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It’s nearly impossible to keep her clothes fully neat and mended out here, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to try. Armor is important. None of them have all that much, and since there’s no telling what is waiting for them each day, Andromeda feels like she’s got to have some semblance of normalcy.
Thankfully, they often camp on the river, and the task of cleaning blood stains out of her clothes is one she has done a hundred thousand times. It’s routine, by now, and somewhat meditative.
“You know, there’s spells for this sort of thing,” a voice says, and she looks up from her spot on the banks. Gale. She’s not surprised. The two of them have a habit of locating the other out at camp. To have dinner together. To discuss the day. To ask mundane questions. Andromeda takes what she can get. She relishes their time together.
“I’m sure,” she chuckles, “But there’s some things that are just better done by hand.”
“I could probably mend the hole in the sleeve for you,” Gale says, sitting down on one of the big rocks, “I’ve used a needle or two in my life. If you don’t want magic touching your things.”
“It’s not that,” she frowns, shakes her head, “I’m just, I don’t know, particular I guess. I’ve never really owned much of my own. I always dreamed about being like the other kids. With nice clothes, and parents who doted on them. Isn’t that so stupid? I turned out just fine I guess. I mean, besides the predisposition to hitting things with a very large ax.”
“To be fair, you do only hit the people trying to kill you,” Gale points out, “Did you grow up in Baldur’s Gate?”
She nods. The bloodstain is finally starting to come out, “After my parents died. An aunt took me in. She didn’t like me very much. Another mouth to feed. I felt like everything I did, every meal I ate, every shirt I wore was a burden on her. I never asked for anything. I’d wander around the city, press my face to the windows of shops and imagine that my parents were still alive. That my mother would go dress shopping with me, that we’d laugh and laugh, and my father would only roll his eyes at us, carrying the extra boxes back home for us because we’d overloaded our arms. But it's a childhood dream. I’m not like that anymore.”
“It can be difficult to grow up an outcast,” Gale says, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with imagining another life for yourself. Especially when you’re so young.”
She shrugs, “When I was fifteen, I ran away from her house. It was the only logical choice. I learned how to use a weapon and never looked back. One day I might tell you more.”
“Seems as if we’re all running from something,” he nods thoughtfully, “What sort of a dress would you have wanted to wear? What’s your favorite color?”
“Would you believe me if I said pink?” she asks, looking up to meet his eye, “It’s not an easy color to come by here, is it? Shows blood too well beside. I suppose if I had pink armor I might let you magic away the blood on it. I wouldn’t want it to stain.”
“I’m sure you look lovely in pink,” Gale says softly, “Goodnight Andromeda. Try not to stay up all night doing laundry. I’m sure you’ll have to do it again tomorrow, if those Goblins have anything to say about it.”
“Goodnight Gale.”
*****
The trek up to the monastery had been difficult, but, despite everything, Andromeda does find the view worth it. The brilliant sun shining off the building is beautiful, and the sunrise sprays the sky with brilliant oranges and reds. The grass is green under her boots-- a very welcome change from the Underdark-- and the air is fresh and crisp in her lungs. Sure, she knows that whatever is waiting for them inside the monastery could be bad-- Lae’zel has confidence in the creche, but Andromeda is wary. Every single way they’ve tried to get rid of the tadpoles has failed and she’s starting to think this might be permanent.
But at this moment, it all feels just fine.
Dinner is simmering on the fire, and the group is unwinding. Scratch chases the cub around the fire, then they switch roles. She watches Karlach and Lae’zel arm wrestle for a bit before retreating to her tent with a bowl of soup. Wyll had cooked, and she has no doubts it’ll be delicious. Evenings like this are truly wonderful. She knows that there’s plenty waiting for them on the road ahead. But so be it. Her friends-- because they are her friends now, she’s confident in that-- are content, the tadpole in her head appears to not have any desire to turn her into a mindflayer soon, and she has every confidence that they will figure this all out. She’s always been optimistic, after all. It’s probably her favorite quality. She’s always been optimistic, in spite of everything.
When she gets to her tent, she sets the bowl down on the floor and examines the flower waiting for her on her pillow. She had only been vaguely aware of the flora and fauna of this mountain pass. She doesn’t know many flowers off the top of her head. She has vague memories of her mother pointing them out before she died, when they’d still lived removed from the city. But it was so hard to find any greenspace in Baldur’s Gate. Perhaps she’s lost that knowledge, if she ever had it.
She picks the flower up and brushes a finger across the velvet petal. It is a pale pink, exactly her favorite hue. She’d certainly not seen this on the road. And she hadn’t seen anyone sneak into her tent to put this on her pillow. Certainly Scratch wouldn’t have known her favorite color, hunted down a flower, and arranged it neatly to be waiting for her.
Andromeda pokes her head out of the tent.
“Everything alright?” Gale asks, as he passes by. His eyes land on the flower in her hand, “What a lovely flower. Isn’t pink your favorite color?”
“Yes,” she says, “Do-ah, do you have a book, I might press it in? I’d like to preserve it.”
