Chapter Text
Baldur’s Gate was finally beginning to resemble the city it once had been. Life carried on because it had to. Deepwinter began to thaw, but the bite of the cold was still sharp upon the pink noses of the citizens.
The streets of the Outer City had been cleaned up and restored, with new construction taking place all around. Many businesses had reopened, and people were getting on with their lives as best they could. Money passed from buyer to merchant, along with a fitting salutation: May your god soothe your mind.
It seemed that the city was slowly getting back on its feet, and one man was taking all the credit.
Enver Gortash had been pardoned by the elven Lord Embric and the newly instilled Council of Four. They had granted him clemency in light of the information he provided on the cult’s rise to power.
It wasn’t far of a stretch. His Steel Watch had kept the peace when the Absolute cult began their takeover two years prior. It was a brilliantly convenient solution; the citizens were none the wiser that the hero of their fair city just so happened to be the one who fucked it up in the first place.
The Council needed a leader, someone who could unite the populace and bring stability to the city once again, and they saw no better choice than Enver. It was better to have him on their side than the alternative.
Enver should have been satisfied.
Instead, his mind wandered to the Dark Urge.
They’d had a deal: they would both get out of their pacts. Neve had cleansed herself of Bhaal.
In his mind, defying Bane was no longer an option. The god’s claws burrowed too deeply into Enver’s psyche as the years passed. With Bane’s guidance he felt laser-focused; purposeful. He owed his god every ounce of his devotion. Bane had kept him alive. When it came to defying him, Enver hesitated, and then she was gone.
His library within Wyrm’s Rock was his only safe haven, though the leather-bound tomes and manuscripts that lined the walls from floor to ceiling were mere decorations, these days. Enver sat in the dim light, sagging casually in his chair, a short glass of whiskey in one hand as he carefully wrote an itinerary for the next day.
It was the night of his inauguration ceremony, and the festivities were in full swing downstairs. Guests had been arriving all evening to congratulate him and wish him well on his new position as duke. He had excused himself briefly, needing to collect his thoughts. He could hear the music and laughter drifting up the spiral staircase from the audience hall.
Enver was dressed in finery for the occasion: a black doublet trimmed in silver embroidery, a red cape fastened to his shoulders, and black boots polished to a high sheen. His dark hair was artfully messed as usual, his face clean-shaven, but his eyes were darker. Hollow.
The heavy wooden door swung open and a dark-haired noblewoman dressed in a shimmering gown entered the room. He swung his leg back onto the floor and set his glass down.
Enver's lips quirked up. “Lady Brinna.”
She curtsied low before him, then straightened.
“Why are you hiding up here?"
The ice from his whiskey clinked against the glass as he brought it to his lips, and he hurried aside the journal he had been penning into. “Just needed a moment, that’s all."
"Oh, come now. They love you. You live for this sort of thing.”
The statement may have been true at a time. Lately, the networking aspect of his position only served to steal time from more productive activities.
“Alright, alright.” Enver stood up to escort her downstairs where the guests were waiting. He offered his arm, and she graciously took it. They walked through the crowded hallways until they reached the ballroom door.
As soon as they entered, the orchestra stretched and slowed their chords and everyone turned to face the Duke and soon-to-be Duchess.
The room erupted into cheers and applause.
It was an elegant affair. The ballroom was lit by the warm glow of candles, casting flickering shadows across the marble walls and pillars. Long, embroidered banners of gold and black hung from the ceiling. An enormous ice sculpture of Balderan presided over the guests, who drank and made merry, their faces shining in the soft light.
The orchestra began playing again, and the dancing resumed as the pair entered.
“See?” she said, leaning in. “Get a drink. We need to loosen you up a bit.”
He chuckled, eyes darting over the crowd. Nameless faces in droves.
“That is exactly what I need.”
Enver pushed his way past the crowd. What he needed was a stiff drink. Something that would knock out a sailor. He’d have to go directly to the kitchen for that.
He watched as a tiefling server disappeared down a hallway and pushed open a swinging door, and he set off to follow her.
Except instead, halfway down the hall, he slammed into a shorter figure. The person's scent was so familiar: cinnamon spice and campfire smoke.
