencil. “I suppose…a thicker band,” she sketches carefully, adding in emeralds for leaves and dots of amethysts like the buds of new flowers at even intervals. Her draftsmanship has never been the best, but she tries to keep her lines neat. The outside edges of the band take on a scalloped look with the curve of the vines as she connects everything. “Gold?”

“Silver,” Cat leans forward now as Ferris rotates the page for better access to a blank spot. “It looked lovely on his hand.”

“He’s still wearing it, by the way,” Ferris grumbles and her friend smothers a laugh. “I told him I’d get him something nicer.”

“And he didn’t take the hint?”

“Cat, we are both incredibly dense people. He’s not going to ‘take a hint’ unless it’s offered to him on a platter with a sign that says ‘hint’.” She mimics the leaves and vines of Gale’s ring with a larger center stone, leaves curling around it to cradle it. “This has to be something that can be made before the next tenday.”

“Short notice,” Cat points out.

“I can afford it,” Ferris shrugs. “I hardly ever spend money, I may as well spend it on this. By the way I need you to get these made. It’ll be too obvious if I’m the one seen.”

“Delightful,” Cat says dryly. I’ve always wanted to be a courier.”

“It’s always good to have backup options if our careers in the arts fail us,” Ferris replies just as deadpan. “I, for example, have aspirations of being a housewife to a very famous wizard.”

Catriona laughs so hard she cries, and they are very politely (far more politely than Ferris thinks they deserve) asked to leave the teahouse.

The small box sits heavily in the pocket of her woolen sweater, chosen both for warmth and the fact that the chunky knit hides deep green velvet and the nervous tremble to her usually steady fingers. Ferris hasn’t been able to focus since Cat slipped her the box yesterday afternoon with a conspiratorial smile and most of her money.

“We’ll need to perform at a remembrance ceremony and, before you try and blame me for the discount, know that the offer was extended before I even present her the coin purse.” Cat examined her fingernails while Ferris thumbed over the silver latch, so delicate that it could hardly contain a combined future.

“But you did make sure something was paid?”

Cat had scoffed. “Of course, I’m not a novice. I made sure about half made it into a worn pouch in a drawer, to be found at a later date.”

They’d met for a walk and the hand-off had been so simple, how could something so monumental take no more than a breath, a handful of heartbeats?

In her pocket, Ferris’ thumb presses into the clasp to remind her of its solidity, its realness.

“Ah, there you are.” Gale’s voice, distant from the library door, startles her out of a daze. It’s so early that the sky is still gray, the ever-warming spring sun yet unable to burn the marine layer from the city. “My mother heard about our outing this afternoon and asked if she could accompany us. It has been a while since she left Waterdeep proper and believes a picnic would do her good. I know it’s short notice but…”

Ferris clears her throat, standing up for something to do and crossing the library. Gale will want to take breakfast together, something light while they prepare picnic fare and pack a basket of necessities. “I suppose?”

“Was it meant to be private?”

She sighs softly into Gale’s chest when he opens his arms; it’s safe in the circle of his embrace, warm and perfect. “No, no it’s alright. I just thought we deserved a moment to ourselves for a bit, after everything that’s happened.”

“You are wonderful,” he kisses her brow. “I love you immensely.”

‘And I you’, she wants to say. ‘I love you, I adore you, I am yours forever.’ She wraps her arms around his middle, face buried in his chest as she squeezes. A life for a life.

“Goodness, that’s quite the hug. Are you alright?”

His smile is her soft undoing.

“Yes, I’m fine. Everything is fine, Gale.”

For once, it actually is.

It’s quick work to finish the sandwiches and make sure everything is safely packed away in the wicker basket, the straps securely over Ferris’ shoulders; Gale had offered but she is more than used to carrying heavier loads for longer, she can easily handle lunch and tea. “Your mother will be able to make the climb?”

“She isn’t feeble,” Gale sighs. “Don’t let her hear you question her ability, she’ll get the spoon out.”

“Good thing we didn’t pack one,” she replies happily, skipping ahead. It’s been too long since she was out of the city and the promise of it makes her skin itch, makes her feet lighter and her gait looser. The moment they’re out and off the streets, Ferris has every intention of removing her trusty boots to feel the grass beneath her soles, the warming earth pressing up to meet her. “I’ll go on ahead and set everything up, shall I?”

Gale can see her nearly vibrating with the need to run, to climb. “We’ll meet you there,” he agrees. “Go on.”

It’s all the permission she needs, nervous energy speeding her more than any Haste spell could, not that one could touch her now. Ferris slips between people, a minnow in a stream, the pack on her back not even registering as additional weight. The gates of Waterdeep are open as usual and in a breath she is through them. She doesn’t hate the city, not at all—Ferris loves the people she sees regularly, loves her friends and the sea and sleeping in a bed regularly. She loves that Gale is there, mostly, and if he’s happy then she is as well.

Ferris splits off from the road, unlacing her boots and tying the laces together before taking a steeper path up the cliffs. It feels so good to climb, to feel the wind grab at her skirts and the end of her braid but it doesn’t threaten to pull her from the path and throw her from the rocks. If anything it leads her on and her muscles burn, her fingers ache in a way that instruments cannot replicate, her toes dig into the crevices in rocks as she hauls herself up, up, higher and higher until she’s gazing out over the whole of Waterdeep and the waves beyond, heart pounding and her blood soaring. It’s so quiet, just her pulse, the whispers of the tall grass, pierced by the cry of a gull.

She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, the smell of grass and lingering salt strong enough to taste as she enjoys the lack of city noise for a moment before she turns to the cluster of broad trees further from the cliff edge. The branches sprawl and tangle, many of them low to the ground and perfect for sitting. She loves the color, so unlike the scrubby trees she was used to as a child. The foliage is the color of rust and Gale had called it an iron tree when she’d asked and brought back a small branch. She’d been delighted to learn that it had medicinal properties and was also used for ships, the wood fine and strong.

“It reminds me of you,” he’d said, eyes soft as he looked between her and the cluster of leaves in his hand. “Resilient, brave, strong beyond measure.”

