Work Text:
Love.
The Dark Urge does not know what love is.
Now, of course, they know the word. And in theory they know the meaning of it as well. It is supposed to be a warm feeling nested in people’s chest. It can keep one’s hearts in tight grip, but as it tends to be with all the emotions - even when the Dark Urge pries the ribs open and cuts through the organs - they cannot really find it. It is a shame, they would enjoy taking this mysterious sensation apart, study its anatomy and then crush it in their claws and tear it with their teeth to get a taste of it.
But they cannot do that and so love is about to stay forever a mystery to them. To say, they thought they would never experience it, would be wrong. Because saying ‘they thought’ would imply that it is only their subjective belief, that it is only their assumption. No, they do not think – they know. They know they will never experience love and it does not bother them even a bit. They are grateful for it. They have seen plenty of this love in the form of the plea of a parent for the life of their child, the plea of a lover for survival of their partner. They have seen people fight twice as hard for the sake of the loved one, wasting precious seconds they could have used to their own escape as they instead uselessly flailed their bodies at the Dark Urge in pathetic attempts to fight them. What a foolish and pathetic thing love is, making people act unwise, causing them to suffer more.
The Dark Urge wonders sometimes what it must feel like to love someone. They suppose it might not be so different to their urge. Except instead the need to slaughter and maim and kill is replaced with the need to hold their lover gently, to smother the lover not with their claws but with their affections.
They keep trying to imagine that feeling. They keep trying and they are failing to do so when they are pulled out of their thoughts in a half dreamlike state by sudden movement next to them. For a second they are concerned that they have failed in their killing before they remember that the softness around them is not a torn flesh or a viscera, they like to nap in sometimes, but that it is a soft cushion of a richly made bed. And in the embrace of their claws is resting not a fresh corpse of one of their victims but their ally, the Chosen of Bane, Enver Gortash. They happen have sex occasionally and sometimes the Dark Urge even stays for a while after the act. Today happens to be such a rare occasion.
If Gortash noticed how unusual their presence here is, with the sun slowly rising on the horizon, he is wise enough not to comment on it. They watch him get out of bed and walk in front of his generously decorated golden mirror. He runs his hand through his hair in front of it as if he hopes that today will be the day when the messy bird nest on his head will let itself to be tamed and it will take a proper shape befitting the overly fancy clothes the tyrant will choose to wear today.
“Feel free to enjoy the comforts of my bed as long as you wish to, my dear. I would love to do the same, alas obligations are calling,” Gortash gives them a brief look when he is finished with the first step of his morning routine. Once again, he has failed to make his hair any more agreeable - it looks exactly the same as every other day, exactly the same as it looked five minutes ago when he left the warm spot by their side. He appears to be satisfied with his efforts though so they restrain their comments.
The golden stripes of sunshine invade the room. The sun is only starting to rise and if the Dark Urge gets up right here and now, he will be able to get to the temple of the Ilmather just as the morning mass dedicated to the Morninglord ends and they will get to kill his followers just as they are leaving the Church. They consider doing so, repaying their Father this transgression of spending the night at their lover’s place in the blood of the Ilmanther’s follower’s.
But they do not feel yet like getting up and there is always plenty of people to kill no matter the hour of the day. Unlike Bane's little tyrant they do not have any restraints on at what time they are required to do what actions. What a blessing from their own their own Lord and Father Bhaal. And therefore, they stay comfortably wrapped in the soft silk blankets, and plush cushion luring their body back to sleep.
“I will be heading out shortly but feel free to lounge your day away in my mansion as your heart desires – it is not as if I get to enjoy it that much.” Ah, yes, he has his fancy Upper city mansion, that is where they are now. Their tyrant can finally call himself a lord now. It is a title he has been reaching towards for quite a while and now when he finally has it, he takes no break to celebrate. It is just a first stepping stone on his way up and up, his Banite hunger for rule and control is still far from satisfied.
Gortash opens his closet with a judgmental eye. It too looks bigger and fuller than the Dark Urge remembers. Various styles and designs and no doubt materials as well. Most pf them are bearing the colours of black and gold but there is some red and green as well. By the way he is going through each piece of clothing with systematic assessment, there must be some rules to them, what piece of clothing is for what occasion or a day. They do know better than to ask, they could not care less about all the unwritten rules of Upper City patriars their tyrant must have become fluent in by now. They rather enjoy the rare moment when they can watch him like this, without his mask and unguarded. Right now, at the beginning of his day, Enver is just a man going through his morning routine, unbothered by the guest in his bed. He is not hidden behind his golden jewelry and fancy coat; he has not fully emerged into any of his usual personas. If at any time some question could catch him off guard it would probably be now…
“Have you even loved anyone?” the Dark Urge asks, breaking the silence without warning just as Gortash starts buttoning black shirt with golden décor – a task that might have been easier if he would have done it before putting on his golden claws.
He stops for a moment and he looks at them considering the question. “Are you asking me if I love you?” They usually find it amusing, the way their tyrant can deflect even the simplest question. Sometimes though the rather find it quite annoying.
