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Assistant: Title: Quiet Affection
        Author: Laurelli Laurelli 
        Chapter: 13/26 
        Summary: After the fall of the Netherbrain, Tav's home in Baldur's Gate was destroyed and Gale offers his tower as a temporary place for her to rest and heal. A very slow-burn romance starts to bloom, while Tav (named Iluviel) struggles to be ready after the things Astarion did to her.~~~~Lots of D&D lore and (mostly canonical) Waterdeep worldbuilding went into this fic that follows both Gale and Iluviel through their daily lives inside and outside of the tower - known as the Aetherspire.PLEASE let me know if you enjoy this fic. I'm really new at this and it would mean everything to me :)
        Contents: Chapter 13: Three Months After
    

    

        
          
          
            ... in which we observe an emotional thaw - the first, quiet cracking of the ice that grief and restraint have built between two hearts.
          
        

      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    
  The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the Aetherspire, pale and promising. It was one of the first clear days of spring - light shimmered on the rooftops of Waterdeep, and a few brave blossoms trembled open in the tower’s newly tended garden, though the air still bit with a winter’s chill.

  Iluviel sat in the lounge’s sunlit corner, one leg folded beneath her, the other swinging gently off the armrest of the chair. A half-read book, The Saffron Garden, lay open in her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in some time. She was watching the light filter in through the glass, listening to the hum of the tower around her and the city outside.

  Then came the soft 
  
    crack
  
   of displaced air.

  She looked up to see Gale, appearing in the center of the room in a swirl of magic, his coat slightly wind-tousled, his expression pleased.

  “You’re home early,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Again.”

  “Am I becoming predictable?” he asked, unbuttoning his coat with a flourish and hanging it on the stand.

  “Only a little. Are you shirking responsibilities, professor Dekarios?”

  He grinned as he crossed the room toward her, the sun catching in his dark curls.

  “The second trimester has begun,” he said lightly, “and my schedule is... shall we say, luxuriously altered. Fewer lectures. More private consultations. Administrative chaos I’ve elegantly delegated.”

  “So you're not sneaking off?”

  “Never. This is entirely legal.”

  She smirked and closed her book.

  “Three months,” she murmured.

  He paused. “Pardon?”

  She looked around the tower's interior, slowly.

  “I’ve been here for three months. I didn’t... realize. Time just passed. Quietly.”

  Gale sank into the chair across from her, hands clasped over one knee. His gaze softened.

  “And how do you feel?” he asked. “Three months after the Netherbrain?”

  The question hung in the air like a feather suspended mid-fall.

  She exhaled through her nose, steady.

  “Less numb,” she said. “I notice things now. I eat. Read. Laugh sometimes. The quiet doesn’t feel like punishment anymore.”

  He nodded, listening.

  “But... I still grieve Karlach,” she said.

  Her voice didn’t crack - but something behind it flickered.

  “I see her in the corners of moments. I still feel like... I should have found a way.” Iluviel turned to Gale then, pain etched into every line of her face, her eyes searching his as if he might offer an answer she had long been denied. “There must’ve been something I missed. Something I didn’t try hard enough to do. She trusted me. And she died. Screaming.”

  Silence.

  The kind that made space for sorrow without judgment.

  Gale’s voice, when it came, was soft and full of certainty.

  “We all tried. You did. I did. Even Dammon, and the whole smithing guild. She was running on borrowed time and borrowed fire. And if there was a way... don’t you think we would’ve clawed it into existence?”

  Iluviel swallowed.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  “You didn’t fail her. You stood by her to the end. You looked into her fire and stayed. And she knew that. She knew you loved her.”

  Iluviel lowered her head.

  The sunlight caught in her lashes.

  Then, in a voice so quiet it barely stirred the air:

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  She rose from her chair slowly. He expected her to cross the room, maybe return the book, maybe go make tea.

  Instead - she stepped into his space.

  And then, without warning, she leaned down and wrapped her arms around him.

  No hesitation.

  Just warmth.

  Steady, strong, quiet.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her hands clasped at his back.

  And he - he melted.

