"You are not blowing yourself up Gale, I won't let you."
His mind tasked him to believe that she was joking, that he was listening to her words backwards, that they were not having this conversation in the middle of their otherwise peaceful camp after their disastrous encounter with the Githyanki. Elminster couldn't have chosen a worse day to find him. Or he should have insisted on going back to camp after reuniting with his old friend, creche be damned. But no, 'let's finish what we came to do and we'll have time to listen to Mystras' whims over dinner', his brain mocked her voice, wondering why he followed her again. He could have gone back to camp alone, he remembered the way back, he could have followed Elminster's magic, he could have guided him there.
Instead, they were here, almost having lost Lae'zel — because unsurprisingly for anyone except herself, her people did not, in fact, have a cure for the tadpole; they just offered permanent relief to the host before they could turn into mind flayers — and Stengah, who stupidly tried to jump into the working death machine when she realized their gith companion was ignoring her pleas and orders to get the fuck out of there. He understood she couldn't have used her magic without risk to their alien companion, still didn't change his mind about how utterly idiotic her decision appeared in his eyes. He admired that part of her yet loathed how easily she would throw herself into harm's way — and how she refused to see that he was asked to do the same. It was only because the pale elf reacted inhumanly quickly and grabbed her in a moment that she was able to stand in front of him, a finger trying to pierce his chest, ordering him around and forbidding him from doing something he hadn't even had the time to think about.
The rest were considerate enough — or perhaps uninterested enough, if the little he knew of their personalities were to be trusted — to mention that he probably shouldn't do it, or that they considered it was a bad idea, but after a couple of comments they each got back to their own tent, their own business. Which Stengah clearly wasn't doing.
He didn't even admit out loud what his heart was screaming: That he would do anything, anything, in exchange for what was promised. In exchange for Mystra's forgiveness, for the opportunity to stand by her side again, however she wanted him. He just said that he was… willing. Open to the idea. After all, since he secluded himself in his tower with Tara after the orb started eating from him, he had brought nothing of value to the world. He knew a lot of people yet very few cared about him. The world would be the exact same without him. And, instead of that, he had the chance to do something great, something to be remembered for. He could save the world by sacrificing himself. Honestly, it was a win-win for everyone.
"We'll find another way. We hadn't counted on blowing up the heart of the Absolute before this night, we have to change nothing."
Where her understanding of the situation differed from his was the fact that he didn't need another way. This was it. He was afraid, of course, he still liked being alive. Problem was, he hadn't felt alive since Mystra banished him, not even in the company of his beloved life companion while reading one of his longer and more interesting books on his balcony. He had lived letting himself be pulled by the current, without purpose, without excitement, without a real reason besides trying to prove himself again, besides trying to get back the past.
All of that changed when they argued as they were doing now. His life felt brimming and bright when her raged crimson eyes fixated on his. When she looked only at him, her anger seeping through her words, through the connection of their magic. He could feel the shock of her storm pushing against his orb.
"That's precisely it. We have to change nothing. We infiltrate Moonrise Towers, find the heart of the Absolute and destroy it. We save the world and ourselves."
He drifted closer to the forest, the peak of the mountain shadowing them like a mother watching for her children. He felt so much better, so satiated — it had been so long since he started being a slave to his hunger, to this black hole that never tired of demanding, he completely forgot what it felt to simply be.
"You won't be saving yourself! You can't do that by giving in to another's desires!"
She followed him, he had no doubt she would — she was stubborn as a mule, this woman. The fact that confused him most was — her look of concern was genuine, her hatred for the goddess of magic deeper than he had anticipated, than he could comprehend. As a daughter of magic herself, he would expect some kind of respect, at the minimum, even if she was not part of the weave.But in its place he found only resentment, hostility.
"No, you say? Is that why I should give in to your wishes instead? Well, what about mine?!"
Had she ever stopped to think about what he really wanted? Had she the nerve to question his capacity to make decisions? To know what was really best for everyone? He had no idea what made her be so opposed to it but he wasn't having it, not after seeing where her decisions led them. She. Had. No. Right.
