#bard!reader

Dunk had stared, unblinking, until Egg poked his side and pointed at a serving girl who'd come to ask what they wanted.

Nearly an hour has passed since. The stew he'd ordered for supper is long since gone, but he's been nursing his second pint of ale as an excuse to stay a while longer and hear you sing.

Normally, Egg's insolence would spike, and he'd insist on heading up to rest. But the boy seems just as taken with you as he is. Egg's fond of the songs, Dunk has learned, has several memorized, some Dunk couldn't even name. And so his squire doesn't complain, and is instead watching dreamily, elbows propped on the wooden table, his chin resting on the palm of his hand.

A lute rests upon your knee, echoing sweet notes coaxed by your deft fingers. Dunk can't recall if you've ever completely stopped playing, for every time a song ends, and you address the crowd, those fingers jump between the strings, lithe and expert.

He finds himself in awe and a little envious. Such dexterity has never come with ease to him. For most of his life, he lumbers gracelessly. It's served him well enough, but watching your skill has his mind escaping to places he'd never thought of before. He wonders how those fingers would fit against his own hands. He wonders if they are calloused from playing, thinks of how they'd feel running slow down his chest. He wonders if they ever tire.

They must, for you've stopped. Both singing and plucking come to a halt as you say your good nights and thank yous. The crowd applauds, his and Egg's among the loudest. You bow, skirts sweeping over the wooden floor, before hopping off the makeshift platform. Dunk's eyes follow you, neck craning up when you disappear behind the counter, exchanging words with the older barkeep. You're ushered into the back, where he assumes the kitchen is located, before he finally loses sight of you.

"Well, ser," Egg's voice breaks through his thoughts. The kid is smiling, like he knows something Dunk doesn't which, in many such cases, does happen to be true. "I suppose it's time to rest now."

"Aye." he stands, slow and careful as he's learned to do when he's in spaces like this, where it feels second nature to shrink and fold into himself.

The gods gave you tallness, so be tall, Lyonel Baratheon had told him.

The words are seared in Dunk's mind, of course, and he does try. By the seven, he tries very hard to stand proud, but tallness is one thing. The width and breadth of him is another. It's a thing of marvel, a quality that gives him obvious advantage, but his mind returns to you and your lithe fingers. The speed at which they move. He feels sluggish in comparison, sidestepping around the tables after his squire.

He can't help but cast glances back to where you'd disappeared, wondering if you'll reemerge. Perhaps you've retreated. Gone some place to rest, gods know you deserve it after such a performance.

Dunk doesn't even realize that he's stopped at the edge of the crowd until Egg tugs at his sleeve, looking confused.

"Ser?"

"You go on up," Dunk tells the boy. Their room is already paid for, and the pair has been through enough to trust each other to stay put.

Egg gets that gleaming smile again, and Dunk has half a mind to give him a soft smack, but the young prince keeps his mouth shut.

"As you say, ser." there's a lilting tone to his squire's voice, which he pointedly ignores. His body, however, reacts as it always does, flushing with warmth. He hopes his ears aren't pink.

Dunk keeps his gaze on Egg's small figure as he retreats up the staircase, noting the slight patch of hair already beginning to grown at the crown of his head. Silver fuzz, nearly translucent in this light, but they mustn't take any chances. He makes a note to shave it in the morning before they leave the inn.

When Egg's out of sight, Dunk sweeps his gaze across the tavern while he waits for your return. Only a few minutes, he tells himself, he'll linger for a few minutes and if you don't emerge, he's following Egg and calling it a night. A copper coin rests in his hand, growing sweatier by the moment, and even sweatier still when you finally reappear, stomping from the kitchens.

Anger sharpens your features, but does nothing to dull your beauty. He blinks, transfixed, openly staring at your incoming form. You are a study of contrasts and color, your clothing bearing no symbols to hint at a true allegiance to any house. Just like him. A traveler, an outcast, bound only to the road and where it shall take you.

The lute is now slung across your back, bound by an artfully crafted leather strap and colorful ribbons. Dunk cannot help but notice the tension of your shoulders, your narrowed eyes. He swears he's swallowed his tongue when those eyes fix upon him, cutting as a knife.

"If you don't mind, ser, you're in the way." The anger that contorts your features also laces your words.

Dunk winces and immediately clears the way. "S-sorry. I only wanted to give you this. For your songs."

The coin arcs in the air when he tosses it, and he watches one dexterous hand lift up in response, catching it perfectly. One look at it softens the stern line of your lips, but does not ease the stiff set of your shoulders.

"Thank you." you nod, pocketing the coin, and walking forward.

Dunk frowns. "Are you—it's raining outside."

"I'm aware."

He follows, clumsily avoiding tables and patrons. "Do you plan on catching your death, then? Why are you leaving?"

You spin to face him, fury written all over your face. "I don't have the coin to stay here. I'd bargained with the inn keep, at least I thought I did, that he'd give me a room if I entertained for the night. But now he's backed out of the deal, so—"

"Well, that's not fair."

Your laugh is cold and acerbic. "Indeed, ser. But what can I do? The bastard's throwing me out."

"I have the coin. I'll pay for your room."

"No, I do not want him earning more money on my behalf."

Dunk doesn't quite understand your logic, but he shares your frustration. It's not right to exploit your talents, and then leave you hanging. "Perhaps if I talk to the—"

"Please, ser, you don't need to do anything on my behalf."

"But I can't just let you go out during a storm! Where would you go? Do you even have a horse?"

"It is none of your business!"

"Please," Dunk lowers his voice, stepping closer as he pleads with you, "The inn keep's done you wrong, but allow me to fix it."

"Well, I already told you, I've no coin to repay you."

"You don't have to repay—"

"I don't want your charity."

Dunk huffs, trying to tamp his frustration. He understands your hesitation, your reluctance to trust him especially after someone else had already broken your trust. But before he can respond, a sharp voice rings out.

"Oi! What are you still doing here? I told you to leave, didn't I?"

The source is the inn keep, a rough, older man with a frown that doubles as an I do not tolerate nonsense warning. It takes Dunk an embarrassing few moments to realize the man is addressing you, not him.

"Is she botherin' you, ser?" the inn keep says, tipping his head up to meet Dunk's gaze.

Dunk blinks, his tongue stumbling over a clumsy lie and praying it's believable before he can overthink. "No, not at all. In fact, we've come to an arrangement, she and I."

He feels the inn keep's appraising glance like a razor's edge. Dunk stands to his full height, and gently rests a hand over the hilt of his sword. It's subtle, but the inn keep's gaze follows the movement all the same.

The rough man grunts when he registers the subtle warning.

"That so?"

"Yes. She's coming up with me." Dunk's not entirely sure where that came from, and the inn keeper's brows furrow in suspicion.

You step in, melting into a simpering, saccharine creature pressed to his side. He feels your hand slip into the crook of his elbow. "Yes, this kind knight has asked for my company for the evening. You wouldn't deprive a strong, hardworking man of a pretty girl, would you?"

The inn keep grumbles, something about indecency and brothels, but ultimately decides that picking a fight against a knight, even a lowly hedge knight, wouldn't be worth it. He backs away with a shake of his head, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Dunk clears his throat. He turns to you, earnest and hopeful. "Erm… That offer was genuine, if you'd take it. You can share my room for the night."

"Why?" your hand doesn't drop from his arm, still playing the part of being paired with him.

"Because it's wrong, what he did," Dunk replies, "And it would be wrong if I let you go out on your own in the middle of a storm like this."

"I do not like being indebted to someone, least of all a stranger."

"Well, I am Ser Duncan the Tall. If you tell me your name, then we would not be strangers. Does that ease your worries, my lady?"

"No," you reply with a snort, "And I do not think knowing one's name means you are no longer a stranger to me."

He shrugs, subtly walking to the staircase and leading you along. "I'd still like to learn yours."

Despite your obvious distrust, you give it. Dunk repeats it slowly, committing it to memory. It's a pretty name. Slightly musical, fit for a bard. He says it again, and reiterates his offer. "Stay in my room. It's only for the night."

"If I do, I should still like to repay you, ser Duncan."

Dunk starts up the stairs, nodding. If this is what it'll take to convince you, then he will accept it.

"I know what you knights want," you continue, falling into step with him, "Men and knights, all the same."

He's heard some version of those words before. The image of Tanselle flashes in his mind, unbidden. Tanselle Too Tall. She had sung and performed about knights too, brave, foolish ones.

What could knights want from a bard?

Songs, Dunk thinks, his lips tugging into a small smile. Yes, he should like a song. He had resigned himself to having none; life as a hedge knight is unsung, after all. It's a lesson he's learned the hard way, but accepted nonetheless. But he's got a bard at his disposal, insisting on some form of payment for his generosity, and he can't help but imagine what sort of pretty tune she'll make for him.

"Aye," he nods when they reach the room, "I do want that."

You nod, smiling with confidence. "As I thought. I've never had any complaints about my abilities, ser. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

Dunk returns your smile in earnest. Some excitement blooms in his chest. He's not a man of vanity by any means, but the idea of being immortalized through song feels like a dream. In many ways, it is. Only famous knights get the honor.

