Chapter Text
As your attempt to dominate the Elder Brain failed yet again, Gortash willed the Netherstones into his grip with a fierce scowl, turning their power on the Brain himself.
Only for him to fail, too.
The Absolute spoke, its voice a haunting chorus that harkened death and destruction, all to achieve its Grand Design.
The Crown is not my weakness - it is what made me what I am.
You watched your uneasy ally's face turn uncertain, a troubled widening of his eyes as the corners of his mouth tightened.
The delusions are all yours, Gortash. You controlled me only for as long as I allowed you to.
Before your eyes, the man's every hope, every plan, every ambition, crumbled to dust. And it reflected in his eyes, the loosening of his hold on the Stones, enough for them to slip back into your grip. But you were just as stunned as he - after being forced to dance to Gortash’s tune since your very first step in the city, you were equally aghast to watch his meticulously crafted strategy fail, at its most crucial juncture.
You have played your part.
The meaning registered, even before the Absolute spoke its next words. Your hands, where they cupped the Netherstones, suddenly burned as you acted on instinct, your body and subconscious reacting quicker than your conscious mind, faster than an instant.
The next order to be given is mine, and it is this- die.
At the same instant as the Absolute spoke the final word, a massive ray of red, sparking light shot towards the Elder Brain, directly out of the Stones.
And Gortash did not die.
But the magic you were trying to hold in your hands was overpowering, colossal. Your mind could barely stand the strain, every ounce of your wisdom, your intelligence, every thought in your brain, was directed to this, to shut up and STOP in an effort to save - Gortash?
Why did you care?
There wasn't the time to spend on the thought. All that existed was the battle for dominance, as you bent your entire self, your very soul, towards subduing the Brain.
And even then, it wasn't enough.
Emperor. I need you.
You choked out the mental sending to your partner, the creature you had shared all of yourself with, the one you trusted entirely and hoped would trust you, too. The moment’s thought nearly ripped the Stones from your grasp, and you refocused, hoping against hope that it had heard your plea and would come to the rescue.
The chill of a portal at your back confirmed The Emperor's arrival, and your shoulders sagged, your body swaying.
Do not falter now, its voice resonated in your mind. Everyone must go inside. Now.
Your companions, clutching their heads, quickly filed through the portal, jumping one after the other without hesitation. It wasn't the first time they'd had to do so mid-combat, and you prepared to go with them, before you realized that Gortash yet remained at your side, eyeing The Emperor with suspicion.
Let us go without him, it said, solely to you.
No, you protested wildly. It is for him that I have the will to resist the Elder Brain.
You sensed confusion, then a quick ruffle through your memories - something you had agreed to recently, after sharing a night with the mindflayer - and then a sharp dagger of displeased surprise, as it confirmed your words.
Very well, it replied tersely. Convince him to enter. I will support your efforts towards the Brain.
Thank you, you exhaled in relief.
A displacement of air at your back warned of The Emperor's approach, as it floated to land at your back. Its taller, longer frame surrounded you from behind, its arms folding around you as its large hands gently covered yours. The space that it took up in your mind expanded, and you allowed the intrusion, wholly trusting your partner who had saved your life countless times, and shared its past with you.
As The Emperor took over the mental strain, holding off the Absolute by naught but a thread, you swiftly turned your head towards Gortash at your side. For a second, you were shocked by the level of vitriol and hatred in the furious lines of his face as he glared at The Emperor, but you pushed the concern aside, remembering that Gortash had thought it his loyal slave until it acquired the Astral Prism and went rogue.
“Gortash,” you grunted, “Get the fuck inside that portal, or we will all be taken by the Absolute.”
When he switched his focus to you, Gortash’s face softened, the same way it had when you first met him face-to-face in the audience chamber before his coronation. He had hinted, then, to some hidden past with you - or at least, whoever you had been before the parasite - but you had brushed it off, wanting nothing to do with a harrowed past as a gleeful murderer, Bhaal’s Chosen before Orin, the murder god’s child. The memories that had assaulted you during your first few days in Baldur’s Gate haunted you still, inescapable and inevitable. Yet you continued to run from them, and even as you ended up as Gortash’s ally in truth (despite your best efforts otherwise), you refused to consider digging up whatever memories he might have wanted to share with you.
