#and I think we all agree that eothas is in love with the watcher right?
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Like I Was Once
(inspired by this question from @pillarsheadcanons, a fic idea that wouldn’t leave me alone until I put it on paper. Goddess!Kai, featuring some Kai/Eothas. set sometime far, far in the future of Eora, don’t ask why Eothas is alive just go with it)
"Come on, come on," the girl muttered to herself, striking the flint once more. It sparked, but the tinder still didn't ignite. She made a wordless frustrated noise. "Damn it!"
In the brush outside the little clearing she was trying to set up her camp in, a twig snapped. The sound echoed through the trees until she could no longer tell which direction it had come from. The girl dropped her flint with a gasp, fumbling to draw the shortsword from her belt.
An elven woman stepped into the clearing. She was small, barely taller than the girl, though she felt much larger than her size would indicate, a force of presence and will that filled the tiny clearing. Her wild hair was the red-orange-gold of sunset, curls drifting weightless on the breeze like flickering fire, and freckles dotted her tan skin like embers and stars. Her eyes were the gray-blue of twilight, the color of the not-quite darkness that followed the setting sun, but underneath them her smile was gentle and kind.
She held her hands up to show she wasn’t armed, and when the girl didn’t immediately lower her weapon, the woman instead sat daintily on a nearby fallen log, as poised as a queen sitting on her throne. "Are you lost, darling?"
"No!" The girl was starting to feel a little stupid, pointing her sword at someone who obviously intended her no harm. She managed to get the sword back on her belt on only the second try. "Maybe."
"The Dyrwood can be a dangerous place on your own." The woman had an Aedyran accent, her voice husky and warm, and despite her misgivings the girl couldn't help but relax just a little.
The girl poked sullenly at the unlit logs that were meant to be her campfire. "I’d rather be here. At least the bears will only kill and eat me. Not like at home."
"I can understand that," the elven woman said softly, and the girl could hear the truth in it. "Do you need help?"
"I can’t pay you."
"I don’t recall asking you to."
The girl was quiet for a long time, the only sound the crickets and songs of night birds as full dark fell around them. "Are you any good at starting fires?"
The woman waved her hand and the campfire flared to life. The girl stumbled back with a startled yelp, reaching for her sword again on reflex.
"Are you Magran?" The girl asked. In the firelight, the woman seemed to glow, her hair matching the motion of the flickering flames though no breeze blew through the clearing. "One of her children?"
The woman laughed, but not unkindly, and the fire flared brighter at the sound. "No. Magran isn’t the type to offer help. If she ever does, always ask what she wants in return."
"What do you want in return?"
The woman smiled like the girl had said something particularly clever. "I don’t need anything from you. Just some company until the sun rises. As I said, it’s dangerous to travel alone." She crossed her legs at the knee and seemed to relax on her fallen log throne. Just like that, the air was lighter, the night warmer and safer, the woman more kith and less Other. "What’s your name, darling?"
"Gwen." Gwen dug in her bag for the food she'd taken with her when she ran away, bread and cheese and dried meat. Reluctantly, she offered some to the woman.
The woman shook her head, but she smiled again like Gwen had done the right thing. It had been a long time since anyone had looked so proud of her. "That’s a fine name. You can call me Kai."
The evening passed pleasantly. Kai was good at answering any questions Gwen had while not actually revealing any personal information about herself. The longer they chatted, the more convinced Gwen was that she was camping with some sort of royalty, or at least someone very powerful, but Kai did her best to appear unassuming and her friendly smile never waned.
“I can keep watch,” Kai said as Gwen failed to stifle yet another yawn. It was getting very late. “You should rest while you can.”
“Are you sure?” Gwen asked, but she was already pulling out her bedroll. “You don’t need to sleep?”
“I don’t sleep much.”
She studied Kai’s expression, trying to figure out what that could possibly mean, but her smile betrayed nothing. Gwen had met walls that didn’t have such a practiced poker face. With a shrug, she settled into her bedroll. She was asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.
She’d barely been asleep for an hour when the bandits came. Kai had seen them coming, of course, that’s why she was here. She wasn’t allowed to directly interfere with kith business anymore, she couldn’t truly stop them if they wanted to hurt the girl, but… well, she had many, many years of practice dancing around the edges of the rules as they were written.
“Are you looking for something, my dear?” she asked, though her tone was much less friendly than it had been while talking to Gwen. “Are you lost?”
One of the bandits jumped like a startled horse and loosed an arrow towards Kai where she still sat on the fallen log. She waved a hand and the arrow turned to ash and smoke and drifted away on the wind. The bandit cursed and reached for another arrow, so she did the same to his bow.
