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The fire crackled around the camp as activity started to slow for the night. A golden glow bathed the otherwise gray, run-down stone building that had been decided as the designated campsite for the night, sparks dancing along the wood as though it too were excited to return. Eventually, Gale and Astarion’s almost brotherly bickering died down, turning into the usual conversations as everyone sat around the fire, indulging in the food and perhaps a bit of wine that Gale had prepared that night. Hours passed, and as everyone had started to bid their good nights, that warm glow of the fire had started to dwindle and dull.
Wyll watched Safyra carefully, stealing glances and taking moments to drink her in as they sat with the group. While everyone else seemed almost joyous to be returning to the city, himself included, Safyra’s reaction deemed otherwise, despite her telling him that she too was from the city, a point that was all but confirmed down in that godsforsaken mind flayer colony, when Lord Gortash had laid eyes on her. It was a strange look that crossed his features; disbelief, shock. But the one that his features had finally settled on was what shook him to his core.
Fury.
The rage seemed to twist his face into the ugliest of shapes for just a moment before the lord recovered, but it was long enough for Wyll to take note of it. The others of course had questions once Ketheric was dead, and Safyra did her damndest to avoid giving many details that would bring her entire past to light. It was something she’d always been uneasy to discuss, even with Wyll. But since that day, her behavior had started to change, and the once witty, clever Safyra was being chipped away to reveal an anxious, almost scared woman in its place.
As much as he didn’t want to pry, he had questions. So many questions. And he needed them answered.
Under the cloak of the stars, Wyll had tracked her to the disheveled rooftop of their campsite where she was perched, knees hugged close to her chest as the gentle breeze tousled the pieces of hair that framed the sides of her face. Her porcelain skin seemed to almost glow under the moon, and just the sight was enough to make the Blade’s heart skip a beat and flames to lick at his cheeks. The pounding of his heart grew louder with every step towards his lover, and the confidence that he’d once had begun to falter slightly.
The half-elf looks back to him, piercing blue and green eyes locking onto his form as her features soften, an aura of comfort seeming to wash over her.
“Hello, my love,” she says in a soft voice. “I was wondering when you’d seek me out.”
He can’t help the smile that graced his own face as he took a seat beside her, running his artificial eye over the Halfling.
“Oh, I was just on a stroll, and I figured I’d come disturb you a while.”
The chuckle he’d earned sounded melodic, almost angelic.
“A stroll, hm? One that happened to lead you all the way up here? How very….convenient,” she smirks at him, the stars giving her beautiful eyes that mischievous twinkle he’d adored so much.
A comfortable silence falls over the pair as she shifted closer to him, resting her head against his right shoulder, a small yet relieved sigh leaving her as Safyra seemed to relax. A comforting arm wraps around her waist, fingers gently stroking her side. Seeing his love so content nearly made him decide to abandon his mission for tonight. She seemed to be emotionally exhausted. Was now really the right time?
“I can practically hear the gears in your head turning,” came her voice again. “Go on, ask me about it.”
Wyll stiffens next to her, a brief icy panic gripping at his chest. She knew? She knew all this time?”
“How did you…?”
“You and I both know that you know me well enough by now to know that I am a sub-par liar at best. I knew there was no way you would have believed my explanation to the others when they asked about what they saw back in the colony. So go ahead. Ask me about it.”
“If you’d rather not talk about it, it’s all right, darling.”
Wyll’s big heart really was endearing, even at the worst of times. With a shaky sigh, Safyra shakes her head, eyes finding his own once more.
“No. You’ve been so open with me from the start, and I….much less so. It isn’t fair to you, and you deserve to know everything about me, especially if you see a future with me. I am not anywhere near as exceptional as you when it comes to being so forthcoming, but I have to try and at least be half as much. No matter how painful it is. You deserve to know everything.”
The arm around her back gives her a gentle, reassuring squeeze as his lips find the top of her head.
“Thank you, my love. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Wyll’s free hand comes up to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek, a gesture that had comforted Safyra in the past.
If the gentle trembling of her body hadn’t been obvious to him, the crack in her voice as she’d expressed her desire to be more open with him betrayed any sense of false confidence.
She was terrified.
“I promise you, nothing you say will change my view of you.”
“I suppose we will see once you know everything. So go ahead. Ask your questions.”
“I…I want to know why Lord Gortash recognized you. I want to know about your past. I’ve already pieced together that you’re the daughter of Lord and Lady Vannath, but that’s all I know of your past. Will you tell me?”
Safyra looks at him, eyes widening. “You knew? But how?”
Wyll smiles down at her, planting his lips on her forehead before responding. “In a city of mostly humans, you’d think I wouldn’t notice a noble family of Halflings? You wound me, darling. Besides,” he says to her warmly. “You have your mother’s eyes and nose, and the violin you carry has the same rose carvings along the rib that hers did. Anyone that had a decent amount of knowledge of the nobles in the city would have a pretty fair chance at putting the two together.”
