Archive of Our Own

Nightal, 1492 DR

My heart,

You’ll have to forgive me for my silence; children make for a restless journey, and even the most expedient couriers cannot compare to the breeze beneath a druid’s soaring wings. It is hard to believe it has been two moons since we last met, drunk on the dawn of victory. Should I close my eyes, I can still hear the pounding of the war drums, taste the iron in the air, and feel the heat of your embrace as if it were yesterday. 

How fares Baldur’s Gate? Try as I may, I do not mourn my departure. At times, I wish I would have stayed longer to savor our victory, but I am bound to my duties, just as you are sworn to yours. The Hellriders are fortunate to have your guidance, as are your people. With you at their side, I am certain they will find purpose in their new home soon.

As for myself, the journey has been long, hard, and not without its tribulations. I am no stranger to leadership, but a grove of druids can hardly compare to a wagon full of orphans. I fear I am not meant for such a challenge, though I do not stray from it. I do not doubt that you are better suited than I for such a task, even if you do not harbor such faith in yourself. Still, until we are reunited once again, I will not falter. These children, some barely older than babes, have already been through so much. They deserve a second chance, and I will not rest until I have built a life for them anew. My calloused hands are meant for a chisel rather than an axe, but I may become a carpenter yet.

I do not mean to rush you, but not once in my centuries has my heart stirred as much as it has for you. We’ve been apart for longer than we’ve been together since we first met, yet our current separation pains me more than any blade, knowing that there is no longer strife to separate us. When we reunite, I swear not even the Oak Father himself could keep us apart.

Halsin

Alturiak, 1493 DR

Halsin,

Rebuilding will not be easy. Much of the city lies in ruins, lost children run listlessly through the streets, our prayers fall on unhearing ears, and our wounded kin go to bed hungry. The temple where I have taken refuge swells with survivors, seemingly more by the day. I fear the attendants will soon close the temple doors to those in need.

Still, I have faith. If you—we—could overcome that monstrosity, little is impossible. It shames me that I let my hesitations still me for so long. Only when I rode into battle at your side did they diminish. We may now be separated, but I will not allow them to control me any longer.

I am but one aging man; a shell of the commander I used to be. I do not believe I am the right leader, but the Hellriders need help as they become a peacekeeping force, determined to prevent Baldur’s Gate from befalling the same fate as Elturel. And the tieflings—many do not forgive me, and I do not expect them to, yet I will see to their peace. Baldur’s Gate may never replace Elturel, but I will not leave until they have found happiness again.

I cannot put into words how much I miss your presence, but for now, my purpose is here. I will never be able to make amends for my deeds, but the Hells may gladly take me if I do not try. The feelings I share for you remain unfamiliar, a first in my many years, but now I cannot imagine life without them. No matter the distance that separates us, I will remain steadfast. Until we reunite, take heed knowing I send my love with every letter.

Zevlor

Tarsakh, 1493 DR

My love,

Greetings from Morning Glory Orphanage. Aptly named, wouldn’t you say? After a century of darkness, there is no greater gift than the sunrise.

The Shadow-Cursed Lands have recovered faster than any of us expected, a blessing granted by the Oak Father with the coming spring. It is a start, though much work remains. I’d dare call it my home already, but it doesn’t deserve that label. Not without you.

The children have already taken to calling the orphanage home, however. Not a day goes by without my ears ringing with their jubilant laughter. I never truly saw myself as a parent, but I can hardly imagine a life without them now. My time as Archdruid is already a faint memory, and I truly think I prefer it this way.

To my endearment, they call me Daddy Halsin. I cannot help but wonder what they will call you. I’ve grown rather fond of Daddy and would loathe to share it—Papa Zevlor, perhaps? I think the title suits you. They ask of you, sometimes. I have not indulged them, for any story I could tell pales to the real you, but I am certain they’ll take to you just as well as I. 