“That wasn’t very nice. Do you often shoot at unarmed women?” She didn’t wait for them to answer before continuing, “There’s nothing for you here. You should move on while you still have the option to do so.”
The bandit that had been wielding a bow tried to stare her down. She met his gaze unflinchingly, and even though she still looked the same, it was obvious now that she was not kith. Her ever-shifting curls turned dark at the ends, the deep blue of the night sky overhead, and her smile was as sharp as any blade.
An owl called from a nearby tree and the bandits scattered at the sound, bounding into the trees as fast as their legs could carry them. The clearing was still and quiet once again, and Kai’s hair settled once more to copper and gold.
Somehow, through it all, Gwen still slept.
The rest of the night passed slowly, calmly, uninterrupted except for the cries of animals and insects and one brave, curious deer that stopped just long enough to warm itself by the fire.
As the first rays of sunrise touched the secluded clearing, a figure sat on the log next to Kai. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” she said fondly. She smiled at him without looking his way. He covered her hand with his own, adra green contrasting against the tan of her own skin. “Why do you always take this form around me?”
“It’s how I looked when we met. I suppose it’s… sentimental.” Eothas’s voice was as gentle and warm as a spring morning, and Kai’s smile widened at the sound of it. “Who is she?”
“Just a kid, lost in the woods.”
“Like you were once.”
“Like I was once,” Kai said quietly, bittersweet. She barely remembered her first time in Dyrwood, half-blind from sleeplessness and half-crazed from her new Awakening. She had been mortal then, and so very, very young. It had been a long time since those nights.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Eothas pulled her hand into his lap, cradling it between both of his. “If I were less sympathetic, I might point out that this counts as meddling.”
“You love my meddling,” she teased.
“I do,” he replied without hesitation. “I always have. The others are not so easily charmed by you.”
Kai resisted the urge to roll her eyes, if only just. “Hylea and Wael think I’m ‘amusing’. Magran and Woedica don’t like anything I do anyway, and Berath and Ondra don’t have any room to talk. The rest don’t care.”
“You have given this a lot of thought.” If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she heard pride in his voice.
She turned to him suddenly, looking at him for the first time since he’d arrived in the clearing. He was human-sized, not the giant statue he’d been when they’d first met, but the pale green adra skin with its intricate gold carvings was familiar. He was draped in robes of gold and pale blue, as if that would do anything to make him look kith, but at least he wouldn’t be sitting there naked if Gwen decided to wake up early. “What else am I supposed to do, Eothas? I remember what it was like stumbling through the dark. What’s the point of all this power if I can’t use it for their benefit?”
“I understand. More than you know.” He lifted a hand to touch her face. Her hair curled around his fingers, reaching for him like a flower toward the sun. “I also know how poorly it can end.”
“I suppose you do.” She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, letting herself fall forward until her forehead pressed to his. “Why are you here, darling?”
“I wanted to see you, my love. No ulterior motives.”
Kai lifted one perfect copper eyebrow and the corner of her mouth lifted with it. “None at all?”
“Not this time.” He kissed her, and she let her guard down, just for a little while, just for him, taking comfort in the serenity that his presence always brought her. By the time they parted again, the sun was fully risen. “Will she be okay?”
She glanced at Gwen, still deep asleep. “She will. The first night is always the hardest. She’s strong. She’ll be fine.”
Eothas rose slowly to his feet and stretched, his movements surprisingly human. He reached out a hand to Kai and she took it, letting him help her to her feet and pull her close. “We should go before she awakes.”
When Gwen woke up, she was alone, her campfire burned almost to embers. The sun rose bright and clear over the horizon. Next to the dying fire sat a single, plain ceramic cup filled with liquid. She picked it up curiously and brought it close to her face, taking a deep breath of the steam rising from the surface. It was coffee.
She smiled to herself and sat down on the fallen log that her mysterious companion had sat on the night before, wrapping her hands around the warmth of the cup and letting it bring her to wakefulness. What a strange night.
#kai cirdani#goddess of sunsets and runaways#figuring out how to make her still look like herself while being god-like was fun#had to rewrite Eothas a few times because he kept sounding like Caduceus in my head#and that's the wrong Soothing Taliesin Jaffe voice#kai/eothas#kaiothas#I guess that's a tag now#maybe it'll eventually have more things in it than just this#no I don't know how they got to the point that he's calling her 'my love' but let's be real#if you're reading this chances are good you played deadfire#and I think we all agree that eothas is in love with the watcher right?
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Souls Lost in Endless Times
Finding Saint Waidwen in an endless loop of his own death wasn't what Favaen had expected when waking up in the Deadfire, but she'll be damned if she doesn't save him, both from Rymrgand and himself. But helping is much harder when you're personally involved, and the first steps on that journey are always rocky ones.
