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inquisitornocturn · 4 months ago

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𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖆 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖚𝖇𝖊𝖔, 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖔

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 4 - 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯

⫸ pairing: Cazador Szarr/f!high elf reader

⫸ tags: no y/n used etc, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, canon-typical violence, execution, decapitation, angst, fluff.

⫸ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Years pass and your meetings with Cazador remain secretive and cautious, so when you finally see him again, after spending a year away from Baldur's Gate on a military campaign, you fully expect a warm if not passionate reunion. But it's not meant to be because the man you loved for so many years comes bearing the worst news.

work contains illustrations, credit at the end

⫸ word count: 5,915

⫸ author note: I know I have delayed updating this, and it has been due to personal reasons, therefore I can't promise how soon I will update this fic again, couple months not being out of the possibilities here, but let me assure anyone interested in following this story through that I absolutely do not intend to abandon this work. It is dear to my heart and will always be so. Please do enjoy the latest chapter♡~

⫸ chapter list: [link] | on AO3

“Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you.” - Jean-Paul Sartre

1139dr

35 years later

The weight of your greatsword in your hand, so familiar, welcome, comforting. This blade has seen many battles and slayed countless opponents while being wielded with precision and skill. But right now your beloved weapon is resting its tip on the dusty ground as you stand in front of three men accused of treason. All of them you know even if not personally, but you��ve seen them around as they worked hard to rise through the ranks only to conspire against your father. Lucky for you, and entire Baldur’s Gate, that before the planned out attack could begin your father was summoned outside of the city by Elturgard’s ruler for council. An emergency in the face of approaching goblin forces, threatening to lay waste to city’s outskirts. With Duke’s permission your father left and so you remained in his stead, catching the men trying to sneak into General’s quarters.

Some hard questioning later and here they are, self-admitted traitors and insurgents. Three of them standing before wooden execution blocks in just their pants and shirts, their faces bloody and their hands tied behind them. One man you questioned so harshly he lost an eye last night and you see his form tremble from untended pain. The empty socket in his face slowly oozing blood and pus. It matters none. They won’t live to tell the tales of their agonies. Not after conspiring to murder your father in a way that came too close to how your mother was slaughtered: with knives in the dark and malicious laughter.

There are others in the courtyard too. High ranking officials within the military that you permitted to witness your judgement being passed, but no regular soldiers. This is not a spectacle, but justice for even assuming that the guilty ones could even harm General Sylven.

“Mercy.” One of them suddenly mutters and your eyes snap sharply to him.

“Mercy?” You ask while rage flares up inside of your chest, but you show none of it, not now, not when you’re being watched. If not for protocols about holding traitors, you would’ve allowed yourself much longer time with each one of them instead of just getting confessions and stopping. No, they would beg for death and not mercy if you permitted yourself to indulge in your anger.

“Please…” A pathetic whine and you see tears gathering in the man’s eyes. He cried yesterday too when your armored fist pummeled him every time he gave you an answer that wasn’t what you were looking for.

“No, no mercy.” You say loudly and your eyes flick to the side, to three loyal soldiers who now approach the traitors and make them fall to their knees. Each one of them looks down at the wooden block before them and you see emotions from fear, to utter rage. One of them appears like he can’t accept that he’s about to die.

You step closer, lifting your greatsword while your feet take you behind them. No mercy. None. For they would’ve shown none to your father either. When you announce each one of their names they flinch, no matter how tough one of them is trying to look. They say nothing, not even the whimpering one, you just notice regretful tears falling on the dirt ground in front of that one, but you feel no empathy in your heart.

With loud, practiced and commanding voice you name their crimes: treason, attempt to murder a superior, and so forth. Charges that only end with death and not a prison cell. For a moment you wonder if you should say something else, but nothing comes to mind. You don’t pray to Gods, you don’t worship idols and even if you had your own deity to put faith in – you were never the one to charge into battle while screaming your devotion. No, that won’t happen this time either.

