#i have soooo much bg3 fic that has NOT seen the light of day

[boilingheart]

Kitchen Territory

Pre-Relationship Gale x Male Tav (Lucius Skorn) Takes place in early Act 1. Lucius Skorn is a middle-aged high elf Ilmatari cleric with a heavy background: an ex-criminal who led a gang known as the Lockjaws before he was betrayed. He spent the past 120+ years as a slave in the Underdark and in prison afterwards, and emerged two years ago as a reformed man with new faith in Ilmater, the Crying God. As a result, he's effectively a cornered animal at all times, unable to trust anyone, because he knows he himself cannot be trusted. Lucius slowly crushes on Gale, and over time, their relationship builds. This is the beginning of Gale getting a little closer to this problematic cleric. Rated T Read on AO3

“Out of my kitchen, wizard.”

The “kitchen” in question is a broken wheelbarrow filled with the various somewhat fresh vegetables the group managed to find around the forest, a couple of pots Lucius found along the way and delicately cleaned and cured, slabs of stone flat enough to be used as counters dragged out around the bonfire, and a frayed scavenged chopping board with the beef tri tip Lucius had a knife to.

It’s the most food the party’s had in a few days, and enough ingredients that Lucius could make a half decent meal for everyone to have. He’s been excited the entire day to get to prepping. There aren’t enough seasonings to make everything the way it should taste, but it’s better than nothing. It’s better than fish heads and apples.

Gale of Waterdeep, however, does not listen to his order, and still saunters in by the wheelbarrow, rolling up his sleeves. “Ah, don’t worry, my friend. I may be a bumbling wizard out on the road and in the wilderness, but cooking is one of my more proficient elements!” He lifts a finger with an amendment and a wink. “Not counting my wizardly studies and prowess, that is.”

Lucius stares at him. His expression seems earnest and confident, and he already waltzes around him as if he knows exactly what he’s going to do. Lucius abandons the tri tip to point his knife at Gale — not necessarily threateningly, and certainly far enough that he can’t reasonably stab him without chasing him — and stops him in his tracks. 

“I certainly don’t doubt it, Gale of Waterdeep,” Lucius says with a smile, watching a sheepish look take over the wizard’s face and his hands raise in surrender. “But I’ve already claimed dinner for tonight. I’ve got it, thank you.”

“Oh, come on, what good is cooking without fair company?”

“Mm, peace and quiet. And knowing exactly where all of my ingredients are going.”

Gale dips his head with quiet acceptance. “Then I will follow all your instructions and keep my lips sealed unless absolutely necessary.”

Lucius levels him with a dead look, and when that expression of his does nothing to move Gale, he takes a step forward with the blade in hand. Gale thankfully gets the message then, and begins backing up with his hands raised again.

“Very well! I’ll be over here then!” He scrambles, waving at him with a cheerful tone. “Back at my tent. I will disturb you no more!”

Lucius can’t help but smirk to himself, shaking his head and returning to the food. Genuine or not, he’s not about to let any of these strangers bother him here.

--

But by the next night, Gale is back again, sleeves rolled up, and an easy smile on his face.

“Lucius!” Gale calls as the cleric chops several carrots and moves them into a bowl. “Why, I couldn’t help but notice the pork shoulder we acquired this afternoon. You know, I know a couple of good —”

“Out, wizard.”

Gale’s expression falters for a moment, and Lucius does his best not to look at him more than he has to. He doesn’t stop chopping, but still tenses as he feels Gale walk around him.

“Ah, come on now,” Gale says with a teasing tone to his voice. “I can already see what you’re planning. A pork stew can take a bit to prepare, but believe it or not, I am quite handy with a knife.”

“What a coincidence! So am I!”

“You jest, Lucius, but I am nothing but wholly serious. Stews are actually my specialty — Here, allow me, please. Me and a simple spectral hand spell can help chop all the potatoes and carrots in double time while you start preparing the meat itself. We can cut this process time in half when you’ve got more than one set of hands in the kitchen.” He leans in, hoping to catch Lucius’ gaze. “What do you say?”