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Read here or on Ao3
Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)
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As soon as Favaen had seen the beams of divine light in Rymrgand’s realm she had suspected what they would find. So, when they walked through the third and last portal, she wasn’t terribly surprised to see the bridge Edér identified as Evon Dewr. She didn’t like the place at all. It felt crowded and torn, everywhere were souls, trapped in their agony and unable to escape. All because of one, and really there was only one who it could be. One they found, as trapped as the others, frozen in his last moment of life.
Saint Waidwen.
Favaen felt Edér tremble beside her and wished for only a moment this could be different, but as quickly as the wish had come, she’d banished it again. She had a duty to fulfil, to her god and every soul in this realm, living or not. The past could not be changed, only learnt from, and so she would help Edér learn from this, as much as she would.
Only it never was that easy, was it? When Favaen carefully touched Waidwen’s soul, it was the strangest thing she’d ever done, and that was saying a lot by now. Even Thaos had only been mortal, but Waidwen was... something else. He felt like no other soul Favaen had ever touched, like more, and yet not. The core soul was still the soul of a mortal, but it was... stuffed almost, embellished, and coated in more soul energy than any mortal could ever hope to contain. Energy that felt so much like Eothas, Favaen wanted to weep in both relief and sadness. Instead she focused on the man who clearly needed her, whose soul, in spite of its power, had been brutally maimed, to the point where he felt more like a terrified child than a god.
She tried soothing him, gently coaxing him to remain still enough for her to find the rest of him, but even her hold wasn’t strong enough to stop the trauma of one as powerful as he. His consciousness slipped out of her desperate grip, lost once again to terror and turmoil.
Suddenly his body was moving, but without the awareness his soul had portrayed before. He moved and spoke like he no doubt did back then, speaking to an enemy that wasn’t really there anymore.
“Did they expect a dozen to stand against the dawn?” Favaen couldn’t reply anything as she stood in horror and watched the tragedy unfold. Beside her Edér tensed, eyes wide, for what they all knew was about to happen. Aloth readied his tome, Vatnir drew his staff, and Ydwin prepared her mental shields. Though they were far less personally affected, all of them knew how the story went, and none of them were particularly interested in living, or rather dying, through it.
But none of them had any chance to stop it. Waidwen made his last speech and stepped forward to attack. Then all hell broke loose. Something snapped, too fast for Favaen to identify and the largest bomb ever created exploded. In a desperate attempt to save herself and her friends, Favaen pulled all the soul energy she could get a grip on and formed a shield, similar to the one they had used five years ago, in Sun in Shadow. Screwing her eyes shut and hands lifted, she tensed and prayed, no matter how futile an attempt she knew it to be, waiting for the inevitable pressure and heat.
Nothing happened. She only uncoiled when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder and hesitantly opened her eyes again, to find Aloth standing next to her. He wordlessly pointed forward, a grim expression on his face. Favaen looked and immediately closed her eyes again. The bridge had changed before them, the explosion had happened, just not to them apparently.
Or rather the explosion was happening. Once again frozen in time, the bridge was in the process of being torn apart, pieces of stone hanging motionlessly in the air. And Waidwen was lying before them, on the same piece they were standing on. All three pieces of him, burnt almost beyond recognition. Favaen felt like throwing up, and judging by the retching sound from her right, so did Edér. At least there was no smell in this realm.
As much as the corpse repulsed her, it also had an almost magnetic pull. Every cell in her body screamed at her to keep away, but something in her soul commanded her to go nearer. Still nearer. Until she was kneeling down next to him.
What was recognizable of his face was contorted in pure agony leaving nothing of the godly aura he’d carried just moments before. Still shaken to her core, Favaen reached out to his soul again, and though its presence was still undeniable, it was mauled as much as the body, making it impossible for her to do anything but pull back and leave him to his suffering.
As she felt the first tears run down her cheeks, someone gently pulled her back, but again there was a strange, familiar calling in her soul, quickly drowning out everything else, and she pulled out of the grip on her shoulders.
There was something she had to do, something she had to take… The rest of the world, including her friends, vanished in a smear of colour and need.
She woke again to the feeling of stone behind her back and the sound of fighting. Instincts kicked in and she scrambled up to aid her friends, only to see Aloth take care of the last enemy with some well-placed minor missiles.
“You good again?” Edér looked at her with a worried expression, sword still in hand an positioned in front of her, shielding her from the battle. It caused Favaen’s guilt to rise as it always did, though she hardly had control over her spontaneous watcher trances. Though, was that what that had been?
She nodded and opened her mouth to assure them, but suddenly noticed something in her hand. It was a sundial, simple and strangely unmarred.
