Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started, as did many things in Wyn's life, with a song.

“Remember, Karlach, dear heart, as much as I'd like to kick his teeth straight in too,” Wyn pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet as she they crossed the drawbridge into the fortress, so as to get a little closer to Karlach's ear whilst keeping her voice low, “a public coronation requires a more… subtle approach.”

“Subtle?” Astarion parroted, “darling, I didn't know the word was in your dictionary.” Wyn didn't need to adjust her height to put an elbow to his ribs.

“I suppose subtle might be the wrong word for the plan I've got,” she conceded,  “but either way, we need to keep our heads; just play along, alright?”

“Oh, and play dumb,” she added as they approached the grand hall in which the coronation was to take place any minute, “the less he thinks we know, the better.”

“I'm sure we'll have no problem with that ,” Astarion chimed, this time dodging Wyn’s elbow, but earning a laugh from her too. Truthfully, his wry witticisms helped, in a way; they'd become a part of Wyn’s normal , her everyday, they were an odd sort of comfort.

The walkway up to the grand dais, with its regal red and gold carpet, was flanked on all sides by nobles, chattering and clamouring for a good look at the man who swaggered down the steps of the throne towards them; good . Exactly the audience Wyn had been hoping for.

Even as she could feel the heat radiating off Karlach on her bare skin, see Wyll’s restlessness out of the corner of her eye, Wyn commended their restraint for letting her do all the talking - she was an expert at being cordial, feigning manners and hiding her own hatred for prats like this, after all - even as Gortash had the balls to offer an alliance. Which Wyn, naturally, accepted with two fingers crossed behind her back. Of course they’d bring Orin's netherstone right to him and let him fuck over the entire world they lived in, what a splendid idea.

She couldn’t help thinking to herself as she watched the Grand Duke, Wyll’s father (clearly under the Absolute’s influence - who in their right mind would willingly give this slimy prick so much power?) proclaim Gortash the new archduke , that her mother would see this as an opportunity for a different kind of alliance, and a shudder ran up her spine. Hells, if Gortash had given Bane’s offer a thank-you-but-no-thank-you , she wouldn’t have been surprised if Aurica Montaril might have been next on the list for the god of tyranny and they'd have all been rallying in Waterdeep instead.

But the ceremony was drawing to a close, she had to put such thoughts to the back of her mind, now was the time to put her plan into action.

Swinging her lute off her back and adjusting her hat and the cardinal-emblazoned pin on her coat, just so, she stepped up to the front, her voice rising to address the crowd.

“Absolutely marvellous! On behalf of the Montaril house of Waterdeep, I must say what an honour it is to be here and bear witness to such a momentous day, it is truly a shame my family could not join me - but! If I may,” she eyed Gortash, daring him to stop her after she’d dropped such a well-regarded name, “I would like to offer a song as tribute from the Montarils, to really get the festivities started.”

She knew by the look that flashed across his face that he didn’t know who exactly the Montarils were, but that enough of the audience did that it would be an understatement to call rejecting her offer a faux pas for the new archduke. So, doing his best to hide his reluctance - if she weren’t so familiar with doing so herself, she might not have noticed at all - he nodded and motioned for her to take centre stage.

Tapping the heel of her boot on the stone floor to find her rhythm, she began to strum on the lute, her faithful old friend.

“ On my farm, the bull is the king of the yard;
He’s big and bad and fast, he’s strong, he's . . . hard.
All my other animals would readily concur,
That he is the one you salute, he’s the one you call “Sir”.
But my hens, a noisy, flighty flock –
Led, of course by my unsubmissive cock –
Whenever His Majesty, the bull, importantly goes by,
They dance along behind him and they cry:
“Beware of the bull!””

With her music, Wyn found, came magic, whether she liked it or not. For as long as she could remember, her voice echoed not only through the air, but the weave itself, her fingers plucking at it with the strings she played; when she sang of hens, a lightly shimmering flock crossed the hall, when she sang of the bull, Gortash was crowned with a grand set of horns, earning awed gasps from the crowd. As she reached the chorus, she stepped into a dance, following the illusory fowl around Gortash himself, who could do nothing .

