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There is no concrete answer to where Lucius is. It morphs and changes as he sprints, jumping over logs, dodging torchstalk and other glowing plants and fungi. His legs burn and ache, but can never quite carry him fast enough. He wants to scream, but his chest is tight and empty. Every attempt to shout and yell is breathless, weak, and full of absolutely nothing.
He can hear the monsters that chase him draw nearer, demolishing all in their wake. Lucius doesn’t dare look back. He knows what happens when he does. Every time he’d ever looked back, it’d slow him just enough, the momentum faltering for just one second, a foot misplaced, fear fresh in his veins, and they would —
Don’t! Don’t think about it! Run, damn you, run!
He hears the sickening call of them. Don’t look. Don’t look. He can’t tell what it is. It was a phaerimm earlier, but it sounds like a beholder now. It could even be a malaugrym, he doesn’t know. Hells, earlier it was a sharn. He can never tell. He can’t tell where he is. Just moments ago he was in his cell, and now he’s running and he can’t scream, he can’t get out. His legs are heavy with chains and he can feel the frailness of his malnourished body. He can’t run fast enough, and he can’t scream.
A clearing opens up, and he makes a dash for it. If there’s a place to hide, he’ll take it, he’ll take anything — except that isn’t the truth. Just ahead, he spots that glowing city of Menzoberranzan, and his heart stutters to a stop. He’d hide anywhere, he’d take any refuge but here. The monsters snarl, and he runs in the other direction, tears streaming down his face and glittering in the air as he runs and runs, unable to fill his lungs with enough air, unable to outrun the horror.
He trips over a snaggle of foliage, soaring through the air until he crashes against the trees, feeling his shoulder take the brunt of the weight and push his arm out of its socket. He cries out in pain, collapsing onto his side and clutching his arm, desperately pushing himself up and away as if it’d help him escape.
It’s a phaerimm now — or always has been? Its massive body swirls through the air, four arms outstretched, and its mangled sunflower face opens a circle of thousands of teeth in a splitting grin, swimming through the air towards him. Lucius can’t get up. He can’t scream in terror – it sounds breathless and airy as he does.
“No! No no no! Please!”
He can only sob. He can only watch. A halo of teeth swarms around him and he shuts his eyes tight, bracing for the impact. Warm arms wrap tightly around him in a strange embrace, and he can’t move, he can’t get out, oh Gods, he can’t get out — he thrashes and swings his fist, desperately searching for a way out —
The back of his fist hits something real, and something warm.
Lucius gasps awake as the arms leave him, eyes snapping wide open to reality. He’s not in the Underdark, but rather, in the dark of a familiar cozy blue tent. There aren’t any monsters chasing him, his arm is still in its socket, and —
Oh Gods! Gale!
His heart still pounds, vision blurry and disoriented from his dream. Gale groans in pain, and Lucius scrambles to his side, realizing with horror that he had punched his nose in his sleep. Hard enough to have drawn blood.
“Gale! I-I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay!” Gale quickly assures, still holding his nose. “It’s okay, it’s my fault —”
“I hit you hard! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t fret! Lucius —”
Lucius pats around the area for something to clean it with. This isn’t his tent, and he can’t remember the layout or where anything is for a decent moment until he finds the towel rag at a small stool. He brings it to Gale’s nose, carefully trying to stop the bleeding, putting his free hand around Gale’s back in an apologetic half hug.
“Lucius, it’s alright, don’t —
“You’re bleeding, Gale, that’s not alright —”
“I bleed easy, I bleed easy!”
“I hit you hard!”
“It’s my fault! I scared you. I should’ve thought that through a little more.”
“I hit you, Gale! That’s — There’s no excuse!”
“Like I said, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have…” Gale sighs, gently wrapping his hand around the one at his face. “I bleed easy, it’s fine, I assure you —”
“No! No, no, I just — I shouldn’t have — I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have been here.”
