#oc: fiona | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

abysskeeper · 11 months ago

Text

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: T

Pairing: Wyll/F!Tav

Summary: There was something deeply intimate and inherently special in finding a perfect dance partner for yourself, someone who was completely synchronized with you and your movements, who could make up for your faults, and who trusted you to do the same for them. Wyll had spent the better part of seven years trying to recapture the feeling, and staring at her now, he understood why he never succeeded.

***

Late one evening on the road to Baldur's Gate, Wyll is pulled away from camp by the sweet sounds of a violin. The woman he finds playing is familiar; unfortunately he had hoped to never see her again.

(Extension/cleanup of this)

The late evening air was crisp with a growing chill, one that promised a cold night ahead of them. There was also a relative silence hanging around the camp, suggesting a quiet night compared to the usual atmosphere that closed out the day. It was almost always assured something was occurring in their camp at day’s end, be it revelry, arguments, dueling practice, or preparations for the following day, but tonight most of their party had already taken refuge from the cold and settled into their bedrolls, snugly protected from the approaching freeze. Aside from himself, only two remained outside to greet the night.

Karlach sat tending to the fire on first watch and reading an adventure novel Astarion had found during the day’s travel. The vampire claimed he would never read such juvenile nonsense, but no one missed how his eyes lit up when he found the book and “surreptitiously” squirreled it away for later. Wyll also hadn’t missed the way he animatedly explained the premise to an interested Karlach when she later asked about it after they had set up camp.

For what it was worth, Karlach appeared rather invested as well, given she had gotten a little less than half-way through the book in the few hours since she started reading it. If anything, it was probably even more by now considering it had been a while since he had left her by the fire. He couldn’t blame her, any tale of Drizzt Do’Urden was an enthralling one, no matter how real or imagined it might have been. Any other night, and he probably would have asked her which part she was at and been glad to discuss it.

Yet, even Drizzt was not as enthralling to Wyll tonight as the other individual who was still awake. It wasn’t too long after the others had retired to their tents for the evening that the peaceful silence was broken by the sweet, melodic strumming of strings carried on the night’s cold breeze. Their fearless not-quite-leader had taken up residence at the very edge of camp, practicing a performance he knew she already knew by heart.

Usually, one of their friends asked Fiona to regale them with her music for at least part of the evening before everyone dispersed to finish off their night however they pleased. But the cold won out tonight, and when no one asked, she refused to intrude. In her own words, she didn’t want to be one of “those bards,” the kind who “overstayed their welcome” and “didn’t know when to shut up.” Personally, Wyll found it hard to believe anyone would ever be annoyed with her music, given how beautiful and enchanting it—she—was, but he respected the sentiment. Thus, when she still felt the urge—as she apparently did tonight—Fiona tended to find a secluded spot for herself away from camp and proceeded to play to her heart’s content.

It was always an open invite if anyone wished to join her, and after the initial awkwardness of their group starting to travel together, usually at least one other person sat with her to watch. Admittedly, more often than not he was that one person, though he was regularly joined by Gale and/or Karlach. With Karlach as invested in her book as she was though, and with Gale determined to keep out of the cold, Wyll was the only one who followed the soft melody that was floating through the air to the other side of camp.

When he finally made his way over, he found a decently sturdy log to quietly sit down on and enjoy her playing, not wanting to disturb her mid-song. The cold bit harder now that he was further away from the fire, but he found he rarely minded the bite much anymore after Mizora’s punishment. Granted, he doubted he would have noticed it at all now regardless of his physical status, given how quickly he was enraptured simply by watching her perform.

Fiona moved gracefully under the light of the half-moon, her feet gliding through the steps of a well-rehearsed dance, and her delicate fingers pulling the bow across the strings of her violin. She hummed the lilting tune of a well-known bard song as she danced and played, all with a pleasant, idyllic smile on the face that lingered in every sweetest, childhood memory he held—a face he never thought he would be displeased to see.

A face that was not quite her own.

