#tyril x mc x mal

[saibug1022]

My Heart Won't Start Anymore

Word Count: 3.3k

Tyril Starfury x Asterin Nightbloom (M!Elf!MC) x Mal Volari

A/N: For a lil bit of context, in Asterin's canon all three of them are dating, Tyril having kissed Mal right before they went to the Shadow Realm in Book 1. But when Asterin disappeared their relationship grew but under the stress and pressure of everything going on it also began to fracture. But it's not just about Mal and Tyril dw, that's not relevant till the end except for some references sprinkled throughout. Chapter title from You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift.

They were out of the Shadow Realm. They were all alive. They’d found allies in Flotilla and were on a ship on the way to Whitetower, getting closer and closer to being able to stop the Ash Empress and Valax once and for all.

Valax, who went out of her way to teach Asterin the shatter spell when she didn’t have to. Valax, who cared about her people and wanted to help them in any way she could. Valax, who got angry when anyone mistreated her people. Valax, who saved Asterin from the river. Valax, who shivered in Asterin’s arms. Valax, who smiled when he kissed her. 

Valax who betrayed them.

For the second time in as many years, Asterin opened up to someone, trying to help them, only to be betrayed for approval and power from some powerful Shadow user. You’d think he’d learn his lesson. Even after Aerin had been redeemed he’d disappeared. And Valax nearly got them killed. But no. 

How foolish he was. 

He should be happy they were alive and had a plan to stop the Ash Empire. But instead, the others gathered on the deck and Asterin hid himself away somewhere in the ship’s hold. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d ended up. All he knew was that he’d ended up sitting against the hull with his arms holding his legs to his chest and his forehead on his knees. He didn’t remember when he started crying but it must have been awhile as his sobs faded with exhaustion but the tears never seemed to stop.

It was almost over. He just had to keep going a little longer.

But could he keep going? Could he hold so much for even one more moment? He didn’t have anything left. He would give away every piece of him: his love, his kindness, his forgiveness, his strength, his health, his patience, his energy, everything. He didn’t regret it. But no one seemed to give anything back. Now he had nothing left.

There never seemed to be a moment to rest or even take a breath. They were always running or fighting. When they weren’t there was always something else to deal with. Mal’s self-destruction, Tyril’s crisis of faith, Nia’s war with herself, Imtura’s insecurities, Aerin’s atonement and disappearance, Valax’s redemption and betrayal, Cherta’s grandmother, the destruction of the Whimsywood, their fracturing group, Nia’s shadow secret, Tyril and Mal’s strained relationship. It seemed Asterin had spent more time comforting his friends after his disappearance than being comforted about his abduction. 

Every time he had those thoughts he’d shut them down. Guilt always followed them. He was helping people. How could he wish he wasn’t? Especially when those people were his friends? He’d put them first, of course he did. Then came the realm, and that involved always pushing forward. He himself was last. He didn’t have time for his feelings.

But he still couldn’t stop crying.

A door opened and Asterin froze, still crouched in the shadows. 

“Asterin? Are you in here?” Tyril called.

“If he snuck away and hid from everyone do you really think he’s just gonna answer?” Mal replied and Asterin winced. Of course, they were bickering again.

“I’m perfectly capable of finding him myself.”

“I care about him too, darling.”

“Please do not start with this again-”

“I’m in here, just please stop fighting,” Asterin finally spoke but he didn’t look up. His voice sounded awful, so small and tearful and rough. It made him regret having spoken at all. Mal muttered a curse and footsteps approached, followed by shuffling and the clanking of armor as they sat on either side of him, Mal on his right and Tyril on his left. Asterin quickly wiped the tears off his face before he sat up and offered them each a smile.

“Why were you looking for me?” Asterin asked. He thought he did a pretty good job of hiding his situation until Mal and Tyril exchanged a look and Tyril cast an orb of light. As soon as they could see their faces dropped. 

“Asterin, what is it?” Tyril asked with a sense of urgency in his voice. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Asterin waved him off and forced a chuckle.

“Were you crying the whole time you were gone?” Mal asked instead of not worrying about it. 

“Maybe?” Asterin tried. The guilt was starting to creep back in again. He couldn’t burden them with his own feelings, they were dealing with other things. Besides, would they even care? No, his feelings weren’t important. “But I’ll be fine. We should get some rest.”

“We’re not stupid, kit,” Mal rolled his eyes. He scooted closer so his shoulder was pressed against Asterin’s. “What’s wrong?”

“We have other things to worry about,” Asterin protested weakly but the tears were already starting to clog his throat again. How many times had he wished to hear those exact words? For just one person to check on him, just like how he was always checking on everybody else. Tyril offered his hand and Asterin took it without hesitation, clinging to it gratefully.

“At the moment, our only worries are for you,” Tyril replied gently. “Talk to us, Dinvalir.” 

It only took that one word before the tears came once more, unbidden. He’d thought he didn’t have the energy to break any more than he already had but now it was as if his sobs were chasing the unfamiliar lure of being cared for. His head fell onto Mal’s shoulder as his sobs racked his body one after the other. His lungs ached with the force of them but the feeling of finally being able to cry with Mal’s arms around his back and cradling his head, Tyril holding his hand and running his hand through Asterin’s hair, it just made it so he couldn’t stop no matter how much his body begged him to or his mind screamed about his selfishness.

“I, I’m sorry,” Asterin sobbed. “E-Everyone always looks to, to me to handle things. A-and I, I try. I try so hard. Everyone, everyone is hurting and I-I’m trying to help. But I can’t do it anymore. I’m so tired. I-I don’t have anything left. Nia has her, her shadow thing, and then the L-Light thing in Zaradun to, to help Tyril. And Mal, you’ve, you’ve been so upset because I was g-gone and you guys are fighting all the time a-and I don’t know what to do! And Aerin left a-and Valax betrayed us and I’m so scared a-all the time but I’m too tired to even be scared.”

Silence followed Asterin’s confession, but Mal’s grip on him tightened and Tyril hid his face in Asterin’s shoulder. 

“We look to you a lot as our leader,” Mal admitted. “Because without you we’d be at each other’s throats pretty much all the time. But it’s not your job to take care of all of us all the time either. You’re the one who told me it wasn’t on me to hold the entire group together. It’s the same for you.”

“You may be the strongest person I’ve ever met, but even you can’t hold this all on your own,” Tyril agreed. “If you take on everyone else’s burdens in addition to your own, you’re only going to crumple under the weight.”

Asterin just nodded against Mal’s shoulder as his sobs finally faded. He was so tired, in his bones and in his soul. He couldn’t find the strength to move or speak. It may not be enough in the long run but in the moment just being reassured and held like this by the men he loved so much was all he needed.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mal wondered. He seemed hesitant, like he was afraid of the answer. Asterin was ready with a reply of ‘you all were busy’ or ‘it wasn’t important’, but something stopped them. Maybe it was how Tyril sat up and pleaded with his eyes for the truth, maybe it was how Mal was holding them like they’d disappear any moment. Either way, Asterin sighed.

“Because you never asked,” Asterin admitted. Mal’s head dropped as he tensed up beneath Asterin and Tyril flinched back as if struck.

“I never realized…” Tyril muttered. He squeezed Asterin’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Asterin. You’ve been through so much and we’ve been taking you for granted. You deserve far better.”

“It’s okay, you guys were busy with your own things,” Asterin assured him but Tyril shook his head.

“That is no excuse,” Tyril insisted. “After all, were you not doing exactly that for us and putting your problems aside to help us with ours? You deserved the same in return. No, you deserved better.”

