Work Text:
Keepers of old, keep us from cold
"Isobel? Good evening. I, uh... I meant to thank you again, for teaching me that ritual for, well. You know."
A voice Isobel was still growing accustomed to pulled her out of contemplative, oft-repeated altar arrangements. Just so she wouldn't forget to afterwards, she pushed one more half-melted candle with two others in a cluster to the side of the wide, flat boulder she'd selected for the task. A lucky find, practical in both shape and location where it sat at the edge of the clearing, just near hers and Aylin's tent. Then, she turned to the young no-longer-Sharran whom she'd taken an almost sisterly liking to, charmed by sharp wit and covert softness, and smiled at the sight of a shy pout framed by newly-white hair.
"Of course, don't mention it. Between the sudden gith attack and your brief trip to the Astral Plane, there hasn't been much time for me to say so either under more calm circumstances, but it suits you very much."
Shadowheart looked to be on the brink of speaking, doubt still weighing heavily on her downcast gaze, but Isobel beat her to it. She willed her tone to be as gentle and comforting as when she once taught Reithwin's Selûnite children.
"I told you then, and I will say it again. While it is customary for clerics of the Moonmaiden to be ashen-haired, it is by no means an imperative. If ten hours, ten days or ten years from now you decide you'd prefer your hair return to black or to any color you might fancy, then go right ahead and do so, She will not care in the least. Alright?"
"Understood. Gods, it might take me quite some time to adjust to..." Shadowheart trailed off, then threw her hands up and waved them around as if gesturing to the air itself. "Well, to everything. But I feel so foolish that what's staggering me the most is attempting to associate faith with freedom of choice. Everything I've ever done for Shar was demanded of me. Forced upon me, really, whether I knew it or not. Now I feel so... untethered."
The temptation to launch barbs at the Lady of Loss and her followers was strong, almost strong enough to allow mockery past Isobel's lips, but she stilled her tongue and gave her mind a moment more to think past petty (if very well-earned) resentment. Instead, she focused on the young woman before her, looking so lost in this new situation she'd been thrust into. On the incredibly good, valiant deed that led her here, and the painful tricks that were inflicted on her to hide her true heritage. Poor girl. As moonlight played across scared, dark-rimmed eyes, Isobel found much kinder words forming quite easily.
"One day at a time. Be patient with yourself, Shadowheart. You needn't become an entirely different person overnight, Hells, you needn't ever do so! The Moonmaiden embraces us as we are, and as we become. This change will come to you gradually, if you welcome it, until one night soon you will stop fearing punishment for any and all action you undertake or choose not to, and your heart will know fully that our Lady wishes you only well."
"Thank you. I can only hope you're right..." Shadowheart gave a feeble smile, which quickly turned to a frown as she seemed to take note of Isobel's surroundings. "Shit, have I been keeping you from praying? I'm sorry, I'll go."
"Not at all!" Isobel batted away the notion, and just as she had every evening that the young woman had approached her since her true self had been revealed, offered for her to partake or even just observe prayers to the Goddess who now empowered her. "You'd be most welcome to stay, if you'd like. I've yet to start, I just threw this makeshift altar together before you arrived, and I was waiting for-"
"Enough drink to supply a tavern for a tenday, yet tragically not a singular drop of milk was to be found amongst our friends' victuals!"
Aylin's amusement at the situation was thinly-veiled behind the disappointment she loudly expressed as she stepped out of the tent and raised herself to her full height.
Gods, Isobel could still hardly believe she had her angel back. That she got to enjoy again the glorious sight of her muscle-bound body clad in only braies, golden scars, and the gentle glow her skin emitted. With a flex of the wings and a sure grin, she strode over to Isobel who very happily welcomed the touch of a large hand at her waist. Aylin nodded decisively.
"But worry not, my love, for I spotted farmland on a nearby hill as I flew over earlier to scout this location, and I noted that several sheep grazed there. I will return in but a short moment. If the milk is in abundance, then I shall make it butter in the morrow. No one will be unhappy with fresh butter to slather upon their bread, will they, little moon mote?"
The chosen term of endearment was particularly odd, usually one reserved for Selûnite children, yet it suddenly made sense to Isobel when she realized that Aylin had turned as she spoke it, and had been instead addressing Shadowheart. So taken was she by the sight of Aylin, Isobel had nearly forgotten that the young woman was still here.
Although perhaps only in body, her slack jaw and almost vacant stare looking up at Aylin's mostly bare form indicating that she may not be entirely in control of her mind at this very moment. Isobel would be quite the hypocrite to blame her. After clearing her throat, she brushed a hand down the length of Aylin's forearm, feeling every golden groove in its path.
"What a lovely idea! We'll wait, then. Take a jug with you?"
A pot much larger than a jug was presented to Isobel, alongside a raised brow, and by the time she was rolling her eyes fondly at her over-assiduous lover, the paladin had taken flight. For a moment, there was only the rustling of leaves, the silence of a few dislodged feathers floating down, the muffled conversations and bustle from the rest of the camp. Then, a soft hum, and Shadowheart's curiosity.
"I do recall you having a bowl of milk on the balcony at Last Light. Is it a necessary component to all prayer to Selûne, then?"
"Oh no, certainly not! Merely a favored offering. There are no strict rules to follow, you see," Isobel smiled, launching into an explanation she'd given many a time before, in her first life. "For everyday prayer, you don't need a thing, simply your own heart and mind. Well, some amounts of faith, I suppose. Then, for a slightly more involved one, a proper communion such as this, wine would very much suffice, and even the vessel doesn't necessarily need to be proper silver. Milk is only required in order to complete certain complex rituals or cast very specific large-scale spells much like the shield I upheld. To ensure they are as potent as can be, it's used as an offering to be blessed and turned into powerful, cleansing moonfire. And that is clearly not what we're hoping to achieve here, is it?"
"Then if wine could've worked, why is Aylin-... Oh. You're only humoring her, aren't you?"
Isobel's heartbeat stuttered for a brief second, caught red-handed despite thinking she'd acted quite inconspicuously. She leveled Shadowheart with a severe stare.
"Nicely spotted. But don't you go telling her, hear me? Though she's said nary a word of it, I know she's been aching both to fly and to feel useful. Had it been a dangerous quest she was attempting to throw herself into, then of course I might've had much more to say, but something so harmless... My poor darling. After she's spent a hundred years chained to the same ghastly spot, who am I to deny her this?"
"Very much understandable. And, uh..." Shadowheart started, stammered, seemed to think her words over, and finally asked the last thing Isobel could've expected. "Is she in the habit of strolling about shirtless? I distinctly remember her wearing some clothes in the Shadowfell, tattered as they might've been."
Oh. With a start, Isobel realized she was so accustomed to seeing Aylin in this state of undress that she'd hardly taken into account the peculiarity of an aasimar flying off to milk sheep in nothing but braies, just past the witching hours. Surely an odd sight to most.
"Only in my company, as far as I know," she smirked, hoping to dispel any salacious notions Shadowheart might be imagining. "We were only ever afforded very few days to spend both entirely alone and with little to do. But whenever we did, we'd typically stay in my room, I would read and she would busy herself with polishing or mending any weapon she could get her hands on. And invariably, she would wear only her braies. So I suppose our little tent here is just as much of a room of our own, to her mind, and she's slipping back into old habits. Frankly, I couldn't be more grateful for that."
"And I assume you don't mind the view, either..." It was Shadowheart's turn to smirk, and Isobel hoped her cheeks wouldn't flush pink. "Don't worry, I shan't spend too long teasing you. I fear you might give back as good as you get in battles of wit, and I'm not quite ready to be confronted with my own hopeless infatuations and lust when it comes to our merry band's intrepid leader. Instead, I have another question."
