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Autumn in Waterdeep came slowly.
It began with the shallow breath of cold air following one of the famous Waterdavian heatwaves. A caress from the Sword Mountains and the spine, carried down on the backs of Wyvern circling the coasts. It drifts into open windows, it brushes under reddened noses, and it invites leaves from heavy hanging branches to drift with it.
Alastor borne from Elturiel, a place closer to the equator of Faerun, and typically felt less of the seasonal changes than the northern counterpart. The brush of air from the mountains dragged along his jagged blue skin, made his horns feel cold on his head, and dug its way into scars he’d thought had healed.
Alastor’s fingertips traced the rim of a tepid teacup resting in his palms, Golden-hued eyes soaking the painting scenery before him. The edge of the balcony he’d all but stolen from his partner, into the sea of yellows and oranges glowing warmly at the spark of twilight that stretched lazy arms of sunlight across the sleeping city of Splendor. Alastor’s tail lashed comfortably behind him, the spines of the edges tapping against the cushion with a ‘tuft’. He brings the cup to his lips, swirling the tea in the mug and breathing in the smell.
“Mm. You’re up early. Is something on your mind, my love?” a warm voice groggily came from the inside of the tower. A brown, wavy-haired Wizard in an oversized sweater more Alastor’s size than his own. Brown fluffy hair covering his chin and upper lip was slightly messy from sleep, flattened against his right cheek.
Alastor’s ears lifted, and he lowered the mug in his hands, resting it in his lap. He relaxed at the sight of his partner, shoulders pulling behind him comfortably. “Do I have to have concerns clouding my mind to enjoy the sunrise?”
“No, no, absolutely not.” the man refuted, chuckling and shaking his head. He wandered over to the seat where Alastor’s tail remained, waving his hand to allow Alastor to adjust out of the way. Alastor’s tail curled around his side, and the man took the spot next to him, cuddling up. “I’m certain I heard you up several hours ago, however. Hence my question.”
“You’re certain? Perhaps it was Tara.” Alastor grinned, his hand releasing the cup in between his legs and lifting to his face, dragging his blue fingertips across his white stubble. His tail lowered from the space on the bench and curled around the Wizard’s leg, careful to avoid dragging the rough texture of his spines against his delicate human skin.
“Don’t you dare,” the Wizard laughed. “Tara is the only soul in this house still sleeping, and I trust her word over yours in a heartbeat. She’d never.”
“Ouch!” Alastor replied, feigning offense before melting again into a smile. “But I relent, I was up early- my back had been aching. I decided to stretch and didn’t wish to wake you.”
“As long as you’re all right, my rest can take a little jostling from the movement. After all, we slept on bedrolls outside for quite a bit of time. I’m used to staying on my toes.”
“I should hope you sleep a bit more restfully within the tower, Gale.” Alastor chuckled. “The brain worms we harbored no longer interrupt our dreams with visions of beautiful strangers.”
“Hardly beautiful in my experience, were we seeing the same Emperor?” Gale teased. Hand lifting from its spot in between the two of them, he plucked the teacup from Alastor’s lap, resting it on the nearby table.
“Oh? I wasn’t talking about the emperor, but I’m glad to see that’s who you first considered.” Alastor shifted from sitting to lying on his back, head resting against the back of the balcony seat. His hand lifted, brushing a lock of brown hair from the Wizard’s face, inviting Gale to lie on Alastor’s chest. Arms crossed to prop up his head. “Beautiful stranger.” Alastor cooed.
“If the shoe fits.” Gale smiled back, removing a hand from holding his head up and tracing his fingertips across Alastor’s beard. “I would go through everything once again for the chance to wake up next to you.” Alastor’s face flushed at the cheeks and nose, eyes remaining locked on the Wizard’s brown pools. His body felt warmer at the touch now. Gale had him just where he wanted him.
“I’d do the same.” Alastor breathed, words seeming to slow from his lips out of fluster. His tail lashed behind him now, releasing Gale’s leg. His fingertips tracing Gale’s face, now running through his hair and tangling themselves in the curls. His stomach flipped, fire burning in his chest.