“Elf boy’s right,” Mal sighed. “Gods, I feel like even more of an ass for that stupid comment about you sleeping through the year than I already did. And that’s saying something. I’m sorry, Asterin.”

“But-” Asterin tried to protest again but Tyril cut him off.

“If you wish to not accept our apologies then that is your right,” Tyril said. “But do not argue that you don’t deserve them because you do.”

“...okay,” Asterin gave him a shaky smile. “Then I do accept them. Because I love you both, even when you’re being dumb.”

“We deserved that,” Mal chuckled. “And we love you too.”

“With everything we have,” Tyril added.

“Are you feeling any better?” Mal wondered and Asterin actually paused to think about it.

“A little,” Asterin answered. “Tired though.”

“You need rest,” Tyril decided. Without warning he pulled Asterin from Mal’s embrace and scooped him up. 

“You have to start warning me before you do that,” Asterin laughed. 

“As you two would say, where’s the fun in that?” Tyril smiled.

“Great, look what we did Mal,” Asterin sighed, even as he wrapped his arms around Tyril’s neck.

“Hey if it gets you into bed to get a proper night’s sleep for once I’m not apologizing,” Mal snickered.

Tyril carried him down to the berth with Mal hurrying along behind them. It was empty for the moment, though Asterin swore he saw Nia peek her head in for a moment so he wasn’t sure if the desertion was due to celebrations or the others trying to give the three of them space but either way, Asterin appreciated the privacy. Tyril sat him on one of the beds and Asterin barely got to open his mouth before Tyril started methodically unbuckling and removing every piece of Asterin’s armor and each of his weapons while Mal undid his own and crawled into the bed. As soon as Asterin was just in his clothes Mal pulled him backward to hold him, with his head on Mal’s chest. 

After weeks of Mal and Tyril sleeping near each other but still not together, Asterin expected Tyril to take the bed above them or one of the adjacent ones, but once he’d dressed down Tyril actually crawled in behind them, spooning him from behind and wrapping his arm around Asterin’s waist. 

“Is this alright?” Tyril muttered into Asterin’s neck but Asterin didn’t answer, sensing the question wasn’t for him. He watched as Mal reached over and took the hand of the arm around Asterin’s waist. Asterin could feel Tyril smile and it made him smile too as he drifted off to sleep. 

When he awoke the bed was empty, and for a moment all he could think about was when he woke up to find Aerin gone. Some traitorous part of his heart started whispering that after admitting his weakness last night Tyril and Mal had disappeared with the rest of the party and left him behind. But then he heard low voices and paused, only opening his eyes.

Daylight was coming from under the door yet still the berth was empty but for the three of them. Mal and Tyril were sitting next to each other on the bed across the walkway, too focused on each other to notice Asterin awake yet. They weren’t sitting pressed together but it was still much closer than they had since Asterin came back.

“We really fucked up, Tyril,” Mal sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Asterin noticed how his hands nearly kept going only to stop mid-air. “We got so roped up in our own bull that we completely missed how much pain Asterin was in.”

“I know,” Tyril muttered. His hands were folded in front of him and his elbows propped on his knees. “I’ve been consumed by my emotions before but to not notice how deeply affected by everything he was…I’m ashamed of myself. How could we let this happen?”

“We did exactly what he’s been getting on us for since he got back,” Mal chuckled. “When was the last time we actually talked without being at each other’s throats?”

“Just today we were-”

“No, not with the rest of the party or anything,” Mal shook his head. “Actually talked.”

“It has been quite a while,” Tyril admitted. “At least not since our fight in Port Parnassus.”

Asterin wasn’t sure what happened in that fight or what it was about but whatever it was it was bad enough to make Mal wince at the memory. 

“I don’t blame him either,” Mal said. “We both love him, and he loves us both. But every time the three of us try to spend time together it ends in a fight.”

“What do we do?” Tyril wondered. 

His voice was almost pleading, as if he’d give anything to make things right. Asterin doubted Tyril just wanted to make things right with him. Despite the fights and jabs and the obvious distance between them, it was painfully obvious how much Tyril and Mal still loved each other. Tyril’s panic being barely concealed by his anger and the way he’d grabbed Mal by his shoulders when the rogue nearly brought the cavern ceiling down on them. Mal’s eyes lingering on Tyril when he and Asterin found Mal at that manor in Whitetower. They always seemed to be near each other without quite touching and they always looked each other over after a fight when the other wasn’t looking.

“We talk,” Mal shrugged. “About the things we normally yell at each other about.”

“We can start with what you told Asterin last night,” Tyril suggested. “When did he tell you you don’t need to hold our party together on your own?”

“Ironwatch,” Mal answered. “He confronted me about the thing in the caverns-”

“Which we will also be discussing, to be completely clear.”

“I figured,” Mal sighed. “Half of what you kept yelling at me for was being reckless. I told him the reason.”

“You did?” Tyril whispered. “Why not tell me?”

“Because you were yelling at me for being reckless before I ever got the chance,” Mal confessed. “And then I was just pissed at you and didn’t want to tell you.”

“I see,” Tyril sighed. “I understand. Will you tell me now?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Mal snickered and Tyril chuckled a little. Mal took a deep breath before continuing. “The whole group was falling apart, someone had to keep it together in case Rin came back. So, I did, even as everyone seemed to be pulling away from it. Then there was building the orphanage. Then Asterin was back and we were all in danger again from an entire empire…I figured that when it came to who to put our hopes in to save the day I was last on the list. So I’d do whatever it took to keep you all safe. Especially you. If Asterin came back he would need you and no matter what’s happened with you and me I’d never be able to live with myself if I couldn’t protect you. I love you too damn much.”

“Mal,” Tyril breathed. He went to take Mal’s hand but paused, glancing at Mal in a silent ask for permission. Mal hesitated but nodded and when Tyril took his hand he visibly relaxed. “I have said many things to you I regret, and even more that I did not mean. But there will never be a place or time where I see you as weak, or see your skills as not valuable. Regardless, your skills do not matter to me. I love you because of who you are, not how powerful you are or how well you can fight. Why do you think I was so frustrated every time you risked your life carelessly as if it didn’t matter?”

“I thought you thought I couldn’t handle it and would get everyone killed,” Mal admitted. 

“You beautiful fool,” Tyril sighed and he reached up to cup the side of Mal’s face, staring at him with so much adoration that Asterin couldn’t believe they'd ever fought. “I know you can handle anything that happens to us. I never doubted that. But watching you come so close to death and brush me off whenever I’d show concern wounded me. It was as if you didn’t care for my fears at all.”

“Asterin is definitely gonna say ‘I told you so’ when he wakes up,” Mal laughed as he leaned into Tyril’s hand. He was right about that. “Imagine how many screaming matches we could’ve avoided if we’d just said that?”

“We were both worried for our Asterin,” Tyril said. “As well as incredibly frustrated we couldn’t find him no matter where and how we searched. It does make sense those emotions would come to the surface at the slightest push. Though perhaps in the future we should avoid the insults?”

“For once I agree with you elf boy,” Mal snickered and Tyril rolled his eyes fondly. It was the lightest Asterin had seen them since his abduction. “So are you gonna just sit there or are you gonna kiss me?”

“Can I?” Tyril’s eyes widened in both hope and surprise.

“I just told you to, didn’t I?”

Tyril didn’t wait another second, surging forward to kiss Mal so hard the rogue’s back hit the bedpost, making him groan. Mal wrapped his arms around Tyril’s shoulders and arched up into him, meeting the kiss with every part of him, body and soul. And Asterin had given up on pretending to be asleep, simply laying on the bed grinning.

“Mal was right,” Asterin chirped. “I told you so.”

