Your gentle question asking if everything is alright,
"How was your day?"
It suddenly becomes an ordeal.
I don’t want the silence, but tears in my heart and blood in my mouth.
In my chest a storm.
I can't breathe.
And I lack the strength to speak.
How am I doing?
How do I feel?
I’d love to say what I’m feeling, but I can’t.
Words stuck in my throat with butterflies.
I lack the air to breathe.
On some days, I just hope you’re asleep.
So you don’t see me and I don’t disturb you with my demons.
Secrets whisper easier under the cold blue moon.
On some days, I just hope I die.
Your question asking if everything is alright,
Becomes an ordeal.
And I lack the air to breathe.
On some days, I just hope I die.
my endless gratitude and awe to @cursed-nyxan for the VP - thanks that you let me use the pictures of the blorbos and make such treasures of them so I have this canvas of words and emotions for I cannot
Thanks to the amazing and talented @cursed-nyxan for these wonderful and beautiful VPs of Rolan playing the piano. 😍🥰💙 I love them so much! Thank you so much! 🥺💙
I plan to use them when I post more of A Season to Remember. Though, I couldn't wait to share them. 🥰
You already know thay when I saw this I had Q's for Saulus♡Kieth.
🌙 Who’s the little spoon & who pretends they hate it but secretly loves it?
😏 Who is bolder in public (hand-holding, kisses, etc.)?
😤 Who apologizes first after a fight, even if they weren’t wrong?
😘 Who kisses the other first thing in the morning, morning breath & all?
@cursed-nyxan we got another Keilus ask 😍😍🤩🤩😍😍 !!!!! This is no drill!!! As always I need you for my assistance, correction and additions.
And what I know for sure, you are the sweet spoon, skee 😘😭😘 with your cutest asks, thank you so so so much 💓 Makes me happy!
🌙 Who’s the little spoon & who pretends they hate it but secretly loves it?
Look at Keith that big man child is literally a big spoon BUT Saulus loves to play his little backpack, koala style as nyxie said 😁 So they switch 😉
We also agree that they love sleeping on top of each other - specifically, right on each other's chests 💖😊😴😊💖 - especially when they just drift off to sleep after the exhaustion and satisfaction kick in 😉 This leads to tell-tale ridge marks on their faces 🤣, making it obvious to everyone in the camp who slept on whom the next day - best HC by nyxie.
On Saulus's behalf, I’d like to mention that Keith shows no mercy when sleeping on her or doing other mischief; he pays no mind to the massive difference in their size and weight - he’s like a giant Great Dane that thinks it can still play with tiny puppies or kittens and act just like them 😆🤣😆 - innocent cinnamon roll Saulus' crushed ass!
😏 Who is bolder in public (hand-holding, kisses, etc.)?
S A U L U S
No question at all.
He gets his cinnamon roll badge back. Imagine just gentle giant energy, compared with shyness and flirting fail…getting occupied by a kitten, overenergetic pup or cheeky goat.
That’s them. That is why it’s working and things are getting done and these two get what they want and not just tribbling around the bushes 😉
Plus Keith becomes totally more self-confident in this regard, too, and once he gets used to it - which naturally happens given her personality - the two of them turn into a romantic, billing-and-cooing, and utterly maddening whirlwind for everyone around them😉😘
(and always to the very much annoyance of his older - very very older 😋😝😜 - brother Roy, who is less than enthusiastic about Saulus’ openness - none of them)
😤 Who apologizes first after a fight, even if they weren’t wrong?
Both
Just as they might both try to play it cool, the bad guy, or the sulky one for five seconds, only to immediately burst into a "I'M SORRY, I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT!"
They're both harmony-seeking tieflings, causing trouble by accident and thinking it's fun, never with bad intentions. Fun ends where real hurt begins.
Especially with their special other staying tough, angry, strict and hard doesn't work well, at least not in this respect.
😘 Who kisses the other first thing in the morning, morning breath & all?
Oh, very much Saulus.
She cares for very less except love, cuddles and taking things as they are.
Love is messy, just as they are. Imperfection makes complete and there is no moment for her, she wouldn't want a kiss from him.
I can rather imagine Keith getting worked up about it and be a little naggy and winy even 😆🤣 For not being used to the situation.
But what to say, the man smells like wet dog most of the time for wearing his leather armour 24/7 and bathing with his hyena, sooo...
A rather laugh about a morning kiss from Saulus because imaging her, crushing a bottle of peppermint liquor night before or to counteract the hangover already a shot in the morning, they probably taste more like fresh mouthwash 😆🤣😆
Astarion: "Yes, alcoholism is funny 😁💁♂️"
Gale: "😐 Uh-uh"
Thank you so much for your amazing enabler ask @onlytavs 😍😘 from the hcs
Sweet pictures of Saulus&Keith as always by @cursed-nyxan 's forge of VP 📸
➹summary: A story about Saulus Durge bard, screaming to the night's sky "Happy Birthday! Is that so fucking hard to say?!"
Screaming for her abstinent father and a mother she never had, a bottle in her hand, alone at night. For the only stars left were the tears gathering in her eyes as she cried out for her parents, a family she never had, who never held her in their arms, and who never loved her.
A mother she never knew, she never had. For her father...
➹word count: 9,364 ➹ao3➹🎶inspo song🎶
➹VP: all by @cursed-nyxan💜you wished for the full story, it is my desire as command
“When is your birthday, actually, Saulus?”
This question from Keith hit her like an unparable blow from his sword. The bard hadn’t seen it coming, and neither she nor the bladesinger could have anticipated the impact of this seemingly innocent question, which swept over Saulus as though he had spoken the thunderous roar of his Booming Blade.
When is your birthday?
A perfectly normal question.
On a perfectly normal day.
Under normal circumstances, amongst normal people.
Unfortunately, they weren't. Whether that was unfortunately or fortunately, as is often the case, was in the eye of the beholder, but in the eye of Keith's casual smile, which feared neither scars, rain, or horn-shattering stairways, Saulus found herself again, underestimating how much a simple question might set in motion.
“My birthday?” The mere repetition of his words might have washed over her face like a wave of reminiscences, “I don’t know.”
The casual lift of her shoulders should have meant nothing. In another place, in another life, it would have meant nothing.
At this moment it landed like a stone dropped into still water.
The wizard’s sharp eyes narrowed beneath raised brows, something unsettled flickering behind their usual brightness of a tiefling. Across the camp, Karlach stilled mid-half danced-nervously-motion, the rhythmic swing of her axe faltering as her tail gave an uncertain twitch. Rumors say even Astarion - perched at the edge of his tent - lifted his veiled gaze of red rubies from his dagger and his crimson eyes glinting with quiet, curious attention.
“What do you mean, you don’t know, doll?” The laughter in Keith’s voice was proof that his question should, in fact, have provided a simple answer; little did he know, as the substance in the air smeared across the sky, that beyond the surface could lie more fear and monsters to add oddity and complexity to the call of a response.
“How can someone possibly not know their date of birth?”, one of his honey-ginger eyebrows arched as the bladesinger couldn’t stop wondering about the strange answer that had been impossible to fathom. For being no precise helpful answer at all.
For the shoulders of Saulus, the whole affair was once again not so serious at all, and their display of composure was unparalleled, as her calm voice carried her reply to Keith:
“I grew up in an orphanage. There I was left one night, so young I myself have no memories about it nor of a life before that either. Without a letter explaining my origins or anything else, it remained lost forever,” red stained lips curled up in a playful smile as her knuckles tapped against her skull, thickened by the horns, “apparently, my memory hasn’t improved much over the years. But without parents, without anything at all, no one knows the exact day I was born, of course.”
Something had shifted.
The chair beneath the bladesinger suddenly felt wrong - too rigid, too narrow. Uncomfortable. His tail curled in on itself, restless. His chin slipped from where it had been resting so easily against his hands, posture tightening without his permission. It was the same instinct that guided his blade arm, the one that moved before thought, before reason.
But there was no enemy here.
Only truth.
And somehow, that felt worse, because it was one that wasn’t to Keith's liking so far.
He had thought it a simple question for his girlfriend. Harmless. The kind one asked without thinking - like a favourite color, flower, or a favourite theatre play.
Perhaps there were no simple things.
“And what about a party? When did you celebrate your birthday?”
Keith shifted again, unease creeping into his limbs, his gaze fixed on her as if anchoring himself there might steady whatever had begun to unravel inside him. For just a moment - a heartbeat - his golden eyes dimmed, their usual spark dulled, like fire caught in rain, fallen victim to it after all.
A fleeting, fragile hope stirred.
The hope that she wouldn’t answer him, that she had never had a birthday party
Because if she did, if she said what he feared she might, something in him would crack. Quietly. Deep down. So deep he might not even recognize it at first.
Keith hadn’t batted an eyelid when his horn had broken.
Not even then.
But this?
This would feel dangerously close deep inside of his heart.
They liked to tease and taunt each other whenever they could - just like everyone else here in the camp - but he did it out of affection…and certain other things that had no place in broad daylight.
But seeing Saulus sad stirred feelings in Keith he’d never known before, something sharp and protective, uncomfortably close to being able to push into anger.
