Chapter Text
“Careful, remember the ground in front of the stairs is all greased up,” warned Shadowheart as they reached the centre of the ruins that was once Moonhaven.
“Indeed.” Wyll watched Shadowheart meticulously walk around the wide grease stain that had almost been the death of their group when they attacked the goblins preying on the deep gnome – one Barcus Wroot, if he recalled correctly. “It’s dangerous to leave it this way, don’t you think?” he frowned. “We got rid of the goblins in this village, so we should make it safe for people to traverse again.”
Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “We don’t have time for this, remember? Grease will be the least of people’s problems if you turn into a mindflayer right here.”
Wyll put down his pack, only half listening to her. “Yes, yes, I know. Let me at least just clear a small passage with water.” He took out a jar of water out of his stock and started spreading it out in a line as he advanced cautiously on the slippery surface.
Behind him, he heard Astarion and Gale approaching, deep in conversation. Out of their little group, these two had been getting along the most in the past couple of days, after Gale explained his unique condition. They could sometimes end up so lost in their banter that they would trail behind the others and forget their surroundings.
With one look, Wyll confirmed that seemed to be the case. They were debating the latest book they had found in the ruins of a school. Wyll liked to join in when they got like that, their conversations were fascinating, but this was not the time.
“Watch out for the grease,” he called out. “Follow the water.”
Follow the water they did, and that was when Wyll realised that pouring water over the grease had no effect whatsoever. It had left a trail by running smoothly on it, not by cleaning the hazardous substance off the paved ground.
“Oh no, not again–”
“What? Hold on–”
Wyll saw the exact moment Gale lost his traction as though time slowed down. Gale’s eyes grew wide when his foot slid unnaturally forward and the momentum sent him toppling backward. Astarion, always quick to react, reflexively reached for Gale’s flailing arm to stabilise him, but he was no match against gravity, nor did he have a steady enough footing for the situation. The larger man fell and brought the elf down with him.
Gale slammed into the ground with a painful ‘oof’, and the rest of the air in his lungs was forced out again when Astarion landed half on top of him.
Wyll bit his lips to stifle a laugh at the scene. While he knew perfectly well how unpleasant it was to lose his footing on a slippery surface, this was quite the spectacle. Gale, looking a bit dazed, was gripping Astarion’s shoulders as though he was holding on for dear life. Meanwhile, Astarion’s face was firmly planted into Gale’s chest. Shadowheart might need to check up on Gale’s head, but they needn't worry about Astarion, at least. His predicament almost seemed comfortable.
“Master, your squishy servants are sleeping on the job,” Shovel told Wyll as she slid expertly into position next to him.
This time, he couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “No, Shovel,” he chided gently, “they are not servants, and they simply fell down. It’s all right.”
“They are useless. Want Shovel to dispose of them, Master?”
“No, Shovel. And they are not useless. Actually, in this very spot,” he pointed at an impressive bloodstain not very far, “Astarion saved me from being killed by a nasty goblin.”
“I did, didn’t I? And now I wonder why I bothered, if this is the thanks I get,” Astarion replied with a theatrical huff as he pushed himself off Gale’s chest. Or tried to. Because when he attempted to sit down into a better position, his knees slipped and he sprawled onto his back next to Gale. “Really?” he exclaimed petulantly, slapping the ground.
That got a laugh out of Gale. He hadn’t dared to move yet. Wyll was reminded once more of their fight against the goblins, where Gale had fallen over in almost the same spot when trying to administer a healing potion to Shadowheart, and was also saved from being skewered by a goblin thanks to another of Astarion’s well-aimed and deadly arrows, shooting out from the shadows. He wondered if Gale was similarly reliving this near-death experience in his mind.
Wyll approached them carefully and bowed above a pouting Astarion, extending a hand toward him. “I cannot thank you enough for your timely rescue. I am in your debt, Astarion. Let me aid you, this time,” he smiled, feeling the beginnings of fondness blossom in his chest at the way Astarion’s expression immediately morphed into smug confidence at the praise.
“As you should,” Astarion declared with feigned haughtiness.
