#gale is my favorite eccentric grandpa

[demonologue]

Tavuary weekly prompt 1: Fluff

I’m sure camp is a favourite place for many of us, but it is legitimately the best part of the game for me. The wild and untamed boost of ace serotonin I get from tucking the party in for the night and giving them all forehead kisses... I have to force myself not to long rest more than necessary.

Title: All Is Well

Characters: Gale, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, Scratch, Tav

Rating: T

Summary: Just a druid dad doing his best to take care of this found family.

All Is Well

Finally, another long day has come to an end. Camp has gone quiet in that way it tends to do when fatigue is about to win out over the hunger, petty squabbles, and inventory management. It’s time to tuck everyone in before your long rest. 

You start with Gale. Maybe it’s cheating to get the bedtime story first, but he’s so good at telling them. It always makes you smile. Is he for real? It doesn’t matter. Sometimes finding joy in what’s on the surface is safe. You know his secret, and you have an agreement about it. Just like your agreement with Lae’zel to murder each other if you start to turn. 

She’s next, giving you a curt nod as you walk over. That leather undergarment is something. She’s something. You want to tell her how impressed you are with all the progress she’s made in the short time you’ve known one another. Is she young for a Githyanki? You have no damn clue. But she feels like a new recruit somehow. You want to give her the space respect demands, but you also want to support her when she lets you. It happens now and then. The two of you have made progress. 

“Greetings.” A lot of progress.

“Just coming by to say goodnight,” you tell her. “I’d say sweet dreams, but I feel like you’ll just curse at me in Gith.” 

She does. “K’chakhi.” But there’s a certain quirk to her lips. Maybe it’s just you, but her insults sound more affectionate than they used to.

You chuckle. “See you in the morning.” 

“Not if I see you first, istik.”

You walk away smiling. Ignore Astarion, as he stands outside his tent, poised like an actor about to monologue, pretending to read. There will be no sweet good night there. 

You have an agreement with him, too, but it’s a sinister, one-sided one. You know you’re being used, but it’s the only thing he’ll accept from you right now. Will it be enough to facilitate a change later? Is change even possible for someone like him? 

You’re ready to do what is necessary if he shows his true colors or harms the others. For now, you’ve agreed to watch one another’s backs, and you think he might be considering loosely holding up his end of the bargain. That has to be enough for now. But he gets no good night. You feel sure he’d just reply with a snarky retort anyway.

Finally, you’re here. And you just watch Shadowheart praying quietly for a few moments. She looks up and sees you before you make yourself known. “Lady of Sorrows guide us. Did you want something?” There’s always this sadness that lingers in the air around her, but right now, it’s more concentrated. Like a dart fired into the shield of devotion with which she guards her heart. 

“You alright?” you ask softly. 

“What a strange thing to ask.” She stands and turns her back to you, pretending to look out at the horizon. Her tone is clearly an imitation of someone else. Perhaps that Mother Superior she’s told you about. Someone cold and uncaring. But it’s not her. 

“Is it?” You move up to stand behind her. Just out of arm’s reach, you feel it before you see it. Tears like starlight slipping down her cheeks. “Oh, kitten. I’m sorry.” 

You never know what to say to her. Nothing is ever quite right. And words are never enough. So you move close and rest your chin on top of her head, careful not to touch her with any other part of you. This is your secret language, just the two of you. How you ask permission. 

“I don’t know–!” Her voice cuts off, her shoulders trembling. You gently wrap your arms around her, and just stand quietly as she cries. Like a comforting tree bearing silent witness. Eventually, she turns toward you and rests her head against your chest. She never returns the embrace, and that’s perfectly okay. 

Times like this, it’s hard for you, too. Hard not to think about the little girl who will never grow into a woman. How much this woman, trying so hard to hide the little girl inside her, reminds you of your own daughter. Maybe the stoic tree lets slip a tear, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell her softly. “You’re doing so well. Better and better every day.” 

This summons forth more tears. The clerics of Shar are not big on positive reinforcement, you guess. 

“Thank you,” she says at last, when the tears have finally subsided. Shadowheart steps back, and it’s over, her autonomy restored. She stands on her own again. 

“Any time,” you tell her warmly. And grin. “Don’t tell the others, but you know...you’re my favourite.” 

It startles a half smile from her. “You’re the only one I trust, so I suppose you’re mine, too.” 

“Sleep tight,” you tell her with a little wave. “Don’t let the–er. Well. If he does, make sure it’s consensual.” 

“I’d sooner kill him.” 

“That’s my girl.” The ghost of a smile remains as you walk back to the campfire, feeling more tired with every step. 

“Were you two talking about me again? I feel like you were.” Silent feet fall into step beside you. “You know I can always tell.”

“Would you just fuck off?” So much for savoring a moment. His pervasive anxiety is toxic and contagious. Of course he listens to everything everyone says, always. Surrounded by shadows, this one, mind and body. 

“Honestly, darling, you’re not quite my type.” 

“Go to bed, Astarion.” 

“I thought that’s what we were attempting to arrange. Or you were. As I said, I’m not much interested in the big, muscley, goody-goody type.” He waves a hand in your direction, gesturing idly at ‘all that.’

“Go sleep on your own bedroll. Alone. Please.” He gets under your skin too easily. You don’t mean to speak so harshly, but you always do. Take a deep breath. “When you’re ready. Obviously, I’m not telling you what to do.” 

“Bloody well right you’re not!” He looks down his nose at you the way he always looks down his nose at you (which is a neat trick, considering he’s almost a foot shorter than you are). That effortless air of superiority mixed with naked disgust. His sickly sweet tone drifts back to you over his shoulder as he slinks away: “Sweet dreams~” 

You bite back the urge to tell him to fuck off again. “Behave.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

You know deep in your gut, you’re going to have to kill him eventually. But not today. Please, gods. Can you just rest, just this once? 

You must have been more tired than you thought. When you open your eyes, everyone else is sound asleep, gathered around the fire. You have that dizzy feeling that means your nightly offering has been accepted. Glance over and see him resting silently with the others. It’s the only time he looks remotely at peace.

At the edge of the firelight, Scratch looks out watchfully at the darkness. You call for him in a language he understands, and he pads over to lie down, his comforting bulk leaning against you. You push your fingers into his soft, white fur and slip into a blissfully dreamless sleep.