#lith'mors dekarios

[tieflingtareon]

Shelter My Fears (Reanimate My Heart)

Chapter 1 | Words: 5.8k

Summary: Driven beneath a canopy by a storm, Lith'mors found himself greeted by not the owner of the tower, but his apprentice. In an impulsive act of kindness, the drow finds himself a guest of the man's younger siblings. As much as he enjoys their company, and has a wizard to find, he can't seem to keep himself away from the eldest brother. Or the tower that seems more like a prison than a home.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51897478/chapters/131223739

The rain wouldn't stop. It pelted harshly upon his frame, his cloak waterlogged and heavy on his shoulders. His robes were soaked through, sticking to his skin. Not even the weak warming charm he had casted was keeping the water from leeching the heat from his skin; not that there was much to give, in the first place. He was naturally suited to the cold and damp.

He would kick Gale's ass when he got his hands on him. Making them all worry like this, making him travel all the way to this city again. He didn't hold any resentment towards it, but it wasn't to his preference. He'd spent far too long in this city the last time he was here. He wished he was back in the beauty of Silverymoon or the quiet, ominous rustling of Rawlinswood - or even Neverwinter, curled up with a good book, sharing a cup of hot tea in comfortable silence with cousin Laura.

Morena, as strong as woman as she was, had fractured with her son's disappearance. Haelan was doing his best to support his wife, but he was just as worried. After all, they'd known exactly where he was for the past several years, even if they had waited anxiously for the day their son would succumb to his 'condition'. Lith'mors was certain that if the day had ever come, where Gale could no longer feed the starving orb in his chest, his parents would have allowed the blinding light of their only child's hubris and misguided affections consume them too as they held him through the pain.

A few years ago, Lith'mors probably would have considered doing the same. Sometimes, he still thought he might. As much as he loved Gale, he knew he needed more in his life than him. He had needed to see the world, to touch magic of all kinds, to read and learn until he was buried in the ground for good. He had loved Gale, but after leaving his tower, he realised that he needed more than love.

He needed to be alone, needed to sit with himself, his past, without feeling the need to share himself with another, to ignore it, if only for a time. He needed time to focus on himself, to explore, to become the wizard he desired to be, from his own efforts. To become his own man.

He succeeded. In his travels, he consumed all the knowledge he could, spoke to magic users of all kinds from various races, without falling into their beds this time, admiring their skills and learning what he could from them. No academy could teach him the experiences he'd lived, the magic he had wielded beneath guides and his own willpower. There was always more to learn, of course, more to experience, but for now - he felt somewhat sated. He supposed Gale and him had always had that in common. A gnawing hunger they couldn't sate. Gale had been cursed with it, but Lith'mors had been born with it, kept dormant until he was free of his mother.

He didn't think much of her anymore. After over a century apart, it was only natural. It would never remove the bile that arose in his throat when he thought of her cold gaze though, those red eyes forever haunting him. It would never stop the cold sweat that broke out along his skin when he saw a spider crawling along piles or stone.

Lith'mors ducked out of the rain with a shudder, looking up at the canopy above him. He hid away beneath it, pulling his sopping hood down with a sigh. He needed to find shelter for the night. Half a decade ago, he would have found a fellow wizard, man or woman, and convinced them to take him to their warm bed, to indulge him with a meal and stories of their adventures, their studies.

Even now, it was tempting. A century old habit was hard to kick. Yet, he had promised he'd give that up. When he told Gale he wanted to leave, to travel, the man had accepted the ending of their relationship with soft mourning, knowing he would not be able to follow him - but he had made him promise one thing. That he would never sleep with another who was not a genuine lover. That he would pick his partners without thinking only of the benefits their shelter, knowledge or coin could bring him.

Lith'mors wasn't sure how to explain to the man that he didn't mind his past, or what he did to live more comfortably. He hadn't minded working in the brothels, had adored his time with various wizards who offered their knowledge to him as well as their kisses. Almost every person he had slept with had been beautiful - at least, to him. Perhaps his standards were lower than most, but he believed their was beauty in everyone. Making them feel as beautiful on the outside as they were on the inside, with his own body, had been a privilige.

