Chapter Text
Autumn, 1499 DR:
Liars and scum were quite common in a place like Baldur’s Gate. Archduke Enver Gortash was a man who could just as easily play the part of a friendly confidant as he could that of a steel eyed executioner—he was ever ready to bring his fist down upon those idiots and had no qualms in scraping them off his boots.
Gortash watched the nobleman in front of him squirm. The fool had thought he could skirt the system and short change the city’s coffers. Now, he was going to learn a very important lesson in the severity of tax evasion.
“Lord Sucas,” Gortash said, carefully pronouncing his name. He knew all too well how his wife would have said it were she there. “While I can understand the reluctance to be parted with one’s gold, I cannot possibly fathom the utter idiocy that it must take to think me a fool who would not notice. Truly, you've shown how the instinct to survive can be completely lost upon a nitwit such as yourself.”
“Your grace, please—” Lord Sucas began to beg, wringing his hands together.
Gortash waved away his pitiful pleas. “You steal from me, disrespect me, and now attempt to further waste my time. The list of your remarkable accomplishments grows ever longer.”
The lord gaped and shrank back, nearly bumping into the Steel Watcher standing stoically behind him.
They were at the top floor of Wyrm’s Rock, where Gortash liked to host his more punitive appointments. His office here at the fort lacked the comforts of the residence, but the side by side threats of being thrown over the parapet from far above or being locked into the dungeons down below played into his more poetic moods.
“Now, it has been a while since we've had a good hanging in the square. The townsfolk do so like their simple entertainment,” Gortash remarked, as he clasped his hands together.
Lord Sucas paled. Another desperate plea was forming upon his quivering lips. And then the door to the office fell open, and the loud bang as the heavy oak smacked the stone wall made Sucas jump and clutch at his chest.
Gortash sighed, and turned to face the servant who had entered.
“There had better be a good excuse for the interruption,” Gortash warned.
The servant must have been new, or perhaps just as much an idiot as Lord Sucas, because they only blinked at him and pushed up their spectacles, before bowing at the waist. “Your grace.”
“Speak, quickly,” Gortash commanded.
“Ah yes. Well, your grace, Duke Ravengard is requesting a meeting at your earliest convenience. Something to do with the envoys from Elturel…”
Gortash scoffed. “Yes, well, dear Ravengard can appreciate patience as a virtue, I am sure.”
“And Lady Hamfast is demanding to speak with you on the requisitions the Fist made…”
The Archduke resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Delightful. And another person whom I am sure will survive waiting a while longer.”
The servant continued to drone on. “And a messenger arrived from the residence. Apparently, the Archduchess is giving birth…”
“What?!” Gortash grabbed the servant by the collar, nearly throttling them. “You fool! You bloody imbecile! Are you trying to get me killed? Next time, lead with the actual important news!”
Gortash shoved the servant aside, and turned and quickly darted for the door. He called over his shoulder, “Have Sucas tossed into the dungeons. Tell Ravengard it will be at my convenience. Let Hamfast know she can keep Sucas company if she thinks she can dare make demands of her betters. And then throw yourself in the darkest cell after.”
As the carriage sped away from Wyrm’s Rock to the Archduke’s residence, Gortash continued to curse beneath his breath.
Gortash loved his wife. He loved the family she had given him. And he loved that his wife was about to give birth again. But he also knew that at the end of the nine months of her pregnancy was the window of time when he’d be most likely killed. Excruciating labor pains did so bring out the more…violently inspired side of his darling Tav.
When Tav had last gone into labor with Violet, the long, anguishing hours spent on the birthing bed had involved a good deal of threats not only against his livelihood, but also to his manhood, for which she’d decided to place upon all the blame for her sufferings. He’d tried to remind her that she’d been a very willing participant to their child’s conception. But that had only ended in him receiving even more death threats and a glare that put a beholder’s disintegration ray to shame.
He wasn’t sure what she would do if he actually missed their child’s birth.
“Enver! Where the hells were you?!” Tav yelled at him as soon as he entered the room. Tav was sitting on the bed, knees bunched up as the midwives tended to her. Her forehead was drenched in sweat, and her fingers were clawing at the sheets. “You bastard! You arse! This is all your fucking fault!”
“You don’t mean that, dearest,” Gortash said soothingly.