“Shsh. You won’t have to, my love, I’ll be here next to you as long as you’ll have me.” Gale assured Alastor, feeling the warmth rising from his lover’s body. He leaned forward, brushing strands of long white hair away from his neck. He pressed his lips against his neck, untying the strands on his shirt, tugging it away from Alastor’s body. His hands traveled down, dragging and tracing the edges of Alastor’s defined torso. Electricity tickled Alastor’s skin. He stifled a ragged breath from the touch.
“Mmm. You woke up with determination, didn’t you?” Alastor breathed out, enjoying the loving affection from his partner. Forgetting the cold air around him due to the warmth coming from Gale’s body.
Gale’s lips traced the corners of Alastor’s jagged collarbones and fingertips reached up from his curls of white hair, tracing the corners of his horns that jut from his head. He paused, Alastor letting out a humming noise when Gale’s assault of affection paused briefly.
“What’s this?” He asked softly.
Alastor’s ears perked; he adjusted where he was, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows and try to turn his head to see whatever it was that Gale was referring to. At the corner of his shoulder, once covered by a shirt but now exposed, a thin golden stretch of scar on his skin. It glittered in the morning sun. He reached his hand up, to brush against it, almost in an attempt to wipe it from his shoulder. The touch was cold, a harder line of cool almost metallic texture sewn into his skin. He pursed his lips.
“Is that… Gold?” Gale asked, mildly amused. He brushed his fingers against the spot, following the thin line with his fingers. It stretched across his shoulder, appearing to be some kind of scar that filled in. “It’s rather beautiful- is it poisonous?”
“I’ve never seen this before.” Alastor’s hand moved away from his shoulder, his dark eyes flicking back towards the spot.
Gale’s fingertips dragged against the strand of gold, which wrapped around Alastor’s shoulder, following an old scar caused by a dull blade. The scar expands out towards his shoulder blade, and across his back, cracking in various directions across his back and stopping at the edge of his spine. The eerie fascination with pottery, a fragile process of cracking and breaking.
Gale’s breath catches as he inspects his lover’s back. Alastor’s tight-lipped frown twitches with concern at Gale’s silence. His fascination was anything other than quiet observation- this felt more like concern, fear.
“It seems like an old wound, perhaps due to some overuse of magic?” Alastor suggested.
“Oh yes, your strenuous usage since moving to Waterdeep has been akin to that of fallen warriors. I’m certain your summon familiar spells and cantrips used to make upkeep of the library easier were a strain on your sorcerous sundries.” Gale teased, although a bit strained, as if masking some fear behind a joke. Alastor let out a small chuckle in response. The nerves of this new affliction calming.
“ It’s only a scar- It may not even be harmful.”
“You dont recall anything before the nautiloid that may have been related to some- odd healing method?”
“I feel it would have come up in our travels to Baldur’s Gate if so.”
“Perhaps of a more magical affinity, it may have been the tadpole’s meddling that kept it from showing..” Gale pondered, his curious eyes studying the stretch of gold across Alastor’s shoulder. Alastor’s tail curled around his waist again, he adjusted his shirt, pulling it up over the scarring and pushing himself from his spot on the couch. His teacup now cold and abandoned on the arm of the seat.
“Well, regardless, we’ll have time now to consider what it may be, I’m not in any danger- and we have plans today- We’re meeting with everyone.”
Gale’s mouth popped open, a protest forming on his lips, but the quiet desperation in Alastor’s eyes for a relaxing evening was enough for his to press shut again. “Alright, Alright- you’ll have to let me peruse your thoughts about a few theories I have cooking. If anything at all happens- it gets bigger- You’ll tell me?”
“Always.”
Alastor offered a hand to his partner, who reached up and took it, firmly gripping as Alastor easily lifted his body from the cushions. He pulled Gale forward, closing the distance between their bodies and pressing their chests together. They were of almost equal height, Alastor stood a few inches taller. His head tilted down, hand guiding up to Gale’s bristled beard, he pressed a kiss to his lover’s lips. Gale’s hands rested on his shoulders before pushing back gently to give space between them. The bite of chill felt colder now, more aware of the distance between the two of them, the focus on this possible new threat to face seeming to draw the heat from his chest out into the autumn morning.
