it's a long long way to Baldur's Gate

Isobel pulled against the strong hold her Paladin had wrapped around her waist, eliciting a deep, keening sound from Aylin’s chest as she attempted to extract herself from the sweaty tangle of limbs. “I’ll be gone just a moment, my love,” Isobel tried to placate, carding her fingers through the Aasimar’s sweaty, tangled hair.

“Allow me, what do you require?” Aylin rushed out, forcing her limbs to respond as she pushed herself away from the embrace of their bed. The very core of her being felt resorted to her own holy fire, she burned, yet a pleasant fog buzzed around in her mind, keeping the troubles of being her mother’s sword at bay.

Before Isobel could protest, Aylin was swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing- only to just barely succeed in catching herself with strong hands on the bed frame. Without her permission, her legs quivered under her weight, her entire body malfunctioning, refusing to comply with her demands.

Frustration pricked at the back of her eyes, though before it could become too much, soft hands were ghosting over her back- since when did Isobel move around the bed? “Come my angel,” she pressed a soft kiss to the shell of her ear before guiding the immortal back into the cocoon of their blankets, the sanctum of their love consummated at last. She sank bonelessly into the covers under the guidance of Isobel’s unwavering hands.

“Aftercare is nonnegotiable,” The Cleric explained at the groggy, confused look in Aylin’s eyes. “I’ll be gone just a moment.” Forcing herself to relax was the hardest part as she watched Isobel pad silently across the room, pulling on a robe as she passed one of the scattered piles of clothes. The door opened with a creak, revealing Squire, who must have been waiting just outside the door to keep up her steadfast protection of her charge.

“Hello my sweet girl,” She’d heard Isobel greet just before the door shut, cheeks darkening as she compared the nickname of the beast to the quiet, enraptured praise she’d been giving Aylin just moments ago.

In Isobel’s absence, Aylin turned inwards. The buzz in her muscles seemed ever present, the burn was pleasant however, relaxing in a way that no warm spring or healing spell had ever seemed able to grant her. Moonlight filtered in through sheer curtains, reflecting off the scant lines of gold that crossed her skin from battles past. Slick and sweat still sat heavy on her tongue, ambrosia-like as she reveled in the sweet and saltiness still dancing along her tastebuds. If only she’d known the godly ichor that seemed to flow from Isobel sooner- but never the mind, she would more than make up for it, just as soon as she’d trained her body to overcome the fatigue.

“No, Squire,” Isobel’s voice filtered back on the other side of the door, drawing her attention away, halting the stream of intrusive thoughts that had her hand wandering across the curve of her own hip, wondering. “Not right now, sweet girl.” She slipped through the small opening of the door, toeing away Squire’s inquisitive nose as she shut the door.

Water sloshed in a small bucket as she carried it to her desk, drawing Aylin’s curiosity as her hands dropped back against the blankets, watching Isobel work as if preparing her shrine to the Moon maiden.

Clear water was poured into a clean glass, a soft rag was then placed in the water remaining in the bucket, left to soak as the cleric brought the glass to Aylin’s side. “Here,” When Aylin reached for the cup, Isobel batted at her fingers. “Allow me?” The Paladin had chuckled, but acquiesced. Isobel was careful not to spill a drop as she tilted the glass against Aylin’s lips. She hadn’t even realized how parched she’d become until the cool water washed over her tongue, though Isobel was steadfast, not allowing her beloved’s eagerness to let her tilt the cup too far.

Praise came as she drank, each sweet name cataloged in her mind once Isobel spoke it, her free hand brushing away strands of hair that stuck to her face as Aylin dutifully finished her water. “Sweet girl.” “My strong angel.” “My glowing girl.”

Setting the empty glass on the nightstand, Isobel stepped away just long enough to wring out the soaked rag. “It’ll be a tad cold,” she warned. Before Aylin could ask, the freezing cloth pressed against her upper thigh, shocking her muscles back to reality. Blankets scrunched under her fingers as she shifted under Isobel’s caring touch.

Isobel cleaned away sweat, slick, and saliva from her skin as if she were polishing only the finest silver. Stone-like scabs littered the insides of her thighs, proof of her Cleric’s strength, love, and devotion. “No-“ her voice was gravely and thick, syrupy with the influence of calming drowsiness. Isobel paused to meet her gaze, healing magic sitting at the tips of her fingers, prepared to wipe away the thin lines as if they were never there. “I’d like to keep them, as long as they’ll stay,” trepidation tinged her face, as if the request was somehow unreasonable.