“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t mean!” Tav snapped at him.
Well, at least he hadn’t missed the birth.
Gortash knew he could not hope to plead for mercy at this point, so he just dutifully hurried over to take his place next to her, offering her his hand to clutch and potentially break. And sure enough, Tav latched onto his hand, threatening to cut off any and all blood circulation.
That was fine. He could live if he lost a hand. He couldn’t live if his wife flung another disintegration spell to his face.
“My apologies. Of course, yell and curse at me all you like, my love,” Gortash said calmly, wiping her brow with his free hand and brushing back the stray strands of hair. “Your voice holds more allure to me than any harpy’s song.”
Tav let out a loud groan in response, her face contorted in pain. She gritted her teeth, and then gave a sharp gasp between the contractions. “Are you—are you calling me a harpy?”
“Not at all. You’re far closer to that of a celestial with how radiant you are,” he said without missing a beat.
Tav made a sound that bordered between a snort and a chuckle. “Gods, you say the most ridiculous lines sometimes.”
“It’s not ridiculous when one considers my muse,” he said, and he continued to gently stroke her hair.
Her hand twitched against his, and she muttered,“I was worried you wouldn’t come in time…”
“Unfortunate circumstances had me on the other side of the city. But rest assured I came as swiftly as I could when I received your message,” he said, resting his palm against her cheek.
Tav bit her lip, and tilted her head to lean further into his touch. “Enver…I’m sorry I yelled at you. I know you’re busy. But you’ll stay, won’t you? Until the baby’s born?”
“Of course I will. And I promise you, I’ll stay long after that,” he said, kissing her temple.
“Nnnngh…” Tav gritted her teeth, and her hold on his hand was surely tighter than an iron vice now. “Gods, I love you so much. But I also really, really hate you right now, in this moment—gods this is all your fault. You and your damn cock. I should have cut it off after the last time—” Her rant was cut off as she let out a howl of pain.
Gortash prayed to whatever gods were listening that this would be a quick labor. For all their sakes, but especially that of his wrongfully accused cock.
The following winter:
Enver Gortash had learned long ago not to move after waking. No, he had learned that any sudden movements could get him killed. It was far safer to open his eyes first and assess the situation.
So, as he carefully peered out at the still darkened room with only the faint embers of the fire in the hearth to split the shadows, he could see that the thing pressing upon his chest was not a heavy blanket or an intrepid assassin, but a toddler snoring away. Little Violet’s messy black hair covered her eyes, and dangling loosely in her arms was a chewed up looking toy raccoon.
Gortash slowly reached out to the side to try and find his wife, but the spot next to him was taken by Amelie, who was curled up on her mother’s pillow, drooling away with her fingers half in her mouth. He turned to look on the other side, and he could just make out the baby’s cradle, which had been brought into their room and placed right next to the bed. A tuft of dark reddish brown hair relayed the fact that there was a baby in said cradle.
“... Tav,” Gortash quietly called out. She had left him trapped. Unable to move and barely able to speak.
“Shhhhhh,” his wife hissed at him from somewhere in the room. “Don’t wake them.”
He tried to tilt his head towards the sound of her voice. “Where are you?”
Tav appeared a few meters from the bed, fully dressed in her robes. “They woke up when I went to feed the baby. I let them climb in our bed so I could take care of Celestine.”
“What are you—”
“Since I was up already I thought I’d go out for a walk,” she said, anticipating his question. “It’s been a while since I had some alone time…”
“That sounds lovely. But what about…” Gortash jerked his chin to their slumbering children.
He was at an awkward angle to see her face, but he did catch a glimpse of Tav’s crooked smile.
“You don’t have any meetings until later. I thought they could sleep in with you, just this once…”
“Darling, you know the children are dearest to me—”
“And now they’re the nearest to you, too,” Tav said, stepping back. “Don’t you want to spend time with your children?”
“Of course I do—”
“Perfect! Anyway, everyone has clean nappies and nobody needs to be fed just yet. I’ll be back soon. Enjoy the family time! Love you, bye!”
“Tav, no, wait—” But his wife was already out the door.
Gortash started to let out a low groan, but quickly stifled it as Violet squirmed and whimpered against him.
Well. There were worse ways to wake up, Gortash thought to himself as he let his head fall back to the pillow to stare up at the ceiling and listen to the soft snores of his children.
