do you spice?

Spoilers for Dalen's Closet | Vox Machina One-Shot

Their wedding night is not what Percy expected.

Second wedding night, he supposes, staring up at the ceiling as Vex sniffles quietly beside him. It’s not a terrible sound to hear. It means she’s still breathing, and he knows he would worry more if she were still and silent beside him.

“Dear,” he starts gently. “I know it’s our night, but would you prefer if we were in the mansion?”

“W-what?” Vex asks, furiously wiping away a tear.

“I just wondered… if everything might feel a bit better if we stayed with family tonight.”

Vex’s shoulders stop shaking at the suggestion. She nods, reaching for a tissue. 

Percy touches his earring and whispers, “Hello?” 

“Oy!” Scanlan chirps from a few rooms away. “Do you lovebirds need anything?”

Percy hears a mumbled laugh that sounds suspiciously like Pike, and he wonders if he might have interrupted something.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Percy says, and the voice that is absolutely Pike laughs after that. “No, I don’t want to know. Scanlan when you’re decent—"

“I’m way better than decent.”

“When you’re decent,” Percy reiterates, “would you mind… we were wondering if we could actually stay in the mansion tonight.”

There’s a slight pause, and Percy can almost hear Scanlan think.

“Yup,” Scanlan agrees, surprisingly eager. “Anything for the Lord and Lady de fifty names de Rolo.”

“Thank you,” Percy says softly.

“Is casting it in our room okay?” Pike asks, clear and crisp from her own earring.

“My room?” Scanlan clarifies.

“Shit,” says Pike.

“Yes, Scanlan’s will be alright,” Percy agrees, watching Vex smile amidst her tear tracks.

“Alright, give me one minute and it’ll be ready to go.”

“See you shortly,” Percy says. “Please wear pants.”

Summary: Vex and Percy have a visitor. Molly has a second chance.

The figure before her is drenched. She notices the horns first, curled and covered in baubles that might sparkle if caught in the light. Their lilac skin is dashed with scars long healed, and a tattoo of some exotic bird peeks its head up from beneath their collar. Their eyes, a dull red, remain downcast as water drips from loose purple curls.

It is difficult for Vex to determine their gender. She wonders if that might be intentional.

“Hello,” she says kindly, and blinks at her visitor’s grim expression. “Are you alright?”

The young tiefling shivers, running their hands up and down their arms.

“Nethel,” they say in quiet, clumsy elvish.

Vex is nearer fifty than forty now, but certainly not hard of hearing. She freezes at the implication of the word.

“I’m sorry?” She asks, breathless.

The body crumples directly into her arms.

—

“Your Champion,” spits the Raven Queen, “has stolen from me.”

Ioun is patient with her, as a mother would with an unruly child. She smiles a grandmother’s smile, and holds her fingers around a warm cup of tea.

“She is only mortal,” Ioun reminds her. “You must remember how indulgent they are. They do not understand the weight of magic they are given. She did not know the consequences of her actions.”

The mask of the Raven Queen enlarges, looming like the moon beside the Goddess of Knowledge.

“Scanlan Shorthalt knew exactly what he was doing,” she accuses, voice sharp and rumbling nearby teacups.  “He has been trying for years to turn the others against me. His Wish granted him an audience with all who reside in the Blessed Fields of Elysium.”

“They have all refused him,” Ioun reminds her gently. “None are eager to fight you, Sister.”

The mask of the Raven Queen becomes small again, a mirror of Ioun’s size. Slowly, a hand reaches to pull the guise away, revealing beautiful, piercing eyes. The Raven Queen’s true face stares through her companion.

“Punish him,” she says, eyes unblinking. “He wears a mask to mock me.”

“She is a goblin child. You know as well as I do that it is for her own protection.”

“Punish him,” she repeats. “I would not tolerate this among my chosen warriors.”

Ioun quirks half a smile.

“Nott is mine to look after.” She sets the teacup down, meeting the empty gaze with surprising mirth. “I dare say, I might forgive my Champion’s misstep if this is what it takes to earn your company.”

