Reader Imagines

Astarion mused over the rim of his cup, as if he could detect her thoughts and had to refute them. 

“That so? You play the part so well.” Tav quipped back lovingly. 

“Well, I suppose I do enjoy all of the fawning adulation.”  Astarion mused. “And the gold, of course.” 

Tav shook her head fondly. She’d let him maintain the charade as long as he liked; she had already seen under the mask. He sent a smirk her way, his ruby eyes glinting with the firelight. Distracting her from the way he was balancing his goblet on its very edge, one of his dexterous fingers on lip of the drink, tilting further and further as if he dared the wine inside to spill. 

Or he was simply Tav with the threat of it. 

“Beggin’ your pardon,” The inn keeper, a matronly half-orc with a smile around her tusks approached them. “Finest room we have is ready for ya, token of our gratitude for dealin’ with our Worg problem.”

“Thank you, Gerda, that’s too kind of you.” Tav said graciously. “We’re happy we could help.” 

She shot her companion a glance, but he was intently finishing his wine with only a raise of his eyebrows. 

She felt Astarion’s eyes on her as she conversed cordially with the inn keeper, his gaze as tangible as a caress along her cheek. Tav knew the warmth of that look. Little flickering moments of unguarded affection more sincere than any pretty picture his words could paint. 

The only recognition Tav gave was the smile at the corner of her lips. Because that was the game they played. Sparing his pride until the rest of the world faded away. 

This. This was everything she fought for. These quiet nights  brighter than any flames. 

…

Soon they retreated to the comfort of their room after a long day. Astarion led her up the stairs, silently twining their fingers together. Tav knew it was another gesture she wasn’t supposed to linger on, but if he kept this up, the dam would burst sooner rather than later. 

He pushed the door to their chambers open with an overly theatrical flourish. “Not quite fit for a king…but I suppose it will do.” 

Tav rolled her eyes, stepping past him to take in a very comfortable room that was downright luxurious in its deetails. Plush carpet, dark wood walls, and a canopied bed piled with silken sheets and pillows. 

“After sleeping in bedrools on the hard ground,” Tav put her hands on her hips, a smile on her lips with her tone placating him. “I think it will suffice.” 

Astarion came up behind her then, his cool breath ghosting over her ear as he murmured. “Then it is a shame you will not have the time to admire the finer details.” 

In the second of warning he gave, Tav knew well he could hear every uptick of her heart.

Astarion had her spun around, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. Tav’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, her lover’s lithe body pinning her in place as he lifted their still entwined hands above her head. 

Those clever fingers hand already snuck under the hem of her tunic, drawing lines over the swell of her hip. 

“I have all that I need to admire.” Tav arched to the touch with a sigh as she finally exhaled. 

“Such flattery.” Astarion’s smirk was downright sinful, sending heat and want curling through her. Those ruby eyes glinted bright in the soft firelight of the room. 

Soon, their packs were dropped to the side, shedding the last trappings of battle with the armor and gore already tucked away. Leaving no more barriors between them as passion sparked in the scant space between them. His nibble fingers made quick work of the laces of her tunic, the fabric falling away to expose her collarbones, and her chest. 

Tav lifted her chin, playfully offering her neck, knowing how it thrilled him though he would not bite—not just yet. But Astarion would duck his head to draw his teeth teasingly along the colomn of her throat. 

She peered over his white curls. “My love, the door is still—” A sharp kick shut the door, and its lever lock clicked into place. “Thank you.” 

Astarion’s scoff tingled against her pulse point. He was far more preoccupied with mapping out the newly exposed skin, like it hadn’t been under his lips a thousand times. As if he wasn’t intimately familiar and once again confident with his ability to drive her mad. As if she didn’t know him just as well. 

When he pulled back to rid her of her pesky tunic, she used her chance. Tav’s fingers slid into his silky curls, just brushing her thumbs over the tips of his pointed ears. 

That got his attention. 

Astarion made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat, finding her mouth again. 

The kisses grew more urgent as Astarion pressed Tav back against the wood-paneled wall, her arms around his shoulders as he used his thigh to part hers. 

