#widofjordweek2020

(Yeah, this doesn’t really fit any of the prompts, but I wanted to do a class swap so I suppose it’s day 7 of @widofjordweek . Late, I know, but here’s the intro to what could be a longer fic. Featuring barbarian!Fjord and rogue!Caleb.)

People don’t usually think much of Fjord. He doesn’t look nearly as strong as he is, doesn’t act nearly as angry as he can be. He’s polite, mild-mannered- a half-orc of average build, working an average job on the docks.

He spends a lot of time listening and watching, laying low. He doesn’t want to be bothered and doesn’t want to lose control of himself- his abilities should not be exploited by people so naturally obnoxious that they think they can annoy him into a rage.

It’s this way of life that means he’s the first to notice the newcomer at the docks.

The stranger lurking around buildings in dark alleys is a small thing. Swamped in a dark, sweeping cloak, with the hood pulled over his head. Skinny, and pale, from what snatches of skin Fjord can see.

Fjord would peg him as a simple thief, but he never seems to stray too close to people. He doesn’t stick to one place either, flitting between buildings, so he’s not casing something. Maybe he’s following someone? Maybe he’s an assassin- though, that might be a little too exciting for a port town.

After a week of him lurking, and Fjord spotting him in new hiding spots, Fjord’s thin sense of self-restraint loses the battle against his curiosity. His shift ends and he loiters around the docks, waiting for the stranger to move from his sentry position, perched on a nearby rooftop.

It only takes a few minutes- Fjord glances up and finds the figure gone. There’s a shadow another alley over and Fjord follows it. He’s not as stealthy, but he’s in plain clothes and he has a good smile for anybody he passes- nobody looks at him twice.

He manages to duck into an alley and loop around, so he’s behind the cloaked figure, squatting next to a wall, pressed close to the stonework. Fjord grabs the back of the cloak and the collar of the shirt beneath and pulls, dragging them a good distance before they can even yelp.

“Hey,” he starts, shoving them up against the wall, “Who are you?”

The- he’s pretty sure it’s a man, is human. Small and pale, like he saw, with red hair peeking out of the hood as it slides back. A black mask is pulled up over his nose, which doesn’t cover brilliant blue eyes, wide and surprised.

“What’s it to you?”

Fjord shrugs, which makes the stranger’s face- the half he can see- scrunch, around a frown or snarl. “Don’t know yet. You’ve been stalking my dock, though.”

“You saw me?” He curses in a language Fjord doesn’t know- or, he assumes it’s curse, from the way he spits it.

“I don’t think anyone else did, if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t.” He wipes a hand over his face, pulling the mask down with it to reveal a very exasperated frown. “It means they could’ve seen me.”

“They?” Fjord asks, followed by silence. He lets go but doesn’t step away, crowding him against the wall without restraining him. A new question, then, the first that comes to mind, “Are you an assassin?”

“No. I just- I’m tracking this-“ he waves his hands, vaguely, like he’s looking for a word, or irritated with Fjord’s ignorance.

His accent is pretty thick- maybe he should give the benefit of the doubt and assume there’s a language barrier.

“Organization? Cult? Secret government agents?”

He groans, putting his head in his hands for the count of ten, then raises it, reluctantly. “Do you know of the Cerberus Assembly?”

Cerberus? That sounds... somewhat familiar. “The fancy folks harassing magic people?”

People in uniforms have been congregating around the wizard tower for days now, trying to find a door to knock on. They’ve left notes and, on one memorable day, tried shouting. Fjord doesn’t know the wizard, obviously, but he respects the man’s patience- if it were him, he would’ve started cracking skulls some time ago.

“Right, that’s... mostly right. They’re corrupt, rotten, and I’m going to help fix things.”

“By assassinating them?”

“No, I’m not suicidal.” A glint in his eyes, narrowed to severe, says it’s not far out of the question, despite his denial. “I’m going to steal something very important from one of their leaders.”