“Anything for you, my love,” Isobel pressed a kiss to her cheek as her magic dimmed. Once she was clean, the shorter woman clambered back into their bed, finally allowing the last few hours to catch up with her as she sank back into Aylin’s side. “Though I won’t have any issue leaving more, should you say the word.”

“If I ever refuse that request, assume Sharrans have controlled my mind and preform only the most brutal of banishments.” Her words were spoken as oath, but she found herself smiling at the warm laughter that bubbled past Isobel’s lips, stoking the cozy fire that sat in her chest.

Barbed chains and wires pressed deep into her skin where they pulled her to the ground, the delicate bones of her wings creaked and snapped under the pressure, blood moistened her feathers, and laughter filled her ears. Shar? Ketheric? Balthazar? Or another Sharran yearning for promotion? She could hardly tell the difference between her visitors, and they only came from behind these days. Balthazar had even stripped her of her ability to question her newest conqueror, her tongue was taking what felt like a millennium to regrow, only allowing her to choke out sick, guttural noises of pain during each session. 

A cold finger traced down her spine, just between the delicate bones. The nail was sharp and she could feel a sick griminess left behind in the path it had taken. “Yes… These will do,” Ketheric’s voice was loud in her ears, thundering as she tried to struggle. The mage hands grabbed tighter into her arms, pressing a new round of fresh bruises into her mottled skin. The familiar sound of metal sliding from a sheath rang out, and suddenly, she had her tongue. 

She’d wished to bite it off, to cut it off once more if only to save her honor, to halt the embarrassment of her screams, harrowing wails echoing in the cavernous nothingness of the Shadowfell as the blade sawed all too slowly. Warm wetness raced along her back and down her face, cutting tracks into the grime. She tried to fight and did everything she could to resist until she simply couldn’t, she wasn’t strong enough, all but collapsing into the hold of the mage hands as bones splintered and broke under the chains and blades. She was glad they stopped touching her skin when Ketheric decided the wings were severed enough to pull. 

Her body wrenched back with each tug, each more painful than the last. With a final, keening sob, the ground was swept out from under her. 

She landed with a harsh thud onto the ground, floorboards cracking under her weight as she collapsed, each breath igniting her lungs as she pushed herself backward, away from the danger alarms her brain kept blaring. When she opened her eyes to the moonlight bedroom, she could see nothing but Last Light, Isobel’s room, no danger. 

Aylin backed up until she could feel the rotten wood at her back, could feel her wings bristling in discomfort as pieces of wood flecked off into the feathers. She was damp with sweat and tears, spittle and blood running down her chin, her lips bitten to the hells and back, her throat torn from each harrowing scream. The room was empty, Isobel was nowhere she could see, and while initially, it would cause her to panic, she found herself grateful for her own pride. 

Fighting to calm her breathing, to stop the hyperventilating that kept her chest rising and falling in a painful race against her heart, the Aasimar dropped her head back against the wall and let out a quiet groan. She tried to pray, truly she had, but she could not find comfort, even with the moonlight filtering in through the windows. 

Perhaps it was childish, but she was alone- it was just herself and the moonlight, after all. The Paladin tucked her knees to her chest slowly, as if remembering how her; arms wrapped around her calves to tuck them closer to her bare chest, and then, to protect her pride once more, silvery white wings enclosed around herself. She didn’t want to disappoint her mother any further, to make her find a champion who wouldn’t crumble under the weight asked of her. She had to be strong, a sword tempered in the hottest of hells. She would not fail her quest now of all times, after her first taste of freedom in a century. 

“Aylin? Love?” Her voice was soft, and quiet, barely breaking the surface of the toiling ocean in her ears. Something clinked together, broken glass was being swept up, strewn items were being returned to their shelves, and tentative steps were coming closer. “Darling?” 

“Don’t-” Her voice was choked. It was a painful request to make of her beloved, but she’d all but bristled with the thought of being touched, with Isobel’s fingers coming anywhere near her wings when they ached so horribly. “Please- I... I am sorry, I need only a moment,” She rushed, trying to put her fractured pieces together like they were no more than the crushed and shattered glass that had been swept aside. 

Unfolding herself from her fetal position and tucking her wings firmly against her back, Aylin shoved the mask into place, forcing herself to take stock of the damage around her. Glass glittered against the ground, an idol of Selûne lay broken near the nightstands, silver ichor painted the ground and shards of glass, blood, her blood, staining the surfaces of their safe haven. Her stomach churned, though there was nothing that could come up. “Aylin, my dove. Talk to me, please. It pains me so to see you distraught.” 

Working a muscle in her jaw, the Aasimar strode to the balcony, stepping into the cold night air and allowing a shiver to race down her spine, following that same sickly path that Ketheric’s finger had once carved. “I… Do not know where to start.” She admitted, flexing her wings in the cool night breeze. Blood matted feathers together, sending a sharp tug of pain along her bones- the glass must have snagged her wings in her flailing. “I don’t wish to burden you with objects of the past.”

