#wyll Wednesday

[baublekute]

I also found a wyll wednesday screenshot I took. Wyll's body appreciation. And study. For art. For science. Anybody who needs a reference for his body.

[awhekate]

I heard it was Wyll Wednesday today so I wanted to share some doodles I made of him and my dragonborn monk Cereza!

[toads-treasures]

Hey do you guys remember when Wyll said: “It’s a long shot, but, perhaps you’ve grown fond of me. Gods know I’ve grown fond of you.”

Because I do…. I remember.

Edit: anyway happy Wyll Wednesday

[steelsartcorner]

nobody took my pen away so the hades-crossover-fever continues. i’m ill

others: the dark urge (OC); minthara (bg3), karlach (bg3), shadowheart (bg3), gale (bg3), halsin (bg3), lae'zel (bg3), astarion (bg3), kotallo (horizon)

[journeyman-tier-fibercraft]

Happy Wednesday! My arthritis is finally calming down from my normal "the seasons changed and now you must be in pain" flare up so I've been able to put in work on this sleeve. ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

I've been limiting my amount of rows at one time to 10 ish, taking a couple hours to play a certain video game, then coming back to knit a couple more rows. It's working pretty well for me tbh, tho I keep accidentally ignoring my alarms (esp late at night when i'm gayming... but I'm fine with it this cardigan doesn't have a deadline lmao)

But I'm nearly 70% done with this sleeve!! When I'm finished, I'll cast on for the back which is going to take. Eighty seven years to knit. I've come down on 24 inches for my under the arm length which isn't the longest cardigan but should bring it down to just above my knee, assuming my math is correct for once. I've also decided to have the pocket opening 9 inches from the cast on (or 15 inches from the opening to the pocket to the underarm) which seems like it would be a good place for my hands?

Even if I didn't change the length of this cardigan, I would still be doing math right now to figure out the pocket because it's just. Too small. It's only supposed to be 5 inches deep which isn't enough for anything. (I also need to knit the pocket linings but I'm putting it off because Math.... the yarn I have for them isn't that much thinner than the main yarn but I probably should knit them with a tighter tension)

[arainaizevran]

the ruined and the tarnished

PART 1: oathbroken, Chapter 1

The relentless onslaught wore him out, his muscles raw, his innards still aching for more. He craved reprieve from it, a solace, or something — anything — to sate it, to head it off, to control it before it controlled him. He would find it in a tucked-away druid grove: a man who’d jumped to their rescue, a hero who saved their hide from the goblin raid.

IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEE chapter 1 of 10 of gayblade fic that i've been working on for months now<3

The Dark Urge/Wyll, M/M

Rated M for Canon-Typical Dark Urge Violence

1,237 words (out of ~15k)

Set in Act 1, Spoilers for Dark Urge Events

[Read on AO3] [Read on my website]

[krembruleed]

wavemother wip wednesday :]

[darcydarlingdabbles]

Wyllstarion - Post Game Drabbles

//I'm counting this as a WIP Wednesday because I know me, and me will not be able to get this out of her head.//

SFW

They're basically made for each other. But spesifically to grow into each other. Wyll is literally the knight in shining armor Astarion says he dreamed about.

Wyll on the other hand needs someone to stand up for him and encourage him to be selfish sometimes. He also has a thing for paranormal romance (see his convo with shadowheart about mermaid erotica) Ironic as he's a monster hunter.

Astarion constantly calling Wyll a sweet fool, with increasing affection.

Astarion fits perfectly into the noble life, and riding the wave of being the heroes of Baulder's Gate, Wyll is going to be the new Archduke. And the vampire is /thrilled/ to be setting up the plans and parties.

Wyll suggest they can do the coronation and the wedding in the same ceremony, knowing that Astarion would love the spectacle.

Astarion says absoutely not. Wyll has one day fully about him and all he's sacrificed for the Gate and he's going to have it, dammit. Besides, this means the vampire gets to plan his own wedding--something he'd never thought he'd do. He boasts to Wyll that it will be another lavish party that will go down in the histories as far grander than the coronation anyway.

