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“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale! You look sso. Wizzard-y. Hic.” Tav descended into peals of giggles upon seeing the mortified look on Gale’s face.
“What in all the heavens’ names happened to you?” he asked—more of Tav’s companions than of Tav herself, who was clearly in no position to give a coherent answer.
Tav had one arm slung around Shadowheart, the other around Lae’zel. The pair of women were all but dragging her into the campsite. “This istik thought it would be a good idea to raise to her lips tankard after tankard of an unknown brew that had been offered to her by a grotesquely distended shadow creature,” said Lae’zel.
“Oh, give her a little credit. She did manage to out-drink the beast,” retorted Shadowheart.
“It would have been more efficient to simply slice the thing’s belly in twain.”
“And have lost the opportunity to press it for valuable information about Ketheric Thorm?”
“Would you two knock it off?” hissed Astarion, pinching the bridge of his nose. To Gale, he said, “They’ve been bickering since the very moment Tav went all goofy. I’ve had enough. Your turn to babysit.” With that, he withdrew to his tent.
Shadowheart and Lae’zel deposited a still-giggling Tav onto a fallen mossy log that almost passed for a bench. “Shads, why are there four of you?” Tav slurred.
Shadowheart’s nose wrinkled at the nickname. “Astarion had the right idea. She did good work out there, but gods, is she an annoying drunk. I need to get some rest if I’m going to be of any use exploring that mausoleum tomorrow.”
“Hang on—isn’t there anything you can do to sober her up?” asked Gale.
“Believe me, I’ve tried. I spent quite a few good spells on her. Thankfully not all were a waste—she did need one of those restorations to stop the necrosis from spreading through her system. Now she’s just a regular drunk instead of a dying drunk. But if there’s a cure for alcohol intoxication, I’m afraid it’s beyond my abilities at this moment. Do write down anything embarrassing she says so I can use it as blackmail, won’t you?”
Lae’zel simply said, “I must prepare my blade and my mind for tomorrow’s trials. Rest well, wizard.”
Seeing as Wyll and Karlach were back at Last Light Inn reviewing invasion strategies with Florrick and Jaheria, and Halsin was still tending to Thaniel, Gale was left with little choice but to take Tav into his care for the evening.
Tav promptly rolled off the log and landed on the dirt with an unceremonious thud. “Ouch,” she whined, then began to laugh anew.
Gale couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his own face. He supposed he should be cross with her for recklessly endangering her own life yet again, but here she was, intact, if a little banged up, and there was that little dimple in her cheek that made him melt. Any thoughts he had of scolding her melted away, too.
“Alright, fearless leader, let’s get you situated. I’m going to sit you up, and you’re going to wait patiently for a moment while I toast a hunk of bread over the fire. You ought to have something to soak up some of that—er—what exactly did you drink again?”
“Glowy blue stuff,” said Tav. “Tasted—hic—awful.”
“I see. And what’s this I hear about a ‘grotesquely distended shadow creature?’”
“Biiiig. Huge guy.” Tav gestured with her arms spread wide. “Assshtarion said—hic—one more drink and BOOM! Sso, I drink—drunked—drank with hims!”
Gale produced a bit of stale bread from the supply pack, skewered it with a branch, and held it near the flame. “I can’t decide if you’re the most clever or most senseless person I’ve ever met. I’ll let you know when I decide.”
Tav giggled once again. “You’re cleverest. So smart. So preeeetty,” she hummed.
Gale felt heat rising to his cheeks. “Wow. You are very drunk.”
“No! I mean. Yes, I am. But—hic—you really are. Clever and pretty, my Gale.”
Gale took the perfectly toasted bread off the fire and sat next to Tav, his back against the mossy log. He then drizzled across the surface a ribbon of honey from a jar he’d been saving since he’d found it miraculously intact within the destroyed kitchen of Waukeen’s Rest. “Clever, I’ll accept heartily. Pretty, though? That must be the ‘glowy blue stuff’ talking. Here, eat this.”
Tav accepted the bread with a little hum. “Pretty, clever, and you can cook,” she drawled. “Wooooow.” She tore into the bread like a feral animal, chewing with her mouth half open, which was somehow more charming than it was off-putting.
Gale opened his mouth to protest this third use of pretty, but. Well. Wasn’t it said that drunk words were sober thoughts? And there was that use of the possessive, my Gale, which made his heart flutter like a hummingbird. And there was also the scene Tav had shown him when they were connected by the Weave, and the way she’d spoken to him at the party with the tieflings, and the desperation in her eyes when she’d insisted they’d find some alternative to him blowing himself up, and—
By all the nine hells, it was about time he stopped self-sabotaging. He didn’t have much time left. He ought to make the most of it.
“Mmm. If you can make old bread taste this good, I need to see what you—hic—can do with a full kisschen. Kit-chen,” said Tav in between mouthfuls of bread.
“If we were home, I’d have topped it off with a bit of my signature honey cinnamon butter, but out here, we must make do with what we have available to us.”
“Sounfs guuf.”
For a few minutes, there were only the sounds of Tav’s ravenous chewing, the crackling fire, and the odd noises from whatever creatures lurked in the darkness beyond the campsite. If Gale closed his eyes (and ignored the unsettling whistles and chirps issuing from the trees), he could pretend the two of them were in his tower back in Waterdeep, sharing a meal by the cozy hearth in his kitchen.
Gods, he was hopeless. His wildest fantasies about this woman were pitifully domestic! He was doomed and done for. This was so different than anything he’d ever felt, with Mystra or any of his mortal relationships before the goddess. He wanted to memorize Tav’s scent, to have it linger in their shared laundry, to bury his face in her neck and drink deeply of it when he needed comfort. He wanted to enchant coffee mugs so they always stayed warm for her during her early morning walks. He wanted to trip over her mud-laden boots in the entryway. He wanted her everywhere, he wanted—
“What’re you thinking ‘bout?” slurred Tav.
