Chapter Text
Prologue: The Raven
Carrow’s soul was listless as it was carried through the realms in between, numb and cold despite no longer having a body. It had been easy dying, oddly enough. It was saying goodbye that hurt.
But it was the right thing to do, he told himself. It was practically his duty, he owed the world nothing less given who his father was…and what he’d tried to do through him. Even without a body he shivered at the thought. He tried not to think about it, how his mother used his body as a vessel to revive the Lich god, how Vecna had puppeted him like a toy to try murdering his friends and subjugate the world. The scary thing was it might have worked, if it wasn’t for the Raven Queen.
The young soul glanced up at the great raven through the claws she was carrying him in, musing. She had always been by his side, watching over him. Even before fleeing Whitestone she had been his guide, his mentor, who took pride in molding him into her newest champion. Now he wondered if this had been her true intention all along, to claim the soul of her long-hated rival’s…not child. Vecna made him for the specific purpose of inhabiting his body, there was nothing familiar in that, was there? A tool then, a plaything.
If he wasn’t so weary he’d laugh at how little his position was altered in the grand scheme of things. His little ‘deal’ with the goddess of death meant he just shifted from the hands of one god to another. His soul, bound to her machinations instead of his .
As if sensing his trepidation the matron of the dead glanced down at him and brought his soul in closer. There was warmth in that touch. A paradox, for the goddess was always cold and her domain was a realm of ice, and yet there was warmth all the same. Carrow’s despair melted somewhat as he allowed his spirit to meld into the touch. No. No she was not like Vecna, the Raven Queen was no stranger to him. She was always kind and always eager to soothe his mind in her cold embrace…death was funny in that sense. Out of all the so-called ‘parental figures’ in his life, save for Vax and his friends, she was by far the kindest.
Vax. He thought with a pang of guilt and longing; what was she doing now? Was she still mourning, clinging to Vex’s arms as they all grieved over his ashes? Or was she already moving on, burying her pain deep down and trying to squash it by moving forward? Carrow had his regrets, one always did when they died, but the biggest one was having to leave his friends the way he did, crumbling into dust. Still, he wasn’t bitter. Not only was he able to help seal his sire away (hopefully forever) but he also spared Vex from the fate he was now flying towards. Yes, Vax would be alright. She had her brother, and their family. It hurt to think that they would all eventually move on but…Carrow was happy for them.
Once again his patron shifted, slowing down from their flight across a misty grey field. Carrow did not pay much attention to it, as a soul his senses were oddly numbed, and he only registered their stopping when the Raven Queen looked at him. Her neck extending, the raven’s face twisted to her masked visage that stared at him with black eyes.
“You will see them again, one day.” She said, her voice melding into the voices of many others. Carrow had no shoulders to shrug.
“Hopefully not for a long, long time.” He said, knowing Keyleth wouldn’t be too fond of a frozen wasteland. The matron sighed.
“My realm is not…entirely without merit.” She began to fly again, taking off towards that ever darkening sky. “Your place is to be at my side, you will not be without comfort, or home. No one shall ever dare harm you within my domain.”
The words were oddly wistful…no, anxious, like she was trying to entice him. Carrow mentally frowned, still puzzled by her fixation with his soul. He was hardly a hero like the other champions she wielded under her name. Hells, he had yet to live to two decades and now he was nothing more than a swirling white ball of light. Maybe she treated every soul she claimed like this? The Raven Queen did have a habit of collecting things…maybe souls were just another one of her collections.
But before he could ponder this further he was jolted by the Raven Queen stopping in midair. Alert, he pushed his senses outward and understood what was wrong. The wind had stopped. Even as she hovered, no wing beat followed the matron’s wings. He could almost feel it. A presence, absolute and all encompassing, and it was fixated on him.
“What’s going on?” Carrow asked when the matron’s talons tightened around him so he could no longer see.
She did not answer, only flew faster. Carrow writhed in her grip, his soul aching as that presence drew closer, pulling at him, tugging. Was it Vecna? A part of him panicked but no, this stillness was nothing like the metallic, blood-tinged electricity that Vecna’s presence held. There was just that, nothing. Like everything in the world had suddenly stopped.
A sudden wall of force hurled them across the sky. They were being attacked! By what? Who? He squirmed to try and see, only for her to cling to him tighter as they were shot down. He strained to see through the feathers, managing to catch a glimpse of what was there. He wished he hadn't.