Ferris had made a face and brushed aside Gale’s comments, but she understands herself better now and she sees the connection. Her iron name, the way she squares her shoulders to face the world no matter what is thrown at her.

The tree is easy to climb, once she sets down her pack and spreads out the picnic blanket in the deep shade where it is cool and dark, and the many trunks allow her to reach the canopy quickly, poking her head from the leaves. Her eyes catch on two figures splitting from the road, making for the gently sloping path up to the cliff top. It will be close to another hour for Gale and Morena to reach her and their chosen tree; Ferris feels her nerves threatening to overtake her and she touches the small box in her pocket again, making sure it hasn’t fallen out along the way.

She has no idea what she’s doing. She hasn’t planned at all—what does one say when they…when she…perhaps if she stays in the tree, no one will look for her. Is she supposed to get down on one knee, or is that for men? Should she just take out the box and shove it into Gale’s hands? That doesn’t feel like the best way, but he’d probably understand her and why she’s suddenly gone mute. This was easier when she was tipsy and surrounded by strangers, feet dusty and aching from dancing—

Ferris scrambles down from the tree, narrowly avoiding a tumble the last few feet. She knows what she needs to do, and she’s only got an hour to find the right materials. There’s lavender aplenty, which suits her just fine. It’s the right color, will look beautiful against Gale’s rich, brown hair. And there are aromatic components as well but the season is changing and things are still in bloom. Her small, silver knife is as quick as her wit, and Ferris begins to craft.

It’s an easy walk—Gale hesitates to even call it a ‘hike’, especially because he knows the route Ferris prefers, the one direct up the rocky face of the cliff that zigs and zags and has hairline switchbacks that make him dizzy to think about—and soon enough he and his mother have reached the top. He knows why Ferris loves it here, so used to flat planes and tundra that the ability to see across the whole of Waterdeep and out to sea appealing in ways she doesn’t know how to describe. It settles her heart and calms her soul, too, and he cannot begrudge her that. His place is in the city, and hers is not.

She’s here somewhere, likely up the slope, but the shade of the tree is lovely after a walk, especially one that is entirely uphill, and he takes a moment to enjoy the reprieve. Ferris had chosen a spot with low branches, almost a living cradle that was protected on a few sides; defensible, whether she was aware of it or not.

“Go on,” Morena settles herself on the blanket, reaching for the neatly wrapped sandwiches and fruit to lay it out. “Collect your bard so we might enjoy the day.”

He give a nod, his eyes scanning the grass for Ferris, her blue-gray dress blending her in with the Waterdeep skyline; there are sections of the cliff top where the plants tower, their flowering stalks reaching toward the sun and scenting the air, but he sees Ferris near the edge, a crown of flowers and greenery atop her head and camouflaging her among the native flora.

Gale makes his way through the herbs, trailing his fingers the same way he’s seen Ferris do, channeling her desire to touch and experience the world with her hands, those hands that have killed and healed and caressed his skin with the same reverence she gives the petals of flowers.

Her hands deftly weave another crown, different to the ones from the solstice. Gale has never been one for flowers, knows that the available materials are not the same, but it does not matter: the way she braids the lavender and clary sage is beautiful to watch. He waits, content to follow the nimble movement of her fingers. When she finishes, she stands and places the crown on his head; he ducks a bit to make it easier.

“Months ago, I said you looked like a groom.”

Ferris’ touch lingers at his temples, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and tracing the shell; the path of her fingers burn and Gale is intensely focused on her, all of her.

“I thought you didn’t remember,” he begins slowly, trying to hide the growing hope that threatens to choke him. “You didn’t say anything.”

“And I thought you were humoring me, and then the next day you were too polite to say anything about my foolish words.” She is only a little embarrassed, and Gale takes this as a good sign. “Well I’ve given it plenty of thought since then, so would you like to be?”

Gale blinks. “Like to be what?”

“My groom,” Ferris replies, flushing pink in a way that has nothing to do with the sun or the heat of late spring. “Would you be opposed?”

Gale pretends to think about his answer; in reality, he wonders whether Ferris would want Halsin on Shadowheart to perform the ceremony, and where he’d like the location to be—it would be easier to have it in Reithwin, especially if there’s to be a bonfire after. They could host everyone in Waterdeep, of course, but there is something about Ferris that simply begs to be surrounded by trees and open night air.

A slow smile breaks across his face when he realizes he can just…ask.

“Gale? Oh this was stupid, I—“

“Will you make the crowns again?” He rests a hand at her back to keep her from running. He can feel his mother’s gaze from across the meadow, and he ducks his head to speak more quietly. “I think fern and baby’s breath would serve, but I defer to your expertise.”

Ferris blinks up at him, at the mischievous crinkle around his eyes. “Wait, you’re serious.”

“Maybe honeysuckle as well, it would look beautiful with your hair.”

“You’re having me on.”

“No,” he corrects with a roll of his eyes. “I’m trying to plan our wedding.”

She stares at him a moment, searching his face for any hint of a trick—as if he would ever do something so cruel. When she finds nothing of the sort, Ferris throws herself at him, arms around his neck as she kisses him with everything she is, was, and ever would be. Gale falls in the grass when she tugs him down, careful to cradle Ferris’ head and not crush her beneath him even as he laughs against her mouth, heart full to bursting.

“Gods,” she tangles her fingers into his hair, pulls him down for another kiss, then another. “You’d really say ‘yes’, you’d really marry me?”

“Of course,” he murmurs against her lips. “Of course I would, I have wanted to since the moment I met you.”

Ferris’ head tips back as she laughs and he kisses her jaw, her neck. “You’re a liar, Gale Dekarios.”

“Alright, nearly the moment.”

“Liar.”

“Within the tenday.”

“Liar.”

“By the end of the second.”

“Liar,” she kisses him properly, slightly squishing his cheeks between her palms. “But it’s alright, I forgive you. I didn’t like me either.”

“I loved you then, even if I didn’t know it. I love you now, and I shall love you until I breathe my last. To answer the question you haven’t asked: yes, Ferris, I will marry you.”

