Archive of Our Own

Sylfaen can’t sleep, finally flipping onto her back and opening her eyes to the support and cream fabric of her tent. It was something Lae’zel scoffed at when Fae found it for sale. Despite the githyanki’s protests about the color, it’s one of the only ones that has remained spotless during their travels.

There’s a restlessness that covers the camp like snow. Sylfaen knows camping outside of the Last Light Inn isn’t ideal, but she wanted to get as close to Moonrise Towers as possible just to watch them for a spell.

She can hear Scratch and Thedan’s quiet conversation, an otherwise silent moment to someone who can’t understand them. Karlach sits in front of the fire, her battleaxe across her legs and a rag in her hand as she lovingly polishes the metal to a shine. Sighing, Sylfaen exits the tent and stretches.

The fire illuminates everything around them, a small clearing that’s relatively safe with the right spells in place.Trees loom over them, blocking out the sky, their branches stretching out to make a canopy, tendrils of smoky shadows flitting in and out of them as if climbing like children.

“Hey Soldier,” Karlach says, looking up, her eyes twinkling at Sylfaen. “Everything okay? You’re not meant to be up for another few hours.”

“Just things on my mind,” she replies. And in it. Sylfaen sits down, the warmth of the fire coursing through her and chasing off what little sleepiness she felt.

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, the only sound between them is the quiet squeak of the rag over the metal of Karlach’s weapon.

“Do you mind if I hit the hay?” Karlach asks, standing. She stretches and sheathes her axe onto her back.

“Go ahead. I’ll take next watch.” Which if her internal clock is correct, it rarely is, it shouldn’t be that much longer for her. And if she were to fall asleep before the fire, Scratch or Thedan could wake her up before Lae’zel woke to find the bard lacking in her duties. 

It’s been a long journey on the road and while she can’t sleep, there is a bone deep exhaustion she can’t shake. Her body wants to rest, needs to rest frankly, but her mind won’t let her. Either from the tadpole or the constant anxiety she’s doing something wrong. Or she’ll be found out and the cultists will kill her and her companions. Sylfaen throws in another log, watching the fire greedily eat it. 

She misses the easy confidence as a bard, traveling from city to city. The easy character she created to hide the true her. The insecurities, anxieties and low self-esteem.

There’s a rustle to her left and she looks up to find Shadowheart sneaking out of Lae’zel’s tent. And had Sylfaen not been awake, Shadowheart would’ve made it back to her tent, but she stops in the light, half bathed in shadow. “Oh uh,” Shadowheart says softly, a sheepish grin playing on her lips. She straightens her back, playing with her ponytail for a moment as if trying to think of an excuse for why she was in Lae’zel’s tent. “I was just–”

Sylfaen shakes her head and grins. “No explanation needed,” she says, waving a hand. She had expected relationships to pop up between the party, those two were an unexpected pairing. At least this’ll keep them from killing each other.

“Have a good night, Fae,” Shadowheart says warmly and disappears into her tent. Even Scratch and Thedan having fallen asleep, the bigger owlbear cub nestled into Scratch’s side. 

There’s a breeze and she looks up, leaning back on her hands, desperate to get a peek of the stars, but the canopy is too thick.

A groan startles her and she sits up, grabbing her short sword next to her. Sylfaen scans the camp around her. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, no tents moving. But there’s another groan and this time it comes from Gale’s dark blue tent. The fabric shudders and fear bolts through her heart. Something at the edge of her consciousness, her mind tells her it's definitely Gale and he’s alone in there. But he’s not sleeping. Pleasure or pain, they both feel achingly similar in the bond and she can’t tell which it is.

They all try their damndest to have the utmost privacy and while it took quite a bit of practice, Sylfaen can’t (and won’t) touch another’s mind unless there’s a strong emotion that draws her attention.