I miss you more than I have ever missed another before. I will wait patiently until the Oak Father sees it fit for us to reunite once again, but that does not mean I enjoy our separation. My heart beats for you alone, and I fear that the only cure for my aching heart is your embrace. Forgive an old man his pining, so let me state my affection clearly: I love you, Zevlor. May the Oak Father soon guide you back to me.

Halsin

Flamerule, 1493 DR

Halsin,

I bring good news: at long last, I have departed Baldur’s Gate.

I apologize for my lateness; the relief efforts will not cease for some time. It was hard to find a stopping point, and I worry it was not yet my time to leave. Still, the Hellriders have found a new purpose without their oaths. I have no doubt they will serve Baldur’s Gate and its people well. Perhaps even better than I could.

The tieflings, too, have settled down. They undoubtedly would have managed without my efforts, but I did what I could. They surprised me: I had not announced my departure from the city to another soul, instead planning to leave quietly come dawn. Yet, when I led my steed to Basilisk’s Gate, it was not merely guards who bade me farewell but a group of the very tieflings I had helped! They gave me gifts for the road—provisions, changes of clothes, even the meager coin they could spare. I tried to refuse their generosity, but they insisted.

And right as the gates lifted, I was given the greatest gift of all: forgiveness from those hurt most by my betrayal. I fear I apologized more than they did, and even shed a tear, but It’s more than I could have ever asked for. I left Baldur’s Gate as much at peace as I had been before Elturel’s fall.

I will never forgive myself, but I am content, even if I do not believe I deserve it. I have done what I can for my people, and now, it is time I do what I can for yours. Peace will be a welcome change, though from what I hear from you, peaceful may not be the word to describe the life we will soon share. Regardless, I swear on my honor that nothing will ever keep us apart again.

Keep an eye on the horizon, for little can match the speed of a Hellrider. It will not be long now.

Zevlor

Halsin would much rather have Zevlor at his side, but all things considered, he has grown rather fond of the letters they exchange with every cycle of the moon. 

It’s not often that he finds peace or quiet, a natural consequence of tending to so many cubs, but when he does, his first thoughts are of Zevlor. Words do not always come easy to him on parchment, but the challenge is relaxing, if not enjoyable.

Today, however, he must force himself to stem his quill. Brevity has never been his strong suit, but any attempt to put his feelings into words falters. If Zevlor were here, Halsin would have abandoned talking entirely in favor of a more primal language: the steady beat of Zevlor’s heart thumping beneath his pointed ear, and the feel of his muscles, lean but imperceptibly strong, wrapped around him. Another might feel frustrated by their distance, but it doesn’t bother Halsin.

They have the rest of their lives together—Oak Father willing—to find respite in each other’s embrace, after all.

With a sigh, Halsin regretfully wads his scratched letter into a ball before replacing it with a fresh sheet of parchment. He means to start a draft anew, but before he can begin, the pattering of many small feet draws his attention.

“Daddy Halsin!” cries a chorus of mismatched children, some not even up to his thigh. Halsin’s eyes crinkle with warmth as he turns, standing up to greet them.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he calls out with a hearty chuckle. They blink back at him with a false innocence, slow enough to cause suspicion, and Halsin knows they mean trouble. “I am more than glad to be of service, but know that cubs who shirk their duties do not earn the sweetest honey.”

They cringe, a telltale sign of their guilt. Rascals, the lot of them—Halsin doesn’t believe they’re up to good for even a second.

Their leader steps forward, a young tiefling girl—a spitting image of Zevlor if Halsin’s ever seen one, from the set of her jaw to the ruby tones of her ridged skin—who answers for the crowd.

“We’re done with our chores, I swear!” she insists. She then shuffles her feet, shifting her weight: hesitation, as if trying to figure out just how to phrase her question. Eventually, her indecision passes, and she blurts out unceremoniously, “Tell us about your lover, Daddy Halsin!”

Surprised, all Halsin can do is blink.

