DAL GETS A BUTCH DWARVEN GF AS A TREAT
dalyria gets a butch dwarven gf as a treat is exactly what it sounds like! It’s the side romance between Branwyn and Dalyria in NLTS. That subplot wasn’t part of my initial outline at all, but somewhere around chapter 6, I realized “hey, this is a good ship and it does cool things thematically.” It’s not going to be anywhere near as long and involved as NLTS because I literally cannot, but I’ve written bits and pieces of it, and I want to get the first half up sometime soonish.
I’m honestly tickled that so many people have expressed interest in Bran and Dal’s story, considering that it’s like…a romance between an extremely minor character and an OC. It’s a different dynamic than wyllstarion is, for sure, but it’s a dynamic that I’ve grown to like a lot.
Here’s a taste of their first meeting, right before Branwyn gets the news about Ulder being injured in Chapter 6:
“They don’t let us salt-of-the-earth types take advantage of the company,” Branwyn says, “but they let us take advantage of the beverages. What’ll you have?”
“Oh,” the woman says, her lips parted in a little moue. She brings her hand closer to her mouth. “I don’t drink often, I’m afraid. What would you recommend?”
Oh, godsdamnit. Branwyn knows when she’s being fed a line, but this one’s always worked on her – doubly so when it’s coming from such a soft set of lips. “Depends on your palate,” she says. “You like drier, or a bit of sweet?”
“A bit of sweet, I think,” the woman says, glancing down at her lap.
“Maybe a red, then. They’ve got a good selection of Ashaban Dusk here – a little flat, but it’s got a nice pluck to it.”
The woman smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her pointed ear. “You must have a good palate.”
Branwyn snorts. Which, well, hope she hasn’t shot herself in the foot too badly by sounding like an overexcited pig for a moment there. “I just repeat what I hear at parties, for the most part. When I’m out and about, I’ll drink whatever gets the job done.”
The woman’s gaze settles on the badge on Branwyn’s cuirass. She sits up a little straighter, perches delicately on the end of her seat. “Oh! You’re with the Flaming Fist, then.”











