#stellorc

Walking further along the shoreline, the sounds of the party faded to background noise, Bellona trying to find some peace after the events at the Grove. The tang of blood still stained her tongue, the scent of burning flesh and death still lingering in her nose. The remnants of the weave still danced along her nerves, a bone deep tingling that disturbed her.

She despised using magic.

A last resort which unfortunately was required of her during the fight. If only she could dispel the unease with which it left in her, she might even be able to enjoy herself as well.

“Ah, there’s the hero of the hour.”

Glancing up through the haze of alcohol and an oncoming headache, Bellona spied Wyll’s kind face, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiled down at her. She studied the singular stone eye for a moment, wondering not for the first time if it was a sending stone. Another reason to hate Mizora, as if she needed much reason to begin with. Devils were vile creatures and she couldn’t wait for the day she’d be able to wrap her hands around Mizora’s bony neck.

“You shouldn’t speak so loudly. People might hear you.” She chastised him, turning away before he’d see the blush dusting her cheeks. She liked the way he looked at her, the sparkle in his good eye whenever he caught her looking, the upturn of his lips whenever her attention and questions were focused on him, the genuineness of who he was as a person. Bellona had never met anyone as righteous, as good, as Wyll Ravengard. She doubted she’d ever meet his like again.

With a small groan, Wyll settled into the dirt beside her, dangling one of his hands between his bent legs, an opened bottle of wine clutched in the other, eyes on the forest beyond their camp. Scratch had disappeared in there with the owlbear cub earlier in the evening, to hunt or at the very least, keep out of the way of the tieflings until the party calmed. Then they’d return to divest the party of the scraps.

“There is a valid reason for why I’m avoiding the party…” He began, tapping his fingers against the side of the bottle, a rhythm that matched the notes of Alfira’s lute. A wistful expression crossed his face, looking so at odds with the horns that now sprouted from his head. Horns that disturbed him more than he was willing to admit to. “But you deserve this. You fought so hard for these people and they know it. This celebration is as much for them as it is for you.”

She knew what he was trying to do. Bellona saw the melancholy of post-battle many times before: in life and in stories. After the dust finally settled, after the evil was defeated and life kept moving forward, the hero was lost on what to do next. And Wyll was the epitome of the heroic type. If was it anyone else speaking these pointless words to her, she might’ve been offended, angry, but…

He needed a distraction as much as she did, the horrors of the goblin camp and the battle weighing heavy on both of their minds. She didn’t know how to comfort someone whose entire image of themselves changed because of a devil pact. Bellona had been a tiefling her entire life, but taking his mind off his troubles for a brief time was something she could do.

“A celebration, yes, but do I deserve to have my ears bleed thanks to that awful rendition of The Bawdy Body of Biddy Badee?” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, looking for the carefree grin he’d so easily given her in the Grove when they’d first met. “Is that how the Blade of Frontiers gives thanks to his friends?”

A snort left him, a twitch at his lips as he fought a grin. “I apologize, my lady. I thought everyone enjoyed a raucous tune.” He hummed beneath his breath then, his voice the only musical sound to reach her ears all night. “How does that line go again? Her newly charmed charms were enchanting enchantment; passing by barracks led to guardsman advancement.”

Bellona tried not to cringe at the words. “The only song that’d be worse would be Pahoot.”

An honest laugh left Wyll this time: a deep-bellied, rich boom that wasn’t as nearly as loud as Karlach’s bark, but one that sent her heart stuttering in her chest nevertheless. A waft of a fruity red wine brushed past her nose, the scent tempting her to move closer, his warmth a comfort in the storm raging around them.

A comfort she was not used to wanting.

Clearing her throat, she reached across his lap to grab the wine bottle still in hand. He relinquished it willingly, watching as she lifted it to her lips. The first swallow was bitter, tart, and she shivered at the taste when she swallowed. Warmth blossomed in her gut, an unusual but not unwelcome feeling after the last few nights. Anxiety melted away with each sip of the wine, the taste becoming more palpable as they sat together in the companionable silence.

