Chapter Text
Daphne didn’t often second-guess herself—survival in the wilds and city streets alike didn’t allow for that luxury—but as her boots echoed through the pristine marble hallways of Waterdeep’s Blackstaff Academy, she found her courage wavering. It wasn’t the grandeur that unnerved her: the sparkling chandeliers hung like captured constellations above, the hum of magic seemed to whisper through the air, and ornate tapestries lined every wall.
No, it was the man waiting for her.
Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep. Wizard, scholar, hero of Baldur’s Gate, and the man who, for months, had been the calm voice by the fire and the fierce mind on the battlefield.
She paused outside his door. It was half-open, the sounds of someone bustling faintly audible—a quill scratching paper, a low murmur of incantations, and then—
“By Mystra’s infinite patience, that is not how one rewrites the Transmutation cycle.”
Daphne smiled. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard Gale mutter frustratedly at parchment. Somehow, the sound reassured her.
Without waiting to knock, she pushed the door open. “Gale?”
Gale spun sharply at the sound of her voice, his long arcane robes flaring dramatically. Of course they did. For just a second, he froze, fingers hovering mid-air, his expression blank with shock. Then his eyes lit up, recognition chasing away the surprise.
“Daphne?” he breathed, his voice filled with wonder. “By the Weave, is it really you?”
She didn’t wait for further confirmation, couldn’t allow him a chance to vanish into flowery words or formalities. In two strides, she reached him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. She was smaller than he, always had been, but her fierce embrace left no room for doubt.
At first, Gale stood stiff in surprise, but slowly, he melted into her hold. His arms encircled her, a tender carefulness in the way his hands pressed to her back, like he wasn’t quite sure she was real. His chin tilted down, his voice dropping into a whisper as he murmured near her ear.
“Far too long,” he said, his voice shaking slightly despite himself. “Far, far too long, my friend.”
Daphne pulled back just enough to look up at him, though his hands lingered warmly on her shoulders. Gale had changed—his face was fuller, the tired lines from their journey softened, and his hair, though still wavy and tousled, seemed just a bit more intentional . His robes, embroidered in shimmering patterns, seemed to catch the sunlight streaming in from the window, making him look like a wizard from a bard’s tale.
“You look…” Daphne hesitated, then laughed. “… too clean.”
Gale blinked before a delighted chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Too clean?” he echoed. “That’s the first observation? Not ‘Oh, Gale, you’ve grown impossibly wise and handsome in your scholarly pursuits,’ but ‘too clean’?”
“I miss the dirt,” she teased, grinning. “You look like someone who’s never even seen mud.”
“Don’t tempt me, Daphne. There are muddy fields beyond these walls, and I’ll happily drag you through them if it restores my rugged mystique.”
Gale’s gaze held hers with an earnestness that stilled her. “But truly—your presence here brings life to these halls. I’ve missed you. More than I can adequately say.”
Daphne’s smile softened, her teasing fading. “I missed you, too. I wasn’t sure when—if—I’d get the chance to see you again.”
“You found the chance,” Gale corrected. “And here you are. And here I am. Almost as though the Weave itself arranged it.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Trust you to credit divine forces.”
“To be fair,” Gale said, turning slightly, “when you’ve spent your life entangled with gods and their whims, it’s hard not to assume every happy accident has cosmic roots.” He gestured toward the wide window, where Waterdeep sprawled beneath them. Ships bobbed lazily in the harbor, their sails cream against the endless blue. “Come—let me play guide.”
Daphne joined him at the window, her fingers resting on the sill as she took in the view. “It’s stunning.”
Gale turned his head, watching her instead. “It is,” he murmured. “Though the view has improved significantly since you arrived.”
Daphne laughed and bumped his arm lightly with her elbow. “Flattery already, Gale? I just got here.”
“Then I am woefully behind schedule,” he replied smoothly.
After a beat, she glanced sidelong at him. “You look quite distinguished, Gale. Being a professor suits you.”