The self-incrimination was hilarious and the poor deflection no less funny to Isobel, who braced her hands on her hips and regarded Shadowheart fondly, eager to entertain the young woman's obvious desire for cheeky conversation. Levity was always welcome, these days.
"Now that is very unfair, I had plenty to say on the matter! Don't go thinking yourself saved from questioning, it's been far too entertaining watching you hold a book upside down and pretending to read while ogling her as she chops firewood."
"Oh, as if you're any better around your beloved. I wonder, when in the throws of passion, do you call out in bliss to the Moonmaiden, your own mother-in-law? A good thing she probably hardly visits, it would surely make family reunions uncomfortable."
"That's the fifth time I think you've referred to Selûne as my mother-in-law, but you do realize Aylin and I aren't married, don't you?"
"Mh, that is true. Do you not wish to be? Is Aylin not allowed to? A-are you not allowed to?"
Isobel could hear what was left unsaid, in Shadowheart's vacillating question. Shar's chosen weren't allowed a shred of intimacy beyond the purely physical, this much she knew, and she could only imagine how many possibilities had opened up on the young woman's path after rebuking the Dark Lady's cold, misleading embrace. And how concerned she must be now that some of those doors may turn out to be closed. Isobel brought a hand up, waited until Shadowheart's lack of an unfavorable reaction was clear, then laid it upon her shoulder.
"There are no restrictions on such things, worry not. Clerics, paladins, priests of Selûne, we can all live and love as we wish to, and marriage isn't disallowed in the least. Even for Aylin, which her mother had told her quite plainly," Isobel giggled.
She remembered very well the near instantaneous response when Aylin had bowed her head in prayer and asked as much. Bright, warm, ethereal. As though Selûne had been elated at the thought. Now, though, with all that had changed, everything Aylin had suffered, and considering the vile magic that an oathbreaker had used to selfishly bring Isobel back to life, would the Lady of Silver still feel similarly? Doubtful. Isobel put on a smile that she knew was a little too tense, a little too false, and hurried to finish her tale.
"We'd uh... we'd considered the idea, back then. Never had a chance to see it through."
A small nod answered her, a respectful silence. One mourning what could've been. A world with Reithwin still a flourishing town, governed by a doting yet lenient father, Isobel living with a ring on her finger and a paladin at her side. One where they could've chosen to either remain in Reithwin or for Isobel to follow Aylin wherever duty called her, to be the cleric and healer her love and the afflicted in their path would need. If only. Isobel could not stomach the pitying look in Shadowheart's gaze (or was it merely a mirror of her own, full of pain for a life torn away by violent forces outside her control?), and she instead turned to fiddle with her makeshift altar.
Moving a cup an inch to the side here, blowing nonexistent dust off of a bowl there, trying to distract herself while waiting for an angel's bright glow to pierce through the darkness. Then, she remembered that her new, once-unlikely friend had mentioned something else.
"You had a question still, I think? Please, feel free to ask."
"Right. So, what's a moon mote?"
It took a few minutes to explain the full notion of moon motes, their significance, their various origins, interspersed with examples of how Isobel herself had experienced them throughout her life. How most often, she'd felt as though her late mother's presence had shone through each of the bright slivers of light that had guided her true.
Shadowheart seemed in turn quite unconvinced, then intrigued, then perplexed again, but wasn't afforded any time to ask further questions nor to make what Isobel could only imagine would've been a snippy remark, as a bright streak lit up the skies and descended upon them. Aylin was certainly far, far larger than a moon mote, Isobel mused and chuckled to herself. The smile that came so very easily to her around her lover was answered right away, then hidden by the soft kiss that Aylin dipped down to claim. Her reward for a job well done. Very well done, even, the large pot under her arm positively overflowing with fresh, fragrant milk.
A bowlful was all Isobel needed to draw from it, and soon enough the altar was candlelit, the offering was made, the prayers spoken, and familiar, comforting moonlight glided over Isobel. She knew that behind her, moonbeams likewise had enveloped Aylin and Shadowheart – she'd heard the latter's quiet gasp. Perhaps an awed one. Perhaps torn out of her by the pain Shar might've decided to inflict upon that incurable, cruel wound in her hand. Perhaps both. Isobel hoped only the former was true.
For some time, she prayed, her words soft and buoyant in the slight breeze. As she recited the litany aloud, she once again thanked in her mind the Moonmaiden for aiding her in protecting Last Light and those within it until they were delivered from the curse, for guiding Shadowheart towards a kinder future, for Aylin being returned to her, and the happier days since. Then, she prayed for strength and a path illuminated in the battles to come, many and hard as they were bound to be, both for herself, her love, and all those fighting for goodness to prevail. As she eventually brought her arms back to her sides, she felt heard, felt the balm of the Goddess's embrace, and bowed her head in peaceful gratitude.
Shadowheart had a few more questions afterwards, all of which she prefaced by warning they might be silly, yet none of them anything but discerning and pertinent. Aylin seemed very happy to answer, albeit not necessarily in simple enough terms or turns of phrase, and Isobel soon found that the longer Aylin's responses were, the less Shadowheart managed to focus on them.
Not because they were lengthy, but because the towering aasimar's muscles coiled and released as she animatedly expounded on various customs, the moonlight adding to the very slight gleam emanating from her bare skin, intensifying every shadow so that Aylin cut a figure so incredibly striking that Isobel herself was soon spellbound by the sight of her.
Handsome. Beautiful. Perfect. Speechless and smitten, Isobel's heart beat to the rhythm of the words that kept repeating in her mind as if they were a grand poem. She lost herself in watching her angel, the proud lines of her jaw, the bulging of her arms, the mouth-watering path she longed to trail her mouth over, from clavicles down to the sharp lines leading under the waist of braies that she absolutely needed to remove. Then, she would-
"You know," Shadowheart hummed near Isobel, startling her out of increasingly lustful thoughts and back to a reality where Aylin was busy clearing up their makeshift altar with her back turned to both half-elves, "I think you should send her into Sharran cloisters, sword in hand, and in this exact garb. Or lack thereof. You'd have so many converts the Selûnite temples would overflow..."
With that piece of questionable advice and a last murmured 'thanks' for allowing her to join their rites, Shadowheart slinked away to her tent on the other side of the campsite.
It should've made Isobel laugh, shouldn't it? Truly, the idea was absurd enough that it should cause hilarity, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew as much. Yet a feeling entirely different shot through her heart unbidden, something heated, ferocious. It prodded at every nerve, pricked at her fingertips, and as she watched Aylin declare that she would rise before the sun to churn the milk into butter, stance as bold as if she'd been announcing a battle plan, Isobel surged forward, grabbing her lover by the wrist to drag her inside their tent. There, she ignored Aylin's confused stare and questions, pushed at her until she understood the request to lay upon their bedroll, then wasted no time in straddling her hips and latching onto her neck with rough kisses, marking her with lips and teeth alike.
"I- Isobel, my darling, did – ah – did prayer stoke your ardors?"
Darkened traces bloomed across grey-pale skin wherever Isobel hungered to stake her claim, and she dug her blunt nails in the muscle of Aylin's broad shoulders, barely pulling away from the bruise she was conscientiously sucking under her angel's ear.
"Not quite, though in the wake of it I learned something new about myself. Or perhaps it was merely something I'd forgotten."
"Uh huh..." Aylin sighed softly, her hands naturally finding Isobel's hips, adding a mindless pressure that ground Isobel's core right against her stomach. It only made Isobel bite harder.
"As it turns out, I loathe the idea of sharing you. Not your light or your valor of course, the world would dim without them, but sharing your body or your love with any other? I know it goes against all teachings of generosity, but Gods, the thought alone boils my blood."
