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For all the sights Toril has to offer, Gale thinks there’s not a place in the world he loves more than home.
Waterdeep is the finest city on the Sword Coast, of course, and the tower is a wonder to behold, even as it’s changed alongside him. Fragile, sparking magical artifacts replaced with fascinating tomes replaced with relics from the adventures he and his husband have gone on over the years. All world-altering in their own right; all paling in comparison to the old purple armchair they’ve moved to directly next to the door.
Gale collapses into it the moment Wyll opens the door for him, all the breath leaving him in one oof as he sinks into the plush fabric. Wyll laughs, more fondly amused than cruel, and closes the door behind him, immediately muffling the hustle and bustle of the Dock Ward.
It’s not quiet, though — hearing the door, the cats race downstairs, one already yowling to be fed as though she hasn’t eaten in months. All lies, of course. She’s been fed regularly for the entire week they were gone, either with the aid of an unseen servant or with Gale teleporting them both back, when he had the spells to spare at the end of the day. Wyll calms them anyway, picking up the less prickly of the pair and holding her while he gets their food in order.
Gale watches him as he does, feeling an affectionate smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his exhaustion. Wyll’s no less handsome than the day he met him, despite the horns, the deeper smile lines on his face, the touches of gray at his temples.
Once, he’d thought of love as devotion, as prayer, as something all-consuming. As a younger, brasher, foolish man, he’d have thought no joy could compare to the mysteries of magic itself. But here, with the man he loves murmuring soothing nothings to the cats purring loud enough to be heard across the room, wearing the years they’ve spent together with pride, he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier.
With the cats fed, Wyll releases them to their dinner and turns enough to notice Gale’s attention, smiling at him. “Love, the look in your eyes is almost enough to fool me into thinking you plan on doing anything other than sleeping once we make it upstairs.”
“Would that I had the energy I did thirty years ago,” Gale says, eyes tracing Wyll’s form.
He leaves it at that, though. A week of interaction with their old party is more exhausting than even the longest of academic conferences. He supposes the dragon-slaying took something out of him, too, though they’re both daft hands at it after so long. It was Lae’zel who’d started the group on this particular hobby, needing a real challenge after a decisive victory. Wyll’d been more than willing, Gale would follow him anywhere, and none of the rest would let themselves be left behind if it was going to be a whole-party type of thing.
The one who’s persistent is actually Astarion, far more driven by the wealth than the good it’d do. To his credit, he does do his share of the work; less to his credit, he has a nasty habit of showing up in their home in the middle of the night when he’s found another wyrm to slay or villain’s vault to raid, no matter what new wards Gale casts.
Once, when they were younger, he’d interrupted —
Gale’s foray into his own memories is rudely interrupted by the pitiful yowling of the cat who’d finished her dinner and then been rebuffed by her sister when she attempted to steal hers.
“You’re not the aggrieved party here,” Gale reminds her, sternly.
The cat merely blinks at him and turns to Wyll.
“None of that,” Wyll scolds, still smiling. “You know damn well that he’s more likely to cave than I am.”
The cat’s ears twitch and she wanders off into another floor of the tower, likely to cause a problem they’ll have to deal with in the morning. But it will be in the morning — the only thing keeping Gale from simply falling asleep in the chair he’s in now is the memory of his back after the last time he’d done that.
With the beasts tended to, Wyll walks over and curls into Gale’s side. More onto Gale’s side, really. The weight of him is immensely comforting, though the way his elbow digs into his side is less so. Before Gale can even say anything, Wyll adjusts so Gale’s left with simply the warm, familiar man he’s loved for what feels like all his life.
“Do you remember summoning that bed to the Shadow-Cursed Lands?” Wyll asks quietly, more into Gale’s cheek than his ear.
From anyone he didn’t know as well, the words would be a complete non sequitur. As it stands, Gale laughs and says, “Wyll, you know I’m no conjurer. The bed upstairs is far better than anything I could bring down here.”
“Upstairs,” Wyll says, disdain dripping from his words. “You wizards and your towers.”
“You’re a ranger,“ Gale says, amused. “Shouldn’t I be the one to complain?”
Wyll laughs, low and fond, his breath hot against the side of Gale’s face where they’re still cuddling. “You’re too soft-hearted to speak poorly of any of Waterdeep’s architects.”
“Of course,” Gale says, magnanimous, hoping Wyll doesn’t notice the mischievous curl to his mouth. “Now, the planners in the Gate —“
Wyll swats his arm gently. “I thank you not to badmouth the finest city on the Sword Coast.”
Another spirited debate on their hometown’s respective merits sounds exhausting, honestly, so Gale just hums noncommittally and uses a dimension door to deposit them in their own bed. Well-used to this, Wyll rolls off of Gale and stretches, not unlike a cat, all languorous satisfaction.
Gale watches him, feeling so bone-deep affectionate for the man that he’s surprised his magic doesn’t surge out like a sorcerer’s to fill the air with…butterflies, or some other trite cliché.
But it doesn’t, so he merely wraps an arm around Wyll and murmurs “I love you”, quiet enough not to carry, loud enough Wyll will hear.
Wyll turns on his side to look Gale in the face, and his heart aches at how clearly he can see the love on his husband’s face. “And I you.”
How he ever thought he would prefer death or even godhood to this, he doesn’t know. Gale falls into an easy, dreamless sleep, holding and being held by the Blade of Avernus himself, and finds himself truly, profoundly happy with where his life’s taken him.