Astation surprises Wyll with an elegant but private ceremony with only their friends--their family.

Whoops, did he forget to inform Wyll's father? What a pity.

Astarion being the son-in-law of Ulder Ravengard's nightmares.

NSFW

H/C Wyll is demi-sexual. Astarion is a switch that leans bottom, but Wyll brings out his inner needy brat. Wyll is willing (sorry not sorry) to give or take whatever his vamp needs.

Astarion has a lot of healing to do when it comes to sex and intimacy, and he's very insecure about this. Wyll is more than happy to wait. Until they've formed a greater bond and sex is about that bond and intimacy.

Once they're engaged, and with Cazador dead, Astarion is ready to jump Wyll's bones at any provocation.

Wyll is indulgent but says why not wait until the wedding when they're so close to it. Astarion is foppishly distraught, but respects Wyll's wishes. Mostly.

He'll get his prince charming up to do everything...up to the point of fucking him properly. It's a delightful torment for them both. Wyll gets Astarion to slow down and teach him what he likes, and Astarion gets to be the tease and tempter without hurting anyone.

Astarion would love to be the one to break his Wyll.

[m3rricat]

WIP Wednesday!

tagged by @atsadi-shenanigans , thank you so much!

From what will be the first chapter of Act 3 of Advocatus Ardens--Wyll's first taste of the Hells.

Wyll body propelled him forward into the portal, Astarion close at his side. At the last second, he grabbed for Astarion’s hand, glove brushing glove as the relative chill of the Sigil tunnels dissolved, replaced by a dry heat that rendered Wyll’s throat parched after a single gulp. He might have coughed. He felt the impulse. But as the disconcerting nothing of the portal resolved into a red, cragged landscape littered with the detritus of endless war, as the perfume of blood and suffering filled his nose— This infernal body of his sagged in exquisite comfort. It was home. Wyll was home, his flesh urged. But he consciously resisted the tendrils of familiarity snaring around his brain. He hated this landscape spread out before him that he already knew on instinct, somewhere in the twisted code of his cells. The scars ran deep in earth that existed solely to drink the blood of the doomed. The pain was the entire point in every layer of this accursed plane.

tagging whoever wants to post!

[halfmoth-halfman]

A small crumb of a snippet of the spell of trilliums please🥺

here you go!! (it's a little more than a small crumb cause i got carried away but i love wyll so oh well)

It isn’t the second time you meet him — it’s not even the tenth or twentieth — but it’s one of the most memorable. The events of the nautiloid weigh heavy on your mind, plaguing both your waking thoughts and deepest dreams. Every sound, every smell, every slight shift in the breeze brings you back to that ship, to lying helpless and prone in that pod. Your eyelid still aches from the unnatural stretch of the worm fitting itself into your brain. With every blink you feel the phantom glide of the tadpole’s warm, bulbous body wriggling into your skull, always taking a second too long to open your eyes as if waiting to feel its slimy residue sticking your lashes together. It’s hard. Hard to focus. Hard to move. Hard to think. Hard to remember you’re still a living, breathing person. The company helps. There’s a strange sense of comfort in surrounding yourself with people who’ve been through the same ordeal, no matter how cagey they may be. Fighting helps more. It’s easy to distract yourself from the impending doom of your affliction when you’re focused on avoiding blades and cutting down enemies. You’re almost thankful when you come across the Druid’s Grove, only to be immediately set upon by goblins. With your companions and those trapped outside the gate, it should be an easy fight — a brief escape from your unending anxiety. But the relief doesn’t last as a goblin is killed and someone new enters the fight. Everything after is blur. You’re mostly useless, as Lae’zel is quick to remind you, unable to focus on anything but him. Even without your help, the goblins are slain, the Grove momentarily safe, and your merry band of misfits allowed entry. You don’t bother with looting the bodies, rushing through the gates with one goal in mind. It takes everything in your power not to punch the man harassing the poor Tiefling — you think you caught his name was Zevlor — but the argument is solved with only petty threats. Zevlor is nice, grateful enough at your saving their lives to not mind the way your eyes wander into the Grove when he speaks. You catch sight of familiar armor, breath hitching as Gale takes over for you. The moment the conversation ends, you’re brushing past Zevlor and the merchant and the three arguing Tieflings until you come to a small group of children gathered in the makeshift training grounds. Could it really be— He comforts a child in that same, gentle voice and you nearly burst into tears. The rest of your companions catch up just as he turns to you. The parasite squirms the moment your eyes meet, your mind painfully seized and forced into his. You see the wastes of Avernus and a diabolical figure of red skin and a single curled horn before something gives way in your brain. The scene shifts and suddenly you're watching the sun’s golden rays rise a small field hidden on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate as the scent of trilliums flood your nose. Your minds are forced apart, but that’s all the confirmation you need. You’re in his arms before either of you can speak, Wyll embracing you as if he’s still processing that you are, in fact, real and in front of him. He peppers your face in pecks and kisses as you do the same, laughter and happiness and relief spilling between you. Someone clears their throat behind you, and you remember where you are. “Right,” you cough, only slightly embarrassed. You turn to grin at him, your first true smile since being kidnapped by the nautiloid, and Wyll returns it with an overwhelming affection. “Everyone, this is Wyll. My betrothed.”