Her gaze swept over the towering shelves of books in his office, eyes widening slightly. “Though, I’m not sure I belong here. School was never really my thing.” She laughed softly, the sound more a breath of happiness than anything else. “I really missed you. I can’t believe I let so much time pass. Baldur’s Gate looks great now—everyone’s done so much, and your scrolls and supplies for the refugees helped tremendously. We’re all grateful.”
Gale’s smile grew fonder as she spoke of Baldur’s Gate, and when she mentioned the aid he’d sent, he nodded, a flicker of relief passing across his face.
“I’m glad they were of use. Even from afar, I wanted to help. It wasn’t just the city that needed rebuilding but the people—their spirit. You gave them something to hold on to, Daphne. You’ve always been people’s light, whether you realize it or not.”
Daphne’s cheeks warmed slightly at his words, and she busied herself with the view again. “You always compliment me too much. I can’t take all the credit. It was all of us. I’m just glad we could help them and give them hope. You should see them now.”
A soft smile crept onto her face as she thought of Wyll, fair and just as Duke, and the city bustling back to life. “It’s looking better every day.”
Gale’s expression gentled, a quiet admiration settling there as his voice dropped. “You don’t need to apologize for the time that’s passed. You’ve been doing what you’ve always done—putting others before yourself. It’s one of the reasons I admire you so deeply.”
Something stirred in her chest at his words, her heart skipping just slightly. She glanced at him, searching his face, but he only smiled—a soft, reassuring thing—as he took a small step closer and extended a hand. Not to pull her forward, but simply to remind her he was there.
Daphne looked back at the city, her heart fluttering in a way she wasn’t prepared to name. She could still remember him as he’d been on the road: wind-swept and tired while cradling a magic tome in one hand. She remembered his stories by the fire, his wry wit, and the quiet intensity with which he saw people—the way he’d seen her.
The silence stretched between them, not awkward, but charged with all the things unsaid.
Finally, Gale cleared his throat. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?” Daphne turned to him.
“Explore, of course!” Gale swept an arm dramatically toward the door. “Waterdeep awaits you, and while the libraries are undoubtedly the crown jewel of the city—”
“I’m not reading, Gale.”
“ —there are other wonders as well,” he finished, undeterred. “The markets. The theaters. And if we’re very fortunate, I may even show you the hidden pastry shop that makes cinnamon rolls large enough to rival any spellbook.”
Daphne’s eyes lit up. “You don’t have any classes, do you? I tried to time my coming with the holidays. I hear you have some kind of thing in Waterdeep this tenday, but I wasn’t sure what or for how long…”
Gale smiled at her, “Ah, so you have been keeping tabs on our calendar here in Waterdeep,” he teased softly. “You’re absolutely correct. This tenday marks the Festival of Lights—a celebration of knowledge, magic, and the endless pursuit of beauty in both. The city transforms during this time, with wizards and scholars lighting up the skies with their finest enchantments.”
He stepped to her side, his voice softer as they walked through the golden-lit halls of the academy, where murmurs of magical practice echoed faintly in the background.
“And don’t worry, I’ve already cleared my schedule. No lectures, no obligations—just time. For the festival, and more importantly, now, for you.”
Daphne glanced at him, a mix of gratitude and that telltale teasing edge she couldn’t quite suppress. “No lectures? The students must be devastated, Gale. You know they’d endure your ramblings for days just to hear you outsmart yourself.”
Gale laughed, shaking his head. “You’re too kind, Daphne. Though I’ll admit, I may have promised my most electrifying lecture on the Weave next tenday just to placate them.”
He turned toward her, his voice gentling, warmth replacing the playful veneer. “But it’s your company that brings the greatest surprise—and the greatest delight. Waterdeep is alive during the festival in a way I’ve rarely seen elsewhere, and it feels… fitting, somehow, to have you here for it.”
Daphne met his gaze, her own guard softening slightly. There was always something about Gale’s voice—how he could weave sincerity and charm so seamlessly.
“I’d love to stay for the festival,” Daphne said softly, “it sounds… beautiful.”
Gale’s expression brightened. His chest swelling with quiet relief and joy at her agreement as the sunlight outside began to fade into a vibrant coral and fiery orange. Daphne glanced out one of the tall windows, noting the way the golden light of day played across the city.
