Chapter Text
“You’re looking flushed, Iz. Are you alright? Do we need to stop and have another rest?”
Your gaze immediately drops to your cousin’s concerned face, and you realize—belatedly—that you’ve barely been paying attention to anything she’s said for the last five minutes.
“Oh!… No,” you respond cheerfully, if not a bit distractedly. “Just the heat of the afternoon, is all.”
It’s not a lie. Not completely, anyway. You had been traveling on foot from Moonhaven since eventide the day before yesterday, and having to do so in the humidity of a midsummer’s day in your full initiate regalia was—to put it mildly—less than ideal. The sweat down your back was proof evident enough, sticking unpleasantly to your cotton tunic and the dust-stained fabric of your robes.
But it wasn’t the march nor the heat of the summer’s day that was likely causing the flush to your skin. That particular shade of a deep, blushing red could only be attributed to the sight of a certain aasimar you’d spotted flying overhead of the whole Reithwin company.
Aylin.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Evelyn continues, remarkably oblivious to what (or precisely who) has been distracting you. “We’ve still got time, unless you were planning on an extended stay at Rosymorn.”
“No. Really, I—”
Aylin is practically gleaming in the radial light of the sun, its brilliance highlighting the silver of her wings stretched wide as she drifts above the cirrus clouds. It’s a sight that never fails to steal the breath from your lungs no matter how many times you’ve seen it, and never has a pilgrimage from home to Moonhaven and back been so utterly and vexatiously diverting for you.
But oh, what a vexation... Dame Aylin Silverblood: the resplendent emissary of your Lady Selûne and Reithwin’s sworn protector, valiantly hovering in the sky over your party to ensure their safe return home. She’s guarded you all since the beginning of your journey a near tenday and a half ago, temptingly close but not quite close enough to satisfy your preoccupation with the handsome aasimar.
You watch the magnificent form of her turn a slow circle in the air. She is godly in her bearing: proud, firm, and vigilant; a remarkable contrast to the gentle heart that beats beneath the steel exterior of her armor.
You let out a long, flustered breath as you watch her dash off beyond the hills. Focus, Isobel, focus…
“I’m sure I’ll be fine once we stop for a brief rest at the next crossing,” is your inevitable lame reply.
Your cousin favors you with a slightly skeptical look, leaving you to wonder just how flushed your skin actually is at this particular moment in time. Perhaps it’s time to redirect the discussion entirely.
“Besides,” you begin again, “I can’t really afford to get too much further behind the others. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Draven made something of a wager with the dawn group this morning: the last person to reach Last Light is on bar duty for the rest of the evening and that means pouring drinks and serving half a townsfull of drunkards all night.”
Evelyn lets out an undignified snort, and you’re spared (thankfully) from having to follow up on a conversation you’d only half-heartedly been listening to. “And you all agreed to it?” she asks.
“I know. It’s ridiculous. Can you imagine having to pour drinks and scrub hundreds of dishes after this?”
“I’ll admit, that’s a clever one,” she chuckles delightedly. “Halfred and Bess’ll be thrilled to have the extra help, I’m sure.”
“I suppose that depends on which idiot gets stuck behind the counter this evening. You know they nearly banned us after the winter solstice fiasco. Father had to special order an entire case of Callidyrran just to make up for the whole mess.”
Your cousin shakes her head with amusement. “Sounds like it's going to be a laugh. And I wish I could join you, but this little one has already had enough for today, I’m afraid.”
Her hand presses against the swell of her belly, though the bump is hardly noticeable beneath her robes. Evelyn is already four months along now, and her morning sickness hasn’t abated much since the earliest days of her pregnancy.
You reach out and rub a few soothing circles into the small of her back with a comforting hand. “Hang in there, Evy. We’re nearly at Waukeen’s Rest, and hopefully once we’re there, we can find you a ride with a merchant. There’s usually at least one or two carts at the crossing.”
“Oh gods, I hope so. My feet have had it, and my guts are still recovering from last night’s stew.” She grips her stomach more tightly as she says this. “I tell you, Iz, if I didn’t love my David, I’d have gelded the bastard for knocking me up like this.”
You can’t help but laugh. “I’ll remind you of this particular sentiment the next time he’s traveling up the Sword Coast and you whine to me incessantly in your letters about how much you miss him and how cold your bed is at night.”