A great black cloud had consumed the sky. The ground. The trees. Devouring everything until the world was nothing but a great and terrible darkness, and it was reaching for them. Reaching for him . He could feel it. Like hands wrapped around his being, tugging and pulling and tearing and—
Against her will the Raven Queen’s talons were pulled loose. In that one moment of weakness the shadow descended and he could no longer see. Something struck him down then, taking advantage of the briefest slip in the her defenses. And then he was falling.
“No!” The Raven Queen screamed, turning to try and dive for him but the cloud devoured her before she could.
Carrow cried out. Afraid, helpless, like a newborn chick being swept up by the wind and hurled out of its nest, all he could do was fall.
And fall.
And fall.
Only to land in a field of green.
. . . .
The Wizard and the Elfling
Carrow was slow to rouse from his dizzied state. It was overwhelming and numbing all at once. He could feel his hands again, the weight of his eyes shifting beneath eyelids and the great, steady beating in his chest. It was faster than his heartbeat had been in life, nearly three times as much. Carrow rolled over on instinct, bringing his hand up to rub at the sore space and he breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of misty grass and the hubbub of forest creatures. He froze, eyes opening.
He was in a forest. A living forest. The trees exploded in vibrant greens all around him, with moss carpeting everything that grass and ferns did not claim. There were animals too, little birds chittering overhead as a nearby squirrel ran away, disturbed by his presence. Carrow sat upright, his mouth falling open.
This wasn’t the Shadowfell. The Shadowfell was grey, lifeless, full of nothing but ghosts and snow. This was anything but. Fear sank into his chest despite the peaceful atmosphere. He wasn’t supposed to be here!
Carrow moved to stand and found himself completely off balance, fell over his legs that were way too short for his body. He glared, reaching out to squish at his knees when he saw his hand and froze. It was all small and pudgy like a toddler’s, but more than that it was pale, not grey.
With shaking fingers he felt around his face, prodding and poking suspiciously round cheeks until hesitantly making his way towards his mouth. He tested for his teeth, feeling around for fangs and hesitantly trying to extend them outward. He felt nothing. Trepidation clung to him, as well as a new kind of fear. He shakily stood, finding it hard to balance on such tiny feet let alone without the familiar balance his tail gave him. It was also gone, as well as his horns.
He didn’t allow himself to panic yet. Not yet. Maybe he was dreaming. The Raven Queen always made such strange dreams for him to visit, couldn’t this be one of them? Something to ease his mind as he transitioned into the realm of death? He tried calling out for her, stumbling forward as he stared at the canopy. No one answered.
Carrow didn’t know how long he wandered, how long he tried calling out for his patron, but the further he traveled the more he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. Where was she? She didn’t abandon him, did she? He tried feeling for Omen—the bird that signified his pact with the goddess—but the space was empty. He shoved another wave of fear away, reminding himself that his bird was gone.
His ears were still as sensitive as they were before, so when he heard moving water he followed it. It took him a while to find the stream, but when he did he stood hesitantly behind the cattails. Dreading what he would see, but urged by his curiosity he bent over the side and looked down.
A child’s face stared back at him. There were some parts he recognized; his hair was still black and mopey, and his eyes were gold but not the way he was used to. No longer encompassing all his eyes but very human, with an iris and sclera, so much like his Briarwood ‘father’. That was where the familiarities ended. He was pale, human-like in all but his ears which reminded him of Scanlan or Pike’s. Was he a halfling now? No. His body proportions were still like a little kid, a six year old at best. He shuddered inwardly, staring at his teeth as he numbly inhaled. Again he tried pushing his fangs forward and felt…nothing.
He wasn’t a tiefling anymore. More than that, he wasn’t a dhampir— the lack of discomfort from the sun was proof enough. The dull pain in his throat was also gone, no longer aching for blood. Numbly, he wondered if the universe was trying to make up for what it had saddled him with, as if giving him a body he didn’t hate would make up for what it had done in the first place. Unable to look at this stranger’s face anymore he tore his eyes from the water and stared up at the trees.
“Naneth? What’s going on? This isn’t funny!” He screamed this time, begging the sky for an answer.
A bird fluttered out of the canopy.
Well. On the one hand everything he knew and loved was gone. On the other, he didn’t have to worry about being chased by angry mobs anymore.