Easy as could be, like they were dancing together again. Tav took his lead, her leg hooked around his waist before he had to reach for her. Their bodies were brought flush together--letting her feel the hard press of his arousal. 

“It would be a shame,” Tav murmured against the vampire’s lips. “Not to make use of the bed, don’t you think? I know how much you do enjoy fine linens.” 

Astarion laughed, the sound decadent yet playful. “My darling, the only thing more appealing than being wrapped up in silk, is being wrapped up in you.” 

Heat flooded into her cheeks, just like he knew it would. Even now, his lines always worked on her. 

Tav reached for the hem of Astarion’s shirt, ridding him of it and letting it join her tunic on the floor. He was already walking her back towards the bed—but it just wasn’t enough to map out the planes of his chest with her fingers, hooking into the waist of his breaches. 

“Can I?” Tav lifted her eyes, her mouth already watering. 

“You hardly have to ask.” He purred, pecking her lips just once more. “But…I’m glad that you did.” 

She always would. Sometimes to his annoyance, but the vampire seemed more than in the mood to humor her sweetness tonight.  Astarion freed his cock from his breeches as he sat back on the bed, stroking himself languidly, watching her with bright ruby eyes as she eagerly sank to her knees. 

He was so damn gorgeous like this, confident in seeking his pleasure, knowing Tav was more than willing to give. 

Her hand curled around his, before she was drawing the tip of him between her lips. She adored the sweet, strangled sound he gave as he relenquished his hold to her, those deft fingers threading into her hair as she swallowed him down. 

Tav loved him like this. Loved that she was the one who got to see Astarion this way—wanting and vulnerable and utterly hers. 

She poured every ounce of devotion into the slide of her mouth, wanting him to shatter from it. For all pretense to fall away like the filthy praise faltering from his lips, and let her catch him when he fell. 

Astarion tensed under her, the muscles in his thighs and the hand in her hair gone ridgid. 

Tav pulled back, her eyes seeking his, looking for the glassy sheen to cover his red irises or the distance in his gaze. “You can let go, love.” lacing the reassurance his ego sometimes spurned in a seductive purr. “I want you to.” 

Astarion’s scoff was breathier than he intended, she could see it on his face, but the hand in her hair curled around her chin, capturing her jaw as he bent to claim her lips. 

“As tempting as that mouth of yours may be…I’d much rather be inside you.” 

Her pulse quickened under his hold. 

Tav was on her feet, ridding herself of any thing that could get between them. Before straddling Astarion’s lap. Reveling in his groan as he tasted himself on her tongue. 

Those damned fingers of his were already delving between her soaked folds, thumbing her clit so perfectly it was maddening in an instant. 

“Astarion, please…” Tav breathed against his mouth. 

“I know darling.” His grin nipped at her lower lip, fingers sliding into her and curling just so. “No one knows you as I do.”

He was distracting her, and he was so very, very good at it. Tav rocked needily into him, pleasure sparking up her spine. Her fingers  clutched into the fine curls at the back of his neck. Trying to ground herself to meet his burning gaze. 

“No one loves you as I do.” 

Something beautifully yearning moved across his face. The ghost of a longing to be known—and to still be loved. It was all he could never bring himself to ask for, and yet she gave it, freely, whenever she thought he may need it. 

The next meeting of their lips was filled with nothing but tenderness, even as he pulled her closer still, breaking only as he filled her completely. 

Astarion’s grip tightened on her hips, and Tav understood. 

She let him bear her back onto the plush bed, surrendering to his need for control. Her hands fell back to either side of the pillow, as she searched the ethereal beauty of his face above her, assuring herself that he wasn’t lost to the old shadows. 

Clear crimson eyes gazed back at her, their only darkness that of desire. 

Satisfied, Tav wrapped her legs around Astarion’s waist, urging him deeper inside her. He obliged her with a precise roll of his hips that nearly had stars bursting behind her eyelids. 

“That’s it, my love.” Astarion purred, his breath played over her lips as his body moved with hers, sweet and aching, their fingers wound together even as he kept her wrists pinned. 

