Dragonologist's Writings

There are many good things to be said about a quiet life.

Irabeth’s days hold less danger now, obviously, and during those first few months in the country she can feel her body's gratefulness. She does, in fact, manage to relax, and even to enjoy the act of relaxation. Her darker memories visit less often, and her mind grows clear in a way it hasn't been for ages. She and Anevia talk about things- things like the Lost Chapel, things like the Battle of Iz- that before Irabeth has always avoided.

Scars don't heal, but they fade.

And, most importantly, Anevia is happy.

With time, however, the slow, quiet days turn into a grind of their own. Irabeth is restless; she can't help it. She wants to know what's happening in Kenabres, the city she once took such pride in. She wants to see for herself that the straggling threats have been addressed, that the people are kept safe. She wants to put herself to use.

But Anevia is happy here, and Anevia has already given so much of herself to Irabeth's passions. If it is now her turn to lead the course of their life, and if this is the course that she chooses, then there can be no question in Irabeth's mind. She will endure the restlessness and the boredom, and she will even thank the gods daily that they’re both here to experience such petty problems.

The kink in these plans is Anevia herself. Anevia sees everything too well, knows Irabeth too well. And Irabeth has never been good at concealing her truths, anyway.

So when one evening, as Irabeth is standing on the porch watching the setting of the distant sun, Anevia comes and leans into her arms and asks, "Do you ever miss the old days?", Irabeth answers honestly.

"I do. Sometimes."

Anevia is quiet for a moment. Then she asks, "Do you wanna go back?"

Irabeth takes a long moment to answer the question. As she waits, Anevia hooks her arm through Irabeth's, feeling the muscle there- softer, now, but still firm underneath, still strong with the memory of a sword.

After waiting too long for an answer, Anevia nudges her playfully. "It's not a trap, Beth. I wanna know."

"I want you to be happy," Irabeth answers diplomatically. "We have it good here. I like our life."

There's an unspoken sentiment at the end of that statement, and Anevia gives it voice. "But you'd like it better if we went back to Kenabres, or to Drezen. Somewhere you can still have a hand in the Eagle Watch.”

Irabeth turns to face Anevia, her expression serious as she brushes a hand against her cheek. "You're my world, Nevi. That's the end of it. As long as I’m with you, I’m satisfied."

Anevia kisses her for that, soft and sweet. Her tongue runs over Irabeth's lips, savoring the taste, then she leans back and sighs.

"I know you mean it. And I love that you do. But it does get boring out here, doesn't it?"

That surprises a chuckle out of Irabeth, and she agrees before she can stop herself. "It does."

"And raising chickens isn't all it's cracked up to be. They spend all day clucking at each other, and they don't even have any juicy gossip to share. Kinda makes me miss those old Kenabres alleyways."

There's still a cautious look in Irabeth's eyes- cautious and hopeful and maybe even a little guilty. "Do you really mean it? I don't want you to regret this."

She'd really do it, Anevia thinks. Irabeth would really try, as best as she could, to have a quiet, domestic dream of a life.

But it wouldn't be a good fit, would it? Not for either of them, really, and especially not for Irabeth. Anevia takes a breath.

"I don't want it to be exactly like it was before. There's no war anymore. We don't have to give our entire lives to the Eagle Watch. The city won’t need you always at the grindstone. Maybe we can even come back here a few times out of the year, I don't know. But I gotta admit, I don't fully know what to do with myself, either." Anevia shakes her head at herself, a rueful smile on her lips. "I guess we just are who we are, no matter where we go."

Irabeth gathers Anevia in her arms. "For what it's worth, I like who we are."

"Yeah. We're pretty great, aren't we?"

Irabeth chuckles again, and she tilts Anevia’s chin up to press a kiss against her lips. In that brief, perfect moment, Anevia knows in her bones that wherever they end up, the only thing that really matters is that they end up there together.

At the end of a long summer day, Anevia and Irabeth both turn in early. They roll into bed and take their time falling asleep- there are no plans for tomorrow, save the daily chores of their household, and no dangers to occupy their minds.

It's peaceful out here. Anevia takes pride in that- this is their peace, one they made and secured through years upon years of grueling work. It's a peace they've earned for all of Mendev, a peace that hasn't been known since the Worldwound first opened.

Now the battles are over, and they’re free to enjoy what they’ve built.