They each staggered backwards, doubling over. When he glanced up, his vision was obscured by a fan of impossibly long, pale hair.
"Oh, I am so terribly sorry. Let me just - "
"Gods," Neve rasped, holding her forehead as she gathered the coins and random items that fell from her purse, haphazardly throwing the objects back in.
Neve had just gathered her hair up, throwing it off her shoulders, when they both froze in realization.
Maybe she’d half-hoped to find Gortash a shell, broken down by his god complex and mindless servitude. Instead, his warm eyes were full of life as he rose back to his feet.
Brushing herself off, she stood and looked away uncomfortably.
Neve, in her own right, was quite a vision in the candlelit corridor; she stood blushed and youthful, her elven skin glowing like polished alabaster in the warm light.
To Enver, she was a creature out of time, a relic from the past. His gaze drifted to her lips, the curve of her cheekbones, and finally her neck. He could have reached out, grabbed hold of that slender throat, and strangled the life out of her right then and there.
"Well, well." Enver raised an eyebrow. "Look what the wind blew in."
"I was invited," Neve said warily. "Did you not invite me?"
She had wondered, when she had received the invitation, if she had somehow misread it.
"I didn't craft the guest list, no."
"Perhaps it was recon. You know, 'invite all the people involved in the Absolute so we seem like merry little friends now,' sort of thing."
"You came all the way here for 'recon?'"
Enver was watching Neve carefully, his words catching on an inhale. He stood up and offered her a hand, which she waved away.
"I came because it got me out of a late lecture tonight, thank you very much."
Neve’s fingers were still fumbling with the contents of her purse. She paused, glancing up at him.
Enver's gaze traveled down to the elf’s attire: a straight, long gown of silver satin. It was sleeveless and high-necked. Perhaps she’d grown embarrassed of the Bhaalist scarrification hidden beneath it.
A shame, he thought. She ought to be proud of the devotion she’d once given so freely to her Father. Enver's eyes had narrowed, his gaze becoming predatory.
Neve put a palm up.
"No. Stop that."
“I’m just looking at you,” he murmured defensively, crossing his arms. A smirk twitched at the corners of his lips. “Can I not look at you?”
“No, thank you.”
He laughed. "Why, you're as charming as you were when I saw you last."
"Remind me how you described me that night. 'Godless harlot, enemy of the Black Hand,' was it?”
Enver remembered it well. Their argument had become explosive; a shouting match of epic proportions. How long had it been? An entire season, surely. She couldn’t still be mad about that.
"It was actually, 'scheming godless temptress' - which you are - and then you called me an 'unimaginably pretentious zealot, a slave to my own misery,' if I recall correctly."
"Semantics," Neve answered.
He raised his shoulders. "Semantics."
After a brief moment of consideration, his voice lowered.
“Let's not talk about that, hm?"
"Alright," she leaned back on one of her feet and tilted her head, peering at him with a familiar condescension in her eyes.
Nervously, Enver looked backwards towards the party. He straightened his lapel and forced a polite smile.
"Ahem - It's nice to see that you are alive and well. I've thought about your well-being from time to time, you know, since you just vanished. I wasn't certain if I'd ever see you again."
That was as close to 'I've missed you' as the man could muster, but Neve understood.
"Likewise."
"How have you been since...?" Enver wondered.
He’d noticed that her hands weren't shaking. It must've been quite difficult to have all of that unbridled violence extracted from her body.
"Since..." Neve was confused at first, but after a moment her eyes lit with recognition.
"You mean my blasphemy! Fine, same as any surgery," Neve lied, shrugging, trying to push off the fact that it was, in truth, excruciating.
"Your 'blasphemy'," Enver sounded offended. "You sound almost proud to say it."
"I am,” she countered. “You would be, too. I belong to myself. I couldn’t say that before.”
Enver checked his pocket watch and snapped it closed, returning his attention to the woman before him with a polite smile. He had checked out halfway through her sentence.
"And you're studying now? You attend lectures. What have you been doing with your time?"
"Ah, no. Gale Dekarios - the wizard I traveled with, a good friend of mine - he’s Blackstaff now. He tests his lectures on me."
