#every hour is wyll appreciation hour

[chaoticbardlady99]

Yesterday I Felt like Dancing (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Synopsis: You have burnt both ends of the candle and haven’t been taking care of your mental health. Unable to get yourself out of bed, Astarion begins to worry about you…

Author note- I have been hardcore struggling with my mental health lately and writing my silly little fics has been the only thing pulling me along. I thought it might be therapeutic to write about my current feelings (I have ADHD, MDD, and GAD so it’s a party up in here). I hope you enjoy!

CW- Suicidal Ideation, symptoms of depression, brief outburst, mentions of mental health diagnosis and poor medical advice.

Title inspired by song “Into the Walls” by Griff.

*not my pic, could not tell you where I found it so I apologize in advance. If you think it might be your picture, please message me so I can give proper credit.

Your last day before backtracking from the Mountain Pass to the Goblin camp is a difficult one.

Not for the group as a whole- just you specifically.

Days before a Mindflayer kidnapped you, a healer back home had told you your brain was sick. You had been devastated- resigned to your miserable fate.

You had been struggling for years at that point with inconsistent motivation, exhaustion, nightmares, and irrational thoughts for months. You have been functional for the most part, but then an overpowering wave will hit you like Warhammer in the ribs and you are rendered useless until it passes.

The healer suggested sunlight, exercise, eating healthy, and spending time with friends to help your affliction when you hit rock bottom. You were wildly unimpressed with her. At the time, you preferred to self isolate so you stayed by yourself in the woods trying to find peace there. You would have to let her know that her “going out and enjoying the sun” message is not always wise- you may get a tadpole shoved in your head. You can’t be that mad though- the tadpole helped bring your pep back.

Anyway, you have been doing all of that for weeks now, you even felt great, but today? You could not have hit rock bottom harder even if you tried.

You woke up that morning unable to get yourself out of bed. It was a rest day so it wasn’t a big deal, but you also know that your companions are going to have things they need to talk to you about and favors they need you to take care of.

Gods you had tried to get up. You are grateful that your past self had the gumption to wash off and change into clean clothes last night, but your armor is still disgustingly sitting outside your tent and your hair is long and wild. You had wanted to braid it, but it all felt like too much work.

Everything feels like too much work right now- even staying awake- so you drift in and out of uncomfortable naps throughout the morning. No matter how many times you fall asleep, begging for relief from the painful brick wall sitting on your brain, it never leaves.

You can feel the midday breeze rustle your tent. You’ve been laying here for hours now. You are crying and you honestly aren’t sure why. You feel completely paralyzed by all the things you need to do to be ready for the Underdark.

You need to clean your armor, go over the Goblin Camp’s map with Wyll, find Gale a magical artifact, and probably comfort Lae’zel since she’s been branded a heretic- but you won’t. The shame and self loathing continues. You are a silly, worthless little human being.

Every person who knocks on your tent gets a simple, “I’m just not feeling well,” and then they walk away. You don’t know why it makes you more sad than appreciative. If you were in their shoes- you would be bending over backwards to make sure they had everything they needed and you wouldn’t let them feel alone. Then you resent yourself for feeling that way towards your companions- they don’t owe you anything and you were the one who chose to help them- you didn’t ask for anything in return. This is all your fault.

The only person who hadn’t come to visit you was Astarion- which hurt your heart just a little, enough that the numbness coursing thickly through your body wavered for a moment. You are quite smitten and he is obviously not. Another mistake to add to the swirling black hole your mind has fallen into.

You knew it was stupid to want his comfort and affections- you had merely slept together a little less than a week ago. Astarion has been quasi avoiding you ever since and when he does talk to you- he’s awkward. You constantly look for flying pigs- Astarion feeling awkward or being awkward is unheard of.

You have come to accept that you were just some tryst and obviously he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he said he did.

Astarion isn’t to blame and the situation itself certainly didn’t contribute to the sudden lack of emotions. You knew that you were on the verge of a mental collapse sooner rather than later, but you had foolishly hoped you wouldn’t be alone through it. It feels less all consuming when you try to find a reason. It’s more comfortable to know than it is to give up and say, “my brain is fucked and there isn’t a damn thing I can do so I guess I’m stuck here.”

You are jolted out of your thoughts by another knock on your tent.

“I’m sick,” you say flatly.

“Ha- you act like that will deter me. I can’t even get sick, Darling.”

Before you even have time to register that Astarion is on the other side of your tent- he pushes his way through the flaps and stares down at you in confusion. And… concern?

Astarion steps inside and kneels down next to you- scanning you for evidence of illness or injury.

“I suppose I had been worried for nothing,” he smiles sweetly at you, “you are totally fine. Come on Darling, you have to get up and eat. Wyll is fumbling with that map.”

You look at him and begin to cry. Astarion’s face lights up with alarm.

“What- what did I do!?”

“Please don’t make me,” you sob, “I just want a break. I’m so tired. I want to lay in this bed forever and never leave, but there is so much to do and it’s paralyzing.”

You continue to cry and you cover yourself with the extra blanket- successfully hiding your face.

“Go away,” you whisper, “I need to be left alone.”

You say it, but you are far from meaning it. You want him to stay- to hold you- but he doesn’t want you so it will only make everything hurt worse once the numbness fades away.

You wait for several moments and then you hear him leave. Your silent cry turns into choked sobs and your body is shaking from the pain you are in. The numbness hurts. The numbness tells you that you shouldn’t be alive.

Maybe you shouldn’t be.

Everyone here would be able to figure it out on their own (eventually) and you would finally be free. Free of your uncomfortable brain, free of your ugly body- free of the expectations of others. You would no longer be holding them back like you are today- like you will again in the future.

You are sure they would temporarily grieve you, but that was the deal with this whole journey. You had all accepted that one of you or all of you could die at any moment. You will just put them in more danger by being here…

You shake the thought from your head, violently- your head is pounding from the growing tension headache and dehydration. The tears eventually stop and you just… well, lay in bed again. You stare blankly at a book over in the corner. You keep trying to convince yourself to get up and read the damn thing- do literally ANYTHING else than just stay here in your bedroll.

Instead, you fall asleep.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up to someone knocking on your tent post. You grumble incoherently, covering your head and you hear your unexpected guest sit down next to you. The smell of food fills the tent and your stomach grumbles.

“You need to eat, my Dear,” Astarion says softly.

You are stunned to hear his voice grace your ears. You slowly pull the blanket down to just below your eyes and look at him. Astarion looks distressed, like he doesn’t want to be here. Why would he? You’re a nuisance.

You sit up gingerly and grab the bowl from him. You manage to give him a lopsided smile.

“Thanks. You don’t need to stay, I will be fine on my own,” you say apathetically, staring into the broth.

“I want to stay,” he says, “if you’ll have me.”

The expression on his face is unreadable, but he seems genuine. You nod, your lips pressed together tightly. You eat as much as you feel like while Astarion studies you.

Usually your anxiety is at an all time high (in maybe one of the better ways) when you are around Astarion- he gives you butterflies, butterflies, and even more butterflies. Usually your heart is racing in his presence, but right now you just feel empty.

“Where is your hairbrush?” Astarion asks.

You frown with confusion, “it’s in my bag, why?”

Astarion gets up and goes over to the bag- digging out a few items. He pulls out a lantern, your hairbrush, and a hair tie. Astarion comes over to you and sits down behind you. You feel him gather up the stray pieces of your hair and get to work.

Astarion runs his fingers through your scalp and your tangled hair- the feeling is soothing and it opens something inside of you. Your body shakes silently with sobs and you feel the worm behind your eyes wiggle as Astarion asks for access. You aren’t sure.

“I want to understand,” Astarion says, “please.”

His voice is so raw and desperate- you swallow thickly before allowing him to explore your current emotional state. The silence in the tent is palpable and you feel tense, uncomfortable even. No one has ever cared for you while you are in this state before.

You feel him continue his hairbrushing after he exits your mind. Astarion leaves soft kisses on your shoulder as he gently pulls apart every knot. It helps- you realize- to feel cared for. The numbness still hurts, you still hurt, but it’s nice to not feel so alone.

After Astarion is done brushing your hair, you feel his delicate fingers begin to intricately braid your hair. You wonder when he learned how to do hair.

“Leon’s daughter, Victoria, used to ask me to braid her hair all the time,” Astarion says in a bittersweet voice as if reading your mind, “I picked it up so that she would stop bugging me about it. She said and I quote, ‘you have the perfect braiding hands!’”

You smile to yourself tenderly, “That’s very kind of you, Star. I am sure she appreciated it as much as I appreciate it now.”

You feel Astarion’s hands falter at your words and you are unsure if you have upset him or not. A pregnant pause occurs before Astarion finally clears his throat and goes back to braiding your hair.

“I’m glad that I can help,” Astarion’s delicate, vulnerable words hang in the air, “I’ve… been worried about you today.”

You feel positively flustered and bad for making him feel that way.

“Oh you don’t need to worry about silly ole me! This happens sometimes” you make your voice chirpier than it needs to be, “This is actually the longest I’ve gone for a long time without this happening. I have theorized that the tadpole might help which is kinda cool- I think?”

You laugh awkwardly- desperate to ease his worry.

“How often does this happen?”

Shit. That was the winning question wasn’t it? Astarion will surely never see you as anything less than broken now.

“I’m not really sure,” your voice comes out in a whisper, “I usually always feel a bit of it all the time, but it’s manageable. I function very well regardless.”

“But this one isn’t manageable and evidently you aren’t functional right now.”

You sigh, “No, it isn’t and no, I’m not.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing,” you say, maybe too harshly, “that’s the part that drives me crazy. Yesterday was incredible- I was on top of the whole world, felt like dancing and screaming from the rooftops, but today!?”

You inhale and hold back the muted scream that wants to fill the air.

“Today,” you hiss, “I don’t even want to deal with any of this shit anymore. I’m so fucking tired. There is too much to fucking do and too many people depending on me. Then everyone gets irritated with me if I ask to push off their problems so I persevere through it despite knowing I’m getting bad again. I’m a giant stinking trash heap that everyone keeps adding more to.”

Astarion finishes braiding your hair and presses your back to his chest, pulling you into him. He puts his arms around your waist and settles his chin and face in between the crook of your neck.

“I just feel like such a nuisance all the time- no matter how hard I push myself to prove I’m not. Sometimes I think everyone would be better off if I just… went away.”

You both sit there quietly. At some point he had taken one of your hands in his and he was tracing shapes into the back of it with his thumb. Your omission still hangs heavily in the air.

“I wouldn’t be better off,” Astarion says hotly, “I’d be stuck with all these weirdos by myself. That would be truly miserable, Darling.”

You shake your head, a half smile on your face.

“And besides- you are not even close to a nuisance,” Astarion states, leaving a kiss on your cheek, “at least you aren’t in constant need of magical objects to eat or blood to drink. Oh and you don’t require a painstaking amount of searching to prevent you from literally burning everyone alive.

“Oh and did I forget to mention, we have not one, but two women who despise each other and follow hateful Goddesses which was a fun choice for whatever sick bastard twisted our fates this way.”

You laugh breathily, closing your eyes and letting the sound defrost some of your insides.

“What I’m saying is- I think you are the least of everyone’s ‘nuisances’, my Darling,” he says, squeezing you tighter to his chest, “despite how little you think of yourself. We ne- no, I want you to stay. I know everyone else would say the same, but I must emphasize that I would be horribly distraught if you disappeared. Hells I’d even pay to have you resurrected.”

You gasp playfully, your voice falling slightly flat, “You? The most frugal man I have ever met would pay 200 gold coins to ‘Strike thy name from the record’?”

Your impression of Withers gets Astarion to genuinely laugh- the sound vibrating in your chest. You lean into him and he guides you back to laying down. Astarion entangles his legs with yours as he holds you tightly- your faces are mere centimeters apart. You love the way Astarion smells- rosemary, bergamot, and brandy. You wish you could be wrapped up in him forever. You are still in pain- everything still hurts and feels too difficult, but right now it feels a little less heavy.

“I would throw bags of Gold Coins at that corpse out of revenge, my Dear,” he teases, “you couldn’t possibly think I would ever let you rest peacefully in your grave- I would be far too angry with you and unhappy without you to let that happen.”

You lay there and despite yourself, you lean forward and leave butterfly kisses along his cheeks with your lashes. Astarion scrunches up his nose reflexively and smiles at you. You plant a sweet, short kiss on his lips.

“Thank you Astarion- for everything.”

You close your eyes as he traces circles along your lower back. Your eyes begin to droop, and you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When you wake up the next morning- you are disappointed to find that you are all alone in your tent. The heavy numbness is still there and you sigh. At least last night made it more bearable.

You look on the side where Astarion had been sleeping and find a note with a bottle attached to it. You pick it up and begin to read.

Tav,

Astarion had asked me about herbs for some relief regarding mental discomforts. I unfortunately don’t know many, but this is a mixture of St. John’s Wort, Valerian Root, and Ashwagandha. Historically, I know these have been used to alleviate emotional and mental pain.

Astarion didn’t tell me why he was asking, but I deduced it was you pretty quickly when he began shooing everyone away from your tent this morning.

I hope this helps- we are all here if you need us. May Silvanus light your path as you navigate this difficult time.

-Halsin

You sit in your own stunned silence for what feels like hours. Halsin knows and he wants to help? Halsin doesn’t think you are screwed or a nuisance? The man barely even knows you!

You are a bit embarrassed, but you can’t help but laugh at the image of Astarion telling everyone to leave you alone.

You open the bottle and a pleasant, earthy smell fills the tent. You drink the mixture (that definitely does not taste anywhere near as pleasant as it smells) and you do feel a slight bit better. Your apathy feels even more tolerable now. You will have to thank Halsin.

You slowly rise from your tent and look around. Everything is packed up neatly in the corner- your clothes from the previous day are folded nicely and you notice all the holes are sewn up.

You jump when someone enters your tent abruptly- the midday sun warming your skin. You turn around and Astarion is smiling at you, but looks nervous.

“I cleaned off your armor and your weapons,” he says awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, “I also packed up your stuff- as you can see. We have to start leaving unfortunately, but I’ll help you get on your armor like I usually do- I might still need help with mine though, but I can ask someone else if it’s too much for you right now. Lae’zel and Karlach offered to pack up your tent. Wyll and Shadowheart figured out the map- Wyll is going to be our ‘fearless’ leader for the day. Gale has some food for you to snack on while we travel- which you will be eating, by the way.”

Astarion is looking at you with a vulnerable expression on his face. He plays nervously with the gold coin in his hands.

You can hardly believe what you are hearing.

“Did- did you do all this for me?” You say with disbelief.

You never thought Astarion was capable of smiling shyly until he had admitted to you that you had been his first thinking creature- you certainly never thought you’d see him become shy twice in your presence.

“I did and it wasn’t a nuisance so don’t even begin to worry about that,” He walks over to you, gently cradling your face in his hands, “I hope this is all okay.”

You smile- the first genuine feeling of happiness you’ve felt in the last 24 hours gently sparks in your chest as you stare up at him. You get up on your tiptoes and bridge the gap between your lips.

“Thank you Astarion, this is perfect- you are perfect,” you are crying tears of joy, “this is the kindest gesture anyone has ever made for me. So just, thank you.”

“Of course, Darling,” he says smiling in between kisses, “I won’t let you lose to yourself. We’ll get through this together from now on- no more hiding.”

And for once? You actually believe someone.

-if you guys like this, please let me know if you would want a part two written from Astarion’s perspective.

Update- I did the thing you silly geese

https://www.tumblr.com/chaoticbardlady99/735969926279528448/i-took-all-this-love-i-found-and-i-hope-that-its

Tag-list: @spacebarbarianweird @domainoflostsouls

[beesxrated]

A Noble Exercise

Tav x Wyll wedding with some spice. 🪻

The wedding starts out with an orange sun just above the horizon. The house is buzzing with energy and excitement. You never get to catch a glimpse or hear anything about Wyll. As all of the preparations begin getting finished your palms start to sweat. After all your time fighting the cultists and your years in Avernus this is the most nervous you've been. All that time you had several friends and allies who knew exactly what you were going through and may have been going through the same. Now, however, it's just you and Wyll. Some of your friends are still by your side, but none of them are married, let alone in a long term relationship.

The long flowing sleeves of your dress begin to frustrate you as you try to keep your hands busy. You angrily throw the train over your shoulder and push the fabric up. You would be more comfortable getting married in your armor. Karlach bursts through the door at the perfect time. You were just about to change into your usual armor.

She grabs you with tears in her eyes, "You look so beautiful."

Her hug is extremely tight and you can't manage any words. When she finally releases you she sees how distraught you are. She immediately goes into Momma K mode. She brushes your hair and puts it out of your face. She tells you all the things she's heard about Wyll getting ready and how nervous everyone is saying he is. Hearing how Wyll is as nervous as you are, makes you feel a little less scared.

When the time comes you make your way down the aisle. Halsin agreed to marry the two of you. Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard agreed to walk you down to Wyll, seeing as you had no family left. Gale, Minsc, and Lae'zel stand next to Wyll. Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion stand on the other side.

When you pictured your wedding growing up, you never imagined a vampire or githyanki being your most important people, let alone marrying a well-known folk hero. You'd always pictured a comment that had smitten you, made you feel as though you were some sort of noble. Wyll thought writing vows to each other would be more personal and fit the life you have and will continue to lead. It's another thing you never thought about when you were younger.

When Halsin finally reaches the vows it's your turn first, "I promise to dream with you, to build a family with you and to encourage you. I admire you. Simply because of your kind soul, tender heart, and positive mindset. I especially appreciate your endearing sense of humor. I am ever so grateful for your love and selflessness. In return, I offer these promises. I promise to always be your perfect dancing partner."

"Love is a word that is much too soft and used far too often to ever describe the fierce, infinite and blazing passion that I have in my heart for you. Falling for you wasn't falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing you're home. Everything in me recognizes your heart as my home and your arms, my shelter. Your youth may fade away, but your smile will always remind me of that time I first saw you in the moonlight at the teifling party." Wyll says it all so effortlessly. He somehow pours the love he has for you into every word.

The rest of the ceremony and kiss feels rushed and it begins to make your head spin. The party is about to begin and you have barely been able to sit down. The moment your lips parted everyone was pushed to the ballroom. You see the sun is just an hour above the horizon. Has the day really been that fast?

You and Wyll dance and meet all the guests, many of whom he knew growing up. The two of you barely have time to talk with lines waiting to congratulate you when you take a break from the dancing. Wyll's hand stays interlocked with yours and squeezes when he notices how tired you are.

When the party is finally over the moon is almost at its peak in the sky. You make your way to your room, Wyll follows close behind. You turn to him and he shuts the door quickly behind him. As he begins to strip you give him a pointed look. It's been a long day, you haven't been planning on any sort of extra curricular activity.

Once he gets down to his undergarments he sighs and flops onto the bed, "Do you need help with your dress?"

"Yes, I just..." You drop your arms to your side, "I don't have the energy to do... Anything..."

He jumps up and begins unlacing your dress, "I was not looking for sex if that's what you mean. It's been too long of a day. I just want to hold you, make you feel less stressed." He pulls the dress off your shoulders and falls to the floor, "I am happy to wait for morning, or however long it takes."

Wyll pulls you down to the bed and holds you close to his chest. With little effort the two of you fall asleep. In the morning you feel more refreshed and rested. Wyll is awake next to you, reading a book. You shuffle over and lay on his chest.

"Good morning, myn lykyng." Wyll smiles down at you.

You lean up and kiss him. As you try to pull away he follows you. His hand cups your face as he attempts to place the half read book on the table. But when you hear a loud thud you know he's missed. He follows you all the way onto your back. The tension between the two of you begins to grow as he kisses you deeply, placing his hips between your legs.

He pulls away quickly, "Is this okay?"

You nod before pulling his lips back to yours. The two of you agreed to doing nothing physical for three months before the wedding. It was hard, but it's not like you actually had sex with each other. You touched and that was about it. Not from lack of trying, but in the Hells simply touching was hot enough.

He pulls away and rips the remaining clothes you had on, off. His lips feel as hot as the Hells as they make their way down your stomach. His tongue pushes into you, his nose grazing your clit. He seems surprisingly good since he'd never done it before.

He begins to slow his movements and pulls away, "Is that good?"

"Yes." You laugh as he gets back to it.

You grip his horns to guide him to the right movements. He's a fast learner and soon you're holding on for your sanity. He pulls away for a few moments, kissing your thighs. His teeth graze your skin. He continues kissing your tights and up to your hips, causing you to beg.

"Wyll." You moan and try to redirect his head using his horns, "Please."

He smiles into your hip bone before plunging back between your legs. You see him moving more than he was before and he groans into you. You pull at his horns asking for more friction. Wyll pulls his face away and climbs you. He rubs against you, letting you feel how aroused he is through his underwear.

He drags a hand down his face quickly, places a kiss on your lips, and pulls off his underwear. You admire him kneeling in front of you before he pushes himself forward. It's slow and slightly painful as you get used to him. When you finally start taking pleasure from him he quickens his pace and strengthens his thrusts.

Wyll keeps his lips locked with yours as it all comes way too quickly to an end. He pulses inside you and you feel shaky under him. He holds himself above you, not wanting to collapse and hurt you, he slowly falls onto the bed next to you.

Wyll breaks the silence, "I like when you grab my horns."

"Oh?" You smile at him, never expecting him to enjoy that.

"I don't know how to explain it. It feels nice."

You reach over and stroke the smooth horn. He shivers at the touch. You wish you would've known before, it seems like a good way to tease him or even give him some sort of pleasure while he pleases you. You let your hand fall down and brush his hair from his face. He's let his hair grow out and curl. The curls extenuate his horns and for some reason you find it very attractive. In fact the aging he has done in the past few years has made him far more attractive to you. Nothing looks bad on him.

[halsins-herbal-underpants]

How Halsin Spends Time with His Lover

male companion headcanons

Wyll

Most nights after supper's done, Halsin will sit with Wyll somewhere comfy -- around the campfire or relaxing in the druid's tent -- and recount stories of his past adventures while Wyll sits close and listens. Sometimes they'll trade stories back and forth, which Halsin loves -- Wyll lights up talking about the battles he's faced and Halsin sits patiently for each recounting, smile getting bigger and bigger the more into the story Wyll gets, finding his excitement endearing. Halsin's a very appreciative audience, laughing, cheering and clapping for each rousing finale. But most of the time Wyll just sits enraptured by Halsin's tales

Halsin also often joins Wyll for a sparring session in the morning. The younger man is usually the one to initiate, but rarely will Halsin decline -- it means too much to him to get to witness Wyll's joy at a simple sparring match, testing himself with someone as powerful and adept as Halsin. The two usually end in a draw though Wyll has beaten him once or twice. Not that Halsin minds, as it usually results in a gentle kiss or two for his bruises from his Blade.

Gale

The wizard isn't the only one with a mini private library in his tent, and the two often spend literal hours discussing texts they've read, sharing new ones, discussing studies and their different magical disciplines. During travel Halsin always sets aside a new tome or two to share with Gale after supper. He also takes Gale foraging for alchemical ingredients, discussing and sometimes even teaching Gale about plants and their uses. All cherished moments for Halsin, the way Gale comes alive when discussing magic is too lovely to miss.

They cook together often, too. Trying new recipes, perfecting others. Often Halsin shares family recipes, which Gale is eager to try every time. Halsin is a fantastic cook but in his eyes Gale is as adept at cooking as he is magic. He praises his innovation often and adores the sweetly blushing expression it causes. (Preparation can too often get interrupted by kissing those flushed cheeks.) Getting to sample Gale's delicious dishes is the highlight of their evening. He always cleans his plate and shows the cook his appreciation, even when it makes Gale flustered behind his smile.

Astarion

While Astarion usually balks at doing anything physical or requiring work (or really anything that doesn't mean he gets to be comfortable and lazy), Halsin can still usually get the spawn to spend time with him in his tent by letting him come when he wants and leave when he's ready. It's often just Halsin working on something to the side, with Astarion lounging nearby pretending he's not there for any particular reason. Though after a bit Halsin will usually end up with an annoyed vampire leaning up against him demanding to see what he's doing, and then he can give his cat little star all the attention he could ask for.