Lucius halts the knife, letting the chopped piece of carrot spin and roll into its pile on the chopping board. As he lifts his blank gaze up to Gale, he can see the wizard’s smile wilt by just a fraction. Somewhere inside, Lucius feels a pinch of guilt. He’s not wrong, it would certainly speed up the process, and Gale doesn’t fit the profile of a man who would do harm to their food, but…

“I bet you got away with all sorts of trouble with that smile of yours growing up,” Lucius says, resuming his prep. 

Gale’s eyes crinkle with warmth. “Hmm, maybe just a little. Though, only so much a pleading smile can excuse the misbehavior of a small child with a fireball spell.”

“And only so much it can do with a cleric who already knows what he’s doing,” Lucius replies, cocking his head to the side with a scrunched, condescending smile. “Out, wizard.”

“So be it!” Gale bows deeply, backing away. “I will not disturb you further. But if you do change your mind, I’ll be in my tent with one of the books we’ve recovered, ready to help at a moment’s notice.”

He watches him walk away, his gaze lingering on him as he returns to his tent and chats with Wyll beside him. For a moment, Lucius does hesitate, looking back at everything he has to do. Help would be nice.

But he remembers the danger everyone in the camp presents to each other. A githyanki warrior ready to slit their throats at any sign of transformation, a Sharran worshipper, a vampire spawn, a warlock and two walking bombs — and he sobers up. He doesn’t know anyone well enough. It’s not worth the risk.

He doesn’t call on Gale, and the stew finishes two hours later.

--

The next night, Lucius finds the kitchen already taken.

He had to leave Gale at camp for the time being — Shadowheart, Astarion and Lae’zel accompanied him for the day to deal with stray goblins along the road. He should have anticipated that returning that evening would result in Gale pulling the rug out from under him.

Lucius circles around the bonfire kitchen with his inventory slung over his shoulder, watching the man. He’s cozy in his purple little outfit, sleeves rolled up and humming an old bard song. His hands are busy, delicately cutting strips of beef while two sets of spectral hands work on chopping the peppers they’d found recently. He has a smaller campfire on the side where a lidded pot sits in it, undoubtedly cooking something.

Gale turns to put something away and catches sight of Lucius, beaming brightly at him, and Lucius swears he can see the mischief in his eyes. “Ah, Lucius! You’re finally back! Adventure went well, I hope?”

His voice ends up sounding more tired than he expects when he responds. “What are you doing, Gale.”

“Ah, I noticed we had enough to make a stir fry,” Gale says, pointing an index finger in the air as he speaks. The spectral hands wave at Lucius before returning to their work. “Beef, peppers, some of the broccoli Wyll found — needed to cook it soon, else it goes bad under our noses — oh! And I’m making some bread over here on the side! Freshly baked bread. Though I’d definitely prefer to bake some goods in an oven, it’s not impossible to do over a fire so long as the temperature stays — where are you going?”

Lucius stalks over to his tent, tossing his satchel onto the ground outside of it. Deep inside, he knows it’s not a big deal. This is normal and this is fine. There is nothing wrong with Gale taking over to feed the camp. Lucius has gotten good at finding more food to cook meals, so the loss of ingredients he had planned out can be amended. It’s fine, he knows it’s fine.

The anger broiling in his chest and burning hot in his throat and quaking his hands, does not.

“I’m going to bed,” Lucius snaps, taking off his gloves and tossing them. “Have fun, Gale.”

“Oh, come now, Lucius!” Gale calls out, sounding more hurt than teasing this time. “If you wash up, you’re welcome to join me!”

Lucius steps inside his tent and clips the flaps shut, dropping himself onto his bedroll. He’s hungry. There’s nothing he wants more than to eat something warm right now, but he doesn’t know what Gale’s doing. He doesn’t know the process he started. He’s been at it for who knows how long, completely out of Lucius’ sight. He could do anything. 

Fine. Let him have his fun. Lucius will slip into reverie and find himself something else to eat later once he wakes. He turns onto his side, back facing the entrance of his tent, and slips his eyes shut, ignoring the aches in his fingers as he keeps his hands clenched into fists.

Later, he wakes to Gale’s gentle voice outside his tent, calling for him. He had a plate of the stir fry and a slice of bread served for him, and a look in his eyes that made something twist in the cleric’s chest.

“There’s leftovers if you’re still hungry,” Gale offers, holding the plate out to him.

