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tieflingtareon · 5 months

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There's Nothing Wrong Contemplating Gods (You're in the wind, I'm in the water)

[A 'My Love, Are You the Devil' prequel]

Chapter 2 | Words: 9k

Summary: "The past is lost to you. Let me clear up some mysteries, then. We share so much history." The history between Tir'yal, Child of Bhaal, and Enver, the Chosen of Bane explained in a non-linear format.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51625999/chapters/130498312

"You idiot! I told you to refrain from drawing, fuck, attention!" Everything ached and burned. He wasn't sure he could keep up like this. He panted out another heating spell, begging the biting cold to leave his skin. Even inside the vault, the air felt like pure ice.

"How was I supposed to know there was a magical alarm? You're the wizard!"

"Artificer! My study in magic does not make me a wizard. It's different - and you know it!" He couldn't continue this argument for Hells sake, not with cornugons and gelugons on their tail. He should have known Mephistopheles would have guards inside his vault too, rather than just outside it. He was not willing to admit it might have been him that set off the alarm, and not the other, holding the strap of his satchel tight as they ran.

"Deny it all you want, you're a wizard as much as you're artificer."

"Can we save this conversation for later?!" He was going to kill him. Conjure a storm and shock some sense into him.

"We just have to make it to the portal - keep going!" Tir'yal grabbed his arm when he stumbled and Enver glared with fury fiercer than the Nine Hells, hating that his one major weakness was in it's worst condition in the Cania, the layer of Hell that was supernaturally freezing. He gritted through the pain in his right knee and continued to run, the pain shocking through his leg with every collision of his foot to the floor. He couldn't remember it ever hurting this badly, not since it was fresh, Bane's tight shadowy hand holding his shattered kneecap together as he rammed through the portal that would lead him out of the House of Hope. The one that had threatened to swallow him whole into it's yawning void if not for Bane's intervention.

He wouldn't have made it home if not for that divine miracle, if Bane hadn't held his weak, broken body together.

Enver cursed as he staggered, refusing to lose his pace. He looked over his shoulder behind them and cursed, casting out a red whip of energy, curling it around a pillar and pulling with all his strength, barely keeping on his feet as it toppled down. The bridge above that led to endless, endless shelves began to descend.

"Go!" Tir'yal yanked the back of his robes hard and he stumbled to follow, picking back up the pace as the bridge collapsed, the impact rumbling through the ground.

"That should slow them down."

"We better hope Meph-y doesn't know who we are, or else he'll kill us for wrecking his prized collection."

"Pissing off devils is a hobby of mine. Wouldn't be the first time I've escaped one either." Enver smirked, trying to ignore the pain in his leg even as it started to grow unbearable. He squinted into the distance and relief soared through him. "There! The portal! At least she kept her word."

"You paid enough gold to open a portal into every realm, I'd hope she'd honour her word." Tir'yal huffed out a sharp laugh, the constant sprint even starting to wane on him as they rushed up the steep stairs. The portal was precariously placed, closer to the ceiling than the ground, and he hissed out an infernal curse at the inconvenience, shocking a breathless laugh from Enver.

"You kiss your Father with that mouth, Tir'yal?"

"I'd say I kiss yours, but I don't want either of us to loose our lunch." The tiefling sped up and launched himself up towards the edge of the portal, the instinct ingrained in him from nights of jumping roof to roof, stalking targets. Sometimes, you had to trust fate, and pull yourself up over the ledge of your obstacles. He grunted as he lifted himself up and over the edge, the first sight before him being Helsik who was keeping the portal open, attempting to contain the coin of Mammon that was shaking violently.

"Be quick! Something's fighting the ritual - I can't keep it contained much longer."

"What do you mean? En- my partner isn't through yet."

"Do you have what you came for?"

"What?" Tir'yal looked down at his satchel, opening it up. The crown and all three stones were packed inside. "What does that matter?"

"Because if your partner doesn't make it through in the next thirty seconds, he's not coming back at all." Helsik warned, grunting as the coin continued to fight her magic that kept it in place for the gateway. Tir'yal turned back to the portal, seconds ticking by like hours. Enver had been right behind him. Why wasn't he there?

Enver watched Tir'yal disappear from the portal and leapt for the edge himself, only to fall short. He swore as he landed, knee buckling under his weight and sending him crumbling to the floor, catching himself on his hands and knees. The cold was beginning to seep past his cloak again and he hissed out another warming charm through his armour, wishing it would hold up better against the Cania's subzero temperatures. He forced himself back up and jumped again, fingertips barely skimming the portals edge. The tiefling had the advantage of height on his side, the bastard.

Panic set in quickly despite the usually calm facade he wore, turning back towards the creatures that were only getting closer. He had to keep his head about him. Gods, why did he change his robes out? For protection from the cold? He could bear frostbite better than a fucking anxiety attack.

"Tir'yal!" He called, voice hoarse and tight, staring up above at the swirling mass of orange and black. He couldn't hear him. Why did he think he'd be able to? Tir'yal couldn't hear him, but he knew who could. He closed his eyes and called upon his faith, holding his trembling hand up, palm to the world, mimicking the symbol inked onto the skin of his back. Let Bane smell his fear; it would only draw him closer, only strengthen his power.

Fear him always, and make others fear him even more than you do. He feared Bane less than devils, if he was honest.

