Chapter Text
Cyfrin sputtered and coughed, rolling onto his side, blood and bile nearly forcing itself from his throat as he struggled to pull in deep, stuttering breaths. For the first time since his waking on the nautiloid, the smell of it filled him not with joy or lust, but disdain. He pulled himself to his knees, checking himself over, hands violently shaking as he realized what had transpired. He was free. Truly free now, of Bhaal’s influence. The only buzz that remained in his brain was that of the tadpole, and even then it seemed to quiet itself more than usual. Withers was talking, that much he knew, but what was being said muddled itself within his brain. He could only choke out a thank you, staring at this strange skeleton, unsure if he had interrupted some slow-moving speech or not. His blurred vision slowly began to right itself, the followers around him still sanctified, watching Cyfrin intensely, yet with no intent of malice behind their dead stares. Cyfrin let his head fall back, a simple, strained laugh bubbling in his chest. He was free. Orin was dead. Nothing more than a gore pile seeping into the pocked stone beneath him.
“Thou may approach.” Wither’s voice cut through the quiet laughter, and he moved out of Cyfrin’s peripheral.
Immediately, Gale’s voice cracked through the arena, calling Cyfrin’s name. Cyfrin looked to where he had been called, crying out now in pure joy as Gale ascended the steps, nearly slipping in the slayer blood that coated the floors, Karlach not far behind him. Cyfrin rose to meet him, breathless as they collided, limbs quickly tangling, mouths muttering I love yous and reliefs, a mangled nonsense that neither of them minded so long as their faces were buried in each other's necks.
“I’m free, I’m free.” Cyfrin rocked back and forth, holding Gale so tight they might as well have been one organism. “It’s over!” He tangled his fingers in Gale’s hair, the fierce beating of their hearts merging together as one. “I don’t have to worry about hurting you. Not anymore, right?” He looked to Withers, who simply nodded.
“I told you,” Gale smashed a kiss against Cyfrin’s lips, tears salting the cuts along his face. “I told you.” He said softer, holding Cyfrin’s face and staring into his eyes. “It wouldn’t be our last kiss.” he hugged him tight, the two of them rocking back and forth. Cyfrin buried his face into Gale’s shoulder, already wanting to fill every moment of their lives within his arms, never wanting to let go, hoping to inhale that smell of lavender and ink, of copper and salt. But he did let go, for now, letting Gale sit up, still keeping his hands on the wizard’s torso, arm, back, whatever he could grab as the two helped each other up off of the ground. Karlach embraced them both with a cackle and a string of curses directed at the pile of viscera staining the ground.
The smell of the temple filled his nose now, the rot and blood, the gore, all once a sickly sweet in his throat now simply a sting to his nostrils. With what little air Karlach had left him with, he mused that they should get out of there, taking a deep breath as he and Gale were finally released. He squeezed Gale’s hand once more before going to help Astarion get Halsin to his feet, all of them making their way out of the temple and back to camp. Despite the majority of the journey being trekked through stifling septic tunnels, Cyfrin felt as if he was walking on air, a spring to his step he felt he had never experienced before. The horizon of his inevitable crash from this high was inching towards him, he knew, but for now he attempted to push it away, his arm wrapped tight around Gale’s torso. He had a whole life to rebuild, a new life to live. He was going to make the most of it.
They got back to camp just as the sun was beginning to scrape the ocean waters. The rest of the companions greeted their returns with joy and pride, Shadowheart stepping in to heal Halsin of the wounds he had sustained in midst of the excursion. Cyfrin filled the others in on everything that had gone down, and how he was now truly, genuinely, free of Bhaal. The news was met with cheers and a call for drinks, once everyone had changed out of their armours and washed up.
Once baths were drawn and conversations dwindled, alcohol began to be distributed in celebration. Cyfrin stole himself away to the cookpot where Gale was teaching Yenna how to properly dice an onion. He assured Gale he would be no bother, that he just needed a moment with no pressure to converse, and simply sat himself down behind him, pressing his forehead into Gale’s back and closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around the wizard’s waist. He listened to him talk, though more so his voice than his words, the warm smell of the campfire and the stew making his stomach rumble. He half-tuned into the conversation with Yenna after a few minutes to keep himself from drifting off.
“-a cuddly fellow.” Gale said with a small chuckle, trailing his free hand over Cyfrin’s. “And he’s had a really big day.”
“He looks a little silly all hunched over like that.” Yenna said with a giggle.
