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The firelight was growing low, but Alyria couldn’t quite be bothered to walk to where the woodpile was in order to feed the flames. Sunset had come and gone, but they were gathered together tonight in a strange sort of harmony. It was the kind of evening that would never have happened back in the grove, and the Shadow lands never offered this curious peace. She’d had a few cups of wine and a settled warm feeling was spreading over her, just tipsy enough that the world was soft around the edges.
“So, what are you looking forward to most, Al?” Karlach asked. “When we get home?”
A few tendays ago, that would have been answered easily. She’d have said a drink in the Blushing Mermaid and she’d only have been lying a little. Inside she’d be thinking of her parents' small house and the tea her father made, the soft glow of the trees through the window and her mother’s laughter.
She hummed to herself in place of answering, giving herself time to think.
The drink was still true enough, but the rest. She ached for home, her chest painfully tight, but at the same time, she knew she wouldn’t be going there. Not any time soon.
“Just looking forward to being there,” she said, giving up on thinking of a specific lie to tell.
“Civilisation, at last,” Astarion muttered. His red eyes glittered strangely in the firelight. “Finally something other than wilderness.”
“Gods, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it," said Karlach wistfully. " Do they still have cobble parties in the lower city?”
Alyria grinned. “Yeah, they still do that. The last one I went to, someone had made a whole batch of monkey balls and they just passed them out.”
“These sweet and gracious monkey balls, served on plates and sold from stalls, bring madness to these hallowed halls,” Wyll intoned with a grin.
“Of urban academe,” Alyria, Karlach, and Jaheira all joined in with the final line.
“What I wouldn’t give for a monkey ball right now,” Wyll said with a shake of his head. “I haven’t had one… Well, in a long time.”
“Me neither,” Karlach agreed.
“Monkey balls?” Shadowheart said carefully, looking between them. “Are you three quite alright?”
“You’ve never had a monkey ball?” Alyria asked, sitting up straighter. She looked around the fire and found half of her companions looking between the three of them in disbelief.
“I… don’t think so, but then I wouldn’t know,” Shadowheart said, her mouth tightening slightly.
“I have,” Astarion said. “And you’re not missing anything. They’re foul.”
“Maybe try dipping them in blood instead of chocolate sauce next time,” Karlach said, then seemed to catch what she’d said. “Or… don’t do that. Hells! Now I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about that. Yuck!”
“Forgive me if I skip the monkey ball and just take the blood,” Astarion said. “Far sweeter.”
“Everything is a matter of taste,” Jaheira said.
“Forgive me,” Gale said slowly. “But… are you saying you eat the testicles of–”
“Monkey balls are a Baldurian delicacy,” Jaheira said. “We dip them in chocolate sauce and eat them raw.”
Alyria bit her lip desperately, knowing that Jaheira’s flawless calm was deliberate as she poked at the fire with a stick. It was only made better by the fact she was telling the truth.
“Children are especially fond of them,” Jaheira continued. Gale looked even more confused.
“I do not see why this troubles you so, Gale,” Lae’zel said. “Though I do not understand the addition of the chocolate sauce, it seems no different from many other foods you eat in this world. You yourself were explaining the other day that you sometimes eat fish raw.”
“Firstly, that’s an entirely different thing. Second, it’s not so much the body part – I’ve certainly heard of people eating such things before, though given the scarcity of monkeys on the Sword Coast it seems an odd choice. But raw… with chocolate sauce? Monkey testicles? Really?”
“Monkey balls,” corrected Wyll. “And they’re not what you think.”
“Aw, come on Wyll,” Karlach said, nudging Wyll so hard in the side that he almost fell off the log they were sharing. “We really had him going then. Bet you I could have got him to ask for a plate of monkey testicles in the Elfsong.”
Alyria couldn’t fully stifle her giggle at that and Gale gave her a brief look of betrayal.
“Is this a common joke that Baldurians play on unsuspecting visitors?” Gale asked. “One of my professors once sent me on a hunt for an invisible helm of invisibility, but this feels a little much for such a joke. I’ve visited the city before and never been aware of such a thing.”
“Eh, I’ve had a few people convinced,” Jaheira said with a smile. “Mostly young Harpers, new to the city, wet behind the ears and eager to impress. But also no. Monkey balls really are a local delicacy.”