"Hear me, Dark One. Hear me, Lord of Darkness, hear your Chosen!" He called - begged. All he needed was a little more power, a little more energy, that divine intervention he offered him the first time he escaped the Hells. He needed his hand to give him the boost to crawl his own way out. That's all he had ever needed of his God - a helping hand to escape his nightmares.

"Bane?" He opened his eyes, his lungs breathing in nothing but icy mist. Where was the burn? The smoke? Where was his God? He looked up and could see the portal was waning. No. No, they couldn't be closing it. Why was it faltering? There had to be a reason. Was Mephistopheles interfering with the ritual circle? Tir'yal would never betray him like that, that had to be it.

Wouldn't he? His chest tightened painfully, straining for air that didn't seem to want to come. He felt hot yet freezing, his sweat like frost on his skin. He was dying. No, he wasn't dying, he wasn't, he just needed to breathe, to think - but his body felt like it was dying. It always felt like deaths cold hand wrapped around his throat.

"Hear me!" He yelled, silence the only response to his plea. "Bane...Bane, please." He couldn't abandon him, could he? He was important, they needed him, Bane needed him to get the crown-

He reached for his satchel and blanched. He didn't have the crown. Shit. He had grabbed that book in the same moment Tir’yal had reached for the crown and it’s stones. He’d been drawn to the title, his love of forbidden literature overriding his reason for a single damning moment. He had been blinded enough to not even notice the magic field surrounding both items, a mistake he rarely made. He'd entrusted the crown to the bard without even thinking, knowing at least one of them would carry it out.

Is that why Bane didn't answer him now? Because he left the crown and the stones in the Bhaalspawns hands? Was he- did he overestimate his useful to his Lord? Of course, he had. He was an idiot, begging for his intervention, his help. Adding to his debts. He was burdening Bane, making him use his own power on him when he could simply make another Chosen. A more competent one who didn't allow themselves to be trapped in the Hells twice. One made for battle rather than paperwork and invention.

He failed him. There was no use for him now, not while Tir'yal held the crown. Bane had always liked him - the Bhaalspawn with potential to rule the world with his admirable self control and intelligence, even with his lacking social skills. Murder was a key part of war, a usual happenstance when a tyrant took their rightful place upon a throne.

But no, Enver had brought him into his world somewhat, hadn't he? Tir'yal had attended more than half a dozen parties, two dozen dinners as his plus one - he was decently well versed in people now, even if he disliked them. He was perfect, if Bane intended to steal the Bhaal's heir from under the Gods nose. Even if he didn't, he was invaluable to the plan, and another Chosen could always be named once he was gone.

He was going to die. Abandoned in the Hells for a second time. This was his nightmares made a reality, but instead of the sweltering heat of the dungeons in the House of Hope, he was wrapped in the freezing cold of Cania.

"Someone..." His voice came out small, afraid as he pulled out his bow and an arrow, aiming it towards the incoming hoard. He wouldn't die without a fight, or allow himself to be at the heel of another devil. He’d rather forfeit his own life first, even if it was the biggest disgrace he could imagine. But he felt like a child again. Like he was still that frightened, whimpering Flymm boy cowering before that damn gnome. The useless son of cobblers with a mind too bright and a mouth too smart for his own good. Adults never liked how mouthy he was.

"Save me." A hand tore through the portal, like a God reaching down from the Heavens, extending it's hand to Enver. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide before a voice followed.

"Hurry!" Tir'yal barked and Enver clapped his cold fingers around the tieflings forearm, jumping and hooking his fingers onto the edge of the portal as the man hauled him upwards. Tir'yals scooped him up around his waist as he pushed himself up to the surface, dragging him out of the portal and rolling them both away from it as the coin gave a crackle and shattered into shards, Helsik throwing herself away from it. The portal collapsed into itself with a roar of flames that left scorch marks on the ground.

For a moment, all was silent, Enver's ears ringing as his heart thundered against his ribs, wide eyes focused on the ceiling above.

He almost died. He had been waiting for Bane's black hand to rip him from the Hells, and instead, it had been Tir'yals. The spawn of a God reached for him before his own deity. Where had Bane gone? Had he really abandoned him? Had he deserved it for seeking knowledge before power? He’d always thought they were one in the same…

Perhaps his true failing had been letting the other escape with the crown without thinking of the consequences. What would have happened, had Tir’yal not reached back into the Hells for him?

"Are you alright?" Tir'yals hand burned against the frozen skin of his cheek and he flinched away, sitting up and sucking in a deep breath before letting it out, arms resting on his knees. His right throbbed, hot and fierce, but his previous panic had left him too drained to give it much attention.

"You could have left me." Why hadn't he? He was risking his neck, reaching into a dying portal that could have disappeared at any second. Would have costed him his dominant arm, that was for certain. What would the Unholy Assassin of Bhaal do without his skilled hands?

"It would be a waste to let that genius mind of yours die with you." Tir'yal stated like it was a simple fact, common sense, as he shifted, getting back onto his feet and offering his hand to the other man. "You're far too important to be killed just yet."

