Baldur’s Gate, Almost 1 Year Post Absolute

Valoren Stormcrow has the world on a string — or the Sword Coast, at least — and he still feels like he’s missing something.

Yet what more could he want? He already had it all: power, wealth, fame, companionship, family. He ruled this city not with an iron fist, but with a puppetmaster’s glove — and he shared the backstage with his beloved partner. “The Emperor and The Fool” were the lead advisors to Archduke Moralynn Stormcrow, the city’s longtime hero turned ruler. Her instatement as Gortash’s replacement was meant as an emergency measure at first, but as the city flourished under her guidance, the people all but tripped over themselves to make her position permanent. Her inauguration was merely a fortnight away, scheduled for the first anniversary of the Absolute’s defeat.

Valoren knows he should be excited; the fruit of their labors are finally his to reap. Yet he can’t shake the dread that something is going to go horribly, terribly wrong. He’s done endless investigation, profiling each potential member of the audience with the dedication of a stalker ex. He’s mapped the width and breadth of Wyrm’s Rock Fortress a hundred times over, inspecting every nook and cranny from the pinnacle to the depths below. He’s kept his ear so low to the ground that he’s in danger of dipping his hair in a puddle. He’s researched, and schemed, and monitored, and tried so hard to make sure everything will go right.

So when a patron at the Rose & Portent makes an offhand remark about Bhaalists attending the inaguration, Valoren all but drops his lute in shock. Barely managing to conclude his medley, he saunters ever-so-casually over to the bar and flags Bartleby down for his usual: whiskey, neat. He subtly pretends to listen in on the conversation he’s closer to — inane adventurer chatter about recent hunts — when really, he’s laser focused on the golden-haired elf’s words.

—

Apollo thought he would be more subtle about it, but judging by how little his fellow patrons take notice of the dark-haired man, perhaps he really shouldn’t be. He is admirably stealthy, but very few things escape Apollo’s notice.

He wraps up his chitchat before planting himself right next to the other elf and ordering another whiskey neat. “Hear anything interesting, stranger?” he asks.

—

Valoren nods, smirking. He indicates the adventurers, using his drink to gesture.

"Aye - though whether I believe these tall tales is another matter entirely. There's exaggeration for dramatic effect, but this is beyond hyperbole. I mean, honestly, taking down an entire dragon with only four people? One would think they'd be a bit more realistic in their boasting."

He raises his drink in cheers towards his new companion. "Excellent taste, by the way. The whiskey here is top notch." He tilts his head for a moment, clearly sizing the man up - though to what end, it's more difficult to say. "Allow me to put that drink on my tab, eh? We bards tend to get a discount in establishments we frequent. And lest you worry your handsome head, that's neither the five-finger discount nor the other five-finger discount; it's the discount earned by all ten musically adept fingers!"

—

“I imagine it would be difficult for a tavern’s resident bard to get away with that sort of thing for too long,” Apollo says. He raises his glass in thanks and takes a sip.

“I’m sure a certain caliber of warrior could pull that off. To the Dead Three—may they rest in piss—it would be child’s play. And to the heroes who took down those three? Now that’s a tall tale I can believe.” He looks to his new drinking companion. “You look like someone with plenty of tales to tell.”

—

"True enough," Valoren shrugs, making no effort to conceal a bemused smile. "And oh, I've tales aplenty. Few of them mine and fewer still containing more truth than fabrication, but they certainly make for good stories! And what is a bard without his stories, eh?" He bumps his arm flirtatiously against this stranger's.

"I'm Val, by the way," he grins.

—

“Apollo,” he responds. “I admit, I’m dying to get straight to the punch. Are you looking to swap stories, or seeking one in particular?”

—

Valoren’s brow creases, just the tiniest bit. So not only was this bastard too smart to be played, he wasn’t interested in the game at all. How… inconvenient. Valoren will have to fold this round.

“Ah, so that’s how it is. I hope you’re not this hasty in bed, too.” Before Apollo can respond, Valoren continues speaking, hoping to disarm the man. “I’ll admit, I’m curious about this alleged Bhaalist presence at the inauguration. Was the cult not destroyed during the disruption of the Absolute plot?”

—

Apollo doesn’t comment on the snipe about him in bed and simply shrugs. “You see things on the road when you’re an adventurer. Stumble into a few…Private rendezvous.” He makes a face. “I was out in Soubar when I stumbled into Bhaalists ‘collaborating’, shall we say, with Banites.”

—

“Soubar?” Valoren repeats, narrowing his eyes. “No fucking wonder I couldn’t… hmm.” He traces the rim of his glass, lost in thought. Then, in an instant, he snaps back to his jovial mask. “Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Collaborating, you say? Were the Myrkulites involved? Did you hear anything about their intentions?” He uses a lighthearted conspiratorial tone, but his eagerness for answers is apparent. “And I’ll be happy to compensate you for this information, if you wish. You need but name your price.”

—

“Well, I wouldn’t turn down such an alluring offer.“ Apollo scrutinizes Valoren’s mannerisms. There’s something about the way he moves that seems…familiar. And he’s absolutely sure he’s never met this man in his life. “Besides, anything to keep this glorious city safe, yeah?”

Ah! He knows where he’s seen these showy, exaggerated movements. “Besides, who better to inform than the Fool himself?”

—

Valoren jumps like a startled cat. "Fuck!" he hisses, all traces of levity gone. He fixes Apollo with an incandescent glare that would make even the staunchest hero think twice. "Who fucking sent you? And don't even think about lying to me. I will know."

It is spin-tinglingly clear that this is the most dangerous man in the city, and Apollo has just made him angry.

—

The sudden change in Valoren’s demeanor freezes Apollo in place, stock-still with fear. He had only meant it as a light-hearted joke, but this reaction…there could be no mistaking it. Apollo had thrown a rock and accidentally hit an owlbear.

“Holy shit, it really is you,” he whispers, staring into Valoren’s eyes. Apollo is fearful, sure, but equal parts of Valoren and also of a concerning tightness in his trousers he hopes the other man is too incensed to notice. “I meant it in jest, but judging by your reaction…”

—

"Now, what did I just say about lying to me?" Valoren says, his voice low. He leans forward, folding his hands beneath his chin and resting his elbows on his knees. While he's now looking up at Apollo, it's somehow more threatening, reminiscent of a coiled viper. "Odd subject for a simple joke. If you were smart enough to have solved that particular mystery of your own accord, then one would assume you were also smart enough to let sleeping owlbears lie. And yet, here we are..."

Valoren drops a hand to rest threateningly on Apollo's leg, letting him know he is very much not going anywhere.

"My offer of a reward still stands. Cooperate, and you'll find that I can be a most pleasurable benefactor to have. Lie to me again, or otherwise make an issue of yourself, and you won't see another sunrise." He squeezes Apollo's leg. "The choice is yours, darling."

—

Apollo shifts as if uncomfortable, but he’s really just trying to get Valoren’s hand off his leg. Not for any reason other than that Apollo’s sporting the most obvious boner, and he would rather not get found out that quickly. The game is still on, after all. “You can think what you want. I admit I’m more perceptive than most, but anybody with eyes would be able to tell the Rose & Portent’s bard moves and talks just like the mythical Fool.”

He turns away from Valoren’s intense gaze. “I’m not interested in your politics and power plays. Once I’ve given you what you want, you’ll leave me alone.”

—

"Anybody with eyes, you claim, yet you are the first to do so. Not only have you resisted the glamours around the Fool that 'discourage' identification, you actually remembered his mannerisms, compared them to mine, and had the stones to present your conclusions to me. You are rather unique, I'm afraid."

As Apollo looks away, Valoren finally releases his leg - only to catch Apollo's chin instead, tilting it back towards him.

"Whether you're interested or not is irrelevant, because now you've caught my interest, Apollo," he purrs. "You will give me what I want; as I said, I desire the information that's in that pretty little head of yours." He angles Apollo's face in the light, his eyes darting around it like one would inspect a beautiful gem. "And then I will give you what you want. If it's to leave you alone, then I shall, but I would encourage creativity in choosing your reward." He smiles as his eyes land on Apollo's lips. "Now that you're in on my little secret, you know just how capable I am of delivering you anything."

Valoren lets go of Apollo's chin, his soft fingertips trailing along the man's throat as his hand drops.

—

Okay. Well that’s a little confounding. Apollo thought he had only been using run of the mill powers of observation, but clearly something else is going on here, and he’s interested enough to want to know more. It’s not every day you accidentally fall in with the most powerful man in Baldur’s Gate.

Valoren’s laying it on thick, but unfortunately for him, Apollo’s already clocked it. “Perhaps we ought to have this conversation in a more secluded location, then,” he says, giving their surroundings a surreptitious glance. Shockingly, nobody seems to have noticed the spirited nature of his conversation with Valoren. It’s more than a little unnerving.

—

Valoren doesn’t even have to try to upkeep the subtle psionic spell that’s distracting the patrons. There’s a few regulars he trusts enough to leave untouched, but they have the good sense of self-preservation not to stick their heads in where they don’t belong — lest they find them suddenly detached from their shoulders (or worse). Having an augmented illithid tadpole in his head did have certain benefits, and innate psychic abilities are among them. But of course, Apollo had no idea.

“You’re right, of course.” He glides off the barstool with an odd gracefulness, almost as if he’d half-floated to his feet. “Allow me to escort you to my personal study.” It’s not an invitation.

—

Apollo is on high alert now. He has to play his cards right, or else he could end up splattered all over Valoren’s “personal study”. But if he does this right, he’ll end up killing two extremely deadly factions with one stone. Or getting them off his back, at least.

“I have a proposal,” Apollo says as soon as the door is shut behind him.

—

Bartleby had let the pair into a deceptively ordinary door behind the bar, closing it behind them. Valoren had then led his guest up a cramped staircase, then down a sparse hallway, until they reached another door. This one did not conceal itself with modesty; rather, it owed its security to metal reinforcements and an infernal sigil scorched into the wood.

“Resignum Valoren Stormcrow,” Val had ordered, placing a hand on the center of the sigil. Several physical and magical locks could be heard opening at his command. With a gentle push, the door swung open.

