Chapter Text
Today is the day! Yes! Baelin has a good feeling about this! He's going to tell Greg. Tell him everything!
And not just Mornin', nice day for fishin', ain't it? is gonna come out! It's going to work, he's sure of it, he knows it.
He walks his usual path, the mix of gravel and shells crunching under his feet. A familiar sound. He stops in front of Greg's hut, the garlic farmer is standing in front of his little door, waiting for quest-hunting adventurers. He has spotted Baelin from afar, and now his eyes come to rest on the nervous fisherman. His mouth feels dry all of a sudden and his heart is racing like that of a timid little mouse. Please work, tongue, please work!!
After taking a deep breath, Baelin begins: "Hey Greg, um…I know this will probably come as a surprise to you, we've been friends for so long and I've never said a thing - I mean, except for, you know… But I just have to tell you- I care about you. Like, really really care about you. And uh…I was thinking…if you don't have any plans for tonight then perhaps…would you be up for a picnic in the moonlight…?"
He looks at Greg, a bright, expectand smile on his face.
"It sure is a great day for fishing, Baelin!" Greg nods and grins jovially.
Not again…
It's been like this since Baelin can think. He can pour his heart out, talk complete gibberish, throw profanities at people (although that's rare, but sometimes Bodger can really get on his nerves…), and yet, all the others ever hear is Mornin', nice day for fishin', ain't it?!
Still…he tries every day.
Struggling to keep his smile from faltering, Baelin forces out a Huha! and turns to leave when suddenly, Greg addresses him.
"Oh hey Baelin!"
He turns back, smile still there, but with a slight befuddlement on his face.
"Do you have plans for tonight?"
Baelin's heart takes a leap and his brain stops functioning for just a second.
"Me and the boys are gonna be at the tavern. We're tasting Eugene's first ever vintage of blackberry wine. You should come!"
Baelin usually avoids the tavern. It's always so noisy, stuffy and just overwhelming. But Greg asked him to come. He wants him there. How could he say no?
"Sure, I'd love to!" Or actually "Mornin'!", he says.
-
The air in the tavern is hot and filled with music and voices, voices that are singing, shouting, fighting, merging into one big roaring noise that makes Baelin wish he were anywhere but here. But then again, Greg is here, too. And he's too occupied listening to Bodger's stories to notice how Baelin is looking at him. The fisherman is utterly lost in the clear grey-blue of Greg's eyes and the sound of his voice as he chats with the others. And for a short moment, Baelin can ignore the turmoil around him. The extremely sweet blackberry wine with hints of sour and earthy bitterness does its part as well, and soon Baelin feels like he's floating. His hazy mind conjures up fantasies of asking Greg to dance with him, of slipping his hand around his waist and lightly touching his back, of holding him, of drawing him close…
But he's abruptly torn from his daydream when Greg starts speaking.
Of the four men sitting around the fireplace of the tavern, Greg has by far had the most blackberry wine, and at this point, his eyelids are droopy and his speech is very slurred. Now that Baelin realises this, it worries him a bit.
"A toast! To my m-many spouses!"
Bodger chuckles and nods knowingly, admiringly even, since Greg is referring to all the adventurers that have him on full relationship status.
"May they all find an NPC worth loving, 'cause it sure isn't me!"
Oh dear…
The others cough and clear their throats awkwardly.
"Bullshit Greg, ye're a catch! …unless of course someone needs a useful party member for an adventure…but apart from that-!", Bodger says, and Baelin continues: "Yes! Anyone in their right mind would be honoured to be yours!"
The others all look at him with that usual What did he just say?? kind of look and Eugene nods politely.
"Yeah! Yeah, what he said! I guess… Anyway whatever happened that made you feel that way, there’s no use crying over spilled milk! Ahu, ahu, ahu, ahu!"
"No, you guys don't understand, none of you do!"
Greg shakes his head and takes another great sip of wine.
"This one adventurer came by today and…and… You'd think they'd at least try to listen to my dialogue instead of skipping it, or stay for a mini-game. But no! Hand me your money! and off they go! Either that or they woo me with gifts and sweet words until they get a kiss - and then I usually never see them again!"
He throws his jug into the fire where the last drops sizzle into hot little spatters, making the other three men jump.
Greg gets to his feet and reaches for the bottle when a gentle, but firm hand holds him back.