“You left me,” Gortash said accusingly to his wife later that day.
“I would never leave you, my love,” Tav said, as she perched on the edge of his desk. It was around midday, and in a rare quiet moment, Tav and Gortash had the chance to talk and catch up without being interrupted by the needs of the city or the whinges of the nobles. And even their eldest two children had settled down for a nice, peaceful nap.
“Didn’t I once stand against two gods to defend your soul?” she said. “And don’t you always tell me to make the most of opportunities when they present themselves? Grip them with an iron hand, and what not?’
“Apparently, your iron hand lends itself to my discomfort, ” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“I said, ‘being a parent to our little band is a great comfort’,” he replied smoothly.
“I thought so,” Tav said with a twinkle in her eyes. She leaned forward a bit. “Anyways, like I was tell you earlier, there’s that boy that’s always tugging Amelie’s braids… I tried to talk to her about not setting his pants on fire when he does that, but really if that boy keeps bothering her I’d be tempted to do the same…”
“What are the boy's parents’ names? Perhaps a trip to the dungeons will remind them to be stricter on their wayward spawn,” Gortash said, reclining back in his seat as he cradled their newest and tiniest addition to the family. In his arms was baby Celestine, only months old and already commanding the Archduke of the city she was born in, as she directed him to hold her up with little babbles and pudgy hands.
“Gods, we cannot be this overprotective as parents,” Tav said, shaking her head. “I’ll talk to their tutor next time about it. I’m sure the boy just has a crush on her. And if he doesn’t knock it off then I’ll teach Amelie how to put a bully in their place.”
“And I’ll cover up whatever crimes that results in,” Gortash said supportively.
“That does make me wonder… What will you do when the girls start courting?” Tav asked him.
“I would respect my daughters’ choices,” he said to her. “I would simply want to vet the people they associate with. Make sure they aren’t a threat to them. And of course, let them know that should any harm befall my beloved daughters, I will have the entirety of the Steel Watch descend upon their fool heads and crush their skulls like melons.”
“Delightful,” Tav said. “Like that won’t cause a rebellious stage later on…”
“The public needn’t know about it.”
“I meant from our daughters.”
“Amelie is quite the firecracker, isn’t she?” Gortash said. He placed a kiss on top of Celestine’s head. “My little angel here won’t court anyone her Papa doesn’t approve of, will she? She’s Papa’s little angel, yes she is.”
Celestine cooed up at him.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Tav said, smiling and shaking her head.
“Why? This dear one will never betray me. Isn’t that right?” Gortash said, holding the baby up and kissing her forehead. Celestine giggled and flailed her chubby arms, thwacking Gortash on the nose.
“Bah! Ba ba,” Celestine babbled happily.
Tav smiled as she watched. “Gods, it’s going to be so hard on you when they’re teenagers.”
“On the contrary, I look forward to seeing our progeny fully grow into their potential,” Gortash said. “...I also look forward to when they no longer soil my good coat.” He carefully held Celestine out away from his lap, as a whiff of something stringent drifted up. Gortash tried to hand the baby to Tav, but his wife backed away.
“Oh no. She’s your little angel, didn’t you say?” Tav said, reaching for the door handle and having no mercy on him as Celestine mewed and made grabby hands at his nose.
Gortash protested, “Tav. Come back here. You said you’d never leave me.”
Tav already had one foot out the office. “I said a lot of things. And I absolutely meant them, my love. So, I’m not leaving. I’m simply making a detour to the other side of the residence for a short rest while I let you enjoy more quality time with the child you sired.”
And the door closed behind her as she left.
Gortash huffed, and looked at the baby wriggling in his outstretched arms. “Celestine, I tell you, your mother practically begged me to bear my heirs. She’ll say it was the other way around, but don’t listen to her; she’s utterly besotted with me. Her sense of antagonism and flirtation go hand in hand—one of her many qualities I adore, of course.”
“Ga bah,” the baby gurgled.
“Indeed,” Gortash said, as he got up to fetch a clean nappy.
Spring, 1500 DR:
“Amelie, eat your greens,” Gortash told his four year old daughter as the family sat around the dining table.
“No, yucky,” Amelie said, crossing her arms.
“This is not up for debate,” he said firmly.