Ferris doesn’t want to think about lasts. She wants to think about firsts, about eternity. Wizards live a long time, after all. “I’m your champion, and I will fight for you, forever. This life, the next, and into eternity.”

She kisses him again, again, again.

Morena is overjoyed, if a little exasperated. “If you could hold off a tenday to announce it, I’d win the betting pool I have with the ladies at cards.”

It has Ferris doubled over laughing, her flower crown barely hanging on as she wheezes; he gently pats her back as she draws in lungfuls of air.

“Really, mother,” he tries to be serious even as his mouth twitches. “Betting on your own son, and a beloved friend and soon-to-be addition to the family.”

The bard coughs, hauling herself up. “How much are we talking?”

“Ferris.”

“Well, I’d intended for it to cover the wedding itself, Gale said it would be a smaller halfling-orientated affair. So I thought—“

“Oh?” She turns to him, fluttering her lashes, and he senses a dangerous note in her voice, one that says ‘I am never letting you live this down’. “Gale, were got going to tell me you were quietly planning our wedding? Or was I to find out later?”

“I was not planning anything, I was merely researching.” He can feel his face flushing and he clears his throat. “I assumed—that is not to say you wouldn’t want certain things, but perhaps I was quick to assume that you would wish to marry in the first place. Well. At the time. Now, however—“

“Gale,” Ferris bumps him with her shoulder, jostling him out of his word jumble. “It’s charming, don’t worry so much. I’m flattered you put any thought into this at all.”

It has him curious, but he suspects he already knows the answer; Ferris, while seemingly impulsive, would have internalized every option within seconds, her mind a constantly whirling dervish. “Did you?”

“Absolutely not, beyond initial panic.”

“Good to know you’re predictable.”

“Oh, I’ve wanted to marry you for a long time, I think,”she stares up at him, bright and defiant. “I’d already promised to stay by your side.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

It’s not important, not in the least, but Gale still asks. “Since when, if you know it.”

“The night before Moonrise, when I sang you a lullaby. Something in me knew it was not the end, but I mistook the sound of you saying my name as a dream, as part of my soul. Then, for sure.”

Morena coughs. The two of them startle, Gale’s red deepening and Ferris looking only a little embarrassed. “That’s all well and good to know my oblivious son is bringing an oblivious daughter into the family. Now let us enjoy the spread before it gets too late and we can return home. Gods only know you two will want to celebrate.”

She doesn’t add any emphasis on the word but Ferris bites her lip to hide a smile, eyes cutting over to Gale as she settles on the picnic blanket in the most ladylike way she can manage despite the weakness in her knees, leftover nerves from her impromptu proposal. There’s always the chance Gale will change his mind, always the potential he will come to his senses over watercress sandwiches and tea that he warms mug by mug with only a hint of effort. Ferris accepts her tea, steam curling off the surface, and forces herself to eat something out of both politeness and need.

She hadn’t accounted for how squirmy the thought of actually marrying Gale would make her feel, how unsettled she’d be as a fiancée rather than just…whatever they were before. The wizard seems entirely unaffected, aside from constantly smiling whenever their eyes met, or whenever he seemed to think of her.

Midday comes and goes, the days getting longer and providing golden light for them to pack up and walk down. This time, Ferris takes the low road; she doesn’t put her shoes back on, much to Morena’s disappointment, but she does promise to lace them back up before they enter the city. Gale keeps a hand on her back the entire way, as he’d insisted on carrying the basket for the return trip.

“We’ve a few errands to run before we return to the tower,” he says, and Ferris’ full attention switches from tying her boots to his words. They’re near the road and Morena had stopped them and insisted she put them on, and Gale takes the opportunity to yap. “Something for dinner, to start.”

“There’s time this afternoon to start the paperwork,” his mother says, and it perks Ferris’ ears. “Not that there’s a rush.”

Gale laughs as she straightens. “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

They part with Morena, tearfully on her part and with many tight embraces, and Ferris promises to keep their engagement under wraps; only Gale sees her crossed fingers within the folds of her skirt and once Morena’s door closes, she grabs his hand and leads him away.

“How easily promises are broken,” he teases, but Ferris snorts.

“I love your mother, but I also value my life. There’s someone else who made this engagement happen and if I don’t tell her, there won’t be a wedding at all. Because I’ll be dead, just to be extremely clear.”

He goes easily through the streets, a pleasant smile plastered to his face the entire time. “Can’t have that, can we?”

“Absolutely not,” Ferris agrees, pulling him to a stop and taking a deep breath.

Gale really should have been paying attention, but it’s too late to suggest a lower volume or perhaps a knock at the door.

“Cat!” Ferris shouts up at the window and Gale tries to hide his face. They get a few glances, but no one tells the bard to quiet down and he assumes this area is used for some degree of chaos.

Or they’re used to Ferris.

Either option is equally likely in this moment, and when he looks at the curtained doors off the balconette there is movement within. Ferris waits patiently, a placid smile on her face.

“Not going to call again?”

“No,” she has her eyes fixed on the doors. “Cat said not to come up because she’d have a gentleman caller, so I’m calling her from here where it is safe.”

Gale makes a noise of agreement and the doors open quickly, Cat stepping out with her hair a mess and a housecoat nearly falling off her person. “I’m otherwise occupied Ferris, what do you want?”

She takes his hand and interlaces their fingers before holding them up and shouting. “I find myself recently affianced.”

It takes Cat a moment to process, blinking down at them before she gasps and scrambles back inside, the doors still wide open and they can hear the scramble of her getting dressed enough to be presentable and a male voice that seems quite confused. In record time and in a barely-acceptable state of dress, Catriona bursts out of the doors and tackles Ferris into a hug so tight that Gale worries for her ribcage. It lifts his bard off her feet and Cat spins her with glee, nearly cackling her delight and congratulations, following it with hushed warning.

“Behave, before he comes down. He’s going to be embarrassed to his bones about this, so be nice.”

“Ooo, you like him.”