It hadn’t occurred to him that she would fall back to this façade when they reached Baldur’s Gate, but Wyll acknowledged it unfortunately made too much sense. The half-elf before him was undeniably beautiful—lithe frame, pale skin and hair glittering in the cold moon’s glow, and eyes (enchanting silver-blue eyes that still penetrated to his core) closed with the bliss of the music—and one who would easily draw a crowd with her appearance alone, but she was not Fiona.

It was not her fully anyways and he felt the stirrings of dissatisfaction in his heart. It was a shame she still felt the need to hide despite all they had been through and all that still remained before them. Despite all the good she had already done wearing her own face and despite every word she had earnestly given him to ease his own concerns.

“Stop distracting me. I can feel your stare like the point of your rapier.”

Her words, kept in perfect rhythm and pitch to the melody she hummed, pulled Wyll from his musings. A moment later, her feet stopped a hand went to her hip, causing her violin bow to stick out comically behind her. Those silver blue eyes pierced him with a combination of false accusation and twinkling humor. It was a look so achingly familiar from all the times she had teased him in their youth, and yet it still did not hit him quite as hard as all the times she had teased him since their paths collided again at the Grove.

Perhaps he was scrutinizing her a touch too much—Fiona never minded an audience, much less enough to stop what she was doing and pointedly tell someone to stop looking at her—but…well, he would not deny her current appearance troubled him some. It troubled him more than he expected, if only because it was so utterly unnecessary.

“That is hardly my intention,” Wyll chuckled and put his hands up in appeasement. “Though, it does not bode well if one adoring fan is enough to drive you to distraction.” He let the statement linger as his eyes roamed over her again. “Especially when I am merely wondering at the…necessity.”

Fiona scoffed and rolled her eyes. “The necessity is in the fact that I am the only one who remembers what having an actual job is like,” she pointed out. That was true, most everyone in their party were not used to common jobs. “If we do not wish to sleep in the cold for our entire duration at Baldur’s Gate—and I, for one, do not—then we need coin.”

Her posture relaxed, though he noticed her shoulders slumped as her arms fell to her sides. “It’s just…” She looked down at herself, twirled once under the moonlight, and shook her head. “…It’s just been a while since I’ve had to focus on so much during a performance. I figured I needed a night or two to remember how to slot everything into place before I go back to busking.”

There it was, and it helped Wyll figure out what was at the root of his issue with her appearance. She always looked so free while playing, music had always been her one respite, he knew that. Under this guise though, none of that freedom was there. She was graceful and well-practiced, but every movement was concentrated upon and concisely planned out. Every step, every pluck of the string, every lyric from her mouth, was weighted down with the heaviness of an active decision. It held none of the joy and freedom of the bard he knew giving herself completely to the craft she loved.

“That is the necessity to which I’m referring, my love,” Wyll said softly.

After a beat, he rose and moved to stand in front of her. The moment he reached his hand out towards her, her disguise spell dissipated, revealing the true appearance of the young woman beneath it. He brushed her silvery blonde hair away from obscuring her face before trailing his fingers over the pale blue skin of her cheek and down the cut of her jaw, urging those eyes he so adored to look back at him—one silvery blue and one drow red.

“I understand,” he murmured.

Gods, he understood now more than ever. The world around them could be cruel in their judgments based on the snap decisions and prejudices formed around appearances. Yet, other people were nothing in comparison to the inner voice of your own mind. He knew he would have spiraled much further than he did after he was punished if not for the woman standing before him and her words of wisdom and comfort. It broke his heart when he finally realized why she could speak so succinctly to his tangled emotions and cut straight to his soul.

She hid herself for so much of her life, and she was only now blooming into who she wanted to be. It cracked his heart again to watch her return to hiding.

“Believe me, I understand,” Wyll continued, recognizing he was probably the only one amongst their group who did, truly understand. In the same way she was the only one who understood his own transformation. “But for your sake, I wish you did not feel the need to hide,” he sighed. “I wish that you could trust the world enough to show the heart I know without hiding the face I love.”

