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d46ny · 7 months

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The tieflings of Elturel

Zevlor x tiefling!reader

Warnings: AOB, age gap, angst, gore, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, claiming, Male Tav insert (Druid elf)

I’m honestly terrible at remember names lol I’m gonna get them wrong xD

Upon arriving to the Grove you were so happy for shelter, for some relaxation and peace. The druids however were not all inclined to you staying despite what Halsin said. You were exhausted from the days on the road, from the fall, you don’t know how much more your omega body could handle. You weren’t the only omega though and you had to help your people. You were sorting out some supplies when you saw Zevlor, a stern look on his face. Gods what did those Druids do now? you sighed a little continuing your sorting before Zevlor called your name. You perked up as he cocked his head for you to follow and you did. You followed him through the stone doors and into his private area.

“What is it?” You asked sensing the alphas stress.

“The Druids want us gone, with Halsin not here-“ he growled and you gulped a little trying to calm him with your scent. He was usually so composed, but with what’s been happening lately he was getting ready to burst.

“Apologies child I-“ he sighed back turned to you as you stepped closer.

“It’s alright, what can I do?” You asked as he turned to you.

“You’ve done too much already, I want you to rest” he said and you hesitated.

“I have to help-“ you gestured out the door referring to the camp.

“Zevlor!” Tilses called rushing in.

“What is it?” Zevlor asked now on high alert.

“Aradin and his crew are back, but we’ve got problems-“ before the woman could finish Zevlor growled and stormed out, you following suit. You headed to the gate seeing Aradin and his fighters and a pack of goblins behind him. It happened quickly, Harkon got shot, his dead body falling to the floor. The gate slid shut as you ducked from more arrows. You saw Wyll out the corner of your eye as he jumped down the rocks to help. You prepared a spell, protecting the fighters down below, concentrating your magic on them as they fought. Zevlor knelt close to the edge his crossbow in hand. You saw another group appear behind the goblins and they began fighting as well. You extended your protection to them feeling the drain heavily in your body as you pushed through. The fighting stopped and you fell to your knees.

“Everyone inside now!” Zevlor yelled as the gate was opened.

“Gods, are you alright?” He asked as you nodded smiling weakly.

“Just need a moment” you muttered as you tried to get up. Zevlor caught you quickly and you felt your body tingle in response.

“Sorry-“ you forced your body up taking in his alpha scent as he gave you a worried look.

“I’ll be fine, we’ve got company it seems” you said glancing to the four travellers. You smiled and waved the older alpha off who hesitated, but nodded. You headed back to your camp a headache brewing as you sat in your bedroll.

“Excuse me” you frowned looking up seeing the group and standing back up.

“I wanted to thank you for your help” you smiled at the beta elf before glancing to his companions.

“Of course, did any goblins get you?” You asked and they shook their heads.

“Netties the healer in the sanctuary, I don’t know if they’ll let you in though, Arron’s the trader also he is just up there” you pointed and they nodded.

“Zevlor will want to speak to you too, he’s-“ you searched for your leader.

“Probably through that stone door down there” you pointed again.

“Thank you” The elf said and you nodded smiling.

“If you need gear see Dammon, he’s by the sorry excuse of a forge” you chuckled making the elf smile.

“Are you alright?” One of his companions asked, a human, just above the shoulder length brown hair and purple robes.

“Yes, just tired, that spell takes a lot out of you” you said.

“Of course, I’ve never seen it before” he added intrigued.

“Tiefling secret” you chuckled.

“Ah of course” the man grinned.

“Best of luck on your journey” you said as they left with goodbyes. You sagged a bit going back to your bed and laying down. You fell asleep some time someone nudging you awake gently. You shot up before Zevlor scent and voice hit you.

“Easy, it’s just me” he said and you sighed in relief looking to him and the two bowls he had.

“It’s not much again” he said handing you the simple stew and spoon.

“It’s food” you shrugged as the older alpha sat by you. You ate in silence seeing the travelling group still here.

“Hung around did they?” You asked nodding to them.

“Hm? Yes they’ve agreed to help us surprisingly, I don’t know how, killing a whole goblin came can’t be that easy” Zevlor chuckled softly and you smiled.

“They seem to be a powerful bunch, gods know we need the help” you said lying your empty bowl down.

“How are you feeling?” He asked looking to you. You hesitated, honestly you felt ready to burst from exhaustion and everything that’s happened, you had no safe space or comfort to find and you were always on edge.

“I’m alright just a bit tired” you lied shrugging as you avoided his worried eyes.

“You can’t lie to me omega” he muttered and you flushed embarrassed, hiking your knees to your chest, tail coming around you.