He knew knowledge had a price, just as most things did. He couldn't afford fancy wizarding schools like Gale, but he had been able to learn from the same professors who taught at them, tasting the Weave on his tongue as they guided him. He supposed in a way, he was manipulating them, but was it really manipulation if they both got what they wanted in the end? If his affections for many of them had been true? They got to bed a pretty, exotic thing from below the surface world, to have companionship, and he got access to their personal libraries, to their spells. Maybe he'd taken a scroll or two, but more often than not, they had been gifted to him.

Lith'mors sighed softly as he took a seat on the ground, tucked away from the rain. He supposed he could simply sleep there tonight. He had slept outside more than once, even if he'd gotten used to having a place to rest his head without worries. He tilted his head back and let it thump softly against the door.

Gale told him once that Baldur's Gate was the place he'd go when he wanted to clear his head. When he wanted to escape his mother's scolding and his father's near-patronising lectures. It was the only place he could think to go when Gale disappeared. Vanished without a trace. Seeing the Dekarios' so distraught - he couldn't sit around and do nothing. They were his family, as much as Gale was. To others, it may seem strange, your ex lover being like family, but he'd offered him a place amongst the Dekarios' years ago.

No matter where he went, he'd always had a Dekarios nearby who was willing to shelter him for as long as he needed. Gale's family was his, and they accepted him as another member without question; the Dekarios name was simply another word for 'home' in his mind. A much better house than the one he came from, the one he shed a century ago.

"If you're dead, I swear I will reanimate you and make you dig your own grave. Fill it with spiders for you to eat, bastard." Lith'mors muttered bitterly, but the bitterness was simply to shield himself from the deep ache in his heart. Wherever Gale was...he had to be alive. It would be hard to miss his explosive end, after all. He was alive, just missing. Lith'mors simply had to find him and bring him home. Back to Waterdeep - back to Morena and Haelan.

He heard a soft creak and moved his hood back up, if only to covered his telltale drow features with the enchantment he'd placed on his cloak to obscure his face, glancing up as the door beside him opened just enough for a figure to stand in it's entryway. The gentle yellow glow of eyes were the first thing he noticed.

"...Are you another lost soul that stumbled into Baldur's Gate?" Lith'mors single red eye could make out the man's features with ease in the dark, and he could tell that the other could see him just fine as well. His darkvision was superior to a tieflings, but he supposed missing one eye might even the scores.

"More like I'm looking for one. He alludes me, this time." Lith'mors hummed, focused on the other's face. There was a light bruise against his temple, a small wound than looked more like a tear than a cut, across his brow. There was the slightest discolouration to his mouth, the skin of his lip split and still bleeding faintly. The man licked away his own blood discreetly and looked out towards the rain.

"There's a tavern not far from here. You should go there."

"They barely accept the coin of you tieflings. I doubt they'd take mine. I'd rather sleep outside." He had tried the Elfsong already. The moment he stepped in, he had known he wasn't welcome. He was used to that reaction, he'd dealt with the stares and whispers all his life on the surface, even dealt with the violence that came with some peoples prejudice, but he refused to indulge their hatred. At first glance, he knew he appeared to be like most drow, Lolth-sworn and dangerous. He'd be wary of one of his kind too with their reputation.

Lith'mors eased himself up onto his feet with a soft sigh, pulling his hood down as he turned to face the other properly. The others expression was guarded, but there was a hint of nervous energy in the flexing of his fingers in the door handle, in the way the end of his tail flicked side to side, jerking rather than swaying.

"Look, you can't stay here. Lorro- the master of this tower doesn't like squatters." He stated, attempting to sound firm, but there was a gentle quiver to the words ‘master’. Lith'mors eye took in the other, attempting to decipher him, to figure out where that nervous energy stemmed from. The longer he took him in, the more obvious it became that he was shaken. The bruises were fresh. Lith'mors wondered if they still throbbed or if they were starting to settle into a soft ache. He wondered if this was the first time he'd been struck.

