#dadtash

[quacaserous]

busy parents

hello bg3 nation 💃💃 today i bring u: momthara and dadtash doodles, loosely inspired by the cut content of minthara’s pregnancy plotline & integrated into my minth/gort/durge au

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Parade

Enver Gortash loves walking through town with all his children trailing behind him like little ducklings. He's the type of guy to keep his wife pregnant because he simply adores having children. And he's actually a very involved father, especially considering how busy he is. He has some errands he runs two to three times a week, and when he does them he herds all of his kids into the carriage he had commissioned specifically for transporting so many children, buckles them all into their seats, carries his newest child in his arms, and parades them all through town as he hops from one errand to the other.

Sometimes his wife accompanies him, sometimes she stays at home, enjoying the alone time. Whichever she chooses, Enver supports.

The citizens eat it up seeing their ArchDuke strolling down the streets with his newest baby in his arms. A chubby cheeked child, with big brown eyes, fussing a bit in Enver's arms. Any tears, Enver cleans away on his own sleeve, before soothing the baby with some bouncing or snuggles as he places an order with his favorite blacksmith.

His older children wander around each store he stops in, poking and prodding wares but hardly ever leaving a mess. He's taught them better than to destroy a store, after all.

And as long as his children behave, he of course stops by their favorite ice cream parlor on the way home, letting each child have a single scoop of whatever ice cream they want, either on a cone or in a cup. He'll spoon feed his baby a little bit of his own ice cream, if they show an interest.

The public call him a doting father, and he certainly is. His wife is a bit shocked at just how good of a father he insists on being, considering most noblemen see their children maybe once every few days.

"Lady Karin told me last week that her husband sees the children once a week." His wife tells him. "And she herself only sees them once a day for afternoon tea."

Enver snorts, reading the newspaper as he sips his evening whiskey. "I'd be too embarrassed to ever admit being that useless of a parent. My own torturers wouldn't be able to pull that confession out of me."

His wife chuckles, then pauses. "You have torturers?"

"How do you feel about a family picnic at the beach today, my love?"

[kawareo]

EYYY LATE DAY 6 OF @gortash-week !

Feat: Enver acquired a child via an old fling with a prostitute years ago, she shows up at his door with a kid he can't deny is his. Kid's POV through how he sees his father and his father's 'friend' who comes around at night

MIND THE TAGS

[abyssalaerlocke]

Wondering how he'd handle it if he got Durge back, and lived long enough for them to have a Haarlep baby (assuming he doesn't toss them out for cheating, because amnesia)

Gortash is the last character you want to tether to your illegitimate-child-of-a-canon OC -- unless you are doing an AU. I have never seen a character who does not want children more, and who does not want to make children more. If he's active (and lbr he probably is), I guarantee you he makes sure he's protected, if not sterile.

Look at his history: if you were ever going to find a character who has negative regard for people who have kids and then don't do their jobs raising them, it is this guy. Because that's what it is: it's your fucking job.

He does not want to be a parent; he is busy, and he does not like people even half as much as he pretends to, but if by some bizarre set of circumstances he did knowingly sire a child, he would do his job by them. Them being around is his fault. This is his responsibility; he will not just see to it, but he will prove he can do it without sacrificing anything else he has going on. He won't want to, but he will still do it.

This has nothing to do with him secretly being better than people think he is: he literally tried to blow up orphans and refugee children, let's be real here. (And that is the least fucked up thing he did.)

This is not about the person he is and everything to do with the person he refuses to be.

Which is a Flymm.

[durge-marzio]

Alright!

[aladaylessecondblog]

3 spoilers for what I'm planning for the next Gortav fic chapter

Probably no sex in this one. Not saying no but girl's gonna not be feeling in the mood for it in that last trimester

Scene with Gortash holding the newborn. He's staring at the kid. Tav asks what he's doing and he says "Trying to understand why."

what do I call dad Gortash? Gordad? Dadtash? I think i'll say dadtash lol

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 13

Content Warning: illness, mentions of breastfeeding, feeling like a bad mother, and acknowledgment of a few of the horrible things Enver has done like murder.

About five years into your marriage, you give birth to your second child. A beautiful baby boy that you name Jahson because Enver swears up and down he can't think of a name. Despite your probing about male names in his family, he waves all of those questions off. So you list male names until you get to Jahson, which Enver declares is a strong name. So, tired from the birth and utterly done with the conversation, you declare his name to be Jahson.

You're on bedrest for a few weeks, healing from the birth, and you spend that time tending to your newborn son and four year old daughter, Ember. Ember decides that Jahson is ugly, despite Enver repeatedly explaining to her that all babies are pink and wrinkly right after birth.

Despite thinking he's ugly, she's constantly asking you to let her hold Jahson. You can't get over how much love you feel watching one of your babies hold the other, especially when Enver starts talking to Jahson about her day.

It's when Jason is about one month old that you come down with a fever. A rough fever that strikes quickly and leaves you unable to get out of bed despite your best efforts.

