#sovo writes

"It is true, then, that this Bhaalspawn is an elf? How unfortunate. Then again, it was inevitable that Bhaal would mar our people; it is a small mercy, at least, that she was not raised among us."

"…And why is that?" Xan asks.

"Her violent nature. It inhibits her ability to live peacefully in our society." An eyebrow rises—in response to the expression on his face, Xan realizes. He composes his features, glancing neutrally down at the report in his hands. His writing is neat, thorough… and carefully objective.

"She has no more violent a nature than most adventurers, simply trying to make their way in this world," Xan says.

"Is that so? What led you to this evaluation of her?" A wave of a hand. "Point not to her good intentions; they matter little when her actions lead only to bloodshed."

"I can only ask to be believed as one of her earliest and most constant companions," Xan says. "She finds no joy in the path she has been set on, and is as much at the mercy of the coming chaos as we."

"…I see." The words contain a sense of surprise—he was not expected to speak of her this way. "Well, it matters not in the end. She should not be a concern for long. No doubt another of her kin will dispose of her, as she disposed of Sarevok—and so it will go on until this period of chaos, too, is swept behind us."

Dispose of her? Xan's grip on his report weakens; the papers shift, threatening to fall.

"Ah, hold a moment." A shuffling of papers on the desk. "I nearly forgot—there is another assignment for you. You will be traveling to Athkatla. We believe that—"

"I refuse to go." Barely aware that his lips have moved, it takes Xan a moment to realize that the words were his—and that he is now being stared at.

"Ahem—well, let me first describe it to you in full. I know you may not think yourself qualified, but I assure you, you are—"

"I resign."

—

"You seem to contemplate your moonblade more often these days," Radri says.

Xan looks abruptly up from the exposed flames of the moonblade, and sheathes it quickly before she can see much of it. Letting the door to their room close behind her, Radri joins him by the window, noting upon her approach the way that he casts his gaze upon the windowpanes—quiet, and subdued. This alone is not unlike him, but his grip on the moonblade's hilt is tight, and as she'd said, she's noticed him watching its flames frequently ever since their reunion.

"Is something… wrong?" Radri asks.

Xan pauses, a breath held, before sighing and meeting her eye.

"I can hide nothing from you, can I?" Xan says.

Xan turns away from the window, the sunlight upon him shifting away from his profile and falling into bright lines upon his shoulders, instead. His hand is still on the moonblade's hilt, his thumb beside the gem on its pommel. Radri recalls that despite the lack of light in Mulahey's lair, the moonblade's gems had displayed brilliant flashes of color when she opened the chest it had been held captive in… but now, they appear dull and ordinary.

"I was going to wait until I was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt, but I think I am only deluding myself to hope otherwise now," Xan says. "My moonblade's flames have dimmed."

What?

"It—it isn't dying, is it?" Radri asks, despite feeling that her guess is unlikely; she fears that any other explanation would mean worse.

Xan casts his gaze down towards the dusty floor between them, pausing to consider his next words.

"As I think I mentioned once, this blade will outlive you and I for a long time yet," Xan begins. "No, it is something else. I thought at first that it was scolding me for failing to protect you from Irenicus… but those were my own feelings. Unfortunately, I suspect it is displeased with my departure from Evereska and the Greycloaks."

"Why?" Radri asks. "You haven't abandoned your duties. Like with the child, in the Temple District—you didn't need to be a Greycloak to help her."

"The moonblade's judgment is not a system of points and tallies, Estel'amin," Xan says. "If I commit senseless murder one day, but then save a life the next, do you think my moonblade would consider my transgression forgiven?"

"You know what I mean," Radri says. "You're still Xan, after everything. Your heart hasn't changed."

His gaze rises to meet hers with a solemn look.

"Hasn't it?" Xan asks.

His eyes are patient, waiting for her at his guidance's conclusion—and when she finds it, her brows flinch upwards in hurt.

"Me? But I…" Radri says, her gaze flicking down to the moonblade before returning to his eyes, "It only sees me as a Bhaalspawn?"

"I cannot say for certain how it sees you," Xan says, "But it understands what I am willing to do for you."

"What… What you're willing to…" Radri says, feeling faint, imagining what he would possibly need to do to draw the moonblade's ire, "No, you wouldn't do anything like that."

"How can we know? It is said that a man does not know his true limits until he is pushed to the brink of desperation," Xan says, and sighs. "Besides, I cannot be sure that the journey ahead will afford me the luxury of choice. Who can say what your fate will drive us to? Will there always be a better option? If presented with two evils, my death is certain, no matter which I choose."

"But—wouldn't the moonblade recognize that you're in a difficult situation, and be merciful?" Radri asks.

"I do not think it possible," Xan says. "Because as long as I am with you, there is a third choice: abandoning you. As I refuse to do so, I can only bear the consequences."

Consequences. Death. She knew the moonblade could kill him, but had never considered it a possibility—despite all his self-deprecating comments, Xan has always struck her as a steadfast and competent wielder. To think that she might be what changes that….

"Despite everything, we are, in a way, fortunate," Xan says, his voice filtering back into her awareness. "We have the courtesy of a gentle warning. It could have given no indication until the day it killed me, instead."

His tone is light—for him—and while his words are spoken almost sarcastically, she gets the sense that he's trying to reassure her.

"Is there nothing I can do?" Radri asks, feeling even as the words leave her that she already knows what his answer will be. Xan's resigned nonchalance fades, leaving only sadness in its place.

"There is nothing for you to do. It is my choice."

She should nod, she thinks; she should accept this as solemnly as he has, and exit without worrying him. But an unmistakable feeling of dread has already begun to burrow into her chest, and though she can duck her head, she cannot raise it. Cut off in her field of vision, Xan moves towards her, his hand reaching out.

"Radri…"

"No," Radri says, a distant part of her hating her failure to bite back her words, "No, it's fine. Khalid is dead, Imoen is gone, Jaheira is cursed, and now you are too."

With a forced, bitter smile, she turns on her heel and escapes the room before she can cry in front of him.

—

"You are still awake," Xan says, surprise apparent on his face. The small flame in his hand flickers as he slips into their room, night having long fallen outside.

"Just thinking," Radri says, though to tell the truth, her past few hours have been spent staring quietly out of the window with her journal untouched by her side. Pushing herself off the bed, she snags the candle from the side table, and meets Xan where he stands by the door; he lets the flame in his hand die, lighting the candle, instead.

"And you? What keeps you up so late?" Radri asks, recalling the echoes of another night. "No visions, I hope?"

"If only I could say that none remain, save for the one that stands before me," Xan says. "But, no. None that I have not come to expect."

"Deep in study, then?" Radri asks, stepping away to return the candle to the side table.

"One could say that," Xan says, and sighs. "I have been studying the moonblade again."

Radri stills. After she had run out of their last conversation, Xan had not brought it up again—and she, both ashamed of her response and preoccupied with worry for Jaheira's more immediate curse, had not either. In the end, Jaheira's curse had been resolved in a matter of days, but she doubts that Xan is here now to tell her the cure to his.

"…Has it gotten worse?" Radri asks.

"At this point, you would be able to see "worse" without my telling you. No, I have other news," Xan says. "If my moonblade were to attempt to strike me down, there is perhaps a way that I could survive it. I have discovered a way to divert part of the damage, so that it is shared between myself and another."

She blinks.

"You… You can survive it?" Radri asks.

"I may have a chance to," Xan corrects her, but it hardly tempers her response: in an instant, she has him in a tight hug.

"Xan," Radri breathes with relief, "Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll do it. I have more health, too, I can take more of the damage—"

"Estel'amin," Xan says, his hand cupping her cheek and lifting her gaze to his, "When did I say that you would need to be the one to bear it with me?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Radri says. Xan sighs.

"And to think, I agonized over this to such a late hour," Xan says. "Yes, in the end, you are the only one I can ask. To divert the damage, a connection must be established with the moonblade—not a true connection, only a fraction of one, guided by my hand. Normally, even this would be impossible, as the moonblade will accept ties to none but its wielder… but we are bonded, our spirits intertwined in the Weave. It will know nothing."

Xan separates himself from her gently, taking her hands into his, and looks seriously into her eyes.

"However, I cannot guarantee that this will work as I have planned," Xan says. "Even if we are successful today, there is a chance that the moonblade's wrath will be too great for us to bear, and you may very well end up dying alongside me. If you are at all hesitant, we will leave this here, and it will be as if I never spoke."

"I'm certain, Tahlimil. I want this," Radri says.

But at the sound of his name, a strum of uncertainty travels across their bond—when, usually, the emotion that her use of his name elicits from him is affection. Uncertain herself if she had felt that correctly, Radri searches the depths of his eyes—but she finds the same uncertainty there, as well.

"…Are you hesitant?" Radri asks.

Xan's eyes widen, caught—and as his gaze falls from hers, she notices what she had not recognized to be courage in his shoulders, as well.

"How can I not be?" Xan confesses. "The moonblade's consequences should be mine to bear, and mine alone. This is one burden I am not meant to share."

"...Then you don't think this is the right thing to do," Radri says, feeling the beginnings of a dull resignation grow in her heart. But rather than agree with her, the corners of Xan's lips rise in a faint, self-amused smile.

"No, I do. I feel I must have gone mad to think so, but despite everything, I do. It is only that, from this moment forward, all I can do is hope against hope that my choice is understood," Xan says, then his smile fades. "I seem to have found myself experiencing many of these moments, in these past months…."

His last sentence is spoken less to her, and more to himself—and he looks tired again, worn, like he did on the day of their reunion. The urgency of before forgotten, Radri reaches up to brush the shadow of his hair aside from his eyes, and trails the caress to hold the side of his face gently in her palm.

"Sounds exhausting," Radri says, softly. "Will you tell me?"

Xan's gaze rises to meet hers, and free from shadow, a trace of candlelight flickers in his dark eyes.

"Stories for another time," Xan says—and yet, his gaze is tender, and a weight seems to have been lifted, as if another piece of resolve has found its place. He draws her touch to his lips, and kisses her hand briefly, before releasing it back to her.

Unfastening the moonblade from his belt, Xan holds it between them, its grip held loosely in one hand, and its sheath in the other.

"This is your last chance to change your mind," Xan says.

Radri's gaze runs across the moonblade; its brilliant flames are hidden at present, and she has never stared very long into that fire when she had the chance, but she has an imprint of them on her mind's eye—perhaps from Xan's memory.

Radri meets his eye, committed, and Xan inclines his head.

"Then lay your hand over mine," Xan guides. "I will begin."

—

The pillow at the back of her head is firmer than usual. Scrunching her closed eyes further, Radri shifts, trying to ease the stiffness in her neck. She had had the strangest vision: a storm had visited her, and pain had followed, painted in vivid flames…

"Radri?" The word is hushed, relieved—and opening her eyes, Radri finds Xan looking worriedly down at her.

The pillow is him, she thinks, and then, Why am I…?

"You fell unconscious as I finished the spell," Xan explains, upon seeing the slight disorientation in her eyes. "I was barely able to catch you."

The spell—the moonblade. Radri sits up, her eyes finding the moonblade, which lays beside them. She doesn't know what she should expect. The moonblade doesn't look any different, and besides a faint headache that has already subsided, she doesn't feel any different, either.

"Did it work?" Radri asks.

"I believe so, though I hope we will not have to put it to the test," Xan says. "But that is not my concern at the moment. You cried out in pain…"

Xan takes her face into his hands, looking over her with worry—but all she feels now is relief, and she leans affectionately into his touch.

"I'm alright, Xan," Radri says. "In fact, I feel much better."

