Noone's favorite person.

“Safeword ready?” The bard asked as they slowly started to unbutton their shirt.

“Always. But I doubt we’ll need it.”

Ellith wasn’t so sure. Each new sexual exploration with Astarion could lead to something new, ecstatic or emotionally challenging. And although the bard was ready for both outcomes, they'd do everything in their power to avoid the latter. “Keep it in mind, just in case....”

He nodded, and before Ellith’s trousers could fully reach their ankles, Astarion was lunging towards the edge of the bed, his delicate fingers easily finding their way to the bard’s soft hips, gently digging into the flesh. Face buried deep in the crook of their neck, teeth grazing teasingly against the tender skin, there was no trace of hesitation or discomfort in his touch; movements hasty and clumsy enough to translate his genuine arousal. Nothing like the expert but detached automatisms he had relied on for too long.

He had nothing to prove. Ellith had made it clear more times than necessary.

Warmed up by the little snack he had nibbled on earlier that night, Astarion’s skin felt healthy under Ellith’s fingertips, but beneath the sweet scent of his signature perfume, the bard could still detect the tantalising aroma of death. A comforting smell for the redeemed Bhaalspawn, a soothing whiff from their forgotten, macabre past.

Ellith’s fingers slowly glided up to brush through his silver curls, fingernails carefully scratching his scalp, and despite the fire his touch had kindled in their stomach, they pulled away from his embrace. “If you want me to put this thing on, you’ll have to let me go for a moment.”

He grinned against their cheek, and Ellith could have bet that a soft purr was rising in his chest. “All right darling, but don’t make me wait… I’ll fetch the oil in the meanwhile.”

(Also sorry, I'm not good at writing smut - not good at writing at all, but this might be worse 😅)

The silence was just as oppressive outside the room as it had been inside, but at least out here she wouldn’t have to look at the bodies. Though with every blink she saw them anyway.

The twisted limbs. Vacant eyes. All the unnatural angles a body shouldn’t be.

The shadow cursed lands seemed determined to swallow sound. Even the wind moved through Reithwin without a sound, carrying a damp scent of ruin, rot, and rain. Yet somehow the quiet only made it easier to imagine what had happened in there. How long it had taken or if they had even known it was happening.

She found herself hoping the curse had claimed them first long before that thing ever laid its hands on them. Her stomach twisted with guilt. It was a cruel thought, wishing for one death over another, but whatever had happened in that room felt worse.

The moment she’d understood what she saw, the impulse flared hot. Her hand reached for her sword with the intention of ending the abomination standing there, speaking of helping and healing while her patients lie twisted in their beds. One thrust would be enough. Simple, clean, satisfying.

And Arabella’s parents would still be dead.

“Shit!” The curse swallowed the word as soon as it left her mouth.

Send mum and pops there. I’ll be waiting.

Arabella’s voice still echoed, so hopeful and certain her parents were waiting somewhere until it was safe. Believed in Ellie so completely she hadn’t doubted that her parents would walk back into camp any moment now, pull her into their arms, and tell her everything would be alright.

Children had such an unfair talent for belief, and Arabella had believed in her completely. Now all Ellie had to bring to the girl now were terrible answers.

She tried to rationalize it. Tell herself that it was more than she’d ever been given. At least Arabella wouldn’t spend years staring at strangers in crowded streets wondering if they shared her eyes. Wouldn’t lie awake inventing stories about people she couldn’t remember or build entire lives for ghosts simply because the alternative was accepting she would never know.

Yet standing only feet away from the truth, Ellie found herself almost grateful for the uncertainty she’d spent so many years resenting. Surely certainty wasn’t the kinder fate in this situation.