#bry fic

Bell was not expecting things to go badly so suddenly, so quickly. He was expecting to arrive in Arcomb this afternoon, have a moment to rest and try to understand the situation the KC have found themselves in, to think through it all and come up with a reasonable plan. And he would never have expected things to go this badly here, in the Friman woods. So often have the KC passed through these woods that they even feel familiar to him, the member of their party least at home among nature. And that familiarity has brought with it a sense of safety, a sense that was clearly deceptive. Because now things have gone badly, worse than he could have imagined,  and Bell doesn’t know what to do.

There’s no rationale, no logic, as he stands frozen in place, eyes wide as he looks at the massive dragon in front of them. The earth itself seems to shift beneath his feet as the beast swings its head towards them, looks directly at the few who are still standing by the edge of the clearing and seems to inhale, spewing foam from its mouth as it draws in air. Bell wants to reach up and grab his holy symbol for comfort, anything to steady him and fight the raw fear threatening to overcome him, but his hand never makes it to his chest. The dragon exhales, and as Bell stares up at it, he feels a brief moment of cold, overwhelming cold like he’s never felt before.

And then,

Nothing.

⊙

It is nothing surrounding him, but there is a lot of nothing, void of a magnitude he cannot comprehend. The expanse of emptiness would almost be awe-inspiring if awe was an emotion he was capable of feeling right now. It’s not. He doesn’t feel much - he can feel the absence of cold; vaguely he remembers that he was cold before the nothing. And the nothing is all there is here - there’s no warmth, no cold, no light or really even any dark, if only because the concept of “darkness” doesn’t seem to exist here.

He knows things, he remembers who he is - Bell Laur, to most people. Belmont Célestin Laur Du Fois to others. He remembers how he got here, but doesn’t know where “here” is. Most of his memories are there, but he can’t quite get a grip on them - he feels as though trying to recall them is more like watching a scene fly by, passing through his mind faster than you have time to call to mind the emotions associated with the images. There doesn’t seem to be a mechanism for holding onto them for more than the briefest moment, and he views them with the detached neutrality of a stranger.

And it’s… it’s nice. Bell sees himself, younger, fighting back anger at being told how much he looks like his father, how he’s the spitting image of Gerard. But he doesn’t feel the anger. He sees himself in the library the night he left Stratham, but the sad inevitability of climbing out of that window doesn’t quite reach him. Bell sees the first weeks he spent on the road, the experience of being flung head first into a world you have no knowledge of, but there’s none of the crushing loneliness that he remembers accompanied that journey. He sees Cik fall in battle, hand floating in the swampy water next to the dragonborn’s unconscious body. Other memories remind him that he blamed himself for the injury, but no guilt washes over him. More scenes flash before him - The Temple of Mephistopheles, the Underdark, South Warren, Starcrest Keep. Stratham.

The Deadlands.

Bell sees the ash, the dark sky and the castle in the distance. He knows that he should be afraid right now, he knows what’s coming and remembers the acute fear just thinking about this place brings to him. He remembers just days ago dreaming of this place and waking up retching; he remembers that thinking just of the ash made bile rise to the back of his throat. But no panic comes, no fear. He watches the KC walk through the ash, sees them cross the bridge and go inside.

He sees Symon, and blessedly feels nothing. No fear, no guilt, no rage, and no shame.

The memories continue to float by, images and sounds without depth or feeling. It’s so nice, so simple. He cannot remember the last time he felt this calm, the last time he was so free of worries. Maybe I never have been, he thinks, and eases into into the feeling. Leaning into it is remarkably easy; it’s the easiest thing Bell has done in his entire life.

But there’s a strange air of finality to the nothing surrounding him. Something is ending as he feels the nothing overtake him, though he isn't certain what that something is. The memories slow down as he relaxes, as the nothing melts in around the edges of the final scenes. He sees the Friman Woods (and for some reason, the thought “for one last time” follows the image), and he sees the KC. They look so tired, and as the scene moves forward, they look scared. And then the last memory is gone, and Bell closes his eyes and leans into the unknown.

⊙

After some time - Bell isn’t sure how long, time as he knows it doesn’t exist here - something cuts through the absence that he’s begun to get used to. It’s a raw feeling more than a specific memory or an idea. It’s the first thing he’s really felt here besides detached bewilderment, and what a strange feeling it is. It’s the cool comfort of his best friend’s words, the large presence of Cik standing beside him - and the gentle sunlight of Pelor shining on his face. But combined, somehow - and that’s the strange part. He knows Cik doesn’t like the gods, it is one of the many things about his best friend that Bell has decided is not worth questioning. But he’s certain that this is both of Pelor and of Cik, more certain than he’s been about anything before. It carries the warmth of the god that he knows so well, a warmth he has channelled a thousand times - and it is a gentle warmth, one that reminds him of the flowers in early spring and the closing of a wound and of healing and of life. It reminds him of Midsummers at the temple and his first, shaky attempts at spellcasting. It reminds him of his family, in their happier moments. But it also feels like Cik. It feels like his laughter, his teasing and his recklessness that makes the cleric want to try so hard to protect him. It feels like Cik is holding him, arms keeping him tight against his best friend’s chest.

It feels like love, and Bell believes in it.

