Work Text:
Kelvira takes a moment to breathe deeply. Everyone is gathered around the campfire, laughing, drinking and sharing stories.
Jacques asked Cilren to be his wife earlier today and the party has been in high spirits ever since. It was a very sweet display. Watching one of the suavest men she knows lose his composure in that important moment was adorable. And she would be lying if she said she wasn't touched by the eagerness with which Cilren accepted or by the sheer joy on her face. Even now the couple is entangled in a perfect picture of harmony. Jacques is smiling down at his fiancée and whispering something that makes her blush and give him a small playful shove. Not hard enough to actually move him at all and he just tightens his arm around her shoulder in response. She rests her head back on his chest. They seem so content and peaceful that Kelvira almost doesn't get up. Almost doesn't go over. But she needs to ask. Or she will never stop thinking about it. Especially now that Cilren is getting married to Jacques and Kelvira doesn't intend to let Clark go any time soon either. They are rapidly becoming a permanent part of each other's respective futures. They need to clear the air.
So Kelvira forces herself to get up. Kisses her boyfriend's forehead. Lets him take her hand between his for a moment. A reassuring gesture. He's saying he knows this is important. He will be there for her after, to talk to, to hold her, whatever she needs. However the conversation goes. He will be there. It helps a lot.
With every step Kelvira takes towards the couple she is aware of the dagger hidden in her boot. Habit. Safety. Whatever you want to call it. It's there.
For a while her and Cilren walk in silence, side by side.
They stop by a fallen tree. Cilren sits down. Kelvira paces. The words she had prepared so carefully don't seem to come now that she needs them.
She forces herself to stop. Breathe. Think. Closes her eyes. Imagines she's not talking to Cilren but back practicing the conversation with Clark. It helps. Slowly she opens her mouth. Forces words out.
"I… have grown fond of you. But I don't understand you."
There is no reply. She opens her eyes to find Cilren looking at her with an infuriating mixture of patience and confusion. To be fair she wasn't exactly clear. But it's so hard to word this. Her muscles are tensing up already and she catches herself sending a futile prayer to Lolth for strength. It's no use, she knows. But the instinct is hard to shake.
Cilren takes pity on her. She takes her hand and pulls Kelvira down to sit beside her. Fixes her with her unfairly wide and unfairly kind eyes and asks gently: "What do you not understand?"
Kelvira needs to run. Needs to fight. Needs to draw her dagger. Needs to. To stab. Slash. Bite. Anything. No. No. Not anymore. Not- no.
"I don't understand. Don't you hate me? How can you stand to look at me, to be near me? How are you like this? I don't understand how you haven't tried to… kill me in my sleep! I don't understand how you can tolerate my presence! I don't understand how you can look at me and- and not throw up! And smile!" Her voice breaks. Weak. Pathetic.
"Oh," Cilren breathes. Softly. Barely a sound.
Then nothing. For a moment, for an eternity. Kelvira can feel Cilren thinking. It's too quiet. Any moment something horrible will happen. She shouldn't have said anything. She can hear only her own heart, the blood rushing in her ears, her breathing. They drown out the wind in the trees. They drown out the birds. The little creatures scurrying through fallen leaves.
Finally Cilren speaks again. Quietly. Like it takes a lot of effort. "This is about my father, isn't it?"