Some quiet nights he'll sit with Astarion while the other braids his hair and mocks terrible books. The first time Halsin asked him to read one of these awful romance novels to him, Astarion just rolled his eyes. But now he's started coming by at least once a tenday to sit with Halsin stretched out, head in Astarion's lap, to read the druid a terrible book and pause every other paragraph to give scathingly hilarious commentary. It's become Halsin's favorite day.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Any opinion on a character that focuses too much on approval/disapproval, I tend to dismiss. You know, unless it leads them to conclusions that I think are right for other reasons that they just didn't explore. Or, I would feel that way if I'd seen that, but I haven't.

If you're whole theory of the character is based off the approval system and doesn't take their actual story into account, you tend to be wrong.

Partly, this is because it's tricky to confidently know why a character reacts the way they do, though that's a fun exercise on its own. Every once in a while I'll read an explanation that completely nails it, but for every one fandom theory written by someone who actually sounds like they get the characters, I read about twenty from people who sound like they are maybe 12 hours into the game, or even familiar with the characters purely from marketing material they saw on Facebook.

Like, I do think speculating about certain moments of approval/disapproval is fun, and also, totally inevitable, but I only consider it on a case by case basis and not when it's extrapolated into something immutable.

IE - I think it's interesting that when you find Halsin in the bear cage you can throw rocks at him with the Goblin children and a) no one disapproves of this, including our animal lovers and our Halsin saviours and b) Astarion approves.

A bad example of analysing this would be "well b) Astarion is just evil and I guess a) the other characters think the bear is in jail for good reason" or more likely "idk a) it's not that deep unless its Astarion then its b) definitive proof he's irredeemable"

So,

a) I think they each have their own individual reasons for tolerating it, and its first important to note that at this point, none of them know the consequences of you doing this, because if they did, you'd see some disapproval for sure: Shadowheart appreciates subterfuge and commitment to it, so even though she doesn't like to see animals get hurt, she doesn't react and also has a high tolerance for situations in which a group mentality forces you to do something cruel. She has to. Karlach wants to give you the benefit of the doubt, so she probably tells herself that it was just a mistake. If you'd known what would happen, you never would have done it, maybe you thought a little extra pain and rage would motivate the bear, she knows something about that.

Wyll I legitimately think that when surrounded by Goblins, Wyll's ability to power through unpleasant situations and his rage goes way way up, and empathy consequently goes way down. He only ever gets nasty when it has to do with them. He's too focused on his enemies to consider much else.

Gale may love animals, canonically, but like I remember one time I was talking with someone who told this story about having to shoot a feral dog on his property when it went after his chickens, and this guy was clearly traumatised that he had to do this, but our clueless acquaintance just dismissively said "well you did what you had to" and proceeded to kind of invalidate the conflicted feelings our buddy was having about it. Gale is somehow both of them. I don't think he'd throw the rocks, unless forced. I think he'd be upset at having to hurt an animal under any circumstances. But I don't think he'd feel much if someone else did it. Bears are capable predators, bears can handle a few rocks.

Lae'zel doesn't disapprove because violence, pain, cruelty on its face aren't offensive to her, and she doesn't have a particular love for animals. Alternatively, I also think it makes sense she doesn't approve either because although she does approve of some acts of cruelty, I think she prefers when there's a discernible purpose to it, or something impressive about it. and

b) Astarion approves because he begins the game in the paradigm that acts of cruelty are how you gain and demonstrate power, and that being kind gets you punished. You can either prove him right or prove him wrong through your choices in the game, but I don't think it's an accident that these moments become less and less frequently as you progress the story, regardless of the path you choose. You can challenge Astarion, and even shift that paradigm for him. Takes time though, and at least when you first meet him, he's very comfortable with you being a bastard because it affirms that paradigm and the dynamic that he's used to. It's notable then, that on the flip side, he's vocally uncomfortable with you being kind, but his approval still steadily climbs if you keep him in your party and don't treat him poorly, even if you are kind to everyone you can possibly be kind to, and you always have him with you, his approval still climbs at a regular rate. Basically, I think its reductive to say that he's just entertained by violence and cruelty. Like, yeah, one point awarded for noticing that about him---he absolutely is evil aligned, gold star. Why's that? Why does he approve of cruelty? And what does it say that as he finally spends the first weeks of his life able to make his own choices, he seems less and less inclined to approve of the cruel acts that you commit? There's loads of these moments in act one, less in act two, and in act three you have to go hunting for them and mainly find them in big story events that you will only find when you are RPing evil.

I think it supports the theory that he's got a kind of mechanically enabled redemption arc, but it doesn't prove it. The game is meant to embody 15K different realities and AUs, they had to make it so that the character would have different version of themselves for you to interact with, depending on your choices.

And I guess that makes the emphasis on NPC choices that much more interesting to me. Removed from Cazador, Astarion's arc naturally bends away from cruelty, unless you act as his new master which you are totally permitted to do.

[shannaraisles]

Devil's Dance - for @euryalex

A commission fic for the lovely @euryalex, featuring her Tav, Tara Lunarsong, and Wyll Ravengard - thank you so much for commissioning me, lovely, you were a real pleasure to work with! The banner was created using one of @euryalex's own screenshots.

Devil's Dance

Aevan will be there.

Tara shook her head, chasing away the inevitable suggestion of long-held fear that came with that thought. Aevan Covaldi, her former master and still a high ranking noble of this city ... yes, he would be at the ball tonight, held to honour Enver Gortash’s ascension to the rank of Archduke of Baldur’s Gate. No matter what she had done, or what he thought of her now, he would try his hand to drag her back under his control. She could not suppress a shudder at the prospect of being once more entirely at his mercy. 

A flicker of motion in the reflection, dragging violet eyes from their contemplation of herself to the entrance of the companion who needed her to be on top of this tonight. Wyll looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt, hands twitching at the finery they had procured for the evening. They had been invited, they would play their part. After all, this was the life that awaited him when his own father eventually chose to step down. He would be the next Duke Ravengard of the Gate, as was his birthright. 

The reluctance on his face was covered in an instant as she turned to greet him, replaced with the warm smile that she had grown so accustomed to from him. No day was now complete without at least one of those smiles from Wyll, and he never seemed to tire of bestowing them upon her. This time, however, it was touched with something that drew more heat to her skin, promising a thrill they had flirted with just barely over the weeks they had been travelling together. 

“Tara, you look ...” He spread his hands, that smile deepening at his own loss for words. “Beautiful barely touches the radiance I see before me.”

She laughed, cheeks warming with almost shy delight at his appreciation. 

“It is a wonder what well made clothing can do for even the most dowdy person,” she agreed, a teasing tilt to her head as she took the hand he offered to her. 

“You jest, surely,” he said, holding her arm out so that he could drink in the magnificence of his companion clad in silk and velvet to match the jewel-dark tones of her hair and eyes. “It is not the dress that makes you shine, my lady.”

“And it is not your finery that draws my eyes, but the good heart and soul behind your every word and action,” was her tender response, fingers squeezing his for a brief moment before her smile faded. “Are you ready to do this?”

He held her gaze for an uncomfortable moment, stone eye and living both seeming to share the pain of his reluctant duty with her. 

“In truth, I do not believe I shall ever be ready to be a part of this vipers’ nest we call high society,” he confessed. “But it is my father’s wish - and our own design - that I attend this evening. I am grateful that you will be at my side.”

“You have no idea how much I echo that sentiment.”

“Then, my dearest lady, shall we enter the dragon’s lair together?” Wyll drew her hand to the crook of his arm, laying his palm with warm comfort over her fingers. “I will not leave your side, I swear it.”

Tara let her relief show in her own smile as she curled her hands to his elbow, the two of them stepping from the rooms they had been given to make their way down to the entry hall. The ball was already in full swing, the new Archduke presiding over the celebration of those who knew his purpose and those innocent of it. As his guests, and guests of Duke Ravengard, they should have been downstairs over an hour ago. They could not put it off any longer. 

The grands doors opened, their names announced to the gathering, and all eyes fell upon them. And what did those eyes see? A half-elven sorceress arrayed like a queen, on the arm of the Blade of Frontiers, the devil son of Duke Ravengard. Those same eyes lingered on the horns that curled from Wyll’s head, one the warning flicker of lightning at the fingertips of his companion when she noted too many recoiling in disgust and fear. It did not matter how much Duke Ulder may declare his faith in his son - the transformation visited upon him by Mizora would forever be the first impression he made upon those he met. The nobility could be ruthless if they spotted weakness; Tara curled her fingers tighter to Wyll’s sleeve. They could not show any weakness here. 

“Ah, my guests! At last you grace us with your presence!”

Gortash’s voice cut through the silence, and it seemed as though the room took a breath. 

“My lord.” Wyll bowed, though his hand did not leave Tara’s as she inclined her head to the devious man sat above them. “Our apologies for our tardiness.”

Gortash’s smile was painfully knowing, the tadpoles squirming in their heads as his regard focused on them. 

“No apology is needed, I assure you,” he declared. “Were my companion such a rare jewel, I too would delay sharing her with the world.”

Tara managed to turn her grimace at the implication into a dignified sneer of a smile, glad when Gortash seemed to dismiss them with a wave of his hand, extorting the musicians to play once more. Allowed to accept the newcomers in their midst by their newest leader, the nobles and their warriors and spies turned back to their own scheming and sniping ... all but one. 

She felt his gaze before she found him in the crowd, standing tall, displaying the scars she had left on him with an almost perverted pride. Wyll must have felt her stiffen at his side, drawing her just a little closer into the warmth of his presence, his free hand returning to rest with tenderness over her fingers at his elbow as Aevan Corvaldi moved to intercept them. The man’s eyes settled with snake-like certainty on Tara, and for just a moment, she was thrown back in time, gripped in the vice of memory so tightly she could barely breathe. She remembered the leash settled about her neck, metaphorical in nature but oh, so real for so many years. She remembered the rules, the punishments, the suppression of her very being, cold numbness spreading through her chest ... and felt Wyll’s hand squeeze her own, heard him clear his throat to address the source of her age-old terror with no fear at all. 

“I notice your eyes lingering where they should not,” the Blade of Frontiers said, his shoulders somehow broadening  as he drew himself up, prepared to step between them if necessary. “You are?”

“An old friend.” Aevan’s smile was still as charming as it had always been, even with the steel-sharp edge of fury lingering deep behind his eyes. “You are thriving, I see, Tamara.”

With the numbness of fear fading, Tara looked into those eyes and felt ... nothing. No anger, no disgust ... no fear. Her lips twitched, almost betraying the smile that wanted to show itself as she acknowledged that finally this man had no hold over her. There was the uncomfortable stirring of the tadpole in her mind, telling her that Aevan, too, had been implanted, yet she felt nothing but pity for his state. After all, if she and her party were to find success, he would at last be defeated in every way that mattered to him. He would have to acknowledge that he was just one among many, and as powerless as so many of the souls he had ground beneath his heel over time. 

“No thanks to you, Lord Corvaldi,” she said, her fingers answering Wyll’s squeeze as reassuringly as she could. 

“Oh, come now.” Her former monster laughed his amiable laugh, but the coldness behind his gaze could not be wholly denied. He wanted her even more, now that she had proven she had no need for him. “You and I were very good together. Perhaps we could be again, away from this demonic underling you have acquired in my absence.”

This time, it was Wyll who stiffened at her side, stinging from the implication, and she who calmed him before he could speak in answer, marvelling at her calmness in the face of such blatant attempts at manipulation.

“I think, Lord Corvaldi, you will find that I am better in your absence,” she informed him. “I have no need for underlings when I have companions who choose to stand by me. But, of course, you would not understand that. You have no use for true loyalty, something I am certain the Archduke would confirm. Enjoy your evening.”

She offered him her sweetest smile, turning away with her blood singing in her veins, drawing Wyll away from the darkness of her past and further into the throne that might contain his future. He stepped smoothly with her, but she could feel that he was steaming with anger at the unseemly encounter.

“Easy,” she murmured. “I have been around people like this enough to know that he cannot do anything to me. But he should not have said that about you.”

“He said nothing that others are not thinking,” Wyll sighed in return, lowering his head so only she could hear the regret in his speech. “For all my father’s posturing, they will only ever see me as the devil in their midst.”

“The Devil Duke of Baldur’s Gate does have a certain ring to it,” she mused, trying to lighten the moment for him as the soft cadence of music reached them through the crowd. “Dance with me, dear heart. Let’s show them you are so much more than they seem to think.”

This drew a faint chuckle from his lips, the sense of acceptance there even as he stepped back to bow to her. It was the minuet they had first danced together in camp so many weeks before, steps that came now as easily as breathing to them both. Fingers barely touching as they passed one another, eyes locked on one another even as the crowd dispersed around them, all eyes on the devil and his lady as they promenaded across the floor in perfect time, each one in sync with the other as easily as their heartbeats found a similar rhythm. 

And there, in the gentle swirl of motion and intimacy, was the intrusion of voices, as the tadpoles squirming in their minds gave them glimpses into the judgement of the people watching them. 

... fiendish power to hold over us ... is this beast to be our next duke ... must have sold her soul to him for this favour ... Lord Gortash’s hell hound ... 

Tara saw the words strike Wyll to the core, saw him falter in his steps. She abandoned the dance, stepping close, curling her hands to his cheeks, drawing him down. 

“No,” she whispered, violet eyes burning her fierce denial into his. “You are Wyll Ravengard, Blade of Frontiers, hero of the Sword Coast. You are a good man, no matter the appearance you wear. You do not belong in this nest of vipers.”

WIthout a second thought for how it might look, or who might be offended, she pulled him to her, lips seeking his to still the roiling recriminations in his mind and sweep his thoughts clean of the judgement of others. Her fingers poured deliberately over his jaw, to his neck, gripping the butter-soft velvet of his doublet between his shoulderblades, dragging herself closer, ever closer into his arms as he clung to her. His kiss was almost desperate, needing to believe her, needing to know he was not what all these strangers wanted to see him as. 

“Tara ...” Her name drawn from his lips in a fervent whisper as she gently parted her lips from his, sharing his breath with her as he shuddered in her grasp. “What am I doing here? I cannot be what he wishes of me.”

She smiled, brushing the tip of her nose to his, fully aware that his father, the source of all his insecurities and uncertainties, was watching their every move. Aware that he would know she was responsible for his son’s happiness, even if that happiness meant abandoning the duty the old man kept forcing upon him. 

“Then be what you wish to be,” she whispered back to him. “Stay with me. Let’s see what we can become together.”

She felt a second shudder tremble through him, taking with it the burden of not knowing if he could walk away from the life that had been proscribed for him since birth. Of course he could walk away; so long as she walked at his side, he could do anything. And here she was, promising she would walk that path with him. 

His lips parted, curving into broad grin as he pressed a swift kiss to her mouth, drawing his courage.

“Be ready, my dear one.”

Then he turned to the company, who stared at the two of them as though they had lost their minds, as though their little display of fierce devotion was the very height of offence. 

“My lords, my ladies, and company all,” he announced. “I thank you for your cold indifference and unfeeling judgement. Rest assured, there will be no Devil Duke of the Gate. I have no desire to be a part of this company of thieves and villains. Please, make merry while you can. Your time is growing short.”

With a flourishing bow, he wrapped his arm about Tara’s waist. She drew the symbol in the air, mouthed the words, and suddenly they stood at the doors through which they had entered, a blast of force from his hand blowing them open with a careless gesture. They turned back to the crowd for a last bow, each noting the fury on the face of the Archduke and the quiet pride in the respectful nod from Duke Ulder before dismissing them all as easily as they themselves had been dismissed. Gortash’s opinion meant nothing to them, but the Duke’s smile was all the approval Wyll needed. Tara’s smile was heartfelt as she nodded back to him, turning to her Blade once more. 

And, arm in arm, the Blade of Frontiers and the Lily of the Valley stepped out from beneath the expectations of others, into a world of their own making.

[pindagreat]

I finished Baldur's Gate 3 last night and wow. Really good game! It could get a little overwhelming with the sheer amount of content. I needed guides a lot more than I would have liked, but I loved the story. The entire cast of playable characters is great, but I do find the party size of 4 too restrictive. I just stuck to using the same party of my Paladin Tav, Gale, Shadowheart and Karlach(my wife). I would have appreciated some sort of sidekick system where inactive party members can provide some sort of passive buff to an assigned party member. This way even characters the player doesn't use can have out of combat conversations, which are fantastic, as well as being able to participate in story cutscenes. It would also be nice to swap my party around in a menu instead of talking to party members individually to change around the party.

On the subject of the party, here are some thoughts on the party members (Full game spoilers):

Note that I went for the righteous choice at pretty much every turn

Gale is a fantastic little goober. The thing about him eating magic items in act 1 was hilarious. Tim Downie's performance was perfect for the character at every turn. Gale takes himself seriously to the point of both gripping drama and hilarious blunders. He was a mainstay of my party not just for having a good spell list, but he was a great guy. I love the arc I got for him, where he learns to accept that he doesn't have to keep ascending to greater heights, and becomes a teacher.

I thought when I met Shadowheart that I would hate her. I kept her around in the first few hours of act 1 because she was the first party member you got and also a cleric, which I knew would be useful for the entire game. I found her and Lae'zel bickering annoying at first, but it progressively got more and more entertaining. Then they actually tried to kill eachother, which gave great insight to both characters. Every bit of Shadowheart's quest made me love her more, from facing the gauntlet of Shar and rebelling against her to killing her captors and letting her parents go with their love in her heart. Also spirit guardian + boots of speed is goated holy shit

Karlach is amazing. She's goals and also my wife. From the moment I saw fanart of her, I knew she would be my favorite character. Her narrative of trying to escape from her past and it catching up with her struck a chord with me. Trying to fix her engine was a great conflict, and I love the ending where Karlach and my Tav Nadia go to Avernus to fix her engine once and for all. She's a ray of sunshine, and I love every second of joy in her eyes. I loved finding all the best equipment I could for her, with her getting the Balduran giantslayer for the final battle + amulet of health + being hasted. So much fun

Astarion is such a gremlin. I loved helping him kill his abuser and save all the other vampire spawn. I didn't use him very much, so he was kinda just comic relief to me, but he's still a great character even if you don't wind up going into his deepest depths.

Lae'zel was in a similar boat to Shadowheart, where I was put off by her in the beginning, but she won me over. I love a narrative where a character rejects a supposed truth they were brought up believing, and Lae'zel's crusade to kill Vlaakith was amazing. Gith lore was a corner of dnd lore I was more familiar with going in to the game from listening to Rolling With Difficulty, and that made Lae'zel's arc all the sweeter.

Wyll was the origin character that compelled me the least, but he was still cool. I don't have much to say about him.

Halsin and the quest to heal the shadowcurse are some all time favorite quests in this game. I love the ending he gets where he becomes the guardian of all the refugee children.

Jaehira was kinda just there. She was fun in the few interactions I had with her, but otherwise eh. I'm glad other people get more out of her than I do

The Emporer is a fascinating character. He is extremely set in his ways. He is unwilling to consider the idea that Orpheus won't try to kill the party because he thinks Orpheus would kill him for what he's done. This uncompromising nature is why he killed Ansur, and why he will betray you if you don't give him the netherstones and let him kill Orpheus.

Orpheus himself was a little underwhelming since he came in at the 11th hour, but I liked convincing him to live. I headcanon that if you convince him to live he meets Omeluum and those two learn from eachother.

Also the dead three's chosen were fun antagonists. I loved being jumpscared by JK Simmons when he showed up. I only kinda remembered that he would be in this game.

I love a ton of the changes and additions to the format of dnd 5e. The 1/short rest abilities make martials have a little more depth, which is a great boon. One minor thing I wish they got rid of from 5e is that you can't cast spells while raging. I would have loved to get more use out of Karlach's smites.

Instant short rests is something I love. It makes the game flow well and lets the characters that rely on short rests stay good. I'm honestly planning on adopting that in some form when I start dming.

One gripe I have is that the game pretends as if resurrection magic isn't a thing in the story. Each character starts the game with a couple scrolls of revivify, so I don't understand why you can't be resurrecting NPCs. That would save a lot of hassle.

All in all, I love Baldur's Gate 3. It's the perfect game for someone who loves RPGs and going for most of the sidequests. The story is engaging, and I don't have any gripes that ruin the game. It's mostly just things I would change to fit my own tastes more. 10/10

[vampirecatboy]

well, here we are, ~6000 words of plot with ~1000 words of smut tacked on at the end

you can read it on ao3 here (or maybe you just want to check the tags idk idc)

Masquerade balls.

Wyll could appreciate the romance in them, but he would greatly prefer not having to participate. He hated getting dressed up in those stuffy clothes, being paraded around like a show pig because he was the only son of Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard, especially now that he was of age.

Every duke and count and baron and marquis was making the case for their lovely daughter, and why she would be the perfect match for him- never to Wyll, of course, because it wasn’t Wyll they were after. It was all to curry favor with his father. Nothing would open as many doors as being legally tied to the Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate.

He was lucky his father was clever enough to spot a weasel at his doorstep, and on the rare occasion that he wasn’t, Wyll would convince him that the match wouldn’t be in his best interest. The last thing Wyll wanted was for these young ladies to be pawns, forced off into a loveless marriage because their parents wanted status.

Not that Wyll would treat them poorly, he just… there was a part of him that wanted actual romance, not something arranged.

Of course, a ball was the perfect place to meet someone, and the masquerade he was attending that night was being hosted by the family of someone he’d long been interested in, but the chance of having a moment alone with that someone was highly unlikely.

And of course, again, there were the clothes. The stuffy collars and the itchy breeches. The heels on his shoes weren’t too high, maybe a few centimeters, but they were still uncomfortable. He longed to be barefoot, practicing with his rapier in the family estate’s courtyard. He wasn’t made for this sort of thing.

But his father had been too busy to attend. At least, that’s what he said. Ulder Ravengard couldn’t make a lower noblewoman’s engagement party, so he sent Wyll as his proxy. Wyll hadn’t been given much choice in the matter.

The masquerade itself was something of an engagement party, held for the eldest daughter of Count Ronan Magnier, the patriarch of a house of notoriously talented half-elven sorcerers. The rumor was that his daughter, Murielle, had refused every man who had shown interest in her, political or otherwise, leaving her single well into her twenties.

Obviously the woman whose name appeared beside Murielle’s on the invitation, this Sigrid Greyforge, was finally someone she could see herself spending her life with. Wyll could only dream of finding that person for himself. It was only a matter of time until his father deemed some noble’s daughter suitable for him, until Wyll could no longer convince him that he was better off finding someone for himself.

Wyll shook his head, willing the depressing thought away. It was no use getting moody when he was already somewhat sour because of his uncomfortable dress clothes.

He secured the ribbon holding his bauta mask in place. The nice part about the masquerade was that he didn’t have to suffer through having his arrival announced to the entire party. All he had to do was present his invitation, and they let him in. He just had to stay and mingle for a few hours, congratulate the brides-to-be, then he could return home and get out of all his finery.

There was one thing Wyll wanted to try, though the nature of the party would make it difficult, with everyone unrecognizable in their masks. How the hells was he supposed to find one man in a sea of strangers?

Ronan and Yasmine Magnier had three children. There was Murielle of course, the eldest, nine years Wyll’s senior, Fiacre, the youngest, just two years older than him, and then there was the middle child, Kilian.

Wyll had first seen him when he was just twelve, and Kilian was eighteen. He had been told that it was perfectly natural for boys to look up to older boys with feelings of admiration, but what he felt when he looked upon Kilian that first time was not the sort of admiration they had mentioned.

Kilian was beautiful, and not just in the way that half-elves typically were. He had an air of melancholy about him, a deep sorrow that seemed to loom over him like a shadow. He had seemed bored that first time, dejected, a bit angry, but he carried it with such grace and dignity, Wyll couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

Of course, at the time, he was twelve, and Kilian was eighteen, so he stuck to stealing glances.

Their lives would intersect several more times following the initial encounter. Kilian would attend events held by Wyll’s father, probably for the same reason Wyll was attending his sister’s engagement party.

When Wyll was fourteen, there were one or two parties Kilian attended with a young woman, and seeing them together, seeing her hang off his arm and whisper in his ear, seeing them smile and make eyes at each other made Wyll sick with envy. It was then that he identified his fascination with Kilian as the crush that it was.

Ulder received an invitation not long after. Kilian was to marry this girl. Wyll fell into a depression after learning that. He ate less, slept more, couldn’t focus on his studies. He knew it was ridiculous, what he was feeling, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the wedding was called off, with no word as to why.