“I didn’t realize it was sunset already,” she murmured.
“It has a habit of sneaking up on us,” Gale replied.
She shifted her stance, as if uncertain whether now was the time to take her leave. In her haste to get here, she hadn’t found an inn yet, and wondered about asking for recommendations. But Gale, ever perceptive, caught the flicker of doubt.
“You know, Daphne,” he said, his tone softer now, as though testing the waters, “I don’t often get guests. But I do happen to have a rather charming tower just outside the academy. Quiet, comfortable, and, if I may be so bold, it comes with the finest view of Waterdeep’s skyline—especially during the festival.”
He glanced at her, a gentle smile on his face. “If you’d like, you could stay with me. I’d feel better knowing you’re nearby, and I promise not to keep you up all night with talk of magical theory. Tara, of course, would insist on your company.”
Daphne’s heart skipped a beat, her instinctual wariness flickering like a dying ember. The thought of his tower—the quiet, the view, the idea of staying close to him—felt both inviting and frightening in a way she couldn’t quite name.
“Are you sure?” she asked quietly, a hint of shyness creeping into her voice. “I don’t want to impose.”
Gale shook his head, smiling as though her question was a foolish one. “Daphne, you could never impose. Truly.” His voice dropped to a more earnest tone. “Your presence would be nothing short of a gift.”
Daphne swallowed, her heart caught in her throat for a moment. And then, she smiled.
“All right. Thank you, Gale.”
His smile deepened, as if her acceptance was all he needed to brighten the fading day. “Come,” he said softly, offering her his arm with that familiar hint of playfulness.
Daphne laughed lightly, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. As they walked together, the last of the sunset spilling through the academy windows, she realized how easy it felt—how natural it was to fall into step with him again, to feel that familiar pull of trust and warmth.
They made their way toward Gale’s tower as the last blush of sunset clung stubbornly to the sky, fading into deep violets and sleepy golds. The tower itself was breathtaking: elegant yet welcoming, its silhouette rising proudly on the edge of the academy grounds. Light flickered in a few of its windows like beacons, promising warmth and comfort.
As they approached, Daphne slowed her steps slightly. The reality of this place—of being here with Gale—settled over her like a blanket she wasn’t sure she knew how to hold. The quiet beauty of the tower was a stark contrast to the chaos and grit of Baldur’s Gate, a contrast that felt almost too perfect.
“Here we are,” Gale announced with a flourish, stopping at the wide oak door. “The modest home of a humble professor.”
Daphne tilted her head looking up at the tower, arching a brow. “ Modest?”
Gale grinned, clearly unfazed. “Well, modest by Waterdeep standards. The tower is perhaps a touch grander than a bedroll under the stars, but I assure you, it’s nowhere near ostentatious.” He turned the handle with a murmured incantation, and the door swung open with a quiet click.
The moment they stepped inside, Daphne felt as though she had entered another world.
The air was warm and rich with the scent of wood smoke, faint herbs, and parchment. The tower’s interior was equal parts cozy and magical, filled with careful signs of Gale’s life.
Shelves climbed impossibly high, each stacked with tomes, scrolls, and small glass vials glowing faintly with their alchemical contents. Paintings of starry night skies and intricate magical diagrams adorned the walls, while crystal orbs and half-finished artifacts lay on tables like silent promises of enchantments yet to come.
And perched on a high bookshelf, watching them with sharp green eyes, was Tara, her tail swishing lazily as though she had been waiting for this moment all evening.
“Ah, our guest of honor has arrived,” Gale said softly, turning his gaze from Daphne to the tressym. “Tara, do try to contain your excitement.”
Tara let out a huff and stretched languidly, wings flaring slightly for effect before she floated gracefully to the ground. “Finally,” she said, her tone imperious as she sauntered over to Daphne. “Do you know how dreadfully dull it’s been here? He barely talks to me anymore—too busy ‘imparting wisdom’ to his students.”
Daphne grinned, bending to scratch behind Tara’s ears as the tressym rubbed affectionately against her leg. “I should’ve known you’d be running the place while Gale plays professor.”
