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stormywanderer · 4 months ago

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Tricks of an Ex-rogue

Summary: Balor decides to use his old skills with rope for more explicit purposes. This is smut. Rated: Mature Author Notes: Y/N reader, p in v sex, bondage, over stimulation. This is just a oneshot, not really edited. Above art is official concept art from the game. Art and characters property of Fields of Mistria developer group. Plot/writing my own.

Falling for Balor had been easy. Like slipping fine satin silk over one’s hand. All it took was a sudden rainstorm and you were done for. Running like chickens past the drop box he intended to stop at, right to the house. An offer of mulled wine, some left over tart, a fully stocked fireplace, and soon he had your thighs pressed all the way back as he fucked you slow and sweetly in the fire light. Neither of you were sure when the storm had passed. Only that he had a sudden appreciation for a sweaty body splayed out next to a hearth.

Ever since, you both had been at it like rabbits. Every trip of his to your farm to pick up goods is another excuse to have you alone. Neither of you could trust being caught at the inn, not after the kids had walked into his room for that prank. Instead, the soft double bed, or your couch, or the fireplace hearth, or any other surface in your house had become his preferred place to see you.

Today wasn’t much different, only it was especially different.

“What’s that? I’m not sure I understood.”

Balor damn well understood, you know he did. With the blasted vibrating stone pressed unforgivably against your clit, he knew what he was doing.

You jolted at the electric sensation the flashed through you from your clit. The vibrating stone was relentless and being hung from the ceiling while tied up like wild game in a snare meant there was nothing you could do about it. Except for whine and beg while your thighs begin to shake.

“I-I can’t take any more-“you gasped. Every muscle tensed against the ropes; sensation long gone in your toes though you’re sure they’re curled too. It was all you could do to keep breathing, panting heavily as your chest heaved against the rope that was strapped both under and over your breasts.

He had your legs bent, calves folded behind you and tied to your thighs. The rope made a suitable enough harness, but being suspended meant that you couldn’t close your legs in retaliation if you tried. Arms? Those were also useless now. Folded behind your back and restrained at your forearms, all you could do was clench your fists to manage the onslaught of pleasure.

The only thing free, really, was your head. Which was currently tilted back as the wave of pleasure crested higher, and higher, and-

“Oh- OH - I can’t- I can’t-”

“You can,” Balor promised, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You can, and you will.”

With that, the intensity skyrocketed. The magic stone in his hand pressed firmly to your wet pussy far too much for you to handle. Your thighs shake and hips jolt against the restraints, as another electric flash of pure mind blowing ecstasy shoots right up your center to your chest. Your mind shorts, a shrill shriek breaking through you as your vision flashes white.

And it doesn’t stop at that, pussy clenching around nothing as your orgasm releases on to Balor’s nimble fingers.

“That’s it pretty girl. Look at you doing so well for me.”

Balor slows the intensity to near nothing, a small mercy, as he rubs small soothing circles with it against your clit. It’s several moments before your muscles can relax, aftershocks convulsing through you as you pant. When you do finally fall limp, head rolling forward to rest of Balor’s shoulder, he uses his free hand to stroke your hair.

“I’m so proud of you, you know? That was impressive.” The merchant coos soft praises against your ear. “Such a good girl for me.”

Balor pulls away then, gently cradling your head in his hand still as he looks down between you. Soft, plush, peaks of skin bubble between each cross section of rope. Your breasts are heavy as they bulge out in the makeshift harness. His eyes roam the landscape of skin created by his own hands till his gaze lands on your pussy. Between your thighs, everything is absolutely drenched. The sight is mesmerizing as he plays with you by massaging the still stone between your thighs still. Watching the way it slips between your plump lips.

His distraction is short lived, the sight reminding him of how painfully hard he’s been and that he wants nothing more than to have it be his cock slipping through those perfect lips.

Balor takes your chin in hand, nudging your mouth open.

“Here, hold this for me?” Balor says as he takes the dripping stone, still faintly glowing where a rune etches across one side, and places in your tongue before pressing your mouth shut. Its fills your mouth, completely stuffed. Unfortunately, the act of having skin contact on both sides of the magic item reactivates it and it starts to buzz back to life in your mouth.

Balor pretends to not notice the muffled moan that escapes you. At how readily you take in your own essence as it dripped off his fingers over your lips. Instead, he leans forward to whisper in your ear again.

“Before I continue, are you still okay?”

You nod twice, remembering the explicit instructions he had asked you to follow to be sure you were okay. Two nods to continue.

“Perfect-“ Balor said as he trailed down to kiss your neck.

His kisses become sloppier as he lowers himself to lave over one of your nipples before sucking the pert peak into his mouth. He’s as unrelenting at this. Suckling and mouthing over your nipple till the skin blotches purple, before switching to the other side. His patience comes in spades, still having yet to pleasure himself as you squirm till your breasts bounce against his mouth. Its only when he’s suitably fished with the second, slowly pulling his mouth back with your tit bouncing back with an soft ‘pop’, that he finally pulls away to grip squeeze your hips in his hands. You’re ready too, have been more than ready, dripping slowly on to the rug below you in anticipation.

“You look so good like this-“ Balor hums.

Balor wraps one arm around your waist to support you as his other deals with the knot behind you quickly. You tilt forward, weight no longer supported by the rope as he holds you up. Despite his slim stature Balor is more than able to carry you to the bed. He lowers your gently, before using the rope to turn you around so that your face down on the bed and ass up.

His skilled hands leave your body briefly to relieve himself of his own clothing. First his white shirt, tossed aside, then to his blue pants where his bulge visibly strains for release. He makes quick work of his belt. Without breaking his ministrations across your chest, he whips the belt out and shoves his pants down allowing his aching cock to spring free. You can only hear the shuffling of fabric and the clank of his belt as it drops to the floor. Next thing you know, he grabs the rope at your hips and yanks you back to the edge of the bed where his cock slips up against your ass as your thighs slip over the edge to frame his own.

There is a brief separation from him as he pulls back. His slips the tip through your folds twice before pressing forward, followed by the slow ache of him filling you to the brim. Practically over spilling from your metaphorical cup as your breath escapes you. You can help the way your muscles flutter around the length of him at his pulls back once again. Only this time, he leans forward to take a fist full of your hair before slamming himself back home.

“Bmmmff!” Or Balor, if your mouth was gagged on the blasted stone.

He chuckles behind you and pulls your hair back more, lifting your front off the bed and arching your head back. “You’ll need to be a little clearer darling, I'm not sure I understood you.”