Speaking it aloud made Isobel realize how strongly she felt on the matter, how while the sight of Shadowheart struck by Aylin's bare form had been amusing to an extent, even eliciting some pride, it had mostly made her feel terribly-
"Jealous, are you?" Aylin chuckled, patiently allowing Isobel to do as she pleased, and decidedly not as bothered by the ugly truth as Isobel briefly feared she might be. "Worry not. I desire no one else's gaze upon me, nor anyone else's embrace. They would all of them pale in comparison to your eyes of morning dew, to your silken touch. I am yours entirely, Isobel, forevermore. Just as you are mine, and mine alone."
Aylin punctuated the last of her words by tightening her grasp on Isobel's hips, fingers squeezing hard at her ass. Gods... The thrill that ran up Isobel's spine made her shudder and press herself even further against Aylin, the sheer possessiveness in her lover's tone enough to make her nearly drip with need. She felt a large hand slowly caressing up her back to settle at the nape of her neck, and answered it by capturing Aylin's lips in a fervent kiss.
"All yours, my love," she purred before resuming her self-given mission of covering the aasimar's body in as many love bites as she had scars.
Leisurely, she raked her nails down quivering muscle and let her tongue soothe the latest bruise she'd given Aylin, glancing up to find that the very first she'd marked into her in a rush of jealousy had faded already. Superficial blemishes, errant scratches, all of them tended to heal in a matter of minutes, by the grace of Aylin's half-divinity. Isobel met her angel's amused yet intensely heated gaze, her pupils blown so wide her eyes seemed black, and decided she'd simply have to put more zeal into her endeavor to make up for the unfair advantage. Her mouth traced every inch of Aylin's chest, teased her breasts, then lower, lower, teeth grazing at Aylin's hip bone while she tugged loose the string holding her lover's braies. As Isobel dragged her tongue along the apex of her angel's thigh, Aylin's breaths came ragged, her jaw tensed, her throat producing a growl more befitting a wild beast.
Then, another bestial sound echoed around the campsite, followed by a clatter, a squeal, many a bellowed expletive, and before Isobel had a chance to clear her mind enough to attempt to make sense of it all, Astarion's dulcet yet uncharacteristically anxious voice called from just outside the tent's closed flaps.
"Ah, Dame Aylin? Isobel? So sorry to trouble you but if either or both of you were available to assist us sometime within the next, oh, I don't know, five-"
"Two!" Lae'zel commanded further away.
"-two minutes, we could very much do with a second healer and an extra pair of strong hands. We might be in a spot of bother with a particularly gruesome... ox?"
Her sense of duty and natural pull to help anyone in distress would've normally been Isobel's very first response. She would've clambered up to her feet, grabbed her spear, and charged out of the tent before the one calling for aid had even finished doing so. Yet in this moment, Isobel first felt tremendous annoyance, not in the least diminished by seeing the same clear frustration in Aylin's eyes as she glared at the tent's fabric so harshly Isobel worried it might catch on fire. Gods damn it all.
"We'll be there in but a moment, try to hold it at bay!" Isobel heard herself call out instinctually.
Despite the hunger in her flesh begging her to stay put, to finish what she started, to make Aylin plead and melt under her tongue, she huffed as she stood on legs made unsteady by desire. A particularly surly paladin followed a second later.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Aylin pull her shirt free from underneath their bedroll, tug it on, and walk out barefoot, holding one of the tent's flaps open gallantly for Isobel to step out as well. A moment later, they had both joined the fray near the empty stables.
What the unlucky tadpoled adventurers had anticipated to be a large-scale fight was ended in the blink of an eye. Aylin unfurled her wings, propelled herself high up, raised her sword, channeled her mother's mighty moonlight, and struck down onto the creature, felling it in two brutal blows.
Isobel was quite certain such a violent display shouldn't get her so hot and bothered. But Aylin scowled, flicked goo, innards and blood off her blade, straightened her spine, shrugged a nonchalant shoulder at their slack-jawed friends, and Isobel was wet.
She quickly took stock of the group's injuries, administered a few healing words and touches alongside Shadowheart, nodded mindlessly while everyone showered the Sword of Selûne with impressed praises. Aylin didn't seem to be hearing any of it, however. As soon as Isobel had healed a nasty acid burn off of a very grateful Wyll, all were dismissed to return to their nightly activities, and she was all but dragged away by Aylin, whose eyes had yet to cease glowing. Isobel's heart thumped in her chest, its beat matched between her thighs, and the instant thick fabric shielded them from the world again, it jumped and leapt.
Much like her own earlier bout of jealousy, this was new. Aylin very rarely handled her roughly, not unless Isobel demanded it of her, and even then not without a hundred whispered questions to ensure Isobel's enjoyment of it, or at the very least searching gazes. None of that was present in this moment.
Only unbridled, lustful impatience, such that Isobel found herself nude in a matter of seconds, her breath catching in her lungs as Aylin threw away both her braies and shirt as well. Then, there was a strong hand grabbing a fistful of Isobel's hair, shoving her down onto her knees, and Aylin's eyes bore into hers with an unspoken order. The mewl Isobel let out likely sounded pathetically wanton. She could not possibly have cared less.
For the remainder of the night, Aylin took her pleasure from Isobel's mouth, then diligently gave her four times as much. Isobel muffled her moans and broken screams in turn in a pillow, in a discarded shirt, in Aylin's love-marked neck, until her throat felt raw.
When eventually they both came down from heavenly highs, wrapped up in each other in a much more mellow and sweet mood, Isobel decided that perhaps a bit of well-timed frustration wasn't bad at all, every once in a while...
☽ ☽ ☽
Although this spell of impatience appeared to have been a one-time occurrence in the bedroom, Isobel couldn't help but notice over the following days that outside of it, Aylin's temper remained shorter than she was accustomed to. As though after a century with nothing to do but wait for pain to strike and bear it when it did, she had now no time at all.
Of course, the mighty, immortal aasimar had always been quite blunt in her manner of speech, her aureate language an efficient tool not to diffuse but to enhance her words' power – such that it often astonished many a mortal. But never had Aylin turned her anger to those undeserving of it, both in Isobel's recollections and in any and all tales she'd been told about Aylin by some who'd briefly known her through the centuries prior.
Yet now, Isobel occasionally heard her angel unleash biting phrases and brusque retorts at random, often undeserving interlocutors. And although they never lasted nor were ever unaccompanied by pleasantness, she was taken aback nonetheless.
It only worsened after they reached Baldur's Gate, where Aylin had to face and slay yet another hubristic fool who planned to ensnare her. She returned to Isobel someplace between subdued and somber, and nothing seemed to lift her spirits, all her smiles either weak or false. A most unusual, most disheartening sight, if ever there was one. Isobel gave her a day, a night, then another day to work through her thoughts on her own, then as they settled in their bedroll on the outskirts of the Selûnite enclave they'd come to bring whatever aid they may to, she finally asked a few questions, expecting little in answer.
But answers she did get. First, in the form of a long disjointed rant that broke past Aylin's lips like water through a ruptured dam. Then, the crux of it all, a century of abandonment and anger, was condensed down to a handful of half-whispered words. From there on, the night progressed into a shared unraveling of pains and fears coiled so tightly Isobel had to clutch at Aylin to feel safe enough to speak at all, lest she find herself adrift in an ocean of murky shadows and crypt-scented dust. By the end of it, they'd both cried, both raged at the unfairness of what they'd had to endure, both held each other so close they felt bones creak, but Isobel knew Aylin had left much unsaid, still.
Not that she could blame her. After all, there was plenty she'd kept to herself as well. But she couldn't possibly dare burden her love any further. So, tucked carefully behind soft words and hundreds of delicate kisses, Isobel hid the remainder of her anguish, all of her guilt, and settled into uneasy sleep. She would deal with these later on. For now, only Aylin mattered.