There were rumors, of course. None that Wyll paid any mind to. Kilian probably wasn’t impotent, and his ex-fiancee probably wasn’t carrying another man’s child. It wasn’t anyone’s business but Kilian’s.

But it did make Wyll unbelievably happy.

In the years following, Wyll had only interacted with Kilian once. He had been sixteen, sneaking into one of his father’s parties after he should’ve been in bed. He wanted to see what went on after he left, maybe sneak himself a cup of mulled wine. Then he spotted Kilian, hanging back away from the crowd, drinking and people watching. Typical of a teenager with a crush, Wyll couldn’t take his eyes off him. It wasn’t until Kilian’s head turned toward him that he snapped out of it. He quickly ducked behind the wall he’d been spying from and willed his heart to stop racing.

That should’ve been it, he should have returned to his room and not risked being spotted again, but Wyll was a teenager with a crush. He couldn’t help trying to steal one last glance. This time, however, Kilian was closer. Much closer.

“Having fun?” he had asked.

Wyll had never heard him speak before, and his voice was just as beautiful as the rest of him. He had stammered, not able to get out much more than, “I- I- I-”

“You are Duke Ravengard’s son, no?” Kilian asked.

“Yes, uh… Wyll, my lord,” Wyll answered with a slight bow. He hadn’t been entirely sure that bowing was warranted, he technically outranked Kilian after all, but he had panicked.

Kilian had looked somewhat amused by it.

“Wyll.” The way he said it, with his accent, almost sounded like “wheel.” It was charming, if a bit strange.

“Yes, my lord,” he nodded.

Kilian huffed. “Go, Wyll. You will have plenty of this when you are older.”

Wyll had caught his eye a few more times between then and now, but Kilian hadn’t approached him again. Perhaps tonight, if he got lucky…

Well. He’d have to get very lucky. He could tell individual’s apart, based on differing masks and body types, but their identities were all mysteries. It would probably be best to just go about his business and not get his hopes up. The music was playing, the wine was flowing, he might as well try to have a good time at the party and not indulge a superficial crush that he should have long since outgrown.

He got himself a drink and found a place among a group of chattering partygoers, who seemed to be talking about the party’s hosts, and the brides-to-be. Nobles did love to gossip.

“-a dwarf! Can you believe it?” said a man in a harlequin mask. “The count can’t be happy about that.”

Ah yes. That one detail about the Magniers.

The count and his wife were both half-elves. The story went that everyone in the direct line going back had been a half-elf married to a half-elf. There was probably a reason for it, but Wyll had always thought half-elves were a bit more open when choosing a match. Though they were also nobles, and nobles did tend to prefer to keep things a certain way when it came to their lineage.

“I bet he’s reeling,” said a woman in a rather out of place filigree mask that only covered the top half of her face. She continued in a loud whisper, “I hear she’s not even highborn.”

“Do you think this could be a sign that the vicomtesse is planning on giving up her title?”

“A poor move, leaving the family title to her embarrassment of a brother.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” The words were out of Wyll’s mouth before he could stop himself. He couldn’t help it. Kilian was unlucky, certainly, but that wasn’t his fault. He shouldn’t be insulted for something that was out of his control.

Every mask in the group turned on him.

“He’s the first Magnier in centuries without magic,” said the woman in filigree.

“And he was cuckolded by his fiancee,” said a man in a mask with a long hooked beak.

“That was just a rumor,” Wyll scoffed. “You don’t know what happened with his engagement.”

“But do you?” Beak-mask countered.

“Does anyone?” Wyll said, his voice raising slightly. He would not sit idly by and let them drag Kilian’s name through the mud.

But also his defensive streak often got him into trouble. Perhaps it would be best to leave this particular group of gossip hounds alone.

“Listen, son, you’re clearly young-” 

“Pardon me.” He turned on his heel and walked away, downing the last few swallows of wine in his goblet. How differently would they have spoken to him if he hadn’t been wearing the mask?

That was another thing he hated about these high society parties and social events. Nobles were often two faced, buttering up their betters to their faces, then spreading nasty rumors about them when their backs were turned. Everything was a power play, a strategy to move up in society.

Wyll. Was not. Made for it. 

He had very little patience for highborn bullshit, and it was already running low. One more incident like that and he was just going to leave, chance encounter with Kilian be damned. He just needed to find the vicomtesse and her fiancee, and give them well wishes on behalf of his father, lest he encounter more arseholes.

Murielle had been wearing a half-moon mask when she and Sigrid had made their entrance, and Sigrid was the only dwarven woman at the party. Finding them wouldn’t be too difficult. Wyll placed his empty goblet on a passing server’s tray and began his search.

As he wandered around the ballroom, he caught snippets of conversation, gossip, and some rather embarrassing drunken flirtations. He listened for that distinct accent Murielle surely had, as her brother did, kept an eye out for any short, stocky women with- ah. There she was.

Sigrid had a puff of dark, coily hair sat atop her head, with a silver filigree band around its base, and sure enough, next to her was the vicomtesse, in her half-moon mask and deep blue gown, which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be embroidered with pearls, emulating the night sky.

They appeared to be chatting with another couple. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too bothered if Wyll were to briefly interrupt.

He approached the pair. Sigrid noticed him first, and tapped Murielle on the shoulder.

“My lady,” he gave her a small bow. “On behalf of Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard, I offer my congratulations.”

Her mouth curled into a smile and she offered him a curtsy.

“Many thanks,” she said. “Do let him know that his gift was greatly appreciated.”

Wyll didn’t know what his father had gifted them, but made note of her request nonetheless.

“Of course,” he smiled and inclined his head, though she could only see the latter.

“Enjoy yourself tonight… Wyll.”

Wyll’s cheeks heated and he chuckled nervously. Of course she would know who he was. He was his father’s only son after all.

“I… I will, my lady. If you’ll excuse me.”

His heart was racing as he stepped away, weaving through groups of other guests. He hoped that not too many people had heard Murielle refer to him by name. He wanted to be as anonymous as possible. Nothing would ruin his night quite like being inundated with messages to be passed along to his father, and having dozens of young men and women fluttering their eyelashes at him in hopes that he’d invite them to dance. Even if he did know how that didn’t mean he wanted to spend the night prancing around in uncomfortable shoes with someone who only wanted him for his status.

He found a spot away from most people, though still within earshot of a particularly loud individual, who was going on about the vicomtesse possibly giving up her title, how it was throwing away a life of luxury, and leaving the responsibility of continuing the Magnier bloodline to her failure of a brother. Kilian was pretty, yes, but people didn’t want a Magnier just because they were pretty. He needed magic or else his seed was worthless.

Wyll’s lip curled. How utterly tasteless to discuss such a thing.

“If you are wanting to kill someone with your eyes, you might as well look at them.”

That voice…

Wyll looked in its direction to see a man in a silver bauta mask and black tricorne standing near him, holding two goblets.

“You heard them?” Wyll asked.

“Unfortunately.” He held out one of the goblets for Wyll to take, and he was more than happy to. The masked man stepped closer as Wyll took a hearty drink of the spiced wine. “Vultures, the lot of them.”

Only his eyes were visible, and just the smallest hint of skin, hauntingly blue and richly tan respectively. Add to that his familiar voice and unmistakable accent, Wyll came to a conclusion, a heartstopping conclusion.

He had gotten lucky. He had found Kilian.

Or Kilian had found him.

And there was always the possibility that this was a cousin or other distant relative, one with the a similar appearance and voice. If he could get his heart to calm down, he could test his theory, maybe get Kilian to slip up and reveal his identity.

“And so vulgar,” Wyll said. “That’s just not something you should discuss in polite company. Or at all.”

Kilian hummed.

“It’s the second time in less than an hour that I’ve heard someone bring up Kilian,” he said.

“Only the second time?” Kilian remarked dryly.

Wyll chuckled.

“I actually heard you come to his defense earlier,” Kilian said. “Do you know him?”

“I… know of him,” Wyll answered. “We’ve never had a conversation at length, but I’ve actually… admired him since I was a young lad, and I don’t like hearing people speak ill of him, especially when it consists of unsubstantiated rumors.” 

So much for getting his heart to calm down. There was no way Kilian knew who he was, and he had kept his wording vague on purpose, but it still felt like his identity- and feelings- were at risk of being found out.

Kilian tilted his head. “I am sure he would appreciate the thought.”

Wyll blushed. Emboldened, he said, “Are you a relative? Your accent is very similar to his.”

Kilian scrutinized him for a moment, but whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find.

“I am from the countess’ side of the family,” he said. “I am here to celebrate the engagement of my dearest cousin. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, what is your connection to the brides?”

“Um…” That was a bit of an awkward question. He didn’t really have a connection to the brides. His father was just really important, and… actually, it was strange that his father had been invited. The Magniers didn’t exactly fit the bill of social climbers, and a grand duke would surely outshine a vicomtesse and her common bride.

But a grand duke’s son wouldn’t.

A clever ploy perhaps. Invite Ulder, knowing he wouldn’t come himself, but would send his of-age son to play with the lower nobles and elevate this half-common engagement.

“You… were invited, yes?” Kilian asked hesitantly.

Shit, he hadn’t meant to pause that long.

“Yes!” Wyll hurriedly replied. “I don’t have a blood relation to either bride, but I am a friend of the Magnier family.”

“Friend” was a bit of an exaggeration, but Wyll couldn’t think of a better word.

Kilian eyed him again.

“I’m… here because it was expected of me, I suppose.”

Kilian hummed, cocking a hip to the side.

“Not because you wanted to be here.”

Wyll stammered, “I- uh, I- well-”

Kilian huffed, his eyes betraying his amusement.

“Relax,” he said. “I do not want to be here either.”

No doubt hearing people call him an embarrassment and a failure took its toll, but Wyll wouldn’t say that.

“All these nobles in a room together is very tiring,” he said instead. “Thank the gods for the wine.” He raised his goblet, a gesture Kilian returned.

Kilian leaned toward him. “This is not even the best they have.”

“No?” Wyll smiled. He liked where this was going.

Kilian’s eyes were typically heavy lidded, giving them an enticing, come hither look. That moment was no different, but there was something else. Mischief. Playfulness. And that was even more thrilling.

“If you are… open to it… I know the way down to the wine cellar,” he said. “Care to join me?”

Wyll wasn't overly religious, but he felt that someone on the celestial plane was surely smiling down on him that night. Kilian wanted to be alone with him. Killian wanted to be alone with him.

Not that he even knew who Wyll was, but still.

That was how Wyll found himself slinking out of the ballroom after Kilian, following him through hallways, dodging the waitstaff. When they finally reached an oak door, Kilian turned to him. 

“This is it,” he said. “There should not be anyone else down there, but I recommend you stay quiet nonetheless.”

Wyll nodded silently.

Kilian pulled the door open, revealing a stone landing, and a set of stairs leading down into the darkness. He started down without a word, but Wyll was hesitant.

“Uh, I…” Kilian stopped a few steps down and looked back at him. “I can’t see in the dark.”

“I thought I spotted those adorable round ears on your head.” Wyll blushed. “Step onto the landing and close the door behind you.”

Wyll had already agreed to follow him this far, might as well extend that trust a little further.

As the door shut behind him, Kilian waved his hand in a broad sweeping motion, and spoke a single word.

“Lumière.”

A sconce at the bottom of the staircase lit itself, as if by magic.

That couldn’t be right. Kilian didn’t have magic

“Voila,” he said proudly.

Wyll couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t ask. Kilian didn’t know Wyll was aware of his identity, if this even was Kilian.

But it had to be, right? Every other sign pointed in that direction. Maybe it wasn’t a spell Kilian himself cast. Maybe it was a command word, one that activated an enchantment that lit the torch quickly and easily. Wyll didn’t know enough about magic for a proper hypothesis.

“Are you coming?” Kilian asked.

Wyll startled at the sound of his voice.

“Yes, sorry,” he said, and hurried down after him.

Kilian lit the remaining torches in the cellar, also with the command word, or spell or whatever it was.

“That’s awfully handy,” Wyll said casually.

“It certainly is.” Kilian’s tone was pleased. “I do not know what I would do without it.”

No answer. Wyll wasn’t going to push it.

The Magnier’s wine cellar appeared to extend across several rooms, with long wooden tables in the middle of each section. The walls were lined with several dark bottles, some dusty and coated in cobwebs, others appearing to be more recent additions.

Kilian meandered around a bit, as if he were searching for something.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “There it is.”

He pulled a bottle from one of the middle shelves on the far wall.

“My grandfather bought this the year my father was born, almost fifty years ago,” he said, inspecting the bottle. “It’s a sweet red. Does that sound good to you?”

“As long as it tastes good, I’ll take it.”

“Not much of a wine connoisseur?” Kilian asked, a hint of humor in his voice as he approached Wyll.

Wyll laughed. “No, not really. I like it, but the finer details are lost on me. Wine isn’t my area of expertise.”

Kilian leaned back against the table and pulled the cork from the bottle.

“What is your area of expertise, if you do not mind me asking?” Kilian tipped the bottle back and took a swig of the wine.

“Well, I- I wouldn’t say I really have one yet,” he admitted sheepishly. “I do well enough in my studies but nothing stands out.”

Kilian offered him the bottle, and Wyll’s heart thumped in his chest. Kilian’s lips had been on that bottle, and now his own would be in the very same place. He felt like he was regressing to his early teen years, when he would have dreams of kissing Kilian. This was the next best thing.

Wyll took the bottle and took a hearty drink, savoring the flavor, rich and sweet, just as Kilian had said.

“Surely there is one thing you excel at,” KIlian said. “You cannot be utterly average in every field.”

There was one thing. Wyll thought he was good, even if sometimes his father drilled him in it relentlessly for apparent flaws. Nonetheless…

“Sword fighting,” he said, passing the bottle back to Kilian. “I think I’m pretty good at it, and I definitely enjoy it.”

“You say sword fighting?” Kilian said, his eyes and voice alight with excitement and curiosity.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “My father has trained me since I was young.”

Wyll could practically hear the smile in Kilian’s voice when he said, “I am trained as well.” He wished he could see.

He couldn’t help smiling as well. To find he and Kilian had something in common aside from their noble birth was so exciting. Even if nothing came of this encounter, the teenager with a crush that lived in his head was screaming about them having an interest in common, and no doubt would be for the coming weeks.

“What’s your discipline?” Wyll asked.

Kilian took a drink and passed the bottle back to Wyll.

“Rapier, though I have tried with a longsword,” he said. “What about you?”

“Mainly longsword,” Wyll replied. “Rapier recently but my father started me with a longsword.”

“Perhaps we could spar,” Kilian chuckled, and Wyll did too, biting his lip. Wouldn’t that be fun… sparring with Kilian. They cross blades, exchange blows, maybe he would pretend to be worse than he was, giving Kilian the upper hand. Perhaps he’d end up on his back, Kilian standing over him, blade at his throat…

He might have been getting a little carried away with his fantasies.

“Perhaps,” he said, taking another swig. His cheeks were getting warm with drink. He’d already had two goblets’ worth of wine upstairs, and he and Kilian were undoubtedly going to find the bottom of the bottle at this rate. “Hey, is your family going to be upset that we drank an entire bottle of heirloom wine?”

Kilian scoffed. “Look around, there is no shortage of wine. There are bottles here that are two, three, four times as old as this one. If it upsets them, I do not care.”

Wyll looked around the well-stocked wine cellar, letting Kilian take the bottle from him.“It is a lot of wine.”

“It is a hoard,” Kilian said. “Our bloodline is draconic, and this is proof. We hold on to bottles for centuries and for what? Look at all the dust and cobwebs! What a waste.”

Wait a second.

“Our.”

“We.”

Kilian had just given himself away.

Wyll had a choice to make. Either he pretended he didn’t hear it, or he called Kilian out.

“I thought you said you were from the countess’ side of the family,” Wyll said.

Kilian froze with his mouth on the bottle.

“Hm?”

“Earlier, you said you were from the countess’ side of the family.” Wyll couldn’t go back now. He wasn’t quite sure why he was doing it. Maybe he was just ready to talk to the person behind the mask. “But just now, in referring to the Magnier family, you said ‘our bloodline.’”

“Oh, um, yes, sorry, did I say countess? I meant count,” Kilian said. “I am… from the count’s side of the family. He- he is my uncle. I am part of the Magnier bloodline. I just had a couple drinks before I talked to you, I was-”

“Kilian.”

Kilian froze, mid-gesticulation, eyes wide.

“Well-” He cut himself off and sighed, his head drooping. Resigned, he put the wine bottle down, took off his tricorne, reached behind his head, and untied the ribbon holding his mask in place. He took it off slowly, then looked at Wyll, bare faced and just as beautiful as he remembered.

“You have known for a while, I presume?” he asked, with a sheepish little half-smile.

“I… suspected pretty much from the moment you first spoke to me,” Wyll said.

“What gave me away?”

“A few things, I recognized your voice, but the accent told me you were related to the Magniers in some way.” Kilian was watching him intently. It made him a little nervous. “When I saw your eyes and skin color I was almost certain it was you. You’re the only Magnier offspring with blue eyes.”

Kilian rounded on Wyll.

“And you knew this because… we have met before, no?” He toyed with one of the fastenings of Wyll’s doublet, his tone and facial expression coy.

“Y- yes, we have,” Wyll said, cheeks heating. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“It is possible…” he mused. “But I might. We will not know unless… you take off that mask.”

Wyll inhaled sharply as Kilian pressed closer. He was more lean than Wyll, but just a hair taller. Just enough that he could look down at him.

“Take off the mask?” he mumbled, heart pounding in his chest. 

“It is only fair, no?” Kilian purred, leaning in and angling his head as if he were going to kiss Wyll. “I lose my mask, you lose yours.”

His mouth went dry. This was a ploy, he knew it was, but when Kilian reached beneath Wyll's mask to stroke under his chin and tilt it up, he couldn't stop his hands from going to the ribbon holding his mask in place. Kilian wouldn't remember him. He wouldn't know who he was if Wyll didn't give his name. It was fine.

Wyll untied the ribbon, and Kilian lifted the mask away from his face. 

“Well,” Kilian said, looking upon him for the first time. “This is an interesting development.”

Wyll was very thankful in that moment, that his skin was dark enough to hide his flushed cheeks.

Kilian clicked his tongue. “To think you were hiding that face this whole time.”

“You… recognize me?” Wyll asked. He couldn't tell what Kilian was thinking, he was somehow less readable with his mask off.

Kilian took a step back, leaving a small space that somehow felt like a canyon between them. He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized Wyll.

“You look familiar.” Kilian tapped his chin. “Where did we meet before?”

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone who I am,” Wyll said.

“Well now I am even more intrigued.” Kilian paused. “But those conditions are acceptable. Your identity is safe with me, I will not tell anyone.”

Wyll let out a breath and closed his eyes.

“We met at one of my father’s parties,” he said. 

Kilian stared at him blankly. 

“What?”

“You have to understand how little that narrows it down,” Kilian said flatly.

“Okay, um…” Wyll chewed his lip. “It was about two years ago. It was late, and I was supposed to be in bed, so I was spying from just outside the ballroom. You spotted me, and told me to leave, that there would be plenty of parties when I was older.”

As Wyll spoke, Kilian’s brow furrowed, his eyes moving as if he were searching for the answer. Then at last, his face lit up, and he looked at Wyll with a kernel of recognition and understanding. 

“Seems I was right about that… Wyll,” he said, self satisfied smirk on his face.

Wyll smiled shyly and looked away. “Yeah.”

“We spoke once, briefly, two years ago,” Kilian said.

Wyll hummed.

“And you remember what I said?”

“I- is that so odd?” Wyll said rather defensively. “I mean, you were the first person at one of those parties to speak to me like a person, not an ornament.”

Kilian gave him a sly smile. “And also… you admire me. At least, that is what you said earlier. Unless that was a lie.”

Wyll steeled himself. His heart may have been racing, his face may have been burning, but he was going to approach this with confidence. Kilian was clever, calculated, but Wyll could handle that if he really tried.

“It wasn’t a lie,” he said, making purposeful, direct eye contact with Kilian. “I do admire you. Is that so odd?”

“Yes, actually,” Kilian stated. “I have the Magnier name, but not much else. Not like you.”

“I’m sorry, have you looked in a mirror?” Wyll said incredulously.

Kilian looked to be suppressing a smile.

“Yes, I do, quite often in fact,” he said. “I suppose I am pleasant to look at.”

“You are,” Wyll said before he could stop himself.

This time Kilian did smile.

“Thank you. You are not half bad either.” Wyll bit his lip. “But what I meant was, you are the son of the Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate. There are, I’m sure, many people vying for your attention.”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

“As for me, I have my looks and my name, but no title, and no magic,” Kilian continued, smiling, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I am not… wanted.”

In that moment, Wyll was overcome with an unnameable feeling. As if compelled by an outside force, he opened his mouth and said, “I want you.”

Kilian looked just as surprised as Wyll felt, though his heart was probably not at risk of bursting with the rate of its pounding like Wyll’s was. He felt a bit lightheaded, but he refused to faint in front of Kilian.

“You want me?” Kilian took a step closer, then another. “Are you aware of what you are saying?”

“Yes,” Wyll said breathlessly. “I… want you.”

“And you do not mean to court me, do you?” Kilian laid his hand on Wyll’s chest and slowly slid it up. “You want me.”

“Yes.” Wyll almost felt the need to tack a “sir” on the end of that answer. Kilian was oozing authority and dominance.

He pressed closer, until the table behind Wyll was digging into his back. They were flush from chest to thigh.

“How old are you, Wyll?” Kilian asked.

��I’m of age,” he said. He didn’t want to give the exact number. He was eighteen, but that was still young, and Kilian was older, more experienced. “That’s all that matters.”

“Fair enough.” Kilian brought his hand up to Wyll’s cheek, thumb running over his bottom lip. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“Yes!” Wyll scoffed, affronted.

“You are young,” Kilian said, his tone placating. “I was not sure. We nobles often live sheltered lives, up to a certain point.”

“I’ve kissed people before, I just… haven’t gotten much farther than that.”

Truthfully, he had kissed a few people, girls, boys, he didn’t really have a preference. It had been household staff mostly, nothing he initiated, as the balance of power was off, but the kitchen boys and scullery maids made it no secret that they fancied a bit of fooling around. The kissing often got quite passionate, open mouths and tongues and over-the-clothes groping. Wyll had gotten hard on a select few occasions, but he always resisted that urge to ask for more. It didn’t feel right.

“That is alright,” Kilian said, tracing a finger along his jaw. “I will lead.”

A shiver ran up Wyll’s spine, and he wet his lips, a motion that didn’t go unnoticed by Kilian. He didn’t say anything, but Wyll noticed his eyes flicking down for just a moment. 

Kilian leaned in, and Wyll shut his eyes. One of Kilian’s hands was at the small of his back, the other at his nape. He wrapped an arm around Kilian’s slim waist, sliding his other hand up to grip his shoulder. He gasped softly at the first brush of Kilian's lips against his own. Then a more firm press, and Wyll made a small, involuntary noise of approval. He could feel Kilian’s smile. 

His lips were soft, sticky, and tasted of the wine they had shared. His tongue was a tease, coming and going, a gentle hint as his kiss grew deeper, more heated. Wyll could feel the stirring between his legs, his cock starting to show interest as Kilian playfully tugged at his lower lip.

Wyll sighed and melted into him, clutching at his clothes, letting Kilian lead as he said he would. Of all the people Wyll had kissed, he was by far the best at it. His mind was empty, the world had faded away, all that was left was Kilian. Kilian’s mouth on his mouth, Kilian’s thigh pushing between his, Kilian’s hand sliding down and gripping his arse, forcing his hips forward until he was effectively grinding against Kilian’s leg. He could feel Kilian’s arousal pressed to his hip.

He let out soft moans and sighs of pleasure, then a noise of protest as Kilian stopped kissing him to speak against his lips, “If only I had the means, I would take you here, in this cellar.”

Wyll’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Don’t you live here?” he asked breathlessly. “Can’t we go to your room?”

“I do not think we could make it there unnoticed, mon ange,” Kilian murmured, before kissing him again. “We will make do.”

Kilian slid his hand down Wyll’s chest and stomach, until he reached the top of his breeches. He tugged at the fastenings until they came loose, then slipped his hand inside, cupping Wyll’s stiff cock.