Tara purred under her touch but shot Gale a look over her shoulder, her whiskers twitching. “ Running is the word. You’ve no idea how much work it takes to keep this tower in one piece. I’m not a glorified housekeeper, you know.”
Gale sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Tara, your sacrifices are unparalleled. Truly, my negligence knows no bounds.”
Tara sniffed, looking back at Daphne with a conspiratorial expression. “See what I have to deal with? You’re a breath of fresh air.”
Daphne laughed softly, straightening as Gale gestured toward the winding staircase.
“Allow me to salvage my dignity by showing you to the guest room,” he said, his tone tinged with mock defeat. “Perhaps if you’re suitably impressed, it will counteract the terrible slander my companion insists on spreading.”
Tara flicked her tail with satisfaction as she padded back toward her perch. “I speak only the truth, Gale. It’s not my fault the truth stings.”
Daphne chuckled, following Gale up the staircase as Tara’s smug voice followed them faintly: “Don’t let him break anything while you’re up there, Daphne. He’s been talking about you for months—and you know how clumsy he gets when he’s flustered.”
“ Tara!” Gale called back, exasperated but laughing under his breath.
The guest room was nothing short of beautiful. Daphne stepped inside slowly, her eyes wide as she took in the space. Tall windows framed a stunning view of Waterdeep’s coastline, the waves meeting the shore like whispers in the growing darkness. The room itself was warm and inviting—softly lit, with shelves of books, a sturdy desk, and a bed that looked far too comfortable for someone used to thin, lumpy bedrolls.
Gale lingered in the doorway, watching her with quiet affection.
“I hope this is alright,” he said softly. “The view is best at night, though I daresay the morning light gives it a fair bit of competition.”
Daphne stepped closer to the window, pressing her hand lightly to the cool glass as she gazed out at the city below. The twinkling lights stretched on like scattered stars, and something in her chest ached—a deep, unfamiliar feeling she couldn’t quite name.
“Gale… thank you. This is more than I could’ve ever asked for.”
Gale’s expression softened, his heart swelling as he watched her take it all in. He knew how little Daphne had been given in life, how hard she had fought just to survive. To see her standing here, surrounded by warmth and beauty, filled him with an overwhelming need to give her more.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said gently, stepping just a little closer. “After everything you’ve done—for others, for me—it’s the very least I can offer.”
Daphne’s throat tightened, and she turned to him quickly, giving a small, shaky smile. “I… I’ll settle in, then.”
He nodded, sensing that she needed a moment to herself. “Of course. Take all the time you need. When you’re ready, there’s a meal waiting for us downstairs.”
As he stepped away, leaving her in the quiet of the room, Daphne let out a long, uneven breath. She turned back to the window, her heart hammering as she processed the sudden calm—the safety—of her surroundings. It felt too good. Too much.
Daphne had spent her life in bunkhouses and campsites, sleeping on hard ground and sharing space with strangers. A room like this, with its soft linens and endless view, felt like something out of someone else’s story.
She dropped her singular bag near the edge of the bed—it was light, as it always was. She’d had to learn to travel that way. After unbuckling her dagger belt and placing it carefully on the table, her boots came off next, thudding softly to the floor as she let her feet sink into the plush rug. It was a small comfort—something she wasn’t used to.
She wandered into the bathroom, where a vanity mirror awaited her. Daphne paused, staring at her reflection. Blue eyes stared back, and her long, brown hair was woven into the same neat braid she always wore, falling neatly down her back. Practical. Durable. A matter of convenience and necessity.
She sighed softly, fingers tracing the edge of the sink. It was hard to reconcile this version of herself—the one who stood here, unarmed and at ease—with the rogue who had spent years running, hiding, and fighting just to survive. Her clothes reflected that life still: a simple shirt and trousers, rough and worn, patched where she had mended them.
Her brow furrowed as she looked back at her reflection. Tomorrow, she thought, she’d get new clothes. Something clean, something whole. She wanted to leave that past version of herself behind—the rogue with nothing but the tools on her belt and the instincts she couldn’t shake.
The smell of stew and freshly baked bread greeted her as she descended the staircase, Tara padding beside her. The sight of Gale—apron tied loosely over his robes, stirring something at the stove—made her pause at the bottom step.