Now, you experienced a moment of being oddly grateful to the man, for giving you the strength to oppose the Absolute, long enough for everyone to run. All that remained was for him to escape himself.
“Go! Into! The! Portal!” you shouted with increasing urgency as Gortash continued to just stand there, staring at you with undisguised wonder in his eyes.
At last, his brows creased in determination, and with a quick nod to you, he made an impressive leap to the portal, disappearing in a heartbeat.
And with that, it was your and The Emperor's turn, the two of you backing away from the Brain slowly. It choreographed your movements, shifting your body to its will, and normally you would have reproached it for such an act of manhandling, but right now, you couldn't. It was necessary, anyway, you reasoned to yourself, as like this, you both fell backwards into the portal at the same moment, the Netherstones still safely cupped in both pairs of hands.
The Astral Plane’s lower gravity allowed you to control your descent to the nearest floating rock, where your companions waited anxiously, Gortash standing awkwardly off to one side. An impatient mental nudge from you reminded The Emperor to let go of your body, though it took its time withdrawing its mind from yours. As you alighted on the stony ground, The Emperor floating at your left shoulder, opposite Gortash, it finally fully receded. A shake of your head and shrug of your shoulders brought you back to yourself, your mental defenses rising once more. And if they were particularly thicker around the area The Emperor's presence hummed in, that was no one's business but your own.
“Oh, thank fuck you're alright!” Karlach exclaimed, running over to grab you in a massive hug. “You're alright, then? Going toe-to-toe with an oversized brain didn't fry yours, somehow?” Her thick fingers plucked cautiously at your head, examining you for visible brain damage.
Chuckling, you waved her hands away, shooting an annoyed glance at Gortash. You hated to play nice with Karlach’s abuser, but suddenly, you found you needed the answers he had been offering from the start. “I’m fine, Karlach, The Emperor had my back.” Turning, you held an arm out to gesture towards the mindflayer - but rather than following the conversation, you saw it glaring at Gortash, who was glaring right back.
Karlach followed its line of sight, and you felt her tense, going rigid and heating up where she touched you. In an instant, she stood in front of you, guarding you from him. “And what the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she growled, her voice in a lower register than you had ever heard before.
Yes, The Emperor chimed in, What is he doing here? The illithid turned its piercing gaze to you, glowing eyes judgemental and distrustful. The implication was clear. You knew its past with Gortash - why were you saving his life now, when you didn’t need to?
The rest of the party fanned out at your back, Gale’s fingers sparking lightning as everyone else drew a weapon or three, a united front against Gortash.
But you couldn’t join them.
Without responding to anyone, you stepped carefully around Karlach, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving her a look that said trust me. In her eyes you found hurt, betrayal, but after everything you had been through together, she did trust you. Even though the last person she had trusted stood before her, after having sold her soul to a devil ten years ago.
A part of you knew you didn’t deserve that trust. There was so much about yourself that even you didn’t know. And that seemed to be what was drawing you inexorably to Gortash. You knew that keeping him alive, remaining allied with him, would continue to hurt her - but you had to know what gave you the strength to oppose the Absolute. Such a strength of will would hardly have appeared if you were merely acquaintances.
You stopped halfway between your companions and Gortash, who was still looking at you like you were a lost lover from his past.
A shiver worked through you as you wondered if, perhaps, you were.
Scowling at the man, you turned your back on him all the same. Somehow, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. Wouldn’t stab a knife in your back even though it would have been so easy.
“He’s here because we all would have died if he wasn’t,” you stated, using your leader's voice. It wasn’t often that you acted the part of the commander, but even Lae’zel respected you when you did. You had to hope she still would now.
Scanning their faces, you saw an array of distaste, wariness, hatred, even disgust. You planted your feet more firmly on the stone, knowing that within the Astral Prism, you had as much time as you needed to convince them (and, a small part of you warned, convince yourself). “You all know that there are parts of my past I can’t remember.”