For one of the wealthiest houses in the city, you wouldn’t know it. The villa attached to the tavern was large, but Spartan in decor, and moderately old. One might almost think they’d wandered into additional inn quarters — that is, until they arrive at the study.

‘War room’ would perhaps be a more accurate descriptor for the room, which boasts an impressive set-up to make any nation’s military commander jealous. Orderly shelves of books and scrolls cover the walls, and a dizzyingly intricate map of Faerûn is spread across the huge wooden table in the center. Below the table is an ornate but sturdy rug, which one can only assume is covering a trapdoor. Various chests and drawers slot into the shelves between tomes, some locked with intricate arcane sigils. In the back, a scrying mirror swirls, currently idle.

Apollo clearly didn’t need much time to oggle the display of effectively used wealth, because he’s already speaking again.

“Oh?” Valoren replies, arching an eyebrow. He’s standing unnervingly close to the taller man, having just closed the door when Apollo turned around. Valoren places his hand on his hip. “Efficient as ever. Once again, I pity your lovers.” He inclines his head. “Though I must admit, ‘tis a refreshing change of pace not to have my time wasted. Out with it, then.”

—

“You are awfully keen on making assumptions regarding what kind of lover I am,” Apollo sighs with mock exasperation.

“As you can well expect, the Bhaalists are…not keen on this information spreading. Of course, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on cult gatherings, but these things happen.” He shrugs in a what-can-ya-do kind of way. “As a result, they may be, er…hunting me down, so to speak. I’ll do you a favor by telling you their sneaky little cultist plans, and you can do me a favor by killing them.” Apollo ponders for a moment. “And perhaps letting me be seen with you in public relatively frequently. They wouldn’t think twice about trying to eliminate a lone adventurer, but someone supposedly close to the Fool…well. As I now know, being on his bad side is a very dangerous place to be.” Apollo gives Valoren a rueful smile.

—

Valoren considers his words, his mind racing at an illithid pace. In a mere moment, he’s already analyzed this man’s intentions, the consequences of taking the deal, the likely outcome of not taking it, and what they both stood to gain and lose. He smiles, unnervingly bright.

“Done and done,” he agrees. “I’d claim to be surprised you didn’t ask for more, but you’re smart to avoid becoming too entangled with me.”

Valoren shifts his weight. “Though, you ought to decide which role you’d prefer me cast in. The Fool doesn’t appear outside of court, and while I’m certainly open to having you accompany him, that may lead to more questions than you’re prepared to answer. On the other hand, I could play a different part. Master Stormcrow, hero of Baldur’s Gate, is another revered figure whose side would be a safe place indeed.” He taps his chin with a manicured finger. Then his smile curls at the edges, turning just a little sinister. “Regardless, you will be my guest of honor at the Archduke’s inauguration. Quite the incentive to make sure these acolytes of the Dead Three don’t have their way, hmm?”

“The latter works just fine for me. If you’re half the hero those exaggerated stories claim, then they won’t be an issue for me for long.” He gives Valoren a cheeky little smile, then frowns as Valoren continues.

“Guest of honor, hmm?” Apollo moves closer to Valoren, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What are you up to?”

—

“Why, I’m merely fulfilling my end of your proposal!” he says, though how his smile splits into a fanged grin says otherwise. “You want to be seen with me in public, yes? And I wish for the inauguration to be free of any thrice-deadly incidents? Consider this occasion the culmination of our working relationship. I will keep you safely at my side until then, when you will appear in a position of power at this very public event. After the inauguration, the cultists will have no need to silence you, for your information will no longer be relevant. As for what I get out of it, I suppose your presence is insurance of a sort. Should you harbor any ill intent, and the Dead Three make an uninvited appearance, then you will be right in the eye of the storm.”

—

“If the Dead Three were at my beck and call, I wouldn’t be in this situation. But as you wish, my lord,” Apollo says dryly. He got what he wanted, so whatever. It’s no skin off his back that Valoren wants to bring an ordinary ass adventurer to one of his silly little social functions. He just he hopes he won’t have to wear any stuffy nobleman’s clothes. “We have a deal, then.”

There’s a bit of a commotion coming from the tavern. Last call for the night. “I forgot how late it was. Time truly does fly when your life is being threatened by the shadowy puppet master of Baldur’s Gate.” Apollo gives Valoren a little mock bow. “Am I free to go?”

—

“Threatened? Oh, Sunshine, you wound me!” Valoren clutches a hand to his chest. “That was an ultimatum; I never sought to threaten your life, only enrich it.” He’s entirely too smug about this whole situation. “But yes, you’re free to go. Assuming I shan’t have to walk you home on a leash, I’ll see you to the door and bid farewell from there.”

Miraculously true to his word, Valoren sees Apollo to the door. Then he grabs his cloak, daggers, sword, and bag of holding from behind the bar, and sneaks off after him.

Even with the invisibility ring, tailing Apollo is no easy task. His skills as a hunter are obviously formidable, and his keen eye has already been well established — not to mention that he’s actively on the lookout for stalkers. But Valoren has something Apollo doesn’t: the home field. And, y’know, a bit of flight magic to aid him. As he flits from rooftop to rooftop, he’s barely a quiet breeze — and even those tiny gusts are synced perfectly with the natural wind.

He spots the ambush before Apollo does; the Bhaalists are on the roof, too. Valoren creeps up invisibly behind the leader, who's conveniently at the back of the pack. She's focused solely on the matter at hand, and her ardent desire to kill. It's a simple matter for Valoren to slip between the cracks of her mind and redirect that desire. The seeds thus sown, he moves to the minds of retainers, and plants the same vile idea. Two more cultists, and it's an evenly matched fight - enough to ensure their mutual annihilation.

When Valoren casts the Silence spell and waters the sprouts of destruction to bloom, the harvest is nigh-on instant. The influenced cultists spring on their compatriots, and with the element of surprise, manage to slaughter quite a few. By the time they succumb to the untampered acolytes' numbers, there are only two Bhaalists left standing - and it takes barely a whisper of encouragement to send them to their master.

Valoren looks in satisfaction at the grim harvest.

—

Apollo imagines Valoren putting a leash on him and leaves extremely hurriedly. He doesn't even notice Valoren tailing him until he's well down the street. But once he's noticed, he's determined not to give him an easy time.

He's cheating, Apollo thinks, disgruntled. He periodically loses sight of Valoren, only for the smallest thing to tip him off again. He's so absorbed by this little game they're playing that he doesn't realize he's walked into an ambush until it's too late.

He draws his weapons, but before he can even assess that he's hopelessly outmatched, the cultists are turning on each other. It's a bloodbath, but none of the violence involves him. It's over in an instant, leaving Apollo standing there, more than a little confounded. And afraid. And aroused--

"Perhaps it was a good thing I was unlucky in giving you the slip."

—

Valoren doesn’t have time to warn Apollo of the incoming volley of arrows. Hells, he hardly has time to react himself. But a swift gust of wind — away from the direction he knew Apollo would doge — is enough to ensure the barrage harmlessly misses its mark. Futuo cultists, always hunting in packs. He should’ve known they’d be on the opposite roof, too. And on the ground.

With his presence revealed, Valoren decides a little display of power is in order. He selects a cultist to spare, to bring the message of his impending wrath back to their master. And then he allows the storm to swell up with him as the eye. Winds buffet at his feet, whipping his hair into a dark crown as he ascends above the rooftop. Arrows shot at him are deflected by the air, and lightning crackles in his grasp. The storm builds. Electricity arcs between his fingertips, hungry for something to ground it. When he can suppress the tempest no longer, Valoren directs it, turning himself into a living conduit for the storm’s fury. With a snarl, he flings his arms wide and releases it. Blinding bolts shoot from his outstretched hands, each one finding their mark and incinerating them. The crackling web of cyan light frames Valoren like wings, the moon shining from above like his halo. He is a Stormcrow. A harbinger. An angel of death, resplendent in his power. These fodder thought themselves heralds of doom? Please. They were fragile reeds before the Storm.

Valoren glances around, seeming not to notice the one man left just barely alive, and descends towards the ground before Apollo. There’s sparks of madness in his eyes and satisfaction on his lips. He couldn’t conceal the thrill this gave him even if he’d wanted to. Then his feet touch the ground, and with a rush of wind, the metallic taste of electricity is gone. One last breeze brushes past, blowing Valoren’s hair in a way that cannot be entirely accidental, and then the storm has well and truly dissipated. It’s quiet now.

—

Well. Now he knows how Valoren Stormcrow defeated the Absolute.

Really, it’s getting concerning. Apollo should be petrified of this man—it would be no trouble at all for Valoren to end him, and it could happen so quickly Apollo wouldn’t even have time to register the need to defend himself. Yet all Apollo feels is admiration. And something else that starts with A, but that’s not relevant.

“I…could have defended myself,” Apollo says lamely to the man who just became a god for a few seconds.

—

Valoren tilts his head, smirking.

“Aw, you could have? Against some four dozen assassins who caught you by surprise? Then I suppose you won’t be needing my protection, right?” He cackles, just a little unhinged. “I thought so. You’re stuck with me, darling, until our little deal is concluded. Because Valoren Stormcrow is nothing if not a man of his word.”

His voice echoes through the alleyway; he’s clearly using his theatrical skills of projection to ensure that the surviving cultist hears him.

Valoren is almost impressed that Apollo doesn’t flinch as he saunters forwards, but then he notices that it’s because the poor man is frozen solid in shock. And admiration. And fear. And awe. And… is that a boner?! Oh by the nine hells, he’s into it. Prodigiously into it. Valoren is grateful nobody telepathic is around to eavesdrop on his mind, because it is very much full of inside thoughts. Inside Apollo’s pants, more like.

Valoren completes his approach and entwines his fingers with Apollo’s, causing a residual zap of electricity between them. He’s latched on way too hard for the gesture to be innocent.

“Come. We’re going back to the Rose and Portent.” Once again, Valoren is not asking.

—

Apollo lets out the world’s deepest sigh. Valoren is apparently both beautiful and powerful, but also a brat. He’s learning all sorts of new things about the looming shadow who watches over Baldur’s Gate today. Eye of the storm was right: trying to escape—the smart idea—is not an option. But if Apollo’s honest with himself, he doesn’t feel like being smart about this. He wants to poke the bear with a stick.