The warmth of the hearth, the soft candlelight, and the quiet clink of Gale’s movements in the kitchen made the entire scene feel… like a true home.
Gale turned at the sound of her footsteps, a delighted smile spreading across his face. “Ah, perfect timing. I was just putting the finishing touches on dinner. I do hope you’re hungry.”
“It smells delicious. Did you really make all this yourself?”
Gale arched an eyebrow, amused. “Now Daphne, surely you must know that conjuring fine cuisine is but a minor challenge compared to commanding the Weave itself.”
Daphne laughed softly as she moved to the table, where a modest but carefully arranged feast awaited. She took in the spread—stew, roasted vegetables, a warm loaf of bread—and found herself momentarily speechless.
As Gale pulled out her chair for her, she looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. “This looks… amazing.”
“I’m just happy I could finally cook for you properly,” he replied, his tone softening as he met her gaze. “Please, sit. Let’s enjoy this.”
Daphne sat down, feeling the solid warmth of the chair beneath her. She hadn’t eaten at a proper table in what felt like years—longer, probably. Even in Baldur’s Gate, she’d always kept things simple. A loaf of bread in the street or a quick meal at the back of a crowded tavern. This felt so… intentional.
Gale settled across from her, setting down a steaming bowl of stew with the kind of quiet satisfaction one might expect from someone who had successfully cast a particularly tricky spell. He slid the bread closer to her, along with a small dish of butter, and gestured grandly.
“Eat, Daphne. You’ll wound my pride if you don’t at least try everything.”
She smiled faintly, reaching for the bread first. “If it tastes half as good as it smells, I’m sure your pride will remain intact.”
The moment she tore off a warm piece of the bread and dipped it into the stew, taking her first bite, her eyes widened in surprise. “Gale… this is incredible.”
His face lit up, as if her words were the highest praise. “Ah, you see, my culinary genius rivals even my academic prowess. Tara refuses to acknowledge it, but I knew you would appreciate the effort.”
Tara, perched now on the armrest of a nearby chair, flicked her tail lazily. “I’ve sampled better in Waterdeep’s markets.”
Gale shot her a look before turning back to Daphne with a smile that reached his eyes. “Critics aside, I’m glad you approve.”
The meal continued in comfortable quiet—at least at first. Daphne tasted everything: the stew, richly seasoned and warm; the vegetables, roasted to perfection; the bread, soft and fragrant. It was simple, but good. Better than anything she’d allowed herself to experience in a long time.
She caught herself sneaking glances at Gale as he ate. His expression, relaxed and content, was so different from how she remembered him during their days on the road—when his brow would crease with thought, or his tone would carry the weight of secrets he dared not share. Here, he looked lighter.
And that thought tugged something within her.
“So,” Gale finally broke the silence, his tone warm but thoughtful. “What did you think of the room? Is it suitable?”
Daphne set her spoon down gently, looking at him across the table. “Suitable feels like an understatement, Gale. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed somewhere so… peaceful.”
Gale leaned back slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Peace is something we rarely allowed ourselves, isn’t it? Between campfires and battles, stolen moments of quiet were all we could afford.”
She nodded, picking at the crust of her bread as she stared into her bowl. “It’s strange, though. I didn’t think I’d miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“The chaos,” she admitted. “Always having something to do. Something to fight for. Now that it’s gone, I feel…” She hesitated, then sighed, her eyes flickering to his. “Untethered.”
Gale’s gaze softened, as though he’d been waiting for her to say that. “I understand,” he said gently. “It’s no easy thing to set down the mantle of survival. For so long, our purpose was clear, and now, with peace, the lack of direction can feel like a void.”
Daphne glanced up at him, her guarded expression cracking slightly. “Exactly. How do you… How do you just know what you’re supposed to do next?”
Gale smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, but who’s to say I do? I may appear to have found my calling as a professor, but I’d be lying if I said it was a simple transition. There were days—weeks, even—when I questioned myself, wondered if this was the right path, or if I was merely pretending at a life of normalcy.”
Daphne tilted her head, her eyes searching his face. “And now? You seem…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Certain.”
