#gortach x durge

[shannaraisles]

Come To Me - for @memaidrawsmaidraw

For the ever patient and lovely @memaidraws, who has waited a long time for this and been an absolute star. Thank you, darling!

Come To Me

The city is quiet today.

Fitting, that it should be. After all, had the people of Baldur’s Gate ever truly elected an Archduke freely and of their own will? Yet here he stood, about to be given that honour and be named Archduke Enver Gortash ... about to take hold of the power just within his grasp and finally set in motion the final act of this narrative. 

A day long in the coming, yet none too soon given the varying spanners being thrown into the ironworks of his plan. No ... their plan. Oh, yes, he knew she was out there - his favourite assassin, his partner-in-all. Orin really shouldn’t have let that slip to him. Until that moment, he had expected to have to wrestle control of the Netherbrain for himself alone once he finally skinned the pathetic braggart who had killed his love. But now ...

A slow smile coaxed the corners of his lips into an upward curve, unnervingly soft for anyone who had not known him when he was at his lowest. With Ketheric dead, Orin was already pushing her luck, and now she had informed him she was not his only option. Such a witless little fool she was, so devoted to the gore and bloodlust of her god that she forgot her own mortality. He would enjoy unlocking the keys to her destruction at the hands of the woman she thought she had defeated. And once that was done ... he would have his love returned to him, his partner-in-all. His Archduchess, dripping in blood. Just as he liked her. 

The dukes and nobles were watching him, both respectful and wary. They all knew of the unrest in the city, unwittingly stirred up by the Prism-bearers as they entered and began to explore a city that remembered most of them. Perhaps the dukes even knew just who the leader of that wayward band of adventuring heroes was. Perhaps they knew how dangerous it might be to cross her now she was returned to the Gate. 

There she was, right on time. She never could resist an invitation from him, even now. And, gods, but she was a sight to behold. Sharp features unsoftened, unashamed of that deadly jaw and piercing brown gaze, dark hair his fingers itched to tug at pulled taut into the braid he had used in so many interesting ways during those early days of their all-too-brief alliance. Her armour was stained with blood, no doubt horrifying those nobles who never used a knife for more than cutting their meat at table, and her eyes ... her eyes burned. He knew that look; that curiosity, that demand, that need to know that he could use to lure her in once again. All that was missing was the familiar arrogance of her lust as she looked on him, and that, he knew, could be kindled anew. 

“Ah, Viveka,” he declared, moving to greet her. “It has been too long. Welcome home.”

He could have laughed at the outraged surprise in her eyes; clearly, she had not considered that she might be known by the people she was meeting in the city. Orin truly had scrambled her mind, but not so much that she had not come home to him, not so much that she was not still the deadliest sword dancer he had ever known, the bloodiest death-dealer he had ever had the privilege to witness. Reports from across the Coast had shown him all too well how little her talents and skills had abandoned her. 

As they spoke, as he explained the plan she and he had concocted together, the plan that could still become reality, his gaze flickered to her hands, to the long fingers he could almost feel on his skin once again. His mind’s eye drifted over her, removing layers of leather and metal and cloth, remembering the glorious sight of her arrayed before him, lost in lust and perhaps learning something more even as he showed her what it was to truly be worshipped as the goddess he intended to make her. He heard in his mind’s ear her cries of shuddering ecstasy, the surprise, the delight, the crowing need for more. He recalled the heat of her mouth on his, the sharpness of her teeth on his skin, the aching vulnerability he had shown her and finally coaxed her to show to him. The softness hidden beneath the bloody armour of Bhaal’s Chosen that had been her downfall. 

Anger surged in him as he recalled again how Orin had boasted and bragged of the death-dealing she had given to her sister; of the torment and torture that had only been possible because he had drawn from Viveka a feeling she had not known she was capable of. If she had not been so distracted with considering ways to kill him for making her feel that, she would not have been such an easy mark for Orin’s selfish ambitions. He would not allow that to happen again. This time, Viveka would deal with Orin first. 

And just like the dark-haired siren he remembered, words were not enough for her to be convinced of his sincerity in offering this alliance. Her eyes, almost golden-touched in the afternoon sunlight, travelled over him, examining every facet of his face and form, reading him as intuitively as she always had. Some part of her recalled, it had to. Why else would she be giving him the time of day? And if there was a chance, however small, to regain what had been lost, then he had nothing to hide. 

Let her see the loving lust in his eyes, the wetness of his lips, the clench of his hands. Let her note the way he leaned toward her just enough, the way he almost snarled as her male companion reached to get her attention. The possessive desire that flared hot in his gaze as her eyes locked with his ... and let her feel it as an echo of that same yearning need ignited the suppressed sparks within her. 

Let her swallow down that sudden desire to touch and be touched, to feel pain and pleasure combined in the arms of the one man whom she could ever truly trust with her heart, her mind, and her body. Let her burn as he stepped back, bowing to her with seeming indifferent politeness, extending a further invitation to enjoy the party. 

Had she not been removed from him, she would have been at his side at this party. Let her imagine that as he mingled among the great and the good of Baldur’s Gate, careful never to fully lose sight of her. He made a point to catch her eye often enough that she could not take her watchful eyes from him, noting how her interest surged each time he paid a little too much attention to other dark-haired beauties in the room. He had not thought he would be able to kindle her longing so easily, but surely this was what he wanted? Her thoughts to revolve around him until she was mad with longing; Until she would do anything for him, as he would for her. 

Oh, how difficult it was to ignore her, to mingle and charm and be the warm, strong leader these dukes and nobles thought they had elected to his position. To be the centre of attention when all he truly wished was to slip away with her, to the library, to his study, to a closet, and show her once more how good they were together. It seemed an age that he had to make nice with these people, all the while feeling the Netherbrain pushing against his grip, feeling her eyes on him. 

But it was necessary. Even he knew these things could not be rushed. She had to wallow in the feelings he had roused, discover for herself the true treachery of her sister, bathe herself in blood and Bhaal’s favour. She had to walk the streets of the city they had planned to take, reminded of him with every turn she took, every Steel Watch she saw, every toast raised in his honour. She had to learn that the burning within her could only be quenched by one decision alone. Only then would she be ready.

Only then would he send her a missive with three short words, certain that she would not be able to refuse. 

Come to me.