The first time always left you the most shaken, ruining your perception of self, crumbling the notion of your own strength.

Lith'mors stepped closer and the other took half a step back, but he wasn't as quick to scurry away as some might be when in this state. That period where the shock was still fading and the fear began to settle in, the questions of 'why' beginning to creep in and drive a man mad. Lith'mors hadn't been faced with such an expression in over a century, and even then, he'd only ever seen it on his own face in the mirror of his old bedroom. His father's face had simply held resignation, so used to taking the blame so he wouldn't have to keep asking why he deserved it, or question if he might not.

"I know I may look like a threat, but I assure you, I'm not. Let me help you with that..." Lith'mors reached out gently and whispered a healing incantation, a spell he was taught by an old Druid friend many decades ago. It required little magical prowess, but it was handy on his journeys. He traced two fingers down the others cheekbone, blue healing magic soaking into the right side of his face and fading out like a dying nightlight as the others eyes widened. The bruising on his face aged out as they grew darker before lightening to nothing, the cuts on his skin sealing themselves up.

The tiefling stepped back, reaching up to touch his face. His yellow eyes quickly looked away, gaze downcast as he cleared his throat.

"Don't expect me to thank you. You still have to leave."

"Where shall I go?" Lith'mors turned to the rain outside, gesturing to it as it continued to thunder down onto the stone ground of the city. "I'm afraid I'm not as hot blooded as you. I have nothing to keep me warm in this weather. The least I deserve is the shelter of a tarp, until it ends."

"You-" The tiefling scowled and huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I can't have you here. He'll- this isn't my shop. I don't make the rules. He does." The mans irritation grew tenfold on his expression. This time though, it did not seem aimed at Lith'mors. "Wait here."

Lith'mors tilted his head and waited as instructed as the man closed the door and slipped away deeper into the tower. He turned to the rain and watched it, allowing time to pass as he entertained the idea of finding a wizard at the Elfsong who didn't entirely despise his kind. Old habits were hard to kill. The door opened once more and the tiefling offered out an envelop to him.

"I...I understand your struggle." He sounded like he was struggling to admit it. "The city isn't in favour of my kind at the moment either. Finding a place to rest your head isn't as easy as some might think in these parts. I have a brother and sister, Cal and Lia, who live on the edge of the slums - it'll be the shack with an orange cat statue by the door. Knock thrice, and tell them I sent you. They'll make a space for you, provide you with something warm to wear until your clothes are dry. The letter is for theirs eyes only, so I suggest you keep your nose out of it." He narrowed his eyes, daring him to disobey his only rule after his kind offer.

Lith'mors looked down at the letter.

"You're offering me your home?"

"It's...more theirs than mine. I just know they'd never let me hear the end of it if I turned a soul in need away after everything." He sighed, sounding exasperated and exhausted. "Take it or don't. It's not of concern to me. I just need you gone."

He hesitated before taking the letter and smiling softly.

"Thank you."

"Gods, don't. I'm a fool, letting a stranger into my siblings home." He looked away, tail flicking behind him in obvious frustration. "If you hurt them, I will use every drop of magic I have to incinerate you." His eyes glowed fiercely as he turned them back on him in a glare and Lith'mors nodded.

"I do not doubt it."

"And don't forget this." The tiefling pulled out an umbrella and Lith'mors smiled, taking it. He opened it up and glanced at the other man.

"What's your name?"

"Hm? Well, if you must know...My name is Rolan. I'm going to be an even more proficient wizard one day than I already am after my apprenticeship, so you should remember it." His voice gained a haughty lint and Lith'mors' eye gained an amused shine.

"I look forward to seeing the wizard you become, Rolan the Resplendent." He chuckled lowly and bowed his head. Rolan's brows jumped up before something akin to embarrassment coloured his expression, but he was so obviously pleased to be given such a title. The previous slouch of his shoulders had righted itself, the wizard clearing his throat.

