A VERY LONG STORY // A TINY PART OF.

@raventhread.

‘  your  mother  would  gut  me  like  a  hagfish  if  she  knew  i  was  helping  you  with  this,  lady  emily.  ‘  

there’s  steel  in  daud’s  voice  –  there  always  has  been,  gruff  and  low,  but  dangerous.  when  speaking  to  the  princess,  however,  it  seems  muted,  like  he’s  gripping  the  sharp  edge  of  his  own  blade,  as  to  not  hurt  her.  he  carries  a  fondness  for  the  girl:  her  indomitable,  but  unsoiled,  spirit  is  inspiring.  she  hasn’t  lost  her  innocence,  but  she’s  simultaneously  becoming  aware  of  the  world.  he  hopes  it  doesn’t  cut  it  out  of  her.

gentle,  daud  hoists  her  up  onto  his  shoulders  to  give  her  the  height  she  needs  to  reach  the  ledge.  ‘  please  be  careful.  ‘  he  can  only  imagine  jessamine’s  rage,  were  emily  to  hurt  herself.  

                     the  thought  pulls  a  giggle  from  the  little  empress  ---  mother,  GUT  SOMEONE !!    if  only,  that’d  be  far  more  interesting  to  see  than  the  taxes  and  pleasantries  she  usually  busies  herself  with  ---  like  something  out  of  a  bedtime  story,  where  ROYAL  GIRLS  get  up  to  FANTASTIC  ADVENTURES,  and  all  manner  of  beasts  die  on  their  swords !!    other  royal  girls,  never  her,  no,  she  sits  at  a  tall  table  with  her  cheek  in  her  hand  and  kicks  her  feet  while  the  royal  spymaster  DRONES  ON  AND  ON  AND  ON    maybe  mother  should  gut  him  like  a  hagfish.    

 “ don’t  be  silly.    no,  she  wouldn’t.    we’re  JUST  HAVING  FUN !!  ”    she  balances  herself  with  hands  pushed  down  on  the  crown  of  daud’s  skull,  gets  to  her  feet  atop  his  shoulders,  the  heels  of  LITTLE  BLACK  SHOES  wedged  against  the  buttons  of  his  jacket’s  epaulettes.    “ besides,  i’m  not  going  to  TELL  HER  if  you  don’t. ”    a  note  of  teasing  in  her  voice,  like  there  always  is  ---  it’s  much  more  fun  for  him  than  for  corvo,  who  laughs  with  her  and  spins  her  around.    daud  presses  up  his  face  and  grumbles.    it  makes  her  smile,  to  see  him  TRY  TO  PRETEND  HE  DOESN’T  LIKE  HER.

A  DARKER  SHADE  OF  MAGIC    /    ACCEPTING.

          “ made  a  lot  more  than  JUST  ONE,  pikey. ”    gods  in  elysium,  how  many?    to  count  the  stars  in  the  sky,  far  above  them  through  layers  of  stacked  stone  and  dirt.    he  pulls  his  knees  up  to  his  chest,  drinks  the  moments  of  rest  they’ve  stopped  to  take  before  they  delve  further  into  the  catacombs.    the  days  they  struggled  through  in  misery  in  SYNGORN,  the  days  he  could  have  said  one  word  and  gotten  her  out  of  there  and  did  not.    delaying  their  return  to  byroden,  LET’S  JUST  BE  US  TWO  A  WHILE  LONGER,  STUBBY,  and  their  mother  long  gone.    across  the  room  his  sister  sits  with  percy,  the  dampened  hem  of  her  cloak  wrapped  over  her  fingers  and  scratching  to  pull  out  the  blood  beginning  to  stain  his  mask.    every  day  that  he  HAS  NOT  TOLD  KEYLETH  HOW  HE  FELT.    the  way  that  he  told  her  today.    cassandra  de  rolo  stands  by,  nervous  fingers  over  the  hilt  of  her  rapier.

 the  chill  the  ghosts  of  whitestone  left  in  his  body  is  beginning  to  recede,  pushed  back  by  THE  WARMTH  OF  PIKE  BESIDE  HIM  in  her  angelic  form,  a  soft  golden  glow,  an  insubstantial  touch.    his  shoulder  still  stings  where  percival  had  cracked  a  bundle  of  vex’s  arrows  against  him,  his  gritted  teeth,  his  barely  restrained  shouts.    HE  SUSPECTS  IT  WILL  STING  FOR  A  LONG  WHILE.    jenga,  one  one  thousand,  two  one  thousand,  three  one  thousand.

 the  knife  has  left  no  lasting  mark  on  cassandra’s  throat.    she  wears  her  mother’s  armor  now,  bloodsoaked  finery  left  behind  in  the  castle  above.    IT  WAS  MUCH  TOO  CLOSE.    it  was  entirely  his  fault.    he  has  not  been  able  to  meet  percy’s  eyes,  if  it  was  vex,  if  it  was  vex  ---

 he’s  sure  he’d  have  done  a  lot  more  than  smack  percy  with  some  arrows  and  berate  him  for  his  recklessness,  if  it  was  vex.    he’s  NOT  SURE  WHERE  HE  WOULD  HAVE  STOPPED,  if  it  was  vex.    he  can’t  imagine,  he  can’t  think,  if  it  was  vex,  her  red  life  running  out  from  her  neck,  HIS  HALF--HEART  who  he  cannot  last  without.    vax?    I  HAVE  A  SISTER.    it’s  pretty  cool,  isn’t  it?