“You’ll have to. Otherwise, I’m likely to kill the fool the minute I step foot through the door of the house.”
You shake your head as you gently pull her against you in a side-hug. “One thing at a time, Evy. Let’s get you home first.”
The road through the Western Heartlands is awash with Lathander’s splendid light, each hill and valley blanketed with balsam and the high green grass of the summer’s florae. You can hear the birds singing, the sounds of the rushing river, the trill of what could only be Draven’s lute at some distant spot up the road, and you feel a kind of joy that must live in the heart of every Selûnite who longs to wander the world and see creation.
It’s why you’ve always adored the Moonhaven pilgrimage since the first year of your ordination to the Silver enclave. Unremarkable as the journey might be to the common traveler, it’s one of the few opportunities you’ve been given to see something of the world outside of your little town of Reithwin. The scenic splendor of everything that surrounds you is enough to make up for the blisters on your feet and the bone-deep ache in your weary muscles. The Heartlands have never looked more beautiful, and in truth, you’ve never felt more alive.
“So what about you, then?” Evelyn perks up, jabbing playfully at your side. “Have any young ladies been gracing your bed of late?”
The faintest heat rises beneath your collar, but thankfully, you’re able to tamp it back down.
You should be used to this kind of teasing from Evelyn by now; it’s a silliness you’ve indulged in since the earliest days of your adolescence when you were first confronted with your cousin’s penchant for stories of scandalous intrigues and salacious seductions at court or whatever else one finds in the pages of a bawdy romance. You’ve also learned that the only way to beat Evelyn at her games of provocative teasing is to humor whatever ridiculous ideas she has about you and all of the tempting young ladies you’ve potentially bedded as Reithwin’s most insatiable cleric.
But the comment still leaves you somewhat flustered since all it does is conjure to mind a very specific image of whom you’d love to have gracing your bedchambers at this very moment.
It’s also why you refuse to look up at the sky.
“Unfortunately no,” is your exaggerated sigh, giving into the salaciousness she craves. “Between my duties at the hospital and playing father’s favored ambassador, I’ve had little time to indulge in anything beyond the fruits of the summer’s harvest.” You give your cousin a more pointed look. “And I do mean fruits quite literally.”
Evelyn frowns. “What about that girl from Westbridge? The pretty one with the copper hair?”
It takes you a moment to recall who she’s even referring to. In truth, you haven’t given much thought to the girl since the last letter you received from her eight months ago.
But that’s telling it lightly, isn’t it? You’ve scarcely given a thought to anyone—or anything— since Aylin flew into your life. Your Aylin, descending under the light of the silver moon and capturing your heart in an instant.
She’s ruined you entirely, your Lady’s magnificent paladin with her piercing blue eyes and dazzling smile. Who could possibly ever compare to her? You might as well be contrasting the light of a dimming candle to the celestial light of the stars.
“I… don’t think so,” is your eventual, stilted response. “That ship has sailed with every other vessel traveling elsewhere up the Chionthar. In any case, it doesn’t do me much good to keep attachments outside of Reithwin if I’m dedicating my future here to the enclave.”
You realize, as you say this, that your words could just as easily have come from your father’s lips as they just did from yours. The thought makes you frown. Since when did you start parroting the general’s favorite speech to you about burdensome attachments and familial obligations, Isobel?
Evelyn seems to sense your discomfort in her careful observation of you. “You know what you need? To get out of Reithwin. And I’m not talking about taking another tenday pilgrimage to the Moonhaven temple with a hundred other people. Come up to Baldur’s Gate and stay with us for a while. We’ve got the space for you.”
“The jewel of the Sword Coast itself?” you say in mock bewilderment, placing a hand dramatically over your chest. “You must be trying to give my father a heart-attack.”
“Look, you know I adore your father, but there’s more to life than holding up the Thorm family name in your little town of nowhere, Iz. When’s the last time you did something for yourself? Something frivolous and just… completely self-indulgent?”
You ponder the question with as much seriousness as you’re able. “You know, I’m not sure if I can even recall, now that you’ve pressed me about it.” Unless lusting after the daughter of your divine goddess counts as a self-indulgence, which, yes—it most certainly does.