“Gale,” Cat turns up her nose and crosses her arms. “Divorce her. She’s wicked.”

“I’m aware,”he replies, putting on his best neutral face. “One of her better qualities, but you’ll note that I cannot divorce her, as we are only engaged.”

“Damn.”

A few minutes later, a familiar face descends the stairs and seems like he wishes he could make a hasty retreat. “Good afternoon, Professor.”

“Corlin?” Gale asks. “Whatever are you doing here?”

The man gives him a blank stare, possibly waiting for Gale to put two and two together.

“I introduced them,” Ferris says from Cat’s arms. “He asked me if we were truly courting and I said we were, and he looked so sad—so I said ‘well I’ve a friend you might like’ and I would guess they did like each other.”

He glances to Corlin, then back at the women as Cat sets Ferris back on her feet. “He really wasn’t joking.”

“Hush,” Cat admonishes him, her tone light and joking. “He is ever a gentleman, it just happens that I am not what one would call ‘a perfect lady’.”

Ferris snorts and Cat tugs her braid.

“I suppose congratulations are in order then, Dekarios,” Corlin slides in close to Cat, an arm around her waist. “And in so short a time.”

“I will set you on fire,” Gale replies pleasantly, but there’s no anger in it, just happy teasing. Between himself and Catriona, there’s no way the younger man stands a chance if he makes Ferris even the least bit unhappy—and Gale suspects that if he and Ferris were to catch wind of a broken heart, Corlin would find himself equally put out. “Ferris wanted you to be the first to know, Catriona, aside from my mother…and I’m not sure how quickly the word will spread, but I suspect the ladies at cards will be less likely to part with their coin if there’s any gossip.”

Cat shrugs. “People around here are used to a little bit of chaos and it doesn’t spread too far. Now,” she clears her throat. “Not to be rude, but I suspect you’ll want to celebrate, and there are things I’d like to get back to as well.”

“Goodness,” Ferris deadpans as the other wizard’s face goes an alarming shade of scarlet. “I hope you’ve got a sound constitution, Corlin—you’ll need it.”

Gale takes his bard by the shoulder and steers her away. “Enjoy the day, expect a more official announcement than an impromptu town crier to come at a later date, perhaps with an invitation.”

Ferris laughs and lets herself be guided away, turning to wave a quick goodbye before they’re out of sight. “Invitations? Is that something we need to worry about now?”

“Once we decided on a date for the ceremony. If we have one,” he adds quickly. “We don’t have to, if you’re not interested. I’m sure my mother will be a bit put out, but this is for us, not for others.”

He carries on about invitations, ceremonies, notes, traditions, plans, and Ferris is content to let him for a few minutes until it feels overwhelming; then her mind wanders, trying to navigate all that she doesn’t know. Marriage in Bospir had been quick, no clerics or religion involved, and she’s fairly certain there was no paperwork either, not the way Gale is describing. Two hands, bound together, the exchange of coin or livestock—gods, she’s got no dowry, does that matter? Not to Gale, not that he’d want sheep or goats, and she’s certain her father wouldn’t put up any of the flock for her hand, ruined as he sees her.

But she doesn’t need a flock, doesn’t need a cleric or god’s approval—it sounds like, to make their marriage official in a city like Waterdeep, they just need to sign some papers and register their joining.

Ferris’ steps slow as her mind races, when they’re a few streets from the tower, and she can feel Gale dragging slightly at her side before he slows too, eventually stopping. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

“Gale, can we…what if we just did it, here and now?”

“Did what?”

“Sign a marriage certificate,” she says.

“Instead of only registering it? I’m sure we could,” his tone turns teasing. “Why? Are you having second thoughts?”

“No!” Ferris squeezes his hand tightly. “No I—it’s just, I’ve wasted so much time being alone and afraid, why spend any more time without you?”

“You have me with or without paperwork, Ferris.”

“And you have me with or without a flock,” she replies. Gale visibly shudders at that and she knows he’s thinking of the logistics of having a massive amount of sheep at the tower; it makes her laugh and Gale takes her hand.

“There’s a few hours before they close,” he says softly. “If you’re serious.”

She takes a step back, then another, their hands still joined and then she’s tugging him along down a different street, in the opposite direction of the tower. “We’d better hurry, in case the lines are long.”

Gale follows after and it takes everything in him not to run, not to sweep Ferris into his arms and whoop with joy and race to the offices with Hasted heels. It probably wouldn’t work with his bard in his arms, but it’s a thought that makes his heart beat faster.

As it turns out, there are no lines. There’s not even a single person ahead of them. Ferris hesitates at the threshold but Gale is familiar enough with permits, filing, paperwork, and bureaucracy that he takes the lead, never letting their hands part. His bard, his fiancée, sticks close by his side in the vaulted, sterile building, eyes wandering over columns and doors. “It’s so…quiet.”

“Were you not here to get performance permits?”

She shakes her head. “No, Cat handled those—it was deemed ‘unwise’ to put me anywhere near a clerk. for their own sake, of course.”

Gale finds the correct window and clears his throat, getting the attention of the young half-elven man behind the bars. “Good afternoon, is it too late to sign a marriage certificate?”

Dark eyes scan the two of them with mild interest; there’s no way he is unaware of Gale and his status, and at this point Ferris has accepted her own mild fame. People know who they are, and she’s sure this will end up spoken about over this man’s post-work drinks. “Not too late, no. Any change of name paperwork you’d like to file?”

There’s panic in Ferris’ eyes, brief and bright, but Gale shakes his head. “Not at the moment. We haven’t decided, you see. Is that something that must be done now, or can it wait?”

The clerk shrugs. “Most people do it at the same time, but it can be done at your leisure. Doesn’t even have to be marriage related, people change their names all the time. Now, any record at a temple, or with any chosen deity?”

Gale had attended a few Mystran weddings. When he was younger, he’d assumed he’d have one of his own in the future, the Ring and the stars and the lights and the Weave. Exchanging vows suspended in the air, kissing a faceless future spouse and joining their palms. Nothing, at the time, could be greater than Mystra’s blessing upon his union.

