Half-orc Tav, Half-orc Tav, Half-orc Tav

Half-orc Tav, Half-orc Tav, Half-orc Tav

Talent in any self-expression I see, drawing, writing.

I’m too shy (and too busy) to post any of my stuff.

Of Home and Haven (Ch 1/6)

[Yes I love them and I am drawing them a cover lol]

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale SFW

Word count: 3.2k

Notes: Welcome to my first venture into fan fiction!

A gigantic shoutout to @senualothbrok for guiding my newbie writing every step, for being my beta and English coach, and for being so enthusiastic about Gale AND Ta'V in general. Without you, I wouldn't have the courage to post the story.

For whoever ventured here, please enjoy :)

AO3 Link: Here

-------------

It still feels wrong to venture outside without the Nyrulna, your faithful trident.

Logically, you understand it’s a horrible weapon choice for the crowded streets of Waterdeep, its thunder damage a guarantee of passerby casualty. You are not expecting battles anyway — Compared to your last two months of tadpoled adventures and the previous ten years of your mercenary life, this is a significant change of pace. The violence rate here is obscenely low.

Ha. Astarion would have giggled at that, followed by a disapproving-but-amused headshake from your gentlemanly wizard. Gale Dekarios, your human, your man. Even counting your pillow, he is still the softest, finest thing you have ever laid hands on in your nomadic life. What a strange twist of fate, that a scheme of the Dead Three has led you to this treasure you'd never encounter otherwise. Perhaps a “thank you” is in order.

A lady always says thank you. Ma’s voice rings in your ears, a distant memory. You snort, not to her but to yourself. She had never lost faith in your ability to be civilized, even when you believed otherwise.

Now, it is Gale who has given you the courage to try out polite society again. The last time you set foot in a city, not including the cultist-infiltrated war-torn Baldur's Gate, was for an escort mission at Elturel. You and a few others were hired to travel with a half-elf noblewoman, her frail yet elegant frame reminiscent of the fawn you hunted a day before. In daylight, you rode next to her, vigilant for any potential danger. At night, you postponed your rest to hunt so that her private chef could prepare her precious meal, while you feasted on cheap rum and dry meat. You had no protest over such an arrangement, being right at home living simply in the wild. It was only when she deliberately changed her wagon into what you could only describe as a "show-off cart" to enter the city, that you felt a pang of distaste. Despite her so-called concern for safety, she wanted a crowd anyway, and a crowd was what she got. Unsurprisingly, when the crew marched past the city gate, the people of Elturel gathered to stare at her in awe and at you in fear. As you walked alongside the heavily decorated four-wheeled cart at a painfully slow pace, you silently thought, "That could be me sitting in there. I am half-human too, you know?"

But that’s where you stop. Focus. You have two missions today, the first being to bring a surprise lunch to your fiancé at Blackstaff Academy. You have roasted a pig leg as best as you could with his magical hob, picked out the freshest berries of the season, and scouted a rich full-red you know Gale will enjoy.

Wait. Is drinking allowed at school? You wouldn’t know, as your education came from your parents and the road. In any case, he can store it in his big, nice teacher’s room he gleefully described in detail when he first got his position a week ago. You had been celebrating at the Yawning Portal that night, and your drunken wizard had lovingly leaned on your arm, so overjoyed that, despite being in public, he cheekily rubbed his beard against you like a spoilt kitten. You just couldn’t resist giving his soft hair a good pat.

“T-This is surreal,” he sighed, with a lazy gaze under half-lidded eyes. “Please, my love, join me someday. I have so many stories to share —it is my second home after all!”.

You liked the place already. If that is where he belongs, then you must go there as well.

In the end, you decide to give up the Nyrulna and pick a simple axe, just for safety measures. It should be a perfect choice: small enough to hide under your cloak and cheap enough not to make a fuss, even if it got confiscated by an academy guard. Tracing its metal notches reminds you of Karlach, a fellow barbarian soldier. You miss that woman.

You check yourself in the mirror one last time, adjust your dreadlocks, and take a deep breath. Time to face polite society.

---

"STOP."