“Well there you go, then. Take a holiday for the rest of the summer and come and see what Baldur’s Gate has to offer. I think there’s more than enough diversions to keep you occupied for a season, and if you’re lucky,” she winks, “I might even introduce you to a few pirates.”
“You seem entirely misinformed as to what a cleric of Selûne would be doing in their off hours on a summer excursion, Evy.”
“Ha! Says you, you naughty little flirt. And it’s not like you wouldn’t have plenty of time to do all your clerical duties, too. We’ve enough devotees to fill the halls at Stormshore and shrines around the city proper who are in desperate need of a ravishing young cleric to help them perform their daily sacraments.”
You have to laugh at this portrait of yourself. “You are ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head in bemusement. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m quite ready to abandon my duties with the enclave so I can sail off into the sunset on a pirate ship. Not yet, at least.”
“Fine. Suit yourself then. I won’t try and talk some sense into you if you’re bound and determined to spend the rest of your summer mooning around Reithwin. Honestly though, Iz, I don’t know what’s keeping you there.”
What indeed? your heart whispers, and a heavy sigh escapes you.
Of late, the answer to that question has been glaringly obvious. Well… at least obvious to you. Your humble little town is currently the habiting grounds of a winged demigod who now occupies every waking (and non-waking) thought that stumbles its way into your head.
But as for the long, drawn out plans you envisioned for yourself by the grace of Selûne’s light, what is tying you to Reithwin, exactly? Prosperity? Convenience? Your family’s legacy?
Once upon a time, you couldn’t have borne the thought of ever being separated from your father. The two of you seemed destined to bring the light of Selûne’s grace to every tradesman and traveler wandering the Risen Road or drifting down the placid waters of the Chionthar. And for a time, that was enough. It was enough to rise each morning and prepare your daily rituals with practiced ease, knowing there was work to be done and so much prosperity to be shared in the woven skein of Reithwin’s humble community. Moreover, you’ve known ever since you were a child that your destiny was tied to the Silver Lady. You’ve known it ever since Selûne’s light was there to guide you on the first moonlit path you traversed through the wilderness so fearlessly and faithfully as a young initiate.
But is this where it was leading you? To tending the Reithwin enclave as its most promising and ineffectual cleric? A holy warrior trained to fight for the Moonmaiden’s faithful, kept precious and sheltered under the watchful gaze of her overly-anxious father? Or worse, is it continuing to perform the inane political niceties your father demanded of you with every pretentious dignitary who graced the halls of Moonrise Towers on their way to grander adventures along the Sword Coast?
Somehow, it all seems… insufficient.
Not that there isn’t nobility in the work that you do, certainly, but… What if the light of Selûne’s path stretched slightly further beyond the Western Heartlands? Your lady is, after all, the patron goddess of explorers with a will to discover the world around them.
So what do you want, Isobel?
“Is that her again?” Evelyn suddenly pipes up.
You turn to her, confused, and find your cousin staring dazedly up into the sunlit sky. Your gaze follows hers and of course you find Aylin. She must have returned to check in on the tail end of your party and goddess, why does your life have to be this complicated?
“That it is,” you say with a defeated smile. “The great and indomitable Dame Aylin.”
“Gods, but she’s magnificent, isn’t she?”
“Very…” is your perfectly candid reply, because any other response would have been disingenuous.
“The Moonmaiden certainly favors her chosen,” she says without any further remarks about your (frankly) blatant adoration of the aasimar. “I’ve never seen her kind this close before. Tell me truthfully… What’s she really like?”
“You mean apart from the obvious?” you say with a helpless gesture. “Earnest to a fault and completely without guile. I’m sure there are some who might find her a bit… intimidating, but you’d be surprised by just how charming she is. How sincere.”
As if she could hear you, Aylin’s silver gaze seems to fall in your general direction, and you wonder—quite stupidly—if she might be searching for you in the midst of the rest of the dawn company.
But something else immediately catches her attention as she suddenly turns towards the horizon, her eyes glowing bright as she zeroes in on a far-off spot in the distance over the northern ridge.
In less than a second, she’s darting over the trees and out of your line of sight.
“And there she goes…” You sigh in disappointment. Yearning, thy name is Isobel.