“Aylin,” Isobel was close enough to touch, and Aylin knew she wished to, knew how magic itched at her fingertips, that her brilliant blue eyes were focused on the gashes along the curve of her wings, staining white feathers in shining silver ichor. Admiring Isobel was always in the cards, and she couldn’t help herself when she recognized the strength her beloved held within, to not touch just because she’d asked, even if she truly needed the aid. “My beautiful, darling girl,” Her voice edged on sadness, and Aylin could see the way she fiddled with her hands in the moonlight, aching to do something. “You are not a burden. We are together not because I hope you’ll protect me from the world, but so we can share the burden of existence together. I wish to share the weight you carry on my own shoulders, to stand beside you through it all.”

“It is rotten work, my love-” Aylin’s head bowed low, staring at the mossy cracks along the stone railing. 

“Not if it’s you. Never if it’s you. Please, share your troubles with me, allow me to work through this with you, as a team.” 

Aylin’s weight shifted to the side, and when Isobel’s hand reached out, the Paladin leaned into her touch, warm against clammy skin. The Cleric pressed her palm into Aylin’s hip, following the curve of her waist until she could pull her beloved a fraction closer. “Would you prefer to go inside?” 

“No… I am more comfortable out here-” Her wings flexed as if to make a point, though Isobel did wince at the sight of glass still stuck in her feathers. “In the Shadowfell. Balthazaar, he…” She shook her head, unsure how to explain what she’d seen, what she’d lived through, what she’d died through. “They… Wanted my wings. They’d used chains and blades, had broken each bone until they’d healed, and tightened the chains each time until they were wrong. I watched my feathers molt each time, they could not heal properly. I… Recall cursing them to the hells, taunting them, hoping they would allow me a death that would stop the pain in my joints… I can still taste Balthazaar’s putrid hand in my mouth when he’d cut out my tongue,” Isobel’s fingers tightened around her waist at the thought, but Aylin knew all too well that she couldn’t stop now, could not coddle Isobel against the truth, that the Cleric would grow angry with her if she dared to sugarcoat her truth now. “I could not scream, it was a mercy when they’d started sawing…” Aylin paused, catching her breath, chasing away demons as she focused on the feeling of cold air against her skin, grounding her in the present. 

“I don’t know how long it took, but my tongue had returned before they’d removed my wings fully. I shamed myself, my mother, the legacy. I am meant to be the Sword of Selûne, and yet… I felt farther from my title than ever. Useless, broken. 

“I do not know how long it took my body to understand that they were gone, that they could not return fully without Selûne’s guidance. I’d felt the pain for ages, I forgot what it felt like to not feel the agony of phantom pains, to look behind me and see only the swirling darkness of Shar’s domain, and not my birthright, tall and proud at my back.”

“The pain is a constant. It… takes many reminders to know now that they are home, as I am.” 

Isobel’s hand moved to the small of her back, and while Aylin’s body had tensed, she allowed the gentle touch to remain. “My feathers seem to have grown back wrong, and I fear taking to the air on them unless it’s necessary, and yet… All I want is to fly, to know that they cannot take this freedom from me.” Her hands rested heavily on the railing now. “Ever again.” 

“And no one shall ever, not for as long as myself nor our new friends walk this plane. Allow us to protect you as you’ve done for us so many times before.” Isobel requested, her thumb stroking against a scar across the taller woman’s tailbone. 

Aylin nodded slowly in understanding, allowing a gentle silence to fall over them both. “My dove?” Isobel broke eventually, looking past broad shoulders to stare at the damaged, delicate bones. “Would you allow me to heal your wings and clear the blood from your feathers?” 

“I can-” Aylin went to protest, hesitant eyes searching Isobel’s gaze for something she knew she’d never find. 

“I want to take care of you.” She pressed on, though backpedaled after a moment. “I know it is a big step to ask of you to take, I’ll accept your refusal in the face of your comfort, however, if you’d like to try, I will stop the moment you ask.” 

Pondering the promise, Aylin thought back to conversations of the past, how different they’d been a century ago. Once upon a time, these were conversations regarding bringing something new into their love life, long conversations regarding where to touch, how to grab, and the kind of pressure they were comfortable applying. Oh how the mighty had fallen, their conversations now regarding the simple basic touch of one lover to another. 

“I will do my best to endure.”