“It’s not actual monkey balls,” Alyria said to reassure Gale. “It’s a dessert. Oats and honey and peanut butter and some other stuff, dipped in chocolate sauce. My mother–” she cut herself off. “It’s good. If I find any while we’re in the city, I’ll get some for you.”
“So you do not eat the testicles of primates?” Lae’zel asked, sounding almost disappointed.
“Nah,” Karlach said. “Well, some people probably do. There’s all kinds of food in the Gate, but this just looks like monkey balls.”
“Why would anyone make a food that looks like genitalia?” Lae’zel inquired, looking utterly confused by the whole thing.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Gale said, his expression changing from frustration to eagerness. “There’s a cake the Sunites make for the Grand Revel every year, and it’s designed to look exactly like–” Gale paused and looked around, seeming to realise exactly where he was. “Well, yes.”
“And the… poem?” Shadowheart asked. “It sounded like some sort of… ritual.”
“You can’t have a monkey ball without reciting the monkey ball poem,” Karlach said. “It’s traditional!”
“That it is,” Wyll agreed, he was grinning, too.
Gale turned to Alyria, as though she would somehow tell him that this was all a joke as well. She schooled her features as best she could, trying to channel Jaheira’s aura of gravitas until she looked completely serious, though she knew she couldn’t pull it off as well as the Harper. Then she said, with as much gravity as she could muster:
“Huzzaks for chocolate monkey balls! We'll eat them 'til the ceiling falls, 'Til Time herself tears down these walls,”
“Of urban academe,” the other three joined in again.
Gale looked at her with total bafflement on his face and Alyria couldn’t hold in her laughter anymore. It burst out of her and she found herself clutching at his arm as she sat there, laughing until her stomach ached. It was nowhere near as funny as it seemed, she knew, but something about the moment just took her. Every time she quieted down, she’d glance at him and see the confusion on his face and start laughing again.
“And you call the customs of the githyanki strange,” Lae’zel was saying as Alyria’s merriment finally calmed down. Gale was rubbing a hand up and down her back as though she needed soothing, and she leaned into his side. “You eat food that is named incorrectly and chant nonsense songs about it. What kind of a place is this ‘Baldur’s Gate’?”
“Greatest city on the sword coast,” Wyll said with firm pride. Gale made a scoffing noise, but didn’t speak up as Alyria elbowed him gently.
“I’d hardly call monkey balls a sign of greatness,” Astarion cut in.
“Heresy!” Alyria said, pointing at him. It was possibly she’d had a little too much of the wine that evening. “Monkey balls are great, and I will fight you on that!”
Gale sighed next to her but it was almost drowned out by Karlach’s eager whoops and Halsin’s booming laughter.
“While many of the things that come out of your mouth astonish me, I cannot say I ever thought to hear that particular combination of words,” Gale said to her as the noise calmed down.
“You’re going to fight me… over monkey balls?” Astarion asked. “So drinking your blood was fine, but this is where you draw the line. Really, my dear?”
“What’s a little blood between friends?” Alyria asked, scoffing. “I’ve bled more over the last few tendays than you drank that night, and I’d do it again. This is important.”
“She’s not wrong,” Karlach said. “Get him, Al! Can’t believe you’re a true Baldurian if you don’t like monkey balls, Fangs.”
“This entire conversation is insane,” Shadowheart said with a surprised laugh.
“You are all mad,” Lae’zel agreed.
Gale’s hand found Alyria’s shoulder, holding her down as she started to stand up.
“Perhaps this is not the time for spilling blood. You would feel sorry for it in the morning,” he said in an annoyingly reasonable tone, but she let him hold her back. “With such a rousing endorsement, I’m sure I look forward to trying… monkey balls… for myself.”
He said the name with such distaste, Alyria had to laugh again, then leant over to kiss his cheek, making him start.
“They’re really a lot better than they sound,” Jaheira said. “I’ve made a batch or two in my time.”
“Baldur’s Gate is the birthplace of many delightful things,” Halsin said. “I’m sure you will enjoy them, Gale.”