“No. Papa eat them,” she said.
“I am eating my own greens already. Now, pick up your fork like a big girl and eat your dinner properly,” Gortash instructed, as he picked up a spoon to try and get Violet to take some of her mashed peas.
Violet, now two years old, slammed her little fists down upon the tray in front of her, nearly upsetting the bowl of mush. “Papa no!”
Gortash rubbed his temple. Tav insisted that dinner time was family time, and that meant no servants or Steel Watch at the table. Even when that table was close to resembling a battlefield.
Across from Gortash, Tav was busy nursing baby Celestine, who was an adorable bundle of roly poly limbs and chubby cheeks. Currently, Celestine seemed to be the only one at the table actually enjoying her dinner as she suckled away.
“Amelie, sweetie, you like peas,” Tav said, adjusting her hold on the baby. “They’re like little gems you get to eat!”
Amelie picked up one of the peas, and studied it closely. Then she turned towards her mother and held it up. “Looks like Mama’s ring!”
“It does! Isn’t that fun?” Tav said.
Amelie popped the pea into her mouth, and Gortash grumbled as he tried to get Violet to take a bite of the mush.
“Why is it that they only say ‘no’ to me?” he muttered.
Violet jerked her head away. “No!”
“See?” he said, gesturing with the spoon.
Violet dipped one of her hands into the bowl, and squealed as she flung the goop directly at her father’s face.
The Archduke, with his years worth of dodging death, just narrowly managed to avoid being splattered.
“Oh dear,” Tav said, not even bothering to hide her smile.
Gortash held back a sigh. “Tav. Let’s switch.”
“Sure thing. You just start lactating and I’ll trade spots with you easy peasy,” Tav said cheerily.
He grabbed a cloth and wiped up some of the misplaced veggie mush.
“Violet. We are going to keep doing this till you finish this bowl,” he said sternly. “If you do not eat your greens, you will not get dessert.”
That just made the two year old shriek at him loudly.
“Mama! Violet’s being noisy!” Amelie said, clapping her hands over her ears.
The baby in Tav’s arms squirmed, but thankfully stayed latched as Tav fussed over her. “Yes, she is. She’s still learning to be a big girl like you, sweetheart. Maybe you can show your sister how yummy the green stuff is?”
“I can!” Amelie chirped, and leaned over in her seat. “Vi-let! Yummy yummy green stuff!” She picked up a pea and popped it into her own mouth, making a satisfied humming sound.
Violet watched skeptically, lips halfway forming another ‘No’, when Gortash swooped in with the spoon to at last deliver a bite of mush. The two year old made an indignant squeal, but she didn’t spit it back out, which was a victory in Gortash’s books.
“...I’ve seen dinners in the Hells go more smoothly than this,” he murmured as he dabbed at the toddler’s cheeks with a clean cloth.
“And yet, I’d say we’re still a good deal closer to the Heavens,” Tav said to him with a small crooked smile.
Gortash looked up at his wife, patting their baby’s back as she tried to burp her. He looked at his eldest daughter, as Amelie was busy making funny faces as she scarfed down handfuls of food. And he looked at Violet, who was giggling as she tried to pick up the bowl to dump it out on the table.
“Oh, I can’t imagine how the Heavens could compare,” he said, returning her smile with his own.
Two years later. Summer, 1502 DR:
Archduke Enver Gortash sorted through the sheets of parchment cluttering his desk in his office. He dipped his quill into the nearby inkpot, and proceeded to strike through paragraph after paragraph of inane demands that those fools at the guild had mustered up.
“Utter idiots, the lot,” he remarked to the painting on the wall across from him. The painting, of course, was his favorite portrait of his darling wife. Dressed in her wedding gown, she merely smiled coyly at him as he continued to make his complaints. “Really, dearest, these bumbling fools would walk off a bridge and drown themselves without a firm hand to guide them. They should count themselves fortunate that I don’t simply get rid of them entirely for their incompetence.”
He picked up another page and frowned as he studied the scrawling script. He picked up his quill again, and accidentally snapped the tip of it as the door to his office suddenly swung open and banged loudly against the wall.
“Papa!” In ran six year old Amelie with four year old Violet right behind.
Gortash set down his broken quill. “Girls, what did I say about barging in here when I am working?”