“No.” Isobel’s hand moved from her hips to her bicep, gently guiding her back to their bed. “You will not force yourself to endure, not here, never with me. I only hope to alleviate your pain, if only for a moment.” Obediently, Aylin followed her guidance, allowing herself to be settled onto the edge of the bed. “May I sit behind you?” At Aylin’s nod, the cleric shifted around, mattress dipping as she wiggled into position, bracketing her thighs around Aylin’s body, carefully sliding her legs beneath the great wings that stopped her from seeing her face. “Do you remember your safeword?” 

“We are not participating in sex, unless-”

“No, no. Love, it’s for more than sex. The same rules apply, however. If at any moment you grow uncomfortable, and wish me to stop, you need only utter the word. Can you tell me what it is?” 

She had to think long and hard, sorting through the past century of hell to find the memory locked neatly in her mental vault. The syllables were thick on her tongue. Air, spoken in the ancient tongues of Celestial. Isobel may not be able to translate, but they’d practiced the word enough, Isobel knew each utterance and had always pulled back before Aylin could even finish the first syllable. 

When she’d spoken her safeword, Isobel let out a soft, content sound of approval that spread warmth across her chest. “My good dove, remembering so well for me,” And Selûne’s grace, she’d almost wished they could forgo this emotional dam and skip right to the sex if Isobel was going to butter her up so well. 

Just knowing that Isobel’s hands were close to her wings was enough to set off her danger alarms, though she forced herself to remain still, even as her muscles tightened harder than stone at the mere ghosting of fingers along her feathers. “I’m right here, my love. My brave, strong girl,” 

The compliments continued to flow as Isobel eased into applying pressure, first she touched the tips of Aylin’s wings, magic alight at her fingertips as she closed each gash along the split skin, her fingertips touching the golden solder where it laid deep beneath her feathers. 

It wasn’t until Isobel reached the thick, golden sections of bone closest to her back that Aylin crumbled. “Stop, stop- st…” Anxiety shot through her body as she shot to her feet, uttering her safeword in a quiet mantra. True to her promise, Isobel had stopped immediately, recognizing the pain on her angel’s face as she put distance between herself and the bed. 

“I’m so proud of you, my love,” Isobel didn’t move closer, but she did scoot back to create more space on the bed, in case Aylin wished to return. “Thank you for letting me know your limit.” 

“There’s nothing to be proud of,” The Paladin rasped deprecatingly, eyes moist and red as she wrapped her arms around herself. “If I cannot sit through it with you then how will I react if an enemy-”

“Aylin, love, deep breath,” Isobel spoke through the thick fog in her brain. “Take a moment. We cannot rush this. Healing will come, but not if you try to force yourself to feel as you once had too quickly.” 

“I know this in my heart to be true,” The Paladin admitted as she rounded back towards the bed, the fire in her blood calming as she sank back into the mattress. “It is convincing my mind that it is so.” Tired eyes shifted to the small pile of stone near the nightstand, to the broken idol of Seluene that had sliced her wing in her nightmarish flailing still lay, shattered, her mother’s face sliced similarly to her own. 

The Sharran enclave was stacked with dark soldiers, more than they could have possibly accounted for in the days leading up to the attack. Eager to prove herself against those who’d killed her so many times in the last century, Aylin had charged in headfirst, a small band of Selûnite Paladins hot on her tail as they stormed the doors. 

Adrenaline rushed through her veins, spurring her onwards as spells exploded and crackled in the air around her. Blood spilled hot on her face as she swung her greatsword in a wide arc, catching a Dark Justiciar, familiar with the wide look in his eyes, right between the opening in his armor. Her sword cleaved through his throat like a hot knife through butter, dropping his lifeless form only to move on to the next one. “Hear me and know the fury of the Moonmaiden! Know the fury of Dame Aylin and quake in your bones!” Dame Aylin roared over the battle, rallying the Paladins that fought beside her in the large chamber. 

Large wooden doors swung open, revealing an absolute behemoth of an orc, donned in the armor of a Dark Justiciar. She knew this one well, knew the feeling of their fingers grasping around her ribs as they sliced into her abdomen and reached inside. The laughter as she’d been left to die, bones and organs spread across the Shadowfell in a gross approximation of an eagle, their vile Goddess accepting the victory over a defenseless warrior with open arms. 

Holy fire burned in her bones. Their presence alone was enough to distract two of her Paladins, their bodies falling among all the others. “I have seen the fury of Dame Aylin,” They bellowed, chin rising pointedly as they brought the large great axe from their shoulder. “And it compares only to a pretty bird that’s missed its worm!” Her wings flapped hard, setting friend and foe alike off balance as she rose into the air. “You have never fought a fair fight in your life, pitiful Sharran. This battle shall be your last!” Her sword raised high above her head, and with a surge of divinity, holy fire lit up in a ring around the chamber.