Fiona stared up at him for a moment before leaning into his touch with a sigh. She flashed him a small, sad smile. “Old habits die hard,” she shrugged weakly. “Besides, that face will generate significantly more coin than the face you love.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” he refuted. “The face I love is as beautiful as the moon and stars hanging in the sky above us now. And regardless, the skill and beauty of a bard’s song is irrefutable no matter whose lips it is coming from,” he added with a growing smile. His hand slid down enough to trace his thumbs over her lips. “Even if they are the loveliest pair of lips I have ever known.”

She rolled her eyes again, but he felt her grin beneath his thumb as much as he saw it lighting up her face, and it belied her annoyance entirely. Fiona took a step back, slipping out from under his touch, only to rise up on the tips of her toes and lean back into him. He was all too happy to meet her in the middle and accept the soft kiss she pressed to the corner of his mouth. “If only the world had half the heart you do,” she whispered as she pulled away.

He smiled at the echo of his own words. “It is kinder than you believe,” Wyll responded quietly. “At my darkest moment, you were the one who proved that to me.”

Her eyes softened and she granted him another, gentle smile that only served to melt him more. “I will admit that I have been considering it,” she said after a few moments of comfortable silence. “Well…debating it, really, since we left for the city. Maybe it is time to drop the act,” she admitted. “I want to be a woman of my word after all, and…” She gave him a once over before meeting his gaze sheepishly. “Well…”

“It would greatly contradict all you have said to me if you maintained the act?” he supplied for her.

“Right,” she agreed and blew out a breath. “Besides, I know we have a lot more to worry about than my appearance, and I really shouldn’t be wasting that much energy maintaining a façade that isn’t necessary. Just…” Her eyes turned towards the horizon, towards where they would be resuming their travels in the morning. Towards Baldur’s Gate. “Words are easy for me. Sometimes it’s the action that’s hard.”

A dash of sympathy shot through him, words were always easier to say than living by their meaning, but she was one of the most honest people he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. That she was even worrying about something as insignificant as not being true to the words of comfort she spoke to him was only added proof of it, and she had no reason to concern herself over it. He knew every kind word she offered him was nothing but the fullest truth, just like he knew it was far harder to apply those words to yourself than the one you love.

Wyll reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “You won’t be alone, just as I will not be alone,” he promised. “No one in this camp would stand for anything being said against you, and yes, that includes Astarion.” That earned him a laugh, at least. “And you know I will never, never leave your side.”

Fiona hummed in agreement, her free hand reaching up to pat his. “I know. It’s a help, believe me,” she said and pulled his hand to her lips. She leaned forward, brushing a few light kisses over his knuckles while keeping her eyes steadily on his. “I still have this foolish notion that with you at my side, there’s nothing I can’t do,” she admitted with a breathy laugh.

“Hardly a foolish notion, my love,” he said and squeezed her hand. “If I give you the confidence to take on the world, it is the least I can do.”

She hummed again and smiled at him. Wyll was content in the moment to just gaze back at her, but as the seconds ticked on, her smile grew increasingly playful and a mischievous light he recognized all too well sparked to life in her eyes.

“Of course, that does mean I need to assure you can keep up with me,” she declared.

His brow rose in question. “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

Her smile formed into a full-on grin. “If you’re to remain at my side for a performance…” That was not what he meant in the slightest, but he had a sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going. “…You need to keep up,” she shrugged. “I know, I know, you have your years of experience with that stuffy nobility fluff you call dancing, but that hardly translates to a tavern performance and a rowdy crowd.”

She stepped back from him and repositioned her violin, ready to play once more. “I’ll have to give you an assessment or two before we do anything in front of a crowd, of course. Think of it as a practice round before we get to the city.”

Ah, he understood that proposition. She wanted to dance, on her terms this time. “Who am I to deny you?” Wyll asked with a laugh. “Though, I’ll have you know I am well-versed in the art of the tavern dance as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Fiona shot back, smirking. “I think it’s about time you prove it then, Fancy Feet,” she teased, and didn’t give him another chance to respond before she started playing again.

