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As Gale reached the landing, a little flushed after so many stairs, he was surprised to find something blocking his path. The something in question was a tall, broad-shouldered tiefling who seemed intent on preventing entry or exit to the tower’s living quarters.
“Rolan!” the tiefling said. “We’re not going through this again. You know I’m right. You know the healer said —”
Gale cleared his throat in the polite-but-pointed manner he had perfected during his teaching days.
Cal twisted to look over his shoulder, adopting the guilty look of a student about to be assigned extra homework. “Oh, Gale, hello.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” said Gale.
Cal maintained his barricade for a moment, then lowered his arms and stepped aside, looking sheepish. “He’s being stubborn.”
“I am not being stubborn,” Rolan insisted from the other side of the door.
“Ah, well,” Gale said amiably.
This was not his first time witnessing a fight between the siblings. He didn’t need the specifics of why Rolan and his brother had been arguing, or why Cal was blocking the doorway; he could make an educated guess and would doubtless be proven correct.
He said instead, “I brought lunch. Would you care to join us, Cal?”
“He wouldn’t!” Rolan insisted with still more venom. “He has work to do. We all have work to do. This place doesn’t run itself, you know.”
Gale exchanged a sombre glance with Cal, and with a shrug and a sigh, the tiefling headed back downstairs. The way cleared, Gale stepped through the door to where his husband was standing with his hands on his hips and a storm’s fury on his face. Getting close enough for a kiss required a little more manoeuvring these days — though not all of that could be attributed to Rolan’s expanding waistline — but Gale approached from one side and kissed his husband on the cheek. Rolan let out a little hmph that could have meant any number of things.
“How is my handsome husband?”
“If I see him anywhere, I’ll let you know,” Rolan said sourly.
Rolan was very pregnant, and he looked it, and he was strongly opposed to being reminded of either of these things. Gale would have waxed lyrical about his beauty for as long as Rolan was able to hear it; he would have immortalised his form with poetry in every language his meagre skills would allow. But he was a man of fine judgement, and now was not the time.
“It’s a lovely day,” Gale tried. He held up the bag of food in his hands in demonstration. “Perhaps we could sit out on the balcony while we eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Rolan said, which Gale knew was rather unlikely. “And you’re supposed to be writing this afternoon. You have appointments. Errands.”
“Not quite. I had one meeting this afternoon which has since been rearranged.”
This was true, mostly. The fact that he himself had rearranged it was neither here nor there.
“Did Lia summon you?” Rolan demanded. “Are you here to manage me? I don’t need managing.”
“Of course not, my love.”
“Gale.”
“Rolan,” he said pleasantly.
He knew that Rolan had been feeling frustrated with his situation, more and more of late. His excitement and energy from the first months of pregnancy felt like a lifetime ago. It seemed a fiction that, once upon a time, Rolan had been the one who was keen to add to their family and Gale the one who was hesitant.
The most recent battle was the result of a conversation with his physician, who was concerned Rolan was overworking himself and had instructed him to slow down and avoid stress and get proper rest. Gale, Cal and Lia’s determination to follow these instructions clashed with Rolan’s insistence that he was fine, that everyone should stop fussing, that he had a business to run and a reputation to maintain and they should all just let him get on with it.
Gale sent the bag of food floating through the open doors to the balcony, and with his hands freed, took one of Rolan’s in his. He wanted to do rather more — wanted to caress the curve of Rolan’s belly to remind him how very beautiful he was like this, even if, in his words, he felt like a bloated hag; wanted to stroke along the base of his tail in a way that always made Rolan squirm and shiver; wanted to kiss every inch of his lovely face until that grouchy expression softened and Rolan agreed to put his feet up for the rest of the afternoon on the condition that Gale didn’t stop kissing him.
For now, he brought Rolan’s hand to his lips and settled for a brief kiss on his knuckles.
“I would like us to have lunch together,” he tried.
Rolan sniffed. “What I would like is ten more members of staff to get everything done around here. I would like three new versions of myself to make sure everything was being done correctly. I would like Perkins to get off my case about that invoice that he bloody well knows has already been paid. And preferably I would like to skip forward another month, perhaps two, so I don’t have to be like this for a moment longer.”
His voice cracked a little towards the end of his rant. Gale loved him so very much, even when he was being dramatic, and wished that he had a solution for each and every one of the things that troubled him.
“I can offer a cheeseboard,” Gale said, “and fresh bread, and some lovely little quiches. After a break and some sustenance, you’ll be raring to go and ready to face the challenges of the afternoon! What do you say?”
Rolan looked as though there were many things he was trying hard not to say.
Sensing that quiches were not convincing enough, Gale employed a tactic that had never failed him. He placed a hand on the crest of his own robust middle, noting how Rolan’s eyes darted to it.