“By the power granted to me by the Duke of Baldur’s Gate and General Sylven – I sentence you to death.” You pronounce to the deafening silence of the courtyard and lift your weapon.

With cold eyes and stern expression you swing your greatsword thrice. Three precise swings that end up with a dull thud of your blade cutting into the wooden blocks followed but a quieter thud of a head being separated from the body of a traitor and rolling onto the ground. When the execution is done you stand for a moment longer, watching the fallen, headless bodies spill blood onto the dirt, then you find a rag under your breastplate and wipe your sword with it.

“Remove them, put their heads on the spikes there.” You nod to the direction of five wooden spikes that have seen heads mounted on them for at least a century. The soldiers who assisted with the spectacle nod wordlessly and immediately follow your orders. One grabs a wicker basket to collect the heads, the other two begin to tackle first body.

You swing your sword again, pushing it into a holster on your back and turn to exit the grim painting of reality that your morning has become before you notice someone approach you. Tall, long black hair, you recognize Cazador immediately.

In your chest your heart leaps but you show none of it outwardly, just turn to him and salute, as is appropriate. Szarr heir salutes you too, but without the customary bow. You don’t mind, you are just happy to see him. You have been in Baldur’s Gate for three weeks now and you hoped that he would come to see you. Not daring to send a letter without knowing if he’s present, and not trusting that his family wouldn’t destroy it before he could see it, you just wished that the word of your return would reach him.

It seems it has.

For over three decades you communicated with him sparsely, secretly, mainly by his demand, so that his family doesn’t get in the way, hiding his relationship with you from them just in case they want to meddle with it. Eventually your father learned about you and Cazador and he wasn’t too happy, but he allowed it, yet you know you can’t expect the same grace from Lord Varitan so you accepted the secrecy.

“What a display.” Cazador says with no mirth in his voice and you immediately notice that, wondering why his mood is foul before he even spoke to you.

“It needed to be done. A lesson taught. You wish to speak? General Sylven is away.”

“I’m aware, that’s why I came to you. Yes, I’d like to speak, if you will allow me your time.”

You nod, then he nods in return.

Without another word you lead him to the office that the General usually occupies, but in his absence you take over, and you stroll towards rack for armor and weapons. First you take off your greatsword and place it there, hearing Cazador follow in and close the door behind him. His silence is strange and you don’t hear him approach you.

“Is everything alright?” You ask, briefly glancing over your shoulder, watching the elf just stand still by the two armchairs facing the desk and he just looks at you after you speak.

“We need to talk.”

“I figured that we do.” Your reply is dry, void if emotion but within your chest anxiety begins to caress the inside of your ribcage. “Let me get out of the armor then.”

Silence follows and in silence of the room you take off your armor, dread growing in your mind with each passing second. Usually Cazador pulls you to him, kisses you and telling that he missed you, claiming you as his as soon as he can. This cold indifference he’s showing right now is such a startling change that you don’t know what else to do than follow suit and match his behavior.

It takes some time to take every piece of armor from your body, but during that time Cazador doesn’t speak and you avoid looking at him. When last of the steel is on the dummy, you pull at your coat, smoothing it and turn to the man you love, knowing that whatever he came here to say today is not going to be good news.

And despite your earlier decision to stay cold just as he is, you can’t do it for a second longer. You walk to him, your hands seek for his chest. You wish to feel his beating heart under your palms once again, but before you can do that, Cazador catches your wrists and squeezes. Your eyes narrow in response because he’s not being gentle.

“What is going on.” You don’t ask, you demand to know and after a moment you pull your wrists out of his fingers.

When your eyes sweep over his face, the features that you have etched in your memory, you notice something new – earrings, two small studs that were not there when you saw him a year ago. Unfortunately, you have been on a campaign by the order of the General and that’s why your heart aches so. You missed Cazador so terribly, so why…

“Donnela has become the matriarch of family Szarr.” Cazador’s tone is void of any emotion and you pause, thinking what does that mean exactly, but you feel like you’re missing some essential pieces of this puzzle.

“What happened to your father?”

“Killed.”