Tav could feel the edge of her bliss tugging at her, the way she clenched desperately around his cock, it was so damn close—

Astarion shuddered above her, tensing on instinct, resisting that final surrender, even now. His old wounds would never go fully away, but she could soothe them when they surfaced. Because she knew him. 

“Let go, my love, I have you.” 

He did, spilling into her with a choked cry, his hips snapping hard and fast into hers, sending pleasure that arched up her spine until it overwhelmed her. 

Spent, still tangled together, collapsed together. 

Astarion’s cool skin was a balm against her heated body, when he finally released her hands. Tav’s arms wrapped around him, feeling the faintest of trembling in the raw moments after.  He hid his face crook of her shoulder, letting her fingers slide through his curls. 

Tav shifted only enough to bare her throat to him, remembering how he teased that she tasted better shortly after their coupling. 

Far from a distraction, it was a gesture of the intimate trsut they shared. Astarion only hesitated a moment, before sharp fangs pierced her skin, and Tav relaxed into the familiar heat and sting. 

He drank from her, lost in the bliss of her blood. Comforted by the familiarity of it. 

When the vampire pulled back, a trickle of red dripped from his grin, and Tav swiped it away with her thumb. 

Astarion turned his face into her touch, a kiss pressed into her palm. Before he gathered her into his arms for the rest of the night. 

…

Golden sunlight crept across the room as dark became day. 

Astarion stayed with his head tucked under Tav’s chin, her heart beat a comforting rhythm against his ear. He stirred only as the warm glow softened his sharp features, and she finally gave in to the urge to trace the contours of his face. 

Astarion’s eyes fluttered open, immediately seeking hers. A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he lifted a hand to caress her cheek in turn, the warmth of the Ring of Daylight around his fourth finger a delicious contrast to his cool skin. 

“Looking for a cuddle?” he asked, his tone playful yet tender, echoing their first morning together.

Tav laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “Always,” she replied, her heart swelling with love for this man who had come so far, who had learned to trust and to love despite everything he’d endured.

“Wildemount. You’ve met them. No real close connections of any kind until this one showed up, status still to be seen.” You raise an eyebrow at Percy as if to say; ‘lets go’. “As for hobbies and interests? Does sparking rebellion and constantly undermining my cursed family and disgracing their legacy count?” There’s a moment of silence as Percy is at your side, ready to leave. In this moment of silence the pieces are put together and realisation drops. Instantly some reach for their weapons. Percy raises his hand.

“There’ll be no need for that. We can trust them. More than anyone in this entire bloody city.” Percy defends you, taking up a place where you’ve got some cover behind him but you make it a point not to hide. These people can’t bring you anything you fear, but they don’t know that. Though, you’ll face come what may.

“How can you be so sure? They’re a Briarwood, Percy! You saw what they did to Uriel. You’ve seen the state of this city! How can you trust them.” Vex argues, arrow drawn.

“You’ll just have to trust my judgement on this one. Now if you’ll excuse us.” Percy leaves no room for argument but they still protest despite that. That’s when you step in front of him.

“I don’t expect you to trust me, let alone offer me friendship. All I ask is you trust my work, let it speak for itself. I can’t alleviate your worries until actions prove them to you so I will not waste anyone’s time trying to do so.” You’re not here to make friends. You won’t pretend to be. You’re here to talk to Percy. You’re here to make your bloody decision and finally pick a side; the people or your own hide. You don’t get a reply and you don’t expect one either. You just feel eyes following you as Percy pulls you out into the hallway and begins directing you towards the exit. You let him.

Once outside you wander in silence. So much for talking. Perhaps neither of you have the courage to say the first words. Not after what happened in that room. Not while strolling around in the streets of something once good, now nothing but rubble; broken, just like the two of you. You both suffer the curse of the bright ones. Those who shine brightest often burn twice as quick. Your lives are set out through metaphors and perhaps the saddest truth of them all is that they describe your lives perfectly. You’re but wandering through shards of the past until something disturbs them and forces you into the shadows. One day you might have the courage to rebuild, use that hatred you wield for something other than destruction, turn it to creation instead.