The two sprang apart so fast that Tyril banged his head on the bed frame above him and Mal fell off the bed entirely. Asterin fell into a fit of laughter that burst from his chest like the sobs from the night before but instead of hurting they just filled him with warmth and something Asterin didn’t dare to call hope. His thoughts strayed from the spiral they so frequently found themselves in, instead wondering if maybe they really would all be okay. That even with everything going on they would soon be able to rest.

“That was cruel,” Mal pouted, which just renewed Asterin’s laughter. 

“I love you both so much,” Asterin cackled. 

Mal grinned and tackled Asterin onto the bed and Asterin shrieked, their laughter turning to giggles as Mal pressed kisses to every inch of Asterin’s face he could reach, not stopping until Tyril sat next to them and cupped their faces long enough to stop them so he could lean down to kiss them both.

“I love you both as well,” Tyril told them and they both looked at Mal expectantly. He rolled his eyes and Asterin smacked his shoulder, making him laugh once more.

“Yeah yeah, I love you both too,” Mal promised. “We still have a few hours till we reach Whitetower. I say we stay here until Gerhard starts threatening to break down the door.”

“I think we could all use time together,” Tyril agreed.

“Definitely. Get over here you two,” Asterin grinned.

Asterin opened his arms and both of the men he loved crawled into them. They talked and laughed and wrestled around and for once the world was not ending. For once they weren’t heroes or doomed adventurers or tragic loners, they were just three people who loved each other with everything they had.

For once, they were free.

[urdilfred]

Blades of Light and Shadow(Fanart)

[crowlion]

Nia is so hot + my wife

[lilyoffandoms]

Trick or Treat by @exotic-inquiry

You are amazing my dear, Fey. Thank you so so much for taking on this comm for me! I adore everything about this and you!!

@storyofmychoices happy trick or treat!! I went back and forth on which costumes to pick but ultimately had to go with Rick and Evie from The Mummy for our babes and Jedediah and Octavius from Night at the Museum for their partners. Thank you being the bestest and kindness person (and thank you for always letting me borrow your two) 😘

[normal-thoughts-official]

MC: I want to top

Every male LI in this book, already showing us their hole: thank GOD

[puredoesnotmeankind]

Losing it over the difference between these two

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Aerin really said he wanted to join the polycule as well😭

Literally how else can any of what he said be interpreted other than that. 'He can see their devotion to MC and each other' 'He wants to earn the right & trust to one day share in their collective love' SIR!????

But seriously the BOLAS polycule is definitely one of the best because yeah the four main LIs all have chemistry with MC and you can see their love & devotion towards MC but they also have chemistry with each other and you can see their love & devotion towards each other

You can pick any two characters from the main 4 LIs and make a believable case about them being in love

The ultimate BOLAS relationship is MC & the 4 main LIs' polycule + Aerin on a probation period + MC desperately pspssing Valax to draw her in

[missameliep]

Bonds of Sea and Fire - Part 2 (Blades of Light and Shadow)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Tyril Starfury x Arwen (MC - F!Elf)

Summary: How can trust be forged? At the Wraith's deck, Arwen and Tyril have a conversation under the stars.

Word count: ~3.000

Rating: G

Notes:

* English is not my native language;

* Characters belong to PixelBerry;

* This takes place between chapters 6 and 7 from Blades of Light and Shadow - Book 1.

This is my submission to @choicesaugustchallenge hosted by the lovely @lilyoffandoms - Day 10: late night talking under the stars

At the deck of the ship, Imtura was on her natural environment. Not a member of the pirate crew would dare blink at one of the instructions the captain shouted.  

The Wraith’s sails, filled with a fair wind, spread like wings, taking them away from those cursed islands until they vanished. The sunrays peppered the waters with a shimmer that rivaled the fae fishes’ glow, and there was so much beauty in the world one could risk forgetting the dangers lurking not only in the shadows. 

The waves were like mischievous kids, crashing against the hull and spreading a salty misty all over the deck, heaving the ship high into the air just to let it fall and catch it once more.

The motion was harsher than she’d like, however Arwen was confident. Confident the ship would carry them to the shore no matter the weather. A confidence born from the faith on Imtura’s abilities and determination to find the missing shards and bring Kade back.  

The challenges faced were enough to seal the bond and she came to trust not only her, but all the companions – even if the feeling might not be mutual when it comes to one of them. Her gaze, like in so many occasions these past days, was instantly drawn to the other elf of the party, cleaning the blade of his sword at the opposite side of the deck.

With a heavy sigh, Arwen lets her head fall back on her crossed arms. Eyes on the blue sky and on the passing white clouds, she tries to relax, but her mind constantly drifts to the two shards inside her satchel. Two more to go. At least a week’s journey until Undermount after beaching.  

Hopefully, they’d find the next one there. 

Hopefully, she’d also find the answers to questions of a lifetime. Her heart races with the idea of finally be among her own people. Her people. What a change would it be! 

While the sun gently sinks on the horizon, its golden rays set the sky ablaze; the blue welcoming all shades of orange and red. 

The first star appears, and dusk announces the time of joyful songs, chatter and games. Bottles of the strong orcish ale are passed from hand to hand, while the sound of seagulls is replaced by extraordinary tales, laughter and music.   

The party of adventures eagerly joined the crew, except for Tyril, who does not seem to share the same enthusiasm or friendliness. The elf managed to keep himself the further away from the buzz without jumping ship. After days spent at the sea without a moment of quiet solitude, she supposes he’s reached some personal limit. 

While Threep was gnawing the third fish on a stick, Nia smiled listening to all sorts of anecdotes and jokes, blushing at the obscenities spilling from the sailors’ mouths and Mal’s as well. The man is not intimidated by the orcs towering over him and sat at the improvised table for a game of cards.  

Mal winked at Arwen when she caught a glimpse of one card tucked into his shirt, and she stifled a chuckle at his audacity or sheer recklessness before returning the gesture. Their flirtation, she notices, assumes more and more an air of camaraderie. 

Her contemplation is halted when the bench squeals with Imtura’s weight. The orc slumps beside Arwen with a smirk, gulps the ale and offers the bottle to the elf. 

“Enjoying the sail, landrat?” 

“I’ll be fine as long as there are no storm and no more grobtars,” Arwen quips.  

The orc let’s out a loud guffaw and with a massive hand pats her shoulder. “Worry not! Just good weather ahead. And trust me, if those grobtars know what’s best for them, they’ll avoid the Wraith for a long long time...” 

Besides them, the alcohol blushed Nia’s cheeks, and loosen Mal’s tongue, who shares the most passionate narratives about his deeds and conquers, who involves a lot of flirting his way out of trouble. 

“What’s wrong with that elf friend of yours?” Imtura asks, tilting her head in his direction. “Afraid of the sea, is he?” 

Arwen shrugs, unsure if the orc is concerned about Tyril or annoyed by his aloofness like the rest of the crew seems to be.  

Listening to the exchange, Nia suggests someone should invite him to join them for a cards game and cast a not-so-subtle look at Arwen. She wonders if Nia noticed the fleeting glances exchanged between the two or assumes she’s got a better chance at talking him into accepting the offer for being an elf herself. Either way, she accepts the challenge.  

Without a word, she takes the bottle, stands up and unconsciously rake her fingertips through her windblown hair, combing it back in place as much as possible. 

The wooden floor creaks beneath her feet when she approaches him, who glances over his shoulder acknowledging her presence. 

Tucking stray locks of his long hair behind an ear, his gaze follows her attentively, and by his expression and the absence of a scowl, she chooses to believe her company is a welcomed one.  

Tipping the bottle of ale at him, he purses his lips and shakes his head.  

“My senses must be sharp.” 