Enver laughed weakly at his response, running a hand through his hair. Of course. He was far too important to the plan. They needed three wielders after all. Tir'yal couldn't stand anyone else; he barely cared for Ketheric’s correspondences, which Enver dealt with himself, even if the Bhaalspawn read the letters over his shoulder and gave three word responses for him to pen down so he seemed involved. What ever would he do if he lost the only decent conversationalist in the Sword Coast that entertained his bloody desires?

Tir'yal would never be Banite material. He didn't care to talk to people enough to be any good at politics, at networking. That's why he needed him. It's why they needed each other. He didn't like to bloody his own hands or keep to the shadows, desiring the spotlight, and Tir'yal preferred to make deadly symphonies within the darkness, and didn't like talking to idiots and fools, which most noblemen were.

It was a special sort of harmony that rarely came to people like themselves.

He looked at the hand offered to him and took it, grunting as he stood, his knee threatening to buckle. He forced his weight to his left leg, able to breathe a little easier now that he was off it. He could feel Tir'yals eyes on him as he extended his thanks to Helsik and offered her another hundred gold from his pouch for the damages, wishing her luck.

"I hope you never come back." She stated bluntly and Enver laughed.

"Oh, I never forget helpful ladies like yourself. Should I ever need your lovely services again, I'll be sure to make it worth more than gold." He bowed his head to her, a charming smile on his lips. "If you desire another means of payment, of course."

"No thanks. I'd rather fuck a Blibberbang. Exits back where you came from." Enver laughed heartily at her retort, not taking offence in the slightest. He wouldn't have minded entertaining her for a night, she was quite beautiful even if not his personal type, but he could tell when another truly wasn't interested.

"Until we meet again, dear diabolist." Enver made towards the stairs, limping slightly even if he tried to disguise it. He'd left his cane in his chambers, not even thinking he might need it after their heist. He braced himself for the descent, gripping the railing to his right when Tir'yals arm was offered to him.

"You're in pain. It's flaring up, isn't it?"

"Perhaps a bit." He didn't take his arm, and Tir'yal didn't lower it.

"Take it, or I'll carry you back." It almost sounded like a threat. Enver chuckled.

"A tempting offer, but I'll pass. For both of our sake's." Enver would not be carted about like a sack of potatoes again, or Gods forbidden, carried like a damsel. He had handled more than his fair share of pain in life, endured countless injuries during his days with the Heapside Reavers, and he could endure this too. He did it on the daily. With reluctance, he took Tir'yals arm, using the man as a crutch as they made their way down the steps, sweat threatening to bead on his forehead as he reached the bottom. It was far too warm in Baldur's Gate to be wearing so many layers. He untied his cloaked and threw it over one arm with a sigh, allowing Tir'yal to lead them out of the Devil's Fee.

"Well...I told you so."

"Hm?" Tir'yal hummed inquisitively.

"She got us into the vault. Into the Eighth Layer."

"Ah, right. You're quite petty, you know that?"

Enver scoffed.

"Petty? I was right, I should be allowed to say so."

"You were right. You usually are." Tir'yal relented and the Banite smirked.

"It's always nice to hear it."

"You're a genius inventor and strategist."

"Oh, now I'm starting to wonder if you want something from me." Enver chuckled warmly. "Do go on. You're never usually this forthright with the compliments, my friend."

"Am I not?" Tir'yal mused in a monotonous voice. "Maybe I think it more than I say it. I apologise. You're brilliant, and you should know it."

"I do." Enver smiled smugly. It was nice to hear someone say it though. The chill on his skin was starting to melt away as they walked. "You're quite fond of my mind, it seems. Anything else?" He teased.

Tir'yal never seemed to fluster when he attempted to charm him, if only for fun, since he enjoyed flirting. It was good to keep up practice so he didn't lose his touch with the fair ladies and gents in the Upper City, but after that night at the Featherstone Estate a month ago...

"...You look like shit most of the time." Tir'yal said bluntly and Enver scowled, only glaring a little. Not what he'd been hoping for. The man had a brick for a brain when it came to noticing one wanted something from him that wasn't murder. A compliment would have been nice.

"Thank you. Just what I wanted to hear. You're as charming as ever." As charming as a dead, rotted fish.

"But you look nice when you're asleep."

"...Tir'yal, my dearest, oldest friend, that is the most unsettling thing anyone as ever said to me. I hope you know that." It didn't stop the smile that curled onto his lips. "You watch me sleep?"

"Only sometimes. You forget to blow out the candle on your desk a lot, so I visit on my nights out to make sure you haven't burned your office down. You look nicer in the dark."

"If you didn't have darkvision, I'd take that as an insult."

"Good thing I do then." Tir'yal smiled ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "How's your knee?"

Enver's brows jumped up in surprise. He was still limping, but he'd actually forgotten about the pain for a blissful minute.

"Better. The cold tends to agitate old wounds. Humans aren't nearly as sturdy as you fiend-blooded folk, I'm afraid."

"I'm intimately aware of the limits of the human body, as well as various other races. You're right, humans aren't as sturdy, but I'd argue that should you not go into shock first, you humans are frighteningly resistant to torture." Tir'yal managed to make his horrifying experiments and discoveries sound intelligent rather than mad, and Enver admired that about him.

"Fascinating." He indulged with a hum. "If you have plans to test my resistance to torture, Tir'yal, don't bother. I doubt you could break me." Others had tried, and failed. If a decade with a devil could not drive him to insanity, nothing could. Tir'yal looked down at him, a small smile on his lips but eyes intense. Like he was already imagining it. Breaking him.