He can't believe his luck.

"If you're as good as your performance earlier, then I'm certain I will." Dunk says.

You bite your lip, and look away. He thinks it's some attempt at being bashful, which he finds ridiculous. You should be proud of your talents.

The room, located at the end of the hallway, is closed but not locked. Dunk opens the door and finds Egg already asleep on one of the cots, curled around their bag of supplies like he's been guarding them while waiting.

"That's my squire, Egg." he whispers to you.

You've stopped at the threshold, confusion and something close to disgust clouding your features.

Dunk looks back at you, lost. "Is something wrong? You may take the other bed, my lady, I'm in no hurry for tonight."

You glare up at him, suspicious. "Is the child supposed to be here?"

He glances at Egg, still confused. "Aye, I told you he's my squire."

"And in the morning, when I do as you want, is he meant to be in here then?"

"I think Egg should enjoy watching you, yes!" he replies, but it seems to be the wrong answer, for he watches your face twist with horror. You step back into the dim hallway, shaking your head.

Dunk strides forward, closing a hand gently around your wrist before you can get too far. "By the seven, what's the matter now?"

"You're sick in the head. Worse than those pale-haired Targaryens!" you hiss, twisting your arm in an attempt to get away. "Let me go, I'd rather leave than… than do that in front of a child!"

"What?" Confusion, Dunk has accepted from a young age, is simply going to be part of his life. Growing up, regardless of his companion, he's always been the slowest to understand things, the last to connect pieces together. Tonight, he could swear it's the most he's been confused in all his life. "But he's already watched you sing tonight! What difference will it be tomorrow?"

"What diff—what do you mean sing?"

"Isn't that what you'll do? Write a song for me, sing it, maybe write it down so we'll remember it." he says, trying to keep himself from panicking. "A song in return for shelter."

"Oh."

Dunk watches your eyes widen, watches your body go from braced with anger to a slow loosening of limbs. Stands there, stiff and stupid while you laugh, full bodied and loud, a laughter that makes your shoulders shake and your torso curl at the waist, so uncontrollable that it makes Egg stir on the cot.

"What now?" he can't keep the slight irritation from his voice, feeling foolish and lost. Every single moment with you has been a series of blunders, and he's beginning to become frustrated with himself. "Quiet down, or you'll wake the boy."

"Sorry," you muffle the words with a fist to your lips, tears now gathered at the edges of your lashes, "Sorry, I didn't realize you wanted a song."

Dunk glares, halfhearted and tired. "What else would a knight want from a bard?"

"What would a man want from a woman?" you retort, breathless from your fit of laughter.

He blinks. Goes warm, feels blood rush from his head to the tips of his toes, so fast he has to shake his head to reorient himself.

"You thought I wanted to bed you?"

"Don't sound so scandalized, ser, I'm sure I'm not the first woman to have proposed the same thing."

"I'm not that kind of man." he insists, rubbing a hand over his face, "Seven hells, I would have let you stay here for nothing! You're the one who insisted on payment."

For the first time tonight, he's the one who has you stunned. It doesn't come with any semblance of victory, not from the way you seem to deflate. Dunk softens immediately.

"I only wanted to give you someplace to rest." he says, hoping the quiet reassurance in his tone breaks through the seemingly impenetrable walls you've erected. He can't blame you for thinking the worst of people, only try and ease your worries by proving himself worthy.

"And you'll… you'll take a song as payment?"

"Aye," he nods, stepping aside the doorway to allow you space, should you wish to enter. "I'll take nothing as payment, but as you insist…"

He watches you step inside carefully, your boots making no noise. He closes the door behind you, making sure to latch a wooden nail through the hole to lock it. The room is standard fare—two cots, one already occupied by Egg, a small fireplace warming and gilding the outlines of the space.

"I won't harm you," Dunk adds, "I'll take the floor and—"

"I can't let you do that." you protest, gently setting your instrument up against the wall.

"It's all right," he says, pulling out some of their supplies from the bag resting beside Egg, "I've a blanket we use for traveling. Please, just… just rest. I've slept on worse surfaces, trust me."

And perhaps it's the adrenaline of your performance melting away, your anger ebbing into an exhaustion that settles deep in your limbs, but you finally nod. No more protests, no arguing, just acceptance.

Dunk keeps his back turned to you, busying himself by spreading the blanket and a pillow on the floor, to offer you some semblance of privacy.

When he lays down, you're already curled on the cot, staring right at him. He blinks, surprised, and offers you a crooked smile.

Something tightens in his chest when you return it.

"I've never met a knight like you before." the words sound sacred when they're whispered from your lips.

Dunk feels himself flushing again. "I hope that's a good thing."

"It is, ser Duncan the Tall. A very good thing."

“You are not wrong, my friend. But Yen and I thought that perhaps you need to become more sociable. You might even enjoy yourself if you stop your brooding.” Geralt raised a brow, his amber eyes shining with underlying mischief. Edward rolled his obsidian blue eyes, the flecks of silver glowing brightly. Aside from their hair, one of the apparent differences between Edward and Geralt was their eyes, one being grey and the other being raven. All Witchers, when made, have golden eyes, but Edward’s mutation was different. No one could explain it. No other Witcher had such quality until Edward. It made him even more unique in comparison. “Your bard is quite the storyteller. Is that truly how it went, or did he make it up?” Edward smirked, nodding toward Jaskier as he told the tale of his meeting with Geralt. The White Wolf smirked, moving his head from side to side. “I suppose, though I’m surprised he hasn’t written a ballad about me saving his sister from a Wyvern. Shouldn’t speak so soon, though.” Edward frowned, turning to his friend. “Sister?” He asked, sipping his wine. Geralt hummed in response. “Y/n. She’s like Jaskier in some ways but quieter at times. She’s very timid and reserved, which is a very stark contrast to her brother Jaskier.” Edward’s eyes fell on the bard, moving slightly, and his eyes narrowed in curiosity. “And will said sister be joining the banquet this evening?” Geralt smiled at his friend, nodding in reply. “Most likely, there isn’t an event where one sibling is far from the other.” 

Y/n clapped loudly as she smiled at her brother, who bowed gracefully at the end of his performance. Y/n told Jaskier she would fetch him a drink as she made her way through the crowd, unknown to the leering eyes upon her. Seeing Y/n approach the table with the wine, Edward sensed something was amiss, the lingering presence behind her growing closer. Observing closely remained silent whilst Y/n gathered some fruit for Jaskier as well as the wine. “Come now, sweetheart. How many times must I ask.” The drunken lord slurred his hands resting on Y/n’s hips. Startling her, she dropped the food and wine on the stone floor.

“I beg your pardon; I ask you remove your hands from me!” She gasped, shoving him away. “Surely a pretty thing like you wouldn’t deny a man like me a dance?” He grinned, his hands beginning to wander Y/n struggled in his hold as she cried out for help. “You’ve denied my proposals long enough. You’ll be my little sweetheart, Y/n, whether you like it or not.” Edward’s eyes grew hard, and he leaned closer to Geralt, a smirk on his lips. “Looks like trouble.” Edward murmured. “Care to play the hero?” Geralt replied, his voice low, but his gaze moved to his friend, a glint in his eye. “Always.” Edward said with a slight grin. He slammed down his goblet and strode toward Y/n and the unwanted suitor, with the weight of his sword at his side, a comforting reminder of his skills.

“Please let me go!” Y/n tried to push away the lord as Edward appeared at the side. “Unhand her.” His voice rumbled; the lord scoffed and tugged Y/n’s arm, pulling her closer. “And what will you do about it, Witcher?” The lord sneered with a disgusting grin. Y/n recoiled as she looked at Edward; the desperate yet silent plea in her eyes shined, his fists clenched tightly, his eyes growing dark with anger. He glared at the drunk lord, his lips twitching as he tried to refrain himself, though his resolve was beginning to falter. “Perhaps I was not clear enough…” He stepped forward, unsheathing his sword; the silver blade gleamed in the light as he pointed the tip at the lord’s throat. The lord gulped nervously at the sight of Edward’s sword. “𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.” He growled, his lips curling into a snarl. The room quietened as they witnessed the situation, the atmosphere heavy with fear and anticipation. The lord stumbled slightly as he released Y/n’s arm and shoved her toward Edward, his arm swinging around her body and pulling her behind him. Y/n held onto his arm, resting her cheek on his leather-covered shoulder. Edward’s gaze softened somewhat at the relief Y/n was okay, looking over his shoulder to inspect her briefly before his eyes hardened when he looked back at her unwanted suitor. “The Black Wolf has a wife?” He laughed obnoxiously. Edward, too released a laugh before swiftly turning his blade, the edge just piercing the skin of the lord’s throat. “𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞. 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.” The silver flecks in his eyes glowed brighter, his voice low and dangerous as he threatened the man, whose confidence left him as he scurried away. Edward sighed heavily; his shoulders loosened as he sheathed his sword back in its holder; he looked over to Y/n, his demeanour softened as he caught her soft gaze. Noticing she was still holding his arm, she removed her hands as quickly as she grabbed them.

