[ Astarion's gaze follows Iorveth's, up into the night sky that's quickly beginning to turn to the early morning sky. This sunlight sensitivity is really putting a wrench in all of his plans. He frowns, glancing from one side of the cobblestoned street to the other. ]
Have we enough coin for an inn?
[ He points to another large, multistory building. This one, however, appears to house only one business: The Spouting Fish, presumably an inn and tavern of some kind. Unlike most of the buildings on the street, The Spouting Fish has light filtering out of the windows and the faint sound of conversation within. ]
If we're lucky, perhaps the proprietor will have heard of the esteemed Wizard of Waterdeep.
[ Point. They don't have enough coin for an inn, unless Astarion wants to part with his trinkets, which Iorveth has kept strapped to his hip (some of them ruined, no doubt, thanks to Iorveth's dip in the river the previous night). ]
More and more, I'm beginning to doubt the veracity of anything that came out of Gale's mouth.
[ Obviously Gale is a very capable wizard, but is he really renowned as such, or did Tara say those things to spare him his feelings??? A Mystery.
At any rate, asking for directions is a good idea, so into The Spouting Fish they go: an establishment that is made, it seems, entirely out of wood, and should really discourage its visitors from smoking inside. Two tired-looking wizards (Iorveth assumes, from the robes they're wearing) is sat near a table of rowdy halflings, accompanied by a water elemental swaying gently on amorphous feet.
The wizards (again, Iorveth assumes) look their way, then go back to reading as the proprietress of the place bustles towards them, energetic despite how obscenely early in the morning it is.
"A pint before work, gentlemen?", she booms. Iorveth winces. ]
[ The proprietress of this particular establishment is Janess Imristar, an outgoing and perpetually bubbly human. She grins at them with a vibrant smile despite their disheveled appearances — travelers are common at The Spouting Fish, given its opportune location so close to the gates, so a little bit of blood and bruising doesn't faze her. Astarion stares back blankly, too exhausted from having to (gasp!) jog that he no longer has the energy to return her smile with one of her own. ]
Oh, we aren't working, [ he replies, uttering the word 'work' with the sort of disgust usually reserved for less banal things. ]
But perhaps there is something you might be able to provide us. We're searching for a man called, ah. [ Ugh. This is embarrassing. Flatly: ] The 'Wizard of Waterdeep'. [ Janess stares back just as blankly. ] Awful beard, yea tall, hair dangerously approaching a mullet?
[ "That could be nearly anyone in this town, I'm afraid," Janess replies. ]
He has a wizard tower of some sort. I assume it's an eyesore.
[ A moment of thought, then— "Oh!" she says, recognition entering her expression. "I may know the building you're referring to." A pause, then she adds, slyly, "...But that sort of information is for customers only!" ]
[ While the woman's effusiveness would have been regarded as an improvement over the distant disdain the two had to weather back at Flotsam, Iorveth can tell that they're both far too exhausted to entertain this woman and her wink-wink-nudging. At least, Iorveth is. He thinks he might actually vomit if he has to force a pint of ale down his throat right now.
So. ] How much is the wizard worth, woman?
[ In other words: "let's call a bribe a bribe." Iorveth reaches into his trouser pockets and fishes out his remaining coin, which isn't much― a paltry few silvers that clink sadly onto the nearest tabletop. Enough for two drinks and a bowl of peanuts. Gale would be so fucking angry if he knew that this was the starting price. ]
We haven't time nor the patience to barter.
[ She's lucky Iorveth isn't threatening her with bodily harm, really. He's too tired for it, not to mention that they really don't need more reasons to be casually reviled by strangers. ]
[ "Oh, don't be like that," Janess says, unoffended by Iorveth's attitude. As a barkeep, she's dealt with far worse, and a surly one-eyed wood elf is hardly notable. She fishes a scrap of paper out from her pocket—although not before pocketing Iorveth's silver—and scribbles down an address before holding it out for Iorveth to take.
"It's at the border of the Castle and Dock Wards," she says. "Some flashy wizard used to live there, but we stopped seeing him out and about a year or so ago." ]
Yes, that does sound like our Gale.
[ Surreptitiously, he glances outside the window, where the dark night sky is slowly brightening. ]
—Lovely conversation, really, but we should be going. We'd hate to be late.
[ Flashy wizard. Iorveth isn't sure if "flashy" is the right descriptor for Gale and his soft cow eyes, but he can appreciate that that's what people would think about him if the only thing they knew about him was his previous status as Mystra's chosen.
A few more words exchanged (mostly about which direction they need to head in to get to "Castle Ward"), and they return back to the quickly brightening streets, taking the darkest alleys to cut across the rest of the sprawling, fish-scented half-squalor of Dock Ward. Sure enough, there's something that looks like a tower overlooking the water in the near distance; Iorveth points it out with a nudge to Astarion's elbow. ]
You should speak to the wizard, not me. [ As they approach the front of the white-stoned building and the double wooden doors that lead inside. The windows stretching up the front and sides of the tower are dark― there's really no reason for Gale to be awake― but there's a little switch by the entrance with a note that reads "please press, for urgent inquiries".