He sets a purposeful pace. Precise as always as he take’s his time thrusting at just the right angle. Its deepened by your position, your tied bad legs pulling muscles in just the right way for him.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathes out.

It’s barely audible over the slap of your skin against his. Each thrust punctuated by how he pulls you back to meet them.

You’re babbling around the stone, eyes tearing as you feel your body turn to molten lead. Hot in your lower belly as he hits the perfect spot over and over. As his pace slowly increases, so does your panting resulting in the stone slipping from your mouth and landing wetly on the bedding.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” Comes your subsequent response to having your mouth free again. Babbling every time he fills the void only he can. “I’m so close, please~

It’s a small plea, a beg for mercy, He chuckles behind you as the pace quickens, his free handle snaking around your middle to massage firm circles into your clit. Its still far too sensitive, earning a cry from you as you clench around him. Its not long before your gushing around him again, the sound of each wet thrust growing louder and the molten lead of your belly flushes forward to seize you. Your eyes roll back, mouth open sluttily as you welcome each thrust that grows sloppier than the last.

“Need you to fill me, please fill me Balor.”

“Mmmph~ what-whatever my darling wishes~” Is all he can manage now, his skin slapping yours so loudly your happy you don’t have closer neighbors. Your muscles are still fluttering around his cock when he finally reaches his own climax with a soft groan before driving himself home and rutting in small movements inside your plush walls. He slumps over then, releasing your hair as his heads falls to rest on the back of your shoulder.

In the minutes afterwards, still stuffed and catching your breathes, its like coming down from the sky. Your racing heart flutters back down to a normal pace, breath still a bit shaky put slowing as well. He rubs soothing circles in your hips with his thumbs before slowly leaning back up to appreciate the mess he made of your pussy. His seed spills form between your lips as he retreats

“Beautiful.” He murmurs softly, undoing the knot at your thighs and bringing circulation back to your lower extremities. Then your arms, helping you to bring them forward again despite the ache and massaging the blood flow back into them. Once satisfied that you could lay more comfortably, he gently pulls the red cord from the many twists around your body till your freed from its constraints. The moment he does so, he climbs back onto the bed to wrap you back into his arms where you melt into a relaxed puddle within them. A soft little nest made of your favorite ex-rogue.

#fields of mistria #fom #fom fics #fom Balor #Balor #fields of mistria balor #balor fields of mistria #balor fom #stormy fics

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legendsgalore · 11 days ago

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Danger in the Deep rewrite

You collapse in the Mines, how do you get back to your farm...? Who is the one to come grab you, to come rescue you from the foul beasts who felled you??? March and Balor centric, March x Reader, Balor x Reader, just under 10k words

The Tide Caverns are an untouched, gleaming secret to the rest of the world, and you can't help but to occasionally pause and just take in the atmosphere as you mine deeper into them. Compared to the earthy tones of the upper floors, the subtle cool-toned glows that wash the stone felt surreal, and the light reflecting off of the pools of water and the general dampness that covered the entire caverns make you feel like you are in a different world altogether.

This is all very true, but in this moment you are not thinking about the ethereal beauty of the biome you were in. Instead you are ruining the tranquility by shouting.

“Ah, fuckfuckfuck-” Your words are barely discernible from one another, a stream of consciousness falling from your lips at this point.

As your legs push hard and send you into the air, you twist through your hips slightly, so that you are angled just right to fall with your sword point going down first. The attack didn’t do much against your foe, an Ore Clod, the iron ore glistening at the top of its rocky, lumpy form.

Your sword jump did what it needed to though, and knocked the rocky enemy back, giving you some much needed space.

But, as you land, you end up too close to one of the pools, and gasp as gravity asserts itself on you, the glimmering water staring in your face. Your arms come out and frantically flap to keep your balance, and you sigh in relief as you don’t fall into the water, but your relief is short lived when you hear a small spitting sound and feel a projectile crack into your back.

“Gah-!” You cry out, and fall into the icy water.

The temperature difference is painfully sharp, and you have to fight off your shock as you resurface, desperately inhaling air. But again, you can’t even catch your breath as another spitting sound preludes the *CracK!* of another projectile bit of iron hitting your head, causing you to cry out in pain.

Blinking away the dark spots, you start swimming for the nearest bit of land, for if you get hit in the head again while in the water…

Water streams off your body as you drag yourself from the tide pool to flop on the rock floor, and immediately have to roll to avoid another projectile spat your way. You breathlessly glare at the perpetrator, and groan frustratedly.

“Great, there’s now three of you?” Gritting your teeth, you pull yourself to your feet and ready your Iron Sword.

The first sucker was still across the pool, though you were still in its range. Two new ones, an Iron Clod and a regular Rock Clod, were hopping close, the latter being the one to have attacked you just now. Feeling your legs tremble with adrenaline, you steel yourself, and instead of attacking outright, wait for them to attack you. There was a pattern to how they attacked, the Rock Clod going for rapid fire strikes, and the Ore Clods going for a spread shot. What you needed to do, was space yourself so that the attacks lined up and you could strike back all of them at once…except…

A dizziness washes over you so suddenly you stumbled, and in that moment, the three attacks you had put yourself in the way of all hit you at once and you couldn’t help the cry that wrenched itself from your throat.

Black spots filled more of your vision, and you stumbled, falling to one knee. Another barrage flew harmlessly over you in that moment, and you shook your head, intending for the action to clear your vision, but only succeeding in making it worse.

Despite the pain throbbing in your head, you force yourself to your feet and make a lopsided dash to the side, anticipating another barrage of attacks.

You’re not fast enough, and something cracks into your chest, winding you. You try to gasp and your chest aches, but you can’t pause to see the damage as one of the projectiles from the barrage continues your way and you instinctively swing your sword up to your chest, deflecting it to the Rock Clod. The sucker flinches back, and quickly retaliates, which works in your favor as you are able to finish it off with another reflected rock.

That left two Ore Clods, and as you try to survey the situation through your unfocused vision, you drop to the ground hard enough to jolt your head as their spread shots fly above you.

“Ahh,” You sob out, feeling tears well up unwittingly as your head is jostled more.

Your body feels so heavy, as you try to lift yourself up but flop to the ground. Knowing the Iron Clods would attack again, you slide your arms beneath you and push up. First your torso, and then your legs find their standing, though your head flops onto your shoulder, with you barely having the mind to lift it.

You stand there in the cavern, and focus on breathing, and maintaining a focus so that when the two Iron Clods attack again you can respond. And when you hear that telltale spitting sound you first swipe your sword in the direction of the one closest to you and then whirl around to do the same for the sucker across the pool, and are rewarded with the sound of it falling to pieces.