[asharaks]

child of none

chapter six: best laid plans by @ikarons

“The name’s Astarion,” he says haughtily. She blinks at him, unimpressed, and does not respond. “And mind how you speak to me. I’m a magistrate in the lower city.”

The woman cocks her head. 

“Like fuck you are.” 

[baublekute]

Current hyperfocus: BG3. Almost to Act 3. This a long game. But at least they give me the option to have romantic interactions w/ Wyll whenever in camp in the meantime...

[orionswriting]

Happy WIP Wednesday!

I don't know how WIP wednesday works <3 But here's a spoiler free snippet from my upcoming (and last!) chapter of my Wyllstarion Omegaverse fic!

⭑

"I don’t know," Astarion admitted as he looked to Wyll again. He let out a breath that was halfway between a sigh and a laugh. "But, Wyll, you’ve had me wrapped around your pretty little fingers this whole time. Wrapped so tightly you could have tied me into knots or bows to your heart's content, and it wouldn’t have mattered what I thought I want. I would’ve taken whatever you offered me, and I’d have been grateful for it."

Wyll’s next words shot out of his mouth like an arrow loosed, abrupt and unbidden.

"And what is that?"

Astarion blinked.

"What?"

Wyll leaned forward ever so slightly, his nails digging crescents into his palms.

"What is it that you want, Astarion?"

⭑

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Florrickology, Part 2: The most beautiful face in Faerûn

General simping under cut, plus:

Why I think her face model was changed so much from EA

How her face contributes to her characterization

Spitballing how old I think she is

I actually didn't even really notice Florrick's sexy dress until I saved her from Wyrm's Rock and saw her moving about in the light of day, so I spent 2 whole acts deeply in love with her simply because of her gorgeous face, husky voice, and dominant personality. I was gobsmacked by a total elven MILF come out of nowhere, and while I did recognize her as a beacon of drip in the swagless wasteland of Act 1, I didn't need to notice her thong to know immediately that this was the most beautiful person in the entire game and I must stan.

This was also before I noticed that most NPCs have the same like 6 faces, so I wasn't even yet aware that Florrick's face was especially beautiful and unique.

In addition to going through three outfit changes, she went through two earlier face models. Her original and second models are below.

Her hair and eyes remained essentially the same (minus the smoky makeup), but big changes were made in her face shape and other features between each version, even down to her ears. The second version is definitely a generic head (and not my favorite); I'm not sure about Original Florrick as I don't know what the base heads looked like then, but it is pretty bland, albeit very beautiful.

So, why change? As I said in Part 1, her exact appearance isn't really important, but it is very intentional because they made the effort to change it a few times.

