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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year ago

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gwyn x balthazar | 4,1k words | warnings: talk about the past | masterlist

It is late afternoon, almost evening when Gwyn and Mor arrive in the eerie landcaspe of the Illyrian war camp. Heavy, thick clouds hang in the air, the towering Illyrian mountains casting a shadow over Windhaven. Crisp air whispers through the trees and through their hair, blowing around strands and into their faces. The huts and tents, bathed in cool, muted light, fill the space in front of them, and Gwyn moves a little closer to Mor, a shudder coursing through her.

She seeks a bit more security — the kind of security the powerful female next to her provides in this moment.

"Are you meeting with Emerie now?" the young priestess asks in a calm voice, hoping to level her frantically beating heart a little by talking about things that make her happy. And her best friend falling in love, definitely makes her happy.

"I am," Mor whispers, gaze dreamy as she stares ahead. While Mor eagerly anticipates meeting the Illyrian female and is genuinely excited, she is aware of Gwyn's evident distress. Recognising the need to provide support, Mor is determined to distract Gwyn until Balthazar arrives. She turns to the priestess and blows out a breath. Then the corners of her mouth tips upwards.

“Have you heard about Illyrian wings?” Mor smiles, swaying next to Gwyn as she bumps her hips against the priestess’s. Something, an emotion Gwyn can't quite place, sparkles in her eyes.

With the raise of her brows, Gwyn also fully turns to her, smiling a little cheekily. Mor is trying to distract her, helping her ease her mind and racing heart and it is working. Together, they slowly set out for Balthazar's hut, and Gwyn says, "That they are very sensitive?"

"Perfect, you know that already!“ Mor chirps, grinning from one ear to the other. "But there is something else you need to know.“

"There is?“ Gwyn asks, the tone in Mor's voice piquing her curiosity — she wants to know it all. Of course, she does, wanting to be prepared….

Mor chuckles wickedly, her eyes sparkling. “Well, according to research—“ the blond female say, grinning mischievously, "the span of a male’s wings says a lot about….other body parts!”

She gives Gwyn a moment to process, the priestess cheeks suddenly turning a shade darker at the information received.

“And before you ask…from what I have seen, Balthazar definitely competes with our bat boys. Don’t tell Nesta, but his wings are large than Cassian.” To get her point across, Mor shows the dimension with her hands, and winks.

Colour and heat now also run down Gwyn’s cleavage. She simple stares at Mor, this sort of information now filling every cell of her brain. It is hard to think about anything else — in her mind, she can only see a certain pair of wings. Oh Gods!

She herself has already often thought that Balthazar’s wings are large, but with this new information…oh Mother and Cauldron, how could she look him in the eyes now and pretend she did not just find out that certain piece of information?

As if summoned, Balthazar emerges from his hut a moment later. While he intends to raise his hand in greeting with a smile playing on his cheeks, his gesture is abruptly halted by the menacing snarls and growls of nearby males. The sudden aggression triggers Gwyn's internal alarm bells, an icy shiver running down her spine and making dread sink its icy claws into her heart.

Her panic reaches the peek when suddenly, Mor and her are not only approached by the males, but suddenly encircled by the leering Illyrian males, their taunts and crude remarks cutting through air like poisoned arrows. Balthazar is not fast enough, although Gwyn can make out that he is running towards them, but she can't focus any longer. Her mind is racing, vision clouded as fear coils inside her her stomach.

"Stay back!" Mor growls next to her and it draws a round of chuckles from the males around them.

"Lady Morrigan, are you not here to play?" one of them asks and earns himself a glower from the blonde female. She is nothing but power and strength, standing tall, shielding and protecting Gwyn.

Gwyn knows she is safe with Mor and Balthazar nearing them, yet fear clutches at her heart, a vice of dread tightening its grip with every step they take closer to them.

