Settled between her legs was the spell book Gale had lent her earlier that morning. Now, by the light of the fire and in the company of the moon's pale glow, she turned the first leaf. Though she could vaguely understand the words scribed, the penmanship was so atrocious that it may as well have been in another language.
"How are you holding up after today?"
Glancing up, Hope offered a tight smile as Gale approached.
"It was a lot of action," he continued, nodding to the space beside her. "May I?"
With a slight smirk, she patted the empty spot, "Hm, yeah, it's all been a bit," she paused, searching for the right word, "intense."
"Indeed." His gaze drifted from her face to the open book in her lap. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask them. If there's anything I love more than conjuring magic, it's discussing it."
Hope, too, enjoyed discussing magic, but how much could she without exposing herself? The question still stood — did it matter? If Gale was as kind and understanding as he'd so far been presented, would she regret offering more of herself?
Perhaps she was overthinking it, but was it a risk worth taking?
Could she trust that the people of this world, this universe, wouldn't misuse and mistreat her the way others always had?
The questions she wanted to ask Gale remained locked within as she smiled and said, "You mentioned the Weave earlier. What is that?"
"Ah, the Weave — the tapestry that contains our magic. Controlled by the goddess Mystra. Within my studies, I've learned to string threads of magic through the eye of the universe," his tone, warm and whimsical, suddenly dropped an octave, "useful in battle, such as today during our squabble at the entrance of the grove."
Hope nodded and turned her attention to the book. Eager to drop the conversation, she turned the page and studied its contents. Though the words blurred as the heat of his gaze penetrated her concentration.
"I used many spells today," Gale continued, "none of which conjured fire, however."
Her breath stilled.
"Astarion was using his bow; Shadowheart her dagger; and Lae'zel her blade. No one aside from me used magic in the moment. Or so I thought…"
Ah shit.
Gale pursed his lips into a thin line and nodded, "Of course, it wouldn't be my business to ask questions. We all have our secrets — I'm not without my own skeletons."
Slowly, Hope glanced toward him to find he was staring through the flames, flickering light. She watched the shadows dance across his face, and she couldn't help but wonder: What secrets might the Wizard of Waterdeep harbor?
He met her gaze and offered a small smile, "I'll not say anything. Your reasons are your own."
Searching his face, Hope frowned slightly. While she had no intention of inviting him into her head, there was a part of her that…wanted to. She wanted to trust him. To feel safe enough to allow another person privy to her thoughts and perplexities.
Instead, before he could leave, she asked, "Will you tell me more about the Weave?"
The darkness didn't stop Hope from visiting the river. If she could get the grime out of her clothes now, they'd have time to dry overnight with the help of the blaze of the fire. It was something she should have done hours ago, but she'd become so enveloped in Gale and his stories that she'd lost track of time.
Now, in her night clothes — which felt more like a prisoner's clothing — she knelt at the riverbank and used the rushing water to scrub her jeans. She doubted there was an outlet nearby; hopefully, they would last long enough. Though at this rate, their wear and tear would be significant.
She glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was nearby. The dirt from the past two days was practically ingrained in her skin, and she wanted nothing more than to feel fresh again. It would be freezing, but it was still better than sleeping in her own filth.
Reaching up, she unbuttoned the top of her shirt, and the sleeve fell, exposing her shoulder to the warm night air as she worked the rest of the buttons.
Her fingers froze as a presence filled the space behind her.
"Well, you and Gale looked, dare I say, cozy by the fire?" Astarion asked in his approach.
With a sigh, Hope buttoned her shirt back up as Astarion continued, "Was I interrupting something?"
"Are you here for gossip?" Hope replied with a question of her own, finally turning to face him.
He stood there by the boulder, arms crossed and smirk in place. With his red eyes trained on her, she suddenly felt more like prey than a comrade. She instinctively wanted to stand on her feet — present herself as more of a threat than she'd otherwise proven herself to be.
"You ought to be careful, you know."
The statement caught her off guard.
"And why is that?" She asked as she leaned back on her heels, observing him.
"A sweet girl like you, getting mixed up in the dramas of a Wizard? It's…well, actually, it's rather intriguing. Perhaps you should pursue your interests after all."
Hope snorted, "Who said I'm sweet?"
"Compared to all the others? You're sugar on the tongue."
Rolling her eyes, she stood to her feet and, with her damp clothes in hand, closed the distance between them. "You followed me out here to talk about my interest in Gale?"
When she didn't respond, he continued, "So you do have interest."
"I never said that."
Did she have an interest? She supposed there was some natural curiosity, but nothing she'd ever consider to be a serious thought. Not now, at least.
Stopping before Astarion, she stared at him. Taking in his face, noting his expression. She watched his brow and the crease of his eyes as she asked, "What is it you want, Astarion?"
He blinked, as if caught off guard. Then, as quickly as the fluster happened, his sure smile morphed again. "You seem convinced I hold an interest in you. A bold assumption."
"I'm not assuming anything," Hope narrowed her eyes, "you could have easily waited until I returned to discuss my interests. You want something. What is it?"
"Well, aren't you a forward thing?"
"Yes, and you're evading my question."
"I… want nothing," his voice was suddenly just a little less stable, "I was merely seeing that you found your way to the river."
Hope smirked and tilted her head to the side, letting a glint of her mischief flash across her face. "How sweet."
Liar.
She began to walk past him but paused when she reached his shoulder and turned to look at him. That smirk of his, she had the sudden urge to take it away. Either with a kiss or a slap, she hadn't yet made up her mind.
"So, you're aware, I'm not the sugar on your tongue." She glanced down at his mouth and back up as she said, "I'm the honey that drips from your lips."
Astarion's smirk slowly faded as something new entered his scrutinous eye. Surprise, yes, but something else.
Hunger.
Hope left him like that, returning to camp wearing his smirk.