The decision to give her a unique face sculpt makes perfect sense; she's more than significant enough for the effort, considering she shows up in all 3 acts, has lots of dialogue and emotes while talking, plays a fairly sizeable role in the overall story, and appears in the High Hall cut scene as a final battle ally. I figure that, for the most part, the intention behind giving her this unique face is pretty simple: it's gorgeous, increases the game's overall diversity, and enhances her characterization.

I love the type of beauty she was given in the end. She exudes femininity, yet her personality is very dominant ("masculine") and her face isn't traditionally "feminine". Her most prominent feature, her nose, is angular and long, and looks bumpy in certain lights. Her jaw stands out to me next, nice and sharp and strong, but she lacks the cheekbones to give a really chic look. Her chin is large and has a hint of a cleft in some lights. From the side profile (alas I don't have a screenshot even tho I think of it often), her nose, teeth/lips, and chin jut forward a bit from her cheeks and eyes, giving her a very determined, jaw-set look.

But she also has big, soft puppydog eyes, some of the juiciest and prettiest lips in the entire game, the most beautiful and distinctive skin tone, and the most nibbleable ears in Faerûn. Look at the little tippy tip poking out of her hair on her right!!

ps if anyone tries to tell me X is more beautiful or Y has more nibbleable ears I will simply block you, make your own insane simp post

Anyway, her face suits her perfectly. She looks like someone you'd describe as "steady as Tyr's heartbeat" or "upstanding as the Sword Mountains". She looks proud, confident, and maybe a little pushy. Her nose has that elegant slope, so when she stands straight up with her strong jaw set and her chin proudly raised in the air, she looks down it just so that you can tell this isn't a woman to be trifled with. She looks stern, but never mean or cruel. When she's grateful, she's gracious and charming. Her big brown eyes are imploring in her moments of vulnerability, and she can't hide when she's worried or concerned because her eyebrows move on their own. She might turn away so her hair covers part of her face in those moments, too.

In her absolute lowest moments, she doesn't even try to hide, and lets the player in on exactly how she's feeling, in her expressions and words.

You don't really get all that from her earlier two models, right? They're beautiful, but don't tell as much of a story.

I think to a lot of people, she may come across as one-note, but she has an emotional arc like any other significant NPC with a longitudinal storyline and you see that the most in her expressive face. I do think that's remarkable, since she is a female character who exists in this story to support the greater arcs of two men. There are strengths and weaknesses in Larian's writing when it comes to things like this, but I really do think they did a great job with Florrick, in balancing her autonomy and treating her as an individual, while holding her to the minimum-necessary screen time/resources (in this long, enormous game) to fulfill her role.

Not strictly related, but I'll always appreciate that it is essentially never implied that Florrick does what she does because she's in love with Ulder. It would make a great romance side story and I'd have loved it, but I love more that it's left up to interpretation. However she feels about him in private, the fact is that it doesn't make a difference in her behavior; lover, friend, or just a boss she respects, she will move mountains for him and her city because it's the right thing to do, and she'll always do what she thinks is right. Florrick being allowed to exist in this story as her own person, never commanded by the writers to be Ulder's wife or Wyll's mother, even if her storyline is really about Ulder and Wyll, is really special to me.

So on that note, I do have one theory as to why they gave her these very unique features:

To help prevent players from assuming that Florrick and the Ravengards are related.

It's important to Wyll's story that his father is his only living family; letting players assume Florrick is (secretly?) his mother or aunt because she's coded as a middle-aged black woman and closely-associated with him and his father interferes with that story, and introduces confusing questions that don't need to be asked like "is Wyll supposed to be a half-elf?" or "why doesn't she seem to give much of a fuck about her son/nephew?"

On this note, I really like that because not only does it shoot down the conventional demand that any woman in the vicinity of a child be their mother, it also highlights that Ulder was Wyll's entire world, making all of their stories more poignant.

Now the final question her face leads us to is, how old is Florrick? This is tough to answer due to Elf Aging, which means you have to triangulate her actual age by starting from how old she looks and how old she seems compared to others.

