Chapter Text
“Death to the de Rolos!”
“L-Leave me…”
“Don’t worry…wants you alive.”
“I do love it when they hold out.”
“Percy!”
“Percy!!”
“PERCY!!!”
“No!”
Percy lurched up in bed as if he’d been pulled by a string, his heart practically beating out of his chest as the strangled scream ripped itself from him. On instinct, he slapped his hand over his mouth to silence the cry before it woke anyone else up. His immediate instinct was to thrash against the hands that he could still feel all over his body, all over the expanse of his skin, but he managed to stop, a final thought at the last second, where he reminded himself of where he was.
He fumbled for his glasses at the bedside table, finding them with the less-than-graceful motion before the world came back into focus.
He wasn’t in the dungeons beneath Whitestone.
Ripley and the Briarwoods were nowhere to be found.
He was in the Keep.
He was in his room.
Safe.
So why didn’t he feel it?
Only half a second must have passed before his heart skipped a beat in his chest, and he was searching the space beside him, relief filling him as he registered the warmth beside him, accompanied by the sound of soft breaths.
Vex’ahlia.
She was alive.
She was here.
She was breathing.
She swam into focus as he turned, just looking for the proof that his wife was there. That Vex’ahlia was alive beside him, and he found that part of the tight grip on his heart had loosened only slightly.
She looked so peaceful.
She sighed softly in her sleep, her hand reaching out for his side, but thankfully undisturbed, the contours of that face he adored so wholly bathed in the silver moonlight.
In the months that they’d been back together, he wasn’t sure he’d gotten used to waking up next to her again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever fully get used to it again after the years they’d spent apart, but finding her next to him again was a blessing in itself. It took everything in him to convince himself that it wasn’t a dream. That his wife was really here and breathing. That they were no longer the people they’d been, young and terrified while their family was slaughtered around them.
This was a second chance.
This was their second chance.
And he never thought he’d ever be given one of those with her.
He used to dream of a time when they’d be together again, thinking that was all that they were. Dreams. But here she was. Real. Breathing beside him. The two of them were just as in love as they had been all those years ago, as if no time had passed.
But the truth of the matter was that time had passed.
But the ghosts remained.
The fact remained that their family had been slaughtered. They’d borne witness to something so terrible that nobody believed it could ever happen. The proof of it was etched in their scars, littered all over their bodies for years since that dreadful night.
His mind was awake.
It always was.
His trigger finger itching to grab his pepperbox from where he’d concealed it beneath his pillow, right beside the assortment of daggers Vex kept for herself.
No, they didn’t trust easily.
Not after all they’d suffered.
The ghosts lingered still.
He glanced up and found that she was there.
The image of his wife was there, against the far wall of their room, staring at him with her sad, lifeless eyes as she had for years before. He knew she wasn’t real, after all, his wife was sleeping beside him, her soft breaths a memory that he’d had one of the most important things in his life restored to him, and a reminder. A promise that he would never allow the terrible things that had happened to them to be forgotten.
He nodded. After all, as far as the nightmares were concerned, he wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.
He was careful as he slipped from the bed, grabbing his pepperbox from where it was safely stored beneath his pillow. He paused only for a moment to look at Vex, who sighed softly in her sleep.
Gods, she really was an angel.
His heart twisted in his chest as a memory tugged at him.
The blood.
Arrows in her body.
Her eyes pleading with him.
Her harrowing breaths.
Now, she looked so peaceful in comparison to that terrible night. A vision in herself. Part of him was convinced that this was just a dream. One of the few good dreams his mind had been able to conjure, but somehow…he knew this was real.
And all the more, he was determined to keep it that way.
He brushed back a few strands of messy hair from her face, keeping his touch light and gentle, not wanting to wake her as he watched. She sighed again, curling closer into the blankets, and in answer, he pulled the quilt over her body. She’d always hated the cold, and the Keep managed to be terribly drafty at all times. He stopped just for a moment, just staring at her again. Part of him wondered if he savored these moments as dearly as he did because he was afraid deep within him that it would be stolen away at the first chance darkness threatened.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Never again.
He stared at her for just another moment, savoring those seconds that they had together.
Before the smoke started to curl in at the edge of his vision.
He looked up, and there she was.
Vex’ahlia’s ghost.