"Better?" Xan echoes. "You do remember what you have just agreed to?"

"Of course," Radri says, an effortless smile blooming on her face. "You're safe."

"…Safe-er," Xan concedes, though his expression carries all the words he's holding back. She's only secured him a chance; as long as he's tied to the moonblade, he's still doomed.

But at least we're doomed together, Radri thinks. She nestles in against him, floating on the feeling of having been able to do something to help, after all the helplessness of these past few weeks.

"We're really in this together now," Radri murmurs to herself, and sighs. "Almost like we're married."

Her head rests against his shoulder, but instead of accepting her into his embrace as usual, Xan stills, his surprise flitting across their bond.

"Married?"

"Ah—Wait, I meant—" Radri rushes, ready to take back her words, but Xan relaxes, drawing her close and kissing her hair.

"I suppose it is," Xan says. "Right now, your safety is all that matters, but perhaps once Irenicus is taken care of, we will be able to hold the ceremony. During those days we spent on the road, before everything, I imagined it would be a grand event, held in Evereska…"

Xan speaks wistfully, his head leant against hers—but Radri pulls herself away.

"You still want to marry me?" Radri asks, looking at him in disbelief.

"Yes?" Xan says, puzzled by her question—then his expression falls. "Do you… no longer wish to?"

"No," Radri starts, before rushing to clarify, "No, I mean, I do wish to! But, I thought… You know, given…"

"That you cannot enter Evereska? That was just a remnant of a dream; we can be wed anywhere you wish," Xan says.

"No, it's—"

"The size of the ceremony?" Xan asks. "If you desire it, it can simply be the two of us, although I assumed that at the least you would want Imoen present—"

"A Bhaalspawn," Radri forces out before she drowns in his consideration, "How could a Bhaalspawn associate herself with your House?"

She can't face him, but their bond communicates the conflicted emotion she hides on her face to him regardless. The sequence of his response follows: a shard of surprise, then a fierce protectiveness, which becomes a familiar warmth.

"Why should that matter?" Xan says. "My House will soon fall out of memory outside of Evermeet; my siblings have already left in the Retreat."

His touch finds her shoulder, but she does not relax.

"So I will never meet them?" Radri asks. "So you will never see them, ever again? Suppose we survive this, and live long—how will you explain me to them?"

"My life is my own. I will not have them judge me for it," Xan says; though subtle, there is an edge in those words. "Besides… I am not as close with my siblings as you are with Imoen."

"Your other ties, then," Radri says. "You do not think much of them, but you have them—many more than I."

"My other ties are of even less consequence," Xan says, growing serious and concerned now. "Radri… you know I care little for what others think. What is this really about?"

This is about him. This is about how, since the moment she read Gorion's letter, her life has well and truly torn apart at the seams—and how, since their reconciliation in the catacombs, she has not yet seen Xan hesitate to tear his apart to match her. She cannot regret her newly formed connection with the moonblade—not when it can save him, and allow him to stay with her—but she can add it to the cost of their love, and feel its weight press down upon her.

"I don't want you to do this for me," Radri says, her throat growing tight with emotion. "You shouldn't have to do this for me. I am the reviled Bhaalspawn—"

"And I am the moonblade wielder, and yet you now bear part of my burden with me," Xan says. "Would you deny me the same?"

"That's different," she says, "It's my fault to begin with."

"You may as well say that I am at fault, for choosing to follow you," Xan says, "Or Alaundo is at fault for writing his prophecies, or Bhaal is—well, perhaps we can all agree that Bhaal is at fault. Or is it the very nature of our world itself that is at fault?"

She doesn't respond, and in her silence, Xan wraps his arms around her in another embrace. His head rests beside hers, and his voice emerges low, and quiet.

"You wish to spare me, Estel'amin, but I am not content to be spared," Xan says. "Let me bear this with you."

His comfort is tempting, familiar. She had sheltered in it in Candlekeep's catacombs; in Baldur's Gate, when her heritage had become public knowledge; and in this same room, weeks ago, when Xan had found his way back to her and she had cried in his arms, Irenicus' pain still fresh in her mind. She wants to close her eyes and accept it again, but her thoughts run on: How long can this last?

One day, Xan will come to his senses, and he will regret having thrown everything away for her. What awaits her is either his death or his resentment...

...She should just let him go.

A pang shoots through Radri's heart at that thought, and echoes in Xan's. His compassion, his worry, rise in her chest—and enveloped in his warmth, she cannot bring herself to refuse him just yet.

"Okay," she whispers, at last.

"Will you promise it?" Xan asks. "Will you bind us together, as I did?"

There is a twinge of desperation in those words, as though he knows what she had just considered. A weak smile pulls the curve of her mouth upwards, for no one's benefit but her own.

"I'm not the one with the sentient sword," Radri says. "There's no need for binding. Besides, I don't have any spells."

"You do," Xan says. "Your kiss, for one. And I wish to be bound to you—so there is, in fact, a need."

Radri finds the strength to pull away from his embrace to look at him; Xan is determined, and completely serious. The line of her mouth breaks into a wobble.

"You are so…" She doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry; she releases a puff of a breath that could be the precursor to either, "Ridiculous."

The look on Xan's face softens, and in lieu of words he simply closes his eyes, presumably waiting for her binding kiss.

"Xan… really," Radri tries.

But as he waits, and she gazes upon him waiting, a small glimmer of hope emerges in her chest—not that her kiss can be any substitute for a spell, or that she has any ability to bind them together outside of their existing bond, but that she can believe him. Xan has weighed his sacrifices; he knows them better than she. And here, there are no monks, no Phlydia, no Keeper of Tomes, with a thousand words of warning and misplaced compassion that wind through her past to say but one thing: You are more trouble than you are worth.

"I promise to let you bear this with me," Radri says, at last. The words leave her more easily than she had thought—and miraculously, she feels lighter for them. A corner of Xan's lips rises.

"And…?"

Feeling a bit silly, she nevertheless leans in and kisses him lightly on the forehead. When she pulls away, Xan's eyes are open once more, bearing the warmth of candlelight within them as he meets her gaze.

"Thank you, Estel'amin." His love and sincerity wash over her through the bond; she blushes.

"N-Now—shall we go to bed, at last? Or are we going to exchange promises until sunrise?" Radri asks, standing quickly to avoid acknowledging the heat in her face. She holds a hand out to Xan, who gazes up at her with a faint smile upon his lips.

"To bed," Xan confirms, and rises to join her; he kisses her warm cheek.

notes: in bg1, radri never got the premonition that bodhi would kill xan. they had zero warning. also, promise explains how i'm treating the moonblade

—✧✧✧—

Blue light burns itself into the backs of her eyelids, and Radri's eyes open to find Xan lying unmoving at Bodhi's feet, the hilt of his moonblade barely caged by lifeless fingers.

Dead, Radri thinks, and then, Not real. She's seen this scene in her nightmares too many times before. Radri pulls herself forward with her forearms, her stomach and knees scraping across the ground as she crawls towards his fallen body. When she reaches him, she will wake.

But the air is strangely quiet, devoid of the usual echoing, villainous laughter, and the graveyard grounds are hard and cold, its every stray pebble and cracked stone pressing unpleasantly into Radri's flesh. And despite her triumph, Bodhi retreats as a snarling wolf would back away into its lair—not triumphant, but defensive—as though Bodhi, too, had been blinded by blue flame.

Xan is within reach now, and dread sets into the pit of Radri's stomach. Not real, she thinks helplessly, taking his corpse into her arms, and yet she does not wake—

"Radri," Xan says quietly, "Are you with me?"

In a blink, the graveyard is gone. Radri's arms are empty, save for her own arm held in her opposite hand's grip, a grip tight enough to press crescents into her skin, even through the sleeve of her robe. She's seated on the edge of a bed fit for two, and ahead her is a dresser, upon which she and Xan's belongings have been haphazardly stacked. To the left of the dresser is a door—to the bath, she remembers.

"I…" Radri says. "Yes. I'm with you…."

With effort, she pulls her curled fingers from her arm, and presses her hands into her lap—though her hands can't seem to bear such inaction, and begin wringing each other, instead. As Radri casts her gaze down at them, hoping to stare herself sternly into stillness, a damp tendril of her hair falls into her vision from the lowering of her head. Xan's hand, moving briefly into her periphery, pulls it gently back for her, returning it to the towel with which he's drying her hair.

Soon, Xan's movements still, and the towel leaves her hair. The mattress shifts—he's moving off of the bed—he's leaving.

"Xan…" There's a tremble in her voice, yet she can't turn around, as though she were frozen in place. "Xan. Come… Come back—"

"I'm here," Xan says, and his shadow falls across her, enveloping her as his arms do a mere heartbeat later. His skin brushes against her neck, his head a comforting weight upon her shoulder, and as his breaths move against hers, guiding her heartbeat to slow, she feels herself begin to thaw in his embrace. Slowly, she finds the strength to wrap her arms around him in return, curling her fingers into the fabric of his robe.

"I still don't understand," Radri whispers. "What did… How are you alive? Did the moonblade… save you?"

Xan had coughed up blood in her arms, weak yet undeniably alive, and Radri had been so overcome with relief that she could have kissed him, even if it meant tasting iron on her tongue. Her body, however, decided that she should burst into tears, and in the end she wept over him as Jaheira healed him—and healed her too, for some reason, even though she hadn't been targeted in the attack at all. With little time left to waste, she had then directed Anomen to lead the charge into Bodhi's lair as planned.

Her memory of the fight itself is hazy, but she remembers lifting her gaze once all sounds of combat had stopped. Imoen had thanked her for the return of her soul, then Xan had met her eye and seen something in her expression that summoned a grave, concerned look upon his face, and he had quietly taken her arm. The moonblade had knocked into her hip then, and she'd glanced down at it—its gems were still dull, still displeased with him.

"Save me?" Xan says, quietly. "It did intend to, in a way. It wanted to spare me from Bodhi's undeath, and tried to kill me to do so. But you bore half of the blow, and I survived."

Radri pulls away, staring in blank disbelief into his eyes.

"It… what?" Her voice spills out, trembling and incredulous. "Then… if we hadn't created that failsafe… you would have died tonight?"

Xan only nods. Unable to release the responding emotion in her chest in words, Radri pulls him back into her arms, hugging him tight. It's only now that she notices the slight tremble in his shoulders, the only hint that he, like her, was shaken by tonight.

"I'm sorry," Radri says, "I should've run her through with my blade before she could reach you, I should've predicted what she was planning, I should've left you behind—"

"Don't," Xan says, pain in his voice, "Don't speak of leaving me again… please. It is no kindness to be left alone and waiting, fearing for your safety. I would rather remain by your side, and face what you face, no matter what may come."

"…But have I wasted it?" Radri asks, a terrible thought occurring to her, "Our failsafe?"

"You are still tied to the moonblade," Xan says, "but I cannot say for certain what will happen if it chooses to kill me again. It is possible that it will learn from today's events, and next time, it will succeed…"

Xan's voice trails off, and she realizes that he's pulled back to look at her, taking in the expression on her face with quiet concern.

"But let us not dwell on such thoughts tonight," Xan says. "Tonight, I am grateful to have been granted one more night with you, and will make every effort not to waste it speculating on my own demise."

Amongst all the fear and worry of tonight, this line draws a tentative smile from her.

"That reminds me of our first night together," Radri says. "Well, not together, but you knelt down beside me and said your farewells as if—"

As she says so, she realizes that Xan in the present is on his knees before her now, on the cold, hard floor of their room. He had to kneel, for their earlier embrace—to meet her at her seated height upon the bed.