You hold up your hands as two steel sentinels halt you at the gate of the renowned Blackstaff Academy. It is a gesture you have practiced many times, wary and expectant. Behind them, the arcane tower looms over you. The voice of the guards sounds too hollow and unified, a single echo shared between the duo. Remotely controlled guards then, you think, impressed.

“STATE YOUR PURPOSE.”

“I am here to see Gale Dekarios, Professor of the Illusion School.” You practiced this also, more times than you’d ever admit.

“School of Illusion,” the voice corrects you. Now it sounds like a sentient being, not like that weird projection of Lorroakan’s at Sorcerous Sundries. The masculine voice has a pinched, haughty tone and an air of tired condescension. You are immediately reminded of wizards and their pride in education; how a long time ago, when you had miraculously succeeded in channeling the Weave for the first time and shared your joy with Gale — “I didn’t know channeling the Weave was so easy” — he wasted not a second to remind you that, in fact, it is not. Somehow, that awkward moment has now turned into a soothing memory.

“Hm-Right.” You cough to hide a snort. “I am his wife. I would like to bring him lunch. May I pass the gate?” As an afterthought, you add, “Please?” Your Ma would be proud.

“LIAR. Piss off before I chase you out.”

Of all the responses you expected, this is not one of them. You are growling before you know it. “I suggest you KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.” The words rush harshly out of your fanged mouth.

…uh.

In an instance the two sentinels spring into a battle stance. Worse still, you can feel onlookers start to gather, and your skin itches under their gazes. You force an exhale.

“…What makes you think I am lying?” You try as calmly as you can manage, holding onto the mental image of your smiling wizard, just beyond reach. Volo’s book better gets published sooner so that everyone will know who you are. Better yet, you will make sure he highlights the word ‘wife’.

“Professor Dekarios is not married.” The sentinels, with the smuggest voice you have ever heard in your life, drop their final blow.

And that is when you remember. Yes, you are still technically his fiancée, even though the man himself has often forgotten that, already showering you with affection far deeper than a ring could ever capture.

Perhaps someone more eloquent would continue to argue, ask Gale to come out, and demand proper treatment for a lady. But right now you only feel overwhelmingly exposed, with too many prying eyes and wiggling tongues for you to maintain your civil façade any longer. So you retreat, trying to ignore the unsubtle snickers. The sentinels were not as clever as they thought they were anyway. What kind of guards reveal personal details to a potential enemy like that? Amateur.

---

What would Gale do to remedy the day? He would strategize.

You decide to call upon Tara to deliver the meal, and if the sentinels deny her entry they will know true horror. Her outrage upon hearing your encounter was enough to cheer you up. After all, your goal is to get your love fed, and the means—who is doing the delivery — are less important than the ends.

With that dealt with, you now need to focus on your second mission—to pass a job interview. You have decided that settling down in polite society means less fighting, but there is no way you’d just stay at home and rely on Gale’s income, even though he wouldn’t mind. The man is more than willing to provide for you, but you wouldn’t want to lounge around in the tower, hanging off his coattails. Truth be told, this is for your own good too—you truly wish to be a part of Waterdeep by playing an active role in it, not just as a tag-along of Gale’s.

Of the ten positions you applied for in the past month, you only got one reply: a counter clerk at the Aurora's Realms Shops next to the Market. Gale had frowned when he heard about the demanding dusk-till-dawn working hours, but you assured him you’d only take shifts six days out of a tenday. He had tried to argue further, but upon seeing your determination, swallowed his questions. You both know that if you had applied to be a city guard, a dock laborer, or even a weaponry store assistant, you’d get better offers. But you have decided that you want a change. More sitting, less fighting. To be polite. Chit-chat with people. To smile without malice.

So, on leaving Blackstaff, you arrive at the shopfront five minutes before your interview. You scan the two queues before you: one inside the shop and one outside. A queue for a counter clerk job at this paid rate? You lament, Waterdeep and its gods forsaken job market.

You push open the glass door, and upon seeing you enter, a human woman with a clipboard swiftly calls, “Oh. The interview for security guards is outside.”

“I am here for the counter clerk one.” Several candidates from the queue indoor turn to you curiously. To be fair, all of them are tinier than you; you’d have no problem reaching the top shelf, or lifting one, if you ever needed to.

