Chapter Text
The midday sun filters through the canopy, dappling the soft earth of your makeshift camp. The others are off tending to their own tasks – Gale’s nose buried in a book, Shadowheart sharpening her spear, Astarion probably causing some variety of trouble. It’s one of the rare quiet moments, the kind you’ve come to treasure on this road filled with curses, monsters, and gods who never quite leave you alone.
Your gaze flicks toward Wyll. He’s a few paces away, his blade catching glints of sunlight as he moves through practiced forms. There’s a grace to him that’s impossible to ignore – controlled, deliberate, and just a little bit showy.
And you’ve seen him fight. The man knows his way around a blade.
You tap the hilt of your own sword, thoughtful.
Your druidic spells have saved your skin more times than you can count, but lately, you’ve wanted to refine your swordsmanship. To move with the same ease, the same precision. You’ve always held your own, but something about Wyll’s style… it draws your interest.
“Care to offer a humble druid a few pointers, Blade of Frontiers?” you call, striding toward him with a half-grin.
Wyll lowers his sword, a smile blooming instantly, warm as ever. “Ah, a request for my tutelage? I’m flattered. I must warn you, though – I’ve been told my lessons come with… certain distractions.”
You arch a brow, playing along. “What, like your excessive charm?”
“Exactly,” he winks, sheathing his sword briefly. “But I promise you – my guidance is as sharp as my blade.”
“Good,” you smirk, drawing your own sword. “I need someone who can keep up.”
You fall into a spar easily, your blades clashing in rhythmic strikes, neither of you aiming to win, just to dance. Wyll offers tips between swings, correcting your footing, your grip, though he’s always careful to keep his tone light, never patronizing. His words are kind, encouraging. He treats you as his equal, and you can’t help but admire that.
“Don’t lock your elbow,” he says as your blades meet again, the metal ringing between you. “Loosen it – yes, like that. Flexibility is key. You’ll find it gives you more room to – ”
You twist, using his own momentum to unbalance him. His boot slips in the dirt, and you bring your blade to his side in playful victory.
“—recover,” he finishes, laughing as he yields.
“You were saying?” you tease, lowering your sword.
He places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Ah, you wound me, my dear druid. To think, I was but a humble instructor, overthrown by my own student.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle when I write the song of your defeat.”
Wyll chuckles, stepping closer, his smile softening into something more sincere. “Careful now. Keep talking like that and I might think you enjoy having me this close.”
You don’t back away. “Maybe I do.”
There’s a beat – a moment where neither of you speaks, the playful edge melting into something warmer, something that lingers.
His gaze flicks to your lips, but true to his nature, he doesn’t rush it. He gives you the choice.
His voice drops, smooth and teasing. “Perhaps tomorrow we can pick up where we left off. I still have much to teach you… if you’re willing.”
You let your grin curl slow and deliberate. “Oh, I’m willing.”
And with that, you both return to camp.