“Papa, it’s important!” Amelie protested as she darted up to his side of the desk, grabbing his arm and tugging him. Violet came up to help her sister, her little grubby hands leaving soot marks on his coat as she, too, tried to drag her father out of his seat.
“Hurry up, Papa!” Violet said to him.
“What’s important now?” he asked, leaning back in his seat and watching with amusement as his eldest daughters tried to get him to move.
“Ugh! Papa’s too fat to move,” Violet complained.
“He’s not fat! Mama says he’s just squishy,” Amelie said.
“I am neither fat nor squishy,” Gortash told them firmly. “Really. Does no one respect my office?”
“No,” they both said as one.
They might have taken after him in looks, but by the gods did they sound like their mother when they spoke to him. Gortash’s lips twitched slightly, but he remained seated. “I do have a lot of very important work to do, regardless of what you two might think. Why don’t you both sit down and read quietly, and I’ll—”
“No!” Amelie interrupted him. She wore a little frown that was a perfect mirror of his own. “Papa, you have to come with us!”
“Come with us!” Violet chirped.
“Dearests, I’m going to ask you again: what is important now?” Gortash asked.
Amelie’s brow pinched, and she took a deep breath, as though her father was painfully slow. “It’s Mama! She’s talking to Uncle Wyll and she said she was going to go on a trip to El Turtle—”
“Elturel,” he corrected.
“She said she was going to go, and she’d be gone a whole month,” Amelie said, her voice pitching with concern. “Papa, she can’t! A whole month is lots of nights and days!”
“So many nights and days,” Violet confirmed with a nod.
“My loves, as much as I would like to stop your mother from ever leaving my side, she is just as stubborn as the two of you. If she’s found some cause she’s planning on throwing herself into, she’ll do it, and woe to any that stand in her way,” Gortash said, trying to sound calm, although the prospect of Tav being gone for a whole month did make him slightly nervous. Not that he couldn’t handle the children on his own that long. Of course he could. He had staff. He had servants. He had a legion of Steel Watchers. But the thought of three potentially distraught, sorcerous children sobbing for their mother and threatening to burn down the residence for a month was enough to make his head start to throb.
Amelie sighed. She turned to her sister. “Papa’s useless. We gotta stop Mama another way.”
“I am not useless—”
“Uncle Astarion was right,” Violet said.
“Wait, what—”
“Yeah, Papa is a wuss.”
“Okay, stop right there!” Gortash raised his voice, and commanded both his daughters’ attention. “I am not a wuss.”
“Of course you’re not, love,” Tav said as she entered the room. In her arms was two year old Celestine.
Celestine was the youngest, and the most like Tav in appearance. But, somehow, her personality was the furthest from either of her parents’. The two year old was sweet as could be, rarely made a fuss, and always listened to her father.
She was Gortash’s favorite. Not that he would ever say that out loud.
“Papa,” Celestine said as she held out her hands towards Gortash.
Gortash reached up to take her, and the toddler wriggled around on his lap, getting nice and comfortable as she tucked her head against his coat.
“There’s my little angel,” Gortash said, patting her back. He loved all his children. Truly, he did. They were Tav and his creations, so how could they be anything less than perfect? But Celestine had earned a special place in his heart after her first word was ‘Art-dook’. Tav always said she had been trying to say ‘duck’, but Gortash was firm in believing that his youngest child was both a prodigy and a highly respectful toddler.
“So, why are you telling the kids you’re not a wuss?” Tav asked him, as she leaned over to give him a peck on the lips.
“Are you leaving me for a month to abscond to Elturel?” he asked her as she pulled back.
“Where did you hear that?” Tav asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Mama, that’s what you said to Uncle Wyll,” Amelie said, tugging Tav’s sleeve.
“Ooooooh,” Tav said, bending down. “Sweetheart, you misheard me. Uncle Wyll asked me to come along for his trip, yes. But I’m only going to go with him to Moonrise, then come back. I’ll be gone four or five days, at the most.”
“Five days?!” Violet squeaked. “How many nights and days is that?”
“Much less than a month,” Tav assured her. “It’s as many nights and days as fingers you’ve got on one of your hands. I’ll be back as soon as I can. You can take care of your Papa for me until then, right?”
“Don’t know, Mama… Papa might cry,” Amelie warned Tav.