Lucius stares at it. Finely cooked, still hot, the scent filling his tent quickly of beef and peppers. His mouth waters.

But his principles still stand firm.

“I’m not hungry.”

Gale blinks. “You’re always hungry! I know how much protein means to you, Lucius, and you were out all day. Come on now —”

“Thank you, Gale,” Lucius interrupts, finality in his voice. “Maybe I’ll have some later. I’m going back to sleep.”

Gale doesn’t say anything, for once at a complete loss of words. There’s that look in his face, those brows raised high and clear hurt in his features as if Lucius had just kicked a puppy. He doesn’t wait for Gale to walk away before closing the flaps shut and rolling back to his bedroll. He sees Gale’s shadow still linger before his tent for a moment longer before finally taking his leave.

Lucius’ stomach growls. He ignores the stinging in his eyes and wills himself to go back to sleep.

--

The next day, Gale insists on going on the road with Lucius. So much so that he practically has no choice but to let him, what with how Wyll and Karlach were starting to look at him. Cursed to be guilt tripped into letting the wizard tag along, but so be it.

The day was dedicated more to exploration. A few magical items, materials salvaged, trading with others — and an unfortunate run-in with some gnolls. Though they did come out worse for wear after that encounter, at least they managed to find an abandoned merchant’s wagon filled with produce. It’s then that Lucius realizes the entirety of Gale’s ulterior motives.

That night, Lucius washes up and takes to the kitchen quickly, unloading their haul and logging each new item into his dedicated inventory journal as swiftly as possible. He shouldn’t have to feel like he has to race for claim over the kitchen, but he needs to make it clear that this is his domain. The inventory logs, the food, the supplies, gold, magical items, potions and herbs, etcetera etcetera — so long as Lucius is at the helm of this camp, he is in charge of what goes where.

He’s thinking of beef stew tonight. Stews are perfect for leftovers, they’re hearty and warm, and they smell nice. It’s also most of what they can make with the ingredients they manage to find beyond rations and breads and miscellaneous fruit.

He anticipates Gale’s arrival to the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up and an air of sheer audacity surrounding him.

Gale doesn’t even manage to say anything before Lucius speaks. “Out, wizard.”

“Another slow cooked meal for tonight?”

“Out.”

“You know, I actually have a bit of an idea for a stew. Last night my bread seemed to be quite the hit around the camp. Even Lae’zel looked to enjoy it. She had seconds.”

“That’s nice. Get out.”

“It’s best fresh, you know.”

“I know how to make bread.”

“I’m not questioning any of your capabilities, my friend. I enjoy your cooking,” Gale says, slowly making his way to Lucius’ side cautiously, as if trying to gain the trust of a feral animal. “Quite a lot, actually. Having a home cooked meal in the middle of a hellish, unfortunate situation has made a lot of troubles feel easier. Even a little homesick.”

Lucius peels a handful of carrots, letting the shavings fall into a battered woven basket for trash. “Mm. Well… I am happy to hear that. Cooking is probably one of the better skills my father had half a mind to teach me, and I do enjoy it.”

“Ah, I feel the same. My mother taught me to cook. She’s all sorts of recipes that I now carry up my sleeves, though sometimes, I still struggle to get some to taste the way she makes them. A fine hobby I enjoy, outside of reading of course.”

“You’re cozying up to me,” Lucius points out, elbowing Gale away. “Don’t try your charms. I said out.”

But Gale doesn’t move this time. Instead, he folds his arms and stands up straight, lifting his chin in overconfident defiance. “No.”

Lucius pauses, turning his head now to look at him. “No?”

“Nope.”

“Gale, get out.”

“I will not.”

Lucius sets the carrot down with an exhausted sigh, facing him completely. “Har har. You know, not the smartest idea to annoy someone holding a knife.”

“I’ve many reasons to believe that you are not so inclined to use that knife on me, Ilmatari.” Gale says easily, unwavering.

“You don’t know me. You barely know me.”

“Then it’s a gamble I’m more than willing to wager on.”

Lucius scoffs, unable to help the amused smile on his face. “Confident now, are we? What makes you so certain I wouldn’t?”

“Well for one, you’d contaminate your kitchen.”

Lucius tilts his head, conceding on that. “True.”

“Secondly, you benefit from having a wizard in your party.”