A small echo of a giggle bubbled in his chest before escaping his lips. And then he was laughing. And laughing. Laughing so hard it didn’t stop, even when the tears started. Big, ugly, fat tears that spilled over his cheeks without restraint. He was sobbing now, uncontrollable hiccuping wails keening through him as he dug his nails into the dirt.
This didn’t make any sense! This wasn’t what the Raven Queen promised, this wasn’t the deal they made! He was supposed to go with her to the Shadowfell, somewhere he had seen in dreams since childhood, a place he’d be safe with a familiar face watching over him! He died —didn’t he? Wasn’t that enough? Hasn’t destiny already taken enough from him? His first family, his chosen family, his life and now the one familiar person, that one promise of a comforting afterlife he had clung to throughout all the nightmares and horrors was gone. Leaving him alone. Alone. Which was far worse than dying or being taken away from his friends forever had been.
. . . .
Gandalf strode through the forested path, knowing the familiar twists and bends that lead inexorably towards the Shire. It had been a long walk but he had not minded it. So many of the younger races were obsessed with the passing of time, he mused, always hurrying, always rushing, never taking the time to simply enjoy the present air which he knew more than most rarely ever held a moment’s peace. He knew that calm would be short-lived with what he had set into motion, so he enjoyed that peace, brief as it would be, stilling his thoughts as he admired the many trees and greenery around him, relishing in the silence.
Which was then broken, quite suddenly, and quite worryingly by the sound of crying. Gandalf was all the more concerned when it sounded very much like a child’s . Did a hobbitling somehow stray out beyond their home’s borders? He frowned, glancing up at the trees. It was still a very long way from the Shire, there wouldn’t be any reason for a hobbitling to be out alone in the forest unless there was something very, very wrong.
Following the sound, it didn’t take long for him to find the source huddled by a nearby brook. He stilled. There was something off in the air, a strange echo of…something, lingering in the trees. The fact he did not recognize the source was troubling enough, all the more so when it seemed to linger here, like something watching. The small shape did not notice his arrival nor the disturbance of the forest, still lost in their weeping as he slowly made his approach. Yes, it was most definitely a child, though hard to tell of what lineage by the mop of hair covering their head. And yet…
Part of him was suspicious, but he refused to entertain such a thought until he knew for sure. It was impossible, it had to be and yet the suspicion remained. Could it be? At a good distance—he did not want to spook the already shaken thing—he made his presence known by softly clearing his throat.
Golden eyes whirled on him, which was quite startling in of itself before the child screamed and threw out their hands as if to push him back. Then the little one’s eyes widened, looking at their hands like they were made of ice before scrambling to their feet.
“Now now, there’s no need to—“ The child fled before he could even finish his sentence. He sighed.
Gandalf remained calm. His eyes easily tracked the child as it fled through the woods, narrowing slightly at the sheer amount of fear in their movements. It was definitely reasonable, he mused, for a child to be afraid and flee from an unknown stranger, but the sheer panic in their breaths and terrified glances over their shoulders spoke of something much deeper and far more dangerous than simple instinct. Gandalf’s brow further narrowed when the little one finally exhausted themselves, but instead of stopping they found a way to bury themself in the crook of an old tree. Even still, the child was shivering.
. . . .
He couldn’t use his magic—he couldn’t use his magic! Why couldn’t he use his magic? Carrow tried pulling at it, even going so far as to search for Vecna’s stain on his soul but there wasn’t a single trace of it!
Was it because of this body or was it something else? It didn’t really matter now did it? He was helpless! Utterly defenseless and if he didn’t find a place to hide soon he’d be a sitting duck. His tiny lungs were already giving out—they never tired out in his old body—and fatigue was threatening to push him over. He skittered to a stop by an old tree, wondering if his skinny little arms could hoist him over the branches before his eyes settled on an opening in the roots. It would have to do.
Carrow dug himself deep into the burrow, dirt and mildew clinging to him as his breath mixed in with the damp air. He tried to calm his heart down as it beat so fast it hurt against his ribcage. For a moment he allowed himself to think, maybe that old man had lost him. Maybe he’d just give up and leave him be.
Movement, the tussling of footsteps by the leaves surrounding his hiding spot forced his breath to hitch. Carrow was not crying, he would not cry and he covered his mouth to keep a terrified whimper from slipping out. He couldn’t know he was here, he couldn’t!