“When you crawled over there you pulled that off of him. We couldn’t get you to let go of it,” Aloth said, face as concerned as Edérs as he put his grimoire away, yet posture as confident as he’d always been since they met up in the Deadfire. Despite the situation Favaen couldn’t help but smile at him. She was so glad to have him back and so proud of him for having grown so much in her absence. Aloth blushed and looked away, and the only reason Favaen didn’t start giggling was the sundial in her hand digging into a small cut, painfully bringing her back to reality. Or rather, Waidwen’s reality.
The calm moment broke, only to have something completely different follow it, something coming from the sundial. A ray of warm light broke out around them and without even thinking Favaen sank to her knees, staring in awe as her god appeared before her. Even after following Him across the ocean, talking to Him almost face to face twice already, it was a magical moment. There was no form to him, no discernible figure, only the light and the comforting weight of his presence, though it felt… less and yet heavier, weighed down by something Favaen had seen and felt all too often on her travels.
“You grieve for what happened here...” Favaen mumbled under her breath, not really meant for anyone but herself, yet as it happened all too often when He was involved, her mouth developed its own life.
“Always.” The sound of his voice resonated across the bridge and Favaen was suddenly reminded that she was the only one here to have talked to Him before. The other’s stared, with varying degrees of distrust and wonder on their faces. “This man, Waidwen, he had a life that I invaded and delivered to death. I am the piece of the Dawnstars that lingered, delayed by grief.”
Grief. A concept she was all too familiar with now, not in small part due to Eothas himself, and still she couldn’t hate Him for it. There had to be reason for His actions, and He’d promised to tell her soon, but for now she would help Him however she could. Rymrgand the old goat be damned. Not that she particularly cared about Rymrgand’s opinion in the first place.
They talked, and even through all the horrors of this world, Favaen could feel her spirits rising at finally, after twenty years, being able to commune with her god again, without the looming threat of separation and whatever he had planned. Being able to soak up His light and attention like she’d last been able to when she was still almost a child was exhilarating. He had a mission for her, and though He phrased it like a request, she could never deny Him, especially not this, not when she could feel the pain permeating everything and everyone around her.
She felt somewhat guilty again, at having dragged her companions, and Edér especially, along with her, but there had been no indication of what they would find, and every one of them had willingly agreed to enter Rymrgand’s realm with her, so there was no point in regret now.
After their talk Eothas’ form vanished again, but Favaen could still feel His presence in the beams of light breaking through the icy clouds around her, and there was nothing that could have motivated her better. Without judgement or hesitation, she offered Edér to opt out on this one, to wait for them behind the portal.
“Thanks for the offer, but I have to know this as much as you do,” he answered, a slightly forced smile on his face.
Favaen nodded calmly, internally relieved. Her God was with her again, and though that brought her the comfort she had so dearly missed, this world, this moment, still weighed heavy on her soul as she felt a foreign desperation claw at her. Edér had become as much of a constant in the last years as Eothas and having him by her side grounded her more than Eothas with His overwhelming power and being ever could have.
She loved Aloth dearly, and Ydwin and even Vatnir were already valued companions, but none of them could truly understand the significance of this single moment in history they were standing in. None of them had any personal connection to this, they hadn’t fought this war, they hadn’t felt a connection in their soul, that had become the centre of their lives, break away and crumble. They hadn’t spent 20 years of lives asking questions without ever receiving answers.
And so, steeling herself for the horrors, and hopefully answers, that were to come, Favaen rallied her friends and stepped over the rubble of a tragedy long past into the divine light, offering the sundial and turning back the time to before the blast that had changed everything.
Favaen led her group through the nightmare that was the Godhammer, presenting a picture of serene determination. A picture she knew would not fool her two oldest friends, but she had no other coping mechanism. All the while, she always kept close to Edér, for both their sakes. He was doing pretty well, but she could feel the anxiety radiate off of him anyway. Not she blamed him for it. She too could feel the weight of the trauma inflicted here growing ever heavier, but she’d long accepted that it wasn’t her place to openly feel doubt or pain. Too many responsibilities were hers to carry now to let such things get to her, at least right now. Later, she promised herself. Later she would grieve for all that had happened here.
‘Make him whole again’ Eothas had said, and right now there was no power in this realm or any other that would stop Favaen from doing just that. Rymrgand could throw a tantrum if he wanted too, it wouldn’t change anything. She wouldn’t let Saint Waidwen of all people be a victim of this place. Not that she would leave anyone else here, she would lead all of the souls trapped by the incredible power of his soul back to the wheel, but his presence here was personal.
And the more of his fragments, of his memories, she picked up, the more personal it became.