He instantly recognized the song as being the same one she was playing earlier when he first joined her. It was the exact same performance, and yet this time was…different. Her movements were significantly less calculated and her voice significantly brighter and clearer. When she wasn’t being weighed down by her own façade, her performance was effortless and as natural to her as breathing, and she was every bit the visage of the girl he fell head over heels in love with in his youth: nearly weightless and completely free.

In the back of his mind, he knew he was only lending credence to her perception of his lack of skills while he remained rooted to his spot. That was hardly a good start, but it couldn’t be helped. He could not even fathom commanding his leg to take a step forward, all he could do was watch in awe as she captivated him once more with the way she moved under the light of the moon.

Fiona was a dream, as she always was. Her eyes rivaled the stars in how they glittered now, and they never once strayed from him as she moved in perfect rhythm to the song. Even when she spun away from him, her gaze snapped back to him, waiting for him to accept her invitation. Her shoulders were set straight to hold her violin steady, but her hips were fluid as they swayed with her movements to the music, and her feet carried her lightly, barely touching the ground as she danced. Her blinding smile was the only enticement he ever needed, and her voice—gods, her voice was his own personal siren song, one he would all too happily drown in.

Wyll was not an incredibly spiritual man, admittedly. He knew what was necessary—what he was taught—of the gods, but not much beyond that. He did not put much stock or faith into their worship, having seen and experienced how little they did for their people in need. Given that, he knew even less of the Dark Seldarine pantheon, but in that moment, he was certain he was witnessing the beauty of the Dark Dancer before him. Fiona was not one for the gods either, he knew that, but he would swear on his life she had earned Eilistraee’s favor somewhere in her time. She was beautiful, ethereal in a way no set of words would ever be able to properly convey, and most importantly, she did it all properly: freely and happily with her own face.

Eilistraee’s blessing was the only explanation for the exquisite display he was granted the pleasure of observing. It was the only explanation for the love he felt overflowing from his heart as he watched her.

Wyll only shook himself from his stupor when Fiona paused the song altogether and shot him a look, brow raised in question, before beckoning him to join her with a jerk of her head and a smile. Unable to contain his own grin, he waltzed over to her and placed an arm around her waist. Her face instantly softened from teasing to comfortable and content, and she started the song back up, expertly cautious in her playing so as not to hit him while she pulled her bow across the strings. Her enjoyment was infectious, and without a conscious thought his voice joined her as he danced with her, bouncing and twirling around her in time with her footwork.

She was right—she had always been right—that the less formal dancing of the streets and taverns was much different than the ballrooms he grew up in. There were no true rules for him to fall back on, or none that he committed to memory at least, but that hardly mattered. It was far less about the rules of the performance and much more about having fun. Any “mistakes” were easily covered for and incorporated into the dance as a whole, making each experience unique.

Fiona took the few stumbles he made at the start in stride. She followed him left when he should’ve stepped right, twirled around him when he realized a moment too late there definitely was not a spin at that particular part, and took a moment to dance solo when he altogether forgot what one section entailed before coaxing him back in with ease. She never faltered, and never gave him anything other than a gentle smile and gleaming eyes when he messed up; she led him subtly, but with just as much grace as she had when she followed him in the cursed lands of Reithwin, and it was as easy as breathing to fall into a rhythm with her the longer the song went on.

There was something deeply intimate and inherently special in finding a perfect dance partner for yourself, someone who was completely synchronized with you and your movements, who could make up for your faults, and who trusted you to do the same for them. Wyll had spent the better part of twelve years trying to recapture the feeling after the first time she took his hand on the sandy banks of the Chionthar and taught him how to "really dance” when his first attempt at the formality of ballroom dancing left her less than impressed. He hadn’t even been old enough to truly understand what he experienced that day, most of his emotions—aside from his awe at the pretty girl dancing with him and how much fun it was—were beyond him.