"Hey, easy, it's OK, I better take you home.", Baelin says, or rather means to say.
Greg instantly calms, he pouts a little, if only for show, but relaxes into the touch.
Baelin guides him out of the tavern, the garlic farmer's steps wobbly and staggering. His arm, and along with it most of his weight, is resting on Baelin's shoulder, and it feels strangely intimate... Even just the warmth of Greg's fingertips on his neck prickles like burning sparks and he takes a few deep breaths in the cool night air to clear his head.
"Well that was fun! We should do that more often! Hicks! "
And with that, Greg collapses into a state more gummy worm than man.
Luckily Baelin is quick to catch him, and after a moment of confused bewilderment, he sweeps him off his useless feet to carry him home.
The moon has risen by now. It's so bright it's throwing clear shadows on the ground beneath Baelin's feet. Greg’s head is nestled against his shoulder, the expression on his face soft and sweet and his friend has trouble focussing on the path instead of the sleeping man in his arms.
The sleeping man in his arms. Greg is lying in his arms.
Baelin almost walks past his little hut, but catches himself in time and somehow manages to get them both through the low, narrow doorway.
He places Greg on his bed, takes off his sandals and unfastens the garlic braid from his belt. He gets down on one knee next to Greg to place the braid in his arms, when his eyes flutter open and he sleepily looks up at the fisherman.
"Hey Baelin…", he purrs, a drowsy smile on his face.
"You're always so good to me, so sweet… I just wish-"
He briefly lifts his hand to Baelin's face, his fingers lightly brushing his cheek.
"Why can't you be an adventurer?"
The words are barely audible, but he understands them nonetheless.
Greg closes his eyes again and smiles, pulling the braid close and snuggling into his bed.
Baelin stares down at him, stunned.
He only now realises how close they are. When he carried Greg home, he couldn't stop thinking that they'd never been this close to each other before, but now? He can almost feel the heat glowing on Greg's wine-blushed cheeks, and he might just lose his mind over it… He could do it, it would be so easy and the temptation is very nearly overwhelming…
Baelin leans in, lips ghosting over lips, desperate to find out if they still taste like blackberry wine. Greg sighs and chuckles softly as Baelin presses a gentle kiss on his cheek and leaves.
He walks his usual way home, and can’t help but think back to when he first took this route…
It was in the early days of Azerim, Skycraft was barely out of beta and Baelin the fisherman walked every path that would unwind before his feet. He ventured somewhere else everyday, meeting new people wherever he went and exploring this fascinating land that was still getting rid of a couple of bugs here and there.
Until one day, he passed through a small town named Honeywood, and saw him. Greg was young, cheerful and friendly and greeted Baelin cordially when he walked past his little hut. The fisherman didn’t really know why, but for the first time in his short existence, he wanted to walk the same route and meet him again. So he became a familiar sight to Greg and everyone in Honeywood. But soon he wished he could get to know the garlic farmer a bit better. He seemed so nice and fun whenever he greeted him, but it just wasn't enough… So Baelin decided to deviate from his usual line for once. But finding the right words was harder than he thought, and he ended up walking past Greg multiple times, just greeting him with Mornin’, nice day for fishin’, ain’t it? over and over again till the man seemed to get a bit worked up over it. Eventually, Baelin took heart, he stopped in front of Greg like so many times before, wished him a good morning and…
After a long moment of working up his courage, he managed to clumsily ask Greg if he’d like to go for a walk with him, maybe see some of the nice landscapes outside of Honeywood. After all, Baelin didn’t even know if he ever got to leave his spot.
But his reaction was more than disheartening. Greg seemed appalled, or even scared by the question, and after a very uncomfortable moment of staring at each other, Baelin left, smile slowly fading.
Still, he stayed in the area, walking his by now familiar route and fishing at ponds all over Honeywood. He couldn’t deny being a little heartbroken, but hey, maybe it just came too much out of the blue. He’d only ever walked past Greg and greeted him, maybe he was just going too fast - but then again, how else was he supposed to get to know him if not by talking to him? He wondered what to do every day he saw Greg, but always came to the same conclusion: They needed to talk. If Greg didn’t even want that, he could say so, but then at least Baelin would know…
He was very nervous when he approached him, but this time, without so much as taking a breath, he just started babbling about how Greg seems super nice and how he really likes him and would love to maybe spend some time with him if that’s OK but if not that’s alright too he’s just so unsure how to handle this and yeah…
And he went on and on about this until Greg very brusquely stopped him.