"I sure could try though." His low voice made it sound like a promise. "I think you'd be pretty as a corpse either way. Prettier than when you sleep."

Tir'yal lowered his arm suddenly and wrapped it around the Banite as a group of rowdy children ran past them, almost bumping the man if not for the tiefling drawing him closer.

"How are you getting the third stone to Myrkul's Chosen?" He queried into his ear, his hot breath tickling the cold tips of his ear, returning his arm to the man a moment later. Enver took a second to take it again, needing a moment to adjust the sudden topic change, looking back at the children running off in the distance from over his shoulder. He didn’t want to look at the tieflings face, at those eyes of his - or perhaps he didn’t want him to see his own.

"Ketheric has agreed to meet us outside the Church of Bane, seeing as he cannot come to the fortress without questions raised, and your own temple is forbidden to outsiders. We certainly can't risk some pigeon losing something so valuable either. So he will make the journey over once he receives letter of our success. I imagine he'll arrive in no more than a tenday."

"If that's so," Tir'yal opened the satchel and pulled out a single stone, tucking it away into his own pocket before passing the crown and the other two stones over to Enver. He had plans for the dark stone in his pocket, so he'd need it for now. He would return it later. "I'll leave these with you."

"Would it not be more secure in your very secret, oh-so-hidden temple?" Enver mused and Tir'yal huffed out through his nose, dragging his tongue his canines and sucking them.

"I know it will ease your mind if it's in your possession." There was an unspoken sentiment in his words that Enver struggled to interpret. Did he have the notion that Enver did not trust him with the items that would bring about their grand plan? That he didn't trust him in general? As long as he had his stone, it did not matter, he supposed. He had to know Enver would not forsake their plans though, not ever. The plan was so much bigger than them. He knew the crown was safe with the Bhaalspawn. Tir'yal had come to trust him long ago, and his trust came with a certain level of loyalty above most others.

Enver looked at the satchel offered to him. The hand holding it had pulled him out of the Hells. This man, this Bhaalspawn, had answered his prayer when even Bane had become silent. The same man who pulled him out of Hells, who spent weeks brainstorming and planning and visiting connections with him, who was helping him walk back to his fortress when his leg was failing him...thought he didn't trust him.

He shouldn't. He shouldn't trust anybody. He hadn't even been able to trust his own parents, for Heavens sake.

But when he looked up at Tir'yal, he felt much like that boy again. That Flymm child who presented him with his first pair of boots, made of cheap metal, but to him, it contained all his efforts. He'd tried to make boots worthy of a knight, worthy of his first friend.

His friend, blunt and coarse, but still taller and stronger than all the other boys around them. An outcast like himself, a tiefling in a family of elves. Intimidating enough to scare off the children who taunted the cobblers son. That boy had distracted merchants and noblemen alike for him while he picked their pockets. He had ruffled his hair while admiring sharp and shiny weapons, always letting him keep the gold coin and metals for himself.

He had looked at him, truly looked, and his face hadn't twisted into something sour like everyone else's had. He hadn't scowled when he spoke, didn't jump to tell him to shut up. Nobody had liked him, even as a child. Not even his own parents. It was like everyone could tell the moment they met him that he would leave a bitter taste on their tongue. He was always the ungrateful child, selfish and hateful. With parents like his, what did they expect? An angel? No. He was the strange, mouthy Flymm boy who knew he was far ahead of his peers and always would be. Who knew he deserved greater things, had greater ambitions than his own useless parents, and knew he could have it once he was no longer a child, bound by their will.

He had always looked down upon others, knowing one day he'd be above them, and that he'd make them pay for trying to control him, for trying to dim the brilliance within his mind. Except for him. It always came back to him. To Tir'yal. His oldest friend. The only one who genuinely liked him, back then, and even now. He was special in the way that he couldn't bore him with idle chatter, yet also indulged in late night conversation about everything from his latest read to his plans for the city. He may be adviser now, his genius ignored by the grand Ulder Ravenguard, but that would change soon.

The only one who seemed to care about what he had to say, who praised his genius, was Tir'yal. His only...equal - in all things. He was the closest thing to a real friend that one could get in the political world. Thankfully, Tir'yal wasn't a part of that world. He had no interest in it.

"Keep it." He said softly, pushing the satchel back towards him. If the roles were reversed, if he were anyone else, he’d probably call him a fool for giving him all the working parts to the grand plan, think him weak and spineless, but he did not doubt Tir’yals loyalty to their partnership in the slightest. Not after today. Perhaps he was the weak one between them. Too weak to get himself out of his own predicaments, to walk alone in the world, always needing a crutch; a helping hand.

"I might lose it amongst the clutter of my workshop if I'm not careful." He jested, looking ahead. "It'll be safer with you."

Tir'yal was quiet a long moment, staring down at the satchel holding the crown and the stones to control it. So much power at their fingertips...and the Bane's Chosen was allowing him to hold it. To keep it safe. Perhaps he believed this extension of temporary trust would deepen their alliance, making him less likely to betray him. Tir'yal knew he wouldn't though. The stain on his soul, the humane part of him that couldn't be bled or cut out, cared far too deeply for the Chosen of his Father's sworn foe to ever betray him.