He clasped Wyll’s proffered hand and positioned himself on his knees before carefully standing up with Wyll’s help.
Wyll thanked the gods, and his father, for his training with shields. While he was far from being as strong as Lae’zel, Astarion was frail enough that Wyll could help him get back up on his feet without losing traction. He would have been loathed to embarrass himself after such a confident display.
“You aren’t hurt, I hope?” he inquired as he steadied Astarion with his other hand on a firm bicep.
“I’m fine. Thanks to my personal cushion,” Astarion smirked, turning to the man still sprawled out on the ground.
“Happy to serve,” Gale said with false deference, miming taking an elaborate bow with one hand while cautiously sitting up. “You will have to teach me how you stay so sure-footed, Wyll.”
If Wyll didn’t know any better, he’d say Gale was looking at him with interest. It was more likely plain fascination at Wyll’s current prowess. Gale loved to learn, didn’t he?
“Have you ever had dancing lessons?” Wyll asked as he let go of Astarion to extend a similar helping hand toward Gale.
“I can’t say that I have, unfortunately. My hands are very flexible and I can do a great many things with my fingers, but spellcasting doesn’t require a lot of footwork, so I am quite lacking in that department.”
“On your knees,” Astarion ordered out of the blue.
Gale blinked, then both he and Wyll turned to him with wide questioning stares.
“Pardon?”
Astarion rolled his eyes, but they were twinkling with mischief. He knew perfectly well what he was doing. “Sit down on your knees, Gale. It’s a much better position from which to get up. Otherwise, there’s a high chance you’ll just end up sprawling down again and serving as Wyll’s cushion, this time.”
“Oh!” Gale exclaimed, then let out a small embarrassed laugh. “Indeed. Thank you for the advice.”
He grabbed onto Wyll’s hand for better purchase as he complied and adjusted his position before attempting to stand up. When Gale’s other hand slipped on the ground, an image suddenly flashed through Wyll’s mind of Gale falling onto his back once more and himself tumbling all over him. He wondered if Gale’s form was as comfortable as it seemed.
Thankfully, Gale's grip on Wyll was enough to steady him and he managed to get back on his feet, and Wyll didn’t embarrass himself this time either. Yet he couldn’t help but notice one part of him being a bit disappointed.
“Chk.” Lae’zel’s annoyance cut through Wyll’s inappropriate thoughts. “Are you k'chakhi done learning how to walk?”
She had been standing back, staring daggers at the three of them. She uncrossed her arms, closed the distance at a run, then jumped over the slippery surface with grace and assurance. She landed just on the other side of the grease patch as though to flaunt her effortless superiority.
“Let’s move. This one-horned devil of yours won’t kill itself. Nor will you kill it by dancing in front of it. Though I suppose I would get some entertainment out of that before leaving to find the crèche on my own.”
“It hurts to admit it, but I agree with the githyanki,” Shadowheart said as she fell into step next to Lae’zel.
The three men gingerly walked out of the grease. Once they were back to safety on paved ground, they collectively let out a relieved breath.
“Hold on one moment.” Gale turned around to face the dangerous substance. “Here’s the fastest way to get rid of grease.” With a flick of his wrist and a quick incantation, he summoned a flame in the palm of his hand, which he sent as a bolt straight to the slippery coating over the road. “I do not recommend doing this with any kind of fire, mind you. For it is only my magic expertise that allows me to contain the fire.”
“As long as you keep it well away from me,” Astarion said, further backing away.
“No need to fear. I have entire control over it.” Gale demonstrated this by keeping the fire contained to the grease patch, then extinguishing it all with another flick of his wrist while closing his fist.
“Impressive. I’d love a lesson in fire magic in exchange for dance lessons,” Wyll offered. He knew a bit of fire magic, but he never had the opportunity to learn this much control over it.
“Sounds like a fair exchange. I will keep it in mind. But first, let’s go find this dangerous devil of yours, shall we?” Gale smiled and motioned for them to follow the rest of the group.
Wyll smiled back, eager to fulfil his command so that he wouldn’t have to worry as much about the other devil behind his shoulder. They had enough problems to deal with.