#“your eyes have been kissed by kelemvor himself”

[feymire]

MINSTER of the TIDES, & of the DEAD.

[grandmother-goblin]

Field Study - Chapter 14

Ao3 - Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Astarion comes face to face with Cas's older brother, a famous and brutal monster hunter, and fears for his life.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 4.1k

Chapter Tags: Meeting the family, sibling tomfoolery, relationship talk, kissing.

Every one of Astarion’s survival instincts had agreed on one course of action in that moment:

Run.

Run as fast and as hard as his legs would take him. Run until he found a place to hide deep within the depths of the woods. Or the dark bowels of a cave crawling with spiders. Hells, he’d even go back to that goblin-infested hellhole.

Then maybe, just maybe, he would buy himself a few more precious moments before the Huntsman of Neverwinter rammed a stake through his heart.

He swallowed as his eyes scoured over the Huntsman; the man was nearly as large as Halsin. Fitted leather armor emphasized his muscular build and sunlight glinted off the steel of the (menacing) sword strapped to his back and the daggers secured to his belt. And those were only the weapons Astarion could see — who knew how many other lethal instruments the Huntsman might have concealed on his person.

There was a sharpness to the Huntsman’s features that reminded him of Cas. But his face held none of her softness.

His dark eyes were alert and calculating, like a hawk perched high on a building as it tracked a mouse scurrying about an open street. Four prominent scars marred his neck — two pairs of separate, unmistakably vampiric bite marks — that tore down to his collarbone like he had ripped the vampire away with their fangs still embedded in his throat. The man moved with easy, confident grace like he knew damn well he was the most dangerous being for miles around.

A man who turned monsters and predators into mere prey.

Gods. Cazador would hate him.

The man exuded power in a way Cazador could only dream of. There was a natural, unspoken charisma to the Huntsman that his former master would never have been able to emulate even if he tried.

It was a presence that commanded respect; not because he expected it, but because one couldn’t help but give it freely.

Astarion was pulled from his musings when Cas’s fingers squeezed his gently. “Just be yourself,” she said, her voice echoing in his mind as the tadpole squirmed. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about? Was she out of her mind?

As much as he wanted to believe her, experience and instinct told trust the truth of what was standing before him. And the truth was that he stood face-to-face with a large elf who was armed to the teeth and had a reputation for killing monsters. Efficiently.

Although Cas didn’t treat him like a monster, Astarion couldn’t be certain that her brother would extend him the same courtesy.

Yet if the stories were to be believed, the Huntsman would have long since sent him to Kelemvor already - had he been inclined to do so. Even the exaggerated tales told by bards made a point to emphasize how quick the Huntsman was. And how his prey never saw him coming.

But, Astarion was still in one piece. For now.

Even with that in mind, a lump remained firmly lodged in his throat as his feet stayed rooted to the spot. His fingers tightened around Cas’s hand, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the Material Plane as he stared at the Huntsman.

Planning had never been Astarion’s strong suit. As much as he had wanted to have the Huntsman as an ally against Cazador, he never considered how an actual encounter with the man might go. And he most certainly never envisioned meeting the Huntsman…

Well…

He certainly never envisioned meeting him like this.

What in the hells was he supposed to say? ‘Hello Mr. Huntsman, Sir, you see, we were just coming back from a nice morning walk. The bite marks? Well that certainly wasn’t from last night when your little sister was on her hands and knees begging for my cock. Where did you get that idea?’

Yes, because that would certainly win him over.

As if hearing Astarion’s thoughts, the Huntsman’s eyes snapped onto him. He couldn’t help but shrink under the man’s gaze, subconsciously curling in on himself as he looked everywhere but at the threatening presence looming before him.

Was looking away the smartest decision? No. But maybe if he made himself seem pathetic enough, the man would take pity on him and let him live.

Honestly, that plan had a better chance of working than running away did.

What had he been thinking — seducing the Huntsman’s sister? Did he expect the man to immediately welcome him into the family or something? For the monster hunter not to question the motivations of a monster? For him to say ‘Thank you for sleeping with my sister. To show my appreciation, let me kill Cazador for you’?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Cas.” The Huntsman’s voice broke through Astarion’s thoughts. There was a soothing quality to it, a deep and rich timbre that could probably make the reading of bank records sound interesting.

