Chapter Text
“Hello, beautiful.”
Even after all this time, even though he knew it was coming, Gale couldn’t help flinching at the voice. The elation of his tadpole told him when his captor was within a dozen ship-lengths. But hearing him speak with the same voice Gale had fallen in love with so, so long ago never failed to rip the wound open anew.
He held his breath as Dharron padded across the fleshy floor to stand beside him. Then flinched again as he laid his chin on Gale’s shoulder. Once he would have smiled knowing that the shorter man was on his tiptoes to reach his shoulder.
The tiefling did not react to his sudden movement, instead just pressing his cheek against Gale’s own. It was slippery, coated with a thick liquid. The metallic tang wafting past his nose provided an unnecessary clue as to its source. He braced himself and endured the contact.
“Marvelous view, isn’t it?” The scent of blood grew stronger when the vile man opened his mouth.
It would have been a marvelous view, floating above the majestic Amn. If he’d been able to get closer to the window. Or if they hadn’t been just low enough to see the dots littering the streets. The dots which had once been people, and which still would have been if not for him.
“Ah, it must be. I see you’ve made good progress today!” He detached his head from Gale’s shoulder and skipped — skipped! — in front of him, effortlessly stepping into the magical barrier Gale had been pushing against all day.
Gale averted his eyes from the tiefling before him, but not before catching a glimpse of the man he now knew.
The robe he was wearing was more elegant than ever. Stolen from a new victim, no doubt, and already covered in viscera. The neckline was deep, as always, showing off the artifacts with which Gale had helped build his prison. Ketheric’s on the left, Gortash’s on the right, and Orin’s — Dharron’s — in the center. The heavy scarring around the stones evinced the haste with which he had embedded them in his flesh.
But what stayed the same hurt more than what had changed. The boundless energy and manic, almost crazed look in the eyes that Gale had once found so endearing. The spatters of blood across his face that had once driven him to admit his arousal. The toothsome smile that Gale had fallen for time and time again.
“I think this is your farthest yet!” He said, and used a claw to score a mark in the living floor at the tip of Gale’s toes. It oozed pus for a moment, but soon began to scar over, joining the dozens that marked Gale’s agonizing path to the window.
“But come, you must be tired.” Gale forced his shoulders to relax as the tiefling put his arms around them, and allowed himself to be led past the dining table. “I got you a present!”
He looked to Gale, grinning like he was privy to some inside joke that Gale was not. Which, knowing him, was probably the case. After a moment passed without a reply, his smile grew colder.
"Aren't you excited?" A threatening note crept into his voice.
Gale started. "What is it?" He asked in a monotone.
The grin returned. "See for yourself!"
The door opened and a familiar-looking tiefling stiffly walked in. He was about the same height and build as the one bobbing on his feet beside Gale, with gray skin and similar horns, although the newcomer's were dark the whole way up instead of fading to bone-bleached white at the tips. Even his his hair was similar, although the cut was rough and the color not quite right. Like the embers of a dying fire, Gale had once described it. This other tiefling's was just "red".
But still, the biggest difference between the two were the eyes. The newcomer's were wide with terror, flicking desperately between Gale and Dharron.
Suddenly, as if a tap was opened, the terrified man began babbling. "Please, I'll do anything, I can give you whatever you want, my family has money! Just let me go oh god I don't—" His jaw snapped shut.
"He even sounds a bit like me!" Dharron said excitedly. Gale didn't hear the resemblance, but he wasn't about to argue.
"Who... is he?" Gale asked.
"He's for you!" The exuberant tiefling seemed to think this was answering the question. He leaned in towards Gale — who resisted the urge to lean away — and spoke more quietly. Conspiratorially. "I know how much you want to kill me."
Gale's eyes widened in realization, then horror. He jerked backwards involuntarily. "Oh no. No, No, no, I don't, I promise. Please don't make me— Oh, gods—"
Dharron pressed a finger to Gale's lips. It tasted of bile as well as blood. "Shh. Yes you do, I've seen your fantasies." He giggled. "They're very creative." He stepped back and spread his arms dramatically. "And I want to indulge my beloved's creativity!"
Gale was still staring at horror at the man — barely older than a boy — he was to kill.
"Don't worry, you'll have time to think about it. We’re having dinner first."
He walked over to the table and pulled out Gale’s chair. After a moment, and a pointed look, Gale numbly walked over to take the seat. The terrified tiefling watched him move through impossibly wide eyes. He jerkily took his seat as Gale did.