You find yourselves in one of the abandoned buildings in hiding of the patrols and a moment away from the larger view of everything you’ve grown to loathe. Inside this building lay the remaining traces of the people that once called it their home. Tossed furniture and possessions, a cloak over the back of a chair, some shoes by the cold hearth, a plate with food long since rotten and eaten by the vermin. All is covered in a thick layer of dust but it suffices the privacy you need and wouldn’t get with other company around. Percy pulls up his nose at the rotten remains of the meal, picking up the dust covered fork at the side and fiddling with it as he moves about. Neither of you have spoken a word. Neither broken the silence. Unsure where to start. It’s in that doubt, and Percy’s own distraction you’re the one taking the first move. You take the fork from his hand, toss it onto the table rather unceremoniously and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling yourself against him in an embrace. He’s caught off guard and it takes him a moment to process what just happened before he wraps his arms around you in return.

There’s a million reasons why. That’s what his mind concludes trying to justify you seeking comfort in him rather than acknowledging a deeper connection between the two of you that’s been left unresolved, and unexplored when you were younger. While something deep within tries to deny it, Percy knows, this is kindness, this is compassion, this is love and affection, this is hope and desperation. Eventually you pull back and separate, with a ragged breath wiping furiously at your cheeks. Your eyes are slightly bloodshot. Percy can’t imagine how long you’d have gone without any of that true affection, the one that doesn’t make your skin crawl. He always had his sister, he always had you and after you were gone he could somewhat substitute that void you left with others but you did not have these options. You were stuck, forced to play perfect child, though by the looks of it, failing to live up to these expectations came with punishments of their own; your own torture, you’d never be able to escape, not like he did, and without the power to gain your freedom on your own.

That’s why you did it, isn’t it? You joined the resistance to stand a fighting chance, every day of your life as risky as the next. You’re looking for your own salvation, absolving yourself of the condemnation the sacrifices for your own freedom would bring. You’re two sides of the same coin, however much he might wish circumstances were different. You’re good, you’re kind and you’re so tainted by the life you were forced into, so much so your own morals became muddled and so faded, for the sake of survival. It’s a surprise you’ve lasted this long. He’d never have the strength. You’ve always been stronger than him. Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you just know how to patch yourself up each time you get knocked down. Each time you fight for your life you assure your own survival. So why is there a sense of desperation and conflict within you?

“You came back.” Your voice cracks as you hold onto Percy’s shoulders, afraid he might fade and this might just be some torturous illusion or twisted figment of imagination, finally driven mad.

“I still have to offer fate a guiding hand when dealing what those who wronged us deserve.” Pompous prick, you think even though the words dignify the curling of your lips. A brief moment where the reality and gravity of that statement falls away, however short it may be but then that smile turns to a frown followed by a sigh, and you looking away, hands falling from Percy’s shoulders as you wrap your arms around yourself.

“Percival-“ You begin but Percy stops you.

“Believe me when I say, I’ve already been hounded enough and I don’t need more arguing, especially not from you.” There’s a hint of desperation in his voice, the begging for something familiar, yet free of burdens. You close your eyes, and sigh. What you wouldn’t do for a sense of normalcy, ignoring the real world, ignoring where you’re standing or the existence of the lives you’ll have to return to, responsibilities you’ll have to face, and choices you’ll have to make. But that is not a life either of you have. You never will, no matter how far you run it will always follow you. You will never be granted the gift of normalcy, not even when your enemies are six feet under.

“I’m not here to argue with you, Percy. I know well enough that your mind is not one to be changed and your choices are your own.” Percy breathes a thank you. “You are as stubborn as a mule.” He had that one coming didn’t he? At least he can see the humour in it. He won’t admit it out loud and maybe that specific wording is-lacking he is stubborn and knows it. Were you anyone else he might have argued for the sake of his integrity, or just to prove a point.

“Then why are you here? If I may be so bold.” He raises an eyebrow waiting for your answer and your face turns to that familiar indifference, though you let the cracks show you’re not truly facing him like you would the wolves in this place.

“I live here.” You deadpan.

“Very funny.” He retorts sarcastically. “You know what I meant.” The faintest of smiles crosses his features and yours follows suit.