“Oh, gods…” Wyll gasped, fingers digging into Kilian’s sleeve. “Come on, not just me. You too. I want to see you.”

With unsteady hands, Wyll undid the fastenings of Kilian’s breeches, though he was making it difficult for Wyll to focus. Then he pulled Wyll’s cock out and began to stroke it in earnest.

“Please,” Wyll pleaded. “Let me just-”

Finally, he got his hand into Kilian’s underwear. He could feel coarse hair, then the hard, thick line of his cock. Kilian hummed softly when he wrapped his fingers around it.

Wyll’s breath was coming in short gasps, both from anticipation, and the hand steadily moving between his legs. At last, he freed Kilian’s cock from its confines, and as Wyll stared down at it, his mouth watered. It was the first cock besides his own that he had seen, and it was gorgeous.

“I would find it even more pleasurable if you did more than just hold it,” Kilian smirked.

Wyll was already burning hot with desire, and that didn’t help him cool off in the slightest.

“Right,” he mumbled. “I’ll just…” He gave Kilian’s cock a slow, decisive stroke, and Kilian made a low, appealing noise in his throat.

“Good,” Kilian purred. Wyll’s cock throbbed. “Here, do what I do.”

Kilian gripped him gently but firmly, moving his hand down along his shaft, pulling his foreskin back and exposing the head of his cock, then back up, rubbing little circles just under his crown with his thumb.

“Oh…” Wyll moaned.

“Now you, mon ange, go on.”

Wyll wanted to, and he tried, but Kilian was not letting up. He couldn’t focus. Kilian was too good with his hands, he just wanted to lean back and let Kilian take care of him.

Kilian seemed to notice, and chuckled softly.

“Here.” He pressed closer, and pulled Wyll’s hand off him. “Let me.”

He held his cock to Wyll’s, took both in hand, and began to stroke them together.

“The nice part about doing it like this is, I can do this-” Kilian grabbed him by the back of the neck, and slammed their lips together.

That first kiss had heat, but the embers from then were nothing compared to the roaring fire he was putting forth at that moment. Wyll might’ve been embarrassed by the noises he was making, how tightly he clung to Kilian, but he was so good with his hands, Wyll found he didn’t care about anything other than keeping those hands on him.

His cock was already leaking, as was Kilian’s, easing the glide of his hand as it moved over both of them. Feeling the full length of Kilian’s cock rub against his was like nothing else he’d felt before. He hadn’t even come yet, and he was already trying to figure out how they could do this again, perhaps more.

Perhaps Kilian could take him, as he said he wanted to, sometime in the near future.

Wyll moaned at the thought. He had heard from a few of the help in the house that being penetrated could be extremely pleasurable with someone who knew what they were doing.

Kilian almost certainly knew what he was doing. That was the impression Wyll got at least.

He let himself get lost in the feeling, Kilian’s hot hardness pressed against his, the hand moving over him. Wyll could feel himself inching closer to his climax as the seconds passed. He wondered if Kilian was as close as he was.

His hand stopped, and he started moving his hips, rubbing his cock against Wyll’s. He was breathing heavily, moaning into Wyll’s mouth, though Wyll wasn’t much better off. He was dripping with need, groaning in desperation.

“Faster,” he panted. “I’m close.”

Kilian growled and sped up.

Wyll was teetering on the edge, just a few more thrusts and-

He bit down on his lip, which did little to stop him from voicing his pleasure as his cock throbbed and twitched and spilled his seed onto Kilian’s hand and cock. Even then Kilian didn’t stop thrusting, milking Wyll’s orgasm until he too cried out and added his own cum to the mess.

Wyll shuddered with oversensitivity as Kilian squeezed the last of his climax out of him. Neither of them spoke for several moments. They just stood, huddled close, and tried to catch their breath. Kilian kissed the corner of his mouth, and nuzzled him.

“You did so well, mon ange,” he said softly. “So very well.”

Wyll’s chest warmed, and his heart thumped excitedly in his chest.

“I would love to do this again,” Kilian added, kissing Wyll’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Wyll turned his head, trying to coax him closer.

“I would, too,” Wyll murmured. “When can I see you again?”

“I will call on you,” he replied. “I have an idea.”

“What sort of idea?”

KIlian smiled mischievously, “How would you like some sparring practice? I could show you a thing or two.”

“I don’t-” Wyll was going to say he didn’t need any pointers, but then he realized what Kilian was really offering. “That sounds perfect.”

“I am glad you think so,” Kilian said. Then he sighed. “As much as I hate to say it, we should probably get back to the party.”

“Or we could stay down here a bit longer,” Wyll offered. “Talk, finish that bottle of wine…”

Kilian huffed. “I suppose we could. I am not exactly the guest of honor, and I would rather not hear continued slander on my person.”

“So? What’ll it be?”

“Fine, we can stay,” he relented with a smile. “But let me clean us up, before anything else.”

“Sure, what do you-”

With a wave of his hand, and a word Wyll didn’t recognize, the mess they had made minutes earlier vanished, as if it had never been there to begin with.

That… that was definitely magic.

“Kilian…”

“Yes, mon ange?” Kilian asked, tucking himself back into his breeches and fixing his clothes. Wyll followed suit.

“I thought you didn’t have magic,” Wyll said. “How the hells did you just do that?”

“Prestidigitation is a simple cantrip,” he said innocently. “And you do not have to be a sorcerer to cast it.”

“If you’re not a sorcerer, then what are you?”

Kilian chuckled.

“Well that is quite the question,” he said. “It is one of three. I will narrow it down for you and tell you that I am not a wizard. My mother would not get me a tutor for that. That leaves bard or warlock. Which do you think it is?”

Kilian didn’t strike him as an entertainer of any sort. He certainly had the charm for it, but he didn’t seem the type to seek out that sort of attention.

But a warlock? Wyll didn’t know much about them, but he knew delving into that world was a slippery slope. Kilian seemed clever, but would he really sell himself for magic?

Perhaps his being born without it had weighed more heavily on him than he let on.

“You’re no bard,” Wyll shook his head.

Kilian smiled and tilted his head. That was answer enough.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“I suppose,” Wyll replied. “I have more questions.”

“I will do my best to answer, if you will drink with me,” Kilian said with an inviting tone and expression that almost begged him to leave it alone.

Wyll smiled, and said, “Of course.”

[bonesandquills]

Little Star

Chapter Three: Blade and Bane of Avernus

The heat of Avernus was nearly unbearable as you stepped through the portal as you stepped through the portal, which closed up behind you. 

        No turning back now. 

        Astarion wrinkled his nose at the smell of sulfur and brimstone, brushing ash off his embroidered leather armor. "Gods. what a mess. Let's make this quick." 

        Wyll laughed slightly, appreciating the chance to lighten the mood. He knew Karlach's metaphorical heart was breaking all over again, having to come back to this place she'd fought so hard to escape. This time, though, with a few friends, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. 

        "'Fast' may be a tad hopeful, my friend," he said, grinning over at the pouting vampire. "But I agree with the sentiment. Let's get moving." 

        Shadowheart sighed and brushed away the beads of sweat that had already started to form on her forehead. You'd managed to convince her to join you on your little adventure, reasoning that a cleric would be helpful in the literal Hells. She hadn't quite agreed with you, but she'd decided to tag along anyway. You knew she cared about Karlach as much as you did, and this chance to help the one-horned tiefling was worth whatever discomfort, or downright agony, Avernus was going to inflict on you all. 

         Karlach hadn't been exaggerating about the sheer number of forces Zariel sent her way. It seemed almost endless... waves of imps and abishai and other devils sent to kill you and bring Karlach back to the Archdevil. 

        "On your left!" You shouted to Wyll, who quickly rolled to the side and out of the way of a ball of fire hurled by one of the imps. The waves had finally lessened, somewhat, and you hoped that if you managed to live through this last one, maybe you'd get a chance to rest and make camp. 

        Hopefully. 

        You threw every last bit of energy you had into your weapon and magic, watching as the ground became progressively more covered with sticky black ichor as more and more devils fell.

        Shadowheart darted through the battlefield, sending healing spells and guiding rays as fast as she could mutter the incantations as she struggled to keep you all alive. It seemed just as soon as the healing touched you, sparked life back into your body, another imp would slash at you and open the wounds over again. 

        After what seemed like hours, maybe days, of the endless, stalemated fight, it finally seemed like things were turning in your favor. Less and less imps were flying in, and most of the cambions lay still on the ground, their ember-red eyes now blank and empty as the last vestiges of lifeblood left them. 

        Finally, with a deft upward slash of his simple black daggers, Astarion stepped back to let the final devil crumple to the ground and gasp weakly for air before stilling entirely. His nose was wrinkled in disgust, and some of the demon's black blood had gotten into his hair, dripping from the silvery curls onto his embroidered armor. 

        "Oh for Gods' sakes... I'm never going to get this out." 

        You wanted to laugh, but you were too tired. Karlach slowly lowered her battleax to the ground, though she kept her eyes on the fiery red horizon, making sure that was truly the last of them. 

        "I think that's it for this wave, soldiers," she said, glancing over at you. "It'll take a while for her to get another wave gathered. I think it's time to make camp." 

        None of you protested. Every one of your muscles ached, and you were struggling to keep yourself on your own two feet. Wyll, Astarion, and Shadowheart didn't look much better.

        As you all followed Karlach to what she deemed a safe place to rest, you couldn't help but admit that it felt nice for someone else to be in charge, for once. You'd spent the entirety of the journey to remove the tadpoles as the unofficial appointed leader, and most of the decisions and actions regarding your quest had fallen to you. Not that you had really minded, but it did feel nice for you to not bear the responsibility of the party. 

        Wyll looked over at you with a thoughtful glance. "When do you think we'll bump into Mizora?" 

        "Hmm," you hummed thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. Probably not for as long as she can get away with. I don't think she's too happy with us." 

        "Good," Wyll remarked with a furrowed brow and venom in his tone. "I hope she's shaking in her boots." 

        "I don't know if that's something Mizora does," I said with a slight smile. "But I'll agree with you." 

        There was no lost love between Wyll and his former patron. Though Wyll no longer had his warlock powers due to his shattered contract with the cambion, he'd much rather take the loss of most of his magic over being bound to her for the rest of his life. You'd even helped him save his father, despite what the agreement with her had been, and for that he was eternally grateful. Being able to explain to the Duke why he'd made a deal with the devil, why he'd been eventually become one, did more to heal his soul than anything ever had. 

        He'd sworn his loyalty to you then, both as a friend and the Blade of Avernus, though he knew that it could never truly repay all that you'd done for him. 

        Finally, you came to a secluded spot, a cave set deep in the recess of some of the jagged cliffs and hills of volcanic rock that made up Avernus' landscape. It offered a good view of the skies, which would be helpful when you were inevitably attacked again. 

        The walk along the charred and hellish ground was tedious, at best. Sharp obsidian and crystal jutted up from the ground, nearly slicing through your boots as you walked. Fire seemed to rain from the sky, crashing into the ground with grand, wanton destruction. Still, the cave would hopefully keep you safe from the most unsavory parts of Avernus' unique weather, though you couldn't help but wonder the whole time you were setting up your bedroll if the entire place was about to collapse down onto you. 

        Finally, you managed to settle into a companionable silence as the others finished setting up their own bedrolls. If not for the obvious lack of Lae'zel and Gale... You might have felt you were still back on your old adventure, this ragtag band of outcasts and unlikely companions that had been brought together by a common goal. 

        It was nice... Not that you missed the tadpole that squirmed ceaselessly in your brain, of course, but the thought that, if things had gone differently, you might not have met any of them... 

        Might not have met Astarion. 

        You glanced over at the roguish elf, thinking about what might have been. Would he have managed to kill Cazador on his own, or would he have been recaptured, sacrificed in the profane ritual that would have ascended his cruel master to something nigh unstoppable? 

        ... What if you hadn't managed to talk him out of going through the ritual himself? What if he had sacrificed those thousands of spawn, become something so similar to Cazador that you would've never been sure if it was the same man you'd fallen in love with? 

        You tried to shake the thought away and rummaged in your traveling pack, finding the book you were looking for and pulling it out onto your lap. The title was embossed in elvish and the cover was a dull leather brown, rather unassuming and plain. Yet it was the most valuable thing you had as far as researching possible cures to Astarion's condition. 

        Wish spells were a solid option, but the scarcity of their scrolls or wizards who were powerful enough to cast them made it very unlikely the two of you would ever stumble across one. So you'd turned to other options, leading you to find the book while browsing in the city. 

        It held a history of Elven High Magic, ancient rituals and rites that held some of the most powerful spells in all of history, considered nearly a myth now among commonfolk. One of them, found in an extensive list titled the "Rituals of Complement," was one that caught your eye. Suyoll, the Revival. 

        High Mages were said  to be nearly extinct now, with only a few remaining scattered about the realms. Finding them and convincing them to perform the ritual might be more difficult than finding a Wish Spell, you mused as you turned the pages of the book, but the idea had its appeal and intrigue.

        You glanced at Astarion, curious. He had told you one night that he had been turned very young, when he was only about thirty. For a high elf, who could live to about 750, he'd barely begun his life when it had been taken from him. Not even old enough to gain his adult name, he'd admitted bitterly. What other parts of his culture had he missed out on, you wondered, and did it matter to him that he had? 

        He must have felt your eyes on him, because he suddenly straightened and turned to you, a questioning expression on his face. You paused for a moment before looking back down at the book, not sure you could put your thoughts into words should he ask. 

         Not one to be ignored, however, he came over to you anyway. 

        "Tell me, are you regretting your choice now?" he said with a slight smile, sitting next to you on your bedroll and leaning back slightly. "Or is that insufferable moral compass of yours still pointing steadfastly on the straight and narrow?"  

        "My moral compass is fine, thank you," you murmured, not looking back up from the book. "How's yours?" 

        "You don't want to know," he replied, leaning over to see the book you were reading. "What's this?" 

        "Something on Elven High Magic," you said, sighing slightly. "Something that might help us." 

        "The Revival," he read the title of the chapter, and gave a bitter laugh. "Good luck. High Mages are a pretentious and stubborn lot, not likely to help an outsider. That's even if we could even find a group that still practices."

       You raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "Pretentious and stubborn. Sounds like an elf I know." 

        He gave you a look. "I am charming and witty. Not to mention beautiful." 

        "You can be all those things and still be pretentious and stubborn." 

        He huffed but didn't have a good answer, so he settled for a pained, dramatic sigh. 

        "Anyway, I know it's a long shot, but so are most of the other things we've come across. It's just something worth considering." You closed the book and set it aside, turning your gaze instead to the fiery sky outside. 

        His expression softened and he looked at you for a moment. "Thank you, anyway. I... appreciate it." 

        "You'd better," you teased him. "I paid way too much for that book." 

        "If only you knew a dashingly clever and skilled rogue who could have helped steal it for you," he said dryly. "All you had to do was ask." 

        "I wasn't going to steal it, Astarion." 

        He pouted slightly. "Well that's no fun now, is it?" 

        You laughed slightly and looked back at him, and though his tone was slightly patronizing you could see he was looking at you fondly, a smile playing at his mouth. Typical Astarion. 

        "Was there something you needed, or did you just come to disturb my peace?" 

        "Well, darling, you know I can't stay away from you for long," he replied with a subtle lilt in his voice. "I thought perhaps you might want to join me tonight." 

        You usually didn't automatically join Astarion for bed unless he asked, which was most of the time. There were nights, however, where the lingering self-revulsion at what Cazador had made of him was too strong, the tainted feel of being so close to someone too painful, and he didn't feel quite comfortable sharing a bed with you. You didn't mind. 

        "Everyone heals in different ways," you had said to him the first night he had asked you to stay alone. "I'm always here if you need me." 

        And that had been it. No persuading, no bargaining, no guilt-tripping. 

        He had appreciated it more than you knew. He had struggled that night to muster the courage to ask you if he could be left alone for a while, worried you might take it the wrong way. That you might have thought he didn't love you, or that he was just using you again. 

        To his immense surprise and relief, you hadn't done any of that. You had nodded, not pressed, and asked if there was anything else he needed. He had paused, not sure where to go from that point. 

        "It's not you, my sweet, I promise," He told you, gently taking your hands and holding them to his chest. "I... just would rather be alone tonight."

        "I know, Astarion," You had comforted him, smiling quietly at his worried expression. "I'll be right here when you feel ready to come back." 

        He perhaps hadn't shown you enough how much that little gesture made to him. That you hadn't prodded him with questions, hadn't tried to convince him to join you for bed, hadn't been offended. 

        He loved you for that. 

        He snapped out of his thoughts as you gently nudged your shoulder against his. "Hey, you still there?" 

        He shook his head slightly and looked at you with an easy smile. "Sorry, darling, what did you say?" 

        "I said I would love to," you said, rolling your eyes. "But if you can't be bothered to listen to the answer..." 

        He grinned and shook his head. "We both know you couldn't resist an offer like that. I'm too alluring." 

        "Sure," you said, laughing. "But it might be too hot for cuddling." 

        He looked at you incredulously. He was, by nature, devoid of body heat and warmth. You often found yourself shivering while you lay curled up next to him, often to his dismay and distress. He wanted desperately to keep you warm and comfortable in his embrace, like any other living lover could, but that one thing was beyond his abilities.  The best he could do was pull the blankets closer around you, and hope that your body heat would eventually warm up his cold body enough that you wouldn't feel so uncomfortable. 

        And yet, when he was comfortable with it, you still clung to him every night, braving the chill and shivering, simply for the sake of loving him. 

        He got to his feet and held out his hand to you. "Come on," he said with a charming smile. "I can't tell if it's day or night in this gods-forsaken place, and who knows how much time we have left to sleep." 

        You nodded and took his hand, grabbing one end of your bedroll and dragging it over to lay next to his. He glanced over at the others, but they paid you no attention as you settled into the soft leather and fur of the bedroll. He spared you one last loving look before he laid down himself, closing his eyes and preparing to enter his trance. Before he slipped into the meditation, he felt your arm reach over and entwine one hand with his, your way of keeping close to him even as the two of you rested. 

        He didn't have any trouble focusing on his trance after that. 

        Karlach roused you all after what felt like only a few hours rest. You wearily sat up and started gathering your pack, and she gave you an apologetic look. 

        "Sorry, soldier, but we can't stay in one place for too long, or they'll find us," Karlach said as she hoisted her own pack and battleax onto her shoulder. 

        "Somehow," you sighed, looking over at Astarion, who was, rather reluctantly, packing away his bedroll. You sighed and looked back at Karlach, who lacked her usual upbeat energy. You didn't blame her... being back in this place when you'd had just a breath of fresh air, a small bit of home, was likely to drive anyone mad. You gently placed your hand on her shoulder, feeling the heat radiating off her skin even in a place as hot as Avernus. It wasn't intolerable, though, so you kept it there.

        "Hey," you said with a small smile. "We're getting closer." 

        "That's right," Shadowheart quipped as she finished gathering her things. "We have the blueprint, the map, and Mizora on our side, even if she's a bit... unwilling. This is the closest we've ever been to getting your engine fixed." 

        Karlach seemed to brighten a little at that. "Thanks... that helps. I'm just so damned tired of this place." 

        "I know," you said, trying to instill as much comfort as you could. "But we're going to get you out of here. We’ve done harder things than just breaking into a forge." You gave her a half smile. "Remember Raphael?" 

        She grinned widely at you. "Nothing like killing a devil in their own house, huh? The bastard didn't see it coming." 

        “That’s right. It’s just another fiend… and we don’t even have to kill this one.” 

        Karlach smiled but sighed. “Good, because I don’t think we could if we had to.”

        “Hey, don’t sell us short,” you said with a tired smile. “We took out a godsdamned Netherbrain. That wasn’t easy.”

        The tiefling shook her head and lightly bumped her shoulder against yours. “Yes, but this is Zariel. And Archduke. If we killed her, the Blood War could take some scary turns.” 

        The Blood War. And ancient and long-living war that raged between the devils of the Hells and the demons of the Abyss, one that often dragged mortal innocents like Karlach or Zevlor into its bloody butchery. The killing of someone so deeply involved, like Zariel, could turn the tides in unimaginable ways, ones that might not be so favorable for the mortals of Faerûn. There were enough souls being lost as it was with the use of Soul Coins to power the infernal machines of the Hells, you didn’t need to be responsible for any more of that. You’d heard stories of a group of travelers that had descended into the Hells, gone after Zariel’s Sword, but nothing after that. 

        You knew only from Zevlor that Elturel had just managed to release itself from the Hells, but you hadn’t pressed him much further. The details didn‘t really matter, anyhow. The only goal you had now was to get into the forge, and get Karlach an engine that wasn’t so keen to blow itself up. 

         Karlach seemed a little more cheerful after your little chat, as you traveled along. The burning hot air of Avernus and the fires that poured off smoke and sulfur made it hard to talk and walk at the same time, so you remained mostly in companionable silence. That is, you were silent until you were met with a sudden form materializing in front of you. Whether welcome or not remained to be seen. 

        There was no need for flashy, fiery portals when you were already in the Hells, but Mizora seemed to enjoy making a grand entrance anyway. She appeared in front of your group with a flash of red light, unfurling her wings and stretching out with a sigh. 

        “Ah, my dear friends,” she said with a devilish smile. “I’m so glad that I ran into you.” 

        Karlach scowled and moved a little closer to Wyll, who took her hand reassuringly. Astarion wrinkled his nose and moved a little closer, putting himself between you and the cambion. You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head slightly. He knew you could take care of yourself, but it felt nice sometimes to be a little protective. Shadowheart, not very discretely, summoned a glowing white flame in her hands and held it, ready to launch at Mizora should she try something unexpected. 

        “Tsk tsk,” Mizora clicked her tongue. “Not exactly the warm welcome I’d expect from such… renown heroes.” 

        “I’d hope you’re here to help,” you said sternly. “And not just here to worm your way out of things.”

        ”Such little faith!” She said with mock indignation. “I made a deal and I intend to keep it.”

        You doubted that, but she was your best bet right now, so you nodded and stepped away from Astarion’s protective presence. “Fine. Tell us what we need to do.”

        “First,” Mizora said aridly. “We have to get you a new look. You’d never even get through the doors looking like that.”

        Astarion looked a tad offended, and Shadowheart narrowed her eyes. “What exactly does she mean by that…?” 

        “Of course, Wyll, you can stay the delightful fiend you are, but your friends will need a little help,” she said with a grand gesture to all of you. “They look oh so painfully mortal.

        You stared at the cambion for a moment before it clicked. “You really don’t mean-“ 

        “Devils, dear,” Mizora said with a gleam in her eye. “And you’ll blend right in.” 

        “You can’t seriously expect me to let you turn us into devils,” you said incredulously. “We all saw what you did to Wyll!”

        ”Wyll broke a term of his contract, naughty thing,” Mizora pouted, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “This will only be temporary.” 

        You looked off thoughtfully, glancing at the others to see what they thought. Astarion gave a pained sigh and looked at you. 

        “I’ll do it, but if I end up looking like a bloody infernal forever, I swear to the Gods I’ll hunt down the harlot myself. I’m far too gorgeous to end up looking like Wyll.”

        ”Hey!” 

        Astarion ignored the warlock’s indignation. You looked at Shadowheart and Karlach, both who nodded. 

        “Thank you, soldier,” Karlach nodded slightly. “Let’s do it.”

To be continued…

[meezer]

if bg3 was tumblr. gale and wyll are those ride or die mutuals who like your every post

WAIT.

mutual 1: maybe if I find those fated ancient tomes.... maybe...... then..... she'll take me back.. if not then this time I'm really gonna do it

mutual 2: good morning mutuals how is everyone doing!! what are your plans for today! btw anyone know how to hide great big devil horns that grew on your head overnight? would be much appreciated x

mutual 3: I need to feel the touch of another person so badly. anyone here who wants to get pegged and willing to be set on fire ?

mutual 4: can't wait to pray tonight

mutual 5: going on a walk through the forest for the next few hours does anyone want anything

mutual 6: *reblogs an ask meme without sending one to the person he reblogged from* *makes a passive-aggressive post when he doesn't get any asks* *logs off*

mutual 7: been too long since I sliced someone in half in a bloody, sweaty, panting battle to the death

[swordcoasted-arc]

* 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐄   &   𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃    :    the last light inn.

this journey had not been an easy one, and as the weight of the world sits upon the shoulders of their travelling party's de facto leader . the last light inn is a welcome respite, and jaheira, despite her initial wariness, appears a good host. the darkness of the shadow-touched lands is unlike anything she has seen before, and isobel's blessing is comforting, warm. like the hug of a mother she's never known, like the kiss of a teacher who should have been there to mentor her. over the last few weeks , things have... changed. gale's condition, shadowheart's conflict, karlach's heart, wyll's transformation...