A shiver runs up his spine at Valoren’s little trick, and it’s not the electricity Apollo’s feeling. Not the energy kind, at least. “Did you ever actually intend on letting me leave?” he asks. Not that it matters. Apollo had only meant to get away from Valoren—he hadn’t really thought of where he was headed for the night.

—

"Of course not," Valoren laughs. "You were always on a leash, whether you saw it or not. Now, come along, back to your kennel." His perfectly pointed nails dig into Apollo's hand.

“Woof,” Apollo says, rolling his eyes. He lets himself be dragged along, trying not to think about how cool Valoren’s hand is in his palm. He runs hot, what can he say. “Do you keep many pets?”

—

"Besides you? Just one: Simon. He's a gremishka, but before you worry about the potential hazards of a magic user owning such a volatile little beast, know that he is utterly unique." Valoren he swings Apollo's hand in his, as though they were young lovers rather than the most deadly man in the city and his abductee.

"I adopted him over a year ago now; when I first rescued him, he went beyond merely liking me - he seemed to attune to me. Something about my magic altered his, and now he's as electric as I am! And about as stable, too. Which isn't particularly stable, mind you, but at least I'm able to predict his outbursts!" Valoren smiles with affection; he's clearly fond of the gremishka. "Oh, and he's got wings, too. And you won't need a spell to speak with him. Really, he's more familiar than pet."

—

“He’s not going to be invisible, will he? I’d rather not be fried to a crisp because I accidentally sat on an invisible cat.” It’s a cool, peaceful evening in Baldur’s Gate—rare for such a place. It’s cliche, sure, but it feels like the whole city is holding its breath. Strangely, strolling through the city hand-in-hand with a man Apollo barely knows feels familiar. It would almost be comforting, if it weren’t for the omnipresent threat of being electrocuted.

—

“He’s only invisible when he needs to be,” Valoren chuckles. “Never you worry your handsome head about that.” Val, on the other manicured hand, is completely at ease here in Apollo’s presence. The man warm, and tall, and even though Valoren is the one who was just defending him, he can’t help but feel safe by his side. It’s the opposite of how the Emperor makes him feel, he notes idly. The Emperor, with whom everything is a game or a test or a ploy. Who is his equal in the way a matched pair of blades were equals. Whereas Apollo is my equal in the way two perfect halves are equal. Valoren isn’t sure where that thought came from, but it feels right.

He rests his head on Apollo’s shoulder. The hunter has the typical adventurer smell — leather armor, blade oil, bow wax, and other less pleasant things — but beyond that, there’s a hint of citrus and fresh grass, and… he smells like sunshine. Valoren feels his heart flip in his chest as he notices this, and he gets a thrill like the high after a battle. He can’t name the feeling, but it makes him wish he could cling to Ap— to it, the feeling, forever.

—

There’s something gentle, vulnerable even in the way Valoren leans his head on Apollo’s shoulder that the latter was not expecting. Everything about the man, from the way he spoke to the way to he moved, was so clearly calculated. Performed to perfection for manipulation. Apollo respects it. But he can call a spade a spade.

Apollo’s first instinct is to label this action much the same. A false show of vulnerability. But a new feeling washes over him the same way the moonlight bathes the two of them in its glow. It feels genuine and true. Apollo’s not even sure if Valoren fully realizes that he’s doing it. But it feels right. As if they were two long distance lovers meeting again, easily falling into their old routines like instinct.

Valoren should feel like danger. To Apollo’s alarm, he feels like home instead.

—

By the time they arrive back at the Rose & Portent, the tavern is dark and quiet. Valoren lets them into the villa through the back door.

“Simon! I’m home!” he calls softly. There’s a skittering of claws, a flapping of wings, and then a suddenly visible gremishka is sailing through the air at Valoren. It’s clearly not the first time he’s done this, because Valoren has already reached out to catch him. He lets out a grunt as the overgrown rat collides with him. Nonetheless, he manages to keep ahold of the now loudly purring gremishka.

“Simon, we have a guest,” Valoren informs him. “Meet Apollo. Apollo, meet Simon.” The creature cracks open one glowing cyan eye, inspecting Apollo shrewdly. Then he wriggles out of Valoren’s arms and drops to the ground. One tentative sniff at Apollo is all it takes before he’s entwining around the man’s legs, purring even louder.

“Strange,” Valoren smiles at Apollo. “He doesn’t usually enjoy having guests — but he certainly likes you.”

“Well, duh,” Simon says, and headbutts Apollo’s shin affectionately. “About time you found him.”

Valoren pauses. “Pardon?”

“I mean, really! It certainly took you long enough.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?!”

“Meow,” says Simon, smug as all hells. Valoren rolls his eyes.

“I’ll get answers out of you yet, sky-rat,” he declares. “But for now, I’m exhausted. Lifting a finger for once has given me a headache.” He massages his temple, wincing in what appears to be more pain than he’s letting on. Then he turns to Apollo. “The guest suite is just down this hallway. You’ll find everything is clean, and you’re welcome to help yourself to any amenities. The dial in the bath is for water temperature, and the second handle is for if you wish to take a shower. Also, please do not open the windows; they are alarmed, and I’d prefer not to be woken up because you wanted a spot of fresh air. You can rest easy, though, knowing you’re in the most warded room in the house — moreso even than mine.” Valoren yawns, revealing his fangs. “If you need anything, my door is upstairs at the end of the hallway. Sleep well, Apollo.”

Having bid goodnight, Valoren and Simon leave. It’s only a few hours later that Apollo’s room is broken into by a certain sneaky gremishka.

“Psst! Wake up, Liakada!” Simon whispers, using his claws to drag the covers off Apollo. “Master Valoren needs you! Wake up!”

—

Apollo really, really hopes Simon doesn’t try the invisible divebombing thing on him. “Hey,” he says tentatively, reaching down to pet the creature when it’s clear he won’t be zapped to a crisp.

“You talk?!” he asks, astonished more so by Simon’s intelligent speech than his odd “about time you found him” statement. Cats—er, and adjacent beasts—tend to be cryptic like that.

Apollo nods his thanks to Valoren before heading to the guest suite. It’s neat and cozy. Worse places to be functionally imprisoned, I suppose, Apollo thinks disgruntedly.

One very long bath and several hours later, Apollo nearly jumps out of his skin as Simon wakes him up. “Wh—wha—” He stares at the gremishka. “Me? My name is Apollo.”

He glances at the windows: it’s still dark out. He can’t hear anything, which means nobody’s broken in…what on earth could be the matter?

“Okay,” he mutters, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Simon paces, clearly denoting the urgency of his request. “Do I need a weap—” The gremishka turns and darts out of the room as soon as Apollo is upright, which he takes to mean that there’s no immediate threat. Before he can think twice or even put a shirt on, Apollo’s running after Simon.

Luckily for everyone involved, Valoren’s room is unlocked, and no traps go off when Apollo eases the door open and steps inside.

—

Simon is sitting at Valoren’s opposite side, making sad little mews. There’s something glowing in the darkness, and Valoren’s head looks… odd. His skin is almost translucent, veins black as his skull is illuminated from within, and a rippling haze surrounds his head. It’s evident that he’s experiencing some sort of psychic attack… but from inside.

“He won’t wake up.” Simon paws at Valoren’s chest, but the man doesn’t stir. “He’s trapped in his own mind. I cannot link mine to his when he’s like this, for fear of an outburst, but you can. It will be dangerous, and unpleasant, but you have to help him!” Simon is clearly in distress. “If you touch his skin, you’ll be pulled in. Please help him. Please!”

—

“I don’t think I’m qualified f—” Apollo bites his lip. For someone who just conjured a tiny localized thunderstorm in an alleyway just a few hours ago, Valoren looks so small. And vulnerable.

“I—shit. I really shouldn’t have made that Fool joke,” Apollo grumbles before kneeling next to Valoren’s bed and pressing his palm to the man’s face.

Apollo can’t help but let out a bark of surprise as he’s sucked into some sort of alternate landscape. He’s standing on a tall sand dune, looking down into the eye of a storm. In the middle is Valoren, desperately trying to hold his own against…some sort of terrible long creature with too many teeth.

“Valoren!” Apollo calls, but obviously the man can’t hear him. “Ah, fuck. Shit.” Apollo pulls his mask up over his nose and shields his eyes before plunging headfirst into the storm.

He’s running blind for what feels like ages, but was likely only a handful of minutes. Keep going straight, he tells himself. Even if you miss the eye, you’ll come out on the other end. To his immense relief, when he can feel the storm winds let up, he’s standing in a clearing across from Valoren, who looks like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack.

“What the hell is going on h—” The sands underneath Apollo’s feet shift. It’s only thanks to his ranger’s reaction time that he manages to throw himself to the side and narrowly avoid being devoured by what looked like a giant, tentacled worm. “Valoren, what the fuck—!”

—

Valoren feels the storm he’s conjured shift around him, and a beam of sunlight shines down, spotlighting… Apollo?!

“Why are you here?” Valoren cries. The storm carries his desperate voice to Apollo’s ears. “This is my battle, my price to pay! I can’t protect you here!” Though he says this, the storm has adapted to bring Apollo more securely into its eye, shielding him. Valoren is forced to bring his attention back to the fight as the Aboleth lunges at him. A bolt of lightning misses the creature by just a hair, turning the sand to glass where it strikes. Valoren is forced to dodge, the winds that hold him aloft jerking him out of the way. This is a far cry from the control he displayed in the waking world, mere hours prior. Then, he was a conduit. Now, he’s barely a weather vane.

—

“Your cat asked me! Also, you looked like you were having a tough time,” Apollo shouts. “And if you don’t make it to killing those Bhaalists, I’m dead anyway, so I can’t really leave you to die at the hand of a mind demon!” He ducks to avoid Valoren’s lightning, skidding to a stop in the sand.

Apollo moves like a blur, firing arrows at the monster. It bellows angrily as his shots find their mark, lodging into its mouth and what Apollo assumes are its eyes.