But Ferris cannot use the Art, not anymore. While out entirely out of favor, Gale isn’t sure he wants his former lover and current goddess involved. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to have an officiant there to confirm their vows, or a more senior wizard. They’re not dressed in their finery—in fact, Ferris has grass stains on her knees and traces of mud at the hem of her skirts and he’s almost certain his shirt has a tear in the elbow (it takes immense willpower not to twist his arm around to check).

“No record,” Ferris says, her hand squeezing his and pulling him from his thoughts. It’s not that he mourns that potential future, no, it’s that he’d never imagined this one. How blind he’d been to all the strange possibilities. “No gods.”

“No problem,” the clerk finishes. “Right, you’ll both need to sign here and here,” he indicates blank lines with the tip of a clean pen nib. “I can sign as a witness if you don’t have one, by your leave.”

“Perfect,” Gale agrees quickly, taking the paper and the offered pen. There’s an ink pot on their side of the counter and he dips it, tapping the nib to make sure the ink won’t splatter when he signs his name before he passes it to Ferris. Her handwriting is always lovely, lines looping and delicate, and it’s never been more perfect than in this moment.

She stares for a moment after setting the pen down, watching the black lines sink into the page with wonderment.

“There’s still time,” Gale nudges her.

Ferris startles out of her trance and fans the paperwork with her hands. “No, no, the ink is dry. It’s too late, you’re stuck with me.”

The clerk looks puzzled but not alarmed as he takes the paper from them, checking it for correctness before he signs his name and stamps it. “Congratulations on your marriage, Professor Gale Dekarios and,” he glances down, hesitating with the stamp. “Ferris of no specified surname. Hmm. I’m not sure…”

“To my knowledge, there is no record of my birth. Any surname would be unofficial at best, as I’m from a very small village in a very remote are of Cormyr,” Ferris lies. It’s not really a lie, there’s no way for them to know if Aureliana had noted her daughter’s birth or if Loren had either. “As far as I am concerned, I only have the one name.”

It’s clear the young man isn’t paid to care about their reasons and he purses his lips. “If you don’t list a surname, it’ll be filed under the one given. You’ll legally be ‘Ferris Dekarios’ the way this is written.”

She glances up at Gale with a half shrug. “It’ll match the mail, I suppose.”

“If you’re alright with it.” He tries to his tone even, to keep the excitement out of it at the thought of Ferris with his surname even if it’s due to a quirk of Waterdeep’s filing. “I see no issue.”

Ferris smiles, then turns to the clerk. “You heard the man. ‘Ferris Dekarios’ it is.”

With a few scratches of a pen the amendment is made, the stamp coming down in the requisite box. “There you are then. Congratulations.”

His wife nods before reaching up, grabbing his collar, and hauling him down for a kiss.

“Tara!” Gale calls the second they’re in the door, nearly dropping Ferris over the threshold—it had been a joke, initially, though once the gate was open he swept her off her feet just to hear her laugh, but Ferris has always been denser than her figure would belay and he didn’t mean to catch the toe of his shoe on the frame. “Tara are you in?”

They disentangle themselves, laughter and complaints mixed in equal measure as the tressym appears at the top of the steps. “What foolishness have I walked in on?”

“We’re married!” Ferris spreads her arms wide and nearly hits Gale in the face when he bends to take off his boots.

Tara watches the comedy of errors below with a detached aloofness, tail flicking. “Yes. Well, it’s about time—married?” The two of them look a tiny bit guilty and Ferris can only shrug. Tara sighs , breathes deeply and then sighs again. “Congratulations, I really shouldn’t be all that surprised.”

She threads through their legs and the door cracks open. “Where are you going?” Gale asks, Ferris poking her head out from around him.

“I’ll be elsewhere,” she stretches her wings. “It seems the wisest course of action.”

Neither of them have anything to say to that, other than ‘goodnight’, watching the tressym leave.

“You know,” Ferris says, staring at the door a few seconds after Tara takes off. “If she goes to your mother, we’re in loads of trouble.”

“Gods forbid a man marry his fiancée in this day and age,” Gale sighs. “Nothing to be done about it but celebrate while we still have peace.”

They end up on the library balcony, curled in on one another. Gale has his wine and Ferris her whiskey, a similar shade to her hair.

“I’ve never been fond of whiskey,” he says after a while. “Something about the way it burns on the tongue.”

Ferris hums in response and takes a slow drink, letting it sit in her mouth long enough to feel the burn he means before she swallows and kisses him, insistent and exploring. Gale can taste the lingering bite of alcohol, the sharpness of it dulled to something tolerable by Ferris’ mouth.

“Much more pleasant,” he sets his glass down and shifts so Ferris is in his lap, legs astride. “All it needed was a fiancé to temper the taste.”

She takes another sip. “Technically, I am your legal wife.”

“True, you are correct,” he agrees easily, and Ferris kisses him again; he holds her tightly, almost afraid to wake from what must be a wonderful dream. “You made sure that ink dried quickly.”

“I did.” Ferris sets her glass down next to his, the deep red of his remaining wine almost purple in the dwindling light out over the bay. “Now, what do married people do?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been married before.”

“What a coincidence, neither have I.” She straddles his lap, hitching up her skirts so they don’t catch on his knees when he shifts beneath her. “I suppose, if we consider the words of assorted friends and family, we simply carry on as before but with rings on our fingers.”

Gale nearly unseats her when he jolts up. “Rings! Oh, Ferris, I hadn’t thought—that’s not to say I didn’t think this would happen, but I assumed I had more time.”

She waits until his panic subsides, a hand on his chest to keep him in place. “About that,” she clears her throat, digging a hand into her pocket. “I took the liberty of ignoring tradition and doing something a little different given—“

“—the difference in ring size, yes that is something I ran into.” He peers down at the box cradled between Ferris’ palms. “May I?”

A nod is all he gets, Ferris far too nervous to say ‘yes’ or ‘go on’ or even crack a joke. Gale opens the little box with immense care, the silver of their rings sparkling in the candle light that surrounds them. His breath catches and he reaches out a single finger to trace the bands.