You know your worry shows in your eyes but you can’t help it, so you reach for the man you love again, wanting to comfort him, but he just pushes your hands away as if he does not want you touching him and it hurts more than any wound you ever sustained in a battle. Yet you relent, pulling your arms to you, crossing them on your chest just to make sure you keep them to yourself.

“How?”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Donnela is the head of the family.”

“And that’s why you’re here?”

“Yes. I’ve come to let you know in person that whatever we had – we have to stop it. It’s not possible-“

“What?!”

Silence falls. You feel your heart thrumming in your chest, fast and sore. Cazador can see the utter shock on your face, your cool façade completely gone. On the other hand – his is still in place. The elf watches you with chilling apathy, his dark eyes moving between yours, examining your reaction, seeing how your gaze flicks to his new, humble jewelry, then back to his face. Then it sweeps over his entire appearance but there’s nothing there to explain the words that threaten to destroy half of your world in just a second.

“You can’t be serious.” You suddenly scoff, anger taking place instead of hurt and your fingers clench into fists but you still keep your arms folded on your chest.

“I’m very serious. I know this is not what you expected, but did you really believe we would have a what? Happily ever after?” Cazador sneers and your eyes widen with even more with rage. Is he… mocking you?

“So all those promises were a lie then, is that’s what you’re saying?” You hear your own voice shake from fury which you’re trying to contain within and Cazador narrows his eyes at you, his lips pulling into a travesty of a smile.

“You chose to believe them, little soldier.”

“DON’T!” You suddenly shout and it makes elf’s smile disappear in an instant, replaced by the evidence of his own emotions showing as anger. “Don’t you dare call me that again, you bastard!” You point at him. “You… You made me believe, you promised-“

“Promised what exactly?” Cazador’s eyes glance at your accusatory finger, then he raises his hand to slap it away, but you move your hand before his palm connects with your skin. “You knew there was never any real plan for us.” He smirks and rises his chin in arrogance but you can hardly believe that he means what he says.

No, you refuse to believe.

“All those nights spent together, all those words of future together, I-“

“I said them to get you spread your legs.” Words as cold as steel and your jaw drops in shock. You try to process what he’s saying, to accept that it’s exactly what he wants to say, but something suddenly clicks to you, stands out like a sore thumb. Cazador’s body language.

Yes, his face is angry, but he always was more comfortable showing fury than any other emotion. Yet his body doesn’t show the same emotion. Besides his attempt to make you move away your pointing finger he is standing in front of you still like a statue. You’ve seen him angry countless times, mocking, berating, taunting those lesser than him, those he defeated in battles, those he humiliated in fights. His words tell you that he’s treating you as a felled enemy and yet his body tells a different story. He’s not pacing, gesticulating, not trying to get in your face. No, he’s frozen in place as if afraid that the moment he moves the lie he’s been telling you will fall apart.

With pain and anger churning inside of you like two storms clashing together, you force yourself to move your hands to your sides, fists clenching, muscles trembling from strain.

“Explain to me then.” You start slowly, measuring your words with care and precision. “Tell me why Donnela becoming the matriarch suddenly means you’ve come here to tell me that the decades we shared was a lie?” You scoff, you can’t stop your face from turning into a mocking sneer of your own. “Convenient, isn’t it? A perfect excuse to stop seeing me or… a blatant lie.”

Cazador takes your words as if they are punches, not saying a word while you speak, still not moving, but you see his jaw clench tightly.

“You want it to be a lie, because then you will be able to cling to a hope that I might actually feel something for you.” He bares his teeth in an attempt of a cocky smirk, but it comes off as a pained grimace instead. He’s losing control of his emotions, you know this much.

“Or maybe you do feel something and your godsdamned mother is making you stop seeing me!” You shout and gasp when Cazador’s hand shoots up and grabs your jaw so tightly you feel like he’s going to break it.

You bare your teeth at him, grabbing at his wrist and trying to pry it away. Pain is dulling your mind for a second, but you watch the tall elf lean over you now, his long black hair slipping off his shoulders and framing his face like two silk curtains.

