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Moonlit Quiet

Pairing: Dame Aylin x Isobel Thorm

Tags: Hurt/Comfort/Fluff, Spoilers for Act 2

Word count: 3K

Summary:

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. There's so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch.

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss.

What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness?

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again.

AKA: Aylin and Isobel take some time to themselves following Ketheric's death.

Read on AO3 or below

***

It’s been over a century since Isobel has seen Moonrise Towers bathed in the light of its namesake. Longer still since she’s set foot in this bedroom – her bedroom.

It’s not a space she ever imagined seeing again, but she’d found her hand on the doorknob before she’d realised she'd climbed to the top of the tower. An old instinct she’d presumed. Either that or she’d just been desperate for some – any – form of home comfort in the aftermath of such a battle.

She chooses not to dwell on how it remains just as she left it: sheets rumpled, hearth warmed, her own cleric robes pressed and hanging on the back of the wardrobe- just as any other evening.

Kicking off her boots by the window, she can almost pretend it is just any other evening. Her father could be working below, stern but happy in his way, and she could retire from her daily rituals ready for an altogether different sort of ritual atop her sheets.

She smiles as she hears the old but familiar thump of someone landing against her mattress.

Her darling. Her angel.

It’s almost dizzying how normal a sight it is. The Dame Aylin on her bed, battle-mussed and resplendent in her full armoured regalia. She glows a gentler silver now, like Isobel’s own slice of moonlight waiting against her pillows.

For once, she’s silent, but the blazing promise in her eyes speaks volumes.

Want. Need. Impatience. So much that even decades of death can’t stop the way Isobel’s knees weaken at the sight.

She hurriedly shutters every window until the room is solely lit by Aylin’s glow. Under any other circumstances, she’d leave them wide open. She’d always like to sleep under the watchful light of Selûne and for the first time in years she can feel her Lady’s caress reaching across the land. It’s another old familiarity, one she loves– but tonight requires privacy.

She undresses Aylin with practised care. The sword finds a new home against the carpet, sheathed and quiet for now. She’ll need it again, no doubt sooner than Isobel would want, but it need not sing at this moment. Their battle is won. Plans for the rest of this war can wait.

There’s a quiet relief on Aylin’s breath as Isobel unlaces her armour. Piece by piece the silvered soldier falls to the bed, Isobel’s hands slow as they find the strength waiting underneath. She pauses as she brushes above the collar of her mail, her thumb meeting the ivory line of her throat.

She’s rooted, awed, as she feels each long breath– so real, so alive against her touch.

That first lightning bolt of shock and elation at seeing her here had fallen along with Aylin’s breastplate against the sheets. She can’t quite place where in her head she is right now, somewhere between a shaky sense of regularity and the colder fear that she’ll close her eyes too long and awaken back at Last Light. Alone, hiding and still mourning the losses she can’t tell another living soul.

Aylin’s look softens as she continues to work. They both know she could dissipate the armour with but a thought, she had so enough times when the heat between them called for it. She stays still for now, letting Isobel ground herself in the ritual, the feel of the metal, of her angel’s fingers against her. Her worship belongs to Selûne, but true devotion– that will forever be for Aylin. It’s a thought that borders on blasphemy, but it would taste a lie to deny it. There’s no careful composure or rehearsed words needed. It’s something aching, intimate– pleasure and want so desperately pressed into each other with shaking hands and parted lips.

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch.

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss. What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness ?

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again.

“Yes, we do,” is what she says aloud, dipping down so their lips can finally meet.

She knows it’s the calm before the hurricane, one moment of pure unfiltered serenity before Aylin’s composure snaps. Her mouth opens, gasp hot as she pulls Isobel into her lap.

“Oh my darling, my fearless Isobel,” she whispers against her mouth, tugging her close with a strong arm around Isobel’s waist. “ Please let me adore you now.”

Isobel groans. She’d almost forgotten how perfect her name sounds in Aylin’s voice– the strength of a battle cry; more delicate than a prayer.

She shifts under Isobel and her lips are everywhere, her chin, her ear, her throat. Pieces of her own armour clatter to the floor as impatient hands roam over her, seeking lost skin.

It’s a task unto itself not to press her down onto the bed right now and ravish her until they’re both sweetly exhausted and sore. Gods-knows she wants to. It would be so easy to lose herself in Aylin until dawn dared intrude on them.

She squeezes the curve of Isobel’s thigh and lights burst behind her eyes.

It’s everything. It’s too much.

“ Aylin - wait.” She catches her face, slowly guiding it back to hers.

Aylin’s hands immediately still. “Does something trouble you?” Her voice is thick– those moon-bright eyes blown wide as an eclipse.

Isobel smiles. That’s a sight she remembers all too well. Her Aylin. Her perfectly besotted love.