Feelings similar to when he’d saved the hyena from the goblins and, for the first time in his life, had wanted to see someone dead.
But Saulus wasn’t a hyena that needed saving…yet she was his little doll, and he didn’t like the way this story was turning out, for he hadn’t realised before her childhood had been like that.
“The date, Saulus”, Keith, remembered her “You had birthday parties at the orphanage, right, doll?”
“I think they went by the date I was dropped off at the orphanage,” the lips of red remained always so lightly and tender in their smile.
Instead her words landed heavier than anything before them, as far as Keith was concerned
“But as for celebrations…”, the bard’s story continued, her grin soft - gentle enough to soothe, but not nearly convincing enough to be believed by her lover.. “It was better that way, really.”
His tail dipped lower.
“Birthdays were…complicated. Too many children. Not enough for everyone.” Twilight toned shoulders shrugged again, as if it were nothing. “Sugar for cakes was expensive. Toys, too. So, what would you choose? A treat for one day, or food and a bed that lasted longer?”
Saulus spoke calmly. Reasonably.
Too reasonably maybe.
“I understand it now,” she added, almost as if reassuring them, rather than herself. “The carers…they did what they could. Trying to give so many children a decent life in a city that doesn’t care much for the forgotten.”
With every word, something in Keith sank further.
“Oh, but it was fun that way,” her expression brightened. Like the last stubborn candle refusing to go out in a storm.
Around the tiefling couple, glances were exchanged. Subtle. Quiet. Uncertain.
Shadowheart frowned and even Gale ran dry of words to say to the friends, who gradually began to doubt Saulus’ own memories once more, wondering whether her horns were pressing too hard against her head, or whether her cup of morning coffee might still contain traces of the drink from the night before. All these were better explanations for her cheerful face during this account than the idea that she actually believed it herself.
Denial was kinder.
Had Astarion shown much interest in the conversation, he might have remarked that Gale, being the great optimist, might see things differently, but he wasn’t interested in either of those things, and certainly not in Gale.
“That way, it stayed exciting,” cheerfulness threading through Saulus’ voice, “So you never knew, whether this year might be your turn, to get a cake. ”
Her grin widened. “Almost like a raffle.”
Keith's fingernails dug quietly into the scarred wood of the table, its surface smoothed by years of use, by stories, by laughter, and by things far heavier than both. Heavier what ever they discussed here and made him torture the poor carpenter work, still it upset his kind heart and there was nothing the tiefling could do about it.
Or could he?
Until now, Saulus had always been the one to turn everything into a joke. Good ones. Bad ones - those Keith liked best. She never missed a chance to laugh at herself, to twist misfortune into something sharp and bright and easy to swallow.
But this wasn’t the same. This was something new.
And for the first time, Keith didn’t know how to laugh along with her.
“But why make such a big deal out of something like that?” The poorly assembled chair creaked in protest as the bard rose in one fluid motion without further ado, and the smile vanished from her face just as quickly as she turned to leave, so that her raven-black curls, with their red sheen, falling across her brow like a curtain drawn shut. “At some point, not celebrating your birthday at all is better, because it only keeps alive the hope that one day someone will come to congratulate you. That someone will remember. Better to bury this dream right from the start before it learns how to hurt you.”
Her words drifted into silence as she left, but her expression held chapters she didn’t read aloud.
Chapters of waiting for someone who loves you, who is family, who has been searching for you, who wants you in their life. The hope and the wish for a day that would never come anyway - better if it dies sooner rather than later, as Saulus had to learn.
Not being an afterthought. Not being forgotten. Not being left to one's own devices.
It was better to bury false hope than to let it kill you.
“Saulus, where are you going?” Keith called after her, the question sharper than he intended, reaching - grasping - for something already slipping out of reach.
“I’ve suddenly got a craving for an orange,” came her answer, tossed back over her shoulder, her voice alongside her embosomed silhouette already distant.
“Did any of you know that?”
His amber gaze cut through the camp, sharp and searching - hiding something uncertain and confused - landing in turn on Karlach, then Astarion, then the others in a way that suggested he was hoping for some sort of explanation that might make the aftertaste of this peculiar story a little easier to swallow.
As if he were hoping - needing - someone to explain it away.
To tell him it hadn’t meant what it sounded like.
“No.”
Karlach’s answer came first, firm, her earlier energy dimmed into something more subdued. Even if it wasn’t bad in itself, it just didn’t seem to fit…Saulus.
“No.”
Astarion followed, quieter than usual, his gaze unreadable as it drifted back to the dagger in his hands - though he no longer seemed to see it.
Around them, heads shook. Glances were exchanged. No one had an answer.
The silence stretched. Spoke volumes.
“Not on my behalf, the gods forbid,” red rubies rolled beneath white strands of hair in an unnecessarily exaggerated manner, the theatre assemble of a voice filling the void “I find it easier to do certain things the less I know about you. If you suddenly turn out to be real people with stories, I don’t know what to make of it. Especially when I’m the one with the most interesting story to tell…”
His full lips curled almost indignantly over his pointed canines, and one could only wonder whether Astarion was actually getting worked up about it, or simply talking for the sake of talking, trying to sound as indifferent and dismissive as possible so as not to arouse the suspicion that he might care about anyone other than himself.
With a graceful flourish of frivolous indifference, he flicked his wrist. “Even though the details of my past are, of course, nobody’s business. The fact that she’s suddenly turned out to be a proper person with a personality and a history, with depth that goes beyond buying oranges in the afternoon in Baldur’s Gate, well, I’m not quite sure I like that, because otherwise…”
Keith had heard enough and his leather boots turned on their heels, leaving the vampire behind with his disconnected affectation due to emotional insecurity and his sophisticated hand gestures – he could deal with that another day, or rather, someone else should take on the problem. Whilst the bladesinger himself was prone to falling into the trap of turning everything into a farce - goodness, Keith failed even to read the room in which he was alone - and sinking completely into a hole in the ground whenever someone with pretty eyes placed a hand on his shoulder, but he could now, unfortunately, no longer play the listener in the face of Astarion’s feigned, imposing defence mechanism against whatever it was that frightened him being vulnerable and showing that he cared for his friends.
The elf definitely needed help to sort out a few issues, but he couldn’t give it to him right now, because Keith himself needed help at that moment and knew exactly where to get it.
As if guided by magic, his steps led him through the camp, whilst the conversation still echoed in his head beneath the half-pair of horns:
“And what about a party? When did you celebrate your birthday then?”
“But as for the celebrations, it was better that way anyway, believe me. That way, it stayed exciting as to whether it would be your turn to get a birthday cake this time or not.”
Keith knew exactly what to do.
“Gale, could you…?”
“I’m way ahead of you!”
The bladesinger’s lips didn’t get any further with their request, for when Keith approached the wizards’s tent, the latter was already vigorously stirring in the mixing bowl.
Supplies from the storeroom tent, had been thoughtfully laid out ready for use.
Without further ado, Gale the cinnamon wizard, Waterdeep’s kitchen fairy, pressed a spoon and a brush into Keith’s hand.
“You take care of the honey for the cake icing.”
“Thanks.”
A quiet expression of gratitude and relief softened the bladesinger’s lips at that moment. Though it did not concern him personally in the literal meaning, there was something genuine stirring beneath it, perhaps a flicker of being moved. Or was it simply the lingering spark of magic, born from the unlikely harmony in the collaboration of such very different wizards?
“I never thought I’d see Keith Wingard baking a cake,” brotherly mockery dripped from Roy’s lips, his eyes observing the scene with great amusement, yet keenly.
His folded arms, however, showed no sign of him intending to interfere in any way.
“If this is to come to anything good, Gale, you’d better banish the little one from the kitchen very fast. And when I say fast, I mean fast.”
(enjoy some Keith&Roy content by nyxie)
Once his mimicking mouth corners had withdrawn from their grimace, Keith's tongue rolled over his sharp teeth as he explained, “Haha, very funny, Roy. That's supposed to be for Saulus!”
“Of course it’s about a girl - sorry, his girlfriend.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Watch out, or otherwise another one of those drow-infused remarks will come along, about you being on her leash.”
A suspicious curl spread across Keith’s lips at the same time as his tail did, so his hands preferred to focus on the honeycomb.
“And you watch out that he doesn’t set anything on fire, Gale,” Roy Wingard’s nearly slightly grinning lips, weathered by many years and many battles, gave only a hint about the level of his seriousness beneath his decidedly stern gaze.
“Pfff,” the young tiefling’s hiss blew one of his autumn-leaf-coloured strands from his eyes, bright as an inferno of the setting sun.
“Tough love - he’ll do it all the better if you tell him he can’t,” he winked at the Waterdeep wizard from his now blue marred eye, clouded by the blindness, fallen victim to his battle scars, offering his parenting tips from his seemingly stoic face.
“Ah, I know that one, just like with Tara!”
“You’re only doing that because you love me, wait…”, the infamous bladesinger grin turned from his elder brother - who looked more weary than stern - to the camp’s only other wizard and began to twist bitterly, “are you seriously comparing me to your cat ?!”