“If I tell the truth you won’t let me do anything” you grumbled a bit with a sigh.

“You’ve done too much already, I need you strong” he said and you gulped silently.

“I sleep, I eat, I have a bed and shelter, I’ll be fine tomorrow promise” you stated shutting yourself off trying to avoid breathing in the calming alpha scent he was giving off.

“Very well, do sleep well child” he said taking your bowl and leaving. You cursed yourself softly and laid back on the bed, gods you hated this and this situation. You hated even more that you felt connected to Zevlor somehow, his scent always stood out from the others, so much more inviting, you craved to be near him at all times. You were in his eyes a child though despite being an adult, he’d never see you as a potential mate or companion, not that you should be thinking about that now. Every night you wished you could lay in his bedroll with him, curled up against him, his warmth and scent surrounding you, it would bring you comfort, stop this ache and need.

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d46ny · 8 months

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to rest, and gently

Rating: Mature (Domestic Fluff, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Romance, farm life, commune life, Character Study, probably some sex content later on) Relationship: Zevlor/Original Female Character (non-tav) Length: 1 chapter, 3,667 words (in progress) Summary: He tries to help with rebuilding the city but he has always been better at guiding people rather than bricks into cement-laden slots. Jaheira notices as much and instead offers him the option to help Halsin with the orphans and refugees that need a new home. On the way he meets a tiefling that he could, perhaps, spend the rest of his long, gentle days with. This is just a Zevlor-centric slice of life, post-canon fic inspired in part by this tumblr post. Including a focus on some of the companions such as Halsin, Astarion, and Shadowheart and how Zevlor is like an awkward papa to Star and Heart.

Read chapter 1 on ao3 or below the cut

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This is not the life he thought he would end up living, nor necessarily the one he ever wanted as a child and precocious young tiefling. He had always seen himself as being a Hellrider, yearning to join their ranks, to prove his worthiness to Helm and protect the famed city of Elturel. Being a Hellrider, much like being a Paladin, was a lifelong oath, duty, responsibility, and honor .

He did not think himself a hero when he was a Hellrider, and he certainly isn’t one now, nor did he think himself a traitor, even while forced out of rank and home. That was for scoundrels, villains, and evil ones alike. But not him. Well, at least at the time.

He ponders what life has given him instead which, at the moment, includes a wheelbarrow full of cement, a cart full of bricks to match, and the aches of a man that should have died long ago.

He tries to help with rebuilding the city but he has always been better at guiding people rather than bricks into cement-laden slots. Jaheira notices as much and shoos him away from his crooked job. A hot flush of embarrassment comes over him when she does so, but still he pushes on and through, for if he was blessed by the gods to still live, he would make it worth it for his new city.

It is the second time that he drops a bag of sand, causing its contents to spew everywhere that her brows set into annoyance, and she stomps over to him, hands on her hips.

He feels like a young schoolboy again, about to be punished for some foolish mistake.

“Zevlor.”

“Harper?”

“Walk with me.”

“But I-“

She pushes him lightly on the shoulder, and he feels the shame that has hardened deep in his heart come billowing into the rest of him, hanging his head with the weight of it, “I apologize, High Harper, I -“

“Please, Commander , you have insisted I call you Zevlor. And I have insisted you give me the same respect, and yet here we are.”

He winces. Jaheira has been a good friend to him. The least he can do is give her the respect she deserves.

“Of course, Jaheira, my apologies again.”

Once they are away from the major construction she stands in front of him, arms crossed over her chest and hip cocked to one side as she looks him over. They are both silent and he waits for her to say what she needs to, but nothing comes. So he scuffs his boot against the dirt and looks anywhere but her appraising eyes, waiting for some scolding that will not come.

“Again, I apologize,” he finally says, daring to look into her sharp eyes, “I want to help this city as much as I can, and even if it is a shoddy job I can do whatever mucking around is needed to ensure the Gate stands proud and strong."

He will do everything and anything he can to prove his worth, prove that he is perhaps more than just a shell of the man he feels he is. He will start with laying bricks and setting the new foundations of his new city, and then from there… who knows? If he is lucky he will wear himself down so much that it will not matter.

Jaheira finally speaks, breaking him from his spiraling thoughts, “And what use is that work when we have to redo it once you are finished anyway?”

He bows his head, that shame swallowing him again, “You are right, of course.”

She sighs, and places a hand on his shoulder. He looks down at her and although her touch is soft, her eyes still have that strong, jagged edge to them that make her Jaheira, "You are meant to guide, and protect. I see that, you know that.”

“Well…” he hesitates.