“You’ll like this. I found some of the finest chefs in Amn and had them prepare this for us.”
The tiefling boy widened his eyes even more as a mind flayer levitated through the door, carrying a covered serving platter. It set the platter down in the center of the table and lifted the cover.
“Hundur sauce.” Gale tried his best to inject some semblance of excitement into his voice. He knew Dharron would get upset if he wasn’t excited enough.
Apparently it worked, because Dharron beamed. “Your favorite!”
My favorite to make for someone special, Gale thought quietly to himself. Not to eat from some tortured chef.
He smiled falsely as Dharron served the three of them meat and vegetables, topped generously with the sauce.
“I might have met a friend of yours today,” Dharron said as they started eating.
Gale’s insides twisted, but he forced himself to swallow the bite of carrot anyway. “Oh?” he replied, trying not to feel the preemptive grief.
“Another Waterdhavian wizard. Called herself Amaya.”
He had known her. They went to the Academy together, though they hadn’t gotten along. Both too headstrong. But still, he wouldn’t wish a fate like this upon her. She was a powerful evocation mage, and he hoped she’d taken out her fair share of mind flayers when she went.
“We were at Blackstaff together.” was all he volunteered.
“I thought so. She’s still alive, actually. We need more spellcasters at the front, and one can never find enough sorcerers, so…” he shrugged. “I think this is her.”
The tadpole took over his vision. He was looking through the eyes of a mind flayer at a struggling woman — older than he remembered, but still familiar. As he watched, the illithid raised its hand, wiggling tadpole held between finger and thumb, and carefully placed it onto the woman’s eye. It swiftly burrowed in and soon the woman’s struggles stopped.
“Darling, you’ve hardly touched your elf.” Indeed, Gale had cut up the meat and pushed it round the plate to disguise the fact that he hadn’t eaten any.
“Do I have to help you with it again?” The air of danger had crept back into his voice, and Gale couldn't stop himself from shuddering. Dharron’s idea of helping was to stuff the pieces of meat down his throat by hand. On two occasions he’d gotten carried away and shoved his whole hand down there, tearing the esophagus open and necessitating a long visit from the horrible Bhaalist cleric.
Reluctantly, Gale skewered a piece of meat and brought it to his mouth. He hated elf the most. Not because it tasted bad — in fact, completely the contrary. In fact, he had a hard time blocking out the enjoyment. It melted in the mouth, and the complex yet delicate flavors danced on the palate. Thankfully, though the Hundur sauce was well-made, it was misused here and tended to overwhelm the light flavor palette of the meat. He supposed that even if any of the chefs had experience with elf, they might be disinclined to correct this particular customer on his desired pairing.
Gale turned to the newcomer to hide the tear running down his cheek. The pallid tiefling had been eating steadily since the meal was served, although Gale had noticed his eyes go wide onve more when he heard the word “elf”.
“What’s your name?” Gale tried to put as much false reassurance into his voice as he could. He kept his eyes trained on the terrified boy, though he knew he couldn’t speak unless Dharron allowed it.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Dharron’s head tilt in curiosity.
“Gale, I’m surprised! I would have thought that would make it harder for you.”
“I still have to know.”
Dharron thought about this. “Alright, if you insist on torturing yourself.” He turned to the other tiefling. “What’s your name?”
The other tiefling cleared his throat. “Bron,” he said in a small voice, almost too quiet for Gale to hear. “Please, I—“
His mouth slammed shut in the middle of the utterance, without regard to his tongue. Gale saw tears well in his eyes as his limbs resumed the methodological consumption. As Gale watched, red welled up in his mouth and eventually began dripping on the table.
“I think we’ll only be in Amn another two, maybe three days.” Dharron was ignoring Bron. “Father had a creditable number of followers here, so they should be able to clean up for us after that. And then, who knows.” He gave a mischievous grin. “Maybe Waterdeep?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Gale had no choice but to reply. “I’m not ready to see Mother again.”
It was a game they played with each other, or rather one that Dharron played with Gale. He would bring up the idea of traveling to Waterdeep, and Gale would have to reply with a mundane excuse. One as far as possible from the notion of protecting his loved ones from mindless slaughter. Mentioning his mother seemed to help.
The mischievous grin turned into a satisfied smile. “Then where would you like to go?”
Gale took a moment to compose himself, then swallowed his pride along with his last bite of meat and forced himself to look into his once-lover’s eyes. “Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”
It was all he could do not to wretch at the sentiment.
