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News of the Elder Brain’s fall in Baldur’s Gate spread far and wide, but in Waterdeep, Gale’s return lent it more immediacy. The position at Blackstaff was something he tripped into more than earned, but it’s hard to complain. Life these days – it’s peaceful. During the day, he teaches. By night, he cooks, Tara by his side.
And Minthara – well. Minthara is a surprise.
Surprise is the wrong word. He invited Minthara back to Waterdeep with him – “Can hardly reclaim your birthright without a spot of rest, can you?” he’d asked.
She’d scoffed and told him he had the air of a third child about him. “A holiday does little but diminish the likelihood of my success.”
“Don’t think of it as a holiday. Think of it as being my security detail. Gods know I can’t take care of myself.”
And she’d come with him anyway. That he’s always found her beautiful is less important than the fact that she had nowhere to go. His attraction to her played no role in his invitation.
There were growing pains, of course. Tara took to her surprisingly quickly even after the repeated poisoning incidents, especially once Minthara explained her reasoning.
“He invited me here as a security detail. Bolstering his immunity to poisoning attempts is non-negotiable. His status as a non-drow is already a disadvantage.”
Gale doesn’t expect her to stay long. A tenday or two at most.
But it’s as he said. Minthara is a surprise.
“Mr. Dekarios.”
Tara and Minthara’s relationship is the worst thing that’s happened to Gale since he wound up with a tadpole in his head. He’s thought long and hard about whether or not it would have been better or worse if they hadn’t gotten along.
“Tara?”
Tara blinks slowly at him. Minthara’s fingers are in her hair; she rarely wears it loose, but today it acquires readjustment.
“Ms. Baenre informed me that you plan to go shopping in the city. We are in agreement that she would be a poor security detail if she didn’t accompany you.”
Gale purses his lips. “You are both aware that that was an excuse to keep Minthara from getting herself killed moments after saving Baldur’s Gate.”
“Wizard.” The timber of Minthara’s voice alone makes Gale want to snap to attention, as if this isn’t his home. “You said yourself that you are incapable of survival on your own.”
“I believe what I said was–”
“Object all you like. The tressym and I have decided that I will escort you. I will not be swayed.”
When Gale looks at Tara, she only grooms herself.
Gale loves Waterdeep. There’s no city like it and no place in the Realms can compare. If Gale has few friends, Waterdeep is family. He loves it the same way he loves his mother or Tara.
Minthara squints, still, when she steps into the sun directly. Decades in the Underdark left her with a sensitivity that will take longer than a few months on the surface to overcome. When they step into the market and Gale peruses the first stall, Minthara lingers at the entrance. He asks the vendor, “How much for the hat?”
When he emerges with it, Minthara says, “That is not your usual style.”
Gale smiles hesitantly. “That’s true enough, but I thought it might be better suited on your head than mine. The light pains you; it’s all you can do to keep your eyes open when we leave the tower on a sunny day.”
Minthara’s lips don’t so much as twitch. “The discomfort is minimal.”
“I’ve already bought it, Minthara. Please.”
When Gale proffers the hat, Minthara’s eyes dart between it and his face before she finally takes it. It’s plain, made of straw. She eyes it warily. “It looks ridiculous.”
“It suits you,” Gale insists, and Minthara’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t argue further. Neither does she put it on. It disappears into her pack, and that alone is a victory where Gale is concerned. She could have driven it into the ground with her boot.
Only the first produce seller Gale approaches tries to haggle with him. Minthara’s methods are harsh – he should stop her, probably, or at least apologize on her behalf when she threatens to “gouge out your already almost lifeless eyes if you insult us with such extortionary prices” – but it’s a kind of affection that he feels, instead. She’s a creature to be reckoned with, never mind that he’s using her as a pack mule for vegetables and that she’s wearing casual clothing instead of armor.
Her drow effects and accent draw attention any time that they’re in public, but her haughty demeanor never changes.
“You could tell them not to stare,” Gale says on the trek back to the tower, their arms and bags full with necessities and luxuries.
Minthara doesn’t bother looking at him straight on, her pace never wavering. “You ought to command more respect from them, with all that you’ve done.”
“When I sought greatness, it brought me little but misery. I’m not Chosen any longer. And bringing down the Cult of the Absolute…” Gale shrugs.
“If they treated me as such, they would be dead in their homes before the evening was out.”
Gale exhales a laugh. “Such a way with words.”
“I am Minthara Baenre of Menzoberranzan. They are fools to allow my continued residence in their city as is. To not pay me respect would be further folly.”
“You do command admiration,” Gale says pleasantly.
“I do.” When they reach the door to the tower, it opens of its own accord. “I prefer yours, but theirs is its own pleasure.”