"If you want to keep your cocks, I would advice you to get lost," Mor says, her tone carrying lethal warning and it truly makes one or the other male take a step backwards, but not all of them — one, if Gwyn remembers correctly, of the name Otto, stays close. He is sneering, his expression absolutely unbothered. He moves closer, but—

Finally Balthazar is here, and steps forward, his broad frame creating an imposing appearance. With clenched fists, he confronts Otto, his voice laced with a simmering anger and a hint of wrath.

"Enough of this nonsense," he says, his voice a low growl. "Leave the females alone!"

Otto smirks defiantly. "Or what, pretty boy? You gonna make us, Balti?"

He shouldn't have said that and everything after it happens quite fast. Balthazar's eyes flash with a dangerous fire as he delivers a swift, unexpected punch to Otto's jaw. His siphons glow, radiant and bright, as power manifests and fills his entire being.

He is fuelled by worry and anger and this is a dangerous combination.

The impact is met with a crack, and a chorus of gasps sounding from around them. Otto stumbles backward, clutching his throbbing face, his ego shattered. "Fucker," he breathes, his lip bleeding.

Gwyn's eyes widen in shock, watching Balthazar's strength, his rage. His anger poignant and strong, emanating from his very core.

The Illyrian males who once sneered and taunted now exchange nervous glances and fall silent, and they slowly retreat, their feet fully on their own accord moving.

"And now get the fuck out of my eyes, and if you ever as much as look at Lady Gwyneth or Lady Morrigan again, I will do much worse things than punch your ugly face."

His jaw is clenched and Gwyn can see both the anger but also a hint of shame passing over Balthazar's face. Not only a hint. Shame nearly outrules his anger when he looses a breath.

She knows that violence is not like him, that getting physical is not like him, and she knows it is something that will plague him for a while. But he saved her, saved them in this moment, he became a protector and an enormous amount of gratitude and thankfulness fill her.

Balthazar turns to them, his anger slowly. He extends a reassuring hand to Gwyn, his voice softening. "Are you two alright?"

Gwyn is shaking a little, her voice trembling. "Thank you," she whispers, and lets her hand slide into Balthazar's, his warm touch bringing her comfort.

And it is vice versa. He needs her touch right now, needs to know that he did not scare her with his rage. He needs her comfort now, just as much as she needs his.

The males are gone, slowly disappearing behind huts and tents in the distance. And so relief starts to settle over them, slowly.

Balthazar knows his rationality left him the moment he saw Gwyn and Morrigan being approached by Otto and the others, every restraint of not using violence was unleashed and he saw red. These males were going to scare and threaten Gwyn, one of the most important people in his life, and he was not going to let this happen. And yet, despite knowing he did the right thing, shame and regret gnaw on him. He used violence. He really did it, letting anger and worry get the best of him.

Balthazar feels empty, sad and like he ruined everything — what will Gwyn think of him? Will she understand, will she forgive him for using violence, will she see him differently now?

But her hand is still in his, holding it tightly, and it gives him a little assurance that she will forgive him and understand.

After checking two times that Gwyn is fine, Morrigan sets out for Emerie's hut, now that Gwyn is safe with him.

But is she really?

He was violent, delivered a punch that made Otto's jaw crack? Can he be trusted? These thoughts gnaw on Balthazar and make his gut twist, nausea making the content of his stomach sour.

"You did the right thing," Gwyn says, her voice barely above a whisper. She glances up at the Balthazar when they stop at his door, her eyes wide open, and in them empathy. "You saved us, protected us. Violence is not the answer, and for a moment I was a little shocked about your anger, but I don't see you differently now, Balthazar. I know why you did it. Why you acted like that."

Her voice is comforting and soothing, and so is the brush of her thumb over the back of his hand.

"I scared you."

"You did not scare me." Gwyn tugs at his hand. "The males scared me. You…I think I was only a little shocked when I saw the rage on your face, not having seen you like this before. I have never seen you so angry, so outrageous. But, you did not scare me, you would never scare me."