He wondered if Enver would ever see the beauty in the destruction he would bring upon this world. The destruction Bhaal yearned for. If he'd be a part of it, willing and pliant beneath his blade.

When the plan succeeded, and everyone was finally gone, the world reduced to nothing, he would kill the Banite himself. He felt in his bones that that was his right. Nobody else could be the last sight in those dark eyes, could draw out that last, sweet sound of pain he craved to hear, those darling reflexive tears that came as one choked on their own blood. That was reserved for him, and him alone. To be the final two souls on Toril...He wanted his last breath to mingle with Enver's, for his wounds to bleed to his, to mix the very essence of their life force into one bloody pool beneath them as the world came to an end in his Father's name.

To kill and be killed by his oldest and closest companion - to die together - was his greatest desire. It wasn't exactly allowed, but it wasn't forbidden either. As long as he died moments after Enver, would he not still be following his Father's command to be the last soul alive? Though, to wish for Enver to sink his own blade into his skin had to be a sin.

It only seemed fair that Enver's life would be his to take regardless, his final sacrifice in the name of his Father. He couldn't imagine sharing the honour of death with anyone else, the honour of mutual homicide. Sharing the beauty of dying by a loved ones hand, and walking into the City of Judgement together, it's final visitors.

"I will take care of it." He looked down at the limping Banite and smiled softly. He wanted to feel that crushing wave of grief and euphoria all at once as he perished, as they both did, and he would only have it by Enver's hand. He would only achieve it through the tyrants death.

I will take care of you, until it's time to snuff out the light in your eyes.

****

Enver yawned as he called his hammer closer, grasping the handle of it and pulling the metal from the heat to rest on his bench, readjusting his grip before he slamming the flat end down upon the molten steel.

He'd been so busy recently with paperwork and the grand plan that he'd barely had any time to himself to focus on his own projects. He preferred his workshop to his office, if he was honest. Nobody to disturb him here, and the chance to shed his robes. The aches in his body where easier to ignore when he was wrapped up in the heat of the room, intensely focused on moulding metal and tightening bolts with his hands. It was better than focusing on other things. Like Bane's silence. He was awaiting answers from his God, but Bane always did enjoy taking his time to respond to his questions.

He could have given this up, the life of a labour, but it was in his blood, to create. He felt restless when his hands weren't busy, and this skill of his benefited the empire he wanted to build. He didn't have much skill in the Arts, but this was his form of art. Taking steel and turning it into something better, something stronger.

That was what he was born to do. To bring out the true potential of everything he touched. This was his domain, and he moulded the materials given to him into whatever he wished.

Like a God.

He blew out a heavy breath as he dropped his hammer aside and dunked the project into cold water, the sizzle and steam making him smile. It quickly fell when he heard the door creak, turning to greet the only person who would dare enter his workshop. Not even fellow Banite's chanced disturbing him when they 'needed' him, waiting until he returned to his fortress to speak to him. The traps he left outside the workshop probably contributed to their avoidance.

"Do tell me you didn't break my traps again."

"Okay. I didn't break your traps. I simply...disarmed them." Tir'yal assured, looking away. Enver sighed and picked up a rag to wipe the sweat from his hands and face.

"So you broke them."

"Make a way for them to be disarmed without breaking, and it wouldn't happen." Tir'yal shrugged, tail giving a sharp flick behind him before he pulled out a small vial of moulted green liquid. He tossed it towards the other, and a black mage hand appeared to catch it, placing it in the Banite's waiting hand.

"I think I'll make them self destructive instead." He quipped, only mildly annoyed. A bit of tinkering and they'd be good as new. It would take him less than an hour to fix the dozen he had out there. He looked down at the vial and scoffed, placing it aside. He could keep trying, but he would never drink it. Not in front of him at least.

Tir'yal was right about one thing. He was petty.

"I'm always up for a challenge." Tir'yal crossed his arms as he dragged his gaze over the other, Enver's white undershirt clinging to his back with sweat, his apron coming off with a quick tug of the tie at the base of his spine, the artificer slipping the neck strap off over his head. He wrapped the apron up in a bundle and tossed it onto the table, leaning back against his work bench to ease the weigh off his knee. It was feeling better, but he knew he needed to be cautious, or the next few days would be hell. He couldn't afford to be seen limping about when Ketheric came to visit. He needed to appear at his strongest, lest the Chosen of Myrkul get the wrong idea about this alliance of theirs and try to betray them.

Weakness was not an option. Not when everything was finally coming together. The book he stole from the vaults still sat in his satchel, tossed onto the mattress he sometimes crashed on after a long night of bending metal to his will. He intended to read it later, when he wasn't so antsy.

"Did you come for idle conversation, my friend, or...?" Enver quirked a brow, an easy smile on his lips. A smile was the most discreet weapon you could wield in the world of the elite. He'd learned that as a young man, that a disarming smile and an alluring promise could wrap just about anyone up in your web.

"I brought you a gift." His smile faltered, eyes widened ever so slightly before he smiled once more, a touch more genuine.

"Is that so? Something...bloody?"

"Not this time." Tir'yal looked amused, but beneath that, was a hint of...Was he nervous? What exactly had he gotten him?

The tiefling reached into his bag and pulled out a black box, tied with a single red ribbon. Enver quirked a brow, reaching out to take it from the other.

