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“No, idiot,” Teddy laughs, “You’re doing it wrong.”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m just throwing rocks into the water because I’m not allowed to go and slaughter Ketheric Thorm.”
“You couldn’t do it even if you tried,” Teddy points out, “He’s functionally immortal. Did nobody ever teach you to skip rocks?”
“Teddy, at what point in my childhood do you think someone taught me to skip rocks? They don’t have lakes that aren’t made of fire in the Hells.”
“Like this,” Teddy picks up another rock. He makes a show of how to hold it, and flings it into the water. It bounces once, twice, three times, and disappears beneath the water. There’s a certain stillness to the Shadowcurse, and even the small plash of the water is enough to disturb it. Teddy thinks it’s sort of beautiful.
Gortash picks up another rock, and holds it out in his palm. Teddy molds his hand around it, calloused hand against calloused hand. Teddy’s are worn from slaughter. Gortash’s are worn from his tinkering. Briefly, Teddy considers what his hands might feel like wrapped around Gortash’s neck, then shakes the vision away.
Instead, he recalls what they do feel like when he runs them down Gortash’s chest, when he holds his face, when he comes up from behind, wraps his arms around him in the morning, tries to pull him back into bed. Teddy enjoys sleeping in late, but since Gortash stays up until nearly dawn, they don’t often match up. He much prefers doing this with his hands, no matter how much he wants to do otherwise. He always tells Gortash I want to kill you, but I don’t want you to be dead.
Father forgive me, he thinks.
Gortash tosses the stone. It skips once then sinks.
“Better,” Teddy says.
“I’m surprised you know how to do something like this. It’s not exactly an execution method.”
“No, but you could use a stone if you hit hard enough,” Teddy shakes his head, “I’m not sure I remember who taught me. I must have been very young. Before, well, my father.”
Sometimes he thinks that Gortash is the only one who understands his childhood. He’s never been able to properly explain to anyone before. The slaughter of his foster family. The blood in his hands. How little he’d cared when he looked down at them.
When Bhaal had claimed him, at least that made sense. How do you explain this to someone who grew you normally? No, it makes sense that he and Gortash have started this thing up. They’re the only ones who understand each other.
Teddy has promised to kill Raphael before. He really means to do it. Gortash must understand that he’s serious. Just say the word. Maybe when they get this plan started up, he can slip into Raphael’s home. Take care of things.
“Enver?”
“Yes my dearest?”
“What happens to us? After this all begins? The Absolute?”
“I assume,” Gortash selects another rock, “That you make good on your promise and slaughter the entire world until it’s just us. Then we marry. In the Bhaalist tradition, upon an altar to your father of course.”
“Right.”
“Things will be fine,” Gortash says firmly, “Don’t worry so much.”
“I don’t know how much longer my father will tolerate me,” Teddy says softly. If he whispers, maybe Bhaal won’t hear.
“Because of me?”
Teddy nods, “Because of you. I don’t know how much more I can beg for forgiveness.”
“Then if he asks you to kill me, do it,” Gortash says, as if this ought to be obvious, “And that’ll be that.”
A cultist saunters over, waving them down. Teddy thinks about tossing the man into the Shadowcure just to be left alone. It’s quite entertaining, actually, the way the curse takes hold of those unfortunate enough to be caught up in it.
“The General wishes to see you,” the cultist says, “Both of you.”
“Tell him we’ll be inside soon,” Teddy says. Ketheric can wait.
“Sir?” the cultist says, glancing around nervously, “You wish for me to tell General Thorm to wait?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
The cultist laughs, “Shall I tell him you’re too busy with this little lordling to discuss our work here? Shall I tell him ‘No sir, sorry sir, my bloodkin is too enamored by the pathetic little tyrant to care about you. My bloodkin lets himself be distracted too easily. So sorry’.”
“Enough Orin,” Teddy orders, “Stop it.”
“Boring,” Orin makes a face, “What are you doing out here?”
“Nothing that concerns you. We’ll be back inside in a moment. Thorm can wait another five minutes.”
“I don’t know why you don’t kill him,” she says.
“And do what? Ruin everything we’ve been planning? Don’t be stupid. He has work to do in Baldur’s Gate.”
“I could do it,” she says, twisting her body again until a perfect replica of Gortash stands in front of them, “It’s easy enough. I might like being an Archduke. What do you think? Am I handsome enough for you brother mine?”
“Enough.” Teddy hisses.
The figure contorts back into Orin again. Gortash’s grip on his arm tightens, ever so slightly. She only smiles, and vanishes.
“I hate it when she does that,” Teddy frowns, “One day I think she’ll take it too far.”
“Do I really look like that?” Gortash laughs, “I need a shave.”
“I’ll do it for you tonight. I like having a blade so close to your neck.”
*****
“Who taught you that?” Teddy asks, chuckling, “You don’t seem like the kind of person who skips rocks.”
“You did,” Gortash replies, watching another rock flit across the water. Teddy quite likes this green space under Wyrm’s Rock. He wonders if Gortash often comes down here to be alone. What else do they have to relearn about each other, “I've gotten better than you, I think. Had a lot of time to practice. It helps me think.”
“I taught you?”
“At Moonrise. Two days before you vanished. Funny, things like that.”