Raising a brow, his lips curled into a slight smirk, Edward hummed. “So you are Y/n?” Her head tilted slightly before her eyes widened in realisation. “And you are Edward of Rivia? Geralt has spoken of you.” Edward’s smirk widened, leaning on the pillar with a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “How quaint he has spoken about you too. In fact, just before I made my heroic entrance, he told me he saved you from a Wyvern. Saved by two Witchers, aren’t you the lucky damsel in distress?” He grinned, showing his white teeth Y/n blushed, releasing a nervous breath. “I unfortunately attract unwanted attention wherever I go.” She admitted softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I must thank you, Edward, for saving me. Most would just look upon and not say anything.” Edward looked over the guests with a look of disdain. Though he couldn’t help but smile when he focused back on Y/n, the warmth spreading through him as their eyes met. "I’d do it again in a heartbeat." He murmured, his eyes temporarily looking down at her lips before stopping himself from staring. "You’re not just a pretty face under that cloak, are you?" Y/n leant in slightly, her hand touching his forearm, casting his eyes down to her hand. Edward hummed in reply. "Beauty is often in the eye of the beholder." He spoke, his tone teasing. "But I’ll take ‘pretty’ for now." She laughed lightly, and the sound sent a thrill through him. "Well, you’ve certainly caught my attention, Edward of Rivia." The Black Wolf leant in their faces an inch apart. “Well, you’ve certainly captivated me. Many have tried, many have failed.” He whispered. The undeniable pull between them grew increasingly apparent with each passing second. Edward’s fingers brushed her cheek Y/n leaned into his touch, a soft moan falling from her lips. “I’ve heard many stories about Witchers, about you…” She breathed. Edward nodded, swallowing heavily and licking his lips in anticipation. “What have you heard? About me?” He asked Y/n moved closer, their noses caressing one another’s. “𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬...𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫...𝐨𝐡…” Her voice faltered, a breathless sigh emitting from her, and she felt Edward’s hand sweep down the side of her body, pulling her closer. “...𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬.” Edward groaned lowly; his eyes found Geralt across the hall speaking to Yennefer. Grasping Y/n’s waist, Edward pulled her out of the hall; her small sounds of protest reached his ears. “What are you doing?” She asked, looking behind, not before the wind was knocked out of her as Edward pulled her flush to his chest. His eyes were ablaze with desire, and his teeth were slightly bared.

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

Born on the wrong side of the ocean. With all the tides against you. You never thought you'd be much good for anyone. But that's so far from the truth.

Finding his bedchamber, Edward swiftly locked the doors, pushing Y/n against the large oak doors, his body flush against hers. “Claiming me?” Her heart raced, and her hands held Edward’s shoulders for support. Edward’s heavy breaths sent a shiver down Y/n’s spine, feeling herself grow wet. “I can smell your arousal; the moment I said I was your husband, I sensed it.” He whispered, his warm breath fanning over her cheek, his nose trailing down her neck, breathing in her scent of berries and lilies. Rutting his body into hers, Y/n gasped, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Oh, Edward…” She breathed, her fingers tangling through his hair, eyes falling closed at the movement of his hips grinding along hers. Sweeping her legs to wrap them around his legs, Edward carried Y/n over to his bed, throwing Y/n on the furs covering the sheets.

“I’ve never felt this pull to anyone before. Whatever it is, be it magic, destiny, or fate, I will not question it. If you consent to me claiming you as my own, that is.” Edward panted between each roll of his hips, his cock growing painfully hard. Y/n arched her back slightly into his chest, nodding wordlessly, a broken moan escaping her mouth. Edward growled, tapping her leg; her eyes opened, meeting his lust-blown stare. She knew what he meant; he needed verbal consent. “Yes, Edward, claim me as yours. Please.” Edward captured her lips in a possessive kiss, his tongue invading her wet cavern, exploring every inch from the roof of her mouth to under her tongue. The combination of wine and sweet desserts filled their mouths as Edward devoured her every breath.

Sucking her bottom lip, his hand softly cupped her jaw, his thumb gliding down the column of her throat. Y/n moaned into the kiss, wriggling underneath him, her hands pulling at his clothing. Allowing her a respite from their kiss, Edward leant back and removed his tunic; the insufferable clothing he paraded in all night was beginning to annoy him. Throwing the garment aside, Edward pushed Y/n up the bed, his hands working over her dress. Grinning, he gripped the fabric, tearing it slightly Y/n moaned, her eyes wide with desire as she nodded. Continuing to tear apart the dress, Edward removed it from her body. Admiring her with darkened eyes, Edward’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her flawless skin, her curves bathed in the soft light filtering through the window. "By the gods." He whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "You're exquisite, Y/n. Like a vision from a dream."

Parting her legs, she situated himself between resuming his earlier movements, rutting his hips Y/n gasped, one hand looping under his shoulder while the other gripped the furs. Her arousal soaked his trousers, spurring him to move faster. “Show me how a Witcher claims what's his.” Y/n begged. Edward hissed through his clenched teeth; moans of pleasure escaped their lips as their mouth clashed in another messy kiss, their bodies pressing against each other, skin igniting wherever they touched. Eddie's hands roamed over her curves, mapping her body as if committing it to memory. He caressed her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples, eliciting a soft moan from Y/n.

“Need you wet enough before I take you.” He groaned, resting his head on hers, dry fucking her with a brutal pace; the friction of his leather trousers meeting her bare cunt sent shocks of pleasure to spiral through her veins. It was filthy, the sounds of her wetness squelching against the leather. It was obscene being naked and spread beneath a Witcher. And Y/n wanted it all, 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬. Y/n began to move against him, her hips swaying in a sensuous rhythm, her breath coming in quick gasps. Keeping in pace with Edward’s thrusts, his hands gripped her thighs, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he urged her on. 

'Cause baby, everything you are. Is everything I need. You're everything to me. Baby, every single part. Is who you're meant to be. 'Cause you were meant for me.

Readjusting them, Edward swept Y/n in his arms, pressing her back to the headboard. Tucking his face in her neck, his grunts and growls made her shiver, legs tightly wound around his waist. A shattered cry fell from her mouth as her Y/n arched into Edward’s chest; his eyes gazed down, seeing her legs shake, a wolfish grin spread across his features, her glistening cunt drenching the front of his trousers. “𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬.” His fingers cradled her jaw, his thumb swiping along her bottom lip. Y/n’s eyes glittered hazy with lust as she sucked on the pad of his finger. Time ceased to exist as the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in their small, intimate haven. “Edward…” Y/n breathed. Edward chuckled lightly. “Shh.” He whispered, his lips brushing hers, his free hand working to unfasten his trousers.

“Let’s not think too much. Let’s just feel, hmm.” Y/n stared at him wide-eyed, a smile breaking across her face, desperately nodding, watching him remove the last of his clothing and swords.  “Show me how a Witcher claims what’s his.” Y/n beckoned him back, casting a sultry look in her eyes. Edward crawled along the bed, his lips finding her ankles, kissing each as he worked his way up her body, pausing at her glistening cunt tilting his head, an inhuman growl filling his chest. “As much as I’d love to bury my head between these beautiful thighs.” He kissed the inner parts, leaving playful bites in their wake Y/n arched her back, a needy whine tumbling from her.

Edward moved away and kissed her stomach. “Perhaps next time, I’ll taste your sweet nectar. For now, I need to make good on my promise.” He covered her body with his own, the heat of his skin touching hers. Her hands explored his muscular chest, tracing the scars that marked his life as a Witcher. "So many battles." She whispered, kissing his chest, trailing up his neck, her breath hot on his skin. "So many scars. Each one tells a story, Edward. And I want to hear them all." Her fingers admiring each scar, Edward smiled, grasping her hand and kissing her wrist. "They're yours to discover." He replied, his voice thick with passion.

"But first, let me discover you." Positioning himself at her wet entrance, Edward held her hips slowly, inch by inch; his cock filled her the warmth of her velvety walls made Edward a trembling mass of desire. Her lips found his, their kiss a battle of passion, tongues duelling, tasting, claiming. Y/n's hands roamed, stroking, and caressing every inch of Edward’s body whilst he did the same with hers.  Each took their time, exploring every inch of each other’s bodies. Her touch was sweet and gentle, unlike Edward’s, who was reverent and possessive. "Please, Edward..." Y/n’s plea was a hoarse whisper, desperately needing him to move. "I need you." Edward began to move his hips with shallow thrusts, the bed making light creaking sounds with each movement of their bodies colliding as one. "Ah... Edward... please..." Y/n's voice was a husky plea, her body arching to meet his touch, her nails raking down his back, and tears began to build in her eyes. "𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐠, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞." He teased, his lips trailing kisses down her neck. "𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞... 𝐈... 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭..." Y/n's words were a breathless moan as her body trembled, the dull ache growing more fierce, rolling her hips to make Edward move from his teasing pace.

You can say I'm wrong. You can turn your back against me. But I am here to stay. (I am here to stay).