"Xan!" Radri gasps, "How long have I kept you on your knees? Why didn't you say something?"

"It was worth it to comfort you," Xan says, but rises, letting her pull him back onto the bed.

"You could've comforted me from up here," Radri says. "You know Jaheira won't spare you a spell if you bruise."

"I do not bruise that easily," Xan says with a roll of his eyes.

Settled now, Xan holds a hand out to her, and Radri takes it, letting him draw her into a gentle recline against the pillows. Nestled against his side, Radri casts her gaze around the rest of the room. This inn is nicer than the Copper Coronet, and new to her, but Xan had known exactly how to reach it. Knowing him, he'd originally found this place to take her under more pleasant circumstances, as a surprise to lift her spirits. Their room has a private bath, but she had hardly been able to lounge and appreciate it; her thoughts still filled with visions of the graveyard, she could do little more than go through the motions. Xan had tended to her then, washing the blood and grime of their battle from her body, patient and attentive.

Shifting her body to turn towards him, Radri takes Xan's arm in her elbow, and leans her head against his shoulder.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Tahlimil," Radri says. "I'm only sorry I couldn't have appreciated it more."

"You speak as if the night is already over, Estel'amin," Xan says. "We have many hours yet."

"Well… yes, but we need that time to rest," Radri says. "If we're going to wake early—"

"Do we need to wake early?"

Radri stares at him, then puts her free hand on his forehead.

"Did you catch another fever?" Radri asks, evaluating him with concern. "Now that Bodhi is dead, Irenicus is almost in our grasp, and our troubles are nearly over. Shouldn't we wake early?"

"That depends," Xan says, lifting her hand to return it to her. "How do you feel, Estel'amin?"

"I'm alive," Radri says with a light shrug. "What does it matter, how I feel?"

"It matters because you have scarcely had a moment of peace since the moment you left Baldur's Gate," Xan says. "You have encountered misfortune after misfortune, been called upon to save far too many, and been forced to remain strong under incredible duress. You may have divine blood in your veins, but you are still mortal, Estel'amin, and you should take care of yourself as such."

With the arm that she has hooked in her elbow, Xan takes her hand, meeting it palm to palm, intertwining their fingers—holding her tight.

"I worry for you, always, but never so much as I have in the past few days," Xan continues quietly. "I fear that your burdens will push you to break at the worst possible moment, and I would ease them, if I can. I recall that you once promised me you would rest once Imoen was safe… many, many weeks ago."

"Oh, but I did rest," Radri says, "during our time in the forest. Remember?"

"We only stayed a few nights in the forest. Unless… when you broke down crying?" Xan says, with a furrow in his brow, "Radri… that was not rest. That was exhaustion."

"Well, it's close enough, isn't it?" Radri says, and when Xan's flat expression says, Absolutely not, she amends, "I'll do it after. After we kill Irenicus. And we can celebrate then, too. Aren't you looking forward to that?"

"I am afraid that I will have nothing to look forward to," Xan says. "I fear that if you face him in this state, he will kill you."

The light numbness that had settled back over her emotions begins to fade. If Xan had hoped to lead her to relax, he had done the opposite. Radri feels her expression beginning to crumple, the corners of her lips tugging downwards, and to make matters worse, she can feel the familiar ache of tears starting to well in her eyes.

"Estel'amin…" Xan's voice is gentle, and she scrunches her eyes shut, turning her face into his shoulder.

"I have to do it after," Radri says. "I have to face him now, because if I let myself relax, if I let you bring me too far back to myself, I might not ever manage to step foot outside again."

"Strange—you speak as though you think of yourself as a coward, when I know that not to be the case," Xan says. Radri scoffs.

"Please, you saw it," Radri says. "The way that I stalled on the way to Spellhold. If Imoen hadn't been taken captive, I would have run, in order to never face him again."

"And I would have encouraged you to," Xan says. "Better to save yourself than risk your life in the name of revenge."

"I still want to run now," Radri admits quietly. "I'm afraid, Xan. I… I haven't… Sarevok was different, you know? When he… when my father… I ran. And so much had happened by the time we were in the ruins of the old city, I was only occupied with the challenge of killing him. He had been a terrifying figure in my nightmares, but in that temple, I saw a mortal man.

"But Irenicus… I just keep remembering his pale, unfeeling face beyond the bars of my cage, just watching me as I… suffered. I couldn't move, I couldn't look away. And then the visions, invading my reverie… Spellhold, trapped again in that small cage, having my soul ripped out of me… it's too much, Xan. It's too soon. I… I don't know what I'll see when I face him again."

Somewhere in the midst of her words, her tears had spilled too, so heated she that had barely noticed them fall. Xan is quiet, then he tilts his head against hers, squeezing her hand in gentle reassurance, as though even without their bond he could still lift her burdens from her heart.

"I am sure that for no small number of your opponents, a vision of you lurks in their nightmares," Xan begins. "They see a powerful Bhaalspawn who leaves only death in her wake, and fear you before they even face you—but they fear your image, not your real, tangible skill with a blade. Like you, Irenicus is indeed a powerful adversary… but not so powerful as the one your mind has built. Remember that he is also a broken, mortal man with a stolen soul, and see him for the mage that he is."

Wiping her tears roughly away with her free hand, Radri can't help but break into a small smile.

"Leave it to you to encourage me as you insult me," Radri says, to which Xan looks at her in surprise.

"When did I insult you?"

"'Not so powerful as the one your mind has built?'" Radri quotes, and gives him an unimpressed raise of her brow, "I'm fully capable of living up to my reputation, thank you."

Xan rolls his eyes.

"Ah, of course. I forgot whose presence I am in." Xan dries the last of her tears for her with the edge of his sleeve, and leaves an affectionate kiss upon her cheek. "That of my reckless, overconfident leader."

In truth, Radri has never felt that she's lived up to her reputation—whether in her enemies' eyes, or her companions'. She has never possessed the unshakeable certainty that she imagines a leader in her position should. And yet, if she looks back, her actions show what her feelings do not: even when weighed down by doubt and fear, she has always managed to pull through, defeating every enemy who has stood in her way. Irenicus had expected her to die long before now, yet here she is, alive and beside her beloved, whose life she had managed to steal back from the clutches of his moonblade.

A sense of gratitude begins to unfurl in her chest, along with a tentative glow of pride. They have escaped death not once, but twice today—there is her real, tangible skill. And regardless of what awaits her when she faces Irenicus, right now, she has tonight.

"Xan," Radri says, "is that break... still on the table?"

Xan's gaze, which had held merely tentative hope when he'd seen her smile, now softens with obvious relief. 

"Of course," Xan says, "I have only been waiting for you to accept it. What do you wish, Estel'amin? Shall I draw another bath, for you to savor this time? Shall I give you a massage, to ease the tension in your shoulders?"

His voice is so sweet, so gentle, and his touch is so soft and comforting... and yet, as Radri gazes at him, she feels she wants something else entirely. The moment she realizes exactly what, though, her face warms, and she wrenches her gaze away from his bare, exposed collarbone.

"I—ah—the bath, is fine..." Then the thought of Xan tending to her, if not outright joining her, occurs to her and she switches tracks, "I mean, the massage! Is fine—" But then the thought of Xan's touch on her bare skin has her burning further, and Radri buries her face in her hands.

"M-Maybe we should do this in the morning," Radri says.

"Why? What is it, Estel'amin?" Xan asks.

After laying her heart bare and freeing her mind of all the turmoiled thoughts she'd kept caged inside, what she had felt in her subconscious has now risen into her awareness. Their closeness, their attire, their surroundings, even the mix of terror and exhilaration after a difficult fight—it all reminds her of that first night in the Ducal palace, and she can still feel the memory of that night in her body, which now wants, very much, to hold Xan against her. Radri lowers her hands slightly, peeking out at him from above her fingertips, sneaking another look at him: his warm skin, his tired, relieved eyes, and the tension still strung through him, from his shoulders to his pinched brow. She could release that tension, she thinks. The thought brings a new bloom of warmth to her face, and at that, the look in Xan's eyes changes.

"Is there something you hesitate to ask of me?" Xan asks, low and knowing.

He draws one of her lowered hands away from her face, cupping her cheek gently in his hand, kissing her forehead—and even this small act has her closing her eyes, feeling a gentle thrill run through her at her contact with his warmth.

"Your desires are safe with me," he says softly, "You need only speak them."

His voice winds its way around her hesitant thoughts, wrapping her in assurance as she relaxes into his touch, and she wonders how this isn't a charm spell—it can't be, because his hand is still at her cheek, and his other hand has found the small of her back, neither one free to weave magic. The delicate, bare skin of his wrist is in her hand now, and her fingers shift the hem of his sleeve lower as she leans into his touch. Radri opens her eyes, meeting his gaze; Xan's dark, grey eyes are cast in shadow at this angle away from the light, yet hold their own warm glow within.

"Tahlimil," she says, and feels the barest shiver run through him at the way his name falls off her tongue, "I want to hold you again."

"Then I am yours," Xan says, and he meets her in a kiss.

As the light from the window recedes, casting her journal into shadow, Radri sets a candle upon the candle holder on the nightstand, then reaches over the side of the bed, rummaging around in her pack for flint and steel. As she fumbles around for it, Xan glances over from his place beside her, and extends a hand.

"Allow me," he says. With a small gesture and a whisper of a command, the wick catches flame.

"Oh," Radri says, looking up the lit candle, "Thank you."

She abandons her now unnecessary search, and opens her journal once more. Xan glances over again.

"I never found the chance to ask what you write about," he says.

"Mm?" Radri narrowly avoids leaving a blot of ink on the page, and gives her pen a dissatisfied frown, resolving to be more careful. "Normal things, I suppose. What happened today, what quests are in progress, what supplies we expended…."

"A summary of events, then, rather than a collection of personal reflections?" Xan says. "Did you keep such a journal in Candlekeep, as well?"

In Candlekeep? She had never considered it. Imagining it now, her entries would have blended together in their sameness; her days were a mixture of lessons and chores, with the only real variables being the subjects she was taught, and the people around her.

"I didn't keep a journal at all," Radri says. "I was always so tired of writing by the end of each day—the last thing I wanted to do was light a candle and write into the night." She gives her current setup a wry smile.

"But now that I'm gone… there's something comforting about the routine," Radri says. "The scent of paper, the ink… even the flame. Though Candlekeep isn't so full of candles as its name would suggest."

Then she blinks, and lifts her gaze from her journal, glancing over to him.

"I remember seeing that you have a journal, as well. Don't you keep track of similar things?"

"Of our every encounter, foe, and death?" Xan says. "If I dwell too long on what has happened to us, I soon grow astonished at the fact that we are even still alive—and against my will, the mind wanders. I prefer to keep my entries to more pleasant reflections."

"Pleasant reflections?" Radri echoes, curious, "Like what?"

"What else?" Xan says, gazing at her softly. "Thoughts of you, and our love."

—

Radri swirls the liquid wax around in the flat pan of the candle holder, drawing circles around the dying flame. Just as the wick is about to run out, she catches the flame on a fresh one, and sets the new candle beside her closed journal. Her journal entry for the day is complete; she is tired, and she is long due for reverie; and yet, something keeps her awake.

Xan. She sighs, staring into the dull, abandoned pool, watching the wax slowly begin to solidify again. She doesn't know why she's still waiting for him. He prefers to study his spells alone—and she has often fallen into reverie waiting for him to finish—but never so consistently or so often as in these past several days. A shadow has fallen across his dark, gray eyes, and though she lingers in bed, pretending to still be in reverie to ensure he gets all the hours he needs, he hardly looks rested.