“Yes, I do remember finding a decent amount of skeletons from your past though, darling,” Astarion spoke, flashing his fangs.
“Well, still fewer than yours…” Gale muttered, pulling a huff of laughter from you and easing the tension. Astarion, of course, was displeased, sheathing his twin daggers and rolling his eyes at Gale.
“Minsc thinks it odd that we are stopping and talking when we are not done fighting and killing,” the big man voiced, Boo squeaking in agreement on his shoulder.
Jaheira stood at his side, putting away her blades as well and crossing her arms. “Trusting a man like Gortash is always a bad idea. We should kill him now. We only need his Netherstone.” Minthara, walking up to stand by Jaheira, nodded her agreement, mace still in hand.
“No,” you said firmly, copying the way Withers said the word when he would not be moved. “We can trust him. At least until the Brain is dead.”
“And what then?” Wyll asked, spreading his palms. “We have a nice little tea party and discuss his crimes against my city?”
A stir behind you, and then Gortash was at your shoulder, staying one safe step behind your protection. “I would hardly call what I’ve done criminal,” he began, “as everything I’ve done has had a purpose. A meaning. And my Watchers have been integral to the fight today.”
“They wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t infected so many already,” Lae’zel said harshly, striding up to stand before you, her silver sword raised and ready. “It is your fault we fight so many ghaik.”
Gortash scoffed, and your elbow slammed into his midriff behind you without a thought. As he coughed around the sudden assault, you continued like nothing happened. “Yes, it’s his fault.” You looked at Wyll. “Yes, he fucked up the city, and what he did to your father is unforgivable.”
“Don’t forget about the Gondians,” Halsin interjected, hands on his hips, his broad arms weapons in and of themselves. “And what he has done to mock the laws of nature.”
Sighing, you flapped a hand towards Halsin. “Yes, and a million other horrible things. I’m not saying he’s not evil!” Recovering from his coughing fit, Gortash straightened, taking one step further back, but remaining behind you. If he was afraid of another gut-punch, all he had to do was keep his damn mouth shut. “But I want to know myself. I want to remember. Right now, I… I need him.”
“But what is there to remember?” Shadowheart, her white hair still new to you, stepped forward. “Some memories might not be worth getting back.” She would know. Your time in the House of Grief may have lightened her burden, but she never did get what she had gone there for - her past, whole and unfiltered. There were shadows on her heart and her mind that would never see the light. But she had made her peace with it. “Are you sure that’s a path you want to walk?”
Looking into her eyes, you found what no one else offered in this moment: Compassion. Understanding. The same way that you let her make her own decisions regarding Shar, her parents, and her past, she was willing to allow you this chance for yourself. In her, you saw what you might have, and what you might lose forever. “I just want the chance to make the choice myself,” you found yourself saying. So much of your journey until now had left choice by the wayside. There was always a new foe to vanquish, a new task to complete, and there had been so little time to rest, so little time to find yourself again. Since that illithid ship had crashed with you on it, your hand had been forced, first to find a way to rid yourself of a parasite, and then to end the being threatening the entire Sword Coast.
Shadowheart nodded. “I understand.” She came to stand by you, facing the rest. “This is not our choice to make,” she said, commanding and clear. “He doesn’t pose a threat to us, not now. We need to kill the Brain, and then we can think about what to do next.”
Karlach remained where you had stood, shoulders sagging, fists clenched. “You’re really gonna let that piece of shit live? He’s a threat as long as he draws breath.”
Guilt slammed your chest, and you bent your head under the pressure. “I know, Karlach. I know.” Inhaling deeply, you met her eyes. “I promise you can have your revenge. Just… give me time. Please?”