❛ there is no god or monster that could overtake the mind. only the version of the self you have grown to fear.

there is a shake of her head, and she makes her rounds. wyll and karlach share a bunk, the two fiendish entities enjoying the shared heat of their room- lae'zel and shadowheart share a room, beautifully ironic - which leaves gale, astarion, and nesta to each have their own rooms. it makes the most sense, with nesta's nocturnal ramblings, gale's need for eight full hours of sleep, and astarion's nighttime romps. she doesn't bother knocking more than once as she pushes open the decaying door, peeking in. 

" you're awake, good. " she says, but she doesn't push open the door or invade his speak. she is no cazador; she is better than him, she is superior to gods. she purses her lips, arms crossed over her chest, looking him up and down. they all have managed the journey well, all things considered, and nesta is pleased. unnecessary bloodshed is quite the struggle, and she cannot assist any more mourning souls. her neck rolls, adjusting her shirt, blinking.  " how are you going to be able to eat in these conditions? " she gestures to the darkness surrounding them, yet she does not speak in such a way that declares everything to every passersby or harper within earshot. her dulcet, warm, deep tone is strangely-gentle, almost out of character for the selfish warlock. yog'sogoth gurgles in the back of her mind, reprimanding her, while the tadpole purrs in appreciation, content that one member of the hivemind is keeping another alive.

" you're not going out there alone, " she tells him matter-of-factly. in most things, nesta gives him the choice to walk his own path; she is no captor, keeper, or warden. in this instance, though, as her patron pours visions and memories of those claimed by the darkness into the forefront of her mind, she refuses to let a comrade fall to the darkness. despite whether or not he is molded by it, born from it. " so, who is it going to be? me? or are you going to take the risk of asking lae'zel and triggering some kind of bloody battle instinct? " / @thepalelfe

[wardenmages]

I finished Baldurs Gate 3 and I need about 3-5 business days to recover before I hop back into Elissa's playthrough. oh my god. I cried so much. my mom is trying to talk to me about this documentary on tv and I'm like "yeah that's great" while actively weeping

SO under the cut to help people avoid spoilers. my playthrough took nearly 120 hours and I didn't even finish everything in every act. this has spoilers for like, the entire main quest line of act 3 since I did a lot of the main items today lol

HHHHHHHH it was very difficult to make the decision to make Orpheus a mind flayer. I was going to have Alet do it but backpedaled immediately because I just could not imagine them leaving Astarion alone like that. I had to pause and pace around for a long time. I knew I didn't want to side with the emperor but Man

I literally played through killing Orin and Gortash today, saving the guild, a bunch of other smaller quest items, and wrapping up the Orphic Hammer stuff once I had Lae'zel back. So like. It's been a lot all in one day.

I had Karlach with me while I killed Gortash and her breakdown afterwards was so painful, I was already so upset at that point. then afterwards I go talk to Astarion and

Astarion and Karlach understand each other so well and love each other so much it makes me want to eat drywall. I just. think about after killing Cazador w/o doing the ritual, Karlach telling Astarion how fucking proud she is of him, how happy she is that he's free. and then this happens and he can't even return the sentiment, because there is no other way out for Karlach. there barely was for him - he's free, but he knows that freedom comes with a heavy price he hates that he has to pay. I just. want to squeeze them both so hard. lovingly.

At one point I looked up if you could become a mind flayer and then turn back into a humanoid and saw people saying that at the end Astarion could die from getting caught out in the sun and I literally spent the whole final quest panicking because he was literally in my party 100% of the game and I was scared he'd die because of it, but he was fine. I think the game was trying to half-joke about it but I was so emotionally raw at that point I literally minimized the game because I panicked so hard lol

I'm a little bummed there was no scene about where Shadowheart, Halsin, Minsc, and Jaheira were going after the dust settled. I also kind of wish there was something like the classic Dragon Age "put all the companions in a space so you can say goodbye to them individually" thing, I didn't realize once you find the boat to the brain you wouldn't be able to change your party or even talk to most of the companions again (besides Halsin and Jaheira, at least for me). I just expected there to be more between killing Gortash and setting off for the brain, I guess? or something at the end like the act 1 tiefling party where they wait until night so Astarion can join them and the player gets closure with everyone. I like the few bits of closure we get it would just be nice I guess?? idk

Alet and Astarion are off an another adventure though, going to try and find a way for him to walk in the sun again, because while Alet is more than happy in the dark with him the rest of their lives, they know he's not happy with it, and they will do Literally Anything to make him happy again, and that last conversation between them made me gay. also it was funny in that whole last section you can say "this might be the last time we ever kiss" and he says "well then let's make it a good one" and they have the quickest most chaste kiss I've ever seen, it was shorter than the one you can do at the camp, it was genuinely so funny like Neither of you have any clue what you're doing and I appreciate the effort

Karlach ended up going back to Avernus with Wyll. I'm sad the scene only has Karlach talking, but I get why it's like that, so not that disappointed. But. I'm so happy for them. They love each other so much and have such a deep connection, neither of them will ever be alone again. as soon as they figure out if it's even safe or not ("is the thing lighting up the hells actually the sun") Alet and Astarion are going to visit them and Hope

ANYWAY I need to take a break from the game so I don't explode, probably going to write some more fic about Alet and Astarion, and then I will attempt to jump into a second playthrough without romancing Astarion which feels Genuinely Wrong, why would I even play the game without my favorite weird little guy hanging out asking for hugs :(

[haldenlith]

Tannivh: 35, 42

Tannivh/Astarion: 25, 26

Please~ and thank you~

Makin' me have to go reference these numbers and do work, GOSH!

Please continue.

35. What moment did they realise that they were in love?

Tannivh would've more come to the realization in a "I guess I am in love, huh?" way, looking back at events. The moment would've happened probably on the boat in the Underdark*, as he had a moment to sit and think about The Events Thus Far, and how he felt about each person in the party. (This is also the time he'd realise he's still not sure how he feels about Shadowheart.) Before that, he'd have tentatively considered Astarion a friend. A fair weather friend, probably, but still. (Look, Tannivh has no illusions about Astarion being the type to bail on people he isn't particularly attached to when the going gets rough.)

This is probably one of the few short answers I can give.

*When I last played, EA stopped at the boat ride. I've chosen to wait until full release to avoid burnout, because it was definitely setting in.

42. Have they ever been jealous?

And here's the other short answer. Probably the shortest.

No.

Yup, that's the answer. Tannivh just isn't the jealous type.

25. Pick a physical attribute that they love about each other.

Tannivh: Hmm, I'm not sure if "voice" counts as physical, so I'll say probably eyes. Astarion speaks with his eyes as much as he does with his mouth, and Tannivh actually likes that, eeeeeven if those eyes sometimes lie (those damn puppy dog eyes get him most of the time -- they're his kryptonite). He is pretty fond of Astarion's eyes, for both that expressive reason and also because they're just straight up pretty, though Tannivh would readily admit that all of Astarion is very pretty.

Astarion: I feel like Astarion would be the type to hem and haw over just one thing, but I think he'd settle on Tannivh's hair.

Nivh's hair is one of those things that's in direct contrast to how the rest of him is. Lives on the land, sees little value in baubles and finery, even is a bit questionable in his personal hygiene, and yet he is meticulous with his hair. He always takes the time to maintain the upkeep, and does every little braid by hand. At first, Astarion thought it was silly, since the re-braiding took at least a good two hours (with breaks). Just leave it down! It'd be a thought he especially had after getting the opportunity to run his fingers through those luscious locks. You can't run your hands through braids quite the same way.

But then, he eventually came to appreciate the complex care and beauty to them (as well as the practical reasoning, as he'd learn eventually that there's pragmatic reasoning for the box braids). While I don't think he'd ever lend any help in the labor of the braiding, I do think he'd occasionally make suggestions of additions, like small ribbons and such. Little things. Nivh would probably turn a lot of things down if they're too flashy, for again pragmatic reasons. (Can't be stealthy with beads clacking against each other/charms jingling/flashy gold ribbon/etc...)

Still, I think Astarion would have thoughts on ways those braids could maybe be styled if he were to ever make the very bold mistake of dragging Tannivh to a high society function.

And, if nothing else, those braids are incredibly durable for pulling.

26. Do any of them have bad habits that the other can’t stand?

Tannivh: I can imagine Nivh has a couple of habits that just grinds Astarion's gears, starting with his tendency to actually be a semi-good samaritan. While he's not as bad as, say, Wyll or Gale (or a certain paladin), Nivh still tries to be a somewhat good person and help people, to an extent, as long as they're decent to him in return. He operates on a very basic "don't bite me, and I'll help you" sort of logic. Get snippy or bossy, and you're on your own (as Lae'zel learns).

This leads to plenty of situations where they're in the thick of it and Astarion's going, "We could've just said no and let them fend for themselves, but noooooo, we have to be good people and maintain the balance or something. 🙃"

The other bad habit Astarion would discover would be when they're in civilization and not roughing it: As mentioned above, Tannivh doesn't... exactly.... bathe much. He washes his hair frequently, yes, but that's it. The rest of him gets washed on a roughly once-a-month regimen, sooooo... He tends to smell like onions, wood, and leather. Maybe dirt, too. I can imagine Astarion has slightly more keen olfactory senses than the average elf thanks to being a vampire spawn, so I doubt he'd be able to ignore that for long. I get the feeling, in their relationship, Tannivh is kicked into the tub regularly by Astarion.

Astarion: Astarion's tendency to complain. Nivh hates it. "Do we have to rescue the druid? We could drink wine and party with goblins instead." "Ugh, why aren't we going to kill these fools and open the chest?" "Kill goblins? But there's so many!"

Tannivh puts up with it, sure, but he does clap back every so often. "Sure, you can drink wine and party with the goblins -- if you like having tentacles growing out of your face." It drives him up a wall, though, and honestly is probably why some outsiders would assume they don't get along, because arguing would eventually ensue, given each other's pet peeves about the other person happen to go hand in hand.

Other than that, it'd be how surprisingly reckless Astarion actually is. He does NOT think things through as much as he likes to posture that he does, and is often in sore need of someone to act as damage control or just general "handler" for him. "No, Astarion, you can't kill them. They have a dragon." "NO, do not go signing a contract with a cambion. It's a Bad Idea, Actually." I foresee this particular quirk being a staple of a peeve with them, honestly, just toned down as time goes on.

I actually imagined a scenario in the cyberpunk AU I had in my head with this particular quirk of their relationship. Astarion takes "initiative" by going and taking care of a bounty job Tannivh picked up for them early, beating Tannivh there. What does he do? Kill them, of course, and get himself a nice meal. Turns out the bounty didn't mention killing anyone. Cue Tannivh just staring at the scene going, "😑 Nowhere did they specify that 'deal with' meant 'kill', Astarion. I swear to Silvanus if we don't get paid because of you..."

That sort of shit I foresee happening to them a lot. Tannivh accepts that he's Astarion's damage-control in being in a relationship with him, but boy does it sometimes grind his gears that Astarion's surprisingly "It sounded like a good idea at the time"-minded.

[thecagedbard]

Oh Look, another Tav story! This is currently posted over on AO3 in its entirety but I thought I’d post it to tumblr as well. If you’d like to sneak a peak at some of the chapter names, if you don’t want to read the whole thing yet, have a listen to the title playlist: here.  There is also just the ‘Here’s what I was listening to while writing' playlist, and my Faetrala Uncaged playlist which serves as inspiration for Vesper’s siblings.  A lot of the songs tend to overlap but who knows, you might find one you enjoy. 

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Astarion/Tav (Vesper), Astarion/Halsin, Astarion/Halsin/Tav(Vesper); Mentions of Karlach/Shadowheart/Wyll; Mentions of Gale/AFAB OC

Warnings:  Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Canon Divergence, Child Death

Word count: 13,158/300,000+

Summary: Vesper needed someone to protect her from an abusive husband should he appear after she was abducted by mind flayers. Astarion needed someone to fall for him so he had protection from Cazador. He's got two hundred years of manipulation and she has the soft heart of a lamb being led to slaughter. While subconsciously healing each other they both realize they also need to heal the druid of all damned people.

Chapter One

One Look and You're Hypnotized

The sounds of nature were a balm or it should have been to someone like Vesper.  Four days after the nautiloid’s crash onto that beach and she was still jumping at nearly every sound. She had found one of the women from the nautiloid lying not far from where she had landed, but she also found so many bodies along that same shoreline. Working together Vesper and Shadowheart had collected three more tadpole’d individuals to travel with them–though her encounter with one hadn’t been the simplest. 

Unfortunately it seemed as though the man who had held the knife to her throat had other things on his mind. The high elf, Astarion, rarely let her go off on her own. It began the night they had first made camp, stopping her as she went to relieve herself to question if this was where they were truly going to stay. But he’d offered to take the first watch, not something she’d thought to do. Vesper didn’t appreciate it when he woke her up only a few hours later for her watch but she’d gotten over it quickly.

What she couldn’t get over was how he seemed to want to follow her everywhere when she left camp to gather herbs. Astarion’s offer of protection had made her skin crawl and though none of the men who had assaulted her in the last ten years had been elves, she didn’t know what purpose he had in walking with her. 

Yet it was all he did. Walk either beside her or a few steps behind through the foliage, paused while she inspected mushrooms or dug up roots, and today he’d even held her basket while she attempted to extract a honeycomb without being stung. She’d be having nightmares over the buzzing later for certain.

A bird chirped overhead as Vesper returned victorious to the bright spot where she’d left the high elf, “Do you intend to help at all?” she asked as she took the jar that Gale had cleaned for her, expressly for honey, from the basket. Lazily Astarion lowered his head from where he basked in the sun’s heat and affixed her with a ruby stare, “I thought I was helping? I’m watching your back and I’ve held your basket for you. What more help would you require?” 

Vesper had only heard a tone like his once before. Someone from the higher city had come down to Rivington to warn their daughter against marrying a commoner and spoke with the same drawl that Astarion used as he had made comments on Vesper’s appearance and home. “If you’ve no intention of gathering anything or hunting to help feed everyone, why bother joining me?” she asked as she took the basket from his hooked forearm.  He followed her over the bridge and copied her movement as she lifted the neck of her shirt over her mouth and nose as they passed the bodies of adventurers and goblins alike, “We should do something about that…” she commented and looked back at him. 

She didn’t have to know him long to recognize a look of disgust. They weren’t going to do anything about the bodies. Vesper sighed and turned back to face the path she walked. They’d walked this same path the day before but stopped when they’d come across the dog, Scratch had been his name. So far there was no sign of the shaggy white dog, but the drow hoped her words got through to him. 

It was wild for her to have magic now. So many things had changed since the tadpole's insertion. While exploring they’d come across an old chapel, the bottom door of which Shadowheart had tried to break the handle too with no luck, and several grave robbers. When they attempted to intimidate Vesper, Shadowheart, Astarion and Gale, the drow simply used the crashed spaceship and its dead monsters to make them flee.  Never before had there been power in her words. Lying came easy enough of course, but it was as though the halfling hung on her every word before she saw fear fill him and he ran off calling to the others with him.

“Careful!” Astarion warned as he grabbed onto her left arm and jerked her back. Vesper had been lost in her thoughts and nearly slipped into a creek. Her arm throbbed and she closed her eyes tightly, gritting her teeth together to not make any noise.  Noises meant more pain. Her eyes opened and she looked up at Astarion who cleared his throat as he dropped her arm just as quickly as he had grabbed it, “See… I’m being helpful! Why without me all of these weeds you’ve collected would have been lost to the waters…now they’re just back on the ground where you got them in the first place.” He chuckled airily and Vesper gave him a tight smile, “Thank you, Astarion…whatever would I do without you.” 

There was one major difference to being followed by Astarion than being followed by say Evard or even John, Issac’s brothers. Astarion sometimes laughed at her even when she wasn’t trying to be funny, “Oh darling,” he said through another giggle, “it’s about time you learned to appreciate my presence.” 

Stiffly Vesper got to her knees and picked everything up and placed it back in the basket. She tried to use her left arm to carry the herbs and winced, a hiss slipping through her teeth, “Are—Vesper are you hurt?” Astarion’s tone shifted and she looked up in surprise. Did he care if she was in pain? No. She shook her head, more to herself but Astarion seemed to take it as an answer to his question. “I’m fine,” she reiterated and placed her hand over her gray tunic. 

They’d managed to scrounge enough money together to buy Astarion a set of leather armor in the grove. He was close in combat with the goblins and had a couple of close calls with their blades and the worg’s teeth. It included all the money she had saved to make her escape, but with him and Shadowheart in front and her unsure how long it would take to find someone to extract the tadpoles, she could see a point in giving up those ten years of savings.

“We need to cross the stream,” she said as she got to her feet. Her leather trousers were filthy now, thankfully they could just be wiped down but she’d have to actually take off her tunic tonight. Astarion looked at the water before turning his eyes to her, “Must we? We’re getting far from camp at this point…”

Vesper lifted one auburn brow as she looked him over, “Then stay and I’ll go alone. Besides going towards that glade this is the next best way, Astarion. Return to camp if you want.” Her offer was sincere but Astarion rolled his eyes towards the sky as he watched her slip down to one of the rocks. The creek was deeper than she thought in some areas, so she was slow about getting across but she managed to walk across the mossy stones without losing her foot. She’d expected to see an exasperated aristocrat across the way but as she turned she was taken aback to find Astarion standing just a foot from her.

“What?” he asked as he watched her, his hands folding over his chest. Her head shook, wavy strands of mottled copper fell into her face, “Nothing.”

She turned away quickly and went straight for one of the flowers on the hill. It unnerved her how he could go from this surly cold man to one with an easy smile and a quick barb. Lately they’d been pointed at her. A chance meeting with the bard Alfira had revealed the magic she carried was bardic in nature, something most had to go to a special school for. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised–her brother Valere had a similar magic, though she’d never seen him use it to speak with animals or make someone fall prone while laughing. 

“Skeletons,” Vesper heard Astarion call out and looked up only to watch him walk past her to check a pile of bones. Since learning she might very well be a bard, Astarion had really laid into her over the bardic stereotypes. That was after he exhausted the old wives tales about redheads. Vesper was almost certain that the high elf didn’t even like her at this point. Yet as she placed another bundle of flowers for a healing potion in her basket, she stood and jumped as he’d silently made his way back to her side. 

Smugly he held up a ring, “And I will not be giving this to the wizard,” he said in a smarmy tone as he slipped in on her finger. “Gee,” Vesper replied as she watched him turn it to admire the stone, “I do hope it isn’t cursed…surely that’s not why it was with a skeleton…” The high elf’s eyes widened as he looked up from the ring, “You don’t think…” he quickly slipped the ring from his finger and Vesper watched his shoulders slump and his face relax. Laughter bubbled up in her chest as he turned but stopped when she saw the cold look in his eyes.

“It was only a joke…a warning,” she said quickly as she ducked her head. “We should be careful,” she continued with her head down, no longer meeting his gaze, “we’re both far from camp and neither of us are as studied as Gale. You don’t have to give it to him…perhaps just let him do that identifying thing…like with the harper’s necklace we found.” Vesper was rambling, stumbling over her words while she waited for the blow to come. When Astarion stepped behind her, she thought he would do worse than smack her face, but he simply walked to her other side, “What is that over there?”

Lifting her head she realized she was shaking as she pushed some of her fallen hair from her face and looked around the high elf. Down the creek someone stood within flames, “Oh gods,” she whispered, “are they…burning themselves alive?”  Vesper heard the flap of the band that held Astarion’s daggers to his hips as he began stalking forward, “We should go…”

“We should help them!” she hissed at him and froze again when he whipped his head around. Her reaction seemed to anger him just a tad more as his nostrils flared when she flinched back, “Stop that,” he ordered and Vesper tried to calm herself. “They could need our help,” she said again, Astarion rolled his eyes, “Stay behind me then. You’ve got the health potions.”

The elves approached the flame covered tiefling. Vesper used her tunic again to cover the lower half of her face as the smell of singed hair and flesh overtook the river and natural smells that had been only a few feet away.  The tiefling they neared cried out before Vesper leaned around Astarion, one hand resting on his stiffened elbow, “Are…are you alright?” she asked. The flames died down until the very tall tiefling turned and smiled bright, “Me? Yeah! I’m alright…say, I know you,” she said as she pointed to Vesper who was still slightly covered by Astarion, “you were on the nautiloid weren’t you?” Vesper looked up at Astarion, realizing that he was also looking down at her, should she be honest? Carefully she stepped around the high elf on the log and tilted her head slightly to the left, ignoring the throb the movement caused, she was just about to answer when a familiar pulsing feeling shifted through her mind.

Flames of Avernus she was now all too familiar with flashed through her mind as she ran through a battlefield. The axe swung wide as she took two imps from the sky before flames erupted around her and a rage Vesper had never known filled her very being. Back on the log, the drow’s chest was heaving with breath and she really took in the tiefling before her. One horn, flames of Avernus in her memories, her eyes lifted as she took a step back, her back colliding with Astarion’s front.

“You’re—” she lifted her left arm to point, her right was reaching back for her pitiful hand crossbow, but faltered as she winced in pain, “you’re the devil the Blade of Frontiers is hunting.” The tiefling’s cheerful smile was gone and she grimaced, “I had really hoped I’d lost him back there…listen, I don’t know what you’ve been told. But I’m not–” all three cried out as more images passed through their minds. The tiefling wasn’t only fighting against those that ran at her but she was burying her axe into those that fought beside her. The nautiloid broke through the sky and she ran for it—A way out! 

The thought was the last that flashed through her mind before Vesper lifted her head again and the tiefling was giving her a sympathetic—no piteous look, “That kid threw–” “You killed your allies on the battlefield,” Vesper quickly interjected.  All of them had seen something of her most recent past when their minds connected. Shadowheart had seen her gathering things quickly, she’d seen her in the midst of her escape. Astarion, well he hadn’t said what he had seen. And Wyll had spoken with her quietly about seeing Issac knock her to the ground before he left. It seemed this time this tiefling saw as she was shoved off the cliff by her own son. 

“I’m not what you think,” answered just as quickly as Vesper accused her. “I never wanted to fight for Zariel… I’m just… I’m damned good at what I do, that’s all. Please,” she said and Vesper searched her face, “you have to believe me.” There was a desperation in her voice that Vesper recognized. She’d once had that same desperation, pleading with a woman that she had never wanted to sleep with her husband—only the woman hadn’t been as kind as her. “I believe you,” the drow said as she nodded and the tiefling physically relaxed before she laughed in relief. 

“What?! You want to team up with some bloodstained killer?” Astarion shouted and Vesper looked around as his high-pitched voice seemed to reverberate before she turned and looked at him. Astarion glanced over her shoulder before he cleared his throat, “Because I’m perfectly fine with that…” His ruby eyes affixed with her own and they widened in a warning before he gave a tight smile to the woman over his shoulder.

“I’m Karlach,” the tiefling introduced herself, “I’m only bloodstained because Zariel’s has sent some of her little bastards after me. Say you didn’t meet any paladins of Tyr, did you? They’re not really followers of his…” Vesper turned and shook her head, “No, we haven’t. But you have to know… Wyll is in our camp…he’s got a tadpole too.” 

Karlach sucked on her teeth, “Then I suppose we should get on with this confrontation then. Not that I don’t think you two are capable of going up again a couple of phonies but,” she looked down at the drow, “you’re injured. Best we don’t test our luck against them with a man down.” 

“Aren’t you a little liar,” Astarion whispered in her ear and Vesper quickly ducked her head away from him. “Then follow us,” she said to Karlach who frowned as she looked between the elves, “I’ll do what I can to speak up for you with Wyll.” The tiefling gave her a soft smile, “That’s real nice of you…been a long time since I’ve met a nice person.”