She’d appeared less frequently since they’d been reunited, but every so often, he would see her, lingering in the distance, appearing as she had five years before, bloodied and foreboding. Always a reminder of the promise he’d made. He promised himself to ensure that his family and the horrors of their past would never be forgotten. He would never forgive and never forget the terrors that had torn his parents and siblings from him, the nightmare that had placed years of grief and trauma between him and his wife.
When the illusion of his wife appeared, it was as a reminder.
A reminder that there was always work to be done.
He nodded at the ghost, at the smoke that swirled around her, and she receded, and he sighed, pausing only for a moment to glance at his wife again.
She was here.
She was safe.
And he would do anything and give everything to keep her that way.
He didn’t bother with his coat or boots as he left the room, careful to close the door quietly so as not to wake her, before he set off in the direction of his workshop, a shoddy space on the lower levels with a forge and ample space for his work. They’d not yet gotten around to renovating the space, after all, they were still working hard on settling into the Keep overall, but he could see the potential that was in the space before him.
The halls were silent as he moved through them, uncaring of the chill that crept up his spine. All he needed to do was get to his workshop. He didn’t need to concern himself with anything like that. He just needed to work.
He just needed to work.
Maybe then the ghosts would be quiet.
The workshop was lit only by moonlight as he entered it, and though normally, that would be sufficient, the delicate work he was focusing on required a little more light, so he was forced to light one of the many candles he’d nearly burned into oblivion in his many nights at work.
His most recent project was one of delicate practice, the arrangement of multiple lenses and careful work. He’d been working on it for weeks now, gone through multiple drafts and prototypes, but as he worked, the careful thought that went behind it faded into nothingness.
All he had was his work.
In keeping his mind and hands at work, the rest of the world faded into silence.
And he knew he could keep those he loved safe.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been at it for. The repetitive motion as he assembled the pieces of his latest project was a comfort as he indulged in the darkness of his mind. It was different from when he’d first built his pepperbox. This had more thought behind it, rather than being fueled by the rage that still simmered deep within his bones. Each detail was important, but it also served as a reminder that he had unfinished business.
This would just be another means to serve his end.
A means to stop him from losing Vex again.
Time bled together as he worked, his mind kept busy by everything that he felt. The anger and grief of years past kept his muscles moving, each motion of his hands designed to further fuel the flames within him. He couldn’t think of anything else as the terrible gears and engines of his destruction kept moving.
Anything to keep him from straying.
“Percy?”
He jumped at the sound of her voice, almost instinctively grabbing his weapon before his brain registered the familiarity of it. He swallowed hard, taking a moment to wonder if perhaps she truly was there, or if it was just another ghost, his tired and haunted mind trying to play tricks on him again, before he looked over his shoulder.
And there she was.
She leaned against the doorway of his workshop, clad in a robe and peering tiredly at him in the moonlight. The silver moonlight that was cast through the slit-like window of the space fell on her face, making her look almost as if she were an ethereal spirit.
Real.
Alive.
He instantly cursed himself as he registered her presence, never wanting to raise his weapon to her, and never wanting to permit a weapon to be raised to her.
She stared at him for a moment, concern in her gaze as she looked at him, before she sauntered towards him.
“Bad dream?” she whispered, hugging herself in the cool of the evening, looking over his work with her ever-observant eyes.
He sighed, turning back to his work, to the mess of metal and sketches and melted candle wax that he’d made on his desk.
He offered her a small, tired look with a weary shrug, “Is there any other kind?”
She let out a small sigh before settling beside him on a stool at his desk, not touching his organized chaos, but examining it with a sort of care that nobody else had ever given his work.
They sat there in silence for a moment. He couldn’t bring his hands to work, even as Vex sat there. Back in Whitestone, when they’d first been married and had ventured into the more romantic inclinations of their partnership, he’d grown used to working while she watched on. Back then, she’d asked him about his projects and had been interested in helping while he’d talked her ear off about everything he wanted to learn and all the things he wanted to build. Back then, his work had been exciting, and he’d been so happy to share it with her.
But now, five years later, their lives marked by darkness and grief, they both knew his work was to prevent that from ever happening again.
And his more private motive was to make sure that the devil got his due.
“We have the banquet tomorrow night,” she murmured after a moment.
He hummed in response, looking down into his lap. His mind tried to pull memories back at him of banquets and galas that his family had once held. Those frivolous events where he had been uncomfortable and would have rather been able to hide away in his workshop, but now, despite those previous reservations, he found that he was looking forward to this diplomatic event. Perhaps it was a craving for the familiarity that he’d missed.