"How nice. You shouldn't have. A box?" He jested, simply to annoy the Bhaalspawn.

"Gods, you're incorrigible. Open it before I decide to put your head in the box for my Father." Enver laughed, a hand falling upon his breast as if he was aghast at his threat.

"I'm far too important for you to kill just yet, dear. You'd miss my brilliant mind, remember? Imagine if the only people you had to talk to was Orin and that butler of yours? That would be more agonising than any torture you could conjure up." He smirked, dreading the very idea.

"You're not wrong. Life would be rather dull without you." Tir'yals smiled, eyes dipping from the tinkerer to the box and nodding to it. "Open it." He couldn't stand to wait much longer. He was considering slicing his own skin off to escape it.

Enver huffed softly, shaking his head. He hadn't had many gifts given to him over the course of his life, especially with no warning. Usually, there was a reason behind it, or an expectation to provide something back. Tir'yal did him a favour by killing his opponents, his enemies, and he supposed that one could call that a gift, but it wasn't. It was a favour, a transaction between two people who benefited from the others skills.

He untied the red ribbon and set it behind him on the bench, opening the lid and tucking it beneath the box as he peered inside. He frowned, wiping his palm on his trousers to rid it of any sweat or grime before he reached in and picked up a piece of gold. He twisted it in the light. It looked damn well real, in the shape of an ring with a pointed end. The old habit from his Heapside days came out as he brought it to his mouth and bit down. It softened beneath his teeth but still held up decently, biting back ever so slightly. It wasn't pure gold, but it was definitely made up of a high percentage of the material.

"It isn't for eating, I'm afraid. If you're hungry, I can always pop out and bring something back." Tir'yal looked amused. "There's more."

"I can see that." Enver's eyes ran along the golden gauntlets in the box, the miscellaneous rings likely a part of the ensemble. He placed the box down on the table and picked up one gauntlet, looking over the craftsmanship. It was beautiful, for an amateur, he noted. It looked like something a painter would create, artistic in design, rather something a forger would make for the desire of protecting one's flesh.

"The craftsmanship is sloppy, but I'll admit, the design is intriguing. Did you steal it from one of your victims? An artist dabbling in metalwork?" He chuckled, turning back to the Bhaalspawn who wouldn't meet his gaze, tail wrapped around his ankle in a strange gesture of meekness. Perhaps even embarrassment. Whatever was he embarrassed about? Because Enver guessed it was stolen? He knew the man didn't exactly care for material possessions like gold, he only wore half-decent attire because of his insistence. He was Bhaal's Prince after all, he couldn't run around dressed like a seaman or a traveller who wore the same three outfits continuously; most of which had bloodstains.

"I don't mind if it's stolen, Tir'yal-"

"I made it." Tir'yal cut him off, eyes still to the ground as he crossed his arms once more. "It took a couple of tries, but you're right. I'm an artist. I'm not a skilled craftsmen like yourself."

Enver's eyes widened, surprised. He'd made it? Himself? When? When had he even learnt how to do so? From watching him all these months? From the books on his shelves? Did he learn purely from trial and error? How long had he been working on this, for him? Did he take the gold from his victims to make them? So many questions, but he wasn't sure which one to voice first. He could have easily made it with steel, he did not need to be so extravagant in his gift-giving, making it from gold. Hells, he wore silver as a staple, not gold.

He looked down at the gauntlets and picked up the other arm, admiring the details closer now. It was definitely the work of artistry, but there was promise in the shape, the security of it's latches. Over all, it was well made. Not the same level of his work, but he couldn't expect everybody to be perfect after only a few attempts. To take on a such a large project as his first attempt though...it was admirable.

"It will need a proper polish. Perhaps some shaping to make sure it fits just right. But..." He smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "It is beautiful. You did a fine job, for someone who hasn't done this kind of work before." He smoothed his thumb over the gauntlet and looked up at the tiefling, meeting his eyes.

"Thank you." It was rare for him genuinely mean those words.

"There's one more thing." Tir'yal nodded to the box and Enver frowned, looking back at it and reaching for the hand piece.

"This?" The moment he spoke, he noticed it. A deep purple stone embedded in the gauntlet. He could feel the magic radiating off it, and he let out a soft laugh of wonder. They're been apart a few short hours after all.

"We'll need to keep them close, to keep control of the brain, once we've secured the Crown onto the creature." Tir'yal approached to stand before him, pulling out his favoured dagger. The blade gifted to him when he became his Father's Chosen. In the circular cross guard of his dagger was his own stone, blood red like a ruby. He flicked his eyes up to look at Enver who was focused on his blade and the gauntlet in his hand. He took in his features greedily, always feeling the need to commit his expressions to memory.

There was so many faces the human only revealed around him, and the desire to know all of them felt far stronger than his Urge had ever been.

"You really went to all that effort when I could have done it myself...why?" Enver met the Bhaalspawn's eerie eyes and Tir'yal hummed softly, thoughtful and a touch surprised that he would even ask. It felt obvious to him.

"It's a gift. Not just between allies...but between friends." Tir'yal tucked his blade away and took the hand piece into his own, keeping the artificers hand held out as he slipped it onto him, reaching down for the arm piece and latching that on too, gentle with his ministrations and making sure not to pinch flesh between metal or his own claws. Enver stood still, watching the tiefling closely as the man adorned him in his craft, eyes focused on the task, tail swaying softly behind him. The only thing to be heard in the room was the gentle clicks of the latches and the burning of coals from the furnace.