“Lucius —”
Lucius utters a small healing spell, and Gale can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes him. He has to get out of here. He’s ruined tonight. Sleeping over at his tent wasn’t supposed to end in a bloody mess. It was just supposed to be kind company! It should have never ended like this. He should’ve known better, he should’ve predicted it could end this way. Even with the years to distance himself from monsters, he knew it still gave him nightmares.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to —”
“Please, don’t,” Gale pleads, looking up at Lucius with warmth and kindness. A sight that’s enough to bring Lucius pause. “I was just… It was my fault, and I mean it. You were crying, Lucius. You still are. I didn’t – I just wanted to try and stir you out of your nightmare. I should’ve thought better than to try to hug you, but I suppose I didn’t know what else to do.”
Lucius’ gaze softens, and he feels something twist in his chest and churn in his belly. “You… hugged me?”
Sheepish is a funny look on Gale, who often boasts so much confidence and arrogance that it gets half the camp rolling their eyes. His head sinks a little, and a shy smile appears on his slightly bloody lips as he rubs the back of his neck. “Silly me. I should know that not everyone takes those gestures kindly. I’m… sorry. You were laying so close, and it felt like the right thing to do at that moment, but evidently, that theory was wrong.”
“Oh.” is all he can manage to say in return. “I… You scared me. I thought…”
The tadpole squirms against his will, connecting their minds. Flashes of his dream floods through their connection before he can stop it, the fear and adrenaline made real again as the dream and real memories of the Underdark begin to flood. Lucius shuts his eyes tight and turns away. The phaerimm descends upon him, and he shudders, finally managing to sever the connection before it revealed too much.
“Oh Lucius…”
“It's just a dream,” Lucius is quick to say, but he knows Gale can ascertain otherwise. Since they've been in the Underdark, Lucius hadn't been able to quell his anxieties. How his body still remembered terror here, despite the decades that pad the wounds. One hundred years he spent trapped down here. He couldn't keep it together.
“I won't prod,” Gale says gently, raising a hand as if to touch him, but hesitates. “But I don't want you to suffer alone. You're safe with us. I promise you.”
“I know. I know, I know. I just…”
When that beholder emerged from those drow statues, Lucius froze, and he knew the others noticed. Despite it all, he couldn't hide everything.
But he is safe now. He isn't a slave to beholders anymore, he isn't at the mercy of phaerimm. He isn't alone , not like he was back then.
He's safe.
Tears spring anew before he can stop them, and this time, Gale does reach that hand out, rubbing small circles onto his back. Lucius leans into him, and Gale closes around him for a proper hug. The embrace is nice. It's warm, and his clothes are soft, and he smells nice. Like incense, like old books, like the ocean. As if just being around Gale was enough to get a taste of Waterdeep.
Shame is out the window. Lucius wraps his arms around Gale and pulls him in, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder. He does his best to keep his tears in check, to keep himself from unraveling in this cry. It's just a damn dream, and he's a grown ass man, he can handle this.
Oh but Gale is so gentle. Gale holds him tight and whispers assurances, that everything is okay, that he's got him, and that nothing will hurt him. It's sweet, if a bit corny, but perhaps corny is just what he needs right now.
Lucius is the first to pull away, gathering himself together. Gale's touch lingers on his back, and Lucius finds himself wishing that he never takes it back.
“Sorry,” Lucius ends up saying after a beat of silence.
“Don't apologize. You've nothing to worry about.”
Lucius would normally like to argue, but he's still tired, so he doesn't. Instead, he looks up at the tent, taking a stuttering breath. “My days in the Underdark were so long ago, but… I suppose I still haven't gotten over it yet.”
“The Underdark is a dangerous place. I can't imagine what you must've been through.”
These lies are becoming harder to keep up. All at once, Lucius feels the urge to tell Gale everything. How he was the leader of a cutthroat gang, how he was betrayed by his right-hand man and sold to the Zhentarim, how the Sharn Wall fell and he was lost to the Underdark for a century, and how he had to fight and claw tooth and nail out and back to the surface —
But this is too close already. The camp already knows about his tattoos now, already seen the cracks in this facade of a cleric he keeps up. If he reveals any more, no one will credit him for his faith, his genuine turn around in his life. He's a different man now, even though centuries of blood stain his hands.
“Too much,” Lucius settles on. “Maybe some day, I'll tell you a story.”