He comes back to himself a bit, tries to focus on the feeling and understand it, figure out where it comes from. He doesn’t want to let it go. But it’s hard. Thinking is difficult here, and just being present is taking far more energy than he can expend. The nothing was so easy compared to this, and he holds on for a second more, just to feel the warmth and Cik’s presence.

A noise cuts through the sensation, something that might be a voice. But it is discordant and sad and he loses his focus on the feeling, and he lets go again. Bell sees the nothing creep in around the edges of his vision and hears the noise fade out into the deafening silence. When he relaxes this time, it seems like the emptiness comes for him quicker, and he doesn’t want to fight it anymore. It’s so easy. There is nothing to worry about here, no anxieties gnawing in the back of his mind. No Patron’s disappointment, no guilt over his failures protecting his friends and his sisters, no remembering Symon and what he did and what he almost did. No fears of not belonging here, of never being able to go home. No dreams, but no nightmares either. The itch - the restlessness that set him out on this trip and has never quite left him, the unbearable need to understand - is gone.

And then he feels Keen speaking to him, her presence cutting through the heavy emptiness like Cik’s did. He doesn’t hear the words she’s saying, but he can comprehend what she means - stay. Stay. Please. There’s something in the tone that pulls at him. Stay. Keen has always been talented in the art of convincing, and although Bell doesn’t understand why, he feels compelled to follow her plea. But this nothing is so easy. He wavers, slips back a little.

Her voice is no longer in his ear, but the meaning behind them hangs all around him. Stay. It echoes through him, and he's pulled in two directions.

I have to stay, Bell thinks. He wants to stay. He wants to feel the sun on his cheeks, and he wants to speak those familiar prayers again: I am brave, as the sun father bestows me with courage. And he wants to be there for the KC to protect and heal them and keep them safe, and he wants to be with them because they’re his family, even without an ancient bloodline or name to tie them together. And there is still so much he wants to understand. It’s hard, he acknowledges to the nothing. But I still have good to do here.

A final memory crosses his mind as he begins to push back: Bell crying in Barnabas’ office, Seraphina’s blood smeared across his hand from striking them. Cik places his hands on Bell’s shoulders, looks into his eyes. “You… you need to find a reason to live, alright? Find something, anything.”

They’re my reason, he thinks, and Bell fights against the nothing like he has never fought anything before.

And then,

everything.

⊙

The first thing Bell feels after the cold envelops him is a grip on his left hand, someone holding it so tightly it borders on painful. The next thing he feels is a new consciousness of the cold, a bone-deep cold that he can scarcely comprehend. For a moment he doesn’t even try to move, because he is uncertain if he even can. The chill is in his muscles, cutting through to the very center of his body. Involuntarily, he grimaces, and feels his face shift a bit.

A memory comes to him suddenly, an image of a white dragon with its jaw unhinged and eyes wide with fury. Everyone, he thinks, and his eyes fly open in a panic. He tries to sit up as he begins to look around, but he’s suddenly conscious of how weak (as well as cold) his muscles feel, and at first he only manages to hold his head up for a second. He is not in the Friman woods. The air here is warm, and he can feel the cold slowly leaving his bones, can feel the blood rushing to his face and fingers and the sting of them warming up. He looks to his left, and sees Cik standing over him, holding his hand in a vice-like grip and tears on his face. The sight of Cik crying brings his world into a sharp focus, and Bell feels his chest tighten in concern.

“Cik?” he asks, brow furrowed and teeth chattering as he looks around from his prone position on what seems to be a table of some sort. Everyone is here, and at least physically, they look okay from this limited point of view. But their expressions are harrowing; Keen’s cheeks are also damp with tears. There’s a woman in the room that he doesn’t recognize, but she’s staring at him with the same incredulous expression - worry? Relief? Fear? All of those combined? -  that the others wear. He sees a figure near to the table, humanoid but far too tall to be human, looking relieved. Without truly understanding why, he feels tears well up in his eyes.

Bell tries to sit up again, and this time manages to pull himself to a sitting position, and he looks down to see a few sunburst necklaces fall off of him onto the table.

“Bell,” Cik says, and seeing the dragonborn’s expression, tears begin falling from Bell’s eyes.

“What… what happened?” he asks, looking around. It feels uncomfortably like the aftermath of Senfari, waking up in the Lyceum with a gap in his memories, but heavier somehow. This was more, he somehow knows.

“You died,” the woman he doesn’t recognize says, and Bell feels his heart stop for a moment.

“I… died?” he repeats, nearly stumbling over the words. The woman nods, and for a second all Bell can do is stare at her, trying to wrap his head around the enormity of what she just told him. I died. I died. For a moment, he feels impossibly small, more scared than he’s ever been. I don’t want to die, he thinks, a realization that surprises him a bit. Death has never scared him the way he knows it scares others. At his lowest, he thought he was ready to welcome it with open arms. I don't want to die, he thinks again, but realizes: I'm alive.

And then he really and truly begins crying and turns to Cik. The dragonborn catches him in a hug, finally releasing his hand to reach around him and pull him close. Bell hugs him as tightly as his arms can manage, presses his damp cheek against the fighter’s chestplate - metal has never felt this warm before. He knows others in the room are saying things, he still doesn't know where he is or anything about what happened beyond his death and he has no idea who the strangers here could be. And in a second he'll look around, and listen, and try understand this as well. But for now, all he is conscious of is Cik's arms around his, the presence of his friends - who are safe, thank Pelor.

gen

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