The old man said nothing, didn’t do anything to indicate he knew but he didn’t leave either. Carrow continued to shiver in his makeshift hiding space, knowing that if the man had found him he’d be trapped. Trapped with absolutely no means of fighting back. Despite his best efforts, fat tears started rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t want to die again.
“I know you’re down there.” the old man’s voice said at last, almost comfortingly but Carrow flinched all the same. There was a pause. “I have no intention of harming you…though I think we both know you’re not going to spend all day in that little hole down there.”
Wanna bet? The childish thought immediately said, then paused, reality dawning on him. Carrow bit his lip, knowing just how royally screwed he was right now. He glanced up from the roots, catching a glimpse of grey woolen robes standing close to his hole, and sank further back, the old man’s words echoing in his head.
It was true. If he did want to hurt him he could have done it as soon as he found his hiding place. The cynical side of Carrow’s mind reminded him that there were plenty of people who liked toying with their food first, and this person could very well be another one to add to that long list. But something inside of Carrow told him this man would never do anything like that, that he should trust him and a part of him longed to crawl out of his little hole to be held. That instinct was enough to make him burrow deeper. Why should he trust his impulses? He couldn’t trust them before, and especially now that he was stuck in a child’s body. Either shrinking into a child was fuddling with his senses or something—someone—was messing with his head and neither option was good.
But the old man didn’t look like he was planning to leave any time soon. That stubborn need thrashed the more he gritted his teeth against it, scared that he was being manipulated but also terrified the man would eventually leave and then what would happen? He still had no one and no magic, and he was too small to survive on his own. If he was going to survive he needed help/
And so, reluctantly, he extricated himself from the gnarled roots. That invasive feeling preened in response, urging him to step closer but he stayed right where he was. The man sat there patiently, making no moved to suddenly snatch him or do anything to cause him harm. He simply sat there, waiting.
“There now…” he said with a smile, eyes catching on something near Carrow’s head and his gaze stilled. Carrow was as rigid as a statue, eyes watching every single movement in the old man that would trigger any sign of danger.
He was so tensed that he flinched when the man raised his hand. The man paused, glancing at him cautiously before reaching out to brush away some of the leaves that had gotten trapped in his hair before pulling the hood back over him. The touch was very gentle, and where it brushed his ear Carrow only felt warmth and concern spill into him. He shivered, his body relaxing without him registering it.
And then the old man said something in a language Carrow didn’t understand. He blinked, confused because it sounded vaguely familiar but it sounded nothing like the languages he’d heard in Tal’Dorei.
“I…I don’t know what you’re saying.” He said in common, realizing the old man was waiting for his response.
Alarm seemed to cross the man’s face which only confused Carrow further. Once more he looked Carrow over, a puzzled look on his face before smoothing his expression and said,
“I asked what brings you to the forest.”
“I…I don’t know.” Carrow said slowly, which was technically the truth. For a second he considered elaborating but quickly dismissed the thought. He doubted anyone would be so courteous if they knew Carrow was once lich-spawn.
Unsatisfied, a frown stretched across the man’s faze.
“Well, it appears like you’re a long way from home.”
Carrow offered nothing in conformation. The man sighed, a bit more frustrated and he flinched. Seeing this the man paused, and spoke much gentler,
“I am Gandalf, little one. Would you mind telling me your name?” He asked.
“I—“ Carrow stopped himself, the question bringing up an unexpected but all too fresh memory in his head.
Percy’s hands were gripping his shoulders. It hurt, everything was hurting but the trembling grip of Percy’s hands were painful in its own way. He held onto Carrow knowing he’d be crumbling away soon, as if trying to hold him in place while he searched for something—anything he could say to fix this but there was nothing. Despite the ticking clock Percy hesitated, licking his lips as he couldn’t find the words. Goodbyes were funny like that.
“I…” Percy finally found them, Vax’s hand coming to rest over his shoulder while the other one reached for Carrow’s hand.
“I would be proud to call you family.” He said, the words strained. “You would have always had a home in Whitestone. Always.”
Unwanted, but expectedly, tears started spilling down his cheeks.
“I—” he tried wiping at them, tried calming himself down but it was too much. Carrow cried again, covering his face as it really hit him that he could never see his family again.
“Shh, it’s alright little one. You’re safe.” The stranger, Gandalf said, taking him into his arms and Carrow didn’t fight against it. He clung to this stranger, unable to help but drown in his grief.