“SHE IS NOT A CAT!”Gale's yelling could perhaps have been described as somewhat over the top, depending on whether you were Gale yourself or any other person in Faerûn.
“I’ll take care of a few stere of firewood, as well as some drinks, if you’re planning a party. I suppose I’d better remember to set aside a few crates as a backup too. While I’m gone, kid: I don’t want to see any explosions…no fireball.”
“Hahaha, got it. Just because I was born a tiefling into a human family, you don’t have to pay any special attention to your very special little brother. Go and make yourself useful!”
“I’m just keeping an eye on you! Because you cause chaos simply because you’re you, Keith. It’s got nothing to do with being a tiefling, little one. Don’t blame it on that!” Roy’s large shadow left the two wizards, but left behind only the impact of his words.
“You won’t use a fireball to bake the cake? Won’t you, Keith?” Nervousness made Gale’s voice tremble, so that his smile truly contained more panic than Keith would have liked. He stamped his foot in protest.
“GALE!”
…
“So can you put on a little fireworks display and make a few torches with coloured lights, or not?”
“I don’t quite understand why you want to organise a party for a bard,” Barcus still didn’t deem it necessary to look up at Keith even once, in the truest sense of the word, but continued sorting through his boxes, which gave off a pungent odour that even the padding of hay couldn’t mask, “isn’t it normally the other way round, with her being the one who always ensures a lively atmosphere and parties? Evenings with music, entertainment, games and fun for everyone. Especially whether you particularly want to or not - I’d like to put that on record, much to my regret. But surely it’s her job as a bard to create a good atmosphere; why are you suddenly taking that on for her?”
“Why are you the second person to say that today?”, a look of true bewilderment appeared on Keith’s furrowed brow.
On top of that, he was slowly running out of options to persuade the gnome - or rather, had he ever had any to begin with?
Convincing people had never really been his strength. Challenging them to a duel? Certainly. Distracting them with a terrible joke - the worse, the better, in his expert opinion - and sealing it with a confident wink? Absolutely. Flashing what he firmly believed were devastatingly charming, wide, entirely disarming puppy eyes? Without question. If Keith was lucky enough, they fell for it - very lucky.
And if all else failed, he could always resort to persistence. Endless, relentless persistence. A thousand pleases, repeated with the stamina of a man who had never once been told that “no” was a complete sentence. It worked on his brother often enough - well, eventually.
Not really.
Either that, or he simply wore him down through sheer force of existence. Annoyance.
Like a particularly affectionate, highly talkative puppy.
But this?
This was different.
The gnome in front of him remained unmoved. Utterly, infuriatingly unmoved.
And therein lay the problem.
Because when it came to actual arguments, logical ones, sensible ones, the kind that convinced other people rather than just himself - the bladesinger found himself lacking of those reasons,
Oh, Keith had plenty of arguments. Brilliant ones, even. Sheer sound, from his perspective. But the moment he tried to put them into words, they somehow lost their shine. Or worse, twisted into something else entirely, usually ending in a cheeky remark he hadn’t quite planned but also couldn’t resist.
Which, admittedly, did not help his case.
If anything, it only nudged him further away from what he wanted and significantly closer to being challenged to a duel.
Again.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.
Adventurous?
Certainly! Fun? Yes! Exciting? Oh yeah!
Helpful?
Not even slightly.
Which brought him back to the gnome. Keith was quite spectacularly running out of options. Not that the young Rivington tiefling had had many to begin with, as we learned.
“And aren’t you a wizard, and could you not conjure a few tricks yourself?”, Barcus’s logic was almost painful and nearly infuriated the tiefling at how unhelpful it was.
“All right, I’ll do it,” Wroot capitulated entirely of his own accord, cast a gleam into amber eyes shaped in Avernus “but only because Saulus and you have helped me selflessly from the start, just like the other gnomes. I’m doing it for her, because she promised me she’d help me search for Wulbren and rescue him without delay.”
…
“We want to set up some fireworks there, so…could you step aside?”
“No.”
“And can you tell me why not?”
“No.”
“Is ‘No’ all you’re going to say? Wait… don’t answer me. Because if you say ‘Yes’ now, that would just be ridiculous, and if you say ‘No’ again, I’ll lose it.”
Silence.
Only the undead, unnerving, ancient eyes of the absolute Entity staring back at Keith.
“Argh!”, nails trembling with frustration, clawing into strands of honey and ginger.
“Now that the curtain of veils and truth beginneth to lift from the stage, the play can commenceth and tell us about the drama of the night and a life of this certain species until the story is unfoldeth”, the enigmatic nature of Withers’ words caused Keith’s hands to slip from his hair, leaving nothing but unsettling confusion in his flickering eyes.
“Wherefore,” Withers continued, utterly undeterred, “dost thou now seek to celebrate the minstrel - she who spendeth her days in praise of others, yet claimeth none for herself?”
To be honest, the tiefling didn’t even know if this was a conversation and whether the divine and eerie - not to mention gradually irritating - bone man was speaking to him seriously or merely talking to himself, and whether it would be better to simply leave.
But Keith was to be proven wrong, and when the dry lips parted once more his doubts were dispelled:
“Answer me this, young wanderer,” the voice dry as grave-dust, his hollow gaze sharpening ever so slightly. “And answer true, if thou will, will thou for me?”
“Uh…yeah. Sure,” Keith replied, far less convincingly than he might have hoped. Still no harm. If nothing else, it might earn him a favor or two in the future. Resurrection had a certain appeal.
“With it hath been writ that all the world be but a stage,” he who had always been there began to speak, “and each soul bound to play its part. The stage is set, and the players summoned. The tale unfoldeth. Tell me - dost thou believe that mortals stand in ordered line, eager and obedient, to don the mantle given them? That they striveth to act their roles with fervent heart, ‘til silence swalloweth the final applause and the final curtain falleth?”
Frowning brows pondered this strange question, which would never make sense given its nature, so for a brief moment behind the veils of dark ginger strands, Keith considered his answer before he exhaled:
“Well, some people might certainly think that way and perhaps view the world as a stage, but as for me, I only know that I am always ready to fight. I don’t hesitate, I don’t wait, I fight – right to the end if I have to. There is far too much beauty and goodness to see, to idling around, to give up and not battle for it. I think I’d make a terrible actor anyway.”
“Mhm,” Withers hummed, the rather peculiar face of the bandaged friend - was he a friend? - made it hard for Keith to tell what he was thinking.
“If that was the question. Was it?” The query rolled over his tongue too quickly.
“Thy answer has been noted.”
“Oh, okay…” Next, with a glance around the camp and a vague gesture of his hand “Well. I…I…guess…we’ll just set up the fireworks around you, then.”
…
Big bright wet eyes shimmered dangerously in the candlelight of the cake as it was presented to Saulus - an offering carried with far too much pride by Keith and Gale, who stood just a little straighter than usual, as if the success of this fragile surprise rested entirely on their wizardly shoulders. Chests puffed out with pride and hardly any mentionings of cats - pardon, tressyms.
Around them, soon laughter rose along with toasts and overflowing goblets - the air warm, loud, alive. Voices overlapped, stories collided, and soon the moment dissolved into the roaring life of the bonfire.
It all blurred together.
Firelight. Laughter. The clink of cups. Faces and tales lost in the drinks and the deceptive infinity of the party night, which the stars in the sky seemed to whisper to you constantly.
Yet they could whisper other things too, just as the liquor not only ran burning down one’s throat and settled warmly in the stomach, but also swirled its way into the head, blurring the line between comfort and something far more treacherous and suddenly began to speak, leaving it unclear whether it was a good friend or a toxic one.
At the center of it all, Karlach’s booming laughter carried above the rest, her presence as bright and overwhelming as her flames themselves. A fresh drink sloshed in her hand as she launched into another story, one that had Keith groaning before she’d even reached the good part.
“ - and then he actually thought worms were a delicacy!” she bellowed, grinning far too wide. Making fun of her old friend gave her an outrageous sense of joy. But only she was allowed to do that of course.
Their shared history needed little explanation. Baldur’s Gate. Rivington streets. Two reckless tiefling kids and Keith’s big brother watching over them like a tired father, who had once been inseparable - until life had torn them apart without warning, due to Karlach’s “shady” disappearance into the hells, no one was aware of, of course.
Years later, fate - or misfortune - had thrown them back together on the road, both marked by the same parasite, both changed, but not entirely.
Karlach never let him forget who he used to be.
And he never quite managed to mind, because a game could be played by two…or three.
“Careful,” the bladesinger shot back, though he was laughing, “or I’ll start telling your stories.”
“Like you’d survive it!” she barked, delighted.
“Shall we do any bets?”, Roy’s sneaky retort dry and impactful as with the charme of Shadowheart’s Arabellan Dry.
Nostalgia crackled between them as brightly as the fire itself. It didn’t heal what had been lost, didn’t heal any of their many scars, but for a moment, it made the distance between then and now feel smaller. Bearable.
But the bard, the bard drifted.
One step. Then another.
Until the warmth of the fire no longer reached her.
