Chapter Text
Raphael was not one to indulge mortals in their desires unless a glorious prize awaited. Having already achieved the impossible—ruling over the Nine Hells—he no longer felt the need to desire or ask for more. Everything he could want was already at the tip of his claws.
This incredible feat would not have been possible without the help of a mere mortal, a most beautiful and unusual soul he affectionately called his little mouse.
Everyone revered him, kneeled before him, and offered all manner of gifts to keep the peace, including Mephistopheles himself, his father. Raphael felt invincible, standing at the pinnacle of the realms, believing that nothing could stop him…
Despite his utter confusion, Raphael had agreed to attend this abomination of a party at the behest of his little mouse. All evening, the Archdevil Supreme wore his most magnanimous mask, smiling at the guests. Nobles, men of important titles, and ladies seeking suitable bachelors were all intrigued by his presence. All eyes were drawn to him, and all lips whispered fabricated stories about him. Everyone wanted to be with Raphael.
Admittedly, he wanted to flay these mortals alive and feast upon their filthy souls. He could easily do it in a mere second with a snap of his fingers and a little help from the Crown of Karsus. However, for her sake, he chose not to. She had asked him to come to this event, and he felt he owed her that much. Yet, he could not quite fathom why he complied.
And where was that damned little mouse? The creature who had invited him in the first place had been missing for almost three hours!
Raphael clicked his tongue and downed his sixth glass of Esmeltar Red for the evening. The endless parade of empty-headed misses and their ambitious mothers vying for his favor tested his patience. Each insipid attempt to win his graces grated on his nerves. If another one approached, by the Nine Hells, he'd start frying them one by one, saving his favorite mortal for last.
The Devil sensed predatory eyes upon him once more. Before his patience snapped, he set the empty glass down and smoothly strolled away from the crowd, slipping outside to the balcony without anyone noticing.
Finally alone, he sensed the presence he had been seeking all evening. That damned chit had been in the garden the entire time!
Grinding his teeth in anger, he navigated through the maze, the scent of his favorite mortal growing stronger with each step until its sweet odor nearly overwhelmed his sensitive nostrils.
And there, at the end of the maze where roses bloomed, was the little mouse herself, barefoot and bathed in the moonlight, performing a dance that was both primitive and strangely alluring. Yet what captivated him the most was her appearance .
He had first met her in the Emerald Grove, where he found her looks—and, admittedly, her hygiene—quite deplorable. She was a warrior and a mighty one at that. She’s the hero of Baldur’s Gate. She was always covered in the blood and guts of her enemies. Her clothes and armor were perpetually torn beyond recognition after countless battles. Her hair was wild and unkempt, and an unidentifiable stain seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face. Despite this, she dared not indulge in self-care, fearing her enemies might strike while she was indisposed.
Raphael appreciated the rare occasions when she attempted to improve her appearance, particularly during his unexpected visits to her and her companions. Even her companions found it odd. Why would she bother making herself presentable for a Devil?
The mystery was somehow answered the moment Raphael set eyes upon her.
Her smooth, unblemished skin was sinfully adorned with a dress that perfectly complemented her complexion. Her silky hair was swept up in a tight bun, exposing her bare, graceful neck. Her eyes glowed brighter than the moon itself, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of summer, and her pink, luscious lips completed the enchanting picture.
Behold, the hero who had signed his contract and brought him the Crown of Karsus. The woman who had defeated the Netherbrain and saved countless lives. The mortal whose soul was destined to belong to him from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
Behold, the apple of Raphael’s eye, as she truly was.
Oh, little mouse, you are so…
The Devil caught himself, cutting off his unclean thoughts of her and clearing his throat loudly enough for her to hear. The poor, clueless mortal nearly jumped in fear upon seeing him.
"Raphael? Gods, I thought you wouldn’t come!" she exclaimed, smiling as she ran to meet him.
Raphael smiled and bowed. Suddenly, the three hours of torture felt like nothing. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, little mouse," he said, taking her hand and placing a kiss on it. The gesture brought a blush to her cheeks—something that never happened before. "Who am I to refuse such an invitation?"
Tav smiled sheepishly, feeling as though he might be bluffing. "It is I who owe you. I couldn’t have saved the city without your help."
"Ah, but everything is fair," he replied smoothly. "I gave you the means to save everyone, and you gave me the Crown. It is only fitting that I come when my favorite client needs my assistance." He looked at her intently. "Tell me, oh apple of my eye, how may this Archdevil Supreme serve you?"
Hearing those words from Raphael felt surreal. He had truly conquered the Nine Hells. She couldn't ask for more, and she certainly didn’t want to be on his bad side. She valued his help and now, she needed his company— quite desperately .