“You don't have to. Not all stories need to be told.”
Not all stories should be. But somehow, Lucius burns to reveal himself to Gale in full. He makes him want to talk, he makes him want to be true and real.
Dangerous thoughts. All for a man who may as well be a stranger.
Lucius nods, wiping his face. “I… appreciate you. Thank you. I'm um. Sorry I punched your nose.”
“It's alright —”
“It's really not —”
“It is forgiven ,” Gale emphasizes. “Besides, that healing spell perked me back up. It's like it never happened.”
“That's good at least.” Lucius sniffs, deciding to look anywhere but Gale. “Um. If you catch me having a nightmare again — which I pray you won't — just… wake me up. Call out my name. That should snap me out of it, and keep you out of harm's way.”
“Duly noted, my friend.”
There's a touch of awkwardness in the air. This sleepover isn't necessarily ruined, but to Lucius it feels ruined. It was supposed to be their run of the mill late night hang outs, not this strange cacophony of tension and stilted affection. And with how Lucius’ heart sings for Gale, matters are only made worse.
There's the temptation to run back to his tent and avoid Gale, pretend this never happened and simply move on with a safe distance away from Gale, but doing so would hurt the precious wizard’s feelings. Lucius might not be able to handle that.
“While on this subject matter, allow me to offer,” Gale says, taking Lucius’ hand into his own and shaking him out of those thoughts. “If you ever need to wake me for any reason at all, please, don’t hesitate to do so. I’ll wake for you. You needn’t be alone in the night when I’m here.”
Something pleasantly warm blooms in Lucius’ chest. Fondness surges through him; when was the last time someone offered such company? When was the last time he felt genuinely comforted and safe around someone? Mauverne? Virena?
Was there ever a time Lucius ever felt…
No.
No, he’s not .
This is just a strong friendship. Nothing more.
Lucius never had friends before. That’s all this is.
Gale’s hands close around Lucius’ tightly. He’d almost forgotten the touch already, with just how right it felt. Lucius places his other hand around Gale’s and holds him, closing his eyes. Careless thoughts wash over his mind. Urges to pull Gale in closer, to tangle with him and lose himself, to feel his lips upon his — he has to fight to tamper them down. They’re not appropriate. This is… whatever this is, it’s not the grounds to warrant such fantasies.
Lucius takes a deep breath, and feels content.
“You know, I think that’s the kindest thing anyone’s done for me,” Lucius says with a huff of amusement, clapping his hand before letting go. “Shame it’d take a tenday to jostle you awake.”
“Now, I —” Gale laughs. “I am a heavy sleeper, yes, but for you , I’ll be sure to snap awake.”
“Uh huh. Sure.”
“Now you’re being unkind.”
“Am not.”
“Most certainly are too.”
“Right.” Lucius pulls away, but their touch lingers, fingers brushing past each other teasingly before letting go completely. “We should get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.”
“Busy indeed.”
“Indeed.” He sniffs. “There’s um. There’s still some blood on your lip.”
“Ah.” Gale touches his lip, searching for the wetness.
“Here,” Lucius retrieves the rag again, moving to gently clean Gale’s face. “I’ll get it.”
Gale allows him, looking up at him with big eyes. There’s reverence in them, a look Lucius often saw in those calling out their prayers to their gods. Lucius doesn’t know what to do with it.
He utters a small spell to summon water to the rag to make the process easier. In no time, Gale is as good as new. No broken nose, no blood. Like it never happened.
He hugged him. Gale hugged him.
Now who goes and does such a thing? Just shake him awake.
He hugged him.
“You alright?” Gale asks quietly.
“You’re asking me?” Lucius huffs with a laugh. “I’m just tired. Are you alright?”
“Better now.”
“Good. Let’s get some sleep.”
“Let’s.”
As they lay back down and settle into their bedrolls, that swirl of emotions in his chest doesn’t settle. It clusters and festers with warmth, an ache that burns and yearns, coursing through him like venom, spreading like a disease. One day, it might kill him, Lucius thinks. One day, he might die, and it’ll be the wizard’s fault.
Somehow.