“You live in Waterdeep, then?” Enver laughed, incredulous. "You, in a city of starving artists?"
"I opened a potions shop there. There's a holiday in Marpenoth where it’s customary to break as many social orders as possible,” Neve explained, looking genuinely excitable. “Without breaking any actual laws, of course. Waterdhavian culture is good fun.”
Enver was staring at her the way one might watch a mental patient ramble to themselves.
It made Neve hate herself, just a bit. At least with Bhaal she had interesting stories to tell. The most fun she’d had in months was watching Astarion catch and kill the gopher that had been ruining Minthara’s garden.
“You might have enjoyed it,” the elf cleared her throat, her voice softening with each word. “At a time.”
Enver studied her carefully. He'd imagined that the loss of Bhaal would leave her devastated. Instead she seemed lighter now. Happier. A twinge of jealousy gnawed at the pit of his stomach.
"So," Neve began tentatively. "How's your Bane situation?"
His fists clenched, then unclenched; she didn't miss the sudden flash of emotion, the slight movement. She watched with intrigue like a child shaking a snowglobe.
"The relationship has flourished, dare I say. Better than it's ever been."
A cellophane crinkling filled the air as Neve untwisted a caramel from her purse.
"Blink twice if you need help," she deadpanned as she palmed the candy into her mouth. She offered him the bag.
Enver shook his head and wrinkled his nose. Sugar gave him a terrible headache. He could not afford any more of those.
"Oh, right, you hate these. Well, if it's so flourishing, you'd better get back to your guests. Wouldn’t want to keep your fiancé waiting,” she inquired innocently, as though the very word did not taste bitter on her tongue.
She turned, ready to walk away, when Enver caught her arm and spun her around to face him again, face darkened.
"I do not have a fiancé, I have an arrangement, and one that was not of my own design."
Enver's voice was barely above a whisper, his tone hushed but sharp. "She is the niece of Lord Embric. Our marriage will cement an alliance between his house and my own. I am sure you understand."
"Do I?" Neve hissed back with a half-scoff, half-laugh. "Whoring yourself out for the betterment of a city you don't even like?"
"I love this city," he insisted, letting her go. Quickly, she put her hands behind her back.
"No, you love playing dress up and being in charge of something. But you've got them all fooled. Good for you."
The accusation was met with silence, and Neve wondered briefly if she had gone too far. She watched him expectantly. It was the truth, after all.
"You think that little of me, hm?" Gortash's expression hardened, a hint of hurt behind it. "Well, let me assure you that I am perfectly content in my position, and if you would rather not see me, you can fuck right off to Waterdeep."
"Maybe I will," Neve shrugged. Her eyes glowed crimson in the dim light. "It's better there, you know. The streets are much cleaner."
"I've heard that," said Enver. "Good. Then go, by all means."
"I will," she nodded seriously.
"Fine."
"Fine."
She stared back at him, and he at her, neither willing to yield.
Enver had made a mistake in teaching Neve the art of argument. It was the first lesson in his tutelage, actually, that the only thing better than a lover's caress was the sting of an intellectual slap in the face.
"I suppose you'll want to stay here tonight then? For old time's sake?" he said suddenly, as if reading her thoughts.
"Shall we invite your 'arrangement' as well?"
"Absolutely not. I've no desire to cause a scene."
"Do you fuck her?" Neve asked. It was a casual, uninterested sort of question. "I'm just curious."
"Why, would you rather have me lying in bed thinking of you? Is that what you want? You'd prefer that?"
"Of course I would prefer it, but that is not what I asked."
Enver's jaw tensed and then released as he considered her words carefully, but before he had time to formulate an answer, she interrupted him.
"You know what? It doesn't matter," Neve sighed, turning her back to him once more, looking into the distance with melancholy. "Will you have children straight away, do you think?"
"I don't see why that matters to you."
”I told you, I’m just curious. Information is currency."
”If you meddle, Neve, I swear - “
"Enlightened self-interest," she looked back, shrugging. She’d heard Gale say the phrase before; she didn’t grasp its meaning, but she liked the way the words fit together.