When she asks, Xan says nothing. But—she hasn't really asked, has she? Are you alright, is no true substitute for, I'm worried about you. Is something wrong? Is it something I did? Are you avoiding m—

Radri gives her head a sharp shake. No—it does no use to jump to conclusions, and she's been through this dance before. All she has to do is wait for Xan to come tell her everything.

…No, that's not it. The last time she had waited, in just a tenday he had formed a conviction to leave her forever.

Radri stands, sending the candle's flame flickering in the residual breeze of her movement, worry suddenly taking hold in her chest. Her heart is set—she's going to go find him. Xan is probably still at that worn table on the floor below; at this hour, there are none but the stillness and darkness of night to keep him company. Her mind made up, Radri crosses the room in three quick strides, and opens the door—

—And comes face to face with Xan, who stumbles back a step in surprise.

"Radri," Xan gasps. With the glimpse he'd caught of her expression, he sends a cautious glance behind him, before facing her again. "You—you looked as if you were about to storm a dungeon. Are we leaving already?"

Then he looks past her, into the room, where the wax carnage by the candle holder she's been using to stave off the darkness serves as clear evidence of her sleeplessness.

"…Or have you not even rested yet, at all?" Xan looks worriedly down at her. Radri feels, for an instant, abashed to have raised his concern—but no, she has to collect herself. She is worried about him. And she must say it!

"I… I couldn't," Radri says. Yes, a good start—

"I…" she continues, and now, she should ask him now—

"I hadn't yet received your kiss goodnight." NO!

But her excuse has already left her in a nervous rush of words, too late to be swallowed now. Xan, understandably, stares at her—and mentally, she buries her face in her hands. How could her resolve have fled her so quickly?

"I… did not know it was that significant to you," Xan says, slightly puzzled, and it takes her a second to remember what she'd said that he's responding to, "Forgive me for the oversight."

Leaning carefully in, as though partly convinced that she might prove to be an illusion once he touches her, Xan leaves a simple, light kiss on her cheek. When he pulls back away, he seems silently astonished at having confirmed that she is, in fact, real. But Radri's mind holds no room to process this observation; her fingertips rise to touch the kiss he'd placed on her cheek, and her face reddens in embarrassment. He'd… he'd humored her… but perhaps this is the best approach. After all, it's not in her nature to tackle an encounter head-on.

"Are you going to come in and join me?" Radri asks. Though she tries for casual, her voice seems, to her ears, to betray her hours of waiting and doubt. But if Xan thinks the same, it does not show, and he does not refuse her.

Xan moves through his nightly ritual, putting his spellbook upon the nightstand and leaning his moonblade against it, so that he might always have it on hand. Meanwhile, Radri feels as nervous inside as she did the first time they'd shared a room, and finds herself standing still at the foot of the bed, uncertain what to do with her arms.

Xan lays down on the bed, then looks up at her. Perhaps it's just her, or the distance, or the flicker of the candle—but she thinks she sees amusement in his eyes.

"Come here," Xan says fondly, and in that moment, the spell of her nervousness is broken. She hastens over and falls into his arms; Xan's soft, breathy chuckle floats across the top of her head.

"If you were in such a hurry, you need not have waited for me."

She curls up closer, nestling her head against his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. He misunderstands; what she'd waited for is his closeness.

"Will you take my hand?" Radri asks; she misses his company in reverie. Xan sighs.

"I am in no state to show you my memories of Evereska tonight, if that is what you were hoping for."

"I don't want to see, so much as I just want to be with you."

"Well, then, I am already with you." Xan kisses her hair. Her heart clenches, and she tries again.

"Xan… has something been troubling you, lately?"

"I am surprised that you would ask me this," he says. "Many things trouble me, Estel'amin, and at many times." Though his answer is neutral, something beneath it is just slightly tense.

"Does it have to do with me?"

"You are on my mind too often for these troubling thoughts to never lead back to you." But he had hesitated… just barely.

Radri finds her breath caught in her throat. This is the moment; she cannot bear to blurt out any more excuses.

"Is it why you wait for me to fall into reverie, first, before you join me?" Her heart beats so loudly that it nearly drowns out the sound of her own voice in her ears. "I—Is it… why you've been been avoiding me?"

In the aftermath of releasing those words from her mind, she barely registers the fact that Xan's body has stilled, his breath frozen in his chest; her thoughts, many and jumbled, tumble forth, fighting for the chance to form on her tongue.

"I—I'm sorry," Radri finds herself stammering. "After all… it's an uneven arrangement, isn't it? You have such a beautiful city to show me, and I only have books and repetition—the same story, day in and day out. And then I finally left, only to start having these visions… these nightmares. Why would you want to live through them with me? I understand, really. I should never have—"

"Radri."

With one swift movement, she's no longer curled up against his chest, but laying on her back on the bed itself. Xan is leant over her, his arms on either side of her shoulders, his face cast into uneven shadow by the curtain of his hair. She can't help but notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, which are still apparent even in this dim light—but more than that, what strikes her is how pained he looks by her words.

"Is that what you think?"

Radri feels, suddenly, that she's gotten the answer very wrong. She's transported back to Candlekeep: one of her tutors stares at her from the board, tutting at her, as Imoen, sprawled casually at the desk next to hers, signals secretly to her what she should have said instead.

But the Imoen of her mind's eye has no choice but to fade away without helping her; there is nowhere in the world that contains knowledge of what Xan is thinking right now, except for Xan himself.

"What," she says, quietly, "Should I think instead?"

Xan, surprisingly, does not answer immediately. He seems, for the first time in a while, lost for words—though not for a lack of emotion for them to express. She watches his expression shift, from reflection, to frustration, to helplessness, to—

"I have been trying to shield you from my struggles," Xan manages at last, "But I see that I have failed."

Pulling away from her, he continues, "I… I keep having visions."

"I am alone with you on a beautiful glade—and we are ambushed by monsters. I join you in your reverie—and wake up next to your lifeless corpse. I let down my guard, and you are taken from me—" He pauses, taking in a shaky breath, eyes glazed over by the memory, "And there are many more. You cannot imagine the perils my eyes see."

"Fear has always plagued me, Radri. Fears of dying, of losing you, of hurting you, of dragging you into the void of my lonely, desolate existence… But now they are not simply that: they are live nightmares I cannot escape, and I dread my reverie every night. How can I share it with you, when I know what my mind will show you?" Xan says, and pulls his gaze away from her, bowing his head. "I am lost, Estel'amin. Lost in darkness… and even the candles of your room are not able to drive it away."

Radri begins to reach out to him, but pauses, his words still running through her head. She feels like she's forced this from him; she's sorry to have pushed him. Perhaps, if she'd just observed in silence longer, she could have guessed that this was what troubled him… but she can't help but think back to that first night, when their shared reverie went awry. Even with her tears, her confession, his words, and his comfort, what she remembers above all is relief, to no longer be holding all of her fears inside.

So she brings herself to him, and she holds him close.

"You can show me," Radri says. "I wish I knew what to say to drive this darkness away… I wish I could do for you what you do for me. But I will always be here to listen."

"I want to know everything about you, Tahlimil," she confesses; despite having spoken it in her mind many times, his name is still new on her tongue, and she feels his breath catch to hear it. "Not just your hopes, but your fears. Not just your shining moments of happiness, but your present sorrows. I want to be here with you, through all of it. There is not a moment in which I would wish that you had spared me… I don't think it's possible for us to spare each other, anymore."

Her heart is beating loud and fast in her chest; she wonders if he can feel it, if he can tell that she feels more nervous and vulnerable now than she does when she whispers to him that she loves him, before all the eyes of the world. Xan, held close, now pulls away to look her in the eyes.

"Estel'amin," Xan says, "I…"

He looks taken by disbelief and awe; he looks as if he wishes to kiss her. But then, another thought comes to him—and she can spy this exact moment, by the sudden look of resolve in his eyes.

"There is a question that has been on my mind for far too long," Xan says. "I have agonized over when to ask it, but I think it can only be now. I feel as you do. I would share everything with you: my memories, my emotions, my life… and I would know you, in turn, as dearly and intimately as I have only ever known myself."

He takes her hand; his fingers, and the rings upon them, are normally cool upon her skin, but tonight they exude pure warmth.

"I wish to forge the bond that will unite my world with yours," Xan says. "I wish to have you in my arms, Estel'amin… will you have me?"

The building elation that she'd felt throughout his first sentences falters, stuttering to a halt. Suddenly, their closeness comes to the forefront of her awareness. His touch, his gaze, and even the mundane way the fabric of their clothes has tangled together around their bodies; to notice these things now leaves a weight in her chest.

"Are you afraid?" Xan asks, softly.

She can't respond; he does not push her.

"I know," Xan says, and if Radri were less preoccupied by her thoughts, she would note that his tone betrays a hint of nervousness, "This commitment is far too great to fathom in a single moment. An elven bond is the closest intimacy I could have asked of you; I have had many days to reflect on it, and yet I have not granted you the same. I am not so fragile that I will turn away from you if you refuse me tonight."

Hearing that, her head jerks up, startling him slightly. He thinks that this is what she would refuse? How could he imagine that she would, when even in the earliest of their days together—after she, by a miracle, had managed to convince him to stay—she had thought secretly, wistfully back to the kind of bond she had only ever been able to read about in books?

No, the cause of this pressure in her chest is from the other half of his request, tied so smoothly to the first: I wish to have you in my arms. She imagines that if she were anyone else, she would have already flung herself into Xan's waiting embrace, but though she tries to picture this, to rehearse for the actions she will surely take in the next moment, she cannot do it.

"I... I have dreamed of our bond. For an embarrassingly long time," Radri confesses, and says a silent farewell to such dreams as she admits, "But I am not ready to give you the rest of what you have asked. I'm sorry."

Ducking her head, she closes her eyes tight, ready to hear him sigh and turn away... but the sound never comes.

“Then our bond is all I ask,” Xan says.

Shocked, she looks up at him. Xan no longer looks nervous; he does not even appear disappointed, as she’d feared. Instead, he looks as if he’d received the very answer he had hoped for.

"What do you mean?" Radri asks, "You… you're still willing, to...?"

"Radri," Xan says, a fond, relieved smile pulling at his lips, "Our bond is the one part of my question that I had always feared you would refuse. The rest can wait until the day you wish for it."

For a moment, she can do nothing but stare in disbelief. That feeling of elation returns, building little by little, replacing the heaviness in her chest.

"Can you ask me again?" Radri says, feeling somewhat breathless, "S—so… so that I might accept properly?"

"I have longed to forge the bond that will unite my world with yours," Xan begins again for her, and adds, with a look of unbearable tenderness, "I love you, Estel'amin. Will you have me?"

And at last she answers in a whispered, "Yes."

—

When Radri wakes, Xan is sitting up beside her, already awake himself. She stretches her arms out to hug him around the waist, and closes her eyes again.

"You've spent less time in reverie than I," she grumbles, "How is it that you're already awake?"

"Is it your wish that I return to bed, then?" Xan asks, brushing through her hair with an idle hand. "I will… But first, I noticed that you were running short of candles, so I brought you one."

Xan presents her with a lit candle. Radri, sitting up, beholds it with bewilderment.

"I… Thank you, but… if you're already burning it now, won't it go to waste?" Radri asks, looking at him. Still new to her heart, his presence and his feelings there are not yet easy to sort through, but she manages to single one out: anticipation.

"There is more to it, Estel'amin," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek, "Just trust me."

Holding the candle between them, he faces her seriously.