"It seems only fair after an introduction to be awarded the same courtesy. If you would...?" He gestured for him to go ahead and Lith'mors chuckled, taking a step back towards the harsh rains.

"Lith'mors. Lith'mors Dekarios. A fellow wizard."

"Lith'mors...Almost sounds like 'little death'." Rolan remarked, a small furrow between his brows, like he was trying to decipher if his parents chose the name for ominous reasons or if drow were just that dramatic with baby names. The tiefling didn't have to know he chose the name himself.

"It does, doesn't it? A little death certainly helps my talents." Lith'mors chuckled and allowed the rain to pelt upon his umbrella as he stepped into the street. "I'll remember this, Rolan."

"I'd prefer you didn't." The door closed behind the other after a glance over his shoulder, disappearing within the tower.

Lith'mors wondered if the tower was his home, or his prison.

****

The walk was cold and windy, but the promise of shelter and warmth was enough to keep him moving. He managed to eye an orange cat statue just as Rolan had told him, the tiny shack in front of him barely a house by any means. More like a shed. He knocked thrice and waited, pulling the letter out of his robes. He winced a little at the dampness of the envelope. Hopefully it would still be readable. Magical ink was superior in the sense that it was smudge proof, but he wasn’t sure if all of them were waterproof.

“Rolan? You’re back already, what—?” A young tiefling woman looked up at the drow as she opened the door and frowned. “Oh. Sorry, I thought you were someone else…can I help you?” She tilted her head, looking rightfully suspicious. A drow at her door in this weather, at this time of night, in the outskirts of the slum of Baldur’s Gate? It was a recipe for trouble.

“Hopefully. Your brother, Rolan, he sent me.” Lith’mors bowed his head to her out of respect and handed the envelope over. “For your eyes only. He said you could offer me refuge for the night, if you’d be so kind. Lia, I'm guessing?”

“Oh - yes. That’s...me. Rolan - he really sent you?” Lia sounded surprised. “I didn’t think that bastard had it in him to be nice.” She joked, but he could tell from her tone that she meant none of it. She probably viewed her brother as having a good heart even if abrasive on the surface.

“Who is it, Lia?” Another man came up behind the woman, his face unmistakably kind, the expression naturally friendly. He was the kind of man who could not forgo a good deed when it was presented as an option. Lith’mors could tell. He'd met thousands of faces in his lifetime, and after living so long, you get a good grasp on one's character.

“A stray.” Lia chuckled. “Rolan sent him. Please - come in.” She stepped aside and allowed him inside. Lith’mors shook the umbrella off outside and set it aside by the door, looking inside the tiny room. There was a bed, a couch, and a tiny kitchen along the wall, as well as a bathtub in the corner. It was abysmally small. It was suited for one person rather than three, yet they still invited him inside with smiles on their faces.

“Rolan sent him? Well, he must be a good egg then." Cal grinned, hands on his hips. "That brother of ours never lets us down where it counts; doubt he'd send someone dangerous." He tacked on, for his sister's sake as she opened the damp letter.

"What’s your name?” He asked, his tone fairly polite, cheerful, even when burdened with extra company that they hadn't been expecting.

“Lith’mors. You may call me Lith, if you wish.”

“Lith. I like it. I’m Cal, Rolan’s younger brother - also the more handsome brother, if it matters.” Cal offered his hand to the drow with a playful smile and Lith’mors shook it politely, mildly amused by the other man. "By the Gods, you're soaked to the bone. The summer has been good to us on our journey, but I suppose a storm was to be expected eventually."

“I apologise, I’m dripping everywhere…” Lith’mors reached up for the clasp of his cloak and unhooked it. Cal took the coat from his hands before he could even look for a hook to hang it on, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it. I was about to give the old hearth here a shot, so hopefully you can warm up sooner rather than later.” Lia made an inquisitive sound as she read the letter before looking up at the drow.

"The tavern turned you away? In a storm like this? Bastards. Gods, I was really hoping to apply there for work..." She scowled.