Halsin is no stranger to weaving tales; hardly a night passes without innumerable children pressed to his side, hanging onto his every word as they fight off the lull of sleep. From stories of when he was a young, budding druid, to legends of bravery and treachery of their fight against the Absolute made fitting for little ears, there are few subjects he hasn’t broached.

What they’ve never been privy to, however, is his relationship with Zevlor. Halsin is no stranger to public affection, but it always felt too new, too raw . He would much rather they form an opinion of Zevlor for themselves when he arrives than listen to his endeared ramblings.

He supposes it wouldn’t hurt to indulge their innocence just this once.

“Well,” he pauses, a hand to his chin. There’s not a topic he feels more strongly for, and trying to condense the depths of his affection for Zevlor is as hard a task as any. ”I’ve not met a man more loyal than Zevlor. He is steadfast, chivalrous, and has a heart of gold—and steel. Once, he was a—”

“Not his character!” she insists, interrupting him. “We want to know what he looks like! Is he a tiefling? Red, tall as two of me, with a bunch of wrinkles on his face and a sad, distant look in his eyes?”

Halsin can’t help but chuckle. It’s an apt enough description of Zevlor, if unflattering. Not a day goes by without him being surprised by the refreshing forwardness of youth. He prefers it to the twisting lies and false platitudes wrought with maturity. 

“Perhaps not how I would have described him, but it suffices all the same.”

“Oh, good!” The girl smiles, relieved, before turning her back to him, mischievousness sparkling in her eyes. “Bring him out!”

Confusion twists Halsin’s features as the children part before him in a wave, not unlike the sea’s. Bring who out?

“Halsin?” An unsure but undeniably familiar voice calls out, unsteady like it has not known speech for some time. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

For a moment, Halsin believes the voice to be his imagination, a manifestation of his heart’s greatest longing. Then, Halsin catches a hint of curling horns from the corner of his eye, and he no longer has any doubt—or restraint. 

Just barely avoiding mowing down the children, Halsin sprints to Zevlor, wrapping him in a bear hug. At first, Zevlor carries himself with a long-held tension, but when his arms encircle Halsin, he relaxes, his tail unconsciously curling around Halsin’s broad frame. Words don’t come to them, but talking is the last thing on their minds as soon Zevlor tilts his head up, his lips meeting Halsin’s in a chaste kiss that does not deepen, but is held for longer than would be appropriate in most circumstances. Halsin wishes it would never end.

The children, however, do not share his enthusiasm.

“Ew!” the tiefling girl exclaims, scrunching her nose with disgust. “Let’s get out of here!” 

Halsin chuckles as they scamper off. His grip on Zevlor’s waist does not relent, but he does pull back enough to finally greet him properly.

“Zevlor! I was just as surprised as you, to the point of disbelief. Had I not felt your touch, I would have thought you little more than an illusion. The Oak Father must have heard my prayers—I was not expecting your arrival so soon. Did you ride with the wind at your back?”

“For part of the journey, yes. The gods were kind to me.”

Halsin laughs again. “I’ll say! I didn’t think it possible to travel so quickly from Baldur’s Gate, even by horse.”

With a shy smile, Zevlor quietly admits, “I did not pause but for the briefest respite. It was a long journey—I did not want to make it longer.”

Gods, how Zevlor always knows what to say.

“Well, you’re home now, and that’s what matters. You must be tired; let me retrieve your belongings and water your steed. I can introduce you to everyone and…” Halsin trails off, pausing when he notices the glaze in Zevlor’s eyes. It’s obvious that he’s a little overwhelmed, and Halsin cannot blame him, given he’d been the same at first.

“The children,” Zevlor gestures to where they loudly play in a field across from them, “are they always like this?”

Halsin grins as he claps Zevlor on the back. “Worse, usually! But you’ll get used to them in time, I’m sure. Welcome to the family, Papa Zevlor!”

Rare panic flashes on his face, though it quickly ebbs as the tiefling girl waves to him from afar. After a moment’s hesitation, Zevlor waves back, the corners of his mouth upturning slightly. 

Retirement will suit Zevlor well.