He chuckles at her as she tucks her chin in to hide the blush blooming on her pale cheeks.
Eventually, she brings her head back up, swallowing a lump in her throat. It takes her a few moments to piece her thoughts together, her hands coming up to rub at one another anxiously, a nervous habit of hers that he’d seen a handful of times before.
“W-well, for whatever it’s worth, I didn’t expect Gortash to be among the faces waiting for us down there, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was a shock to me, too.”
He nods silently, urging her to continue as the hand around her comes up to rub soothingly at her back.
“Where to begin…,” she trails off, scratching her cheek with her pointer finger. “Ah, how much of my family do you know?”
“Just that you were their only child and that your mother fell ill quite suddenly. If I’m not mistaken, she passed away fairly quickly after. Then there was also the fire that burned your family’s estate to the ground….a fire that was believed to have consumed everyone inside, including you.”
Listening to him intently, she nods.
“That’s correct. Well, mostly. I lived like any other noble until she fell ill. I tried for so long to get more information on this sudden illness. I asked my father, the servants that tended to her, anyone I could think of. But no one would spare me any details. For the longest time, I had just assumed that they wished to spare me such grief. After all, I was still only a child…”
“I’m guessing something happened that changed all that?”
Safyra nods again, her grip on her arms tightening slightly.
“I lived under that assumption for many years, though I did find it extremely odd and distasteful when my father moved Miss Ordelia in mere weeks after the funeral.”
“Lady Ordelia?”
“Yes. She was the daughter of an apothecary in the city. Widowed before she met my father. Unlike my mother, she was cold, standoffish, and rude toward me. It was clear as day that we did not care for one another. To me, she was a stranger. One that had manipulated her way into my father’s heart, but he didn’t see it. I tried so many times to get him to see reason, but each time, I was brushed aside. After all, I was only a child. What in the god’s names could a child understand about love or relationships?”
Safyra’s voice grew colder toward the end, the disgust she’d held for the woman still present in her venomous tone.
“My father married Miss Ordelia mere months after my mother’s passing. The few times we were out in public, I began to realize that my thoughts on the matter were echoed by those around us. I could tell they pitied me by the way they stared at me. But, I digress. I’m getting off-course,” she says, eventually waving a dismissive hand. One that Wyll would proceed to gently take and squeeze.
“You’re doing wonderfully. I know this is difficult for you. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
As he brings her hand to his lips, her heart jolts against her chest, threatening to beat so loud in its cage that she nearly forgot her place in the story.
“M-my relationship with my father became strained over the years due to my conflict with his new wife. He knew I did not approve, and she used any moment she could to paint me as a rebellious, ungrateful, spoiled brat. And it worked; whenever something would happen between her and I, my father would always take her side. Every time, I was found to be at fault. With each new conflict, he threatened to start taking action to “set me straight”. A threat I was never afraid of until one day, he just snapped. He would rip up my compositions in front of me, damage the various instruments in my room beyond repair. As a result, I became even more quick-tempered, but more toward Ordelia than my father.”
After a moment of thoughtful silence, Wyll sighs, the disgust in his tone evident.
“Gods. I’m so sorry, Safyra. No one should have to live in such a way. I wish your father would have listened to you about her.”
She looks at him then, giving him that lopsided half-smile that would always threaten to make his knees buckle under him.
“You know, I’ve often wondered how different my life would have been if he had believed me. The times that I’ve humored such a thought, none of the outcomes I envisioned were ones that appealed to me.”
“I can’t say that I’ve never wondered the same,” he agrees. “But ultimately, I don’t regret any of my decisions."
Safyra’s face softens, and he almost immediately opens his mouth to apologize, but his lover’s words cut him off.
“I wish I could say that,” she sighs. Looking back to him, he nods again, squeezing her shoulder as if to silently give her the okay to continue.
“I remember one night, I had been sneaking about the manor. As I was headed back to my room, I passed by my father’s chambers. The door was cracked, and he seemed to be arguing with Ordelia.”
Wyll’s eyes widen, wondering if he had correctly hoped that Lord Cedoric would have listened to his own daughter.
“Ordelia was yelling about how she couldn’t stand being in my presence and how she wanted me gone. Admittedly, I don’t remember much about the argument itself, but I did hear something that made my blood run cold. My mother didn’t contract a mysterious illness, she was poisoned. And this poison was created by Ordelia in order to cover up the affair my father had been having with her. Apparently, my mother was on the verge of exposing the scandal, and he was worried about his reputation,” she scoffs, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.
Though they remained trained on her, Wyll’s eyes darken, and he frowns. Killing a man’s wife to prevent a scandal from spreading through the city? Such a thing was….inconceivable. The grief Safyra must have felt in that moment…it squeezed his heart with pain.