"There's always the Blushing Mermaid! You always wanted to go there, right, sis?" Cal reassured quickly, patting his sisters shoulder as thunder rumbled loudly outside. His tail gave a nervous flick from side to side as he watched the ceiling, moving towards the hearth. There was a small pile of wood beside it.

"I guess so..." Lia didn't seem happy though, looking from her brother to the newcomer. "Guess we're not the only ones in this city that are getting the short end of the stick."

"If it helps, I think my kind probably deserve it, compared yours." Lith'mors spare her a small smile. "I know intimately why they should fear drow. I've been on the surface a century, and if I stumbled upon a fellow drow at night, I'd probably think they'd want my blood too."

"But you don't. I'll admit, I've never met a drow before." Lia beckoned Lith'mors towards the hearth Cal was attempting to light, but every roll of thunder was making the poor man jump and lose his concentration mid-spell. Lia sat on the arm of the couch and smiled at her younger brother.

"Don't tell me you're still scared of thunder, Cal. We're not eight anymore."

"It's not- It's just...loud." Cal looked embarrassed to admit. "I can't help it."

"Here, let me." Lith'mors offered and stepped forward to ignite the wood, watching it catch and burn. After that was done, he whispered an incantation, the sound of thunder and rain disappearing as the room was encased in a gentle silence.

"You..." Cal's eyes widened. "I didn't realise you were a wizard too. No wonder Rolan sent you our way."

"I thought he'd rather give any competition pneumonia." Lia smirked, arms crossed over her chest. "Do you have any clothing to change into?"

"Nothing particularly modest." Lith'mors admitted. "I don't typically have to worry about bunking with others these days."

"I might have something that'll fit you, if you don't mind wearing something less prestigious than your fancy robes." Cal joked, getting up to grab his pack. He fished through it and pulled out a plain green shirt, along with some plain brown trousers. "I'm afraid they're uh...pre-worn. We haven't had much of a chance to do any laundry just yet. We only arrived to Baldur's Gate late last night."

"I don't mind. It's just for a night." Lith'mors assured and accepted the clothes with a polite smile, placing them in the top of the couch. "I doubt there's any room for privacy?"

"Not...really." Cal grimaced and Lia rolled her eyes.

"I'm not interested in looking, so don't worry. Just hang your stuff on the edge of the bathtub when you're done." Lia made a point of turning away and Cal laughed, going back to his pack, sorting through it as Lith'mors undressed out of his sopping robes and boots. It wasn't as if he hadn't stripped in front of others before. He'd done so a million times in the past. He simply didn't want to make them uncomfortable, as his hosts.

He did wonder if they'd like what they'd see. He knew himself to be attractive, despite his ghoulish pallor and scars. His black glass eye could be quite strange looking, he supposed, even eerie - he hadn't exactly been a 'guest' to anyone since that incident, if he didn't count his past relationship with Gale. He stripped off his soaked underwear as well and slipped the trousers on, feeling the fabric stick to his damp skin in some places, but he was sure the fire would help with drying off. He slipped the shirt on, covering up the dark ink that expanded down each side of his chest like claw marks until it because two solid black streaks across his ribs that morphed into a raven between his shoulder blades. He'd had it done half a century ago, and it was the only ink on his skin.

He placed his things over the edge of the tub to hang and dry before sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames.

"So...how old are you exactly?"

"After a while, the years kind of blur. About...two and a half centuries old, I'd wager." Lith'mors hummed. "And you two?"

"Much younger." Lia scoffed. "Tieflings don't live nearly as long as the Elven races."

"I suppose you don't." He chuckled. "I like to think we elves only live so long because we take far too long to emotionally mature." Cal laughed, and Lith'mors found he was quite happy with himself at his little joke.

"Considering the elves we've met? Probably." Lia smirked. "So...where did you come from? Before Baldur's Gate, I mean. Were you...cast out too?"

"As much as I'd love to indulge your curiosities, I find I'm quite tired. I think I might rest. If you want to prod at me for answers about my person, it can wait until morning." He chuckled and Lia nodded, looking between him and Cal.