Raphael noticed the subtle shift in Tav’s expression and wondered if his words had struck an unintended chord. "Is something amiss, little mouse?" he inquired gently, his hand grazing her cheek. The hero of Baldur’s Gate smiled in response, yet beneath the façade, a hint of vulnerability lingered. "Are you quite well?"
"Yes, I am... well," she began, her fingers fidgeting nervously. "...My father insisted I learn to dance. You might have met him. He's the one adorned with medals."
That one?! The obnoxious lord who had bragged to him all evening with tales of his wealth and accolades?! The wealthiest man in the mansion and the orchestrator of this damned gathering?!
Tav laughed, breaking Raphael’s reverie. "I know what you’re thinking. I take after my mother."
“Forgive my candid reaction,” Raphael managed a diplomatic smile. Among the guests, her father had tested his patience and grace the most. “but as the daughter of a highly-regarded noble, were you not instructed in the social dances and proper etiquette during your youth?”
“I was. I mean, I tried. I’m not good at it.” Giving him that shy smile of hers once more, she added. “To be honest, I skipped my private lessons a lot.
“In fact, I was running away from my Sylvan Tutor when, you know, the Nautiloid took me and… you know the rest.”
“I see,” Raphael hummed thoughtfully. He sensed there was more to her story and could tell she had never truly been happy. “What dance were you trying to learn, dear?”
“The Waltz.”
“Fortune smiles upon you, little mouse, for you have just discovered a truly exceptional dance instructor.” Tav gave Raphael a confused smile and raised an eyebrow, but the Devil merely smirked knowingly and extended his hand. “Provided, of course, that you do not flee from me.”
“You’re a Devil,” Tav whispered, her eyes filled with wonder and something else he couldn’t quite discern.
“Do you trust this Devil?”
“Yes, I do.” The mortal answered, a little breathless, as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her into the middle of the garden.
As Raphael guided her delicate hand onto his right shoulder and placed his other hand on the small of her back, the chorus of violins resounded from the mansion, filling the air with sweet music. He took the first step, and their dance began.
The dance lasted for only a few moments, but those few moments proved to be more for both Tav and Raphael.
Tav had never encountered a man as charmingly gentle and devastatingly suave as Raphael. Yes, he was a Devil, and it was in his nature to be one. Yet, no other man had ever treated her the way he did. With him, she felt safe, seen, and heard. She didn't need to pretend; she could be her true self. He treated her with kindness and sincerity, making the love her so-called family and friends showered her with upon her return from Baldur’s Gate feel fake and hollow by comparison.
With Raphael, everything felt easy and natural. This sense of ease made her follow his lead effortlessly as if she had known the dance for a long time. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. It felt as if it was the only thing that mattered.
Raphael had danced with countless partners throughout the many years he had walked both the Earth and the Nine Hells. He had experienced dances that were sweet and innocent, dangerous and deadly, alluring and seductive. The Devil had danced with the most beautiful mortal courtesans and the most entrancing infernal creatures. Yet, there was something about this simple, virginal dance that felt uniquely special. Tav was not his lover nor his paramour; she was merely the one who had provided him with the means to rule over the Nine Hells through a fair bargain. By Asmodeus' beard, they weren't even friends—unconventional allies, perhaps, but never close.
So why did he feel like he mattered to her? Like he was the only light guiding her in this dark place? Like he was the only one that mattered to her? There was no hesitation in her movement. Her body felt like liquid satin in his grasp. Her hands, her waist, her entire being—her enchanting eyes, her soft lips, her sweet scent—everything about her felt perfectly attuned to him.
Every aspect of her seemed to fit him perfectly like she was the missing piece to his puzzle. It felt strange, yet so right, as if everything had led to this moment. The once-tadpoled mortal, who had cluelessly traipsed about the Sword Coast in search of a cure, felt more genuine than all the courtesans, both mortal and infernal, he had danced with combined.
And he wanted her all to himself from that very moment.
By the Nine Hells, he wanted her now …
However, before he could act on impulses he knew he would later regret, the music abruptly halted, shattering the enchantment of their intimate moment. She was his most cherished one, his very own little mouse. The mere thought of the desires that stirred within him disgusted Raphael. He could have easily spirited her away to fulfill those desires, and no one would have been the wiser.
It was Tav who broke their connection first. "That was... truly remarkable. Thank you, Raphael." Gathering her skirts and casting him a glance tinged with regret, she continued, "I must go. They must be looking for me."
Go on, seize the opportunity. A little voice within Raphael urged. She deserves more than this illusion of a lavish existence. You could offer her so much more. Wealth, power, pleasure... Everything she desires...
Do it...
"Allow me to escort you, little mouse," Raphael responded simply, as he took her hand once more and led her back to the mansion, a pang of disappointment sweeping through him…