“Is that sarcasm I hear, Lord Percival? That’s not very becoming of someone of your status, is it?” You offer a mocking bow. Despite the specific wording striking a chord that is quickly discarded Percy steps up and adjusts your bow, following the motions with you to make it more suited for the court he once attended.

“Sarcasm is the wit of any noble and your footwork is horrendous. I expected your mother to have instilled some values of the nobility in you.” You bow again, this time adjusted before you straighten again, tilting your head. You know those words should have risen something within you but they don’t they just rise that sense of warmth, and familiarity. For the first time in a long time you feel good, like you’re not constantly drowning.

“Then you might be appalled at my next choice of words; she can go screw herself for all I care.” That earns you a laugh. It’s been an eternity since you’ve heard a proper laugh not rooted in pain or malice.

“I missed this, Percy. I missed you.” You admit. Percy might have quipped back about you admitting you must have grown fond of him and truly becoming the rebel you were always meant to be but with the silence that follows your statement it hardly seems appropriate. You’re being vulnerable like once upon a time he was too. So the roles truly have switched. You’re the prisoner now but might he be your saviour? He won’t assume, even if that faint spark of good within his heart wishes nothing more than to be that what you had been for him.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Percy whispers as he takes your hand, lacing your fingers together searching for that familiar contact, stroking his thumb over the back of it like you had done for him a thousand times before. A reminiscing shadow of a smile crosses your features, though it is hinted with pain as you stare at your interlocked fingers. You give his palm a light squeeze.

“You might not have, did these cursed things not work.” You turn your wrist to show him the heavy bracelets more reminiscent of shackles the closer attention he pays. “Controlling me wasn’t good enough. That little parlour trick is not fool proof, and might not last. My father can't exactly rely on his victim slipping from control just telling him they’re regaining their freedom of mind. As I managed to lie to them before, they couldn’t be certain with me and they couldn’t risk me becoming a liability just yet. They still need me for something but they’ve been holding back, keep me on a need to know basis only. Mother still blames you for corrupting me and my straying from their path.”

“Why do I feel there’s more to this than you’re telling me?”

“Because there is. I won’t lie to you.” You sigh. “Mother informed me that tonight, at dinner they might just take these chains off for good. Apparently I’ve been on my best behaviour and my ‘talent should not be wasted now it might be useful in what is to come’. I don’t trust the reasonings for a second but they are sincere in offering my freedom.”

“Which happens to coincide with the rescue mission of tonight… And you cannot be in two places at once.” You shake your head. You wish you could but you can’t.

“I don’t know what to do, Percy but I have to make a choice.” Somewhat crestfallen Percy puts aside his desire to tell you to stay with him and his friends, see this through but you’re being offered your own shot at freedom on a silver platter. If he were in your shoes he’d have chosen certainty over the sliver of a possibility. He knows he will kill your parents along with those who aided them, or he’ll die trying. Even for those who help him, they know there’s no true certainty they’ll make it out alive either. Even if they save Archie, that’s just a battle. Not the war. But then again, why should you put your life on the line? It’s not your fight… maybe it’s his after all.

“Claim your freedom.” Percy states and your eyes shoot up towards his in shock. That was not the kind of answer you expected. “You’ve been stuck for years. If this is your chance to escape then take it. Live to fight another day. One of us has to.”

“You truly have changed, haven’t you? No terrified boy anymore.”

“Don’t deflect. It doesn’t suit you.” You’d argue differently. “You’ve stayed behind and from what I’ve been told you have been helping the people of Whitestone. You’ve already given enough. Now it’s someone else’ turn to return the favour.” His turn, Percy thinks. It’s his turn to step up now. He might not want to lead, nor does he plan to, that hasn’t changed but he will repay the sacrifices you’ve made in his name. Your mind tells you to argue, trying to counter like it does every step of the way sending you into inner turmoil until you can’t avoid it anymore, but you don’t let it. Percy quells the inner doubt. He’s right. He’s the only voice in this place, perhaps even the world you’d put your trust in blindly.

“Okay.” You nod letting the reality of your decision sink in. “Tell Archie I said hello and I’m sorry. Make sure he raises hell on my behalf.” You’d been caring for the dwarf through his imprisonment under the guise of getting the rebel leader to talk and counter the ways others failed. You can’t help but notice a brief sliver of jealousy pass through Percy.