"I wish to give you a promise, together with this candle," Xan says. "I… I feel you, now, as clearly as I feel myself. I know your fears as sharply as I know mine. And I promise: while you are here, with me, in reverie or in the waking world, you will not run out of candles, and whenever you have need of me, you will not find me wanting. —If you do have need of me, that is."

He extinguishes the candle, and looks at her with a slight smile.

"I almost do not believe it, but I feel… hopeful," Xan says. "And there, the candle is out. Do you forgive me for squandering it, now?"

"Yes," Radri says, barely managing to voice the word with how touched she is, and clearly past the need for any apology of his. "I'm… I…"

Xan just gazes contentedly at her, looking more at peace this morning than he has in days, and rather than trying to put into words what she feels after hearing what he said, she just wants to hold him. So she does.

"I suppose you will want us to return to reverie now," Xan says, his voice slightly muffled by the arms she's thrown around his neck. "I appreciate your offer to serve as my blanket, but it will be difficult to kiss you goodnight in this position… and I know how you cannot bear to forgo it."

"What even are you talking about," Radri mumbles, having reached her limit for deciphering spoken words the moment Xan's candle went out. There's simply too much information: from her heart, her head, this bond, and even the sun, whose rays are now peeking irritatingly in from the gap in the curtains at the window.

"Nothing," Xan answers, feeling all of this from her, and deciding to postpone his teasing for later. They have time. This hour, this day... and yes, perhaps even tomorrow.

—

“Will you guide me?” Radri asks.

“Guide?” Xan echoes, then gestures around them with a shrug. “It is a standard estate. There is the entrance hall, the drawing room, the parlor—”

“I lived in Candlekeep, Xan,” Radri says, “The structures of "standard” living spaces are not exactly known to me.”

"You say this as though there are no tomes on floor plans and architecture—but, no, I see that they must have been too dry for you to grant them your attention,” Xan says.

He sighs, and holds out his hand.

“Very well… I will give you the tour.”

Her hand slips easily into his, and a familiar jolt of joy and disbelief flits through her heart, unchanging no matter how many times now she has taken his hand. Unlike in the waking world, where their clasped hands facilitate the link between their minds, here, the gesture holds no practical use. For how readily and naturally he offers, this must all be second nature to him—but somehow, she’s unable to reconcile the image of his offered, open hand with the way that she has so often seen him draw his cloak tighter around himself, as though the fabric were a barrier that could close him off from the world.

As they walk, Xan speaks in his low and solemn tone, describing to her the history in these halls; in the portraits, and artifacts; in the people that walk past, the figures of memory, their faces bearing a dreamlike quality. Radri finds herself staring, turning to look at them as they pass, subconsciously slowing until Xan’s hand on hers acts as a tug.

“Come,” he says, “We have almost reached the garden.” She notes that they are already leaving the interior after only having passed through the common areas—wherever the chambers may lie, they are above, or further within.

Scattered sunlight spills in through the windows, filtered by the leaves that rustle gently against the panes from the outside. Warm yellow and deep green tones, abstracted by the thickness of the glass, make the windows appear to glow from within. Ahead, a rectangle of sunlight marks the presence of a set of glass doors, and they pass through them to a veranda, where the greens and yellows of earlier burst into detail and bleed vibrancy into the air around them, filling their surroundings with color.

Here, her hand falls from his, and her feet take her ahead on their own. A path, lined with flowers, winds into the swaying shadows of the trees, and her steps slow in these shadows, falling easily into silence.

“Radri?” Xan calls, with some worry, to have seen her disappear—but Radri does not call back, her hand pressed to her silent smile. There is no danger here in the calm of the past; perhaps she will loop back and surprise him, or perhaps he will follow. There sounds a rustle of leaves, a dragging of fabric—yes, he will follow.

She keeps two steps ahead, and yet traces a rhythm that she remembers easily, a pattern that she had learned at Candlekeep. Its memorization had been inevitable seeing as, for years, she’d had only the same set of shadows to train in. It is no wonder, she thinks idly, that her skills had remained in plateau until she had left. Her eyes, half lidded, can make out the obstacles now: this path to silently round the hay bales… these steps to slip past the barrel… this way to reach the door, and with practice, open the door without a sound. To her surprise, her hand, outstretched in memory, finds a handle. It is not crafted in an elegant arc, like the ones inside the estate, but bent into the bold angles of a firm, humble bracket. A flash of dread passes through her, but it is too late: she pulls.

The man behind the door turns at her entry, and his eyes gleam in satisfaction and glee.

“Oh, goodie goodie!” He cries, “I’ve gone and found ye first! You are the ward of Gorion, no doubt?”

Her mouth works, but her voice is gone, stolen by the sensation that has numbed her and turned her legs to lead. 

“Not much of a talker, eh? I apologize for this sordid business, but I must have your head,” he says, and advances upon her, bearing the tell-tale glint of a blade. With a vicious grin, he drives the dagger forward to meet her, and though her body tenses, knowing how to escape, she can’t move—she can’t move—

Her eyes shut tight, and a hand grasps her arm, pulling her sharply back. There is a clatter, followed by a heavy, dead thud, and she is spun around by her shoulder, as another hand comes to her cheek—trembling, light—Xan.

“Radri… Radri? Please… look at me.”

But when she looks, she does not meet his eye; her gaze is pulled away, cast back over her shoulder at the fallen man, who lies not dead, but unconscious.

“It is only a memory,” Xan reminds her, drawing her away. The door closes, and they are back in the garden—but, her heart beating fast and high in her throat, she pulls away.

Away, away, and out of reverie. The night air is cold on her skin; her pillow is damp against the back of her neck; and her hand, clasped in Xan’s, is nearly slick with sweat. Tugging herself free, Radri curls onto her side, moments before Xan gasps belatedly awake beside her.

She hears him shift, turning to her… then pause, silent, no doubt forming what he wants to say.

“Candlekeep,” Radri says for him, cutting his unspoken question off before he can say it. “It happened in Candlekeep.”

“I had thought that the first attempt on your life happened at the Friendly Arm,” Xan says. “The others….”

“I never told them,” Radri says, and her voice begins to tremble as her words spill out, “I—I mean, you saw it, what a… what a poor attempt, the… the man wasn’t even armored, that—that dagger was all he had… what kind of leader would—would—”

“Would have frozen?” Xan says, quietly. “You were home, where you had been safe for decades, as long as you can remember. You were not prepared, and a moment of fear is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I can’t have any moments of fear.”

“Oh, but you should,” Xan says. “I recommend it. No one is invincible, and the few true fearless are bound to foolhardiness and doomed to an early death.”

Slowly, Radri lifts her head, gazing back at him. Her eyes are still damp with tears, but no pity shows in his; his gaze only softens, bearing relief. She wipes the tears from her face with the side of her hand, until Xan silently offers a handkerchief. He is quiet for another beat, and then,

“That day,” he begins, slowly, “will you tell me what happened?”

She had thought that she had long swallowed the words, but now they rise, pressing against her closed lips. There is no magic at play, here; only time, and memory, and his quiet patience.

“He missed,” she says. “The dagger, it… it only cuts me above the brow… and lands in the wood beside the door. He wrenches at it… there is an unruly nail, you see, Dreppin always did swear he would fix it… and though I have my opening, all I can do is stare. I had driven my blade into the hearts of countless illusions just earlier, but—but I’m too afraid to stab him. Then, I hear the wood crack, and I panic: I knock him out with a blow to the head.”

Radri laughs, weak, and empty; Xan remains silent beside her.

“You know, the funny part is, I stepped back out into the sunlight and it was like nothing had happened. Parda asked, but… I thought that was it, so… I didn’t say a thing. But then—but then—you have to guess,” Radri says, feeling almost lightheaded, like something in the air has sent her mind spinning. Judging by the grave look on his face, she doesn’t expect Xan to humor her—but he does.

“There was a second attempt,” he says. “Just when you had thought it was safe again.”

“You’re right,” Radri says, faintly, feeling strangely empty now. “I stabbed him that time… there was blood, on my new armor… surely Karan had seen it, and yet… I still couldn’t say a word.”

She falls silent, clutching the handkerchief in her hand, her eyes dry now, and her cheeks sticky with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Radri says.

She ducks her head, unable to see the way Xan blinks from compassion into puzzlement, blindsided by her apology.

“For what?”

She doesn’t know; she can’t put it into words, knowing only that shame fills her chest. Shame, for being here in front of him—for craving his attention so deeply and totally when she has done nothing with it but worry him. Danger did not used to follow her; things did not happen to her. She had always been quiet, inconsequential, like a shadow in the halls.

“F—for,” Radri begins, and then her hitched breath overtakes all other words, and she can only shake her head silently as she attempts to hide herself again.

Xan sighs. She curls in tighter on herself, sure that whatever he had seen in her has lost its luster now. Perhaps, if she had not accepted his offer of shared reverie, she would have been able to bear the facade for even just one day longer.

But then, fabric shifts, and instead of standing and walking away, he leans in, holding her.

It is a tentative embrace, and to some degree, it is awkward: she has brought her knees up to her chest, hunching in upon herself, so Xan is left to drape himself over the mountain she has made. His head tilts against hers, but it is held rigid, and leaves no weight upon her; and there is the slightest tremor in his fingers, whose touch is similarly feather-light, although they curl into the folds of her blanket, still draped around her. This balance is held for one frozen moment, until a sob escapes her, and whatever restraint he had had breaks, pulling his warmth and weight to her as though a new source of gravity had manifested in her chest.

“Forgive me,” Xan says, quiet and low, “My arms can provide little comfort, but I am afraid that my words would provide even less.”

She wants to speak; memories crowd in her chest, memories of Candlekeep, so unchanging across the decades that they all merge into a blur. She is the obedient child, quiet as she is told to be; the daughter of a storyteller, able to pluck the morals from any tale; the reader staring down at a thousand pages, for whom the world starts and ends between the covers of a book. She is an observer, nothing more. She is not seen. She is not seen.

And yet here she sits, painfully present in the real world, in the grounding weight of Xan’s embrace. A great part of her wishes dearly again to hide—but a budding fraction feels nothing but sweet relief.

When at last she can exist again, she lifts her head, and Xan releases her immediately. She raises her gaze to meet his, and Xan looks pensively back at her, until he reaches out to tuck her hair back behind her ear. He places a kiss upon her forehead, and though fleeting, gentle, and weightless, with that kiss the last of whatever insecure words she’d held on her tongue are gone.

“The next watch is mine,” Xan says, unfazed, as though he had not just turned some layer of her reality over. “If you wish, you can join me until you are ready to return to reverie.”

It is early in the morning, and the light in the inn's room is dim. Radri opens her bleary eyes to find Xan already awake and sitting up in bed beside her, flipping through his spellbook by the light of a candle on the side table. Rather than turn the other way and go back to sleep, she sits up herself, joining him in quiet preparation for the day ahead. Opening her journal on her lap, Radri unfolds the maps she has collected of the surrounding area, and begins to plan out their journey. Xan's turning of pages settles into the background of her thoughts, periodic and soothing, its rhythm interrupted only once for Xan to give her a glance of acknowledgement, brief but fond.

As her gaze passes over one of the taverns on the map, the sight of its name brings a small smile to her lips, and her fingers are drawn to the homemade amulet around her neck: Imoen's gift to her. Xan had been surprised and somewhat intrigued to declare that indeed, the necklace carried a protective enchantment from the fragments that had been crafted into it, although how the magical properties survived despite not being properly repaired, he could not say.

"Xan, when is your birthday?" Radri asks, now that the thought is in her head. Xan glances up from his spellbook, thinks for a moment, then returns to his work with a slight shrug.