“Imtura says we can expect nothing but good weather,” she replies leaning against the railing beside him, but keeping some respectful distance. 

“The sea is untrustworthy,” Tyril confides.  

There’s bitterness when the elf utters the last word that is not missed by her keen senses. After the past days of companionship and fighting side by side, she hoped his opinion of the party would have changed for the better. Or mostly, his opinion of her.  

“Is it only the sea you do not trust?” she asks and grimaces after gulping the strong ale. 

Mulling at her words, he fixed his gaze at the starry sky. 

“Have you ever seen a swordsmith working?” 

Even though it was an unusual question, Arwen confirmed she had seen many times the blacksmith at Riverbend forging all sorts of objects. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the heat in the air and hear the clang of metal on metal. 

“The craftmanship requires not only strength, but mostly diligence and a great dose of patience. The swordsmith cannot hurry the process otherwise the blade might flake and shatter… Trust, I’ve learnt, must be forged like a sword. And one cannot be certain it is perfected and will withstand until it’s drawn and tested. Peace is not a good test for a sword, like a smooth sea does not make a skilful sailor,” he concluded in his grave tone without meeting her eyes. 

“Trust, friendship and loyalty, I believe, can be forged by different and unexpected means.”  

Her statement is met by a quizzical stare that lingers far too long to be ignored.  

“You think I am naïve.” Her words break the heavy silence that fell upon them. 

Something crosses Tyril’s face, and he shakes his head to deny her assumption.  

“I do not, but...”  

There’s a long pause and she struggles to not fill the silence.  

His gaze flicks from her face to the infinite dark sea surrounding them, and she almost expects him not to complete the sentence. But he speaks again and when he does, his words are drowning in sorrow. “If you freely offer your trust to the undeserving of such gift, they’ll take it for granted and won’t hesitate before stabbing your back...” 

His body has become so rigid with tension that if not for his long raven strands blown by the salty breeze one could mistake him with a statue. While he stares at the sky, she wonders which kind of betrayal stole his faith in others. 

“What do you suggest then? Should I mistrust everyone including yourself?”  

Her questioning sound a lot like teasing, which partly is her intention to try and light the mood. However, judging by the seriousness of his expression contemplating the sky as if the answer could be hidden among the stars, he considers it worthy of a genuine answer. 

“Trust no one outside your house.” He pauses and his gaze turns away from the sky to meet hers. “I learned it from my father once I was old enough to stand on my own feet. Your house and your blood – those are the sole things that matter and upon which you can rely on...” His face remains impassive, but his voice wavers with emotion and she struggles to control the urge to reach for his hand. “I suggest you consider the advice from someone who’s seen what happens if one loses sight of that...” 

Sipping the ale, she cast a longing glance at the sea and thinks of her life at the nurturing community of Riverbend. Such a long way from where they are now! Her thoughts return to Kade, her only family. His blood is not her blood, but her fate and his are the same. They were united to share the kind of sincere love that would take either of them to the ends of the earth to save the other, just like she is doing now. 

“Not some advice easily taken...” she mutters the words hoping they’d disappear into the throat of the bottle. “Not when you’re twice orphaned....”

His eyes widened for the briefest moment, a glimpse of sorrow crossing them, before he uttered an attempt to apologise in what she assumes is part of Undermount’s fine etiquette.  

“It was a long time ago...” she dismisses with a forced smile, despite the hollow in her chest that aches more frequently than she would let anyone suspect. “With no house to have my back... I guess my experience and perspective on the matter might be a little different from yours...”  

He nods, and his gaze contemplates her face until he averts his eyes. “I suppose.”  

She releases a breath, thankful he does not press on.  

When she looks back at him, Tyril’s chin tilted up, exposing his elegant long neck, and his gaze is fixed on the stars again.  

Maybe he’ll speak of the constellations, she hopes; maybe he’s lost in thoughts that are not meant to be shared with her, which would be less desirable. Her heart aches, fearing to have this moment abbreviated. 

Arwen takes another swig at the ale, building the courage to bring another topic and encourage him to maybe speak more of himself. She doesn’t exactly know why, but she craves to learn more... Probably because he’s an elf and holds the knowledge she so long desired; or maybe that’s just what she keeps telling herself to not think about the other reason for her eagerness... 

She licks her lips, and a warm smile curls them.   

“May I ask you a question?”  

His long black hair sways when his head turns, and his eyes return to her face. It’s difficult to determine if it’s the sight of him and his piercing eyes or the sea that makes her sway gently. 

“Are you a poet, Lord Tyril of Undermount?” 

“Excuse me?”  

“A poet,” the words slowly roll from her tongue.  

“You mock me?” he scowls, and she stifles a giggle. 

His face is always ready to respond with indignation, as if expecting to always meet the worst in those around him. It’s amusing, but also makes her wonder the depths of the loneliness this mindset brings. The frown is back, and she'd like to erase it with a kiss, right between his eyebrows, to help erase whatever poisons his mind.   

“Mock you? Absolutely not,” she stresses the negative word and heaves her hands in theatrical surrender, unable to supress the grin parting her lips. “I’d never dare mock someone who could slice me in half like butter and not break a sweat!” And look like a gorgeous angel of death while doing so...  

“I’d never draw my sword against you!” his response is quick and apparently more truthful than he intended.

The butterflies on her stomach almost flee through her mouth, taking her voice away with them, but she whispers, “You wouldn’t?”

He coughs and covers his mouth.  

“Don’t be absurd!” he scoffs. “Everyone knows that is not the appropriate punishment for mockery and slander according to the elven code!” 

“Oh, right,” she utters with sheer disappointment. 

The graveness of his expression gives way to the slightest twitch of his lips, and that’s when she sees it: the small, almost imperceptible smile, and the glint of mischief in his eyes.  

She gasps, “Was that... a joke?” 

“Everybody knows I do not joke about such matters. Or any matter at all.” His face is still quite serious, but his voice not so much. It wavers as if he's struggling to contain the laughter bubbling inside. What would it take for him to let it out? “Beware, if you sustain those false accusations, you might face time in the dungeon...”

“Oh! We don’t want that, do we?” she teases.

The amusement reaches the corners of his eyes. 

“Wow! You cracked a joke and evaded the question... I’m impressed, Tyril!” 

“Ludicrous allegations are not worthy a rebuttal,” he finally says, his words coated by a lilt of a laugh and his lips slightly curled at the corners. But it isn’t enough. She needs to see him smiling, unabashedly baring his teeth, cackling with her... so relaxed that his beautiful blue skin would be freed of the soft lines marking the area in between his eyebrows.

“Too late! I already have evidence.”

“Evidence?” he echoes.

Grinning, Arwen moves a little closer, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

“The sword was a good metaphor. Fits a trained warrior like yourself, but hints you got the heart of a poet hidden in there…” She points at his chest, and his eyes narrow, but not in a menacingly way; there’s a hint of amazement at the gesture. When one of her fingertips lightly touches the armour over his heart, Tyril visibly swallows, despite not drinking anything. 

A teasing smile plays on her lips, appreciating the way his cheeks have darkened again, tinting themselves in that lovely shade of lavender she’s fascinated with. Would his cheeks be soft and warm against her fingers? 

“And since you did not deny my assumption, from now on, I’ll be picturing you writing poetry late at night, pen in hand, eyes squinted in concentration... Warrior by day, poet by night...” 

He takes a deep breath and a step away from her, then sharp words fly from his tongue, “How could I make time for poetry when the Shadow Court is spreading their corruption in these lands? Endangering the entire world? I could never waste precious time with such frivolity!” 