It sounds, to Fjord, like he might as well just kill someone. Sure, he’s not an advocate for murder, but he’s pretty sure it’d honestly have less ramifications than stealing, in this case.

Nonetheless, he nods, following so far. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to him in a long time. Working the docks is fine, but there’s a barely restrained energy, that can’t be released hauling ship parts.

“Do you have a team?”

“A team?”

“Yeah,” Fjord shifts, a little self conscious, “It sounds like this is pretty major. You’ll need backup, at least.”

He squints at Fjord skeptically. “Are you offering?”

He shouldn’t be. This is stupid, even for him, and he’s not exactly... good at precision. Not like stealthy, cloaked assassins. Still- bored, restless, impulsive.

“Sure. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

The thief’s mouth twists into a weird frown, confused and displeased at once. Fjord gets the impression that he might be backed into a corner- literally and figuratively- because he relents, after a moment. “Fine, just meet me here. Tomorrow, at noon.”

He slips out of the small gap Fjord left between himself and the wall, as if there was nothing in the way at all. Crouching- to jump up, Fjord thinks- and pulling up his mask, he faces the wall, and the window sill above them.

“Wait.” Fjord grabs his sleeve, stopping him. “Can I get your name, at least?”

There’s a pause long enough that Fjord thinks he’ll just escape again, apparently not heeded by Fjord’s clumsy attempts, but he sighs and faces Fjord. “Caleb Widogast.“

He doesn’t need to see his whole face or be an expert on body language to know that’s bullshit, but he doesn’t get a chance to ask. Caleb hops up and grabs the sill, hoisting himself up and onto the roof, disappearing over it.

He’s already gone, but Fjord calls out after him, to be polite, “I’m Fjord! It was great to meet you.”

Most nights, the study at the top of the house has a vast, quiet view of the ocean. The sun sets over the blue waters of the bay, and Caleb sits at his desk and watches for the white sail of Melora’s Promise as it sweeps toward home.

Tonight, however, there is a tempest hammering the roof and sluicing down the windowpanes. Caleb watches anyway. If the storm clears, he will see Fjord’s ship flashing above the surf, and if he does not, he will fling this window open and become a storm-petrel or a dolphin or a baleen whale and find him.

Fjord is a favorite of the Wildmother, and, true, he will be safe, but this is also true: Caleb has lost him too often already.

His hand throbs. He holds the scar close to his heart, tucked inside his other hand and cradled to his chest, and watches the storm.

Then, from two floors below in the little house on the bay, he hears a creak and incoming rush of wind. Caleb leaps down the stairs to the upper level, regrets it when he lands, and skids down the second flight directly into Fjord’s chest.

“Shit—hey—sorry,” Fjord says, sounding so thoroughly exhausted Caleb steps back to look at him and make sure he isn’t hurt, but Fjord shakes his head and tugs him back, into an embrace that is mostly just Fjord leaning on him and catching his breath. “I rode the storm into shore and walked back. Promise is about a mile west, I think. I’ll go back tomorrow.”

“I do not wish to be a sailor’s widower, Fjord.”

“I know. You aren’t the type,” Fjord says. “But I wasn’t in danger.”

This is probably true. And yet... “I will never understand how you can do that.”

“Can’t you?” Fjord says.

Caleb thinks about fire, about a sword, about golden eyes and blood in the water. He sighs. “Perhaps I can.”

“The same way we love anything,” Fjord says, in that honest way he has, and holds him a little closer.

They stand there a while longer. Fjord’s hair drips onto Caleb’s shoulder when he rests his head there. Caleb runs a hand down the small of his back, fingers dragging in the wet fabric.

We also will be having a special Month Prompt with the overall theme of .... PRIDE! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 We wanted to have a prompt set aside for those who wanted to participate in this event, but maybe didn't feel they could commit to an entire week. So, at the end of the month of July we'll collect and retweet all of the Pride Specific art and fic created by this lovely community in that month. If all goes well we'd like to continue this trend in the future by coming up with a prompt each month for everyone to create around!