“DO NOT-“ Cazador starts with loud, threatening voice then as if catching himself, he lowers the tone and hisses. “Do not call her my mother.” Venom and a promise of agony is in every word if you don’t comply makes you stop breathing. That look he only reserves for enemies, that look that makes even the toughest men shake in their boots, that look… is finally cast upon you.

And you meet his unforgiving eyes with a frown, with taunt muscles and determination to not buckle under the pressure he’s applying. You remember to breathe and inhale through your clenched teeth, digging your nails into Cazador’s skin, making his eye twitch ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move, not yet at least.

“You are telling me that…. That that woman became the ruler of your family and you suddenly decided it’s over for us?” You begin in a voice that’s barely above a whisper and Cazador’s narrows his eyes even more, until they become just dark slits in his face. “You’re telling me that you strung me along for literal decades only to ditch me now. Tell me.” You swallow dryly. “Do you really feel nothing for me? Nothing at all?”

You dread to hear the answer. In a way – you don’t even want to hear it because he was right when he said that you want to hope that he loves you the way you love him. But you know that you have to know the truth. He came here for a reason, he came here to break your heart. Why?

At your question Cazador’s eyes remain sharp slits, a heavy moment of silence, no more than a second pass but it feels like three eternities.

“No, I don’t feel anything for you.”

For a splinter of time your whole world collapses in on its own, but then flames of fury jump with a roar within your heart. The elf sees the change immediately and he pushes your face away from him, releasing his iron-like grip from your jaw, but next second your right fist connects to the side of his face. It’s a well delivered blow and Cazador’s head snaps to the side with a wave of his hair hiding the expression on his face. Szarr stumbles one single step to the side from the impact and his hand shoots to his face.

“You wretched little whore!” You hear the threatening hiss of his words and when he begins to turn his face to you - you see one eye filled with absolute, gut-punching malice.

Your left hand deftly darts to your side and grips the dagger, unsheathing it before the elf’s fingers can even leave his face, and the moment he starts to pull himself together, you press sharp blade to his neck, your right hand poised with another promise of a punch, your knuckles white from how firmly you hold it raised.

“Not a move or I’ll bleed you like a filthy goblin on this very floor.” He hears not a threat, but a fact of death to come lest he does not obey and Cazador is smarter than to try his luck when you have the upper hand.

A trickle of blood emerges from the corner of his mouth and drips down his chin, a violent bruise already appearing under the redness where your punch landed, but he doesn’t move. To move would mean to provoke you. So he simply looks at your twisted from rage face, notices the tremble in your fist ready to strike him again and feels how tightly you are pressing the razor-sharp dagger to his neck. He swallows, waiting for you to speak.

“You used me, all this time, you used me.” Your voice shakes with anger, with pain, with agony of the soul that is not same when you lost your mother but just as devastating. “You used me.” Cazador doesn’t answer, his eyes are fixated on your face while the blood from his closed mouth keeps dripping onto his chest, disappearing into the color black of his coat. “ANSWER ME!” You shout and despite your anger, despite the absolute, destructive wrath you’re ready to unleash upon this man you gave yourself to body and soul, tears gather in your eyes.

You don’t want to cry, you refuse to cry, not now, not in front of him, but it happens anyway. Your vision blurs as your eyes fill and you clench your jaw, waiting for an answer, not even being able to see how Cazador looks at you, how the cold demeanor of his slips just a little at the sight of you right now.

“Little soldier-“

“No.” You cut him off sharply, trying not to blink lest the tears spill. You battle your raging emotions, focusing on remaining anger, focusing on righteous savagery that you’re about to unleash upon him when he answers. “Just answer me.” Yet your voice is quieter, less angry, betraying your heartbreak.

Suddenly you feel Cazador’s palm on the side of your face, warm familiar presence upon your skin and you are so surprised you blink, letting the tears finally slip down your face, but at the price of that you see the man you love clearly again. Shards of pain reflect in his gaze resting upon your face. When the crystalline drops mar your face with wet streaks, his thumb moves to wipe one of them away.