Trapped alone inside the fires, Aylin let her boots touch the ground once again. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as they examined the scene. “Hard to believe the moon bitch could produce a noble warrior. Shar knows you surely don’t die like one.” A nonchalant shrug surged the anger in her heart. “I look forward to seeing how my Lady will reward me once I return you to her domain.” 

“No one will hold dominion of my being ever again!” Aylin bellowed, surging forward with her blade at the ready. When the axe was swung, she dropped her blade parallel to her body. The axe glanced off the broad side of her blade, sending the metal skittering to the floor while the Sharran fought to bring it back up. Using her forward momentum, Aylin planted her foot in the center of their chest and shoved. Flailing backwards, the Sharran managed to swing the blade back just enough to catch in the meat of her thigh as they propelled backward. 

Fueled by rage, Aylin pushed her advantage, swinging her blade high over her head as holy fire danced along the edges. Swinging downwards, the Sharran had just barely a moment to roll from under the swing. The ground beneath her blade split and cracked as she struck, embedding the tip into the ground. As she tried to pull her blade free, the Sharran recovered. The next swing of the great axe hit her arm, breaking her hold of her own sword as she tensed to meet the pressure. The metal stayed strong under unrelenting force, allowing her to twist her wrist just enough to grasp the shoulder of the weapon and pull. 

With a harsh tug, Aylin sent the axe flying from the Sharran's grip, hauling it out of their fiery enclosure and out of her mind. Beyond the ring, a familiar voice called her name, almost drowned out by the clanging of the axe hitting the ground. The Paladin's head turned, trying to see past the flames, chasing the sound of Isobel’s voice, searching for her safety amongst the chaos. 

Her distraction proved fatal as the Orc slunk towards a fallen comrade, sliding the spear from their dead grip without the Selûnites notice. “I pray every day that the Moon Bitch has felt you die, I pray to the Dark Lady that I am granted the power to break you and your disgrace of a mother!” Aylin snapped her head back to her opponent at last, unsuccessful in her endeavor to find her beloved. 

The blade sinking into her stomach was cold, freezing, even, as hot, silver blood gushed to the surface, fighting its way through the narrow escape between metal and skin. Aylin stumbled backward as her hands dropped to the shaft piercing through her body. “And once again, you will die no braver than those you claim to defend, little bird.” She raised her hand, magic sparking at her fingertips as she tried to summon something to finish the dirty bastard off. She was not afraid of adding another death to her toll, but this… it felt dirty . The spear embedded in her body so close to the scars where they’d first maimed her, blood spilling at the Orc’s feet as if they’d never left the Shadowfell. 

“Filthy dog,” They’d spat, stepping back enough to admire the handiwork of a mortally wounded Selûnite. The blade they’d pulled from their belt next was serrated, made to saw through bone. “I’ve always regretted not being the one to cleave those wings from your body. I’d heard Aasimar wings go for a fortune these days, too.” Aylin was losing blood, fast , but the fear of losing her wings once again had her fighting to stand. 

“You… you will not dare !” Her voice was raw, blood gurgling up in her throat and past her lips, as she tried to wrench the spearhead free of her insides. Pain lanced across her entire body, she wished to bleed out faster, if not to take her moment to revive and bring the true fury of the Heavens down upon them. 

“Aylin!” That voice shouted again, her sweet, darling Isobel. It was closer now, no longer distorted by the roar of the inferno around them. Her vision swam as she looked towards her injury, forcing her hands closed around the shaft just enough to snap it in two. Without the spear forcing her up, the Paladin collapsed into the ground, elbow just barely catching her weight as her forehead hit the sticky marble, slick with her ichor. 

She can only wait for her mother’s sweet embrace as the steel of their blade flashes in the light, waiting for it to tear through her body and finish off another life. 

Boots stomped on the ground before her, and the sick sound of metal sinking into wood made her eyes open once again. Blearily, she can see Isobel before her, spear held firmly in her grip as she intercepts the Justicier’s blade, twisting it from their grip just as her spear splintered and broke in two. With renewed vigor, Aylin dug her fingers into her wound, hoping to find whatever inferior internal organ was caught on the tip of the spear. With an agonizing growl, she anchored her arm into the ground, searching for the leverage that would grant her gravity’s aid in removing the obtrusion. 

“Stop!” Isobel demanded, voice firm as she reared back from their opponent. When Aylin looked up once again, she found intense blue eyes leveled with her own. Weakened by blood loss, Aylin could only nod her submission, forced to watch as the Cleric reared back, drawing her hands to her center as she summoned Selûne’s magic. 