“Certainly I do,” he smiles, “I’ll find one for you.”
*****
Though Andromeda had promised to tell Gale a little more about her childhood one of these days, he had never asked. That evening by the river feels like ages ago, but she has been thinking about it quite often. The flower that Gale denies finding for her but obviously did, is pressed neatly, and the two of them are dancing around each other. While Gale’s orb may be stabilized—for now at least—she doesn’t want to pressure him. Doesn’t want to do anything that might endanger the friendship they’ve developed.
The Underdark is unlike any place she has ever been. It’s beautiful in its own way. But extremely dangerous.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Andromeda says softly. No way to yell night from day down here, but they’ve settled down to rest, so she assumed it must be night. At least theoretically.
“Certainly,” Gale closes his book, sets it aside. She sits down in the dirt next to him, pulls her knees up against her chest.
“I’ve been thinking lately. I promised I’d tell you about my aunt. About my childhood. Everybody’s been sharing their secrets. I might as well share mine.”
“Only if you wish,” Gale says quickly, “We’re all entitled to our secrets.”
“Yes. Of course. But I don’t want to keep it a secret any more. What are friends for, after all?”
So she spills her guts. Tells stories she’s never told anyone before. Frankly she’s never been as close to anyone as she is to her newfound companions. It still feels silly to talk about her childhood to anyone. Don’t they have bigger problems? The lack of affection she’d felt from her aunt. The story of the scar across her face. All of it feels so small compared to the horrors they’re facing now.
“So,” she sighs. She has no idea how much time has passed. An hour maybe? “That’s perhaps the reason for all of my unbridled rage.”
“Seems a perfectly logical response to such things,” he sighs, “I’m very sorry. No child deserves to be so alone.”
Andromeda shrugs, “I’m not alone anymore.”
*****
There’s not much color at all in the Shadowlands, and it’s bothering Andromeda more than she thought it would. She always dresses in fairly neutral tones, because it makes the most sense. You don’t have to clean blood stains out nearly as often if you can’t see them in the first place. And while they are well protected from the curse by Isobel’s blessing and whatever that pixie had gifted them with, it doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s pretty sure after everything they’ve seen, it’s the darkness that’s starting to get to her.
How stupid. She hopes no one can tell. She’s pretty sure that no one would tease her for it, she doesn’t want them to see this side of her.
At least the inn provides a bit of a haven for them. A light in the darkness, so to speak.
She watches from the bar while Gale entertains the Tiefling children with little displays of magic. The mood has significantly improved since the prisoners had returned, but there’s still a certain somberness that exists-- and probably will until Thorm is dead, really dead, and the curse is gone. But it’s a start. Andromeda is always looking for a bright spot.
“Copper for your thoughts?” Karlach asks, hopping up on the barstool next to her, “He’s good with kids.”
“Yes, isn’t he?” she sighs, “How are you feeling?”
“About this?” she shakes her head, “Hells if I know. But I think we’re doing alright.”
The kids laugh at the conjuration of what appears to be the warden of the prison at moonrise being forcefully ejected from a doorway. Andromeda can’t help but smile.
“We saved those people,” Karlach says, “I guess that’s what matters right now. These tieflings have had a hell of a time since they left Elturel. But then again, haven’t we all had a hell of a time. What will you do first, when you reach Baldur’s Gate?”
Andromeda frowns. Karlach is right. They shouldn’t treat this as an if but a when. They will figure out how to defeat Thorm. They will. They have to. For everybody’s sake.
“I don’t know,” she admits, “I feel like I haven’t been able to think of anything else since we crashed. Now that it’s so close, it doesn’t feel real.”
“No,” Karlach replies, “It doesn’t. I think the first thing you should do is fuck the wizard.”
Andromeda feels her face redden and she quickly sips her ale to hide most of her face.
That night, Mirkon presents her with a shiny pink stone. She thanks him, promises to keep it close, asks if he’d enjoyed the magic show. She is so fond of those tiefling kids.
“My word, your favorite color seems to be a well known fact doesn’t it,” Gale laughs, though she’s certain that he must have somehow worked that into his show for the kids, when he sees it in her hand, “How interesting.”
*****
The day dawns far, far too early, and Andromeda wonders if Thorm might consider waiting to try and take over the world, so she can have a little bit more time in bed with Gale.
The previous night’s events linger in her mind. When she had told Gale to wow her had had no idea what to expect. And he had far exceeded any expectations she could have had. And now, she feels him breathing under her, can hear his heartbeat. Still asleep, she thinks. What time is it? Is it even morning?
There’s no way in all the Hells that she is going to let Gale sacrifice himself. Not a chance. She can appreciate that he’s willing to do it, but she’s not going to let him throw away his life like this.
But there is a very good chance they could die facing Thorm. And she is so glad that Gale had shown her the stars, in case it ends up being the last time.
“Are you awake?” Gale asks softly.
“No,” she burrows down under the blanket. The bed was more of an afterthought of course. The way they had, well, done it had not required a bed, but she was glad for it after, since it had been somewhat exhausting, “No, go back to sleep.”