Okay, here are your 2020 Widofjord week prompts, Feel free to contact us with any questions here or our twitter!

July 1st  

Burned/Drowned and/or Reforged/Reborn 

July 2nd  

Royalty and/or Combat 

July 3rd  

Blood Pact and/or Shared Spells 

July 4th  

Soulmates and/or Modern AU

July 5th

Matchmaking and/or Fake Relationship

July 6th

Downtime and/or Stakeout

July 7th

(Late to the party, as always, but here’s a contribution for @widofjordweek ! I’ve got a few more of these planned, but I’ll probably be late. It’s been like a million years since I’ve written critical role stuff.)

When Caleb wakes up, he thinks he’s having another dream. He thinks it’s one of those nightmares where he wakes up choking on smoke, on ash, making horrible retching sounds until he’s aware again.

Then, he realizes the retching is not coming from him but his bed partner- Fjord is choking in his sleep, water curling at the edges of his mouth. Caleb jolts awake and into action, pushing Fjord onto his side. Immediately, water pours from his mouth, drenching the inn floor with seawater.

It takes a minute- a very long minute- for Fjord to get it all out, Caleb patting his back awkwardly as he convulses. It goes on too long- it shouldn’t happen at all.

Fjord gags one last time, water slowing to a trickle, and sits up, wiping at his mouth. He takes Caleb’s offered handkerchief with a silent thanks, mouthing the words as his voice is too hoarse for true sound.

It takes another long few moments for him to recover, getting back his breath and voice.

“Ever feel like you’re not gonna wake up from a dream?”

Caleb blames his own exhaustion and surprise for saying, “I haven’t woken up from mine yet.”

Fjord pauses, processing, and Caleb almost has a chance to take it back before Fjord gets it and exhales in a rush. “I’m sorry. Your nightmares must be-“

“It’s not a contest,” Caleb cuts him off, firm, if only because he does not want to talk about this.

Fjord nods, a blurry shape in the darkness. It should stop there. They should fall back asleep- or pretend to- but neither of them move.

The silence stretches, tense, for an indeterminate amount of time as they sit upright, staring into darkness. Time feels strange in these dark hours, an infinity contained in a moment.

At one point, Caleb thinks he sees- or hears, sort of- Fjord’s mouth open, then close. Not sure what to say, but Fjord’s never been one for silence, and he doesn’t let it go long.

“Maybe we can help you dream a new dream.” Another pause- Caleb can’t see Fjord’s face, in the dark, but he guesses his expression, from the cringe in his voice. “Gods, I sound like I’m going to break into song.”

Caleb snorts and waves at the water sinking into the floorboards, possibly leaking into the room below. “Not after all that.”

“I just,” Fjord sits back against the headboard and sinks down, until his shoulders hit the pillow, “I think we both know a bit about reinventing ourselves.”

“I think we both know a bit about pretending to be something we’re not.”

It comes out more bitter than he intends- but then, he’s not sure he meant to say it at all. He’s tired; his only uninterrupted sleep in a few days ended by someone else’s nightmare.

“You think I was pretending?” Fjord asks, voice quiet.

Caleb’s mind stalls- he hadn’t really thought about it. Pretending probably isn’t the right word for Fjord, who wasn’t pretending to be Vandren, just... borrowing his voice. “I- that’s not what I meant.”

“You just meant it for yourself,” Fjord confirms, “That’s an awfully bad habit, you know.”

“Projecting?”

Fjord scoffs, like Caleb is being intentionally obtuse. “No. You give everyone second chances, except for yourself. It’s like double standards, in reverse.”

Caleb bites back, Maybe I don’t deserve one, because he thinks it might only further Fjord’s point. They shouldn’t even be talking about this- Fjord is the one having nightmares, the one they should be focusing on.