Much to Astarion’s immediate relief, the Huntsman’s attention had returned to Cas, releasing him from the oppressive weight of the man’s gaze. Now that it wasn’t on him, Astarion almost felt like he could think straight again.

Cas had said that he had nothing to worry about, so perhaps he should just… trust her. She knew her brother better than he did, after all.

Despite how he tried to reassure himself, his nerves remained on edge. Centuries of conditioning told him that he was far from safe in the Huntsman’s presence, and no amount of positive thinking could change that.

When he felt Cas’s fingers detangle from his, a tendril of dread slithered through him. Immediately, Astarion wanted to take hold of her hand again. Though he would never admit it, holding her hand felt like the only thing keeping him grounded at the moment.

Or from running off into the woods like a coward, at the very least.

When her hand slipped fully out of his, he closed his fingers around the open air as if trying to grasp at an invisible tether between them.

Seemingly obvious to Astarion’s tumultuous inner thoughts, Cas started towards her brother.

“How long were you ominously posing there for?” she asked cheekily.

The Huntsman said nothing as he lifted her off her feet and pulled her into a hug so tight that Astarion swore he heard some of her bones pop.

A strangled sound came from Cas’s throat as she half-heartedly (and unsuccessfully) kicked at him. Her arms were pinned to her sides, rendering her practically helpless until the Huntsman decided to let her go. “You’re crushing me,” she groaned.

“I am so fucking pissed at you,” he said, his muscles bulging as he squeezed Cas even tighter. “I thought I lost your stupid ass.”

“Can’t breathe,” Cas squeaked with another pitiful kick of her legs. “Being squished.”

“Good,” he said before placing her firmly on the ground and releasing her from his embrace. The Huntsman settled his hands on Cas’s shoulders and bent down to eye level with her. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I couldn’t find you?”

Cas averted her eyes, and her brother repositioned himself to stay within her line of sight. With the new angle, Astarion could see the man’s expression. There was a slight furrow to his brow and his lips tugged almost imperceptibly downward.

“I tried to reach out as soon as I could,” she replied, still doing her best not to look at her brother, her voice sounding smaller than Astarion had ever heard it.

For some reason, Astarion wanted to reach out to Cas and make that distress in her eyes disappear. He yearned to pull her into his arms and… oh, he didn’t know. Provide some comfort, maybe?

Gods, when was the last time he had wanted to comfort someone? He wasn’t even sure he knew how.

The Huntsman dismissed Cas’s response with a shake of his head. “You never should have been in this position in the first place,” he said sternly, like a parent lecturing a child. “That nautiloid was going after me. Not you. If you hadn’t—”

“I couldn’t let it get you!” Cas snapped as she took a step back, breaking her brother’s grasp on her shoulders.

Her outburst didn’t appear to surprise the Huntsman one bit. He just continued to watch her with a slightly melancholy and expectant look in his eyes — as if he already knew what she was going to say and was just waiting for her to say it.

“I had the opportunity to save you for once, so I did,” Cas continued, her voice taking on a calmer tone once again. “The people of Faerun can’t afford to lose you.”

“And I can’t afford to lose you.” Though the Huntsman’s voice was level, Astarion could hear a tremor of fear behind it.

Her brother was furious, there was no doubt about that. Yet, that anger seemed to be born out of more than just fear of losing her. It seemed to be born out of love. Something Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever experienced, he realized.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, crossing her arms like she was trying to hold herself together..

“It’s okay.” The Huntsman straightened and ran his fingers through his short, brown hair as he exhaled deeply. “We can talk about this later. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Cas nodded and pursed her lips, like there were more words she wanted to say but she had stopped herself. “I’m glad you’re okay too.”

Throwing his arm around his sister’s shoulder, the Huntsman gave her a brief squeeze before stepping away.

Then the man’s eyes locked onto Astarion’s once again, and even though he was smiling, the intensity of his piercing gaze was unsettling. It was like the Huntsman’s eyes were dissecting him, peeling back all of his layers to the undead heart in his chest.

A chill went up Astarion’s spine and his insides twisted uncomfortably, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stare back. He could only hope that the Huntsman couldn’t see the darkness that lurked within.