"Praise to our Silver Lady’s Sword. It’s been quite nice having her here with us to watch over the enclave.” Evelyn’s smile suddenly turns mischievous. “It’s been quite nice getting to watch her too, eh?”
And there it is.
You should have known your cousin wasn’t going to let you off that easily.
“Why Evelyn,” you say, scandalized, “I am a devoted cleric of Selûne. I would never objectify her daughter in such an undignified fashion.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” she presses you cheekily. “You would only ever dare to objectify that gorgeous six-foot-something aasimar with the proper amount of dignity and decorum, as is befitting your station.”
“Precisely,” you grin.
The two of you laugh wickedly.
In a way, it feels like a relief to compartmentalize all of your feelings for Aylin into something as inconsequentially simple as pure physical attraction. It’s a truth that needs no complicated framework or introspection to consider; a language more universal than Faerûn’s common tongue: easily understood and accepted.
“You know,” Evelyn says, “I spotted her days ago carrying a tree out in the temple courtyard. It had fallen on one of the turrets during the storm and, Iz… she was soaking wet.”
“Stop,” you say, pointing a warning finger at her.
“She was! And I’ll tell you once more… if I wasn’t already pregnant before seeing her lift that tree trunk…”
“Stop it!” you cackle, shoving playfully at her arm.
The Moonmaiden may never forgive the pair of you.
By the time you catch sight of Aylin again, it’s already well into late afternoon as evidenced by the sun’s continuing descent across the western hillside. You’re aware that the twilight company crossed the southern gate more than an hour ago, so Aylin is likely here to see the rest of your party safely through the jagged, rocky terrain of the mountain pass.
You’d parted ways with Evelyn only an hour earlier after your brief stop at Waukeen’s Rest, promising as always to write to each other often after several bone-crushing hugs and farewell kisses.
Since then, you’ve managed to push further and faster ahead of the slower members of your party to ensure that you won’t be the last person to reach the inn tonight.
You have absolutely no intention of losing that bet.
Thankfully, for the last half mile or so, you’ve allowed yourself a comfortable pocket of space at the front of your fellow travelers, happily affording you some much needed quiet time to drink in the incomparable beauty of the open canyons and cascading waterfalls of the Rosymorn valley.
Still, you wouldn’t be opposed to having some company for the last leg of your journey. Particularly if said company was of the more flirtatious variety.
And—more importantly—exceptionally attractive.
You’re inordinately pleased, then, when Aylin seems to spot you as her wings flutter briefly in the air. You feel yourself smiling. In that moment, you can’t help but wonder if Aylin is aware of how often her wings lay bare a particular emotion she’s feeling.
Would she care if they did? You certainly hope not. It’s one of the most attractive things about her. Someday you’d love to touch those gossamer feather wings and see what kind of reaction you might provoke in your formidable paladin.
Aylin slowly descends to the ground just a few metres in front of you, and you’re forced to stop (quite happily) so you can give her your undivided attention.
“I see our resplendent emissary has returned,” you greet her with the proper amount of playfulness and formality. It’s a tone you’ve reserved almost exclusively for Aylin, and she clearly enjoys it as much as you do.
Aylin’s smile is as radiant as the sun as she moves to lift off her helmet and oh, does she ever look handsome in the sunlight. The thought is as vexing as it is inevitable.
“Lady Isobel!” she proclaims with all of that radiant intensity as she now stands—towers in front of you. “What joyous occasion to finally greet you today!”
“Were you looking for me?” you ask, the perfect mask of innocence. “How flattering.” By the Silver Lady, sometimes you just can’t help yourself.
“Indeed, I have long sought an opportunity to speak with you,” she continues without an ounce of embarrassment, “but it has been regrettably difficult as I have kept myself to the task of providing a vigilant defense of the company throughout our travels today. I’faith, I was rather surprised to find you so far back from the others on the road this morning. You seem to prefer to keep to the front of the line, do you not?”
So she has been keeping an eye on you specifically. The slightest grin touches the corner of your mouth.
“I would have, or rather I should have been with the twilight party today were it not for my cousin Evelyn. She was feeling a bit poorly after breakfast this morning and, well… I thought she could use the company.”