“I’m sure,” Gale said. He sounded a little sharp, so Alyria wrapped an arm around his waist and leant her head on his shoulder. His entire body went rigid for a second before carefully relaxing. Alarmed, in case she’d accidentally hurt him, she started to pull away, but his hand found hers on his waist and held it in place. Alyria glanced at his face, but he didn't seem pained or uncomfortable. There was a tension in his expression, though. Something had made him out of sorts. Perhaps he hadn't appreciated her laughing so much earlier. Still, she could hardly ask about that in front of everyone, he definitely wouldn't appreciate that. So she let herself rest against him as the conversation continued around them, a pleasant hum of noise that made her smile.
Her brain faded into a state somewhere between waking and sleeping, not following the voices, but letting them twine about her, becoming a comforting blanket of sound. She adjusted her head to the most comfortable position she could find, her cheek rubbing against the velvet of Gale’s camp clothing, his hair brushing her forehead. How he always managed to smell like books was a puzzle. She hadn't counted out magic.
If she could stay like this, that would be nice. Within the circle of the firelight, surrounded by unlikely friends, all perils and dangers seemed far away. She could almost pretend that none of it was real, like she was just at a cobble party again, listening to stories long into the night.
Dimly she was aware of the firelight dying down, and the voices thinning out, people moving around her, but she had no desire to move herself.
“Will you need assistance with her, Gale?” Halsin’s voice rumbled above her, and Alyria wondered who they were talking about for a second before she realised it was her.
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine,” Gale told him, his words a little clipped. She heard Halsin's murmur of acknowledgement and his footsteps moving away. She should probably move, but she didn't want to. But Gale would hardly want to spend the night propping her up.
Alyria groaned a little, prying her head from his shoulder. It felt very heavy. She was sure her head wasn’t usually that heavy. She carried it around every day and she would have noticed that.
“Ah… you’re awake.” Gale’s voice was warm, all the sharpness from a moment before gone.
“I was nev–aah–er asleep,” Alyria said, her words split by a yawn. He chuckled. She looked around them at the now smouldering remains of the fire and the empty logs around it. Scratch, the owlbear, and Us all curled up nearby in a strange pile of fur, feathers, and tendrils. “Did everyone already go?”
“It’s just us,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. A smile found her face slowly, spreading up to crease her cheeks.
“That’s not so bad,” she said.
“Not at all,” he agreed. He looked for a second as though he was about to kiss her, but she ruined the moment by yawning again. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“How very forward of you,” she teased.
“Hardly,” He leaned in towards her slightly. “But I certainly could be, if you wished – perhaps not tonight though. You’d need to be well rested.”
“Sounds promising,” she said.
“I hope so.” His voice lowered to a whisper.
“Gale.” She matched his volume with her own and he leaned in closer.
“Yes?”
“I wasn’t laughing at you before, not you. Just… the situation.” she said quietly. “I’m sorry if I–”
“No apologies necessary,” he said. “I imagine it is a time-honoured tradition in Baldur’s Gate to confuse people like that. I can’t say I enjoy being in the dark, but I can hardly begrudge a moment of frivolity in dark times, even if it is at my own expense..”
“I know, I’m still sorry if it made you feel–” She yawned again. “–bad.”
“My ego is more than robust enough to handle some light teasing,” he said. “I’m sure some people feel I should endure more of it.”
“Well, if you want to be teased,” she said slowly, letting the last word hang in the air between them. “I can do that.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Gale?” She ran one finger down the centre of his chest, stopping just below his breastbone.
“Yes, Alyria?”
“So those cakes you were talking about,” she said, leaning in with a grin. “Which body part do they look like exactly?”
“Sune’s Pearls?” Gale asked. “Well… they’re balls of fried sweet dough, made in a wide range of colours. Once cooked, they are rolled in sugar, sliced partially open and filled with a sweetened creamy centre.”
“O-oh,” Alyria said, realisation dawning, then she laughed. “And you’ve eaten a lot of them?”
“They are quite delicious,” he said. “The filling is most…” Gale trailed off, as if struggling to find the right word.
“Delicious?” Alyria asked.
“Extremely.”
“I’ll have to try one,” she said. “When we get to Waterdeep.”