He swallowed, tilting his head up toward the Huntsman as the man stopped directly in front of him, blocking out the morning sun like an eclipse.

If he thought any of the gods might have listened, this was when Astarion would have prayed.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” the Huntsman said, his smile turning apologetic as he extended his hand cordially. “I’m Vesryn.”

Vesryn’s hand was heavily calloused and littered with scars — clear evidence of his decades of hunting and wielding weapons, although it looked like he at least tried to take care of them. Given all the politicians, patriars, and nobles he brushed elbows with when he made special appearances, he probably felt like he had to. Signing autographs, shaking hands, kissing babies; all the things a celebrity of his caliber did.

Carefully, Astarion grasped his hand and introduced himself in turn, his voice sounding high pitched to his own ears.

Gods, were his palms sweaty? He hoped he didn’t just shake the Huntsman’s hand with sweaty palms. How mortifying would that be?

“Astarion,” Vesryn repeated back to him, a flicker of recognition flashing across his eye. He released his grip and placed his hands on his hips, taking on a more relaxed posture. Or perhaps he was trying to subtly wipe the sweat off of his palms. “It’s good to meet you. Cas mentioned you in one of her sendings.”

Surprise mixed with a feeling of flattery at his words. More importantly, Astarion felt relieved. Tension eased from his shoulders and the lump in his throat diminished.

Maybe the Huntsman just didn’t know Astarion was one of the very monsters he was famous for hunting yet. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course the bloody Huntsman of Neverwinter knew he was a vampire. Even with his ability to walk around in the sun, there were a couple of things about him that were very hard to miss.

Not to mention, the bite mark on Cas’s neck.

Though if Vesryn took offense, he was doing a spectacular job of hiding it. In fact, Vesryn seemed sincerely happy to meet him. He didn’t seem like he wanted to attack, kill, or maim him at all.

And that felt… wrong.

Astarion cleared his throat, hoping his voice would go back to normal. “Did she now?” he asked, not knowing how else to respond. “All good things, I hope?”

If he were talking to anyone else, he might have come up with something witty. But he needed to play it safe. At least until he had a better idea of what kind of person Vesryn was.

Historically speaking, his smart mouth got him into trouble more often than anything else he did. Just because Cas found him funny didn’t mean her brother shared her humor.

“Twenty five words a spell and she used most of them telling me how handsome and wonderful you are. It was nauseating, really.”

“Vesryn,” Cas hissed and slapped her brother’s armored arm as an adorable redness tinged her cheeks.

A cheeky grin tugged at Vesryn’s lips. “She actually used two spells.”

“I did not,” Cas protested, her face flushing further even as she rolled her eyes. “Don’t believe a word he says. He’s just trying to embarrass me.”

“Trying? I’m succeeding,” Vesryn replied, standing straighter with an air of self-satisfaction. Then he playfully poked at Cas’s ribs, making her jump. “You don’t normally get this flustered in front of someone. You must really like him.”

“Ves!” Another smack landed against the Huntsman’s armor, followed by a bellow of laughter.

Vesryn rubbed over the spot Cas had hit with an exaggerated wince. “I can’t believe you’re being so mean to me in front of your friend.” He glanced at Astarion with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Is she this mean to you?”

The smartass in him told him to say ‘yes’ but his survival instincts reined him in. “I’ve always found her to be delightful company.”

“Oh, lucky you,” he replied and cocked his chin toward the forest. “Take my advice and run while you can. She only gets worse.”

Cas groaned and dragged her palm down her face. “Remember when I said I was glad you were okay? I take that back.”

She placed both hands on Vesyrn’s chest before firmly and persistently pushing the wall of a man back toward the direction of camp. It wasn’t until she managed to make him budge a single step that they both started to lose their composure. “Get your ass out of here,” Cas said, her voice sounding like she was trying to hold back a laugh.

“See? So mean.”

“Yes, I’m a bully,” she agreed and pushed him another step. “Can you give Astarion and I a moment? We were talking about something.”

“‘Talking’, sure.” Vesryn made finger quotes in the air but then relented, letting Cas push him a few more steps toward camp. “Okay, okay, I‘ll give you a few minutes. No need to be so pushy.”