“Please say something,” she whispers, eyes fixed on his face; his expression is one of awe, and she thinks he likes what she’d designed, but without words it’s hard to tell.

Gale carefully takes the box from her hands, carefully plucks the smaller ring from the groove before setting it on the table, and then takes Ferris’ hand in his. “I know we’ve done this in entirely the wrong order,” his voice is choked, as soft as her whisper and intended for just the two of them. “And if you’d like, we can do it all over again with a ceremony and I can properly write something down, because you know I do not handle improvisation well and therefore will not try. You’re the poet, not I. I love you, and that’s the truth of it.”

The ring is cool as it slides onto her finger but Gales hands are always so, so warm. Ferris cannot help the giddy smile that takes over her face and when she meets Gale’s eyes she sees the same happiness and awe in him. Ferris takes the box, runs her thumb over the edge of the larger ring, silver and indigo and green, and then brings his hand up to her lips to kiss each knuckle; she hopes that she can convey everything her words fail to. She thinks it does. She hopes it does.

“Do you want to keep the other ring?”

“Perhaps I’ll switch it to the right,” he says. “But I would like to keep the memory.”

Gale’s mind, prior to Ferris, would have been racing with enchantment possibilities, uses for the ring she swaps to his right hand, and the ring she slides onto the other. Now all he wants to do is remember the way the light reflects in her eyes, the way they glitter with unconsciously gathered tears of joy as she admires the silver on his hand. Now all he can think about is Ferris, all he wants to think about is Ferris.

“And now,” she places a last, lingering kiss to the ring and he can feel the warmth of her breath. “Everyone knows you’re mine.”

“People knew that long, long ago,” he winds his hand into her hair, tips her head back so he can press their lips together. “I think, perhaps, before the two of us did.”

“How dare you side with all our family, friends, acquaintances, and strangers?” She slips her fingers into the gap between his shirt collar and skin, cool compared to how hot Gale always runs. Ferris follows the pattern she traces with her lips, light and teasing, barely a whisper of touch. “I promised to stay with you, no matter what, and I keep my promises.”

There are a few ways the night could go and, with his wife in his lap, Gale narrows it down to two options, both of which he likes equally. They’ll kiss some more and revel in the effervescent happiness of their legal marriage, or he’ll get her off so many times her legs shake and he has to carry her to bed. They could do both, of course, but his mind cannot focus at the tickle of her lips, the cold shock when she presses the tip of her nose to the warm racing of his pulse, breath ghosting against skin.. “I’m with you Gale, here, now, always.”

“I adore you,” he gasps, head falling back and letting Ferris kiss down his throat, and he can feel her huffed laughter against his skin. “It’s you who hung the sun and moon, and all the stars in the sky.”

“You must be drunk,” she replies jokingly.

“Yes,” he says; not from the wine or the lingering whiskey taste of Ferris’ kisses, but intoxicated by Ferris herself. Most of his wine and her whiskey sit untouched on the table, forgotten in favor of improvised vows. She sits up to take him in, the mess she’s made of his hair, his clothes, bruises nipped into the soft skin of his throat. Above him, illuminated by stars and candlelight, Ferris is equally undone and he reaches up to trace the shell of an ear, following the edge of her jaw before cupping her cheek. “You should consider catching up.”

She leans herself against the warmth of his chest. “I’m far ahead of you; I wouldn’t say I always have been, but it is just as strong.”

Gale laughs into her hair, his hand warm against the nape of her neck he gives her a gentle squeeze that has his bard, his wife melting even further into his hold, stretching against him with pleasant friction. There’s more than just wine heating his blood now and he shifts so Ferris is fully atop him, fully in control, but she does nothing more than settle like a contented cat, their bodies close and his heart beating against hers.

“May I sleep in your bed?” Ferris asks softly, eyes looking out over the darkness of the water and gazing at some unknown shore. He’ll have to take them across the sea, take Ferris to every continent so he can introduce her as his wife to every stranger who asks, and even to those who do not. Gale leans down to kiss the crown of her head.

“Of course,” he replies. “Is this your way of saying you’d like to go to bed?”

“Just to sleep, I think.” Ferris sits up in his lap and his eyes fix on where she traces the band of her ring absently with her thumb, still getting used to the weight of all it means. “I’d like to be beside you.”

“Anything you want, my love,” and he follows her closely, never far out of reach as they move through the tower and oh, how Ferris reaches for him, the backs of her fingers brushing against skin, velvet, whatever she can manage, and he does the same. The linen of her dress, the cords of the laces at the back, the tip of her braid and the ribbon in her hair. He undresses her with that same soft reverence, and she follows his lead until they’re both bare. Gale reaches for the shirt she likes to sleep in, but Ferris simply climbs into bed, her curves lit by soft candlelight that falls into hollow shadows. He can no longer see each rib, and Gale wonders at how much has changed as he slides beneath the sheets.

The two of them lay side by side, only their little fingers hooked together; Gale wonders if he’s breathing too loudly, based on how Ferris is struggling to drift off when she tries to say something.

“I—“

He cannot help but think of a time before, when she’d been wine-brave and had stormed into the library. She’d cut herself off then, too.

Gale squeezes her finger.

“I understand, Ferris. It’s alright.”

He doesn’t need her to say it.

He already knows.

Chapter Text

“And you remember Ferris, of course.”

It takes her a moment but Tara does remember the girl from the roof, the one with the stormy blue eyes that reminded her of inclement weather, sparkling with life and wonder and who had knelt to Tara’s level with a wave of her hand and asked ‘and who might you be?’ instead of treating her like a common pet. She remembered the girl who smelled vaguely of Mr. Dekarios and campfire smoke, but this was not the same one.

This girl was a shell of herself, smaller than usual and pale. The sun had been leeched from her hair and skin, the life from her eyes.

“Of course,” she sniffs.

She doesn’t like that Mr. Dekarios, a renowned wizard, has brought home a stray, but she is polite. Resolves to be cordial.