Two days in, Enver catches you out of bed and trying to walk to the nursery. "Absolutely not." He says firmly.

He guided you back to bed despite your protests, and ordered the maids to bring you some tea and water. He tucks you in among your pillows and blankets, scolding you. "Honestly, darling, the doctor was quite clear. No walking around. You were so close to the stairs, what if you fainted?"

You began crying in earnest, and Enver stood there, awkwardly looking down at you. "... Darling? Is it the fever?"

"I'm not a good mother." You sob.

Enver sits on the edge of your bed, "You must be under the effect of some illusion spell, my darling. You are a wonderful mother, the children are lucky to have you."

"Good mother's don't sit in bed while their children miss them." You sniffled.

Enver grabs a handkerchief, dabbing your tears away. "That's quite enough of those silly tears, my love. You're ill, you need to stay in bed until you get better. The sooner you get well again, the sooner you can run after Ember and feed Jahson again."

You look up in a panic, "Jahson! What has he been eating?!"

Enver patted your head gently. "I had a temporary wet nurse hired. Don't be glum, this is only until you get better."

You hated the idea of another woman nursing your baby. Nursing had always been an experience you felt strengthened your connection to your children. A bonding experience unlike any other in the early stages of life. To have some stranger doing it was... Well, not enjoyable. Still, Jahson deserved milk, and you were in no state to give it.

"... How are the children? Is Ember still trying to tie-"

Enver smiles, "She hasn't quite figured out tying shoes yet, I'm afraid. She practiced all afternoon yesterday on my boots as I did some work in my office. When I stood up to go to the bathroom, I fell face first on the floor."

You gasped, suddenly worried. "You fell?!"

"just a tumble."

"Your knee-"

"Is fine." He said firmly. Enver disliked talking about his bad knee. And gods forbid you suggested he stay off it for a day or two, or ice it in the evenings. "I landed on my face, not my knee."

Despite yourself, you giggle. The whole conversation and trying to walk has taken so much out of you that you don't even realize how tired you are until you fall back into your pillows.

Enver takes a cold cloth from a bowl on your bedside, dabbing your forehead. "Easy, my darling. I'll send for the doctor again in a day or so if you don't get better. The maids have been giving you your medicine? On time?"

You paused, "Well... This morning they didn't communicate and they gave me a double dose. It was a simple mistake, the butler has scolded them already, trust me."

Enver grumbled, "Had I been there-"

"You'd make them disappear." You said, the illness suddenly making you honest. "By Ilmater's Grace, Enver, they're young women who made a small mistake that made me a bit loopy for a few hours. They didn't try and poison me."

Enver looks at you, feigning innocence. "I've no idea what you mean-"

"I'm not stupid, Enver." You said softly. "I know the servants who occasionally go missing are because of you. I know the stable hand's scars on his back are because of you. I know a lot more than you think."

Enver sighed, taking the cup of tea from the maid when she brings it in. She rushes out, not wanting to be around Enver again. Enver takes the teaspoon, stirring lemon and honey into your tea before he began feeding it to you spoonful by spoonful.

"I don't want you thinking about those things." He said firmly. "Let me worry about them."

"I know you're the one who brought the brain to The Gate years ago." You say, slurping another spoonful of tea down. "At least you helped undo that one."

Enver sets the tea cup down, taking your hand in his. "Darling, wherever are you getting all these ideas?"

You laugh humorlessly. "What, are you going to make me disappear too?"

"Don't you ever suggest such a thing." Enver's voice is firm, a touch of Bane's cold iron to his tone. His dark eyes are cutting, leaving no room for disobedience.

"Sorry." You whisper. "I didn't mean that. Obviously you wouldn't."

"Obviously." He agrees.

He feeds you a few more spoonfuls of tea, before cleaning your face with the cloth again. "I have to go soon. It's time for Ember and Jahson's evening walk. Will you be alright here alone, or shall I send for a servant to sit with you?"

You smiled sleepily at him, "You're taking them on their walks?"

Enver smiles back. "Of course. You're ill. I'm not just going to let my children be raised by the help."

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 8

Warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, and Enver being sneaky with dirty politician stuff.

After you give birth to your first child, a girl that you suggest naming Ember for the cuteness of her matching her father, you scarcely get a moment alone with her. The servants make themselves scarce unless called, the midwives and doctor don't meddle too much, and your birth went smoothly enough for a first time.

Enver, however, can't seem to bring himself to leave your bedchamber. He sits either in the bed with you, or in a chair at a temporary desk he's had the servants bring in. He holds Ember nearly every moment he can, almost hogging her if you're being honest.

The first day of her life, when the two of you are bathing her together, Enver wiggles every toe of hers. He pulls every finger, boops her nose teasingly, and pokes at her chubby cheeks. She fiddles with her tail, and loves her instinct to keep wrapping it around his hand the way most babies squeeze a finger.