Her face conveys nothing but sincerity.

"I punched him."

"I know." Gwyn holds his gaze. "And I also know why you did it."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"I know you are not like this—normally you are not like this. I know that you would choose everything but violence if possible. I know that you have a good heart, Balthazar, and that regret now gnaws on you. I can see it in your eyes." She takes a step closer to him. "And I know that under different circumstances you would not hurt someone. You are good, and you have a good heart, don't forget that." To make her point even clearer, Gwyn leans in and presses a soft kiss to his chest, then smiles up at him. "But for as long as you don't realise it yourself, I'll keep reminding you of it."

Balthazar smiles and opens the door, leading her inside. He feels enormously grateful to have her, and in this moment her words truly ease the tension inside of him. He is not violent, and she knows this. But when it comes to her safety…there is little he wouldn't do in order to protect her.

He shakes the thoughts away and focuses back on the moment. This is the first time she is actually really in hut, and suddenly Balthazar feels a little self-conscious. His home is so small, so old and meagre. She lives in Velaris and is used to other things…But Balthazar gathers that Gwyn is not one to care about things like this, not one to care a lot about luxury. But still he feels like he wants to present to her something else. Something better.

"Gwyneth," he whispers. With her he often finds himself at a loss of words. "Welcome to my home."

Gwyn marvels at what is presented to her — this place is nothing but self-made and handcrafted beauty. Everything is probably done by himself and Gwyn is more than astonished. When he showed her his woodcrafting space they only quickly looked into his place, but now she can see it fully, and it is amazing. "You did all of this yourself?"

"Most of it," Balthazar hums. "The bed is not self-made." His gaze moves to the bed and he immediately regrets mentioning it. His bed is shabby, old and tiny. But it will have to do for the night — for Gwyn. He will sleep on the couch, of course.

How it works with the wings is a question for future Balthazar, but Corrian had made it work in the past as well and so it will be fine…

"But the table?" Gwyn asks, seemingly ignoring the bed. "Self-made, yes." Gwyn walks over to it, crossing the small distance to the kitchen, and letting her fingers dance over the smooth surface. "Beautiful."

"Are you talking about yourself?"

Gwyn spins around, grinning from one ear to the other. "You are incredibly cheesy, Balthazar Attas." She reaches her hands out to him. "But you are lucky I love it a lot." When he finally moves closer to her, his hands land on the table beside her hips, her rear resting against the edge of the table.

"I missed you," Gwyn mumbles, meeting his gaze. Balthazar leans in and kisses her cheek. His lips do not leave her skin when he draws in her scent, his mouth slowly descending to hers. "I am sure I missed you more."

There is something about him…It wakens a fire and a desire inside of Gwyn, she has never felt before. She feels how something in her core tightens at his touch, his closeness. How her lids grow heavy, how her toes curl at his raspy voice, how she longs for his touch, wants to feel his hands all over her, and also…in places she used to be so afraid to be touched ever again.

She is still not free of worry, but when it comes to Balthazar she has given him her full trust. She knows he will never hurt her, will never touch her if she doesn't like it. Just like in this very moment, where he keeps his hands on the table, close enough so his thumbs brush her hips, but not too close to make her feel captivated.

And Gods…these hands. They are broad and veiny, and despite his woodcrafting and all his handy work neat and clean.

"What are you thinking about?" Balthazar asks.

And, damn him, Gwyn thinks. When did his voice turn so hoarse and raspy, sending shivers down her spine, and making her knees feel wobbly.

"You," she answers honestly, and in order to not have to elaborate, she kisses him, her eyes closing the moment her lips touch his.

The kiss for a while, their souls are dancing, singing within their chests, finally reunited, glowing.

"I am a fucking lucky male, you know this?" Balthazar smiles lazily.

"You are?" Gwyn grins.