“Can’t you do both?” Her lips roll inside her mouth, and she moistens them, giving them both time to contemplate the idea. “Can’t you allow yourself to be overwhelmed by the beauty in the world, love and whatever else moves you... without losing sight of your quest? I believe it can be a motivating force to achieve greater things...” 

“You assume much about myself, including that I would have any talent for poetry...” 

“I’m certain you do, and I envy you.”  

A wistful smile curls her lips when she remembers the first time she saw the sea at Port Parnassus, the way her heart filled with so much joy and craved to have Kade’s talents and compose a song to immortalize that feeling, to share it with him once they are reunited.  

“When I first saw the sea, I was just...Wow!” She waved her hands to try and convey all that excitment. “My first thought when my brain stopped screeching was 'Gods, I wish Kade was here!'” She takes a deep breath, and leans forward, letting both her elbows rest on the railing, the bottle held close against to her chest. “If he were there, he'd have the perfect words... and five minutes later he'd pop a new song and just capture that moment... you know? But he was not there... I was and it seemed like a waste of prettiness... What will I tell him?” She shrugged. “The sea was huge... and blue... and... I don’t do metaphors! And I'm physically uncapable of rhyming!” 

“Maybe you underestimate your capabilities...” he said softly when she stopped rambling.

The bottle almost plummeted into the dark waters, and she took it to her lips once more, before speaking again.

“Kade is the storyteller, the singer... My talent with words is from an entirely different nature.” She winked at him to make sure he understood what she meant by that, and he looked away, which usually is not what happen when she does that with her charming smile.

“Hey! Kit, are you and Elf boy coming over or what?” Mal question rings in the air and she’s reminded of what she came to do in the first place.  

“Would you like to join us? We’re playing cards, sharing tales…” 

A mere glance at the groups, and the crease between his eyebrows returns and looks even deeper than before.  

She risks a pat on his arm, and says softly, “The swordsmith needs something to work on...”  

Tyril’s eyes flick to her face, and his reluctance slowly vanishes. With a nod, he accepts the suggestion and follows her towards the improvised table. 

“Oh, look!” Nia cries, “How fortunate! Mal was about to tell us of the encounter with Duke Erthax!” 

“Listen closely, elf boy, you can learn a thing or two!” 

Tyril halts and Arwen looks over her shoulder.  

“Does your party really requires a thief?”  

“We’ve been through this,” she huffs amused, “you cannot throw Mal overboard.” 

The elf sighs.  

“May I?” Tyril asks, pointing at the bottle, and she hands it. The elf coughs loudly after taking a swig not anticipating the pungent taste, drawing the attention of the group who failed at pretending not to pay attention at the two of them. 

“It’ll get better.” She pats his arm lightly. 

“The taste?” he snorts. “I highly doubt that!” 

“Everything.” She winks and receives the bottle from Tyril’s hand.  

When he crosses the last steps and takes a seat with the others, she smiles to herself, celebrating this small victory, anticipating the others certainly to come. 

[bedtimegiraffe]

End of Book 1 Make Out Sessions- Mal and Tyril

If you choose the diamond scene at the end of Book 1, but opt for the kissing options, you get some very sweet dialogue.

I always have trouble finding things like this, so here it is- for me and anyone else interested!

Mal

Tyril

[amorphousgenderlesscryptid]

TOMB RAIDER BOYFRIENDS

[saibug1022]

1 14 17 for asterin and tyril and mal please

Tymalrin

Who fell first? Who fell harder?

Okay so, it's a little complicated. Asterin flirted first, but Mal fell for Asterin quick and Asterin was right behind him. Asterin fell for Tyril first. Mal was also falling but very heavily in denial about it. Tyril assumed his attraction to them both was purely sexual attraction/kilvali then at the masquerade he got hit with his love for both of that at once with the force of a semi truck. He'd already moved forward with Asterin at the hunting lodge, but Mal he kept hiding it. Until the night before the ritual that was supposed to be their last night all together. Tyril impulsively kissed Mal and Mal didn't hesitate while Asterin stood there like "wow I'm shocked. Shocked O tell you." You can imagine what happened right after 👀

What is something they argue about constantly? Is it a deep-seated issue or something small?

So they all have acts of service as their love language and communication issue. Meaning they're doing reckless impulsive stuff (Mal), being overprotective (Asterin), and being overly worried (Tyril). This means they're constantly putting heads and a lot of times communication gets swept under the rug

Who steals whose clothes? Does their significant other mind?

If Tyril looks away for five seconds Mal and Asterin have stolen his clothes. Asterin does it the most but Mal hits them both because he's small enough to fit both their clothes

[the-unconquered-queen]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Forever obsessed with how Mal and Tyril answer their doors pissed off, only to immediately turn soft when they realize it's MC

From 🤬 to 🥺 real quick

[theclassycandy]

just going on and on about how tyril's arc if ur romancing him now that mc has been gone for a year. more under the cut and in the tags!

When i tell you there NEEDS to be so much ANGST AND PINING. I love Tyril so much and I miss him so much but when I tell you want this story to go INTO DETAIL ABOUT HOW MUCH HE HAS YEARNED FOR MC. I want there to be PAIN and SUFFERING!!!!!!

He has been learning all about the realms from the best tutors in Undermount ever since he could remember so is he scouring libraries all over the land to find something???? Anything????? To find his beloved mc????

I believe that this bow was used by mc (if you had the diamonds for it) and WHAT IF HE KEPT IT AS A WAY TO REMIND HIM OF MC AND HOW HE SHOULD NEVER STOP FIGHTING FOR THEM AND FOR WHAT HE BELIEVES IN.

Does he think about mc and how they made him feel? Does the pain of losing them keep him up at night? Does he think about how unfair it is that first he lost his best friend, Kaya, was banished from Undermount, saw an evil elf take her place and body and the person that helped him seek justice for her, the love of his life, was taken as well? Does he think about how their kindness and heroism was only repaid by constant peril??? Does he think about they were supposed to return to Undermount together but he returned only to search for answers on how to get them back????? Does Adrina and his father have to check on him and how he's doing because they know he's neglecting himself to find answers for finding mc???? Does he cry to the Gods about how he hopes they look down on him with pity and mercy for them to be safe and alive to come back to him????????????? ESPECIALLY IF YOUR MC IS AN ELF - DOES HE MOURN HOW MC WAS SO EXCITED TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THEIR OWN PEOPLE AFTER NEVER BEING SURROUNDED BY THEM THEIR ENTIRE LIFE AND NOW HE THINKS THEY WILL NEVER GET THE CHANCE???????!!!!!!?????? DOES HE DOES HE-

[storyofmychoices]

The Rogue's Embrace

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage]

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Tyril Starfury

Mentioned: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!Human)+ Not mentioned but still present: Tyril x Maiele

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow (either book AU)

Word Count: ~500

Rating/Warnings: teen... it's them

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations (Bisexual Awareness); @choicesoctober (fave sometimes couple)

A/N: Thank you to the loveliest @lilyoffandoms for initiating this idea in this drabble here.

Synopsis: Mal loves talking. Tyril is tired of listening and has found a good way to shut him up, even if just for a moment.

This absolutely perfect art is by CoffeesforChloe on Instagram.

"I'm tellin' you Elf Boy, I'm the best storyteller of all. I mean, my tales have got it all—adventure, romance, danger. People hang on to every word I say."

Tyril raised an eyebrow. "Are the people in question the orphan children you've rescued?"

"And, don't forget all the countesses I've charmed." A devilish smirk pulled on the rogue's lips. 

"Yes, I'm sure Daenarya would love to hear more about that particular group," Tyril chastised. "Shall I call her over so she can hear of your stories?"

"She would enjoy them."

