Chapter Text
Lucille du Marre was taking a short, but well-deserved, rest in her tent. The four of them had easily defeated Thisobald Thorm and his undead allies, but Lucille took a couple of solid hits to the chest, and her ribs weren’t feeling as intact as they ought to. So when she, Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart arrived back at camp, she immediately stripped herself of her armor (covered in what, exactly? phlegm? bile? she didn’t want to know) and collapsed onto her bedroll. There was no need for spells or potions—the pain would subside soon enough, and she didn’t want to bother Shadowheart any more today.
She couldn’t have rested more than an hour, but she somehow managed a fairly deep slumber in that time. The noise and banter of her companions made for a soothing background to her waking dreams…until those voices started to creep closer to her tent.
“Just ask her!”
“She’s resting. We shouldn’t wake her up!”
“There will be plenty more time to rest today. I am hungry now , and I can see plainly that most of you feel the same.”
“Fine, then. Who wants to wake her?”
A long silence.
“Don’t look at me. I have no need for food the way you all do.”
“But she likes you the most, Astarion. We all know it.”
“Perhaps only second to a certain—”
“Hush! Astarion, go!”
Finally, one of the scattered voices approached her tent flap. “Lucille?” Astarion crooned.
Lucille shook off the last vestiges of sleep and sat up. “What is it, Astarion?”
“Could you join us out here for a moment? Our friends are experiencing a slight dilemma.”
Lucille rubbed her face and sore muscles, tidied up her hair a little, and lifted her tent flap to step into the dim forest light. Her companions were gathered around the campfire, most of them in a clearly sour mood (except for Karlach, whose fiery joy seemingly could not be dampened even in these shadow-cursed lands). Everyone turned to Lucille as she joined the circle.
“What seems to be the problem?” she asked, adopting that stately air she’d been taught to use all her life.
“There’s no dinner, that’s the problem!” Karlach said.
“Where’s Gale?”
“That’s the thing—we don’t know. He left a Mirror Image outside his tent, and it won’t talk to any of us.”
Lucille sighed. It’s not that she didn’t expect some dramatics from Gale from time to time—it was in fact one of the things she appreciated most about him—but abandoning his friends without cooking them a meal was quite unlike him.
“Go talk to it? Please? We’re only looking for answers here,” said Shadowheart.
“Of course. Not a problem,” Lucille replied, making the short walk over to Gale’s tent. As promised, a shimmery, translucent, purple-tinted replica of Gale stood in front of it, idly looking around and smiling at nothing.
When Lucille stopped in front of it, not-Gale smiled brightly. “Good evening!” it began. “I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep. He wishes to extend you an invitation for a private conversation in a more suitable locale,” it said winkingly.
Shit, hells, gods above, she thought in quick succession. What in the world does he have planned?
“Certainly,” she said aloud. “Where can I find him?”
“He is waiting at your old campsite outside the Emerald Grove. Simply teleport there, and you will find him.”
When not-Gale was finished speaking, Lucille braced herself and turned to face her companions. Wyll, at least, had the good grace to look a little bit mortified; the others, not so much. Lae’zel and Shadowheart just seemed exasperated. Astarion’s face wore a knowing smirk; Karlach’s, a shit-eating grin.
“You and the wizard are gonna fuuuuck!” Karlach said with glee.
“I— Shut up! You don’t know that!” Lucille cried, but she could feel her ears and cheeks growing even pinker by the second.
“Please, darling. We can hear your conversations when we’re on the road, you know,” Astarion replied. “I heard something about ‘desire for other forms of stimulation’ the other day? You two are not subtle at all.”
“Can we return to the problem at hand, please?” Lucille interjected. “Do none of you know how to cook? We have the supplies, people. It’s not like he took those with him.”
“Do you know how to cook, fancy girl?” Shadowheart shot back.
Lucille bit back an insult; Shadowheart did not need to know right she was. “Not my point. Answer the question, everyone. Can you cook?”
Reluctantly, everyone raised their hands except Astarion. To everyone’s inquisitive looks, he answered, “I haven’t needed to cook in two hundred years. I’m not about to start now.”
Lucille clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. You four”—she gestured to Wyll, Karlach, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart—”are going to look through our supply pack and make yourselves a wholesome meal. You, Astarion, are going to walk me to the waypoint at Last Light.”
“That works for me,” he replied, sticking his tongue out at the remaining four. Karlach gave him the finger, which he pretended not to notice.
“Alright, everyone. Get moving!” Lucille clapped again, and everyone except Astarion scattered.
“When do we head out, dear?” he asked.
Lucille thought for a moment. Should she grab some sandwich fixings for her and Gale’s… whatever this was? Did he eat before he left? Should she?
But she shook all those thoughts aside. As strange as this situation felt in the moment, she still trusted Gale wholeheartedly. Whatever the night might bring, he would not let her go hungry.
“We leave now."
artwork by @hemipenia on tumblr! many thanks to them for the commission <3