The skin over her horns is slowly swelling more and more. Enver brings in a tiefling midwife to teach the two of you the ropes, and soon Enver is massaging a herbal ointment into her little horn mounds on her forehead and behind her ears. You two learn how to care for her horns, her claws, and her tail. Enver writes everything down with little sketches on the side margins. You have to order new cloth diapers with a hole for a tail, but when she waves her tail back and forth during feeding, you can't bring yourself to care.

Enver sits at his little temporary desk as you relax in your bed. You've just finished feeding Ember, and Enver is patting her back gently while going over some paperwork at his desk. "And now we simply carry the one, add the column, and there! Our answer. Now to distribute it into the proper accounts, we need to figure out which account needs what percentage of the total."

You watched fondly as he explained his accounting practice to your newborn, burping her and not even grimacing when she spit up. He just wiped up the mess and kept going. "There we are, no more gas. Trust me, once you get older, gas will feel worse. Sometimes I think I'm having a heart attack all because of a damned glass of milk-"

"Enver." You say warningly, trying not to smile.

Enver grins, cradling Ember in his arms and gently massaging her horns. "Ah, but you'll learn about that when you get older. Now, what account shall we balance next? The fishing merchants? The silk merchants? Perhaps the Drow!"

You paused, frowning. "Enver, did you just say Drow? Why are Drow paying you money?"

Enver waved his hand a bit too quickly. "Plenty of Drow live in the city, dear."

"But why talk about them like it's a large group of Drow? And why would they be in the same account book as the merchant guilds?" You asked gears beginning to turn as certain questions popped through your mind.

Enver looked over at you, smiling with stern eyes. "Don't trouble yourself with it, my darling wife. Why don't we have the chef make those lovely caramel and vanilla cream pastries you adore so much?"

You hesitated, holding Enver's eyes a bit too long. He wouldn't tell you. Honestly it was a miracle he even slipped up this once.

You forced a smile, "can we have lemon custard too?"

[nyda-the-tav]

He's doin the "I can't read the fiber content on this cereal so I have to hold it at the right distance" squint.

He's dadtash now and those are his reading glasses.

I have mix feelings with those glasses.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Random Enver Musings 1

Warnings: pregnancy, mentioned childbirth, Enver being insatiable for his wife, discussion of nude portraits.

Enver never thought he'd like being a father. Sure, he was determined to be good at it, he had multiple spreadsheets detailing how he'd raise his children, how their future tutors would be, doctors, everything. But he never thought he'd actually love just... Being around his children.

When his first child was born, he sat next to his wife's bed and held his daughter for hours, just staring at her. Wondering how he possibly made something so perfect on the first try. He had let her tiny fist grip his finger, and whispered to her, "You are my greatest creation."

Enver was nearly inseparable from his children. During their newborn stages he almost spent more time with them than his wife did. Something he was quite proud of. After all, she needed to relax and rest. She'd done the hard part, and now he could handle the dirty diapers and humming them to sleep. He was never much of a singer, but even he could hum enough to soothe a baby. His wife enjoyed endless massages, baths, and beauty treatments for days after birth. He would hold his baby while he worked at his desk, reading aloud to them and any other children under two he had. They didn't understand his contracts, treaties, and tax proposals, but they liked his voice. And of course after a few hours of being pampered his wife would join him in his study which was quickly becoming a nursery with a desk and liquor cabinet.

His wife always smelled freshly of vanilla and lavender when she was done with her spa treatments, and he had a rather stunning ideal of her as some fertility goddess whenever she was freshly post birth. He mentioned it to her once, and she laughed at him as she took their newborn from his arms. "You're the fertile one, and the one obsessed with breeding!"

Enver smirked, picking up his eighteen month old baby who was yanking on his leg. "Perhaps. A goddess of beauty, then. I'll have another painting commissioned. Perhaps a nude? I'll have the artist pose you so deliciously-"

"Enver. Then children."

Enver chuckled, "They do not understand, but very well."

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 15

Warnings: a parent shouting at a child, a parent wanting to strike a child, and memories of an adult whose parents used to hit her as a punishment often.

This is not as fluffy as my previous ones. The reader insert gets quite upset at her daughter in this one and yells at her while slamming a book shut. She debates about spanking her daughter. The daughter gets very scared by this. Just be cautious with what you consume.

Your children were well behaved, mostly. You and Enver implemented a consistent parenting style, one he called Attentive Parenting, and it worked well. Enver was very firm that your children would never be hit, something that you struggled with despite your best intentions.

Your first child was easy. Ember could be sassy, but you managed not to lose your temper, usually. At most, you would would slam your fist on the table when she said something disrespectful or flat out mean, or shout at her to get to her room before informing her nurse maids that she was not allowed sweets for a few days. Once, when she was about eight, she stuck her tongue out at you while you were trying to explain to her that she needed to do her math homework, and you froze. You remembered how your father would backhand you for the slightest hint of disrespect in your tone or eyes.

You had stood up so fast your chair had fallen over. You had grabbed the coloring book she was drawing in and slammed it shut. You towered over her, "GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

Ember was not used to being yelled at, at all. The very few times you had raised your voice at her, she had nearly jumped out of her skin. This outburst of yours sent her sprinting up the stairs with her tail tucked between her legs. Thank goodness Jahson was off at his apprenticeship, or he would have dove under the table. He was such a sensitive boy.