“ The bull, the bull is the biggest of all.
He is the boss, he is, because he’s big and we are small.
But the bigger the bull - bigger the bull! - bigger the balls, ”

She took great care in her emphasis of the lyrics to not give the game away to the audience, that this was not exactly a song lauding the eponymous bull, and for the final lines of the chorus she focused all she could on dissipating the illusions - they came so naturally, it was a strain to keep them at bay - gradually lowered her voice so that only Gortash himself could really hear the words;

“ The bigger the bull, the bigger and quicker and thicker the bullshite falls. ”

His head snapped around as everything clicked into place - she didn’t doubt he’d be on her arse for it later, but for now, she’d outplayed his own power play of inviting his enemies right in. Her smile widened and she lifted her voice once more to the crowd, dancing down the aisle to where they sat, completely fucking oblivious.

“ The hero arrives, we hoist him shoulder-high,
He’s good and wise and strong, he’s brave, he’s . . . shy.
And how we have to plead with him, how bashfully he climbs,
Up the steps of the dias – two at a time.
Then down it comes: slick, slithery pat!
If you must put people on pedestals, wear a big hat. ”

She came back up to the party and doffed her own hat, a beautifully made thing with a wide brim and scarlet feathers she’d picked up and taken a real shine to, placing it upon Astarion’s head as she passed him, and he gave the crowd his best dashing grin - really, it suited him. Though he knew damn well he wasn’t keeping it.

Back up to Gortash, she circled him once more, not only as a mocking hen but as a vulture, a predator, taunting him as he stood, not taking his eyes off her for the moment. Well, he could look all he liked, she was worth looking at, after all.

“ The tongue he’s got is pure gold, the breast is pure brass,
The feet are pure clay – and watch out for the arse!
Beware of the bull!”

Once more she repeated the chorus, again, bringing her voice down and singing through her teeth such as the audience couldn’t quite make out the brazen slight of the last line.

“ These well-known men, so over-glorified –
There’s one of them here, his name’s on the poster outside!
And he’s up here like this, and you are all down there.
Remember his cock and his bull and mutter: “Beware!”
For when they’ve done, we clap, we cheer, we roar:
“For he is a jolly good fellow! Encore! More, more!”
How glorious it would be if before these buggers began
We all stood up together and solemnly sang: ”

She looked pointedly over at the party, who, thankfully, took the hint, clapping and singing along, encouraging many others of the audience to join in, crying;

“Beware of the bull!” ”

It was perfect .

“ The bull, the bull is the biggest of all.
He is the boss, he is, because he’s big and we are small.
But the bigger the bull - bigger the bull! - bigger the balls, ”

Finally, she stood directly before Gortash, looking him dead in the face as she brought the song to a close, relishing the look in his eyes.

“ The bigger the bull, the bigger and quicker
And the bigger and quicker and thicker
And the bigger and quicker and thicker and slicker the bullshite falls. ”

Applause erupted behind her and Astarion was quick to take the hat down to the crowd, collecting the gold coins they happily tossed in.

“Thank you so much, Lord Gortash, for inviting us, it’s been a pleasure to perform for you,” she smiled her best, biggest, brightest smile for him, bowing low - his eyes flickered down, because of course they did, dirty old man - as she slung her lute up onto her back again.

“A pleasure to have you, Lady Montaril,” he replied, concealing his contempt almost as well as she did.

“Oh, you’ve not had me, yet - believe me, you’d know,” she gave him a wink, adjusting her bodice and then simply walking away, leaving him there to stew as she rejoined the group where Astarion was counting their profits and Karlach was hopping from one foot to another.

“What was that ?”

“That, dear heart, was incredibly catchy. I give it half a tenday before every bard in Baldur’s Gate is playing it. And those who get it, get it . Those who don’t… well, someone will take pity and tell them eventually,” she smirked to herself, leading them out, “And won’t it be funny to watch them all realise that the archduke let such blatant slander be played at his coronation? The scandal .”

“Gods, remind me not to get on your bad side,” Wyll huffed, still tense, but not quite as such as before. That was the part she didn’t mention - it was as much for them, to ease their spirits, as to bring Gortash down.

“I learnt from the best, sweet thing, I’ve seen my mother tear many a reputation to shreds with barely a word. She might just have been proud of me for it, if she were capable,” it went unsaid that she wasn’t. And what a shame it was too that Wyn’s sister, Perfect Pen didn’t have the spine, nor her son, the Montaril heir himself, Barclay, the brains, to pull such a scheme off.

But that was neither here nor there. The city awaited, and there were more songs yet to sing before this was over.

Chapter Text

“Still up, Old Bear?” 

After the coronation, the party had made a veritable beeline to the Elfsong tavern in the city proper, all eager to get some well-deserved rest in real beds for the first time since the nautiloid had picked them up.

Well, almost all of them.

“I'm sorry, did I disturb you?” Halsin murmured, looking down at Wyn as she rolled over in his arms to face him.