For my impressions, I think Florrick's voice is what MILFifies her moreso than her face. Her VA, Karen Bryson, was born in 1975, which tracks with the way she sounds, but her face comes off as a bit younger: she's essentially unwrinkled (minus her forehead when she emotes), bright and fresh-skinned with no other signs of aging, so I would place her at a maximum of mid-30s by appearance.

My impression of elf aging as a non-lore-expert is that, at least in BG3, they grow at the same rate as humans until reaching physical maturity around the early to mid twenties, then age visibly but at a very slow rate thereafter.

Fortunately, there are a few full elf characters whose ages we know. Disregarding Astarion who seems to have been fucked up due to stress/vampirism, we have Minthara (~250) and Halsin (~350) for comparison.

This is convenient, since Florrick looks tennish years younger than Minthara, and Minthara looks tennish years younger than Halsin. So, perhaps full elves, once having reached full physical maturity by approx 25 years old, age about ten years for every hundred give or take stress/genetics/etc. So if Florrick looks about 30-35, that'd work out to the neighborhood of 120-130 years old.

This tracks to me, as she definitely comes off as a fully-fledged elven adult, but still young enough to be a bit cavalier and have things to learn about herself--much like a human in her early-to-mid 30s.

Also, I notice she doesn't have anything to say about the previous Bhaalspawn crises (124-125 years ago), because it seems like the type of thing she'd comment on if she remembered it firsthand (either from growing up in Baldur's Gate, or hearing about as the news travelled.) So her being either not born yet or too busy learning to tie her shoes to engage with current events makes sense.

This concludes Florrickology part 2.

[bg3-npc]

Wyllisms Wednesday

Enjoy these words from your local folk hero:

"Works for me! First we get to the killing, then we get to the planning."

"Beating thee would soil my hands!"

"Sorry, there's only so much of me to go around."

"Like a summer's day, thou art sweaty!"

"A broken mirror, a sign of bad luck they say. Just who 'they' are, I've never figured out."

The Blade of the Frontiers everybody. I'm doing these every Wednesday til I've gone through all my favorites. Here's the other two I've done so far!

[fllagellant]

Tagged by my friend @aphoticfairy for Wip Wednesday ( come . Play Pretend with me . It is still Wednesday . )

Since I am nervous to tag anyone for this, please feel free to take this post as your invitation to join in if you wish ! ( also tag me so I can see , pease … )

Fic wip for a fic I like to call “ Wyll and Giilvas are going to get married also Ulder is scheming and Giilvas and Ulder are going to enact psychic warfare on each other “ it’ s a great working title !

——

The Ravengard estate. A rather proud, pompous building. Overlooking the sprawling gardens and the intricate stone archways. The hedge maze was a wonderful touch, maybe, when Ulder was younger and he would race through the hedges. Now, it was an all-consuming nightmare to keep trimmed. And it proves his internal compass has… lost its skills, so to say, he’s gotten lost many more times than he will admit.

The halls come alive at known intervals, for political parties. Or political meetings. Or for political holidays. Ulder has to pause and think hard about the last time a celebration occurred in these wall and it didn’t have some form of political weight. The resounding answer being never.

But. Nevermind that. It was still a few months off before anything should be happening. The next larger, world devorning event was the Feast of the Moon, and the many little events that it managed to spawn that Ulder was left trying to herd like righteous tressyms. Which is to say, poorly, with many colourful words, and he ends up tripping over his own feet.

He had just managed to survive the screaming, meowing, forever pissed off hoard of metaphorical tressyms for Highharvestide, and was rather content to spend a few days in bed. Dead to the world. Or in his study. Dead to the world. Or in the gardens. Once again. Dead to the world.

So he was rather concerned when he awoke to a frantic set of knocks on his study door. Reading spectacles clattered on oak floor, book that was laid politely on his lap joining them, Ulder jolted to attention when one of the maids creaked the door ajar. Blue eyes peering inward like a child, checking to see if her parents are sleeping.

“Sire? We have word of visitors. I think they’ll wish to see you, when you’re available, of course.”

She doesn’t push the door open any further, but she does not close it either. Just offers a bow of the head, and her quick footsteps mark her rapid descent down the hall.