“I’m feeling rather peckish,” he said innocently. “Breakfast seems like a lifetime ago! But if I am forced to dine alone, then so be it.”
Rolan pointed an accusing finger at him. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t think you’re getting away with it.”
Gale fixed him with wide, plaintive eyes. The hand on his belly patted once, twice.
“You … oh, very well,” Rolan said. “Lunch it is.”
“Wonderful.” He kissed Rolan’s hand again.
Rolan exhaled, his expression marginally less thunderous, and began making his way towards the door. Gale watched him go; he walked with the most charming waddle these days, not that Gale would risk describing it as such.
Much as he would have liked to offer Rolan his arm or to place a gentle hand at the small of his back, he busied himself with collecting plates and glasses in the kitchen, allowing Rolan to proceed at his own pace. Out on the balcony, he watched fondly as Rolan lowered himself into a chair with a groan. They had spent many a delightful afternoon out here, sitting side by side in that very chair or curled up together where no opportunity for touch was wasted. Today, Gale wisely took the seat opposite his husband and began unpacking the food and setting it neatly on the table.
He had visited his favourite deli for some spiced sausages, cured ham and cheeses dappled with apricot and cranberry. The baker had greeted him by name as he purchased bread, bagels and a selection of small quiches. Slices of sunmelon sat beside a bunch of grapes; fruit scones piled high, waiting to be topped with cream and preserves. Gale poured two glasses of orange juice while Rolan shifted in his chair, spreading his legs a little wider to give his belly more room.
The table was rather low, but Gale quashed all his doting-husband instincts and bit back the offer to make Rolan a plate. Instead, cheese and fruits and pastries began to jump from one plate to another, Rolan’s hand swishing lazily as he decided what he wanted to eat. Once full, the plate floated into his waiting hands. He rested it on the upper curve of his belly, supporting it with one hand and turning his head to gaze out over the city as he ate.
The tower commanded an excellent view of Baldur’s Gate, and Gale tried to enjoy it as he had many afternoons before. He would much rather have gazed at Rolan — the glow of his bright eyes in the midday sun, the way his knuckles absently brushed against the side of his tummy, the workings of his newly soft jawline as he popped a piece of cheese into his mouth — but the city had its charms too. It was no City of Splendours, in many respects, and perhaps it would never quite hold the same place in his heart. But he had built more happy memories here in a handful of years than he had over his decades in Waterdeep.
Queuing up another hefty chunk of bread, he reflected that many things had changed since his bachelor days in Waterdeep. Back then, he would have considered this meal rather too heavy for a luncheon. He would not have filled his plate so generously or been eyeing up another serving so eagerly.
In this matter, at least, Gale was not one for self-delusion; he knew he had grown rather stout in recent years. Rolan was no longer the slim, sculpted wizard he had been that day in the Emerald Grove when they first laid eyes on each other, but his excuse for that was quite plain. Gale was no longer the lean, lithe man he had been that day, either. The consequences of a quieter life were painted over every inch of him, not to mention the consequences of a very attentive husband. But if middle-aged spread and a softening jawline and thighs that chafed were the price he paid for the happiest years he had known, that seemed a small price to pay indeed.
Something brushed his foot under the table. Rolan’s foot knocking playfully against his.
“The quiche is nice,” Rolan said quietly, as though admitting to some grave personal failing.
“Yes!” Gale agreed. “The tomato one in particular is excellent.”
“It’s possible.” Rolan cleared his throat. “It’s possible that fresh air and sunshine and a good lunch were the cure for my ill-temper. Thank you. The food is delicious and you are very sweet to me even when I’m being difficult.”
“You’re entitled to be difficult.”
“Am I entitled to a glass of wine for my troubles?”
“No, my love. But when you’re able, we’ll visit every tavern in the city,” he promised. “Every reputable tavern. We’ll tour the wineries of Waterdeep and the vineyards of Amn.”
Rolan’s lips twitched into what was almost a smile. “With a small baby in tow.”
“A vineyard is a fine place for a child! I expect all the best parenting advice recommends it.”
He noted that Rolan’s plate was almost empty, and there was no need for it to remain that way if he was still hungry.
“Can I get you anything?”
Rolan pursed his lips, staring down at the food on the table. Gale noticed his fingers drumming against the side of his belly. He had a tendency to be somewhat bashful about his appetite — he had been restrained, in most of the years Gale had known him, or even uninterested in food. “And now I want to eat everything, everything, all the time,” he would complain, disgruntled at outgrowing yet another pair of robes, standing sideways in the mirror to examine the full curve of his belly and wrinkling his nose. (Once and only once, Lia had asked whether they were sure it wasn’t twins, and Rolan had cried, and all of them had swiftly agreed to forget about it.)