“You are too alike,” The Raven Queen says, disgust evident in her tone. “I will say this plainly: I want my Vax’ildan returned to me.”

“He is mortal, my dear.” For the first time in a millennium, Ioun reaches out to touch the cold hand of the Raven Queen. “He shall.”

---

When Scanlan watches his mother die, he is a child -- wide-eyed and frozen in fear as he hides beneath the floorboards. He is safe underground, but when he peeks out he can see his mother’s lifeless hand lying limply beside one of the kitchen chairs.  He is too young to perform the magic necessary to save her.

A traveling troupe picks him up once Scanlan has grown between a child and adult. He has nearly reached his full height, still small and malnourished, and the ideal size to weave between patrons and pockets to snatch a purse or two. His new companions ruffle his hair and pick him up, and Scanlan pretends not to mind. They are his new family now, and none of them are accustomed to traveling with gnomes.

When he is a young adult, mischievous and whip-smart and tired of being treated like a child for so long, he meets The Shits. They don’t bother to ask his age until Trinket’s birthday comes around and Vex insists they celebrate it together. She gifts her bear the best meat pies and cuddles him incessantly. Scanlan gives him a pebble he found in his shoe. It’s symbolic.

That evening they have drinks and spend too much gold on their meals for the “special occasion.” Keyleth sits next to Scanlan, loopy on ale and more thoughtful than giggly.

“Scanlan, I was wondering…” she starts, antlers askew as she tilts her head, “Since we’ve started celebrating birthdays, how old are you?”

“We’re not celebrating his birthday,” Vex interrupts, giving Trinket a good rub. “He didn’t get Trinket anything.”

“You’re our age, aren’t you?” Vax says, as if it were obvious. He nudges Keyleth. “I can tell. Look at him.”

“I’m quite old,” Scanlan lies, and grins broadly.

Interestingly, no one seems to challenge him on this. Even Pike, who might have suspected something, seems more preoccupied with comparing muscles with Grog.

“Gnomes,” says Tiberius, particularly pompous. He blows an extra scorch of fire over his plate of chicken and begins to gnaw on a once-juicy piece of thigh.

“Tiberiuses,” says Scanlan, because he has met Dragonborn before, and none are quite like this one.

The first thing Nott does when she wakes, is drink.

“This early?” her companion asks, a note of concern in his voice. He tips his near-empty plate over hers, allowing extra slices of bacon to fall into her pile. “I know you’ve always been a bit… anxious, friend. This seems like another level of self-medication.”

Nott pulls the flagon away and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. She suspects he’s right, but coping with her situation becomes significantly easier when she’s had enough drinks to qualify as sloshed.

“I’m alright, Caleb. Promise, I am. Don’t worry about me.” Her hand reaches for the bacon next. She bites into a piece as Caleb side-eyes her from across the table. “It’s just been rough some days. Lots of bad memories creeping up.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re alright,” Caleb counters, leaning forward onto the table. “You know you can talk to me about this, if you want.”

Nott knows this, and she smiles at him slightly. Only a hint of her sharp teeth show.

“’Course I can,” she says. “But I won’t.”

---

Warnings: Conversation about death. Mentions of character death. Campaign Spoilers. 

In the end, it’s only him and Keyleth. 

Scanlan’s hair is a patchy gray. His grandchildren have grandchildren, and Kaylie has been dead longer than she had a chance to live.

Keyleth wraps an arm around his shoulders to pull him next to her. It’s easy to take in the beauty of Zephrah from the mountain top. The firelight, the golds and blues of the city flags, errant magic explosions and the laughter of children caught in the wind.

“I don’t want to die,” he says.

“It’s alright,” Keyleth replies, her arm a warm comfort around him. “I always knew there was a chance I would be the last one of us to go. Thank you for staying with me so long, Scanlan.”

He swallows, heavy enough that it hurts his throat.

He had nearly killed himself to save Pike. Wish had worked initially, improving his and Pike’s quality of life, but it hadn’t prolonged their actual lifespan. He had a chance to say goodbye to her though, which is more than he had with Percy or Grog.