“I have scrolls. I don’t need a wizard, I’ve got a bunch of them in my pocket.”

“Ah, but I didn’t say need, I did say benefit, of which, you cannot argue against,” Gale says, pointing a finger at him as he speaks. “You may not need a wizard, per se, but my skills do undoubtedly serve you well in a pinch.”

“Alright, fine. You do make yourself useful when you feel like it.”

“Thirdly, ten years bad luck for killing a wizard.”

“You just made that up.”

“Is that a chance you want to take?”

“Don’t tempt me, ten years is nothing for an elf.”

“Ooh, but the time passes all the same. Blink of the eye in the grand scheme of things, but in the moment, a year is still a year.” Gale smiles politely at Lucius, inclining his head. “Need I go on?”

“Sure,” Lucius takes to leaning his weight on his hand against the stone counter. “Can’t say I’m thoroughly convinced.”

Gale huffs with amusement, and holds up four fingers and pinches his pinky. “Fourthly, you are a cleric of Ilmater. To stab me over coming into the kitchen would go against your religious cores.”

“Hmmm…” Lucius rubs his chin in faux thought. “Maybe… But one could argue that I am alleviating suffering in doing so. My suffering, that is. As I said, you’re bothering me.”

“Oof, you’d twist your principles to justify stabbing one of your campmates?”

“I didn’t twist anything. Ilmatari bear burdens and alleviate suffering. I’m following the dogma.”

“But aren’t you supposed to be the one on the rack? Stabbing me to alleviate yourself, why, I would argue that actually goes against your dogma.”

“Are you arguing with me over my own practice? Who’s the cleric here?”

Gale grins widely at him, cheeky and playful. “And fifth, you would have stabbed me by now.”

Lucius suddenly finds himself laughing at that, shaking his head. “Right, sure, fine. You must think you’re adorable.”

“I’ve said no such thing, but if you find such an adjective fitting, I am not against receiving it as an apt descriptor.”

“Man, shut up,” Lucius laughs, turning back to his chopping board. “I prefer to cook alone, thank you. Please be so kind as to dismiss yourself.”

“Evidently, you also prefer not to eat anyone else’s cooking.”

Well, there it is. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“Say what you will, but I am led to believe your hesitance there is an extension of the same bump in the road we have here.” He holds his hands up, turning them back and forth. “Allow me to ease your conscience. I pride myself in my cleanliness, and I am very delicate in the matters of making food. I wash up frequently, I let nothing cross contaminate, and I always make sure that the ingredients I use aren’t spoiled. I promise you, I’m not a burden within the kitchen to have to watch out for.”

Lucius pauses, staring down at the chopping board. There’s something gnawing in his chest, something akin to guilt, something close to shame. The wizard is not an unkind man; he has been nothing but patient and delightful company, and Lucius would almost daresay that Gale simply wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone.

But that’s the trap. He was close to someone once. Three hundred years of a bond forged in fire and gallons of blood, and never once did he suspect that he’d turn against him, that he would wake up one day to the promise of fortune, only to be betrayed and dragged into the Underdark in chains —

Lucius braces his hands against the board, shuts his eyes. He has to say something. Gale at least deserves to be acknowledged.

“I appreciate that, sincerely,” Lucius says, exhaling a long breath before returning his full attention to the wizard, now softer than he was before. “But that’s not my problem. I don’t know how exactly to explain my problem to you. I just wish you’d listen to me and leave me alone. I have my roles to fulfill in this camp. Allow me to do them in peace.”

Gale purses his lips, his eyes searching Lucius. It makes him tense suddenly. The wizard is intelligent and sharp, and whatever it is he’s looking for in Lucius, he’s suddenly terrified that he could find it easily.

“You take on a lot of roles, Lucius,” Gale lands on saying, and Lucius feels a touch of relief. “Perhaps it’s because of your Ilmatari teachings, or perhaps for another reason. You put in a lot of work, and the whole camp certainly appreciates it, but… you can’t just keep doing it all by yourself. You have people here! Half a dozen of us are quite the company — sure, you’ve a lot of roles, but I reckon you should delegate some tasks to the rest of us. A waste of a many pair of hands that can get to work.”