Cas made a shooing motion with her hands like the Huntsman of Neverwinter was nothing more than a wayward pigeon. “We’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

Vesryn threw a smile over his shoulder, the kind a storybook hero or a handsome prince might give their admirers. “It was nice meeting you, Astarion,” he said before starting back toward the campsite.

‘Nice’ wasn’t the word Astarion would have chosen. It was anxiety-inducing, terrifying, and worst of all… confusing? But it definitely wasn’t ‘nice’.

The Huntsman was nothing like Astarion had expected — the man hunted monsters such as vampires for a living. There were tales of him slaying all manner of creatures from devils to dragons. Not to mention how a mere decade ago, Vesryn had killed a vampire lord, the Collector. A vampire so ancient that he made Cazador seem like a child in comparison. And if the stories were to be believed, Vesryn had killed the Collector in the monster’s own lair amidst hundreds of spawn.

There was no doubt in Astarion’s mind that the Collector had done what any vampire lord would have done: using his spawn as fodder in an attempt to save his own skin, and most certainly, Vesryn had killed them all.

And yet, Vesryn was being downright friendly with a vampire spawn who quite obviously fed on his little sister.

Perhaps if Cas hadn’t been around, things might have been different. Perhaps the friendliness was just an act to throw Astarion off guard and make it easier to ram a stake through him when he least expected it. If that was the case, the Huntsman had certainly succeeded in throwing him off.

Still, there was something about Vesryn that seemed so genuine. His handshake was firm, but not dominating. His eagle-like eyes, keen and observant, were also warm and curious. Then there was the way Vesryn interacted with Cas with such open affection and camaraderie — it was disarming to say the least.

As the Huntsman’s form retreated, Astarion felt a weight lifting from his chest. Like the man’s presence was a heavy fog that emanated from his very being, enveloping those who didn’t know how to navigate it.

Though Astarion had never been in the presence of a god, he suspected it probably felt a little something like standing in front of the Huntsman of Neverwinter.

The nervous, prickling sensation on his skin eased as he felt himself begin to relax. He exhaled slowly, trying to breathe out the tension that coiled in his veins.

He hoped he hadn’t accidentally made a fool of himself in front of the Huntsman. Not that it really mattered, but he wanted Vesryn to have a good impression of him. It would probably please Cas if he and her brother were on good terms after all.

Instinctively, something old and ingrained tried to push back against the selfless thought despite the fact that he was becoming more and more comfortable with caring about someone other than himself.

A few weeks ago, Cas’s happiness wouldn’t have been the first thing that he would have thought of when it came to building a relationship with the Huntsman. Hells, even a few days ago his motives had been purely selfish. The only feelings that had mattered were his own, and Cas was nothing more than a tool he could use to get what he wanted.

How quickly things had changed.

A brush of her fingers against his palm drew him from his thoughts. “Are you alright?” Cas asked with gentle amusement. “That’s not how I pictured you meeting my brother.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” Astarion intertwined his fingers with hers, the simple connection like a balm on his frayed nerves. “Did you really tell him about me?”

Cas shook her head. “He asked who I was with, and I gave him everyone’s name. Anything else he knows he either picked up from just now or from talking to everyone back at camp.”

He gave a mock pout, as if her not gossiping about him was a huge disappointment. When she gave him a smile in response, he stepped into her space and placed his hands on her hips, pulling her close enough that her chest brushed against his when she took a breath. That little touch was enough to send a thrill through him, and part of him was tempted to steal her away again.

For whatever reason, he felt like everything was about to change.

He wanted a few more moments with just the two of them. A few more moments where they could pretend their problems didn’t exist and they could just be together.

“Pity,” Astarion said, his thumbs brushing over the jut of her hip bone through the thin fabric of her shirt. “I would have loved to have heard how wonderful and beautiful I am.”

Cas blinked at him, looking completely unimpressed. “You’re wonderful and beautiful,” she said flatly.

A smile tugged at his lips as he pulled her flush against him, his hands sliding around to her backside. “For the love of the gods, would it kill you to put some enthusiasm into it?”

Cas slipped her arms over his shoulders. “I think you heard plenty of enthusiasm last night,” she replied in a low and husky voice that made his blood stir.