“It is as you said. We have time,” she breathes, gathering the spill of Aylin’s hair and letting it slip between her fingers. “So please, could you let me do this?” What exactly she’s asking for she isn’t quite sure. There’s a century still hanging between them, so many moments to make up for, far far too many.

Perhaps too many for the years she has left with her.

She swallows and brushes the down of Aylin's cheek, marble to flesh.

For now, she needs to be slow. Deliberate. Relearn her love inch by beautiful inch.

She knows that Aylin will forever be Aylin: the Moonmaiden’s justice, her unwavering paladin– as regal and proud as the heavens themselves. It’s her duty to stand as such until her immortal service is finally complete, perhaps when the last vestige of Selûne's light fades into that final night. But for now, she’s battled enough. It’s finally Aylin’s time to be savoured – and Isobel knows she’s more ready to take on that duty.

She brushes the peach curve of her lips, then those new golden scars fractured across her face. She pauses against the darker flecks on her jaw: blood from their new allies, from illithids, her father-

She tucks the thought away. It’s a feeling too messy for her to fully fathom right now, raw and tender as a new bruise. She quietly makes a vow to process it fully in her own time. Much much later.

He’s at rest, his poison gone and Isobel would rather throw herself into the fetid pit under this tower than let him snatch the joy from this night as well.

She can’t hide her gasp as she pulls Aylin’s undershirt from her body. Wider, deeper scars splinter over the firm muscles of her torso and finish in a jagged patch over her heart.

Once, such marks were almost a comfort to Isobel, a shining reminder of every battle won and every chip she’d taken to come home to her. She’d never imagined it like this, the evidence of every sword and dagger and javelin plunged through her.

She cups her hand to Aylin’s breast, the gold fully eclipsing each finger.

“Does it hurt?” she whispers.

Aylin’s expression doesn’t falter as she covers Isobel’s hand with her own. “Not anymore. Such cowardly attempts would hardly be enough to break me.”

They’re strong words, proud as every gallant decree that the world expects of an emissary such as her. And Isobel knows they’re a lie.

She can see it, beyond her stone-hard smile there are cracks, invisible and silent but no less present than those golden tracks left by battle and brutality.

Death for Isobel had been timeless, easy even. Nothing but the dreamless dark. Being ripped back into life, that had been a harder weight to bear. She’d awoken to her home now twisted with perverse Sharran magic, Selûne’slight snuffed out by the haunted visage of her own father. ‘ For love. For our family,’ he’d said, flat and chilled as a wall. And in the same breath, he’d revealed the worst of it: Aylin too was gone. Nothing mortal or immortal to ever bring her back.

It her own spear through the heart, but what was that in comparison a century caged, a century alone and shadowed, broken again and again and again until the might and wrath of a goddess was belittled down to naught but a tool.

Isobel’s vision pools with red.

She tries to ground herself in the drum of Aylin’s heart, forever steady as the rocking tide, but she sees her own trembling fingers betray her.

Aylin tips her chin up with her thumb. “There is something else. Tell me.”

Isobel refuses to meet her eye.

“All this time- all this time you were so close,” she whispers shakily. “I should have known. I could have found you.”

Aylin shakes her head and strokes the length of her back. “None of that.”

The touch does nothing to quell her anger. “I’m a fighter too. I may not be any sort of divine Paladin, but I could have done something instead of hiding at Last Light.” She drops her head to Aylin’s shoulder as if she could muffle the guilt of her words in the broad muscle. “If it were me down there, you would have razed that vile temple to the ground, brick by brick, until you freed me. I was not even there when your cage was broken.”

There’s a long moment of quiet before the hand at Isobel’s back slides up to cradle her neck.

“You are indeed most ferocious,” Aylin says, her voice soft with fondness. “Before, I’d never laid eyes on anyone so in tune with my Mother’s power. It was the most remarkable sight to behold. And from what I understand, you were doing precisely what was needed of you at that Inn. You protected our allies, strengthened them so they could destroy this tower’s forces and the powers so wicked that laid beneath. Without you, they would have all been destroyed by the shadows that ruined this land.” She tilts Isobel’s head slightly, letting each word brush against the point of her ear. “ That is why I am free.”

Isobel shifts into the touch, lets the soft rain of her lover’s words unravel the tension inside her.

She’s free, Aylin is here and she’s free.

She focuses on the thought. How it happened and who found her are facts she’ll need to let go of one day. She’s with her, solid and soft and oh so strong against her palms and that is the only thing that could possibly matter.

Aylin guides her face back with warm hands. Her intention is clear as she drops her eyes to Isobel’s mouth, the conversation probably over in her view.

She halts Aylin’s kiss with a finger to her lips.