Selûne guided each of Isobel’s movements, filling divine purpose into the incantations that sat on the Cleric’s tongue. As the Sharran tried to surge forward again, Isobel called forth a beam of moonlight, searing through the ceiling of the temple and striking down right upon the enemy, obliterating them where they stood. Tired eyes watched the flakes of ash as they floated to the ground, her body finally sapped of all the fight she had mustered as she dropped to her side at last. “Aylin!” Isobel called again, though it sounded far away, echoing through a tunnel, even as she focused on the silvery moons dotted across the hem of her beloved’s robes. 

As it had so many times before, darkness enveloped her, and the world went quiet. Her mother’s embrace was not waiting for her. It had all been a cruel trick of the Shadowfell after all. 

“You need not restrain her!” A familiar voice shouted from the darkness. Leather and metal dug into the sensitive skin of her wrists and forearms, keeping her from moving easily. “Let her go!”

“Lady Thorm, she’s attached four clerics in your absence, we had to do something !” Someone argued, even as a door burst open and the voices grew closer. “The Moon Maiden will understand, surely!” 

“Well, I don’t. You’d better pray that Aylin is more forgiving than her mother and myself when she wakes.” Isobel’s voice was seething as she approached Aylin’s side, her fingers gentle where they pressed against her skin, working the tight bindings away from her beloved's prone form. 

Swimming between consciousness, Aylin couldn’t find the strength to bounce back, not even when her arms were released and blood flow ran back to her fingertips. When Isobel’s fingers traced against the line of her cheekbone, she still could not find the energy, nothing in her that could scream ‘I’m here, I’m awake!’ 

A chair creaked as Isobel pulled it to her bedside, lowering her weight into it with a soft sigh, a rattle in her lungs that signaled an aching coughing fit pushed back far too long. “Oh my sweet dove,” Isobel rasped. The next time she touched Aylin, it was against the new solder, thick and knotted where it put her body back together, deep into her insides. “It kills me, you know?” Wetness clouded her voice, and Aylin could feel a fat droplet land against a thin layer of fabric across her stomach. “Watching the light leave your eyes. Every time you’d rush off into a fight without thinking of yourself. You throw your life away time and time again like you’re expendable … As if no one would care about your life so long as it’s in service to the Moon Maiden. But Aylin, my love so bright… this? This can’t be what a mother would want of her daughter.”

Aylin felt her throat go tight, even if she could respond, she wasn’t sure if she had the words. “You are more than her sword. You are my Aylin, her daughter. A guiding light in the darkness of this world. The grief, every time I’ve lost you… It weighs on me so… We were lucky, this time if we didn’t have the enclave to back us up, who’s to say what could have been done…” 

Blunt nails pressed against the edge of the scar, tracing a bruise. It didn’t hurt, but it did drive home what her beloved was trying to say. “Isobel,” Her voice was hoarse, throat parched from however long she’d been out of it. Her eyelids felt as if weights were trying to keep them closed, and the brightness of the candles around them made her brain ache. Aylin didn’t often survive these encounters and wasn’t used to waking up and dealing with the repercussions of mortal injuries so severely. Her hand was heavy when she reached across her body to grab at Isobel’s wrist. “I.. apologize.” The Cleric straightened when she realized she’d been heard. “It was never my intention to hurt you… I only want to prove useful. I faltered against the weight of my memories, and I failed to take my revenge,”

“You mean…”

“Yes. The Sharran is one I’ve faced before during my imprisonment. They reached their position by killing me, once upon a time.” Her eyelids slid shut again, attempting to soak up whatever she could in her short rest until her mother called upon her again. “I should not have put you in the position-”

“Don’t you dare. ” Isobel cut her off, reaching to cup her hand around Aylin’s face. “Just as you, I would throw down everything time and time again to protect you. It is my duty as your lover. And it is your duty to let me. Trust that I will come through for you, but just to be a favor?” 

“Anything for you, my dear Isobel.”

“Use your head before you try that again. You cut yourself off from all reinforcements. Selûne has other champions to help, to fight in your stead when you need a moment. Let them do the jobs they signed up for, wait for your reinforcements, and for the love of your mother, slow down once in a while. And perhaps, take care to not fight the Clerics that are trying to help you heal.” A smile graced Isobel’s lips, one that Aylin couldn’t help returning. 

Candlelight still blazed inside the common rooms of Last Light Inn, their safe harbor in the storm that had been the last few hours. With all the refugees and mercenaries emptied out, the clatter of Aylin’s armor and their footsteps echoed through cavernous rooms.  Where Isobel’s steps were gentle against the old wooden stairs, Aylin’s feet fell heavy, her wings brushing against the walls to whisk a fine layer of dust into delicate feathers, darkening them considerably. 