"I believe I recall her insisting you cease revisiting such stories."

"That was before Contessa Mariabella." He wagged his brow playfully.

Tyril shook his head slightly before walking away. 

"You're not going to ask?" Mal followed quickly behind, hurrying to keep up with the elf's longer stride.

Tyril's step quickened in an attempt to avoid the human. 

"I had met Contessa Mariabella years ago—and may have relieved her of a prized necklace—" Mal began, now at a jogging pace. "We ran into her at a party in White Tower, and Mariabella had more than a few choice words for me, but Daenarya—well, she and the Countess hit it off, and one thing led to another. Now, as long as we share, Contessa's are back on."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Tyril stopped short.

Mal stumbled into him at the abrupt stop but quickly regained his balance with a smirk. "Why would I stop talking? As I said I'm a master storyteller."

Tyril took measured breaths, trying to suppress the growing, weary sigh at his tedious ramblings.

"That reminds me of the time when—"

The rogue's words were cut off by the elf's lips pressed against his own. Mal's eyes widened at the unexpected gesture, his voice finally silenced by Tyril's decisive kiss. His lips pulled up, and he circled his arms around the elf's neck. The world around them faded away as the pair surrendered to the warmth and desire building between them. 

Tyril's lips were firm but tender. Mal's mouth yielded to his lead, letting the elf deepen the kiss at his pace. 

The kiss was over too quickly for the rogue, but he knew it wouldn't be their last.

A violet hue still flushed on the elf's face as he took a step back, attempting to compose himself. "Right. We should rejoin the others now."

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy that, Elf boy." A mischievous grin spread proudly on his face. "Words aren't the only thing I have a way with." He winked and blew a kiss his way.

Tyril pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging his brow. It had worked for a moment, but only a moment—one very satisfying and enjoyable moment. 

"You're insufferable," Tyril sighed, a mixture of exasperation and contentment. 

Mal's roguish grin only widened. "I knew you couldn't resist me, Elf boy."

Please forgive any mistakes. I didn't revise or edit. 🙈

Thank you for reading! I hope you had fun!

[mikaelsrose]

Starry Night

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 3 Word count: 4000 Rating: T Warnings: emotional hurt Category: hurt/comfort Synopsis: Having reunited with most of her party, Reyna discovers the true extent of the traumatic events of the previous months. A/n: special thanks to @starlight-starfury for encouraging me to include Tyril speaking elven 🫰🏻 × Calanín - my light: elven word of affection, the elven equivalent of the Common language's "my love;" the elves believe that love is often fleeting, but the Light is constant, and the most precious resource they possess. Tag list: @starlight-starfury @cashweasel @watatsumi-island @lilyoffandoms @sophie-summer @lazypartridge @brycesgirl @agattthaa @secret-fungi @megas-choices (if anyone wishes to be added/removed pls let me know!) @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Nia, Mal, and the children had developed a routine, thanks to which the kids changed into their pyjamas, brushed their teeth, and were tucked in under thirty minutes. If one would take Nia at her word, developing the schedule took weeks, but due to eager cooperation the group managed to reduce the time from two hours to just thirty minutes, saving the guardians a considerable amount of time—time that they would spend reading, searching, and discussing the possible methods of rescuing Reyna. After ten minutes, Nia and Mal returned downstairs, having wished the kids a good night and slumped in the chairs, exhausted. Soon, the giggles and banter upstairs quietened down, and Mal breathed out a sigh of relief while Nia smiled at her friends, her features softened by the warm candlelight. 

“Can I offer you anything? Water, tea? We don’t have much, but I’d love to host you properly,” the Priestess chirped, already rising from her seat, but Tyril held out his hand to stop her. 

“It’s alright, thank you, Nia. Save what you have for the children.”

Nia nodded, while the elf rested his left hand on Reyna’s thigh, gently squeezing it in a poorly disguised display of affection. Her lips curved in a soft smile, and she vaguely covered his hand with her own before addressing the rogue before her.

“Lord Weasley of Riverbend, huh?” 

Mal smiled sheepishly and scratched his neck, blushing faintly as if he had been caught in a lie. “I had to improvise, and Riverbend just happened to occupy my mind an awful lot lately.”

“Gotta admit, you really nailed the accent. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think you were a native,” she winked, drawing a laugh from Mal.

“What can I say? I had spent an awful lot of time with you, kit.”

Nia joined the conversation. “How is Kade? I’ve been meaning to visit him, but there was always something urgent to attend to, and…”

“He’s doing just fine, cooped up in the library or in the royal gardens with Loola and Threep. He’s made the Master Librarian his archenemy, though.”

The Priestess chuckled. As Mal rested his arm on the back of her seat, a quiet yawn escaped Reyna’s lips and her eyes watered uncontrollably. She rested her head against Tyril’s shoulder, continuing to smile at her friends. Although she did not feel the true length of her absence, she had missed them, and at that moment she felt at peace. 

The idyllic atmosphere was disrupted by a quiet childish giggle coming from the top of the stairs, and the group's heads turned simultaneously in that direction. Mal sighed exhaustedly and rubbed his tired eyes before addressing the children.

“Guys, we talked about staying up past bedtime!”

The grave silence that followed his remark was soon interrupted by barefoot steps and the creaking of the old wooden floor. A frail, pale blonde girl stood next to Mal and whispered in his ear, her big eyes glued to Reyna. In response, Mal smiled at the child and nodded. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

The girl nodded her head excitedly, and he addressed his friend. 

“Kit, this is Nyra, she's a big fan of yours.” 

Reyna's brows furrowed. "Fan?"

“Mal and Nia often told us stories of your adventures! My favourite is the one when you ran after Duchess Xenia and fought her! I want to be as brave as you when I grow up!” the girl chattered reedily. “Can I ask you a question?”

"Ask away, Nyra," she sent the girl an encouraging smile, squeezing Tyril's hand under the table. 

"Weren't you afraid?"

"I'd be crazy not to be afraid,” she smiled. “Bravery isn't about not being afraid, it's about doing the right thing despite fear."

The girl nodded, drinking the words off Reyna’s lips, staring at her heroine in awe. 

“Now go to sleep, Nyra,” Mal rubbed the girl’s arm, softly pushing her towards the stairs. Before disappearing in the darkness, Nyra waved at the couple, and Reyna sighed.

“Said like a true hero,” Nia concluded while the men agreed silently. 

“It’s good to see you, guys. I just wish Imtura was with us.”

“We’ll find her, don’t fret, Rey-Rey,” Mal assured. The nickname made Reyna groan.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“How about Rey of Sunshine?”

Reyna glowered at him. “Mal, I’m warning you.”

“Reiny?”

“Oh, I like Rey!” Nia joined in the conversation, grinning. 

“What do you think of “Reine”? I think it suits your personality,” the thief continued. “What do you think, elf boy?”

Tyril, smiling softly at the course the conversation took, looked to his left at his partner, his eyes glistening with the reflection of a nearby candlelight. “I believe my answer falls under a public display of affection.”

Nia brightened up. “Aw! It’s so nice seeing you two together again. Tyril had been so miserable without you, Reyna.”

“Tyril, my man, I’d like to remind you that we were direct neighbours at the Palace and their walls are surprisingly thin, so you really shouldn’t be em—”

Tyril cut in, blushing. “Stop talking.”

Grinning, the rogue continued teasing, pointing to Reyna with a nod of his head, while Nia and Tyril grew considerably more abashed. “I see you already had a chance to celebrate.”

Reyna touched her neck, remembering the necklace of red love bites that her lover bestowed upon her the previous night, and bit her lip, slightly embarrassed. She forgot to cover the bruises in the morning as she was in a hurry. The Priestess intervened.