“Certainty came with time. And even now, it’s not as absolute as it might appear. What matters most, Daphne, is allowing yourself the space to be. You don’t need to have all the answers right now. Sometimes, purpose finds us when we least expect it.”
She looked down again, his words settling somewhere deep within her. For so long, Daphne had survived because she had to. She’d moved forward because there was no other option. To be told she could simply be—to take her time—felt strange. It felt indulgent, even.
But when she looked up at Gale, seeing the assurance in his eyes, she found herself wanting to believe him.
“I guess that’s why I wanted to come here,” she admitted. “Not to figure out everything at once… just to stop feeling so lost.”
Gale’s brow lifted slightly, his smile understanding. “That seems like an admirable goal to me. And Waterdeep is a city of endless distractions, if you’ll allow yourself to enjoy them.”
Daphne chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “Distractions? I’m not sure I’d know what to do with those. I’m not exactly one for libraries, grand museums, or… whatever else it is you’ve raved about.”
Gale’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned forward slightly. “I’ll have you know, Daphne, that Waterdeep is not merely a city of books. There are markets bustling with life, theaters performing tales of daring heroes and infamous villains, and magical demonstrations that will make even the most cynical onlooker wonder at the world again.”
She smirked faintly, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. “Magical demonstrations? Is that where you throw sparks into the air and make everyone clap for you?”
“Ah!” Gale placed a hand over his heart, feigning a mortal wound. “As if I would never settle for mere sparks. I deal only in spectacles.”
She laughed softly, despite herself, and Gale’s gaze warmed further.
“Then let’s start small,” he offered. “No libraries, no grand expectations. Tomorrow, we’ll see the markets—walk the streets, find a distraction or two. Perhaps we’ll stumble across something you didn’t even know you needed.”
Daphne tilted her head, her smile lingering as she considered him. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It can be,” Gale replied softly, meeting her gaze. “When you’re not doing it alone.”
The fire crackled gently as his words settled between them.
“All right,” she murmured, finally giving a small nod. “We’ll start with the markets.”
Gale’s smile widened, not triumphant, but full of quiet joy. “Then the markets it is. And don’t worry, Daphne—I promise, although it goes against everything I believe in,” he added,” “no one will force you to read a single tome.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied smirking.
They lingered at the table longer than Daphne expected, the conversation weaving through memories and stories—of their travels, of Baldur’s Gate, of the battles they had fought and won. Eventually, Gale moved the dishes aside and gestured toward the sitting area by the fire.
“Shall we continue this evening’s discussions in greater comfort?” he suggested, already carrying over two cups of tea.
Daphne followed him, settling onto the large couch near the hearth. Its cushions were impossibly soft, and the fire’s warmth wrapping around her like a cloak. Gale joined her, setting her tea on the table before sinking back into his seat beside her.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward—it was familiar, comforting in its own way.
Gale’s gaze drifted to the fire before returning to Daphne. “You know, there were moments during our journey—amid the chaos—when I wondered what this would feel like. Sitting by the fire with you, no battles to plan, no danger looming over us. Just… quiet.”
Daphne glanced at him, a little nervous. “And now?” she asked softly.
Gale’s gaze flicked to her, his expression tender. “Now I realize how much I longed for this kind of peace. Not just any peace, but this—being here with you. It feels like I can finally breathe again.”
Daphne’s chest tightened. She didn’t know what to say, so she simply looked away, letting the fire hold her gaze.
Gale shifted slightly. “I’ve always admired your strength, Daphne. But it’s not just your resilience—it’s the way you care. The way you see people, even when the world has given you every reason not to. That’s something rare.”
She swallowed hard, his words leaving her vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to. “Gale, I…”
“It’s all right,” he said gently, sensing her hesitation. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”
She nodded with a small smile, then slowly leaned back against the cushions. For the first time in a long while, her body truly relaxed—just allowing herself to breathe.
And when Gale rested his hand lightly on the arm of the couch, close enough that their fingers almost brushed, she didn’t pull away.
While the fire crackled softly in the hearth, the quiet of the room was unlike anything she was used to—it wasn’t the eerie silence of a camp under siege or the restless stillness of a dark alley. This quiet was safe, warm, and soothing, wrapping around her like a cocoon.
