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Andromeda wipes her face with her gloved hands, an action which really only serves to further smear blood all over the place. Still, it’s the thought that counts. At least it’s not in her eyes. There’s nothing more frustrating than blood in the eyes, truly.
It often takes a moment or two to come down from a battle. She shakes the frenzy off, and launches herself over to where Halsin is helping Gale back up to his feet. He’s awake, which is better than the last time she’d been able to look over there.
“Careful love, you’ll knock me over again,” he mutters as she all but jumps into his arms.
“Tell me you’re alright,” she says, taking his face in her hands, standing on her toes to see him better, “I saw you go down so hard. Are you alright?”
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure,” he replies, “My dear, you are absolutely covered in blood.”
“Backsplash,” she shakes her head, “You know how it is. I probably taste like blood.”
He kisses her, just once, softly, “It’s not half bad. Perhaps Astarion is on to something.”
“When I saw you get hit,” she swallows, “I don’t know. I couldn’t do anything. I was too far away to get to you. I was ready to take a hundred hits just to get over to you.”
“I’m quite well,” he says, using his sleeve to wipe blood from her face. She leans forward, wraps her arms around him, and presses her face against his chest. Her head comes just about to where the orb sits in his chest. Sometimes at night, when she sleeps against him, she swears she can hear it ticking away, counting down the days left, no matter how stable Elminster might claim it to be. But of course she can’t. It’s only her imagination. It won’t detonate unless he tells it to.
“You are quite a spectacle in battle,” he says softly. She squeezes her eyes shut but she can hear the others. Poking around. Looting. Karlach says something she can’t make out and she hears Shadowheart giggle, “I’ve never had such a champion before.”
“No one is allowed to harm you,” she says, tightening her grip. If she holds him tight, holds him close, then nothing bad will ever happen. Not the Absolute, not Mystra, not the gods. Nothing at all, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m walking and talking. Though I’m usually talking, aren't I? Chin up love.”
“I could use a bath,” she says finally.
“Allow me.”
*****
“Well it’s not quite a hot bath in a warm tower,” Gale says, sinking underneath the water with her, “But it feels good nevertheless.”
Andromeda sighs, ducks under the water long enough to wet her hair, and breaks the surface again. The water is just warm enough to be tolerable, and far too cold to be really pleasant.
“Allow me love,” Gale says. He snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her towards him. Wordlessly, she lets him lather up the soap and run his hands through her hair. She doesn’t wince as his fingers meet knots, and the occasional bit of semi-dried blood.
“I’d do anything for you, you know,” she says, tracing the orb on his chest with her finger. If only she could figure out a way to get rid of this for good. Mystra won’t be pleased when she discovers Gale is still alive, and she has nightmares about her re-activating the thing. Still, if it comes down to that, then she supposes there are worse ways to die. There’s not a chance in the Hells she’d let do something like that all alone. But that’s an argument for another day. Probably a loud, and drawn out one. Gale will fight her tooth and nail-- thankfully it’s only a hypothetical, perhaps one that she’s worried about for nothing, “I hope you know that.”
In all truthfulness, she’s never been all that good at expressing her emotions. Mostly, she just hits things and hopes that it comes across as affectionate. Maybe that’s some unresolved childhood issues. Assuming they all live long enough, perhaps she can address them. Gale would probably want her to.
“Including violently beheading local cultists,” he says, nodding thoughtfully.
“Is-” she frowns, “Is that alright?”
He chuckles, and takes her face in his hands, “Of course it’s alright. I’m just, I don’t know, surprised is all.”
“Surprised?”
“That you’d be so inclined to violence on my behalf.”
“To be fair, I am generally inclined to violence,” she points out.
“Ah,” he taps her on the nose, “But I’ve seen you do so only when necessary. You are a diplomat at heart. Except, it seems, where my well-being is concerned.”
“Well I love you,” she reasons.
He presses a kiss to her freckled shoulder, “I love you too. Very, very much.”
“How are you feeling?”
“A bit like I got thrown across a room and onto a lower balcony,” he says, “But I’ll live.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He shakes his head, “You won’t.”
So she settles her head on his shoulder and for a long moment, doesn’t say anything at all.
*****
Clean and slightly less bruised and sore, it’s finally time for the day to end. Andromeda has all but moved into Gale’s tent, save for the especially clear nights where she drags him out to sleep underneath the stars. It’s about as much privacy as they can get at camp, but she’s pretty sure the others don’t mind. She wants them all to be happy. She thinks they want the same for her.
“You know,” Andromeda says, combing her drying hair with her fingers. She catches Gale’s eye in the mirror from his spot in his bedroll. He had said he was going to read, but the book is open on his chest and he’s focused entirely on her. Obviously she is more interesting to him than whatever he’s reading. She always gives him any books she finds in their travels, hopes he might learn something new, or at least enjoy them, “I’m going to have to leave you tied up in camp if you keep getting yourself nearly killed.”
“Is this a threat or a promise?” He asks, and she catches him raising an eyebrow at her.
She rolls her eyes, “Both.”
Frankly, that’s probably all she’s going to be able to do with her hair so she gives up, and slips under the covers with him. All the energy she had today is gone, sapped out of her body. She’s lucky she’s got enough left in her to walk over to bed.
“Gale?”
“What can I do for you?”
Andromeda frowns, “Don’t die.”
“I can assure you, I don’t plan to,” he says, and though she can tell he’s trying to make a joke, there’s nothing joking about his tone. She is so glad to hear it. For so long, she’d been the one talking him down from the ledge, so very afraid he’d follow Mystra’s orders and detonate himself.
“Good,” she sighs, “If you do, I’ll drag you back to life myself just so I can kill you again for being so stupid.”
“Get some rest my love,” he says, chuckling. He takes her hand, presses a kiss to it, and then holds it, right on his chest, “It’s been a long day.”