“I…” He starts, unsure how to express himself and even if he should, but seeing you like that, it’s too much even for him. All that abuse and discipline he has been subjected to all his life crumbles apart at the sight of your pain caused by him. “No… I cannot lie. Donnela…” Cazador shakes his head slightly as if chastising himself for picking the wrong words, then starts again. “You don’t understand, I can’t make you understand, but you will be in danger if I continue to see you.”

Your eyes, now betraying your fears, search his for an answer, a possible insight as to why, but there’s nothing except capitulation in Cazador’s demeanor. His shoulders relax and you feel your own arms drop lifelessly by your sides, the dagger falling to the carpet at your feet.

“Danger?” You ask, you can’t understand, you want to, you have to. “What is going on?”

Cazador sighs and rises his other hand, cupping your face with both palms and gently using his thumbs to clean your face from two more tears that you couldn’t prevent. For a moment, while he does this, Szarr avoids looking you in the eyes.

“I can’t tell you anything, you just have to accept it.”

Your wrap your fingers around Cazador’s wrists and pull them down, making him release your face, which in turn makes him look at you again.

“Cazador, you have to give me something.” You say quietly, because your rage disappeared the moment you saw defeat in the elf’s face.

He sighs and once more Cazador’s expression becomes more statuesque, more schooled and coldly performative.

“Donnela doesn’t know about us. Yet. It’s only a matter of time until she learns. You don’t realize what effort it is for me to keep Vellioth quiet for all these years, you don’t understand what I need to do to keep seeing you without endangering you.”

You blink few times, confused and relieved at the same time. After all, you got your answer – he does have feelings for you, his earlier cruel words were just a painful lie.

“What can she even do to me?” You manage with a small laugh. “I’m a soldier, a Captain, a-“

“No, you don’t understand.” He sighs and pulls his wrists out of your fingers, then uses the back of his hand to wipe away the blood from his chin, smearing most of it over his skin instead. He grimaces at the pain, showing his bloody teeth before he runs a tongue over them. “You have to accept that what I’m saying is true. Trust me, my dear, just trust me.”

“First you come here to break my heart, then you tell me to trust you. You really do think I’m a fool.” You smile bitterly and Cazador glances at you and lifts his gaze to the ceiling as if asking Gods for strength in this moment, then he sighs and looks back at you.

“Did you ever stop to think why I never spoke to you about my family before?”

“You did speak some-“

“Not to any real extent.” He interrupts you and you stop talking, then watch Cazador bend down and pick up the dagger you dropped.

He moves closer, putting it back in the scabbard at your ship and then gently grips your upper arm, guiding and seating you in the closest armchair. You still remain quiet as the elf moves the other armchair closer to yours and sits down himself. When he finally lifts his face to you again, you witness the calm expression despite the blue bruise and the swelling you left, a mark of your anger upon his body. It seems that Cazador wants to explain but he’s stalling and you’re growing impatient.

“Are you going to tell me what all of that was about? The lie, the attempt to break off our relationship, the earrings?” You can’t help and gesture at the other side of his face and Cazador seems to be slightly caught off guard as you mention the new jewelry, grimacing slightly at that.

“I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you some.”

“Then tell me some.”

He inhales, again stalling and you almost say something but think better of it and instead intertwine your fingers in your lap while Cazador’s own hands are resting on his thighs in a disciplined manner.

“My family is complicated. Let me put it this way – we brought our traditions from Kozakura and we have to… hide them in Baldur’s Gate because we would not be understood.” Cazador starts slowly, picking words with such care you haven’t seen before. You wonder if the tradition is incest or the blatant abuse you witnessed even on your first and only visit to his family home at the time.

“You know I won’t judge you for traditions even if I don’t understand them. Some families are rigorous and very strict.” You say but Cazador sighs, trying to keep his temper and sarcastic nature in check.