“My what?”
“Your adoration,” Minthara says simply. “I’ve spent my life evading assassination. If I did not notice how ill-fitting your trousers often become when we speak, I would be no Baenre at all.”
Gale’s mouth goes dry. Minthara leaves the things they’ve shopped for in the kitchen with the exception of the sunhat. “When will dinner be served?”
She speaks as if she hasn’t just turned him into a fumbling schoolboy. “Within the hour. It simmered while we were gone.”
“Very well.”
Gale dips a ladle into the stew, dragging it against the side of the pot to minimize any dripping when he brings it to his mouth. The flavors bathe his tongue, but he frowns. Gale turns to reach for the salt–
And he finds that it’s already next to him.
He thought she had left, but Minthara watches him, unflinching. “You only frown that way when you feel that your meal lacks seasoning.”
“I–” Gale blinks. “Thank you.”
“My poisons may have affected the flavor profile of the dish.”
He rubs his forehead. “We discussed this. You can’t simply–”
Minthara smirks. Gale frowns, but his heart isn’t in it.
“You were teasing me.”
“You make it too easy, wizard. It is difficult to resist. I will return shortly.”
When Minthara goes, Gale’s eyes follow her. Tara watches him watch her. “She could stay,” Tara says mildly.
“She’s been staying.”
“You misunderstand, Mr. Dekarios. She could stay forever.”
Yes. She could. Tara is fine company, but it would be a lie to say that he hasn’t enjoyed having Minthara in his home.
“She’s determined to reclaim her birthright.”
Tara huffs.
“Would you, of all people, fault someone for their ambitions? She is drow, and drow nobility at that. It cannot surprise you that she has these desires, and yet you pine after her regardless.”
“I do not pine–”
“You certainly don’t act.” Tara’s never been shy about stating her opinion, but there’s an almost Minthara-like quality in her voice when she admonishes him. “You’re a grown man, Mr. Dekarios,” she continues gently. “If it is a proud Baenre you wish to pursue, then pursue her.”
There’s no time to ruminate on it, though Tara is rarely wrong. He wouldn’t have invited Minthara to stay with him if he didn’t value her company, and time with her has proven more pleasurable than he expected when they don’t have the shadow of an Elder Brain looming above them. When Tara flits off, Minthara reappears in the doorway, and Gale dispenses with a greeting. Instead, he asks, “Was I so obvious?”
Minthara’s smirk is easy. “You were hardly subtle. And even if you were, your tressym betrays you as easily as any mother would her daughter.”
If Minthara was taller, her aura would be overwhelming. Gale is lucky she’s a drow and not an orc. Still, he chooses not to argue the point of childrearing habits between cultures. There’s not room to discuss it, anyway.
Minthara closes the space between them, Gale’s stew still simmering behind him when she pins him between her body and the wall next to the fire. Her skin is cool against his, but it’s an annoyance he’d bear a hundred times when her lips crash to his.
She’s a force; she always is. Minthara’s mouth gives no quarter but Gale seeks none. When her tongue parts his lips, her teeth waste no time in pulling at them. Gale’s breath hitches and she smirks into his mouth.
“I would have you here, wizard, but there is no time,” Minthara says, though Gale begs to differ. “I leave for the Underdark in the morning, and preparations must be made.”
His heart thuds in his chest, heavy against the place where the orb once threatened to swallow the world. It’s just like him to get broken up with before a relationship ever starts at all. “Surely it’s not so urgent–”
She puts a finger to his lips, leaning close again, eyes narrow. “I do not do things halfway, wizard. I was unsure how agreeable this time in your tower would be. I expected to seek your death after a tenday.”
Gale sets his mouth in a line. “Is this where you tell me that I have the air of a third son about me?”
Minthara hasn’t stopped smirking since she cornered him.
“Quite the opposite. I’ve enjoyed my time here, even if you are foolish and naive. Where you lack, I am plenty. And when I reclaim my birthright in Menzoberranzan and name you my consort,” Minthara says, her finger still firm against Gale’s lower lip, “none will speak against you. Not your students. Not your colleagues. Not Mystra herself.”
Her eyes are narrow, but Gale manages an answer. “Waterdeep is my home.”
“And Menzoberranzan mine.” Minthara doesn’t flinch at his objection. “But you are a wizard, are you not? And a skilled one at that. I would think portals would be well within the scope of your abilities. If they are not, then you are not worth the trouble it would cause me to make you part of my house.”
She leaves no room for discussion. Her lips crash to his again.
The stew burns.
When Minthara comes to visit, Gale goes to the market, and she joins him. She wears the sun hat with no prompting at all.