The tiefling’s eyes watered, briefly, before even that moisture was wicked away by the heat she produced. She put a hand to her head, then shouted wordlessly, taking two stomping steps to pick up a massive rock, which she immediately threw back down, breaking it into pieces. “Ahhhhhh!” she let loose, not dissimilar to how she had at the toll house when you first met, and you watched with pain in your heart as she ran around the small island, chucking rocks and debris every which way. Then, just as abruptly, she stopped, striding towards you, Shadowheart, and Gortash.
Taking an uncertain step back, you waited to see what she had to say, hoping you wouldn’t be forced to try to stop her. Your strength was admirable, but Karlach was a force of nature, even moreso than Halsin.
But she passed you without a glance, walking right up to Gortash and poking one flaming finger against his chest. His shirt smoldered, but the man didn’t appear to notice, looking down his nose on Karlach even as she towered above him. “I don’t fucking trust you,” Karlach snarled. “I know you’re gonna pull some underhanded bullshit and somehow ruin everything we’ve worked for.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t-”
“Shut the FUCK! UP!” she raged, getting in his face. Smartly, Gortash shut his mouth, leaning back as she invaded his space. “You’re a vile, disgusting worm, Gortash,” she began, tail whipping back and forth with the force of her loathing. “But you can live. For now.” Rising to her full height, she looked down on Gortash as though he truly was a worm. “But the moment you fuck up?” Karlach snapped her fingers. “You’re fucking dead. I’ll snap your neck, quick as a wish.” Shoving his chest - gently, for her, though he still stumbled back a few steps - she finished with, “So you better play nice. I’m not taking another chance. Not with you.”
Having said her piece, Karlach spun around, jumping off to the nearest floating rock.
Gale coughed awkwardly. “Well, ah, now that we’re agreed…”
We are not, The Emperor hummed, an undercurrent of hostility in its tone. But we may return to the issue when we are no longer under attack.
A massive breath left your chest, one you hadn’t been aware you were holding. “Thank you,” you said with genuine relief. “Thank you.”
Shadowheart put an arm around you, giving you a side-hug. “We’ve got your back. Just say the word, and that slimeball is gone forever.” Her smile hinted that it was more a joke than a genuine threat, though of course, you knew she’d be first in line to kill him if he hurt you.
“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you said softly, for her ears alone.
“Yes, thank you,” Gortash added, his deep, gravelly voice simultaneously soothing and grating on your soul. It soothed you, without your knowing why, and that grated.
“Shut up, Gortash,” you said, though it was without heat.
He put up both hands, dipping his head towards you. “Apologies, my dear savior. I am, after all, in your debt.” Even with his head bowed, his eyes pierced yours, looking into your soul. Uncertain, you swallowed, wondering what he saw there.
Flustered, you tapped your foot, watching as everyone began to travel towards the skull where Orpheus remained contained. Shadowheart, sensing you needed a moment, gave you a nod (and Gortash a parting glare), before she moved to follow the others.
The Emperor remained, its presence a riot of hostility and resentment. You threaten everything we have worked towards, it warned you. Do not allow sentiment to lead you astray.
“Sentiment is what makes us different from the Absolute. From the other mindflayers,” you shot back, hurt that The Emperor wasn’t on your side, after all you had done as its mortal right hand. “Or is that not what we’re fighting for?”
Uneasy silence was your only answer, before the mindflayer simply floated up and away, entering the massive skull through an eye socket.
With only you and Gortash left, the air felt changed, charged. You could feel your heart beating in your chest, the same as it did before a fight. And you could feel his eyes on you, as you remained where you were, staring off after The Emperor. Something about the way Gortash looked at you was distinctly discomfiting; it felt like he knew you, when he had no right to - and when you did not even know yourself. Your skin prickled, your body flushing with a feverish chill, as you finally forced your legs to turn your back on the skull, finding Gortash staring at you, precisely as expected.
It still made you swallow heavily around a dry, scratchy throat.
The hint of a smile lingered in the shadowed corners of his mouth, his soft lips welcoming to you. When they twitched into more of a smile, you yanked your gaze from them, realizing too late that in avoiding his gaze, you had stared far too long at his mouth. Amusement danced in his eyes, and he took a step towards you, arms open wide.