He didn’t think about it all that much.
“We do,” he nodded.
“I think this will be good,” she murmured, looking back at the parchment plans he’d rolled out over the space, “Good for the group to mingle with the who’s who of Emon and whatnot.”
He hummed in acknowledgement.
Before they’d taken the Sovereign’s job, they’d been the laughingstock of the mercenary world. Even when he’d first joined the group, he could see that. Their inability to get and keep a job had made survival the priority, and made them the brunt of many a tavern joke. He’d grown used to it. After all, Vex was in the group, and he wouldn’t lose her again.
Now, they were a respectable mercenary group. They’d destroyed the threat of an ancient dragon that had been ravaging the countryside. He’d been surprised himself when they’d won that battle, but he’d not anticipated how quickly it would throw them into the public eye. It was strange to be in a position of renown again, but it was better than dancing on the edge of a knife as they had been.
“I’m not sure how I feel about it, though,” she murmured, “Being back in these kinds of social circles.”
He hummed again, “I know what you mean.”
There were years between now and when they’d been in social circles such as this. Gods knew Vex had to fight long and hard for any kind of respect, even when she held the status that she did at the time that they were married. And after years of being on the road, being mercenaries who could barely scrape a handful of silver together for evening drinks, migrating back into the world of the wealthy and powerful was going to be a change indeed. Still, he couldn’t deny that he missed the respectability that had come with it.
“But…” she sighed, “If it keeps a roof over our heads, I think I can survive it.”
“You’ll do more than survive,” he offered her a small smile, “You always do.”
She’d done it before, when her father’s entourage had been undeserving of her presence. She might not have been able to see it, but in his opinion, there wasn’t a social circle deserving of the class and brilliance that she contributed.
“That’s sweet, darling,” she murmured, a small smile playing at her lips, “But…I’m far more worried about the group. Who knows how many important people we’ve pissed off in the past? Regardless of whether or not we’re heroes now.”
That was true. They’d certainly stepped on a few toes in their earlier days, especially in Emon, but the truth of the matter was that they were now in the high regard of the Sovereign himself. That demanded some level of respect.
The whole group had been in the city the day before, purchasing finery to look the part as the Sovereign’s dragon-slaying heroes. It almost reminded him of when his mother had made sure he and his siblings had new clothes for fancy events, always preaching to them how important it was that they looked the part of their status. Actions and appearances make the most of impressions, she would say, before giving them sometimes-unwarranted advice on which color to choose so that they all appeared slightly coordinated.
Gods, he’d almost taken it upon himself to advise the others on what to choose, especially Grog, who’d never been to an important event such as this. It was exciting, he supposed, and he figured some part of him could appreciate the familiarity of an evening of civilized conversation and people of a similar background to him.
But the excitement hadn’t been enough to silence the ghosts.
“I think we’ll be fine,” he shrugged, “As long as Scanlan doesn’t try to bed some high-ranking Duke's wife—”
“Ugh, don’t speak that into the world,” Vex wrinkled her nose in disgust, glancing downward, “Though in character, I’m not eager to end up at the edge of an executioner's axe for his shit.”
“Fair enough,” he mumbled, turning back to the task at hand, his attention drawn by his task at hand, back to the delicacy of his design before the screams could echo in his ears again.
The truth of the matter was, he really just wanted to keep working.
It wasn’t really a want.
It was a need.
He went to pick up a small tool from the corner of his workbench, but before he could reach it, Vex’ahlia’s hand slowly moved out, catching his hand before he could reach it. Though instinct told him to pull his hand back, he found that he didn’t want to move, watching the way his wife’s fingers closed around his hand, gently holding it. She stood from her stool then, continuing to run her thumb against his fingers, while her other hand gently ran through his hair in a comforting gesture he’d used to melt into, only now, he felt as if he couldn’t respond to it the way he used to.
How could he?
When all the comforts of a world he’d once known had been violently ripped away?
When his family had been slaughtered within their ancestral home?
When she’d been murdered in front of him, and he’d lived with the grief for years?
This wasn’t the first time she’d followed him down to his workshop in the event of a nightmare. Sometimes she would just let him work, sometimes she would sit there with him, sometimes she would ask him to come back to bed, but most of the time, she would go back to bed, and he would be fighting against the guilt at not joining her by reminding himself of what he’d lost once before. He was working to ensure that what happened never happened again.