"𝐁𝐞𝐠, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞." He whispered, his voice a low command. "𝐁𝐞𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮." He wrapped his hand around her throat, applying gentle pressure Y/n’s hand covered his. "𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝... 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞... 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐦𝐞...𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬." Y/n's voice cracked as she surrendered, her body convulsing in a wave of pleasure. Edward's eyes darkened with desire as he claimed her lips in a passionate kiss, his body moving in perfect harmony with hers. "Now, my love. Now, we are truly one." Their bodies moved as one, a sensual dance fueled by their unquenchable desire.

Y/n's nails dug into his shoulders, marking him as her own, as she matched his rhythm, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of passion. With each buck of his hips, Edward’s cock assaulted her walls with a mix of pain and pleasure. “Yes! Oh Edward!” Y/n cried out, arching her back. Edward pressed his body to hers; his carnal sounds mixed with her sweet whines filled his bed chamber. Digging his fingers into her precious skin, Edward spread her legs further apart, driving his cock faster and harder into her welcoming cunt. The sound of skin slapping echoed off the walls. As much as Edward wanted to fuck her from behind and roughly take her until she was a sobbing mess, he didn’t want to break her during their first time together. There would be plenty of opportunities to fuck her into oblivion. “So good for me, taking a Witcher’s cock. You were made for me.” He moaned, rolling them over; he positioned her on top, her hands finding balance on his chest. Edward's breath caught in his throat, his body throbbing with pleasure. Seeing the moon cast an ethereal glow on Y/n’s body made his body grow weak. Setting a slow, torturous pace, rising and falling, Y/n’s hips moved in a sensuous rhythm. Her eyes flickered down, meeting his, a smile dancing on her lips. Throwing her head back when Edward grinned, pulling her down on his cock harshly with a rough thrust made her squeal out, her body crumbling at the immense pleasure rippling from her head to her toes. Edward held her waist in a possessive grip, the veins in his neck and arms becoming visible, straining himself not to lose control. Y/n leant back, her hands positioned on either side of Edward’s body to stabilise herself. But Edward's patience was now beginning to wear thin, his need for her overwhelming. He decided to take back control and rolled them over, reversing their positions, his powerful body now pinning her to the bed.

Y/n gasped, her eyes flashing with surprise and delight. The force of his strength made her shiver. "Impatient, are we?" She teased, running her hands through his hair. "Desperate." He growled, pounding into her with a wild force, his hips colliding with hers, claiming her fully. "For you, only you, Y/n." Their bodies moved in a primal dance of desire. Y/n's nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks as she cried out his name. Edward's thrusts became predatory, his control slipping as he surrendered to the pleasure she offered. “You will be the death of me.”

Edward’s voice was hoarse and broken, finding his thrusts growing sloppy Y/n’s walls fluttered around his cock. “Edward, I’m close, please…” The Black Wolf drove into her with a couple more thrusts before releasing a guttural roar; they found their release, their cries filling the room, echoing off the ancient stones. In the aftermath, they lay entangled, hearts still racing, breaths mingling. Their sweat-slicked bodies shined from the fire's warmth and the moon's cool shine. “I never thought I would be entangled in the arms of a Witcher. Let alone the Black Wolf himself.” Y/n whispered as Edward rolled onto his back, pulling Y/n to his chest, and a laugh rumbled within his chest. “Hmm, I don’t want to sound too confident in myself, but I knew you would.” He replied, his voice laced with amusement Y/n sat up, leaning on her elbow as she looked into his eyes. Edward’s fingers raked through her hair, running down her cheek. “Are all Witchers this self-confident, or just you?” Her fingers danced over his chest. Edward’s eyes sparkled, watching her fingers.

“Geralt, at times, it’s more my trait.” He admitted. A comfortable silence fell between them, and the sound of fire crackling filled the bed chamber. “Y/n. I think… I want to claim you as my wife.” Edward whispered. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, surprise lighting across her features. “You mean… for real?” She asked. Edward raised her hand to his lips, kissing each fingertip lovingly. “For real.” He confirmed, his thumb rubbing over her pulse, feeling how fast her heart was racing. A smile broke on his features, shaking his head softly. “I’ve never felt this way before. Not with anyone. A Witcher's life is filled with solitude, and it’s lonely. Then, the moment we locked eyes, everything changed.” His eyes shined. Y/n rested her head on his, her hand cradling his cheek. “Edward…” She began tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, overwhelmed by the weight of his words. “I feel it, too. I did not know it would be you, but I am most fortunate it was you.” The tears cascaded down her face, Edward’s thumbs swiping over the drops, tears prickling within his eyes also. “Then marry me.” He urged, his voice steady and warm. “Let’s make this real.” With a radiant smile, Y/n nodded. Edward laced their hands together. "Yes, I'll marry you."

"Then it shall be so." He declared, his voice filled with happiness. "From this day forward, I claim you as mine, Y/n of Rivia, and I shall cherish, love and protect you always. And from this day forth, I shall be claimed as yours."

And everything happens for a reason. It's all a blessing in disguise. I used to question who I was. But now I see. The answer's in your eyes. 'Cause baby, everything you are. Is everything I need.

You're everything to me

“How much does that make?” Karlach asked, placing her share into the pile. 

Gale counted out the coins. “Enough for our own rooms, but not much in the way of food.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Hold on, this can’t be right. Who forgot to pitch in?”

All eyes turned suspiciously to Astarion. 

He raised his hands in surrender. “I put down enough for the room. Food is something…you all have to deal with.”

Lae’zel gave him a hard look, the threat obvious on her features. 

“We could always share a room or two,” Shadowheart cut in. “That will at least hold us over until we can find a way to make more coin.”

A devilish smirk formed on the vampire’s lips as his eyes turned to you. “I’m not opposed to the idea. Certainly would make it easier for me to get a little midnight snack.” 

You gave a theatrical sigh. “Not tonight dear. I have a headache.” 

“Teasing minx.” 

“Can the pair of you not for ten seconds?” Wyll complained. 

You bit back a laugh, turning your gaze to the dining area of the tavern. Gods you could smell something delicious cooking over the fireplace. When was the last time you had a proper hot meal? 

It was then you turned your eyes to one of the empty corners. The solution to the issue of food suddenly became obvious. 

“Not to worry everyone,” you announced, swiping the coins from Gale’s hand. “Dinner is on me.” 

Before anyone could speak, you stepped towards the bar, making a point to put on your best smile. 

A elderly halfling woman regarded you as you approached. “What can I get you deary?”

“Actually it’s a matter of what I can do for you,” you said. “I see you have some instruments sitting much too idly.”

The old lady shrugged. “Not really. Night like this you don’t need music to bring people in.”

Your smile faltered a moment, but you pushed on. “That may be, but nothing keeps people drinking longer and deeper than a good song.”

She gave you a disparaging look. “Don’t tell me, bard right?”

“Guilty.”

“If you don’t have money for the rooms, we don’t comp that.”

You waved the comment away. “The rooms aren’t the issue. However, if you’re willing to part with a cauldron of stew, I’ll consider it payment enough.” 

Her eyes remained wary, but you knew you had her as a twitch came to her lips. “That’ll do.  Thirty minute set. You eat after.” 

She held out a hand which you took, striking the bargain. 

It didn’t take long after to secure the rooms. They were nothing fancy, but a mattress was a mattress and with the guarantee of true privacy for the first time in weeks, none of you were complaining. 

“How’s this about food then?” Karlach asked, taking a seat at one of the few tables large enough to accommodate all seven of you. 

“All taken care of,” you assured. “Just need to pluck out a quick set and we can eat.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Astarion said. “I don’t mind it myself, but your songs have a tendency to be a bit, well…destructive. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t use that cutting mouth of yours to simply insult the woman into feeding you.” 

“As it turns out, I have a little thing called restraint. Unlike some people,” you countered. 

“Oh trust me my dear, I’m well aware of that.” 

You rolled your eyes, deciding to ignore the slight twist of guilt in your stomach. 

He couldn’t seem to help making those kinds of jabs ever since you had declined his offer for a midnight tryst; always alluding to the theme of “untapped passions” or “delayed gratification”. It was starting to wear on you. 

Gods knew you liked him. He had so many qualities you admired; insight, intelligence, charm, the way he could make you laugh. The more you learned, the more you wanted to know and the more you were willing to give for answers. The trouble was his idea of a night of passion and yours were so very, very different.

A part of you knew the honest thing to do would be to spell it out for him.  You understood him well enough to know he’d respect those boundaries. At the same time, you didn’t want to lose this, whatever this was, between you. If suddenly that night of passion was off the table, all those moments, all his attentions would be lost. He’d be a friend, certainly, but nothing more. 

It was selfish. You knew it was. You couldn’t imagine finding the words to explain it to him. It would leave you too exposed, too vulnerable to that insistent burning want that had a way of tearing you apart from the inside out. It was better to leave him to his assumptions of suppression and prudishness. You’d keep your dignity at least. 

Pushing those thoughts away, you took your place in the unobtrusive corner and the spare violin waiting for you. 

A smile spread across your face as you tucked the familiar instrument under your chin. Since this whole adventure of yours began, you had little opportunity to apply your skills. Music had always been a source of comfort to you. It felt right to indulge in it now, some place safe and filled with warm firelight. 