He blinked, looking completely astonished, like she’d said something confounding.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching up a slow hand to press her thumb in the furrow between his brows, trying to smooth it away.
“Nothing at all,” he said. “Just contemplating the impossibly infinite number of cosmic computations that must have occurred in order to bring us to this place. To this moment. Together.”
“Really?” she tilted her head. Sleep and the wine had combined to make her thoughts fuzzy and she could hardly keep a track of Gale’s words. He wasn’t saying everything, she could tell that, but her usually keen insight was clouded. He didn’t seem unhappy, though, but the expression on his face wasn’t exactly happy either. “Is that a good thing?”
“It’s an incredible thing,” he breathed. He stared at her for a moment until she shifted uncomfortably.
“Forgive me,” he said after a longer moment. “I couldn’t help but notice when Karlach was asking what you were looking forward to in Baldur’s Gate earlier, you didn’t mention your parents. Are you still concerned about your father?”
Alyria looked away from him. She was too tired and too fuzzy from wine for this conversation. She pulled back and wrapped her arms around herself.
“I’m not going to see them when we get to The Gate,” she said.
“You’re not–” Gale paused. “I always had the impression that you were close. No matter your worries about your father’s reac–”
“I don’t want to see them until this is over. Until it’s safe,” she said, knowing her voice was a little too loud, a little too sharp. Gale blinked and stepped towards her again, hand reaching out. Alyria ignored it. “Until I’m me again,” she whispered so softly she didn’t know if he would even hear her. Silence fell between them, and Alyria tightened her arms around her middle.
“I never told my mother about the orb,” Gale admits, staring past her into the dark. “I told myself it was because I didn’t want to worry her, but in truth it was because I was ashamed. She has always believed in me and done whatever she could to provide for me. I couldn’t bear her to see me as I am now.
“Since the nautiloid, I haven’t sent word to her. Easier, I thought, for me just to go missing one day. A question mark, not a full stop. And now, with our tadpole passengers and so many forces armed against us, I prefer to keep her out of harm’s way and in the bliss of ignorance for a little longer.”
“If you know how I feel, then why did you even ask?” Alyria heard her voice crack a little on the bitter words.
“Because I thought perhaps you might wish to share your burden with one who understands,” he stepped forwards again and his hands found hers, prying them away from her sides with gentle fingers. “As you have so often shared mine. I believe it was you who said that I should stop acting like I was alone.”
She glared at him. It wasn’t fair to use her own words against her like that, not when her mind was still fuzzy. She heaved another deep breath.
“I’m trying not to think about it. Because every time I think about it, I think about all the things that might have happened since I’ve been gone. I think about all the things that might happen if I go to see them. As long as I don’t think about it, nothing’s changed and they’re safe. They’re fine. My father’s making a pot of tea and Mum’s at her lance board telling him how she doesn’t understand how he’s over three hundred years old and he still doesn’t know the rules. If I don’t think about it, they’re the same. She’s the same. Everything is fine as long as I just. Don’t. Think about it.”
“Ah,” Gale said. “And I blundered in and upset that rather delicate balance.”
“No,” Alyria said. “You were trying to help and it’s not like it’s true, anyway. Nothing stays the same. It’s just a lie I’m telling myself.”
“There are far worse lies to tell oneself."
“We’re going to stop Gortash and Orin and the Elder Brain, we’re going to save Baldur’s Gate and we’re not going to become mindflayers. Then I’ll go and see my parents,” vowed Alyria. She looked Gale in the eyes as she said it, and he held her gaze in the dim light of the moon.
“So your mother plays lance board?” Gale asked, breaking the moment. Alyria felt herself relax at the smile on his face and she let herself be led to safer topics.
“Oh no,” she said with a long groan. “I forgot you know how to play; you gave Mol that advice back in Last Light.”
“And then you ignored me and knocked the board so she could switch her pieces.”
“I never had the patience for it,” Alyria admitted. She’d never seen the point of it, in truth. “All those different rules for different pieces, and thinking five steps ahead.”
“I am more than happy to teach you.”