(A second note beside it "and, by urgent, I do mean urgent".)
And, well. Iorveth gives Astarion the floor for now, craning over for a brief second to brush his lips against Astarion's temple. ]
You look beautiful, by the way. [ A little facetious; they're both a mess. But they're meant to be words of encouragement regardless. ]
Of course I do, [ he says, chin pointed up haughtily. In actuality, he's not so certain he even looks halfway decent, but hopefully his disheveled state will appeal to Gale's sense of compassion.
He presses the switch, and the melodious sound of chimes comes from inside the tower. Another impatient press, and another, and soon it's less melodious and more cacophonous. Astarion can hear the faint sound of Gale's grumbling from inside, and although he can't quite make out the words, the tone of them suggests curse words. After a long moment, the double doors open to reveal the familiar form of Gale, dressed in silk nightclothes and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Astarion takes private pleasure in the fact that his hair looks a mess.
Gale does a double-take upon seeing the unexpected elves at his door. "—Astarion?" he croaks out, voice scratchy from sleep. "Iorveth? What in blazes are you two doing at my doorstep at" —he squints— "what appears to be the crack of dawn?" ]
Excellent question, really, and I'd love to discuss it inside, if you'd be so kind as to invite us in—
[ Gale, perpetually not getting the memo, tilts his head at Iorveth. "What happened to your shirt?" ]
The sun is coming up. Make no mistake― if any part of him burns while we dally by your doorstep, I'll burn your books in retaliation.
[ Again: Iorveth Be Normal About Astarion Challenge (Impossible). He notes the look of surprise on Gale's face overtaking his general early-morning fatigue, and interprets it a bit uncharitably as Gale's judgment of what following Iorveth has done to Astarion since the party disbanded; then again, it might be Iorveth's fever brain stimulating his overactive paranoia.
"Gods, there's no need for all of that", Gale mutters. "Come in, then, and try to be as quiet as you can manage― ah, and mind the rug, I just got it cleaned yesterday."
Why put it near the entrance, then, Iorveth would usually say, but is demonstrably too tired to. He gestures for Astarion to go inside first, eager to get him away from the threat of the sun and into the cozy, velvet-lined interior of Gale's one-man (and tressym) tower. Clearly, Gale's been doing well. ]
[ Astarion steps into the tower and immediately glances around to survey his surroundings. Gale has spoken of his tower enough, but words don't paint the same picture as actually seeing it in real life. The interior is relatively dark, likely owing to the time of day, but flickering sconces cast the foyer in a soft, warm glow; if Astarion had to guess, he'd guess they've been enchanted with a Continual Flame spell. Just as Gale had said, there's an intricately patterned rug spread across the hall, covering the chestnut-colored wood floors. On a table near the front door is a decorative vase that seems to glow faintly with magical energy; as he reaches out to touch it, Gale says, "Oh! Careful, now. That was a gift from Althazar the Arcanist."
Astarion withdraws his hand. ]
Of course. Who doesn't know Altair the— [ "Althazar," Gale corrects. ] Althazar the Arcane.
[ It looks like it physically hurts Gale not to correct Astarion a second time, but he valiantly resists. Instead, he says, "As much of a pleasure it is to see you two, I have to ask what brings you to my city at such an hour."
The sound of fluttering wings precedes the appearance of Tara, who lands on Gale's shoulder. "Mr. Dekarios! I'm certain that your mother didn't teach you to be so inhospitable."
Gale sputters at the chiding. "Inhospitable— I assure you, I'm no such thing! I was simply curious—"
Tara scoffs. "And you still have your visitors standing in the doorway like common rabble! Honestly, dear, I'm afraid your year in exile may have had more impact on your manners than we thought. Perhaps I'll pay Mrs. Dekarios a visit and inform her you require re-education on matters of etiquette."
"No such need," Gale assures her, before gesturing for Astarion and Iorveth to follow him deeper into the tower. "Allow me to welcome you to my humble abode. Might I offer you some tea?" ]
[ Ah yes, the universal threat of a mother's wrath. Iorveth smiles despite himself as he follows the still-chattering Gale and Tara into what he assumes is one of the tower's many sitting rooms, allowing himself, in increments, to relinquish some of the tension he's been holding in his shoulders. All of his hemming and hawwing about Gale and his idiosyncracies doesn't take away from the simple fact that he does, in fact, feel safe around the people he'd spent the past few months journeying with. ]
A bath and a bed will suffice. [ And, because he realizes that Gale was under no obligation to entertain a rude visit, even if they are what Iorveth would categorize as friends: ] ...Thank you.
[ A subtle touch to the small of Astarion's back, and Iorveth moves away from him to shove a few books off of a plush reading chair (more pained half-sounds from Gale following the flutter of pages falling onto the floor); he sinks onto its velvet cushions, letting tired limbs go limp. ]
...We ran afoul of some bigots on our way to the northern forests. We would be grateful if you were to lend us temporary shelter while the dust settles.