The next day saw them separated from dawn until long after Isobel had shared a hearty supper with a few of the townsfolk. They didn't seem keen on asking too many questions of her, wrapped up as they were in their own troubles, and for that, she was grateful. Upon returning to the tent after a quick prayer to the moon shrouded in heavy clouds, she found Aylin there already, washing what appeared to be dust off of her bare arms with a damp cloth.
"Need any help? It looks like you've had a busy day."
"We felled many a tree and prepared their wood to make adequate materials that shall later replace the lodgings which were burnt down in the Absolutists' attack. It led me to learn that sawdust finds a way to deposit itself everywhere... If you could get my back free of the blasted, itchy thing, I would be most grateful."
"Of course," Isobel smiled, took the cloth out of Aylin's hands after leaning up for a kiss, and set to wiping off any traces of the day from her angel's broad back.
"What of you, my darling? How many people's lives did you brighten today?"
Although Aylin couldn't see it, Isobel knew she could sense her rolling her eyes anyway, so well attuned to each other as they were. While she kept to her task, she talked about the mundane undertakings and the more complex ones she'd been tending to, particularly in the healers' house. Many wounded who'd come all too close to dying, even young children. Many scars to mend. At the mention of them, Isobel's eyes traced the long, jagged lines crisscrossed over her angel's back, several of which met in the large golden imprints where her wings manifested. Urged so by the unstoppable force of her affection, she wrapped her arms around Aylin's middle, and rested her forehead between strong shoulder blades after brushing her lips to each of the scars.
She heard a quiet gasp. Felt a tremble. Then, after having avoided the topic since her return, Aylin at last spoke of them.
"They were the first thing they took after trapping me. My tongue, initially, likely so I'd stop hurling curses at them. Afterwards, those wretched phantom hands held me down so that Balthazar could carve my wings out while Ketheric stood aside, watching and gloating. They didn't even have the courtesy of killing me beforehand. Truth be told, I think they wanted to see me suffer far more than they wanted the wings themselves."
Isobel bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. It was all she could do to keep from sobbing. In one swift, ghastly strike akin to a jagged dagger through the chest, she understood suddenly what exactly had been done. That these beautiful, radiant wings had remained locked away in foul Balthazar's laboratory for nigh a century. And to whom they had been gifted not so long ago, blackened, corrupted and decayed as they'd become.
Papa (no, Ketheric) had torn her angel's wings off, attached them to a vile brainwashed man, and sent him to abduct her. Perhaps his twisted mind thought she would be tempted to willingly follow at the sight of them. Or maybe he only wished to harm her further. To gloat, indeed. Unable to hold back either tears or truth for a second longer, Isobel broke into hiccuping sobs and told it all to Aylin.
By the end of it, boiling anger had filled the gaping void left by the grief she'd wept out, and she spared no gruesome detail as she described the fight that broke out in her room at Last Light. Aylin grinned brightly, ferociously, when she heard how Isobel herself had struck the killing blow onto Marcus's traitorous head. With a solemn nod, she declared herself avenged, kissed Isobel's tears away, and drew out fresh ones of an entirely happier kind as she laid a thousand words of unbridled adoration upon her skin.
The following morning, Aylin seemed in much higher spirits than those before, as was Isobel, yet traces of impatience remained in the paladin. When she saw a man all but cower before the luminous Dame Aylin as she curtly expressed her displeasure with the forming of a scouting party that was taking far too long for her liking, Isobel knew she had to intervene.
She took Aylin aside with a brush of fingers to the inside of her elbow. A wordless request for her attention, which Aylin gave right away, just as she always had. Some things were never to change, it seemed, no matter how much others did.
"Aylin, my love, you know it's never my intent to hinder you, but you truly should slow your stride," Isobel picked her words carefully, aiming to impart her concerns without burdening Aylin any further. "These poor people have been through so much, for most it must've been their first brush with death, their first time being subjected to such scenes of violence. They are in shock, still, likely unable to respond and act as swiftly as you would have them do. I know you wish to see these Absolutist plots laid low quickly, as do I, and certainly as does the entire enclave. But as much as they are held in awe of your radiance, I worry it might also make them afraid, should you press them any further, any harsher. Slow your stride, my darling, would you?"
Pale eyes flickered with confusion at first, then when understanding dawned, Isobel saw it right away in Aylin's sudden look of shame, in her hunched shoulders and downcast gaze.
"Gods... Of course. Moonmaiden's grace, of course, I... How could I fail to notice that my haste may affect them so?" she muttered, her remorse so earnest she seemed almost a chastised child. She took hold of Isobel's hands, and brought them up to her lips. "Such is your boundless wisdom that you bring this carelessness of mine to my attention. Thank you, my love. I shall strive to be steadier, less prone to rashness around these unfortunate folk. We are here to bring them aid, not to further their worries, and I... Ah, what a dolt I must have seemed... Please, forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive. We both are exhausted still, learning once more to live. I think perhaps we should give ourselves some amounts of grace, as well," Isobel smiled, feeling a little lighter for this particular issue having been addressed. Then, a thought struck her. "In fact, why don't we do just that? Our tent is sufficient to our needs, but I fear it hasn't been bringing us the necessary comfort to properly rest and heal. It would do us good to rent a room at the inn here, don't you think?"
"What an excellent idea!"
"Good afternoon, sir, might I inquire about a room for my beloved and I? We won't be staying overly long, perhaps a few nights, but we'd like someplace warm to rest while we assist the village to the extent of our capabilities."
"But of course! We're indebted to you, both of you, esteemed cleric. I've got several vacancies at the moment. Ever since the cultists attacked, travelers haven't been in much of a rush to prolong their stays here, as you can imagine. Let me see..."
Among the list of rooms presented by the portly halfling innkeeper, Isobel chose the one most isolated, hoping in doing so not to have to cast a Silence spell to mute the sounds that lovemaking would inevitably cause. Aylin had never not made her moan incredibly loudly, and she herself had never managed to keep quiet when Aylin touched her – Moonmaiden help her, she'd tried and failed miserably many a time. She preferred muffling the sounds, however, as a matter of decency and good neighborly practices. It certainly wasn't that she was embarrassed, nor that Aylin would ever wish for her to be silent: if it were up to her, if the world did not require anything of them, the paladin would likely have Isobel screaming to the heavens in rapturous pleasure from dawn til dusk, then again from dusk til dawn.
The notion pulled Isobel's lips up in a smile that she tried to dampen, hoping that none of her suddenly lecherous thoughts would be perceptible to the innkeeper currently mumbling to himself as he flipped through a crinkled book.
"Finally, damned pages were stuck together... Ahem, here, the room is yours for as long as you'd like it to be! And at half price, of course, in thanks for your very generous aid. I'll just need to write down the date... here... and now, your name in full, if you please?"
"Of course. Isobel Th- Silverblood," Isobel croaked, the renewed flush on her cheeks brought on this time not by bawdy fantasies but by the harsh, blade-cold truth that forced a hurried lie through her throat.
For Thorm was a name detestable to most on the Sword Coast, now, even more so to those of their faith. No longer was her family thought to be noble and devoted to the Lady of Silver, to be spreading wealth amongst its town's citizens, or to be led by a paladin so stalwart that the Moonmaiden had sent another one, her own daughter, to act as emissary and boon to Reithwin. From the Far Hills to Baldur's Gate, there was no doubt in Isobel's revived heart that all the name Thorm inspired nowadays was disgust and hatred. The very same emotions she herself felt when thinking of what had befallen her town, and the ones responsible.
Luckily for her, the innkeeper still appeared blind to her internal conflict and to the way her hands trembled where she held them primly clasped before her. Here she was again, cloaking her true identity in an inn, praying she wouldn't be found out. Except this time, it wasn't in a genuine attempt to keep the people around her safe, only herself. And she'd not simply omitted to offer a surname – she'd given her lover's. A celestial being's birthright.
