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the-song-of-avernus · 3 months

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Family (Re)Union

Summary: With Wyll's father rescued from the Iron Throne, tension lingers as Ulder Ravengard has been remarkably quiet about the woman who rescued him, the woman he saw over and over again in Wyll's mind these past months.

(Word Count: 3500) Devil Wyll (Tiefling Form) x Cambion-turned-tiefling Tav Read on AO3

“Wyll, he hasn’t said a dozen words to me since we got back. He just chills out in the corner, doing paperwork, taking visits from Florrick and like four trusted Fist, and occasionally petting the owlbear.” Standing in the now-emptied chambers of the former Bhaalist tribunal, stone-silent except for the occasional crackle of the torches not yet extinguished, stood the self-styled Blade of Avernus, Wyll Ravengard, and the newly-minted Song of Avernus, Furiella.

It had been a whirlwind four months. From a life of luxury hiding out in the city, a cambion with not a care in the world, to captured and tadpoled aboard an Illithid ship, crashing to earth. Mindflayers, gods and goddesses. Avatars of the Dead Three. The loss of her powers and wings. Mortality.

And Wyll.

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The son of the Duke. He’d disappeared without so much a word from the city nearing a decade ago, and any attempts to find out where he had gone had led to stonewalling. No comment. An embarrassing secret that she or her big sisters could use?

The truth itself had been far more straightforward. He’d been pacted to a Mizora, whose reputation preceded her in Infernal circles. She’d felt it the moment Wyll had confronted Karlach in camp that night. Worse still…she’d interfered. She had been the one to talk Wyll out of fulfilling his contract with Mizora that night. She was the one who had kept Zariel’s lost warrior alive; no, befriended her. She was the one helping every single lost soul encountered on the Sword Coast with no expectation of gain. The nerve.

That night, Wyll had paid a price. Gone was the human-looking Blade of Frontiers. Pointed ears. A tail. Horns and claws, sharpened teeth and his good eye turned black. Infernal and tiefling features abounded, and as Mizora made sure to make quickly known, very permanent. With it had come a warning from Mizora for her. Interfere again, little one, and she’d share a similar fate.

As the two had grown closer, and their travels continued onwards, eventually Mizora's warning would come to pass. They had just discovered the sanctuary in the shadow-cursed lands near the one-time Reithwin Town. Harpers and Flaming Fist and the tieflings from the grove! Joy and relief had quickly turned to horror, however, when she noticed the tiefling girl Mol seated across a lanceboard table from..him. Raphael, the son of the archdevil Mephistopheles.

He had been tempting them since the day after they had escaped the Illithid ship. Teasing a solution to their “tadpole” issue only to pull out the carpet for a later day. Mol had made some questionable choices, left largely to her own and with the unquestioned adoration of the other tiefling children, and now here was Raphael. She knew his intent. He’d sensed her potential to, and had planned to entrap her. Absolutely not. Her own protectiveness of the tieflings and especially the children and desire to shield them from the horrors of the Hells overrode her judgement. What had started with a cordial conversation led to a bumped lanceboard set, and a fury that illuminated the outpost even more than the Selunite cleric’s light. Promising his revenge, a hellish laugh filled the room as Raphael glibly noted “Third strike, little one.”

Flames engulfed her body as she seared with agony. Her wings dissolved in a blaze of heat. Her magic was dissolving by the second with a ferocity not even a sussur flower could manage. The creeping shuffle of mortality made its’ way into her form. “Since you’re so interested in the tieflings, this seems particularly fitting. Be grateful, the way you were going you would have probably become celestial were it not for our guiding hand. At least this way you’ll hold on to some semblance of yourself. Who knows, perhaps you’ll even rediscover yourself one day. I’ll be watching. That’s a promise.”

Perhaps it was the cutting of the final tether that reminded Wyll of Mizora and his own loss, perhaps it was the similarity of their predicaments. Maybe it was just her. But Wyll had grown used to the new reflection, and was there for her in the way she’d been there for him. The spurs on her back where wings had once grown. The very subtle lines on her face that hadn’t been there the day they met. The first time she awoke from her bedroll with the slight pop of a bone joint and a small groan of soreness. This had been new for her, just as the horns had been new for him.

In wanting to be there for her in the same way that she had helped him slowly grow to not hate his new features, Wyll had wanted to be there for her too. In that moment, it hit him with a wave of perfect crystal clarity.