You paced back and forth outside her room for half an hour, wrestling with yourself before stalking off to Enver's office. You had shoved his door open and grabbed a bottle of brandy from his liquor cabinet all while he gazed at yous cautiously from behind his desk.

"My lovely, darling wife-" he said cautiously.

"You're not why I'm angry." You said bluntly, sitting down on his couch and taking a long sip from his brandy bottle.

He visibly relaxed. "Excellent. Who must I arrest?"

"Ember." You growled.

Enver chuckled, abandoning his work to sit down on the couch with you. "What has our little princess done to make you rush to the bottle?"

"She rolled her eyes at me, then stuck out her tongue." You said, taking another swig. "Enver I know you don't want us to spank our children-"

"It's not negotiable." Enver said firmly. "You're not going to strike her because you can't handle your anger."

You sighed, knowing he was right on some level. "What am I going to do if she does it again, hm? If she rolls her eyes at me again, I'm just going to get angry again. I nearly smacked her mouth downstairs. Is this parenting approach we're doing really working?"

"Well, this is the first time she's ever done this." Enver said gently, taking the brandy bottle out of your hands and putting an arm around your shoulders. "Let's not assume we can't find an effective disciplinary method without hitting her."

"A long one this time. At least a week." You stressed. "Don't look at me like that, you're not the one she rolled her eyes at! If I had rolled my eyes at my father-"

"You don't speak to your father." Enver pointed out mercilessly. "Neither do your siblings. None of you invite him to events. I had to force you to invite him to our children's naming ceremonies."

"And I'm still cross about it." You grumbled.

Enver smirked, lifting his finger to boop your nose. "Little wife, politics are an endless game of appearances. If your father was absent from such events, the people will talk. And on the matter of Ember's punishment, perhaps a prohibition of that beloved pony of hers?"

You sighed, leaning into him. "You're so much better at this than me."

Enver chuckled. "I have grown adults disrespect me every day, and I can not simply beat them into submission. I have to find appropriate punishments for them. I'm used to this."

The two of you walked to Ember's room together and found her facedown in her pillows, crying.

"Oh my darling girl." You said, sitting on her bed and hugging her. "I'm sorry I yelled. That wasn't fair of me."

Enver rubbed her back as you held her to your chest. "We still love you, Ember. We're not angry with you. But this habit you've gotten into lately of disrespecting your mother isn't alright. I can't have you disrespecting the woman I love, my wife has my utmost loyalty."

Ember lifted her head from your chest to look up at you with tear stained cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mommy. I just hate math..."

Enver chuckled, despite himself. You shot him a look. He sighed, "From now on, you'll bring your math homework into my office, and I'll help you with it. And for the crime of disrespecting your mother, you won't be having any riding lessons this week."

Ember broke out into sobs again, "But Butterscotch needs to be groomed and fed!"

"The stable boys will do it." Enver said firmly.

"But they don't love him like I do!" She protested. "They won't give him extra treats, or keep his hair braided!"

Enver nodded solemnly. "Indeed they will not. Your actions have consequences, and sometimes that affects other people."

Ember put her face into your chest again, sobbing. You rubbed her back, "Hush now, take deep breaths for me."

You both soothed her until she calmed down, and then gave her a little ginger tea to sooth her stomach.

Later that night, Enver summoned you to his bedroom, and you both sat in bed together. You worked on a bit of embroidery while he read the evening edition of the paper.

"I must say. You're quite the involved father."

"Whats the point in having heirs I'd they don't like me?" Enver asked. "They'd burn down all of my achievements out of spite."

You tried so hard not to ask. "Is that what you did?"

Enver was quiet for a moment, before turning the page of his paper. "Yes."

You put your embroidery down. "What did you burn down?"

Enver put his newspaper down, and took your face in his hands, kissing you. "Must we discuss this?"

"I want to know my husband." You said firmly.

Enver sighed, "Is what you know not enough?"

"It's only skin deep." You complained. "I barely know more about you than the average citizen who reads the paper's stories about you."

He chuckles, "You want to take a scapel to me, then? Flay away the flesh and see my-"

"Oh, dont be disgusting." You said, cringing.

Enver sighed. "Alright, if you truly won't let his go... why don't you come meet my parents tomorrow?"

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Gortash Musings 4

Content Warning: mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Briefly. Lots of mentions of racism to Tieflings, and briefly mentioned racism to half orcs and other races.

His first child stirs some whispers. At first people speculated that his wife was unfaithful. As their daughter grows, his features become too apparent for anyone to believe it. Then they speculate that either he or his wife has some warlock pact with a devil. It's too close to the real story for Enver to be comfortable, and he carefully runs some propaganda pieces about local Tieflings, along with putting an "interesting fact" section in the Baldur's Gate Gazette that he makes sure runs some articles about how tiefling features can be dormant for many generations. And if he stretches the truth to make it sound like over twenty generations can pass before a tail appears in a lineage, well, the average citizen needn't know.