“Oh! Um…” Gale never found himself at such a loss for words as he did around Tav. “You have honey on your—lip,” he said, indicating with a finger to his own mouth where it was located.
Tav wiped her lip with her pointer finger and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes and savoring the taste with a pleased hum. Gale nearly spontaneously combusted. If she wasn’t too drunk to consent, and if he wasn’t too afraid of rejection, he would kiss those honey-sweet lips until he couldn’t breathe.
“What kinda drunk’re you?” Tav inquired. “I’m a giggler.”
“You don’t say.”
As if on cue, Tav giggled.
Gale smiled ear to ear. He would never get tired of hearing that sound. He resolved to think of something clever to say to her, at the end, so the sound of her joy would echo in his ears until his last breath.
“I’ve a tendency to blabber on and on about nothing,” he said. “You caught a little glimpse of it at the party, actually. What was it I said… something about musk?”
Now they were both laughing. Tav snorted, which got them both going even louder, the sound ringing around the clearing like bells. Suddenly, something whizzed by, slicing through the space between them. A dagger lodged itself in the bark of the log they were leaned against. They followed its trajectory backwards—to a fluttering red tent flap, where Astarion must’ve been a moment ago.
They stared at the dagger in stunned silence for a few heartbeats. Then Tav snickered, the sound starting low in her throat, then bursting forth with yet another snort. “Sh-shh!” Gale said. “I wouldn’t put it past him to actually murder us if we keep him awake!” Tav clasped both her hands over her mouth, but little giggles escaped here and there. Gale rolled his eyes, but was still smiling. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. “Here.” With a practiced gesture, he cast a Silencing spell in a donut shape around them. “Now we can talk and laugh to our hearts’ content without disturbing the others.”
Tav looked at the shimmering purple field of Silence with wonder in her expression. She scrambled to her feet, considerably more steady than before, but still, Gale followed close behind, ready to catch her should she stumble. “Wow. Your magic is so sshparkly,” she said in awe. She reached out to touch the translucent wall of magic, and laughed with delight when her hand went right through it. “Oh! Wait. Watch this.” She stepped inside the field of Silence and screamed, the muscles in her face and neck tensing from the effort to create the noise, but nothing reached Gale’s ears.
“I quite like drunk Tav,” said Gale, still within the pocket of the spell where he could make noise, but Tav could not hear him from where she stood beyond the barrier. “She is very easily impressed, which makes my task of wooing her far simpler.”
Tav shook her head and pointed to her ears. Gale waved his hand dismissively, then offered that hand to Tav to invite her back into the little bubble where they could hear each other. She took his hand, stretched out her other arm, pointed her toe, and before Gale could protest, she was spinning into him, and then they were on the ground in a heap of laughter and tangled limbs.
Tav had landed very much on top of him, her arms pinned on either side of his head. Her hair cascaded around her face like a halo. Almost on instinct, Gale reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear so it was out of her eyes. His hand lingered there for a heartbeat, cupped on her cheek, feeling the warmth beneath his fingers. And she didn’t pull away.
Gale did. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and dropped his hand. “Oh!” Tav breathed. She clambered off of him, landing face-up in the dirt beside him.
Gale’s heart was in his throat. There was a moment where he worried he had ruined everything. He chanced a look in Tav’s direction, and was relieved to find her looking his way, too, a sheepish grin on her face. “Sorry for—coming onto you so hard. Drink! Er, drunk,” she said. “I’ll behave now. Promish.”
“No! You didn’t—I don’t mind—it’s just.” Gale gestured uselessly, as if he could pluck the words he needed from the air. “I don’t want to take advantage of you while you’re intoxicated. You’re very—special. To me.”
The light in Tav’s eyes could have banished the Shadow Curse. “You’re special to me, too,” she said, without even a little slur to make Gale question if she really meant it.
He looked at her, really looked at her. He didn’t think he’d ever been so close to her before. She was resplendent, even in this cursed place, lovely in the amber glow of the campfire. Muck and blood stained the creases near her eyes, the lines in her forehead, the hollow of her throat. There was a little freckle under her eye he hadn’t noticed before. Her breath smelt of alcohol, honey, and the faintest bit of the hazel twigs she chewed on to clean her teeth in the mornings. And yet—
“You have viscera and ‘glowy blue stuff’ caked in your hair,” he said, “and yet I’ve never seen anyone as intoxicatingly beautiful as you.”
Tav blushed deeply. She gave Gale a playful little shove, then covered her face with her hands. “I need a bath ssoooo badly!” she groaned. “Don’t look at me.”
“l like looking at you.”
This earned him a kick in the shin—probably harder than Tav had intended, but her gross motor control wasn’t exactly pristine at the moment. “Shuddup. You’re a dork.”
“Guilty as charged. Now, might I be dorky and suggest you drink a little water? The Tav of Tomorrow will be far better off for it.”
The rest of the night passed with the two of them leaned against the mossy log while Tav animatedly recounted the story of her encounters with the siblings Thorm. He clung to her every word as if his life depended on it. Perhaps it did. If there was anyone in this world that could convince him to live, it might just be Tav.
Much later, when both the fire and conversation were fizzling out, there was a weight on Gale’s shoulder. Tav’s head. He looked at her with the same reverence one might regard a butterfly landing on them.
Soon. He would tell her soon, when she was sober and he was more sure of himself. He would tell her—show her—what she meant to him.
For now, he leaned his head against hers, and drifted off into the sweetest sleep he’d ever known.