The words he could barely bring himself to choke out had the desired effect. For a moment the young man who had melted under Gale’s affection was before him again. He took Gale’s hand before Gale could move it off the table and squeezed it.
“Ever the romantic,” he whispered, looking doe-eyed up at Gale. Exactly as he had done that night in the shadow-cursed lands, before Gale did not sacrifice himself to stop the Absolute. Another in his long list of failures.
After waiting a moment for a reply that did not come, he stood up, and the mind flayer reappeared to take their empty dishes. He spoke again, in that same, self-satisfied tone. “Well. Allow me to return the favor. Would you prefer Bron on the table or the bed?”
“Table,” Gale said quickly, then berated himself for indulging the question. A good man would have thought of the life of another before concerning himself with sullying his bed.
Dharron only nodded, and behind him the terrified tiefling climbed onto the table and began removing his shirt. Gale could see his muscles vibrating trying to resist, but here in the heart of Dharron’s domain his command was irresistible. Gale knew that better than anyone.
Dharron stepped up beside him and pressed a dagger into his hand. Glancing down at it, Gale could see it was etched with intricate designs inlaid with gold on both the blade and handle. Despite himself, he could picture Dharron’s childlike glee at finding it on whichever corpse he’d plucked it from.
“I know you prefer magic, my love, but you must at least try the old fashioned way.”
He still stood disgustingly, intimately close. A painful reminder that, though Gale held the weapon mere inches from the one he longed to use it on, he was powerless to do so. Nor could he turn it upon himself — he had tried. But he knew the Netherbrain would not be so attentive to the tiefling whose silent tears wet the table before him. If he were Astarion or Shadowheart — hells, any of his former companions — he’d be able to give the poor man a quick death. But he didn’t trust himself to strike true. He’d probably just end up making the pain worse.
Instead, he took the coward’s way out.
“I won’t do it,” Gale announced, placing the dagger on the table. “I’m not like you.”
“Not like me?” the dangerous undercurrent in his voice returned, then abated. A sympathetic, reassuring version of his erstwhile lover took its place. “Oh, Gale, have you forgotten? The hordes of so-called enemies you cut down just because they were in your way? The glee with which you burnt through the brainwashed innocents on our way to Baldur’s Gate?”
He was stalking in circles around Gale now. Gale tried to shrug the hands from his shoulder but the muscles wouldn’t obey. “Have you forgotten the corpses we stood amongst while you first professed your love to me? And of course, surely the thought of detonating your own safely in some wasteland did not escape your mind, yet you remained first in Waterdeep and then on the road to Baldur’s Gate.”
This last was delivered with a smug finality. The monster stopped in front of Gale and took hold of both his hands. Gale was powerless to pull them away. “No, Gale” he said quietly. “You’re not as bad as me. I slaughter for Father. You do it for yourself.” He leaned in as if to kiss him. At the last moment his head turned, and into Gale's ear he whispered, “You’re worse.”
The kiss was as passionate as it could be with only one side moving. Gale accepted the violation dispassionately, trying not to feel the tiefling’s strong tongue manipulate his own or taste the strong flavors of blood and Hundur sauce that seeped down his throat.
“Now, my love,” Dharron said after finally releasing Gale, “I know you too well to think punishment will convince you to enjoy your gift. No, what motivates Gale Dekarios is getting something he wants.”
Dharron waited patiently until Gale looked warily at him.
“Or, perhaps, someone he wants.”
At that, Gale felt the familiar squirm of his tadpole, and as the vision came into focus, he gasped. The large, tattooed head of an elf looked up at him from where the it lay on the floor of a nautiloid. He looked thinner and paler than the last time Gale had seen him, before facing the Netherbrain.
“Halsin?” Gale whispered, hardly allowing himself to recognize the man.
he heard inside his head. Relief crashed through his mind, followed quickly by a fresh wave of guilt. Before he could send his reply, the connection was severed. Several silent beats followed.
“You understand the deal?” Dharron asked.
Gale swallowed once, twice. Finally he answered in a wavering voice, “You won’t harm him?”
“He will be allowed to live so long as he remains cooperative. And he can come see you, if you’re both good.”
Gale’s eyes found those of the tiefling still immobile on the table. It wasn’t his place to choose one life over another, but that wasn’t the situation he was faced with. This tiefling wouldn’t survive the night no matter what he chose, and his death would likely be less painful at Gale’s hands than…
Gale picked up the dagger once more and slowly, as slowly as he felt he could get away with, approached the table. Behind him, Dharron gave an excited hum.