Propaganda is one of his favorite weapons, and this is one of his first instances using it to benefit someone who isn't directly him. His daughter is too young to speak a full sentence, let alone comprehend things like racism or prejudice, and he'd rather fix some racial issues in his city before she grows too big to stay ignorant.

It doesn't stop him from holding his infant on his lap while reading aloud his latest piece of pro tiefling propaganda. He only does stories like this perhaps once a week, as flooding the paper with too many at once would arouse suspension particularly from the more anti tiefling residents.

"Look here, Ember. Our newest resident wizard who has taken up residence in the lower formerly known as Lorroakan's Tower. Right after discovering that the degenerate was lying about the majority of his conquests, and exposing him as an abusive employer." Enver cooed, pointing at the portrait of Rolan.

Ember patted the image, grunting out a few syllables, then reached up to gently pat her own horns. "Mine."

Enver nodded, "Yes, he has lovely horns, just like you! I'd say yours are nicer though. You'll have more volume than him as you get older, if those secondary horns coming in behind your primary horns are any indication."

Ember patted her horns again, giggling.

He held her a little closer, nuzzling into her head. "That's my girl, beautiful, just like her mother."

When his second child arrives, he's not surprised this time. He expected the horns and tail. His wife had even purchased a few onesies with a hole for a tail to go and little sleep caps with button flaps for horns to fit through. The court however, seems to be even more shocked with a second child born with fiend blood.

His wife does her best to ignore them. Enver works overtime to ensure that she can afford that luxury. He appoints that Rolan fellow as his courts official authority on the arcane, hires more tieflings in the flaming fist, hells, he even puts together a small team of flaming fist made up almost entirely of Tieflings, half orcs, dragon born, and other looked down upon races whose specific job it is to serve as law enforcement in the lower city. He emphasizes that their goal is to protect and assist the people there, something these recruits love because most of them are from the lower city.

It's a first in the city's history, as the flaming fist have never been used to help anyone other than the upper class, something he can even remember his parents complaining about when he was a boy. The people's taxes partially paid for the flaming fist but reaped no benefit from them. They didn't help with any crimes not directly affecting a noble or wealthy citizen.

It's a stark change for the city, and one he does hear the occasional complaint about from different nobility. To his surprise, his wife's tongue proves faster than his whenever she hears them.

Some human noblewoman had raised her voice slightly to ensure most in the room would hear it. "The lower city has taken care of itself since our glorious city was founded! Why they suddenly need the protection of the flaming fist, I will never understand. And the gall to ask for their own private sect of Flaming Fist? Why, given how the peasants behave, I won't be surprised if after a month of being directly policed, the entirety of the lower city has relocated from the slums to the cells of Wyrm's Rock!"

"They could fill a library with all the things you don't know, Lady Greymoore." His wife's voice is cold, cutting, a tone he had never heard from her before. Her voice has always been either shy or kind when speaking to him. It is maternal and warm when addressing their children. It has been fearful, joyous, and annoyed. Never this. "In fact they do! They call them libraries."

Lady Greymoore flushes, which surrounding nobles chuckle.

"And a piece of information for you, free of a trip to the aforementioned library, it is not gall to accept the protection of a civic police force that your taxes pay." His wife continues. "However, speaking so cruely of the largest population of our city? Criticizing my husband's work when you stand in his home, eat his food, drink his wine? All while your husband collects his income from dues of the merchant guilds his great great grandfather grandfather founded... That's gall."

Laughter fades as his wife glares at Lady Greymoore, her eyes cutting the woman just as sharply as her words. Lady Greymoore's husband walks over, taking her arm and roughly leading her away. No doubt because the oaf owes Enver quite a bit of money, and doesn't want him to come collecting anytime soon.

The party goes on, the awkward moment eased away with wine and dance.

Enver takes the chance to take his own wife by her arm, gently guiding her out onto the dancefloor. He has always been attracted to his wife, she's a beautiful woman. He's a man who enjoys women. He's never been shy about telling her what he thinks of her looks, as he knows how to charm women. When she started to show during her first pregnancy, he felt a different type of attraction. A possessive type. She was waddling around his castle, clothed in dresses his wealth bought, wearing jewles he had gifted her, his hair growing inside her. He had scarcely been able to keep his hand off of her during either pregnancy. When she gave birth, he'd been impressed with her strength and how focused she'd been. When he saw her mothering their children with such attentiveness and patience... An attraction he's too scared to call love had blossomed as well.

But now?

Seeing her humiliate someone in public with wit and vicious fury? Bane, grant him self control, he wishes he could have her on one of the tables dotting the sides of the ballroom.

"You want to dance?" His wife asks, concern in her eyes. "You danced with me once earlier, won't this hurt your knee?"

He scoffs, having left his cane at their table. "I know my own limitations."

"Of course!" She says quickly. "I don't ever want you to feel I'm trying to control you."

He chuckles darkly. "You couldn't if you tried."