An orange arrived on Gale’s plate with a flick of Rolan’s wrist.
Gale beamed. “Shall I?”
“Yes. Thank you. And — oh, you may as well sit here. If you’d like to.”
Rolan’s hand hovered in the empty space beside him, then he patted the chair. He freed up the space by curling his tail onto his lap, following the curve of his stomach in a protective arc. Gale braced his hands on his knees and stood with a grunt, the kind that Rolan was entitled to make in his condition and which was rather more unflattering for a man without the excuse. He settled in the seat next to his husband and Rolan leaned against him while Gale set to work on the orange.
Once ribbons of peel were piled up neatly and the air sang with citrus, he handed the fruit to Rolan and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek for his efforts. Rolan ate delicately, segment by segment, and watched approvingly as Gale returned to his own plate of food, soon clearing his first serving and starting to eye up a second. Another sausage or two was in order, certainly. The quiche wouldn't keep, so he might as well eat his fill. A few pieces of sunmelon, juicy and sweet. And one could never go wrong with a good bit of cheese.
But in this, Rolan was one step ahead. He summoned a bunch of grapes into his hands, plucked one from the stem and held it to Gale’s lips.
“Allow me.”
It seemed somewhat unchivalrous to take food so directly from one’s pregnant spouse. But it was no secret that Rolan liked to see him well-fed. Gale opened his mouth obligingly.
“Very good.” Rolan grazed Gale’s lower lip with his thumb as he chewed. “You spend so much time looking after me that I worry I’m neglecting you.”
Gale swallowed his mouthful of fruit in indignation. “Do I look like a man who is being neglected by his husband?”
“No,” Rolan said with a smile. “I suppose not.”
The moment one grape passed Gale’s lips, another was ready to take its place, Rolan's encouragement soft and commanding. This time last year, he would have been in Gale’s lap, grapes in one hand and Gale’s chin in the other, Gale wide-eyed and panting and ready to do anything Rolan asked of him. At present, the best Rolan could manage was to angle his body towards Gale’s, his rounded stomach fighting for space against Gale’s considerable cushioning. But he watched Gale eat with the same adoring intensity and murmured the same sweet praise as he always had.
When the stalk was bare, Gale kissed his fingers, sticky with juice. Under Rolan’s burning gaze, he eased himself forward in his chair and put together another plate of food for himself. A restrained portion of cheese was bulked out by a second heartier serving; almost half the plate was dedicated to fluffy white bread; the quiches were stacked creatively to ensure they would fit.
As Gale bit into his first helping of tomato quiche, Rolan’s hand settled on the lower curve of his belly, fond and familiar, squeezing the generous softness it found there. Gale made a pleased sound around the quiche. Rolan’s fingers kneaded encouragement as Gale, increasingly pink-cheeked, worked through his meal diligently until the plate was clean.
“Goodness, I’m getting full,” he said with a theatrical sigh, hoping that Rolan would instruct him to fill his plate again, quivering in anticipation of the teasing, praising words he was sure were coming his way.
But instead came a small, regretful sound. Rolan pulled his hand away and sat up straight. Gale felt the weight of the tower door and the mountain of responsibilities inside that he insisted on placing on his own shoulders. He gave Rolan a sad smile that said If you must, my love.
“I should get back inside,” Rolan said, knotting his hands together. “Even the loveliest of lunch breaks can’t last forever. I’m setting a poor example.”
Gale disagreed. But he understood, too.
“I won’t do anything strenuous,” Rolan said quickly. “I won’t lift anything heavier than a quill. I won’t, gods forbid, perform anything more taxing than the simplest of spells. I’ll dedicate my time to the accounts, which will be deathly dull and very necessary, and neither you nor my siblings can accuse me of straining myself with that.”
“I could help,” Gale offered. “I’ve quite a head for figures.”
“I suspect you will be a distraction.”
“I can be very well-behaved.”
Rolan’s pursed lips suggested the veracity of that was in doubt. He shuffled forward in his seat, positioning his hands in preparation for getting himself upright.
Then he relaxed back against the chair. Cocked his head towards Gale. Flicked Gale’s wide thigh with his tail.
“There are still scones,” he noted.
Gale glanced hopefully between his husband and the scones. “There are.”
“Perhaps we should eat scones first.”
“Scones, then accounts,” Gale agreed.
Rolan gestured lazily at the table. “Two of them, I think, to start with,” he said, and Gale hastened to follow his instructions. “One with raspberry jam. The other with cream and a drizzle of honey.”
Gale leaned towards the table, grunting and ungraceful, feeling warm under his husband’s watchful gaze and wandering hands.
“We’ll see where things go from there,” Rolan said with a haughtiness Gale adored, and the afternoon ahead shimmered with promise.