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The Blade of Frontiers is a good man.
This isn't a title he's given himself, but one bestowed upon him. Through tales and songs all across the city and uttered from the very lips of his lover - Wyll Ravengard has always strived to be a good man.
He can't assert this by any measure, but he knows best his own effort. For the sake of the city, for the sake of his people, for the sake of love. He wants very little to himself, and he fights with every ounce of him. His heart is in the city, but his soul is with you. Between these two places, there's no amount of sacrifice or burden he isn't willing to bear.
Part of being a good man is being the master of your own desires. What other men do is none of Wyll's concern, but he's always been adamant about keeping firmly on the straight path. Wyll wants love properly, much like how he wishes the world around him would follow.
Properly, with order and justice and care. That's how Wyll has lived his whole life.
And he's believed of himself that loving that way came easier upon him than it did others, though that was nothing he felt like bragging about. It never felt difficult to abstain from the ugliness of anger or jealousy.
That was before you. And this is after, this is post having your meeting. Wyll has had a relationship or two. Puppy crushes that fizzled off as soon as Wyll's responsibility began to overwhelming. Like, less than love, really. This time it is love, and love is incomparable to any sensation in the world. Not the cut of a blade against his skin, nor the warmth of a sunset. No mortal feeling could really measure to love.
In the aftermath of loving you, Wyll supposes, there is an ugliness within himself that he never really knew about. But maybe it's only normal. What else could there be after he's encountered the most beautiful thing the world has to offer, beyond even gods?
There are three things on Wyll's mind, lately. One, that he loves you more than he thought possible. Two, that he's relieved about the state of affairs. And three, he's very tired of feeling this way.
Not that he's tired of loving you. Things just aren't so busy anymore, and that means there's always people around. The people of the gate love you, and you're more hospitable than you let on. The camp is busy, rife with life every single evening and everyone is always so keen on meeting you.
You're busy, rightly - laughing and drinking. Though you're not much for talking, you do your duties as a host and tell stories when prompted. You seem to enjoy yourself in the well-earned reprieve and you've really do deserve very bit of that love and attention that's come your way.
So, Wyll knows feeling this way is ugly. The jealousy is ugly, and Wyll's not entirely lacking self-awareness about it. Though before he could chalk it up to other things, lately it's impossible. He knows that the Outlanders who come seeking your company have no idea you're engaged - and that they're simply men who desire you for the name you've earned.
A warrior, a hero, a myth - Wyll does not blame them for their curiosity.
But he feels pitiful to be so stirred up about it anyways.
He drinks tonight, though the carafe of wine is mostly full. The others speak amongst themselves. Astarion drifts by him, stands and sways in motion in the cool night air with a smug look on his face that Wyll is too dazed to catch.
Astarion speaks first. The sound is muffled first, impossible to make out in his own mind before a pale hand waves in front of his face.
"You know I'll have to thank your darling later for allowing me to see such a rare sight," Astarion drawls. He's sober, though there's wine in his hand all the same "The Blade of Frontiers, seething with jealousy. A marvel."
"I wouldn't call it seething," Wyll replies, still only half paying attention. His eyes are glued to you. He can't bring himself to look away.
Astarion laughs, a little pity in his voice , though Wyll can't really make out if it's sincere or not.
"But you'll admit you're jealous? My, Ravengard, you've changed." Astarion says. Wyll doesn't bother asking what he means, since it's true in any case "Forgive those poor Outlanders. It's hard enough watching them pine for one half the lovesick couple as is."
Wyll sighs.
"It's fine," Wyll says, though even he can hear how much he doesn't really mean it "It's not like they would know. I suppose many people wear decorative rings these days."
"Gods, this is funny. Just listen to you, I mean really. What a delight. I have half a mind to call the rest over just to witness it in person. Unfortunately I'm not so charitable," Astarion says back to him holding in a laugh "Whatever will you do, Ravengard? Maybe you could kick up a fuss, or pick a fight. People brawl at these things don't they? Oh what a sight that'd be indeed."
Wyll ignores him, but he does heed the advice. He would like to do something about it, though there won't be any brawl. He steels himself, passes an empty cup off to Astarion who makes a shrill laugh as Wyll starts walking himself over the fire.
When he arrives there, the conversation has come to more of a relaxed lull. You notice him even engrossed in conversation, flashing him a smile so beautiful he feels a little blinded.
He gives you one in return, disarmed. The outlander who's been trying to win your attention all night goes to address you again and Wyll is quick to interject.
"Ah, sorry - would you all mind if I borrowed them for a minute?"
You give Wyll a look of surprise, your eyes crystal clear. He feels guilty almost instantly, but continues anyway.
"Is something the matter?" You ask, your voice softened. You've been drinking, from the way your words melt together.
"Nothing serious, just something I wanted to talk to you about in private. That alright? Promise I'll return them before the night is over."