All that seems to do is anger the creature instead of slow it down, though. In the blink of an eye, it’s moved towards Apollo, punting him aside like a doll. “Fuck!”

—

Valoren acts without thinking, catching Apollo in a cusion of wind and whisking him into the wall of the storm. It’s like he’s coccooned in the air — a pocket of peace inside the midst of the tempest, inside a sunlit secondary eye.

Valoren realizes that now, he can’t just keep holding on until he wakes up. He isn’t the only one that has to survive this now. Fighting a war of attrition isn’t going to work anymore. He has to win.

The Aboleth goes to ground again, and Valoren lets himself drop to the sand. Falling to his knees, he summons the strength he didn’t know he had. From his position from within the eye wall, Apollo would see the ground start to ripple, as charged particles of sand begin to move. Soon, small currents of electricity race across the dunes, leaping above the surface in small arcs. They seem to be coalescing on one spot. And just as the energy looks as if it’s about to boil over, the Aboleth erupts from the sand. As soon as it touches the air, the creature is turned into a glorified electrical wire; a blinding pillar of lightning cracks down from the skies to strike the Aboleth. Electricity wracks its body, and it writhes in the air, unleashing a horrible psychic scream. Valoren is undaunted as he continues fueling the storm, channeling lightning up and through the Aboleth.

As the monster is electrocuted, the dream starts to flicker; the thing’s hold over Valoren’s mind is waning. A final surge, and Valoren sits up in bed with a gasp.

—

The impact knocks all the wind (ha) out of Apollo, and it takes him a moment to recover and realize what’s happened—just in time to watch Valoren absolutely thrash the Aboleth. The wind howls, the electricity backlighting Valoren in such a way that his shadow reaches all the way across the dunes.

Apollo snaps neatly back into his body as Valoren sits up. “That’s the second time you’ve saved my ass in one day,” he says with a halfhearted smile.

—

Valoren is taking in great, shuddering gasps of air as the glow around his head fades away, leaving them in darkness — save for Simon’s cyan eyes.

“Would that I could take credit for this second occasion. This time, it’s my own fault your life was endangered in the first place.” Valoren looks to Apollo, and either it’s a trick of the light, or there’s a faint illumination to his eyes, too. “So I really do believe that it’s I who owes you a debt of gratitude. You saved me, Apollo.”

Simon, who’s purring on Valoren’s lap, stands up and unfurls his wings.

“I’m leaving to hunt before the sun returns. Apollo, may entrust Valoren to you?”

—

“Uh—I suppose,” Apollo says, giving the cat a look of bewilderment. You just met me, he thinks, but Simon has already demonstrated knowledge far beyond a regular creature of his ken, so maybe Apollo should stop questioning things.

“I…I’m just glad you’re okay,” Apollo responds. “Does this happen often?”

—

Valoren watches Simon scamper off, bemused. He knew damn well that the bastard has already hunted just after dusk. What was he up to?

He flops back to the bed, letting out a heavy sigh as he stares at the ceiling. "Not often, no," Valoren says carefully. "Only when I'm alone." He turns his head to face Apollo, regarding him with half-lidded eyes. His heart rate is returning to normal after the dire ordeal.

—

"Oh." Apollo had forgotten about Valoren's partner. He scrambles to stand up. "I--sorry. I assume your partner is away?" How could he have forgotten? Apollo's not usually the type to let his dick do the thinking for him, but Valoren has been a bit of an overwhelming experience. Which he supposes was the point. He should've put on a shirt.

—

"Don't go." Valoren's voice is soft, and quiet, and small. "I want you to stay. Please."

It hits Valoren then: he's never wanted anything before. Never hoped for anything. Never asked for anything. But his heart aches with a deep and powerful yearning that goes past being a want. He needs Apollo to stay with him, in a way he's never needed anyone or anything before in his life.

And that terrifies him.

Apollo is so careful. He's always assessing the situation, erring on the side of caution. He's an adventurer, sure, but he's more risk-adverse than most. He's already knee-deep in a sticky situation without getting personally involved with Valoren Stormcrow. He knows he could simply walk away from this. That he should. Save himself a lot of grief down the road.

But he already knows deep down that there is no timeline in which he would have walked out that door.

"Okay."

—

Relief washes over Valoren, warming his body like he'd just stepped into the daylight. It's one simple word, but it's so much more than that. He was going to stay.

Valoren pulls back the covers as an invitation. He shivers involuntarily as the cool air hits his body; though he's wearing nightclothes, they're pitifully thin.

The smile he offers Apollo, slight though it may be, is entirely genuine. He can't remember the last time he's given someone a real smile.

—

"I better not wake up with your partner's knife at my throat," Apollo says, slipping under the covers. It doesn't feel awkward or strange at all, just...calming. And cozy as fuck--being in the upper echelons of Baldurians has its perks, which includes the softest sheets Apollo has ever laid in.

—

"Not something you need to worry about," Valoren assures him. "Even if by some unlikely event he should return early, unbeknownst to me, I didmake a promise to protect you."

Valoren rolls over, curling himself around Apollo's body. He drapes his arm over the man's chest, and his leg over one of Apollo's. It happens so easily, as natural as anything. And by his grandmother's fiery red hair, it feels so warm. Not only in comparison to his usual illithid bedfellow, but in comparison to the others Valoren had bed before him. The man is a veritable heater to be pressed against, and Valoren has never felt more at home.

Valoren nestles his head in the crook of Apollo's neck, drawing in a deep, contented breath. Even now, in the middle of the night, he still smells like sunshine.

Apollo briefly stiffens a little, not expecting the cuddling, before quickly relaxing. Rich Baldurians tend to smell loud and cloying, their perfume an extension of their showy selves. Valoren is certainly more subtle, but the way he smells at night is almost softer, more floral. God, he smells good. And it just feels so natural to hold him, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. Apollo drifts off to sleep with the smell of Valoren's shampoo in his nose.

He wakes up slowly, instead of with a start like he's used to. Something about feeling safe, he supposes. Valoren isn't wrapped around him like last night, but when Apollo looks to the side, the man is already awake, watching him. Once again, some action or mannerism that Apollo should find creepy instead comes off as endearing. "Good morning," he says, amused.

—

That angelically husky voice is going to be the end of Valoren Stormcrow. His heart skips a beat, and he finds himself smiling without really intending to.

“Good morning, Merry Sunshine,” he greets. Finally, he’s able to brush away that errant strand of golden hair that’s been bothering him to see. Valoren had tried to count Apollo’s freckles while he slept, but much like the stars, they were innumerable. So instead he did as one does when looking up at the cosmos, and found meaning in the patterns. Outlook very good.

Valoren lingers there a moment longer before sitting up, stretching his arms into the air with a chorus of crackles and pops. His joints really shouldn’t be making those noises, least of all at his age, but he’s gotten used to it by now. He exhales with a huff and spills out of bed.

Now, what to wear for the day? Something a little fancy and imposing, but still appropriate for casual activities about the town, and of course it has to be seductive. He ponders this puzzle as he strips out of his pajamas and dons his studded leather armor, which while rather plain by default, can take the appearance of whatever clothing he wishes. Valoren snaps his fingers to cycle through several outfits before his full length mirror. Eventually he chooses a loose navy blouse tucked into a black corset, paired with dark leather pants that leave very little to the imagination, and a set of heeled knee-high boots. Satisfied, he turns to Apollo. “Well, darling? What do you think?”

—

Apollo blinks, still a little sleepy and having been thoroughly engrossed in watching Valoren dress. “What’s the occasion?” He asks, reluctantly peeling himself away from Valoren’s comfy-ass bed. Apollo meanders over to stand behind Valoren, examining the man’s reflection in the mirror. “It certainly does suit you.” Apollo sweeps his hands down Valoren’s sides to briefly hold his waist, admiring the way it looks in the corset. Whether it’s a mix of sleepiness or some other delusion encouraging his audacity, Apollo doesn’t know.

“Does the Fool have errands to run? Meetings to attend? Children to eat, according to the rumors?”

—

A tingle runs up Valoren’s spine at the touch. Without meaning to, he leans back into it. “Why, the occasion is you, Honey.” He winks at Apollo’s reflection. Gods, even in his bedhead and boxers, he’s fucking perfect.

“And the Fool will not be making an appearance today. Master Stormcrow, however, has some eavesdropping to do in two different taverns, which you are naturally invited to join him for.” Valoren places his hands over Apollo’s. “But that’s later in the day. Until the sun reaches its apex, I am all yours.”

—

It’s just so easy to believe him when Valoren looks at Apollo that way, winks at him and uses those sweet little terms of endearment. There are a few moments when Apollo can tell Valoren’s being honest and vulnerable, like the moon peeking through the clouds, but then his demeanor changes and he can no longer tell. It’s worse than if Valoren had been deceitful the whole way through—at least Apollo would have been sure of the rules of the game. Now, he has no idea if they’re even still playing.

Apollo moves away from Valoren, suddenly unsure of himself. “Well, I had plans, but I doubt you’ll want to join me for them, little lordling.” He moves towards the door, intending to return to the guest room and get dressed. “I can’t imagine you would find trudging through the sewers a desirable activity?”

—

“The sewers?! If I didn’t know better, why, I would think you’d chosen such a noxious location in an attempt to ditch me!” Valoren trails after him; the kitchen is in vaguely the same direction. “But that would mean you’d forgotten the lengths I’ve gone to for this fair city. Considering both the Guild Hall and the temple of Bhaal are down there, I’ve had ample reason to frequent the sewers. You must recall: I’m an adventurer, just like you.”

The two reach the fork in the hallway where they must be parted for now.

“I shall be accompanying you, darling. But first, I’ll make us a hearty breakfast. Do come down when you’re ready.”

Valoren makes his way into the kitchen. He decides to put on some music; what can he say, he’s in a good mood. He whips up a batch of oatmeal, which he garnishes with brown sugar and his signature spice blend. The frittata, made with bacon, spinach, and no small amount of cheese, is just going in the oven when Apollo appears. Valoren doesn’t notice his presence at first; he’s too busy flitting about the kitchen, singing along to the music. ”I’ve got the world on a string, sittin’ on a rainbow…”

—

Apollo spent a little more time getting ready than he usually would, trying to get his shit together before facing Valoren again. Being confronted with the man himself cooking breakfast while singing like a little bird undoes all that work immediately.