[ A moment here, as Iorveth considers the wisdom of saying something to the extent of "and letting Astarion stay here for longer if necessary," but he also doesn't want to make Astarion angry right now. He leaves it at that, and valiantly tries not to pass out where he's ragdolled on the armchair. ]
[ Gale's eyebrows raise at the word bigots, but he doesn't ask for further clarification, savvy enough to understand that Iorveth likely doesn't wish to talk about it. If he really wants the details, though, Astarion has no problem sharing them with him over a glass of wine. For now, though, Gale simply says, "Of course! A friend in need is a friend indeed, hm?"
That's the too earnest, slightly annoying, but unmistakably good Gale that Astarion knows. He perches on the armrest next to Iorveth, taking in the decor of the sitting room. A small table with a candle whose light Gale must read by, shelves with enough assorted books to fill a library, and a landscape painting that Astarion could swear is moving.
"But," Gale adds, "I do have to ask — should I be expecting a knock at my door from the City Watch?" ]
Mmm, [ Astarion hums, noncommittal, as he waves his hand. ] It could go either way, really.
Entirely possible. [ Depending on how chatty the woman at the tavern-inn is, and whether the two wizards sitting at the table near them were paying any attention to their conversation. Eye still closed, Iorveth sinks into the cushion of his chair, voice starting to slur somewhat from exhaustion. ]
If you find that you're being scrutinized, speak up. If it gets to be too much for you, I'll leave.
[ Implied: "I don't want to get you into too much trouble". With that promise out of the way, he sighs and lists a little to the side. ]
...Find yourself a bed, [ is a low murmur, aimed towards Astarion. ] Fresh clothes, too. [ He's far too tired to move, himself― the chair is fine for now. ] And potions for your bruises...
[ His voice trails off, cut short by his body's need to shut down for a while. A little comical, that he conks out mid-fussing: Tara glances at him with a mild "oh dear," perhaps a little weirded out by the whole affair. ]
[ It's evening before Iorveth is bothered again, the light outside slowly dimming. (Not that Iorveth would be able to tell, what with every drape in the tower now shut.) Perhaps he's woken out of his reverie by the smell of spices wafting from the dining room, or the sound of conversation as Astarion regales their host with tales of their travels so far, albeit quite idealized tales. ]
And, of course, I knew it was a sleeping draught. That was part of my plan all along, you see—
[ If not, though, Iorveth is woken by the nudge of a small but insistent paw.
"Mr. Iorveth," comes Tara's prim voice. No more pretending she can't speak Common, at least not in Gale's home. "I must insist you try to eat something. Messrs. Dekarios and Ancunín are quite worried about you."
As if to serve as proof, a vial of shimmering ruby liquid has been placed on the armchair's side table, alongside a note written in impeccable penmanship: For your... everything. —G ]
[ Woozy and sore, but otherwise fine: that's the condition Iorveth is in when he finally lifts himself off the armchair (terrible choice of location), chugs the contents of the vial, and follows Tara (after getting hissed at for trying to pet her) into the dining room with its enticing smells.
His stomach heralds his arrival before his voice does. A low grumble as a reminder to himself, too, that he's starving; he murmurs a soft "evening" to the two men sitting around the table, and wastes no time sitting down next to Astarion (who, by now, hopefully looks better rested and cleaner than he did in the morning) and reaching for the nearest plate of food (a bread basket full of freshly-baked herb pastries).
Gale's cooking is familiar by now; this, too, is a comfort. Iorveth demolishes everything within his line of reach, a one-man vacuum. After he's certain that the food won't run away from him, he finally opens his mouth for a purpose other than shoving things into it: ]
By all certainty, it was less glamorous than his recounting.
[ Buzzkill! But Iorveth won't say anything more than that, because he doesn't want to humiliate Astarion by using words like "kidnapped" and "fooled". Instead, he gives Gale a "thank you for the potion", and resolves to take a bath immediately after he finishes breakfast-dinner. ]
[ Astarion is, in fact, better rested and cleaner now, hair no longer an untidy mess, the worst of his bruises all but faded thanks to the potion he'd scarfed down, wearing a pair of Gale's silk pajamas that either hang off his frame charmingly or unflatteringly, depending on who you ask. There's no plate in front of him; he'd suggested to Tara that they hunt pigeons together, but she'd scoffed in response.
"Well, now that I have you both here," Gale says, obviously gearing up for a lecture. Astarion already has him half tuned-out. "I thought it prudent to let you know that Waterdeep isn't quite like Baldur's Gate." ]
Oh, and how is Baldur's Gate? [ Astarion asks, raising an eyebrow. ]
[ "Ah—" Gale flounders for a moment. "I only mean to say that crime seems to flourish in the Gate, but here in Waterdeep, the City Watch enforces our laws very seriously." He pulls a small pamphlet out of his pocket, sliding it down the table toward his guests. "I thought it might behoove you to familiarize yourselves with our Code Legal." ]
A fine of a thousand silver shards for charming an official? Oh, please.
[ A snort, around a mouthful of (very delicious) meat pie. ]
I may as well walk myself to the gallows right now.
[ Taking none of this very seriously at all, predictably. One doesn't become a wanted criminal across half the country by listening to edicts and legal codes; Iorveth slides his pamphlet aside and leans towards Astarion, idly fixing the collar of his borrowed silk pajamas. ]
What say you, Magister Ancunín? Do you find these decrees fine or fair?