“That would not end well.” She chuckled at the idea. “Half the arguments I had with my mum when I was a kid were when she tried to teach me how to play. It got to the point where when she got the board out I’d run and hide. In the end she started teaching me how to make jewellery instead because it was the only thing we could actually agree on.” At least then she had something to show for the time she spent. His face fell. “But I guess I could try again. I'm older now. And you were a pretty good teacher with the magical stuff.”
“Magical stuff?” he said, and shit, she’d put her foot in it again.
“The Weave and the…” she moved her hands how he’d shown her all that time ago. It felt like years since that night. Gods, she’d thought that an illithid worm in her skull was the worst things could get.
“Ah, the 'magical stuff',” he said. “My apologies for not recognising the technical terminology. Perhaps that is a Baldurian peculiarity of the language.”
“I’m tired and I’ve been drinking Fireswill. You can’t hold my words against me!” Something pinged in her mind and she chased the thought. “Wait, that saying of yours… the wine is truth and water is sensible…”
“In wine there is truth, and in water there is good sense?” he asked.
“That, yes. What do Waterdhavians say about Fireswill?”
“Nothing at all if we can help it.”
“Cowards,” she said, nudging his shoulder with her own.
“I imagine if we had to say something, then it would be along the lines of ‘in Fireswill there is regret’.”
“Not courage?” she asked.
“You hardly need the Fireswill for that.”
She hid her face against his shoulder with an embarrassed hiss.
“You need to stop saying things like that,” she muttered into the fabric.
“That you’re brave?” he asked, sounding honestly baffled.
“Just… nice things,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “It’s too much.”
“It embarrasses you,” he said, looking at her curiously.
“It’s…” she shifted. “You mean them too much. I can’t… I can’t handle that.”
“You can’t handle my compliments because they are honest?”
“Yes!”
He still looked confused.
“When people say things like that - things that are so much, like not just an ‘Alyria, your hair looks nice today’ or ‘Alyria, you did a good job,’ but things that are more - usually they don’t mean them. The bigger a compliment is, the more it’s a lie – usually.”
“But as you just said, I’m not lying.”
“And I don’t know what to do with that,” Alyria said. “The last time someone got poetic with me it was because they wanted me on my knees in the alley behind the tavern, and that’s okay. We both knew what that was about. It’s nice that they put some effort in.”
“Alyria–”
“But you say these things and you mean them and I…” she sighed. “I don’t know how to take them. I can’t just say ‘thank you’ because it’s so much. And I don’t know how to say things like that back and not sound like an idiot. And every time you say them I turn bright red. And I just… can’t.”
“I–”
“But at the same time, that’s you. I love the way you talk and the things you say and how you always phrase things in a way I’d never think of. And I don’t want you to stop, but I don’t know what to do when you do it, and–” She let her forehead fall back against his shoulder. He had excellent shoulders. She was just drunk enough to think about how much she wanted to bite them, but not quite drunk enough to do it.
“Alyria…” he said, his tone amused, which wasn’t fair because that was a very attractive tone of voice for him, but he was amused at her, which seemed mean. She raised her head reluctantly, to find him smiling at her. “Your hair looks nice today.”
“Oh fuck you,” she muttered, and bit his shoulder lightly as he laughed. Oh, apparently she was drunk enough to do that.
“I think perhaps you are drunker than you think,” he said, mirroring her own thoughts so clearly she thought he might have been using the tadpole. He turned so his shoulder was no longer within biting distance. Maybe he didn’t like biting; she should have asked.
“In Fireswill there is courage,” she told him.
“In Fireswill apparently there is cannibalism. If you’re hungry, I’m sure we can find something. You found those eggs earlier, I could cook them for you.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, keeping careful control over her tongue so her other thoughts wouldn’t escape again, “but you do make good eggs.”
“My mother taught me how to cook,” Gale said. “She’s a formidable woman, and a demon with a ladle.”
“My father does the cooking,” Alyria offered. “Which means it’s always vegetarian. You’ll hate it.”
“Vegetables have their place,” Gale said, though he didn’t look convinced.