“I must thank you again, my savior. That’s twice in quick succession that you have kept me from certain death at the hands of my foes.” His voice was disarmingly charming, the same way he had spoken to you at his inauguration, as though the two of you were the only ones in the world. “I do have to wonder, though, at your motivations…” Gortash continued to walk towards you, slowly, as though he was approaching a dangerous monster.
Perhaps that was, after all, what you were. The creature that had dogged your steps thus far, naming itself your butler, certainly seemed to think so. And be glad of it.
Keeping silent, you allowed his approach. When he stopped a mere step before you, it took an effort not to sway towards him, and you wrenched control back from your body, straightening your spine and throwing your shoulders back, jutting out your chin. You had already defended yourself to your companions; if Gortash sought a more thorough answer for your choice to spare his life, he would be disappointed.
When he spoke next, it was softly, gently, almost to himself. “Then again, perhaps that is a question I would be able to answer better than you.”
Ears pricking, your feet shifted forward. “Then answer it,” you demanded eagerly.
Leaning back, Gortash hummed thoughtfully. “What, so you can kill me the moment the words are out of my mouth? Please,” he scoffed, “I have survived on your goodwill alone thus far, but somehow I doubt it is likely to take me much further.” He waved a hand towards the skull, where your allies waited. “And with all of your charming friends ready to toss me into the void, I think I would appreciate a deal in place.”
Frustrated to have your answers dangled in front of you, only to be snatched away again, you growled under your breath. “Or I could change my mind now.”
“Oh, but I don’t think you will,” he said with a smirk, eyeing you with far too much understanding for your comfort. “You said it earlier, my dear. You need me.”
Tossing your head, you laid a hand on your weapon, threat implicit. “Fine, then I’ll take off a finger every time you don’t answer me. How’s that for a deal?” Venom inflected your tone, a sickly sweet smile warning Gortash that he was playing with fire.
Gortash raised his hands in surrender. “Now, now, there’s no need for threats, hero. I know you have a propensity for violence - indeed, it can be quite a useful trait - but if you act in haste now, you may live to regret it.” The hint of your past was tantalizing, and Gortash leaned in, marking your interest. “I know you well,” he said with confidence, “and there is much I can tell you, if only you would give me the chance… my dear.”
“Stop calling me that,” you snapped, unaccustomed to the warmth the endearment sent singing through your veins at the genuine care in the way he said it.
“Or you’ll take a finger?” he teased, chuckling. “Your old self may have done it, but this version of you is a touch more…”
“What, soft?” you derided.
“Restrained,” he corrected. “It was always your control over your instincts that I valued. Orin never had the mettle for it,” his tone became lecturing, and he began to pace, circling you. “She was a creature that lacked all the traits that make you a wonderful partner.”
“Partner?” you said uncertainly, Gortash somewhere behind you.
“Yes. Partner,” he confirmed, his voice closer than you thought, his breath on your neck. You flinched, then stood firm, hoping he had not noticed. Gortash resumed his path. “I did tell you, when you arrived, that you and I were the ones to concoct the plan for the Absolute. That the only reason Orin had a Netherstone was because she had deposed you.” The man stood in front of you again, calm certainty in his bearing. “You have control, and patience, but more than that, true conviction. You believed in our cause, at least as much as I. Hells, half of the plans were devised by you, long before we invited Ketheric to join us.”
It was clear Gortash intended his words as compliments, but all you could feel was a simmering turmoil, as you tried to reconcile your current beliefs with your past actions. Surely you were never so cruel as to plan to enslave thousands, and kill even more.
But Orin and Sarevok both had seemed quite certain of your bloodlust, as well. The lack of it in your present self was something they had patronized you for, naming you weak.
“Do you see?” he asked, delicate and breathless. “We were brilliant together.”
