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It was summer in Waterdeep, and the humidity pervaded into the night. The bedroom balcony door was open to the ocean breeze, and the waves twinkled as brightly as the stars above. The room was blissfully silent as the lovers within dreamed.
Blissful silence broken by a scream.
Aoife bolted upright, throat hoarse and eyes wild. Her hands white-knuckled the sheets, desperate to ground herself in the reality around her. Still, it took all her energy to look next to her, to see Gale crouched next to the bed, quarterstaff in hand. He relaxed a little now that he saw she was awake, but it was clear he was still shaken, clutching the staff and the edge of the bed for support.
"You screamed," he said, attempting a flat tone.
"I did?" Aoife paused, taking account of her body. "I did. I...I had a bad dream." Simpler words were all her mind afforded her, still taunting her with the images of her nightmare.
Gale sat back down on the bed, searching her face with concern. He put his hand over hers, prying it out of the sheets and into his firm and loving touch. "What happened?"
Aoife shook her head. "It was all real again. Too real." She stopped speaking, taken in by her worst fears, realized and replayed behind her eyes.
"It's done now, my love. We won. We survived. Better than I dared to hope, even," he said, leaning his head on her shoulder. "I'm here for whatever you need. If you need to talk, or not."
The weight on Aoife's shoulder grounded her, and she began taking deep, ragged breaths. She looked out at the sparkling water, watching the waves reflect the moon. It was full this night, gilding the city in silver. It was a stark contrast to the endless, maddening dark she now remembered.
"You died," she began. "Myrkul killed you. I tried to get to you in time but I was too slow. Myrkul swung his scythe and then...you were gone. Body and soul."
Gale stroked her arm as he listened. Of course he knew he died, but in between facing the Lord of Bones and being revived in camp, there was a blank, yawning void in his memory. He had relished in Aoife’s happiness too much to ask many questions. He surmised he hadn't missed much.
"I couldn't resurrect you. When we came back, I begged Withers to save you. But I didn't have the gold. I pleaded and pleaded and got on my knees. He could only give me a look of pity." Aoife began crying, tears cutting a shining path down her face in the moonlight. "The dream ended like that. I was helpless to save you."
Gale kissed her shoulder. Her words sat heavy in his chest. He thought, in his own warped mind at the time, that even if he did die, it would not have caused much damage. A time of sadness, perhaps, but never agony. Never her rare and strange tears. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
"Is that really what happened, my love? How much of your dream is memory?"
"All of it, except where it ended."
Aoife turned and took Gale's face in her hands, studying his face in the dim light. She held him tightly, almost uncomfortably so. He watched her as her eyes darted from feature to feature. It was all he could do. She released him, apparently finding whatever answer she sought, and laid back down on the bed.
"Do you know how long you were out?" Aoife asked.
"No. I guessed not very long, though."
"Two days. Worst two days of my life." She wiped the last of her tears away. "I'm surprised no one told you how insufferable I was then."
"Lae'zel said I should prioritize staying alive, for all our sakes. I thought she was being rather sweet." Gale smiled, and Aoife let out a breathy chuckle.
"She was. But it was probably more to avoid experiencing my aura of grief again. I sulked. I didn't speak unless spoken to, or to snap at someone. Watching Aylin and Isobel felt like punishment. I chastised myself for failing you, not only for letting you die but for refusing you your quest, as if I could save you when obviously I couldn't. And I tore through every container we passed by, searching for gold. Lae'zel called me inefficient once on the road to Rivington, and I threatened her with my blade." She shut her eyes tight. "I apologized soon after that one."
Gale blinked hard, taking in the new information. He laid down beside his lover, offering his hand, which she eagerly accepted.
"I had no idea you were so affected,” he said. “We have had to make use of Withers’ help before, and you remained stoic as ever.” Aoife turned to him, eyes wide and brow furrowed.
“Do you still not know how important you are? How important you are to me?” She sighed. “If there’s one thing I learned through all this, it’s that when something is too rigid, it becomes brittle. And when something brittle breaks, it breaks in pieces. It is never clean. That night, I was glass. And Myrkul was a hammer.”
Gale brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. He placed their entwined hands to his chest, hoping more skin-to-skin contact would bring her comfort. Her words hung in the air, and this time Gale was not so quick to replace them.
“I need to sit outside,” Aoife stated abruptly. “I’ll keep thinking about it if I stay in bed.” She released his hand and stood up.
“I’ll come outside with you,” Gale replied. “You don’t have to face torment alone.”
“But you need sleep,” she said.
“Not as much as you need to be shown that I’m here with you. Now and forever.” He grabbed his wedding ring from the nightstand, half silver and half steel, forged into one seamless design by the best Waterdhavian jeweler an ex-archwizard could afford.
“See?”
Aoife’s lips curled upward by the smallest degree, but it was enough to crack the darkness behind her eyes. They moved to the balcony, moving their chairs beside one another. The moon was just beginning to set, its bright disc brushing the horizon. They settled, taking each other’s hands once more.
“Talk to me,” Aoife murmured. “Tell me anything else.”
“Well, a colleague recently told me about their research on kobold religiosity, and it's more interesting than you’d think,” he began. As he outlined the topic, Aoife’s mind drifted to the shining moon. She was no longer one to pray to any specific god, but she could talk. She didn't feel grateful to Selûne really, and she figured that if anything, the goddess could stand to thank her for releasing the Shadowlands from Shar’s grip. But she remembered the light of the moon that first night after Ketheric was vanquished, a thin smile above the lifting haze. She had lifted her head, above the grief and above the shadow, and felt the smallest sliver of hope.
“...and while the thought of kobold vengeance paladins should be fear-inducing, I can’t help but laugh at it,” Gale said, pulling Aoife back out of her head.
“You should fear them. They’re my brothers in arms,” she joked, smiling wryly. Gale chuckled, his eyes brightening more at his lover’s change in mood than her words. Aoife squeezed his hand.
“I’m happy you’re here with me,” she said.
“As am I.”