[ Playacting. Gale looks like he's on the verge of regretting letting these two troublemakers into his home.
"Do try to be a little more concerned about the peace of my city! It's a fine place, and I would like for it, and by extension, you two, to stay in one piece. The less trouble, the better for all." ]
[ Still caught up on the Code Legal: ] Assaulting a priest is a crime now?
[ "I regret to inform you that it's been a crime for quite some time," Gale says. ]
Ugh. I'm all for harsh punishments, but these so-called crimes are ridiculous. 'Public blasphemy'? Gale, I had no idea you lived among religious zealots.
[ "You needn't agree with the Code, only abide by it." Gale sips his drink, a wine in a deep mauve. "The Watch has eyes and ears everywhere, and it would be prudent not to cross them." ]
Mmm. I guess we'll need to save up bribe money.
[ "Actually," Gale says, and he might as well be pushing up a pair of imaginary spectacles, "You'll find under Section 1, Crimes against Lords, Officials, and Nobles — bribery is punishable by exile." ]
[ The both of them might as well be pushing up their respective pairs of imaginary spectacles, as far as Iorveth is concerned. A bit novel, really― like this, he can see how Astarion could have been a magistrate in his past life. Sitting at a table with someone, arguing semantics while reading pamphlets. He remembers the ridiculous pair of glasses that he'd made Astarion wear in that basement so long ago, and has to make a conscious effort to wave away the imaginary hearts that he's finding himself drawing around Astarion in this moment. ]
Keep arguing with him about loopholes, [ Iorveth half-laughs, sitting up from the table and bringing the now mostly-empty bread basket with him. ] I need to clean myself up.
[ A quick kiss to the crown of Astarion's head, which invites a raised brow from Gale. Iorveth doesn't know why Gale is acting brand new about this, but he also doesn't really care.
"Ah― I expect you'll need to borrow some of my clothes as well," Gale ventures, to which Iorveth waves a hand and brushes him aside. ] Keep Astarion company. I can make do.
[ Maybe he'll just lounge around in his smallclothes if all of Gale's clothes are that ghastly shade of purple. ]
[ Astarion had hoped to pick out Iorveth's new clothes as some of Gale's fashion certainly won't suit him, but he likes the look on Iorveth's face and the humor in his voice so much that he can't possibly deny him when he tells him to keep arguing. (Besides, arguing is one of his favorite things to do, especially when it's with Gale, who gets a big vein on his forehead when Astarion says something patently ridiculous with his full chest.) ]
Pick yourself out something fetching. Red, perhaps.
[ Gale looks a little put out that they're divvying up his clothes right in front of him, but he's too polite to say so. "There's a bath down the hall," he says, pointing. "The washtub is enchanted — by yours truly — with a Create Water spell, but do give it a moment to heat up."
As Iorveth walks away, Astarion does as requested, pointing out, ] You know, if assaulting a Lord and murdering one carry the same charge, it hardly incentivizes you not to finish the job. Besides, dead men can't tell the City Watch...
[ Someone should draw a portrait of this scene, Iorveth thinks: "The Wizard of Waterdeep, Bullied By Two Cats". Very picturesque. It warms something in Iorveth's chest, and he carries that feeling with him to the bath, where he scrubs off the last of the Flotsam mud and peels the dirty bandages off of his sore wrists (now mostly healed, thanks to the potion's effects); even puzzling through Gale's variety of self-grooming items is a peaceful conundrum, one that ends with Iorveth using what he hopes is a hairbrush (not for facial hair) to tidy his hair, and slipping into a pair of black trousers paired with a dark-burgundy shirt that'd been sitting in the very corner of Gale's wardrobe.
Gale, sitting with a book on one of the many comfortable benches strewn about in the tower, comments on Iorveth's attire once he rejoins the pair in Gale's salon: "ah! Wherever did you find that shirt? It was a gift from one of my acquaintances back in Blackstaff, but I never wore it because I didn't think the color suited me."
Iorveth observes Gale's good-natured smile. If Astarion is a fussy cat, Gale is a neurotic but very affectionate dog: happy to be told "good boy", eager to share anything about himself in the hope that someone will find the anecdote interesting. The past few days have been a lesson in refamiliarizing himself with how much he really fucking hates humans, but Iorveth will make an exception for Gale.
So. ] Don't assume. It would suit you. [ Iorveth's way of saying "good boy". He even walks over to where the wizard is sitting, and ruffles his hair with a distinct air of affectionate patronization. ("Wh― hey!") ]
[ When Iorveth enters, Astarion glances away from the bookshelf he'd been rifling through, hoping to find something of interest. (The next volume of Nicholas and Edgar's adventures, perhaps.) Iorveth is of greater interest, though: clean, healed, groomed. He smells like fancy soap, and his damp hair drips onto his fresh, soft clothes. Best of all, he's in a good mood, the walls he'd constructed to protect himself in Flotsam lowered. Astarion wants their tongues to make friends immediately. ]
Hello, handsome, [ he croons, and Gale clears his throat to remind him of his presence. It's suddenly very annoying that Gale has the gall to hang around here, in his own tower, and Astarion shoots daggers his way.
