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“You’ve been quiet tonight.”
Woljif jumped, hurriedly shoving the Moon of the Abyss back under his shirt and turning to face Ariadne. He had been so wrapped up in watching the way the campfire glinted off the amulet that he hadn’t even heard them approach. Not that he was about to admit that.
“Yeah, well, what’d you expect when you woke me up at the ass-crack of dawn to go chasing a dragon. I’m running on three hours of sleep here.” Despite the words, there was no heat behind them. If anything, a hint of fondness had slipped in that he still had a hard time acknowledging. Their smirk, softer around the edges than normal, told him they noticed anyway.
“Aw, you poor thing.” Ariadne’s voice was light, teasing as they took a seat next to him. It brought a flush to his face that he should hate but for some reason, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth instead. “I’m sorry that my need for your sneaky expertise took you away from whatever scheme you were planning to run today back in Drezen.” They leaned forward, eyes half-lidded as they added, “But I won’t pretend I’m not pleased you came with me.”
The smile bloomed, his effort to fight it long gone. “Careful, Chief. You keep talkin’ like that and people might start thinkin’ you like me.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have that, can we?” Ariadne murmured, inching closer to him. That damned smirk on their lips was doing things to him, things he was fairly sure were ill-advised in a camp full of their companions. Like all things ill-advised, he knew he should take the time to weigh the pros and cons, and like all things ill-advised, he was ready to throw that caution to the wind when their tail brushed against his, wrapping around and entwining them in a gesture so much more tender than he ever imagined receiving. He was already leaning closer, ready to take whatever mockery the others had for him if it meant just getting to feel her lips against his. He also half-expected Daeran to interfere. They might have come to an accord on where their relationship with Ariadne stood, but that didn’t mean either were above sabotaging the other. For once, though, there was silence on that front, the aasimar already down for the count in preparation for the late watch he had that night.
In the end, to his disappointment, it was that sliver of doubt in the back of his mind - smaller these days but still ever present - that was his undoing. He stopped just short of her lips, quickly glancing away so he didn’t see the disappointment in her eyes. The silence that hung between them was almost as bad.
“Sorry, Chief,” he said after a moment, for once struggling to find the words - any words, even - to explain what he had been doing.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly. Gently. He still wasn’t used to being spoken to like that, but at least now the righteous indignation he usually felt at perceived pity was nowhere to be found. He saw her shake her head out of the corner of his eye, turning back to look at her as she stood. “I guess I had better head to bed as well. It’ll be an early day tomorrow…”
He let her go, despair gnawing at his gut. Especially when he realized she didn’t untangle their tails until the last possible moment.
As he watched her walk towards her tent, he heard a low chuckle. “Way to blow that one.” Woljif turned and glared at Greybor. The dwarf was seated nearby, just far enough from the campfire that the only light illuminating him was the match he had struck to light his pipe. Woljif glanced around for the others - Ulbrig had first watch, and Elias was keeping the brute company. To his great relief, neither were looking in his direction, both facing the woods as Ulbrig’s booming voice carried a story about old Sarkoris on the wind. And with Daeran asleep, that meant only the assassin had been witness to his embarrassment.
Pointedly ignoring Greybor, Woljif rose and stalked to his own tent, trying his hardest not to wallow as he crawled inside and lay down on his bedroll. There would be time to kiss her later. Wouldn’t there?
As sleep struggled to find him, he contemplated all the ways he’d end up regretting not kissing her. They could find this dragon tomorrow and end up its dinner - hard to kiss when you’re being digested by an overgrown, fire-breathing lizard, and they had barely survived their previous encounters with her already. Then his thoughts took a darker turn - Ariadne could decide she didn’t want someone who didn’t have the guts to kiss her when he had the chance to. Like the puffed-up, golden-haired aasimar in the next tent.
Unconsciously, his hand drifted upwards towards his heart, as if pressing his fingers against his skin would alleviate the ache that was beginning to form there. Instead they met the cool surface of the Moon of the Abyss. Almost as soon as they did, there was a whisper in the back of his mind, one that teased and tempted. If he had power, perhaps he’d be more confident. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about losing Ariadne. All he had to do was be willing to let the voice inside.
And then…a taste. One he didn’t ask for but was given nonetheless. All he had to do was whisper words he had never heard but came to his mind as easily as a memory, move his hand in a way they never had before but that he pictured so clearly. One moment he was there, the next he wasn’t.