You spin to glare at the last enemy left, and though it valiantly tries to go for one more barrage of attacks, you fell it with one last deflected attack, and with that the caverns fall silent, save for your ragged breathing.

Immediately you feel your knees buckle and unwillingly you collapse to the floor, barely avoiding twisting your knee as you go.

“Ah, hnnggg,,” Your hands slide on the slick floor as you fail to lift yourself again, barely managing to get much beyond your shoulders off the cave floor. You try to look about you, to see if there was a rock, a piece of wood, anything to brace yourself on, but nothing is surrounding you except for your dropped sword, and though you stretch for her, she is too far out of your reach

“No…I can’t…stop here!” You say to yourself, but your vision is fuzzy, everything is just bleeding colors at this point.

You had hit your head earlier in the water, jostled it multiple times, your chest…something…hit it…right…?

Ah, you need to get up, but…it’s all so…

And with that your awareness is gone.

Balor is very casually leaned against the arch of the entrance to the Mines, idly examining a flower in his hands.

It was a Fog Orchid, the type of flower those in the Capitol would pay a pretty penny for, but one could find in Mistria, with some difficulties.

You had passed by him on his way back from the Archaeology Site early this morning, not intending to meet up with him, and after giving him a polite greeting, tilted your head, and simply handed this flower to him. This rare flower, which you could have made a pretty buck by simply passing it to him through the shipping bin, or even gained some social benefit in Mistria as a gift to someone, or hell, Balor was sure you could have utilized it for a crafting recipe of some sort.

You were the type of person who always used everything that passed your way, and yet had just, given this flower to him?

When Balor inquired as to why you had wasted this flower on a gift for him, you had given him a sweet smile and some parting words, “Just ‘cause I wanted to!” And had continued on your way. As if that cleared anything up.

So here he was, at the entrance of the Mines waiting for you. Sure, Balor can admit that he could be doing other things, but his excuse was that he wanted to know where you sourced this flora so he may take advantage of that as well. And Balor could admit to himself that it was an excuse, though not a bad one. No one would question it.

The blue-haired merchant lifts his eyes from the Fog Orchid to scan the scenery, and is shocked to realize it’s later than he thought. The sky is lit up in brilliant warm shades, signifying dusk, and he can even spot some fireflies out.

Being summer, it doesn’t get dark out until pretty late, which means you’re in the Mines past your usual time. Balor frowns at the realization, and despite the mugginess, feels a shiver travel his body.

But the shiver doesn’t leave, and as it runs down him, a chill lingers, as if something had curled around him and was radiating coldness. Balor feels a heavy sensation permeate his nerves, freezing the merchant where he stands, his fingers numbing-Balor fumbles to put the Fog Orchid in his pocket-and his breathing sharpening at the foreign sensation.

The feeling ensnares him within a second, but before Balor can think too much, he hears something from the Mines behind him.

‘Help…mines…deepest…’

That sounded like a voice, an unknown one, calling from the mines. There was no way. But…Balor notes the chill is gone and lets the knowledge of the alien sensation he just experienced hang over him.

His eyebrows furrow and before he can think his muscles are spurning into action and he was at the elevator into the Mines.

“HEY!” Balor calls your name, but there was no response.

Logic told him you should be fine, you go down here nearly on the daily, but that chill…it seemed to curl around Balor once more, as if it too, was peering into the depth beyond the elevator right over Balor's shoulder.

Despite every sense telling him to go now, Balor knows he isn’t equipped for a Mines trip himself. He turns on his heel and makes his way for the exit, his cape fluttering behind him, and despite no one being there, he calls over his shoulder,

“I’ll be back!”

It’s slightly darker now, and Balor feels the time intensely. You definitely are always out of the Mines by this point, he has noticed how you need to take the time to forge your ore, and always include time to chat with March. The blacksmith, despite his apparent dislike of you, always seems to coincidentally be working the forge at this time.

And that is where Balor runs to, where he could get a weapon. His chest is heaving from sprinting the whole way, and he can see Olric and March cooling down the anvil and forge for the night.

They turn to look at him, and he watches their mild expressions morph into concern at his harried state.

“Balor what’s-” Olric begins, but Balor speaks over him.

“Sell me a weapon now.”

March crosses his arms and frowns, stepping forward. “What for and why do you need a weapon now”?

Balor tolerates March’s prickliness because the whole town knows how much he cares, but the merchant still feels irritation at the question, there is no time.

Still, he explains, “The farmer is hurt in the mines and I need to go help her.”

The brothers’ eyes widen, and they look at each other. For a second, no one says anything before they burst into action. Olric sprints inside, shouting over his shoulder,

“Gonna fetch the kit!”

And March reaches into the pile next to the still-cooling anvil and pulls out two swords.

The red-head’s frown deepens into a scowl and he thrusts the weapon at Balor, who sheathes it into the empty scabbard on his person, turning around in the direction back out of town.

“Wait the fuck up, Olric is getting the first aid kit.” March calls out, his voice rough.

Balor turns to look at the blacksmith, who is still in his sweaty tank top and apron, holding the other sword out to the side. He is meeting Balor’s gaze, giving nothing away in his scowling expression.

“Are you…coming?” Balor asks.

March scoffs, “Yeah of course we are. Olric literally worked down there, he knows how to deal with the place. And I’m not giving that to you, I want it back.”

The blacksmith nods at the sword in Balor’s sheath, and he nods his assent. Fair enough. But then..

“Why are you coming?”

March’s scowl somehow deepens further, and he cocks his head and holds the sword in his hands higher. “Better two than one, and I know how to use one of these besides just ‘poke with the sharp end.’”

Balor opens his mouth to rebuke that he too, is more than he seems, especially when it comes to fights, but he holds his tongue and watches as March looks to his anvil and mutters to himself.

“..besides, I need to see if she’s…”

Hearing that, Balor hums inquisitively before he can stop himself, causing March’s face to redden and the blacksmith lets out a "tch", turning his gaze to the door of the building. Balor narrows his eyes appraisingly at the redhead. Does he…?

Before the merchant can follow that train of thought, Olric bursts out of the building with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Sorry! It wasn’t where it was supposed to be!” The older brother calls out.

“It’s fine let’s just go already!” March falls in step with his brother as they, without missing a beat, begin running to the Mines, and Balor startles and has to catch up to the two.

It’s now dark out, fireflies scattering from the trio as they run. Olric being fast is no surprise, Balor is always traveling so he can keep up a good pace for a while, but March is keeping up without breaking a sweat. Regardless, the merchant is convinced something is up with their farmer as you’re usually at your farm by this hour, even if you stop to say hi at the inn after the forge visit.