In the distance, a new song strummed on Alfira’s lute, Karlach taking up the chorus, her voice booming over all the others. Glancing over her shoulder, Bellona caught sight of Cal and Lia locking arms with Rolan, forcing him into a sloppy dance, the result only ending with them falling into a giggling heap on the ground. Shadowheart watched the scene from beside her tent with her own wine, trying to hide a smile behind her goblet. Astarion was nowhere to be seen, but then again, so was Lae’zel and Bellona didn’t particularly want to think about where they might’ve gotten off to. Gale was in deep conversation with Halsin and Zevlor, the three of them watching from the sidelines. She wondered what they spoke of, these three men who were so different from each other in many ways.

The rest of the tieflings were scattered about camp, drinking and laughing and singing and dancing and being free, well and truly free. A pang of jealously curled in her stomach, bitterness on her tongue as she realized that while she was free of her mother’s grasp, she was still in the claws of another beast. The tadpole. Something she couldn’t run fun no matter how much she wished it.

Wyll shifted beside her, a hushed sigh leaving his lips. “You can join them if you wish. I won’t be offended in the least. They, nor you, should be forced to share my company.”

Bellona’s gaze returned to where he sat beside her, a sadness unlike anything she’d seen before twisting his beautiful features into something unnatural, an expression that didn’t sit well on his face. Extinguished was any trace of the light from earlier in the day, and even the smiles he gave now were strained. He was hiding when he knew these people, these refugees. He’d protected them, taught them, helped them even after the druids refused. If anyone should be celebrated tonight, it was Wyll Ravengard.

She could attempt a joke, self-deprecation was what she was best at if she was good at anything (as if she had a single comedic bone in her body), but instead, she offered the wine back.

“I like your company. If that means anything to you.”

Taking the bottle after a slight hesitation, Wyll lifted the bottle to his lips, swallowing gulps of the alcohol before setting it beside him in the sand. He didn’t speak, only stared at the moon above. The night was dazzling: the silver moonlight glittering in broken streams across the water, white sand cool between her fingers as she buried her claws beneath. The touch of a stone brushed against her palm, chilly and smooth. When she pulled it free from the ground, she turned it over in her hands, eyes studying the white marbling, the grey stone worked over by the water of the stream. It was beautiful in its simplicity. All rough edges smoothed away to reveal the beauty it hid within. At the right angle, the moon highlighted the smallest crystals embedded in the rock, each sparkling as the light refracted.

Even in the silence that stretched around them, Bellona almost missed his response, as quiet as it was.

“It means quite a lot to me.” Wyll cleared his throat, shifting closer. A nervous energy thrummed through Bellona when his arm brushed hers softly. “You’ve been a welcome comfort in these last few days. Your friendship is dear to me, Bel.”

Bel.

No one had ever called her that before. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked the nickname (or any nickname at all, there were too many implications when someone gave you a nickname: the intimacy of it was almost too much to bear). But with Wyll…

It was almost right.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her pointed ear, a smile curled her lips. She was doing more of that lately: smiling. Unnatural, it was, but she found she couldn’t quite care to stop. Not when it was this man who caused her to feel a joy she’d spent most of her life without. With Wyll, it was supremely easy to feel normal, like she wasn’t just another hellspawn. That she wasn’t doomed to sprout tentacles and become a shell of herself.

“I-”

Feel the same.

The words were there, on the tip of her tongue, but suddenly her mouth felt cottony, her tongue heavy as it sat in her mouth, and with a choked laugh, she turned the stone over in her hand again, pushing some of the weave still humming beneath her skin into the stone, watching as the tiny milky crystals glowed softly. A miniature night sky opened in her palms, a constellation of dazzling pinpricks of light that left them bathed in a silver glow.