"Your cousin!” she exclaims, a kind of wonder in her gaze that you don’t immediately comprehend. “Have I not had the pleasure of meeting her before? I confess, she looked most unfamiliar to me.”
“Oh, I doubt I’ve mentioned Evy before now. She lives up in Baldur’s Gate. If memory serves me correctly, she moved there about… two or three years ago? It was shortly after she was married.”
“Indeed?” Her eyes seem to brighten even more. “A dear cousin, then. How fortunate.”
It hits you then, what’s prompting this line of inquiry, and your smile grows even wider.
How careless of you, giving your undivided attention to a pretty stranger Aylin has never met before. Perhaps this might also explain Aylin’s reticence to approach you during so many of the ceremonial processions at Moonhaven for the last tenday; Evelyn was usually with you.
“Forgive me, Aylin, for not introducing the two of you to each other. I guess we haven’t really had much time for proper conversation, have we?”
A guilty look crosses Aylin’s features. “The fault is as much mine as anyone’s, Lady Isobel. I hope, at least, she has been amiable company for you when I was forced to turn my attentions elsewhere.”
You shake your head. “There is no fault to be had. I was actually quite pleased she could come with us to Moonhaven at all. It’s one of our oldest and fondest family traditions despite the time and distance required for such a journey. And in her state… well.” You hold out your palms. “I was glad I could offer her a little distraction, in any case. I would be a poor cleric indeed if I didn’t take any and every opportunity to offer a little healing, companionship, and comfort wherever it was needed.”
“You are as fine and fair a friend to your family as you are to a grateful paladin,” she smiles. Her gaze is adoring as she reaches to take your hand, lifting it to press a kiss to your fingertips in formal greeting. “She is most fortunate to have had the pleasure of your company.”
You blush. You can’t help yourself. “It was nothing, honestly. It’s been an age since we’ve seen each other, to own the truth, so it was a welcome distraction for me as well.” You gesture politely to the road up ahead. “Shall we?”
The two of you begin walking together.
“And are the two of you very close?” she asks in earnest.
“We are indeed. Or as close as we can be, all things considered. We’ve kept something of a regular correspondence these last few years, though we don’t often get to see much of each other in person. Our yearly pilgrimage to the Moonhaven temple is actually one of the few opportunities we have to spend any time together since neither of us have much cause for traveling.” You shrug your shoulders. “It is what it is.”
Aylin looks thoughtful. “Do you really not see her often? But Baldur’s Gate is so close to your own home.”
You have to concede her point. “Relatively speaking, yes. But to my father, it might as well be the moon.”
Something passes over Aylin’s face, and it isn’t hard to guess what she’s thinking. The relationship between her and Ketheric has grown increasingly strained of late, so it’s probably best if you attempt to redirect the conversation back to a less divisive subject.
“Regardless, I hope she’s doing better for her own sake as much as the baby she’s carrying. Traveling on foot can be difficult under the best of circumstances, so you can imagine how pleasant this journey would be whilst combating the joys of morning sickness.”
Aylin’s expression turns to one of deep concern. “Mother’s milk, is she alright? To traverse so great a distance while laden with child would be no mean feat indeed. Pray, if your cousin is willing to accept my assistance, I should gladly take her wherever she wishes to go, be it to your home at Moonrise Towers or another settlement further westward towards the city.”
You smile at her softly. “Thank you, but there’s no need. We were able to secure her a ride with a passing fur trader at Waukeen’s Rest, thank Selûne. She’ll likely spend the night with her family in town before she departs again for the Sword Coast tomorrow morning.”
“Ah. Well then! I’m very pleased to hear that she has been looked after so thoughtfully by her dear cousin. But next time, you must promise me that I will be informed of any discomfort you or your companions might experience so that I may be of greater use to you on such occasions. It is an oath I have sworn most solemnly to you and your family—as sacred to my heart as any pledge in my mother’s name. What little help or comfort I might offer is yours, Lady Isobel, you have my word of it.”
Next time, she says with such casual simplicity, and your heart clenches around the words.
It holds you, tethers you to a not-so-distant future where the two of you are still walking along this road, side-by-side in the waning warmth of a beautiful summer’s day.
The image is captivating, as much for the promise of more of this than the thought of anything else. And who knows? Perhaps Aylin might be a little less formal with you, or you might be bold enough to place your hands on her armored shoulders and…
No… You firmly shake the thought away.