With a flick of your wrist you began, the resonating tone of the strings filling the room. 

You allowed your eyes to close as you slipped into the melody. The sounds of conversation and laughter fell to an idle murmur. It was a simple tune, something easy to match the atmosphere, but one you loved all the same. You always found it best to start with something familiar. If the patrons could see you get lost in the music, they inevitably followed. 

As the first song came to an end, you chanced a quick glance at your audience. 

Most of the patrons still prattled on, but enough turned your direction to encourage you to try something a little more daring. 

Your fingers flew, igniting a livelier rhythm. More eyes found their way to you. A pleasant bubbling sensation filled you. They were falling right into your hands.  

Rising to your feet, you glided across the floor, moving with the music towards the center of the room. 

Patrons shuffled out of the way, transfixed by your performance. Even your companions had stopped their chatter. 

Karlach and Shadowheart’s faces lit up in delight. A smile touched the corner of Gale’s mouth. Even Lae’zel and Wyll looked on with admiration at your skills. As for Astarion…Astarion just stared. 

You couldn’t quite read what was going on behind those scarlet eyes. It was a look you had caught him wearing more than once, always blinked away before you could fully comprehend its meaning. All you knew was how it made that dangerous hope spark in your chest. 

He caught you looking and quickly morphed his expression to its familiar smirk. The bastard even had the audacity to wink. 

You rolled your eyes pretending not to have seen. It was all part of the game after all. He pretended to care, you pretended not to fall for it. 

A lute suddenly joined you from one of the corners, strumming its way into a new song. 

You turned as a cheer rose, encouraging the intrusive lutist forward. He was human by the look of him and certainly skilled in his own right. He took a moment to embellish your solo before taking over with one of his own. Soon enough you joined the conversation again with a counter melody. It wasn’t as clean as you would have liked it. The lad clearly had meant to upstage you, but you made sure to put him in line, allowing the impromptu duet to end in some kind of harmony. 

You transitioned easily to a new song as he took a seat, bowing to you as he did.

Remembering your showmanship, you made a point to bow in return, schooling your expression into a flirtatious grin before pulling away. That earned the man a round of cheers from his friends and a few obvious oohs from the crowd; exactly as you intended. 

You continued on with the remainder of your set. Requests were shouted from the audience, all the pieces of music moving to and from your fingers with practiced grace.  By the end of it, your arms were exhausted, but your face hurt from smiling. Gods you had missed this. 

As you took your bow, applause followed you back to your table as well as a handful of extra coin. 

“That was amazing!” Karlach said, beaming at you. “How’d you learn to play like that?”

“Years of practice,” you said, with pride. “Had to find an honest living somehow.”

“Well, it was beautifully done,” Gale added. “Maybe next time we make camp you could grace us with another performance. Provided we’re not all about to die of course.”

You shot him a grin. “I could be persuaded.” 

The wizard turned his gaze away, his lips turning into a knowing smirk. “You’ve been unnaturally quiet Astarion. Been bewitched have you?”

The vampire blinked as if coming out of deep thought. It was only in those last moments did you realize just how intently he had been looking in your direction.

“Yes,” he said, a little stiffly, “you were quite…good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Be careful there. You wouldn’t want to overwhelm me with praise.”

He regarded you a moment before a sly smile turned at his lips. 

You were almost relieved. That look you understood at least. 

“If it’s praise you crave, you need only ask,” he purred. “You, my dear, are an unparalleled talent. Your beauty and grace alone should have brought you into the presence of kings. A true diamond in the rough.”

You snorted out a laugh.

“No good?” he continued. “How about this one; if I die tomorrow and the gods grant me mercy it will be your song that brings me into the beyond.”

You gave him a slow clap. “Brava.” 

He inclined his head in a little bow. “But seriously, you were good and you didn’t even destroy the furniture. Admittedly though, I wouldn’t have minded if he had met with a little accident.” 

You followed Astarion’s eye line to the lute player chatting with his friends. He perked up as he felt eyes on him. Without the distraction of playing, you could easily tell he was handsome in that sun kissed farmer’s son kind of way. Probably had most of the girls in the village swooning. 

He raised a tankard to you in toast.

You met the gesture in acknowledgment. 

“He wasn’t that bad,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“He was the worst part of your performance,” Astarion insisted. 

You knew he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t help but have your fun. 

“Oh my darling, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.

“Certainly I am,” he said, clutching his own chest in turn. “He’s the only person I’ve seen you willing to make sweet music with. And judging from his looks, he would have much preferred it to be a private performance.” 

You didn’t bother looking over to the other table to see if he was telling the truth. It didn’t matter either way. It never did. Your answer was always the same. 

“He’ll have to keep waiting.” You shrugged. “Not my type.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed slightly, leaning in closer. “And what exactly is?”

You didn’t answer, deciding instead to take a long sip of your ale.

He continued to eye you, his lips pursed as if trying to solve a puzzle. After a few moments he let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Fine, keep your secrets, but I will figure it out eventually.”

Your lip twitched up into a half smile. “You may certainly try.” 

It was then one of the staff brought out a truly enormous cauldron of the most delicious smelling stew you had smelled in your life. 

You didn’t think to wait as you greedily poured a ladle full into your empty bowl. Two full days on the road with nothing but a handful of nuts and berries to sustain you had taken its toll. The rest of the group soon followed, each taking their share. You ate yours so quickly that by the time the ladle had made the circle, you were grabbing for seconds.  

“Hungry are we?” Astarion observed. 

You paused mid bite, heat rising in your cheeks. You took a quick look at everyone else. Nobody seemed to have noticed how you inhaled your food. They were content enough in their own bowls and conversation. Carefully you swallowed before self consciously setting down the spoon in your hand.  

           “I am the one who worked for this,” you said, more defensively than you intended. 

Astarion regarded you with a raised eyebrow. “Even so, it’s not going to disappear the second you look away.” 

“Says you.” 

“Clever,” he said, dryly. “Devastating really. What’s next? Are you going to hit me with an “oh yeah” or Gods forbid a “your mother”?”

“I was actually leaning towards, “leave me to eat in peace you pompous jackass”.”

“Oh yes, that’s much better.”

You breathed out a frustrated sigh. Hopefully it would distract from your obvious embarrassment. You had thought you’d tucked those bad habits away. 

Years of living on your own had left you going to bed hungry more times than you cared to remember. There was a time food had disappeared from your plate if you didn’t eat it fast enough. Of course, things got better. You found music and people willing to listen. It gave you fire and shelter and a contented stomach on good nights. Still, there were the bad ones and old instincts took over. It took practice not to be as ravenous as you knew your nature to be. 

“Do I need to worry about your hunger?” you asked, deciding to change the subject. 

“Oh you of all people should know by now. I’m insatiable,” he crooned. 

Your eyes narrowed, unamused. “I’m being serious, when’s the last time you ate?”

He shrugged. “Few days. Last time I fed on you I imagine.” 

Your stomach gave a sudden guilt ridden twist. If that were the case, it had to have been at least three days ago. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because as much as the image of you swooning in my arms is appealing, I’d rather it be over my charms rather than blood loss.” He nodded his head towards the bowl. “From my own experience hunger and restraint don’t mix.” 

You tried to fight it. You really did. Years of instinct and reason told you not to fall for the softness in his eyes and voice. He simply didn’t want to explain a dead body to the rest of the party. It wasn’t out of some concern for your well being. And you absolutely could not allow yourself to believe he recognized the desperation in your actions and not pass judgment. If you believed that, you’d be in much more danger than you already were. 

“Excuse me deary,” an elderly voice asked. “I was wondering if I could have another moment of your time.”

You turned to see the barkeeper at your shoulder. 

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Of course.” 

You moved to stand, but she gestured you down. It was then you noticed she was carrying a case. It was worn with age, but clearly lovingly maintained as the edges shone with intricate gold inlay. 

“I know you already paid for your meal,” she said. “But I was hoping I could ask for one more performance tonight.”

She opened the case to reveal the most beautiful violin you’d ever laid eyes on. The wood was a carefully polished chestnut interrupted with carvings which matched those on the case. The strings shone like gold and the pegs carved marble. You may not be a trained wizard, but could feel the magic pulsing from every square inch of it. 

“What is this?”

“It was my father’s,” the woman explained. “He was a bard you see, best in these parts from what people told. He had so many stories and songs. Built it himself to help tell them. Try as I might though, I could never get it to play as sweetly. I was hoping you might.”

You looked to your companions. The obvious curiosity played on all their faces. 

With a cautious hand, you plucked one of the strings. 

It was perfectly in tune. The sound echoed, rich and vibrant even with so light a touch. The instrument itself seemed to glow as if happy to be played once again.

Slowly, you lifted it from the case, taking the bow in hand. You placed it on the strings and with an exhale drew the first notes. 

It was the loveliest sound you’d ever heard.  

The vibrations resinated in your fingers, moving through your arm and into your chest. 

You decided to start simple, a handful of scales to get the intonations just right. 

Color danced across the strings, rippling from your fingers like raindrops in a pond. 

“Woah,” Karlach said, her eyes widening in awe. “Are you doing that?”