“Stop teasing them, Mal. They’re young and in love, of course they celebrated their reunion.”

In love. The couple looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, but Nia continued, oblivious to their discomfort.

“I’ve been meaning to ask before—” she bit her tongue, cleared her throat, and continued. “Who said it first? Was it romantic? I bet it was! Tyril always had a way with words and—”

“Oh, Priestess, read the room!” Mal chuckled. The redhead’s smile faltered as she raised her eyebrows in question, tilting her head slightly. The rogue explained. “Look at them! Elf boy’s about to turn dark purple, they obviously haven’t said that yet.”

Nia’s lips shaped into the letter “o” as the realisation dawned on her, but before she had a chance to apologise, Reyna intervened. “Alright! It was great to see you, but we should go. It’s getting late, and we need to rest.”

“True,” Mal agreed. “No offence, but you look terrible, lordling.”

“It takes one to know one, thief.”

“You don’t like my haircut? You wound me,” with feigned offence, Mal placed a hand over his heart, making Tyril roll his eyes. Reyna smiled at the exchange, but agreed with Tyril. Mal looked exhausted, the dark spots under his eyes and slouched posture explicit evidence of that. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Hugging Reyna goodbye, Nia whispered, squeezing her eyelids tight. “Please, don’t disappear again.”

Reyna rubbed her friend’s back reassuringly before moving away from the warm embrace. “I’ll do my best.”

“Your disappearance wreaked havoc, kit,” Mal admitted quietly, patting her back. “I know it may look like we just moved on, but there wasn’t a day Nia didn’t stay up late sifting through the Temple’s scrolls in search of rescue. Whenever I got a promising lead, it turned out to be just an urban legend. We—” his voice broke. In no hurry, Mal took a deep breath and moved away, his hands resting on Reyna’s shoulders. “We really tried, kit. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

Reyna smiled comfortingly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Mal. I’m here, in one piece, am I not?”

He smiled. “I suppose.”

“Thank you for trying.”

Unpersuaded by her assurance, Mal nodded weakly, and before the couple took their leave, he patted Tyril’s arm. “Don’t let her out of your sight. See you in the morning.”

Strolling through the streets of the capital, slowly climbing towards the Whitetower castle, Tyril and Reyna grudgingly discussed the following day’s plan, in the meantime looking around for a seamstress. Despite the late hour, one of the very last vendors was still folding clothes in the town square, and being in desperate need of a more appropriate gear, Reyna left Tyril waiting outside. Patiently pacing around the ornate fountain, the elf studied a nearby florist when his gaze stopped at a bouquet of familiar flowers in the man’s hands. It took a bit of haggling and bragging about his title for Tyril to purchase the flowers imported from his homeland—black-petaled frilly sunflowers with luminescent red stamen—but he purchased them, and he could not suppress the proud smile on his face when Reyna emerged from the building with a paper package in her hands. He handed her the gift wordlessly.

“Oh! What’s the occasion?” 

“There is no occasion. These flowers are native to Undermount, we call them melissë anar’insil. They were my mother’s favourite, she grew them in our garden, and…” he bit his lip, blushing slightly. “And they remind me of you.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, awestruck. “Thank you, Tyril. But you shouldn't have, they look like they have cost a fortune."

"There's a possibility that the saviour got a discount."

A hearty laugh escaped her lips upon hearing the word saviour yet another time the same day. "Admit it, you like being the hero."

Tyril bit his lip, trying to contain his smile. "I suppose the title carries some benefits."

Chuckling, she climbed on the tip of her toes and pressed her lips to his for a short, sweet kiss. She could still faintly taste the sour lime lemonade with mint on his lips, the drink he claimed his favourite, the memory bringing a smile to her face. She thought of their first, and at the same time last, date—the day they partook in festival activities, roamed the streets of Whitetower holding hands, made love in a secluded tower, and ended up intoxicating themselves at a local tavern with Riverbendian drinks. As if reading her mind, Tyril’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

“Does the name of the flower mean anything in Common?” she asked, interlacing their fingers. Resuming their lazy stroll back to the castle, the elf nodded, yet he took his time with the answer, eventually smiling sheepishly. 

“It translates to ‘the lovers’ sunflower.’ These sunflowers are considered the flower of royalty in Undermount as due to their rarity only the wealthiest can afford them, and they symbolise devotion, loyalty, and adoration.”

Nodding, Reyna brought the bouquet closer to her face and took a deep breath. The smell was sweet but not overpowering, reminding her of the first days of summer, and the exact smell of Tyril’s bedchamber in Undermount. She remembered walking out to the balcony when he fell asleep and seeing the luminescent stamen in the darkness, thinking how otherworldly they made the garden look. 

“I can see why these were your mother’s favourites.”

“Their appearance is but a fraction of the reason for her admiration. Mother adored them because father asked for her hand in marriage with half a dozen bouquets of these flowers and had showered her with grandiose bouquets ever since on the most important occasions. She always said it’s a perfect addition to any confessions and talked very fondly of the day Adrina was born as father had the Manor’s ballroom filled with flowers,” Tyril reminisced, his gaze distant but a smile was playing on his lips.  

“I’d love to hear more about your mom, she sounds like a very kind soul.”

Tyril nodded. “She was. However, that is a story for another day. We should hurry, it will rain soon.”

The moment Tyril locked their chamber's door, the toller announced the clock struck eleven and Reyna plopped down on the mattress exhausted. 

"You don't have to buy me flowers if you want to propose, I'm a simple girl, Tyril," she teased, yawning. The elf flushed purple, realising how inauspiciously he crafted his words back in the town square, and smiled at her. "Duly noted."

"And if you want to fool around, just stay the word," she winked, unlacing the corset of her dress. "Not today, though, I'm dead on my feet."

"Ever the romantic," he smiled. As he helped her out of her clothes and into a loose nightgown, Tyril made sure she was tightly tucked in, and soon joined her, stroking her back until she fell asleep.  

People have a saying, one that Tyril overheard while patrolling the streets of Port Parnassus, just minutes before he first bumped into Reyna. They say that what does not kill will make you stronger, and during the year she was gone he prayed it was true. He hoped all this suffering was not in vain.

Yet now she was here with him and he felt everything but stronger. He felt weak, broken, undeserving. He couldn't protect her. It should've happened to him. 

He hadn't slept the night before—after he lulled his beloved to sleep, he stayed guard in case of the worst. It gave him plenty of time to look at her, admire the features that he had prayed to see again, to assess the damage she had suffered at the hands of… Of who exactly? She didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't push her. Overwhelming her was the very last thing he wanted to make her feel so soon after returning; alas, because of that choice, his imagination was running wild. His mind was painting the pictures of Reyna running through the obsidian desert, fighting the remaining Shadow soldiers, battered, aghast, and disappointed she had to save herself because the people closest to her had failed. 

Studying the fresh horizontal scar on her inner arm, Tyril ventured into a dangerous territory of fear-fueled theories as to what lay ahead. The Shadow Realm was an unexplored area, where unlike Morella they were on a hiding to nothing. Tyril did not doubt the loyalty and capability of their group, but they managed to win the fight against the Dreadlord by a stroke of fortune—had it not been for the Priestess’ sacrifice, the party would have lost at least two members, himself included. If the new enemy was indeed a competition to the Shadow Court, they needed allies. 

Tyril noticed that upon her return, Reyna not only possessed new wounds and scars, but also lacked that mesmerising glint in her eye, her movements were slower, and body weaker, not to any sudden or loud noises paralysed her with fear. Reyna came back different. Tyril would even risk saying that it was not Reyna who came back. Not the one he knew. It was someone new entirely.