Moonmaiden, forgive me...
Waves of unease and shame carried Isobel up the stairs and down a long hallway as she followed the halfling to the room of her choosing. Each step filled her lungs with the phantom weight of the ichor that she'd spent months coughing out, made her chest too tight, drowning her in thoughts she hadn't allowed to take hold since the Shadow Curse had been lifted. If she hadn't died, if she'd been strong enough to fight back against what she'd been told had been believed to be an unfortunate, violent mugging, then her father wouldn't have sunk into madness. He wouldn't have turned his heart to Shar and his ire to Aylin. He wouldn't have raised legions of Dark Justiciars, wouldn't have cursed the land and folk, wouldn't have brought endless harm and cruelty to the one most important person in his daughter's eyes. It all boiled down to that, didn't it? To Isobel being too weak. Failing. Failing herself, her love, her father, her Goddess-
"Here we are, I hope it's to your liking! If you're in need of anything of course we'll be sure to provide, we've got extra linens if the night gets chilly."
Isobel startled, then blinked dimly at the room ahead of her.
"Oh, thank you, it's... It's very nice."
Moderately spacious, with a bed large enough that Aylin wouldn't feel cramped, a wooden tub and scented soaps, a plush armchair, and a desk outfitted with quills and ink. The balcony, even small as it was, would allow them a clear view of the night sky and of Selûne's ever-changing visage, and was situated in such a way that the moon's rays would most likely reach their bed. Aylin would enjoy that, to be sure. She would also be able to stretch her wings fully here, a rarity indoors, and oh, the thought of Aylin's smile, at ease in a room of their own, even borrowed, made the tightness in Isobel's chest shrink away. The darkened shadows slithering at the edges of her mind stood no chance in the light of her love.
So soothing was this profound understanding that Isobel heaved a long sigh and let her weary legs give out as she sat at the edge of the bed, carefully positioning her spear away from the sheets. Peace found her, if only for a moment.
"Yes, very nice indeed."
"What a great find, my love! This should keep us housed quite nicely for the coming days, although I expect we'll spend little time inside but to sleep. Nevertheless, your keen eye and good sense have once again struck gold it seems!"
Soft amber light danced across the jutting plates of Aylin's armor, over flaxen hair and folded wings, the setting sun filtering through the open balcony as the aasimar explored the room, fresh from a victorious battle she'd waged against five Absolutists camped up in the nearby woods. Isobel herself had only returned moments prior after spending the rest of the day tending to those still wounded with healing words, care, prayers, and lending a listening ear to those seeking the Lady of Silver's guidance.
Any remaining weariness, any self-doubt and self-chastising that had plagued her since earlier left her at once now, replaced by pure, unbridled joy and fondness in seeing Aylin so animated. When in a good mood, even the smallest things could get her to declaim her appreciation in the striking manner of speech that denoted both her wisdom and true age, and Isobel could not pass up the chance to tease her for it.
"Oh, would that every writer or bard were as eloquent and grand when describing a perfectly ordinary room. I would surely be tempted to pick up a carpenter's catalog for pleasure reading, then."
"Mock me to your heart's content, my sweet, it shan't dampen my spirits!" Aylin laughed, entirely unbothered and well-accustomed to Isobel's wry sense of humor. "After a century with nothing but barren rock to rest upon, even the lowliest of chairs or stools is a welcome addition to any living quarters I may inhabit. Although perhaps not all... The stool our courageous friends were able to lend us for our tent while making camp alongside them was far too small, so diminutive that I found the ground remained the better option for comfort."
From her spot by the desk which she rested a hip against, Isobel felt herself first ache at the reminder of what her poor angel had gone through (and what that dastardly wizard whelp had attempted to put her through again not a tenday past), then filled with joyful impishness. She put a hand to her heart, acting the very picture of a woman offended.
"Yet I found that stool perfectly suited to me... Are you calling me diminutive, Aylin?"
"Woe, I would fly myself unswervingly into the very fires of the Hells before ever daring to imply it in an unflattering manner, my love," Aylin grinned unapologetically, stepping closer to wrap her hands around Isobel's waist, forcing her to crane her neck to be able to look up into clear, amused eyes. "Your body is beyond exquisite, and it is I who is clearly at fault for being of monolithic proportions."
"That stool proved quite the ironic short-coming, then, wouldn't you agree?"
Isobel felt unduly proud of her wordplay, and even more so of the way that it made Aylin bark out a short, booming laugh. Warmth spread through her body from her toes to the tips of her ears, making her quite flushed and very much yearning for a kiss. As though hearing the unspoken desire, Aylin bent her head down and cupped Isobel's jaw to bring their mouths together in a languid kiss that left Isobel dazed. Aylin's following gravelly praise only served to push Isobel further down the path of sudden, intense need.
"Gods above, do I adore you and that artful, cunning tongue of yours..."
"Is that a hint as to how you'd like me to put it to use, my darling?"
With a dark chuckle and a flash of magic that dismissed both armor and wings, Aylin knelt down, looking up with eyes so heated Isobel felt herself melt as swiftly as snow in the midday sun. It had been many days since they'd last made love properly, busy as they'd been in between dealing with the damned Lorroakan, finding this village, reuniting, then making their way here and assisting the townsfolk. The constant endeavors had left them with very little time for more than cuddling, especially after the painful reminiscing they'd been working through of late. And clearly, Aylin felt the deprivation just as keenly as Isobel did.
"Later, if it would please you to do so. But for now, I've yet to sup, and I very much intend on making a meal of you and imbibe on the delectable nectar between your thighs to the point of inebriation."
Isobel shuddered, weariness all but forgotten, legs pressing together in a futile attempt to alleviate the instantaneous throb that began thrumming there at her lover's insinuations.
For Aylin's stout constitution was Godly, such that she neither needed food to truly sustain herself, nor could she be ailed by drunkenness, and whenever she claimed to wish to go to such lengths in lovemaking, Isobel knew she was on the cusp of being ravaged until she herself would be drunk on it and forced to capitulate.
"Don't think I haven't noticed that this room you've chosen for us is not adjacent to any other, such that it will give us ample privacy. What a minx you can be, at times..." Aylin raised a brow, her obvious desire making Isobel weak in the knees. They all but buckled when Aylin tugged at the waist of her hose, peeled them down her legs, pressed a feverish kiss to the inside of her thigh, and growled. "I find it a terribly enticing trait of yours."
There was nothing keeping Isobel upright in the following moments besides the combined force of Aylin's steady hold on her, her leg lifted and wrapped over a broad shoulder, and Isobel's own white-knuckled grip onto flaxen hair.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes rolling back the instant Aylin's tongue swept through her folds, endlessly grateful that her lover elected not to toy with her but to do exactly as she'd promised. Without a shred of restraint, Aylin devoured her, and Isobel saw stars as she felt Aylin sucking on her puffy, drenched lips, spreading her cunt open, rolling her clit over and over and dipping into her needy entrance. She didn't even have to beg for the penetration she began craving after only a minute of the intense ministrations, wasn't given a chance to: Aylin shifted an arm to wrap it securely around Isobel's backside, and all of a sudden a long, thick finger pushed all the way into her cunt.
"G-gods! Aylin!"
The stretch was slight in comparison to the two or even three fingers Isobel was used to taking, but it felt incredible nonetheless. Especially when paired with Aylin insistently lapping at her folds and clit, and with the quick, unrelenting rhythm she began thrusting deep within Isobel, rubbing at the exact spots she knew would drive her mad. Isobel's pleasure grew hotter with each stroke and flick, her control waning until she was but a moaning, writhing mess, gripping at her lover and rocking her hips into her mouth like a woman possessed, tension building higher, higher, higher. Aylin's finger kept thrusting powerfully, her tongue kept up its devilish cadence, and just as Isobel thought she couldn't possibly take much more of this, the thickness in her cunt doubled, pounded upwards, and she came undone in mere seconds.