“Ah. Right.” The lady is polite enough to look embarrassed. “And your name?” She shows you her clipboard as you tower over her, and as you scan through the long list she adds helpfully, “Or you can just tell—” “I know how to read.” You stop her mid-sentence, your harsh tone making her wince, and you wince too. Gods, you need to get better at this. Apologetically, you soften your voice, “This is me,” pointing to your name on the list.

“Ta’V Riversong?” She is surprised. Does she recognize the Hero of Baldur’s Gate? She does not start praising your great deeds, so you assume no, you aren’t that lucky. It must be the other reason then.

 “Yes,” you explain. “Riversong is my Ma—mother’s surname, she’s a human.”

This is one thing you share with Gale: taking your mother’s family name. Your father, however, did not abandon the family like Gale’s father did. Instead, your father understood—theirs was a runaway marriage, and your mother had sacrificed a lot to settle down with a barbarian deep in the woods, away from civil society. Her name was her last connection to her noble past, and your father could never deny her that. Idly, you wonder if this woman has heard of your mother’s family. Growing up, you never cared enough to learn about this illusion of a heritage.

“I see,” she says meekly. “Sorry…It’s just that from your application, I didn’t expect you to be a half-orc.”

---

And that is why you end up shit-faced in a random tavern. You don’t even bother to look at the tavern sign as you stumble in, determined to leave behind the interview, the Academy, and polite society as soon as possible. You order whisky first, then firewine, because you can’t afford to waste money, given that you definitely won’t get the job. You understand. They want someone less intimidating. Of fucking course.

You are almost delighted when you feel hostility flushing towards you.

The hair at the back of your neck stands. At the corner of your eye you spot the flash of a cunning dagger, which you recognize as a Murderous Cut. Ah, local Bhaal cultists then. You may have had a bad day, but at least you can make theirs worse. You down your drink in one go, and without further ado, send the mug right into a cloaked figure’s face.

In an instant the whole tavern breaks into chaos. As the others reveal their weapons, you realize something: You have missed this. The axe you wield breaks through wind and skulls. Frenzied roars explode from the depth of your lungs, your charge unstoppable and inevitable. This is the part of yourself you used to be most proud of, the warrior that you were trained to be, born from ashes and forged in flames.

FIGHT ME! You father shouted, signaling the start of the match.

Two figures charge at you. You ground your stance before taking a full-body swing, slashing open both poor souls at once. With a kick you send one of them towards the side, knocking over a clamour of plates and glasses.

SIDE! He took advantage of your open stance.

A blade cut scratches your cheek, but you promptly ignore its stink of poison. You grab the man and throw him right at a ranger in the corner, knocking both of them out. Perhaps you are enjoying this too much, but when you look at the screaming Waterdhavians, your grin is wide and true. You will not be tamed.

CHARGE!

As you knock down your last enemy you feel free, freedom that you haven’t tasted for months since you arrived in this godsdamned city. You rise, wobbling, and you see your father grinning proudly. On the day you had beaten him down finally, he had pronounced you a worthy adult. You were sixteen, ready to hit the road. You laugh maniacally, in joy and sorrow and everything else you can’t name. You know Gale could name them. Yes. Gale. The smartest, sweetest person you’ve ever known.

And then you collapse.

---

You were inside his purple tent. Late at night, he illuminated it with floating orbs, reclining between your legs as he read his tomes. He was so focused, and you couldn’t help but distract him with a kiss on top of his head as you gently traced circles on his stomach.

He chuckled, low and warm, then leaned back against you.

“This is one mystery I’ll never solve,” he began, closing his tome. “Why oh why would such a wonderful, ferocious, tenacious warrior ever set her sights on someone as brittle as me?”

“I could ask the same in reverse, but I ran out of adjectives,” you muttered sleepily and he laughed, setting his hands on top of yours as his thumb stroked your calloused skin.

You knew he was unsatisfied, so you tried your best, despite the pulling weight on your eyelids, to set his ever-churning mind to rest.

“You smell good,” you managed, and he laughed even louder.

But you needed him to understand. You pushed out one last word.

“Home.”

He went quiet as you fell asleep.

---

You hear…

“Ta—”

Something. Familiar. Wings.