"I refuse to believe you value yourself so little that you would kill yourself so that your ex-girlfriend will take you back. I know you are not as foolish as to believe that would give you some kind of peace."
He felt proud she believed in him, as misplaced as such trust was. He didn't consider himself foolish. He made a mistake not so long ago, a mistake not easily compensated for. He had the choice, the one-in-life opportunity of fixing it. Of repairing his relationship with his goddess. Of saving the world and his soul at the same time. He didn't need to be alive, his soul only needed to know it could rest blessed by the mother of magic.
"It's not about Mystra! She wants to save the world from the Absolute. She needs me to save the world for her."
The drow woman in front of him brought a hand to her forehead and shook her head, a tired, exasperated smile twitching on her lips. He recognized that kind of smile. It was one of those your body forces when it didn't know what else to do, when everything you would want was to hide under the covers and be protected for once. Yet their mission wouldn't wait for either of them and somehow it caused a sting of pain in his heart to see that kind of expression from her.
"Bullshit. She doesn't need you for anything. We need you. She just knows you are following your own path now and is desperate to grab your leash again."
He didn't believe it, didn't believe a word that left her lips. He was important to Mystra, special, unique. He'd always been and it was a matter of time he was again. She would whisper in his ear how different he was, how only he could stand by her side as the closest thing to an equal, even if she loved to play around with other mortals. She would always come back to him.
"Again, am I following my own path or am I following yours? Maybe this is her way to warn me against you. You don't even care about saving the world, do you? About stopping the Absolute?"
She stood silent for a minute, their eyes meeting, hers debating how to formulate her answer in the most adequate shape possible. She was a master of persuasion, of deception. He was absolutely sure she would invent some fancy way of wording exactly what he wanted to hear, the lies that would make him look at her softly, understanding. He was ready for it this time.
"I'll care about the world once the world starts caring about me. I care about us, about doing whatever is in my hand, in my arm, in my whole body to stop the advance of this disease. If the solution to our situation goes through saving the whole fucking world, I'll have to save it. If the solution instead presents itself to us by taking control of the entire cult, I'll become its leader. I told you last night Gale, I'm confident you don't forget my words so easily."
He couldn't, even if he wanted. Her voice plowed through his veins, burning each one on its path. He just assumed she'd want to calm him, to convince him. After the Grove maybe he expected her to have changed her perspective, to put on a mask only to deceive the rest of the world. He didn't know if he was disappointed, facing how little he could read her, or grateful for her honesty. In the end, he found himself angered at her lack of empathy, at how easily she discarded lives just to preserve hers.
"That's the problem about you, isn't it? You're always at the center. You need everything to revolve around you and if you don't think something is worth it, you forbid the rest of the people from doing it. You think of nothing except what is convenient to you."
She approached him, shoved him a couple of steps back, and faced him with the most terrifying expression he had seen her make outside of battle, the blood of the githyanki soldiers still adorning her tunic, her neck — that damn mark he could hardly stop glancing at all day — the side of her cheek. To any other person he had no doubt she would be horrifying, the last sight they would see before embracing death. To him, rather, she appeared as an angry goddess — infinite beauty, infinite power, as desirable as intimidating. He rarely allowed himself to admit it but she remembered him so much of Mystra, each step that brought them closer claiming more and more of his magic, more of him.
"You know what wasn't worth it? Almost losing one of the people I care about because I thought it was worth it if she wanted to do it. I won't allow the same to happen again."
Her finger found his chest again, his heart beating at the pace of a racing horse, the excitement of the fight escalating without his consent.
"At least she wanted to find her people, to try their cure! You are only doing it because it's Mystra asking!"