It was unlike any invisibility spell he had ever cast before. Those had always been weak, flimsy enough that one action could break the illusion. This though…he sensed that the effect wouldn’t falter until he dismissed it.
Once, the possibilities that this spell presented would have sent his mind reeling into a plan. With this, he could easily escape the crusade, even Mendev itself if he wanted. He could go anywhere, be anyone. All he needed was one good heist and…
But there was no point to this line of thought. He was stuck out here in the middle of the Worldwound on a dragon hunt. And what he wanted, really wanted, was just a few tents over.
Despite the fact he was invisible, Woljif made an effort to be as quiet as possible as he snuck out of his tent. Greybor was still in his spot, puffing grey smoke and looking impassively at the smoldering ashes in the campfire. Past him, Woljif saw that watch rotation had already happened. Daeran sat with his back to the camp itself, something he was grateful for. If he had seen the Count’s face, he might have lost his nerve.
Instead, he tip-toed quietly around to Ariadne’s tent, slipping inside through the back. They were curled up in their bedroll, one arm tucked under their head and dead to the world. Idly, Woljif thought about how dangerous it was that they slept so soundly with an intruder only inches away. He tried to shake the concern - it wasn’t like he’d do anything to harm her! - but it lingered as he lowered himself on all fours.
He didn’t feel the tripwire until it was too late.
One moment Ariadne was sound asleep and he was in the clear, the next they were awake, dagger in their hands and they were both covered, head to toe, in a sparkly substance that had rained down on them from a trap rigged to the top of the tent.
“Woljif?” she whispered. She was squinting at him, trying to discern if that was his glitter-covered shape she was seeing in front her. Perhaps it was a sign of his progress that thoughts of attempting to escape played second fiddle to the fact he thought they looked cute like that.
“Of course it’s me!” he snapped. She gave him an unimpressed look in return, to which he took a deep breath and mumbled, “Sorry, I keep forgetting you know how to handle traps yourself…”
“What were you even doing?” she asked, reaching out for him. He must have cut a fine figure through the glitter - she found the front of his jacket easily and pulled him down to her level.
With a sigh, he dismissed the spell. He had blown this exponentially and was fully prepared for the tongue lashing he was no doubt about to receive. Resigned to his fate, he closed his eyes.
Gentle fingers against his cheeks were the last thing he expected. His eyes snapped open to find Ariadne looking back at him, the warmth and affection in her bemused expression enough to take his breath away.
“You probably don’t want to hear it, but…glitter suits you.” Laughter was laced in her hushed voice. One of her hands traveled upwards, brushing through his dark curls. “I didn’t think it was possible for me to love your hair anymore than I already do, but now with the sparkles in them…it kinda looks like there are stars in your hair.”
The way his stomach churned and heart lurched at the statement wasn’t unpleasant, but so unfamiliar to him the frown came instinctively. “Stick to your day job, Chief. Poetry isn’t your strong suit.”
A brief moment passed where he wondered if that sounded harsher than he intended, but she laughed softly again and the worry fled his mind before it had even taken root. She pulled him closer and he allowed it, stretching out beside her on the bedroll. The familiar tickle of her tail trailing up his legs greeted him as he did so, sending a delightful shiver down his spine as it always did. For the first time since he snuck in, he found breathing easy, falling into their familiar pattern as if they were back in Drezen.
“Fair enough. Are you going to tell me why you were sneaking into my tent?”
Every explanation that came to him sounded weak and far-fetched, even in his own mind. The truth was little better, but at least it was that - the truth. “I regretted not kissing you earlier so I decided to take another opportunity. With some help.” He glanced down to the amulet, and that was when her face darkened, just a touch.
Ariadne didn’t say anything, but he felt the silent protest - she didn’t like him using the powers the amulet gave him. He couldn’t say he liked it much either - even if this was his inheritance, there were too many unknown variables, and demons like his grandpa never gave something for nothing. He just had to hope when the bill finally came due it wasn’t a price he'd mind paying.
The hand that had been in his hair came back down, tracing his cheekbone lightly and taking his mind away from dark thoughts of the future. “Well, you’re here now.” The ghost of her smile played across her lips. “Are you going to take that hard won opportunity or not, Woljif?”
That was the only invitation he needed. As soon as his lips met hers, every shadow of doubt was lost to the radiance of her embrace and the slight taste of honey and strawberries.