“Ta’V—”

It’s the smell that gets you.

“TA’V!”

“WHAT? I’m awake, I’m awake. Don’t fret!” You jerk up, snapping out of your coma. It is Gale who holds your face urgently, his brows tightly knitted, knees rough on the hard ground. Next to him, Tara flutters her wings, startled by your sudden movement.

You are elated to see them, and you want to tell them so. But something in his glistening eyes makes you pause.

“Don’t fret?” His voice is an octave higher than usual. “You were lying on the ground alone, bleeding, unconscious, surrounded by godsdamned cultists, AND YOU TELL ME TO NOT FRET?”

Dead cultists, you want to counter, but your overflowing relief finally spills over.

“I love you,” you say instead, and Tara twists her tail in amusement.

Gale stares at you for a long time. Finally, with a deep breath, he relents.

“And I you. Let’s go home, shall we?”

---

While you have never been well-versed in sentimental things, you do understand that this situation calls for a hug. So you gather him into a squeezing embrace as soon as the two of you stumble out of the portal. Tara, in the meantime, settles herself on the kitchen counter, waiting for the drama to unfold.

To cheer him up, you decide to start with something happy. “So…did you enjoy the meal Tara brought you?”

You feel him tense, so you hug him harder. A moment later, he nods against your chest.

“It was wonderful,” he mutters. “I savored every bite, sang the chef’s praises to anyone who’d listen.” He pauses. “I learnt from Tara what happened at the gate.”

“Oh, well. Perhaps I shouldn’t have dropped by without a head’s up.”

He pushes himself away from your chest and stares sternly into your eyes. “That is not the point. I swear, the first thing I’ll do next time I return to the Academy is to teach that young man Endorick a very serious lesson on manners. That was pure disrespect, not only to you but to everything the Blackstaff stands for. In fact, the only reason I was delayed was because of the next bit of shocking news Tara relayed to me.” His gaze turns sorrowful. “My love, would you please tell me what happened?”

You grunt. Talking has never been your strong suit, but it is Gale’s preferred mode of communication, so you push through it. You tell him about the failed interview, the resulting drinking, and the fight. You try to describe your feelings along the way, knowing that it will comfort him to know more about you. At the end of your narrative, he falls silent.

Then he announces abruptly, “Let’s pack.”

“What? Why?”

Gently, he presses his hand against your cheek. His voice is firm and tender when he says, “It was never my intention to cause you such pain, or to mold you into something different than what you are now.” He grimaces. “In fact, I can scarcely believe I truly deserve to have someone as wonderful as you by my side as a friend and a wife. So we can go, far away from here, travel again, meet your parents perhaps! Anywhere that makes you happy, I will follow.”

“But what of your teaching?” You counter, and you are almost appalled when he shrugs. “I have barely started. I’m sure the esteemed, resourceful Blackstaff Academy can manage without—"

“NO!” You stumble, hands gesturing frantically. “This is your dream! Your second home, you said!”

“And you are my first,” he declares without hesitation. “I know my choice.”

Your head hangs. You feel dejected. He doesn’t get it.

There are too many thoughts swirling in your head, words starting to slump and melt and break. You can’t explain yourself, and you can’t keep up with this conversation anymore. Unlike Gale, you must see and touch to manipulate. As you fall silent, you can sense Gale’s increasing concern.

Finally, you proclaim, “I will show you tomorrow.”

---

This is why, when the morning comes, your fiancé will find himself awake before you — a rare occurrence — and reading a great puzzle in the form of a simple note, carefully pried from your fist as you doze. It reads, in handwriting he finds as endearingly boorish as its owner:

“I want to work at Blackstaff Academy too.”

TBC

---

Thank YOU for reading this story. Tell me what you think! It would make my day :)

Other things that I do

Ain’t no way I forgot to reblog this

Of Home and Haven (Ch2/6)

Chapter snippet: //You were indeed familiar with danger-inspired desire. The celebration parties after battles often ended with either you or your conquest unable to walk the next day. In fact, you were rather taken aback when he only wanted to practice magic with you at the tieflings’ party. It was equally puzzling and endearing, that he had wanted to share his educated art with you, a half-orc barbarian of all people.