There’s something else, one last weight she must unburden from herself before they can finally take that first step in moving forward.

She touches her own chest, rubbing the spot over her heart. “A hundred years, Aylin. It’s a lifetime to most, even to me. I may scarcely remember being dead, but I know I came back changed. Wrong.” From the moment she’d jerked awake in her tomb, she’d felt it– something bitter and cold resting inside her.

Aylin pulls back, eyes wide. “Did that foul necromancer hurt you?”

“No, no, my love,” she answers, running her hands across Aylin’s shoulders until the fire in her gaze quietens a little. “Whatever brought me back and healed my body was unnatural to say the least. I think some part of me knows I shouldn’t be here.” Even now she knows it. Under the joy and shock and wonder there’s still a seed planted deep in her chest, rotting.

A large part of her wishes that was the only thing changed in her.

She takes another breath. “That’s not all, Aylin. After I ran from my Father, I had to fight, to harden against it all, become a warrior against people I’d once held dear. If… if I’m completely truthful, I think the person you truly knew remains in the crypt I was pulled from.”

Aylin tilts her head, an eyebrow raised. “And you believe that will eventually turn my heart from you? Or do you think that my time caged has changed my own feelings?”

Isobel bites her lip, fighting the urge to look away. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I do.” Aylin’s hands trail down Isobel’s body, her eyes following. “To many an immortal, a century seems so little. It’s nothing but the blink of an eye in the face of eternal life. For me however– it was the first instance where I truly understood the weight of time. Every second that I felt Ketheric’s wicked connection or looked up at generation after generation of craven Sharrans was its own eternity in that cage. Yet, as is my duty, I swore to never show my cracks.”

Her hands continue their gentle path as she speaks, slipping under Isobel’s shirt and pausing at the dip of her waist. “I am my Mother’s sword, her glory– but it was not her power that kept me steady in the Shadowfell. It was my memories of you, my love.”

Warmth blooms like a blush under Aylin’s hands, her thumb caressing just under Isobel’s naval. She strokes her neck, waiting for those pale eyes to meet hers. “Even though you thought me dead?” she whispers.

Aylin’s smile softens. “Even then.”

Her thumb moves slightly lower, dipping just under the loose band of Isobel’s trousers. It’s a promise and a reassurance.

I’ve got you. I want you.

Aylin kisses her chin as she continues. “And yes, you are changed just as I am, but did you think I would not recognise that voice, that love in your eyes as clear as our Lady’s light the moment I saw you again?”

Isobel’s answering smile threatens to split her cheeks, the last of her doubts disappearing into the fading curse just beyond. She kisses her forehead. Their noses brush. “Perhaps I just wanted to hear you say it,” she murmurs, shifting up so she can unlace the final armoured pieces on Aylin’s legs. She rises to help her, her fingers never leaving her bare skin as she works. It’s the only protection she’ll need for now.

“Then I will say it as many times as you need. Until the stars burn out, until this tower crumbles to dust around us– let it be the last thing I ever utter in the light of this world.” She presses her words across Isobel’s face, gentle as moonlight, steadfast as an oath as she finally lands on her lips. “My love most high. My Isobel.”

“Aylin,” she gasps against her mouth. It’s the only words her kiss-drunk mind can find as she pulls her impossibly closer, the world blurring in gold and pink around her.

It’s such a simple truth: loving Aylin will forever be the easiest thing she’ll do. Easier than loving herself, than her purpose, than her goddess. A century passed and that want hasn’t quietened, not even slightly. She’d wept, cursed, grieved for Aylin and a single kiss had her falling again, more desperate for her touch than her next breath.

“For the world to see, Dame Aylin shall forever be indomitable,” Aylin hums, slowing their kiss to lace their fingers together, “but so too is this.”

She presses one last, achingly gentle kiss to Isobel’s lips before ripping her shirt over her head. Her breath catches in her throat as Aylin twists them, pushing her into the mattress and caging her there with her torso. She swallows Isobel’s gasp as her lips drop to her chest, the heel of Aylin’s hand grinding between her legs with a warm familiar rhythm.

“Now, time enough has been wasted,” she mouths over her breast, the words rippling down to her beating heart. “It is as I said, I have a darling to adore.”

Everything else melts away after that.

It’s an ungraceful mess of hands and hearts. Words of love and gratitude spill against scars and skin as they finally find themselves within each other again.

Come morning, they will have to face the future. There are allies to bury, secrets to share, the road to Baldur’s Gate twisting and dark in front of them– but for now, between these silver-bathed walls, their world is nothing but the two of them.

As close to heaven as either of them will ever need.

***

These two have taken up waaaay too much brain space over the last couple of weeks so have something soft.

#my writing #aylin x isobel #dame aylin #isobel thorm #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #moon lesbians #i just love them your honour

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