Bliss overwhelmed her all at once. Her hips snapped forward, her toes curled, her heel dug into Aylin's back as the leg she'd barely been holding herself on gave at last, all control lost. With the hand she'd been keeping against her mouth, she clutched at Aylin's shoulder in an instinctual attempt to steady herself, to no other result than allowing the loud, lewd moans coaxed out by her orgasm to echo around the room. It was no matter, though. Even in her current state of dizzy rapture, Isobel knew she wouldn't fall. Aylin would never let her.
As securely as she'd held Isobel up while wrecking her inside and out, Aylin caught her trembling limbs and wrapped her in her arms, bringing her into a slow, contented kiss, then carrying her to the bed. Isobel could hardly do more than kiss her back and melt into the embrace, dazed from the force of her release. She still did have enough presence of mind to notice when Aylin seemed to plan on pulling away, however, and immediately draped herself around her to thwart the attempt, fingers twisting in her hair.
"Oh, absolutely not. You are not making me come this hard then leaving me alone quivering and half-nude in your bed, paladin!" she scolded her angel playfully, swatting at her back while Aylin only laughed, quiet and a little gruff.
"Never. I only meant to fetch you some water, my love."
"A likely story," Isobel giggled, charmed and utterly sated.
But as her heartbeat slowly evened out, she found that she could feel Aylin's thundering, still, even through the layers of her robes. Isobel tilted her lover's jaw until their eyes met, was greeted by the exact sight she expected – blown pupils, dark, wanting – and with a smirk pulling at her lips, let her nails drag down the side of Aylin's neck and arm.
"I think you've well deserved to enjoy my... how did you put it? Ah, yes. My artful tongue."
Seductively, Isobel ran her tongue along Aylin's bottom lip, then dipped her head aside and slipped away from her lover's arms before any of her affections could be reciprocated.
The little confused sound Aylin made was so adorable it almost spurred Isobel to discard her plans and kiss Aylin's handsome, pouting face immediately. But she was far too keen on seeing this through, and instead danced away from the aasimar's reach, very much enjoying the way her every movement was followed by Aylin's eyes as if spellbound.
Far felt the brief moment in time after their reunion when Isobel had feared that Aylin might have lost all hunger for her body after a hundred years, or more insidiously and painfully, that she might think Isobel repugnant. A corpse revived, nothing but bones and dust and rotten flesh stitched back together by the Weave's foulest thread. Much as Isobel had seen herself, when the Shadow Curse proved harder to hold at bay and her strength faltered as soon as her casting was done, feeling a brittleness and an unshakable cold that she'd not known before. Even now still, at times, if after waking from a nightmare she probed at the hollow between her ribs for a moment too long, as a child would poke a bruise, and worried at their gauntness, receding too slowly for her liking. At the state of the lungs she wished she could peer into, if only to know whether any traces of black ichor remained.
But with each stare from Aylin's eyes, so transparent in their lust, each desirous word spoken, each adoring kiss pressed to the softness that had begun returning to her belly as appetite no longer felt a thing of the past, Isobel had learned to like her body once again. Better yet, the longer she'd been spending away from her blighted town and able to at last experience the joy of sunlight again, her skin had been slowly regaining the tan hue that had been reflected at her in every mirror since childhood. Very few sights pleased Isobel more than that of her bare skin against Aylin's. A perfectly contrasted blend, coolness and warmth reminiscent of some of her favourite things in life: twilight, peaches topped with cream, exquisitely striking paintings, frescoes of midnight blue crowned with the Moonmaiden's guiding eyes and seven silver stars.
Isobel swayed her hips while unlacing her robes at a pace so leisurely she knew it was only to remain in her good graces that Aylin didn't simply surge up and tear the clothes from her body. She let the fabric slip off of her right shoulder, off her left a moment later, then pulled her arms free until it all pooled at her waist, held up only by her belt. The thin chemise she wore underneath did nothing to hide the way her nipples had hardened the instant her lover's eyes landed on her chest, and when she at last undid her belt and bared herself fully, she felt nothing short of beautiful under Aylin's bewitched gaze.
"Your turn," she purred, bending down to brace her hands against the edge of the bed and raising a brow when Aylin remained slack-jawed and unmoving, likely hypnotized by Isobel's breasts. "I've promised you a reward, but you must undress first."
It took all of ten seconds for Aylin to shove her braies down, fling them away to some random corner of the room, and settle with her back against the carved wooden headboard. Isobel bit her lip to conceal the wide smile that threatened to break the mask of a seductress she was putting on, then crawled on all fours towards Aylin until she placed her hands on the powerful thighs spread apart for her. She bit her lip again, harder, this time entirely subconsciously: Aylin was a little flushed and very much aroused, as evidenced by the way her folds glistened even in the fast-dimming light, and oh, how gorgeous a sight this was...
One she'd rather be able to see clearly a while longer. With a flick of the wrist, a murmured 'fiat lux', and a quick glance to ensure she was aiming her cantrip correctly, Isobel gently threw a mote of blue flame towards the nearest cluster of candles. As soon as they caught and flickered to life, she turned back to her lover, and laid down.
Her mouth first found a scar right by Aylin's navel, an old, very familiar one which Isobel had known since their first night together. She almost always started her descent from that golden spot, a habit death hadn't taken from her. Then, she brushed her nose through a thin trail of blond hairs and her lips to either side of it, delighting in the feeling of Aylin shuddering beneath, until the curls thickened, then dampened. Gods, Isobel could never get enough of this. Of making Aylin so very needy.
She kept her eyes fixed on her angel's pale ones as she ran her nails along the sides of Aylin's thighs, and her tongue through her core in one long, lingering lick.
"Isobel..."
With slow, deliberate strokes parting Aylin's folds, quick sideways flicks then languid caresses to her clit, and teasing pressure applied right at her entrance in the exact manner that drew the most pleasure out of her, Isobel loved Aylin until the candles had melted half of their height away, her jaw began to ache, and her lips and chin were coated in slick. And yet, whenever Aylin was on the brink of being undone, Isobel would temper her ardors, decrease her pace, then after a moment more of teasing, would build it all back up. Over and over, her tongue glided through Aylin's cunt. She felt intoxicated by the taste, the feelings, the sounds of shuddering moans, breathy gasps, and of her name murmured like a prayer.
A plea for release which she eventually granted, yet only after she'd decided she'd tortured her lover long enough. She wrapped her lips around Aylin's clit, felt it throbbing so violently it made her moan, and sucked on it in quick, hard bursts. Not five seconds later, Aylin's body arched off the bed, her muscles tensed, and she came with a broken roar that soon faded into panting whimpers. Isobel couldn't think of a more gorgeous sight than this.
Although she had to admit that the sight of Aylin on top of her with three fingers pumping deep into her cunt a few moments afterwards was a very, very strong contender.
Eyes rolling back in bliss, arms wrapping around her angel's back and neck, legs wide open, Isobel let pleasure wash over her. Wave after wave of it, drowning out any other thought, any other sensation besides that of being so full, taken so powerfully, fucked so damn perfectly. And loved, entirely. Isobel barely spared a thought to noise levels anymore, even as the headboard rammed into the wall with each thrust, lost as she was in kissing Aylin or falling into her eyes whenever they needed to part for breath. Without a care, she kept panting, moaning, screaming when the large fingers ravishing her curled upwards and dragged against the most sensitive depths of her.
"Yes! Yes, t- take me, don't you stop- oh, Gods!"