“What? Next you are going to tell me that you enjoy working as a bricklayer?”

“Well, no! But I - and it’s important work -“

“Of course it is. But that is not what I asked you.”

He thinks for a moment, thinks back to being a Hellrider, fearsome and yet always to protect, and to help, and to raise Elturel up under the protection of Helm. He thinks of leading his people out of the city, exiled simply for who they were. How difficult it was, and how rewarding too, in the right moments. How he squandered all of that away.

Her other hand comes down to his other shoulder and he remembers himself.

“No, you are right. I - I do not know if it is what I am meant to do, I have shown I can be… inconsistent . But I am drawn to it, yes. I - I like it.”

She smiles, a genuine thing that crinkles the corners of her eyes.

“Good. So instead of construction here I ask of you instead a different favor. The Gate, for all that its patriars will not help, still has enough means to get itself back on its feet, and I think you have better uses elsewhere. Halsin is preparing to return to Reithwin, and the lands of Thaniel and Oliver. He has been preparing for tendays, in fact, but things have ballooned and he now hopes to bring hundreds of refugees with him to begin a new settlement,” she rolls her eyes at this notion but her lips smile, her voice betraying her fondness for the elf, “I have spoken with him and he is leaving by the end of this tenday. Go with him."

Zevlor blinks at her, taking in all of this information.

"I am afraid I am lost, Hi - Jaheira. Halsin will have no issue guiding those that need it. He has proven himself ten times over in that regard. And like you said I will be no help with constructing the new settlements."

"He is a born leader, this is true. But doubts still plague him. He will need someone to help him, to guide him while he guides the rest. To help protect them while they are on the road, too. Stragglers of the Absolute cult will still linger. This I think should be you, if you will do it."

He swallows, “This is all very sudden.”

“Silvanus above! Have you lost all sense of decision-making in that head of yours, friend?” She pokes him playfully against his temple, “Come on, Hellriders must be quick on their feet, no?”

His lips twist together, his tail swishing in agitation, “I am no longer a Hellrider.”

“Maybe in title, but we are the same, dear Zevlor. You are still a Hellrider by life, by heart. I know this. So please, I will give you time until the end of this tenday to decide. If you are off with Halsin or if you are still here when the time comes, I will know your decision. Is that enough time for you, old man?”

He chuckles and pats her on her shoulder, “Yes, alright, alright! I will think it over, at the very least… Thank you, Jaheira.”

Jaheira smiles at him, a sly thing, “No, I really have to thank you. My buildings will be much less crooked now that you are out of the way.”

He can’t help it and laughs along with her. And, despite that gnawing ache in his gut, pulls her into a hug. She holds him tightly, and for a moment he feels at ease.

Perhaps she is right. Perhaps he will be more helpful with something he is more familiar with, with helping to guide the refugees that need it.

"And Zevlor?"

"Yes?"

"Once you settle yourself there - ah ah, let me finish! Once you settle yourself in those lush farmlands, come visit the city once in a while, eh? We shall share stories over some drinks."

He looks at her, really looks at her, how she leads, the strength in her shoulders, the curve of her lip as she calls him her friend, "... I look forward to that, Jaheira. Friend."

"Me too, friend."

…

He takes Jaheira’s offer, meeting with Halsin the night before he plans to leave to let him know he will be joining the caravans come the morning. Halsin pulls him into a tight hug, like they are old friends too, and begins laying out the plans he has for helping the refugees that need it. There are many logistics that have been planned out but obviously remapped due to the increasing size of the group Halsin plans to bring with him, and the druid asks for help with mapping out their building and community efforts along the road and once they are settled.

Zevlor works with the hulk of an elf until the morning light, when they move out into the hectic streets of the Lower City to help Minsc, Shadowheart, and others who are already guiding people and families into caravans, along with luggage and supplies.

“Shadowheart!” Zevlor proclaims at the sight of the cleric, though she looks different.

He only caught a glimpse of her before the final battle, and sees now that she has hair silver like the moon instead of the midnight black he knows. Behind her there is a short man clad in all black, robes covering every inch of his skin.

“And…?”

“Astarion,” she adds helpfully, the elf waving at him from beneath his layered clothing.

“Ah! Oh?” Before he can ask the elf about his garbs he is off, helping some of the younger children up into a caravan, lifting and setting them back down carefully though they roll and tumble with each other, laughing as they do, as soon as they are seated.

Shadowheart shrugs, a small smile on her face, “It’s good to see you, Zevlor. You’re joining us?”