The Paladin did not move, even as Isobel crossed the room to draw the curtains back, lighting the dusty room up with Selûne’s silver embrace. Silvery eyes watched her every move, statuesque even as the Cleric paused in front of her. “Aylin,” She called, reaching to run her fingers along the taller woman’s jawline. “Come back to me,” Her voice was a mere whisper, but the spark of recognition that flashed in her eyes was grounding. 

“Apologies, my love,” Aylin’s head dipped to follow Isobel’s touch, her lips pressing into the soft leather of the Cleric's glove as she focused back on the present. Eager hands reached out, wrapping carefully around Isobel’s waist to keep her within reach. Heavy wings encircled them both, almost as if Aylin were attempting to block the moon's light from intruding on their small cocoon. 

Wherever she’d gone, Isobel could still see the way it tried to claw her back within its grasp, much like the cold hand of death had stayed clenched around her lungs. The bump of a warm nose against her cheek drew her from her introspection, as Aylin’s breath fanned across her skin and the armor across her fingertips pressed past the thick robes covering her frame. “I believe I’d made a promise or two that I cannot fathom breaking.” And yes, Isobel knew that Aylin was deflecting, but as her angel lifted her into her arms and strode across the room, she’d deigned to allow it to slide, if not just for the feel of Aylin’s lips and teeth returning home against the smooth column of her throat. 

It had been far too easy to let herself fall prey to normal, in the way Aylin set her down on the edge of the bed, only to drop to her knees before her, heavy armor scraping against the floorboards, and in the way her Paladin had eagerly devoted herself to the task of reuniting with the feel of Isobel’s body beneath her, warm, respondent, alive. 

Sweat glistened in the silvery moonlight atop Isobel’s thighs, the Cleric lay sprawled back against the old duvet, sucking air into revived lungs as Aylin’s cheek pressed into her knees. “Oh, my sweet Aylin,” She murmured, rising only enough to meet the woman’s gaze. Silver glinted from the armor still donned across her body, and she could feel the uncomfortable press of gauntlets into her calves, where Aylin’s bare hands steadied herself. 

Her muscles ached as she sat up, allowing Aylin to pull back just enough to rest on her haunches. “My love,” The Paladin’s voice turned away as her fingers ghosted across the fine details of the outer pauldron. “Would it not be more comfortable to join me?” For she wanted, needed, Aylin just as badly as the Paladin had her, and while she would do most anything for her mate, the added weight and jagged edges of metal made communion much more painful to her mortal body. 

Aylin’s jaw set tersely, her eyes fixated on a deep, scratched groove in the floorboards as if the scars in the wood could explain the many new ones she carried, not only in gold but deep in her foundation.

The soft pad of Isobel’s thumb stroking across her jawline was enough to make her flinch back, blinking away shadows as she focused on the smudged kohl around Isobel’s eyes and the way the moonlight from behind seemed to halo her lover's head. “Forgive me,” Aylin’s head bowed and her weight shifted, her hands dropping away from Isobel’s calves to rest nervously atop her own lap. 

“I return to you… unwhole,” Isobel’s lips parted to interject, for if anyone knew what it felt like to return missing such a vital piece of themselves, it would be the Cleric herself, however, Aylin pushed forward, unable to bear the weight of waiting any longer. Vulnerability hadn’t been safe in a century, after all. “The last we’ve been together, I had else been perfect, contented in my place in your life, your protector, the sword of the Moonmaiden,” Warily, her eyes dipped towards the open window. “Whole as marble, as founded as a rock. In my years on the mortal plane, I believed I knew everything about myself, my purpose. I lived as free and broad as the air in our lungs, the wind in my wings.” The great wings behind her stretched at the mere memory of the feeling. 

“But now I return, cabined, cribbed, confined, and bound in ways I knew not possible- not when I..” Her voice trailed off, and moisture filled her eyes. “I had done everything right.” Isobel’s hand carded carefully through the Paladin’s hair, easing the stress that threatened to combust. “Everything.” Her voice trailed into a whisper. “And yet, I’d lost you, my mate most high, my reason to breathe beyond my mother’s sacred duty. They cursed me Nightsong, and I am afraid that the Nightsinger may always live within the confines of my head, that I will be no more than a tool for mortals to chase away their fears. I am afraid that I cannot bear that burden again.” Pale fingers were curled tight around the lip of armor at her knees, knuckles whiter than snow where she gripped hard. 