"I am with you, with the most beautiful female in Prythian, so I definitely am." Balthazar lets his thumb brush over Gwyn's in freckles covered cheeks. "But also for the fact that…you as a High Fae would even look at me…I am only an Illyrian brute."

Gwyn furrows her brows and pokes his chest. "First of all, you are no brute. You are way to soft and kind to be a brute." She kisses him. "And secondly, I am not High Fae."

That surprises Balthazar and he straightens up. "Enlighten me?"

"I am ¼ River- nymph." She glows, her skin and eyes do. And Balthazar is more than surprised.

"My grandmother was a river-nymph that seduced a High Fae from the Autumn Court."

"You never fail to surprise me, Gwyneth. Now tell me everything about what it is like to be a River-nymph."

Later, when they eat together, they still can't tear their eyes away from the other. Gwyn takes her last bite, and with a voice fully of sympathy, she says, "I know what it feels like…having to deal with people like that one male, Otto. Having to work around them. Having to exist in space where they are always somewhere around."

Balthazar raises a brow, a sense of protectiveness filling him immediately.

"There is a priestess in the Library, Merrill, she is very…mean. To me. To the other priestesses." Gwyn lowers her gaze, not wanting to use bad words to describe her, so mean will have to do. Merrill has experienced bad things herself, and Gwyn doesn't want to talk rudely about her.

"But don't worry, Nesta has taken care of her." Gwyn smiles when she lifts her gaze.

Balthazar immediately reaches for her, taking her hand into his. "If you need me—" "I will get you, and you can take care of her as well. But for now, Nesta has dealt with the situation." She smiles and Balthazar reluctantly dips his chin, finding comfort in the knowledge of Nesta protecting Gwyn in Velaris.

Flipping their intertwined hands over, Gwyn lifts them to her mouth and kisses Balthazar's knuckles. "I enjoy your closeness and also your touch a lot."

He frees his hand from her hold, only so he can brush a strand of copper hair behind her pointed ear, his finger tips trailing over her freckled face. "I am very glad you do." Balthazar hums, eyes focused on hers. "But if I ever do something, ever touch you where you don't want to be touched, if I ever touch you when you don't wan to, you'll let me know."

Gwyn leans into his touch and smiles. "I will."

They keep eye-contact, simply looking at each other for a long moment. "I was thinking…"

"That is always good," Gwyn quips, and has to giggle.

She steals a laugh from Balthazar who shakes his head at her. "Gwyneth," he drawls, voice dropping at least an octave and once again the desire returns to Gwyn, filling her body with damp heat.

"You can have the bed and I sleep on the couch?" He slowly gets up, gathering both plates so he can carry them to the sink. It is already late in the evening and they have talked for a long time, he can sense her tiredness, although she tries hard to not let it show.

"I was thinking as well." Gwyn follows him to the sink. She leans against it and looks at him.

"That is always good," he mimicks her earlier comment. Gwyn fights the urge to roll her eyes at him, but then does so anyway.

"Balthazar." He grins and reaches out his hands to rest them on her hips. "Apologies. Go on."

She tips her chin. "Can we…I think, I think I am ready…I would like to try and share a bed with you?"

Balthazar's eyes widen, knowing his bed is so small, and he only has one good blanket and one good pillow. But he nods, slowly, very slowly.

"I am ready for it, and I would love to fall asleep in your arms. If I don't like it, or if—" "I can always move to the couch and give you space."

Gwyn nods, her heart swelling with gratitude and happiness. "And I would need some pyjamas."

Balthazar chuckles. "I could ask my sister if she—" "I would like one of your shirts." She is beaming, bouncing on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. She has been so excited to come her, she simply forgot to bring pyjamas. Or anything basically. She was just thinking about Balthazar and…well, just about him.

Balthazar's face lights up, but then—

He pushes off the sink, heading for the dresser at the opposite wall. The thought of Gwyn…in just one of his shirts definitely sent blood rushing to a very indecent place of his body and he had to get away, filling his thoughts with other things…like his tiny bed. But then…Damn him!