By the time the years forced him to wise up, it was already too late. He had made his choice for Baldur’s Gate and had been cast out for it, left with no way to contact her and a fear lodged in his heart that prevented him from ever even daring to try. Of course, he never succeeded in finding anyone else either. Staring down at her now as she finished the song—her eyes twinkling up at him as he held her tucked against him, both of their chests heaving with the effort and grinning like fools at each other—he knew he could only ever create this specific feeling with the woman in his arms.

It had only ever been Fiona.

“Alright,” she breathed out, breaking the silence surrounding them. Her face was slightly flushed with the exertion, but her smile only grew on her lips. “Maybe I had no reason to be concerned.”

“Only maybe?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she repeated, voice light with teasing doubt. She took a step back and set her violin down before she appraised him, her eyes slowly traveling down his figure and then back up. Her grin turned mischievous again when her gaze finally traveled back to his. “Who knows? It could’ve been a fluke.”

“A fluke?” Wyll asked, doing his best to sound insulted. “You believe a performance like that was a fluke?”

“I am merely suggesting,” she shrugged and bit her lip to poorly conceal a giggle. “People get lucky, you know?” she said with another shrug. “Or they overexert the first time and then can’t repeat it, never quite reaching the same level of energy and passion.”

Oh, she was playing with him. He recognized it easily but was all too happy to play along. “You believe I don’t have an enduring energy and passion for dancing?” Wyll asked, stepping closer to her.

“I know you do for a certain type of dancing,” she said. Not backing down, she tilted her head to look up at him with a smirk. “I just don’t know if you do for this type or not.”

“So, you wish to test my energy and passion?”

She bit her lip again to keep from grinning too wide as her eyes narrowed up at him in challenge. “Maybe.”

Wyll grinned, beaming enough for both of them, and accepted the challenge readily. He grabbed her by the waist again and pulled her close, just as they had been moments prior, though this time he locked his lips over hers in a searing kiss instead of allowing her golden voice to soar through the night’s air. A rumble of a laugh caught in her throat as Fiona leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him even closer while deepening the kiss. He groaned against her when she opened her lips to him, and quickly confirmed hers was still the sweetest taste he had ever experienced, the only one he needed to get drunk on and one he never wished to relinquish.

Her need for breath forced Fiona to pull away first, and he gazed down at her in his arms with a soft, self-satisfied smile. “Does that assuage your worries regarding my energy and passion?” Wyll asked, a playful lilt coloring every word.

“Hm…” Fiona mumbled in thought. Her half-lidded eyes stared up at him, slightly hazy with unspoken desire, and she matched his smile with one of her own. “I…think I could use a little extra reassurance, actually.”

He was hoping she would say that. Quick to acquiesce, Wyll leaned forward and kissed her again. This time, his hands moved up her back to support her and he dipped her low. A small gasp escaped her as he maneuvered them, and her fingers dug lightly into his neck for support. Grinning against her, he gave a small nip to her bottom lip and then took the opportunity to make his move. Fiona pulled back just soon enough to let out one, sharp shriek before he pulled her to fall on top of him and they both tumbled to the ground in a fit of giggles.

“Really?!” she asked in between laughs. “Was that necessary?”

“That is what you get for insinuating such a grand performance was a fluke,” he answered, triumphant.

Fiona rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine, fine…whatever,” she huffed and rolled off of him. She didn’t go far, however, settling on her back next to him and staring up at the stars. She let out a sigh, and he looked over at her to see her expression softened into something much fonder than their teasing flirts.

“Honestly though, I think that was the most fun I’ve had since waking up on the Nautiloid,” she admitted.

“Me too,” Wyll agreed. “Though…your indulgence of me in Reithwin is also a strong contender.”

“Ah yes of course, you and your stuffy ballroom dancing,” she said with another roll of her eyes.

“Now, if I recall and am not being too presumptuous, you quite enjoyed yourself that night as well,” he said and smirked. “Especially after we finished dancing.”