“OK, enough! ENOUGH!”
He grabbed Baelin by the shoulders and shoved him into his own usual spot, angrily going on about how he wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.
And then he started shouting Nice day for fishin', ain't it?! and Mornin'! in his face and just kept going, getting louder and more aggressive with every repetition of those words that had accompanied Baelin since the very beginning.
It would be an understatement to say Baelin was distraught after this.
He somehow managed to put that smile back on his face, but it only lasted until the next turn of the road. He sat down by a pond, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his head in his arms as he cried bitter tears. It was a painful lesson learned, but after this, it finally started to dawn on him that whenever he said anything that wasn't his usual line, everyone else still heard nothing but Mornin', nice day for fishin', ain't it?
From that day on, he hardly ever walked past Greg's house. Just occasionally to see if he was still there, if he was alright. Until one day…he wasn't.
Some cruel, heartless adventurer had set the garlic farmer's house on fire! He was screaming in fear for his little hut when Baelin arrived, the terror in his eyes absolutely heart wrenching.
The realisation came to Baelin completely out of the blue, but suddenly he knew how to fix this. He walked over to Greg's burning house, switched his fishing rod for a wooden hammer, and got to work. With every blow, the flames on the house vanished, bit by bit, until it was as good as new. The look on Greg's face as he watched him was one of genuine befuddlement. Baelin switched back to his rod, told Greg that he was very welcome - realising too late that once again all he heard was what a nice day for fishing it was - and got on his way before he could bother him too much.
When he arrived home that day he sat down to work on the hammock he'd been crafting.
Home. He never used to have one. The road had been his home. And now, because of one man, one adorable garlic farmer, he'd set up camp on this little hill near the prettiest pond in the area. From up here he had a marvellous view over Honeywood on one side, and over a large, scenic valley on the other. But what was it all good for?
He stopped crafting.
Greg didn’t even like him, so why stay here, while he could see all the wonders of Azerim out there…
He'd just made up his mind to leave when he heard someone huffing and puffing on their way up the hill.
He stood and turned to greet his visitor.
It was Greg, carrying a basket.
"Ah, thought I'd find you around one of the ponds. Oof."
He came to a halt and took a couple deep breaths.
"Hi, um, evenin'."
"Mornin'."
There was a bit of an awkward silence.
"Hey, ugh, Baelin, look, I think we kind of got… got off on the wrong foot, um…"
He looked at the ground as if the words he was looking for could be found somewhere in the grass between his toes.
"I'm actually really grateful for what you did for me today, that you saved my home. Like, really really grateful and um, yeah, the way I've treated you wasn't right I think and…I wanna make up for it. You hungry…?"
At that, he flipped the plaid cloth that'd been covering the basket aside and revealed a generous amount of freshly baked garlic bread and two bottles of peach juice.
Baelin grinned. How could he say no to that?
They sat down in the lush grass and ate. The garlic bread was ridiculously delicious, perfectly crispy and seasoned with a bit of rosemary.
And they talked. Well, mostly Greg did. But he knew so many things about this world that Baelin had never heard of, and did it so excitedly, he hardly regretted not being able to properly respond and enjoyed just listening to him. And Greg seemed to be over the moon that Baelin hung on his every word, as if someone listening to him was the most extraordinary experience for him. Whatever the reason, they had a lovely evening. Going on like this long after the garlic bread was eaten and the bottles of peach juice empty, until the moon had risen high up in the sky.
Only then did Greg bid Baelin good night, and after he was gone, the fisherman just couldn’t stop smiling even after he'd fallen asleep on his unfinished hammock.
After that, they started regularly meeting in this fashion. Greg would meet Baelin in the evening, and they'd spend a couple of hours together, sometimes the bigger part of the night. And they'd talk . Baelin grew less worried to speak, even if it was always the same sentence. And more often than not did he feel like Greg actually understood him, the tone in his voice and the expression on his face seemingly enough for them to communicate. And it was wonderful.
But what Greg didn’t seem to understand was that Baelin wanted so much more than to just occasionally spend a few hours together.
…which probably meant Greg didn’t want that- unless…
Why can't you be an adventurer?
Baelin keeps repeating the phrase in his head over and over again as he lies in his hammock and gazes up into the stars.
If he wants an adventurer, he shall get one…