"As chance would have it, it is today," Xan says, as idly as though he were commenting on the weather. For a moment, she thinks this must be an uncharacteristic jest, but the longer she regards him, the more convinced she is that he is, indeed, serious.

"Today?!" Radri exclaims, at which Xan sends her a startled look of confusion. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Oh, now I have no time to prepare!"

The maps must go—or, no, perhaps they should stay. She could take him somewhere. But would he even like that? Is there even anywhere to go? What in the world is there to show someone who has been traveling the land much longer than she has? How could she possibly find it, when even after their travels thus far, she still remains on the inside just a sheltered child of Candlekeep?

"Radri," Xan says, his calm voice interrupting her panicked thoughts, "There is no need to prepare anything. It is a day like any other; I am content to let it pass without acknowledgement."

"No, no, I have to think," Radri says, and then it comes to her. "Wait. Yes! Here, you will decide where we go today."

She pushes her maps into the little valley of the blankets between them, with a bright, relieved smile. Xan stares at her, then at the haphazard pile of maps.

"Ah. The gift of responsibility. I suppose I should first declare that I will endeavor not to get all of us killed," Xan says, and sighs, reaching not for the maps, but for the journal still on her lap, which lies open to her latest entry. "We were in the middle of some winding quest, correct? We may as well see it through."

"What? No! I'm not putting you in charge to finish quests," Radri says, flipping the journal closed and pushing it aside to emphasize her point, "What do you want to do today?"

"It is hard to say," Xan says, sending her a flat look and a raised brow, "You already took "let it pass without acknowledgement" off the table."

She would let it pass, but… he already asks so little of her, and gives her so much. There is no sense of obligation there, he has made that clear, but what she wants is not so much to repay him as it is to express all the emotion in her heart. Her love, her gratitude, normally locked behind her paltry words—here is a chance, and yet, how can she celebrate him if he insists he needs nothing?

"Isn't there anything, anything at all that you wish for? To take a day's break in peace and quiet, or to study your craft without thinking about what it will be useful for in a quest, or…" As her words trail off into his silence, Radri sighs, her shoulders falling as she looks away. "Never mind. If there is truly nothing that you desire, then today will be a day like any other."

She pulls the pile of maps back into her lap, tidying them back into her journal. Perhaps they will just finish that aforementioned quest today, and if so, she already knows where to go. The quiet page-turning of earlier does not resume however, and a moment later, Xan's silence is broken with a sigh.

"If you are determined to grant me something, then I ask for a kiss," Xan says.

"Just a kiss?" Radri asks, confused. "Are you certain? You don't want something less… mundane?"

"There is nothing mundane about it," he says.

When she meets his eye, he is sincere. She would have preferred a gift that took some effort from her—perhaps then, it would feel like enough—but if this is all he wishes, then it will be so. Radri places her journal to the side; she crosses the little valley in the blankets between them, and closes her eyes, waiting for him to claim his kiss.

"Ah," Xan says, interrupting her wait, "But I must receive the kiss from you, otherwise it will not be a fitting gift."

She freezes. Come to think of it, Xan has always initiated every kiss they've shared.

"I… I…" Radri finds herself stammering, suddenly helpless to do anything but stare into his gray eyes. There had been a twinkle there, a glimmering wink of light—but in a heartbeat, it is gone.

"Or, I need nothing," Xan says, with a slight shrug. "A day like any other."

"No," Radri says, "No, I will…"

She's no longer fully conscious of her words, her thoughts bent solely upon the task before her. She leans in towards him, ever so slightly—the first step is, of course, to close the distance—but with what she swears is the trace of a smile at the corners of his lips, he relaxes into the cushions at his back, reclining so that if she wants to meet him, she must come in closer towards him again. In the back of her mind, she registers the sight of his spellbook—it is closed, now, but not carelessly, her old ribbon marks his place—and it rests to the side of his idle, relaxed hand, which now lies open. Open, and available to hold her, to pull her to him—but aside from his steady breaths and the few blinks that interrupt his patient gaze upon her, he does not move, waiting for her.

Her hands find their places to bring her back to him, pressing palm-down into the mattress to either side of his reclined form. Her heart, beating loudly in her chest, would have her believe that she were facing off against some dangerous beast, and not the petal-soft lips of her beloved that rest just five inches away from her own. While he must be fully aware her turmoil, Xan's clear gray eyes betray nothing—and as though knowing they are her last lifeline, he closes them at last, waiting patiently for her kiss.

Radri stares at his closed eyes, his eyelashes, the gentle waves of his hair, and the stray lock that so often escapes it, which brushes a serpentine curve down to his lips.

Five inches… just make them zero.

Four…

Three…

Two…

…Overwhelmed, she buries her face in his shoulder.

"Last I checked, that is not where my mouth resides," comes his idle comment, "As is evidenced by the fact that I am speaking unimpeded."

"I know," Radri says, in what she intends to be a normal response, but which comes out as more of a muffled moan of despair.

She has the sense that he is smiling now, but she refuses to lift her head to see it. His arm shifts against her, the movement felt in the shoulder she has found shelter against, and a caress follows, moving across her hair to the nape of her neck. A kiss is pressed to the top of her head.

"Perhaps this is my gift instead," Xan says. "A quiet morning in which I may delude myself with illusions of your safety."

"You can have that any morning."

"Not any morning," Xan reflects idly, "But I have already done it before, I suppose. I have collected as many as five seconds before our doomed reality makes itself known again."

Hearing that, she has to kiss him. Radri lifts her head up from his shoulder, looking determinedly back down at his lips.

"Now I have a sense of what our enemies experience when they face you, I think," Xan says, with an amused tilt to his brow. As he regards her a while longer, though, the look in his eyes shifts, and his tone is nothing but fond as he murmurs, "Ah, and there is the sight that I have become accustomed to."

It's only when he points it out that she becomes aware of the building warmth in her cheeks. As always, she burns hotter under the compounding effects of his gaze and her own awareness, and Xan sighs, lifting his hand to run his cool fingertips across her cheek in a gentle caress.

"You do not have to force yourself," Xan says. "I consider myself fortunate that you permit me to show you affection in such ways to begin with; it does not need to be returned in kind. Shall we leave this behind, and face the day?"

"Wait," Radri says, a new spark in her thoughts, and she grasps his hand in her own. "May I…?"

Xan's gaze flicks down to their joined hands, then rises to meet hers, understanding in his eyes. He nods, and this time, when he closes his eyes, so does she.

There is a place within, where the troubles Xan lifts from her shoulders escape her being; where the melody he strums across their bond comes to rest once it has sung through her veins; where an echo of his soul rests beside hers, both calm and restless, both troubled and content. He had guided her on how to form the bond, but he had not guided her on how to navigate it. You will know, he'd said—and she does.

She gathers it all. Her love, yes, and her affection, her desire, and her gratitude—but also that which is wordless, including the vivid memory of just a few moments earlier. She wants him to know why she'd frozen, what she had felt, when he had first laid back and closed his eyes and she had gazed at him with such desperate and nervous and hungry affection that it had overwhelmed her and sent her to the shelter of his arms. She would have kissed him a thousand times, if only she could move, if her love were any less, if the look of patient serenity on his face were not so achingly beautiful, if, if, if—

"Estel'amin," she hears, soft and strained from his lips, as though the word had barely escaped being choked in his throat, and Radri's eyes open in an instant to find Xan's gaze clinging to hers in desperation, his gray eyes dark and vulnerable. She releases him, and he reaches up and takes her face into his hands, and she is not so much pulled as she is drawn, meeting his lips with hers. The kiss is tender, as is the next, and the next, until they part, far too soon. But it is only so that Xan may scatter his affection elsewhere upon her, his kisses finding her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose—

"Xan," Radri says, the syllable edged with laughter, and at last Xan releases her, though the way he gazes at her says he would have continued for some time longer. As she gazes back, however, she realizes something—and as naturally as breathing, she leans back in and presses a simple kiss to his lips.

"There! Your gift, fulfilled at last," Radri declares, lightly flushed and pleased with herself.

"Oh," Xan says, a slightly dazed look still lingering in his eyes, "Of course. That... was the gift, here."

—

some context (set after the following fic, but still context)

contains the lightest brush of sexual content known to man

—

Xan's gentle fingers work through Radri's hair, smoothing the last of her tangled strands. A final wash of warm water follows, streaming down her tresses and over the curves of her bare shoulders, leaving them clean.

"There," Xan says, and kisses the top of her shoulder, "It is done."

The bath sits to their right, filled with warm water from which rises a pleasant fog of steam. It's large enough to hold the two of them side by side; Xan allows her to enter first, then follows. Sinking into the warm water beside her, Xan tips his head back against the rim of the tub with a content sigh.

With the damp strands of his hair pulled back from his face, Radri can see his profile in its entirety; his eyes are closed, and the corners of his lips rest neutrally, casting an ambiguous light upon his expression, but she can reach inside her heart and know: in this moment, he's at peace.

Xan opens his eyes, glancing at her.

"You're smiling," he says.

Radri finds that she is. Rather than hide it, she lets it stay on her lips; she's happy, and she wants him to see.

"I was just thinking," Radri says. "Mere days ago, we were in the ruins of the old city, preparing to face Sarevok."

"And now we are here, granted a room in the Ducal Palace," Xan follows for her. "Truly, for all the outcomes I imagine for us, I can never predict the one that you will lead us to."

"I've never stayed anyplace like this. Even this bath is so… lavish," Radri says. The ceilings seem to rise so high above her; she wonders how they fit all these rooms into the height of the building. Beside her, Xan sighs.

"It is still nothing compared to what I could show you in Evereska," Xan says. "In the baths, the water is heated to the perfect warmth, and leaves the skin feeling soft. The air is scented, sweet and inoffensive, and strings of green leaves tumble down the pillars…"

"The baths?" Radri asks, both interested and amused, for she will never tire of his constant comparisons to Evereska, "You've never shown them to me."

At that, Xan gives her a sidelong look and a raised brow.

"I think you forget a crucial element of my memories," Xan says, "Namely, my own self's presence in them, at the time of the event."

"If it's about your state of dress, you're already unclothed now," Radri says.

"Of course, now," Xan says, "But to have shown you earlier, I would have…"

There's a slight furrow in his brow, now; she wishes to smooth it again, so in the middle of his words, Radri leaves a kiss upon his bare shoulder. His train of thought stops.

"Radri…?" Xan says, and since it's within her reach, she leans up to kiss the tip of his ear.

To her surprise, Xan does not voice her name again, or ask what she's doing; he's grown still, and the slightest flush has begun to develop in his cheeks, spreading there from the tips of his ears that she had so easily shown her affection to. Beholding him now, something stirs in her heart, and Radri folds ripples into the water between them to leave another kiss, this time on the line of his jaw.

But as she draws away, Xan sways in to follow, and meets her lips with his own. Warm, soft… his kiss coaxes her lips open, and she accepts, letting herself melt into his lead. In the background, she notes distantly the sound of droplets meeting the water, and connects it to the rising of Xan's hand, which has come to the base of her head, tangled in her damp hair, holding her to him. Still, there's space between their hearts that she could lessen, so she does her part to reduce the distance, drawing closer to him until she has met his chest with her own. He accepts her with a welcoming hand at the small of her back, and Radri finds her head tipped back against the rim of the bathtub, until at last Xan pulls his kiss away.

"Estel'amin," Xan whispers, and Radri opens her eyes, meeting his gaze. She dips into their bond, and finds love; a trace of disbelief, even after all this time; and something else, foreign to her. Focusing in on their love, Radri smiles up at him.