He wasn't even doing anything, he was just thinking about it for gods' sake. His orb pulsed, thumbed, pounded under his skin. He had been feeling fine since Elminster stopped his internal clock, more than fine, better than he had felt in years. Why was it then that it still screamed when she got close? Why couldn't he be free of the shadow inside him? It was her fault, it had to be. She poisoned her mind with her lies about his lost love, she seeded doubt in his heart about Mystra's feelings — and his own.
"You are testing the patience of a man capable of annihilating a city with little more than a thought."
He dropped his voice, slapping her hand away and bringing his to her neck, tightening it enough that he noticed the change of pace in her already quickened pulse, enough that he couldn't stop himself from bringing her closer when her breathing came short.
"I will do whatever I please and you won't forbid me from doing anything."
He whispered to the air, his eyes finding in the opposite ones new respect, new interest — a challenge. She wasn't ready to be quiet.
"There's only one situation where I like to follow orders, I'm afraid."
He couldn't explain to himself — or to anyone, really — how she could smile so knowingly, so provocatively, while pushing him to the ground with a gust of wind. She could have been declaring her most profound lust to him and he would have believed her. He let down his guard and the price was her, on top of him, her fingers barely containing the lightning bolts that threatened the skin below his neck.
Why all his thoughts had been replaced with positions in where to fuck her, he had a vague idea.
"Now, promise me you'll be a good boy and won't blow yourself up."
He didn't have enough energy remaining to cast a lightning bolt too, nor did he want to cast a water spell and make everything worse. While his mind frenzied searching for what he could do, his pretty words tried to distract her.
"I'm not promising you shit."
Her head fell back, her body trembling with silent laughter, her smile remaining while her hand approached his skin.
"Oh, come on, you're usually better versed in the art of communication than that. Am I making you nervous?"
He'd be lying if he said no, but for all the wrong reasons. He should fear her electricity, he should still be thinking about getting away from her, not getting closer. He was nervous because every cell of his body wanted to surrender to her will, wanted to make her surrender to his.
No.
He wanted to make her beg for him to do whatever he pleased with her.
He felt himself hardened under her, his cock pressing delightfully against her pussy, throbbing with anticipation. And she rubbed herself against it once in what could have been an innocent gesture in anyone besides Stengah. She had no innocence left, one only needed to take a look at her, at the way her legs danced with one another while walking, to realize that.
"That's enough!"
He let loose a shock wave, pushing her towards the wall of the mountain they had left behind. He saw her hit her back with the stone, her breath stopping for a couple of seconds while he casted misty step to be in front of her again. He wasn't sure what to expect, he only knew she wasn't surrendering, not to him, not with such a basic spell — he had seen her walk off worse attacks before, she had more control over her own pain than any of them — so he debated between feeling bad for hurting her and wanting to hurt her more. One couldn't always be a gentleman, his mind promptly reminded him.
His indecision lingered for only an instant, for the moment he saw her up and ready — already casting a close range spell in his direction, her eyes hard and unforgiving upon his — he grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the earth wall of the mountain, claiming her lips a blink later.
The charged magic in her hand blinked against the stone and vanished and he — he was lost, he had found himself. He wasn't usually like this, he needed to ask for permission, to be reassured verbally of the consent of the other party, but this, she — she reclaimed his mouth each time he minimally moved away. He had wondered how she would taste from the first time his eyes fixed on her lips yet it became real the previous night when they surrendered all too easily to the vampire's demands, right in the middle of the party. Would she have followed him too if he just walked up and kissed her? And why would he want to? Well, he had his answer, both of them. His magic exulted, his orb purring inside his chest, his right leg sneaking slightly under hers. Yes, yes, this was it, this was what he needed, this was the closest to Mystra he had felt since their last night together. So much magic he could lose himself on it, the tempest they'll raise together wild and unpredictable.
He freed his right hand from possessing hers just to invade the opening of her tunic, the inside side of her tight. He caressed it, following its upward path until his fingers collided with her panties. He couldn't not press right in the middle, not before hearing his name moaned to his lips, certainly not after. Her loose hand played with the hair on top of his orb, her nails clenching, asking for more. In answer, he deepened the kiss, his tongue joining hers again — more passionate this time, more unstoppable, without interruptions — the exact moment two of his fingers entered her cunt, his leg doing the work of opening hers just a tad more.