“Yeah…well…” She sighed dramatically. “A girl can only wait so long before she starts losing her mind.” He glanced over to see her pouting at him, and he couldn’t help another chuckle. Fiona held the expression for a moment longer before turning back to the stars with a laugh. “Gods, I had been dying to kiss you like that for ages.”

“Truly?” Wyll asked. There was more surprise in the tone of his voice than he actually felt at her admittance, she always made her attraction to him evident. “Even after the horns and the claws and the forked tongue and the ridges in uncomfortable places?” he pressed, unable to keep from teasing himself and his own past words.

In all honesty, he had felt the same, and the only regret he had from the tiefling party was ever letting his own self-doubts stand in the way of them being together. And she still managed to sneak a kiss in despite it all.

She grinned. “I’m still convinced half of those are to my benefit.”

Wyll snorted a laugh, and he felt another shake of laughter from the woman beside him. “I suppose one day we will have to test that in full,” he said.

“Sooner rather than later, preferably,” Fiona remarked.

“Hm.” His eyes trailed over to her; she stared back at him with an easy smile. Light, with no expectations. She was teasing him again, but he wouldn’t deny the idea had been growing more prominent in recent weeks. Not yet, but perhaps sooner than even she anticipated.

His musings of late had caused another question to start growing in prominence in his mind, however. One that he felt was more proper to ask now. “Was the wait worth it?”

“Which one?” she asked. “The seven years between you disappearing from Baldur’s Gate to us meeting again in the Emerald Grove? Or from the Emerald Grove ‘til now?”

“Either?” he shrugged. “Both.”

Fiona’s smile brightened to rival the light of the sun. He already knew her answer before she spoke. “Easily.”

And despite himself, he couldn’t help but ask, “Which one?”

“Either,” she mimicked him. “Both.” Her eyes softened to the prettiest shades of red and silver he had ever seen before she added, “You know I’d wait for you until the very end of time itself.”

“As you keep reminding me,” Wyll said.

He would not deny it was reassuring to keep hearing, though; he knew he was not the only one vying for her attention in camp at the start. He often worried his predicament and tendencies would be to his detriment, worries that persisted even after he confirmed he had a rather unfair advantage over his competition. She still chose him regardless of everything that had shifted between them though, and he had never been happier. That she was more than willing to wait for him—that she had already waited for him for years, only compounded his relief and elation.

In truth, he knew he had mountains of lost time to make up for. He figured she probably felt much the same. “Our happily ever after will not take quite so long, however,” he added. “At least, not if I have anything to say on the matter.”

Fiona smiled at him, content and serene, but said nothing else. The longer they stared at each other, drinking each other in, the easier it was for him to see the sparks in her eyes still flaring. The kind of sparks she always got when she was heavily considering something. Finally, he was compelled to ask, “What is it?”

She blinked and averted her gaze from him, a rare moment of shyness overcoming the bard. His heart fluttered in his chest, surprised but delighted at witnessing the uncommon sight of a lovely dusting of violet coloring her cheeks. After a moment, she nodded to herself and held out her pinky finger to him, asking softly, “Promise me?”

Wyll’s eyes widened and a quiet, disbelieving chuckle escaped him. This was what she was considering? How many times had they made their pinky promises to one another as children? It was as good soul-binding to the two of them, something he considered even stronger than his pact with Mizora. How long had it even been since their last one?

“I just…I’ve been thinking,” she continued. “When everything is said and done…when the elder brain is defeated and we’re free of our parasites…can we finally have our happy end?” she asked. “A hundred nights dancing under the stars, just like this? Just you—” She motioned to him. “—And just me?” she added and motioned to herself. “No world ending threats for us to stop, no titles, no disguises, no roles for us to play.”

Fiona sighed and looked away, eyes trailing to the vast expanse of stars above them. “Not forever, of course, and not permanently. I know I can’t take the Blade from you anymore than you can take the Nightrose from me,” she said. A faint smile graced her lips, as if she were amused at even the prospect of attempting to stop either one of them from doing what they loved. Neither would try.