"I love you," she says, and tilts her head up, meaning to kiss him again—but Xan turns, letting her catch only the corner of his lips, instead.

"Not yet," Xan says, managing the words with an uncharacteristic amount of difficulty. "Have… have you had your fill of the bath? Shall we go to bed, then?"

"Not really," Radri says to his first query, and to his second, "Are you tired already?"

She had felt nothing like that from him, and indeed to her eye he appears fully awake and aware. The budding blush of earlier has deepened, casting an obvious wash of pink across his features; it's a sight that she so rarely gets to see that she's loathe to abandon it now.

"I see," Xan says, sounding like a man who's been sentenced—perhaps not to death, but to something approaching it. "Then let us stay a moment longer." He returns to his place beside her, though a strange caution is laced through his movements. Worried, she turns to face him.

"You don't have to stay," Radri says, though again she can find nothing through their bond that suggests he's in pain, emotional or otherwise. "I'll miss the look on your face, but I can find it again in reverie."

"Really?" Xan asks, "And how do I look, to you?"

"Endearing. So very endearing," Radri says, and admits, "It makes me want to hold you close and kiss you again."

Xan sighs; though she can feel that he's flattered, there's an undercurrent of regret there, too.

"It will have to wait, I'm afraid," Xan says, "I am not quite ready, yet."

His pink cheeks… his closed expression. All of a sudden, Radri understands.

"Oh," she says, her face reddening almost as much as his has, "Oh. Was it—that I—?"

"You have given me a gift, Estel'amin," Xan says, "It is one thing to commit the curves of your body to memory, but it is another entirely to know how it feels to hold you against my skin… and I must stop there."

"Must you?" Radri asks, and only when Xan stares at her does she realize, mortified, that she's voiced the words aloud.

"You… have no matching desire to continue," Xan says, stating the obvious with a trace of uncertainty, as though wondering if she had in the span of a conversation been abducted and replaced by a doppelgänger, "And I would not have you push yourself for my sake."

It's true; he can feel her heart as clearly as she feels his, and the extent of her desires have not changed.

"No, but I…" A part of her craves the look on his face; there's something so satisfying in his yearning, his longing, his flushed features, his desperation… "I want to see you."

Xan says nothing, and Radri burns, staring into her reflection in the water, too afraid to see what expression he might be wearing after hearing her words. But the bond cares not for her fear; she knows what his answer will be before he even says it.

"Then let us move to the bed."

—

Xan has donned one of the robes by the bath, and wrapped it closed around his body, even though they'll only be unwrapping it, she imagines, once they begin. Besides the robes, he's otherwise unclothed, and though she could have changed into her usual lounging attire after toweling off, Radri has chosen to match him.

She finds herself arriving at the bed first, and takes a seat by her pillow, her legs folded to one side beneath her. Xan is slower to join her, and she's given the chance to observe the way the silken robes hang from his body; despite having fastened them properly around his waist, one of the sides has already begun to fall away, revealing a generous glimpse of his chest. Radri finds her face growing warm again, and glances away as the bed dips, marking his arrival.

"Still so shy," Xan says, fond. His hand rises to caress her cheek, coaxing her gaze back towards his. "The sight is yours, and was yours not five minutes ago."

"W—well," Radri says, "You hid it away again. And…."

And we haven't done this before, she thinks. Knowing what she's asked of him, what they are here to do, everything feels different. Despite having no vision into her thoughts, Xan seems to understand what she's left unsaid, and gives her a soft smile.

"I only thought that you might enjoy undressing me," Xan says. "Or would you rather that I do it myself?"

Un… undressing him…. Before her conscious thoughts have even managed to turn this concept over in her mind, her fingers have risen to the smooth fabric, betraying her desire. Xan's smile grows, and he takes her hesitant fingertips, raising them to his lips.

"You can touch me, Estel'amin," he says, and kisses them; elation runs from his lips to her heart, and she feels as though he has sealed both his permission and unspoken request into her body. Xan guides her hand to his cheek, leaving her fingers draped along the side of his face and his jaw, then waits with patient eyes.

Her heartbeat is in her ears again. Xan's skin is soft, and as Radri drags her fingers down the column of his neck, she observes the new prominence of his every breath, every minute tensing of muscle, and every beat of his heart, pulsing against her fingertips. Her touch arrives at the hollow of his throat, and here she finally pulls her gaze away from the subtleties that had so mesmerized her, and looks to the task ahead: freeing him from the confines of his attire.

Her fingers slip beneath the neckline of his robes, dragging it aside. As the fabric slides away, revealing the pale skin of his bare shoulder, a slight shiver runs through him, felt by her in turn through her fingertips. Feeling endeared, Radri leaves a spontaneous kiss in the space between his neck and shoulder.

"Estel'amin," Xan sighs; her name brushes against the side of her neck, and she feels him leave a kiss upon her hair. She had had a vision—the robes, pooled around his waist, with only the tie left to undo—but it is far less important to her now than hearing him, feeling him, sigh against her again.

"Tahlimil," Radri whispers to him, "Will you kiss me?"

His hands find the curve of her waist, the back of her neck, and draw her to him; Radri raises her lips to his, and lets him fall into her. Whispered words escape him between kisses, words in elvish of love, beauty, and gratitude, which melt sweetly into her heart. Her confidence bolstered, she continues her hand's journey from his bare shoulder, pushing the sleeve down his arm; reading her intent, Xan relinquishes his hold on her waist to let the sleeve fall away. Left without this anchor, the smooth, silken fabric slips free of his shoulders entirely, leaving his chest bare.

"Estel'amin," Xan sighs again against her, and pulls away; she wonders for an instant if she's done something wrong, but when his gaze finds hers, there is nothing but love and longing in his eyes. "May I?"

His fingers rest along the neckline of her own robes, just short of teasing beneath it; he wishes to undress her, too. A sudden sensation of vulnerability descends upon her, coupled with a renewed flush on her cheeks; she's nervous, but with anticipation.

"Please," Radri says, internally glad now that she had decided to don a robe as well. She expects him to slip it off her shoulders as she had done for him, but his fingers slide just beneath the hem and slip slowly down, following the neckline's steep descent towards her waist. She had not tied her robes very securely in her nervousness and haste, so it takes only a single, deft pull to undo her knot, and then her robes hang freely, framing a bare strip of skin down the center of her body. Even more is revealed in shadow: while the robes follow the slope of her breasts, it only does so until their apex; beholden to gravity, they leave no coverage for the skin beneath. Xan has already seen her; Radri reminds herself of this, and yet she remains shy beneath his gaze.

"Will you look at me?" Xan asks. Only then does she raise her eyes to his. The flush in his cheeks has deepened; his eyes have grown dark, and seem to be set upon her with the intent of drinking her in. His fingers, still holding the tie of her robes, now release it to reach out to her skin—only to stop short, hesitating. She'd wanted to see him, to touch him; she's given him no similar permission.

"You can," Radri finds herself saying in a near breathless whisper, "If… If you wish… you can touch me, too." In the wake of Xan's hesitant silence, she guides his trembling hand to her skin, letting one side of her robes slip off her shoulder as she pulls his touch to the curve of her waist—then, in a slow drag, she guides his hand up. His palm finds the tender swell of her breast, and here, his silence breaks; he releases a low, breathy rendition of her name. Xan kisses her, and in doing so he leans her back—back, against the pillows. Lowering his head, his lips find her neck, and his soft hair pools upon her skin; Radri releases a breathy laugh at the way it tickles her jaw, and feels him smile against her.

"I love you," Xan whispers there, and trails his lips down to leave a kiss upon her heart, "My Radri, Estel'amin."

The points of his nails ghost over her tender skin as he explores her. His fingers find the bud of her nipple, and her breath hitches; Xan stops, raising his head to meet her eye, and flushed, Radri gives him a nod. Though she half expects him to lower his head again, he doesn't; Xan's eyes remain locked on hers as his fingers begin their gentle massage, and his other hand travels up from her hip to slide beneath the fabric upon her other breast. His touch is hot, releasing rare sparks of pleasure from her, and Radri can't help but squirm beneath him, her back arching for his attentions. Watching this, he smiles.

"Xan," Radri breathes, her hand grasping his shoulder, "I—Ignore me. Let me feel you."

She feels in their bond his quick acquiescence, but in practice, he takes his time; Xan drops his head to her lips, kissing her leisurely, before he parts to give her a loving, almost dazed look.

"I cannot ignore you," Xan says, "Your body so inspires and invigorates the mind…"

His fingertips trail down the curve of her body, from her breast, to her stomach, to her hips, leaving an excess heat in the wake of his touch that all seems to rise into her flushed cheeks.

"It—it's not much," Radri finds herself stammering, embarrassed. Is this what he thought, too, when he saw her the first time? "I… I know, it's…"

"Beautiful," Xan says, and kisses her neck again, "For it is your body, and you are so, so beautiful…."

"Xan," she says, "T—Tahlimil. I… I—"

And her breath catches, feeling something hard press against her inner thigh, through the silken fabric of Xan's half-donned robes. When she slides her thigh against his length, his hips twitch forward in response, seeking her friction and warmth—and when she looks up into his eyes, Xan's boldness has faded, overtaken by embarrassment.

"Estel'amin," Xan says, with some difficulty, "I cannot kiss you to your heart's content if you indulge in my pleasure."

The look on his face is completely new to her, avoidant and almost shy. Though a part of her is satisfied to see it, the rest wonders if she's pushed him with her request, after all.

"Would you rather that I not?" She asks.

"It… it is not a question of rather, but of your wishes."

"But what about yours?" Radri asks, worried now. "Did—did you perhaps wish that I not ask for this after all?"

"I only wonder how much pleasure you could derive from the experience," Xan says. "It is a simple event, and brief—and no doubt made briefer by your presence before me."

"But you would enjoy it?"

"I would," he admits, ever honest with her.

"Then I want to," Radri says. "Will you let me?"

After a long, long gaze, Xan only nods; and while the bond, as well, communicates this simple acceptance, beneath it lies a hidden depth: a roiling wave of yearning, love, and want. Radri sighs internally with relief; she has not pushed him too far.

"Would you lie back for me?" Radri asks. Xan complies, lying easily back against the pillows, and as she sits up to trade positions with him, Radri finds herself with another opportunity to observe the full length of his body. His musculature creates such sharp and delicate shadows; they draw lines down the column of his throat, shift upon his chest with the rise and fall of his even breaths, and then descend into the folds of his still-fastened robes, the tie of which lays low upon his waist. Though the robes do their part to hide the bare skin of his hips, they cannot conceal the presence of his arousal, which has already tented the fabric.

Radri finds herself staring, for a moment, at the way his breath moves through his chest, his stomach, and even, ever so slightly, bobs the tip of his arousal. Then she runs her gaze back up to his face, where his eyes meet hers with less of the heat of earlier, and more cool calm. Xan's desires are still apparent in their bond, but the wave that she had felt earlier has fallen still, blanketed by a layer of nervousness. Radri realizes then, too, that Xan has fallen quiet.

"Will you talk to me?" Radri asks. Xan looks at her with a trace of confusion.

"Now?" He asks, "About what?"

"Anything. I miss the sound of your voice," Radri says.

Xan raises a brow, his nervousness now layered with amusement.

"I must admit, few have ever told me that before," he says, "And none so sincerely. What shall I talk about? My love for you? The taste of your lips? The feel of your body against mine?"

Her blush returns to her face, ignited again in full force; through their bond, Radri feels a bloom of satisfaction from him, given form by the slight smile on his lips.

"N—none of that," Radri stammers, and his satisfaction only deepens, "Perhaps—I wish to know, how you… pleasure yourself."