“It’s more than just that. It’s a family secret that we guard very carefully. And no, it’s probably not what you think at all. Nevertheless, getting close to us, without permission from head of the family is dangerous.”

“So what about Lord Varitan? Why he wasn’t a problem but Donnela is?” You try to understand, you truly do, but Cazador is leaving nothing but blanks in his story and reasoning.

“My father cared about different things than how I’m spending my leisure time.” Cazador rubs his temples for a moment, then continues. “Donnela… Donnela has always been a harsh disciplinarian. And she thinks that I will disgrace the family name.” He can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Even not counting that, she always wanted to control every aspect of my existence. My father instilled… lessons in Donnela, about how a family should be. It’s been a year since she took over the control of family Szarr and I can see her already getting… obsessive in how she wants to run things.”

You mull over his words, thinking about them. Your blurred memory of Donnela aligns with Cazador’s words. You remember her birdlike grip when she was inspecting you, how she dragged Cazador by his hair, how she screeched at him later. You can see a woman like that quickly becoming horribly unstable. She’s been seemingly hysterical decades ago already. Maybe its grief accelerating her descent into madness hidden behind utter control, or maybe it’s something else, but finally you’re starting to see why Cazador wants to keep you away from her.

“Even so, what could she even do to me if she found out we’re involved?” You hesitate for a second but reach out and take one of Cazador’s hands, squeezing it gently and he returns the gesture, but there’s no smile on his face and the serious look in his eyes does not soften.

“She has her ways. Trust me when I tell you this – you don’t want to scorn her. No matter how good of a soldier you are, no matter how protected you think you are, if she sets her malicious mind on destroying you – she might very well succeed.”

You look down at Cazador’s hand you’re holding, thinking again before you speak. All of this sounds so dramatic to you and yet you can’t shake off the feeling that it’s real danger that he’s warning you about. One you shouldn’t underestimate.

“You mentioned Vellioth.” You lift your eyes and Cazador’s shoulders visibly tense.

“He’s Donnela’s lover. It’s a long story and I don’t wish to speak of it at the moment, but Vellioth is loyal to her. Convincing him to stay quiet wasn’t easy. And while he said nothing so far, I can’t be sure how long his silence will last now that Donnela is the matriarch of the family.”

“But he doesn’t know that we’re…” You swallow dryly. “He doesn’t know that we still see each other, right? He thinks that he only saw us once and that was it?” You hear naivety in your own words and curse internally. In return you receive a grave look from Cazador who seems to have heard it as well.

“No, he intercepted one of the letters you sent to me and he put the pieces together quite easily despite our attempts to keep the tone casual. He knows.” And under his breath Cazador mutters to himself. “The bastard.”

You see at last how complicated of a situation this is and you squeeze his hand with your fingers, trying to be reassuring. Cazador’s shoulders relax again and he heaves a deep sigh.

“You understand now, don’t you?”

“But.” You start, knowing that you’re about to sound naïve again and your face betrays your feelings as you sheepishly smile at him, showing your discomfort with what you’re about to say. “Why I’m not… a good fit for you or your family?”

Cazador pauses, he looks you in the eyes as if he’s trying to comprehend what you just said, then he suddenly smiles and with free hand reaches out to tuck a stray hair from the side of your face behind your ear. The gesture is casual, but you lean into his touch before you can even realize what you’re doing.

“Yes, you’re a good fit. For any other family but mine. Because of who you are and what position you hold… that makes you an enemy. My dear, you are perceived as danger, especially with your father at the helm of Gate’s army. You have the power and means to be perceived as a threat to Donnela.”

Cazador’s words are quiet, almost soft, so is his touch as he strokes the side of your face, but you know that what he’s speaking of is the hard truth. Despite not knowing everything, you realize why exactly he’s worried. You look at your fingers holding his hand and wish things were different. For a painful second you long to be just a simple noble and that Cazador didn’t carry dark secrets of his family name, weighting on him with each step he takes on his path.

“So… what do we do?” Your voice sounds solemn even to you and Cazador slides his fingers to the underside of your jaw, lifting your face so that you look him in the eyes again.