She smiles back as he begins to lead her in a calm waltz. "I know. And I wouldn't want to. Watching you stride on your own is far too inspiring of a sight."

Now that does catch his attention. "Oh?"

"Don't act shocked. Your mind is a wonderful thing, Enver." She says softly. "And all you've done for this city is amazing. People feel safer now, more trusting of you than they've ever felt of the Dukes. And with good reason! You're helping people..."

He is. He's aware of the effects of his policies. It's just not the main intention. The intention is to make sure his heirs can rule easier once he is gone. But no one need know that. Even his darling little wife.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Random Enver Musings 2

Warning: Discussion of overworking children in their studies.

Enver waited a bit later to let his daughter be introduced to society than most noblemen did. Most rushed their daughters forward, having them come to court at fourteen. Enver waited until his oldest daughter was sixteen to let her come. Personally he would have waited another year, but his darling daughter, Ember, was getting quite sick of waiting.

She was much like her mother, beautiful and graceful. And much like him, cunning and intelligent. Within a week of accompanying him to court, she had several friends, and to his utter horror, admirers. Enver nearly struck a boy over the head with his cane when the lad gifted his daughter a shoddily made bracelet that the lad insisted he had made himself. Judging by the harsh hammer marks upon the simple metal band, Enver believed it.

Ember had been very polite to the boy in public, but the second she and Enver were alone she took the bracelet off and giggled, pointing out every flaw in its making. "Daddy, you could do better than this in your sleep!"

Enver huffed, "And I will. I'll craft something lovely for you to wear to the ball next month. Perhaps a set."

His wife teased him that night. "You definitely raised a daddy's girl."

Enver, "Good. She needs to know men can't just do the bare minimum and get applause. With any luck it'll take her until she's in her thirties to find a man half as capable as me."

Enver finished pouring his wife her tea, sprinkling in the dried mint leaves she enjoyed. "Now come, have your evening tea. It's getting cold."

When their oldest son came to court, Enver found he had to supervise him much more. If he didn't, his son would show up in his work clothes from Damon's blacksmith shop, stained in soot, his fingers nearly pitch black. How many times he yanked his son into a water closet, scrubbing away at his fingernails.

"You're sixteen, I shouldn't have to tell you to be clean when you arrive at court!" Enver hissed, scrubbing soap on his son's face to rid him of the smoke stains.

"I worked a long shift, okay?!" His son, Jahson, snapped. "Don't nag me about my clothes!"

"You're lucky you're too old to spank." Enver grumbled, wiping the soap and muck away with a rag.

"You didn't ever spank us?"

"I'm thinking maybe I should start." Enver snapped, though they both knew it was all hot air. "Now go downstairs, get in the carriage, and have our driver take you home. Send him back for me and your sister in about two hours."

Jahson, "Why can't I stay for the rest of court today?"

Enver, "Because look at your clothes! You aren't fit to be seen! Wait until your mother hears about this!"

His wife packed Jahson a change of clothes in his lunch bag from them on, making sure he always had a set of proper clothing to change into after his apprenticeship hours at Damon's Blacksmith Shop.

"I swear, the boy is more skill than sense." Enver grumbled.

His wife chuckled, sipping on her nightly glass of wine as they sat in bed. "He's a boy. I know you were different as a teenager, but teenage boys have this remarkable ability. They can take their brains out of their skulls, put it in a drawer somewhere, and leave it there for weeks at a time."

Enver huffed, "Have I been too easy on him?"

His wife set her wineglass down. "You made him have seven hours of tutoring every week day and six hours of his blacksmith apprenticeship every weekend. The boy has one day a week he isn't learning something, and you usually drag him down into your workshop to help you smelt something. I'd say him forgetting simple things like a change of clothing is a result of you making him do too much. Ease up on our boy, hm? Ease up a little on all of them, actually."

Enver turned over, taking her face in his hands. "The world will not get softer for them. I am their father, not their friend. I need to ensure they survive, even if they hate me for it. Please tell me you understand that?"

"I do." She said softly. "But please tell me you understand the dangers of overworking a child?"

Enver was quiet for a moment or two, looking into his wife's eyes. "Why don't all of us go to our vacation home next week? We can give their tutors and nursemaids the week off, just have our little family together?"

His wife's eyes glistened. "That sounds lovely. I'll have the servants pack lots of goodies and picnic foods. We can sit outside at night and watch the stars."

Enver kissed her gently, "And I can leave some of my employees in charge here for a week. It'll do well for them to learn self sufficiency."

They fell asleep talking about their vacation, whispering about activities and meals they'd plan.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 7

Warnings: a somewhat sad conversation between Enver and his wife less than a year into their arranged marriage.

When you first married Enver Gortash, you were only shown the same side of him the public saw. The man who dined with high society, treating guests to his private chef and full table. The man who used his utensils delicately and properly, like a born and raised gentleman. The man who had impeccable table manners and restraint.

It wasn't until well over half a year into your marriage, when you had become pregnant, that Enver was around you a little more. You found the baby to be quite restless at night, and the sound of Enver's workshop seemed to calm your still growing child.