When Favaen carefully pulled a ragged piece of his soul out of the bomb, she watched as his father threw him into the cold, dark lake, felt as his contempt for both his father and Eothas rose, and saw herself in younger years, full of anger and resentment.
On a crumbling balustrade, she watched as Waidwen scorned his father even on his deathbed, felt how there was still no relief for him, and saw her own desperate first attempts at peace in all the wrong ways.
At the edge of a cliff, she watched as Eothas appeared to him in that field, felt as he finally had a purpose for the first time, and saw her own homecoming to Eothas.
By the time she stood on a tower and watched as Waidwen calmly accepted his end, watched Eothas silently say goodbye and felt both their regret and pain, she wanted to break down and cry. But the past was what it was and was unchangeable, only the future remained. So, she did what she always did, she swallowed down her own sadness and heartache and continued on her chosen path with determination, so that it, and He, would lead her to a better day.
With one last, slightly shaking, comforting gesture for Edér, Favaen turned the sundial one last time, to take her to the moment before the tragedy. Standing before Waidwen, frozen in time except for the small part of his soul that still reacted to her, she summoned up all her confidence, all her conviction. She would not fail him. Either of them.
She let her watcher’s senses take over, carefully releasing the last part of his soul and it slid back to Waidwen, seamlessly slotting into its place, and completing a once broken entity.
The spell of agony suddenly unravelled, the chaos of tumultuous energy calmed down and fizzled out, leaving behind a stable but slowly draining power. With a start Favaen realized she had been wrong. She’d thought that there were others here as well, trapped by Waidwen, however unintentionally, being dragged along in the same cycle. But as all the soul energy flowed back to the man in front of her, Favaen recognized that there had only been him the whole time. All the shadows of souls she had felt had been a part of his memories, built by the immense power threading through his own soul, like the rainwater filled cracks in the pavement, to make sense of a situation his damaged mind couldn’t. Even the priestess must’ve been a product of his own psyche and for a second Favaen was curious about what that meant for the knowledge she’d had.
But the question quickly vanished from her mind when the pull of essence ebbed away, and the light let up. Before them stood a young man, and even though the divine glow was gone and he still looked a little unstable on his feet, Favaen couldn’t help the thought that now he looked far more like the people’s king Adaryc had told her about.
“I… thank you, friend. I’m struggling to understand it all, but my thoughts are clearer now.” His growing grin was strangely infectious and Favaen almost snorted. Yeah, no shit his thoughts were clearer now, than when his soul had literally been sprinkled all over the place.
His eyes glinted with a spark of mirth and Favaen realized that he probably didn’t need outward reactions any more than she did. He may not be a watcher, but in all likelihood the pure power tethered to his soul even now would’ve given him similar abilities.
“I think I accept why this needed to happen, but it is only human to feel conflicted.” The grin crumbled a little, and he frowned, looking over the realm and specifically the images of people still standing frozen in an eternal fight around them. “There is a lesson, a purpose to the Godhammer that I failed to grasp. Eothas wanted the people of the world to stand tall, without gods propping them up.”
Favaen heard shifting behind her and didn’t need to turn to know why. That topic was an important one for all the people behind her. Edér had been struggling with his faith in Eothas since they came here and Favaen hadn’t been in the best of situations to help him. Aloth had grown independent and had made it his life’s goal to help other people become so too, developing a downright hatred for the gods, and though it saddened Favaen a little, she’d meant it when she’d told him she rather he live a good life than worship her god. Ydwin had made her distaste for the state of the world perfectly clear. And Vatnir… Vatnir was a special case. Put in a position to worship a god he didn’t love just for looking like he did. Yet another reason to shove Rymrgand in the deepest crack of the beyond and seal it shut, if you asked Favaen.
“The Godhammer didn’t just tear Eothas from my body. It drove a wedge between gods and kith across Eora. And isn’t that just a version of what he always wanted?” Waidwen looked at her with a piercing gaze and though he wasn’t a cipher, Favaen still felt as though he saw right through her. She let him. There was no reason not to.
“Maybe you’re right. Because of Eothas, mortals saw a god annihilated.” And though she wished it hadn’t been Him, who else would’ve done it? Waidwen nodded thoughtfully.
“Taking on that burden of suffering wasn’t in Eothas’ original plan, but it served him well enough that he was content to keep his distance for a few quiet years.” So, he knew at least this much then. But something about his casual behaviour, the way he just shrugged it all off now, even though he’d been caught in an agonizing cycle of death for twenty years, rubbed her the wrong way. Try as she might, she couldn’t tell if he really believed it or was just putting on a show for them.