Cyfrin smiled a bit, realizing he probably did look pretty ridiculous.
“I doubt it's very comfortable, but his spine is much more flexible than mine. I rather love it when he curls up to sleep. Reminds me a lot of a cat curled at the foot of a bed.”
“Like Grub?”
“Much like your beloved Grub, yes.” he squeezed Cyfirn’s hand. “How are those onions coming along?”
“All done!” Yenna said after a few moments, followed by the sound of many chunks spilling into a bubbling broth. The aroma quickly began to fill the camp.
“Go and wash your hands, the last thing we need is for it to get onion in your own or Grub’s eyes.”
Cyfrin heard the little footsteps fade away, Gale’s quiet humming filtering through the background murmurs and sounds of the ocean waves. He moved his hand and gently squeezed the warm pudge of Gale’s stomach, smiling as Gale’s humming stuttered just slightly before settling. He let his mind wander, simultaneously excited and quite frankly terrified of how he was going to continue on. It wasn’t like he was stepping fresh out of a nautiloid pod, left with only his first name and splitting migraines. He had made it this far, crafted so many memories across the last few tendays, made a dozen unlikely friends, even found a lover. Despite this, a guilt began to eat at him, recalling everything Orin and Gortash had said, knowing that he played such a big part in this mindflayer scheme he may as well have been the head of it. He didn’t want to think too hard about it. About the countless people he had condemned to mindless servitude, about the group of people that surrounded him, who simply by a stroke of luck, or perhaps fate, had found themselves amidst possibly the only people that could save the Sword Coast. Gods, the lives of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, rested on his shoulders.
No, not on his shoulders alone. He could hear Karlach’s cackle across camp, hear Lae’zel’s grindstone, hear Astarion’s smart quips and high-pitched chuckle to Wyll’s wise-cracked jokes. He also felt a warm band of metal slide down his ring finger, gently wiggled and adjusted by precise hands. The magic of the warding ring flowed through his arm, bringing with it a sense of safety.
“Much better,” Gale said softly, intertwining his fingers with Cyfrin’s, their rings clinking together. “Were our situations better, I don't know if I’d be able to stop myself from properly proposing.” he chuckled, his tone mumbled and low, clearly showing he was talking to himself, rather than the half-orc resting on his back. Cyfrin wondered if Gale thought he had fallen asleep. Regardless, Gale continued to mumble to himself. “Though, the wait will be more than worth it. That is,” he hummed. “If we make it that far. Two out of three netherstones. Perhaps we will be able to wield it. Perhaps it all blows up in our face.” he sighed. “But nonetheless,” he trailed off, the sound of a wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the iron cookpot. He hummed worriedly, absently tapping the back of Cyfrin’s hand.
Proposal. Cyfrin’s heart fluttered a bit, a mix of nerves and happiness. He had never really thought of that. Sure, he would be completely content, delighted, even, to spend the rest of his life with Gale. But he had never imagined himself making it to such a time. Most of his future was a blur, a static that blinded and snuffed whatever was more than a tenday away. But now, as the thoughts of married life crossed his mind, Gale’s face melded itself within the static. Those soft wrinkles, the way his nose scrunched with any expression, his deep brown eyes always full with thought. And Cyfrin reflected within them.
His neck was beginning to ache. He adjusted himself with a soft grunt, sitting upright and resting his head on Gale’s shoulder, keeping his eyes closed. He’d think more on the subject later. There were more pressing matters ahead.
“Dinner’s almost done, love.” Gale said softly. “And afterwards we can steal away to my tent and rest. You seem to really need it.”
“Dinner smells good.” he said, his stomach growling in agreement.
“Here,” Gale scooped out a bit, blowing on it before raising it to Cyfrin’s mouth. “Can you tell me if it needs more pepper?”
Cyfrin inhaled the rich, meaty scent, taking the bite and savouring the tender, flavourful pork. “It’s perfect, love.” he said after swallowing, opening his eyes and planting gentle kisses onto the base of Gale’s neck.
Dinner was served soon after, all of the companions gathered around the campfire, talking amongst themselves as they ate. Cyfrin had moved himself beside Gale, their legs still pressed together. Gale got himself into a tangent about his latest books, keeping Wyll’s rapt attention and even offering to let him borrow the copy he had on hand. Astarion was sitting comfortably on a folded bedroll, sipping from a wine goblet full of the blood from the boar Gale had used for their dinner.