“Something smells good,” Apollo manages, meandering into the kitchen. “I didn’t know you had a talent for cooking.”

—

Valoren's singing ends with a squeak as he's startled out of his reverie. He closes the oven, which gives him time to hide his mortified expression, and turns back to face Apollo.

"Besides you, Sunshine?" he grins, tilting his head. "And I wouldn't say talent so much as skill. It's the sort of thing one learns how to do when one grows up helping out in the tavern's kitchen," Valoren shrugs. "The frittata will be another ten minutes, but if you're hungry now, the oatmeal should be done."

Valoren wipes his hands on his apron - which is a rather amusing accessory, given the rest of his outfit - and walks over to fetch the bowls from the shelf. Aw, shit. Usually he had the Emperor to grab these for him, or his telekinesis if he was alone, but now, well... he's come up short.

—

“I usually eat oatmeal anyway. Easiest thing to make when you’re on the road.” Gods, that squeak was adorable.

“Oh, that’s right. The Rose & Portent used to be owned by Moralynn Stormcrow,” Apollo muses. He wonders what Valoren’s childhood was like growing up in Baldur’s Gate. The idea of a precocious little Valoren running around the tavern is a heartwarming thought.

He watches Valoren fumble for a moment, amused, before moving over to the shelf. “I’ve got it,” he says, gently guiding Valoren with a hand on the small of his back. Apollo retrieves the bowls with little difficulty and offers them to Valoren.

—

Valoren sincerely hopes he’s not blushing as vibrantly as he suspects, but given his tendency to turn bright pink down to the tips of his ears on the once-a-blue-moon occasions he’s embarrassed, he’s not optimistic.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, looking down at the bowls — and nearly dropping them anyway. Futuo hells, Valoren, get your shit together! Unfortunately, he’s unable to summon up his usual mask. He elects to retreat instead, scampering past Apollo to the pot of oatmeal.

“You’ll find my recipe is much more delicious than whatever gruel you choke down on the road,” Valoren says, filling the two bowls. “If you’re wondering about the spice blend, it’s a Stormcrow secret; I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. Or marry you. Gods, I don’t know which you’d find worse!” Valoren, you prattling FOOL. Why in Asmodeus’ infernal name did you add the part about marriage?! And WHY are you worrying about it now?!!

He turns back to Apollo. The idea of activating his invisibility ring and making a break for it is growing more appealing by the moment.

—

He’s just so godsdamned cute. Is Valoren doing this on purpose?! The way he’s scrambling around and doing his best to hide his face says otherwise.

His fingers brush against Valoren’s as he takes a bowl from him. “Well, I don’t know. Can your partner fight?” he asks jokingly. “Because this smells heavenly.”

—

Valoren stares at Apollo. One can almost see the gears spinning freely behind his eyes, not catching on a damn thing. Finally something clicks.

"Not as well as me." The words are spilling out of Valoren's mouth before he even has time to register that it's open. Oh, you fucked up, Valoren. You really fucked up this time.

—

Apollo was in the middle of his first bite of oatmeal when Valoren said that, his eyes widening. He coughs a little and quickly swallows down the oatmeal so he doesn’t choke—not the most graceful maneuver, but at least he doesn’t make a fool of himself. It is good oatmeal…

“I…” He coughs to cover up the sudden awkwardness. “I have no doubt.” What does that mean??? Oh Gods, am I breaking up a year-long relationship after a single night? Does he mean that? He can’t possibly mean that. “I’m…er…flattered?” What he really wants to say is: I’d like to see that.

—

"You may very well see it yet," Valoren chuckles darkly. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. And these transgressions were quickly amounting to more than pocket change. "If I can't defend my mind well enough when he returns, then I will very quickly find myself defending either one or both of us from attempted murder! You ever fought a mind flayer before?"

—

Apollo blinks. “I…did you just…” Having his mind read is uncommon: usually Apollo can tell immediately when someone is probing into his mind and keep them out. But this time, either Valoren had thrown him so off guard he hadn’t noticed, or…some part of his mind wanted the man to head his thoughts.

“Hold on, your partner is a mind flayer?” Apollo asks, his oatmeal soon forgotten. He stands up as he has a realization. He’s been a godsdamned fool. The chemistry, the sense of safety and belonging, none of that was real. It was all mind flayer tricks. No ordinary human could have displayed the level of power Apollo saw last night. Fuck, I’ve really gotten myself into deep shit this time, he thinks, backing away from Valoren.

He knew it was too good to be true.

—

"Apollo?" Valoren's voice is only a whisper. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe. He wants to say more, but finds his words are out of reach. He can do nothing but watch, paralyzed, as Apollo is slipping away before him like the last rays of sunlight. Gods, I can't live in the dark again.

—

“Are you…? Was any of this…?” Was any of this real? Apollo’s eyes ask. His mouth doesn’t make it there, through. Stupid. A mind flayer would never be honest with you.

He has to go. He has to get out of here, away from this man that he just can’t seem to say no to, away from the first person to have made him feel this way in years. No, to have made him feel something even more. Something he didn’t even know was possible. Maybe it never was possible.

Apollo can’t even pretend that he wants to leave. But he forces himself to go anyway. If he looks at Valoren a moment longer, he knows he won’t have the strength to go. To his relief, Valoren doesn’t attempt to stop him as he bolts down the hallway, throws everything back into his pack and beelines for the door.

Apollo’s halfway across the city by the time he stops to catch his breath, paranoid that Valoren is following him. When he’s at least halfway sure that he isn’t being followed, he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

Maybe he had acted rashly. He hadn’t even given Valoren a chance to explain himself, and he had let Apollo go without a fuss. He just can’t stop replaying moments from last night in his head, the brief bits of what he thought was the Fool without his mask. Could a mind flayer really have fooled him so well? Apollo’s mind says yes, but the rest of him feels deeply unsettled, like he’s made a terrible mistake.

Out of instinct, Apollo’s hand goes to his neck to touch the locket. It’s always given him comfort, and the clarity of mind to think through tough situations when his emotions are running high. Its presence is soothing.

It’s not there.

Frantically, he digs through his clothes, pockets, and pouches. No, no, no… Apollo groans and throws his head back in exasperation when he remembers where he last saw it. On the nightstand in Valoren’s guest room. He can’t leave the city without it. It’s the last piece of her that Apollo has.

He’s going to have to go back.

—

Valoren was never going to jump.

But he has been considering letting himself fall.

Sitting here on the roof, he feels himself displaced in time. On how many other nights had he sat above the skyline in the bitter cold, counting stars until the dawn came and erased them? It’s strange, though; tonight, no matter how he searches, he cannot find so much as a sliver to indicate where the moon may have been.

He leans back, letting his head rest against the hard slate. It had been a simple matter to get up here. Unlike all those years spent powerless and alone, now... now he can fly.

It doesn’t hurt, he tells himself. He’s happy now that he has power. He feels fulfilled, not empty inside.

He knows that he’s lying. But what is an actor without an audience? Who is he without his mask?

Valoren Nothing.

Trixia’s pet name for him springs to his mind, providing the answer he was trying to avoid.

Tears prick at his eyes. He does not cry, but they spill down his cheeks regardless, falling like rain. He clenches his jaw, trying to push them back down, but it’s like fighting against the tide.

Worse than worthless. Less than useless. Valoren Nothing.

He fails to hold back a sob. How fucking pathetic does he have to be, crying over this? He shouldn’t cry. He doesn’t need to. Doesn’t deserve to.

Valoren swallows hard, painfully choking down the lump in his throat. He is fine. He has to be fine. He cannot be anything other than perfectly. Fucking. Fine.

And yet, no amount of deceit can cure his need for air. He’s so careful when he exhales, but the breath still bursts forth as another desperate, wretched sob.

Valoren Nothing. Valoren Nothing. Valoren Nothing. VALOREN NOTHING.

He can no longer suppress his collapse, but at least he can keep it quiet. His fingers claw into his knees as he grasps himself like a life preserver. Silent screams rip from his throat and take his breath with them. Though he drags the air back, his lungs never stay full for long. He’s drowning beneath stormy seas, suffocating above mountain peaks. He is lost and he is alone and he is nothing, he is Valoren Nothing, he is—

A noise from the room below stops him in his tracks. Simon had left to hunt, and the Emperor was far out of reach. From this place above the balcony, Valoren catches his breath and holds it. If he could keep it all in, just this once…

Of course he can’t keep it in. His cries spew forth, finally erupting into hiccuping sobs.

Where is it? Where is it?! Apollo knows he doesn’t have much time—the house appears empty, but at this time of night, it won’t stay that way for long. Valoren must be returning soon, not to mention his…mind flayer partner. Apollo can’t tell if the shudder that runs through him is of revulsion or jealousy. Revulsion. It’s disgust, right? Part of him, the traitorous, awful heart that beats in Apollo’s chest, wishes Valoren had been home. Wishes Valoren would walk in and catch him right now.

Apollo simply cannot find it. He’s turning the whole room upside down, and it’s nowhere to be found. I can’t just leave without it, he thinks, desperate. If he loses both the locket and Valoren, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. And Valoren? Can a mind flayer’s influence remain for a time after getting away from it, or is Apollo truly just going insane?

It’s insanity, apparently. Because when he hears a noise from above, his first instinct isn’t to cut and run. It’s to stand up straight and strain to hear where the noise came from.

It’s sobbing, coming from the roof. Apollo had meant to tell Valoren that someone could have snuck onto his roof using the gutter outside the guest room’s balcony, but, well. He hadn’t gotten the chance, obviously.

And it’s Valoren. Apollo can tell immediately. It’s an awful, terrible cry, the kind that sounds the way heartbreak feels. It’s been a few hours now, and Apollo’s had time to think. And plot. And overthink. Had he been too hasty? Had a life spent constantly looking over his shoulder finally caught up to him? Was he making a mistake?

Apollo quietly creeps to the open window. The sobbing is much louder, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take. Does he want to do this? Is it worth the risk?