Ulder manages to blink a few times, vision taking pity and unblurring after the third try. If he can see, then he can hear. And if he can hear, he can retroactively acknowledge what the maid-girl just said. And if he can acknowledge what was just said…

By the Gods. Give him mercy.

Highharvestide had just concluded. No one was supposed to be coming around. Unless… no. No, the ball was perfect. There would be no way any self-respecting noble would send a pageboy to deliver a message of displeasure. Not so soon, anyhow.

But maids and watchguards do not go into a state of panic over a pageboy, so who could it…?

Putting the window to use, finally pushing the lovingly embroidered curtains to the side- ah, good afternoon to you as well, shower of dust- and he tries to focus his eyes to the horizon.

There is… something! There is something coming up the front path.

He needs his glasses. Damnable things.

By the time he manages to save them from their temporary spot on the cold floor, hips be damned he can manage that bend, the something is further up the path.

Ulder gives the lenses the old one-two swipe with the cloth of his shirt to get rid of anything unneeded smudges, and finally places them back on the bridge of his nose.

Oh. By the Gods.

It’s Wyll. His boy, Wyll Ravengard. Coming up the path with singed armour and a travel pack slinging over his shoulder. He’s grinning, the lingering autumn warmth slowing his pace as he approaches. He looks well. Very much so, since the last chance Ulder had to see him. Would have brought a tear to his eye. If there wasn’t a concern pushing at the base of his skull- joyous! A migraine is already coming on.

Wyll wasn’t the concern. Wyll wasn’t the reason Ulder was feeling the need to call upon the Triad.

The hulking other, a step behind his son? That was the reason.

The Golden Rose. Giilvas Quickfoot. His boy’s betrothed. Ulder’s nightmare.

Ulder wanted to scrunch his face. In fact, he does allow his nose to wrinkle and his lips to go tight. But if he can see them, they can see him. And, since the Fates have made the decision that Ulder is their current focus of tortures, Wyll’s betrothed is scarily perceptive.

So, if he was to snarl from his study, far above them, Giilvas would see it. And made sure Ulder knew.

Instead, with an air of calm and I don’t care that you’re coming up my walk and will be inside my estate, Ulder yanks the dusty old curtains back in place. Then, he allows himself to scowl at the old embroidery that dances across the fabric. He swears he can see those mismatched eyes of the Rose staring back at him in the tapestry. And he swears they’re laughing at him.

With a dizzying clarity that he, Duke Ulder Ravengard, is about to pick a fight with his curtains, he pulls away. There’s a warm rush of embarrassment across his neck. He’s acting like a child. Get it together, he scolds himself.

It is a blessing that his boy and his… boy-in-law? Were coming for a visit. They’ll probably spend the night out at the tavern, and they’ll spend only an hour or two here.

Ulder smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt, and affirms his thoughts. He would not demand Wyll stay the night here. And besides, this was just a visit. It wasn’t like the two of them were coming to the estate with world-changing news. The two of them were travellers- one of which had Ulder’s respect, but that was besides the point- they’d probably be seen leaving Baldur’s Gate by the dawn of the ‘morrow.

Now, time to take his place in the foyer, and wait for his welcomed guests to step inside.

——

“Father, we plan to be wedded!”

Ulder Ravengard was going to smash something. Over his head? Over the head of the smug man clinging to his son? Both of them?

Yes. Both of them, he decides. But, since the Fates chose that their newest decree would make it so no butler bearing two heavy bottles of wine came through the foyer at that instant, Ulder chose the high road.

He smiles, he knows it isn’t quite reaching his eyes but what can he do, and he nods like a village fool at the excitement in Wyll’s voice. There was something soft in his chest, seeing his son so… happy. He truly desires this, he wants the wedding. And he wants his father to know. It was sweet and Ulder wondered why he was so bitter a moment ago.

“Of course, this means I am here to ask for your permission, Mr. Ravengard.”

Suddenly, and without warning, Ulder Ravengard was bitter again. Wonder who caused that.