“It wasn’t Eothas who really suffered though, was it?” Once again, her mouth was faster than her impulse control, but seeing as it was true, she couldn’t regret saying it. Waidwen looked like he wanted to answer something, but in the end closed his mouth again a more resigned look on his face, shaking his head and turning away.
“Does it matter? I can feel oblivion tugging at me harder than before, now that I’m free, so we won’t have time to savour the victory either way, friend.” He stared at his slowly dissolving hand with mild interest, holding it against the light still falling into the realm, which somehow seemed to dim at his words.
No. Oh no. Favaen would not let him get away that easily, for both his sake and theirs. ‘Make him whole again’ Eothas had said, and she intended to keep him that way now. There would be no true peace for him until he’d forgiven himself everyone else, no salvation from just simply ceasing to exist. She would sooner drag him out of here kicking and screaming by scruff of his neck than let Rymrgand win this, though she’d rather avoid that. She wouldn’t return to Nekataka and tell Adaryc that she’d let his, their, prophet succumb to the nothing.
While Favaen was stewing in her own resolve, Edér and Aloth shared a look behind her. Neither knew whether to be amused or concerned. Out of everyone in their group, they’d known her longest and they both knew what was going on her head. Hopelessness had always been her greatest motivator and coming from Saint Waidwen it was basically a call to war. Before either of them could decide on how to react, Favaen fell back into the role she played the best.
“No.” Waidwen blinked at her, confusion clear as she glared at him, her back straight, feet planted firmly on the ground. Everything about her posture screamed confidence and determination, her voice calm but firm.
“No?”
“No. I will not leave you here to slowly fall apart because of your fear of your father.” Waidwen stared, for once speechless at her audacity. The people behind her cringed, though they didn’t know the details, her tone and his reaction alone were indication enough that it was bad. Waidwen’s stunned expression shifted into one of indignation.
“Excuse me? And what do you know about it?” For a second Favaen faltered at seeing his defensive stance, but defiance alone had never been enough to stop her. Not from him and not from her own screaming heart.
“Everyone who loved you abandoned you. Eothas was no exception. Come with me – it ends now.” Favaen watched as an amalgamation of emotions crossed Waidwen’s face, ranging from anger, over shame and fear, to grief, and she had to physically force herself to stand her ground. She stretched out one hand and waited. As much as she wanted to just step forward and hold him close, as much she wanted to just grab him and take him away from this horrible place, it had to be his choice. She would do everything in her power to convince him, but he had to make the first step. If she didn’t give him the choice now, if she made herself the enemy instead of a pillar of support, it would only hurt him more.
Everything else faded into the background, the bridge, her companions, even her own pain at Eothas’ choices, all were unimportant in the face of one she could save. And so, she smoothed all signs of doubt and fear from her face, waiting patiently for his reaction.
A reaction he took his time with. Waidwen stared into her face first, the stream of emotions never letting up, and looking into her eyes as if he hoped to find the answers to all his questions there. When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, his gaze swept downward to her outstretched hand. Slowly, agonizingly slowly he raised his own. He never looked away from her hand, until he had hesitatingly placed his in hers.
Favaen firmly took hold of it and in silence thanked Eothas that souls were tangible in this place. When Waidwen looked up again a certain calm had come over him. The desperation was gone, and in its place, a tentative spark of hope had appeared. He nodded slowly and in a flash the king was back, his posture straight and confident again. He gripped her hand with fervour and stepped forward, right through her and into the in-between, joining the souls already following her.
With his departure, so went the pressure on Favaen, and like the strings on a puppet were cut, she sagged to her knees. The world came back into focus with a gentle pair of hands holding her up. Favaen tried her best to keep her composure, but everything was just too much. Eothas, Waidwen, the inquisitor, the king of Ukaizo, this whole horrible place, everything crashed into her at once and with a helpless, choked sob she whirled around and buried her face in Aloth’s chest.
For a while they just sat between the rubble on the ground, Aloth wordlessly holding her while she was sobbing her heart out. Soon another hand, that could only belong to Edér, joined in, gently brushing through her hair, his firm, yet still somehow soft chest against her back. After what could’ve been minutes or hours, she calmed down again but couldn’t bring herself to leave the comforting huddle just yet. Instead a completely different thought found its way into her mind, causing her to let out a wet and breathless giggle.
“Adaryc will have a heart attack.” Edér snorted, not taking his hand away.
“I’m pretty sure everyone will with that story. I still can’t believe you somehow adopted Saint Waidwen.”
“Are you sure we should really be telling people about this?” Favaen pushed away a little bit, only just enough to properly look Aloth in the face. He let her and lowered his arms, looking down at her, brow creased with obvious worry. That look was enough incentive for Favaen to pull herself back together. She still had a job to do, and her friends were relying on her.