Because you’ve been here before, dancing around the immensity of your feelings for this dazzlingly wonderful creature when the sad reality of the situation is that Aylin was never meant to be yours. She is—as she professes to be—the daughter of the holy Moonmaiden: the living and breathing embodiment of her mother’s silver sword. An immortal warrior blessed to perceive each dawning turn of the century; a woman who will long outlive any memory of you or of the insignificant little village you came from.
And all of this isn’t even touching on the myriad complexities of falling head-over-heels for the literal daughter of the divine goddess you profess to serve so faithfully. As a cleric of Selûne, you should probably feel more ashamed of yourself for it, but even the Moonmaiden herself could hardly fault a person for being so captivated by the incomparable wonder of Dame Aylin Silverblood. You wouldn’t be the first, and you’re unlikely to be the last, displeasing a thought as that may be. Such is the fate of every man, woman, and creature who has ever been blessed to stand in the presence of Aylin’s radiant light.
So if there’s a future with you she chooses to hint at with her sweet and earnest words, it likely will never amount to anything more than this: walking the Risen Road as two amiable companions. To wish for anything greater seems almost a blasphemy.
Still, you won’t allow such thoughts to darken your mood after what has been a mostly agreeable day, particularly as you now have Aylin all to yourself. You’ve barely even noticed that a few of your dawn group travelers have finally managed to outpace you.
“So tell me,” you continue, picking a more banal topic of interest, “how fair are the roads up ahead? You have had a markedly better vantage point than the rest of us today.”
“The roads are as fair and dry as any stout-hearted Selûnite might wish them to be,” she replies cheerfully.
“So no desperate bands of dastardly Sharrans or wicked thieves to hinder our progress?”
“Ha. For their sakes, I should certainly hope not.”
You raise a discerning eyebrow at her. “And the ah… bloodstains on your armor?”
Aylin stops to look down at her armor with a confused, furrowed brow. It’s easy enough to find the reddish-black blood spattered lightly across her breastplate.
“What… this?” she dismisses with a contemptible scoff before resuming her lengthy stride. “A trifling skirmish with a pack of worgs. Nothing you need be concerned about, fair Isobel.”
“I would hardly call facing a pack of ravenous worgs a ‘trifling’ thing, Dame Aylin. Tell me at least you didn’t have to face them alone?”
“I did not, if that affords you some comfort. Your Silver Guards have proven themselves to be capable allies in the defence of the Reithwin company, though perhaps we might have been more effective in ridding ourselves of the brutes had we the use of another spear-arm from a seasoned cleric.”
The knowing smile she favors you with lights up your body from head to toe, happily reminding you of your recent sparring session with Aylin on another scorchingly hot afternoon. Impossibly, you’d managed to best her with your spear-arm whether by dumb luck or subtle artifice on your part, and Aylin—indomitable warrior that she is—was positively delighted by your success.
Since then, it’s been difficult not to spend too much time considering the implications this newfound intelligence has conjured: you—on top of Aylin—commanding her to yield to you, and Aylin only too happy to comply.
Goddess Selûne, you silently recite to yourself as you bite the inside of your cheek. You could really use a drink right now; a tall glass of water to pair with the tall glass of aasimar who is trying so maddeningly to provoke you.
In your thirsty preoccupation with all things Aylin, you’ve become a bit oblivious to the rather magnificent spectacle of the sunlit canyonlands surrounding you on the open trail. More worryingly—in all of your starry-eyed stupidity—you’ve failed to notice an uneven patch of gravel beneath your foot until you find yourself skidding into a ditch on the side of the road.
Aylin just manages to catch you before you completely lose your balance and slide to the ground, her strong hands grasping your torso in a steadying hold. “Gracious! Isobel, are you alright!?”
“Yes, I’m—dammit—I should be fine,” you mutter, more embarrassed by your clumsiness than any discomfort. The ditch you’ve half-skidded into is thankfully a shallow one, but the slight tweak to your ankle might be more of a problem depending on how badly you’ve landed on it. “Should have noticed the ground here was more uneven than the rest of the path. Just goes to show you how tired I am.” You brace your hands against Aylin’s steadying arms and plant your foot back on the path, testing it for sprains or other injuries. It feels sturdy enough.