She tilted her face up toward his, her lips just a breath away from his own with a silent invitation. It was an invitation he was all too happy to accept. His mouth caught hers in a brief, sugary sweet kiss. Nothing but the gentle pressure of her lush lips against his, the subtle and intoxicating taste of her on his tongue. It would have been all too easy to lose himself in that moment.

Before he fell too deep into whatever spell she wove around him, he pulled away. Her brother was waiting only a few hundred feet away, and Astarion didn’t want to push his luck.

Cas tasted her lips as though she already missed his touch. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her head tilted thoughtfully as her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Vesryn is going to ask about you and me,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t want to tell him anything you don’t want me to.”

Of course, the Huntsman was going to ask about their relationship. What kind of big brother would he be if he didn’t? Especially considering Astarion’s nature, it only made sense that the monster hunter would at least check in on her.

Yet, Astarion had never expected Cas to ask for his thoughts. Or his permission. He just figured that Cas would tell her brother whatever she felt like without any input from him.

“What were you thinking of telling him?” he asked, feeling a little off-guard and wanting to get some idea of Cas’s stance on the matter before he risked fouling things up.

Cas shrugged. “That we’re friends,” she said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to her, but to him? He wasn’t sure if anyone had considered him a friend before. At least, not enough of a friend to tell their family about him.

Yet, describing their relationship as something as simple as friendship didn’t sit quite right with him. After all they had been through together, after all the battles they fought, after all of their long conversations over a bottle of wine or the time spent with her skin against his…. It felt like what they had together was more than just friendship.

So much more.

Astarion tucked his finger under her chin, tilting her head up to better see her eyes. “Just friends?” he asked as he swiped his thumb across her lower lip — a reminder of all the times their lips had touched. “Is that all that we are?”

She wrapped her fingers around his hand and gently lifted it from her face. “What else would you have me say?”

That was the real question, wasn’t it?

What did he want her to say?

Cas wasn’t one of his victims or just another target. She wasn’t just a shield for him to hide behind, or a stranger with powerful connections. She wasn’t just another night he wished he could forget.

She was something.

They were something.

What that something was, he couldn’t put a name on it. But he knew what it wasn’t: just friendship.

Friendship may have laid the foundation, but they’d built something together that went far beyond that. Whatever that something was, it was messy, complicated, and probably not completely structurally sound — but it was theirs.

They could fill in the cracks as needed.

Cas gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, taking his silence as the answer he didn’t know how to articulate. “That’s what I thought,” she said lightly and laced her fingers with his. “We don’t have to figure it out now.”

An odd feeling of disappointment settled in his stomach. Part of him wanted her to change her answer. Or at the very least, agree that they were more than just friends.

Because people who were just friends didn’t do what he and Cas did.

He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her fingers. “I suppose it’s kind of nice not to know exactly what we are, if I’m being completely honest,” he said as he gazed into her eyes. “But I am glad that ‘friends’, at the very least, is a certainty.”

Cas smiled at him. “Me too.”

---

Beginning

Previous Chapter

[spindlethief]

11. “I almost lost you” kiss

This… this got way out of hand, not gonna lie. More Keldorn/Ferryn (because I’m less afraid to share them than Sable tbh.)

For three nights, Keldorn had drunk himself into a stupor rather than attempt to sleep amidst the swirling images in his head. Everything had happened so quickly, it had been days, and Keldorn still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around it all. She’d been right beside him. She was always right beside him. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been taking that presence for granted until it was gone. It had happened so fast, one moment she’d been riding at his side and the next-

They’d been crossing a river, one they’d trudged through many times before, but not this close to spring. Not with the water so high. The horses had struggled to keep upright in the torrent, Keldorn had cleared the far bank and turned around just in time to watch Ferryn’s horse lose its footing. She’d been swept away before he could so much as blink. He’d felt sick ever since. Half because of the sight, and half because of the wine.

There’d been no time to search for her, no time to turn around and follow the river instead of continuing to the woods. They were still being pursued and there was no telling how far down the river she’d surface, or if she would at all. Not to mention the scolding he’d get from her if he separated himself from the rest of the party to search. So Keldorn had navigated the last few days in a haze of half mourning, not sure if he should be praying for her passage or her safety. Priests of Kelemvor always had one foot in the grave, but this was something else entirely. Firstly, it wasn’t his foot. And secondly, accepting his own death would be a hell of a lot easier than accepting hers. All of her joking aside, he was the one who was supposed to go first.