“No,” you said, pausing your motions, as you let it fall slack in your hands. 

The elderly halfing smiled. “My father always said an artist puts their truth into every stroke of the bow. This here helps one’s heart shine. I saw the way you performed earlier, you’re not afraid to play what’s true.”

Color rose in your cheeks, unsure how to take such praise. “Thank you.”

She just smiled, nodding towards the instrument. “Keep playing. See what happens.”

You were suddenly aware of the rest of the party’s eyes turning expectantly towards you. Some with caution, some with anticipation, and one pair of red eyes with unreadable intentions. 

Knowing there was no way you were getting out of this now, you rose from your seat, placing the violin securely beneath your chin. 

You started slow, picking a tune every beginner memorized in their first lessons. 

The music sparkled in front of your eyes, twirling outward in melodic waves.

The hum of conversation began to die down as you spotted the barkeeper beckon for silence. 

You continued on, moving to something a little more complex, allowing yourself to let the rest of the room blur in the peripheries. 

The sound of boots on cobblestones met your ears. Glancing down you saw stone where hardwood floors had been. 

You took another step. 

The stones followed. 

Around you the room fluctuated between firelight and the brightness of morning. Looking up you could see a clear sky had replaced the hatched ceiling. 

A smile spread across your face as you stepped away from your bench. 

As if waiting for your queue the rest of the bar quickly moved tables and chairs out of the way, clearing the center floor. 

The sun followed as the cobblestones spread out in front of you like a stream. With every flourish, finer details were added. You changed the direction allowing a building to form beside you, then another and another. Images of people faded in and out like memories, coming and going with the flow of the music. 

You never felt anything like this before. The strings sang inside you, drawing out a melody you knew was there, but had always managed to slip from your grasp. 

You surrendered to its current, following it deeper and deeper until all you could see, all you could touch was the music. 

Behind your eyes the streets began to turn and change. Buildings loomed large overhead. You could hardly see the stars. A cold swept through your clothes, the chords of the melody vibrating with the shivers in your hands. The world was so much bigger and you were so much smaller. 

No instrument laid in your hands, but still the music played on as if you had slipped into a dream. 

You continued to walk unsure of where your feet were carrying you until something warm pressed against your back. Light reflected behind you, casting long shadows on the ground. A melody played, soft and soothing against your own. You turned towards it as the voices of long forgotten conversation and laughter accompanied the strings of a quartet.

Your chords and theirs brushed up against each other, a new light shining in the darkness, but just as soon as it began, it moved away, leaving you on your own once again. 

You continued on, brushing against others. Sparks would fly, fire would ignite only for them it fade in front of your eyes. 

Your own melody grew more desperate, moving and shaping itself to match whoever you found next only just able to cling onto the barest sense of itself. 

An ache grew in your chest as you wandered, always searching, never finding. Something warm trailed down your cheeks. You let it flow, unable to stop. You wouldn’t end the story here, even as swirls of blues and blacks surrounded you. They wrapped around your body, filling your vision and squeezing tight around you until you felt the air being pushed out of your lungs. There was nothing else.  Even the music had gone dead. 

For what felt like a moment and eternity you sat there, alone in the dark. 

A voice came to you then, but it didn’t come from the instrument tucked somewhere under your chin.  No melody accompanied it. It was so far away. Something about it was so familiar. It spoke your name like a desperate prayer. You reached out for it.

The air itself moved around you as if you had plucked the very strings of the universe. 

A low hum came next bringing with it two pin pricks of light. A red fire glowed in the darkened space, growing until they sat as two eyes burning in the air. 

You cocked your head to the side. Your own song started again, cautious as it curled around the eyes, examining them from different angles. 

The eyes crinkled at the edges, amused by your persistence. 

With a blur of motion, it turned to the side allowing a profile to form and beginning an enticing melody of its own. 

You and the face took turns, calling and answering in playful antagonism. 

The lines of light continued downward as its counter melody grew in strength against your own, forming the outline of a man.

He stepped towards you, his own head turning to the side as yours had done before, examining you from every angle. 

After a moment, he bowed. You curtseyed. And then you did what only felt natural. You danced.

The heat of his touch burned your skin, but you didn’t dare pull away. You had been cold for so long you hadn’t even known you were cold. Even when it became too much, the fear of the darkness kept you in his light. 

The man in turn held you close, his song teasing against your own. So unlike the duet from before, this was a true conversation, the pair of you giving and taking in equal measure. You didn’t want it to stop, holding the feeling tighter and tighter until you felt the pulse of his fire inside you. 

You looked up to find the embers of his eyes pouring into you.  He moved your hand to his chest. A heart pumped beneath and you knew then it wasn’t his own. Just as you had taken from him, he had taken from you in equal measure. 

His face came into focus, forming a familiar knowing smirk and playful scarlet eyes.

He stepped back from you, his hand holding yours as he bowed, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. 

The song faded away and you were once again in your own body, a violin tucked carefully beneath your chin. 

You blinked your eyes open to find the tavern standing as it had been moments ago.  Patrons surrounded you, their eyes wide and mouths open. You glanced around the room, quickly finding your companions. Horror struck you as you read their expression. 

They’d seen it. All of it. 

Before you could register what was happening a wave of applause erupted from the crowd. People began to cheer. You heard awed whoops and hollers. The adoration was overwhelming and completely miss timed. You needed to lie down. You needed to think. 

Numbly you bowed before making your way to the side of the room where the barkeeper stood. 

You held the instrument out to her, unable to look her directly in the eye. 

“Thank you for letting me play this,” you said. 

To your surprise she didn’t take it, instead pushing your hands away with a shake of her head. 

“Keep it love,” she said. “After seeing all that, feels wrong to take it away from you. You’ve more than earned the right to it.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to scream. You wanted to curse her for ever asking you to touch the damned thing. Somehow you managed to swallow all of that down, mumbling another thank you before slowly turning towards your party. 

There was still a chance to salvage this. Astarion hadn’t seen his own reflection in centuries. He didn’t know what he looked like. You could play this whole thing up to artistic license. You just carried a general feeling of desperate longing. No need for you to clarify its direction. 

Making a point to keep your head down, you put the violin away and slid it over to Gale. 

“Feel free to eat this one if you want,” you said. It was meant to be a joke, but even you could feel it fall flat. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” Gale said, his tone holding nothing but sympathy. 

“It really was lovely,” Wyll said, gently. 

“Beautiful really,” Shadowheart added. 

Your jaw tightened, caught between the urge to scream or weep. Why couldn’t everybody do you the favor of the lifetime and forget they saw anything. 

“Personally I don’t understand your choice in the spawn, but–” Lae’zel started only to be hit hard in the arm by Karlach.

“What?” she snapped. 

Your whole body cringed, knowing exactly what was coming next. 

“That was…me?” 

You were in hell. This was hell. You didn’t have to look up to see Astarion’s self satisfied expression. His tone made it clear enough.

In a flash you stepped back from the table, putting as much distance between you and the party as possible. 

“I need to go,” you managed. “Goodnight.” 

You sprinted out of the tavern, taking two steps of the time to the upper rooms. You didn’t stop until your door was firmly slapped behind you. 

Your breaths came hard as your heart pounded in your chest. Honestly you didn’t know how you locked the door. Your hands were shaking so badly as tears blurred your vision. All the emotions the violin had pulled from you returned, overwhelming you in their intensity. 

The instrument had done as advertised. It had shown the truth of your heart, putting it on display for the whole world to see. Gods you were an idiot. Why did you even pick up that damned thing? 

You kept your ears open, listening as everyone made their way to their rooms. Their murmurs never made it past the walls, but the way they paused as they passed your door made it clear enough they were discussing you. Thankfully they were kind enough to leave you be. 

Counting, you waited until all six doors shut before rising to your feet. 

As you did, you felt a small pull at the back of your mind. A vision of a door number and the feeling of anticipation sat on your tongue. The invitation was clear enough; Astarion was waiting for you. 

You wanted to ignore it, but you knew you couldn’t. There was no use in pretending any longer. The game was over and you would have to face the consequences.

No poll this time, but I'm going off interactions. Scream for your favs, because the final pairing/s are undetermined, if the grander work comes together at all.

First impressions

Your welcome to Sumeru is not exactly warm.

Second Male Lead, Enter!

Getting chased by the General Mahamatra is normal for you now, so you gotta switch things up to keep him off your trail!! Meanwhile, you also make your first friend in Sumeru.

It Scratches on the Inside

Friend, work partner, boss, sugar daddy without the Daddy, you're not sure what to call him exactly. He's not an enemy to be sure, at least not your enemy.

One Step Forward, Two Steps To The Right

Cyno knows he should be extremely careful of you, you're sly and clever and always seem to be planning something, but he should have been more wary of the way you've slipped into his heart and mind.

• Crush or Chance?

If he's being honest, Kaveh has a bit of a crush on you. You came into his life and filled it with art and wonder-- that can't be just chance.

• Sweet Dreams are Made of These

Cyno dreams, even though he knows he shouldn't. Cyno dreams of you, of blood, of both shackle and scythe. You or Azar. Who holds his chains?