"Cal and I will bunk up tonight. We used to do it all the time as kids, so it's not a bother. Your Rolan's honoured guest, so...take the couch. Get some rest, Lith."

"I appreciate it. Thank you." Lith'mors smiled softly. The couch was closest to the hearth, so he'd prefer that to a bed tonight.

"Thank you for blocking the thunder out and lighting the fire. We could have a worse guest." Cal shrugged.

"Like Rolan?" Lia sat on the bed beside her brother, smirking.

"Rolan's not a guest. He's family."

"Oh I'm just pulling your tail, Cal. We all know Rolan's family." She rolled her eyes. "Even if he is a stubborn prick. I can't believe that bastard Lorroakan wouldn't let us stay in the tower. All that space, and he can't let us even bunk with our brother?" She scoffed. "Not that I'd want to. Rolan's always smacking me with his tail in his sleep."

"At least he doesn't tear up your leg with his toe talons." Cal rolled his eyes. Lith'mors made himself comfortable on the couch as the siblings spoke.

"Lorroakan...is that the master of the tower he resides in?"

"Hm?" Cal quirked a brow. "Oh, yeah. Rolan's got some fancy apprenticeship with the guy. He's been clinging to his letter for months. Always talking about the fortune he was going to make once he started working in the city, how he's going to be a true wizard once he gets the chance to actually learn from another studied in the Weave. Our mum could never afford to send him to some fancy academy when we were kids, so...He's really hoping to learn something under this Lorroakan guy. I'm proud of him, honestly, even if he can be a giant idiot sometimes."

"Oh yeah, I'd never say it to his face, he's arrogant enough, but he's got talent. I...really do hope this apprenticeship works out for him." Lia looked genuine, if a bit concerned. "He's been gushing about it for months, and I'd hate for it to fall through. If only because he's either super depressing or super annoying when he's upset. He's the kind of guy who will have too much wine and run his mouth off, or worse, do that 'I'm not crying' act while he complains about the wine going down the wrong pipe."

Lia rolled her eyes and Cal chuckled.

"Our brother can be a pain, but he's our pain. Lia doesn't exactly help his bad temper." He looked at her pointedly.

"He doesn't help mine." She scowled. "He's a stubborn, arrogant prat who always complains when we help him with anything."

"But we love him. And we know he loves us too. We're family; Rolan and Lia have their tiffs, and I make sure they don't curse or stab each other." Cal grinned, and Lith'mors laughed, finding the youngest rather charming.

"And what do you do when you're annoyed at them, hm?"

"Silent treatment." Cal smirked.

"Gods, and it fucking works too." Lia admitted, disgruntled, shoving her brother off the bed. Cal yelped and rolled off the mattress and onto the floor with a snort. "He literally will not say a word until we apologise. I think once when we were teenagers, he didn't speak to Rolan or I for a whole week!"

"And what exactly did you do to deserve that?"

"Well..." Lia looked away, scratching the back of her neck.

"I broke my arm because they couldn't stop bickering about how to get me out of a tree I'd climbed because they were fighting about something I can't even remember. So I fell out of the tree trying to save myself. Mum threw a fit, and Rolan felt awful." Cal laughed, like it was a fond memory, and perhaps to him, it was. "He's always had it in his head that he's supposed to protect us, since he's the oldest. He practically nursed me back to health himself."

"And you didn't talk to him the whole week after?" Lith'mors chuckled quietly. "How cruel."

"Nope. My arm bloody hurt! I only let up after a week because I couldn't stand those sad eyes he kept giving me." Cal army-crawled his way back up into the bed and tilted his head at the drow who was starting to relax, the room growing warm from the fire, the conversation like a storybook trying to lull him to sleep. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Ah...I do, but I haven't spoke to them in a long time. My blood sisters never bothered to heal my broken bones, I'm afraid." He joked, eyes falling shut. "The family I have now don't have a drop of drow blood in them. But I'm family, nonetheless."