Out here, the night pressed closer. Cool air brushed against her unveiled skin, raising a faint shiver despite the lingering heat of wine and beer in her veins. As if the cold and the darkness lurked upon her as one, the moment leaving the warm safety of the fire. Her tail dipped low, swaying faintly as she reached for another bottle, fingers curling around the glass with quiet familiarity.
“My mum and dad always had the best birthday cake!”, behind Saulus, the fire roared on, but Karlach’s voice carried easily through the dark. Too easily. Clear, bright, almost unavoidable.
“We’ll just have to take your word for it, because hardly any of us got any of it, you greedy guts!”
“Bullocks, ten kilos of sugar and potatoes wouldn’t have been enough to get your bony tiefling arse into shape, that’s exactly why I smacked you on the head during the pot-banging game! And yet I always won at it - just wanted to say that.”
Just in the nick of time, Roy calmly moved his beer out of the line of fire as Keith literally sprang to his feet, ready to attack. “I knew all the years that was on purpose!”
“Chk! I don’t know why you all show off so much and rave about how great your birthday parties were. This celebrating of hatching day seems completely irrelevant to me. A rather stupid, joyous, nostalgic affair. Useless. In githyanki culture, we celebrate real milestones that emphasise duty and strength, those we’ve earned through our own worth and blood.”
A sigh escaped Shadowheart as she looked at her wine cup. “Of course Lae’zel talks about blood.”
“Yeah, stop her, that’s making me hungry,” Astarion chimed in with her sigh.
Perhaps the wine really has gone to her head, as her friends’ voices began to swirl around Saulus’ skull like a pool of red - and she found herself lost in it way too easily.
Their stories echoed in Saulus’s mind, wafted through her neurons, drifted through her veins like ice-cold acid, clawing their way into her bloodstream, until they found their way into her heart. Suffocating.
Shadowheart speaking, as always, of nothing from her past - because she couldn’t - Wyll finally shared stories about himself and his father Ulder in grand halls and before under simpler circumstances. Peasant if you like.
Wonderful stories to listen to, worth writing down to preserve them for all those present here - yet in the end, Saulus had to admit, with a sickening taste spreading across her tongue, that it was only Lae’zel with whom she felt a connection right now. There was something in that emptiness that felt…closer.
It was only the githyanki warrior who offered her inner comfort, with her loveless, harsh tale of a lack of family warmth, of obedience and a sense of duty.
Her inner self, drowning in this vortex of spiritous red and bitterness.
Bitterness that Saulus suddenly could no longer resist. Whether it was the alcohol, a feeling that had lingered for years, or the cold on her skin.
The skin that was tired of waiting for an embrace, tired of waiting to finally be held. The hidden wish of the girl at the window, who would have waited every year for the missing parents to come and collect her on her birthday - which wasn’t even hers, as she now realised.
Every time she thought it might be time, that it was finally her turn, that her chance would have finally come because she had been patient, it had never turned out that way. Simply because for some, it just wasn’t meant to be, as Lae’zel had said.
Some had other roles, and one played them, whether one received applause for it or not, whether there was an audience present at all or not:
You put on your mask and played the part you were given.
Because that was all you had. Because apparently, there were some things one couldn’t control.
Or could you?
Who decided what was broken and how to carry on when you held shards in those hands?
The night grew darker away from the campfire, feeling the creeping cold on every inch of her skin, crawling up her arms like the whisper she had once heard in the night, and suddenly her friends’ voices fell distant; her footsteps led Saulus away into the forest.
So that the bard could continue to sink into a gentle pool of wine, her bottle in her slightly trembling hand.
Anger, sadness, or just the chill?
In the woods, no one would disturb her, because perhaps she would finally find the answers - how a heart filled with love could start crying, a righteous world dying from a lack of kindness, just as the light dies in the shadows.
Or perhaps after one deep breath, life would be fine again. Just as it always had been for her.
Saulus hadn’t thought of that little girl in ages.
And suddenly it was back.
She had waited for nothing and no one for ages, hoped for nothing and wished for anything. Didn’t wish for something better.
It was fine. She was fine.
Twin douglas firs and sycamore trees grew closer around her – dark. Cicadas and owls began to whisper beneath the stars and a blue moon.
Until Saulus realised she was not.
‘Hasn’t been’ was what she realised at last, and perhaps channeled the fury into her shivering hand, which clenched around her bottle as if she wanted to hurl it at the moon the next moment, as she threw her twitching face to the night sky.
No hiding, no masking; no - everything that had ever gone wrong washed over her like a tidal wave of the everlasting storm of destruction.
Her pain-filled voice screaming into the dark night, its fading distant stars a lie: “Happy Birthday! Is that so hard to say?” For the only stars left were the tears gathering in her eyes as she cried out for her parents, a family she never had, who never held her in their arms, and who never loved her.
A mother she never knew, she never had. For her father.
An omnipresent father who was therefore never truly present. Lurking in the shadows of a red, bloody veil, speaking in nightmares and death.
How often did she cry out for names she didn’t even know? Cried out into the dark night? Searched for love until she gave up?
Bitterness took hold of Saulus, the disappointment at never receiving the slightest, tiniest bit of normality and affection. Always having to fight hard for easy things to come, always begging for any kind of daily base that should come naturally. Especially for a little girl. She cried and shouted for that radiant baby girl, who only wanted a Happy Birthday, a hug, a little wish…a home in the end. But a friendly voice and a reason to believe would have been enough.
“Happy Birthday! Is that so fucking hard to say?!”
But all she ever got was silence.
“Not once. Not even once!”
Only a wish upon a dying star. But just like her childhood birthday wishes, once more her voice simply vanished into the dark night amidst the endless trees of the forest. Silently. Unseen. Unheard.
Sad anger gathered in her hand and the bottle shattered into a million shards against the nearest spruce.
“All I ever want and all I ever do is for everyone to stay connected…so why must I endure this hush? Why has everyone forgotten me? How is it that, in the end, I was always alone? Why did no one want me? Why did you never come for me, father?”
The light of the last waning hope glistened as streams of tears running down her cheeks.
“You punish me with your eternal silence? I should stay open to you and do your will, but all that I should do is die with a father sending murder as the only word spoken to me. Ever. But I will not be your rotten puppet any longer, with the illusion of the prodigal daughter and a home.”
An angry growl ripped apart the deathstalker’s mantle and threw the cloak to the ground, her distorted face once more turned towards the heavens where her father will never sit. Would never be found.
“All you ever gave me was an execution! I know what kindness means - to be good and act with greater benevolence in mind. The people around me showed me the worth of this, of me, of love. I will never disappoint them and will live a life that makes them and myself proud. You can rot alone wherever you are. I will no longer pray to a dead god and a silent coward father in the hope of being heard and listened to. Without you or a mother, I found my family and I chose them - I don’t need you - I never needed you.”
The torn scarlet cloak had flinged from her grasp, fallen to the already rotting forest leaves on the ground, watching her soundlessly - its deep red catching what little light remained, as if it still carried the memory of something darker, something the bard no longer wished to hold onto.
She would not lose herself in this darkness again.
Not here.
Not anymore.
Saulus, so obedient, so penitent, so ingenuous and easily led like a lamb ready for any slaughter, shaped into a violent dog, because she tries so hard to be loyal, despite every instinct of her good, naive soul telling her otherwise when the butler Sceleritas appeared, with the faint hope of finally belonging somewhere.
Shaped to follow like sheep.
Beaten and broken to bite.
She had waited for love and a friendly voice; though she had received an execution and a bloody price when the figure of the servant appeared. A mouthpiece of the damned devil’s carnival. Anyone else would have run away in fear, but Saulus, trusting as a lamb, and the girl at the window who gazed at the stars and prayed for daddy and mummy before going to sleep, buried deep in her heart, had not seen the blood with which she was defiled, in which she was sinking. Until she realised that she could choose one’s family, and that it was not dictated by blood, but rather by the fireflies in the night. A night light.
Her companions gathered round the campfire, everything she had come to cherish; her love that knew not a spark of evil, that almost shamed her, with every one of her own mischievous pranks that Astarion could persuade her so easily, and all the more so in view of her trembling hands, a tool of dark urges. Faint whispers in the night.
Saulus hadn’t realised at all how much righteousness and his good nature had ignited her own passion to preserve kindness over egoism and indifference, even in the smallest things. This spark had lit something inside her soul. A quiet determination - not to please any of them, not to become what someone else wanted - but to become someone she could believe in and like.
Someone better.
Because she wanted to be.
And Saulus wasn’t ready to lose that.
She wanted to laugh with her friends again. To belong in that circle of firelight without hesitation. To lean her head against Keith’s shoulder, and be the soldier by his side that he needed and deserved, in good times and bad times - not a dread, not a burden, or something fragile.
Saulus wanted to stand besides him and simply wanted to give him good, sweet times.
In the firelight waited everything that made her happy - everything that had shown her what love and family could be.
And in doing so, it had shown her what she had been missing all along.
What had always been missing, thus what loneliness and pain had previously gripped her.
But the bard left the torn scarlet mantle behind - glistening as if it were itself drenched in the innocent blood of the fellow bard from whom it had been born - drenched on the ground, and her steps led her back to the light, to laughter, to fellowship.