“Oi Runt!” A slurred voice calls from the alleyway behind you, “where da hells the money?” Your body tenses as you hear your caretaker drunkenly yelling for you. Practiced hand allows you to stuff a quick handful of coins into your pocket before walking towards the alley. As you step into the shadow, you miss the way the group continues to watch you as you retreat. 

“Bah! Took ya long enough!” Your caretaker sways and snatches the coin filled hat, “Hpmhf, barely enough in here to get drunk. Yer lucky I’m in a good mood.” The threat at the end of that sentence is not lost on you as you watch the man stumble back into the street. “Find yerself somewhere to sleep tonight, we leave in da mornin.” Biting back a sarcastic comment about his so-called good mood, you go deeper into the alley. Between the smell of candied apples and the silk banners floating above the rooftops you can’t help the smile. It won’t be so bad sleeping in the street tonight, maybe there will even be discarded festival food around. Food brings awareness to the uncomfortable emptiness in your stomach. Two days without anything to eat brings a sigh from you as you jingle the handful of coins you managed to get. Clutched in your hand you find some copper and even a silver piece! Though what catches your eye the most is a crumbled piece of parchment. 

Stepping to the side of an oncoming group of festival goers as you enter a new street, you pull apart the paper. Written in very neat calligraphy reads, “The Traveler”. It’s some sort of religion? The few pages talk about pranks and are filled with little drawings that make you giggle. You especially like the mage hand giving a wedgie to someone. You read through the pamphlet a few more times before safely tucking it away in your pocket. Mixing into a crowd this large is easy and before you know it you are munching on some festival food. A large part of you wants to inhale the skewered meat you bought but that small rational part of your brain keeps you from doing so. You eat one stick with much gusto but save the second stick in your pouch. It would be a good breakfast, after all. Between the rousing games and chatter and songs and peddlers, you loose track of the dusk until it is late into the night. Loud drinking and even more singing keeps you on your toes and helps to keep you out of sight. Nights like these are your favorites. Nights where you don’t have to worry about where to stay, or how to eat or what your caretaker will do to you. For a few blessed hours, you get to just enjoy being alive.  

Yet before you know it the crowds begin to disperse. Drunks are wobbling their way home, the bards are packing up, and the vendors are cleaning out the last of their stalls. With a stealthy foot and a cautious eye, you manage to find an alleyway tucked away in just the right spot. The Guards pass by without giving it a second look but there is enough room to spread your legs out and lean against the grimy stone wall. A shiver runs up your spine as you huddle into yourself. Harvest close meant it was turning to late fall now. Snow would be in the winds soon and having this pleasant of a night will be a distant dream. Star dotted skies and food in your belly help lull you into a stiff sleep. A smile on your face as you think of the wonderful festival day. 

You startle awake, immediately with your hand clutched on the small dagger in your shoe. Though blinking the sleep from your eye leaves you staring down at your legs. A striped cat looks up at you from its perch on your knees. After you blink at the cat for a moment or two, it sticks it tongue out and you can’t but giggle. With more caution than strictly necessary, you present your hand to the creature. Nuzzling and purring makes your smile widen as the cat happily accepts scritches from you. For a few moments the cat simply enjoys your attention before it scampers off towards the opening of the alleyway. With a sigh you snuggle back into yourself. It’s still dark out, and now its cold enough to see your breath. Before you can close your eyes again, a meow sounds off at the end of the alleyway. The cat is sitting, staring at you. Slowly you untangle yourself and step towards the cat. They bound up and begin to walk in front of you, only a few paces ahead, constantly checking to make sure you are still following. 

Shivering but with a small grin you follow the cat to a small inn close to the pentamarket. The door is slightly cracked open and the cat slips in. In for a copper, you think as you press yourself into the warm building. The smell of ale and chicken hit your nose as you let out a relieved sigh. You had not realized how cold you were until you can feel the heat slowly melting the freezing temperature from your bones. There are seven patrons left in otherwise empty bar. Looking over the faces you recognize them as the odd group from your performance. They all pause in their conversation and turn to look at you. Except for the human women in blue, who is currently face down on the table with a bleeding head wound.

“Frumpkin, I asked you to find a healer.” A man with copper colored hair and a dirt covered face addresses the cat before bringing his eyes back to you. For a moment, you are lost in the sensation of familiarity in those blue eyes. Haunted. Much like your own eyes.

“UUUhhhhnnnnnn” the sitting woman moans against the table. The head wound still gently oozing blood.

“Hair of the dog that bit her?” You ask to the group with a knowing smile, your caretaker is much the same after a night of drinking. Barfights typically the only thing ending his nights in the tavern. You pull out your lute and begin a soft soothing tune. Almost like a lullaby, its tones melt into a soothing melody. Once the last cord is struck, you gently touch her shoulder and can feel the tension leave her body. The wound on her forehead sealing shut and some of the swelling going down. The woman pushes herself up off the table and blinks for a moment.

“Holy fuck that’s better.” She grunts and you can’t help the smile.

 “You may feel better, but no more drinking tonight, okay? You need to rest.” You keep smiling at her even as she leans away from you with a confused look. 

“Who the shit brought the gnome?” You snort at her abrasive tone. 

“Not a gnome ma’am, just a kid following a cat.” You look down and wiggle your fingers at Frumpkin, and the cat happily attacks your fingers and purrs when you scratch their head. “Though next time you need a healer just go to the hospital, silly little friend.” With a final giggle you look back up to the adults now all staring at you. Thankfully the tiny creature in the porcelain mask breaks the silence when they look up to the blue Tiefling. 

“I thought you were a cleric, why couldn’t you do that?” Based on how the half orc leans away the loud response was expected. 

“Well it’s not my fault I’m traveling with a bunch of people that keep getting hurt and stuff! The Traveler can only do so much in a day!”  

“The Traveler?” You pull out the pamphlet from your pocket, “You mean like this one?” Immediately the blue Tieflings eyes light up brilliantly as she hops up and down. 

“You read my pamphlet for the Traveler? Isn’t he the coolest, and he can do so many things! He’s honestly like the best God ever.” The blue Tiefling is speaking so fast you can barely keep up but the excited tone has you smiling up at her, “Did you like it? The pamphlet I mean, because obviously you like the Traveler now.” Another giggle escapes your chest, you’ve been doing that a lot more today than any other time the past year. 

“I really liked the pamphlet,” you say and somehow the blue Tiefling smile brightens, “but this drawing of mage hand giving this person a wedgie is my favorite.” Both of you break out into small laughter. 

“Oh! We haven’t introduced ourselves! We are the Mighty Nien! I’m Jester! That’s Fjord, Nott, Molly, Yasha, Caleb, Frumpkin, and the one at the table is Beau.” 

“It’s a pleasure to make you acquaintance.” You give an exaggerated bow towards the group. When you return to standing, Jester is smiling at you, while Molly and Yasha exchange a look. Fjord, Nott, Caleb, and Beau have a similar expression of confusion and something else you can’t place. 

 “What’s your name squirt?” Beau asks as she folds her arms over her chest. There is a rise of panic in your chest. When was the last time anyone asked your name? When was the last time you ever used your name? What the hell was your name?             

“Er…um..w-well,” your stammering buys you a little time to catch a breath and calm a bit before plastering on a smile, “I c-can’t give away all my secrets now can I? A kids gotta stay on their toes, ya know?” Even your well-trained smile doesn’t crack the expression on Beau’s face, her eyes piercing into you. 

“Where are your mama and dad? Won’t they be worried if you’re out this late at night? Should we go look for them? Are you lost?” Jester’s face gets closer and closer to yours with each question you ask and you can’t help the stiff panic that overtakes you. Adults that get that close to you can mean a lot of pain. 

“Jester,” the dirty man, Caleb gently says, “maybe ve ought to not badger them, ja?” Relief washes over you as Jester backs up a bit, still giddy but now not next to your face. The way your shoulders sag when you have space again does not go unnoticed by most of the group.   

“Whoever the fuck you are,” Bea grunts as she stands, “thanks kid. I owe ya.” 

“Just promise you won’t get into another bar fight for at least…three more hours and we’ll call it even.” Beau’s lip twitches ever so slightly at your sly smirk. 

“Well, were not a group to leave our debts unpaid.” The purple Tiefling, Molly says, though that statement is met with many scoffs, “How about we treat you to a meal kid, to say thanks for healing our trash person.” Just as you are about to deny, to excuse yourself back to your alleyway, your stomach gives a loud rumble. Molly and Jester laugh, and you smile sheepishly. When a hand grasps your shoulder, you can’t help but jump and spin on your heel. Your hand positioned to start casting a spell. Fjord is standing behind you, hand still raised but his face now fully that emotion you can’t place. 

“Didn’t mean ta startle ya, just thought maybe we could all find a place to sit.” There is a gentle nature to the half-orcs tone that eases your nerves. But not so much that you stow away your lute fully. The group shuffles over to a bigger table and sits while Molly and Yasha go to the bar ordering food and one last round of drinks. 

“That was a complicated spell for one so young, vere did you learn?” Caleb chose a seat a few away from yours, making it easy to look at the man as he speaks. Though Frumpkin jumping into your lap pulls your attention away from his gaze. 