He was right, your muscles did glisten. You couldn’t wait to make his too.//

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale Mature

Word count: 3.3k

Thank you again @senualothbrok for being my beta and first reader!

AO3 link: Here

Chapter One: Here

Firstly, by some miracle, you got the job at the Aurora's Realms Shop. The lady with the clipboard was the one who Sent the message — Jina, a longtime saleswoman at the place. She is to be your shift partner and mentor, and you are to be both the counter clerk and the security guard. Turns out the manager has decided to cut one of the positions, and a literate half-orc is her perfect solution. You would appreciate it more if the salary were also doubled, but right now you take what you can get. At least Jina proves to be much better company than first impressions suggested.

Since the night that got you banned for life from the cultist-infiltrated tavern—not that you are particularly interested in visiting again—a month has passed. There have been three major changes in your life and Gale’s.

This has led to the much less desirable second change, which is that the time you get to spend with your fiancé diminishes significantly. Aurora's is open from dusk till dawn, which means your schedule is precisely the opposite of Gale’s, and really, most people’s. While he works a fixed seven days of a tenday, your moving shifts scatter across both his workdays and holidays. There are times when you have to rush out in the evening just as he gets back from school, and days when he is off work resting at home, and you are sleeping back your working nights.

At first, it saddens you to imagine him lying alone in your shared four-poster bed as you idly scan the empty storefront. Earlier that evening, when you bid him goodnight before you leave, he had been unsuccessful in hiding his dejected face, the force of his hug stronger than usual. It is not until later, when you overhear him and Tara arguing, that you realize at times, he has not been sleeping at all. You know he is scheming over something, but as you glance at the graphs, drawings and cursive scattered on his working desk, it seems realms beyond you. Some research, perhaps. You just hope it ends soon enough that you don’t have to knock him out by force.

Finally, there is the matter of your approaching wedding ceremony. Ever since your first meeting three months ago, Gale’s mother, Morena Dekarios, has taken it upon herself to direct the whole operation. Gale has the tendency to fuss over every single detail of the event, from the weather to the music, even fretting over whether the food is owlbear-safe. But with Morena’s firm leadership, even he has had to admit that he truly has nothing to worry about.

You, however, are relieved for another reason. You are a warrior, a fighter, but you will forever remember the day you first met Morena as the most nerve-wracking experience in your life.

----------

It was the third day after you and Gale arrived at Waterdeep. You two had spent the first two days in bed, not for your preferred reason, but to sleep away the post-adventure fatigue. Sometimes, Gale would shift and turn in his sleep, face twisted in phantom pain as he held his chest. The orb had been removed by Mystra, but its memory lingered to haunt him. You held him in your arms, slowly rocking back and forth, hoping to ease him back into sweet slumber. Other times, you would jostle abruptly awake, fangs almost bumping into Gale, to find out that he had been trying to wake you from your nightmares. You never remembered them, only the dread of losing something precious.

The third day, however, was a whirlwind.

“STOP.” You jumped up, fist ready, catching a startled tressym next to Gale’s face.

“Oh. Tara. Good morning.” You nodded, retracting your grip. She settled down and returned the nod. Between hunters, you two have always shared a sense of mutual respect since your unexpected meeting in Baldur’s Gate.

“I would say the same, Ms. Riversong. It’s time to rise, don’t you think? Mrs. Dekarios is going to arrive in an hour.”

“WHAT!?” It was Gale’s turn to jump up now, “Totally unannounced?”

“Not true at all.” Tara licked her palm with grace. “I delivered your letter about your return to her dutifully, and she replied, two days ago.”

The three of you stared at the pile of unopened letters underneath the door.

“Well, Mr. Dekarios,” you swore you could hear amusement in her tone, “I would suggest you start shaving your—”

“Thank you, Tara, for preparing us for such an important occasion. Now would you please excuse us, we need to change.” Gale declared, “Alone”.

“…As you wish, Mr. Dekarios.” She left through the window, presumably to escort the matriarch.

“…Well, what a way to start a day, wouldn’t you say?” Gale turned back to you, “…my love?”

Your brain had shut down.

----------

There was nothingin your life that could have prepared you for meeting your romantic partner’s parents.