She left the torn coat of cardinal sins there. It and everything it stood for.
And turned back.
Step by step, she walked towards the light. Towards the warmths and laughter. Towards them.
Saulus would never return to this forest again, never lose her way in its darkness once more.
…
Slowly Saulus’ faint steps passed the last trees, her breathing had steadied - almost. Only the faint hitch of her breath, the quiet sniffle of her little nose she couldn’t quite suppress, betrayed what had passed. Trying to shake off the aftermath of the outburst of all her pent-up frustration and disappointment. Failing miserably.
She tried to wipe it away.
Tried to leave it behind with the forest.
“Saulus, where have you been…”,
His familiar warm voice reached her before the bard saw him. And then it faltered, faltered the moment Keith noticed her wet face and heard her sobbing
“…are you crying?”
“No,” she said too quickly, turning her face away to avoid the gaze of his amber eyes, “I just had to step out for a moment and slipped in the woods.”
A poor lie.
A terrible one.
“Oh no, my poor girl,” he murmured softly, stepping closer without hesitation, his arms already wrapping around her as if there had never been any distance between them at all. “I was already wondering where you’d gone.” Good thing he didn’t say ‘anyway’ or something like that.
There was no mischief in his voice now. Only warmth. Only concern.
Keith shifted slightly, as if to guide her back toward the fire, but before he could, Saulus flinched. Almost as struck by agony. A sharp breath.
And all of a sudden the tears came again.
Stronger this time. Unstoppable.
“That must have been quite a nasty fall. Let me see, are you hurt?” More closeness than a question. More concern than words.
Instinct took over as his hands rested, grounding on slender shoulders, whilst Keith let warm tiefling eyes carefully scan Saulus for injuries.
His gaze searched her face, feeling it worriedly, as if Keith could check for a scratch somewhere but failed to recognise the emotional pain in the bard’s eyes until Saulus sighed deeply, rested her forehead against his chest, and wrapped weary arms around Keith.
Not caring about his old, worn-out gambeson.
Never minding the faint scent of steel and magic that clung to him.
Burying her head into his chest, as if it were the cosiest and safest place on the entire Sword Coast.
Perhaps for Saulus, it was. Not just tonight, but for evermore and always.
Too close for indifference, it was another instinct that incited the bladesinger to react without hesitation. Hands sank down onto her head ever so gently, whispering softly of quiet protective settling, a tender smile tugging on Keith’s honey ginger lips.
He stroked the strands of her hair without haste, as if every movement were a decision.
Warm, calm and unexpectedly gentle. Not as though his hands were covered in scars from battles and blades, but as though born to soothe her, to touch Saulus, to caress her.
A lover and a fighter, words Keith once used to describe the bard himself.
“Well, are you comfortable down there, doll?”, his voice was close, just a hint of teasing, but oh so loving all the way.
“Hmmm,” a mere mumble rose from his chest, and as if in protest, the little “goatie” buried her face even deeper and sniffled pitifully to herself.
Even though Keith knew he shouldn’t be smiling at his grumpy bard, he couldn’t quite keep the corners of his mouth under control; fortunately, however, he could control his tongue, so he decided to continue stroking her hair in silence.
The world faded away.
Rustling leaves, the gentle breeze in the trees, the distant voices, the crackling of the campfire - everything dissolved like the limbo of a dream and receded into the distance.
There was only this moment and two heartbeats striving to find a steady rhythm.
That familiarity that had bound the two of them together from the very beginning, even when they were still strangers and had smiled at each other as if they had met somewhere between a dream and a memory, whereupon Keith had started to stammer and Saulus had run off with red cheeks because she had stared at him.
Now just a feeling like a quiet ‘Ah, there you are’
That needed no explanation, just his arms holding her tight.
Without any words.
He was much better at that anyway than talking, because his cheeky mouth tended to ruin moments, or to say nothing at all when it mattered, as Karlach had always accused him of as a teenager whenever he’d fallen for someone. Which he no longer regretted today.
What use was junk when you had a treasure?
Keith told himself to write it down later so he could say something nice to her one day, instead of a joke to impress Saulus, but it was clear he’d forget and would swap it without probllama from an alpaca in a second.
“Do you want to head back soon?” the silence - no way uncomfortable, but warm - was broken at last, “Because only you can stop Gale. I swear, he spent at least twenty minutes just talking about his cat until we realised he didn’t mean Mystra.”
A hint of a muffled laugh arose from his chest.
“And I reckon Gale has eaten the whole cheese charcuterie board he’d prepared all by himself by now.”
Saulus lifted her face; the rolling tears were still clearly tracing their path. “That is all right by me, I don’t like who I become when I’m near a cheese board: competitive and greedy.”
Keith laughed the most heartfelt and genuine laugh ever heard in these woods. “Yeah, me too, my sweet cheese.”
Gently, he raised his hands to her face. Almost hesitantly, as if giving her time to pull away.
When Saulus didn’t, his fingers touched her cheeks.
Keith’s hands held her face, calm, confident, as if she belonged exactly there.
He had long since realised she didn’t take a fall by accident the moment she had thrown herself against his chest. Yet, as so often, he lacked the right words to draw Saulus out of her apparent shadow - a shadow of which Keith was now all too painfully aware. She shone so brightly that he had closed his eyes against it. But even the brightest sun must set eventually, and night would follow. But he had never been afraid of monsters before. Just as he had a big brother who had protected him - though not, of course, from his own foolishness - so Keith would protect his Saulus.
“Shall we go back?”
“Give me just a moment.”
“Of course,” and in the blink of an eye, Keith wrapped his strong, warm arms around his doll, holding her close, close to his heart.
“Thanks. For so much…most of you…and staying here with me, pumpkin”
The bladesinger’s lips didn’t hesitate for a second to kiss the tip of her nose. A gentle touch, as if they had to check whether this moment really existed.
A quiet breath caught in Saulus’ throat.
Not because of the situation, but because of the tenderness of her beloved bladesinger.
Once more, Keith’s lips bridged the final distance and finally kissed away the tears from the side of her nose.
Saulus’ heart began to beat faster, not from pain or anger this time. The former chill on her arms only made the warmth between them more evident, as Keith held her close whilst kissing the tears off her face - and with the tears also the grief, the disappointment, the suffering, the pain and all of her sadness from the night.
His lips brushed her skin not hastily, but searching, as if two thoughts were trying to find one another, until he finally held her in his arms again.
“I’m glad to have you”, not a whisper, but heartfelt devotion and gratitude placed on the tip of her tongue, “All of you. Thank you for everything, Keith.”
The soft smile seemed to remain on the tiefling’s lips just for a few heartbeats longer as he stroked Saulus’ hair and gently kissed her head.
“Happy Birthday, Saulus.” His voice tender, a loving whisper as his lips parted, but his hands never left her. Holding onto his little bard. Keith’s voice was softer than she would have expected.
“It’s probably not even my birthday today,” she muttered against his chest. Keith smiled knowingly and let his doll’s temper flare, because this time, for a change, it was she whose interpretation of his connotation had completely failed her. Oblivious to his turn of thoughts and the small hidden implication, that he had spoken different words for what he wanted to say.
It was almost funny, for a master of words, spoken directly or not, that Saulus hadn’t read between the lines to see what three words Keith had actually written there for her when he spoke them to her.
The wizard decided not to count it as a loss, for another opportunity would arise to tell her. Hundreds of opportunities would arise to tell those three words.
Or would there?
His arms were still wrapped around his bard.
Tightly.
Protectively.
As if his body had decided not to let her go before his mind was allowed to agree, and not before Saulus gave him a sign that she was ready.
Keith still didn’t know what had made his doll, his little lamb, so distraught and sad, but it had now become very clear to him that anyone could have scars that weren’t visible but which were certainly still bleeding.
He couldn’t take away Saulus’ pain and bad experiences, even if he probably wished he could somewhere deep down, despite Keith might being reckless and willing to take risks, but he wasn’t crazy or stupid; he didn’t strive for the unattainable ambitions of madness. The bladesinger couldn’t change the past, and he would never be able to protect Saulus from every new pain existing, however much he resolved to do so - especially since the two of them were walking hand in hand, laughing as they approached the abyss filled with demons rather than turning their backs on it - for he couldn’t lock her away in a sphere and eradicate everything around her.
Life meant taking risks, and sometimes getting hurt. But that was what life was for. That was what love was for.
But there was one thing Keith could do:
He could take her hand and never let go. Always be with her and as long as he and his swords were by Saulus’ side, he would fight for her, warding off as much harm from his beloved as possible.
Keith would be her sword, his body her shield, and his heart the cloak that would shelter her should tears and rain darken her sky.
The bard was neither fragile nor helpless; the wizard knew that full well, yet it did not alter the fact that she was his doll for him, and he would always carry her on his back over broken glass, through the fires of hell, and anyone who wanted get near her would first have to go past his swords, whether she could handle them herself or not.
He would be there for her.
Through it all.
Real danger or dark nights.
Keith’s palms of a fighter and being versed in magic on her bare upper arms were warm with blood, with pulse, with life.
A stark contrast to the cool air of the forest from before, which still clung to the bard’s skin like black tar. And yet she wasn’t cold. Not with the way Keith held her.