Lucius’ face scrunches and his lips flatten in a strained smile. “Okay. Go like, I don’t know, build me a new wheelbarrow or something.”

“Cooking is typically a communal activity, you know,” Gale insists, reaching out to pick up a potato. “Many many cultures center around families gathering to create something delicious. Generations of parents holding onto dear recipes and passing them to their children, holidays of gatherings to all partake in a collaborative feast — and on smaller scales, even the most trite of city workplaces participate in gallant dinner parties or simple potlucks. Breaking bread together is a sure way to strengthen a bond, but cooking?” Gale points the potato at Lucius. “That is where the magic happens.”

When Lucius was young, dinners were silent. In all his short childhood, he could scarcely recall the face of his mother, or if there ever was the whisper of a memory of her to begin with. Always his father before a stovetop, always just him and occasionally, Lucius atop a stool to watch him prepare. There was never speak of aunts or uncles or cousins or anyone else who’d gather and feast — at best, Lucius was dragged off to his father’s meets with a small thieves’ guild and their mead-filled revelry. Chicken and bread, but never much speak of a kitchen; only the tinged smell of liquor and sweat in the bustling crowd where a child should never be.

And sometimes, when Lucius was older, he’d watch the Lockjaws chatter and eat in their mess hall. Safely. A balcony where he’d lean on the railings and simply observe his assassins from above. The leader of a cutthroat gang of criminals who ruled through violence and fear simply asks for trouble to share food among his own men — little did he know that his dearest advisor he did share drinks with would be who he should have feared most.

Now, Lucius can only stare at that stupid potato in Gale’s hand. In the Temple, he keeps to himself with his own meal. In prison, he was lucky to have any space to himself to eat. As a slave, he was lucky to eat at all. Here, with the tadpoles and this group of strangers, he’s lucky to have any control at all.

His gaze flicks to Gale, and when he does, Gale’s eyes crinkle with warmth in a small, reassuring smile. The firelight catches onto the umber color of his eyes with a sparkle, his long lashes framing them delicately, and the crow’s feet deepen with his squint. A powerful, dangerous wizard, this man is. Lucius has witnessed enough of his spells and the expertise and practice from which they lurch from those fingertips. He hunches and carries himself loosely at rest and speaks like an eccentric librarian, but on the field, he sees him straighten up, his expression harden, sees him utter the incantations of destruction and leave nothing in his wake. He’s capable of untold chaos, hiding behind this mask of gentle kindness, and yet…

And yet… Lucius wants to believe him.

“I don’t know you,” Lucius says, upset that his voice doesn’t carry the venom he wants it to. “How am I supposed to know you’re not gonna fuck around with this stuff here? What reason do I have to believe that you won’t try to leverage this?”

Gale’s brows raise at that. “Are you — Are you asking me if I would poison our food?”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but I just…” he taps the pommel of his knife on the chopping board in quick succession, as if doing so would help summon the words to him. “It’s a risk you’re asking me to take, and one I don’t feel very willing to.”

“So in short, you don’t trust me.”

“Well —”

Gale raises a hand. “A protest, if I may.”

Lucius sets his knife down and folds his arms, carefully keeping his expression calm. “Protest.”

“As a disclaimer, I will say, I most absolutely understand why you feel such a way, and in no way do I mean to undermine your worries and fears,” Gale says with a dip of his head. “That said, I don’t believe you’re being very fair with this conception.”

“I’m not being fair?”

“No. You aren’t the only one here who has to worry about what the other is doing, or what danger the other campmates may pose. Already we’ve woken several times to someone trying to hurt or kill each other for one reason or another, and some people here bear the resume of folks very capable of wanton murder.” He tosses the potato into his other hand, rolling it around in his palm idly. “None of us know you, either. So, forgive me if I find it hypocritical that you would deny kitchen access to anyone else, but expect us to trust the food you are giving us when you can’t do the same.”

A flare of anger fires up in Lucius, and he feels the flames lick at his throat. “Okay, you know what, that’s diff—”

“I don’t have any more reason to trust you either, Lucius,” Gale continues. “Nothing more than the fact we all share the same burden of a little wormy tenant cozied up in our skulls, and honestly, isn’t that enough? We’re all already a group of unlikely allies bonded by a shared infection. Why try to make things more tense?”