“I guess,” he says, to brush off Fjord’s worry, and changes tact, “How’re you feeling? After the dream, I mean. That was a lot of water.”

Fjord clears his throat a few times, and sounds a little better. “I’m fine. It’s just... the usual.”

Caleb expects that to be the end of it. He tried his hand at concern, failed, and now he’s going to lay down, turn over, and drop it. They can pretend this whole conversation never happened- but it’s not so easy, with Fjord.

“I try to think of it as emulating. You know, strive to be more. To be better.”

Caleb turns back over, finding Fjord laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. That’s probably not wise, considering he almost drowned in his sleep lying on his back a few minutes ago.

“What?”

“You said pretending,” Fjord glances sideways at Caleb, “I don’t agree.”

Caleb doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He just watches Fjord- his face, even hazy in shadow, displays his thinking process in detail. Every new thought flickers across with its own expression.

“At first, I thought I was going back to who I was. You know, leaving behind Vandren and just being Fjord.” Fjord shifts in place, uncomfortable. “Now, I think I’m working on Fjord number three. A whole new thing.”

“Yeah?”

He looks at Caleb, meeting his eyes. “It seems like you’re working on Caleb number three, as well.”

Caleb doesn’t respond. He’s not sure he can.

Fjord turns onto his side, to face him, and lowers his voice, “Am I wrong?”

He hesitates and stares at the ceiling, even if he can’t really see it. The curtains are pulled closed, so even the moonlight is muted, useless.

His voice acts of its own accord, sneaking past his brain with a whisper, “There might be a few more Calebs in between.”

Fjord chuckles then fidgets, deciding what to say next. Caleb knows the feeling and gives him time to consider. It’s not like they’ve got anywhere to be.

“I’ll give you as many chances as you need to get it right. As long as you repay the favor, for me.” Fjord pauses and it takes Caleb too long to realize he’s supposed to respond, when Fjord prompts, “Deal?”

“Of course. It’ll be a rebirth, after...” he trails off, sure he’s put his foot in his mouth again.

“After drowning in the sea of life?” Fjord laughs, and the sound shapes his words into the distinct curve of a smile, happy. “Reforging ourselves. Melting it all down and starting again, with new accents and names.”

“Rise from the ashes,” Caleb whispers, bringing them both to a quiet, slow stop. It doesn’t feel as bad as it should, the image of fire evoking something... hopeful, for the first time.

Fjord reaches over and takes his hand, squeezing. It’s an intimate gesture, but it’s not a surprising one. When Caleb turns to face him completely, he sees the same fond look in Fjord’s eyes that he’s been noticing, and ignoring, for weeks.

It’d be easy to let it go, to let it fade into the not-memories of the late night or early morning. A product of exhaustion, gone by morning.

Caleb squeezes back and pulls himself a little closer, reeled in. He lets Fjord lean back against him, curled around each other.

To prop him up, of course. In case he needs to throw up more sea water, and be on his side.

Any other reason is pure speculation and possibly slander. Caleb refuses to admit to cuddling, not while he’s sober, anyway.

We are now going to be accepting prompts for this year's #Widofjord Week!! The dates we've decided on for the event is the first week of July (the 1st -7th). Please use this form to submit as many prompts as you'd like, we'll keep it open until the 21st <3

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, M/M Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett Characters: Caleb Widogast, Fjord (Critical Role), Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre Additional Tags: Widofjord Week (Critical Role), crossover/AU, Inspired by Whisper of the Heart, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Long-Distance Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Romance Series: Part 7 of the Widofjord Week 2020 series

Summary: Inspired by Studio Ghibli's Whisper of the Heart. After meeting the stranger that keeps checking out the same books right before him, Caleb finds himself growing closer to Fjord than he ever would've expected.

Fic Preview

“What are you looking at, Beauregard?”

The annoyed scowl that twisted Beau's features brought him a smug satisfaction that she gave a punch to his shoulder for. “Why are you always such a dick?”