Especially given the way he looks at her when the bard isn’t looking, adoration written plainly across his face and care in his eyes. The girl needs a kind hand and a soft place to settle, and their nest is deemed the proper place for it.

Oddly, she smells less like Mr. Dekarios than she had on the roof, but Tara does not question their strange relationship; humans do things differently, but Ferris doesn’t seem to know how humans do things at all.

“Hello again, Tara.” The tressym-speak rolls off the bard’s tongue with ease, her language skills and desire to make a good impression coming together to ruffle Tara’s feathers.

“Common is fine,” she replies shortly, ruffling her wings. Ferris doesn’t flinch away or frown, and she sees Mr. Dekarios’ secret little smile. “You’re a few hours early, the tower is not prepared.”

The Message had come in yesterday, asking her to make sure the room on the floor below his, ‘the one with the nice window seat’ was habitable for a guest. Tara had wondered, suspected, that it would be someone from his party.

She’s still surprised it’s this someone. There were capable magic wielders, stronger and more powerful individuals by far. Tara remembers…she remembers a version of this girl, illuminated by sun and strength, gilded by importance and confidence. It is the same person, but a shade.

The girl is one breath away from being a ghost, but that is not something Tara says aloud; it wouldn’t be polite, for one, and it would likely displease Mr. Dekarios.

Ferris is something of a ghost, not that Tara believes in such silly things as hauntings. She’s more solid than a spirit, and it makes her rapid decline far more evident than the fading of the ethereal. The girl was not the picture of health upon her arrival but she’s shocked that Mr. Dekarios has not noticed yet. True, he has been busy establishing himself in Waterdeep again, multiple meetings with those at the Academy, former merchant and vendor contacts for things that kept the tower running smoothly. Tara has seen Mr. Dekarios at his worst, and his attention tends to fix on certain things at the cost of others. In this case, their house guest.

“Come here,” the tressym says from her perch on the kitchen table, no room for disobedience in her tone. Ferris stills instantly, caught in the act of making a cup of tea. Th girl stares at Tara owlishly for a moment before hr eyes linger on an unfamiliar comb and brush. “Sit.”

The bard does so, and Tara hops up on the chair behind her, their eyes meeting in the glass of the window.

“You will take down your hair and brush it.”

“It’s fine, really, I don’t—“

“I am going to count to one.”

The girl undoes her braids as instructed, and Tara does not miss the way she flinches when the twists don’t fall apart. Carefully, she picks apart the locked up strands, long and in need of a wash. Tara waits until Ferris has one side brushed. “After this, you will have a bath. A proper one. Then you will come down and have a meal.”

“I don’t need mothering,” she grumbles, ripping the brush unkindly through the ends of her hair.

Tara stretches a wing and grooms her feathers, putting on her most unbothered airs. “Apparently you do, and having raised a wizard I deem myself a suitable replacement.”

Ferris doesn’t say anything as she works through her hair and it’s much longer than Tara had anticipated now that it’s freed from the plait the bard prefers.

The girl isn’t broken, but she certainly isn’t whole. She needs far more than a tressym and a man (as much as Tara hates thinking such things, Mr. Dekarios is but human, and male), and it’s time for one of Tara’s extremely rare instances of tattling when she goes to Morena later that evening.

She doesn’t say anything alarming, only that her company would be appreciated and wouldn’t she like to meet her son’s guest? The lady’s brow furrows with her own conclusions, drawn exactly as Tara expected they would be, and the tressym returns to the tower far more pleased than she ought to have been.

If it gets this new stray fed and clothed properly, it will be worth whatever blame falls to her, if any. It’s unlikely to stick if it does, water off a tressym’s wings. Besides, Tara’s seen the chaos that lingers at the edges of the bard. It’s far more likely that the girl herself is enough of a powder keg that no one will even question how Morena Dekarios came to know the exact right time to arrive to put her son and the bard on the back foot.

Well, it’s for the best, and she doesn’t meddle often. She’s meant to help Mr. Dekarios in any way she can, this is within her rights. Tara sleeps incredibly well that night, immensely satisfied and sound in her role of familiar.

Ferris, despite her rough edges, slots nicely into their lives; there is music in the tower to accompany the magic, and Tara finds she doesn’t mind the little localized storm. She watches Mr. Dekarios gaze at the girl like she hung the stars and, to her surprise, the bard starts to look back.

It’s subtle, at first, and she almost doesn’t catch it. Miss Ferris is not one for easy affection, but she allows it from those she is close to. It’s why Tara is close enough to notice when her eyes linger on the wizard when he laughs, loud and warm. She is not the best at reading the girl, but she does see something answering in her eyes.

Mr. Dekarios sits her down to practice a lecture and Miss Ferris’ gaze isn’t what she would call ‘adoring’, but the bard looks at him the same way she looks at new buds on flowers, at the sea, at the rise of distant mountains: there is wonder, a desire to know him. Frustratingly, Mr. Dekarios does not notice.

Tara does not point it out.

It’s none of her business, after all.

Except…

Except they travel to Baldur’s Gate, a Wish spell lingering in their minds. Except Mr. Dekarios returns to the tower with a dark look in his eyes, a familiar shade of rage and melancholy at his edges, and then Ferris follows and she’s empty. Tara is quite good at sensing magic, feeling the spark of it in the air. The bard’s magic was different than Mr. Dekarios’ but lingering under her skin and shimmering out with her music.

It’s gone, entirely, and it’s clear that Mr. Dekarios has no idea what to do.

Tara has no idea what to do either; for all his words, it’s clear that Mr. Dekarios viewed (or had viewed) Ferris as something of a magical equal, or person of interest. She’d never been flashy with her spells, hardly used them, but there was power and intent behind them.

Now there’s only absence and the carefully choreographed dance between wizard and bard has fallen apart. They’re both stumbling, all the dancers around them are stumbling, and no one knows what to do because how could they?

The tower hasn’t been this dark and close since Mr. Dekarios’ immense folly and hubris, and Tara’s hackles remain half-raised the entire time they have guests, everyone one step from over-reaching and setting off the waiting bomb of Mr. Dekarios’ guilt and Ferris anger at said guilt.