His arms and legs are already moving before his head has decided. If this is where I die, then so be it. Just call him the idiot who fell in love with a mind flayer after a single night, then. And they didn’t even fuck.

“Valoren…?”

—

Valoren actually gasps. To hear that honeyed voice say his name was the only solace he'd ever known. And by some miracle, it had returned to him. Apollo had returned to him. He wants to say something, to claim to be fine, but he can't even control his voice enough to lie.

And then Apollo is pulling himself onto the roof, and then he's in Apollo's arms, and he can't stop crying. Apollo holds him tightly as he's battered by crashing waves of emotion. Now, though. Now he can at least see the shore.

"I'm here, okay?" Apollo's voice is muffled as he presses his lips to Valoren's hair. "You're not alone. I've got you."

From anyone else, Valoren would have spat on the placating words. From Apollo, he believes them.

His throat is raw when he finally runs out of tears. Trying to catch his breath, he sniffles. With shaking hands, he fumbles for his handkerchief, and dries his eyes.

The skin feels bare without a mask.

—

"I'm sorry I left without giving you a chance to explain," Apollo murmurs. "I panicked, you know? It just...feels too right." He clears his throat a little. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone. What happened while I was gone?"

—

“I…” Valoren croaks. He clears his throat. “I tried to carry on without you. And found that I could not.” Valoren looks up to Apollo's face, stars in his eyes. "But you came back for me. You actually came back, and you found me up here." Valoren squeezes Apollo's body, as though trying to make sure he's real, and that he's not leaving again. "...Thank you."

—

"Were you going to..." Apollo decides not to finish the question, instead electing to hold Valoren tighter. "I'm here to stay. I swear. As long as you don't eat my brains in my sleep, that is," he jokes halfheartedly.

"I don't mean to pry, but...you live with a mind flayer? Why?"

—

The half-question takes Valoren by surprise. He knows? He cares?

Then the question Apollo actually asks catches him off guard again, and he lets out a huff that may have been intended as a laugh.

“Because when you’ve never been fed affection from a spoon, you learn to lick it off a knife? Because he is a knife, just as sharp and cruel as I’ve honed myself to become? Because he frightens me, and I mistook the heart-race of fear for love? Because I’ve lived so long in the dark, I thought the morning star was the brightest thing I’d ever see? Because I didn’t know what love felt like, until I knew you.”

With each word that pours out of him, his voice steadies. By the time he reaches the last sentence, he knows he’s finally found the certainty of truth.

—

Apollo’s lower lip wobbles. Never in his life has he ever been confronted with such naked sincerity. “You just keep surprising me,” he whispers, gently stroking Valoren’s hair. “I don’t know what to expect from you, but somehow we always end up in the same place. Does that make sense?”

Apollo fiddles nervously with a strand of midnight-black hair, admiring the way it shines in the moonlight. “I’m scared,” he admits. “Not of you, but…how you make me feel. I’ve never trusted anyone this fast, much less fallen in love with them. And I don’t know if I can give you what you want from me.” Valoren has everything: power, beauty, stability. What can Apollo give him but a fluffy feeling? Does Valoren feel the solidness of their connection the way Apollo does?

—

Valoren has his face buried in Apollo’s chest, and he turns his head to speak. “You don’t have to explain. It makes perfect sense — I feel it too. Like we’ve been here before. Like I missed you.” Valoren smiles. “I should be scared. I know that much. If not scared of you, then at least scared for you. Because being by my side is not the protected sanctuary I initially led you to believe. It’s the eye of a hurricane. That tempest has fallen stormchasers by the dozen: good people, powerful people, people who were so sure they could survive being struck by lightning. They could not. But what we have here… I’m not sure what you were hoping to catch, but now you’ve got lightning in a bottle.”

—

They really shouldn’t be getting away with it, honestly. But Valoren has learned a thing or two from having an illithid parasite in his mind for this past year — and having another one by his side. The latter is easily deceived when he calls from the scrying mirror to announce his departure from Silverymoon, and his habitual psychic probes upon his arrival are met with subtle deflections or false memories. Of course, it helps Valoren having Apollo’s mythril mind to support him where his own falters. Together, they’re able to conceal Apollo’s existence from the Emperor, right up until the day of the inauguration.

So why does Valoren feel so uneasy about it?

The Fool is glamouring himself before the event when the Emperor enters his dressing room, disguised in his helmed Guardian armor. To Valoren’s credit, he doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash at the mind flayer’s visit.

“Hello, love,” he greets easily. “What can I do for you?”

Tell me the truth, the mind flayer replies telepathically. You are hiding something. I would prefer to see it revealed by your own admission, but if the need arises, I will take it from your mind myself.

“Hiding something? What, besides the surgation I have at seeing you in that armor?” he jokes. It’s a simple matter to push lust to the forefront of his thoughts, obscuring the rest of his psyche. “Really, though, you have nothing to worry about — from me, anyway. I can hardly blame you for harboring apprehension about this event; you know better than anyone how I myself have been paranoid about it.” Placating feelings aren’t hard to conjure, and the undercurrent of anxiety beneath them is real.

The Emperor, for his part, is an inscrutable bulwark. Valoren has no warning when he lashes out. The telepathic assault is meant to shatter his mind’s defenses in a single strike. But Valoren has ever been quick to react, and instead of trying to block the blow, he absorbs it. The mental spear flies forward, meeting none of the anticipated resistance. And Valoren spies an opportunity. The Emperor, in his hubris, has overextended himself, and though he tries to draw back from the failed attack, it's far too late for that.

The Emperor told Valoren once that his mind was electric. Now, Valoren brings that full galvanic power to bear as he sends wave after wave of energy into the Emperor's exposed mind, shocking him into paralysis.

A wild laugh escapes from Valoren's lips as the illithid spasms before him. The Emperor's frantic mental flailing grows more pathetic with each volt that wracks his brain, and before long, he's writhing on the floor.

And then he goes still. And the Emperor of Baldur's Gate is felled not by a foe, but his "lover."

—

Apollo is off like a shot as soon he senses it, beelining for Valoren’s room. Of course, he doesn’t doubt Valoren, but as a man besotted, he worries. He gets there just in time, weapon drawn, to watch Valoren advance on the writhing Emperor, laughing in a crazy, kind of unhinged way that concerningly makes Apollo’s heart swell with affection.

“Is it…?” Apollo questions as the illithid finally goes still.

—

“Dead?” Valoren finishes. As the pair look on, the mind flayer’s glamour dissolves, revealing the monster that he always was. “Why, yes! I daresay he is.” Valoren nudges the corpse with his boot, which elicits a residual zap, but no movement. “Do keep an eye on the door, would you? I’m going to dispose of the body. I knew I brought my Disintegrate spell scroll for a reason!” Valoren is unnervingly jovial for somebody who’s just murdered his partner of over a year, but what can he say? He’s finally happy.

Valoren plucks the spell scroll from his bag of holding, and moments later, the body is a pile of fine grey dust. A tiny gust of wind carries it neatly into the trash can.

“There! Now that that’s that,” Valoren clasps his hands together, “I believe we have an inauguration to attend, a cultist insurrection to combat, and a city to save once again.” He tilts his head, and that nefarious spark of genius ignites in his eyes. “Unless…” There is a storm brewing behind that lavender gaze, and it’s shaping up to be Category 6. “I do have one idea.”

—

Apollo also gets in a kick on the corpse before Valoren dissolves it. “I’m just glad you are unscathed.” He moves forward to hold Valoren’s face in his hands, partially to check that he’s alright, mostly because he just needs to hold him. To ensure this isn’t some waking fantasy.

Apollo’s eyes widen as he takes in Valoren’s Scheming Face™, then turns to pick up the Emperor’s discarded armor before grinning. “Oh, you are devious. But are you sure there won’t be complications arising from me impersonating a mind flayer?"

—

Valoren kisses Apollo’s palm before his hand drops.

“Complications? Hardly! If even you didn’t see the Emperor for what he was until I told you, then I’m quite confident no others even have the faintest inkling! As for the two who were in on it, well…” Valoren can’t help but let out a maniacal laugh. “My mother and sister will be rather hard pressed to reveal your hand when they’re occupied with trying to kill each other!” Valoren does a giddy little shoulder shimmy that’s unbecoming of a man plotting sororicide, matricide, and several counts of good old-fashioned homicide. “After that, it will be child’s play to finish off the survivor, which with our intervention, will likely be Trixia. With the beloved would-be Archduke dead, and the villain who slew her heroically disposed of, the two of us — once we reveal our identities — will be such obvious choices for Grand Dukes that the people would be fools not to instate us instead! Gods, it’s like the city has just been served to us on a silver platter!”

He pauses, suddenly shy. “That is… if you do want to rule with me? You’re welcome to assume any position in the court that you wish. I know politics aren’t exactly your passion, so if you would rather choose a title less spotlit than Grand Duke…” He smiles gently. “Whatever position you wish to take, I will be content to simply have you at my side.”

—

Valoren’s joy is infectious as the two of them do a little waltz around the room to his supervillain-level monologue. “Shh, you don’t know who might be listening in,” Apollo says, but he’s smiling and laughing.

He lifts his arm to help Valoren do a little spin and smoothly draws him into an embrace. “It’s just that you have such a knack for these things,” he admits. “I have talents in quite a few places, but this isn’t one of them.” He takes one of Valoren’s hands in his and gently presses a kiss to the back of it. “It would be my honor to be the sword at the puppet master’s side.”

“Now, are you ready? The main event is about to begin.”

—

As Valoren lands close to Apollo, he holds there for a moment, looking up at him with sudden tenderness.

"I'm ready, but... will you promise to stay close to me during this? My sister and mother are both forces of nature on the same scale as myself, and my own storm... well, the safest place for you to be is at its eye." Valoren squeezes Apollo's hand. "I can't lose you. Not now, not after I've finally found you."

—

"You could not separate me from you with anything less than a natural disaster." Apollo plants a kiss on Valoren's forehead. "If I didn't know better, I would say you would be in danger of getting sick of me." He squeezes back. "No matter what happens out there...I won't let anything happen to you." At the cost of my own life, Apollo adds mentally, apparently forgetting that Valoren can read his mind.

