#adotcorbin

She shudders, hugging herself as a chill winter draft sends goosebumps prickling up her arms. There’s a fireplace in the room which she and Pike are sharing, but she doesn’t get up to light it. They’d had it burning earlier, and all Keyleth can see in the still-glowing embers are the cruel, golden eyes of the Dread Emperor.

There’s a knock on the door, and she jumps almost a foot in the air. Shaking her head in an attempt to rid herself of this fog, she calls out a weak, “It’s open,” preparing to put on a polite smile for a housekeeper or other employee.

Instead, it’s Percy’s snow-white head that pokes into the room, looking curious and concerned.

“Thought I might find you up here,” he says, shuffling in and closing the door behind him. “You snuck away from us.”

He hides his drunkenness well, with no slur to his words and no stumbling as he approaches the bed. If Keyleth hadn’t spent almost every day and night with him for months, she wouldn’t have noticed that his glasses are slightly askew, or how his hair is sticking up at the back like someone ruffled it, which a sober Percy would never allow.

“Yeah. I was just feeling, you know, a little too tired for partying.” She puts up that fake, polite smile, hoping that he’ll accept the excuse and just leave her alone. 

She can tell instantly that Percy isn’t fooled. Instead of leaving, he sits down next to her.

“What’s wrong?” he asks matter-of-factly, and Keyleth is a little taken aback. Not to say that Percy isn’t kind or caring (he’s not, but she wouldn’t say that), just that of everyone in Vox Machina, he’s not the one she would expect to check in on people or ask how they’re doing. Maybe it’s the ale.

“Nothing’s wrong. Like I said, I’m just tired.”

“Keyleth.”

Percy has a way with words. Usually, that means saying a lot of them really fast until people give him what he wants. Right now, it means packing multiple meanings into a single word. When he says her name, she hears, We both know that’s a lie, and Stop bullshitting me, and It’s ok, you can tell me, and I care about you.

It’s that last one that makes Keyleth’s eyes burn. She’s been fighting tears all night, but somehow it’s so much harder to keep them at bay with a witness. Which is such bullshit. Stupid tear ducts.

Percy knows, of course, what’s really wrong. He’s smart like that. 

“You were trying to help.”

That’s the final straw. Streams of tears pour from her eyes all at once, like the flood from a broken dam. She tries to keep it quiet, at least, but every few moments a gasping sob escapes her.

Percy doesn’t say anything, just puts an arm around her shoulder. The side of his coat is still stained heavily with blood, fresh enough that she can smell bitter metal as he pulls her closer to him. But stronger than that is the smoky scent of gunpowder that always clings to him. Keyleth found it unpleasant when they first met, choking the air when she stood near him. She’s used to it now, though. Now, it just smells like her friend.

Eventually, the blubbering slows down enough for her to lift her head up again. She must look like a complete mess, she thinks, with tear-tracks coating her cheeks and her eyes and nose redder than her hair.

“It-it doesn’t matter what I was trying to do,” she stutters out belatedly, still shaking. “I killed him. That’s what matters.”

“It always matters what you’re trying to do,” Percy says, calm and measured as ever. “It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t fix anything. But it matters.” One corner of his mouth twitches up, just for a second. It’s a sad smile, for the moment it lasts. 

“You’re a good person, Keyleth. Yes, you made a mistake, you miscalculated. That doesn’t make you bad. Take it from someone who knows first-hand what that actually looks like.” 

“No, you’re a good person, Percy,” she murmurs.

“I’m really not. But that just means I know the real thing when I see it.” He smiles at her, and it reaches his eyes this time.

“Come on.” He pats her shoulder twice, then stands up, holding one hand out to her. “Come back downstairs with me. You need dinner, even if you don’t want to drink.”

Keyleth frowns at his outstretched hand. “They have room service here. I can just order something up.”

Percy shakes his head, reaching down to grab her by the hand and gently tugging her to her feet. “No way. You have a beautiful, post-crying glow about you now. What sort of friend would I be if I let you hide that away up here, all alone?” 

That forces a tiny laugh out of her, as she swipes the back of her free hand over her gross, runny nose. He pulls her towards the door, and she goes with only the barest show of reluctance.