With a deep breath she pulled herself up, bathing in Eothas’ divine light wit closed eyes, which still shone through the now slowly dissolving realm. She soaked up the serenity it offered and slipped back into her role as leader.
“For now, we should concentrate on taking care of that dragon. We can discuss what to do with the information later.” And she wanted to discuss that with Waidwen as well. Though it would hardly affect him, being dead and all, it was still about him, and he deserved to have his voice heard as long as he could. But later. Later when there wasn’t the vague threat of Rymrgand’s ice taking over the world hanging over them, when she hopefully felt stable enough to face him again without breaking down in tears.
Getting to her feet again, Favaen noticed a few things. For one, both Vatnir and Ydwin had apparently decided to stand guard a little apart from the group, clearly uncomfortable with her outburst. With a pang of guilt, she resolved to treat them all to a day in the luminous bathhouse at the next opportunity. Also, when she looked around, all the soldiers were gone. Aside from them, no other person was around anymore, which confirmed Favaen’s theory about it all being a fabrication of Waidwen’s damaged mind. Not even Eothas seemed to remain, though his light was still present, now that Waidwen was no longer a prisoner of this realm.
Before she could think too much about the emotions that sparked in her, she pushed Favaen the priestess to the back of her mind and became once again Favaen the Watcher. Help. Move on. Fulfil the mission.
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Finally. Finally it was over. The dragon was released from her prison without harming anyone and Rymrgand had gotten what he deserved. Even Vatnir seemed to have found enough courage to leave behind his people, who were preparing to return to the White that Wends.
For once Favaen was actually eager to return to her ship to fall into her bed and sleep the whole way back to Nekataka. She was completely drained, both physically and emotionally and dreaded having to recount the last mission for the others.
As soon as they reached the shore, something adamantly pulled on her Watcher’s senses. She stopped and looked to the side, giving into the pull and seeing Waidwen step out of the in-between, an incredulous look on his face as he watched the boat before them, more specifically the name painted on the bow.
“You named your ship after me?” he asked, turning to face her with a playful grin on his face. Favaen blushed a little and avoided his gaze.
“Well… it’s funny watching people squirm when they say it.” Favaen was very aware that she wasn’t immune to the occasional act of spite, though she tried to keep it as harmless as possible. Naming her new ship “Waidwen” had certainly been one of them, affording her short moments of hilarity every time they docked somewhere new. Though it had earned her a very disappointed look from Adaryc and a rather lengthy speech from the priestess at the Gaun temple. Xoti had thought it was funny.
“I guess there’s more to you after all than just stubbornness.” He was looking at her again as if she were holding the secrets of the universe in her soul. Favaen cleared her throat and did her best to stand up to his scrutiny.
“I’ve been told I’m rather… blasphemous for a priestess.” Waidwen snorted.
“How’s that? With that outfit you could’ve put me in my glory days to shame.”
“Well for one, I very much enjoyed beating Rymrgand’s face in.” With a dark look Favaen glared to the side, remembering the god’s audacity at trying to claim her soul, when it already very clearly belonged to another. Oh, and Berath. But that wasn’t going to last.
“He did look like an asshole,” Waidwen said, nodding very seriously before cracking a smile again. Favaen just continued glowering off into the middle distance.
“Yes, apparently it lies in his nature,” she grumbled, before realizing who she was talking to. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk like that. He just makes me so angry.” She shook her head to clear it, feeling guilty at having unloaded that all on him. Not only because he was, well, Saint Waidwen, but also because he really had suffered much worse at Rymrgand’s hands. Still, it didn’t seem to bother him much, which in turn bothered Favaen, but she decided to deal with that later when she didn’t feel so much like shit.
“Please, by all means, go ahead. Being angry at a god is what made me a saint.” The mischievous grin on his face faded as a frown took its place. “Although... maybe avoid that after all, didn’t end too well for me.” That admission, though she’d been waiting for it, left Favaen floundering for something to say. In the end she decided to stay quiet, silently lamenting the fact that she couldn’t at least touch him anymore. He seemed to want to say something more, so she waited until he found the right words.
“Is... is my name really that... hated now?” Favaen sighed and almost regretted telling him the truth, but only almost. Lies wouldn’t do anyone any good in the long run, no matter how comforting.
“I wouldn’t say hated necessarily, but you didn’t make yourself very popular in most corners of the world. Although the Huana don’t really care for the most part. It’s the Dyrwood and Aedyr that really despise you. The Vailians and Rauatains just get twitchy because the implications make them nervous.” Waidwen nodded thoughtfully, giving no answer beyond that.