Looking at March and Olric’s faces, Balor can see the same thoughts are racing through their heads.

Heading into the ground floor of the Mines, the men stop at the elevator and the brothers turn in tandem to look at Balor.

“What floor is she on?” March demands.

Balor pauses, realizing he didn’t know, until he remembers the ethereal chill from earlier, and that message he heard; ‘Help…mines…deepest…’

Balor brings his hand to the hilt of his sheathed sword and tells them, “She’s on the lowest floor this goes.”

March nods, thankfully not questioning how Balor knew, and turns to his brother. “Can you work this? Get us down there.”

Olric hefts the backpack up and nods, “All right! Let’s go then!” And he is the first to step on the wooden elevator, the platform creaking under his weight slightly.

Balor and March join him, and Olric fiddles with some lever on the side before the platform begins heading into the darkness.

Balor hasn’t been to the Mines before, was really just content letting you go and return with precious gems and such for him, but the rickety old elevator, creaking under the men’s combined weight creates a sense of guilt that increases as they continue down.

Occasionally he can glimpse a sight of a floor, every five or so according to the number counter next to the lever Olric pulled and...they look dreary and dusty, and evidently are filled with monsters. Balor swears internally.

On some level he knew the danger the Mines posed to you, but to be confronted with it makes his guilt intensify. He could have offered you healing potions, even if only for sale, but he let you go here without anything beyond a ‘Good luck.’

Balor could try deny caring for you, as he would if anyone ask. But he can’t lie to himself as well as he does to others. You’re his precious business partner, but-Balor thinks to the Fog Orchid in his pocket-you’re quite perplexing and he is somehow drawn to you.

While musing on his attraction towards their new farmer, Balor notes the passing of a large room, lit with torches, ending with a large open archway almost opposite from their descending elevator. There wasn’t much time to look, but there seemed to be a lot of carvings on the walls, which is all the merchant could pay attention to before the elevator was back in the darkness.

March doesn’t swear internally like Balor though, the sudden sound of his voice startles Balor, causing him to stifle a flinch.

***

March hears his voice echo as he swears out loud, the sound a startling departure from the silence of the creaking elevator, and he can see Balor flinch in response to the sudden noise.

“Fuck, I didn’t realize there were this many monsters down here!”

A swirl of emotions is twisting in March’s chest as he imagines you down here, in the dark, surrounded by monsters.

He looks to his brother and asks, “Olric, is this typical?” But the faint flicker of hope that maybe this amount of monsters would be considered mundane and manageable by the miners is doused the small shake of Olric’s head.

“No, they stayed away from us, ‘cause I think there were so many of us? And we all got weapons from Errol anyways, so even if one did sneak up we could handle it as a group.”

Olric’s regretful and understanding gaze causes the tangle of emotions in March’s chest to tighten to an uncomfortable level and he looks away, up to the deepening blackness of where they had just descended.

He swears again, his voice echoing above them. “So that means the monsters are worse after the Mines were shut down, and then she’s been down here by herself?” Fuck I should have--why didn’t she say anything!?”

March can feel Balor’s piercing, inquisitive gaze, but steadfastly ignores it and settles for glaring at the moving darkness in front of him.

You were always so cheerful when you emerged from the Mines in the evening, laden with your discoveries of artifacts, gems, and ores. March would deny to anyone that he had slightly altered his hours so that he would be able to finish his work just as you would want to use the forge to turn your ores into bars so conveniently he would be out there to talk to...but he definitely wasn't as subtle as he thought. Elsie's teasing comments were a clear indicator of that.

But the blacksmith told himself that he needed to make sure you didn’t destroy his livelihood by mucking up the anvil with your poor craftsmanship (your blacksmithing skills were actually impressive and the rate you improved was laudable by anyone, especially March), and that he had to make sure you didn’t fall asleep at the forge (you stayed up later than him nearly every night, it's a reasonable concern), or that you showed up at all (he did pay attention to what days you went to the Mines so he could know to wait up).

Somewhere along the lines, March reluctantly letting someone who lived in Mistria use his prized forge turned into him obliquely looking forward to seeing you. You, with your improbable outfits that somehow were functional to you (and highlighted your best features), your attitude that never faltered when he had no response to your words or gift (he didn’t understand why you brought him so many), and that smile, that shone brighter than the oozing beauty of a freshly poured blade into the mold, brighter than the sunrise in the early morning, before most had awoken. (And March didn’t understand how it seemed to be reserved for him. He never saw you smile like that at the others.)

March felt his teeth grind painfully. You were down here somewhere, and he couldn’t handle that. The blacksmith knew you are capable of handling yourself, but--he can’t stop himself from thinking--he could have done something to prevent this.

But the fact is that when something did happen, he was a blithering, unaware fool. If that merchant hadn’t known you were down here….

Hold on.

March frowns, realizing the hole in Balor’s plea for help. He looks up at the merchant, who is staring at the sheathed blade at his side, a pensive expression on his face.

How did Balor know the farmer is down here? Balor doesn’t go down here, and even makes a joke out of you bringing him so many gems from your forays into the depths, saying that he is your unofficial contractor, mocking you when you bring him a new selection of jewels in the inn in front of everyone;

“Ah dear farmer, I see you have brought me the goods I have requested! All astoundingly stunning as always, and here, your payment as well!” Punctuating his sentence with either a fresh glass of wine, or on one occasion, outright pushing his glass to you, having sipped only an amount. Outright insulting to you, in March’s opinion, to have to share a glass with the man, though you usually weather the merchant’s actions with an amicable smile.

Back to the moment though, March is just realizing Balor had never explained how he knew you were down here when the elevator suddenly jolts to a stop.

***

Balor stumbles from the sudden halt of the elevator, and hears Olric call out quite timely, “We’re here!”

The blue-haired man reaches out to the side of the wooden elevator to stabilize himself, though his two companions appear to fare just fine. Olric clearly having used it in his days of mining, steps off the platform simply, and March basically leaps off in a rush. Balor stands up and gingerly steps off the swaying platform, taking a glance at the number on the elevator before doing so.

Floor 35…

From the elevator, there is a long, gloomy hallway, faintly visible due to a blue glow that shines from further down. March immediately starts down the hallway at a brisk pace, not quite a run, sword drawn. Balor meets the gaze of Olric before the elder man follows his brother, and Balor follows suit.