Anevia doesn't always trust this new peace. She never says as much to Irabeth, but she knows her wife feels it, too. For so long, their lives have been defined by fighting and struggling and danger- without that, their days seem like a dream.

A good one, Anevia reminds herself as she snuggles close to Irabeth in their bed. Irabeth’s lips flutter in her sleep, and Anevia rests her head against her chest, enjoying the soft motion of her breaths and the gentle beating of her heart. Scars of the past have faded, and nightmares come less often now. Tomorrow, Irabeth is going to fix up the old stone oven in their kitchen, and Anevia is going to bake some bread.

Yes, it’s a very good life they have now. A warm and wonderful dream.

We're standing on the edge of history, Irabeth thinks, as she stares up at the Threshold.

This is what it's all been for. To do what nobody has been able to do for over a century. So much blood and pain and sacrifice has been offered up to get here, and when they're done…

No more Crusades. No more war.

After this, they can begin to heal.

Anevia stands at Irabeth's side, as she always has. Irabeth threads their fingers together and she squeezes her wife's palm, saying more with her touch than she ever could with words. As always, Anevia knows what she means. She squeezes Irabeth’s hand back, then lifts their joined hands to her lips and kisses Irabeth's knuckles.

I'd follow you anywhere. Anevia has said those words to her at least a hundred time, and by the gods, she’s lived up to the promise. She's followed Irabeth into the jaws of the beast itself.

“Where do you want to go, after all this is over?” Irabeth had asked her last night in their tent.

Irabeth didn't allow for the possibility of failure, of death; neither did Anevia. She'd thought for a while, and then, wistfully, said, “A house in the countryside. A long vacation. I want to sleep in late with you.”

Irabeth is going to make that happen. One more battle is all that stands in her way. One more battle, and they can go home.

The demon's army crests over the hill. With no small amount of reluctance, Irabeth releases Anevia's hand, trading her warmth for the hilt of her sword. Anevia's eyes narrow as she watches the demons approach, and she readies her longbow.

Irabeth presses Anevia against the bedroom door and kisses her deep. Her lips taste like wine, red and rich, the good stuff she’d broken out over dinner this evening.

Everyone else has gone celebrating, she'd said at the time. A whole festival for the Knight-Commander. Let's have a festival of our own. The wine is gone now, but the sentiment remains strong, as does the freedom of an evening with no council meetings or strategizing or toils in the training yard.

Just Anevia, and the taste of wine and laughter on her lips as she fumbles open the door without breaking their kiss. Irabeth kicks the door closed behind her, and then they're hastily shedding their clothes and blindly kissing their way across the room and falling, together, into the bedsheets.

For a moment, Irabeth feels young again, clumsy and half-drunk on wine. But then she begins kissing down Anevia's body, and the years come back to her- all that time spent loving this woman, learning and re-learning her body and her needs and the things that make her gasp so deliciously.

Irabeth moves lower, taking her time, savoring every tremble and sigh. Anevia's hands grasp desperately at her hair, and when she finally kisses lower to the dark patch of hair between her thighs, Anevia’s legs wrap around her shoulders to lock her in place. Irabeth is happy enough to be caught, and she presses a deep, long kiss against Anevia’s clit.

"Beth," Anevia keens, and then her voice is lost in a wordless moan as Irabeth truly sets to work. She swirls her tongue around Anevia's clit, circling and teasing as Anevia writhes beneath her. All the while, her small tusks tickle and rub against Anevia's folds in a way that Irabeth knows from experience drives her crazy.

The taste of Anevia’s cunt is just as glorious as the taste of her lips; when Anevia at last cries out her climax, Irabeth stays buried between her thighs, drawing her out, drinking her in.

Anevia is left panting, her muscles slack beneath Irabeth's attention. "Damn, Beth," she breathes, and with a gentle hand she threads her fingers through Irabeth's hair and tugs her forward, until Irabeth's chin is resting on her stomach. They gaze at each other a moment, now drunk on sex in addition to the wine, until Anevia regains her breath and offers up an inviting smile.

"Your turn?"

Her fingers tug Irabeth upwards again, up and up until their lips meet, Irabeth's mouth still glistening with Anevia's arousal. They share her taste, and Irabeth smiles into the kiss as Anevia's free hand wanders south, tracing over the trail of hair leading down Irabeth's stomach.