"Why gold? I imagine steel would have been the obvious choice. It would have matched me better, don't you think?" He mused, his voice not giving away the quivering and creaking in his heart. He liked to think of it as just another machine he was constantly improving, constantly fixing. The cold, steel heart in his chest was made to pump blood through his body, and that was it. If it began to fail, he tightened the bolts of the valves, shutting out unwanted emotions, and if the cogs began to turn faster and faster, threatening to overheat, he reached inside and halted their manic spinning himself.

He had excellent self control. Especially over his heart.

"Steel is a part of my life's work." Tir'yal simply smiled at his words, slipping the talon-like rings onto his fingers, making sure they were in their rightful place.

"You may adorn yourself in shades of white and grey, in the darkest blacks - and I may wish to see you painted in red, but gold..." Tir'yal tapped the sharp point of the man's talons with his own claw. Now they matched. "Gold is your colour. If you did not bleed crimson like every other mortal man, I would think you bled molten gold."

Enver stared up at the man as the Bhaalspawn reached up and gently tugged the silver bead from his thin braid, looking at it between his claws before tossing it into the box and pulling out a small golden cylinder. He took the woven strands of hair and slipped it into it's rightful place on the end, squeezing gently to tighten it before letting the cool metal swing softly against his cheek. Enver, for the first time in a long time, felt at a loss for words.

"...I rarely hear you speak so poetically."

"I'm still a bard, even if I'm a rather quiet one. I enjoy all kinds of art, poetry included."

"I suppose poetry is in your blood."

"And gold is in yours." Tir'yal smiled, an uncharacteristically soft thing on the intimidating Bhaalspawns face. It quickly faded though, the man taking a step back and closing his eyes with a pained expression, hand coming to his temple.

"Sorry, I..." He trailed off before his jaw flexed, teeth clenched. "Father's calling me." Enver watched Tir'yal cautiously. He only ever got headaches when Bhaal wanted blood, and lots of it. Recently, they'd become a lot more frequent. He sometimes wondered if Bhaal was displeased with Tir'yal for some reason, the way he tested his obedience and self control as of recent.

"Go. You have terror to rain upon the streets. I have things to make. I'll see you soon, I'm sure." Enver stepped back, but did not turn his back to Tir'yal. Something in his gut told him that was not a good idea tonight.

"Yes, I...Goodnight, Enver." Tir'yal was quick to leave, closing the door behind him. Enver watched the door closely for a few long moments, waiting to see if he'd come back. He knew Bhaal didn't like him, even before he was Bane's Chosen. He half suspected that Bhaal would have discarded him through Tir'yal long ago if not for the current alliance forged between the Dead Three. It had been in the works for so time, from what he knew, kept between the Gods.

He took a seat with a soft groan, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling before he looked down at the gauntlets. This was the first gift he'd been given in a long time without doing something in return first, or feeling the need to make up for it somehow. They really were beautiful, even if they needed a couple touch ups.

He smiled to himself. Tir'yal had even made sure to leave one hand free of rings, should he need it, for his writing no doubt. He was ambidextrous, so either hand would have sufficed, but he did appreciate that the hand left free of adornments was the hand he used for his cane. Given his right knee was injured, he often held his cane in his left to keep the weight off it. Having rings and a hand piece biting into his hand all the time while using it would grate on his nerves.

He sat there for a long while, simply admiring the orange glow from the furnace against the golden hand piece. When the firelight hit the purple stone embedded in the gauntlet, it looked magical, just like he imagined it would when they finally got to use it to enslave the elder brain. His musings were halted by the feeling of a dark shadow behind him, a familiar taste of ash in the back of his throat. He swallowed and closed his eyes, focusing in on the presence.

"Bane. You didn't answer my call."

'Indeed. I even smelt your fear. You did not call only for me, Young Tyrant.'

"Why didn't you speak up? Was it a test? Is that it?" He couldn't understand.

'Of sorts. Not a test for you, but for him.'

"For..." Him? "For Tir'yal? Why are you testing him? He's not yours to test." He was not his God.

'A lust for blood can just as easily be converted to a lust for power. For is murder not proof enough of power over another? Is it not a victory one relishes in?'

"I suppose...I still don't understand, why didn't you step in? Did I fail you, Bane? Was that punishment for not securing the Crown myself?" He ached for answers.

'I do not need to punish you when I know you punish yourself enough for your mistakes.' Bane's laughter echoed inside his skull, and it reminded him on old smoker mixed with a young brute. 'I wanted to test the Bhaalspawns loyalties.'

"And what did you conclude from your test?"

'It wanes.' Enver swallowed, throat bobbing as he slowly opened his eyes, the shadow of his God hanging upon his frame like a weighted blanket. It made him feel both claustrophic yet secure.

"How so?"

'You know the plan, my Chosen. One does not stoke fear by reaping his own fields, but by burning his foe's. With the Crown now in reach, and the elder brain near, we only draw closer to our goal. As long as mortals and immortals vie for sharper blades and louder voices, I am strengthened. I need not anything else. The Bhaalspawn shows promise; and loyalty to whoever shows him a sliver of affection.'