As the three men walk in silence, Balor realizes that at some point, the charge for this rescue mission had been stolen from him by March. Not that it mattered who got to you first, but--Balor eyes the determined look on March's face--he does wonder just a bit about your relationship with the blacksmith. March did make it apparent his distaste for Mistria’s newest neighbor, and yet he seemed so distraught over your potential injury.

The two brothers are not at ease, but are confident in the caverns. Olric obviously has experience being in cavernous environments, but March holds his sword with a practiced grip that pushes Balor’s questioning thoughts even further. Though, that could just be the blacksmith masking his uncertainty, not like Balor could criticize anyone going for the “fake it ‘til you make it’ route.

Not that Balor was out of his depth wielding a sword, though it has been some time since he’s had to legitimately defend himself. Not since…well before he’s taken charge of Mistria's trading connections. But--the blue-haired merchant’s hand finds it’s way into the hidden pocket in his white shirt, where a Snowdrop Anemone was safely tucked away--he wouldn’t hesitate using a sword here. Not now, not when you were at stake.

The depth of protectiveness that surged through Balor nearly staggers him with the pumping feeling to start sprinting down the hallway, but it does not surprise him. He purses his lips as he thinks about how the new farmer somehow snuck her way into his head.

Balor’s wagon is almost always stocked with chocolate now, one of your favorite treats. And the merchant went out of his way to secure a consistent supply of both soy sauce and curry powder, after you had bought, from him, literally 60 bottles from him of the former. As for curry powder, you had asked him personally to bring more, because you wanted to make curries for him.

It’s only thanks to his tight control on his facial reactions that Balor keeps from blushing at the memory. What was up with you…? He shakes his head. This isn’t the time to be thinking about those sort of thoughts.

The three were still in the hallway, it was weirdly long, and Balor turns to Olric and asks him, "Did you ever venture this deep while working?”

The muscular man shakes his head, “No, I uh, didn’t even know the Mines went this deep actually. We only mined copper ore on the upper floors, but uh, I thought I remembered the Mines ended at floor 20? I remember there being a door or something…?”

He trails off, scratching his head with a confused expression, and both Balor and March stop to stare at him.

A moment passes, before March slowly asks, “What do you mean the Mines didn’t go this deep? The elevator clearly goes down this far??”

Olric furrows his eyebrows and folds his arm, tilting his head like a confused dog, “Well yeah it did, but before the elevator would stop on the floor with that door, which we passed, it was broken and wouldn’t go further…”

The eldest blacksmith brother pauses, opens his mouth again, and closes it, and they all turn to stare down the hallway where they left the elevator behind in the darkness.

“You mean she’s the one who fixed the elevator!? I thought that was Errol’s doing! How would she know how to repair it right?! Did he and Eiland even consider how deep she could go-why is she going deeper than you guys went?!” March’s voice increases in volume as he goes on, echoing in the gloomy cavernous hallway.

Olric looks stricken, and though Balor shares the blacksmith’s sentiments, he shakes his head and puts a hand on March’s shoulder.

“We can ask these questions later, for now I think it gets brighter ahead, we should just continue.” Balor points, and indeed, the faint blue tinge to the walls appears to intensify, illuminating a turn in the path.

Heaving out a deep breath, March wordlessly marches onwards, and Balor and Olric follow. As they get to the bend, March is the first one to turn the corner and immediately cries out, “Fuck!” taking off at a run, disappearing from sight. Olric calls after his brother, but starts running too once he gets to the bend, Balor following quickly and soon sees why the blacksmith reacted so.

Your body is on the ground, unmoving, and there is an oozing puddle of slime on and around you, actively being secreted by a pair of slime monsters that are on top of you.

March is there before Balor, but he is yelling with all the fury Balor feels, slashing with his sword to throw the creatures off of you, and skidding to a stop over your body. Illuminated by the cool toned light reflecting from the pool behind him, March is a heroic figure--determined, undaunted, standing ready to defend you.

Balor comes in after him, following up on one of the slime monsters, stabbing its gelatinous form, piercing it and throwing the monster into the air. It lands near the edge of the water, and gurgles out some sort of cry. From the tide pool, two more monsters come up.

“Balor!” March calls, looking like he wants to come help him, but obviously hesitant to leave you helpless. But then Olric slides in, at your side, swinging his sack off his shoulder, and he shouts at his brother, “I got her!”

March looks his brother in the eyes, and nods, trusting Olric to watch you. He comes up to Balor’s side, who is pursuing the slime that had called for backup.

Balor looks at the redhead, and stabs forward once more, finishing off the creature. Three more to go. Behind the puddle of slime that was just his foe, the two extra slimes ooze forward, and March dashes to slice at them again. He spins counterclockwise, his momentum adding to his powerful swing coming from his dominant hand, the force completely popping one of the slimes, the flecks flying in every direction, some splattering March’s fierce expression.

Assured the blacksmith was fine, Balor approaches the other slime, his sword held in front of him. He waits and watches as the blue creature wriggles, then launches itself forward in an attempt to attack him. Balor catches the blob in the air, and using its momentum against it, swats it into the wall, where it slides down into the ground. He quickly runs and makes a clean slice, watching as the slime first neatly falls into two pieces, then just melts into one puddle on the floor.

The merchant turns around to watch March perform another quick feat to fell the last slime, and literally spin on his feet to rush to your side. The blacksmith’s knees slam into the cavern floor next to you, uncaring about the dampness, and he looks into his brother’s face.

“How is she?!”

Olric nods, face pinched. “She’s breathing.”

Balor feels some of the chilly pressure that had permeated his bones lessen, but not completely. He asked the obvious, “She’s breathing, but…?”

Olric’s expression furrowed further, the seriousness looking out of place on the usually aloof man. “Well, the farmer is unconscious, and I definitely don’t know why, and also, well look.” The elder man gestures to your ankle, which now that Balor is looking, is definitely twisted the wrong direction.

March hisses through his teeth and leans forward to look closer, being positioned near your head. He sneers at the injury, worry bleeding through his expression. But then his face falls and he looks down at you, and after a beat drops his head to your chest, placing his ear between your breasts.

Balor stiffens, but knows this isn’t the time to worry about propriety. This proves correct when March’s face colors with panic and he shoots up and says, “Her breathing is uneven and getting worse! It sounds like, maybe something is wrong in her chest?”

“Let me see.” Balor says and kneels by your side, copying March’s actions from a moment ago. The blacksmith’s hands twitch, but he says nothing. Like March noted, your breathing is crackling, stuttering and halting, like you are having to fight for each breath. The merchant leans back and looks into the faces of the two brothers, his own worry mirrored back to him.