"...The Waterdhavian style does suit you," Gale offers, fixing his hair after Iorveth so rudely mussed it. ]
[ Iorveth's first instinct to being crooned at is to ignore the advances entirely, but Astarion is not only The Exception, he is The Rule: Iorveth gravitates towards him without hesitation, every bit the fox curling by Astarion's feet that he was accused of being. Not a single soul in Flotsam would believe that this is the same man that killed half the village guard population in one night. ]
It's a shirt, [ is his controversial opinion about whether Waterdhavian style suits him: a shirt is a shirt is a shirt. At least one (or both) other person in this room could probably argue with him about the veracity of that statement, but Iorveth doesn't care to have that debate, so he wraps one arm around Astarion's waist and rubs foreheads with him, reciprocally pleased to see him clean and relaxed. ]
You should eat, [ he murmurs, eliciting another harrumph from Gale. He ignores it, and appends: ] Did you speak to Gale about...?
[ Leaving the tail end of that vague, just in case Astarion wants time to build to consulting the wizard about The Sun Problem. Gale visibly perks up in the background, curiosity piqued. ]
[ Astarion tenses a little, suddenly nervous. It's quite a lot to ask Gale for help with a seemingly insurmountable problem, isn't it? Especially after barging in and taking refuge in his home without warning. He's never cared about politeness, but he does care about being refused. Gale surely wouldn't deny him assistance with something so deeply important if he had the resources to help, he tells himself, but then again, what if he did? ]
Ah, not exactly.
[ Gale clears his throat a third time, tired of being treated like he isn't in the room. "Well, now would be an excellent time, seeing as we're all here, don't you think?"
Astarion wants to snap at him not to be so impatient, but that really wouldn't help his cause. He hems and haws, eyes on the spines of books lined up on the shelf rather than Gale. ]
It's just... a tiny thing, really. A favor— hardly even a favor!
[ Something Iorveth notes: Astarion is good at making demands, but not so good at making requests. Iorveth watches him flounder, endearingly graceless, and takes one step away to lean against the nearest bookshelf (bolted to the wall) with his arms folded across his chest. ]
It's your request to make.
[ Unhelpful!!! For once, Iorveth doesn't throw Astarion a bone, preferring that Astarion come out and say what he needs himself.
Meanwhile, Gale sets his book aside and fixes his attention on Astarion, looking skeptical.
"Well. If it's coin you need, I'll be happy to loan you some on the condition that you don't use it to bribe anybody."
An uncharitable guess, but not an unreasonable one. Iorveth rolls his eye. ]
[ Iorveth chooses now, of all times, not to say that Astarion said no pickles. He huffs, exasperated. ]
It isn't coin. [ A beat. ] Although—
[ He shakes his head. Not the priority (although it's worth coming back to, he thinks). Finally turning to face Gale, he takes an unnecessary breath in. ]
Seeing as you're such a famed practitioner of the arcane arts, [ he says, buttering Gale up for his request, ] I thought it would only be right to ask you to... share some of your magical knowhow.
[ A whole lot of words to say a whole lot of nothing. Gale furrows his brow in confusion.
Frustrated, he blurts out, ] —The sun, Gale. I want you to help me with the sun.
[ "Oh!" Gale says, perking up at the thought of a magical problem to solve. "That's quite the challenge to tackle, isn't it? No wizard that I know of has ever thought to lessen the effects of vampirism, but then again, I doubt most wizards that I know of have ever come face-to-face with a vampire and lived." He's boasting a little. The idea of doing something that 'no wizard that I know of' has ever done clearly appeals, though, and he scratches his chin in thought. "I could ask my colleagues at the Academy — I've been asked to return there as a professor, you know."
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Have we enough coin for an inn?
[ He points to another large, multistory building. This one, however, appears to house only one business: The Spouting Fish, presumably an inn and tavern of some kind. Unlike most of the buildings on the street, The Spouting Fish has light filtering out of the windows and the faint sound of conversation within. ]
If we're lucky, perhaps the proprietor will have heard of the esteemed Wizard of Waterdeep.
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More and more, I'm beginning to doubt the veracity of anything that came out of Gale's mouth.
[ Obviously Gale is a very capable wizard, but is he really renowned as such, or did Tara say those things to spare him his feelings??? A Mystery.
At any rate, asking for directions is a good idea, so into The Spouting Fish they go: an establishment that is made, it seems, entirely out of wood, and should really discourage its visitors from smoking inside. Two tired-looking wizards (Iorveth assumes, from the robes they're wearing) is sat near a table of rowdy halflings, accompanied by a water elemental swaying gently on amorphous feet.
The wizards (again, Iorveth assumes) look their way, then go back to reading as the proprietress of the place bustles towards them, energetic despite how obscenely early in the morning it is.
"A pint before work, gentlemen?", she booms. Iorveth winces. ]
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Oh, we aren't working, [ he replies, uttering the word 'work' with the sort of disgust usually reserved for less banal things. ]
But perhaps there is something you might be able to provide us. We're searching for a man called, ah. [ Ugh. This is embarrassing. Flatly: ] The 'Wizard of Waterdeep'. [ Janess stares back just as blankly. ] Awful beard, yea tall, hair dangerously approaching a mullet?