"This is soothing to them?" Enver asked, hammering somewhat gently at a bit of copper.

You sat on a chaise lounge that you had the servants bring into his workshop. Your hand rested on your ever swelling belly, "All I know is that all day your child has been kicking, fussing, rolling, acting like they're in a gods damned war, and the second I walk in here and am surrounded by the sounds of your anvil, they go still."

Enver stopped, putting his hammer down and smirking at you. "I've never heard you curse before, my darling wife."

The exhaustion of the day catching up with you, you close your eyes, taking a slightly trembling breath. "I've never been so tired in my life."

When you open your eyes again, Enver has come to sit with you on the chaise. His hands encircle your baby bump, rubbing and soothing the tight skin. "Tell me."

"I can't sleep." You admit tearfully. "They keep me awake with their moving. It honestly feels like they're trying to run sometimes! Just so much movement I feel I may tear open at times."

Enver nodded, stroking your belly and smiling sympathetically. "And?"

"And my shoes don't fit." You cry, wiping your face. "none of my shoes fit! Not even the ones I had made last month. All I can wear are slippers and those still hurt my feet! My mother wore heels and a corset for every pregnancy, I don't understand what I'm doing wrong!"

He reaches his hand up, petting your hair while smiling sweetly. "All babies are not the same, this I'm sure you already know, my darling. Even still, I can have the doctor check your progress in the morning? If you truly feel there's something wrong."

You hesitated, "Nothing wrong with a check up I suppose..."

Enver puts his hands on your waist, massaging gently. "There we go, that's my girl."

You couldn't help the smile that he pulled from you. Your husband was a distant man in most regards, never really letting you into his more complex affairs nor opening up about his past. As far as noble husbands went, Enver was definitely one of the better to have. He wasn't gambling away your fortune, or squandering your dowry. He saw you almost every day, and was interested in your life. And if he was having affairs, which you doubted his schedule allowed for, word never reached your ears. So if he was having affairs, he was being discreet about it. Which is more than most noblemen did. Your friends could recall their husband's mistresses by name.

For all of his faults, he wasn't shy about telling you that he found you beautiful. Sometimes the lines felt a bit practiced, like he had rehearsed them... Or used them on someone else. But simple little bits of praise that he effortlessly slipped into conversation felt genuine.

You moved on the chaise, sitting up and holding his hands. "I... Enver, are you happy?"

Enver stared down at you, a puzzled look on his face that quickly gave away to a smirk. "Is this one of those feminine verbal traps?"

"No." You said quickly. "I'm just asking, and I'd like total honesty, please."

Enver's smirk vanishes. "What brought this on?"

"Enver, please?"

He sighs, moving his hands to rub your back. "I'm quite happy with you and what you bring to my life. There. Does that satisfy you?"

"Partially." You said softly.

He huffed, "Oh? Not quite done?"

You chuckled, "I believe you're content with me. I do. I'm asking whether or not you're happy with everything. With your whole life right now."

Enver stares down at you. "You are aware that if I am not happy, there's nothing you can do to fix that? Correct?"

You frown, the fact making you quite upset.

Enver sighs. "And you don't like that. Why bother yourself with it? Do I not give you enough to keep you content?"

You put a hand on his chest, "No, no, you do! I'm very content, I'm boundlessly happy- except the crying earlier, just ignore that bit!"

You see him pinch his lips together to keep from laughing, but you ignore it. "It's just... If I was unhappy, and I came to you to tell you that I was unhappy, you'd fix whatever was upsetting me."

"I would." He agrees.

"But if you were unhappy... I don't think you'd ever tell me?" You guessed.

Enver's gaze softens. "You want me to tell you? Do you want me to debrief you whenever the council drones on and on for hours about property taxes? Or argue about import and export tariffs? Or perhaps you'd like me to go over the blueprints of my latest design and get your input on the schematics?"

You shrank back from him a bit. "Don't mock me."

Enver takes a deep breath, before situating himself on the chaise and gently guiding you into his lap. "My darling wife, your role in this marriage is very specific. We discussed this before our wedding in dept. Other than you providing me with an heir, that I am extremely grateful for, your duties are relegated to keeping up my relations with the nobles at court through their wives. You're to head charity events that I haven't the time for. You informed me that you'll be the primary caretaker of our children, to which I have acquiesced quite quickly. No wet nurses, as you demanded. Minimal nursing staff, as you demanded. Despite my reservations that this will exhaust you." He said. His voice was firm, yet patient. A voice one might use on a child but without any condescension. A nearly loving tone that was meant to prevent her feelings from being hurt.

"... I just..." You felt more tears spring to your eyes, the words for your feelings having vanished. "I adore you."

Enver leaned down, pressing his lips to your own in a firm and reassuring kiss. "I am fond of you. Perhaps in time, that fondness will grow stronger. I cannot say. Regardless, you will always be my wife and the mother of my child. Respect as such will always be given to you."