“So long as I am carved wide with teeth marks, I know that I am wanted,” Aylin admitted at last, her fingers twitching against the armor as her gaze dropped to the spiderweb of scars that raced across her hands and under her armor. Her admission seemed to take enough out of her, the hard line across her shoulders had drooped, and with it, the strength to hold herself up fully. The Paladin’s head drooped until her forehead was once again resting against her knee. “I long to be the person I was before I understood this sacrifice.” 

“You are still my Aylin.” Isobel’s voice was stern, hardened with the edge of certainty as she drew the woman’s head into both hands. “You are still Selûne’s daughter, the sword of the Moonmaiden, and the love of my life. Yes, you may be Nightsong, but we can rewrite it, together. That witch will never set the tempo of our lives. Never again.” Fire burned deep in her chest as she spoke. 

“You are no mere cattle to be grazed upon by predators. You are not the pawn in a devil's game, and you will be the Nightsong no more, as long as I walk this plane to protect you.” The weight against her knee shifted, though this time, it was Isobel’s turn to push onwards. “It will take time, time that we have been afforded, even with the most nauseating of circumstances. Time that we can use to heal, to learn. There is a new world around us, a world in peril, one that needs saving. We cannot restore Seluene’s might to Reithwin and beyond if we throw ourselves onto the blade each time. And with her guidance, we will do all we can, for Her, Her people, and ourselves. For even if they do not believe themselves devout to her grace, even if they have fallen into the shadows, she will always accept the beings who tread in Her light as Her own.” 

The promise of Selûne’s grace and empathy seemed to help calm Aylin’s nerves at last, allowing her to sit not quite as deflated, and far from as defeated. Exhaustion weighed heavy though, and Isobel knew of the toll even their conversation had on her angel. “Now come, my love. Allow me to remove your armor, and allow Selûne to embrace you once more, to protect you in her light as you have done for her so many times before.” The Cleric reached for Aylin’s hand, pulling until the Paladin rose to her feet, only to sit heavily on the mattress beside her. 

“My beautiful Aylin,” Isobel hummed as her fingers danced up Aylin’s arm, her fingertips dipping between the leather strap keeping her pauldrons secure. Even after all this time, Aylin knew better than to magic the pieces away, more than happy to oblige the soft caress of Isobel carefully removing each piece. She even set them aside gently, despite them shimmering away in moonlight the moment they left her hands. 

Removing the armor at her arms and legs had been simple, ritualistic, though when Isobel got to her chest plate and reached between the juncture where the backplate met her chest plate, all comfort seemed to disappear. The wings at her love’s back shifted as if Aylin were preparing to bolt out the window if she dared get too close to them. “It’s alright, my love. I’m only removing your armor.” The Paladin’s head turned to the side as embarrassment flushed her cheeks a dark hue. “Would you like me to fetch a mirror so you can watch?” 

Isobel made to pull away, but strong fingers encircled her wrist quickly. “No… No, I will be alright, my love. I trust you with all that I am.” And while her body clearly betrayed otherwise, Isobel could find no fault in her apprehension. She’d seen the wings on Marcus’s body, and she would have to be stupid not to make the heinous connection. 

She kept each touch gentle where she’d come too close to the feathers, carefully unlatching each and every piece of armor that clung to Aylin’s body like a second skin. “Even now, you will always be able to call on it again,” She’d soothed between pieces, recognizing the way Aylin watched each piece dematerialize as if she’d be forced into another century without its weight. 

With her armor gone, Isobel was able to make quick work of the under armor, easily sliding chainmail from pliant limbs and carefully untying the laces that ran down the back until she could raise Aylin’s dark blue shirt past her head. Silver moonlight seemed to caress each new golden scar as they became visible, causing Aylin to practically glow in her radiance. 

“May I touch you?” Isobel requested, hands hovering a mere centimeter from her beloved shoulders. “You needn’t ever have to ask, of course you may.” Aylin’s voice was heavy as her emotions and body wound down from the day. 

“Mmm. But I wanted to ask,” First, Isobel's hands danced across rigid muscles, fingertips alight with healing magic, the incantation silent on her tongue between her words She could feel the way each muscle responded to her touch, jumping beneath the pressure as she skirted over them once, then twice. “Your consent and comfort mean more to me than most other things,” Unable to find a reply, Aylin let out a soft ‘harumph’, which quickly melted into a soft groan of relief as Isobel’s fingers found the first knot in her back. 

Perhaps she would not partake in tasting the divine ichor she had once known tonight, but the soft sounds that passed Aylin’s lips, each moan whine, and sharp inhale of breath proved to be more than enough for her as her angel began to relax beneath her fingers, even allowing her to go so far as to press away the knots closest to her wing bones, to not shy away when her arm brushed against their delicate feathers in her endeavor to follow the curve of her hips.