The night and the darkness had chilled her skin, yet between them there was only warmth.
Saulus pressed herself against the tiefling as if he were the only fixed point in this suddenly unstable world. This very world suddenly felt smaller.
Quieter.
As if everything outside their twosomeness existed in a muffled state.
No one spoke. No one wanted to break the moment that held no loud thoughts, no plans.
A silence arose between them that was not empty, but full.
Full of unspoken questions, of that quiet wonder at how quickly closeness could arise. Full of a calm that, in truth, needed neither questions nor answers in the end to know one another, to be truly near by heart.
Saulus did not know how long they stood there like that.
Time was an unreliable narrator in that moment.
Not loud. Not dramatic. But quiet and clear.
As if the moment had decided to linger.
Keith’s thumb moved ever so slightly against her back, caressing her, just a hint of a touch. More like an unconscious reassurance that she was really there. That she was back.
And Saulus’ heart responded to it as if it had been waiting only for this small signal.
But for a breath longer, this moment belonged only to them. Far away from the companions, without a single one of their glances or comments.
“Do you want to head back?” he offered her, without haste, without urgency, “if you don’t come back soon, I reckon Wyll and Shadowheart will discover the fine wine reserves Roy has set aside for you.”
Dark red lips over pointed teeth twitched slightly. Not quite a smile. More a feeling that wanted to become one.
It did not escape Keith’s notice and was immediately counted as a major victory, so that he could only grin back, that small, crooked smile that was not practised.
Their fingers intertwined as Keith, however, led his bard back without much haste to the protective warmth of the camp and the bonfire.
“Only as long as you are with me,” escaped Saulus’ lips in a whisper, a smile stolen onto them of which she might not even have been aware.
Her head brushed against his shoulder.
She probably didn’t want him to hear this, or at least not to reply, but hells as told in the memoirs of Keith Wingard he read his room with him as audience as one wrong, so the tiefling decided to ignore it on purpose.
“I’m always with you,” in one gentle movement he raised their hands and placed a kiss on Saulus’ delicate fingers, “I will never ever let go of your hand, so you will never walk alone, doll. Good luck getting rid of me, I thought you should know that by now. Think of me as your night light.”
So often Saulus had compared him to the sun.
Keith hoped that she could see her shepherding light in him – a sort of night light by her side, guiding her through the darkness, her own shadows if necessary, back into the warmth until the sun rose again, a dawn of a new day with all its bright shining.
A deep breath in the night and Saulus’ fingers tightened their grip, found a hold, found him.
A wordless question,
a wordless answer.
…
Bonus post-credit scene:
“Saulus!”, amidst the slamming of chests and the rustling of fabric, Astarion’s voice suddenly cried out from his tent, “took you back that brilliant magical red cloak that you used to lend me so often? I can’t find it anymore!”
“Oh oh…”
…
Post-credit scene:
“Ah yes, my lord, I understand. Of course. Of course. Truly, truly. I understand. Everyone would share thy wrath under the circumstances; I didn’t cherish it any more than my lord did, and I take full responsibility.
Yes, my liege, thy next order? I will be on my way; not a second will pass where she does not slumber under the watchful, vile eyes of Sceleritas Fel. Rely on my services as adoring servant forevermore, my cruel lord.
And may I ask when she will be there…?
Of course not, Lord, of course not. Whenever it is, I shall be there, and should my lady fail to extinguish the Lady of Light as thy wish in order to restore her obedience, then she must merely kill her beloved. A rather low price for the Dread Lord's belied eyes upon thee.
Yes, I am also very, very disappointed.
Such behaviour is not at all like my mistress; this disobedience shocks me too.
It is very disappointing behaviour, such a thing.
But as always, thy obedient servant will be at milady’s side to show her the way.
Hmm…really now, dear dear, love…by the bucket of bhaal…
Soon the decision will be made between obedience and keeping what the heart now desires.
I shall keep a watchful eye and be there when the time is right; do not worry, my lord, I shall not stray from my mistress’side or that of her true love. And if she does not return to the right path, the blood of her heart’s love will be shed, to your complacence and submission, my great vile lord. Sceleritas will assure the lost daughter will not stray far, never losing one of his little lambs. ”
...
➹a/n: insert at the forest scene this gif:
Brought to you by nyxie - Saulus got Matt Berryfied!
OR *insert at this point Glenn Carter singing Gethsemane JCS2000 GIF - couldn't find any*
VP brought to you by @cursed-nyxan - Keith and Roy are of course her OCs!
Thank you for loving the sweet cheese and rotten soldier Saulus with you Keith 😌💜 Thank you for being interested in her story, her heart, her aching, my writing. Thank you for your inspiriation, motivation and toll of VP *insert Gerringothe Thorm but rather insert Thisobald Thorm xD*
^^Ship Head-Canon Questions for Saulus & Keith: 💕⚓️💫
Thank you so much for these, my most beloved tea 💖🍵💖
💌 And as always I consult @cursed-nyxan to correct me if I put words into her son's mouth—or into his lore—that aren't quite in character, or to add something that broadens my own horizons; after all, Keith loves saying the exact opposite of what he’s actually thinking and feeling when it comes to Saulus 😎 He calls it "cool and charming," though anyone else would surely call it stupid.
💕 How did they both realize “oh wait, this is actually love”?
Oh well, because nyxie and bhaalie said so 😆 Well maybe it was literally like this:
“I have a new silly, cute Tav.”
“Awww, he loves and animals and saved the hyena 😍🥹😍 Saulus always saves the hyena as well - with that he is her certified friend now! 😁”
“Maybe they can go on walk together some day 😊”
I say it is nyxie’s fault for making this go walking the “dogs” pics very romantic indeed for two friends 😉 So why not?! Why not ship it 🚢 ?! 😆 Bilbo style!
In lore…how even with these fools?
Keith not even realising Saulus was flirting with him, because he is a sheepish cinnamon roll with no clue. Himbo wizard.
And even if, too shy to make something out of it or failing because playing it cool.
Saulus going from 😊😘😉😁😂 suddenly to 😧😲😨😱😰 having a “Oh oh” moment, when realizing her eyes following him constantly, soft expression and her lips smiling without her knowledge, looking at his hair. Dreaming about touching it, dreaming about being near him, without letting this thought slip her mind in any form of words. But her thoughts, like her eyes on him - her body seeking his company, an excuse to be near. Laughing about his jokes a little too loud, feeling warm and right every time they drag another fur baby to camp. Playing pet parents, everyone else shaking their heads, but not the other. Never the other.
Feeling happy he chooses her company over others and bad at the same time doing so. To dare to desire, to have consistency. The shared laughs, shenanigans, risky and silly adventures.
“Oh oh”, her heart drops a beat realizing this is actually love and very much out of her control and by no means harmless flirting anymore…probably right from the start.
Good they have Keith’s hyena adoptive son Freckles, bringing them the perfect 101 disney moment, so that even those panicking fools make the first move 😆😉
🐕🪢🐕
Tie the bonds and locking the eyes forever 💖
⚓️ If one of them had to leave forever, what would they leave behind for the other?
Gruesome ask.
Nyxie had the headcanon that Keith once leaves to clear his head about all the Bhaal problematic - after the not fun Shibari night 😅
But Saulus thought he left for no good and was already in crying, panic heartbreaking mode, when he just stood back in camp and made it clear to her that she could have realized he was only gone for a short while — after all, he did leave Freckles with her.
“And if I ever do leave for good, I’m taking the kids with me 😉😋”
“Not funny!”
And speaking of that even if not fitting for the ask — pets/children are always a sign, a pledge that they will return to the other person.
But… I don't know where this "leaving forever" leads. And because Saulus is a Bhaalspawn, I can't help but think of death — or perhaps a fate… even worse than death.
So, she… she would leave her adopted son the owlbear cub Hootsie with Keith, knowing he’s the right family for him, and that he’ll take good care of him and love him, despite some biting traumas Hootsie inflicted upon Keith 😅
If there were ever other reasons for her to leave forever — whatever those might be — she would likely break off her own left horn and leave it with him, should it still hold any meaning for him.
💫 Ten years from now, what random Tuesday are they spending together?
Easy: Beating kids at the water slides in the water park for the fastest slide record and all the games at the circus - after they had cared for all the animals at their ranch and animal rescue shelter, with Keith as her trophy husband, of course.
“Let’s try this/I bet we can…” leads to one of them or both of them falling down a wall or worse in the course of the day. They might have to go to the cleric if stupidity doesn't save them from harm (or if Saulus remembers that, as a bard, she’s actually quite good at casting spells).
At the end of the day, of course, brother Roy has to be teased a bit — given how much they rib each other and play pranks.
If things go well, the Flaming Fist won't arrest them for their completely innocent mischief — simply because Fists don't know the meaning of joy in their lives…or can no longer stand hearing their rants about animal protests and no dogs rule in the park (it was never a dog they brought, always something bigger).
