anyway, here's a little something something about Daeran getting a bad dream and then getting dramatic over it
takes place after Daeran's personal quest in act 5 and after Berci was done with his mythic quests on the gold dragon path
word count: around 1.6k
Bertalan woke up to pressure around his fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, but even then, he could tell it was still the middle of the night. The room was brightened by the moonlight streaming in and while the Knight Commander wasn’t quite used to his newly grown wings, his instincts to block the unwelcome light with them has been fully developed. The sheet underneath him stretched as the presence next to him seemed to have pulled away slightly, but the pressure on his fingers did not let up. Bertalan blinked a few times, trying to convince the muscles in his face to let him look ahead. His lips gently curled to a faint smile as his vision began clearing and he started to make out the visage of his beloved beside him.
A few moments later, however, he also saw the anguish etched onto Daeran’s face. The Count’s breathing was heavy and erratic, his nightmares were sending shivers down his body. One moment, he would bury his face into his pillow, flinching away from Bertalan in his sleep, while in another he’d clutch his hand with all the strength he had. The Commander reached out and swept a stray lock of hair out of Daeran’s face, allowing his knuckles to brush against his cheek, hoping that his touch would ease his night horrors. He ignored his own throat growing tighter and his mouth filling with the nauseatingly bitter taste of fear. He lifted his lover’s hand to his lips and left a tight-lipped but insistent kiss on it. A selfish part of him ached for the relief of their contact almost as much as he did for the sight of the Count being lulled into a peaceful sleep.
Daeran stirred at the pull and when he couldn’t back away from the Commander’s kiss, he finally opened his eyes.
‘Bertalan,’ he whispered his name as relief began to settle in him.
‘I’m here,’ he let go of the aasimar’s hand and leaned over him. He left a light kiss on his eyelids while he slowly slid his arm under Daeran’s waist. ‘I’m here,’ he repeated, while he pressed his forehead against his. He straightened up, pulling his lover with him, who blindly wrapped his arms around him in turn. One hand rested on the Commander’s spine, while the other came to right beneath his wing, and Bertalan couldn’t resist the urge to use those wings as their shelter, as their shield against all else in the room.
‘If you keep squeezing my leg like that, you’ll end up breaking it,’ Daeran pulled away slightly with a complaint. Bertalan retracted his wings and looked down to see his tail tightly coiled around the Count’s shin. He let out a sigh, exasperated at himself, and moved away to give his beloved some space. Daeran took this chance to get out of the bed.
The aasimar’s sleepiness was visible for the first few steps. He combed through his messy golden hair with both his hands, taming the light curls while he straightened his posture. He walked with the measured casualness and practiced dignity befitting his noble birth. Bertalan’s heart sank at the sight. He knew the Count was taught never to let his vulnerabilities show, but it’s been a while since the last time he was this guarded around the Commander. Only a few hours ago they spent their evening merrily, with a hearty meal, some good wine and conversations that came as easily to them as breathing. Now, Daeran was approaching the table, and grabbing the wine bottle. He poured whatever was left at the bottom into a glass but he didn’t drink it. He merely leaned against the edge of the table, and watched the moonlight dance on the red liquid he was swirling.
‘Do you want to talk?’ Bertalan tentatively asked.
‘There is not much to talk about,’ Daeran answered without looking at him, ‘people dream of all sorts of foolish things, this is no different.’
‘Then what troubles you?’
Daeran’s movements stopped at the the question. His face betrayed nothing as he was staring into the empty air in front of him. But there was a tremble in his hand clutching the wine glass and he slouched as if he was ready to collapse, defeated by his sorrows. Bertalan sprang out of the bed and rushed towards him, but before he could reach the Count, he answered.
‘In my dream, I was back in Heaven’s Edge.’
The words stopped the Commander in his tracks, though only for a moment. He waited for his lover to continue, and only moved when he started speaking again. He stepped with the instinctive care of a ranger following the sounds of anguish in the wild. Something in him ached when he realized this but Bertalan ignored the feeling. Daeran’s words were the only things worthy of his attention.