“Magic is a new thing for me Mr. Caleb.” Petting Frumpkin as they purr in your lap, “I’ve been playing music for a while and one day I was watching a performer. They made all these crazy images and sparks and even made this fake dragon, and it was so cool! I decided I wanted to try so I started watching magic more carefully, ya know? Like how plucking a string or the rise of your voice can change how you make the magic flow!”  When you look up Mr. Caleb has a ghost of a smile on his lips and the others are staring at you fully. “’M sorry for talking so much.” You hunch your shoulders and bring Frumpkin closer to cover your face. 

“None of that darling,” Molly places a bowl with hunk of bread and some soup in front of you, “we asked a question, you answered. No shame in that.” He gives you a wink and starts handing out the drinks to everyone. Except for Beau who grumbles something about a meddling brat under her breath. When side conversations and drinking start, you feel safe enough to inhale the food. Forgetting how wonderful it was to have more than scraps or finger foods. You don’t slurp your soup, but you do eat it with the ravenous hunger that has been gnawing at you. Little strips of meat don’t compare to homemade soup and bread. After you finish, the group is engaged with different conversations, and you happily sit and listen.

“So anyway, Caleb asked about your magic. Did you really teach yourself? How did you learn? Is it different than other magic?” Jester is looking at you, leaning in on her hands as she smiles. There is something so disarming about her smile that you can’t help but answer. 

“I’m self-taught, mostly from watching other bards use magic.” You say, absently rubbing Frumpkin who has nestled into your lap. “As for it being more different than other magic, um, well it depends on the type of magic I guess.” 

“What about Caleb’s magic,” Nott perks up, “he’s so skilled and powerful, how is yours different than his?”

 “What kind of magic do you do Mr. Caleb?” Caleb is decidedly not looking up from his cup. 

“I-ah do transmutation.” Caleb eyes dart around the wood of the table. You know that school of arcane! You’ve seen students from Rexentrum cast all the time when you are in the city. 

“Oh okay, I think I can show you then.” Digging through your pack, you pull out your notebook. It’s a frail thing, barely having any seem left but the pages are still mostly attached to the binding. 

“Here, so one of the cantrips in transmutation is prestidigitation. When Mr. Caleb casts it, he uses this spell structure.” With a practiced hand you draw out the cantrip. Making sure the semi circle and runes are placed just so. “Then he would have to use hand motions to copy the marks to make the magic happen.” You happily turn your journal out towards the group so they can see and wiggle your fingers in a similar pattern to show them what you mean. 

“For bards though the spell is cast through our music but it’s not a one for one thing, ya know? This semi-circle doesn’t equal a c sharp, though it would be much easier if it did work like that.” You chuckle to yourself and pull out your hand drum and give it a tap with the drumstick. 

“Depending on the instrument the spell can change. Drum, for instance, follows a similar pattern as the spell. So I drag my stick across the surface than hit the places where the runes are.” You follow the pattern and cast the spell, create a small blue spark that dances on the center of the table. “But other instruments can get more trickier, see with the lute, its not notes for runes. It’s more about the…ummm…how do I say this…I guess it’s more about letting the magic feel it’s way out than based on structure? When I see a new spell, I try to feel for the energy. Then I focus on the patterns while I play. It takes some time to learn magic that way but it’s the easiest for me.” As you stash your drum back in its place, you can feel the nien staring at you. Even as you pack your journal away and look from side to side. 

Caleb has his eyebrows raised and his hand on his chin, deep in thought as he stares at you. Nott is pushing a piece of paper in front of him but not looking away from where you put your journal. Molly, Beau, and Yasha are just sort of starting with their mouths open. Fjord’s gaze is on you but not focused, as he taps the handle of his sword. Jester has a look of wonderment on her face. The amount of attention is odd, though you are used to preforming, so it doesn’t cause you much stress. 

“Um…did I talk to much?” You ask, trying to break some of the awkward quiet.  

“Damn that’s impressive for kid so small as you. How old are ya?” Molly has a half cocked grin as the rest of the nien shake themselves out of staring. 

“Oh, I’m seven sir. Well, seven and three quarters. My birthday is on the day of the new year.” You reply with a smile. Much of who you are and where you came from is gone. All you can really remember is your time with your caretaker. He told you your birthday was on the new year, and you didn’t have any way to question it, so you agreed. There had never been a celebration of course, but it was still nice to keep track. 

“You, ah, must be very smart then.” The tall women, Yashsha, manages out. Much like Caleb she doesn’t like keeping eye contact. So you don’t try to force her. 

“Not really,” You say as you boop Frumpkin on the nose, “I just like learning songs and magic.” There are a few hums and then smaller conversations break out once more. You laugh when Molly starts telling a story from his days in the circus. And every now and again you try to peek at what Caleb is writing but Nott starts showing you her small collection of buttons and rocks to distract you. Time passes in the warmth and comfort of company and soon your day starts catching up to you. Between the soup in your belly and the warmth of the tavern you can feel your eyes beginning to droop. It’s bad to be so vulnerable around so many strangers but with these folks, it just feels nice.

“I think I’ve had enough ass kicking for one night, let’s call it.” Beau stands up and stretches out her back. The rest of the group begins to follow her lead and start collecting themselves. You bundle your thin clothes as much as you can and take a deep breath. Preparing yourself for the cold.  

“Vere is your coat?” You turn and blink at the question from Caleb, the rest of the nien are looking at you, varying degrees of that emotion again you are not really sure what it is yet.

“Oh-erm,” pulling your shirt closer together, “I wasn’t wearing one when Frumpkin found me.” Sheepishly you play with a button on your shirt before you can force a smile, “I was just out for some stargazing, but my caretaker isn’t far from here, I’ll be fine until I can get to him.” Some looks are exchanged between the adults, and you take that as your cue. 

“Thanks for the soup! And remember Ms. Beau, not fighting for at least another…twenty-three minutes.” Beau groans loudly as you give her a smile then wave to the rest of the group, making your way from the inn. There are not so hushed voices as you leave, but you ignore what is being said and start back towards your alleyway. Cold was much more shocking now, your breath clinging to the air. Morning was still a few hours away, so a quick nap before searching for your caretaker is the best bet. He probably won’t rouse until early afternoon anyways. Shivering you stretch back out into your spot once again. 

It feels like you just took a blink when you wake again. Your nose is runny and body stiff with freezing cold as you listen to the growing chatter of the town. Daylight brings some comfort of warmth as you manage to stretch your limbs back into place. Strolling into the day, you pull out the skewer of meat and much on it. There’s no way for you to find your caretaker so you mill about for a few hours. Morning turns into afternoon as you traverse Zadash and all its’ backstreets. Between inns and taverns, you don’t make much progress until you see a snoring crumpled form propped up against some crates. The stench of ale and piss hit you. Yup, that’s your caretaker alright. Heaving a sigh you pull your flute from your ragged pack. A quick upbeat tune begins as you let your magic ease and flow with the short notes. With a final little hop you let your magic wash over your caretaker. 

You had picked a non-touch spell, hoping that would be enough, that the distance would be too much of an effort, but this was not the case. A large meaty hand smacks you hard in the face and you tumble to the ground into the street. The throbbing in your face means you will be sporting a bruise come night fall. Your caretaker staggers out of the alley way and looms over you. Instinctually you curl into a tight ball with your arms over your head waiting for the worst of it. Yet it never comes, instead you hear a strangled choking noise. Summoning all your courage you peak up from your covered form and look up. Your caretaker stands pale and wide eyed at something behind you. Turning you see the might nien with weapons and spells drawn. 

“Guten Tag.” Caleb says with a fierce look in his eyes, a fire spell held in his palm.

“I think it’s in your best interest to walk away, friend.” Fjord has his weapon out, the heavy accent thicker than last night. Your caretaker looks at each one of the faces then his beety eyes look down at you. 

“Get up runt, we’re leaving.” He grumbles. You untangle your limbs and hurriedly stand but are stopped by a gentle hand taking some of your fingers. The flinch that goes through you does not deter the hand. Nott is standing at your side, gripping on to you tightly. A crossbow pointed at your now stammering caretaker. 

“Back the fuck up before I shoot your eye out.” The high snarl and seeing the skin clearly, Nott is a goblin. Part of you should be concerned about that but at least the mask makes a bit more sense now. Your caretaker huffs.

“Take the runt, they’re not worth the space they take up.” grumbling your caretaker spins on their heel and bolts down the alleyway. Just like that, you no longer have a caretaker. He just left you. A deep sense of shock overtakes you, he just left you here with a group of people he has never met. Your caretaker never cared about you. There was a part of you that always knew but now it was slapping you in the face. Absently you squeeze the hand that is still wrapped around yours. 

“Hey,” Jesters’ voice is soft and sweet, “would you like me to heal that for you?” Her hands are outstretched so you can see them, she is still a safe distance away, waiting for you to consent. With a small nod you keep your body stiff as she gets closer. With a gentle touch and a soft hum of green light that smells like cinnamon, the hurt in your cheek fades. The hands don’t leave your cheeks.