He still didn’t trust himself to know how to use the dagger. Stabbing through the optic nerve, he knew, was meant to be a quick way to die but all he could envision was a knife handle swiveling about, embedded in a frantic eye. Slitting a throat just brought the sound of gurgling, choking breaths to mind and a stab through the heart would be too easy to miss. If only he was allowed his magic.
Gale decided to try something. “I can’t do it with a knife,” he muttered, loud enough for his audience to here.
Dharron gave another few hums. Gale held his breath for all of them. Then, “You have been a fairly good sport. Very well, I’ll get him started for you.”
Gale felt his legs step closer to the table and his hand adjust its grip on the dagger. As his arm brought the knife point to Bron’s chest, he realized his mistake. Too late.
“No,” Gale’s whisper was barely audible. The blade entered at the top of the tiefling’s sternum and slowly made its way down the chest, parting the gray skin as it went. Blood welled up in the gash and filled the air with a metallic tang. Tears welled up in Gale's eyes.
Gale whimpered despite himself. “Please, don't…” He knew the plea would go unanswered. He couldn’t bear to look at Dharron, but he didn't need to. He could see the gleeful grin he knew was etched on the foul man's face.
Instead, he made the mistake of looking into Bron’s eyes. They were still wider than he’d ever seen, full of pain and terror, and worst of all, a plea. A plea that he could not answer no matter how much he wished to.
It wasn’t fair to the tiefling, for Gale to retreat into his mind. He owed him at least the dignity of being present as the knife finally lifted, then came down again to cut another line across the first. But things hadn’t been fair for a long time. Not since the man he’d thought he could love showed his true face. Why should it be his duty to look the poor creature in the eyes, when the responsible party was sitting right behind him?
He tried his best not to feel the knife turn sideways and slide along bone, detaching skin and muscle to be folded back like the doors of a cupboard. He looked away as it sawed through the cartilage binding the ribs to the sternum. And when his hands dropped the knife and began bending the ribs back with a strength he did not possess, he pretended not to hear the cracks.
A hand on his shoulder brought him back. He started, then looked down at what his hands had wrought.
The tiefling was still alive. It was easy to tell; they could watch his heart beat and his lungs inflate before their very eyes. Gale did not look at his eyes.
“This is one of my favorites,” Dharron murmured in his ear. “I’m sure you remember.”
Numbly, Gale nodded in response.
“Are you ready?” He was pressing himself against Gale now, and Gale could feel his excitement.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely.
“Go ahead. You can use magic now.”
Gale took a deep breath and began the spell. The motions still flowed effortlessly from his fingers, despite how long it had been since he was allowed to cast any spell. As he neared the end of the spell—
Impero Tibi, Dharron whispered, and Gale's spell stopped.
“Oh, my love. Did you I wouldn't recognize a chain lightning?” asked Dharron, sounding more amused than upset.
“Sorry,” Gale murmured with hackles raised. “Wasn’t thinking.”
“I’ll let it slide this time. Now, do it properly.” The last word was accompanied by a squirm of his tadpole and a flash of the fantasy Dharron seemed to like so much.
The incantation for the proper spell was much simpler, though Gale took the necessary time to pour all the energy he could into it. He probably didn't need it to kill the scrawny tiefling, but he would much rather be safe than sorry.
A bolt of red energy flew from Gale’s hands and struck the tiefling straight in the heart. Then another, and another. After the third Gale could see the heart stop beating, and after the fourth he relaxed.
That was a mistake.
The next two bolts started moving towards the now-still body on the table, but then changed course, swerving to impact just behind Gale. In his ear, Dharron let out a small grunt.
Gale was speaking before he realized he was. "I’m sorry, I'm so sorry, I lost control, it was the— I didn’t mean to do that, please I didn't, I promise, don't hurt us,” Gale was babbling.
“Don’t worry,” the cold voice cut across his. “I’m sure it’s an easy mistake to make. Here, let me see.”
Gale barely registered the spell being cast before thick red bolts of energy, much larger and longer than his own, streaked towards the dead man’s chest. The first two impacted the exposed heart with enough force to push it farther into the chest cavity. Then they began arcing around and, thump thump, thump thump, each hit Gale’s chest with enough force to knock the wind out of him. Gale struggled to take a deep breath, but was cut short by the pain of his chest expanding.
“Well, would you look at that.” The voice was self-satisfied. “It is an easy mistake to make.”