The only hope he had was to reach the next town as they’d planned. If she survived, she’d  head there. It hadn’t taken them more than half a day to reach the safety behind the walls, only to find the silence of an inn room more unbearable than comforting. So he drank, unwilling to face the possibility that his wife might very well be dead. Unwilling to cast any of the vast number of spells he knew that could confirm it. Hovering in this limbo was easier than knowing, at least for now, he wasn’t prepared to mourn for her. They’d been married for less than a year. He drained the last drops from a wine bottle down his throat, still parched for more. In all this time he’d barely eaten, and it was likely he owed the inn half a fortune by now. Shakily he forced himself to his feet despite the way the room spun in an effort to dissuade him. He shut his eyes to steady himself and saw Ferryn vanish into white water in sickeningly perfect detail. Opening his eyes didn’t serve him much better, the image and the truth of what it meant burned a hole in him. How many days could he stall here before he had the courage to admit it? How long would he put aside his duties to drink as a pathetic excuse for mourning? The obvious choice would be to turn to Kelemvor for guidance, to ask the guardian of the dead if she’d passed, to see if he could commune with her like he had a thousand spirits before. How long would he put it off for fear of what he would find?It had been three days, maybe closer to four. He couldn’t be sure with all the drink. If she’d survived and were making her way on foot she’d have caught up by now. If by some miracle her horse had lived too, they’d have been mere hours behind the rest of the caravan. He would have to accept the truth soon enough. She was gone. He would see her again, but not until his life too was ended. And he could not spend the rest of his time a rambling drunkard in an inn, not if he wanted to be reunited with her in the afterlife. Vaguely he was aware of someone knocking on his door. Most likely the innkeeper coming to collect what was owed to her. Keldorn dared hope that was all she came for, and he wasn’t about to be thrown to the street for drinking her out of business. The knocking grew more persistent as he stumbled towards the door, leaning a hand on the wall where he could. For a moment he thought to toss his gold coins under the door just to be left alone a few minutes longer, then considered the scolding his wife would give him were she alive to see him behave in such a way. So he unlatched the iron lock and inched the door open, entirely unprepared for what awaited him. Ferryn’s hair was plastered to her face from the rain, she was choking on her breath, chest heaving from the struggle. He could see a wash of bruises on her neck, speckled with dried blood that covered the meager remains of her armor. At first he thought it was a cruel illusion, his mind so far diluted from his drinking it had conjured a phantom. Having been so deep into his drink he’d hardly noticed it had been raining the last two days. The same spring rain that had raised the river into a torrent. Soaking wet, shivering, she threw her arms around his neck and let out a hoarse and desperately relieved sob. “Thank the gods, you’re alive.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, a croaking rasp that shook him down to his core. Tightly he wound his arms around her, still trying to comprehend if this moment was real. Having only just barely started to consider that he’d never hold her like this again. Suddenly he was awash with guilt at ever having entertained the thought. Slowly he leaned back just enough that he could rest his hands on her cheeks, losing himself in her gaze. This was real, she was here. Bloody but breathing. Relief swelled up from his chest and choked him with a sob he hadn’t felt coming, like he hadn’t felt the tears that started their short journey down his face. He caught his breath for the first time in three days when he kissed her, trying to keep it soft but unable to dissuade his frantic heart. His fingers slid back into the tangle of her wet hair as he pulled her even closer. She could never be close enough. Ferryn returned every affection, regardless of her injuries. Gripping tightly to his shoulders until he pulled away, parting only far enough so they could rest their foreheads against one another in the doorway. “I thought I’d lost you.” Keldorn managed to whisper, still cupping her face in his shaking hands. “I thought I’d-”“I’m here. I’m right here, beloved.” Somehow she smiled, though her voice was still soft and far away. “Right at your side. Right where I belong.” Her gentle fingers trailed down his cheek to settle on his neck. For the first time in three nights, Keldorn slept.

Thank you so much for the prompt @flowerbabytrevelyan and for your constant encouragement. This was delightfully angsty which is way more up my ally than I care to admit. 