‘It was ten years ago, and my family was…’ the Count took a sip of the wine before he went on, his voice theatrically rising in both pitch and volume, ‘but rather than watching my mother succumb to that accursed, demonic disease, I was watching you,’ he raised his gaze to Bertalan. He looked him in the eye at first, but then he allowed his attention to wander to his chest. To the invisible wound over his heart. ‘As I said, the dream was a rather foolish one but it is hard to dismiss the fear it evoked, given that it is rooted in something very, very real,’ he gulped down the rest of his drink and for a moment, Bertalan was convinced he would smash the glass in frustration but instead, Daeran put it back on the table in a motion that was swift and almost too graceful. ‘So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll spend the night… upset, to put it mildly,’ his voice was shaky as he gripped the edge of the table, hard enough that his knuckles turned white.
‘If this is about my wound,’ the Commander closed the distance to him and placed a hand over his, ‘I don’t intend to let it kill me. You have nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I know,’ Daeran’s voice was low, ‘I know,’ he shook his head as if he could wipe the doubt from his mind doing so. ‘I just… I thought I was done feeling this… terrified of being left alone and I hate that I’m feeling like this still,’ he shut his eyes tight. ‘But you are dying and I am powerless to do anything about it, all I can do is watch and wait for… a change,’ he chose his last word with great care.
Bertalan reached out to cup the Count’s face. His thumb caressed him until he relaxed at the touch slightly, and reached up to press the Commander’s hand to himself harder.
‘I feel fine, Daeran, more than fine with you around,’ he left a kiss on his temple. ‘I promised you a future together, didn’t I? Do you know me as someone who breaks his promises?’
The aasimar hesitated. ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘by now, I should know better than to doubt you but… there is a first time for everything. If we fail-’
‘We won’t,’ Bertalan interrupted him. ‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Good, because it’s been ten years since I truly felt inspired to look forward to anything,’ Daeran leaned forward and rested his head against the Commander’s scaled collarbone. ‘I want to see nothing more than the man I’ll become with you by my side. So I cannot part with you just yet, and I especially do not want you to choose Pharasma’s court over my exquisite company,’ he looked up at him and despite his words, his eyes reflected nothing but pure desperation. But then the moment passed and those same eyes gleamed with a steeliness that Bertalan only saw once – in an echo of the young Count, right before he invited the being that held him hostage for the next ten years. ‘We cannot fail. And we cannot afford sentimentality,’ his gaze shifted to the small space between them. His voice rang with more and more rage and determination as he went on. ‘Areelu Vorlesh has to die. Burn her, bleed her dry, shove her in the Worldwound, I don’t care what it takes, just-’
As Bertalan listened, he felt a chill in his bones. Without thinking, he claimed Daeran’s lips before anger could truly take over him. The kiss was slow and soothing, but it only proved to be perfect to stoke the Count’s stubbornness. Still, he returned the kiss, and as he did so he slid a palm to the back of the Commander’s head. He let out a quiet but frustrated groan as his fingers closed around his dark hair.
‘I heard the saccharine drivel your new friends filled your head with about redemption,’ he pulled away for a moment before closing the gap again, his lips tightly locking around Bertalan’s. ‘If we find her and you feel a draconic urge to forgive her,’ he kissed him again, demandingly, ‘or show her mercy,’ he lightly bit his lip in warning, ‘you better ignore it.’
Bertalan blinked at him in surprise. ‘Are you giving orders to your superior, my dear advisor?’ He made an attempt at teasing him, trying to ease his tension, only to get pinched in the side.
‘I am being serious,’ Daeran looked him dead in the eye, ‘promise me.’
The Count’s sternness gave him pause. The Commander left a feather-light kiss on his lover's cheek, before he pulled him into his embrace. He held him stiffer than he would have liked.
‘Alright,’ he nodded against Daeran’s ear. ‘I promise.’