Her gaze drifted to Gale, who was watching the fire, his profile lit by the golden glow. His expression was thoughtful, his usual intensity softened into something more reflective. She let her eyes linger for a moment, noticing the way his posture had relaxed, the way the faint lines at the corners of his mouth hinted at the edges of a smile.
She shifted slightly, breaking the silence. “You’re different here.”
Gale turned to her, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Am I?”
“Yes,” she answered. “You seem… lighter, I guess. Like you’re not carrying the weight of the world anymore.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s a fair observation. It feels strange, not bracing for the worst at every turn. Not living like every day might be the last.”
His gaze lifted to hers, steady but a little tired. “I don’t think I realized how much it hollowed me out, until it was over. I’m grateful now that I can just take the time to simply be.”
His gaze held hers, a quiet sincerity in his expression. “And I hope you’ll feel the same while you’re here.”
Daphne looked away, her fingers brushing the edge of her teacup. “I’m not sure I know how to do that. ‘Simply be.’”
Gale’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Then let this be the place where you learn.”
Daphne felt the words reverberate deeply. She wasn’t sure if it was his tone, his expression, or the quiet comfort of the moment, but something about his words felt safe—like a promise she could hold on to.
The warmth of the fire, the steady presence of Gale beside her—it all felt strangely, wonderfully grounding.
Minutes stretched into an easy quiet, the kind that didn’t demand words or explanations. Daphne found herself sinking further into the moment, her gaze fixed on the flames. She couldn’t remember the last time she had allowed herself to sit still, to not think about what came next.
At some point, her head dipped forward slightly, and she caught herself before it fell entirely. She straightened, blinking quickly, embarrassed by her lapse in alertness.
Gale chuckled softly beside her. “Tired?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, but the weight in her limbs betrayed her.
Gale’s expression was fond. “Daphne, it’s all right. You don’t have to be on guard here. Rest if you need to.”
She opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. He wasn’t wrong. She was tired—bone-deep, soul-deep tired in a way she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.
“I suppose I could use a moment,” she admitted.
Gale shifted slightly, leaning forward to adjust the fire. “Take all the moments you need.”
As he sat back, Daphne hesitated, then leaned toward him slowly. Her head came to rest lightly on his shoulder, and for a moment, she held her breath, unsure if she had crossed some unspoken line.
But Gale didn’t stiffen or pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, resting his cheek against the top of hers. His voice was a quiet murmur, almost lost beneath the crackle of the fire. “I’ve missed this.”
Daphne closed her eyes, the words settling over her like a blanket. She didn’t respond—she didn’t need to. The warmth of the fire, the steady rise and fall of his breath, and the quiet strength of his presence were enough.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—well, not completely.
One moment, she was watching the fire, her head resting comfortably on Gale’s shoulder. The next, she was waking to the faint sound of his voice murmuring something she couldn’t quite catch.
She blinked slowly, the room blurry with the haze of sleep. Gale’s voice came clearer now, low and warm.
“Shh, you’re all right,” he said softly, his tone soothing.
Daphne realized he was speaking to her, his arms wrapped securely around her as he lifted her from the couch. She stiffened slightly, her instincts flaring, but the calm steadiness of his hold settled her quickly.
“What are you doing?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
“Carrying you to bed,” Gale replied simply, a faint note of amusement in his voice. “You fell asleep on the couch. I thought you might prefer something a bit more comfortable.”
Daphne opened her mouth to protest but found she didn’t have the energy. The warmth of his arms, the gentle sway of his steps as he carried her up the stairs—it all felt so… safe.
She closed her eyes again, letting herself sink into the moment.
When he laid her down on the bed, she stirred slightly, the soft linens beneath her unfamiliar but welcome. Gale hesitated for a moment, adjusting the blanket over her with carefully.
“You didn’t have to…” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I wanted to,” he said gently. “Sleep well, Daphne.”
She heard his footsteps retreating, the soft click of the door closing behind him. And for the first time in what felt like years, she let herself drift into sleep feeling absolutely safe.