Thank you again for let me ramble about them 💖
VP of course as always by @cursed-nyxan as I cannot immortalize them 💓 and it makes me happy everytime and my day, I see their faces in such wonderful picture
➹summary: “How does someone who clearly lives for a good fight end up studying magic of all things? You could’ve been a soldier. A Flaming Fist. Some glorified mercenary in a guild. Why a wizard, when all you want is to be in the thick of it? When you’re so into close combat?”
If not fighter, why fighter shaped? - A bladesinger motivation discourse full of booming blades
➹word count: 2,742 ➹ao3
➹VP: all @cursed-nyxan 's magical masterwork for the event ✨💜✨
➹prompt: #Magical March Aftermath - My contribution to day 3 "subclass"
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“You know what, Wyll?” Keith’s voice was only slightly breathless with exhilaration as he spun through a tight pirouette, his feint flowing seamlessly into the next strike. “Just think of it: three swords.”
“Keith, my good friend,” laughter threaded through Wyll’s focus as his rapier met the blow with a clean, ringing parry, “fighting with two swords is already unorthodox. I would still recommend mastering the rules of classical fencing first, but by all means, the sky’s the limit, my dear chap.”
“And that,” the bladesinger shot back with a grin, “is exactly what I intend to reach.”
His whole body brimmed with determination as their blades clashed - so much stronger as their supporting magic weaving through the keen edges.
Steel rang again as they pressed in, their movements sharpened - and complicated - by magic. Each spell cast was measured, controlled; each arc of power met with a precise counter, ensuring that even in their intensity, no strike would truly harm.
“Come on, Gale, why not try backing up your magic with a blade for once?” A short rolling thunderclap was dodged by Wyll, whilst Keith just managed to duck beneath the blue-hissing witch bolt as he turned away from Gale.
The crackling lance of blue energy sizzled past where his head had been a heartbeat before. He twisted, bringing both short swords up just in time to catch Wyll’s descending rapier.
“No, thank you,” Gale replied dryly, and the sharp thud of a closing book couldn’t manage to cut through the clash of steel and spell. Brushing invisible dust from his robes with practiced dignity, the wizard of Waterdeep added to his words: “I possess a staff should I require emphasis. That has always proven sufficient.”
“I’d give it a try,”, a flashing grin dropped from sharp tiefling teeth as Keith broke away and circled. “And Wyll agrees with me.”
“The lad has a point,” Wyll added lightly, stepping back into guard. “Try something new for a change, it won’t do any harm.”
“Your confidence is reassuring,” only a mutter from Gale’s direction “But no, I believe I for myself shall remain among the unarmed practitioners of the arcane.”
“Didn’t you get any inspiration from watching?” Blades still poised, tail flicking with restless energy.
“Oh, I did,” the voice crackled from sarcasm as the air did from the electrifying weave, as he already turned away. “Quite a few ideas, in fact. I believe I shall seek out a few books or a few more.”
With that, the wizard of Waterdeep departed the “training ground”, leaving behind the fading hum of magic, the echo of steel, as well as the tiefling bard Saulus who had been sitting besides him the whole time, now as the only residual “spectator” of the clashing wizards.
Saulus remained seated on the fallen tree, watching the movements of crossing blades between her boyfriend Keith and their companion the most famous Blade of Frontiers - quiet as all the moments before, though her twitching tail still betrayed her, flicking with a restless, thoughtful rhythm.
But Gale left behind more than silence. His words lingered, needling at thoughts the bard hadn’t quite sorted yet.
So when Keith finally dropped down beside her on the fallen tree, still warm from exertion, Saulus turned her horned head, one brow arched under her raven locks of shimmering red.
“Tell me something,” her tail slowly curled lazily behind her. “How does someone who clearly lives for a good fight end up studying magic of all things? You could’ve been a soldier. A Flaming Fist. Some glorified mercenary in a guild. Why a wizard, when all you want is to be in the thick of it? When you’re so into close combat?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, though there was a spark of amusement there. “And don’t you dare answer that with a terrible pun.”
She knew that could only end in a retort from the silly bladesinger. Her silly bladesinger.
“Come on, doll,” an unavoidable instant shot back as Keith flashed that boyish, infuriating grin. “If you don’t want a pun, you really shouldn’t set me up like that.”
Saulus huffed at this moment, but didn’t quite manage to hide the ghost of a smile. Normally she’d be laughing already, loud and unrestrained. But not this time. This time, she wanted something real.
Trying to catch his breath, Keith leaned back on his hands “But… honestly?” his voice a little softer now “Magic just makes it better. Sword fighting’s already a thrill - but with magic? You can turn it into something else. Something bigger. Faster. More unpredictable. It’s not just steel anymore, because I reckon with magic you can really make sword fighting stand out even more and do things that are way more fun than just bashing away at steel, even though that's already very much fun.”
Dark lashes threw a wink over his light amber eyes at the bard right next to his shoulder.
But her horns only tilted with her head “So it’s all about fun?”
“Excitement, adventure, the thrill”, Keith’s gaze flicked toward the training ground, still humming faintly with spent spells. “The rush of the moment where anything can happen. Magic gives you endless possibilities. Seems a shame not to use every tool you’ve got to hit, when you toss yourself into a fight. You can defeat an opponent in many ways and I want to use everything to throw myself into the fray.”
That…fit him. Too well, perhaps.
Her gaze lingered on him - really lingered now. On the easy grin. The honey ginger hair of gold catching the light. The eyes like a burnished autumn sunset, bright and alive in a way that almost made you forget to look closer.
Almost.
Because the scars were there.
His reckless appearance didn’t bother Saulus; on the contrary, his boyish smile, combined with his streaks weaving before flickering eyes of fall leaves, formed a picture of an inseparable and irresistible pair.
But she found herself wondering - not for the first time - how many fights Keith had walked away from as winning champion and how many he hadn’t, really. Whether his victories came clean…or carved into him, piece by piece.
Literally.
It sharpened Saulus’ curiosity.
You should see the other guy, people always said.
Did this motto apply here as well and was the rest dead, those who’d inflicted such deep scars on him?
Or was it all his own fault?
Reckless. Head in the clouds. Living for the moment without a care for what came after. It could have annoyed her - but it didn’t. It fit her, in a way. Or at least the version of herself she liked best - the one that laughed louder, drank deeper, and didn’t think too hard once the music stopped.
Still…sometimes, when the noise faded, the thoughts crept in anyway.
And sometimes, they circled back to him.
In those moments Saulus worried just a little about her bladesinger, that she could lose Keith, before she knew him better - every story, every scar, every secret of his life.
“My Booming Blade finish?” infectious excitement rolled over his lips with every word, oblivious to the turn of her thoughts, the tiefling’s grin widening again. “Absolutely legendary. Hits harder, faster - again and again. Way more than any ordinary swordsman could manage.”
The also legendary wink of his eyes, under honey ginger streaks.
“Ever.”
The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable, as a feverish thirst for adventure coursed through his veins. It ran through him like lightning, barely contained.
Now Keith only needed the build of a battering ram rather than that of a young, strong, athletic stag, and then, with his energy, he would tear down anything that stood in his way.
Inevitably, a smile crept onto her lips at the thought, and although Saulus’ eyes might have taken him in from head to toe, every muscle from hamstrings to quadriceps, they always lingered on his strands of hair and eyes that had the power of 100 suns.
So in the end Keith didn’t need the shape of a giant brute. There was something else there. His special kind of relentless energy that made it easy to imagine him crashing through anything that stood in his way, all speed and force and reckless brilliance. No one also got that.
“Besides,” the young well trained wizard added, gesturing loosely, as if already mid-fight in his mind, “steel breaks. Gets knocked away. Lost. But magic?” His eyes flickered, alive with the thought of it. “I can conjure a blade whenever I need one. Shadow, force, whatever fits the moment.”
He grinned at her, sharp and bright, as like the spark of the weave and the cutting edge of his sword itself.
“The possibilities are endless.”
Though Keith couldn't help but notice something…
“But why are you asking me this, of all people, doll?”, one brow lifted to accompany his counter, “You went to the College of Bards and still chose the path of the sword and crossbow over pure dusty scrolls yourself. So you know exactly how I feel.”
Her shoulders twitched briefly, as if the head perched upon them wasn’t giving its own fate much thought, refusing to dwell too long on her own choices. Oh what a pair they were.
“At some point, you have to put the books aside and take part in the action. Even if they say the quill is mightier than the sword…why not both? Strap a quill to an arrow and you have everything all at once. Or you can call it a day.”
A grin spread across the bladesinger’s face. “And that suits you far better. Lover and fighter - steel, song, and just enough chaos. Fits you perfectly.”
“What?” Saulus blinked, caught off guard, her eyes widening with almost comical innocence, like a fawn in the new moon “why do you think chaos suits me? What fit am I?”
That look - wide-eyed, unguarded, which could have rivalled any innocent lamb in their absolute, blissful ignorance - made Keith laugh under amused breath.
His hand rose almost without thinking, brushing warm fingers along her cheek, grounding her.
She could feign innocence with her sweet face all she liked. The horns framed her like a warning, that taking offence was actually her speciality - but beneath them was still something softer. Something bright and alive with such a soft core, filled with flowers, butterflies and the song of birds, that one was easy to forget about every now and then.