Earlier in their travels, she had teased him about dancing. It took some work to get used to his altered center of gravity. Wyll practiced for days, when everyone was asleep. He wanted to get this right. To let go of his own self-doubt and self-loathing and to show the woman who had so recently been there for him that he was starting to find peace, and that he wanted to share that peace and that...love..with her.

There was that word. He loved her. And you know what, if Wyll had to wager a pouch of gold on it, he suspected she felt the same. Resolute, the practice continued on under the cloak of darkness and shadow, until one night she’d awoken, unable to rest, her shoulders once again sore enough to keep her restless. Furiella needed some balm for the irritation, and a GOOD stretch. Wyll, nearby, couldn't help but hear her muttering about the damnable spurs on her shoulder blades, the last remnants of the wings that she had sported proudly until recently. The same vestigal holdover that most other tieflings also carried.

Their absence was clearly the biggest adjustment for her. He had seen her playing the Lyre – first a wooden one she’d gotten from the druids. Later an exquisite and ornate spider-themed one that they had recovered from the body of the dead Drow, Minthara, in the raid of the goblin camp. He had to figure the shoulder movements were causing irritation. Thoughts of mechanics quickly turned into wondering how did she managed to use these damnable claws to so effortlessly work the strings without breaking them? So tenderly. With such beautiful music.

He had planned to ask her to play a song while showing off his steps. Instead, that night he found himself stood before her, mid-rehearsal, her with a cheesy grin with only the slightest glance of soreness."Don't stop on my account." .

"I figured it was time to brush up on my skills," he grinned back. "I wouldn't want to disappoint my new partner."

Taking the opportunity, he asked to see her own dance movements. The bard had already seen his, after all. She’d managed a fairly graceful leap but it was clear she was still getting used to the balance changes that must come with the lack of wings and the way mortality creeps into your muscles and joints. Working with her, the dance had grown closer and closer – and then a kiss. Which begat another. And over the course of their journeys, notes had become songs, and steps into more dance, and shared affection and kisses into love most deep.

As they'd grown to love each other they'd also grown to re-love themselves. Ironically, having become a tiefling had given her a level of humanity that she had never known. Lives were so fleeting, so brief. Love and joy. Duty and courage. Grief and sorrw. Every feeling mattered that much more, every moment of time all the more valuable. Helping people, that mattered too. Furiella came to know why Wyll had dedicated himself to traveling the Sword Coast as a hero.

Heroes would be needed to liberate their home.

While they were away, Bane's Chosen, Enver Gortash, had used Wyll’s father as a pawn in his ascent to power and had, upon the adventurers' arrival in the city, had himself declared Grand Duke by Ulder Ravengard, then discarded him in his underwater prison. Mizora herself had re-emerged and offered Wyll a way to rescue him, but refusing to be her pawn one moment later, had told her no. They managed to determine the location of the prison almost by accident (thanks to some devotees of Umberlee and a submersible) but had mounted a rescue, which Mizora herself tried to stop (and had failed).

Ulder had been deeply unhappy at the rescue. His son had become a devil. The woman who had ensnared him those seven years ago stood just meters away in their room at the Elfsong Tavern. And the woman he had notice his son’s attentions continuously drift towards had an aura similar to that of the blue cambion, Mizora, that had ensnared a young Wyll. Her appearance said tiefling, but no, there was more there, Ulder knew it.

The confrontation had come a short time later. Ulder was disgusted with his son and his continued infernal dealings. Was this some sort of sexual thing? A plan to oust him and take over the Gate? Personal riches? What could drive HIS son to forget the pillars and to seek out the influence of the Nine Hells themselves.

The Illithid tadpole that Enver Gortash had used to control Ulder Ravengard would provide the answer. Wyll and Furiella, having decided that if Ulder were going to hate Wyll (never even mind her), he should at least know the whole truth. Then, if he still hated his son, still loathed the woman who, she was beginning to suspect might become his daughter-in-law in the years to come, then at least they would know that he had hated them with all information revealed. Once nothing was hidden, if he still hated them, that was beyond their regard, and they could live with that.

In the matter of minutes, the tadpole had given Ulder Ravengard access to years of memories. The childhood bonds. His work saving the tieflings and saving the sword coast. Mizora’s many, many lies. And that fateful day seven years ago when Wyll had accepted her first offer in order to protect the city from the cultists of Tiamat who had amassed in secret to lay siege to the city. That Wyll had tried to tell him about but couldn’t – because of her.