You leaned your head on his chest, listening to the strong pulse of his heart beneath his ribs. "Alright... Is... Is it alright if I want to love you, though?"

Enver rubs your back, reassuringly. "I'd be flattered, my darling."

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 5

It's just fluff.

His third and fourth child are both Tieflings as well. Both of them are girls, and his son, Jahson, complains constantly that he wants a brother. His eldest daughter, Ember, rolls her eyes, assuring her brother that the gender of a little sibling doesn't matter, they're annoying either way. Jahson ignores her, and one night he walks into their bedroom, holding his stuffed kitten and sniffling. His nursemaid stands behind him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Archduchess, Archduke, he insisted he wanted you personally."

His wife closes her book, and Enver puts his glass of whiskey down. His wife holds out her hands for her son, and Jahson runs to her, burying his face into her chest. She speaks to the nursemaid, "I've been very clear, Anna. If my children wake up in the night and ask for me, you are to bring them to me at once. You had better never try and talk them out of coming to me."

Anna curtsies. "Ever so sorry, Archduchess."

Enver dismisses her with a wave, and sits next to his wife, rubbing his son's back as she soothes him. "What's got you all ready eyed, my boy?" Enver asked.

"I had a nightmare." Jahson sniffles. "I wanted a baby brother but you just kept having sisters!"

His wife laughs, she can't help it. "Jahson, you are ridiculous!"

Enver laughs too, ruffling his son's hair around his horns. "Don't be so dramatic, I assure you, your mother and I are hard at work to bring you a brother."

His wife elbows him, and Enver chuckles.

Jahson looks up at his mother, "Really? Promise?"

His wife sighs, and rubs his back. "I promise, little darling boy. Now take some deep breaths and dry your eyes, okay?"

Enver watches as she coaches Jahson to take deep breaths, counting them for him until his son yawns and curls up in his wife's arms. "Mommy, can I sleep here?"

Enver stands, immediately going to the closet and pulling out an extra blanket. "I'll have the nursemaids bring in a carafe of water-"

His bedroom door opens again, and all three of his daughters stand there, holding their own stuffed animals and looking up at him with pleading eyes. Anna stands there, sheepish. "They realized Jahson had come to your bedroom and... Well, they wanted to come too."

Enver sighs, taking more spare blankets down from the closet. "Very well. You and the other nursemaids take the evening off. It seems we're having a little slumber party."

His daughters cheer, rushing his bed while his son looks up at him with tired eyes. "Daddy, girls are loud."

His wife snorts, patting his head, "You screamed the loudest as a baby, I'll have you know."

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Gortash Musings 3

Content warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, tiefling racism, Enver keeping secrets from his wife

The first child he has, his wife names Ember. He thinks it's cute, having a daughter with a feminine version of his name. He's excited to be a father, as he loves challenges and projects and a child is both.

When she enters the world it's with a scream that makes the cleric flinch, and his wife start crying in relief. Her face, drenched in sweat and tears, finally relaxes as she says, "I'm so glad you're out!"

The doctor and nurses crowd around the baby, and maybe that should have been his first hint that something was wrong but... She was crying? She was fussing and squirming and all the things babies were supposed to do. So he tended to his wife, cleaned her face, and practically cooed at her. "You've done so well. You're a natural. Truly. Such a short delivery for your first time."

The cleric, having taken his daughter to the other side of the room under the guise of cleaning her, calls him over. Enver stands next to him, looking down and seeing his daughter properly for the first time. She's beautiful, every bit of him and her mother mixed to create the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. But there's something unexpected. On her forehead are two lumps, a bit swollen but normal... For a tiefling.

Her little whip of a tail is curled around her own leg, a reflexive grip that he knows is common with her kind. Her kind? No. She's supposed to be his kind. Him and her mother are both human, with no tiefling ancestry. He knows this baby is his, there was no opportunity for infidelity and even if there was his wife isn't the type to seize it.

The cleric whispers to him, "It happens sometimes. Some people don't even realize they have a chance of producing a tiefling."

The cleric yaps on about how he might have a distant relative who made a warlock pact, or hung around a diabolist too much. He doesn't bother telling the cleric that he knows full well how this infernal influence entered his bloodline. His own childhood flashes before him, scenes of hellfire and horrors.

"Thank you." He says firmly. "But there's no need to solve the mystery. Finish cleaning her, and see to my wife."

The midwives fuss over his wife, muttering cleaning spells and urging her to drink water while the afterbirth happens.

The whole time, Enver holds his daughter. His darling little Ember.

Eventually he's alone with his wife, and he presents her their child, swaddled in a little red blanket and fast asleep. His wife frowns, staring at their child. "Enver... Enver how?"

Enver kisses his wife's forehead. "It happens sometimes, my darling. Let's not let it ruin this happy day."

"Her life will be such a struggle." His wife whimpers, already about to cry.

Enver puts a hand to her cheek, forcing her to look at him. "No. No her life will be full of joy and opportunity. She is my heir, my glorious creation. And as long as I live, all of Baldur's Gate will respect her as such."