“I want you to meet them,” Alyria said suddenly. She had an image of Gale in the cramped little room of her parents’ home, surrounded by her father’s plants, sitting opposite her mum at a lance board, considering his next move. She ached with how much she wanted that to be possible. It wasn’t exactly a wizarding tower, and they certainly didn’t have their own library, but it was home and she wanted him there. She wanted to see him standing beneath the trees in the grove – what was left of it – the light of their leaves burnishing him silver. She wanted to see him in Baldur’s Gate, walking down the streets she’d known her whole life. She’d never set foot in Sorcerous Sundries, only walked past the door, but she wanted to see him there. She wanted to see him trying to eat monkey balls without getting chocolate down his front, and smearing it across his face and fingers instead.
“I’d be honoured,” Gale said, far more serious than her little confession deserved. “And I would very much like to introduce you to my mother, and to Tara. And to show you my home in truth, rather than in illusion.” He sounded wistful, like he didn’t think it would happen, and it just made her more determined that it would.
“Tell me about Waterdeep,” she said.
“The City of Splendours,” Gale said, his tone wistful. “There’s nowhere quite like it. The golden sun setting over Peaktop Aerie as the griffons return from their patrols. Walking down The Way of the Dragon on a festival day and seeing the rainbows of pennants flying from the houses in celebration. The roar of the crowds at the Field of Triumph – the spectacles they host there are a thing of true awe and the Founder’s Day celebrations are not to be missed. The peace and beauty of the City of the Dead, its trees and flowers in glorious bloom as you walk beneath them, listening to the minstrels play. A perfect place for reflection.” He sighed. “Then, of course, I believe I've mentioned the Yawning Portal, a hive of activity and adventurers with the best quipper and chips you could ask for – outside of my mother’s, that is.”
“Naturally,” Alyria murmured, winning a grin from him.
“And all of that is not to forget about Serpentil’s. I could spend days wandering those shelves and browsing the tomes in there, though any time I’ve tried to lose myself between the stacks, Dwitt inevitably finds me and demands to know if I think his shop a library.”
He lit up as he talked about the bookshop, which honestly, she should have expected. She hoped he was as happy in Sorcerous Sundries when they got there. But as much as she could happily watch him be excited about books all day, something else had snatched her attention.
“Griffons?” Alyria asked, and he chuckled.
“The Griffon Cavalry, aerial protectors of the city,” Gale said. “They were a common sight when I was a child, though only recently reinstated. It's good to see them back in the skies again.”
“Waterdeep has griffons,” Alyria said.
“Rather fewer than it once had, but it does indeed.”
“Baldur’s Gate won’t let in any animal bigger than a peacock,” she said. “I had to leave the walls just to see a dog. I tried to smuggle a puppy in when I was eight but my mum caught me and had me give it to this family in Rivington.” The idea of griffons in a city, she couldn’t imagine it. She could barely picture a griffon. They had always sounded big - half lion, half eagle - a whole trained cavalry of them was unbelievable. “Is the commander a griffon as well?”
Gale blinked at her and she saw him holding back a laugh.
“Ah… the griffons are mounts,” he said. “The cavalry are actually of the humanoid persuasion. They ride the griffons.”
“Oh…”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“No, no… that was silly of me. I should have guessed. I… Well, riding a griffon sounds amazing. Not quite as good as flying myself, but I suppose not everyone can know an accomplished wizard…” She yawned again and Gale began to lead her away from the embers of the fire towards her bedroll.
“If you’d like, I could tell you the tale of the founding of the Griffon Cavalry.”
“That would be nice,” she agreed, settling down onto her bedroll. He made to sit on a nearby log, but she pulled him down with her, arranging herself with his arm across her stomach, her back front pressed to his front. He moved awkwardly, like he’d turned into a wooden puppet, but went willingly enough as she manoeuvred him into position before slowly allowing himself to relax.
“So, the Griffon Cavalry wasn’t officially connected to Waterdeep at all until Ahghairon made them part of the City Watch,” Gale said, his voice lowered and so close to her ear. His beard tickled at her neck.
“Ahghairon… he’s the one who lost his nose, right?” she asked as her eyes slid closed.
“The…?” Gale paused. “Yes… yes, he’s the one who lost his nose. Or he was. He died over two centuries ago.”
“That’s not that long.” her words were slow and slurred. This really was very comfortable.
“No… I suppose it’s not,” Gale agreed. “But the real founding of the Griffon Cavalry began long before Ahghairon. It started with House Belabranta…”