Chapter Text
The portal thankfully returns them to Westruun, and to a square filled with people newly thawed and evidently not harmed or traumatized, given how readily they’ve gone back to celebrating the holiday.
Despite the crowd, Vex spots Trinket almost instantly, and Vax isn’t far away, using his dagger skills to entertain some children. As Vex flies into her brother’s arms, something tight in Percy’s chest releases, and his own heartbeat drums out he’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe.
He has to push it from his head again, the crystal-clear imagery of Julius beheaded, Ludwig skewered, Oliver growing ever paler as he shivers and bleeds to death in the cell across the hall while Percy can do nothing but clutch the bars and wail. Percy’s brothers are dead, but Vex’s brother is alive, and as the twins trade affectionate jibes Percy vows to do everything in his power to ensure the safety of both.
The blame for the frosty attack falls, unexpectedly, on the Realmseer—the very man who had saved Grog’s life. The team rallies to his support, but Percy’s attempt to explain the battle they just fought (and the ominous words of the ice dragon before her death) is met with derision. After all, the defeat of the Rimelord was centuries ago, and tales of his return thought to be mere myths.
As the old man’s thin wrists are being shackled, Vex vows to prove that someone is helping the Rimelord. And to stop them, whoever they are.
Which will be easier with some intel, so they soon find themselves interrogating the Realmseer through the bars of his cell.
Having so recently been reminded of Oliver’s death, Percy finds himself struggling to keep more memories at bay. The weeks he’d spent huddled with his sister, just two terrified children seeking comfort before the next round of torments would begin.
"I have absolutely no idea who could have done this," the Realmseer says. The type of answer that never spared Percy any pain.
Yet when Grog offers a jailbreak, the Realmseer declines: "This is my home, and I have no intention of running away from it."
Unnoticed, Percy takes a step back from the group, and another, pinning himself against the solid stone wall as he hears the sound of arrows striking a young girl’s back: fffwt fwt fwt.
She hadn’t even cried out as she fell.
He’d been denied the luxury of burying her body, of even comforting her during her final gasping breaths. He hadn’t been able to defend his sister, his family, his home; in the end, all he could see to do was run.
Leaping into the swollen river, he’d half hoped it would be the end. Living with the memories was a fate worse than whatever afterlife might have awaited his cowardice.
He’s so distracted that the discussion happens entirely without his input, and he’s only pulled back to himself when Vax suddenly stalks off down the hallway and through a door—his sister sprinting after him, but not fast enough to keep him from disappearing.
Vex is cursing mad, the others annoyed or mildly concerned, but Percy—Percy is shocked by the strength of his reaction, the overwhelming desire to snatch Vax back from the shadows and—and—
And what, really? Shackle them together so that he can’t sneak off again? Tie him up in a basement for his own good? Find some corner of the realm where dangers can’t possibly reach him? The entire kingdom can’t even protect its own children—
There is no place of safety, is there? Not for commoners, not for lords. Not for mortals. The closest they get is… is people like their little group, wandering around and trying to put an end to dangers wherever they happen to crop up. It’s a ridiculous system, but it’s what they have to work with, and at the very least they’re skilled at what they do.
Perhaps that’s the best he can cling to: the rogue is skilled at what he does, and he’s out there putting his skills to the test. Going where the rest of the team can’t go. Percy can’t protect him from that; the most he can do is stick by him the rest of the time.
And in the meantime, with Vax off in the shadows, it’s on Percy to fill the role that Vax typically would, and keep a careful eye on the elven ladies who’ve filled his life with such unexpected joy in such a short time. Vex, who’s ranting and raving her way through the marketplace, and Keyleth, who—
—is running off to accost dwarves in the street, now, because apparently she hasn’t spent enough time among the little folk to be able to tell their elders from their children from the back.
(A smile crosses Percy’s face at a fleeting memory of Archie, of the games they used to play, the cheeky pranks. He doesn’t let the memory linger, lest it lead to contemplations far too grim for such a lovely day.)
As the offended dwarf stalks off, a woman who’s overheard the exchange begs their help to locate her missing child. Not the first news they’ve heard of a child gone mysteriously missing, but even if they had enough gold to spend time chasing charity cases, they’ve little to go on, and the trail is a year old.
A young child isn’t likely to have lasted a year, Percy thinks, but he isn’t cruel enough to point out to the desperate mother.
Some hours later, when Grog has gotten bored enough to literally yell for Vax in the streets, Vax appears out of nowhere—thankfully with good news (even as Percy’s heart is again pounding out he’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe), and they barely make it to the jail in time to watch the Realmseer being freed.
The old man’s gratitude takes the form of a pair of enchanted boots to make the rogue even more slippery, but then again, a rogue who’s hard to catch is precisely the kind of talent they need.
As the team begins to discuss their next move, Percy slips easily into the role of tactician, focusing on details and conclusions—far easier than dealing with feelings or pinning down the unfolding nature of his connection to this group.
He’s only just met them, after all. It’s been, what, a month? Two? (Since fleeing Whitestone, he’s been prone to occasional lapses, lost hours or even small stretches of days at a time. Just one more way his head has gotten a bit untethered from reality.) As their newest member, it’s natural that he wouldn’t be allowed all that close until he had truly proven himself.
Except that they have, clearly, come to think of him as part of the group, no less than Grog or Keyleth or Pike. It’s a little concerning that even the most skeptical members of the group are trusting of him.
He finds it hard to face that fact head-on.
He wants it, certainly. Wants—yearns for—a more permanent connection, a group he can consider himself part of without any caveats. Maybe it can’t be family, exactly, but it’s the closest he’ll ever get.
If he can only prove himself worthy of it.