When you do look at him again you see grim determination in his eyes, his eyebrows are furrowed, the jaw set tightly, his hand on your face doesn’t tremble.

“You, my little soldier, will remain a well hidden secret if I can help it. There will be a time when Family Rites will take place, then I won’t have to deal with Donnela anymore. But until then… I will keep you safe from her, as much as I can.”

“Cazador, we faced many dangers together, countless battlefields, innumerable enemies. Donnela can’t be worse than that, right?” Your hopefulness stems not from naivety, but from experience. What a single woman, even if she’s spearheading the family, can do to you what you haven’t overcome before? But Cazador’s expression remains darkened.

“It will do us more good if you just take my words very very seriously.”

You sigh and let your shoulders slump. Cazador sees worry and tenderness in your gaze and it makes his concern grow so much bigger. Yet he knows that he can’t just walk away from you, not anymore, not after many years of wanting no one else but you.

As his hand retreats from your face, he takes your hand that’s still holding his in both palms and the elf squeezes it reassuringly.

“We will just have to make sure that we remain cautious. That’s all I ask of you.”

When Cazador’s eyes move to your hand he’s holding, you can’t hold back. With free hand you grip the front of his coat and pull him forward, then press your lips against his. It doesn’t come as a surprise to him, instead he leans into the kiss, intensifying it, letting the full spectrum of his feelings show this way more than his words ever could. You taste blood in his mouth and tug at him just a little more, nearly pulling Cazador out of the armchair and feel him smile slightly into the kiss.

After a moment longer he leans away from you and sighs with a small smile as he looks upon your face.

“You should apologize.” You say to him and he rises his eyebrows with arrogance.

“Oh is that so? Then so should you, for the punch.”

You frown slightly, your gaze sweeping over his swollen cheek and the bruise that looks even worse than some minutes ago when you inspected it with your eyes.

“You deserved that one.”

“For trying to protect you?”

“For being an idiot.”

Cazador pauses, then laughs and releases your hand as he stands from the chair, walking to a small mirror on the wall. You watch him take out a napkin and slightly wet it with his tongue, then begin cleaning the bloodied chin.

“I will have to go now, I am expected at the palace soon.” The elf speaks while rubbing at his skin to remove dried flakes of blood. “But I will see you again soon.” His dark eyes glance at you over his shoulder before he inspects his face once more, Cazador’s fingers rising to his bruised cheek and touching it carefully, then he tucks the handkerchief away and walks back to you.

You stand from the chair and give him a studying look.

“When?”

“I don’t know.” Cazador walks closer to you, his palms rising and landing on your shoulders, pulling you a little closer as he looks down at you. “But I will try to make it as soon as possible.” A pause and you almost speak, almost prevent him from saying the words that melt your heart. “I missed you.”

You smile and close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him, holding him tightly. His form so familiar against yours, so reassuring. And when Cazador’s hands embrace you in return, you exhale a sigh.

“Just make sure it’s not another year.” You whisper and feel the elf press a kiss to the top of your head. He doesn’t speak right away. It’s like he’s reluctant to make any promises to you, but eventually he sighs too and you feel him relax in your arms.

“I will try my best.”

Neither of you speak of what awaits in the future, despite his vague mention of Family Rites, nor do you ask him about the earrings again. You are not sure why, maybe because you dread to hear the real answer, to hear once again that the man you love is being subjected to things you can’t even stomach to listen to. No, you don’t want this moment to be darkened even further. Details you will figure out later.

There has to be a better way, after all. A way where you don’t have to sneak about like two thieves in the night. And if there isn’t a way – you will make one. Carve it out with sword and will, just like you have done many times before.

⫸ end note: thank you @sadist69 for a wonderful illustration♡~

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #cazador szarr #reader insert #x reader #female reader #cazador fic #cazador szarr x female reader #cazador szarr x reader #fandom: bg3 #nocturn writes #lacrimosa in rubeo sanguinarius in atero

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