“Oh doll” his gaze softened as Saulus reflected in his amber eyes, “never change.”
The wizard’s fingers sought the warm touch of his bard’s cheek further, caressing her soft skin with his thumb. Not even this one was spared from scars and yet ever so gently.
Slowly, almost cautiously, he leaned in, his forehead coming to rest against hers. Their breaths mingled. Strands of hair brushed and tangled just the way their tails did. Curling instinctively closer as the space between them vanished.
Soft lips brushed against each other and found one another in a loving kiss.
A taste of tender sweetness as Keith felt the warmth of her mouth and only slowly, very slowly released her lower lip between his own.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
His eyes could still catch Saulus pressing her lips together faintly, as if trying to hold onto the feeling, with relish to prolong the sensation of their kiss.
The tip of her tongue slipped over the memory of his taste, eyes half-lidded when they met him again - soft, open and genuine - that gentle expression of love one only experienced when you allowed yourself to be swept up in it and were also fully prepared to give the same in return. A part of your own self in sincerity.
No remaining room for fear that would allow hesitation in the name of doubts, in this star fed field of burning wildfire.
“Your kiss tastes like the sun and an autumn evening all at once,” dreamily her murmur brushed from her lips, a small smile tugging at her mouth yet as if the evening glow and the morning sun were one and the same, “yes, like late autumn evenings when the world finally slows down.”
Strangely enough, Saulus never sounded trite when she said such things, but always like the whisper of her heart.
“How do you manage to come up with words like that when I can barely breathe, let alone think, whilst we’re kissing?” Keith shook his head in disbelief, smiling with a quiet, incredulous laugh. “How in the hells did someone like me end up with a bard?”
“You can barely think straight at all,” she teased, sticking out her tongue.
Keith didn’t let that go unpunished.
In the next instant, she found herself pulled into his arms, laughter already bubbling up as his fingers found her side, her neck - merciless, playful. “You’re so sassy” he muttered, though he was grinning just as much. The bard only tried and failed to escape his grasp, because she did both miserably.
“Maybe I should make you take that back”, the teasing taking on a different edge, Keith’s voice dipping just slightly, eventually, the tickling stopped. The laughter faded into something quieter, “Actually, I should tickle you into submission and demand a few words of redemption. If only it weren't actually true that most people – myself included, sometimes – wonder how you put up with me”
Saulus settled against him, finding a peaceful place once more in his arms, against whose firm muscles her head once again leaned contentedly. Her temple rested against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath, whilst her eyes studied her beloved bladesinger.
For a moment, she simply looked at him - really looked - like he was something rare, something worth memorizing. As if he were a work of art or even a sealed book in a forbidden section that one could only admire from afar, but had to.
Or simply like her Keith, whom she adored from below, like a child gazing at the first snowflakes of its life, slowly drifting onto the tip of its nose.
“You do it too, you know,” Saulus said softly, a smile creeping back. “Keeping up with me, I mean. And together? We’re probably unbearable.”
“And I thought you were going to say something nice like ‘because I’m too sweet not to pudding up to’. Get it? Or because of my sharp, dashing, irresistible blades - I know how to wield them so perfectly with my hands and you love the way I handle them. You know, wink wink,” Keith said out loud.
“Then let me see this legendary blooming blade of yours up close. Maybe I can make you forget my sassiness from before and remind you that I’m a nice, good girl.”
For you, is what she wanted to say, as her voice lowered just enough to shift the air between them, along with her body, as their chests touched.
Keith’s breath caught, just slightly.
“What?”, the words pressed past his lips and his eyes no longer twinkled playfully.
The confidence flickered.
And Saulus noticed.
She leaned in closer, their chests brushing even firmer now than before, letting her feel tight muscles and the bladesinger the soft shape of her breasts.
“For someone so bold,” Saulus whispered, “you’re awfully easy to catch off guard”
Sometimes, even she couldn’t wrap her head around her beloved wizard - he was full of miracles, wonders, just as he was full of magic. Her puzzle box and bashing blunt rock full of force at the same time.
“How can it be that someone is so playful and puny all the time, but when their charm lands, they’re completely clumsy? Don’t you count on it to hit, or don’t you mean it that way? Because…”
The bard’s hand found him almost absentmindedly - but not letting go - gently pulling Keith towards her.
Dark red lips curved, slow and knowing and her mouth close enough that her words barely had to travel at all.
“...I can guarantee you, with me, every stroke of yours lands a critical hit.”
Keith swallowed and blinked briefly, looking confused, as if someone had tugged at his tail.
Perhaps an unfortunate comparison…
“You heard me…the finishing, explosive, booming wave of your blade – you can give it straight to me,” Saulus’ fingers tightened tenderly around his, tugging Keith just a fraction closer, as she rose with one fluent motion, gently leading him in the direction of her tent, “so come and put it into me.”
Got tagged by @bladesingerlily and @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream for WIPs and doing it here for @judasiskariot and @bhaal-battle-beer-bard , thx my dear ones 💌
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I have one secret special WIP I can eventually give you a little peak on:
Gleaming silver, flickering in the sun. A seductive and intoxicating turn of the blades. Dark leather envelops you, as does the intense, warm, woody, and sensual scent of Amber Noir, almost holding you captive. Strong and masculine like arms wielding a sword - gripping it tight and preparing for a sweeping pirouette in the dance of dangerous blades.
Here my current fanfiction under construction:
“Tough love - he’ll do it all the better if you tell him he can’t,” he winked at the Waterdeep wizard from his now blue marred eye, clouded by the blindness, fallen victim to his battle scars, offering his parenting tips from his seemingly stoic face.
“Ah, I know that one, just like with Tara!”
“You’re only doing that because you love me, wait…”, the infamous bladesinger grin turned from his elder brother - who looked more weary than stern - to the camp’s only other wizard and began to twist bitterly, “are you seriously comparing me to your cat ?!”
“SHE IS NOT A CAT!” Gale's yelling could perhaps have been described as somewhat over the top, depending on whether you were Gale yourself or any other person in Faerûn.
Keith&Roy belonging to @cursed-nyxan
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Who-who wants to be tagged? I don't know? The WIP thing is spreading like hellfire.
What if I say open? Not if anyone ever jumped on an open tag. But please do so if read maybe and feel like sharing you words and wonders in a snippet.
Thank you my sweet @cursed-nyxan , @wasted-sam , @aristenfromwarsaw 🖤 Too much tiredness let me fall asleep completely yesterday so my answer to all you great tags must be a Self-care Monday for me - but on Mondy we also need a load self-care, no? Last time was something new, so this time I am going for something I am proud of.
Rules: You flip through your work (published or WIP, doesn’t matter) and share whatever little section you’re genuinely proud of. Something that makes you smile or swoon or that tugs at your heartstrings just the way you want it to.
📷 by @cursed-nyxan
Oranges and dark chocolate.
Melting on her tongue.
Seemingly forever.
Saulus savoured his taste.
Finally.
Keith's kisses tasted like the last warm days of summer, the last golden rays of sunshine caressing your skin until they fall on colourful autumn leaves.
Leaves of the colour of Keith's hair - hair that smelled like cinnamon on leather and warm pumpkin spice.
The taste of his mouth was clearly on her lips, which combined the baked apples of autumn with ginger and the sapidity of sandalwood and light spicy tobacco. All the warm embraces before the cold winter air would cool the tip of your nose.
So Saulus could bathe in this taste of golden sunshine - tight caress within all the exquisite flavour of spice, full-bodied luscious fruits and rich wrapping dark chocolate.
Dripping on her tongue, while melting through the heat – as if finite nature would have changed the rules of time for a moment and let her devour the essence of his kiss to the last of days.
Amber cast in gold, merging with the white-hot fire of the deep night.
Her hands felt his hair, pulled his head ever so gently in her direction - never with force. Gentle guidance. Subtle and delicate. With all the room needed. But never leaving any doubts between them. Saulus had her feelings upon her sleeve, her tongue. Literally, here.
Keith should be able to taste it, feel it. Feel her.
Maybe feel and hear the beat or her racing heart?
Its drumming rhythm?
Feel her heat and burning lines like the ink of his tattoos. Could they connect them?
For just like the tattoos on his skin, his kisses burned into Saulus. Their lines traced across the bard like a quill writing a story.
Could arms hold darkness and drown shadows in warmth like burning flames in the rain?
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The screenshot is, of course, and obviously the magnificent masterpiece of @cursed-nyxan 📷🖤🧡🖤📷 as is her baby boy Keith - Thank you for blessing us with both
I have chosen this passage from my fanfic "Playful" because at the moment I wrote it, I was very proud of it.
Before I witnessed fanfictions existing that are the brainchild of Virginia Woolf and William Faulkner 😱🤯 and suddenly it just sounded like a concatenation of sensory experiences. But it's not an enumeration, it's indulging self-care for me 😌 and I would adore it if someone thought of me and perceived me the way Saulus' narrative perceives (her) Keith at this moment — and at any time being.
Go please take a look at nyxie's beach sunday, sam's sulking Rolan at his tower almost Darcy style and aristen's beautiful pieces of VP magic 🖤📷🖤