“Wonderful,” you sigh happily. “No healing spells necessary.”
“Are you certain? Because I should be very glad to—”
“Aylin, I promise, I’m fine.” You chuckle lightly. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve been overly distracted on the road today.”
There’s a long moment— a significantly long one— where the two of you simply stare at each other without further words needed to fill the silence. The concern written so clearly in the blue of Aylin’s gaze is all-enveloping, and you’re highly aware that the two of you are still holding one other without any real attempts to disengage.
It’s the jostling sound of an approaching group of dawn members that eventually breaks you out of the spell, and you carefully step back from Aylin before too many observers can level the pair of you with curious looks and whispered remarks.
“Well!” you continue once you’re finally alone again, your voice tinged with a touch too much cheerfulness. “Shall we continue on?”
Aylin acquiesces with the faintest nod. “At your leisure,” she says, giving you full permission to set the pace in case there’s any lingering discomfort with your foot.
It doesn’t take long for the discomfort to present itself in the form of several sharp rocks that have inexplicably found their way into your boot. You’re forced to stop again with another irritated sigh, bracing yourself awkwardly against Aylin’s arm. “Be a dear and stay still for a moment?”
Aylin stands as still as a statue as you fumble to pull off your boot, seemingly unperturbed by the revelation of what a two-day march in dry heat has done to your stockings.
“Bloody rocks,” you mumble in irritation, dumping every offending pebble out of your heel. Aylin— bemused though gallant as ever— maintains a steady arm for you to balance on. “You know, I’d only just sent these to the cobbler’s before we started for Moonhaven two tendays ago. Do you know how many rocks I’ve had to pull out of these damnable boots? Blast it all… I should ask Hugo for a refund.”
“It is rather astonishing how often a pair of well-made boots can become susceptible to invasion by the tiniest rock,” Aylin muses.
“You’re one to complain, Dame ‘I-Have-a-Pair-of-Wings-and-Can-Fly-Anywhere-I-So-Choose’ Silverblood,” you grumble. Aylin laughs heartily at your teasing.
With another muttered curse under your breath, you manage— rather inelegantly— to pull your boot back on. It’s a hollow victory though, as this recent assault on your foot has distracted you to an even larger group of dawn party members that have already passed the pair of you down to the trailhead.
With a deeper sigh, you dust off your robes and look up at her with a tired pout. “Forgive my impertinence. I promise I’m not usually this ill-tempered when traveling.”
“Worry not,” she replies without a hint of reproach. “I delight in all of your impertinences, Lady Isobel.”
You smile at each other, a little lost and helpless, then resume your walk at an even more leisurely pace this time.
“I suspect,” Aylin begins after a few moments pass, “you’ll be in much fairer spirits once you’re back home at Moonrise and have a little less gravel beneath your feet.”
“Mmmm… home again.” You rub the back of your neck. “Do you know what I’m looking forward to more than anything? A long, hot bath and a decent night’s sleep. Much as I love visiting the halls of Moonhaven, their moth-eaten cloister beds leave something to be desired.” You suddenly look up at Aylin in wide-eyed horror. “Oh goddess, that makes me sound like a spoiled princess, doesn’t it?” You’d nearly forgotten that Aylin had chosen to take up lodging in the cloister attic at Moonrise chapel.
“Not at all,” she affirms. “Tis a valid observation, and having slept in my fair share of beds, I quite agree that the guest accommodations at Moonhaven are in need of some refurbishment. An improvement on the state of their mattresses, at the very least.”
Before you can spend too much time musing over her comment about ‘sleeping in her fair share of beds,’ Aylin completely halts any further brain activity by stating, “If you wish it, Lady Isobel, I could fly you back to your rooms at Moonrise Towers without any further delay. You needn’t worry about the rest of the company; it would only require me to be away from them for a short period of time, and in truth, I might be more effective in my sentry position if I knew that you— above all others— were safely back home in Reithwin.”
Flying.
With Aylin.
Letting her lift you off the ground in those impossibly strong arms of hers as the two of you soar up high into the clouds as far as the light could carry you.