—

"I l-" Valoren stops short. He clears his throat. "I'll, uh, hold you to that." He smoothes his dress robes, adjusts his cloak, and dons his mask for one final performance.

Together, the Fool and the "Emperor" walk into the throne room, their steps perfectly in sync. Moralynn's ink-black gaze darts between the pair, immediately noticing something is amiss. Valoren pulls her aside.

"Though I have done my utmost to ensure this event goes smoothly, I'd be a Fool to ignore my instincts, which so often herald danger. And so I have prepared a contingency plan. Whatever happens to day, I must ask that you trust me."

Moralynn nods.

The proceedings haven't lasted more than ten minutes before their expected uninvited guest makes her arrival. A flair for the dramatics must be a Stormcrow family trait, because Trixia's entrance is nothing short of spectacular. She soars up from the staircase on wings of fire, and swoops down the aisle, leaving a trail of embers in her wake. When she drops to the ground in front of the throne, the audience is a chorus of hushed alarm.

"Hello, Mother," Trixia sneers. The room falls silent. Then she turns to the Fool, and breaks into a grin. "And to you, little brother." A gasp rises from the crowd, followed by a swell of frantic whispers.

Valoren removes his mask, and Apollo does the same with his helm. Trixia squints in confusion at "The Emperor" before she's forced to direct her attention back to Moralynn, who's standing from her throne.

"You have no right to call me that. My daughter died in the name of the Absolute. Whatever accursed specter stands before me now, it is no family of mine."

"That's nice!" Trixia giggles. "Unfortunately, I don't really care. I'm here to speak with Valoren!"

“We’ve been through this before, sweet sister. Nothing you could say will sway my mind. Especially not now, as you stand there, intoxicated with the power of the Dead Three. Look at you, darling. You’re a wreck.”

Valoren descends the dais, lacing his next words with powerfully persuasive magic directed towards Trixia. “Now, we wouldn’t want to start a scene in the middle of Mother’s inauguration. Be a dear and leave quietly.”

Trixia sneers, dead eyes narrowing. "Clever trick, little brother. But you forget yourself.”

Valoren shrugs off her command, physically shaking his head to clear it. The moment’s distraction is all Trixia needs to strike. Instantly, her longsword is slashing at his throat. Valoren feels its heat sear his skin as he barely dodges.

Chaos ensues. The crowd erupts as some attendees produce daggers and begin attacking at random. At this cue, the windows of Wyrm’s Rock Fortress burst inwards, shattering as a host of devils surges forth.

Devils?! Shit. Not good. Still, not unfamiliar. With a commander’s instincts, Valoren takes charge. Blasting his sister backwards with a wave of thunder buys him only a moment’s time, but it’s enough.

“Moralynn, take down the devils. Emperor, defend and evacuate the civilians. I’ll see to Trixia.” Using clear instructions and magically amplifying his voice, Valoren ensures his orders will be followed. And then he turns back to his sister, who’s rising to her feet.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Trixia growls. “You have no idea what she’s going to do.”

“Wait, ‘she’? Who are you talking about?” Valoren appears to falter momentarily. While he has no intention of actually listening to his sister, conversing will buy him time to get things under control.

“Our mother, you stupid fucking mragreshem.”

“Moralynn?! She’s going to lead this city to renewed glory, that’s what she’s going to do.” Valoren can feel the storm outside building in response to his call.

“You never were the smart one, brother, but this is impressively slow, even for you.” Trixia rolls her lifeless eyes. “Who do you think helped instate me as head of the Bhaalists? Who suggested the Emperor choose you to implant with a tadpole? Who told Gortash about the Crown of Karsus and the location of the Elder Brain? And now, who steps forwards to claim the city of Baldur’s Gate, handed to her on a silver platter?”

The howling tempest outside is undeniable now.

“That may be true…” Valoren acquiesces. All according to script. And now… the rising action. “But who do you think will be sitting at her right hand when she does?”

Almost ready. Almost.

“Please. You know you don’t deserve it. So go ahead, strike me down and take my place by her side. But you know you’ll always be in my shadow, little brother, even if I’m not alive to cast it. You will NEVER escape the dark.”

A ponderous rumble of thunder shakes the building. Valoren sneers as Trixia finally appears to notice the storm.

“Oh, Trixia. Can’t you see?” He tilts his head towards Apollo, who’s shining like the Sun behind the golden invulnerability spell he’s raised. “I already have.”

Trixia’s gaze follows his gesture, just for a split second, and Valoren knows he’s not going to get a more obvious cue than this.

With a crescendo, the tempest collapses inwards. Dark clouds block out the world beyond the keep as the eye wall closes in. Half the devils are swept away in the vicious cyclone, and the rest are quickly dispatched by Moralynn. Then the would-be Archduke closes in on her two children. And for the first time in his life, Valoren finds his mother standing firmly on his side.

What a shame it’s also to be the last.

In the mayhem that follows, it’s almost too easy to catch Moralynn in the crossfire. A wide slash from Trixia, a stray arrow from Apollo, a mistimed lightning bolt from Valoren, and soon the woman who would conquer is falling weak to her knees. It’s Trixia who deals the final blow, decapitating her mother in a single clean, burning cut. She doesn’t even blink before setting her corpselike sights on Valoren.

Equal in the way a pair of matched blades are equal. Valoren’s own words echo in his mind as he brings his twin longsword up to parry Trixia’s. And so we would be, sister, if only you were loved.

Ensuring the safe escape of the civilians isn't easy, but it is helped along by the hapless guards, who quickly realize they're way in over their head and follow the civilians right out of the throne room. Good. A few less heads to take, Apollo says, mind steeled for battle. He fires arrow after arrow, his concentration perfect as he sends Bhaalist after Bhaalist into the arms of their beloved dread god.

Moralynn does an admirable job of picking off the devils, but after she falls, it's up to Apollo to pick off the rest. In between shooting off arrows, he's punching people flying and twisting necks. He hasn't had to fight like this in a long time, and he can't say he relishes in the bloodshed. But his body remembers how, and when he remembers who it's all for, nothing else matters as much as—

Valoren.

The throne room is all but deserted now, as Apollo turns back toward Valoren and Trixia's confrontation. There's a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, and while he knows he has no reason to worry for his fierce, storm-conjuring lover, he can't help himself from just...making sure.

—

Valoren hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that Trixia fought like a force of nature. Each attack is bathed in holy hellfire, with enough force behind the swings to make every swing potentially fatal. Once again, Valoren feels like he’s been sent back in time as he fights his sister. This time, though, the stakes are much higher than a broken bone or new scar. This time, he has someone to lose.

Trixia’s strikes might be powerful, but Valoren’s are fast — and even when they skate off her armor, the electricity they’re laced with still wracks her body. Valoren needs to fend her off enough to buy himself time to concentrate. With three lightning-fast strikes, culminating in a voltaic blast, Trixia is sent reeling, temporarily stunned.

Valoren summons the winds to raise him. If this worked on the cultists, it would work on their mistress. The storm closes in, the eye shrinking to a column barely 20 feet in diameter. Calling the thunder, Valoren reaches into his own mind… and feels something wrong. There’s a sickening twist inside his skull, and then Valoren’s gaze is swimming and his stomach is churning and his mind is in so much pain. As he sinks to the ground, all he knows is the torment behind his eyes, so dark and vast as to blot out the sun.

The sun… I have to protect… I must…

But his hold on the tempest is waning. Another spike of agony shoots through his skull. And thus the storm falls.

The silence is deafening.

—

There’s an arrow through Trixia’s throat before Apollo even fully realizes what’s just happened. He rushes to Valoren’s side just as the storm fizzles away.

“No, no, no…” He panicks, trying to assess the damage. Nothing physical…it must be mental. He gently lays Valoren down before rounding on Trixia, who is currently choking on her own blood.

“I’ve known you for what, twenty minutes? And I already cannot stand you,” Apollo seethes. Trixia makes an attempt to cast a spell of some kind, but Apollo simply crushes one of her hands beneath a boot.

“And twenty minutes is about all I can stand. So let’s not spend more time in each others’ presence than we have to, yeah?” Apollo kneels down next to Trixia, looking almost like a prince from a storybook as his hair catches the sunlight.

Then he puts his fist through Trixia’s face.

Her corpse hasn’t even stopped twitching before Apollo is back at Valoren’s side. “Love?” he asks softly. He’s praying that he wasn’t too late, that Trixia didn’t do any permanent damage.

—

When the pain finally recedes from Valoren's mind, it leaves a haze of confusion in its wake. There's a beautiful stranger hovering over him, and he's saying something that Valoren can't quite comprehend.

He sits up, the man's hand at his back guiding him gently. Where am I? It's daytime, and he's in some sort of keep or castle. Who are you? The man's wings suggest some sort of aasimar, but upon closer inspection, the wings look like they're made out of golden light. Are they from some sort of spell?

Then Valoren blinks, and Apollo's wings are no longer there. Or perhaps they never were.

"Hey, Sunshine," he says, smiling weakly. "What did I miss?"

Though Valoren appears unharmed, his skin has a grey tinge to it, and he's slicked with sweat. Where Apollo is touching Valoren, he feels cool and clammy - even moreso than usual. Valoren's pulse is hard to find, and it's oddly fluttery when Apollo does locate it; it's got an odd rythm, as though it has an echo.

—

“Your sister’s dead,” Apollo says, as casually as if he were describing the weather. “What happened? What did she do to you?” He frowns as he checks Valoren’s pulse and finds that everything is not as it should be.

“Something isn’t right,” Apollo says, panic rising in him. “We should get you to a cleric. Can you walk? I can carry you.”

—

"I'm fine." Valoren coughs, and it's a wet, pathetic cough that means one's lungs are full of fluid. Rising to his feet, he finds them mostly steady - though he has to lean on Apollo for support.

"I don't... I don't know what she did," Valoren says, frowning. "Or if it was... well." He has a hunch, but he dares not pay the idea any mind, lest he manifest it into fact. "Regardless, the temple of Sune is nearby. It's not the closest, but Sunite healing has always seemed to work best on me. Must be my lovely face," he winks.