Gale was silent, focusing on exploring his chest for any sign of broken ribs. He found only bruising.
“Have you become fragile, my love? I can fetch the cleric.”
“No,” Gale replied quickly. The less he saw of the abhorrent Bhaalist cleric the better. “I’m fine.”
“Well in that case,” the warm tone returned, and the tiefling again pressed himself against Gale. “What would you do with me after?”
“Leave you on the ship when it crashes.”
“Aw, is that it? I was hoping for something more imaginative.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Gale couldn’t keep the venom from entering his voice. “I don’t have your predilections.”
Dharron laughed. “Are you sure? Perhaps you’ve just never tried.” He stepped towards the table and slid a hand between the dead tiefling’s lungs. “Come on. For me.” He was wearing the easy, flirtatious smile that Gale knew had worked so well on him in the past.
The dead tiefling's chest cavity was surprisingly warm — almost hot. Gale's fingers wriggled between the pliable lobes, slickened by pleural fluid. It was easier than he expected, and before long his fingers hit something hard. The spine.
Gale shuddered.
“Here.” Dharron slid his hand over to Gale’s, twisted his wrist sharply, and then took hold of one of Gale’s fingers. He guided it into the hole he’d just made. It was spongy and uncannily soft, as if he could compress it down to a paper’s thickness with one twitch of a finger. Gale tried not to let his curiosity show lest it be mistaken for titillation.
“Don’t you feel it?” his monster breathed. “Every organ in this body, every bone and muscle and sinew, every drop of blood and every flap of tissue existed for one purpose. And you stopped it.”
“No,” Gale said flatly. Which was a lie — he did feel something. But what he felt was not the same as what the creature at his side felt, he was sure of that.
“I think you do. I think you always have.”
Gale took his hand out of the corpse.
“Sorry to disappoint.” He tried to put force behind those words. Tried to make them true. He caught himself holding his breath, waiting to see if it had worked.
“Oh, you never disappoint, my love.” He had dug the heart out from where their combined efforts had pushed it and was now caressing it with one hand. The other stayed on Gale’s shoulder. “You did very well today.”
Gale shuddered again.
“Are you tired? You’ve had an exciting night. Why don’t we get to bed?”
“Halsin—” Gale attempted.
“You can see him later, it’s too late tonight. But don’t worry, you fulfilled your end of the bargain so beautifully. I will keep mine.”
“…okay,” Gale said quietly, and stepped cautiously away from his captor.
Dharron called the worst out to him when he was halfway to the little washroom. “Don’t wash.” Gale stopped, then jerkily carried on without acknowledging the command. It didn’t matter, they both knew he couldn’t disobey. He was going to be forced to endure the night — at least — with the reminder of what he’d done smeared across his hands.
For a moment Gale considered soiling himself until Dharron was forced to let him wash. But no, the risk was too great. There seemed no limit to the filth that man could tolerate. Or even enjoy. But he had been allowed to use magic, and Prestidigitation is incapable of doing harm. It’s also not technically “washing,” more of a disappearing of mess. Gale began murmuring the incantation. The movements still came easily to his practiced hands.
He barely got three words before the tadpole screeched in his head. A deep, stabbing pain accompanied it, as if someone had driven a needle straight from the top of his skull to the sole of his foot. Followed a moment later by the orb, expressing its displeasure at being disturbed. Barbed branches shot through his limbs, then slowly retreated, shredding the flesh as they went.
“Gale?” Dharron shoved the door open.
He stopped when he saw Gale on the floor, clutching his head, and slowly sat down.
“Oh, my poor Gale. Did you try magic again?” He reached out a hand, still covered in gore, and began running it through Gale’s hair.
Gale jerked his head away. His vitriolic rejection died on his lips, replaced with a low groan.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Dharron said, and grabbed him tightly around the upper arm. Suddenly his arms and legs were moving to stand him up. Each motion sent fresh aftershocks of pain ricocheting around his body, but his mouth didn’t open when he tried to complain.
Dharron laid him in the bed and climbed in after, extinguishing the lights in the room with a word.
“Good night, my love,” he whispered in Gale’s ear.
The room was dark enough that he couldn’t see the corpse, but he knew it was there. At times could swear he could smell it, although he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t coming from him or the creature whose arm was draped across his chest.
There, between his greatest shame and his most recent one, Gale Dekarios tried to sleep.
“Gale’s folly,” he had once called the insatiable orb in his chest. If only he had known.