“No, no,” she whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek, “I can't settle either. Too much excitement, I think.”

“You made quite the entrance into the city, from the sound of it,” he chuckled softly, “I almost wish I had been there to see.”

“Only almost?” she teased.

“I don't think I'm suited to that sort of crowd,” he said with a soft sigh, “nor to city life in general. We've not been here a day, but I can feel the imbalance. And I think I've spent too long sleeping among nature to settle in a bed like this.”

She looked thoughtful for a minute, absently running her fingers across his skin, then, carefully, Wyn extracted herself from his arms and stepped quietly out of the bed, adjusting her nightclothes and grabbing a pair of spare bedrolls and blankets, before extending a hand for him to join her. He hesitated, unsure exactly where she intended to take him in the middle of the night, but accepted it, letting her lead him up to the roof of the tavern. Even at night, the summer air was warm, but it was evened out by the crisp breeze that rolled in from the sea, close as they were now to the mouth of the Chionthar.

For a few moments, Wyn simply shut her eyes, letting it roll over her, breathing a deep sigh. She found a comforting familiarity in it, having grown up on the edge of the sea herself. How many nights had she spent on balconies and rooftops letting that same sea air wash over her?

“Almost feels like home,” she said as she opened them again, laying the bedrools out together on the rooftop, making a sort of nest with the blankets, and beckoning Halsin to join her. He sat and she shuffled up close to lean against him, letting him wrap her in his arms once more. With her cheek against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat, a strong, comforting rhythm.

“Do you miss it?” He asked, and she couldn’t help but smile as she felt his voice rumble when he spoke.

“Sometimes,” she said, “it's a beautiful city, even outside the Castle Ward. And the view of the sea… I used to climb up onto the rooftops, high as I could, just to see how far I could look out, dreaming of what might be on the other side.”

“Did you find out, when you left?”

“Tried,” she huffed, “got about fifteen minutes out from the dock and discovered I get the most terrible seasickness, they had to row me right back again.” 

“Ah, I'm sorry,” Halsin said, running a hand through her hair, and she let out a contented hum.

“It's alright, Faerûn has plenty of wonders of its own,” she said, “I intend to see all of them.”

“I don't doubt you will,” he said, and when she glanced up he had such a fond smile on his face, it made her heart jump.

“But what about you? What's keeping you up, Old Bear?” she asked, running a hand down his chest.

“As I said, there is an imbalance - for lack of a better word - here, I’m too attuned to nature. We’ve barely stepped through the gates and have already seen the weak trodden on by the powerful. Do we really think ourselves more civilised than animals when we treat each other like this?”

Unsure what to say, Wyn pressed herself closer, hoping she could be some kind of comfort.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to burden you, I think I will just need time to adjust to this place - I'm simply not as used to life in a city as you,” he said, “three and a half centuries and most of it spent beneath the stars.” He looked up, and her gaze followed. Even as clear a night as it was, the lights of the city, still busy even so late, dulled those of the night sky.

“It’s no burden,” she said softly, “I know well enough how hard a change like that is.”

She remembered the first night she'd spent outside the city, seventeen, lying awake just as Halsin was, finding herself counting all those stars she'd never been able to see before. She knew she had been spoilt in her childhood, used to fine fabrics and downy pillows, it had been an adjustment and a half, when she’d fled, to a bedroll out in the wilds, but with time enough she’d grown more than used to it, surprising herself with how much she had ended up enjoying camping, the quiet peace of sleeping among nature.

“...you see those four stars in a line, there?” She said, shifting to point for him as she did, “and then there's two sort-of lines coming up from it, and those two stars right in the middle.”

Halsin quieted, following her finger with his eyes, before nodding.

“I used to make up constellations, when I was still getting used to being on the road and couldn't sleep; that one's the Lovebirds ,” she grinned, pecking his cheek with a kiss, earning a soft laugh, “the bottom four are the branch they're on, and the middle two are where their beaks meet.”

A minute more, Halsin's eyes remained skyward, as he sought to put the image together in his mind, before he looked down at her, again with that soft look that made her giddy, before stealing a kiss of his own.

They hadn't put a name on what was between them yet, something a little more than just friends-with-benefits , deeper than she'd had with anybody before, but nothing official or exclusive. Which was fine by her. For the moment, they could enjoy each other, not only physically, but on nights like that, where they could lie together and paint pictures in the stars until sleep finally took her, and even amidst the noise, with Wyn in his arms, Halsin could find peace enough for his trance.