He will be pressed against her the whole entire night, and—

"I hope this is fine?" Balthazar fishes out a dark shirt, holding it up and then passing it to Gwyn. "It is perfect!" She grins as she takes it in her hand.

Five minutes later, when Gwyn changes in his small bathroom, she gathers that it is truly perfect. And it smells so deliciously like him, like he is wrapped around her, the fabric so smooth and—

It has too large slits at the back!

Gwyn has to giggle, thinking about how his wings fit through those slits. And in an instant, she blushes furiously. Her thoughts wander to what Mor has said. God…her desire is growing, a feeling she isn't used to. But nothing will happen this night, she is not ready. The desire is there, but it is not enough yet. Desire will never be enough for her. She needs more than that, more than passion and lust, to really give her body to a male.

When she returns to his room, Balthazar has lit the fire place, providing warmth for the night and has also changed.

Gods!

Those loose fitting sleeping pants should be forbidden…they leave absolutely nothing to imagination and almost feel like a sin to look at.

He sits down on the bed, and pats the spot beside him, large wings draped behind him on the mattress. Gwyn follows his beckons and sits down beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. "Are you really ready? You don't have to do this for me. Remember, I would wait five hundred years for you. A thousand years if you want it."

Gwyn places her hand on his thigh and turns her head to kiss his shoulder. He is wearing a sleeveless shirt, and although his body is nothing but hard and corded muscles, his skin is so smooth and soft.

"I am not doing this for you. I am doing this for us. And…I am doing this for me. I want a normal life, without fear and worry. I want a life where I want things, and where I can have things I like and desire. Where I can enjoy simple pleasures. I want this. I want you. I want to feel your arms around me tonight, your body pressing against mine because you bring me comfort, Balthazar."

Gwyn kisses his shoulder again. "You…whenever I am with you I feel safe, my whole body feels fully at ease, like I can let go and just live and enjoy every second without a moment of worry or fear."

She inhales deeply. "When I am with you, I feel alive."

Balthazar can only kiss her, knowing his actions will speak louder than his words ever could. In this moment, when tears started to build up in his eyes, he just has to show her how much she means to him.

"Gwyneth," he whispers, "you make me feel alive. You make me feel seen and valued."

He kisses her softly, but pours all and everything, into it. Everything he feels for her, his whole heart and soul.

Without much conversation passing between them, Balthazar lets Gwyn climb onto the bed and get comfortable. She claims the place on the left side, slides beneath the fresh sheets (the good sheets he brought out just for her this morning) and lies down on the soft pillow, leaving enough room for Balthazar to get into bed as well.

He is hesitant at first, but then, careful of everything he does, claims the spot beside her. His wings hang over the edge of the bed, draped on the floor, but it is perfect.

Gwyn reaches for his arm, pulling it around her under the blanket, shifts backwards a bit so her back is against his front and Gods, does this feel good. And right.

"We fit perfectly," she hums.

"We do." Balthazar kisses her cheek.

Their bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, finding solace in the other's presence. Soft moonlight filters through the curtains, the crackling of the fire in the fire place the only sound audible.

Balthazar wraps his arm tighter around Gwyn, pulling her in closer, and she snuggles deeper into his embrace. Their fingers find each other's, intertwining with a gentle, almost hesitant touch and also their breaths sync. "This feels so good."

"I've never felt any better." He lets his head rest in the crock of her neck, her hair scattered all over his face, but he couldn't care less, as long as he can relish in her scent and the feel of her soft skin against his.

The world outside the hut fades away, leaving only the warmth of their bodies and the soft crackling of the fire behind. And slowly, both their eyes grow heavy with tiredness and they start to drift of in a peaceful slumber. And with them both lost in the endless world of the their dreams, the Mother lets her magic sing, their bonds glowing so vividly and brightly it fills their chests with warmth and light, making their bodies meld and become one.

~~~~~~~

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