Enver's eyes nearly rolled out of his skull. A philosophized Bhaalspawn - what a nightmare. "Do you even know what that means?"
"It means that I can do whatever I want, and someone will benefit from it somehow," Neve replied matter-of-factly.
"No, that's - " Gortash's eyes wearily followed hers to a portrait on the wall of the half-lit hallway. It depicted him sitting with the Council of Four.
"Do you like the painting?" he said with a sigh, grasping at straws for this sorry meeting.
"How long did you sit for that?”
"I did not," he said.
He turned and looked at it again. It was a fine likeness of him.
”They used an old sketching for reference, then painted me later. I have a... reputation of being difficult to work with, you know."
"You?” Neve replied.
The two of them shared a chuckle at this, a brief respite. The music in the distance was growing louder as they spoke, the orchestra beginning their second set.
Enver stepped closer, eyes locked onto hers.
"Would it really make a difference to your life if I had a child? Or even a wife?"
“Of course,” Neve glanced upwards at him. “I have higher ambitions in life than to be your mistress, if you can believe that.”
"I'm asking for the truth. Please, give it to me."
Gortash's voice was soft and earnest. He felt a strong desire for her honesty. He was used to hearing what people thought he wanted to hear.
Neve stared at him, a flicker of sadness crossing her face.
The marriage was bad enough, but the thought of Enver bouncing a strange child on his knee made her want to kill herself.
"Yes. It would make a difference to me. It would break my heart.”
The Duke's heart pounded. It was true honesty. He knew it.
"Then I shall try my hardest not to conceive a child," he assured her. "I can do that much."
“Nararoot tea. It lasts a tenday or so.”
Enver was quiet. Neve was unsure whether it was the kind of quiet that she was supposed to fill with more words, or if he was just trying to think.
“It’s a - uh. Contraceptive. is what I’m saying.”
"You've studied the art of contraception, I see."
"I’ve had to," Neve mumbled, pulling her hair to the side. Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and self-hatred. "Any child of mine would be a Bhaalspawn.”
Gortash opened his mouth to reply when the door to the banquet room opened. A handsome, older elven man in dark green robes emerged, a glass of wine in each hand. The music grew in volume as he approached, and Neve found herself being pulled from Enver's eyes into an embrace by another.
“I’m terribly sorry, Lord Embric, but you see, I happened upon this old friend, here - "
Lord Embric was holding Neve by the forearms with an reverent expression. Enver stepped aside, incredulous.
"Akh'Velahrn! Neviel Andine. Words cannot express the Council’s gratefulness for your efforts against the Absolute. Each new generation of elves fills me with surprise and delight; you are as beautiful as you are resilient."
“Call me Neve,” she corrected him with a polite smile. She liked the attention. “You’re even more handsome than your portrait. I was just admiring it.”
“Were you?” Lord Embric asked with a raised brow. He offered Neve one of the glasses. "And how exactly does an aethen like Enver Gortash come to know someone of your stature? Are you two acquaintances? You seem to know one another very well."
“Enver and I worked together in the Guildhall, decades ago. We're good friends.”
Neve watched the men exchange a strange look - one of silent, objectifying congratulations - and she realized Lord Embric must’ve gathered that Gortash was fucking her.
Strange, she thought, that Lord Embric wouldn’t be angry. Politicians are so strange.
“Eugh, the Guildhall. I understand its importance to the City, but it’s rather… sticky down there, is it not?” Lord Embric said, scrunching his nose. “You’re a merchant, then?”
“I was a contract ki - “
”Potions,” Enver interjected. “She sold potions. Still does. She could sell saltwater to a sea captain.”
Lucky for them, Embric was barely paying attention anyway.
"It's a pleasure, truly," Embric said, looking back to Neve. He handed her the remaining glass, and kissed her hand.
"Thank you.”
Embric glanced back at Enver and pointed a finger at his chest.
"Don’t stray far, Gortash. A few more rounds to get the party in high spirits and the announcement will be underway. Brinna has a speech prepared."
"Does she?" Enver asked.
"Yes, yes. You will have to see, I think." Lord Embric took a deep swig of wine and smiled widely.
"Wouldn't want to spoil it, then."