Lucius tries to find a way to argue. Anything at all to tear down these points that isn’t just him putting his foot down and repeating himself. He wants to argue that he is trustworthy, because what he’s done so far has proven himself already, but it’s a flimsy argument, and deep down he knows he’s capable of bringing ruin to these people as well. He knows what herbs and solutions to make. He knows how to make tasteless poisons strong enough to bring down a peryton in seconds. Over the course of his long life, he’s found all sorts of ways a man can die. He’s not innocent. The party may have his suspicions of him, but in no way could they possibly guess the extent of which his atrocities go.

This conversation makes him itchy. The urge to toss everything onto the floor and shove the wheelbarrow to spill all of the produce everywhere rises. He wants to shove his stupid pots and pans into Gale’s arms and tell him to do whatever he wants and to snap the cutting board in half and forget about the whole thing. He wants to never cook again and let everyone do whatever the fuck it is they want to do if he’s being so unreasonable. Fuck this, fuck it all, fuck this guy and these tadpoles and these stupid, unfulfilling, half-seasoned, battered meals he keeps trying to make. Go have your community, then. Fuck you, fuck you —

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, counting to ten, and exhales slowly. He can feel himself shaking, and he knows if he loses his cool here, he only confirms that no one can trust him, truly. He’ll only further dig himself into an unnecessary pit and burn. Another deep breath. Be cool, Lucius. Be reasonable. Be cool.

“Why do you even want to do this so badly?” Lucius finds himself asking, finally opening his eyes to meet him again.

“Because I like it,” Gale replies easily. “I like cooking. And… Well, it’s not often I get to cook for many people. I’ll admit, I am selfishly motivated. I’ve been alone for the better part of a year in my tower for… various reasons, so I only ever got to cook for myself. Now, in the midst of all of this bloodshed and muck, there’s the chance to do something rather nice and enjoy a hot meal with people of all sorts of walks of life, all sorts of stories and interesting experiences, and… well, how could I possibly pass up an opportunity like that?”

Lucius thinks of the night before. The warm smile on his face, his spectral hands and a bard’s tune in his hums, the smell of the food and the kindness of which he offered it to Lucius despite how he stormed off into his tent… Ah, yes, this gnawing feeling in his chest, it is guilt. A splash of cold water that extinguishes the flames of anger and leaves him freezing.

Gale hands him the potato as though it were an offering. The extension of an olive branch, sans the olive branch, and perhaps the fervent eagerness and reverence Gale exudes would be a little less comical were it not for it being a simple potato.

Lucius accepts it nevertheless, turning it around in his hand. “... I’m not very good company in the kitchen.”

“Then allow me to be so for the both of us.” Gale gestures to the chopping board and gives a small bow, bidding his permission to join. Lucius steps aside, and Gale takes to the neglected carrots. “I wanted to say, you’ll actually go faster if you peel in the direction away from your body than towards it. Less risk of cutting yourself as well.”

Something warm blooms within Lucius. Something that twists, something that dares feel akin to that of fondness. He scoffs at Gale, taking to his new task of peeling the potatoes. “Is that your true ulterior motive? You just want to correct me on how I’ve been doing things wrong?”

“Maybe just a touch,” Gale teases. “But what’s a collaborative experience without sharing tips, tricks and mistakes?”

The night carries on smoothly, and between the two of them and a spectral hand, dinner is expedited. Gale’s ramblings of all sorts of recipes and stories, talks of his mother and the antics he unwittingly put her through, disastrous accidents in his time at the Blackstaff Academy, and the time he’d summoned a tressym that all but adopted him after the fact fills the air, and Lucius finds comfort in hearing him speak. Enough so that Lucius carefully regaled tales of his own travels, of the Dalelands and of Evereska, and by the time all was finished, Lucius felt like he was glowing, riddled with happy energy and a jitter in his fingertips and nerves. Gale had the idea to bake everyone a round piece of bread, hollow it out, and serve the stew in there, which happened to be a delightful hit. 

He’s had this meal before. He’s made this stew before. Yet, on this night, it tastes twice as good, and he can’t help but return the smile Gale gives him as they share their meal.

From then on, they shared the kitchen where they could and brainstormed meal ideas as they collected ingredients on the road. From then on, Lucius found comfort in the company.