Irabeth hadn't even realized how wet and ready she herself was, and something low rumbles in the back of her throat as Anevia's clever fingers reach their destination, crooking easily inside her. Her legs widen in response, hips grinding, urging Anevia on.

Her desires are met; Anevia keeps at it, keeps Irabeth riding her hand until her fingers have slipped in up to the knuckles. All eloquence is driven from Irabeth's mind; it's only Anevia's chest pressed against hers, and Anevia's fingers deep in her cunt, and Anevia's mouth swallowing the moans that fall from her lips. Even when Irabeth comes around her fingers, Anevia doesn’t let up; she just slides one more inside her, and Irabeth’s remaining thoughts explode into pleasure.

The evening continues from there; Anevia and Irabeth fuck until they're both fully sated, and then they lie together in the afterglow, all skin and sweat and sighs.

All in all, it's about as good a night as anyone could ask for.

(Later on, the Commander will apologize again for leaving them behind to watch over Drezen while festivities were held in Kenabres. Anevia will shrug, casual and innocent, as she brushes off the concerns.

The last few days of Irabeth's life feel like something out of legend.

There was the Battle of Iz, an earth-shattering victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. There was the return of the Knight-Commander, a myth come to life. There are plans being made for the very near future in which this army will bring about an end, at last, to the Worldwound.

All of it is momentous, all of it glorious. And all of it pales in comparison to the sight of Anevia rushing forward to meet Irabeth at the gates of Drezen.

There are no words for this reunion; there is only Anevia, warm and solid and safe as she throws herself into Irabeth’s embrace. Irabeth wraps her arms around her wife and her enthusiasm is enough to lift Anevia’s feet clear off the ground. Never again does she want to let her go.

At the end of that very, very long day, Irabeth and Anevia collapse into bed together.

They've both been missing this, all of it, for so long, yet there's no desire for sex tonight. Tonight, they simply sit together, leaning against the bed’s headboard, skin pressed close and breaths moving in time, quietly murmuring to each other all the things they've wanted to say during this time apart.

Anevia is the first to finally surrender to sleep; her body leans against Irabeth's, and her head drops slowly until Irabeth carefully maneuvers her into her lap. She brushes a strand of dark hair from Anevia's face as she does so, and her breath catches as if she's seeing her wife for the first time, all over again.

"I love you," Irabeth whispers, hoping the words will work their way into Anevia's dreams. Such small words for the overwhelming feeling inside her, yet what else can she say? So she says it again, a whisper in the night. "I love you, Nevi."

While Irabeth is gone, Anevia prays to every god she's got.

Oh Desna, let her travels be safe, and let them lead her home.

She's got plenty of faith in Irabeth herself, but a little extra never hurts, especially when fighting demons. Especially when fighting demons in a place like Iz. Especially when the battle may very well decide the fate of the whole Crusade, which in turn decides the fate of the kingdom, and Anevia knows the Queen is betting everything on a victory. Everything. Including the Sword of Valor. Including Irabeth.

She's your paladin, Lady of Valor. Give her your strength. Give her your fury.

Anevia understands why Irabeth had to be the one to go. It's because she's Irabeth, so noble and brave and certain of her purpose. It's because it's her duty, and Anevia has always, always, loved that guiding light which fuels her wife and makes her shine so brightly against the dull gray apathy of the world.

Calistria. Keep her sword sharp enough so she can fight her way back to me.

None of those reasons make it any easier when Irabeth leaves. In her heart, all Anevia wants to do is follow, even if it means forging ahead into Hell itself.

But it's not that simple. Drezen will be left vulnerable while the Queen and her forces are gone; the city needs someone to watch over it. Someone also needs to wait for the Commander's return, funeral rites be damned. Anevia does her best work from the shadows, not the front lines. She and Irabeth both know that. It makes sense for her to be here.

And she would have marched off with Irabeth anyway, if Irabeth hadn't asked her to stay.

Anevia almost wants to hate her for it, but deep down she knows that's not something she'll ever be able to manage. Irabeth just wants to keep her safe, and she wants to serve her oath, and she's doing both as best she knows how.

So Anevia does her job, too. She stays, and she stands for Drezen, and she waits.

Anevia paces back and forth across the room, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. "I don't like it," she's saying, in continuation of what she's been grumbling for nearly an hour now. "It's not right. It's bullshit, is what it is, and I don't see how we’re supposed to pretend otherwise."