She traces a finger over the orb on his chest-- it’s not like she’s memorized it or anything, except she absolutely has-- and sighs, “Thank you, for last night. It was, well, magical.”
He chuckles, “Something to remember me by.”
“Don’t say that. We’re going to figure something out. I swear it.”
“My little optimist. I suppose you will figure something out,” he tightens his grip on her, “Should we return to the others?”
“I’m not sure I know where my clothes are,” she sits up, glances around, “Perhaps they’ve somehow really ended up in Waterdeep.”
“They’ll be waiting for you then,” he sits up too, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. His beard tickles, and sends s shiver down her spine.
They are certainly coming down to the last few hours of piece. Soon, they’ll go to Moonrise Towers, and confront Thorm. Andromeda expects a bit of a challenge. There had been plenty of cultists there, and while they have the backing of the Harpers, and Thorm is no longer immortal, who knows what he might have up his sleeve.
“When we get to Baldur’s Gate,” Gale says, “Would you let me dote on you?”
“You remember that conversation?” she chuckles, “That feels like years ago.”
“Certainly I remember,” he says, “I’ve been waiting to ask you until the time felt appropriate. I’ll conjure you up something to wear, and we can go back and face the day. Need I ask what color you might prefer?”
*****
“We should have avoided this place entirely,” Astarion says, crossing his arms over his chest, “The clowns should have been a good enough deterrent.”
Andromeda laughs, and wipes some of the blood off of her face, “Technically we killed some clowns. Shouldn’t you have enjoyed that?”
He rolls his eyes, “Maybe I did. But it’s such dirty work. Where has the Wizard gotten to? I can’t wait to leave this place.”
She glances around, and realizes that Gale has indeed wandered off.
“We’re not done here,” Andromeda sighs, “But at least the clown is dead right? Poor Dribbles.”
“The only good clown is a dead clown.”
“Are you afraid of clowns Astarion?” Andromeda chuckles.
“Don’t be stupid my dear, certainly I’m not afraid of clowns. I just hate them like any reasonable, normal person does. Obviously you’re not normal.”
She rolls her eyes, “There’s Gale.”
Smiling, Gale saunters over, kisses Andromeda on the cheek. It’s such a routine greeting for them now, but it still makes her heart flutter every time.
“Where’d you get off to?” She asks.
“For you my love,” Gale says, opening his hand to reveal a satin pink ribbon, “Even though you made me go on stage and play clown’s assistant. And even though the clown was an evil shapeshifter.”
“You love me,” she chuckles, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.
“Very much.”
Like a favor at a tournament, Andromeda takes a moment to tie the ribbon to the handle of her sword.
“Nothing about the murder circus screams romance to me,” Astarion says, “But if that’s what does it for you.”
*****
“Is it foolish of us to be wasting time like this?” Andromeda asks, taking a sip of her wine. When Gale had talked about doting, she had accepted, and he had been true to his word. The city is as alive as she remembers, and now they finally have an indoor bed on the top floor of the Elfsong.
Of course, there is still so much work to be done. Orin is wreaking havoc. Wyll’s father is missing. There’s the potential for hundreds-- maybe thousands-- of people to turn into mind flayers.
But the wine is good, and perhaps it’s best to think of one thing at a time.
“It’s important my love, to make time for oneself, even in the face of evil,” Gale replies thoughtfully. The Elfsong is a fine enough establishment for a meal and a drink, and there’s enough secluded tables that they can lean in and talk, and remain relatively undisturbed. Under the table, Gale presses his foot to her shin, and she takes his hand across the table.
“Is this what you meant about doing it properly? If we were back in Waterdeep?”
“Something like that. I’d show you off to anyone and everyone. You are truly divine. And I know all about the divine.”
She chuckles, “I’m not properly dressed for such an event. Gale?”
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” she takes his hand, kisses the knuckles, and returns it to the table, “I just love you.”
“I love you too.”
There’s still so much lying ahead. The Emperor won’t leave her brain, no matter how hard she tries to shut him out. Cazador will certainly be lurking in the shadows, looking to grab Astarion at the first possible moment. She has no idea how to get these other stones.
Dinner arrives, better than anything they’ve been able to cook on the road so far. It fills her with a pleasant warmth. She almost feels well rested. Almost.
“When the world is back to normal,” he says, “I will buy you the most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen. Something that would make your ten year old heart jump for joy. And I will take you on my arm around the city and we will be happy. I swear it to you.”
“I believe you,” she says, “But you will have to give up the crown, Gale. For that.”
He nods, “I know. I’ll give it to her. Mystra. I will. I’d choose you over anything. You must know that by now.”
“I know.”
He leans forward and kisses her. Everything else seems to fade into the background.
*****
When they finally get back to their room that night, there's a soft linen dress waiting for her on the bed. The fabric is soft to the touch, dyed a rosy pink. It's absolutely lovely.
"Well where might that have come from?" Gale says, though his smile betrays everything.
Andromeda holds the dress up against her, examining her reflection, "One of the great mysteries of the world it seems."