A  DARKER  SHADE  OF  MAGIC    /    ACCEPTING.

          “ no. ”    the  refusal  comes  in  harsher  tones  than  he’s  addressed  scanlan  with  thus  far  ---  WE  ARE  LEARNING  TO  FORGIVE    we  are  growing  fed  by  love.    vex  is  further  along  than  he  is.    he’s  not  yet  willing  to  extend  an  open  hand  to  syldor  without  a  clenched  fist  at  his  side.    “ don’t  you  fucking  do  that.    don’t  you  put  that  on  us.    that  isn’t  fair. ”

 he  is  keeping  his  voice  level,  his  head  cool.    he  will  not  rise  an  octave  into  indignation,  will  not  make  the  mistakes  made  in  the  last  conversation  of  this  nature  and  this  magnitude.    people  DON’T  REALLY  want  to  know.    “ we  did.    we  do.    you  can’t  ---  god,  that’s  what  family  is,  sometimes,  is  ---  being  FUCKING  miserable  for  the  sake  of  each  other!  ”    well,  that  whole  plan  of  not  raising  his  voice  went  squarely  OUT  THE  WINDOW  about  as  quickly  as  most  of  his  plans.    “ we’re  all  fucking  disasters,  the  point  is  we’re  in  it  together,  we  have  to  be,  or  what’s --- ”    the  fucking  point  of  any  of  it?

 this  isn’t  going  where  he  wants  it  to  go.    he  breathes  deeply,  wraps  his  arms  tight  around  his  midriff  as  though  HOLDING  HIS  RIBCAGE  CLOSED.    inhale,  exhale,  think  like  keyleth  has  shown  you  how,  the  veritable  master  of  having  a  rapidly  vocalized  train  of  thought  derail.    this  isn’t  about  berating  scanlan,  PILING  ON  THE  GUILT  of  his  absence,  his  SILENCE  TOWARDS  THEM.    he’s  gotten  that.    this  isn’t  about  ---    what  is  this  about?    vox  machina.    EVERYTHING.    he  had  questions  like  these  the  day  before  the  conclave,  alone  in  his  room  in  their  old  keep,  with  vex,  questions  without  answers.    he  knows  now.    IT’S  ABOUT  LOVE.    what  else  could  it  ever  have  fucking  been?

A  DARKER  SHADE  OF  MAGIC    /    ACCEPTING.

          and  he  understands,  doesn’t  he?    he  has  never  been  able  to  suffer  A  WORLD  WITHOUT  HER  to  exist,  not  a  moment,  not  a  heartbeat  without  hers  calling  back  to  his,  echoing  in  twin  ribcages   ( his  has  become  so  slow.    he  is  so  steady.    he  is  so  cold. )

 NEVER  GONNA  LEAVE  YOUR  SIDE.    always  gonna  be  here.    he  has  made  and  remade  so  many  promises,  and  so  many  to  her.    he  cannot  keep  them  now.    he  cannot  sooth  the  loneliness  that  lives  in  her  with  vows  that  she  will  never  lack  for  love.    he  cannot  use  those  words,  always,  never.    IF  HE  HAS  ANY  REGRET  in  this  bargain  he  has  struck,  it’s  that.    “ HEY. ”    his  arm  goes  around  his  sister,  tugs  her  in ;   a  hand  curves  over  the  shape  of  her  skull,  rests  there,  holds  her  head  against  his  chest,  their  common  comfort.    HE  UNDERSTANDS.    death  will  never  lose  its  edge  ---  he  has  never  found  a  false  complacency  in  the  second  chance  that  pike  presents.    it  is  never  easier.    each  time  he  sees  her  fall  the  terror  of  her  absence  grips  his  heart  tighter ;   is  this  when  MY  LUCK  RUNS  OUT?    i  have  only  one  life  to  trade  ---  and  now,  NOT  EVEN  THAT.

 quiet  poet  that  he  is,  he  always  thought  he’d  live  a  HALF  LIFE  should  he  ever  have  to  live  without  vex’ahlia.    it’s  almost  funny,  the  way  things  have  played  out,  how  he  walks  now  in  HALF  DEATH.    the  end  is  always  ironic.

       ❝ What’s up, Stringbean? ❞ There’s a smile that blooms for the half elf, hand gently patting his cheek for just a moment of affection. He lifts her up onto a balance beam and though it takes a moment for her to steady, she waits for a moment as he speaks. She reads…emptiness, sadness, and a mix of emotions on him. She’s empathetic, hands resting on his shoulders as she pears into his eyes with a warmth to them. ❝ Yeah, of course. You can pull me aside whenever you need to, okay? I’m here for you. ❞