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blackjackkent · 4 months

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After the meazel fight, the group definitely comes to the tacit decision that it is Time For Bed. Shadowheart de-clown-curses Rakha for the second time in three hours and they slog back to the camp near Last Light, and Rakha immediately retreats to the furthest edge of camp and just sits by herself.

This is not, strictly speaking, unusual for her - she often keeps to herself and sits in silence, thinking things over, processing the latest things she's learned about the world and putting them into place in her overall understanding.

Today, though, she's really just brooding. It's been an awful day, one of the most miserable she can remember experiencing. And at the end of it, after completely melting down and losing control in the most humiliating fashion possible, nothing has really gotten any better - the urge to kill, and to kill Isobel specifically, is not one iota less strong than it was this morning.

She stays out there a long time, listening as the muted sounds of conversation in camp dwindle into silence, watching as the cursed darkness deepens with nightfall. The pixie's blessing - hard-bought as it was - has at least eased one thing; it shields her a little from the corrupted magic of this place, and it does not bite quite so sharply on her skin.

Eventually, when she's sure everyone else has gone to bed, she slowly uncurls herself from her huddled position and trudges in the direction of her bedroll.

Wyll, however, is still up.

She stops, fascinated and curious in spite of herself - as usual, a moment's puzzlement and a handful of questions does more to draw her out of her dark thoughts than a thousand comforting words.

He too has stepped a little away from the camp, under the "shade" (if it can be called that) of a gnarled tree heavily spread with dead leaves. And he's dancing.

She has seen dancing only once before, at least in the memory she has accumulated since the nautiloid. Many of the teeth-lings danced at the party after the goblin encampment fell. It was movement set to music, then, or to singing, or at least to a rhythmic clapping to set a beat. And Wyll has told her a little about the dances of his youth as a noble - more extravagant affairs with multiple instruments.

But there's no music here. He is dancing in silence, except for a soft humming - almost inaudible - from his own lips.

Why?

Stay quiet and watch Wyll dance.

The dance increases in pace as she watches, his feet moving faster, his arms taking lithe, practiced motions. She can see the occasional hiccup in the rhythm, a stumble from a lack of practice - but this is something he's done many times before.

He startles as he turns and catches her eyes on him. And then, almost more surprising than the rest, he smiles.

"Oh!" he says brightly. "I didn't see you standing there. Lost in the steps, truth be told."

She realizes suddenly that on some level she hadn't expected a smile from him. He smiles all the time - at her, at everyone they aren't fighting - but after today... she didn't expect a smile, maybe never again.

Why are you not afraid of me?

"I need them to be just right," he goes on, drawing a few steps closer. His smile twitches nervously in a way she doesn't know how to interpret. "I wouldn't want to fail my new partner."

She stares at him; her bafflement deepens abruptly. Partner?

As usual in moments of confusion - the retreat into logic, into fact and fact and fact... Partner. Dance partner. He expects someone to dance with him. Someone whose opinion he values. Someone he wants to impress.

*New* partner. Something has changed. Something is different now, that Wyll is now concerned with this. Something has drawn his attention, in the midst of the shadows, while Rakha has been busy falling apart at his side.

Of course. Karlach. Dammon fixed her engine yesterday. She and Wyll are close friends. She has seen them talk extensively since she ceased to be his hunting target. He can touch her now. Dance with her.

Rakha should have expected this.

It shouldn't be a surprise.

It shouldn't hurt. But it does. An explosion of entirely new agony blooms in her chest, unrelated to the beast or the darkness or the cult of the Absolute, and in that moment she realizes with brutal clarity how much she has come to depend on Wyll in the few months they have traveled together. He has been her guidance, a touch of gentleness against the daggers in her head. He has made her feel worthwhile when her every instinct has said otherwise.

On top of everything else that she has suffered today, this feels like a misery she doesn't know how to bear. She squeezes her fingers into fists at her side, squeezes her eyes shut. She can feel how the beast could rise on the crest of this emotion, and she does not want to hurt him...

"Trust me," she mutters. Her voice is strained with the effort of keeping it even. "I don't think you could fail anyone if you tried."

It's true, after all. He has always given more than she deserved.

He tilts his head to the side. "I know a few people who might beg to differ. But the only one that matters is here with me now."

He makes an elaborate bow and extends a hand in her direction. "May I have this dance?"

His eyes fix on hers, and his smile widens slowly as he watches the understanding work its way onto her face.

He doesn't mean Karlach. He means her.

If there were any justice in the way her brain worked, the pain of a moment earlier would be replaced with joy. But somehow instead it is only replaced with fear. Today has been the lowest day of her life; she feels as if she knows nothing at all, least of all what it means to act on any feelings besides rage.

"Dance?" she hears herself say, the only question she can articulate out of all those swirling in her mind. "But there's no music."

He steps forward and - as he has so many times before - rests a hand gently on her arm. "Our hearts can keep time," he murmurs.

(A/N: This scene requires a little mental juggling in order to make it work properly for Rakha. There are several available skill checks to not suck at the dancing, but LBR, Rakha absolutely sucks at the dancing and is also not the slightest bit demonstrative, so the most character-effective option is actually to tell him no at first here.)

She watches as he demonstrates a quick step before her, his feet moving in a practiced rhythm. She tries to follow it, but her thoughts are too jumbled to even begin to absorb enough to replicate it herself.