You swallowed once, then twice, disgusted by yourself, the way you found yourself wanting to see this vision of you as a brilliant strategist - alongside Gortash. “No,” you croaked, and cleared your throat, repeating yourself more firmly. “No. I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what you will, then. It does not change the truth.” There was a haughty surety in the way he leered at you, then, he who held all of the cards. It made you want to wring his neck, put a blade to his skin and see what pretty color his blood would be - no. No, that was surely a remnant of your urges; Withers had saved you from ever having them again. But then why did your mind - “You and I, Bane and Bhaal’s Chosen, the perfect partners.” Tapping his chin with a finger, he added, “You know, things only began to go poorly when we involved others in our schemes. And now that Ketheric and Orin are both dead…”
“Our alliance will not continue past the defeat of the Netherbrain.” You curled your upper lip as you glowered at him, a sharp tooth bared in threat.
“So you say now,” he allowed with a dip of his head, “but we will see how long you can hold to that belief, hmm?” The smarmy, pleased grin he shot you made you reconsider. Perhaps it would be worth it to threaten him in sooth, to press your dagger to his skin and see what bubbled from the cut.
Before you knew it, your feet had brought you up to him, and with a jolt, you realized your dagger was already in your hand.
Inhaling sharply, your hand holding the blade shook, and you nearly stumbled back, fumbling with the dagger. But before you could put distance between the two of you, Gortash’s gauntleted hand enveloped your wrist, smoothly slipping the blade from your fingers. You made a noise of protest, but when all he did was tuck it into the back of his own belt, you quieted.
Gortash was close, now. Too close. His scent, an oddly familiar and nostalgic mix of poignant, spiced cologne and a sharp, metallic note, invaded your senses. This close, you could clearly see the creases of his laugh lines, the upturn of his lips even now evidence of their creation. The way his closely-shaved beard puckered around the small scar on his chin, how soft and feathered his hair was, surely a pleasure to card one’s fingers through.
“Look at me,” he murmured, his hand returning to your unresisting wrist, his thumb stroking your pulse point.
“I am looking at you,” you grumbled, continuing your examination of everything except his eyes. The velvet texture of his coat’s collar, carefully embroidered in gold that caught the light, drew your attention along the patterns of dragons and spirals.
His hand tightened around your wrist in rebuke, and you instinctively met his gaze, ready to rip him to pieces for daring to touch your person.
Only to meet with a depth of compassion, care, and, oddly, trust, that you had not expected to find. Momentarily stunned, all you could do was stare. The Archduke’s dark black eyes had seemed like voids to you before; proof of his existence as the Chosen of a cruel god. But now, you found warmth there, dark pools reflecting a desire that made you tremble.
“There you are,” he continued in that quiet, gentle tone. Your eyes flicked down to his lips as he spoke, finding his lips equally inviting, plush and smooth, almost sultry with the way he enunciated his words. A blush burned its way up from your neck to your cheeks, realizing you were staring, yet unable to help yourself. “Is it odd to say that I missed your attempts to harm me?” he chuckled lightly, his thumb resuming its tracing of your skin. “It has never been difficult to take your claws from you, despite your theatrics.” You waited with bated breath, entranced by the image Gortash painted of your former self, as much as you ought to have been horrified by the implications of your relationship with him.
His confidence grew visibly with the widening of his smirk - no, it was kinder than that; a genuine smile? - and his grip on your wrist tugged you inexorably closer to him, until your breaths were nearly shared, the anticipation of touch shivering across every bare inch of your skin. “What do you see?” your mouth asked, without permission from your mind. A quirk of Gortash’s eyebrow forced you to finish the thought, though you scowled slightly, attempting to pull your hand away, without real force. “What do you see when you look at me?”
If it was possible, his face lightened further, a dimple forming at the right corner of his mouth. It was as alien and familiar as your own face in the mirror, and this scared you, a fist of uncertainty clenched around your heart. “I see a powerful ally,” he began, and you rolled your eyes, expecting another speech of how you should join him. “One who used to be more, though,” he said with a touch of wistfulness, making your eyebrows rise high on your forehead.
“More?” The word was out of your mouth before you could stop it.