THAT apology came simply. In a moment, he had understood his son. How he had kept to the four pillars. Learned and internalised every lesson Ulder had ever tried to pass on. The way he cherished the things about his mother that Ulder had passed on. That Wyll had never regretted his choice for a moment, not because of its’ consequences, but simply because it had meant that everyone else was cared for. Everyone else was safe. The reunion had been swift, had been sincere.

But Ulder Ravengard had also seen her memories. The years of training by her sisters and extended family to one day step into the family business. Adventures in the hells. The way she herself had once seen Wyll, seen him, seen the city, seen the people of the Gate. Felt what she was. But also what she had lost. Had given up. Immortality. Flight. Almost all of her powers save for her abilities as a bard and a small amount of wizarding talent that had come largely at the tutoring of the wizard Gale, of Waterdeep, that had been in their company. The pain and the agony. She was a cambion, a daughter of the hells. He’d heard stories of their kind having the potential to change, to be less evil – but usually that meant ascension, an inversion into becoming celestial. Not a tiefling. Not truly. He had also seen the moment that Mizora tried to tempt her again to spite Wyll, and she had only just held resolve. Whatever had been done to her, Ulder's training with the Flaming Fist and access to her unfiltered memories through that damnable parasite allowed him to still detect a trace of something...more. In the same way that whatever had transformed Wyll had left a residual trace of his former humanity, the tiniest ember of who and what she had been before still smoldered.

He was petrified at the idea that this was somehow a game. A plot. A ruse. What WAS her true intention here?, had thought Duke Ravengard, distrustfully mulling over the nature and plans of the woman who had saved him, of who her son so clearly loved deeply. He just got his son back, he will NOT let him get hurt by another devil.

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In the halls of the Bhaal Tribunal, Wyll and Furiella wondered what Ulder was going to do, what he would say. Because Ulder had seen his mind, knew he was going to propose to her. Seen her mind and already knew the answer. Knew who she had been. Knew who he had become. They, meanwhile, had seen him. Seen his mind and heart through the tadpole, and the reactions on his face. He clearly felt reconcillatory towards his son, but what about her? Wyll had already had an idea for a proposal that his father must now know about, and she had basically turned him into a walking jewelry story, having recently put him in charge of carrying the assorted rings and gems that the adventurers had found. It was not a subtle hint, but the response of Wyll’s father loomed over things like a sword held overhead.

Arriving back at the Elfsong a short time later, the pair were intercepted by Lakrissa. “Hey, you two.” Changing to a whisper the tiefling remarked, “Duke Ravengard wants to meet you both in the cellar. That large study you told Alfira about with the great acoustics.”

Thanking her, the two trekked through the kitchen – with a quick nod to the chef – and down into the cellar. Moving through the passage, they arrived at the Emperor’s old haunt. Only a few knew about this place. Including, apparently Ulder Ravengard, seated facing away from them at a table.

The room was still coated with a fine layer of ash following the disposal of several Githyanki bodies a tenday earlier. The pair made their way across the room, the flickering candles and lanterns creating a mosaic of shadows.

As the two sat, an unearthly silence filled the large stone room. The faint sound of a rat could be heard chittering away a short distance nearby. No doubt Chef Roveer would need their services again soon.

Staring daggers at the cambion-turned-tiefling, breaking his gaze only to look at his son with nearly the same steely intensity, Ulder clearly pondered which set of words would leave his mouth.

Finally, the silence broke with an exhale. His gaze softened.

“I am not a man that is good with these sorts of things…”

The tension was broken by the echoing sound of footsteps. A small child’s footsteps.

“Mr. Wyll! Ms. Red! Miss Alfira says you came down here?”

The slightly concerned voice was unmistakable. Yenna, the small child that the pair and their friends had found on the outskirts of Rivington; whose mother was clearly gone and in the interim had become their ward.

“I was trying to get the chef man to let me help in the kitchen but he chased me away!” the child said, somewhat dejectedly.

Cutting off the stare down with Wyll’s father for a moment, the bard rose from her chair and went to intercept the young girl. “Yenna, there you are!” Furiella knelt to the girl’s level. “I know you want to help so bad – and the food you made for us was SO good! But I know we’ve been living here while we help everyone, but right now the Chef is having to run a restaurant to help out and feed all those people in the Elfsong. Remember?”

The girl looked at the bard, absorbing the lesson. “Tell you what? You know Jaheira?”

Interrupting Furiella, Yenna piped up cheerfully with her best, most childish impression. “Nature’s servant awaits.”