“I am!” He feels tired, suddenly, realizing his lack of sleep was not the most wise decision come the long day ahead, but he quickly rubs some of the sleep from his eyes, “Sounds like it will be quite the effort, but one I’m looking forward to nonetheless.”

“It will be nice to have another familiar face around,” she says as she begins guiding cattle and other animals towards the back of the caravans, Zevlor joining her as she does.

“It seems we are all ready, then. Let’s begin heading out,” Halsin commands, his voice soft but guiding, and Minsc begins pulling at carts of luggage. He will be helping them to Reithwin, and then returning to the city to help Jaheira with the rest of the rebuilding. Astarion stays further ahead with the cart full of orphans, ensuring none of them slip away either on purpose or accidentally.

Zevlor turns to Shadowheart, “Are any of your other companions joining us? Or saying goodbye?”

She grimaces, “No… Karlach and Wyll, they are in Avernus now, fighting gods know what sort of foes Zariel is throwing at her. Lae’zel is off in the Astral Sea fighting with her people to overthrow Vlaakith. That’s the gith’s god-queen, by the way. I did not know who she was before all this… Though I didn’t know much to begin with,” she rubs at an old scar on her hand and Zevlor feels more confused than when this conversation began, “And Gale…” here she looks wistful, “Has already left for Waterdeep. I think the rush was partly because of Gale’s mother and partly because he wants better tools for searching the Chionthar for… well, that’s a whole other story. And so that leaves just me. And Astarion.”

“Not just you,” though he admits that seeing just the two of them seems… odd.

Barren. Like they are missing the rest of the army they defeated the Absolute with, even though it was only six of them when it came down to it.

“But… I understand. From what I have heard Rolan, Lia, Cal, Alfira, Lakrissa, perhaps even Mol and her small group, have made it into the Gate but I have not seen them, nor do I kid myself in thinking they would be glad to see me. So no goodbyes for me,” he shrugs at the end, a pathetic thing, but she puts her hand on his shoulder, and her smile is warm.

He feels like this display of affection is a new thing for her, because her lips quickly twist and the scar on her nose stretches in uncertainty, and so he puts his hand over hers and holds her there but for a moment so she knows it is welcome. He thinks that, for once, he has done something right, because her small smile is back.

“Will you be leaving along with Minsc once we’re settled? Or are you staying long-term?” She drags the last word, putting a funny little lilt to it.

“I… in all honesty I am uncertain. I shall be there longer than Minsc, certainly, to help see the settlement built. But afterwards,” he shrugs again, “I am not sure. Perhaps I will go where I am needed.”

She ponders in silence, and they begin their slow trek out of the city, their caravan drawing eyes down the unbroken streets of the Lower City and out into the remains of Wyrm’s Rock.

“What is it that you plan to do, then, Shadowheart?” He has much he wants to ask her, but that can wait for now. They will have time, he thinks, to catch up.

She sighs and pats the cattle she has been herding forward fondly on the head, “This, I think. I want a large home filled with flowers… and animals. I’ve had quite enough excitement for one lifetime, I think, and I just want a bit of quiet. And Halsin has offered just that. So for now, I will follow him.”

He cannot help but smile at her answer, and thinks it fitting for her, though he does not know her well. Seeing his response she smiles in turn, as if… agreeable with his silent approval.

They pick up stragglers as they pass from the Lower City down towards Wyrm's Crossing, and down to Rivington where many refugees still await homes. Anyone who wants to join the druid Halsin to nurture the once shadow-cursed lands and begin anew are called forward by the large elf, and many join him, stacking their luggage onto the already full caravan, finding seats in the increasingly full entourage. Zevlor even spots Bex and Danis as they move forward to join the group, and he pulls them aside even while they spot him and try to move away.

Disgust, rightfully earned, fills his gut, but yet he pushes forward to intercept them.

“Bex! Danis! What are you doing? Why are you joining the group?”

“Well… didn’t think you would be here, first of all,” Danis bites, brows furrowing as he crosses his arms over his chest with Bex closing herself off behind him, “And not like we’re faring any better out here. Along with… well…” he wavers for a moment as he waves his hand towards Wyrm’s Crossing and the Lower City.

Zevlor feels panic rising in his gut, knowing that he has failed them yet again, and puts his hands up in protest, "Listen - the city is being rebuilt as we speak, and it will be back to the Gate in no time. I can get you through the gates and you'll be able to -"

Danis scoffs and waves him off lightly, "l think… and they don't allow dogs in the city, anyway."