There was still one other option, although Scanlan had avoided using it until he knew there was little time left for him in this world.

He takes a deck of cards out of his satchel, wondering how harshly Ioun will judge him for this. He imagines Sprigg wagging a finger.

“We’re all stories in the end!”

Maybe she’ll forgive him. Maybe she’ll intervene if the world ends.

Keyleth catches his eye. Immediately her lips part, eyes growing wide--  

“Scanlan!”

He pulls a card.

---

The Trickfoot children are loved every moment of their young lives.

The elder, Juniper, is a wild thing with untidy brown hair that covers her eyes no matter how often her father cuts it. She is the one who tackles Kaylie into the ground every time her beloved sister visits, and she is the one who lies and gets away with it.

Her younger sister is the quiet one, the tactician behind any schemes the two of them enact. Her name is Piper, and she was born with hair as dark as night. Scanlan insists she is the spitting image of her mother’s childhood looks.

They are beautiful girls in every sense of the word, but sometimes, after a particularly exhausting day of dealing with two rambunctious little ones, Pike wonders if this life is the fantasy Scanlan always wanted.

She tries to ask him this once, late into the evening when her husband has elected to use Bigby’s Hand as an enchanted ceiling for a quilt fort.

“It looked fun when the girls were doing it,” he tells her, smiling and cross-legged from atop their newly canopy’d bed. “Besides we haven’t built a fort since the mansion days.”

It’s hard to disagree with Scanlan’s logic sometimes, but Pike often finds she doesn’t want to anyway. Instead, she crawls in beside him and lets the quilt fall behind her. It’s much nicer huddled in this cocoon while the winter winds frost the walls outside their home.

“Scanlan,” Pike starts, hesitant as the other takes her hands and begins to rub them.

“Pikey.”

“You’ve been happy, haven’t you? Happy with the life we’ve built. Our kids and our home and our… us.”

She watches Scanlan smile down at her hands, still warming them.

“Because,” she begins again, voice strangely high. “Because I wondered. And I’m not saying I want this or don’t want this, but I wondered… we have two wonderful girls. Did you ever... when you think about our lives together…”

Scanlan glances up then, a sharp eye on her and a curious smile in place. “Yes?”

“Did you ever want a son?”

It’s a heavy question to hang in the air, and Scanlan’s eyes widen as the implication dawns on him. “Oh my God. Are you--?”

“No!” Pike interrupts. “No, not pregnant. Definitely not. Barren like the desert in here.”

“Okay,” he says, after a few heavy blinks and a deep breath. She can’t tell whether he looks relieved or flummoxed. Scanlan can guard his expressions a little too well when he likes. Pike isn’t quite as gifted, and bites her lip and she tries to re-word and re-think what she had meant to ask.

“It’s just we never really talked about this before, you know?”

That seems closer to the right thing to say. Scanlan looks more thoughtful as he considers it, but then that bright smile appears again and he holds her hands to his chest.

“Pike Trickfoot,” he starts, and she hides a smile. There’s a speech in those words. “You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever imagined I could be. We have two brilliant children, a home we built together, and so much love in our lives it sometimes makes Grog cry into a bedsheet. My beautiful bride,” Scanlan tilts his head, looking both sincere and impish. “I don’t need anything else.”

It makes her heart ache to hear him say these things as earnestly as the first time he confessed his love to her. Pike knows she’s lucky – they both are.

“I thought I didn’t want children,” Pike reminds him, to which Scanlan hums and places her hands gently back in her lap. “But I love them so much. I didn’t even know I was capable of it.”

“Yes you did,” Scanlan insists, a playful lilt to the words. “You’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. You taught us all to love a little better.”

She punches him in the arm rather than let her heart swell, and Scanlan takes this as his cue to feign innocence.

“I love you, you know,” she tells him.

“Sorry?” Scanlan asks, leaning a little closer. “Didn’t catch that.”

“I love you so much.”

“You love having lunch?”

Scanlan winks at her, and she feels no guilt in pushing him over and kissing him as Scanlan struggles to murmur half-rhymes into her skin.