[ "That could be nearly anyone in this town, I'm afraid," Janess replies. ]
He has a wizard tower of some sort. I assume it's an eyesore.
[ A moment of thought, then— "Oh!" she says, recognition entering her expression. "I may know the building you're referring to." A pause, then she adds, slyly, "...But that sort of information is for customers only!" ]
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So. ] How much is the wizard worth, woman?
[ In other words: "let's call a bribe a bribe." Iorveth reaches into his trouser pockets and fishes out his remaining coin, which isn't much― a paltry few silvers that clink sadly onto the nearest tabletop. Enough for two drinks and a bowl of peanuts. Gale would be so fucking angry if he knew that this was the starting price. ]
We haven't time nor the patience to barter.
[ She's lucky Iorveth isn't threatening her with bodily harm, really. He's too tired for it, not to mention that they really don't need more reasons to be casually reviled by strangers. ]
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"It's at the border of the Castle and Dock Wards," she says. "Some flashy wizard used to live there, but we stopped seeing him out and about a year or so ago." ]
Yes, that does sound like our Gale.
[ Surreptitiously, he glances outside the window, where the dark night sky is slowly brightening. ]
—Lovely conversation, really, but we should be going. We'd hate to be late.
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A few more words exchanged (mostly about which direction they need to head in to get to "Castle Ward"), and they return back to the quickly brightening streets, taking the darkest alleys to cut across the rest of the sprawling, fish-scented half-squalor of Dock Ward. Sure enough, there's something that looks like a tower overlooking the water in the near distance; Iorveth points it out with a nudge to Astarion's elbow. ]
You should speak to the wizard, not me. [ As they approach the front of the white-stoned building and the double wooden doors that lead inside. The windows stretching up the front and sides of the tower are dark― there's really no reason for Gale to be awake― but there's a little switch by the entrance with a note that reads "please press, for urgent inquiries".
(A second note beside it "and, by urgent, I do mean urgent".)
And, well. Iorveth gives Astarion the floor for now, craning over for a brief second to brush his lips against Astarion's temple. ]
You look beautiful, by the way. [ A little facetious; they're both a mess. But they're meant to be words of encouragement regardless. ]
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He presses the switch, and the melodious sound of chimes comes from inside the tower. Another impatient press, and another, and soon it's less melodious and more cacophonous. Astarion can hear the faint sound of Gale's grumbling from inside, and although he can't quite make out the words, the tone of them suggests curse words. After a long moment, the double doors open to reveal the familiar form of Gale, dressed in silk nightclothes and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Astarion takes private pleasure in the fact that his hair looks a mess.
Gale does a double-take upon seeing the unexpected elves at his door. "—Astarion?" he croaks out, voice scratchy from sleep. "Iorveth? What in blazes are you two doing at my doorstep at" —he squints— "what appears to be the crack of dawn?" ]
Excellent question, really, and I'd love to discuss it inside, if you'd be so kind as to invite us in—
[ Gale, perpetually not getting the memo, tilts his head at Iorveth. "What happened to your shirt?" ]
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It's gone where your manners have, I expect.
The sun is coming up. Make no mistake― if any part of him burns while we dally by your doorstep, I'll burn your books in retaliation.
[ Again: Iorveth Be Normal About Astarion Challenge (Impossible). He notes the look of surprise on Gale's face overtaking his general early-morning fatigue, and interprets it a bit uncharitably as Gale's judgment of what following Iorveth has done to Astarion since the party disbanded; then again, it might be Iorveth's fever brain stimulating his overactive paranoia.
"Gods, there's no need for all of that", Gale mutters. "Come in, then, and try to be as quiet as you can manage― ah, and mind the rug, I just got it cleaned yesterday."
Why put it near the entrance, then, Iorveth would usually say, but is demonstrably too tired to. He gestures for Astarion to go inside first, eager to get him away from the threat of the sun and into the cozy, velvet-lined interior of Gale's one-man (and tressym) tower. Clearly, Gale's been doing well. ]
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Astarion withdraws his hand. ]
Of course. Who doesn't know Altair the— [ "Althazar," Gale corrects. ] Althazar the Arcane.
[ It looks like it physically hurts Gale not to correct Astarion a second time, but he valiantly resists. Instead, he says, "As much of a pleasure it is to see you two, I have to ask what brings you to my city at such an hour."
The sound of fluttering wings precedes the appearance of Tara, who lands on Gale's shoulder. "Mr. Dekarios! I'm certain that your mother didn't teach you to be so inhospitable."
Gale sputters at the chiding. "Inhospitable— I assure you, I'm no such thing! I was simply curious—"
Tara scoffs. "And you still have your visitors standing in the doorway like common rabble! Honestly, dear, I'm afraid your year in exile may have had more impact on your manners than we thought. Perhaps I'll pay Mrs. Dekarios a visit and inform her you require re-education on matters of etiquette."