The preparation that morning consisted of a few attempts at building a fire within Gale’s magical fireplace, the details hand carved on the inside thick with soot from lack of cleanliness. Gale likely naught often used it, but when he did- out of bare necessity. Alastor rather enjoyed tidying up- Gale’s home was, after-all, wall to wall with magical artifacts and books. So many books, in every corner, crevice, shelf, table- even on the floors, creating towers of themselves. Alastor could get lost just perusing the magical artifacts around him. The magic within him nipping out at every loose strand of weave attached to every object. He had a job to do, however, and would cast aside his desire to indulge his curiosity.
Alastor had grown used to wearing the same dirty tunic in his time travelling across Faerun, so he felt it was almost a luxury to wear clean clothes daily- a black, thick coat on top of a heavier tunic and dark blood-red pants. Gale wore a warmer variation of some of his favorite robes- hues of purple and space-like fabric underneath a larger cloak and hand coverings. The door of Gale’s tower pushed open out into the bustling city around them.
The cobblestone of Waterdeep’s streets clicked to life as the sun rose, the crackling of cart’s wheels and horseshoes passing, those who were on foot walked with purpose, many heading towards the trades wards of the city, and many more towards the schools on the western side of the cities. The people in Waterdeep were alive, lively, they moved with excitement, with passion, with magic. It was everywher,e the city nearly sugred with the concentration of magic in every footstep left upon the gravelly centuries old streets.
Alastor was constantly in awe of it’s denizens. The faces were unfamiliar to him, a pleasant change from his past in Baldurs Gate- where the denizens looked upon him in admiration or conversely, disgust and horror at his history. He was a known face and not one easily able to be hidden. Alastor felt like Baldur’s gate had a lingering cloud, after the events of the Netherbrain and his work in rebuilding the city became more ornamental than important, he decided to step outside of the cloud and haze of barely-memories, simmering to the surface. His fingertips would feel dipped in the blood of all he passed in his previous home, wading through a haze.
A hand on his drew his attention out from inwards, Gale’s fingertips tracing along his knuckles and slipping within his palm. He warmed at the gesture.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Far from it- just… Grateful i suppose. Baldurs Gate felt like such a mystery.”
Gale’s eyebrow quirked, head tilting to encourage Alastor to continue.
“I mean- You know what I mean. Never certain if I’d met someone before, hearing my name could be angry or positive, and it was always a toss up of which.”
“Ah, yes.” Gale nodded. “Certainly better you’re in Waterdeep now, rather than your alma mater- our town of legacy.”
“Infamy in some cases.”
“Hush- you’re not able to correct mistakes more than you have. The least you can do for yourself is not dwell on them.” Gale pushed forward, head leaning down. “I should know more than any the dismay of living in your transgressions.”
Alastor’s chest tightened at that, his lips tightening into a line. It hadn’t been long, since he became Mystra’s chosen, and therefore no longer carried the burden alone of the Netherese Orb. He was stable, no longer an all consuming magician with an endless, vortex of a hat that’d consume.
Alastor was grateful for that. But the lurching in him, the way lightning crackled almost thoughtlessly at his fingertips at the thought of what Mystra must have put Gale through to make the man he fell in love with a mere shell of his former self- to remain locked inside, wallowing for such a long time. Back when he was still sick, with the urge coiling at his every movement, he wondered on the difficulty of skinning a goddess.
Sometimes he still wondered.
“You have that look again.” Gale nudged. “What’s on your mind?”
“Mmm, not the time for it-” Alastor put his hands up. The thoughts of a flayed goddess at his hands, bubbling down to nothing. He really was the son of Bhaal. The urges were no longer overwhelming, but it was still a quiet reminder- a nudge. An Instinct. They were almost at the tavern to meet their friends again, it was a thought he’d have to tuck away.
Gale relented, nodding.
The smell of a tavern was warm in the chilled autumnal air. It sunk into their bones when they crossed the threshold of the Elfsong Tavern, at a table in the corner of the room were several faces.