[spindlethief]

types of kisses prompts - 4

Thank you so much for the prompt! Disclaimer: I have waaaaay too many D&D characters. I decided to write this one about the happy couple, Ferryn and Keldorn, just as their relationship begins. They are truly barftastically cute and my bf helped with the concept for their exceptionally tragic backstory. shhh it’s fine 4. In The Moment Kiss - Maybe it’s in the middle of an argument or you just looked too damn beautiful not to kiss, but their lips were hot against yours and it felt too good to stop. 

“I know what you’re thinking. I heard the others- Poor Keldorn sent off with the knife ear- You know I didn’t choose this either.” Ferryn struggled to free herself from the last pieces of her platemail. Keldorn had been staring, though, not for the reason she suspected. 

“That’s not- I, uh..- I wasn’t thinking that.” Sheepishly he came and sat next to her around their meager fire, in their makeshift camp. Watching as she furiously began scrubbing blood off her armor. “Either way,” She grumbled, refusing to look at him. While he couldn’t make himself look away. The fire light was reflecting like gold in her copper hair, shedding warm light across her sharp cheekbones. “It’s fine you’re disappointed. Any one of the brothers would have been, I’m not so stupid as you all think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Ferryn.” He wondered if all elves looked like this. Or just the ones from the deep woods, with their bronze skin and striking eyes. He’d never met another elf other than a few in passing. They had been a different sort, light and pale and airy in floating silks with silver locks and haughty attitudes. “And I’m not disappointed.”“Oh of course.” She snapped, her fingers fumbling with rags and steel as she determinedly kept her eyes fixed on the task and decidedly not on him. “You’re too good for that. You’ve always been perfect. The model student, the model priest. No one doubts where your power comes from. Of course Kelemvor blessed you, any God you asked would have.” Keldorn felt his face starting to go hot, it wasn’t really a surprise she was so bitter. Many of the other paladins and clerics had been doubtful of her, some even outright cruel. Kelemvor was a human God, the patron of death and graves and safe passage to the other side. The elves had no equivalent. So when an elven orphan who’d already outlived every caregiver of her childhood showed signs of being chosen, some were apprehensive to believe. 

“I’m not… that’s…” How was he supposed to come up with something to say with her sitting there looking like that? “You are. Everyone thinks so. It’s why they stuck you with me I suspect. If anyone could make me less useless it would be you.” Frustrated she tossed down her half polished grieve, twisting the worn rag desperately in her hands. “It’s not fair to you, I know. I didn’t ask for this.”

“Kelemvor doesn’t think you’re useless, Ferryn. And neither do I.” Far from it, in fact. Keldorn had been elated when he heard they’d be traveling together, mostly because of the boyish crush he’d been harboring for the decade they’d known each other. He’d been just a boy when they met, but she was an elf. As he aged, she stayed the same. Eventually he’d caught up.

It seemed absurd to him that anyone would doubt her familiarity with death. She was raised among humans, every one of them already long outlived.

 “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” Ferryn grumbled, shutting her eyes as her head bowed.

“Well, yes but that doesn’t make it less true.” Cautiously he reached towards her, daring fingers gently turning her chin so she’d finally look at him. Her hazel eyes were watery and pained, and still breathtaking. “Ferryn, you’ve been chosen by a God, to wield his power and his blade. Whatever nonsense you hear from mortal whispers means nothing. Trust in him, trust in your faith. The rest of us are little more than dust anyway.” 

“Keldorn-” he’d thought she might turn away but her gaze stayed fixed. “-I…” 

All at once she was kissing him. It took a moment for his mind to catch up with everything else. His fingers still lingering on her cheek, the soft warm feeling of her lips pressed against his. In all his years of daydreaming he’d never once thought this could actually be a possibility, it had never crossed his mind that she’d see him as anything other than a fleeting and temporary companion. When she started to pull away he leaned into her and lingered a few moments more against her lips. Until at last she broke away, turned away, her face flushed and burning. “I’m sorry. I- I shouldn’t have-” She fumbled for words only to fall silent when he laid his hand over hers. “Don’t apologize. Please. You know if I’d known you’d thought about me this way I may have said something a bit sooner.” He teased, delighted at her blush. Ferryn shifted how she sat, slowly leaning herself against him until her head rested on his shoulder.