“We should get her to Valen, now, something is wrong with her chest, and I think possible internal bleeding is a risk here!”

Balor feels the chilling pressure that had lessened, return, heavier, hanging over his shoulders, as if it too, was peering at your lifeless looking form.

March and Olric’s faces both blanch, and then they nod, and the latter reaches out to your ankle, “First let me tie her boot tighter! It’s not much, but it should help stabilize her ankle at least a bit!” Once that is down, Balor expects Olric to lift you up, clearly being the biggest guy here, but is taken aback when March swoops down, his arms going under your knees and behind your shoulders, and gingerly lifts you.

Your head flops onto the blacksmith’s shoulder, and he carefully heaves you so that you are more curled up. March looks at Balor and says, “Let’s go.” The group head back down the hallway, leaving the glowing room behind them.

No words break the hurried silence, they all felt the same anyways. They make it to the elevator in no time, and Olric quickly starts it up. The creaking and rocking of the platform seem so much worse now that you’re on it.

Balor watches as March cradles your small body close to him, your head flopping onto his shoulder, face at peace in your sleep. The blacksmith leans his face down and whispers to you, his hair flopping forward to shield his expression from Balor, but he doesn’t think he really needs to see to know what is painted all over March’s face. The raw display of emotion is shocking to see on the normally closed off blacksmith. March isn’t even struggling with your weight, standing steady, legs bent so his muscles take the brunt of the shaking from the elevator.

You yourself aren’t a petite thing, you’re muscled and curved from your hard labor, and yet you look so small curled up in March’s arms and Balor finally feels the emotions he keeps locked away burst out and bang on his chest. Ugly and uncomfortable, Balor feels his face twitch as he watches the blacksmith tenderly hold you and has to look away. He raises one fist and pushes with his knuckles on his sternum.

You’re such a force of good, bringing out the best in everyone, inadvertently acting as a planet with your own gravitational pull that one can’t help but orbit around with the vain hope of getting close to. You are like the sun, bringing life and warmth to all those who circle you, and Balor can’t even fault March for getting caught in you. He’d be a hypocrite, and critical of the whole town.

Bees for Luc, peaches for Adeline, cake for Eiland, lattes for Nora, moss for Holt, teas for josephine, the list goes on and somehow you even figured out that Balor likes Alda artifacts, gifting him an Alda Gem Bracelet he treasures too much to wear.

Balor looks at March and wonders what you get him.

Olric is also looking at his brother cradling you, once more an unusually pensive expression on his face. The older man raises a hand and places it on March’s shoulder, he doesn’t even look up.

“She’s going to be fine March.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She is strong, and Valen is good at what she does!”

“We could have been too late.” “This isn’t your fault.”

“...”

Olric says intently, “March.” And that causes March to finally look up, eyes flickering to Balor briefly before meeting his brother’s gaze. They stare at each other in silence, and Balor wonders what they would be saying if he wasn’t here. Something is communicated between them still, and March inhales deeply, closing his eyes, holds the breath and then exhales it all out at once, his mouth frowning and quirking to the side.

“Okay, I’ll trust you on this Olric.”

Olric beams at March, and March flushes and looks to the side. Then Olric turns his smile to Balor and says, “I mean it Balor. She’s gonna be fine, Valen will fix her up.”

Balor feels his own face heat up and mirrors March’s action, looking anywhere except Olric’s disturbingly aware, warm, and confident gaze. But thinking about your sunshine-like warmth, Balor can’t help but agree, “Yeah she will.”

****

The night air is cool, and the ambience of crickets feels at odds with the urgency of the situation as Balor and the brothers hurry from the Mines to Valen’s clinic. The town is silent with everyone in bed, and Balor can’t help but feel you would have rather it been this way. The merchant wonders if you had made this sort of late night clinic-visit before, with him--and everyone else--none the wiser.

The trio walk into the clinic, the door unlocked like every other door in Mistria, the innocence of which still hurts Balor’s heart. Valen, of course, is not at the clinic when they walk in, in bed like everyone else.

March belts out the moment they walk in, “VALEN WE NEED YOU IT’S AN EMERGENCY!”

A thud and a yelp sound out from upstairs, and after a poignant pause Valen comes down the stairs, still clad in a tank top and loose pants, an unamused expression adorning her face.

“March if you have just burnt yourself I will--oh dear.” Once Valen’s eyes see your crumpled form in the blacksmith’s arms, her demeanor transforms. She gestures to her cot, “Please set her down there.”

March seems to hesitate, and Valen sighs. “March if you don’t put her down I can’t treat her and did you not establish this is an emergency?” The redhead flushes and follows her instructions, lying you down on the cot, his hand around your shoulders gingerly lingering before sliding out, leaving your head on the pillow. Valen nods, and addresses the room, “Okay, tell me what has happened.”

March opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Balor steps forward, “She was unconscious and collapsed in the Mines when we found her, there were two slime monsters leeching off of her, Olric identified an ankle injury, and we think something is also injured in her chest, causing her breathing to be upset, which is probably the more pressing issue.”

March’s mouth snaps shut and he doesn’t outright glare at Balor, but the merchant can feel the spiky defensiveness radiating from the blacksmith. Or would that be protectiveness in this case…

Valen frowns, “Monsters on her? And you said she was unconscious when you found her?” Balor nods. “Do you think she could have hit her head where she was downed?”

Balor shrugs, frowning, “The ground was relatively flat, I’m unsure if she hit it head first or not, but she probably struck it at some point if she collapsed.”

Valen nodded, as if she expected this, “Alright, tell me more about her ankle.”

Balor tilts his head, “Not the breathing?”

Holding up a stethoscope Valen states, “I can listen myself.”

Humming his assent, Balor gestures to Olric, “He identified the ankle injury.”

Olric nods, “It looks like it’s broken, Errol always said if the bone is mishappen it’s probably broken, else just a sprain. I couldn’t do much so I just used her boot to secure the bone in place.” He frowns, looking upset at the minimal statement, but Valen nods approvingly.

“Good assessment, I will have to pass on my appreciation to Errol for teaching you all proper first aid. Using her boot instead of trying to do a splint without experience was the best thing you could have done in this situation.”

Then Valen frowns, her stethoscope over your chest. Balor stiffens, and sees March do the same, he’s watching Valen like a hawk.

“Olric,” Valen starts, “Go wake up Juniper, and tell her to get some of her new potion.”

Balor frowns, but Olric immediately follows instructions, running out of the clinic. As the door slams shut March demands, “Why do we need to involve Juniper?”

Valen meets his fiery stare with stony calmness, “Because she makes all of my health tonics I sell.”