The woman next to him took in a shuddering breath, her fingers gripping the duvet tightly. Restless even in her sleep, Reyna was indisputably facing the consequences of living through numerous traumatic events within a short time period without respite. Reaching forward, Tyril smoothed out the worried crease between her brows with his thumb, deluding himself that with this simple gesture he was able to transfer all her worries onto himself. 

Take the utmost care of her and relay that Father and I rejoice at the news of Reyna’s return! 

Against his will, Tyril’s mind replayed the moment of reading Adrina's letter. Could he truly protect Reyna? Without demur, he would give his life trying to ensure her safety, albeit such sacrifice seemed pointless from his current standpoint. If he was gone, who would protect her?

“I suppose sleep is not my ally tonight,” she sighed to herself, having woken up from a nightmare-filled sleep. Wrapped in their sheets, Reyna observed Tyril, carefully studying his back, the hair that cascaded over his muscles, the way the moonlight reflected on his skin and how utterly ethereal he looked against the starry night sky. He was sitting on his legs on the balcony, facing the city, unnaturally still. As concern gripped her heart, Reyna cautiously walked over and touched his shoulder. 

"Tyril, are you alright?"

The elf looked up, snapped out of his reverie, and his hand covered hers mechanically. "I was meditating. I'm alright."

As it dawned on her, she covered her lips with a hand, doused with a wave of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's— that makes much more sense than what I feared," she blubbered. She did not intend to reveal the exact reason of her concern, he did not need to hear that her initial thought was that he had been petrified the same way Kaya was. "I won't bother you any longer, I'll just—"

Tyril slowly rose to his feet and rubbed her arm. "It's alright, Reyna, I was supposed to finish a long time ago anyway. Let's get you back to bed."

As his hand rested on the small of her back, he noticed the dampness of her skin. 

"Do you do that often? Meditate?"

He nodded. "It's supposed to be only thirty minutes a day, but…" he sighed. "Once the feasible solutions were depleted, I started praying for a miracle. There was nothing more that I could do but pray, so I prayed for hours on end."

Reyna bit her bit as an impulsive thought emerged in her mind. "Would you pray with me?"

As the look of surprise flowered on his face, his brows furrowed, but his expression changed into a kind, encouraging smile within seconds.

"Absolutely. Is there anything in particular you'd wish to pray for?" 

Her answer was affirmative. "Do you mind telling me a bit more about your prayers first? I'm not exactly religious, and I don't know much about your gods, but I feel like it's the right thing to do."

"Anyone is welcome to seek comfort and guidance from the gods, you needn't be religious for that," he reassured. "We do not have many prayers per se as we'd rather engage in a silent conversation with the gods during meditation, but should one need a prayer there is a universal formula. I can't know for certain, but I believe the gods would look kindly on prayers for blessing or good fortune," he explained, gently rubbing her back as he guided her inside. As they made themselves comfortable on the silk carpet, assuming the exact position Reyna found him in, the elf interlaced their fingers and rested their hands on his lap. "I suppose one could also pray to nature, as do orcs, although I haven't heard of my kind practising that."

"I'd like to pray for Kaya, to put in a good word for her, so she can rest easily," she breathed out quickly, almost cutting him short. When his expression fell, she rapidly added: "Unless that's not how it works, then—"

"No, it's just— it's very thoughtful of you," he smiled, and Reyna breathed a sigh of relief. "If you wish, you may repeat after me, but it’s not necessary since you may find it challenging to pronounce certain words.”

“I’ll try,” she nodded and took a deep breath. As soon as Tyril noticed her shoulders relax, he began reciting the prayer, slowly, pronouncing the words clearly, giving her time to repeat. 

“Alcarvalda nostar, varyando o in nór nosyë, iqulmë lissë an vilissë o Kaya Duskraven. Cé pataro imbi eleni, nínion ‘nin gwannad lîn. Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath.”

As he finished, the elf stroked her knuckles softly, observing her carefully. Reyna was on edge, that was clear, although he could not figure out the exact reason—however, as tears spilled from her tightly shut eyes, he intervened, closing her in an embrace.

"Do you think she rests in peace? That Xenia's deed hadn't influenced her eternal rest?"

"I believe our Gods are omniscient and just, and as they welcomed Kaya, they saw her for the wonderful person she was before her life was stolen from her."

She hummed in response. They stayed like this for several minutes until Reyna’s breath evened out, and a yawn slipped past her lips. Tyril helped her climb onto the mattress and lulled her to sleep, just the night before, telling her a story of Undermount society’s attempts to open the city to the world. "Thank you," she whispered. “I— The prayer did bring me some comfort.”

Two hours. It took only two hours for Reyna to wake up again. She sat up straight, her skin blanketed with sweat. Tyril stroked her back through the damp gown as she took deep breaths to compose herself. 

"It's alright," he comforted repeatedly, allowing her to rest on his chest and cry out all the emotions bothering her at that moment. 

But it wasn't alright. At that moment, Reyna could not remember the nightmare that caused her to wake up drenched in sweat and with a plea on her lips, but she felt utterly devastated and powerless, and no amount of consolation was able to calm her down. Her heart would not stop pounding against her ribcage as tears would not stop flowing down her cheeks, and the terror she awakened to deftly transfigured into suffocating panic that immediately alerted the elf. 

Fixing their position so that they were sitting facing each other, Tyril's palms cradled her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Reyna, focus on me, alright? Breathe with me, take as long and deep breaths as you can, and hold it in for five seconds," he instructed, feeling his equilibrium wane as the woman before him struggled to settle her nerves. The calming spell was ready to roll from the tip of his tongue when at last Reyna took a deep, shaky breath. 

He counted down the seconds out loud for her, time after time, until her muscles relaxed, and the body became heavy in his hands. The back of his hand wiped the drops of sweat off her forehead as he laid her down, back to the same position she woke up in, and kissed her cold temple, pressing his lips for several long seconds.

She hadn't slept well the night before, and that night would probably be no different. Rubbing her back up and down, he proposed to tell her another story, in a poor attempt to help her fall asleep. 

"Just hold me, please,” she pleaded. And as a devout worshipper, Tyril held her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, although his heart ached seeing his partner in pain. 

"Are you asleep?" 

Startled, Tyril blinked repeatedly to rid his eyes of the remainder of sleep. "No." 

“I want to cut my hair.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion, his gaze focusing on the pendulum clock on the far side of the room. “Now? It’s three in the morning.”

“I need a change, and my hair reminds me of what—” she held her tongue. “Will you help me or not?”

Rubbing off the blur in his eyes, Tyril rolled off the bed and approached the mirror she was sitting in front of.

"Are you certain?"

"Just do it."

Visibly unstrung and beaded with sweat, Reyna sat facing the vanity mirror, holding back tears. Unconvinced, he took his own sword from her hand and gripped the hilt tightly. Several seconds and one skilful swish of the sword later, inches of her dark locks hit the floor silently. Holding her blurry gaze in the reflection, Tyril inquired further.

“Calanín, what’s troubling you?”

Reyna dismissed his worry with a shake of her head and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. “Sorry for waking you up,” she added before disappearing into the dimly lit room. The last sound he had heard before drifting off to a turbulent sleep was that of Reyna climbing into the ornate bath. 

As the full moon gave way to the sun, coolness to sparkling dew and thin fog, the couple set out to meet their friends, shyly setting out on a new adventure, leaving the turbulent night but a memory. 

[still-a-morosexual-help]

You can't tell me that every single romanceable character in BOLAS wouldn't have the craziest praise kink ever

the only thing the six of them share is the fact that they'll shatter the second they get a bit of positive reinforcement