Yes. You may have fantasized about this before. At least once or twice or, hells, several hundred times since you first saw those glorious silver wings carrying an angel towards the gates of the Moonrise bridge beneath the veil of Selûne’s stars all those months ago.
Your mouth turns dry as you struggle to form a response. Why certainly, Aylin. That sounds perfectly agreeable. I would be delighted to climb into your exquisitely muscled arms and press my body against yours like a heated courtesan. Feel free to take me anywhere you so desire.
Goddess Selûne, you’re not sure if you’d ever survive such a thing.
“That’s ah… a very tempting offer,” is your slow, stilted response, “but I’m sure the others would hang me if I cheated my way into a soft feather wing before the day was over.” Your eyes widen again as you catch your slip-of-the-tongue. “Bed! A soft feather bed.”
Aylin isn’t given much of a chance to respond before you’re stumbling into your next fractured thought. “We’ve also made plans to gather at Last Light Inn for drinks and supper later. That’s… um… another tradition we’ve kept over the years: one last hurrah to mark the end of the Moonhaven pilgrimage.”
You can almost see the faintest trace of disappointment cross over Aylin’s features, but it’s quickly replaced with her usual fond expression. “Then Dame Aylin shall see you safely there, my lady, whether we take to the skies or continue here on foot through the open countryside.”
You hesitate for a moment. It’s only just occurred to you that Aylin wasn’t aware of the company’s plans to gather for drinks tonight, and as a high representative of the Silver Lady’s enclave, well, that is simply inexcusable.
You could extend her a formal invitation here and now, of course, but where’s the fun in that? Better to lay the assumption of her involvement directly at her feet. “Does that mean you’ll be joining us for drinks later as well?”
“With the entire company?” she replies, clearly amused. “I wouldn’t think Last Light a large enough venue to accommodate even half the Silver enclave, much less the whole of your party.”
“Well, that’s the fun of it all. We squish in wherever possible, then drink ourselves to a pleasant stupor by morning’s light. Come on… Haven’t you ever wondered what sort of mischief a bunch of dusty, drunken Selûnites might get up to in the heat of a summer’s evening?”
Aylin chuckles. “I have many suspicions, though most have yet to be confirmed.”
“Then it’s time you confirm them. Come and have supper with us. Halfred makes a wonderful lamb stew.”
Aylin sighs. “Another time, perhaps,” she deflects with gauntleted hands raised before her. “Your invitation is a kindness, but it would be inappropriate for me to join you when there is still work to be done at the eastern borders. I promised Ser Hadron that I would assist him in shoring up the defenses along the mid-field ramparts. A paladin’s work is never done, I’m afraid.”
“That sounds wildly like an excuse to get out of buying me a drink, Dame Aylin.”
She shakes her head. “Nay, I am in earnest! And even if it were otherwise… well.” She pauses. “My presence is generally more favored on the battlefield.”
You frown at this flawed assessment of herself. It sounds like something your father would have said to her and— more than likely— already had. You’re certainly under no disillusionment with regards to how cold he’s grown towards her, particularly as your own feelings for Aylin have become increasingly more apparent.
But your father isn’t here. There’s only you and Aylin and an open road before you full of possibilities. So you give her the best, most winsome smile you can manage while gently nudging your arm against hers.
“Oh, I don’t know,” is your coquettish reply. “I think our Silver Lady would permit a little frivolity from her divine champion for an evening. How else could we possibly celebrate our safe pilgrimage to Moonhaven without the fearless warrior who protected us so bravely along the way?”
She gives you what she imagines is a highly skeptical look when all she really looks is adorable. “I think you’re teasing me.”
“Dame Aylin, how could you ever think such a thing? You should know by now that I’m always teasing you.”
Aylin’s laugh is light and glorious and the sound of it wraps joyously around your heart. You pause to stand before her, showing your genuine sincerity. “Join us tonight,” you say softly. “For my sake if for no one else’s.”
She proudly straightens to her full, resplendent height, then makes a formal bow. “As you wish, Lady Isobel. And if you do not object, I would be happy to personally escort you the rest of the way there.”
You smile at her brilliantly as you slip your arm around hers, letting your fingers rest on the silver plate of her armor.
Surely the rest of the party can manage the last few miles without Aylin hovering above.
For now, let her be yours and yours alone.