Giilvas kept a large hand almost permanently interlocked with Wyll’s, and Ulder has half a mind to tell him that Wyll isn’t going to run away on him. But the other half?

Oh.

Oh. It was planning. Spinning a web, even. Laying a dastardly trap. And the Rose would walk right into it.

“Of course. It would be wrong of me to deny you both from each other. But… May I make a request?” Ulder notes how Giilvas nods rather enthusiastically. And how Wyll nods, but slower. Brow furrowing just enough to faintly recrease his forehead. By the Helm, was he already onto him? Ulder didn’t think he was that predictable.

Well, he cannot back down now. He was the Duke, dammit. Dukes do not tuck tail and run.

“I would like to aid in the wedding. You’ll,” and Ulder locks his eyes with Wyll, making sure the fact that the you in this case is singular well known, “ have full access to our coffers for planning. We can even host the ceremony here. The garden can be kept alive by magic, you see-“

“You make it sound like we’ll be wed in the winter.” Giilvas cuts in, and Wyll eyes his father knowingly. Too knowingly. Ulder, suddenly, finds the wall behind Wyll far easier to lock eyes with.

“I was getting to that. You see, to make sure this wedding is perfect, you’ll both have to stay here. Allows us all to plan and have everything ready. It will be perfect, between Uktar thirtieth and Nightal first.”

Wyll sucks in a gasp.

“But that’s the Feast of the Moon-“

Giilvas’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, things slotting into place with Wyll’s words.

“You plan to wed us on the night for the Ball of the Moon.”

Clever boy.

“I think it would be grand. Wouldn’t it?” It also gives him the time to try and scare away the rapscallion that is trying to take his boy from him.

But, in a twist that Ulder feels more shock at the fact he did not see this coming, rather than the twist itself, Giilvas smiles at him. Not really a smile, top lip pulled too far back and it seems to refuse to reach his eyes, but he made the face all the same. It is the thought that counts.

“It’s a deal, gracious Duke Ravengard.”

Oh, the boy wishes to play the game with him? So be it.

Wyll eyes the both of them as they seal the deal with a shake. He is aware, the third party always is, but that only means Ulder will have to choose subtly. Espionage can win a war. It wasn’t like Giilvas knew how to navigate a noble home or the ecosystem of one. He has home advantage- literally.

He holds his potentially probably not son-in-law’s gaze for a few moments that last a century, seeing if he’ll shy away from the eye contact. When those mismatched eyes start to look like they’re laughing at him, Ulder releases the hand and turns to call for someone else.

“I’ll make sure a bed is prepared for you, my good man. And Wyll? Your room is the same as when you left. Make yourself comfortable once more, my son.”

He makes a mental note to tell the maid to make up Giilvas’ room on the opposite wing of the estate. Good luck avoiding squeaky floors in the night, foolboy.

For now, he guides the boys to deposit their belongings and encourages them to shed the heavier layers of armour. Might as well let them have as much comfort as they can now.

Hell stained metal and fabric collect alongside their travel bags, and Ulder holds his tongue. He will ask his son about it all later. The battles. The terrors. The cruelty. Now was not the time for any of it. Especially not when his son was still buzzing with the energy of announcing the plan for marriage.

“Father, are the gardens in good shape right now?”

Ulder knew was Wyll was asking for, and he reminded himself of the eye bags under Giilvas’ eyes. They both must be exhausted. And it would be cruel and unusual to try and being the warfare when one party was in poor condition. Ulder was nothing, if not a merciful man.

“Oh, go ahead Wyll. Everything will be taken care of in here.”

That damn warmth spread in his chest, seeing Wyll relock his hand with Giilvas’ own. He gives a tug, pulling the larger man along, and Ulder cannot help but sigh wistfully when Wyll mentions the maze to Giilvas. They’re going to get lost in there. Ulder knows it to be true.

But, with them both gone and busy, Ulder can plan with no risk of ever-watchful eyes catching him.

How does one drive away a man like Giilvas Quickfoot. It was time to delve into the worlds of speculation and trial and error.

He won’t be empty handed.