“I will raise hell on your behalf.” You raise an eyebrow. He clears his throat. “We all will.” Percy quickly adds as you squeeze his hand and step closer until you’re toe to toe. There it is again, that feeling of ease and comfort and warmth in the dead of winter. It seems Percy feels it too as he moulds into your grasp the moment your fingers slide across his cheek and cup the side of his face.

“I’ll hold you to it. But be wary. Vengeance is a path of poison. Don’t let it consume you.” You know your words will do little to change anything that might take place but at least you spoke them.

“How poetic of you? Can I expect a copy of your book of wisdoms once you get the freedom to write it?” You laugh and those embers in his stomach turn to flames.

“First print, signed and all. I promise.” The smiles falter slightly and expressions grow more serious. “I mean it, Percy. It’s not worth it if you allow yourself to be your own undoing. You have your friends, your family. They need you to live. I need you to live. I won’t ask you to make a promise you can’t keep so instead I’ll just ask you to try. This is the price I ask for whatever favours you might have owed me.”

You wait but Percy doesn’t have the heart to answer you so instead he takes your hand from his cheek and brings it to his lips the way he had all those years ago, placing a light kiss on your knuckles instead. For someone who cares little wether people like him or not, outside of regarding him as a well mannered respectable man, he cannot bring himself to tell you how much he’s condemned himself already. There’s no way back for him. It’s too much to unpack and with not knowing where you’ll go after, if he’ll ever even see you again, he’d rather not taint your memory of him. Remember him for the boy you knew, the man he grew into and the heart he’s held for you, instead of the man who sold his soul for vengeance, set himself on a path of rage and ruin, one who would pay any price to achieve what he desires most, even if that means he loses himself in the process; a willing sacrifice. He’d rather you remember him for who he was, not what he will become, has become.

Percy never felt any regret for his choices. Not until now. Not until he looked into your eyes and saw them full of life but tainted by pain and horrors. He never regretted it because he never had anything of old to return to. Sure he made new friends but in the end he’d be willing to part with them to uphold his part of the bargain. He’d be fine with his blood be spilled to end the vicious cycle of death and ruin, end a reign of terror. It’s in these moments he finds himself wishing desperately you’d returned to his life or remained in it because he can’t begin to imagine how different his life would have been if you had been there to keep him on the right path. He got lost in the dark without his saviour to light the path and lead the way out of darkness. Instead he embraced it and sought for other light, but those dancing shadows came from flame and brimstone, not radiance. He longs for that warmth like the sun, but here you are, leaving once more. Percy is not ready to say goodbye.

“You have to go soon. You’ve got a hero to play after all.” You break the silence and Percy’s train of thought but after there is only silence; taking in each other’s presence, ingraining it into memory. Wether it is the icy wind blowing through the broken windows or something else entirely you both feel the cold run through you and instinctively seek that warmth. Familiar-no. Home. A reminder of home. Warmth like a hearth. Comfort like found only in another person. If this is it, wallow in that warmth before it disappears. Slowly leaning in, neither of you know if it is because of hesitancy of your own, or giving the other the opportunity to step away, say this is wrong and you shouldn’t, shouldn’t complicate things or distract. Neither of you do and so your lips meet. While the kiss is chaste rooted more in emotion and that indescribable longing for the company only you can offer each other, it weighs heavy with burden. It feels like a goodbye and then you pull away.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.” Percy breathes as you snort.

“Is it too late to say I’d have let you?”

“A little. Could have said so earlier but drama and conflict make for good motivation.”

“Well then, need I ask you to kiss me or are you going to wait until the world comes falling down again?” That earns you a chuckle and a light peck to your lips. You pout, somewhat disappointed with the limited contact.

“Let’s see where we go. We still have some time. Granted, it might be less than desired but I’m sure we can be creative, if you are willing that is.” Mischief gleams in your eyes as you go to lean in, halting but an inch away as you wrap your arms around Percy’s neck.

“That sounds like a promise.” You muse.