"No such need," Gale assures her, before gesturing for Astarion and Iorveth to follow him deeper into the tower. "Allow me to welcome you to my humble abode. Might I offer you some tea?" ]
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A bath and a bed will suffice. [ And, because he realizes that Gale was under no obligation to entertain a rude visit, even if they are what Iorveth would categorize as friends: ] ...Thank you.
[ A subtle touch to the small of Astarion's back, and Iorveth moves away from him to shove a few books off of a plush reading chair (more pained half-sounds from Gale following the flutter of pages falling onto the floor); he sinks onto its velvet cushions, letting tired limbs go limp. ]
...We ran afoul of some bigots on our way to the northern forests. We would be grateful if you were to lend us temporary shelter while the dust settles.
[ A moment here, as Iorveth considers the wisdom of saying something to the extent of "and letting Astarion stay here for longer if necessary," but he also doesn't want to make Astarion angry right now. He leaves it at that, and valiantly tries not to pass out where he's ragdolled on the armchair. ]
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That's the too earnest, slightly annoying, but unmistakably good Gale that Astarion knows. He perches on the armrest next to Iorveth, taking in the decor of the sitting room. A small table with a candle whose light Gale must read by, shelves with enough assorted books to fill a library, and a landscape painting that Astarion could swear is moving.
"But," Gale adds, "I do have to ask — should I be expecting a knock at my door from the City Watch?" ]
Mmm, [ Astarion hums, noncommittal, as he waves his hand. ] It could go either way, really.
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If you find that you're being scrutinized, speak up. If it gets to be too much for you, I'll leave.
[ Implied: "I don't want to get you into too much trouble". With that promise out of the way, he sighs and lists a little to the side. ]
...Find yourself a bed, [ is a low murmur, aimed towards Astarion. ] Fresh clothes, too. [ He's far too tired to move, himself― the chair is fine for now. ] And potions for your bruises...
[ His voice trails off, cut short by his body's need to shut down for a while. A little comical, that he conks out mid-fussing: Tara glances at him with a mild "oh dear," perhaps a little weirded out by the whole affair. ]
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And, of course, I knew it was a sleeping draught. That was part of my plan all along, you see—
[ If not, though, Iorveth is woken by the nudge of a small but insistent paw.
"Mr. Iorveth," comes Tara's prim voice. No more pretending she can't speak Common, at least not in Gale's home. "I must insist you try to eat something. Messrs. Dekarios and Ancunín are quite worried about you."
As if to serve as proof, a vial of shimmering ruby liquid has been placed on the armchair's side table, alongside a note written in impeccable penmanship: For your... everything. —G ]
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His stomach heralds his arrival before his voice does. A low grumble as a reminder to himself, too, that he's starving; he murmurs a soft "evening" to the two men sitting around the table, and wastes no time sitting down next to Astarion (who, by now, hopefully looks better rested and cleaner than he did in the morning) and reaching for the nearest plate of food (a bread basket full of freshly-baked herb pastries).
Gale's cooking is familiar by now; this, too, is a comfort. Iorveth demolishes everything within his line of reach, a one-man vacuum. After he's certain that the food won't run away from him, he finally opens his mouth for a purpose other than shoving things into it: ]
By all certainty, it was less glamorous than his recounting.
[ Buzzkill! But Iorveth won't say anything more than that, because he doesn't want to humiliate Astarion by using words like "kidnapped" and "fooled". Instead, he gives Gale a "thank you for the potion", and resolves to take a bath immediately after he finishes breakfast-dinner. ]
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"Well, now that I have you both here," Gale says, obviously gearing up for a lecture. Astarion already has him half tuned-out. "I thought it prudent to let you know that Waterdeep isn't quite like Baldur's Gate." ]
Oh, and how is Baldur's Gate? [ Astarion asks, raising an eyebrow. ]
[ "Ah—" Gale flounders for a moment. "I only mean to say that crime seems to flourish in the Gate, but here in Waterdeep, the City Watch enforces our laws very seriously." He pulls a small pamphlet out of his pocket, sliding it down the table toward his guests. "I thought it might behoove you to familiarize yourselves with our Code Legal." ]
A fine of a thousand silver shards for charming an official? Oh, please.
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I may as well walk myself to the gallows right now.
[ Taking none of this very seriously at all, predictably. One doesn't become a wanted criminal across half the country by listening to edicts and legal codes; Iorveth slides his pamphlet aside and leans towards Astarion, idly fixing the collar of his borrowed silk pajamas. ]
What say you, Magister Ancunín? Do you find these decrees fine or fair?
[ Playacting. Gale looks like he's on the verge of regretting letting these two troublemakers into his home.
"Do try to be a little more concerned about the peace of my city! It's a fine place, and I would like for it, and by extension, you two, to stay in one piece. The less trouble, the better for all." ]
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[ "I regret to inform you that it's been a crime for quite some time," Gale says. ]
Ugh. I'm all for harsh punishments, but these so-called crimes are ridiculous. 'Public blasphemy'? Gale, I had no idea you lived among religious zealots.
[ "You needn't agree with the Code, only abide by it." Gale sips his drink, a wine in a deep mauve. "The Watch has eyes and ears everywhere, and it would be prudent not to cross them." ]
Mmm. I guess we'll need to save up bribe money.