This isn’t enough, and March presses, “Why not just use one of those then, why get her?”

“Because her newest potion is stronger, and we need it.” The clinic falls silent at that, and Balor feels a shiver run up his back. Valen was calm, but likely that’s her typical behavior as she wouldn’t want to aggravate her patient…or the men who brought the patient in and wouldn’t leave until they knew she was alright. Just because Valen was calm did not mean the situation wasn’t dire.

The door to the clinic slams open, Olric stepping in first and an irate Juniper following, a few bottles grasped in her hands.

“Valen! You better have a good reason for ruining my beauty sleep or--”

“Juniper.” Valen interrupts and the bathmaster stops her tirade, and then actually looks at the room, looking from Olric, to Balor, and then to March. She nods, seeming to understand something unspoken, and goes to hand one of the bottles to Valen, before hesitating.

“This isn’t tested fully!” Juniper protests, but Valen just holds out her hand to the witch.

“It’s good, we have tested it already, pass me that and a simple Restorative Syrup as well.”

Juniper scowls at the doctor, but does as she asks, still saying “It’s not tested up to my standards, I despise using it in this state!”

Valen just takes the words and medicines and uncorks the bottles, “It’s fine to test things out before use, but you know your work is superb, you just don’t want to risk anything being your responsibility here, and it won’t be.”

Juniper falls silent, stunned at the compliment-callout duo, and they all watch as Valen opens your mouth and feeds you the two syrups, she then pulls off your boot and pulls out some supplies to properly set your ankle at the right angle.l

March breaks the silence, calling out to Valen from his post by the counter, leaned with his arms folded, “What are those going to do?”

Valen looks to him, an expression on her face that oddly mirrored the one Olric wore in the elevator, and Balor once again feels that ugly feeling well up. The town doctor says in a soothing manner, as if speaking to an aggressive animal, “The Restorative Syrup stimulates the farmer’s natural healing, causing it to work faster, which means her broken ankle will heal faster.

Balor cuts in, “Why not a full Healing Syrup then?”

“Because it works so fast it may heal the bones before they can properly set in place.” Valen rebuke patiently.

Balor blanches, hearing the unspoken concern that an improperly healed broken bone would cripple you, and feels the pressure of the chill curl tighter around him. It would feel like a hug if Balor’s bones didn’t ache from the presence.

“What about that other potion, Juniper didn’t seem confident about it.” March quizzes Valen.

“That potion is fine, it was created from a culmination of our efforts and should work as an anti-inflammatory.” Noting the confusion on every man’s face in the room, Valen elaborates, “That should help with most importantly, any potential concussion she has, and will also reduce the healing time because her body won’t have to fight down the inflammation before focusing on healing. But it won’t act as a catalyst to her healing factor, rushing the job and risking permanent injury, just as an agent to the Syrup.”

That’s…incredible stated out loud. Why has Balor not realized Valen and Juniper were simply sitting on a landmine of cash with these products? Why haven’t they?

“But, despite everything I can do for her, the farmer will still be out of play for at least a week, two if I had my way. No regular farming chores for her, and absolutely no wandering around. She needs to stay in bed, and that needs to be enforced, else she risks further or permanent injury.”

Valen stops talking abruptly, and Balor tilts his head, waiting for her to say more, before he realizies she is waiting for someone else to say something. The elder woman looks between March and Balor, an unreadable expression on her face.

Juniper cuts into the silence, announcing, “Well I think I have done my work here, you can thank me later by letting me know how she heals--how my potion works I mean.” Balor watches her hair swish as she closes the door, and then meets the gaze of March.

The blacksmith’s expression is nonplussed, eyebrows arched together and mouth quirked to the side.

Valen raises one eyebrow and folds her arms, “Well? Which one of you two is going to make sure our dear farmer stays in bed? She has animals to feed and crops to tend and someone is going to have to do it for her, cook for her, and fend her off as she undeniably tries to deny her prescribed bed rest.”

Looking into March’s dark-colored eyes, Balor sees a fiery emotion flash in them, and opens his mouth but March is faster, saying “I’ll do it.”

“You have the forge to tend to, those nails won’t make themselves.” “Olric will be fine for a week, nails don’t demand that high of a skill level. Besides, you were just talking at the inn earlier about having to go to the city for a supply trip tomorrow, remember?”

Olric nods, “Yup! I have learned enough to definitely handle most orders this week, any the rest are luckily all ones that can wait!”

Frowning, Balor knows March is right. He does need to get more supplies, including some asked for curry powder. If he didn’t know any better, Balor would say Valen is wearing an amused smirk on her face, clearly knowing his answer.

The merchant restrains himself from sighing and just admits, “You’re right March, you should watch her.” It feels like he lost a battle, but March just huffs and looks over to you, sleeping peacefully.

You’re absolutely unaware, and Balor’s chest pulls at how soft your expression is. Your lips, which are normally pulled into your sunny smile, look so soft and pillowy, and your eyelashes flutter with your abnormal breathing.

Valen leans over you again, and uses her stethoscope to listen to your breathing. After a minute, she nods, satisfied, and looks at the room. “Her breathing is better, she’s safe.”

Balor finally lets himself sigh in relief, the hanging chill giving him one last hug, before fading away, leaving him feeling unnaturally washed out. Olric and March similarly look relieved, the former outright smiling, the latter’s eyebrows finally unfurrowing.

Olric laughs, clapping Valen on the back, “Thanks so much doc! That’s good to hear!”

She cocks a smile at him in return, “Merely doing my job, and it’s thanks to you three I was able to.”

Olric bashfully scratches his head, “Aww well you know! When someone is in trouble you just help them out!”

Valen nods, and looks at you and says, “I want to keep her here overnight just in case, but I’ll call you in the morning March to come help her to her farm.”

She turns and starts putting away the extra bottles Juniper brought and her stethoscope, and March seems to panic, startling from his leaning post. “Hold on, are you going to bed? Aren’t you going to watch her?”

“That’s why she is here overnight, March, I can’t do anything for her right now, the potion is either going to work or not, I can’t give her more without risking something backfiring, all she needs is time.” Valen replies.

“Now, you all can hang around our farmer if you want, but I am going to try to get some more rest, I recommend you all do the same.”

Olric nods assentingly, and says jovially, “Okay Doc! Thanks for all your help!” He looks at Balor and continues, “You too Balor, glad you fetched us bro!”

Balor tilts his head and responds lightly, “Same to you Olric, glad you both worked fast in fetching our dear farmer from the Mines.”