As though to quell any lingering doubts of her identity, Karlach told them about herself. How before she was in hell she was a citizen of Baldur’s Gate. Vesper had laughed softly, “Isn’t it so weird how we’re all from there?” Karlach shrugged, “Wild to think I’d be around so many Baldurians after all this time.” It isn’t until they get near to camp and Astarion hurried ahead of them that Karlach holds out her axe and Vesper swallows hard. Did she make the wrong decision? Did she just get herself killed?

“I don’t mean to be insensitive,” Karlach started to say before she turned to look at the drow, “That elf… Astarion, he doesn’t hurt you does he?” The softly blowing wind could have knocked her over as her mouth hung open, “No! No, gods no,” her answer was accompanied by a relieved laugh, “he… I–” Vesper stammered twice before she looked up at Karlach and sighed, “I don’t have a great reaction to men. It isn’t anything Astarion’s done, he pulled at my arm to save me from falling into the creek earlier but he didn’t know it would aggravate an old injury is all.”

Karlach studied her for a moment before she lifted her axe back onto her shoulder, “Alright. Just…just checking. If he or anyone does give you problems though,” she said and Vesper nodded as she heard her name called from camp. “Through these rocks, Karlach,” the tiefling smiled as she followed behind the smaller elf.

The afternoon sun beat down on the little safe haven they had found on the far side of the nautiloid crash. It was a few miles walk to the grove but they were happy to not feel the ever judging gaze of Kagha and the druids looming over them like it did tiefling refugees. 

Vesper saw Astarion look back as she and Karlach entered camp and swore under her breath as she realized he was at Wyll’s tent. That traitor, she thought and it seemed the word went across the tadpole connection because he lifted one brow and shrugged as Wyll stepped around him. Rapier pulled from his hip the Blade of Frontiers rushed toward them, “Advocatus Diaboli!” he shouted as he flourished his blade.

Karlach seemed ready for him as she readied her axe, “Good to see you too, Blade.” Vesper looked between them and held her right arm out straight while the left lifted as much as it could, “Wyll! Wait…she isn’t–” The drow was unable to get her plea out as Karlach, Wyll, Gale, and Shadowheart doubled over. 

Looking over the human’s shoulder she caught Astarion’s gaze as he watched with a hint of amusement on his face, “Thank you, Astarion.” Her voice was filled with as much venom as she could muster and he inclined his head in a mocking bow, “More than happy to help, love. It should make for decent entertainment…do try to not get skewered.”

Just as she was opening her mouth to curse him she saw Wyll shake his head, “Lies! Get away from her Vesper, don’t allow her to poison–” Karlach’s voice overlaid with his, “It isn’t! I’m telling you the truth, you can see it—Ah!” Vesper sighed as she waited for the visions to stop and rubbed her shoulder when she heard Astarion speak again, “Perhaps if you hadn’t lied to me about being hurt I wouldn’t feel the need to tattle on you. There’s a novel thought.” She cut her eyes at him and shook her head muttering, “Of course…”

She noticed how the high elf raked his eyes down her before he pushed off the tall rock tower and moved to his tent.

Wyll again stood straighter though his rapier wasn’t pointed directly at Karlach anymore, he seemed uncertain. Confused. Vesper saw the opportunity for what it was, “Wyll,” her voice soft, his one brown eye turned to look at her. He wanted to believe what he saw, “You know she’s only a tiefling…she isn’t a devil.”  The monster hunter grimaced, and his sword arm fell completely, “You don’t understand what you’re asking of me, Vesper.”

“I’m asking you,” she said as she raised both hands, palms up towards him, “to spare someone forced into the service of a devil. I’m asking the Blade of Frontiers to save someone…” His jaw and eyes clenched shut before he shook his head, “Damn it all!” he shouted as he threw his rapier to the side, “I’ve been deceived.” 

Vesper flinched at the outward display of Wyll’s anger but quickly collected herself as the others came up. “You’re a good man, Blade of Frontiers,” Karlach said over her shoulder and the drow finally stepped from between them, “You know,” the tiefling now looked toward the elf, “I’d hug you if it wouldn’t scorch your skin off.” Vesper nervously laughed and ducked her head, “Think nothing of it… I’ll just go clear some space so you can have your privacy.  Wyll?”  The human looked up and he nodded, “I am well, for now. Allies, Karlach?” he motioned toward the axe wielding tiefling and Vesper’s demeanor softened as they began speaking on friendlier terms. 

A masculine hand fell onto her left shoulder and Vesper stifled a groan as she looked up at Gale. The human wizard blanched as he lifted his arm, “You’re injured…we ran out of our last health potions… Shadowheart?” The secretive cleric wasn’t far behind, quietly scoping out the camp’s new addition when her name was called, “Come here,” she ordered the bard.

When Vesper approached the dark haired cleric hovered her hand over her shoulder, “I thought you promised to be vigilant? To not get into any fights while it was only the two of you?” Relief flooded through her neck and shoulder and Vesper sighed heavily, “I got lost in thought… was nearly swept away by the river,” it was only a partial lie. No river, just the creek, but it wasn’t as though the cleric would question Astarion about it. It didn’t seem like Shadowheart had much to do with anyone in camp besides Vesper at times, “Astarion caught me before I could fully go in. It’s just an old, aggravated injury.” 

The cleric’s eyes narrowed in suspicion before she flicked her chained braid over her shoulder, “I thought this was your first adventure?” The drow nodded, “It is…there are far more ways to collect injuries than just adventuring.” Her answer seemed to satisfy the cleric as Shadowheart nodded, “Very well. If it causes more issues in the morning let me know…do you need a hand with your herbs?” 

“No,” she replied and gingerly tested her left arm before lifting the basket a little higher, “I just need to clean them and prep them, then they’ll be ready for potion making.”

With a resolute nod Shadowheart looked over the bard’s shoulder, “Perhaps I should go make the acquaintance of our new ally… I’m just not certain where she’ll stay.” Vesper nodded towards the more tarp-like of the tents they had, “She can have that one.” Red cloth with no walls, it wasn’t the nicest of the tents they had in camp but it provided shade when needed. Shadowheart eyed the drow before raising one of her brows, “That’s yours.”

Vesper shrugged, “Doesn’t have to be. It can be Karlach’s… I don’t mind sleeping by the fire. It’s warmer.” The secretive cleric shook her head before pressing past her while Vesper settled on one of the stumps near the fire.  She was separating her gatherings when she felt fingers touch her shoulder and looked up. Gale had begun a habit of small touches before he spoke, at least toward Vesper, beginning after their second night in camp when she’d nearly panicked as he’d grabbed her elbow to get her attention. 

“Everything alright?” he asked, his smile brightening as she held up a jar of honeycomb, “Ah, delightful. You know, back in Waterdeep there’s an old couple who nurture bees. Not druids, no, just…fans of our world's greatest pollinators.” He slipped by her as she continued to sort what would need to be a poultice and what would be crushed to stand by the pot he’d been cooking in. “They say that by feeding children spoons of locally sourced honey can prevent them from gaining allergies, at least toward the local fauna. Now, what does that mean if they ever decide to become world travelers or adventurers…well I guess we’re going to learn aren’t we?” Gale often did this, picked at small tidbits of information and dumped some indiscriminate knowledge on the rest of them. 

Vesper thought it was charming. The others…not so much. But this time her head popped up, “What?” she asked as clear confusion drew her brows together. “I–I just, my mother was a believer in that old wives' tale, the honey. While this isn’t my first foray into the wilds, it is by far the farthest I’ve been from my local…ecosystem I would call it. What I mean to say is, perhaps we will test the limits of the tale–never mind,” he shook his head and waved off the thought. Sitting back, Vesper studied the wizard as he turned toward his pot of stewing meat, “I haven’t collected any, but if you feel a sneezing fit coming I can always keep an eye out for stinging nettle.” 

Gale perked up with a grin, “That would indeed be most welcome.” 

“I could take the second watch,” Karlach offered as she passed the clay plate to Vesper, “It’s really the least I can do since you’re giving up your tent. Which, by the way, thank you again…”  The tiefling had tried to argue with Vesper over the tent, but anytime she moved her stuff and walked away to have a conversation or relieve herself, Vesper kept throwing her axe and the upper half of her ‘armor’ into the tent. “Karlach,” Vesper was calm as she tilted her head and looked at the tiefling, for some reason the barbarian blinked several times and sighed in defeat already, “when was the last night you slept without having to look over your shoulder?”

“Ten years in Avernus, right? Isn’t that what she said?” Vesper turned to look at Wyll who sported a smirk as he nodded, “Yeah, I think you’ve more than earned a night of uninterrupted sleep.” The same argument could have been made for Vesper as well but they didn’t know her past. When asked about her discomfort with the males in camp she waved it off or changed the subject. Why did she flinch when people got angry? Why did Astarion’s yelling make her freeze more than Kagha’s threats? 

She never gave them real answers. No one in this group gave real answers to any questions delving into their pasts. Gale had asked her to give up a magical ring they’d found after saving a boy from a group of harpies and then absorbed the damned thing while not giving a full answer. Shadowheart had things she didn’t want people to press about, so Vesper didn’t press. And they didn’t press her either. 

It was after dinner when the discussion of watch happened. Vesper had offered to clean the dishes after another, mostly meat, meal was had—and she was more than grateful to share her portion with the tiefling–when Astarion offered to take first watch and volunteered her for second again. 

She could have protested. Could have confessed that she didn’t know how to meditate like other elves. Only it worried her that her confession would only be a cause for new questions, and she just wasn’t sure how open Karlach would be. No, it was safer to just go with the status quo. 

Be good. Be compliant. Be obedient. 

The words that had gotten her through the last ten years flashed through her mind. It’s not like the high elf was asking much of her. Just to watch over the camp and be certain nothing came to kill them while everyone slept. No big deal.

No pressure or anything.

Perhaps that was why it was always so difficult for her to focus. It was difficult to hear her sister’s instructions as she settled on the hard ground that night. The fire crackled beside her and she could hear Astarion walking around before he settled on a bedroll near hers, the cracking of a book spine. She almost asked him what he was reading, but it’d likely make him angry that she was wasting her resting time.

Instead, she focused on the sounds around her. The feeling of the wind as it blew across her. She turned onto her side, tucking her arm under her head. The fire was warm despite the cool summer evening. A page turned. Exhaustion was seeping into her bones as everything became heavier. Astarion mumbled to himself as he turned another page.

Silence.

There on the ground her breathing picked up its intensity. Silence wasn’t good for her. When things were quiet it meant something bad was coming, no crickets singing, no birds trilling, there was a predator around. Her head turned as she rolled back onto her back. They were coming. He was coming.  As the world around her stilled she froze before she gasped for air and sat up suddenly, her head smashing into one that was waiting just above her.

“Shit!” It was a male voice and Vesper struggled to open her eyes, her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to untangle herself from her blankets. “Astarion?!” she gasped out through heavy breaths and the high elf sat back on his heels with a hand over his mouth. Her head burned as the wind blew and she lifted her hand and swiped her fingers, hissing as her fingers touched a small cut on her forehead, bringing them back to her eye line. Blood. 

“Did you–did you cut me?��� she asked with wide, wild eyes. “What? No!” he countered and stared at her forehead as she felt more liquid drip from the cut. His breathing was labored as he stared and slowly his hand lowered. In the light of the fire Vesper saw something…something different about him. No, no, she shook her head and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her fist, it had to be a trick of the light. “What were you doing?” she asked, there had to be some reason he loomed over her close enough for them both to be injured.

Astarion stood and shook out his shirt haughtily, “I was simply trying to wake you. It’s your shift,” he looked her over again, she noticed how his eyes hovered just above meeting her eyes. The high elf swallowed hard, “You assaulted me,” he said, and his hand lifted to his jaw again, “why?” 

With a heavy sigh, Vesper stood and pulled her threadbare blanket over her shoulders, “Don’t worry. None of my common blood got on you…” when he continued to watch her through narrowed eyes her shoulders pulled together as much as they could, “It was just a nightmare. I wouldn’t have hit you had you not been so close.”

The drow turned to look around the camp. Karlach was the closest to the fire but was still loudly snoring. When she turned to look back at Astarion she sighed again, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He lifted a brow before nodding once, “Good. I’m going to rest.” He rubbed his jaw again before turning away. Astarion’s red tent was close to the fire, when he put it up he claimed he wanted to be close by for warmth, though she’d not seen him get close to the fire since they’d set up here by the river.

There was an overhang just behind his tent that made a decent look-out. She was just about to start climbing her way up when she heard Astarion clear his throat, “For your head.” He swiped his thumb across her forehead with one hand while the other pushed a small vial of healing potion into her hands. “I thought we were out?” she asked as she looked up at him, surprised to see when the thumb he used to wipe her blood was leaving his mouth.

No. No, she had hit her head, she had to be seeing things. 

“You all ran out…no one said I had to share my resources with the rest of you,” he said calmly before nudging her hand, “drink up, pet.” Vesper wanted to protest the pet name but she’d not refused an order in eight years and Astarion’s order was to drink the potion. He watched as she dutifully drank the vial dry and soundlessly turned to reenter his tent.

Of the strange interactions she’d had with the high elf, tonight’s interlude had to top the list. 

Settling onto the rocky outcropping Vesper replayed the events over in her head. Had she seen actual fangs in Astarion’s mouth? Was he the vampire who killed that boar the other day? She shook her head. What a ridiculous thought! Vampires couldn’t walk around in the daylight and after all her days wandering the woods, she could certainly say… Astarion loved being in the sun. Besides, if the high elf was a vampire, why would he admit that the boar was killed by one?

It had to be her imagination running away with her. Rubbing her eyes again, Vesper yawned and began her watch.

“Fire!”

They all looked around, but Vesper shouted as she was grabbed from behind, Gale began hitting at her back and the drow screamed while she tugged to get away from the wizard while he shouted at her, “You! Vesper, you are on fire!” She felt the heat now just as he finished getting the words out of his mouth. A portion of the back half of her tunic was in his hand and she struggled to get out of the rest fast enough before she was engulfed in the flames. 

Hands, two pairs, helped pull it off of her and each caught a bit of her leather collar as they tugged. Another yelp ripped from her throat as she got away from both the fire and their hands, falling onto the ground. “On your front,” Shadowheart commanded and Vesper turned to allow the cleric to heal her back. 

They had barely escaped the toll-house before Karlach’s rage literally erupted from her skin. The tiefling had been so careful since they’d met the day before to keep from touching anyone. Yet as her anger consumed her she’d elbowed Vesper in the back after yelling for them to get out.

Down on the ground she was unsure if she’d been caught by the flames as the collar’s stitching throbbed through her skin.  “Gods above,” she heard Shadowheart whisper and suddenly Vesper recalled the last time she’d been an evening entertainment for Issac’s company. The bruises likely weren’t gone and Vesper pushed as quickly as she could to climb to her feet. Turning quickly she realized both Gale and Wyll weren’t looking in her direction, the wizard’s gaze downcast while the monster hunter seemed intent on keeping his attention on the toll-house.

It was Astarion and Shadowheart who gaped at her and Vesper looked down at the muddled bruising on her arms and chest. She wasn’t aware of what her back looked like, “I’m fine.” She lied through her teeth as she smiled brightly at the two of them.

“A little more cheeriness and I might believe that,” Astarion said as he stepped forward. His finger lifted to touch the collar that surrounded her neck and shoulders, but Vesper stepped away from him, “Don’t,” she lowered her eyes and closed her eyes. 

“Step back, Astarion,” Shadowheart said as she put herself between the two elves, “Clearly she needs a healer.” The cleric turned and Vesper lifted her eyes, “I’m fine, Shadowheart. Best to leave your focus elsewhere,” the cleric eyed her suspiciously but as her eyes lingered on the collar around her neck she sighed with a frustrated huff, “Fine. Enjoy your pain then.” 

A whooping voice got all of their attention as Karlach jumped down the staircase leading from the building she’d left engulfed in flame. Astarion let out a little whine, “So much for looking for money…” Gale glanced back, Vesper caught his eye for a split second before he looked at Astarion, “Fire can be dealt with. I have a spell that could easily remedy this…display. Feeling better, Karlach?” It seemed when he was uncomfortable, Gale was less chatty.  It was nice to know that it was possible for him to not fill the vacancy of sound with his own voice, but Vesper wasn’t certain how she felt being the one to make him so uncomfortable. 

The bard crossed her arms over her chest as best she could while Karlach spoke to the others. Vesper had hoped to keep her bruises a secret from the rest of them, she’d been healed more than once by Shadowheart but considering they hadn’t disappeared had to mean that her healing was targeted to what she knew.

Karlach sounded shocked, “Holy shit…what fiend got a hold of you, Ves?” A copper head popped up and Vesper shook her head, “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Wyll cleared his throat and gestured to the tiefling, “It seems even a small nudge can set thinning fabric aflame.” Karlach inhaled sharply, “I did that?” Astarion shook his head, “No, clearly we don’t know much about our dear bard’s bedroom habits. You just supplied us with the hot new gossip of camp.” Vesper’s eyes found the ground again as they stung and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. 

They didn’t know. It was fine, they could talk. Talk is mostly harmless.

She heard Astarion hiss, “What?” and a soft admonishment before Gale said to her, “Perhaps we’ll have a peek inside, we’ll see if we can find you something more comfortable to wear.” Lifting her gaze she almost turned away again, there was pity in the human wizard’s eyes and she hated it. Glancing at the others, Shadowheart was still facing the others–Vesper realized that the cleric seemed to be blocking their view of her; Karlach was stepping closer and her eyes were on the bruises that Vesper couldn’t hide anymore; Wyll still had his back turned; but Astarion was looking directly at her. She expected disgust in his eyes but he just looked…bored, “It isn’t clothing she needs, it’s armor. Or have we forgotten she’d agreed to us saving this druid, Halsin?” 

“We haven’t got money for armor,” Vesper pursed her lips the moment the words were out of her mouth. Astarion rolled his eyes, “Darling there are other ways of getting what you need,” he wiggled his fingers and looked toward the smoking building, “though if it’s money we need…come Gale…put the fires out.”

The boys left to search the toll-house and Shadowheart turned to look at her, “Arms.” Vesper was extending her arms toward the cleric all while protesting, “Really, Shadowheart, there’s no need to waste your healing powers on this. They’re old, almost gone…” Karlach’s head tilted to one side quickly before she shook her head, “This is why you don’t like men then…”

Vesper lifted her gaze to the tiefling who calmly met her stare, but it was Shadowheart who spoke, “No matter your walk in life, this is far too many bruises for pleasure.” Her arms were turned over in the cleric's hands and her calloused fingers ran over a number of silvery scars, “Is any of this a detriment to you moving? Fighting?”

“No,” the bard answered quickly, “I’ve carried children while looking worse than this.” Her voice was soft as she finished her answer. It wasn’t that her pride was hurt. She just didn’t like the pity. Pity did nothing for her. Pity didn’t change her last ten years.

“Anything under the collar?” Shadowheart asked as she reached for the edge. Vesper stepped away from her, “Don’t,” she choked out and shook her head, “I’m fine, Shadowheart. Really… I’m not burned, there’s nothing to heal. Please,” she lifted her gaze to the half elf, “just leave me be.”

Shadowheart sighed heavily, and nodded, “Fine. If you insist. I’ll go see if I can help them inside…maybe one of those fake paladins has a shirt that isn’t too singed.” She was turning just as Astarion was making his way back out of the building, a thick leather tunic in his hands, “Arms up, Vesper, we managed to salvage you some armor.”

“I can’t…” she said as she eyed the solid piece. Leather was pliable, yes, but this was a similar make to the kind they had purchased from the druids for Astarion. It had to go over the head and with her collar there was no way she’d be able to get it on. Astarion frowned as he looked at her, “Why not? The collar? Darling we’re in the middle of nowhere, you can’t get in trouble for taking it off,” he was half bent as he mockingly whispered the last part. 

Violet colored her cheeks and she shook her head, “I just can’t!” It was the first time she’d gotten loud with them. The first time her voice had been raised in anger in quite a while. She couldn’t tell them yet. Not yet.

Astarion scoffed and threw the armor at her feet, “Darling if it’s chafing that you’re worried about, believe me when I say that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard. Especially coming from some elven prostitute who didn’t even change out of her uniform.”

“Astarion!” Shadowheart shouted his name and the high elf turned to look at her. Vesper shook her head as she walked away, “Wait!” Karlach yelled after her as she followed, “It isn’t safe to be alone…gnolls travel in packs.” They were halfway across the bridge when Vesper finally stopped. She was blocked from view by the upturned cart on the cobblestone and didn’t fear anyone seeing her wipe her eyes.

“Don’t let what he said get to you,” Karlach said as she sat down on the edge of the bridge, “if you need help getting armor on we can find a way.  Shadowheart seems like a good egg, she won’t mind helping I’m sure.”  

Coldly the bard laughed and shook her head, “I don’t know why his words hurt. It’s hardly the worst I’ve ever heard…”

Scraping gravel alerted Vesper and Karlach to someone approaching, one quick glance told her it was the cleric, “Is it the arm I healed last night that gives you problems? We can work together to get this on, though it’ll be difficult to do so every day. You may have to sleep in it from time to–”

“It isn’t just my arm,” Vesper relented and sighed as she turned to sit beside Karlach. The tiefling scooted a few inches away with a tight smile. Shadowheart frowned and turned the armor over in her hands, “What is it then? There’s nothing wrong with the armor…”

“No, you’re right…but it's the collar I wear, I cannot take it off and I cannot lift my arms because of it.”

Shadowheart sighed heavily, her face becoming a mirror of Astarion’s annoyance, “Then we can take it off.” Vesper shook her head as she groaned in frustration, “It isn’t that easy.  Look, if I could just find armor similar to Wyll’s that I put on like a coat. We can sell that though, maybe make a trade of some sort with Dammon at the grove.”

Shadowheart tossed the leather armor on the cart with a frustrated sigh, “Very well. I’m going to make sure they collect enough goods and gold to trade with then. Make certain Astarion doesn’t slip anything into his pockets.”

When it was just them, Karlach picked up a rock and flung it, “So, Vesper is kind of a weird name for an elf…” The bard frowned before she looked to her side at the tiefling, “What?” she said through a confused laugh.

“It’s pretty! It is, but, like… Astarion, it's almost musical innit? It sounds exotic almost, but Vesper…you sound like you would have grown up down the street from me in Baldur’s Gate,” Karlach explained, and her smile eased as Vesper’s tension eased. 

“The village I grew up in didn’t have many elves, so we, my siblings and I, were given more human sounding ones to be called publicly,” she explained while shaking her head. Karlach’s mouth pulled to one side, “Nah, I think you’re hiding something. You’re a world-class criminal and those bruises are from your latest heist. ‘Vesper’ is a cover… don’t worry,” she winked at the bard, “I’ll keep your secret.”

Vesper laughed again as she stared at Karlach, “You know what?” she said as she quieted, “If it keeps me from having to talk about my last ten years… I’ll take it.” Karlach’s smile faltered for just a second before she grinned again.

After effectively cleaning out the toll house they had several hundred gold. Astarion seemingly stuck his foot back in his mouth when he mentioned if it wasn’t enough then Vesper should just flirt with the halfling tradesman or the tiefling for a discount. Suddenly she wasn’t coming anywhere near him. 

Vesper had thought they were coming to a somewhat understanding companionship. Teasing remarks but harmless. Perhaps he thought these were harmless remarks. That had to be it. He didn’t know the truth of her past. 

When they reentered the blighted village, Vesper entered the little apothecary shop, looking for any left-behind dried ingredients. This place was filled with them. There were even abandoned potions on the counter.  

She lifted a book and flicked through the pages before turning it over and shaking it, sometimes the books had scrolls hidden within the pages. Gale had explained to her that he could inscribe his spell book with those scrolls.

Wyll, in his own exploration of the shop, had found a cellar while she searched the upstairs. They had been just about to head down when a shirt was pulled over her head. It was dirty and a little ratty but it did cover her better than the leather shirt she wore. Turning she caught Astarion as he silently turned his head away and pushed past her to follow Wyll down into the cellar.

It was awkward to pull her arms through and there was the tugging of the threads against her skin but eventually, she did manage to get both arms through the holes. 

They had found a lever that led to a more secretive area and a magic mirror.  

When Astarion tried his hand at the mirror he got annoyed and threatened to smash it, but the glass disappeared. Vesper found it odd that she hadn’t even seen a shadow of the rogue within the reflective silver glass.

In this secret cellar, there were even more alchemy ingredients and she busied herself as she gathered.