Gortash’s other hand, light as a feather, touched your waist, as though he wished to draw you closer still. “Yes,” he spoke on a breath, and his gaze went distant, as he remembered… something. Something which you were trying to avoid considering overmuch, even as you waited impatiently for him to paint you the picture. “I did say we were partners, did I not? I would not lie.”
“Partners is vague,” you snipped, too focused on his words to mark the way his hand at your waist rounded to rest upon the small of your back.
“Hah! Very well, if you wish to know more… why not a taste?” he teased, glancing at your lips as he returned to the moment.
Flustered but unable to help yourself, your own gaze fell to his mouth, your tongue darting out to wet your lips on instinct. An internal struggle followed, part of you wanting to follow this path; the rest of your intellectual mind certain that this was a very, very bad idea. Outwardly, you made only a trifling struggle, and to your surprise, Gortash loosened his grip, as though to allow you your escape.
When you did not immediately take advantage of the opportunity, his eyes narrowed in dangerous thought, and both hands gripped you more firmly, bold and unashamed. His face came close to yours, until every pore on his face, the dark bags below his tired yet lively eyes, the creases on his brow, were as clear to you as anything you had ever seen or studied. Your breath caught in your chest, and he whispered against your lips, “Is that a yes?”
A strangled, unfamiliar sound emerged from your throat, and you froze in place, intensely aware of every point of contact: his hand around your wrist like a brand, like a manacle; the other pressing lightly against your lower back, his thumb circling over the fabric of your top; his breath, hot and warm on your face.
But Gortash did not move closer, remained precisely there, as though awaiting your response - a man like him? Caring so much for consent?
“Hmm,” he considered, voice still barely stirring the air, “I think I’ll wait until that’s a yes.” Then he began to draw back, away, and -
A growl thundered up from your chest, a feral instinct taking over, a version of yourself that you had thought long buried rearing its head and taking command of your body, and you put your hands against his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric like a lifeline, and this was it, you were going to smash your mouth against his, take what he teased even if he didn’t want to give -
With a fierce snarl, you pushed him away instead, panting with a heaving chest, staring at the ground as your mind raced with the meaning of what had just occurred. A tender brush of his fingers against your cheek caused you to flinch; he dropped his hand, taking a step away, to all appearances giving you the time to control yourself and calm back down. Yet your breath only came faster, a whine following, and you clutched at your head with a hand, your eyes clenching shut.
“It’s alright,” Gortash shushed you, maintaining his distance. “It’s difficult, isn’t it? Fighting your inherent disposition, even without the Urge?” You focused on his calm, unhurried tone, letting him use his talents to influence your emotions for once, deliberately slowing your breaths. “But you’ve always done it so well,” he praised, “Controlling yourself, leashing your Urge as though it were naught but a willful dog. I admire that about you.” Then, in a much lower, wicked tone, “Though it is particularly satisfying to be the one to make you lose that control.”
Whipping your head up, you frowned at him sternly. “That will never happen again.”
Bowing genially, he agreed easily, “As you say, my dear.”
“And stop calling me that.”
“As you wish, dear friend.”
With a toss of your head, you gave up on the argument. “We shouldn’t keep everyone waiting,” you grumbled after a moment, marching mulishly to the edge of the rocky island to peer at the skull in the distance.
Gortash strode up behind you, standing a step closer than was appropriate. His hand slid your dagger back into its sheathe on your waist with the skill of a lifelong pickpocket. "And our deal?"
"I won't kill you until the Netherbrain is dead." You were tired of talking with him, searching for the truth in his pretty words, more than ready to get this over with and move on.
"And if your friends attempt to harm me?"
Glowering at him, you agreed, "I'll protect you."
"Excellent. It is so very good to have that established," he said easily, evidently pleased by your quick response. “I will follow your lead. It is, I think, the only way for me to keep my head amongst your allies,” he chuckled, and you wondered at the lack of fear or concern in his voice. Either he was very confident of himself indeed, or, bizarrely, the man actually trusted you to protect him.
Both options were equally discomfiting. Shrugging off your misgivings, you made the leap across to the skull, allowing the Astral Plane’s gravity to take you there safely, Gortash following in your wake.