"I'll give you two some time," smiled the lord as he began walking backwards toward the hall, a small bow, then he was gone.
Once they were alone again, Neve took a sip of the wine. Enver leaned against a pillar, crossing his arms with a long sigh.
“Yes, sure, let’s tell the second-most important man in Baldur’s Gate that you’re an assassin. I can’t think of a single way that could end badly for us.”
”Well, the first-most knows. He’ll have to protect me.”
Enver snorted at that.
“Anyway, Brinna Gortash. That sounds like a barbarian's name.”
"It doesn't matter what it sounds like," Enver drawled, feigning disinterest.
"Let's go," Neve suggested.
“Where?”
Neve’s eyes flickered with mischief.
"Absolutely not," Enver said flatly.
The pair slipped out the back door and down a staircase. The path led them through a series of corridors, and eventually into the kitchens. They ducked through the service doors and entered the servants quarters.
"We shouldn't be doing this, you know," hissed Enver, eyeing a half-dressed gnome who was washing clothes in a large copper basin. The maid returned the look with disgust.
"Doing what? A little espionage?"
Neve held her wine glass high as a dwarf man came barreling out from the servants' pantry carrying an empty wine cask.
"We should not," agreed Enver, his tone changing suddenly. "We definitely should not."
“Would you calm down? I mean, really.”
The two of them slunk around the castle until they made it to the east wing and the bride-to-be’s suite. Enver pulled on the iron handle, the hinges creaking open.
Neve gave him a gentle shove forward and they tumbled into a dimly lit room.
It was a fairly small quarters, but not lacking for opulence. It seemed the Lady favored maroons and silvers. Condensation from the snowfall fogged the windowpanes, casting a blur of moonlight upon the white-painted panels of the wall.
"Let me see her itinerary. There's always clues on itineraries."
"You're awfully involved, aren't you?"
"You're engaged to her. Aren't you curious?" Neve's tone was sharp.
Enver was, in fact, curious. He pulled the book from the drawer and handed it to her.
"Perfect,” Neve announced, sitting on the bed with a slight bounce.
"Read fast," he whispered, whipping around nervously. "My security will catch on that we're missing eventually, if they haven't already."
She flipped through the pages of the small leather book. They passed quickly through her fingers.
"Let's see." The elf licked the pad of her index finger. "Mmm, 'Highsun. Meet Duke Gortash', 'Twelve bells. Meeting of Council', ''Eventide. Dinner at Lord Leery's'. It's just boring shit. Blah."
"I never thought you cared about this sort of thing."
"Oh, come on, this is fun."
"Fun?" asked Enver with a small laugh.
"Enlightened," she enunciated clearly, "self-interest."
Neve turned another page, scanning over it quickly as she read aloud: "'10 Hammer, Thulsun. Doctor's appointment.' Doctor's appointment? For what, I wonder? Is she sickly? Pregnant?"
"She had better be sickly," Enver scoffed. "I haven’t even bedded her."
"No? Odd," Neve glanced at him sideways with disbelief.
"It has been difficult for me since you went away."
(He'd bedded a nobleman several months prior and, at climax, accidentally called Neve’s name. That was the start of a self-inflicted celibacy.)
"I thought you didn’t want to discuss that."
"I don’t."
"Right," Neve agreed. “Could she be pregnant? Oh, perhaps she’s rushing the engagement to cover up a bastard child! Scandalous."
Enver didn't like that. He'd be cuckolded. Humiliating.
"Well, maybe she’s met with the father in the past… oh, wait, no," Neve muttered, turning to the dates in the prior tenday.
"You're enjoying this," Enver observed with irritation, tilting his head. He leaned his back against a large bureau and folded his arms.
The elf ignored the accusation, but she couldn’t contain her grin. It spread across her face as she flipped the page and scanned through it.
"Hmm. Oh! The 'Doctor' is named Dr. Ercapp, and - " she paused, reading carefully, "she writes of his 'talented tongue', his 'generosity', and his 'strong arms and gentle demeanor'. Gross! She sounds smitten."
Neve fluttered another few pages, her red eyes skimming rapidly.