If you’ve learned anything from the past years it’s that it doesn’t matter what you’re meant to be. It doesn’t matter where you belong. The only thing that matters are your choices, what you do when the shittiest of situations arise and how you work through them. You’ve put yourself in the line of fire, literally and figuratively and have done so, aware of the consequences or not, but always prepared to face them one way or another. We do what needs to be done. Those words even sound like Percy’s in your head when you think them. If you did what needed to be done, to keep yourself safe over half of Whitestone would be dead, the remaining ones enslaved by your so-called family. This family of yours, you don’t even dare use that name anymore. You’re not a Briarwood, no matter how much they might call you one. You go against everything they do and stand for, with or without their knowledge. If you did not undermine left and right, fuel the flames that would hinder them, you gather the name Briarwood would be one heard across Tal’Dorei in fear, or admiration for their conquering.

This little get-together with Vox Machina would not be the last time you lay eyes upon them. Archi needed to be saved. You’d be their inside ‘help’. You’d been a silent observer during those meetings, the terrible planning session that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe you’d be better off without this unpredictable bunch of idiots that left you pinch the bridge of your nose more often than not while you bit your tongue. After the meeting they left along with the other rebels leaving you alone with Yennen. Once the last one is out of the door and the light of the hallway quenches you take off your hood with a big sigh.

“This is ridiculous, Yennen. We can’t depend on these people to save Whitestone. We can’t count on him to lead.” You express your frustration, perhaps a little too fuelled by personal grievances.

“It’s not up to us to say what is and isn’t. They are capable. I have faith.” You begin pacing back and forth. You want to believe so bad but there’s too many variables. Despite aligning interests, there’s not trust. Yennen won’t help until they’ve proven themselves but why send them to get one of the leaders of the rebellion back when messing that up could seriously impact everyone. Does Yennen not see the risks?

“I used to have faith and look at me now. No matter what you and the others tried, I still ended up chained like a dog. The only difference is, they granted me a long leash.” You hold up your hands, showing the heavy tight bracelets around each wrist. “If their suspicions are confirmed it won’t be just my head on the chopping block… You know what will happen if they make me talk.” Yennen breathes in deeply at the mental image of what happened to those before you for far lesser offences, and the thought of exactly how many of those you keep safe with your secrets and how ruthless the Briarwoods would be when they got exposed. Your conversation gets interrupted by the creaking of the door. Instantly you turn towards it, pull it open knife already in one hand.

There you find a half-elf dressed in black, dark hair and eyes stepping back as you point the blade at his throat, until he hits the wall of the hallway and has nowhere else to go. Once the surprise fades he manages to smile hold his hand between the two of you but it does little to stop the steel gazing the skin of his neck, still he brushes off that last fact.

“I’m only going to ask you this once. What are you doing here?” You threaten.

“Oh-uh, I seem to have misplaced one of my daggers. You don’t happen to have seen it, have you? I think I might have dropped it in the room. I was just coming to g-“ The half-elf makes the smart call and quits digging himself a deeper grave.

“I was only going to ask once but I’ll give you another chance to answer truthfully before I’ll let you borrow my knife. Though, I’ll be the one deciding if it joins the one on your belts or finds itself through your heart.” The moment Percy heard the commotion he rushed back and then he saw you, blade at Vax’ throat. You really haven’t lost that uncanny ability to bluff your way through something with sheer guts, have you? He didn’t expect to see you here, or ever again. He had always assumed you’d met an untimely end, just like his sister, especially after you helped them escape. You still must hold some value to the Briarwoods if they kept you alive after that, though he does not want to know what torture they might have put you through. Some brief inkling of guilt within him stops his next train of thoughts in its tracks; how to use you against his enemies and what kind of advantages you might offer, dead or alive. He will not go there. He refuses. No matter how much that darkness within him might call for it; you won’t be the key to his revenge. Not when there’s many other and better ways. That sates the darkness within it seems.

“That’s enough.” Percy demands. Your eyes dart to him, grip on your knife faltering and in that brief moment of distraction Vax, gets out of the spot you drove him in, disarms you and gets into a defensive stance. You care little, it seems as pain fills your eyes.