If he thought he had lost every bit of self control before, he was wrong. She tightened against his fingers, breaking the kiss to search for air, her body following the pace, the rhythm of his hand and he— he couldn't wait to taste the position his fingers had claimed with his cock, couldn't stop kissing and licking the unmarked side of her neck, his hand forcing hers to stay in place, right where he pinned it. He wasn't thinking straight. He wasn't acting properly. He was seeing his goddess, inviting him in all over again, his magic clashing and dancing with hers.
This was so different from his encounters with Mystra. He knew Stengah would be one of a kind, that he needed to take her for himself no matter the price, that he would let her ruin him. Whatever she wanted — his goddess.
He stopped the movement of his head, breathed her in, whispered against her skin words he would always say, his brain fogged in pleasure, arousal and nostalgia.
"Mystra, love…"
He trailed off. He wanted to say so many things, to do so many more. To her and her alone. He would be hers, if she wanted. He went to join her lips again, thirsty for them, voracious — but she moved away to the point of only caressing them, to the point of torture.
"I am not Mystra — and I won't be her replacement."
The heat from her words collided with the cold that invaded him, the ice of the realization. He wasn't entirely there nor completely away. Within a moment he was alone, his fiercely and passionate companion walking past him with ease. He grabbed her wrist and she shook his hand away, turning to face him. For once in his life, words failed him. What was he even supposed to say? 'I'm sorry'? 'I promise you I was not imagining my last lover while finger fucking you'? He wasn't, really — he wasn't thinking at all. He was profoundly embarrassed of his behavior yet he could not help but think it was mostly her fault. She made him like this. She uncovered parts of him unbeknown even to himself. She, who right when he was about to say— anything, really, grabbed the collar of his tunic and pulled him to her, her eyes deep, aroused, her breath burning against his lips.
"No, Gale. Don't search for me if you are not ready for me to erase her name from your memory. Because I promise you, I will."
He stood there, stunned, his body screaming for him to move and reclaim what was his. Just it wasn't. Never have been, probably never will. And he didn't want it to be. She was just playing with him, tempting him. Her magic was something new, something peculiar, unique — it picked his curiosity. And as they say, curiosity killed the tressym.
She moved away, her lipstick a bit smeared but otherwise as dignified as the first time he saw her, her absence leaving a void in his skin. Why must he feel that way about her?
"Don't forget our conversation. I won't let you. Better make your mind."
'I won't let you control me', he wanted to reply yet he couldn't — couldn't be sure about that. And it terrified him not only the power she had over him but how much he loved it. It was disgusting.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, alright? Let's not start this night all over again."
He was proud his voice came out surprisingly steady, a lot more than he could feel his breath and his heart.
"Yes, that would most certainly be a mistake."
Words were a weapon and she wielded them as precisely as her spells. Her voice was hard, distant, sad. It conveyed that she expected more from him and he had failed. That she wanted to offer him a way out, and he shut her down.
"Couldn't have said it better myself. Goodnight Stengah."
She turned away while clicking her tongue, stepping away slowly, her words merely a whisper, almost more to herself than to him — as if he was just overhearing another's conversation.
"A shame it could have been so much better if you'd just said it like that."
She sounded… disappointed. Hells, if he was honest he was too. He was in complete disarray, chaos. He didn't understand her nor himself. Maybe he needed some time, some space. To be alone. This day had drained him in more ways than one, he couldn't wait for it to be over. Her voice raised one last time, her steps so far he could only discern her silhouette in the darkness.
"Goodnight Gale."
He praised it would be, he definitely needed it. Yet it was a certainty he would dream of the moment he lost, of the woman that plagued his nights like a curse, that spreaded through his veins like venom, blissfully making him forget the destiny that was already chosen for him.