He and Bex move away from him after that, putting their measly luggage in with the rest and joining the crowd that will be shipped off to hopefully better prospects. And yet Zevlor cannot shake the guilt that wiggles around in his gut like some parasitic worm, eating him from the inside. It is his fault, after all, that they could not make it into the city. It is his fault that they do not trust him, and do not want whatever measly help he can offer them now. That the young couple’s dreams have been dashed. That before them stands months if not years of hard labor before they can… what? Labor longer? Toil the soil for years to come?

He rubs a tired hand across his face, but joins the caravans once they begin moving again, out of Rivington. Shadowheart sees his hesitation, and once again puts a welcoming hand on his shoulder. He does not put his hand over hers this time, does not deserve it, he realizes too late.

…

It is once they are outside of Rivington that their group becomes more solidified, less gawkers come to walk along with them and chat before returning to their homes, less children doing the same but making a game of it. It gives Zevlor a better headcount, and Halsin a better idea of how to prepare and spread the land once they return there in little more than a tenday. But some more stragglers still join them, even as they pass the last of the farmlands surrounding the Gate and come to a stop for the evening.

Once the bonfire in the middle of their camp is going strong is when the last of the people looking for new homes come in. Zevlor is sure that over time, once they are settled and word spreads of them, there will be more, but he is thankful that the group is not so large that it would become unwieldy. Or worse, a spark for quick rebellion.

Most of the refugees with them are humans, elves or half-elves, dwarves and gnomes, and a few half-orcs and dragonborn as well. The tieflings only include the ones that fled Elturel and in turn have fled Baldur’s Gate, but there is one that comes late in the evening, when the sun is lighting the last of the horizon before dipping below for night.

She is quickly directed over to Zevlor, who has been in charge of headcounts and taking down names, occupations, and abilities of all joining them so that he can distribute the work to come evenly and fairly.

She walks over to him where he is cramped over a small writing desk to ensure he has all of his numbers and plans laid out properly, the dim light of the fire and lantern forcing him to squint. Perhaps that is what keys her into his lack of night vision, because she bends over until she is almost eye to eye with him, so close that if he were to move any closer to her he would be brushing his nose against hers. He startles and pushes backwards against his stool until he almost falls over, using his tail to balance himself from completely falling, and she too moves back until she is standing straight again, her eyes wide, both in amusement and surprise.

There are lines around her mouth, maybe from laughing or frowning, and dimples appear as she smiles at him. Azure skin gleaming in the camplight, tanned a bit, with heady freckles all over her. From what he can see, at least, and he wonders if they go any lower, and maybe cover her legs, her thighs… There is a bright pink scar running across her face from one cheek and her nose to the next, and he wonders what it is from, if from fire or a chemical burn or another injury.

Her eyes, he is drawn to, are a rose hue surrounded by deepest black, her hair dyed a light pink to match them. Her horns are more nubs than horns, little things that frame her face in dusty grays. Her thighs and hips and stomach have a soft roundness to them, and she is strong - he can see it in the toned muscles of her arms as she crosses them in front of her chest. He blinks quickly so as to avoid staring or even, gods willing, looking at her chest at all.

Helm , she is beautiful.

“…nice to see another tiefling!” She says, and he blinks, focusing on her mouth.

No, don’t focus on her mouth. Focus on her words, buffoon.

“What?” He says, voice catching on itself embarrassingly.

She blinks, a little uncertain suddenly, and repeats, “I just said it was nice to see another tiefling around. Not many of them around the Gate.”

“Ah,” is all he says, throat suddenly dry.

“You - you’re Zevlor, right?”

“Yes.”

She twists her hands, maybe in confusion or a sudden bout of nerves, “I was - told to come see you to register as a refugee?”

He blinks again, “You’re joining us?”

He sees her shoulders droop a bit, and Helm above but he is tired, isn’t he?

“I am - my apologies, I am simply very fatigued. But yes, yes , I am - we are - more than happy to have you join us…?”

“Yaldra.”

He, once again, blinks for a moment, his quill raised to the next blank slot of the register before he slowly writes down the name, Yaldra kind enough to enunciate each letter slowly and loudly for him.

“Last name?”

“None.”

Nothing irregular from what he’s gathered so far, but it intrigues him nonetheless. When he looks back up at her she is looking at him expectantly, her eyes wide and bright in the darkness of the camp, and he is lost in them for a moment. Probably from the sleep deprivation.

“It has been wonderful to meet you, Yaldra, and to have your company join us. For now you must excuse me as I find some sleeping arrangements for you, and get some myself as I very obviously need it.”

He means it in the most self-deprecating way he can, but still she smiles, and it is a warm thing, and he cannot help but return the gesture.

“Hopefully next time we talk it will be when you’ve had some sleep.”

And despite himself, he says, “That is a promise.”

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