She studies Wyll carefully, waiting until he squeezed her hand again to continue.
“After that moment, it was as if my brain had just…ceased to function. I had almost missed the end of the conversation, and I would have if I hadn’t heard my name. Ordelia had expressed that she was sick of my presence and that if I was still going to be throwing “tantrums” at my age, that I was old enough to be married off. She told my father that she’d arranged for me to be wed. And he didn’t argue. He didn’t stand up for me. He just….accepted it. He didn’t even think to ask questions about my suitor.”
“She arranged for you to marry someone without your father’s permission?!” Wyll was getting angry now. Of all the ways to punish an insubordinate child, marrying them off was far from acceptable, especially considering how young Safyra likely had been at the time.
And among all the angry thoughts blurring his mind, the realization finally dawned on him.
“Gortash….you were arranged to marry Gortash!?”
The volume of his voice had shaken her, and her eyes nervously dart back and forth between him and the campsite, where everyone else still appeared to be asleep.
“Y-yes. He was the one I was betrothed to.”
It wasn’t until he’d noticed Safyra had been standing that he realized he himself had risen to his feet. One look at his lover clued him in to what he must have looked like; like a man getting ready to beat someone’s head in. Her hands were raised in front of her, ready to move in and provide comfort at a mere moment’s notice, even despite the heart-wrenching tale she had been sharing and how painful it must have been for her to do so.
Taking a moment to look down at his feet to confirm that he actually HAD stood up in his anger, Wyll takes a deep breath in, giving Safyra a shaky smile in his embarrassment.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you, my love. I feel….very protective of you. You know this. So hearing of the suffering you endured as a child just…it makes my heart hurt.”
Safyra’s arms wind around him then, her pale cheek pressing itself against his chest as she nestles her body against his own. His arms wrap around her without hesitation, and he sighs deeply.
“I’m sorry for startling you. I know your story is not over, but I am so, so proud of you for opening yourself up to me.”
She’s quiet for a moment, relaxing in his embrace and inhaling his scent; cinnamon and vanilla coupled with just a hint of the smoked ham Gale made for that night’s dinner. Wyll’s hands cradle the back of her head and back, lips pressing soothing kisses to the top of her head and forehead, eliciting almost childlike giggles from her.
The moment is sweet all the way until her laughs die down, and the story must continue.
“So, you obviously didn’t go through with the marriage,” Wyll hums, stroking Safyra’s hair gently. “What happened?”
A moment or two passes in silence.
“I only met Gortash once before the wedding, and something felt….off. I suppose it could have been the simple fact that I didn’t want to be married to a stranger, but when I met him, my intuition was practically screaming at me that something wasn’t right. No matter how much I told my father, he didn’t want to hear it. I cried almost every night. I was too young to be married. I didn’t have any of the experiences that I wanted to.”
“And what was that, love?”
A smile reaches her lips. The exact smile that made Wyll fall for her in the first place.
“I wanted to travel, and sing. I wanted to move people with my poems and ballads. I suppose, in spite of everything, I did get what I wanted, even if the tadpole is raining on my parade.”
The Blade chuckles lightly, nodding his head in agreement. “It always is a pleasure to hear you playing your violin or singing by the campfire. I thought an angel was singing to me when I spent my first night at your camp.”
He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh as he watches Safyra’s face burn.
“There it is, there’s your beautiful smile,” he grins, reaching forward to cradle her cheek in his hand.
With a huff, she pouts up at him. “Do you want me to finish the story or not? Because I can’t if you keep making my heart stutter like that. And I’m really on a roll here.”
“All right, all right, I’ll behave. For now.”
“Thank you,” she smirks up at him, poking the tip of his nose with her finger. “The night leading up to the wedding, I remember crying in my room. I didn’t want my freedom to be taken away, let alone by a man that my instincts told me was dangerous. My father didn’t want to hear my “excuses”, and the gods know Ordelia wasn’t about to suddenly be a friend to me. That was when I met Malchior.”
Wyll nods knowingly. “Your patron.”
“Yes. He appeared in my room and offered me a way out. He was my mother’s patron, and he also wanted revenge on my father.”
“Weren’t you forbidden to speak of your pact? Are you allowed to talk about this?” He asks curiously.
“He and I discussed this the other night. I knew this conversation was coming, and I wanted to be as prepared as possible.”
The pads of his fingers brush the hair away from her face at the temples. “Ever the thoughtful one.”
He spreads his legs and welcomes Safyra to reposition herself to sit between them, and she does so, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and hold her to his chest, sighing contently.