"As long as you promise," Says the very same one Wyll's been trying to tear you away from all evening. You laugh heartily before standing to your feet. You're beaming at him, brilliant - and Wyll goes back to his usual pleasant self as he gives his goodbyes.
He says something about promising before he whisks you off, faithfully ignoring the knowing looks of party.
And he takes you to a quiet corner of the camp, a short trail bridging between the main plot of land. There's some sturdy scenery, and rocks large enough to shield you from the outside and give you privacy.
He's cornering you a bit, admittedly - but you seem happy to see him. As soon as you're alone, you have your arms around his neck. There's a delightful air of excitement around you and Wyll finds himself filling with all the fondness in the world.
The faint sour-sweet of wine lingers off of your lips. Wyll looks at you closely, studies your expression.
"Sorry, sorry," You apologize, suddenly more comfortable. A side of yourself that you only show to him. How funny it makes him feel "I was happy to see you, is all."
"I can see that," Wyll replies, smug - just barely. You bat your lashes, dazed. It's unlike you. Wyll likes it. "I'm happy to see you too. Always."
"Is it something serious?"
Ah. He's caught isn't he? In a way, he's tremendously lucky you're not too sober. He's sure you'll tease him about it later.
"No, I suppose not. It's nothing at all, I just," He stumbles uncertainly at what he should say "Well, I wanted to speak with you."
"You could've joined us!"
Wyll gives you a sideways glance.
"Could I?" He says, before he catches himself. He adds the next words apologetically almost "That outlander you've been conversing all night seemed rather rapt with you. I doubt I could've interjected anywhere without fumbling."
You look like you're processing his words, but it's not as if Wyll is going to let you.
Wyll often says to you that you make him forget himself, and there are moments like these he find that to be more true than ever. It is unlike Wyll - strong and chivalrous, poise and charming - to bear so heavy a feeling in his heart that he has to express it physically.
Only you could make his silver tongue submit to such urgent, base instinct. Wyll kisses you in the most unromantic way he knows. It's not very gentlemanly. A kiss to claim, to sink, to swallow.
He kisses hard, and your lips are faint with the taste of wine. You make a noise of surprise before you melt into his arms. The warmth of his body makes him feel like he's burning to ash. His tongue touches yours, warm and hot nipping at your mouth.
When you pull away, Wyll decides it still isn't enough to curb the jealousy. He lets his teeth drift down to your neck. Sharpened canines that scrape against thin skin. Wyll sucks hard, enough to make all the capilliaries break.
And you sigh - a pretty, welcoming noise. Wyll is marking you. He leaves one after the other, in admittedly visible places. But he's not thinking about, not really.
Not until your voice breaks, the sweetest edge of desire to your words. He's not so debased to do anything to you while you're more than tipsy. He pulls away from you, blinks at you candidly - before the realization dawns on him in full.
By the gods, what's wrong with him? Embarrassment hits him afterwards, abject dread filling him as he peers at the dark marks along your neckline.
Did he really...? Really?
"Wyll," You say, strikingly sober and delighted all of a sudden "Are you...perhaps...jealous?"
He rubs his face on his hand, suddenly flush, turning his expression to one side. He can't deny it at this point can he.
"I wonder if my life will be easier once our wedding is announced in print," He offers sheepishly. You laugh loudly, absolutely elated as you press your forehead to his. He does the same, of course "The ring seems to be no more than decorative to everyone."
"Wyll Ravengard, I would've never guessed in a thousand years you'd drag me here because you were jealous."
"Please forget my uncouth actions at your earliest convenience my love," He says, groaning "I might die of embarrassment otherwise."
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I get jealous over silly things all the time. I tell you as much."
"When you do it it's endearing. I'm meant to be a gentleman, yet in front of you - I lose my wits like I'm a boy no older than seventeen. It's maddening."
"You forget yourself?" You tease, characteristically. He laughs.
"A bit more each day, it seems."
"A little jealousy is healthy, Ravengard. Though, I'm not sure how we're going to return to camp in this state." You say, giving him a suggestive look "Perhaps we have a bit more to talk about here instead, hm?"
"We should be doing such things in a bed. Or a tent." Wyll insists. You chuckle like you know he'll give into you.
"Wouldn't it be more effective if that Outlander you're so jealous of saw me with a post sex glow, along with the hickies."
Wyll feels his skin prick with heat.
"You drive a hard bargain." He comments, voice soft as a whisper. You laugh.
"Maybe you're just an easy sell."
Wyll laughs heartily at that.
"Any one would jump at the chance for something so priceless, Hero of the Gate."
You give Wyll another smile, lovely and genuine - there's nothing smug about it. You kiss him tender, sighing happily into his arms. He finds himself helpless to his own joy.
"Then lets kill time here and head back,"
"Yes," He says, jealousy tucked away for now "Let's do that,"