Is it his orb? Even though Mystra gave him something to stabilize it and he’s not had to consume magic since after the goblin camp, does it still pain him? Sometimes she watches him out of the corner of her eyes, just to see how he’s truly doing as every time she asks, he waves her off with a clever quip and that irritatingly charming smile of his to throw her off. 

Leaving the fire and making sure twice it wouldn’t die out if she needed to help him, she approaches his tent quickly, stopping outside of it. Gods above, what is she doing? What if he’s not in danger? What if–

He deeply exhales, it coming out in a tight hiss and she pulls back the fabric. He's not hurt. Nor is he sleeping.

No, Gale is nestled deep in several pillows, far more pillows than she would’ve guessed possible, his eyes closed and his head thrown back in pleasure. His hand moves over his cock slowly as if trying to extend it. 

Sylfaen can’t bring herself to look away, can’t bring herself to put the fabric back and pretend she never saw anything. Heat pools into her stomach and she stands torn between wanting to join him, and stepping back to continue to pretend there’s nothing between them.

She’s faced against monsters, hoardes of goblins, a fucking Hag and yet, she’s too scared to bring forward the idea of a relationship with him. 

And not because she’s jealous, even though he still very much loves Mystra. She can’t be the jealous type when she flitted from town to town, sometimes finding company in the bed of an inn-keeper or a bartender who looked at her a little too long during a romance song.

“Sylfaen.” Her name is whispered across his lips, bringing her back to the present. It slams into her again, His hand moves faster and he groans again, bringing his body forward and those brown eyes open. At first it doesn’t seem like he notices her until she squeals as he cums. 

That’s when she should’ve moved, gone back to the fire or her tent, the fire and Lae’zel be damned. 

Except she doesn’t and he looks up, his brown eyes wide. “Oh stars,” he says, not making a move to hide himself. “Sylfaen, I can–”

But she backs away, equal parts turned on and embarrassed for intruding on this private moment. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, still unable to move. “I thought the orb was still–”

Gale moves forward, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the tent, the fabric closing and she falls into him, finding him softer than she expected.

“I’m sorry Gale,” she repeats, moving back to sit on her feet. “I–”

“Caught in the moment,” he says quietly, laughing more at himself than her. “Fae, I want you. I–” Gale looks down at his disrobed body, blood rushing to his cheeks as he pulls a blanket across his lap. The blush suits him, a pale pink splashing across his nose and cheeks. “I didn’t want to tell you in this way. I wanted to say something but–” He runs a hand through his hair, pulling back from her, sitting on the edge of the mountain of pillows she finds herself sinking into.

Sylfaen can’t find her tongue nor her words as she watches the man before her watch her. His eyes rake over her and he takes a deep breath. “I find myself watching you. In battle. During conversations. You…” He pauses. “You are the light through the darkness and I want you. ”

It seems neither of them move and they both move at once and she finds herself crashing against the shore of Gale, their lips finding surface. He nips at her bottom lip and she opens, his tongue tasting her. 

Gale’s hands are methodic over her body, calculated movements in removing her clothes. He pops the buttons of her blouse, it falling open sideways to expose her breasts which are immediately covered in his hands. He trails kisses down her throat, biting gently at her collarbone.

Sylfaen seeks some part of him, her hands washing over him. His shoulders, his back, his hips. When she goes to grasp him, he stops her, moving it out of her reach. “Let me take care of you,” he says quietly against her throat. “You take care of everyone else before you. Let me–”

She lays back fully into the pillows, eyes drifting up and closed as he slips her out of her trousers. There’s a bit more rustling than she expects and she looks at him as he’s folding her clothing and setting them off to the side. 

Gale grins when he catches her looking at him. “I didn’t want them to wrinkle.” 

The blanket has fallen away and she gets a full view of him in the ball of light that floats above them. The orb lightly glows on his chest, faded tendrils resembling smoke snakes up to his right eye. He’s soft, Gale’s body is soft, all curves and rolls, belying the strength he’s shown in battle. He’s flaccid and she averts her eyes as if she isn’t also completely nude and he’s openly staring at her.