As they both sat there, he knew that they both knew that this night wouldn’t be any different.
“I don’t suppose,” she breathed tiredly, “...there’s any way I can convince you to come back to bed? We have a long day tomorrow, and you need rest.”
Her logical argument was sound. They did indeed have a long day tomorrow, and a longer night of socializing and making a good impression on the nobility of Tal’dorei…but the idea of returning to bed…of the nightmares that threatened from the shadows…of her eyes…
He swallowed hard as the vision of his wife’s bloodied form appeared in his mind again, forcing a shudder through him.
The arrows.
The blood.
The screams.
He flinched and withdrew from Vex’ahlia’s touch almost on instinct, the visceral reaction painful and cold, the fear coursing through his veins for a split second. The hurt in her eyes as he pulled away from the warmth of her hand was enough to break his heart, but the fear he felt…he couldn’t possibly burden her with it. He’d not just found her again to burden her with the ghosts that haunted him.
So, he shook his head, trying desperately to stifle the pounding of his heart that rose in his throat.
His voice was quiet as he looked away from her, not meeting her eyes.
“I need to work.”
It was his most common answer. The only answer he could give that seemed to satisfy her at the moment. It was a piss-poor excuse, and he knew it, but it was better than nothing, because at the end of the day, it was the truth.
He needed to work.
He needed to work.
It was all he had to keep the ghosts away.
All he had to keep them both safe.
Even if they’d left the shadows of their pain behind.
There was hurt in her stance, a pain he could understand without even meeting her eyes, but he knew she understood to an extent. Gods knew in the months after they’d been reunited, there were plenty of moments when they’d just stared at each other, unable to believe what they were seeing. There had been nights when he’d wake up to find Vex clinging so closely to him as if she were worried that he’d disappear, and he knew the feeling all too well. Even falling into the group and trying to find a new normal between them had been difficult. They never discussed what had happened with the group, and rather, just tried to move on, finding peace with one another again. In survival together with the group, they’d fallen into a rhythm together, a sense of normalcy, but those shadows still remained.
It was painful to know that nothing would ever be the same again, certainly not the way it had been when they’d been torn apart before, but they were together again.
And that had to be enough for now.
She pressed her lips into a line, nodding slowly. There was sadness in her eyes, a sight that made him feel sickened with himself.
“Alright,” she breathed, swallowing hard and not meeting his eyes, “Alright.”
She turned and started to show herself out of the workshop, every step gnawing at his heart with grief and guilt. The same kinds of mourning and remorse that had haunted him since he’d lost her. There was a part of him that was screaming to put everything back and join her… and for a moment, he almost did.
But those damned sad eyes appeared in his mind again.
The sound of her hoarse breaths and screams when the arrows pierced her body echoed in his ears.
They resounded with the screams of his family when their lives had been torn from him.
And there was an echo in his mind that was screaming that it could never happen again.
Never again.
“Vex?”
He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see her in the doorway again, looking over her shoulder at him. He stopped for a moment, just staring at her, just again, savoring the fact that his wife was alive and breathing, standing just a mere few feet away from him.
Gods, he truly loved her.
If there was any part of him from before his world had come crashing down around him that remained, it was his love for her.
And nothing would ever change that.
“I…” he whispered, knowing that his words wouldn’t serve as an apology, nor would they make up for the fact that he wouldn’t be returning to bed with her, but they were the truth, “I love you, Vex’ahlia.”
Something flickered in her eyes, a mixture of sadness and softness that he’d become familiar with over the last few months of being back together. She nodded slowly, a small smile tracing over her lips, though it didn’t stay long. Her next few words were barely a whisper, but he heard them all the same.
“I love you, darling.”
With that, she turned on her heel and silently tread away from the workshop, leaving him alone, with his grief and his guilt.
Sadness pulled at his heart, something screaming at him to join her, to just go to bed with her. The work could wait until later. That he should be making the most of the second chance they’d been given to be with her.
But the truth in his nightmares echoed back on him.
The truth that what he had loved had been torn from him.
His parents.
His siblings.
His home.
His wife.
It had been torn from him in blood and anguish.
And so, with grief, anger, and guilt in his heart, he continued to work.
Keeping the past buried and making sure that it would never happen again.
Never again.