Irabeth watches from her desk chair, her shoulders slumped. "Nevi…"

"Sorry, Beth, I don't. After everything the Commander’s accomplished, for Galfrey to come in and take it all away is just-" She cuts herself off and shakes her head harshly. "Mark my words, it's a bad turn."

"The Queen has her reasons. It's a complicated situation."

Anevia fumes. "Complicated. Yeah, I'm sure it is."

"She's doing what she thinks is best," Irabeth says, and the worst part is that Anevia knows she believes it. Even after all she's been through, even after seeing firsthand the mistakes that leaders can make, Irabeth still likes to believe in the way things are supposed to be.

Anevia's always had a harder time with that. Sure, maybe Galfrey’s convinced herself she’s doing the right thing. That doesn’t mean she isn’t wrong.

“What’s done is done,” Irabeth points out, “no matter what we think of it.”

It’s true- there’s no grabbing the Commander out of the Abyss now- but that reminder only serves to frustrate Anevia further. "So what, we just sit back and watch it all happen?"

Irabeth drags a tired hand across her face. "What else would we do, Nevi? I'm still sworn to the kingdom and the Crusades."

"A Crusade without a Knight-Commander!"

"Nevi, please." Irabeth stops and takes a heavy breath, and Anevia fights off a twinge of guilt. She and Irabeth are no stranger to arguments when needed, especially where the Eagle Watch is concerned. They've gone at each other over budgets and orders and strategies plenty of times before, and the Order has been stronger for it.

But they've never dealt with a situation like this.

"You're not wrong," Irabeth says at last. "But you're not right, either. What we need to focus on now is the people who are still here and still in need of our protection. I may not fully agree with every decision being made, but I made an oath. I'm doing what I can to uphold it."

Anevia's anger crumbles away, and she moves to put a hand on Irabeth's arm.

"I know," she says softly. "And you’re right about one thing- we're needed here. So we'll stick with it. But we deserve better than this, and I’m going to stay pissed off enough for the both of us.”

Irabeth chuckles. "Thank you." She rises and kisses the corner of Anevia's frown; Anevia has to admit it, it softens her up, just a little.

"We'll figure this out," Irabeth says. "I promise."

"I know we will," Anevia replies. “We always do.”

This one's an AU chapter inspired by the Excess DLC, because the fact that there's a canonical AU where Anevia and Irabeth have an enemies-and-lovers/cat-and-mouse/cops-and-robbers dynamic going on is such a beautiful gift and i think about it all the time

There's a telltale shift in the air right before the attack, and Irabeth jumps to the side just in time.

With no contact made, the invisibility spell utilized by her assailant remains in place, and Irabeth is forced to rely on other senses as she scans the training grounds. Again, she feels a presence a split second before the blow comes; this time, she brings her arm up into blocking position.

Anevia's sharp eyes and taunting grin blink into view as her wrist smacks against Irabeth's forearm.

Even in the wake of her second failed strike, Anevia is slippery; she dodges Irabeth's reaching arm and slides around her, training dagger winking in the sunlight as she twirls it between her fingers. Only a moment is taken to catch her breath before she strikes again, relying on her superior speed to catch Irabeth off guard.

What Irabeth lacks in dexterity, however, she makes up for in resolve. She once again blocks Anevia's blow, not moving an inch in her stance. Anevia lets out a huff of frustration, drawing a grin from Irabeth in return.

The next few moves are a close contest. Anevia twists her hand wielding the dagger; Irabeth grips her wrist and maneuvers her back, pressing her thumb against Anevia's palm.

The dagger falls to the ground.

"Disarmed,” Irabeth states, with no small amount of satisfaction.

Anevia hums. "If that was a real fight, I'd have nicked your throat first. I doubt you can call that a win."

Stubborn, Irabeth thinks. She completes her maneuver and spins Anevia in place, pinning the rogue against her chest and blocking her in with her arms. "It looks like a win from my point of view."

Despite her position, Anevia doesn't look defeated in the slightest. She actually wiggles in Irabeth's arms, reveling in her capture. "Mine, too."

Irabeth can’t help but flush a little at that. Even as she releases the hold, her hands linger on Anevia's waist; she can already imagine how they'll be recreating this scene later tonight, under the cover of a little more privacy. In the meantime…

"Best two out of three?" she offers, and Anevia grins.