The moon had fully risen and had begun bathing their sweat-damp bodies in its divine light while Isobel clung to her angel, to the sheets, to any remaining fragments of her sanity, until she came so hard she thought she might well lose consciousness or simply perish from the continuous onslaught of pure pleasure. Though she could not remember it, she knew with unwavering certainty that this would be a far more desirable end than her first. Almost as if to tempt fate and verify the delirious hypothesis, Aylin dragged her fingers in deep, cupped Isobel's cunt fully, ground her palm roughly against her clit, and brought her to a second peak mere seconds after the first, one that left her unhearing and unseeing.
"Perfect. You feel so good, my love... So tight and wet and perfect in every way..."
A dozen heated kisses and praises were peppered across Isobel's face, then a promise to return quickly, which Isobel could only weakly answer by reminding her lover to put on some clothes before stepping outside. With an exhausted smile and shivers coursing through her body still, she watched Aylin stand and wrestle with an apparently uncooperative shirt, before giving up and simply summoning her full armor on her way out. How a God-child as mighty as she could look no less adorable than a puppy at times, Isobel had no clue. But she adored the duality of it.
When she could stand at last on unsteady limbs, Isobel took care of her needs, washed herself up, slipped on a clean chemise, and set to put away the clothes strewn all around the room. A task made slightly more difficult thanks to the jolts of mingling pleasure and soreness that assailed her overstimulated cunt each time her thighs pressed together. Gods, did Aylin know exactly how to unravel her... Isobel rolled her eyes at herself, at her own insatiable lust for Aylin and the ways it was matched fully by Aylin's own. Adding to that the aasimar's near-limitless endurance, it made for a potent combination, to say the least.
So potent that it quite often left her not only worn-out, but also quite famished. The familiar scent of hot Baldurian mash hit Isobel's nose and had her stomach coiling and gargling before Aylin had even opened the door. She hurried to thank her angel with a kiss so passionate it very nearly stoked their sated desires back into vibrant heat, but such was her gratitude that Isobel could not help herself. Aylin, well-accustomed as she was to her lover's post-lovemaking pangs of hunger, simply smiled proudly as she placed the offerings she'd fetched onto the desk: a plate of roasted potatoes, various vegetables and a fried egg, and a pitcher of light, frothy ale. Two forks and cups were set alongside, the armchair effortlessly lifted and set down next to the desk's chair, and soon, Isobel was eating heartily and Aylin sneaking in bites and sips while she recounted her fierce exploits earlier in the woods.
When not a crumb remained on the plate nor a drop in the pitcher, and both had readied themselves for bed, Isobel laid back on the pillows while Aylin decided to curl up with her head on Isobel's stomach, and requested to hear all about her day.
Isobel spoke of it at length, until her eyelids grew heavy and her fingers slowed to a near halt where they'd been mindlessly brushing through Aylin's hair. She thought she might doze off before finishing telling the tale, yet as she got to explaining how she procured this room, her heart skipped a painful beat, and then, she was wide awake.
The bed's thus far comfortable mattress seemed to turn to quicksand beneath her, the night's fragrant air coming through the open balcony suddenly thick and hard to inhale, the silvery beams of moonlight prickling at her skin, as if taunting her, reminding her of exactly what she'd done. Nothing remained of the pleasant taste of the mint she'd washed her mouth with just a moment ago, replaced instead by acrid guilt. Oh, no. She had to tell Aylin.
If the innkeeper decided to address Isobel by her supposed full name come the morrow, if Aylin overheard it... Moonmaiden's grace, this evening had been going so well, and now... Now, whatever ire might come would be deserved. But Isobel was a grown woman, damn it, one who had to face her own mistakes. She took slow breaths, each weighing her lungs down further, and willed herself to speak before she lost her nerve entirely.
"Aylin?"
"Mh?"
"I... I've something to confess, and I'm afraid you might be cross with me for it."
"Cross with you? Me? I never have been, and struggle to even imagine anger being an emotion I can conceive of when it comes to you," Aylin chuckled warmly. It did nothing to thaw the freezing chill that had taken root in Isobel's heart and seeped so far into her bones her eyes watered, which Aylin quickly noticed as she glanced up. Her brow furrowed. "Isobel... Mother's Milk, I thought you were jesting. What troubles you so, my love?"
The only thing that stopped Isobel from curling up in shame was Aylin's heavy body draped over hers. She wrung her hands together against her chest instead as the truth spilled out of her in a breathless rush.
"Earlier, when I reserved this room for us, the innkeeper asked for my full name so that he might log it into his records. But as soon as I attempted to speak it, I choked, I felt so worried about saying it, a-about him possibly linking it to my father and everything he's done, so I... I panicked and exchanged my surname for yours. I'm so terribly sorry, I know I should've consulted you about such a sensitive matter, and-"
"What could you possibly be sorry for? Your reasoning was perfectly sound, and your swift choice most certainly a saving grace," Aylin's frown deepened, in confusion rather than in the rightful indignation Isobel had expected. "Many in the villages betwixt the shores of the Chionthar have been openly expressing their relief at your father's demise, we both have heard them do so. His foul deeds under Shar and Myrkul's guidance in turn have sadly tarnished your family's good name, to an extent that I can only imagine will make it synonymous with wretchedness and oathbreaking in many a tale, quite possibly for tenfold the number of years he spent distorting Reithwin and the surrounding lands... Ah, but I digress, I meant not to cause you pain in reminiscing on such things."
Isobel was very glad for Aylin putting an end to this rant, or she feared she might've had to do so herself. Its truth did nothing to diminish the distress it indeed caused, yet another painful reminder of what could've been avoided if only she hadn't somehow gotten herself killed. Stubbornly, she blinked away tears that began weighing down her lashes, and didn't dare look at Aylin, even as the aasimar's thumb ran in a soothing back and forth along her ribs, and her voice was far gentler than Isobel deserved.
"My darling, did you truly believe I would be cross at the thought of you taking my name?"
"It is no mere name, though, is it? Not the sort handed down by generation after generation. It was given to you as part of your divine heritage, and to you only! And I- I used such a blessed thing as a mere safeguard, a shield against my own father's wrongdoings."
"Oh, Isobel... My sweet, kindhearted, brilliant love. My name is all I own."
The softness of Aylin's tone, combined with words that seemed so terribly contradictory to Isobel, all of it chipped at her heart with a pointed edge so sharp that she could no longer contain the tear that rolled down her cheek, nor her frustration.
"Precisely!"
"No, you misunderstand me," Aylin laughed against all odds, pressed a kiss to the underside of Isobel's breast, then shuffled a little higher until their eyes could meet unimpeded. "I've never had much in the way of worldly possessions, you know this, and since I've been freed from my shackles, well, all I truly own are my braies."
There was an earnestness to Aylin's gaze that sent butterflies swarming through Isobel's belly, in spite of everything else. She recalled her first time seeing this very look directed at her clear as day, on her balcony at Moonrise. Aylin now seemed to be in a similar mood as she'd been then – on the brink of shattering Isobel's world, only to make it all the brighter.
"My sword arm, my body, are Mother Selûne's to wield and command. My heart and soul are yours, forevermore. My life is my own, and I choose to share it with you every second that we are given, Isobel. All that remains then is my name, and this too, should you like to have it, I will share."
"You do know what it would mean, don't you? You understand the social implications of such a thing," Isobel whispered, pulse raging in her ears, struck by unfathomably deep love and confusion alike at the turn of events.
Aylin, for her part, didn't seem confused in the least as she brought one of Isobel's hands to her lips, kissed each knuckle tenderly, then nodded.
"Marriage, yes. Though it doesn't have to be so. If you simply wish to be known from here on out as Isobel Silverblood, then hark! Thus it shall be," she declared brightly, the sound of their names combined sending a thrill through Isobel's soul, a mad hope for a future she'd thought burned to ashes and buried in her family mausoleum. Aylin was nowhere near finished with making her blood sing, however. "But if instead you desire a ceremony, a solemn binding, then I shall likewise happily see it done in whichever manner pleases you."