“Percival. Welcome back.” You breathe with a tad more sarcasm than intended. At this point Yennen has stopped in the doorway, watching this encounter go down. “I’ll play my part. If you will all excuse me, I have a cage to return to, before they notice me missing.” Fly home little songbird. Isn’t it ironic? Your predicament will ever remain the same; always forced to return to your keepers. You manage to offer Vax an apologetic look as you go to move past Percy. He grasps your arm before you can.

“A moment of your time?” Percy asks, though his features are all but begging for you to agree. He wants to know. No matter how much it might hurt him, or drive him to feel guilty. He needs to know what happened, if only to further fuel his own rage. Payback is sweet, but sweeter so when the involvement of others makes it justice. He will deny any and all claims that there might be more reasons for his desire to speak to you in private… for there are many…

“No.” Disappointment. You feel like a child wishing for nothing but approval. “At least, not now. Later.” You hate yourself for compromising. You hate yourself for giving in. Why did you agree after all? Because knowing what might come, you don’t know if you could live with yourself with that being your last memory of Percy. And maybe, just maybe you’ve missed him and would like nothing more than company that you need to watch your every twitch around. Maybe things can be like back in the day, with less torture preferably.

Percy nods and lets you go. It’s as good as it will get. He still can’t fully believe that you’re here but he’s also not foolish enough to deny the hint of growing resentment that have blossomed ever since you’ve been reunited. Before it was nothing more than a hooded figure, nameless, faceless and without any connections to him so he couldn’t care less what some stranger thought of him or his friends but now he knows it’s you, he wants to do nothing more than change it. Some part of him still wishes for your approval because who is he when he’s lost it all? Who is he when the last thing he has, has abandoned him because of his own actions, because of who he became? His friends might tell him one thing, they might agree or disagree because of their personal opinions of views. They are but outsiders looking in. You were there. You know these people. You know this history. You lived through this just as he has. He need someone who will understand and the only one that just might is you… he hopes.

—————

Careful of your every step, sticking to the shadows you’ve grown so accustomed to, so much so they feel like an embrace, a comfort in a place that knows no sunlight, knows only clouds and rain and darkness. The once beautiful palace now cast in shadows make it an eery sight, but that does not bother you. It’s not within the structure true darkness rests. It’s formed from what the inhabitants cast upon it with their presence. Your family are such inhabitants, calling a place not theirs home, disgracing the memories that once graced these halls. If all goes accordingly, it might be traitor’s blood that tells their stories next. Or maybe the last drop will finally spill and the blood staining the stones will be yours and that of those you’ve allied with. Maybe it will be Percy’s blood next, should he fail. You hope not. To whatever gods might be watching, whatever graces still kind and good in this world, may they favour you all because you fear you might have lost yours.

“You’ve been out and about, haven’t you? I hope it has not interfered with your duties.” Her voice rattles through your bones, nevertheless you put on an indifferent smile, pulling the bag from beneath your cloak and placing it on the table your mother is seated at.

“Just a stroll to clear my head, mother. I would not dare to disappoint.” Your voice stays light as you open the bag setting out the contents for her to inspect. “Your requested components. The vertebrae of a youngling were particularly difficult to acquire.” You cringe at the memory of having to dig through what little bones remained in the graveyard after the necromancer’s tendencies to raise the dead whenever suitable.

“Thank you, my dear. I can always count on you to know exactly what I need when asked for.” She inspects the bones as well as the other things you brought before closing up the bag. She walks over to you, bringing her hands to your cheeks and holding your face, looking at you closely, with adoration, though it’s always seemed more akin to that of an owner to their pet. Delilah Briarwood has shown plenty of times she truly loves you as a child, but her love is a sick and twisted kind. You have a certain image and standard to live up to, and you need to be corrected every time you fail to do so in a way that assures you will never make such a mistake again. Only the strong survive. You can only count on family. All else is worthless. Perhaps had things gone differently, you’d have believed that and been so blindly loyal. Where would that have gotten you? A caged bird without an ounce of self-awareness, manipulated to think what you wants is always what they want for you. You’ll keep striving for your own freedom, your own choices and your own life.