“Gale…what’s a quasit?” asked Shadowheart at one point as she held up a scroll. The wizard, who had been quietly tailing behind the drow turned and approached her to read the scroll, “A familiar…seems like an interesting familiar to have. I’ll inscribe this tonight, perhaps we can learn what all this is from the little devil. Before Wyll destroys it of course.” Wyll lifted his chin as he pursed his lips and shook his head, “The Blade of Frontiers does not kill familiars,” he said nobly, before he grinned and shrugged, “it wouldn’t count, they can just be resummoned.” 

They all continued searching the cellar, Gale finding a pair of bracers in a chest that he tucked away for later. Vesper wondered if he planned on using or consuming them. It was Astarion crouched at an iron gate that caught her attention though. He was close to the keyhole picking the lock, “What are you doing?” she asked a bit hesitantly. He barely spared her a glance before answering, “There’s a book back there. Could be something useful…or something expensive,” the lock clicked, “why else would someone hide it behind all of this.”

He stood to open the gate, careful as he took the first few steps in. Vesper walked up to him to peek her head in but he held up a hand, “Traps…I’d wager those,” he pointed to the two stone statues that were covered in cobwebs and dust, “will begin spitting out fireballs if this,” he pointed to the plate that was beneath a book, “is disturbed. Give me just a–” he stopped talking as he bent over the table pulling a different tool kit from the pocket of his armor.

The others were gathering behind her, each peeking through to watch the rogue at work.

“Vesper,” the sound of Wyll’s voice being so close made the drow jump and she whipped around to face the Blade as he winced, “sorry,” he whispered before clearing his throat, “most bards I know don’t move so quietly. They’ve all been singing or strumming–playing their instrument…but you don’t seem to have one...”  

Vesper chuckled, “Mine was recently broken…not that I had much practice–” “Shh!” She winced when Astarion shushed them; she stepped away from the door with Wyll, “Why?”

Wyll shook his head, “Just curiosity, I suppose. We found a lute in the toll house…if you’d like it? I left it outside for the goblins but we could–” she nodded and Wyll’s smile perked up as he spoke again, “I’ll go grab it then. It’s just outside the village near that…uhm,” he blushed, “barn.” His eyes widened for a moment as if to convey how uncomfortable the sounds coming from that barn had been. 

“Wait–” she grabbed him as he turned, “don’t worry about it if you’ve left it that far behind. I don’t need one, an instrument, I mean.” Wyll paused and looked back, “I may be being a bit selfish…it’s possible that tonight or in the coming nights there will be a reckoning over Karlach still being alive. I was hoping that if you played it could keep my mind off of it…or keep me–” he trailed off as he swallowed hard and looked away from her eyes. “I was hoping for something to look forward to,” he finally admitted with a closed lip smile. Vesper’s head tilted, “A reckoning? Should we be concerned?” 

Wyll shook his head, “You’re in no danger, I swear it. No one besides myself is in any danger…”

The others were talking again and Vesper turned her head to look back, “We’ll go get it in a bit before we head back to camp. I just don’t want the goblins out there getting any ideas…” While they knew that these creatures were bowing to the Absolute, she didn’t trust that they wouldn’t go to their baser nature and try to kill the human in front of her. “Let’s not split up, okay? Isn’t it safer to be together?” she asked and Wyll chuckled and nodded, “You’re right,” he said. 

“Something,” Astarion’s voice was raised as he flipped the book he’d finally gotten over in his hands, “goes in this book…I’d like to find it.”

“Uh, please don’t open the creepy book….it’s got a face,” whined Karlach as she looked over his shoulder.

Astarion giggled softly as his fingers stroked the leather cover, “Imagine the things it could tell us.”

With one last look around the hidden cellar, they left both the cellar and the building. They started for the building right next to it, but Gale held up his arms and began backing away, “Ogres,” was all he had to say for the others to back away from the building and avoid it. Instead, they crossed the meager street to one of the other buildings. Inside they found a key, but there was nothing to unlock inside the building, “There was a door outside…another shop perhaps?” surmised the wizard. Vesper tried to ask the goblin but she’d only been waved off and simply returned to the others’ side.

In the basement, they found…things. A bellow and furnace. Astarion found another trapped chest and sent Vesper up the ladder to check the other chest up on the landing. It had been quite a while since she had used a lock picking set, so Astarion had both disabled the trap and picked the lock off his chest before she even finished picking her lock, but she did get it. A smile bloomed across her face as she opened the lid, “Weird…there’s just a bit of metal and a couple of letters.” 

The metal had a sulfuric smell to it and though it wasn’t especially large it had a hefty weight to it. Years of malnutrition had kept the bard weakened so she had to implore Karlach for help. When the tiefling looked over into the chest she laughed, “This is infernal metal! I can use this for my engine! Now I just need a mechanic.”

“Infernal mechanic?” asked Wyll, he knit his brows together before he nodded, “I think I know of one we can get to easily.” “Really?” excitedly Karlach turned to look down to the human. Wyll nodded again, “Dammon in the Druid’s Grove…as long as Kagha hasn’t completed her damned ritual we should be able to ask him if he can at least.” Karlach looked at all of them, “I hate to ask for another favor…”

“We’ll get back there,” Astarion held up a placating hand without conferring with the others, “if it’ll keep you from burning the rest of us up, I mean.” He looked past the tiefling to the still kneeling drow, “What about those letters? Does it say why this blacksmith has infernal iron?”

Vesper looked at the opened letters and shrugged before tossing them down. Astarion passed off the scroll he was holding to Wyll as he caught the two to look them over.

“He made a deal of some kind it seems…” the rogue said as he turned the letter over in his hands. Shadowheart was wandering the workshop when she paused, “There’s a breeze behind this wall…” the others turned to look at her.

“Maybe there’s a tunnel…it could lead to some secret entrance to the goblin camp?” she shrugged and looked at the wall again, “I’m just not sure how we get it down.”

Wyll stepped toward the cleric, “May I?” Shadowheart turned to look at him, “I don’t see a hammer in your hands…” He shook his head, “No, I’ve found that a well-placed eldritch blast can destroy walls sometimes. Step away,” he gave the warning and waited for the half-elf to back away before lifting his hands and firing two eldritch blasts in quick succession.

“Bravo, Wyll,” said Shadowheart as she watched the wall fall. “Who knew you had use beyond a pretty face,” her head tilted teasingly as she stepped forward to peek through the wall. Karlach and Vesper had climbed down at this point and they with Gale and Astarion joined the other two as they ventured past the wall.

Spiders. 

It just had to be spiders. And not your run-of-the-mill, cause-a-heart attack when it runs down your arm kind either. These were bigger than Vesper and they could teleport. The other little creatures might have scared her more, when one of them came running at her, its arms waving in the air as it moved, she actually yelped and ran from it while Karlach jumped in its way and buried her axe into it.

Besides a few poisoned burns, they were all okay. Gale even thanked Vesper as he downed one of the small healing potions she had been making for them since she found the little alchemy kit. “Put these on,” said Astarion as he held out a pair of boots to the bard. Vesper lifted her gaze from the diagram on the board and looked at the rogue, “Why?” He shrugged, “They’re better than what you’re wearing and the rest of us have decent footwear. Besides Karlach, but I don’t think they’d fit our fiery friend.”

So she pulled the boots on, hopping along as she tried to keep up with the others. It was odd, they fit fine but as she walked it felt like they molded not only to her leg but to her feet, her steps felt lighter than before. “Are these,” she stepped up to Astarion’s side, “magical boots?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted as he looked down at them, “but if they are, keep them from Gale. He doesn’t need to eat every magical item we come across.” Astarion’s hand came up as they rounded a corner and he looked at Vesper before covering her mouth as he watched her eyes land on the gigantic spider across the way. “Don’t. Scream,” he warned her and waited for her to nod before he removed his hand. 

“We probably shouldn’t be here,” whispered Karlach as she crept closer, but Astarion was already sneaking towards the edge. Something caught his eye and unfortunately, it was right beneath the big web weaver herself. 

They watched the white headed rogue as he looked around and assessed the situation. He then kept an eye on the big spider as he began to sneak across the webbed bridge, he threw one look over his shoulder and waved to the others.

“He must have seen something useful, right?” asked Gale before he crouched, grunting as he muttered about his knees before following after the rogue.

Vesper followed, knowing the others were just behind her.

Things are never easy though, they never can be. While they crossed the webbed bridge Gale got stuck. They managed to get him unstuck without the spider noticing, but then came the chittering and Vesper turned to see Shadowheart jerking her foot in the webs, swearing to herself.

Another fight with spiders ensued. Little ones were hatched as the big one let out its awful screech. Arrows, spells, and Karlach’s axe were used to fight but it didn’t matter for Vesper. She’d made it to a second bridge only to be surrounded by the little baby spiders with their extra potent venom and she misjudged where the edge of the webbing was. 

Her feet never got caught on the web, not like the others. Something about these boots was good about keeping her from getting enwebbed, but that was also a bad thing; as she stepped backward trying to dodge being bitten she jumped too far back and felt a familiar sensation. Falling, she was falling.

As she fell backward she was just barely able to make eye contact with Astarion who was picking up some glowing gem before she was swallowed by some pit in the center of the area.

For a moment she thought she heard her name being yelled. 

There wasn’t going to be a nautiloid to save her this time. Wherever she was falling to was it. Her freedom was over. Closing her eyes she said a prayer to Elistaree and accepted her fate.

What she didn’t expect was for two hands to grab onto her and turn so she was pressed against a hardened surface, or for Astarion to cast a spell that slowed their fall. Opening her eyes she realized the surface she was being held to was his chest and she lifted her head, the wind was blowing through his curls, “You didn’t even scream,” he said as he looked at her, his eyes wide as he tried his best to turn them mid-air so they would land on their feet.

“Where are we going to land?” she asked, her hands now gripping his armor and one of his arms, he shook his head before answering, “I don’t know. Be prepared for anything.”

The spell he cast changed their falling to floating but she didn’t release the high elf. Eventually, the tunnel they were falling through came to an end, the darkness giving way to odd lights of different colors splattered around their surroundings. When their feet finally touched solid ground, Astarion pushed her down so they were both crouched, “You move quietly, and don’t go far from me.” She nodded and eyed him before looking around, “Were you lying before?” His eyes narrowed as he shook his head questioningly, “It’s just–” she started to say before a noise behind her had her turning.

A Minotaur.

She was nearly about to scream when Astarion’s hand covered her mouth again, “Don’t.” he said into her ear before he took her wrist and began shuffling in the other direction just doing his best to not be perceived by the creature. Of course, it had to turn as they tried to round the corner. “Run!” the rogue shouted as he stood to his full height and began pulling her with him.

Fear made her blood pump into her ears. She couldn’t hear the creature as it roared but she could feel the ground rumble as the minotaur tried to charge after them. Or was that the one they were running toward as it ran towards a building. Astarion was running right behind it before he skidded to a halt as bright white lights began hitting it. The minotaur tried to bash into the gates but it died to the outpost's magical defenses, “Shit…” he began to look around and then behind him, “you’ve got a spell that changes your appearance.” He said as he looked at her, she nodded, “Small, be small!”

Both of them cast at the same time, changing themselves from elves to a gnome and halfling Astarion ran for the small space, he climbed through quickly and Vesper followed screaming as the Minotaur smashed into the wall just behind them, “Keep crawling!” she heard Astarion shout and she kept following him, doing her best to keep her concentration on the spell. The disguise spell she used was one she’d been playing with once she realized she could use it. 

There was a bend in the tunnel the two were crawling through that exited into the outpost. As soon as he was out of the crawlspace Astarion ended his disguise and dusted himself off. He was breathing hard as he collapsed on one of the benches as she pulled herself through.

“Where are we?” she asked as she stood up to her halfling height. Astarion looked over at her and his eyes grew round, “Please drop the spell…hearing your voice out of that is…disturbing.” Vesper dropped her concentration and dusted herself off, her left shoulder was aching now, while crawling several of the tunnel’s rocks had smacked into her arms as she crawled.

She started walking around the space, she found the gate where the dead minotaur lay and looked out to see two others now stalking the area where they had disappeared. “There’s two!” she called back to Astarion as she stepped back to look at him, her eyes were wide, fear once again coursing through her. How many times had she been close to death now?

“You look nearly dead,” Astarion said as he looked at her. He didn’t look much better if she thought about it. He was covered in blood from fighting those false paladins and now they were both covered in dirt and dust. But she didn’t want to tell him that.

“I’m fine,” she said instead as she slung her backpack off her shoulders, digging through it, she found the large potion that the strange lady in the grove had given her. She set the bag on the table in front of Astarion before offering it to him, “You got hit more than I did…you probably need it more.” He looked at the potion before shaking his head, “What I need is a drink.” His eyes paused on her before he looked away again, “You were saying something earlier, about me ‘lying?’”

Vesper’s cheeks flushed as she recorked the potion bottle and placed it back into her bag pulling out a smaller one. “You told me that you were a magistrate back in the city,” she said matter-of-factly as she uncorked the smaller bottle and turned it up. Once she swallowed she looked at Astarion again before lowering her eyes toward his hands, “I don’t think you were being honest.”

“I was,” he said, “it’s been a while since I’ve been a magistrate, but I did work for the courts in Baldur’s Gate.” He stood up and stepped toward her, “You weren’t lying about never having been on an adventure. Neither have I.” She nodded as her head tilted, “You’ve told me that…but how are you so good at–” “Killing?” he asked as he gave a small tug on her bag. She released the canvas she’d been holding onto and let him pilfer through it. 

“I have to do something now that I’m no longer a magistrate,” he found the bag of rations she carried and pulled out some of the fresh berries she had picked the day before. He popped a few into his mouth before offering others to her, “We’ll rest and then find our way out of here. I’m out of spells after that disguise, at least until morning.” Vesper nodded, she too was out of magic if she had to be honest. 

When he walked out of the area the drow felt her knees give out and she sat down heavily on the other bench at the table. She had taken the offered berries and was now looking through her rations bag. Astarion, for all his sneaking around, didn’t carry a bag as she did. They’d have to share anything that she had. 

Checking her rations she also held up her canteen, it was about half full. It might be enough if they only took a mouthful at a time. Depending on how long they stayed down here at least. She coughed and realized how dry her mouth was already, grimacing she twisted the lid off her canteen and turned it up taking just enough to wet her mouth and throat before closing it. She’d dealt with rationing food before. Issac often forgot to leave money behind when he used to be gone for days at a time, but at least then she’d had water to fill her belly with. She could do this, it wouldn’t be that difficult.  

Astarion’s steps were silent as he came back around the corner, she flinched when she saw his hand come around her and he took the canteen from her, “It’s only—” he turned it up drinking two mouthfuls before raising a brow. Right, she thought, he needed the strength. He was still covered in dirt and blood, his hair somewhat flattened against his head but as she looked at him, she realized that he wasn’t sweaty. She wasn’t wearing leather armor like him but she could feel her sweat chilling against her skin. He was right about the leather chaffing. The slick of her sweat had given the smooth leather the ability to slide against her skin, but now with the added dirt, she could feel it rubbing against the threads under her collar. 

“What?” he asked and she cut her eyes away, “Nothing. Sorry.” She didn’t see Astarion narrow his eyes before he stalked around the table and sat across from her.  

“If we’re going to make it out of here, we need to trust each other,” he said as he passed the canteen back to her. She closed the lid and put it back into her pack with the rations bag. “I do trust you,” she said as she looked at him, maybe she didn’t but it was better that he believed she did. Astarion was smaller than Issac but she’d been hurt by men who had the rogue’s build. He had a smirk on his face that made Vesper’s blood chill a bit and she looked down at the table, his hands weren’t on the tabletop now, she didn’t know where they were and that worried her more than just being alone with him.

“I’m sure,” he said as his eyes narrowed a hair more, “I need you to extend that trust just a bit more…” Now she glanced up at him and he held up both hands, waiting as she looked between them. They were bare, no gloves, no weapons, just empty. Empty hands were just as dangerous as a weapon for the right person.

“Last night,” he said softly before clearing his throat, “I did not cut you…with a weapon.” It was Vesper’s turn to narrow her eyes, she tilted her head as she looked at him. Her eyes scanned over his face and then to his hands again, she knew he had longer nails but just assumed it was an upper city thing, “Your nails?” she asked as she eyed them. He’d said he was trying to wake her, perhaps he was going to tap her with them until she woke up. Astarion had behaved a bit childishly since he’d tried to kill her on the beach, almost as if he were trying to make up for holding that blade to her throat.

“Aha, no,” he smiled and one of his hands bent before he tapped his teeth. The area they were in had little to no light. The glow from the outpost’s magical defenses was barely registrable in here but she leaned forward until her dark vision adjusted to see the sharp incisor he was pointing to. He opened his mouth to speak again and she realized there was a twin on the mirrored side. 

“I, in poor taste, made a joke about you being the vampire that drank all the blood of that boar,” he said as he watched her and Vesper blanched. She had seen fanged teeth last night. He’d not had a reflection in the mirror. Her mouth dropped open and she tried to back away, falling over the bench she’d been sitting on, “You’re a–”

“Yes,” he said as he watched her move away, “but I’m not some monster…I don’t kill thinking creatures. I hunt beasts and animals…kobolds…” When she tumbled back he stood and looked over the table, “I was–”

“You were going to bite me!” she shouted as she shuffled back. The awkward movement pulled at the stitches in her shoulder and she hissed through the pain before pulling herself to standing.

“But I didn’t!” he held up a hand.  

“Because I woke up!”

“Well, yes,” his head tilted to the side as he admitted it, “but it was only because…” he paused and dropped his hands to the table, “I feel weak. I thought with just a little blood I could feel stronger…I wasn’t going to kill you. Just enough…” 

Astarion tilted his chin down, “With just enough I could be stronger…it would be easier to protect myself and you.” He added the last bit as if an afterthought. 

Vesper wrapped her arms around her middle as she looked at him. She hadn’t imagined it, hells, she had been right the night before. “This can’t be true…I’ve seen you in the sun, we were just–” while she babbled, Astarion nodded and tapped against his temple, “I believe,” he started to explain, “that our wriggly little friend is to thank for that one. It is also why I can enter living spaces without being invited and cross running streams.” 

She was watching him closely, and he seemed to know it. “The magistrate thing?” she asked again and he bowed his head in another nod, “Nearly two hundred years ago but yes, I was.” She shuffled her feet, “Why are you telling me now?”

This time Astarion stood, the bench squeaking against the stone floor, “There’s a ladder just to your right…if we go up there I want to be as strong as I can be. I was hoping,” he eased his way around the table, his hands held open, “that you might provide me the small allowance of your blood so that I can be certain we survive this. And I do mean for us both to survive. Do you remember what you said after our meeting with that devil, Raphael? If I kept you safe you would keep me safe?”

Some of Vesper’s hair fell into her face as she nodded and she looked down at his feet. His legs were relaxed. Not poised to chase her if she ran. A vampire could keep her safe. They’re supposed to be strong if the stories she had heard were true. Issac would be afraid of a vampire. Issac would be afraid of a vampire. 

The drow lifted her head to look into Astarion’s face, she stepped closer to him and saw the crease in his brow release just a tad. If Astarion liked her blood then maybe he wouldn’t let her get too hurt, it’d be hard to offer it to him if she lost a bunch. If Issac or any of his friends appeared…Astarion might fight to keep her if he enjoyed her. If she was compliant. 

'Be good. Be Obedient.' Phrases that had been drilled into her since early childhood. 'Be compliant' was one that Issac had drilled into her. If she didn’t want to be knocked around she’d comply with his wishes and those that he passed her off to.  

Wouldn’t the argument apply here as well? Astarion was offering an exchange, her blood for his protection. If she complied…

“Okay,” she said softly as she took another step toward him. The crease on Astarion’s forehead disappeared almost entirely as his brows raised, creating new creases across his forehead, “Really? I thought—never mind…shall we make ourselves more comfortable?” He waved a hand behind him to the table. Vesper licked her lips and moved around the high elf to sit down, when she looked up at him, he was frowning.

 “Did I mess up already?”

“No! No,” he chuckled dryly, “I just thought you might want to be lying down…” she shook her head. She could let him drink her blood but she couldn’t have him over her. Vesper was enjoying the fact that no man hovered over her and had enjoyed it for two weeks at this point. “I’d prefer to sit, if that would be alright?” she said meekly and Astarion nodded, “Yes,” he said, “of course. As long as you’re comfortable.”

He carefully moved her hair off of her neck and Vesper stiffened as he reached for the collar, “Maybe my wrist!” she practically shouted, her voice echoing in the chamber they occupied. Astarion cleared his throat again and stepped to the side of the table, “I’ve told you a dangerous secret about myself…what’s the collar? Why don't you want it removed?”

“It can’t be,” she said softly and he sighed before crouching to meet her eyes. “Vesper, darling, I know that some couples have their little bedroom games…but you don’t have to wear–” she shook her head and her voice stuttered, “It–it isn’t a s-sex thing. It physically can’t be removed.” Meeting his eyes again she watched as his eyes dart back and forth before looking to the collar. He stood and walked around behind her before moving her hair, twisting it up in one of his hands, and looking over the leather piece. His hand traced the belt that encircled the thick neckpiece. “We could just,” his cold, too cold now that she knew, fingers slipped under the leather, and when he gave it a tug she did shout. “Fuck!” she swore and hissed trying to follow the direction he tugged.

Astarion dropped it and with the softest pull of her hair tilted her head back, “What was that?” Tears were filling her eyes as she tried to breathe through the pain, she saw Astarion’s nostrils flare from this angle and watched as his eyes grew, “You’re bleeding,” he said before bending and sniffing at her shoulder level. “Is–” he paused and lifted his head just a few inches, “is this collar attached to your skin?”

“Yes,” shame flooded Vesper as she answered him and she felt her hair heavily fall as he released her and fell into the seat next to her. The drow took in a deep breath through her nose and exhaled slowly before lifting her arm to Astarion in an offering, “I can’t lift my arms much higher than this because of an injury and because it pulls on the stitches. If you still want my blood,” gods please still let him want her blood. Now that she had the idea in her head she wanted him to want her blood, to enjoy feeding on her. She’d go so far as to fuck him if it meant he’d keep her from Issac.

Astarion looked at her, his eyelids fluttering as he seemed to be pulled from thought, before looking down to her proffered arm and taking it, “You’ll still offer your blood?” She nodded and tried to lift her arm just an inch higher, it stretched against the strings and she winced. Astarion caught her eye and lowered her arm a bit before bending over it and sinking his teeth into her frail flesh. 

Vesper hissed as his fangs broke through her skin, sharp icy pain filled her arm before she felt his tongue push against the pulse in her wrist bringing more blood from her arm. He kept his eyes connected to hers and she didn’t look away. Vesper was unsure if it was a challenge or if he was trying to gauge when to stop, so she refused to look away from him. Her arm numbed eventually and she shook her head, “Stop.” He lifted away from her wrist and his eyes fluttered closed. “That was…” he licked his lips, but he didn’t finish the thought.

 “I feel stronger…I feel,” he chuckled a little as he lowered her arm but still held onto it, “I feel happy.”

“Good…I feel numb,” she said softly as she tried to pull her arm from his grasp, “and tired now.” 

“Right,” he cleared his throat again, “we should try and meditate…get some rest. I don’t suppose you brought yourself a blanket?” She shook her head while answering quietly, “Didn’t think I’d need a bedroll.” He laughed, the sound a bit higher pitched than normal, he certainly seemed happier, “I would offer a cuddle but I’m not exactly warm either. We could start a fire though…” he nodded to her left and she turned to see a fireplace. “As long as this place’s defenses stand we should be alright to start a fire,” he stood and walked over to the fireplace. The wood was probably rotten but he’d try anyway. 

Looking about Vesper saw candles, “We could light all the candles, I kept warm one winter like that.” He held up a finger and began walking around the outpost gathering any pillar candle he could find, “Settle here then. The sooner we rest, the sooner we can try and find a way out of here. Unless the fools were dumb enough to jump after us…”

[brrambleberry]

Gale loves his wife.

Gale had never met anyone like Maral before. Every story she shared would make his brows rise higher and higher. Her time in the underdark as a Seldarine drow after humans chased them away, her time on the surface when Lolth-sworn were on their tail from the underdark. Her time aboard the ships crowding the docks of Waterdeep, and her exploits as a storm sorceror with a duty to be a vessel guardian out on the water. Her confidence, her wit as sharp as her rapier.