More tears escaped, immediately brushed away by Aylin's thumbs as she took Isobel's face in her hands, and Isobel tugged at her with feverish desperation until she could crash their lips together. Only when she had kissed Aylin until her lungs burned did she pull away, resting their foreheads together and willing her voice to impart every bit of the truth in her heart.
"Oh, Aylin... What I want most is to know what you want. Not the ways in which you would bend to my desires, but to hear what you, yourself, wish for. What would please you most?"
"If you must know, if you ever doubted it at all that is, then I shall tell you that to have the honor of calling you my wife would be the greatest joy I ever have been granted since the day I first drew breath."
What could Isobel possibly say to such a pure, simple statement? She swallowed the emotion that settled thickly in her throat, held Aylin so close they were as near one entity as two could be, and smiled so widely her cheeks ached.
"Then you shall call me your wife, and I shall call you mine, and both mortals and Gods will know I belong to you in body, heart and soul."
Long ago, Isobel had sat on Moonrise Towers' parapets, watching the sun rise with Aylin at her side holding her protectively as they'd pondered their future. A possible wedding. Their respective parents' approval.
Now, a century later, she sat in a bed in an inn, in the middle of the night, burrowed in Aylin's arms and renewing that conversation. And much like she had back then, Aylin scoffed at the suggestion that her mother might be anything but in agreement. Though this time, her reasoning rested no longer solely on her staunch belief that Isobel had Selûne's favor, and that the Lady of Silver wished to see her child happy, but also that perhaps she simply owed them this much after all they'd both endured while remaining steadfast in their faith. Isobel could sense the hint of resentment in her angel's voice, and chose not to comment on it. Although she felt very similarly, voicing her thoughts might not be the most conclusive to ensuring her lover's mother would look upon her kindly. Especially not when so much more was bound to have strained Isobel's good standing with the Goddess... Just because she'd aided her when she'd fled from her father despite her state of undeath didn't mean that she would still approve of her as more than a mere cleric, and-
A white glow overtook Aylin's eyes and skin, and the moonbeams casting through the balcony shone brighter, engulfing the bed in their cool light. Isobel had not heard Aylin's prayer, nor could she hear any words spoken now, those that Aylin was smiling and nodding to, yet she could feel the aura of them, the Moonmaiden's presence so strong in the room that Isobel's hairs stood on end. She allowed herself to hope, at the risk of having her heart shattered. It certainly felt quite positive, but what if? All too soon, the glow and presence faded both, and Aylin pulled Isobel in for eager kisses that they giggled through like love-struck youths.
"Mother Selûne says that she looks forward to blessing our union. There never was a doubt!"
Laughter carried on, first into good-humored teasing, then into a shockingly lighthearted discussion about the unfortunate truth that Ketheric would've never approved of Aylin, no matter what. Isobel recalled a slightly uncomfortable comment she'd heard around a campfire just over a tenday past.
"Well, Karlach was probably quite correct when she said that you could've been a wealthy merchant or even but a plowwoman toiling in a nearby field, and my father wouldn't have favored you any better," she sighed, resigned never to see even the happiest memories of him the same way. Some of that darkness must have always been hidden in him, perhaps even before Mama had passed... "Hells, you could've been named Aylin Farmhand, I'm sure it would've made no difference to him and his twisted possessiveness."
"Farmhand? What manner of a surname is that?"
Aylin choosing to focus on the least dispiriting part of it all made Isobel giggle anew, bitterness cast aside, and she looked down at the handsome angel resting upon her breast.
"One that I've likely only just invented, although who knows, maybe someone is named so. A bit on the nose, I suppose, but Silverblood is just as descriptive, isn't it?"
"Ha. Do you believe I would've made a good farmhand, then, in this other reality wherein I would bleed red?"
"Certainly! You've more than enough vigor and strength for it, and you've proven quite recently that you're perfectly adept at milking sheep."
"I have, haven't I?" Aylin spoke low, her voice taking on an unmistakably lecherous tone as her thus far idle hands began trailing up Isobel's legs beneath her chemise. "Then let me hear my name on your sweet tongue while I show you just how vigorously I can plow..."
And plow, Aylin did, with enough prowess and passion to make up for perhaps an entire month of their lost century. Isobel was beyond satisfied, brought to rapturous ecstasy until she could not take another orgasm, and Aylin herself seemed to be worn out, for once. Or at the very least appeased enough that she now slept, without even Isobel persuading her to, for the first time since she broke apart a malicious wizard in a tower.
Dawn was likely only a scant few hours away, and yet Isobel found that despite the physical exhaustion from a busy day and this even busier night, despite the comfort brought on by being in Aylin's arms in a warm bed, despite the joy in what they had now planned for their future should they be victorious in defeating the Absolute, she could not find slumber.
In her heart, doubt remained. How could this be so simple? How could Aylin take all of her faults in stride, when Isobel found it difficult to breathe if she so much as thought about it all for too long? She hadn't even dared put it in words outside of her own mind, her only attempt an inarticulate note penned in a trembling hand, which she'd abandoned when a coughing fit had taken her and the darkness dripping between her fingers wasn't the ink she'd dipped her quill into. But that was then, when her only hope, her only driving force was to channel the Moonmaiden's magic into a shield to protect those who needed it. Now she had a life again, a purpose, and her love returned. Yet she could not help the thought running circles in her mind: all of this misery could've been avoided.
Isobel extricated herself from Aylin's embrace as delicately as she could, and padded over to the balcony. She'd heard the villagers discussing seagulls flying inland and the stormy weather that was sure to soon follow, but as of this night, the sky remained unclouded and fair. Almost as if to ensure her words would reach the heavens with ease. Isobel raised her eyes then folded one hand over the other, her plea a whisper.
"Thank you for your blessing, most luminous Lady. I... I pray, forgive me for my past weakness. I swear on all that is dear to me, on my life, that I will not fail your daughter. Nor will I fail you again."
For a moment, there was nothing but a gentle gust of wind rustling through the nearby trees, lifting the ends of her hair. Then, she felt a glow from within, and all around her an embrace so similar to that of Aylin's wings that she turned back to check that the aasimar was indeed still in bed and sound asleep. Isobel heard no words with her ears, but they came as clear in her soul as when she'd once heard the Goddess's name as a toddler, or when an incantation she'd never known of found itself clear on her tongue some months back when she needed it most, followed by a shield of silver moonlight casting forth from her outstretched arms.
The response was simple. Accepting. Trusting. And so deeply forgiving that for an instant of peaceful clarity, Isobel forgot her guilt.
'There is nothing to forgive. You have never failed us.'
So buoyant did she feel as she settled back in bed against Aylin that Isobel moved a little too abruptly, and Aylin shifted in her sleep, somehow not waking in a stroke of luck. A muscular arm draped itself drowsily around Isobel's body, pulling her closer with a murmur. Sweet and melodious, it would've seemed gibberish to most, but Isobel knew it to be Celestial. She smiled at the sound, nuzzling into her angel's neck.
Aylin seldom spoke her mother tongue, at least aloud or to anyone but herself. Perhaps Isobel should learn it... Aylin was fluent in both Common and Elvish as well after all, it would only be fair for Isobel to speak her beloved's language – her wife's language, someday soon.
The thought banished all remaining grief from Isobel's heart, leaving her almost giddy as she drifted into contented sleep. Celestial was beautiful, known to be remarkably difficult to master, and it would take some time surely, but well, she had time, now, didn't she? Yes, she had time, indeed.
Time to rest and heal fully. Time to live, to learn whatever she pleased. And most important of all: time to love and be loved.