“No. I have clearly not asked you that,” they growl and their tyrant only shrugs.
“If anyone else but you would be asking, that is what they would really wish to know. People love to hide their real question beneath a one with less weight,” he explains needlessly. He does not look at them, his eyes are still glued to a mirror, occupied by creating his image of what he imagines the proper lord of Baldur’s Gate to look like. Well, He certainly is handsome objectively speaking. Though he would probably look even more attractive without the ever-present dark circles beneath his eyes. He is always too busy to sleep. The Dark Urge wonders if one day he will be too busy to even die.
“Anyone else is not asking you though. I am asking you.”
“What made you so interested in topics of love? Did you have a nightmare full of kittens and flowers filled with feelings of love instead of bloodbath and fear of your enemies?” The Dark Urge knows what he is doing, that he is trying to distract them, shift attention away from him and more to them. Find out why they are asking without needing to give them the answer. They feel a bit annoyed that he is using all of his regular tricks on them as if they were not well aware of them.
“I am lucky for never to have such a dream,” the Dark Urge deadpans and moves closer to the edge of bed, as they are trying to catch his facial expression at least in a mirror since the tyrant is refusing to turn to properly to face them. “But you are avoiding giving me an answer.”
“And can you blame me,” he sighs way too dramatically, “If I admitted I might have a lover I genuinely care about, would you not be tempted to hunt them down and use them against me?”
“Why would I do that? I am not a jealous type. Also, I did not ask you to name anyone. I asked you a yes or no question.”
“Why wouldn’t you? If I answered yes, would it not make you wonder if they are still alive? If you thought I have some weakness, would it almost not be your duty as my ally to get me rid of needless distraction?” he turns to them with a sincere concerned. Overall he looks composed but one quick look at his attire is all the Dark Urge needs to learn they have managed to throw him off at least a bit. Gortash successfully managed to button up his shirt, yes – all the way exactly one hole apart. They stare and wait till the tyrant too looks down and notices.
“Point taken. Silly of me to ask,” they chuckle as Gortash curses and starts undoing his hard work.
“I am always happy to indulge your curiosity, my dread heart,” he scoffs, his mood not so cheery anymore, “So any other questions? Do you really not wish to know whether I love you?”
What a ridiculous suggestion. They cannot love, they are not meant o be love. No one could ever love them. Certainly not someone so smart and skilled and full of fake charms as Enver Gortash. He knows better than to attempt to gain their attentions, than to fall for them.
“I would like to assume you are a smarter man than to fall in love with me. Either way, no matter what you answer, it would be naïve of me to think you are telling me the truth.” They get up and walk to him. He still refuses to free his hands from his golden impractical decorations weighting his hands and it is getting more frustrating than amusing watching him struggle like this. They reach to his mismatched shirt with an offer of help, he lets them.
“I suppose I cannot hold it against you. Now before I leave… indulge me as well. Do you think you could fall in love with me?” Enver Gortash asks them and what should they do with a question like that. Hey hesitate, now they are the one struggle to figure out the answer - because what a strange query.
“I cannot really…”
“I know, I know. You are the bhaalspawn, you are unable experience love etcetera and so on… Just take it as strictly theoretical… philosophical question. Would you love me if you knew how?”
Would they?
If they could choose a person to love it would be foolish to choose Enver Gortash. He is a man who does not hesitate with flattery and flowery language, who always has something charming to say and it is anyone’s guess if there is even an inch of honesty in his words because usually there is not. He is selfish, all he does is only to further his own goal, he is a Banite after all…
Answering no, should come more easy to them than it does. Because Enver is the only person, they ever took any interest in. He knows them, he sees them like no one else ever has. He never tried turning blind eye to the fact they are monster and abomination, on the contrary, he witnesses time and time again what an unnatural terrifying creature they are and he could not care less!
He fully sees them, fully knows them, yet there is not a disgust but a fascination in his eyes. And fully knowing all his murderous needs and the way they indulge in slaughter, he also never really doubts their mind, he does not see them as a savage monster but as a equal intellectual partner with few strange quirks. Dutifully he is treating them as his partner as his equal. He sees them as no one else does. Were able to feel love, if they could choose someone worthy of the feeling, would there be anyone else worthy to be considered?
Alas there are things his ego certainly does not need to hear.
“I would like to believe I too would be smarter than to fall in love with a man like you, Enver,” they grin and step away from him. Gortash turns away to look at the mirror, this time more carefully. He tries to rearrange his hair a bit and it looks only messier for it. Then he turns back to them with a sigh. He places hand on their cheek. There is some mix of strange emotions in his eyes and they wonder of what only could be going through his mind right now. He opens his mouth to say something but at the last moment he changes his mind.
“As much as I love our conversations, now I really need to leave.” He pulls them down for a short kiss and they indulge him because why should they not. Their lips meet and stay locked for a while. And it once again feels more like couple of lovers parting and saying their goodbyes.
“Goodbye for now, dear tyrant...”
“Goodbye for now, my dread heart."