It goes something like this:
You’re a little bruised and battered. A little rough around the edges, yearning for the comfort of your bed. Maybe some brandy to chase away the ache and mask the throbbing between your ears, but…
Well, he’d sent for you. Of course he did. You’d barely stumbled back into Baldur’s Gate when he received word of your resurgence—gods damn his spies for occupying every nook and cranny of this city.
He could’ve at least granted you the luxury of a cold shower beforehand. Maybe even a change of clothes and the acrid sting of a beer at the back of your throat. You’ve just endured training from hell and deserve to push it all into the darkest reaches of your mind.
But nooo.
He wants to see you. Now. As if the stars will fall from the sky if you don’t show face. Given his might and overabundance of magic, he could very well make that happen.
So, here you stand. Before the towering, oakwood doors of the king’s quarters, a little worse for wear, a little over this shit.
Your uniform’s heavy and mottled with dirt. You’re still sweaty. Still achy, grinding your teeth and shifting your weight between your feet to take the pressure off them. Your exhaustion outweighs everything, burdensome on your shoulders like the buckles and leather ornaments dangling from your cloak.
You look and feel like utter shit, for lack of better terms. Not like it matters. He’s seen you at your worst and still beckoned you with a crooked smile and the curl of his elegant finger. And you always come running like the ever-faithful guard dog, exhaustion be damned.
The frigid metal of the door handles sends a shiver through your bones. Cold. Grounding. Much like him.
You heave a sigh. Your shoulders slump, and your head thuds softly against the door as you contemplate your life choices. Perhaps you were better off a street urchin, peddling stolen goods and picking pockets. At least then, you’d have the blessing of a night’s rest.
A few maids scuttle by, tickled by the pathetic scene you paint. In your peripheral, they wear omniscient grins as they pass you, and their giggles and whispers linger long after they turn the corner.
Like it’s some secret known to everyone else but you onwhy you’re here. Not in bed. Not licking your wounds and nursing your migraine with cheap booze.
Ugh.
You should be grateful. Not many have the privilege of being summoned to the king’s chamber. You’ve been here more times than you can count. More than the maids, his royal advisors.
You’re typically around for business, standing in good form on the other side of the doors. Quiet, attentive, obedient, loyal. You have to be. Your life is literally bound to his.
He’s your charge—your king.
You’ve seen him bleed. Trance. Sweat. Cry on rare occasions. He has kissed you. Touched you. Written the sweetest words into the junction of your shoulder with a sweltering mouth. Fed on you. Promised the best of things as he nibbled on your lip.
You’ve held his hand. Ran cautious fingers through alabaster curls. Whispered words of admiration into the stilled air of his room. You’ve been his confidant more than his bodyguard. Experienced segments of him his subjects could only dream of witnessing.
You count to five in your head. Grip the handles, your shoulder blades tensing, nails digging into the meat of your palms. The doors creak open with some effort, granting you a cool gust of wind on your tired, fevered skin.
Whatever conversation was taking place before your grand entry peters, and there are suddenly two sets of eyes regarding you with different levels of interest as you stand, weary and bone-tired, in the entryway.
Gale’s lips quirk into an awkward smile, brows creasing with sympathy as he cautiously rounds the desk. “Erm, how was your training?”
“Shit,” you answer quickly. Flatly.
Gale blinks, utterly floored by your brazenness. Then again, you’ve never been one to filter yourself in the royal advisor’s presence. Doesn’t help that you’re exhausted and itching for a bath.
Astarion arches a humored brow. ‘Atta girl,’ reads the proud twinkle in his eye.
Gale chuckles uncomfortably, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Like you two are poised to pounce on him. “Er, right. My apologies for your…hardships.”
You shrug. “I survived. Got my ass kicked around a few times, but I’m here.”
The clearing of a throat draws your attention to your king. You straighten. “Right. Well, as riveting as this conversation has been, I think it’s time we wrap this up.”
Gale casts Astarion a pensive look. “Your Majesty, there is still much to discuss. The peace treaties, the plans for reconstruction. We’ve staved this off long enough.”
Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes. Hands thrown up in dramatic flair. “Well, stave it off longer,” he commands, ushering Gale towards the entry of his quarters. “I’ve more…pressing matters to attend to.”
You don’t miss how Astarion’s mouth twitches when his eyes skim over you. Feel it tingling beneath your skin.
Halfway to the door, Gale looks between you and the king, fully aware of the implications of that statement. “Right. By pressing, you mean someone will be pressed up against a—”
“Get out!”
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hi you. if you’re reading this, just know i’m very proud of you. i know life’s not easy right now, but you made it through another day ✨ i believe in you, i know it’s not easy, but i know you got this and remember that everything will be okay and that’s only a pass. your presence on earth is important and i wish you could see yourself from my eyes to realize how important and how appreciated you truly are 🤍 maybe we know each other, maybe we don’t, but remember that you’re beautiful and that im very proud of you <3 please, reblog to spread love for others people to see :) we never know what others are going thru rn!
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