Slack-wristed, and apparently now bored, she handed the book back to Enver.
“She’s fucking her doctor,” she looked up at the ceiling and took a dramatic inhale, as if she were equally devastated. “You’ll be cuckolded.”
"Good," said Enver. "It would serve me right. I'll not lie, though, the humiliation stings a bit, to think on."
“Oh, no. Would you like to exact your revenge on her?”
Enver studied the creature before him, considering the offer.
"Is that what we're doing now?"
"If it would amuse you," she replied, looking up at him through white lashes.
"I can't be seen being unfaithful to her tonight, Neve," Enver cautioned. "I'd look like a pig."
"Then we’ll have to be very careful, won’t we?”
A moment of silence stretched between them. Neve fiddled with the edge of the blanket on the bed. A portrait of the Lady hung on the wall over a dressing table, complete with brush, perfumes, and jewelry.
"Beautiful girl, I guess,” she mused, the disdain evident. She noted the ears, which lacked a fine point. “Human? Embric is an elf, no?”
“She’s his sole heir. The lord never bore children. His late brother adopted her in infancy.”
“How sad, for an elf to adopt a human. To know your child would die before you.”
"Is that envy?" he replied.
Neve furrowed her brow. “Perhaps a bit, but I can’t imagine it’ll last long. Humans age terribly. I’ll look this way for another century, at least.”
"You think so?" Enver asked, his eyes lingering over the slope of her neck and the swell of her breasts beneath the steel satin of her dress. “If you are envious, it’s without purpose.”
He took a gentle seat to her left.
"That is, I would love nothing more," Enver whispered into her ear, "than to push that dress of yours over the curve of your hips and take you."
Neve’s breath hitched, lost in the briefest of desires before she cast him a scolding glance.
"And yet you won't,” she whispered. “For propriety."
"And I will not, indeed."
“You’re awful,” she grumbled. "I’ll add ‘rejection’ to my own itinerary tonight.”
"Would you write of my strong arms and gentle demeanor while you’re at it?"
"I suppose, although I've yet to find evidence of your gentleness," Neve’s voice trailed off, her fingers nervously pinching at the velvet comforter.
"Gentleness is subjective, is it not?" murmured Enver, moving toward her. He pulled her hands away from the bedding, his thumb caressing the back of her palm.
Neve just stared up at him with wide eyes.
"I could give you an example," he taunted.
"Could you?"
Enver moved closer. She could feel the warmth of his palm as it rested upon her thigh, right at the slit of her dress. The other hand cupped her face. There was a possessiveness in his touch, nearly two decades of longing, a familiar ache.
It had been so long since they’d kissed. She had forgotten how it felt, how her body would go rigid at first, before relaxing and melting into him entirely. He smelled the way he always did, of leather and amber and sea salt. It was the same feeling she'd get upon hearing a song in a minor key or looking out at the Gate's harbor; like her soul was being stretched thin.
"That,” he pulled back slowly, “is just a taste of gentleness."
When she laughed softly, he realized it was not from joy, but rather the sound that escapes one's mouth when they have just narrowly avoided death.
He had missed her. Terribly, he realized.
The pain, the loss. The guilt. The shame. The regret. The emptiness that would fill his soul, knowing that he had ruined something precious. It seemed inevitable.
Neve swallowed thickly, her lashes fluttering as she opened her mouth to speak.
With that, the door swung open.
A steel watcher's mechanical whirring accompanied a metallic voice, which echoed against the stone walls. "Lord Enver Gortash, you are requested downstairs."
"We have to get back. Quickly."
Enver stepped away from Neve. She stood motionless, watching the metal soldier as its head twitched.
"Are we in trouble?" she asked quietly.
"We are not. But I should not be missing."
Neve stood up and dusted her hands on her skirts. "Maybe I should just go.”
"What? Absolutely not," Enver gestured for her to follow. “Stay. Please.”
They followed the watcher down a spiral staircase, and Neve watched as Enver pulled open a set of double doors. He was immediately met with loud applause.
The sight twisted her stomach; there was something so cosmically incorrect about the way the nobles parted like waters around him.
Taking a deep breath, Neve slipped in silently.