“I do not cry,” Gortash said firmly.
Celestine popped her head up and patted Gortash’s cheek. “Papa sad?”
“No, love, I’m not sad,” he assured her.
“He is sad,” Amelie told her sister. “He’s always sad when Mama leaves.”
“Noooooo, Papa no sad,” Celestine worriedly said, squirming in her father’s lap to cling to him tighter.
“I don’t get sad,” Gortash protested.
“You don’t?” Tav asked, a teasing smile on her lips.
“No, I simply become introspective,” he retorted.
Tav let out a laugh at that, and she stooped back down to kiss him again, this time lingering a bit longer.
“Yuck,” Amelie said, wrinkling her nose
“Ew,” Violet concurred.
“It’s not gross,” Tav told them. “I like kissing your father.”
“Why?” Amelie asked.
“Hmmm,” Tav pursed her lips, putting on a serious expression of contemplation. “Well, because he’s so nice and squishy.”
“Of all my many attributes, that is the reason you give?” Gortash would have pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, but his hands were busy supporting Celestine as the toddler fussed in his lap, grabbing at his face for balance.
“Papa nice ‘n squishy,” Celestine repeated, grabbing his nose for him.
“Squishy,” Amelie nodded in turn.
“Why can’t we say fat?” Violet asked. “Is it a bad word like what Mama calls the meanie lords?”
Tav hummed emphatically. “Those are very important features, Enver. I suppose I could go on about your wit and cunning and ever abundant charm… But that wouldn’t be a very convincing reason, now would it?”
“Ah, my darling tormentor.” He shook his head, or at least shook it as much as he could with the toddler holding onto his face.
“Papa,” Celestine said, pouting for his attention.
“Yes?” Gortash said, looking back at her.
“What’s toe-men-tar?” Celestine asked him.
“A good question, my dear,” he said, and he lifted her up so that he could sit her back down properly, and balance her on his knee. He pointed at Tav. “Your mother is my tormentor. It’s a very special bond between us, and it means that no matter what she might say or do or forget, she loves me more than anything else.”
“Ooh,” Celestine said, sticking her hand in her mouth and sucking on her fingers as she nodded.
“Papa’s making things up,” Amelie said smartly to her baby sister.
“I am not,” he said.
“He’s actually not,” Tav said, coming to his support. “This time, at least.”
“Girls, when you grow up, you will come to understand that your father was right about everything he ever told you,” Gortash said.
“And now he’s back to being wrong again,” Tav said. She reached down and affectionately ruffled her eldest daughters’ matching messes of tangled black hair. “Alright. Your father has a lot of work to do to keep this city running. Let’s go outside and let him have his peace and quiet.”
She held out her arms to take Celestine back from Gortash, but her husband clutched the tiny child possessively to his chest.
“You come into my office to tell me that you’ll be gone for days, offer me nothing but insults, and now try to take my children away from me?” he asked, utterly indignant.
Tav rolled her eyes. “You poor thing. How dare I.”
“My work can wait. It’ll do those insipid dolts good to learn the values of patience,” Gortash grumbled as he stood up, still holding onto Celestine. “Perhaps we ought to have a family outing. It has been a while.”
“Papa, can we go to the bakery?” Amelie asked, eyes lighting up.
“Cake! I want cake!” Violet chirped, already excitedly dancing around.
“If we get sweets, you girls have to promise to eat all your greens at dinner,” Gortash told them.
“We will!” they chorused.
Celestine clapped her little hands together.
“What kind of negotiation was that?” Tav asked him as they headed towards the door. “You know they’re going to spoil their appetites if you let them have cake.”
“I suppose years of dealing with your sort of negotiation tactics has worn me down, dearest,” Gortash said. He turned towards her with a glimmer in his dark eyes, lowering his voice, “You are quite the influence, you know…”
“Hmmm, is that so?” she said, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.
It was his turn to lean in, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “Yes. I’m quite ruined now because of you.”
“And you call this ruined?” she said, chin jutting out just so, and tracing the slope of his nose with her own.
“What is one man’s ruin may be another man’s salvation… But in the end, it is all semantics we needn’t fuss over,” he said, as he closed the distance. Ignoring the disgusted squeals of his daughters, he kissed his wife.