On the walk to the temple, Valoren appears to perk up a little. However, his cough continues, and his hand is chill in Apollo's. They reach the beautifully edificed building before long. A young Sunite woman shows them inside, concern for Valoren's condition writ on her gorgeous face. From the way Valoren is greeted by the clergy, it's evident that he used to be a beloved community member at the temple, but hasn't visited in some time. Their escort leads them directly to the inner chambers to see the high cleric.

—

"You are not fine." Apollo snorts at the lovely face comment. Even afflicted with some mysterious ailment, Valoren can still find ways to flirt.

The journey to the temple doesn't reassure Apollo whatsoever on Valoren's condition. He all but leans on Apollo the entire way, and his skin is so, so cold to the touch. He nearly collapses in relief when the two are ushered in to see the high cleric immediately. He wants to ask a million questions, but his first priority is making Valoren comfortable.

—

The pearl-haired Drow who greets them is, at first glance, not what one might expect from a paragon Sunite; her serious, matronly confidence seems ill suited to serve such a capricious deity. But then she breaks into a delighted laugh at seeing Valoren, and the warmth she radiates is enough to dispel any misgivings Apollo may have had.

“Valley! By Her locks, it’s been too long! How did your mother’s inauguration go? I’m sorry to say that whoever sent out the invitations must have forgotten about little old me — otherwise I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!” The Drow plants a kiss on Valoren’s cheek, leaving a faint plum-colored imprint.

“Good to see you too, Amara,” Valoren beams, caught up in her good humor. “As for the inauguration, er… I’m sure you’ll hear about it in the papers tonight,” Valoren grimaces. He coughs awkwardly, which turns into a hacking fit. “I wish this were a social call, but I’m afraid I have… an ailment of sorts. Not contagious, lest you worry. Is this room currently secure?”

Amara glances to Apollo, narrowing her pale silver eyes.

“Yes, besides your bodyguard. He may use our baths while we speak, so that he might avoid leaving any of that blood on our marble.”

“Apollo stays.” Valoren grips tight to Apollo’s hand. His voice had come out a little more forceful than he’d intended to, but before he can worry about having offended his would-be healer, Amara breaks into a joyful smile.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve finally met your match!” She eyes Apollo in a different light. “Call me a hopeless romantic, but I always hoped I’d see the day! Valoren Stormcrow, the bard with hands as unholdable as water, finally finds love! I’m so happy for you — both of you!”

Valoren forces a smile, though his vision is starting to swim.

—

Apollo smiles and gives Amara as best of a bow as he can while holding Valoren. He’s infinitely glad that Valoren demands he stay, because he doesn’t know what he’d do if he were asked to leave. Probably something that would get him smote by Sune herself.

“Please,” he says to Amara. “His sister…she did something to his mind. His pulse is all strange…” Apollo gasps as Valoren slips in his grasp. “Love, you should sit down.”

—

Valoren doesn’t have the strength to resist as he’s guided to an armchair. He tries to blink away the darkness at the edges of his eyes, but that just makes everything blurry. Dimly, he becomes aware that Amara is speaking to him.

“…of what she might have done? Is it a curse of the body, the mind? Necrotic, psychic, something else?”

Valoren lets out a shaky sigh. No denying it now, was there. He remembers Gale’s lecture, all those months ago.

”Ceremorphosis. Day one: Fever, headaches, and memory loss. Day two: hallucinations and cold, greying skin. Need I go on?”

“I believe I have an illithid parasite in my head.” He clears his throat. “Rather, I know I have one. I just… believe it’s waking up.”

—

"You knew you had an illithid parasite in your head this whole time???" he asks, appalled. "Love, you should have said something! We...we could have done something earlier." Apollo gives Amara the biggest, saddest puppy eyes. "Can you cure him?"

—

Valoren looks even more confused. “I thought you knew; was that not what you were referencing when you said you were worried about me eating your brains? When I accidentally read your mind, I thought you realized…” Valoren sighs. “Regardless, I’ve done this song and dance before. It’s not the first time a mind flayer tadpole has made itself at home in my brain. The first time, commanding the Absolute to take it out was what saved me. Now…” Valoren stares at the polished floors, glaringly bright to his aching skull. “I know nothing short of the power of a god could save me.”

Valoren leans his head against his lover’s side.

“I’m sorry, Apollo. I thought we had more time. I’m so sorry.” Crying is not going to improve his headache, but still, he can barely whisper the last sentence around the lump in his throat.

—

"I...thought you were a mind flayer," Apollo admits, embarrassed.

Apollo sinks to the floor, clutching Valoren closer to him. "No, no no no. You're not—you can't give up," he begs, truly panicking now. The tears begin to flow, and he doesn't even attempt to stop or wipe them away. "We can—" He turns to Amara. "Please, we're in Sune's temple. Can't she do anything?"

—

Amara frowns, looking apprehensive. "There's nothing for it but to try, right? My healing is powerful, though it does rely on the goddess' whims. But I'm sure she'll respond for you, Valoren."

Valoren wishes he could be optimistic.

"Thanks, Amara," he says, mustering a tired smile. "All we can do is try. And pray. And hope."

Amara nods. She places an elegant hand softly on Valoren's brow, and a faint, warm light fills the room.

"Lady Firehair, hear me. Your beloved high cleric calls, and in the name of love, I beseech you to answer me. This young man - for he is so young - faces his imminent death from the illithid parasite in his skull. I pray that you should grant us a miracle. Hear my prayers. Please, remove this parasite. Give him a second chance, to live life with his beloved, in your loving name."

Though the light remains, it is the only sign of Sune's presence.

Valoren sighs. "Perhaps I should try." When nobody stops him, he begins speaking. "Hello, Sune. You of all goddesses know that I'm not a praying man. I've never had much need for them, frankly. The truth is, I haven't had reason to ask because I haven't had reason to care. I haven't wanted anything. Not for myself, not for others. But I... by the gods, by your fiery hair, by my own electrified heart, I will ask for this now. Because I care about Apollo. I want to stay by this man's side. I want to share my world with him. I want to laugh and cry and dance with him. I want to live." Valoren's voice trembles as he speaks the next words. "So please. Sune, if you can hear me. Please let me live."

There is no response.

—

Apollo doesn't get angry.

He's seen a lot. He's lost a lot of things, a lot of people. He's known anger that blotted out every corner of his mind, anger that subsumed his very being. Some times in his life, anger was as familiar as an old friend.

He doesn't let his temper get the better of him nowadays. He's learned a lot of lessons and processed plenty of grief, and he's tired of holding anger inside him. Annoyance and impatience, sure. But anger comes hand-in-hand with love, and it's been a long time since Apollo loved like when he was an angry young man.

Now, he's so furious he can barely hear himself think.

Apollo gently sets Valoren down in a sitting position before rising to his feet like an angry god. "Sune, I've never been a praying man either. And I'm not going to start today." He closes his eyes, feeling the rage roil through him. "When I lost my wife, people told me that was the gods' will. When I lost my daughter, people told me that death is simply a part of life." Apollo clenches his fist. "I never accepted these explanations. Their deaths were something I had to learn to accept on my own terms."

Apollo opens his eyes and stares defiantly into the light that he knows must be a sign of Sune's presence. "Losing Valoren is something I won't accept. I could wax poetic about how we deserve more time together, or how good he could be for Baldur's Gate. But the truth is, none of that matters to me. I want him to live because I love him." Apollo's voice grows louder as the tears flow freely down his cheeks—this time not from fear or sadness, but from fury. "I know you're listening, so cure him. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you to."

—

The light flickers like a flame. A warm, summery breeze sweeps through the room without any apparent source, carrying the scent of sweet perfume.

Valoren had always been the first to say “I love you.” And he had always been lying.

“I love you, too.”

The gentle wind turns to stir his hair, loosening the strand that has a habit of falling into his face. The light in the room coalesces into a single ember, which drifts on the wind towards Valoren. He stays perfectly still as it lands on the end of his raven lock, and begins to travel up it, like a flame through a candle wick. In its wake, the spark leaves a trail of pale ash. The strand of hair turns a luminescent platinum as the light progresses upwards. Finally, it reaches his skull, and he sinks into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

In the few moments it takes for Sune to remove the tadpole and repair the damage it wrought, Valoren feels her presence. He sees the full moon doubled beside itself, reflected in a perfectly smooth curtain of water. And then the “moons” crinkle with affection, and Valoren realizes he’s gazing into a pair of vast silver eyes. You’re here.

Always.

Valoren sits up with a gasp. He feels lighter than he has in so much time. As he looks for the source of the light, he realizes that it’s Apollo, bathed in a radiance like golden fire. Though Valoren can feel the heat, he feels drawn to Apollo like a moth to flame.

And so Valoren stands, weightless, breathless, and falls into Apollo’s arms.

—

Apollo doesn't breathe until Valoren is back in his arms. "Is it...? Is he...?" He looks up at Amara, and then right back down to Valoren. Is Valoren cured? Is he about to be smote? He sends up a silent thank-you to Sune. I swear you'll be the only god I ever thank if you've given him back to me, Apollo silently prays.

"You're so beautiful," Apollo says breathlessly, gently brushing Valoren's new lock of silver hair out of that face he's come to love so deeply.

—

Valoren laughs from the pure joy of it. Then his laughter comes out as a half-sob, then back to a chuckle again.

"It's gone," he beams. "After all this time, my head is mine alone." He takes a deep breath of the air, feeling like it's a new dawn. "And my heart is yours alone, of course. But you already knew that."

Valoren isn't shy about kissing Apollo in front of Amara; the cleric of love, of all people, makes a delighted audience. He loops his arms around Apollo's neck and leans into him, nearly toppling the two of them over with his desire to be close.

Then his breath catches in his throat, and the tears finally spill from his eyes.

He pulls back. Though he's clearly relieved, there's a note of bittersweet in with the honey.

"Now you'll be the one protecting me," he laughs. His hands tremble as he brings them to Apollo's face, and his smile quavers. "That was why I took the tadpole again. My powers are lost without it." He brushes his thumb across Apollo's cheek. "It was worth it. It was so, so worth it. I would give up everything I have a thousand times over, just to spend this life with you."