“But…” She swallowed and turned back to him, her hair falling away from her eyes to give him a full view of her pretty face and all the sincerity in the world shining there. “I never realized how much I missed this…missed us until I finally had it back. I want to make sure that when we can, we remember to just set it all down sometimes,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “I don’t want to lose us again.”

She had no reason to search. She barely had any reason to ask at all, there was no plan that had ever sounded sweeter to his ears. He nodded emphatically as he reached out and gently hooked his pinky around hers. “Of course, Fi,” Wyll whispered solemnly, and his hand moved down to grasp hers, pulling her closer. “I can offer you something even better than that.”

He kissed her again, softer and sweeter this time to seal the promise he was agreeing to. Fiona practically melted against him as she squeezed his hand and returned the kiss. “I assure it,” he mumbled when he pulled away. “We will have a hundred nights, and then a hundred thereafter, and another hundred until we both run out of centuries.”

She sighed and settled against him with a small, relieved smile. “I’m glad. That sounds heavenly,” she agreed dreamily. “And now you have to hold true to it. Our pinky promises are unbreakable, remember.”

“I remember,” he said. He snaked his arm around her and started tracing gentle circles down her back. “I most certainly remember. I would never make such an agreement lightly.”

She hummed in response but said nothing further, her eyes slipping closed. He was content to lay there with Fiona cuddled up to his side, but he wasn’t sure he should let her drift off to slumber out in the elements. The cold was no longer a trouble to him, but she did not have his affliction, and he could only do so much. A tent would still be better for her.

Before he could gently shake her and ask if she was still awake, she spoke again, voicing his own thoughts. “It’s getting late, but gods you’re so warm,” she groaned and buried herself further into his side. “Ugh…we should both go to bed, but…” She peeked up at him as she trailed off, a hopeful looking hanging on her face. “Join me tonight?”

Wyll arched a brow at her in amusement. “Are you seeking a personal campfire for the evening?” he deadpanned.

“Oh come on, it’s already cold and it’s only going to get colder. You’ve run warm ever since Mizora, so…” she gave a half-hearted shrug. “Besides, I heard Shadowheart ask Karlach for the exact same thing earlier. It sounded like a good idea, figured I’d give it a shot.”

Despite trying to maintain an offended front, he snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Karlach was still reading by the fire. She volunteered for first watch solely to continue the book, I believe.”

“How unfortunate for our cleric friend then,” Fiona laughed. “And how fortunate I do not have to suffer the same freezing fate…unless the idea of cuddling with me all night is so unbearable for you to even entertain the idea, let alone succumb to,” she added with a sly smirk. Her eyes roved over him before she added, “You seem quite happy right now, though.”

Wyll sighed dramatically and leaned over, pressing another light kiss to her lips. “You drive a hard bargain, my love,” he said with a smile. Then he pulled away from her and got to his feet, dusting off his pants before proffering his hand to her. “Come then, I would be remiss to allow you to become an icicle when I could prevent it.”

“My hero,” she faux swooned before accepting his hand.

He pulled her up and against him in one, fluid motion and settled his arm to around her waist once more, holding her close as they started their way back to camp. He looked down at her when she started humming the opening notes to an old love song. The fondness already churning in his chest grew in intensity with each step they took, until it finally boiled over.

“Your hero is all I ever strove to be,” he mumbled under his breath before he returned his attention in front of them.

Wyll hadn’t intended for her to hear him, let alone pay him any mind. He figured she was too engrossed in the song, but her humming peeled off into warm laughter. “No need to worry about that, sweetheart,” Fiona whispered in return.

She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest and wrapping one arm around his back. “You always have been.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #wyll x tav #tav x wyll #wyll ravengard #don't mind me #my writing #the nightrose #decided I didn't like the new posting style so...back with the old #so if you saw this before...no you didn't #oc: fiona #the storm singer

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