“You are a marvel.” Wyll whispered, and she found it difficult to glance at him, afraid of what she’d see in his gaze. When she did, however, all she saw was a man awestruck into silence by the sight in front of him. His eye went from the rock to her gaze, a grin softening the hard lines of his face. A truly wonderful sight to behold, that smile.

There were too many thoughts swirling in her head, too many emotions twisting her gut. Her heart beat hard in her chest and there was blood rushing in her ears, but the only thing she cared for in that weighted moment was Wyll Ravengard and his gentle genuineness. Holding her hands out, she waited for him to respond with his own, dropping the rock still sparkling of magic into them, watching the light dance across the planes of his face. The devilish features granted to him thanks to Mizora created strange shadows across his skin, the glow of the weave shifting ever so slightly each time he moved.

But he was beautiful, had been before he’d angered his patron, and even still now, with the majestic horns, the crimson iris with black sclera, and ridges against his cheekbones.

No, she was the lucky one to have him beside her.

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she shifted closer, her knee brushing against his leg. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but those refugees have seen Avernus with their own eyes, have lost people they’ve loved, escaped torment and death only to be thrust into more trials, fighting for their lives every step of the way. I’m only a reminder of the things they’d fled from… of what they’ve lost.” Wyll moved away from her, setting the rock against the sand where it belonged, the magic fading and leaving them in darkness once more. “Perhaps it’s best if I sit this one out.”

Blowing air out of her mouth noisily, she shrugged her shoulders. “If you insist.”

Bellona grabbed the wine and laid back against the sand, ignoring how it irritated her skin with each movement of her body. Once she was as comfortable as she could be, she drank deeply of the bottle, the wine warming her from the inside out. The bottle felt lighter than before. Eventually, the amount they’d drank would catch up to them, but none of that mattered when he deserved to be celebrated for the hero he was.

Wyll glanced down at her in surprise, raising his eyebrows questioningly as she turned more sand over in her hands, each grain rough as it slid through her claws. “What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable.” She shimmied further into the stand, pebbles poking into her back but it was a small sacrifice to pay for the bewilderment on his face. “If you don’t want to join me in laughing at everyone making fools of themselves, then I’m forcing you to entertain me.”

A huffed laugh was his response and he settled back onto the ground beside her, muscled arm gently touching hers as he did so. She handed him the wine before he could ask, waiting as he drank of the bottle once more. Alfira’s lute strummed a softer tune now, a love ballad if Bex’s drunken giggles were any indication. Bellona closed her eyes, focusing on Wyll’s gentle breathing next to her, the warmth of his arm against hers, the swish of the wine with each tilt of the bottle, the hum of a song under his breath.

Only a moment passed before she realized what he was humming.

Turning on her side, she tucked an arm beneath her head, glaring at Wyll’s profile as he laid there, pretending he didn’t notice. His refusal to meet her gaze only further irritated her. “Wyll?”

“Yes, Bel?”

His attempt at levity failed, a mischievous grin appearing when she sniffed in annoyance.

Oh, this would not stand.

“You dare to hum Pahoot in my presence. After everything we’ve been through, Ravengard, and you break my trust like that.”

His mouth twitched again. “My apologies, if the humming offends you so, I can sing the lyrics instead.”

The Blade of Frontiers kept his eyes on the moon overhead, Selune watching over the party like a silver ghost. She might’ve enjoyed the sight as well, the twinkling stars unbroken by clouds, the velvet black sky a backdrop for a glowing full moon, but she only had eyes for the beauty of the man beside her. The most beautiful, irritating man, she’d met since waking on the beach what felt like a lifetime ago.

“I’m not drunk enough to allow this to continue.”

Clearing his throat, Wyll faced her, mimicking her stance with an arm beneath his head, propping himself up enough so that his horns didn’t brush the ground. His entire demeanor relaxed when he spied the smirk aimed in his direction, realizing that she was teasing as well. “Perhaps you’d like to join me in the sing along. I assure you, I sing worse than what your ears have already heard.”

“I doubt that.” Bellona nearly laughed at the thought of him singing worse than a bunch of party-goers who could barely stand straight, let alone hold a tune. “You haven’t heard me sing.”