Her beauty still hauls the breath from his chest, her skin an elixir of twilight dusk and freckles falling like stars across her nose and cheeks. Long silken alabaster hair, that he loves to wash and dress since she shared that it was a luxury never affordable in her youth. Lips of plum, that generously share their hue to her cheeks when she laughs, or as her own breath is stolen by his clever hands and lips.

Their rivalry has never relented however. Back when they were fighting for survival, there were pockets of humor in battle that may very well have been what pushed him to keep fighting. Moments where Maral's magic would gather and charge around her, and she could seize control of this power to push herself through the air to a more advantageous position.

It still left him awestruck, but he would likely never share that. Not after she got in the habit of blowing him smug kisses as she launched herself through the air. He would respond with a demonstration of a new spell, one that was outside of her repertoire, and watch the plum flush spill like wine under skin and her hair begin to gain volume as static prickled on her body.

A body so sculpted, so perfect it was as if the very gods carved the scars on there too. A body she was not considering worth a cover. To Gale and Wyll's horror, the gals would gather together the afternoon of rest days, and spend hours under the sun along the riverbank. Bodies bruised and blooded, wincing from wounds as they scrubbed their laundry and armors clean. Karlach's presence was greatly appreciated in colder dips, nothing quite like having your own personal furnace to float beside and bask in the warmer temperatures.

Gale and Wyll would become less concerned with conserving decorum. It only took months of teasing and streaking through camp for them to barely bat an eye at bare bodies racing towards the shore, leaving echos of howls and hysterics behind them.

It was Maral who coaxed Gale to accompany her down to the river to wash off the blood and grit of a particularly draining encounter. His eye had swollen shut, his hair matted with crusted gore and gods know what else. She folded his robe over a rock, coaxed his tunic off, and gently mopped the dust and sweat from the bruised skin. She, who sponged the blood from his split brow, had laid a kiss as gentle as a butterfly upon his forehead. Whispering coos of frost across his swollen, violet socket to ease the throbbing and aching.

How could he feel anything but devotion for the woman who made him feel truly desired, that precious moment in the weave where he swore he could feel her hands cradle his head, and her lips taste his. His woman, who continues to soothe whatever ache wherever he may have it, whenever he might let her. His personal favorite is to be cradled between her thighs, he thinks. Well it's usually quite a tight clench if he's doing his job right, but those are semantics to be argued another time.

[invinciblerodent]

I think after defeating Ketheric is the first time in the story when I'm letting my boy let his unending kindness.... falter a little bit. Just a little.

Semi-coherent 3 am ramblings under cut.

It seems like almost an "act 2 end" staple for me, but... this "midpoint climax" in many games IS, I feel, the natural point for a lot of good-aligned, well-intentioned protagonists to crack a little, and Arvid is no different.

Like. He just came back from what was essentially his *worst fucking nightmare*, having fought the avatar of a quasi-god (and learned that he's gonna have to do that, oh, two more times, just for funsies), having talked his boyfriend out of exploding himself (which was a very shitty, if short conversation, because apparently Gale is nothing if not easily convinced by the words "choose me, the one who loves you"), and overall having a CONSIDERABLY WORSE THAN AVERAGE TIME FOR THE PAST, OH, SEVERAL DAYS (with the Shadowfell, and the watching allies die left and right, and the GOING BACK TO THE MIND FLAYER FLESH-CABINS WHICH IS FUN), and already everyone wants MORE from him.

You know, as if this whole day wasn't, like, one deeply traumatic experience after the other. As if these past weeks hadn't been pushing him slowly towards a breaking point.

The dream visitor is acting... kinda suspicious and cagey, as per usual (she's dodging questions and speaking in confusing metaphors while doling out insurmountable-seeming tasks, which is just 👍👌🤙🖕), Wyll is immediately having himself a little storytime moment that he probably should have thought to have weeks ago ("btw my eye is a sending stone that enables Mizora the Literal Devil to track my every move" IS KIND OF A BIG DEAL, MAN, YOU COULD HAVE, IDK, MENTIONED THAT SOMETIME OVER THE PAST THREE WEEKS OR SO), Gale is understandably feeling wild and wired after that weird, partially self-imposed near-death experience (which, idk about you, but an "I'm glad we survived babe, are you okay" would have been at least appreciated BEFORE the whole "YO DID YOU SEE THAT POWERFUL ARTEFACT, I WANT IT" thing), everyone in that damn room wants something else from him ("hey, sorry I was an asshole earlier after you saved my life, why don't you help me more! Won't tell you how or why or with what tho!", "hey you're back having done what's supposed to have been impossible, so what's up with Thaniel, the issue you solved literally a week ago already, I wasn't paying attention lol", and the likes, even Withers is being fucking weirder than usual)...! Jaheira and Astarion seem to be the only ones to offer any kind of praise, or optimistic feedback, which is already weird...!!! But the others? "Oh, hey, you're back. So, when are you gonna do that again (or this other, different thing for me)?"

Like... thanks? I guess I'll just go fuck myself then???

The poor boy just wants to take the most intense bath of his life (sit in a lake somewhere for a few hours, get the illithid-sludge off his body and scrub his skin until it's no longer blue but flushed, raw, and purple, maybe then he's going to feel clean again and less *hyper-aware* of the wriggling in his skull), get roaring drunk to at least momentarily forget the monumental task ahead, cuddle up to his dog, owlbear, and/or boyfriend, and go to sleep in a fetal position for the next 48 hours. Maybe cry a little or punch something, he hasn't decided yet.

Just... everyone seems to be forgetting that he's just Some Guy. Even if he turned out to be some chosen one, he's unaware of it. As far as he knows, he's just a random priest from the countryside who only ended up in the city like a year ago because the church there needed a new healer, and suddenly, after getting abducted and his BRAIN wormed, he's everyone's go-to guy for god-killing. He barely knows anyone, has no family (or really friends or personal connections deeper than the superficial outside of the party), nobody misses him where he's from (which is no longer his home, but neither is Baldur's Gate), and he doesn't even know if he's doing the right thing at any given time, messing with forces he doesn't understand. But everyone just wants MORE, and MORE, and MORE, and he's giving more and more, as much as he can, only he's not sure how much more he has left.

So yeah, he's gonna snap at- and be a bit short with Art, even if Halsin doesn't like it. Yeah, he's gonna be a little snide to the cagey gnome that all but told him to fuck off previously. He's gonna be a little impatient towards the skeleton-man doling out poetic brain-teasers for him to solve while he's still bleeding profusely, from several wounds. He's gonna give a couple fewer fucks about Isobel's reunion with her gf after having already figured out who she is (it's. Not like that was a hard feat. Those dots were not particularly hard to connect. He has an intelligence of 10 and he still figured it out.) than he would otherwise. He's, like, happy for them and all, but would be MANY TIMES happier if someone just handed him a sandwich and a glass of water, and said "hey, good job".

I have not yet gone back to camp or left the building after the return last night, but I'm hoping there's gonna at least be a chance to unwind before we'd march on. :/

[timeforelfnonsense]

Lost and Found

Astarion x Dafni 

Rating: T

Hurt/Comfort

TW for depression mention 

Ao3

I’ve been working on this bad boy for a month and it’s done at last!

 An important note: There is some reference to the Lolth Sworn drow in this and I feel the need to clear the air and state that I have some issues with the way WotC characterizes the drow as inherently evil. My house rules are that none of the races are inherently evil because the broad strokes in the source material as problematic af. So while the followers of Lolth might be evil I want to make it clear that doesn't equal all drow are bad. Dafni holds all varieties of elves in tender regard. As an eladrin of the fey wilds and a follower of Corellon she understands that fluid and changing nature of all living things. Life is messy and people do not fit into boxes, very few folks are all bad or all god. Not every elf worships the Seldarine and that’s ok. A fundamental part of Corellon is freedom and choice therefore it would be foolish to insist her path is the only right one. Her issue is with Lolth not the drow as a whole.

The Underdark was a horrid and forsaken place. A shudder ran down Dafni’s spine as she rubbed away the gooseflesh cropping up across her arms. Lolth’s influence hung heavy in the stale air. She would have to step lightly. A cleric of Corellon would be a great prize to the followers of the Spider Queen. She missed the warm sun on her face, the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet. She could feel herself wilting under the oppressive darkness that surrounded them.

Anxiety was a strange and forging feeling. The majority of her 160 years had been spent embodying the playful delight of spring. Perhaps it was on account of her relative youth. Or, maybe it was the influence of Corellon Larethian, whose wild and wonderful influence she had felt all her life. He had looked out for her. Cared for her as a father would his child. Truly, Corellon felt as much a parent to her as her mother, Thesmia did. A meek half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had given her a reason to leave home when the wanderlust became far too much for her to contain. If she was to flourish as both an elf and a divine servant, Dafni would need to truly know herself beyond being Thesmia’s shadow. Absentmindedly her fingers reached for the familiar crescent moon that hung from her neck.

Her feet skidded to a halt, her trembling hand pulled away empty. Her blood turned to ice. An agonizing dagger of guilt pierced her heart and she felt as though the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Part of her wished that it would. She had carried the holy symbol since she was a young girl. Though she knew in her soul it had been her’s even before that. It had served as her connection not just to her god, but her heritage and primal spirit- The very essence of her being. 

“I lost it.” Her voice was less than a whisper, stunned and distant. Tears began to well up in her eyes. The world around her was growing colder by the second. “My amulet is gone.” Her breath began to come out in heaves and she began to sob in earnest. “It- It must have gotten lost when the minotaur tossed me!” 

 Her sharp cry stopped her traveling companions in their tracks. Each of their faces dressed in varying degrees of confusion and concern. Gale began to speak but his words were drowned out but the low ringing in her ears. A dizzy, sickening feeling bloomed in her gut and the edges of her vision began to blur as the darkness she had so feared gripped her soul.

They had doubled back to the old Selûnite fort. The others were still there setting up a temporary camp. Shadowheart hadn’t been able to find anything physically wrong with her aside from the normal bumps and scrapes that were to be expected on an active adventurer. 

Astarion felt truly helpless for the first time since he’d escaped Cazador’s clutches. It had been an hour and Dafni had yet to wake. He clasped her hand in his. A soft blue had slowly been spreading over her sage-green skin, creeping its way from the tips of her fingers to the crown of her head. Her locks were shifting at the root from rosy pink to a frosty teal. The flowers that wove through her loose ponytail had all weathered into dust. 

He squeezed her hand, “Come on Daffodil…”

Gale had been fairly positive that this was, to some extent normal for the eladrin of the Feywilds. Something about a book he’d read by some notable wizard? Truth be told Astarion hadn’t been paying much attention. He was too busy staring down Lae’zel, who’s paranoia filled gaze had been locked on Dafni’s sleeping form from the moment they’d returned. 

He should have been annoyed at her. The loss of some silly costume jewelry had caused her to swoon like a high born lady. He knew she was made of stronger stuff than that. Her little spell had put them all behind and left them without a healer the whole trek back to the fort. Yet, try as he might Astarion couldn’t seem to conjure up the ire he held for those too weak to survive hardship on their own.

 He groaned, letting his head hit the wall behind him with a soft thunk. There it was again- That damn sentimentality! By the Hells, he was a vampire, not a nursemaid! What had gotten into him? 

“You should rest.” Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll keep an eye on her for a bit.” 

His eyes went narrow, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The idea of leaving her while she was vulnerable made his blood boil. 

I’ll watch your back and you watch mine…

Her promise echoed through his thoughts. Dafni had held her end of the bargain with unwavering resolve. If he left now it would feel too much like betraying the one person he’d allowed even a fragment of trust in the past two centuries.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t an appropriate reaction.” He muttered while he whisked away an icy tear from her cheek. “I’m just a bit... Out of sorts.” 

Wyll nodded, taking a seat on the dusty floor beside him, “Hey, she’s tough. She’ll pull through, whatever this is.” The warlock gave him an almost smug look, “You really care for her don’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.” He sneered with a wave of his hand, “Besides, my concern is simply a matter of pragmatism. Our little band of misfits can’t afford to lose our best healer-” Astarion hesitated for a moment before adding, “Don’t tell Shadowheart I said that. We need not add my body to the pile- Should things go poorly.” 

“If I promise not to sell you out will you take a break?” 

For the first time since she had fainted, he noticed the scratchy dryness in his throat. Astarion scowled, there was little in the way of appetizing food that he had seen but he would just have to make due. He was loathed to leave her side but Wyll was a good man, a better one than him in truth. He would keep her safe. 

“What’s this? The legendary Blade of the Frontiers, stooping to common blackmail.” He tried to keep his tone flat but he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips, “Fine, I’ll take a break. I’m a bit parched anyway. I suppose I’ll try to track something palatable down here. Unless…”

 He arched an eyebrow towards Wyll who moved away with an overstated scoot. 

“Not a chance, now go!” 

Cold. 

A crushing, all-consuming chill wrapped its arms around her spirit. Spring had left her. Now she stood alone in the isolating melancholy of winter. She reached out for the familiar warmth of The Protector but here- In this cursed place his influence felt far and foreign. If only she had her holy amulet. It could have served as a compass leading her back to Corellon’s embrace. She would simply have to press on. She had put them behind already and there was no time for sentiment. She wouldn’t be able to cast spells until she found a replacement and the chances of a spare symbol of her god in the Underdark were laughable. Dafni tried to sniff back the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes but it was no use. They rolled down her baby blue cheeks freezing before they could fall to the ground. She glanced up at Astarion, who walked a few paces ahead. While Gale and Wyll had spent the better part of a day coddling her, he had remained distant. 

Maybe he didn’t want her like this? Her sadness threatened to consume anyone near her and he had enough grief of his own. He had admitted once that he enjoyed having her near. Whispered in her ear that she was sunlight and happiness made flesh as he took her in a flower patch of her own creation. 

The feeling of a gentle hand pulled her from her thoughts. Gale offered her a small smile before speaking, “Are you all right?” 

“Oh-” She sniffed, whipping away another frozen tear, “I’ll be alright. I just don’t feel much like myself right now.” 

Gale nodded in response, “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we shouldn’t have brought you here. The Underdark does seem quite at conflict with the very core of your being.”

A mournful laugh escaped her aching chest, “I don’t think we’d have had any better luck with that shadow curse above ground. No, my sorrow isn’t a good enough reason to risk the rest of the group’s safety.” She brought an icy hand to Gale's cheek, causing him to shiver, “I appreciate your concern but really I’ll be alright. We eladrin are ruled by our emotions, a shift of season was inevitable at some point or another. It’s unfortunate for the rest of you it had to be winter. Things are dire enough without my sorrowful presence bringing you all down with me. Perhaps it would be best for all of you to keep your distance.”

 She sighed, her eyes falling on Astarion, who lingered just on the edge of the bitter cold her sadness created. While it pained her to say it, she knew he was right to keep away. The others should do the same if they were wise. Gale gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“He’s a funny one, Astarion.” Gale mused, “Wyll told me he had to resort to extortion to pry him from your side while you were out. Yet, today he acts as if you have the plague.”

A small snort of laughter broke past her tears, “Extortion?” 

“I believe comments were made comparing Shadowheart’s healing abilities to your own. Wyll offended his silence in exchange for Astarion taking a break.”

“That’s not fair to her.” Dafni sniffed, “She’s not a life cleric, she does her best.” 

“You have a good heart, Dafni.” Gale said giving her arm a squeeze, “My point is I think he cares about you, in his own odd way. At the very least he’s far more pleasant when you are around”

“You really think so?” 

“I do,” Gale assured, “he’d have to be the biggest fool in Faerûn not to see how wonderful you are.” 

Dafni felt a bit of warmth return to her heart. Not enough to thaw her sorrows but it was a start. Gale’s words helped her sort through the chaos of her mind as they had so many times before. He was a loyal and kind friend, as was Wyll. Shadowheart too despite her evasive and secretive nature. Even Lae’zel had warmed to her as best she was able despite their differences. There was a solace to be found in the support of her peers. She wasn’t so alone after all.

The sound of her laugh hit Astartion like a battering ram. She seemed to be in slightly better spirits since arriving in the Myconid Circle. She floated about the fungus folk with an easy familiarity. It seemed being among the vibrant plants and creatures of grotto had offered her some sense of normalcy. He looked over his shoulder to see what had coaxed a giggle from her (no matter how pitiful and melancholy it sounded). A sharp twinge of jealousy ran down his spine as he watched Dafni stroke Gale’s cheek with a somber smile. 

He bit the feeling back. It was better for them both if he kept his distance. Gentle kindness was hardly his strong suit. Gods, he was a disaster. How many times had she offered him comfort even when he spurned her? She had given so freely to him, her kindness, the warmth of her bed, the very blood in her veins. And there he was relying on someone else to comfort his lover.   

 Dafni was a resilient little thing. So optimistic and sweet it made his teeth hurt. It was disorienting to see her so morose. He had learned the boundaries of her emotional aura rather quickly. He had noticed an unfamiliar warm feeling that first night at camp. He found himself lingering near her as often as he could after that. Savoring the tender happiness that radiated from off of her. She had told him it was simply part of her nature. A charming quirk he’d grown to enjoy a great deal. But now he could feel her heavy sorrow as if it were his own and he longed to make her hurt go away.  

Damn sentimentality.

He had his own worries. He didn’t need to take on hers as well. She didn’t need him to coddle her. And more importantly, he most certainly was not beholden to her contentment for his own survival despite his halfwit heart’s insistence to the contrary. She was making him soft. It was ridiculous! He was far too old to be fretting over her like a lovelorn sprat. 

It must be the tadpole. Her compassion must have wormed its way into his brain somehow. That was the only logical explanation.

He needed to clear his head and get some distance between them so he could feel more himself. He wandered aimlessly about the grotto as he attempted to show away any feelings of softhearted sympathy but it was no use. He rubbed his temples and let out a frustrated huff. He should never have taken that first taste of her. She’d become an irresistible craving from that moment on. It wasn’t just her blood, but every aspect of her that called to him. Inviting him to take refuge in her affections. He could feel himself lowering his guard a little bit more each day despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length. She’d flash him that beguiling little grin, her topaz eyes brimming over with admiration and he would find himself tempted to let her just another inch closer. He’d known she was dangerous from the moment he clapped eyes on her in the wreckage of the crash. He’d prepared himself for a stake to the heart but the infatuation she had inspired in him was infinitely more frightening and possible just as deadly.

He made his way to the alcove where the Society of Brilliance had set up shop. The strange hobgoblin had mentioned something to the party about being a collector of magical items and oddities. Walking had failed to rid him of his frustrations perhaps shopping would. 

A glimmer caught his eye as he approached the cluttered stall. There, on the table was a familiar silver amulet. He was going to get it back for her and pray the gesture was enough to curb his need to see her happy. He could swipe it easily enough but he didn’t want to draw trouble to Dafni if she was spotted wearing it. No, charm and a dash of intimidation would be his best shot.

“Excuse me,” He smiled wide allowing for a slight flash of his fangs, “I was hoping you would be willing to part with that necklace.”

“A vampire interested in the acquisition of a holy symbol?” 

“Yes, it’s very ironic.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now, how much do you want for the damn thing?”

“Well, first time for everything.” the hobgoblin shrugged, “You have a good eye, this is very unique. It’s forged from mithral and inlaId with sylvan moonstones. The holy symbol of Corellon is more commonly depicted as an eight-pointed star these days rather than the crescent moon. Meaning this item is very old indeed! It was brought in just yesterday. I would be hesitant to sell it but my research does require more funding. How does 900 gold sound?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you but ‘very old’ is a relative term when it comes to items of elvish origin.” He kept his tone flat and unimpressed, “Long-lived people do tend to hold onto things.” 

“Ah, but you’ll find this is more than your average antique! Judging by the craftsmanship I would say it dates back to the time of the primal elves.”

Shit. 

Of course, her necklace had much more than sentimental value. He had hoped for a quick haggle but it seemed he was going to have to work for it. He really didn’t have that much coin on him, nor was he inclined to spend it on something that was not rightfully the hobgoblin’s to sell. He raffled through his mind searching for a thinly veiled threat or convincing argument to lower the price until the perfect mixture of the two dawned on him.

Astarion let out a droll hum as he checked his nails with casual disinterest. He spoke in a low, blasé voice, “You said before you weren’t much for combat? Don’t you think it’s risky, carrying around a holy item of Corellon in the den of the Spider Queen? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to you at the hands of a zealot. Really I’m doing you a favor by purchasing it. I’ve crossed swords with the Lolth sworn before they are merciless and skilled fighters almost as dangerous and bloodthirsty as vampires.”

He let a wicked bark of laughter. A bemused expression flickering across his face. He could smell the fear stirring in the timid merchant. It would seem he hadn’t lost his edge after all.  

Blurg swallowed hard before mustering a response, “ Ah- I hadn’t thought about that...”

Dafni sat cross-legged on the ramparts of the fort fletching a new batch of arrows. She’d need more to compensate for her lack of magic for the time being. She’d spent the whole trek back to their camp scanning the ground for her necklace but it had all been for not. She’d just have to accept the fact it was gone no matter how much it broke her heart. 

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 The sound of Astarion’s voice caused her to jump, tossing her arrow down with a start. Dafni clutched her chest shooting him a sharp look. He only laughed, his infuriating gorgeous face fixed in a grin that reminded her of a satyr who stumbled upon a river of bathing nymphs. He dipped to his knees placing a hungry kiss on her scowling lips. He couldn’t be serious. All-day she had been desperate for his attention and he was completely uninterested but now that he had an itch to scratch he was searching up and down for her. Unbelievable! She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he’d ever promised her his undying love and devotion. Still, she had thought him tactful enough not to proposition her after the hell she’d been through that day. 

“I’m not really in the mood right now.” She scolded, “You’ll just have to entertain yourself tonight, you egotistical lecher!”

“That- Isn’t why I sought you out. But, if you truly don’t want my company I’ll leave you be.” He shrugged his tone flippant despite the flash of vulnerability in his ruby eyes.

“I- I’m sorry that was really mean and uncalled for. Please stay.”

Stupid impulsive girl.

She slumped forwards, hiding her face in her knees. She could feel the icy tears threatening to spill over for the hundredth time that day. He’d come to check on her and she’d cut him down because of her own insecurity. The bitterness had gotten the better of her and she had unwittingly discouraged his attempt at compassion. 

“If you think the accusation of being a rake is the most heinous insult that’s been hurled at me I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark by quite a lot.” 

He sat down beside her, placing a hesitant hand on her back. She could sense his uncertainty. He was nervous and clearly out of his depth but he was trying. His cautious fingertips moved slowly across the expanse of her back, tracing nebulas shapes and patterns as she drew short, shallow breaths. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She just knew he was staring at her with the same wide, gentle eyes he had when she’d offered her neck to him that night in the woods. If she saw him like that the dam would break and she’d be an utter mess. 

“I still shouldn’t have said it.” Her voice came out shaky and quiet as she peeked over the top of her knees at him. 

“I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “I have something for you. Now, stand up and close your eyes.”

She arched a questioning brow but compiled, hopping to her feet. He pushed her ponytail to one side. His touch lingered on her jumping pulse causing a shiver to run down her spine. A warm chuckle falling from his lips in response. The cool feeling of metal draped across her throat, an otherworldly comfort hummed all around her as the delicate weight of a pendant fell against her chest. 

“Where did you find it!!” Dafni gasped, “I thought I had lost it forever! You can’t fathom how much this means to me.”

“It’s a gift, to repay you for all the ones you’ve given me.”  

It probably seemed a small thing to him but he’d returned a missing piece of herself. Words felt woefully inadequate to express her gratitude. She threw her arms around his neck, sending him staggering back a bit. She hardly noticed. She stood on her tiptoes placing gentle kisses all over him. First over the bridge of his nose and then his cheeks and down his neck. Her fingers laced through his soft curls tugging him close, her lips brushed against his. Astarion’s hands fell to her soft waist, his mouth ever so slightly parting for hers. Dafni sighed, running her tongue along the warm seam of his lip earning her a satisfied purr. His hand ventured to the small of her back gently coaxing her closer. She took in a deep breath, the dizzying blend of leather and patchouli making her weak at the knee. She could have stayed like that forever, pressed safe and content against his solid chest. The feeling was big and terrifying but magical and perfect all at once. 

Drat...

She was falling in love with him.