"Sometimes family is just the people you stumble upon and can't seem to leave behind, huh?" Cal's voice sounded soft, understanding.

"Sometimes family is just a stubborn bastard you're too attached to." Lia muttered and Lith'mors chuckled, thinking of Gale.

"Yes. Sometimes...it's both." He murmured, slowly falling into a trance, exhaustion taking over him. He slept easy, with the fire crackling softly and gentle snores of his hosts only a few steps away.

****

The next morning was humid, the rain on the streets warming beneath the heat of the summer sun. Lith'mors awoke with a soft sigh, wiping at his brow as he shifted to get up. The tiefling siblings were still fast asleep, the barbs at the end of their tails both trapped under Cal's legs, the brothers face buried in the pillow and Lia's arm flopped upwards, wrist hooked on a horn as she slept, half sprawled out with a leg off the bed. He couldn't help but smile, a little endeared by the pair.

He slipped off the couch, quiet as a mouse as he checked on his clothes. The robes and trousers were dry, but the cloak and boots were a touch damp. With the heat outside, he was sure that was a blessing rather than a misfortune. He slipped out of the borrowed clothes and redressed himself in his own, tucking the tie of his robes into his pants when he heard a shift behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Cal prying his sister's dead arm away from his horns, looking up at the necromancer.

"Are you leaving already...?" Cal scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and Lith'mors hummed.

"Thank you for your hospitality, but I won't burden your home much longer." Lith'mors picked up his bag of holding, reaching inside for his pouch of gold. He opened it up and placed twenty gold on the counter of the tiny kitchen.

"Oh, you- you don't have to pay us or anything for last night. All we did was let you sleep on the couch." Cal looked embarrassed, like accepting his money was shameful in some way. "We get it, being rejected by strangers, by establishments. It was an honour to have a guest like yourself, I swear."

"I have gold to spare, do not worry. This is simply how much I would have paid to rent a room at the Elfsong. It felt only fair after the kindness you both showed me." Cal fidgeted with his claws, picking dirt out from under them before he stood.

"How long are you staying in Baldur's Gate?"

"I'm not certain. I'm looking for a friend. Gale Dekarios - well, he calls himself Gale of Waterdeep."

"Gale of..." Cal frowned before his eyes widened. "Oh! I know him. I met him at Last Light, in the Shadowlands - that's where we were before we arrived in the city. He shouldn't be far behind. He's travelling with some adventurers, so I can't be certain."

"You saw him? Is he alright?" Lith'mors asked, concern blossoming in his chest.

"Uh, I think so? We didn't talk much, but he's a presence, that's for sure." Cal smiled cheekily. "Look, I doubt you're going to find anywhere else accepting drow travellers, unless you plan on renting a room in a brothel. Our place is small, but it's open to you, should you need somewhere to sleep. If I'm honest...I don't know how successful we'll be, finding work here. Rolan said he'd be happy to send us whatever we need from his own paychecks, but I know it bugs Lia to rely on him like that. Hells, it bugs me. But..."

Cal's eyes drifted to the gold on the counter, and Lith'mors could see where he was getting at. Cal looked a touch ashamed.

"We'd offer you a place here for free, really, we would, but...if you do have gold to spare, it would be much appreciated, if only to chip in for meals. At least - until we get onto our feet. We can't really afford to feed one right now, let alone three."

"Do not feel ashamed for asking for a fee. All things come with a price, as much as I appreciated your generosity." Lith'mors smiled faintly in hopes of easing the other man's guilt. "I greatly appreciate your offer, and I will keep your abode in mind should I not find my friend in the city soon. For now - the gold is yours. I wish you both the best." He bowed his head to extend his respects, a hand on his chest.

"Hopefully we'll see each other again soon." Cal offered a hand to him and Lith'mors took it, shaking it firmly before picking up his cloak and donning it once more, the hood obscuring his face.

"Give your sister my thanks, Cal. Until we meet again." With that, he slipped away into the streets once more, hoping to find Gale and hopefully, bring him home.