It wasn’t like you’d never had lovers. While half-orcs are generally not seen as the type for marriage, they are rather popular venturing partners, bedtime stories to brag about. People who came to you usually looked for specific things they thought you could offer — rough, messy copulation with wild abandon — and they were indeed right. You had your fair share of sex as a mercenary, although you could never see those conquests as anything beyond tumbles in the grass. No point in getting attached when they could just leave, or die, the next day.

So that was what you assumed Gale wanted, when he told you that he ‘once read a book’ in the depths of the Shadow-cursed lands.

You were indeed familiar with danger-inspired desire. The celebration parties after battles often ended with either you or your conquest unable to walk the next day. In fact, you were rather taken aback when he only wanted to practice magic with you at the tieflings’ party. It was equally puzzling and endearing, that he had wanted to share his educated art with you, a half-orc barbarian of all people.

He was right, your muscles did glisten. You couldn’t wait to make his too.

The moment your crew arrived at Last Light Inn, you gestured for him to follow you. He trailed quietly behind as you led him to an empty bedroom. As he stepped in, you swiftly closed the door, locked it with an audible ‘click’, and ran your gaze hungrily over his physique.

He shifted, suddenly self-conscious. “…Hm,” he cleared his throat, “I suppose you are a step ahead of me! I was, uh, planning something more substantial for a romantic night. Something more magical, that is.”

You chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. He shuddered.

Over the course of time, you had learnt that he needed verbal cues more than you did. So instead of immediately devouring him, you asked, “Do wizards not fuck with their bodies?”

He flustered. You felt power rushing inside you, intoxicating.

You teased, “Are you a virgin?”

“Heavens, no!” he protested. “I-I was…well, it has just been a while. You know, after my…folly.”

His gaze turned sorrowful. That wouldn’t do. You felt for him, his year-long isolation. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to remedy that.

“Then I will take the lead,” you assured him. “Do you prefer to fuck or be fucked?”

He looked like he was going to explode.

A moment later, he finally mustered up the courage to open his mouth again. This time, he held your gaze with new-found determination and gave you a speech.

“…Ta’V, my fearless barbarian warrior. What a fool I was when I told you of my unique reading material. Of course you would have first-hand experiences, possibly beyond my imagination.” He chuckled ruefully. “But with my poor choice of words I must have misled you. What I wanted was not mindless intercourse, pleasurable as that might be.” He paused. “I wish to make love with you, naïve perhaps, but I need to tell you this. I will never forgive myself if our first time was not based on this premise.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, Ta’V. You are very special to me.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. He was visibly shaking now but refused to back down.

So, you replayed his words in your mind again and again to digest them. What did that mean, in action? What did he want? You considered for a while until you knew what you should do.

“I see,” you said, and he seemed to be holding his breath. “Take off your clothes and lay down.”

Of all the answers he imagined he would get, this was apparently not one of them. Gale’s eyes widened in shock, but after a moment of consideration, he obeyed. You restrained yourself from ripping off his robe as he slowly started to undress, and once naked, eventually eased himself down onto the simple mattress.

You followed him into the bed, hovering above him. He was tense. You positioned your left palm on his head, stroking his hair to one side and tilting him slightly so that his neck was exposed.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, serious.

“Yes.” An instant answer.

So you buried your nose into the crook of his neck and took a deep breath, letting his musk fill your lungs. You had always wanted to do that, finding his smell captivating. You wondered why.

That was apparently sensitive skin. He wiggled, but you gently stilled him with your hold. It elicited a whimper and you smiled to yourself. As a reward, you licked a long stripe following the mark on the side of his neck, tasting his sweat. He properly moaned now.

“Please,” he begged. “Ta’V, I can’t— Please tell me what you are thinking right now.”

At that you frowned. What a strange request. Yet in his eyes you could see the last thread of restraint, as he desperately waited for your answer, refusing to lose control yet. The man was nothing but insistent, so you tried.

You traced his right nipple with your leathery fingers. “I see your nipple,” you observed. “Hardening. I want to suck it.” And you did just that as he watched. He threw back his head and groaned, loud and deep as if in pain, body buckling to meet your mouth. You continued.