“Oh, you foolish children,” Tara mutters as she finds a quiet window in the library to rest for an hour or two. “If only you would talk.”

They’re all trapped in a whirlpool, drowning and being drawn together against their wills, gravity sucking them in. Mr. Dekarios and his bard will eventually collide and they’ll either fracture or combine. Personally, Tara hopes it’ll be the latter. It will be much better for everyone, and she can tell that much. He wants her to stay, and Ferris wants to live, whatever that means for her.

So they adapt, again.

The bard learns how to not suck the magic out of things, keeping the wizard’s spell work safe. She wears sweaters with longer sleeves, tucking in her hands before she grabs things. Mr. Dekarios strengthens his enchantments, works them deeper into the fabric of the objects, working the Weave into the core instead of the surface so that it’s harder to sap the magic from them with a simple touch. She watches it all, sees the bard and the wizard build back up stronger with a new undercurrent of…something she can only assume is ‘love’, given how Miss Catriona rolls her eyes and Mrs. Dekarios purses her lips whenever Ferris and Mr. Dekarios miss each other’s lingering gazes.

It would be exhausting if it wasn’t so damned interesting.

Both of them are overly cautious for entirely different reasons but Mr. Dekarios stands still while the bard runs forward, headlong and with recklessness in place of confidence. A man who believes in proof and structure and a woman who believes in nothing but the fact that things will work out because she wills them.

“Aren’t they a picture?” Morena murmurs softly from her seat, words drifting up to Tara where she sprawls across the back. Ferris and Mr. Dekarios are talking animatedly across the kitchen, a brightness to the wizard’s eyes and a flush to the bard’s cheeks. “They’ll sort themselves out eventually, don’t you worry.”

So Tara doesn’t. Not that she’d started, of course.

She does, however, set some ground rules…most of them involving ‘keep your damned clothes on while I am present’.

In their defense, it only happened once. And it was an accident.

It carries on like that for a while; the seasons change and Tara can feel an unknown tension ratcheting tighter and tighter like the string on one of Ferris’ instruments. It thrums with a consistent energy and everyone navigates this new norm as it changes. Ferris’ door is often left open, and more often she spends the nights with Mr. Dekarios. Tara cannot remember when he’d last had a (mortal) bed partner, if he’d ever had someone longer than a month or three, but the thoughts don’t linger and are unimportant in the long term because the bard is here to stay.

Ferris, Tara begrudgingly admits to herself, has become so entangled that it’s as though she’d always been part of them. Perhaps she was always meant to be and that’s why past things worked out the way they did, a thread darned into the fabric of their lives to mend the rips and disguise the damage, her rough edges slotting in like the missing piece of a complex puzzle.

Thank the gods things can only get simpler.

Well.

Assuming Mr. Dekarios can bungle his way through an actual engagement. Morena Dekarios is convinced it’s Ferris that will propose, but Tara has her loyalties…and her pride, which is why she gives the slightest push.

“What are these, Mr. Dekarios?”

She’s never seen him move so quickly, or so clumsily. Mr. Dekarios scrambles to collect the sketches and shove them in a drawer. “Nothing important. Simply…day dreaming. Yes, just fanciful imaginings.”

Tara isn’t stupid, she knows what a ring looks like.

“They look suited to enchantment,” she says politely, encouragingly. “Especially with those gems.”

“Ah. Well…they’re not for enchantment,” Mr. Dekarios replies, uncharacteristically and suddenly bashful. “They’re ah. They’re intended for Ferris.”

She blinks slowly. “I see.”

“Please don’t tell her,” Mr. Dekarios nearly begs, his voice just this side of desperate. It is clear what they’re for, now, and Tara has no intention of getting involved in silly human traditions. She and other familiar have discussed the nightmares that come with things like holidays and one or two other have mentioned the sticky, vice-like hands of infants. Tara doesn’t think she has to worry about that, but she also knows that, whatever these two people end up doing, it will likely involve her in some way.

She stretches her wings. “I will keep your confidence, of course.”

Her wording is careful; she won’t tell Ferris. Of course not.

Tara also knows Ferris is just as keen and intelligent as she is, knife-sharp and impressively perceptive. It would be unlikely that the bard is ignorant of Mr. Dekarios’ intentions, and it’s only a few days later that she’s proven correct, the bard slipping into the kitchen with only the barest hint of nervousness in her eyes.

“Taraaaaa, might I ask a favor of you?”

‘Well, Mr. Dekarios,’ the tressym thinks. ‘That ‘secret’ only lasted all of two days.’

“Let’s hear it.” She stretches, knowing it will be a simple enough task to unlock the drawer where Mr. Dekarios keeps his papers.

Ferris doesn’t even look the least bit guilty, and that pleases Tara immensely. The bard has become easier to read the longer she’s lived with them, her careful expressions less guarded as time wore on. Safe within the walls of the tower, and also Mr. Dekarios’ arms, the girl’s own have come down.

“Before I ask,” she starts, mischief in her tone. “Just know I would never ask you to do anything that would betray or harm Gale in any way, and would only ask this of you because I think it will make him happy. Also, this would need to be kept incredibly secret.”

Tara’s just glad someone is taking initiative. “I reserve the right to both refuse and to inform Mister Dekarios.”

She won’t, of course. It’s clear Ferris doesn’t like the conditions, but in the end she asks anyway. “I need you to break into the locked drawer of his desk so I can copy the ring design he has in there.”

The way she says it, it’s clear Ferris has every intention of getting those rings made. Tara knows they have an outing planned, and she can see determination clear in the bard’s face; there’s a time frame for this, and the girl has already set her plan in motion.

‘Thank the gods,’ Tara thinks, standing and stretching in the lush herb window, her favorite spot and entirely the bard’s doing. ‘It’s about time.’

If she has to spend a few days with Morena after their planned outing, it won’t be the end of the world. Mr. Dekarios and Ferris had already prevented that. No, if anything it will be the start of a new one, their very own.