[ "Actually," Gale says, and he might as well be pushing up a pair of imaginary spectacles, "You'll find under Section 1, Crimes against Lords, Officials, and Nobles — bribery is punishable by exile." ]
Then I suppose it'll have to be a big bribe.
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Keep arguing with him about loopholes, [ Iorveth half-laughs, sitting up from the table and bringing the now mostly-empty bread basket with him. ] I need to clean myself up.
[ A quick kiss to the crown of Astarion's head, which invites a raised brow from Gale. Iorveth doesn't know why Gale is acting brand new about this, but he also doesn't really care.
"Ah― I expect you'll need to borrow some of my clothes as well," Gale ventures, to which Iorveth waves a hand and brushes him aside. ] Keep Astarion company. I can make do.
[ Maybe he'll just lounge around in his smallclothes if all of Gale's clothes are that ghastly shade of purple. ]
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Pick yourself out something fetching. Red, perhaps.
[ Gale looks a little put out that they're divvying up his clothes right in front of him, but he's too polite to say so. "There's a bath down the hall," he says, pointing. "The washtub is enchanted — by yours truly — with a Create Water spell, but do give it a moment to heat up."
As Iorveth walks away, Astarion does as requested, pointing out, ] You know, if assaulting a Lord and murdering one carry the same charge, it hardly incentivizes you not to finish the job. Besides, dead men can't tell the City Watch...
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Gale, sitting with a book on one of the many comfortable benches strewn about in the tower, comments on Iorveth's attire once he rejoins the pair in Gale's salon: "ah! Wherever did you find that shirt? It was a gift from one of my acquaintances back in Blackstaff, but I never wore it because I didn't think the color suited me."
Iorveth observes Gale's good-natured smile. If Astarion is a fussy cat, Gale is a neurotic but very affectionate dog: happy to be told "good boy", eager to share anything about himself in the hope that someone will find the anecdote interesting. The past few days have been a lesson in refamiliarizing himself with how much he really fucking hates humans, but Iorveth will make an exception for Gale.
So. ] Don't assume. It would suit you. [ Iorveth's way of saying "good boy". He even walks over to where the wizard is sitting, and ruffles his hair with a distinct air of affectionate patronization. ("Wh― hey!") ]
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Hello, handsome, [ he croons, and Gale clears his throat to remind him of his presence. It's suddenly very annoying that Gale has the gall to hang around here, in his own tower, and Astarion shoots daggers his way.
"...The Waterdhavian style does suit you," Gale offers, fixing his hair after Iorveth so rudely mussed it. ]
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It's a shirt, [ is his controversial opinion about whether Waterdhavian style suits him: a shirt is a shirt is a shirt. At least one (or both) other person in this room could probably argue with him about the veracity of that statement, but Iorveth doesn't care to have that debate, so he wraps one arm around Astarion's waist and rubs foreheads with him, reciprocally pleased to see him clean and relaxed. ]
You should eat, [ he murmurs, eliciting another harrumph from Gale. He ignores it, and appends: ] Did you speak to Gale about...?
[ Leaving the tail end of that vague, just in case Astarion wants time to build to consulting the wizard about The Sun Problem. Gale visibly perks up in the background, curiosity piqued. ]
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Ah, not exactly.
[ Gale clears his throat a third time, tired of being treated like he isn't in the room. "Well, now would be an excellent time, seeing as we're all here, don't you think?"
Astarion wants to snap at him not to be so impatient, but that really wouldn't help his cause. He hems and haws, eyes on the spines of books lined up on the shelf rather than Gale. ]
It's just... a tiny thing, really. A favor— hardly even a favor!
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It's your request to make.
[ Unhelpful!!! For once, Iorveth doesn't throw Astarion a bone, preferring that Astarion come out and say what he needs himself.
Meanwhile, Gale sets his book aside and fixes his attention on Astarion, looking skeptical.
"Well. If it's coin you need, I'll be happy to loan you some on the condition that you don't use it to bribe anybody."
An uncharitable guess, but not an unreasonable one. Iorveth rolls his eye. ]
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It isn't coin. [ A beat. ] Although—
[ He shakes his head. Not the priority (although it's worth coming back to, he thinks). Finally turning to face Gale, he takes an unnecessary breath in. ]
Seeing as you're such a famed practitioner of the arcane arts, [ he says, buttering Gale up for his request, ] I thought it would only be right to ask you to... share some of your magical knowhow.
[ A whole lot of words to say a whole lot of nothing. Gale furrows his brow in confusion.
Frustrated, he blurts out, ] —The sun, Gale. I want you to help me with the sun.
[ "Oh!" Gale says, perking up at the thought of a magical problem to solve. "That's quite the challenge to tackle, isn't it? No wizard that I know of has ever thought to lessen the effects of vampirism, but then again, I doubt most wizards that I know of have ever come face-to-face with a vampire and lived." He's boasting a little. The idea of doing something that 'no wizard that I know of' has ever done clearly appeals, though, and he scratches his chin in thought. "I could ask my colleagues at the Academy — I've been asked to return there as a professor, you know."
Gale beams, waiting for his next 'good boy'. ]
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