“I see your chest hair,” you teased him with your nails, lazily tracing down to his navel. “They are curly,” you tugged them gently, “Adorable.” And he closed his eyes, frowning in concentrated ecstasy.

“I see your orb, bright.”

Suddenly his eyes snapped open. A hand flew up to halt your lingering fingers on his mark.

“Don’t,” he quietly pleaded, and you tilted your head.

“Why?”

He looked away. “I want this night to be perfect, not tainted by my impending doom.”

You considered that. “A warrior would wear their scars with pride. I see no difference.”

“But this is no scar, just a lasting reminder of my failures, consuming me.”

“Have you stopped fighting?” Your voice strained. “If not, then it’s no failure. At least not yet.” You turned up your palm and captured his hand. “Fight, Gale. With me. Live to tell this tale. Our tale.”

A gasp. You knew he finally understood your intention as his gaze returned to you, tears spilling as he moved your joined hands away and revealed his scar, a circle, perfect in every way. You immediately descended upon it, licking, sucking, groping. As his deafening heartbeat quickened it shone brighter and brighter and brighter, so bright that it blinded you, consumed your every sense, your very being. You were holding his hand the whole time.

On that night, you learned the power of spoken words.

----------

Morena Dekarios was a petite, round human woman in her early sixties. Her fingertips were not toughened in the way that Gale’s were by years of spellcasting, so you assumed she was not an avid magic user. But as you looked closer, you saw that the skin was discolored in certain parts—perhaps she worked with the elements? Possibly an alchemist then.

“My love?” Gale called.

You snapped out of your head. Morena had extended her hand out for you to shake, not to stare.

“Sorry.” You tried to flash a courteous smile, but then you became self-conscious about your protruding fangs. “I was nervous,” you admitted.

Morena threw her head back and laughed. “So was I! When I received the letter from my son a tenday ago, announcing that he had found the love of his life and wanted my blessings for the union, I didn’t know what to expect! Certainly not a half-orc like you.”

“Mother!” Gale protested.

“Apologies,” Morena said. “I didn’t mean it the bad way.” She sat herself down on an armchair and you two followed. “If anything, I’m more intrigued by how different the pair of you are! Please, if you would indulge me, what makes you find my son attractive?”

“Mom, this is not an interview,” Gale remarked, but there was curiosity in his voice too.

With Morena you felt you must answer coherently, so you fell silent for a moment. Gale shifted in his seat as his mother stared at you, smiling but insistent. A moment later, he decided to place his hand on your lower back, an encouragement.

“My mother is a human too,” you began. You had the room’s attention, even Tara opened her eyes from her comfy nest.

“She was living in human society but ran off with my Da—father, a half-orc barbarian. They lived in the woods, and I was born.”

Gale knew this part of the story, but you continued further.

“I was close with him. Much closer than with Ma. I looked a lot like him and not one bit like her. He trained me, fighting, wrestling, hunting, and at sixteen, I was sent away to wander in the wild.” You saw Morena frowning, so you added, “As half-orcs are destined to.”

You took a deep breath. “But on some days, when I see people, families, warm and beautiful, I think of Ma. She was beautiful too. She used to teach me please and thank you, to read, to write. I didn’t appreciate it back then. But I met Gale, and I do now.”

You recited the only poem you remembered, sung to you on a hot summer night. Under a sky full of stars, the breeze-like voice crooned,

White sheep, white sheep,

On a blue hill,

When the wind stops,

You all stand still.

When the wind blows,

You walk away slow.

White sheep, white sheep,Where do you go? [source]

----------

“You two should deliver this one by hand, together,” Morena says, holding the last wedding invitation.

Today is one of the rare days that you and Gale are both at home, away from work, refining the final details for the union ceremony happening in three tendays.

Gale has prepared all the teleportation scrolls for the guests as Morena penned invitations by his side. You and Gale came up with a list of the comrades you met during your tadpoled adventures who will receive an invitation. Before your companions went their separate ways, all of them had promised to come together again for you and Gale’s wedding. Even Lae'zel has promised to attend via astral projection. The only part left is your side, the people you want to invite — which means, only your parents.

Parents that you haven’t seen in ten years, since you left home at sixteen.