  His arms twitched with instinct - every fiber of him ached to hold her back - but fear held him still. Slowly, almost cautiously, his hands began to move. One slipped around her waist with trembling restraint; the other rose to cradle the back of her head as though she were something sacred. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t speak. Just held her - finally, gently - as if it might be the last time.

  Just held her.

  She didn’t pull away quickly. Didn’t make it brief.

  She stayed.

  And he knew - 
  
    knew
  
   - that whatever they were, whatever might bloom, 
  
    this was the seed
  
  .
 
  The moment broke gently.

  Iluviel stepped back, her hands slipping away from Gale’s back with no rush, no apology. Her blue eyes lifted to meet his, steady and soft.

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

  Her fingers brushed his sleeve one last time. Then she turned, heading quietly toward the stairs with the calm, unhurried grace he had come to associate with her - though there was a different weight in her steps now. Not heaviness. Something quieter. Something full.

  Gale stood still.

  Absolutely still.

  Like the moment her arms wrapped around him had turned him to stone and only now - 
  
    now - 
  
  was he remembering how to breathe.

  His heart thudded, not in his chest, but 
  
    everywhere
  
  . In his fingertips. In his throat. Behind his eyes.

  
    That wasn’t nothing,
  
   he thought. 
  
    It couldn’t have been.
  

  He cleared his throat.

  Too quickly.

  “I should - ah - I should prepare some materials. For the second-year spellcraft seminar. I’ve, ah… fallen behind.”

  He barely registered whether she nodded or replied. The blood was roaring in his ears.

  He turned and took the nearest corridor toward his study like a man quietly fleeing a battlefield of joy.

  Inside the study, the door clicked softly shut behind him.

  He stood for a moment in the center of the room, unmoving. Not going to the desk. Not reaching for his books. Just… standing.

  The tower hummed faintly, as it always did, its arcane wards pulsing through the walls in quiet intervals. The familiar scent of parchment and dried ink hung in the air. His desk was neatly ordered. Scrolls aligned. Nothing out of place.

  But 
  
    he
  
   was utterly out of place.

  He drew in a sharp breath and pressed both palms to the edge of the desk, as if grounding himself would help.

  
    She hugged me.
  

  Not an idle pat on the shoulder. Not a brief, distant farewell.

  She had 
  
    held him.
  

  Her arms around his back, her face against his shoulder. Her fingers - her breath - her warmth. The scent of her hair, caught in his collar now: orchid and wild herbs and something faintly spiced.

  He shut his eyes.

  
    Gods, help me.
  

  The walls of his carefully composed self were trembling. The ones he’d built to stay her friend, her protector, her quiet constant. And for three months he had upheld them, brick by brick.

  Because he couldn’t afford to hope.

  But now-

  Now?

  He sat down slowly at his desk and opened a book, though he couldn’t see the words on the page.

  
    What if it meant something?
  

  
    What if that was the beginning?
  

  
    What if she… feels it too?
  

  He exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through his hair.

  And then-

  
    What if it was just a gesture of thanks? A kind moment in a day full of grief?
  

  
    What if it meant nothing more than comfort?
  

  That thought hurt more than he expected.

  He looked down at his hands.

  They were still tingling.

  His whole being felt as though it were stretched thin with hope and fear in equal measure.

  He didn’t know what to do.

  Didn’t know if he should say something. Or wait. Or say nothing at all.

  
    But gods,
  
   he thought, 
  
    if this becomes something more… I won’t fight it
  
  .

  
    Not anymore.
  

  And with that fragile promise, he closed the book.

  He couldn’t focus.

  Not tonight.

  Not when her warmth still lingered in his arms.

  
  

    
      
        
        
          It seems there might be.... progress soon ;)And as ever, I extend an invitation - nay, a gentle urging - for your reflections. For while the ink may be mine, the resonance, the emotional cadence of this tale, is born in the interplay between author and reader. Like all who labor over words, I am sustained - indeed, illuminated - by the sentiments you so generously offer. Your thoughts are not merely welcome; they are the lifeblood of this endeavor, the quiet magic that renders imagination real.In other words: please leave comments - I thrive on your comments and the emotions you share in response to this story :)))'
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