Olric’s eyes scrunch up with his smile, and he turns his gaze onto his brother, who has moved to your bedside. March is intently staring at you, and Balor can see the softness enter Olric’s expression as he looks at his brother. The older man calls out in a soft tone to March, “I’m heading home March, I’ll set some food out for you, ‘k?”

March barely stirs from his vigil over you, but he seems to muster up a response of sorts after a delay, “..kay Olric.”

And with another goodbye to Valen, Olric leaves the clinic, and after excusing herself, Valen heads upstairs to her room, presumably to head back to sleep. The clinic falls silent, both Balor and March are just staring at you. Balor watches as your chest moves up and down with your breathing, and can’t deny the overwhelming relief to see the motion.

After the evening’s events, Balor can’t deny to himself the breadth of his emotions for you. He isn’t sure how deep they went yet--he can’t face the answer to that right now--but he knew he felt more emotions for you than he typically does for business partners. He cared for you, but not just your continued living. He wanted your life to be good, to be full of fun and the adventure you craved, he wanted you to find things each day that made you smile, and Balor wanted to be one of the key catalysts for your smile.

Balor wanted to be privy to your actions and thoughts and plans and, irrationally enough, wanted you to know his. He didn’t just want you to be another part of his supply chain, he wanted you…to what? Balor frowns, unsure where to conclude his thoughts.

Shaking his head lightly, Balor switches his gaze from your slumbering form to March, who was watching you just as intently if not more. Now this is something Balor can piece apart; the blacksmith’s actions and feelings. Obviously there is more going on beyond March reacting to help any resident of Mistria, the sheer force of the blacksmith’s emotions were the driving force behind their foray into the Mines. The way he lashed out with such intensity in your defense, also the skill the redhead had displayed? All signs pointed to March’s feelings being deeper than the blacksmith seemed to purposefully show, though in this moment, the raw concern dripping from March really told Balor what the other man felt for you.

March reaches out with one hand, slow and delicate, and tucks one of the locks of hair from your face around your ear.

Balor’s chest aches, and he raises a closed fist to push against his sternum with his knuckles, trying to massage away the uncomfortable, and ugly feeling. He won’t be that. The blue-haired man shakes his head, letting his bangs fall over his face as he wretches his view away from March’s loyal vigil over your peaceful slumber.

“I’m heading out too, March.”

Balor waits for a response, and after a beat of silence, turns to leave. Just as he touches the clinic’s door handle, he hears from behind him, a sullen “Thanks, Balor.”

Hand still grasping the door handle, Balor looks over his shoulder to meet March’s gaze. The other man is leaned over you, looking intently at the merchant. Balor tries dancing around that intent, responding noncommittally, “What ever for, March?”

With his usual blunt demeanor, the blacksmith cuts right through that and responds, “For getting someone, us, me to help her. For caring enough to do that.”

Honestly Balor felt he was more of an observer than anything for most of it, so he just gave an easygoing shrug, as if he didn’t care, and replied, “It was nothing, March. Just…taking care of one of my key suppliers, you know?” It sounded weak even to him.

March doesn’t buy it, and his stare intensifies, almost a glare at this point, his dark eyes seeing through Balor, “No, listen up because I will only say this once. You may play at not caring, but you did enough to not only go get help, but to then stand aside and let them rescue her. You must see that, don’t you?”

Balor sighs, and looks down at you once more. March has stood up straighter, his hand is on the cot, next to your head, some of his fingers splayed over your hair, and in your sleep you seem to respond to his presence, shifting slightly towards him. The merchant finally looks forward again, to his hand on the clinic door.

Balor calls out behind him, “I’m heading out early in the morning, so I will be gone before she wakes. Take care of her, March.”

Unspoken was the fact that Balor didn’t need to leave that early, this was a routine trip, not something pressing. The merchant didn’t want to see the blacksmith’s scrutinizing gaze, so he finally opened the door and left the clinic, hearing March mutter “Was already going to, merchant.” behind him, the door shutting with a clunk, the light from the clinic gone.

March watches Balor disappear into the night, the clinic falling into silence once more as the door shuts behind the merchant. His eyes flicker to your sleeping form, face ironically peaceful. His gaze roams from your flowing hair, usually up in some functional updo or tucked into your hat, the color reflecting like a gem in the warm light of the room. He looks at your eyelashes, surprisingly long, still over your eyes. His gaze travels to your lips, so often pulled into a perplexing smile, at rest here, displaying how plush they were, even despite being dry in the moment.

March’s gaze lingers there, before heading further south, to your chest. He watches the slow rise and fall of it, in time with your breathing. He’s glad you are breathing. March’s hands clench into fists as he thinks about how close he could have gotten to losing you. If Balor hadn’t come to get him, if they were any later…and March would have been asleep like an ignorant fool.

March can feel his face morph into a foul expression at the thought. He’s genuinely upset that not only were you down there where it was more dangerous than anyone knew, that it was further down than most have likely gone, and that you were alone. The blacksmith has to admit to himself he probably would have declined venturing with you, citing his backlog of orders, which further piques his curdling frustration. He would have let you go on your own, not caring beyond if you stopped to forge your ore into bars in the evening where he could converse with you. March wouldn’t admit to anyone, but those conversations were quickly becoming something the man looked forward to.

And he had almost lost that. March knows he won’t stand for it. He won’t stand for just waiting for you anymore. He has to tell himself he is going to take action, or else he doesn’t know if he can live with himself. You’re either going to let him come with you whenever you go into the Mines, or…March unclenches his fist and looks back to your sleeping face. You have turned in your sleep, and your head is rested against his hand, and as he uncurls his fist your face ends up held by him. His calluses seem almost inappropriate on your soft face, but he knows firsthand how many you have yourself and that it would be a disservice to call you soft, weak, or in need of constant protection.

No, you’re either going to let March come, or he will become someone you want to bring with you.

The night air is cool, the sound of crickets is a dampening ambience as Balor makes his way to the inn. It seems to blanket his emotions, making them feel like they are leagues away. He is alone in the town, everyone is absolutely asleep by this point

His footsteps echo in the night, and the silence and anonymity of the darkness give Balor the impression of welcoming him. It’s where he really belongs, the mysterious merchant that is on his own in the world, making it a better place just for himself.

The inn is warm, the pot of soup is still bubbling in the hearth, but Balor isn’t hungry. He ponders setting some Tesserae on the counter and reaching over to grab a beer, but just turns and goes up the steps to his room.

#fom #fom march #fom balor #balor fom #march fom #fields of mistria farmer #reader insert #x reader #march x farmer #balor x reader #hurt/comfort

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