“So, Malchior and I made our pact, and he gave me the location of a place to meet, a small dirt road off the beaten path heading into Rivington. We actually passed it on our way earlier. The day of the wedding, I’ll admit that I don’t remember much. I remember being in my gown, and as I looked in my mirror, I remember feeling so helpless. And angry. I was trapped, and nobody was going to help me. Everything that follows after is fragmented, but I vaguely remember walking out of the mansion in my dress and veil. My hands were warm with the fire magic, and it was as if the flames were dancing around me, avoiding me. When I got to the meeting place, I saw that Malchior had prepared a change of clothes and taken my mother’s violin and the jewelry of hers that I had. He kept them safe for me until I got there.”
“A devil? Being nice?”
“I thought it strange, too. But compared to Mizora and Raphael, Malchior might as well be an angel. Anyway, I tried my best to lie low on my travels as far away from Baldur’s Gate as I could manage, but of course, I started to hear rumors about the fire. The Flaming Fists had dismissed the fire as arson but had announced my death in the fire with everyone else, but I still felt that I had to protect my identity, so I wore masks when I performed.”
His eyes soften upon her, taking in her confession. While he normally didn’t condone killing people, he could absolutely sympathize with her feeling like there was no other option aside from just letting the marriage happen. In Safyra’s shoes, even he was unsure if he could have gone through with it.
His silence must have gone on for a while, because Safyra seemed to be getting antsy.
“Y-you’re making me nervous,” she stammers. “I know I did an awful thing, I know I did. I just…there was no other way out. I should have told at least the staff to evacuate, but I thought that if I did, they would warn my father…or make sure that there was a hefty bounty placed on my head. I was desperate to escape, and I knew I couldn’t rely on anyone but-”
A finger against her lips finally stops the rambling and she looks at him, the sorrow and pain over what she’d done lingering in her eyes…and the fear of what he’d think of her now.
“But yourself. Easy, my love. It’s all right. I’m not angry or upset with you. If anything, I feel sorry for you. In my eyes, you did what you had to do to protect your freedom. Was it the right thing to do? That’s not really for anyone but you to say. You were the one in that situation. And you’ve already said that you felt like you had no other option. As for what I think, I know it must have been so hard for you to do something like that. I’ve seen you in battle more times than I can count. You hesitate to take the life of another human unless you’re protecting one of us from losing ours. I can see in your eyes the anguish you feel, but you truly believed that you did what you had to. You still believe that.”
The tears pricking at Safyra’s eyes start to pave their way down her cheeks as she furrows her brows at him.
“How can you say that? I’m the reason that my father is dead. Everyone in the manor perished in the fire that was set by my hands. I sacrificed the lives of my father, his wife, and all thirty-six servants in the manor. I’m the reason why there are thirty-eight tombstones in the cemetery in the city. How can you look at me and say that I was right to do what I did? How do you not think I’m a monster?”
Wyll’s hands immediately reach for her face, the pads of his thumbs gently brushing her tears away.
“Shhh, darling. It’s all right. You’re okay. You’re not a monster. You were forced to make a very difficult decision, a decision that no young woman should have ever had to make. You felt like your back was against the wall, like you had no other way out. Your father should have had your back. He failed to protect you when you needed it most. A godsdamned devil protected you more than your own father did. If anyone is the monster in my eyes, it’s him.” He pauses a moment to cradle the bard’s head against his chest, hugging her close. “You have carried this burden for so many years, and I understand now why you were so secretive about your past. What you’ve been through, it breaks my damn heart. But you’re not heartless, and you are the furthest thing from cruel. It’s clear that you feel remorse and sorrow for the lives that were lost that day. A monster couldn’t feel those things. Believe me, I’d know. You’re not a monster. You are the bravest, most compassionate, ambitious woman I’ve ever known. And this doesn’t change a damn thing.”
Safyra’s sobs into his tunic grow louder as her hands grab fistfuls of the fabric across his back. Her entire body shook with her cries, the weight of an 8-year old burden crashing down around her. Wyll held her securely, not tight enough that she couldn’t breathe, but firmly enough to anchor her body to his. Slowly, his body began to sway in a gentle rhythm, rocking her as he did his best to console his lover. The pain in her eyes hurt him, that he couldn’t deny, but right now, what mattered most was making sure that Safyra knew that he didn’t view her any differently than before this conversation.
As dusk made way to dawn, pain gave way to fatigue. The sobs had quieted, turned to not much more than hiccupped sniffles every so often. Wyll’s eyes meet the first light of the morning sun, then to Safyra, stroking her hair.
“You should get some sleep. If the others find us, I’m sure they’ll know not to wake you. If they’re keen on getting to the city today, then they can go ahead of us. You’ve been so brave, but even a great warrior needs rest, and I’m determined to make sure that you get it.”
Mismatched, glassy eyes look up at him, her voice a soft whisper.
“Stay with me?”
Wyll’s smile lights his face up as he guides her to snuggle closer to him, strong arms encasing her.
“Always.”