Cracking up both Wyll and Furiella – and with even a small grin crossing Ulder’s face – the girl looked towards the couple once more.

“Well, Jaheira’s family has a house in the city. I tell you what. If you promise to be good tonight, and if Gale says you completed the spelling and math lessons I asked him to make for you, tomorrow we’ll go to her kids house – her kids are adults already, she’s SO grown up – and you and Wyll and I will cook for everyone!”

With delight, the child erupted with glee! Jaheira’s garden was ready to provide some absolutely delicious fruit and vegetables, and it would be a good chance to learn outside of a tavern and in a real home and real kitchen.

Looking across the table, Ulder saw Furiella with new eyes. The way she looked at the small human girl with an almost maternal look. He saw the gears turning in Wyll’s eyes as well. A thought process he himself knew well. He had been holding her not just to the standards of a demon but holding her responsible for the actions of others. That wasn’t justice.

Choosing this moment to step in, Duke Ravengard piped up. “I believe I’ve seen enough.”

The mood in the room once more grew tense, with even Yenna noticing the change. Noticing her apprehension, Furiella pulled the child in closer; if Wyll’s father picked this moment, with Yenna present, to hurt Wyll or Yenna or even herself – her tolerance for Ulder’s adjustment period would end. For the first time, the thought of family crossed the bard’s mind. This had become her’s, and no one, not even Wyll’s father, was going to hurt them or show this poor child that’s already lost so much more pain.

“Furiella…When I was in your mind. Saw my son through your eyes. And I saw the way you are with her..”, gesturing towards Yenna, “…just now. You really ARE unlike her, aren’t you?” referencing Mizora.

The bard was unusually quiet, glancing at Wyll and Yenna before returning the duke’s question with a small nod.

Turning towards Wyll, the elder Ravengard continued. “When I was a younger man, during the time I knew your mother, I was privy to seeing the way she looked at me. When this woman looks at you, son, she looks at you with those same eyes. And when we talked about our future together; when she was expecting you. I saw her again in Furiella’s eyes when she was talking with the girl…Yenna, I believe it is.”.

The younger Ravengard’s jaw loosened and his eyes widened.

“I do not agree with your having signed a deal with Mizora to save our city, although had I been in your shoes in the time I believe I might have done the same thing. Another day, another time, and without this worm in my head, we still need to discuss that. But I’ve seen you through her eyes, and I’ve seen her through yours.”

“If the day should come when the two of you decide you wish to make a life together; make a family together” Ulder noted with an almost knowing twist on the ‘if’, “please know that you have my blessing.”

Now her jaw and mouth had gone slightly agape. Blessing?

“I have always talked about wanting to build a Baldur’s Gate for all. I’ve seen the way that Enver Gortash attempts to weaponize hatred and prejudice to control, and I cannot allow my own fears and my own history to cause me to make the same mistakes. I’ve seen the things you’ve given up, the things you’ve embraced, and the courage you’ve shown. If I’m to rebuild it, then that MUST start with my son and his love and all that they call into their lives.” Standing up and walking over towards the others, he placed a hand on Yenna’s shoulder while looking down towards his son and the woman he suspected he would one day soon know as his daughter-in-law. “Remember the four pillars, and remember your love for each other, and nothing on this plane or any other can stand against you – and know that as long as there is breath in my lungs that you are both welcome home in Baldur’s Gate. Yenna, you are always welcome as well. ”

Starting to turn away from the stunned couple and the child in their care, the Duke paused. “Son…I kept a couple of your mother’s recipe books. If you would like, I could have someone back at home who I know to be loyal retrieve them and have them brought here. For the three of you. Perhaps bring a couple of your things as well.”

“I would love that, Father.” Wyll was nearly overcome.

Glancing at the young lovers and their charge one more time, the duke left for upstairs, leaving both adults on the verge of tears and even the young child aware of the emotion of the moment.

Rising to begin to leave the former home base of Balduran himself, the young lovers took hold of one another. Not wanting to make a particularly grown-up display in front of Yenna, the two embraced with him giving her a peck on the cheek.

Pulling away, Furiella stared at Wyll.

“Blessing? Wyll, blessing for what?”

“Don’t worry about it, my love.” Responded back the Blade of Avernus.

As they made to leave, Wyll from the front turned back towards the love of his life.

“Have you ever seen the Wilden Oak? Perhaps we could go there after dinner tomorrow night?”

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