This is pointless. She is going to make a fool of herself - more than she already has.

Stay still and shake your head.

She feels locked in place. She's more acutely aware of him than she has ever felt before, and certainly at any moment this is all going to shatter apart - she can't do this. She doesn't know how...

But his smile softens, seeing her discomfort, and he lets his hand drop back to his side.

"Bashful tonight, are we? Perhaps you will take to a more... relaxed style."

That sounds better than the quickstep he was doing, certainly - but her thoughts still feel thick with doubt. "I don't know," she mutters. "I'm... not much of a dancer."

She has never danced. Perhaps she could play something for him - but all she has ever achieved on Alfira's lute is dissonant scratchings used to produce light...

She's so tired. So lost and broken.

And yet, as always, in spite of her failings, he reaches out anyway, as he always does. As, perhaps, she wanted him to from the beginning.

"You don't have to," he says gently. "Just follow my lead."

She always has. Whenever she has not seen a path forward, he has lit one for her - or, perhaps, shown her how to light it herself. Broken as she is, he looks at the pieces and sees someone worth dancing with.

She takes his hand and lets him guide her forward.

(A/N: Wyll and the PC then go into an extended little dance sequence here which is super sweet but also super out of character for Rakha; whatever dance they do together here is SUPER simple at best, absolutely not what's animated in game. Also, hilariously, this all takes place with our other party members snoozing about two feet away, which we are definitely pretending is not the case. This is absolutely happening out of sightlines of the rest of the party or Rakha wouldn't even entertain the idea to be honest.)

His hand is warm, his grip soft. He guides her the way she watched him train the children in the grove - gently and without pretense or mockery. The step is simple, but even so, she fumbles it more than she does it correctly - in part because her attention is pulled by the smile on his face and the general air of reassurance. Perhaps he hears some music in his head to which the steps are set, but she does not, and only follows his lead and the steady rhythm of his boot heels in the dirt.

It is such a strange note to end on, after such a terrible day. He has seen the absolute worst of her, the panic and chaos and rage - the threat she has offered to his own life as well as those around them. And he is telling her, in no uncertain terms, that he is not backing away, but without forcing her to answer aloud.

Gradually, with each set of steps, he draws them a little closer together, until at the finish he lowers himself to a kneeling position, drawing her down to an even level with him.

Press your lips against Wyll's.

It happens before she's fully conscious that it's going to, and she isn't sure if she is the one who leans in first or not. All she knows is that suddenly his hands are on her waist and his are pressed to his chest and their lips are together and everything is bewilderingly warm. Her heart thuds in her ears and for once it is not from blood-rage and fury.

She feels... safe. She feels quiet. The Weave swirls around them with a surge of energy that shivers into her bones.

It's long enough that she has to gasp for air when they finally break apart. Wyll lets out a slow, shuddery exhalation as he draws back, his eyes closed.

"So much shadow around us," he whispers. "To think I almost missed the light..."

He has said that before... that she makes her own light. Here, for this brief moment, she can almost believe him.

He pulls away, stands up; chill rushes in where his body sat close to hers. "Well," he says, and his voice cracks just slightly. "It's getting late. We can't face the morrow if we don't bid farewell to the now."

She stands as well - and moves forward, catching her hand at his neck and pulling him back to her. As she has before from other, less palatable sources - she chases that moment of peace with eager desperation.

Move in for another kiss.

He makes a soft noise against her mouth. One of his hands fists into her shirt and he leans into the kiss, holding himself against her for another moment that feels like an eternity.

"Ah..." he mumbles unsteadily against her mouth. "I've drunk wines from Daggerford to Cormyr, but I've never known a taste as rich as yours."

She doesn't answer. She has no poetry, no eloquence. He tastes like nothing in particular that she could describe. It is not like kissing Lae'zel, which is her only point of reference and which was rough like battle, a fight for sensation and dominance. Instead, with Wyll, everything is soft - safety and warmth and comfort, everything he has always offered her multiplied tenfold.

When the kiss breaks again, she groans low in her throat with a strange eagerness she has no name for. This time, though, he backs up out of reach.

"Gods damn it..." he mutters ruefully. "You almost make me forget myself. But I still keep faith in the old tales of love, the once-upon-a-times and the happily-ever-afters." He takes her hand, squeezes it gently, rubs his thumb over her knuckles, then lets it fall. "I'd... like to do this the proper way - the way of the old romances sung by the bards."

Rakha doesn't fully know what that means - but the implication is clear. This is all for tonight. Which is as it should be. She needs time to think. They both do.

But as she nods, she is conscious of a slight, giddy smile that she is sure has never touched her face before. For a moment all the dread and horror of the past two days feels more distant. And Wyll is looking back at her with a light in his eyes that she could look at for a long time.

"Till next time," he says softly. He takes a step away, then another, seemingly reluctant to fully turn his eyes from her. "Good night. And... dream sweetly."

#bjk plays bg3 durge #wyll x durge #durge x wyll #durgewyll #rakha the dark urge #EEEEEEE I'M HAVING FEELINGS Y'ALL #this turned out to be v sweet in a way that is very specific to them and i am very pleased with it #<3 #i am so pleased #this took forever to write so i might just leave it here for tonight #nice note to pause on c:#rakha's adventures resume on tuesday!

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