Morena is right. It is fitting that you deliver your parents’ invitation in person. Gale has repeatedly lamented that he wasn’t able to ask your parents for permission to marry you like a good-mannered suitor, and there is technically nothing stopping you from visiting them. The woods they live in are in fact just a tenday’s trek away from Waterdeep, and with Gale you can always teleport back and forth at a moment’s notice. You don't know why you are so restless.

Gale places his hand on yours. “My love, I will be right by your side.”

----------

You tell Jina that you are getting married and ask for a two-tendays-long holiday to visit your parents. She almost shrieks in excitement when she hears that.

Nine shifts ago she had told you that she is a single mother of two, and has never left Waterdeep in her whole life.

“Go!” Jina’s eyes are shinning with joy. “I will find someone to cover the shifts.”

“Do you think the manager will be fine with that?”

Over the past month, you had taken as many shifts as possible, to leave a good enough impression with your manager to cover this absence.

“Well, I will do what I can, sister.” She lowers her voice, having started calling you ‘sister’ three shifts ago. “But between you and me, I never understood why you wanted this boring job so much. You are clearly capable of much more exciting things. I wouldn’t even dare to venture out of the city alone!”.

You shrug.

“The stories I tell my sons are always about adventurers. You should see their excited faces! They’d be over the moon to finally meet a half-orc.” She sighs. “Perhaps it is our nature to want what we don’t have. The grass is always greener on the other side.”

You decide to invite Jina and her sons to your wedding.

----------

Thus, one fine summer night, you and Gale finally arrive at the edge of Trollbark Forest. To be precise, you two teleportedto skip nine days’ worth of journeying but opted to walk the last day to save more time for the reunion. You weren’t sure about that — in truth you have missed sleeping in a tent with him.

Gale makes use of the light breeze to clear his mind and prepares for the occasion, gifts ready at hand. While your parents don’t live inside the chaotic swarm-ridden area but in a clearer wood nearby, you still geared up thoroughly, happy to carry the Nyrulna again.

“Are you sure I am not dressed too casually? Am I presentable by your esteemed family’s standards?” He fusses over his not-so-dusty traveling robe. It’s purple, with golden embroidery showcasing Waterdhavian craftsmanship. Simple, elegant, proud.

For three days he has been consulting you on all topics about your family and half-orcs in general. You can’t really give a generalization on the latter — you have never come across a big enough group of your race to call it a culture; only what your father had taught you. Gale questioned the best gifts for half-orcs (to which you suggested that anything alcoholic never fails), languages he should speak (when you told him he must never speak Orc in front of Da, he couldn’t hide his disappointment; he had been practicing), and now, how he should look.

“If anything, I should warn you not to be too formal.”

He clears his throat. “Right. Any other details I should take note of?”

A shadow darts towards his face.

In a split-second you tackle him down, body shielding him as he gasps. The boulder smashes into the ground hard, dust rising around you.

You quickly leap forth and ROAR, a threat, a challenge. Those who dare to harm your treasure will pay. Behind you, Gale prepares a spell, quarterstaff in hand.

At the periphery of the misty wood a roar echoes yours.

“Big rocks are against the rules,” you call. The mist slowly clears up.

You squint your eyes to decipher the silhouette. A seven-foot-tall barbarian, great axe as tall as himself shining under the moonlight. Tense, ready to parry. He wants to play.

Laugher rips through the night like a thundercrack.

“RULES ARE FOR CHILDREN. AND YOU, MY GIRL, ARE NO LONGER ONE.”

TBC

Gale and his disco orb XD

Comments and feedbacks are very appreciated! Thank YOU for reading my story. Chapter three is on the way, featuring Gale meeting the parents, and mud-wrestling :D

Other things that I do

non sexual intimacy!!!! bathing together, washing each other, playing with each other's hair, kissing every inch of their body, writing love letters on their back with your finger, connecting their moles and freckles to create constellations on their skin, running your hands up and down their thighs, ugh just expressing physical love without it having to be about sex!!!!

Shar’s Favorite Princess 🌙🖤

God dammit I forgot I had this installed...

Bruh

Yeah this isn't confusing af, but look at those beautiful Gales also spot the fake Gale.

Please question my sanity...