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The cottage did not belong where it was.
It sat upon black garden soil and gray weathered rocks that hung immovable in the endless expanse. Below, blue and pink clouds drifted by, dotted with a thousand points of light that flickered as if in conversation. The chimney stood crooked. Green and purple smoke intertwined as it rose. Moss clung to one wall, as if eternity were damp.
Inside a fire crackled. Pans clattered. Laughter. Outside, two figures stood at the door.
A woman whose bright white hair formed an impossibly intricate latticework of braids inspected the soil in the herb garden. She carried herself with the kind of strength that only comes from a lifetime of physical labor. Her tunic was plain linen, ornamented only with emerald green trim. She wore a pendant, a sheaf of grain. A dirty old bag hung from her shoulder. She savored the aroma.
Her companion was a square jawed young man with a fiery crop of auburn hair that accented his yellow robe. It was embroidered in pinks and yellows and purples. His golden sandals glinted as he stepped forward to examine the wrought iron and wood which made up this side of the porch. He nodded. Then returned to his wife. She knocked on the door. A voice came from inside: "Come on in! Dinner's almost ready!"
As the door opened they were greeted by the smell of a good home cooked meal and the rhythms of married life. A red haired woman wearing an emerald green dress was just getting done setting the table for four. Her husband, with silver skin, a tastefully groomed beard, and a tattoo covering his chest, was holding a bowl, which he was stirring rhythmically.
"TAV!!" the white haired woman exclaimed. She shoved her bag into the arms of her husband and ran forward to greet her friend.
"CHAUNTEA!" Tav replied as the two hugged. They began catching up.
"So, Lathander... how are things?" said the silver skinned man.
Lathander smiled. "Oh, you know... Light in the East, Light in the West. My wife here has me tending the garden most days, but we still watch every sunrise together over our morning coffee."
Chauntea chimed in: "That reminds me, Tav... I have some vegetables for you!" She retrieved the bag and produced from it a wealth of onions, tomatoes, beets, carrots, and cucumbers. Tav thanked her for the gift and began putting them away in the bins and baskets behind where her husband stood.
And so it was that Gale of Waterdeep, Lord of Ambition, toiled away in his humble kitchen, stirring his hundur sauce with an old wooden whisk. The spicy-sweet aroma filled the house as a filet of salmon the color of a summer sunset lay on a wooden plank in the front of the hearth. His wife, Tav, the Goddess of Consent, moved the salmon to the kitchen counter. "HOT!" she yelled as Gale spun out of the way and lifted his bowl just in time. She tasted the sauce. "Perfect as always, Beloved." They kissed.
Lathander took his wine and wandered over to the library as Chauntea inspected a cutting she had taken from one of the plants by the door.
Shelves filled nearly every surface in the house that wasn't already covered with hooks bearing all manner of cooking implements: pots, pans, skillets, and a surprising number of teapots. Tav collected them. There were copper ones, and iron ones, some enameled and some bare. One bore scorch marks suggesting a spirited disagreement, and one hung slightly askew, as if it had won.
The shelves bore more books than had any right to exist in a house this small. The titles revealed a wealth of classics... clearly a carefully curated collection, save for the absolute madness of the "organization". A few new titles caught his eye. "On the Structural Failures of Hierarchical Spellcasting". "Redundancy Protocols in Pre-Karsite Lattices". The volumes on this side bore decisive marginalia. As he selected a volume, "Temporal Recursion And Regret", he noticed that its spine had been softened nearly to the point of failure through repeated use. The margins bore arguments and counter-arguments and foot-notes and... Lathander marveled at the detail and rigor. He put the volume back.
The neighboring section shifted in tone. Each volume was still used, still loved... A small notebook lay at the end of this section, filled with the notes that comprised the endless conversation between them and their owner. "The Architecture of Oaths." "Threshold Theory: Entry, Exit, and the Sacred Pause". "On the Ethics of Invitation". "Mutuality In Binding Agreements". And one thin volume simply labeled "Doors". He chuckled as he picked it up. Sure enough, it described ins and outs of... doors.
He took a sip of his wine as his eyes moved up to the shelf above the one he had been looking at. Centered on that shelf and sticking out slightly farther than the rest of the row due to recent use was a copy of The Art of the Night. He choked on his wine.
Gale was just bringing the fish to the table. Tav wasn't far behind, bearing more wine. Regaining his composure, Lathander asked Gale "So... how's the revolution going? Weren't you supposed to have overthrown Mystra by now?"
Tav looked around the table and paused with the carafe over each cup. She waited until each guest nodded before refilling their cup. As she did so, Gale began to recount the story of his revolution against Mystra. It had been meticulous. He described Weave redundancies. Cascade modeling. Political stabilization. Contingency plans. It was thorough. Elegant. "It was airtight." he said.
"So what happened?" asked the Morning Lord.
"Mortals. Some mortals happened. Brilliant little buggers weaponized consent! There are now rivers which not even Mystra can dam." Gale said, as he looked at his wife.
"Oh! Her domain," Lathander said, laughing heartily. "Delicious!"
"It was appalling!" Gale continued, beaming with pride. "It violated every structural instinct I possess. It was inelegant. It was reckless. It was... stupid."
They all laughed, and then he paused, as if considering the sheer audacity of the plan anew...
"It worked."
Lathander's grin widened. Chauntea nodded in approval. "They didn't attack her. They ignored her."
Tav corrected him: "They offered her a better option."
Chauntea weighed in: "You can only amend the soil. The seed decides."
Gale nodded, then gestured in a circle with his glass. "I was going to rewrite the weave." he said. "They rewrote my premise."
Lathander laughed. "That's how it begins!"
As they chatted, Tav leaned forward and regarded her husband. He was gesturing to indicate the architecture of what the mortals had built. His gesturing grew so expressive as to endanger the wine, and so she braced the carafe to avoid it being knocked over. Gale caught her watching him furiously gilding the lily again and reeled it in... just a little. "They rejected my plan," he said, "in favor of something a tad bit more... ambitious. Absolutely brilliant."
Lathander asked delicately "So... How did Mystra take it? What's she been up to since then?"
Gale's brow wrinkled. "I don't know... we're still not exactly on speaking terms." Tav placed her hand on his, wrapped her fingers around, and gave it a squeeze. "Mystra things, I suppose?"
They all laughed.
"But that's not the important part: exciting things are happening in the field of magic right now! The first stable change in the weave in centuries! New possibilities that I couldn't have dreamed of as a mortal! And I hear Mystra *voluntarily* loosened the reigns, if you can believe it. And all because of a few scrappy mortals! HA!"
"Well then, I think this calls for a toast." said Chauntea, as she refilled her glass.
"To rewriting premises!" Gale said as he raised his glass.
Tav raised hers in turn and said "To gentler hands!" She squeezed Gale's hand again as she said this.
"To amended soil!" Chauntea added.
"To a new dawn!" Lathander added the capstone.
Gale looked at Tav. She was already looking at him. She raised one eyebrow as she offered her glass. A smile broke across his face, and then grew wider. His glass found hers first.
"Brilliant." he said, as he kissed her. "Absolutely brilliant."