Wyll chuckled, eye sparkling with affection as he handed over the alcohol. When she didn’t reach for it, he held up as if asking a question. “There is a little left if you’d like some liquid courage.”

With a roll of her eyes, Bellona swiped it and polished the rest of the bottle off. Her tongue felt heavy as he waited, eyebrow raised in interest. “I am not singing Pahoot.”

“Is there a worse song you’d like to choose then? Come, let us find something agreeable.” He tapped his chin with a claw, a thoughtful look crossing his face. It was almost comical to watch, the warlock attempting to act serious over something so stupid, but it was fun. A giddy feeling akin to happiness warmed Bellona, her heart beating almost painfully against her ribs each time he glanced at her. “And All For A Turnip? Hmm, that isn’t a good tune for a celebration.”

“Wyll-”

“Ah! How about This Moment of Magic? Perfect for a night like this.” Before she could stop him, Wyll cleared his throat dramatically, returning to his back so that he could wave one of his hands above them in a flourish, as if he was encompassing the very stars into his words. “Though I open a gate to the Plane of Air, and float through unending skies, I would never find night that was dark as your hair, nor a view as blue as your eyes.”

A choked laugh left her, his enthusiasm almost too much after the somberness of their earlier conversation. She liked this. Liked him. More than was proper, certainly, but then no one was around to tell her so. “I refuse to be subjected to this torture.”

“Now you sound like Rolan.”

Bellona gasped, bottle slipping from her hands before hitting the ground with a thump. She scrambled to sit up, not entirely sure what her intentions were, but Wyll was faster, rolling out of the way of her tail as it smacked the ground where he’d been seconds before. Sand flew into the air, leaving not only herself covered but the empty wine bottle half buried.

“Take that back!”

Wyll knelt in the dirt, arm wrapped around his middle as he attempted to get a full breath in between roaring laughter. Tears formed at the corner of his eye, any hope of control flung to the stars. The comparison to Rolan was in jest, their friendship solidly established to make those jokes without fear of reprisal or hurt feelings. Though if Bellona truly felt any offense at it, it would’ve been erased at the sight of Wyll laughing with abandon, an image she’d have to etch into memory for those dark nights when hope seemed out of reach.

Blush crept up her neck, the feelings she’d stamped down coming back in full force. Wyll Ravengard always had a goodness about him, a compassionate nature, altruistic in his deeds, and gentle in his words.

And Bellona was certain she loved him.

Laughter turned to chuckles before subsiding into a breathless sigh. Wyll glanced up at her, the night hiding the flush of her skin, but it couldn’t hide the fact she was staring at him. After a moment, she turned away, finding it even more difficult to hold his gaze than before. Silence stretched between them, only broken by Alfira’s lute and the sounds of the party in the distance.

Wyll shifted to stand, letting out a groan as he came to his full height. Then he moved to stand in front of her, bare feet sinking below the sand, dark skin half buried by pebbles and dirt.

“Thank you.” His voice was soft, sincere, and she blinked in confusion, unsure of what he was thanking her for. Digging deep for any scrap of courage still left, Bellona glanced up at him from where she sat, only to see a hand extended towards her.

Her hand slid into his without hesitation, his skin nearly as warm as hers. A side effect of his new devilish nature? She wasn’t sure, and in the end it didn’t matter because the touch of his hand in hers was solid, safe, perfect. Once she was settled onto her feet, grains of sand cool beneath her soles and the cooling air wrapping around her like a blanket, Bellona dropped his hand, immediately missing the safety of his touch.

“I didn’t do anything to warrant thanks from you.”

Wyll shook his head, a smile flitting across his face briefly. “You chose to hide in the dark with me instead of enjoying your night with the others. I appreciate it, even if I don’t understand it.” Lifting his hand as if it was second nature, he paused suddenly, hand hovering in the space between them. “You don’t know the affect you have on others, Bel.”