There are moments when she feels his love for her and his pleasure intertwine, and crescendo into a release—but it is a secret kept for when he is apart from her, concealed from her attention by occurring only when she should already be deep in reverie.

"I want you to guide me… I want to feel you gasp, against me," Radri confesses, "And I want to look into your eyes as you do."

Xan stares into her eyes, and must have searched their bond, for he appears astonished to have found her wants sincere.

"Shall I tell you what I imagine, then, in those moments?" Xan says. "You are there. You are always there…"

He reaches for her in a wordless request, and she lowers her head to his, meeting him in a kiss.

"You kiss me," Xan whispers, against her lips. "Your hand rests against my chest. I cannot feel the touch of your fingers through the layers of my robes, only their weight and warmth…"

She places her hand upon his chest, and he takes it, dragging it higher, to rest where it had in his thoughts. His other hand buries itself in her hair, curving along the base of her head to pull her into another kiss; the leisurely pace of before is gone now, and he seems… almost desperate.

"It is our last meeting," Xan says. "I must go—or you must—and this is your last, sweet gift farewell. I dare not hold you too tightly, but you slide your arms up across my shoulders, and press the length of your body to mine…"

She does as he describes, returning them to the sensation she had felt only briefly earlier in the bath, of her bare skin against his; a slight pleasure sparks as her breasts, her nipples still firm and sensitive from his earlier attentions, press against his chest. Her thigh slips between his, sliding once more against the firmness of his length. Instinctively, his hips buck up against her, and she feels the fabric begin to slip.

"Not yet," Xan gasps against her, stilling his hips, "Estel'amin…"

"You have me in your arms," Radri murmurs to him, "What next?"

"Your body, your lips… they are intoxicating," Xan says. "My arousal grows, but I cannot yet bear to let you go, and can only pray that you do not notice. You whisper so sweetly that you love me… you promise that we will see each other again."

"We will," Radri whispers, and kisses him again, "We will. I love you, Tahlimil… we will always find our way back to each other."

"Then, you feel it… my distraction… my shame. I have so narrowly failed to conceal it from you. I would never ask… and yet you offer."

Heart beating faster now, her hand slips from his shoulder, trailing slowly down his side to find his still-clothed hips. His hand, trembling, comes to rest over hers.

"You feel me," Xan says. "You drag your hand along my length… and despite the fabric between us, I imagine that I can feel your skin upon mine…"

She thinks that his hand will guide hers, but Xan seems too drenched in anticipation, so Radri sends her touch lower herself, approaching the hardness still pressed against her thigh. Her fingers drag along his length; the fabric is thin enough that she can feel the contours of his arousal underneath. Xan has now tensed against her, determined to hold his hips still, but when her thumb smooths over his tip, he releases a shaky breath and thrusts up into her hand.

"Estel'amin," he sighs, "Your… your touch, is so different from mine…"

Radri smiles, and dips into their bond again; the nervousness of earlier has long since disappeared.

"I have felt you through your robes," she reminds him of his place in this story, "Now, do I undress you?"

"Yes," Xan sighs again, the 's' held into his exhale. His eyes have fallen closed, and he's begun to rock into the soft friction of her thigh.

"How is it that I undress you?" Radri asks, content to watch him.

"It does not matter," Xan says. "There are always too many layers to contend with… they are gone."

"Mm," she murmurs in acknowledgement, and abandons his arousal for a moment to undo the tie at his waist. With the smooth texture of the fabric, and all his movement, the knot has already been loosened and comes free with ease. The robes slip away from his hips, at last, and his body is left bare.

She cannot see his length from here; she would have to pull away from him, and she's loathe to abandon the contact between their bodies, the way his every breath can be felt against her. But she can feel it anew, and as her fingers stroke up to his tip again, she finds that a small amount of fluid has welled there; she draws a lazy circle there with her thumb, and he releases a soft moan against her.

"You are undressed," Radri murmurs. "And now?"

"Now you wrap your fingers around me," Xan says, breathily, "As you build my pleasure, you bring your lips to mine, and you kiss me… You have me promise, that…"

She wraps her fingers around his length, and Xan abandons his words in an exhale of pleasure; Radri kisses him, capturing the end of the sound. Other such sounds follow as she drags her hand up and down his length in cadent strokes, sinking into their bond to read the waves of his pleasure. His gasps, of her name, of yes, of please, are like a melody to her ears, sweeter than his early morning aubade. The rocking of his hips, which had been in time with her hand's movements, now begins to grow desperate.

"Tahlimil," she whispers, and kisses the corner of his lips so that she might not silence his voice, "What do you promise me?"

He is lost, almost lost—but not so far that he can't follow one last direction from his beloved.

"That I'm yours," Xan breathes, "Yours, only yours."

Through their bond, which had until now been overwhelmed by his pleasure, Radri feels a tug of need—for her acceptance, her approval, her love.

"You are mine," she promises, and kisses him; she feels him push into her hand, and his body arch into hers, as his climax washes over him. His lips grow slack against hers as all tension leaves him, and he sinks into the pillows, utterly spent.

Radri gazes at his half-lidded eyes, and the neutral line of his lips, so red and bruised with kisses. If she looks into their bond, she knows she will find his contentment.

"Did this please you?" Xan asks, when he has found his voice again. Radri smiles.

"It did," she says. Xan sighs in relief, and with a murmured spell, her hand is cleaned of his come.

"Well, I hope you have no other plans for the evening," he says, "For I would now like nothing more than to fall into reverie."

"Can I join you?" Radri asks.

"Still you ask, after all we have shared," Xan says, with drowsy amusement. "When would I ever desire to refuse you?"

Personally, she can think of quite a few scenarios in which he might refuse. As if he'd had a clear view into her thoughts, his lips quirk up into a partial smile.

"I have nothing to conceal from you. You have already seen me at my most desperate… my most undignified," Xan says, and takes her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Tell me, Estel'amin… What might you wish for us to share tonight?"

And though she is tempted to ask for his original fantasy, she feels that what he had just led her through has already surpassed it. Radri curls up beside him, holds their joined hands to her heart, and asks to see those elusive, Evereskan baths.

—

? after

— — —✧✧✧— — —

baldur’s gate i

— — —✧✧✧— — —

New Acquaintance

Stew

Compounding Fluster [crossposted on ao3]

Poor Substitute

Special Treatment (skip the second one in the link, it comes later)

Firewood

By the Fire

Falling

Shared Reverie [crossposted on ao3]

Just One Bed

Cloakwood

Friends

Then I Shall Stay [crossposted on ao3]

Newly Vulnerable (the second one in the link)

Art Exchange

First Impression / Attention

United in Misery

Waiting [crossposted on ao3] (+ extra art)

Recognition [crossposted on ao3]

Stealthy Care

Fever

Quails

Coincidence

A Gift [crossposted on ao3] (+ extra art)

Childhood Dreams

Distress

Rational Grief Response

Storyteller / Return to Candlekeep

Nothing

Desire [crossposted on ao3]

Farewell

Sad Influence

— — —✧✧✧— — —

baldur’s gate ii: soa

— — —✧✧✧— — —

Reunion

Birthday Wish [partially crossposted on ao3]

Promise [crossposted on ao3] (+ extra art) (+ additional notes)

Innate Evil

Approval

Invaluable

Fenced & Found

Dragon Slayer [crossposted on ao3]

Ust Natha

Just Friends

A Monster

Near Death

— — —✧✧✧— — —

baldur’s gate ii: tob

— — —✧✧✧— — —

World’s Saddest (Hypothetical) Chosen

Innate Evil, Self Accusation Edition

Transformed

—✧✧✧—

silly alternate universes

—✧✧✧—

radri was raised “evil”

+ extra art

radri swaps roles with sarevok

radri was raised in evereska

+ the love note confession

radri was raised by melissan (radripunzel)

radri never met xan and became a goddess (only to meet him after)

dao au, radri’s a city elf and xan is a dalish first

—✧✧✧—

scraps

—✧✧✧—

xadri dialogue scraps

some dead ends

more xadri scraps

Glancing around the camp, Jaheira raises a brow.

“Why has Radri not yet returned with the firewood?” Jaheira asks, her gaze finding Imoen’s, who gives her a clueless shrug. “It has been suspiciously long. Someone should—”

“I will look for her,” Xan volunteers, and rises from his spot to set off towards the trees, matching the direction Radri had gone in. The moment he leaves earshot, Imoen meets Jaheira’s eye with a delighted grin and a nudge.

“What did I say? He’s gotta be sweet on her,” Imoen says. “He barely let you finish talking!”

“Or perhaps he is simply concerned for a fellow companion,” Jaheira says, though as she turns back to her task of laying out the herbs she’s collected, the curve of her lips holds some amusement. “If they are not back in ten minutes, let me know.”

–

Radri’s red cloak should stand out easily in these surroundings, but Xan has yet to see any trace of the vivid fabric. Unbidden, his mind conjures up all manner of sinister reasons for her delay: beset by monsters, caught in a magical trap, kidnapped by—

There. A sliver of red, pulling him from his thoughts.

Xan alters his course, heading directly towards it, uncaring of the brush underfoot as he makes his path. Red, the color of Radri, marching ahead, her cloak fluttering in the wake of her steps yet sinking into shadow when she wills it; red, the color of blood, soaked into her sleeves, staining her skin in splatters and streaks. He’s lost count of how many times his heart has frozen at the sight of it, fearing it to be her own, until Radri catches his eye with a small, reassuring smile: I’m alright, it’s okay.

When Radri’s figure comes into view, he’s relieved to see that she appears to be unharmed. What surprises him—and makes him scrutinize the scene to determine if she hasn’t been put under a charm of some kind—is how she appears to be, dare he think it, carefree.

Her shoulders are relaxed as she steps and twirls between collecting firewood, her cloak sweeping around her light feet. A bundle of wood is nestled in the crook of her arm, its rigidity a poor partner for her fluid movements, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She hums a rendition of one of the melodies they’d last heard at the inn, then breaks out into song for the lyrics she remembers. She would make no bard, but the genuine smile he glimpses on her face holds charm enough for one to forgive her forays off-tune. The only magic at play here is her, Xan thinks, and finds himself lost in the sight… until suddenly, Radri stops.

Xan wonders why she had stopped, and realizes belatedly that he had snapped a twig underfoot. Radri whirls around, dropping the wood to go for her swords, but freezes when she sees it’s only him.

“Xan,” Radri breathes, her voice hushed and surprised. Relief is plain on her face, before it’s quickly replaced by something else—which he doesn’t manage to catch a glimpse of, because she ducks her head, dropping down to pick the firewood quickly up again.

“Um. I. Did I take too long again?” Radri asks.

In short, yes. But somehow he’s still too struck by what he’d seen to communicate this verbally in a timely manner, and Radri, head still ducked, decides not to wait for his answer and hurries past him, back towards camp.

“Radri,” Xan manages, finding his voice again. She halts, ahead of him.

“Yes?” Radri glances back at him, habit overriding her need to hide her face, and he sees what she was trying to conceal: cheeks aflush with pink, and eyes that hold a bright embarrassment in them.

What was he going to say, again? What could he say, after that? The firewood had made a poor partner, he’d thought. A better one would be…

A better one would keep her alive, not imagine taking her hand and joining her.

“Consider not venturing out alone next time,” Xan says. “If I had instead been an enemy—”

“I know,” Radri says, interrupting him. “I will.”

The look in her eyes has changed, and she gives him a small, forced smile, before turning to head back towards camp again. The pace Radri sets is slightly challenging, as if despite heading to the same destination, she doesn’t want him to catch up.