"You're speaking without saying anything." It irked him.

'You're listening without hearing, child. Remember who I am. Who made you what you are.' Enver felt the urge to cough, but refused. It felt like there was smoke in his lungs. Bane's anger tasted like burnt rubber.

"He won't ever betray his Father, if that's what you're trying to say. He comes when he calls. He worships him as deeply as I worship you, Dark One."

'Because you're smart, Young Tyrant. You benefit from our alliance, from worshipping me, and you understand what you could lose, intimately, should you fail your God. You know you would be nothing but an urchin dead in the street without me. And that would be your kindest fate. You would still be a prisoner in a cell, and your soul eventually, eternally tied to that devil, had I not blessed you all those years ago.'

Enver clenched his teeth. He did know that. He knew that far too well.

"Tir'yal loves his Father. He won't ever abandon him."

'We both know love is not what keeps him there. Love does not exist for wretched creatures like him, for spawns of murder. Bhaal is home. Bhaal is all he has, and he made it that way for a reason. You are the wrench in the cogs of his favoured child. His Prince.'

"Are you saying...Tir'yal would leave Bhaal for me?"

'The Bhaalspawn would reject the call of his Father for you. Steady his blade for you. Create rather than destroy for you. His only friend, his only equal, one of the few things he can call his. He may not leave his Father, but you have more sway here than you realise, Young Tyrant.'

"Equal to the spawn of a God? It would be high praise if it wasn't Bhaals." Enver mused, looking down at the gauntlet. Tir'yal was a bard, to create was simply a part of him, as much as his ability to destroy. This meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

'He believes you his equal. His closest companion. And you believe him your equal in turn, do you not?'

Enver's eyes widened, the reply stuck in his throat.

"I...I believe him to be above the others in my circle. Useful. Loyal to our alliance, and our partnership. I consider him...a friend, if you will. A trustworthy one, if I dared to believe in the notion. Does that anger you, my Lord?"

'No. As long as you stay one step ahead of Bhaal's Prince, I will allow you to keep him as your...'equal'.'

"You will?" He didn't mean to sound so surprised.

'I've had my share of dalliances, Young Tyrant. Amorous connections can spur the most fruitful of alliances, and the strongest of loyalties. Look how far you've come already, manipulating bodies and hearts alike.'

The way he put it made Enver feel a sliver of disgust. He did not regret the past. He refused to entertain the very idea. Every sweet word he whispered into a superiors ear, every touch he relinquished to another, was of his own volition, and only drew him closer to his goals. Even before Tir'yal, he was clawing his way up the ladder, and he would not feel disgust for anything he did to get this far in life. Some of the greatest kings in history had come from nothing.

'Mortals and immortals alike covet to possess more than material goods. They wish to monopolise lovers, to own hearts, minds and bodies. He already consider you his. You are his to kill, to hurt and maim, in his mind. That is the closest thing to 'love' a Bhaalspawn can manage. Allow him to believe he has your heart, and leash his. Get him feeding from your hand, our hand, and the Prince of Bhaal will be the crown jewel in our empire.'

Enver rubbed the sweat from his upper lip, rubbing his nose with a soft sigh as he looked at the gauntlets. He fiddled with the latch idly, contemplating his answer. Despite doing so a million times before, he did not wish to toy with his closest companions heart. He would not insult his intelligence but initiating a fools play with him.

"Whether our connection is amorous of not, our alliance is strong, and it will benefit of our goals, as well as the kingdom I will build in your name, Dark One."

'I await the day the you sit upon the throne of this world, my Chosen. I only hope you choose someone worthy to witness our glory firsthand.'

His presence faded to nothing, and Enver sat there, staring at the intricate designs in encasing his forearm. Bane had not been satisfied with his answer, but he left anyway. Like he knew Enver would eventually concede to his order. Like he knew the union of his Chosen and the Bhaalspawn was inevitable.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and pushed his hair back, standing from his chair to grab the plate of metal from the water, tossing it back into the furnace with a scowl.

“I could only look at you.” Glowing eyes full of heat filled his mind.

Enver banished the memory from the forefront of his mind and unlatched his gauntlets, slipping them off and placing them back in the box, the gold bead dangling in the corner of his vision. He picked up his hammer and squeezed the handle. He needed to remove the restless energy from his bones.

He couldn't help but think Bane a touch foolish. If he would not abandon the God who saved him, why would Tir'yal abandon the very God who created him?

He grabbed his tongs, shifting through the coals and snatching the metal once more, tossing it onto the bench. Lust was not enough to tear a devoted son from his Father. Misguide him, maybe, but nothing more.

His steel heart was not willing to offer any more to the Bhaalspawn than the trust he already extended. After all, love was not for wretched creatures like them. The closest thing to love that they could offer was reserved for their Gods. And his love for Bane..well, love and fear were intimately intertwined, weren't they?

You are his to kill - that is the closest thing to 'love' a Bhaalspawn can manage.

The closest thing to love he could manage as a Banite, was to conquer. To own. Bane was right. Mortal and immortal men alike desired to covet more than wealth and property. He was no different.

Tir'yal was his, regardless of what 'love' they had for each other.

Nothing could change that.

#durgetash #male durge #durge #the dark urge #enver gortash #gortash

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