Amelie turned to Violet. “We’re never going to get cake if they keep being gross over each other.”
“Cake!” Celestine squealed, and wriggled between her parents.
Violet shrugged. “Maybe we blow up something to get ‘em to hurry?”
“Blow up! Bang!” Celestine giggled.
“...Tav, dearest. The children are learning from your negotiation tactics…”
“Nobody is blowing up anything!” Tav said sternly.
“I do believe that is the first time you’ve expressed such a sentiment,” Gortash smirked.
“Oh, shut up,” she said, a playful smile dancing upon her lips, as she took his free hand and pulled him towards the door.
A few nights and days later:
Gortash laid in bed, arms wrapped around his wife. He held her tightly to his chest, pressing his chin to her shoulder, and taking in her familiar scent. A small sigh escaped his lips as he skirted the edge of consciousness. It had been another long day, starting at the crack of dawn, filled with meetings and paperwork and toddlers trying to eat said paperwork. Now, sleep was just within reach…
“Enver. What do you think about having another baby?” Tav suddenly said.
Aaaaaand sleep was now far away again.
“Another one?” Gortash said. His mind quickly began to work through the calculations. “Are you pregnant again?”
Tav wriggled around in his arms, rolling onto her side so that she could face him. “Why? Is that your response if I am?”
Gortash knew he had to proceed with the utmost caution. “You know I'd be delighted if you were with child, my love.”
“So you do want another one.”
“I think any creation of ours would be a blessing,” Gortash said carefully. “But we do have our three dear ones already. Three is a good number for balancing power, don't you think?”
“Hmmm…” was all Tav said.
Gortash pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Are you going to share what’s on your mind, my love?”
“...I think three’s a good number, too,” she murmured against his chest.
So she wasn't pregnant. He felt a tad bit relieved. He'd been truthful in his answers to her, of course. But they were already outnumbered. And unless Tav lifted the ban on using the Steel Watch as nannies, then he really did not see a practical way to raise an expanded horde.
Tav continued to speak, her breath tickling against his skin. “...I was just thinking about it. Got to wondering. You know I love the girls so much. They’re so perfect. And I can’t imagine having them with anyone other than you...”
“I’m pleased to hear that, love,” Gortash said, fondly.
“...I mean, you’re a right bastard, but a good father,” she concluded.
“Well. Thank you, darling,” Gortash said, dryly.
“I have to make sure that ego of yours doesn’t get too big,” Tav continued to mutter. “Otherwise, you might do something insane again like enslaving an Elder Brain…”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“It turned into a goddamn Netherbrain, Enver.” She looked back up at him.
“A slight miscalculation on my part,” he protested. “And it worked out well enough. After all, we may not have ever met were circumstances different.”
Tav hummed softly at that. “No, I suppose not. I can’t see myself ever associating with your kind otherwise…”
“Arms dealers and cultists, or innovative geniuses?” he asked.
“I meant politicians.”
“Ah, the devil kin,” he said with a nod.
Tav let out a small sigh, and nestled in even closer, practically burrowing against his chest, with the sheets tucked around her. He could feel her fingers slowly traced a swirl-like pattern upon his bared skin.
“I wonder what it would have been like, though,” she mumbled absently, and he could just barely make out her words as he tilted his head down towards her.
“Wonder what, dearest?” Gortash asked, gently stroking up and down the curve of her back. She was warm—not with the fiery heat of her sorcerous bloodline, but with the lull of sleep that built up around her beneath the silken sheets.
“What it would have been like to meet you, not as the tadpoled adventurer and you not as the Archduke… If we just met as we were, no more and no less… Would I have still wanted to kill you? Would you have still loved me? Would we even have been together?” Her whimsies grew fainter the longer she mused, a drowsiness seeping into her voice as she grew more and more comfortable
“Hypotheticals we shan’t ever know the truth of,” he said. And he lowered his voice, as he felt the rise and fall of her own chest slow and grow shallower. “But who’s to say we would not have found our way regardless? We did so already, once. Us, even less than us, is still more than fate could divide. I believe it, and I am not one to believe in mere fancies. So, should you dream tonight, my love. Dream of me. Dream of all the possible paths we could have taken, all the threads we could have followed, and all the tales we could have woven. And know that when you wake, you wake beside me. Because we have made our own fate, together.”