“Gods, you are even more beautiful than my imagination.” He bends, crawling towards her, his hand caressing her ass as he peppers kisses on her navel. Both his hands move up, cupping her ass and scooting her forward until his lips are square with her labia.

Gale glances up at her, his breath tickling her. “If you want me to stop, please-”

“Gale, I wouldn’t be here if I wanted you to stop. I’ve also–” He doesn’t wait for her to finish her sentence, his tongue darting out and tasting her. She gasps, her fingers seeking something to hold. One hand finds itself wrapped in his hair and the other twists into a blanket caught underneath her. 

Her body buzzes with pleasure as he expertly plays with her, his tongue twisting around her lips and flicking against her clit. He catches part of her into his mouth, humming and she moans loudly, clapping her hand over her mouth.

She can feel him laughing against her and she gives his hair a playful, but gentle tug. “I’d say I put up a sound proof spell, but clearly you caught me in the act.”

Gale’s fingers are cool against her as his lips explore her thigh. His fingertip finds her clit and rubs it slowly in a circular motion. She grabs at him, pulling anywhere she can get purchase until their lips meet, her taste on his tongue. 

“Gale,” she gasps as he moves down and inserts one. “Gods.” Sylfaen arches her body into his, her nipples brushing against his chest. She wants him, needs him, to fucking fuck her but even as her hand blindly grabs for him, to move his hips into place, he’s still flaccid.

“Sorry, darling,” he says in her ear, catching her lobe between his teeth. She shivers at both the word and her ear in his teeth. She can feel him grinning even if she can’t see him. “I’ve noticed how you reacted to Astarion calling you ‘darling.’” Gale inserts another finger, pushing his hand flat against her and moving the two inside her, bringing her closer to the edge. “I’m only human though, maybe tomorrow,” he promises, moving his thumb against her clit. Pleasure shoots up through her nerves and her hips buck against him, wanting more.

Sylfaen groans, pushing against the pillows but he doesn’t stop, his fingers and lips relentless against her skin. 

And she falls over the edge, her orgasm cascading like a wave against a cliff. She can’t stop the moan that escapes her lips for a third time, hoping that Lae’zel hasn’t come out to see the fire unattended and knowing exactly why.  

When Gale’s fingers dance across her cheek and thumbs at her lips, they’re dry, but still she can smell the sex that lingers in the air. It’s not unpleasant. Her body melts into the pillows, her yawn giving away her exhaustion.

Sylfaen wants to stay up, needs to really. It’s her turn to take watch.

“Sleep,” he says, donning on his clothing and draping a soft blanket over her. “I’ll take watch.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners and she can’t help it. Her heart skips a beat and Sylfaen knows she’s fallen for him.

–

The morning, or whatever shadowed light passes for morning, proves to be as difficult for Sylfaen as she thought. Though difficult could probably be the wrong word for it.

“You left the fire unattended. You left the camp unattended,” Lae’zel says, not bothering with a greeting. Her green-flecked yellow eyes narrow as she glances at Gale standing behind the bard. 

Sylfaen, depsite knowing she’ll only get in further trouble for glancing at him, glances at said wizard. His mouth is open as if he’s trying to find an excuse.

“Truly not for long though, Lae’zel,” he says. “The fire didn’t go out.”

“ Istik.” Her eyes roll and her next words are sharp, “The next time you feel the need to have sex, do it on a night you aren’t responsible for the fire. Chk. ” She whirls around, grabbing her breakfast from Shadowheart’s hands and starts to take down her tent. 

“She’s not wrong,” Shadowheart says simply, but there’s a smile and a tinge of playfulness in her voice. “Or wake one of us up. It’s about time you did something about it.”

Sylfaen feels her face flush, glad for the hair that falls to her shoulders so she can hide behind it. Had they really been that obvious, dancing around each other and not doing anything about it?

Gale laughs quietly. “I’ll be sure to pick it better next time.” 

There’s a next time?