“Hey Favaen, you coming?” The unexpected shout startled Favaen out of her contemplation and she turned to see Edér standing by the ship, looking back at her with a questioning look.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there!” she shouted back. Throwing a look over her shoulder, she found Waidwen already gone again and so hurried to the ship, filing that conversation back for later. For now, she would lock herself in her quarters and not get up for at least a day. Hopefully. With her luck probably not.
She shared a tired smile with Edér when he helped her up the ladder. He didn’t look much better than her, but still there seemed to be a weight lifted from his shoulders. No matter how tired she was, how angry at Rymrgand, that relief was worth all the hassle.
Finally on the boat, she stumbled past the rest of the crew, as her legs really started hurting at that point. Aloth was already explaining what had transpired and had apparently already introduced their latest crewmember. Favaen threw him a thankful and very relieved look, to which he responded with a nod in direction of the stairs and an exasperated but affectionate smile.
The most urgent job taken care of, Favaen didn’t feel so bad at locking herself away. Vela was busy playing with Tekehu, so she was taken care of as well, and no one needed her for now. With a heavy sigh she pulled off the little armour she wore and fell into her bed, mushing her face into the pillow and not even bothering with the blanket. In seconds she was out.
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Favaen woke not to the sound of someone frantically beating against her door as she’d expected, but instead to a comfortable quiet with only the gentle waves hitting the boat. While that was unexpected, it wasn’t the real surprise. The real surprise was the slightly translucent form sitting at the wall of her cabin, staring out the small window.
“You’re really weird, you know that?” Favaen mumbled into the bedding, still sluggish from sleep and eyes sticky. She was too tired to really be disturbed by this. Waidwen turned around with a slight start, obviously not expecting her to be awake, but caught himself quickly. Again, that snarky smile of his appeared.
“So I’ve been told. But what makes you say that right now?” Favaen rolled onto her back, her arm having begun to ache from lying so long at that awkward angle, and tilted her head backwards to keep him in sight. Her hair was still hanging in her face, but the act of rolling over alone had taken too much energy already for her to bother with it.
“None of the other souls ever did that.” Waidwen raised one eyebrow at her almost unintelligible slurring.
“Did what?” Somewhere in Favaen’s sleep muddled brain, she recognized that he probably didn’t have her experience with dead people. The rest of her brain however decided that that was rubbish.
“That.” There. Enough information. Waidwen was still staring at her, obviously confused. When she made no move to explain herself, he rolled his eyes. Suddenly something briskly pulled on her soul, jerking her awake with violence. Adrenaline flooded through her system and she shot up assessing the room with wide eyes. The only thing she found was Waidwen wearing a self-satisfied grin.
“That for example.” Favaen glared at him, her annoyance overshadowing any feelings of awe and respect. That didn’t seem to deter him though, instead he just grinned wider, and for the first time Favaen was sure that he meant it. That took the wind out of her sails and her frustration ebbed away. With a sigh she leant against the wall behind her. Now that she was awake, they might as well have that conversation. “Just being here. Without my help I mean. Usually I have to consciously call on the souls following me, or at least help them with materializing. I never woke up to one sitting next to my bed.” She frowned a little. “And while we’re on that, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make that a habit. You’re welcome to talk me whenever, but maybe don’t just show up when I’m sleeping. It’s... well to be honest it’s a little creepy.” She’d never thought she’d ever say that to Saint Waidwen of all people, but his simple look and friendly demeanour made it very easy to forget who he actually was. While Favaen knew on a factual level who she was talking to, her emotions told her he was just another lost soul in need of some time before moving on to the wheel.
“I’m sorry, I’m not really used that concept anymore.“ Waidwen frowned, and Favaen recognized the spark of guilt in the crease of eyebrows. “Once you share your entire being with a god, the notion of privacy gets a bit muddled, no matter how considerate said god is.” Though she had never experienced what he had, she could still empathize. Berath’s random calls were annoying enough, if she constantly had the pallid knight’s voice in her ear, she too would forget certain things. Also, while Waidwen was much harder to read than anyone else she’d ever met, with the exception of Thaos maybe, she could still sense an undeniable air of anxiety emanating from him. That, of course, couldn’t be tolerated.
“I’m not mad, I promise,” she said, using the same voice she’d use for a frightened kitten. Sometimes people just needed to be emotionally petted, especially the souls she tended to work with. “I’d just like to know why you came. It can’t be terribly interesting to listen to me snoring.” The joke didn’t seem to land as she’d intended. Waidwen did crack a smile, but it was flimsy and hardly worth the name. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came, and he just stared vaguely under her bed. Favaen waited patiently. They had time.
“There’s a cat under your bed,” was what he finally said. Favaen blinked a little. She slid her feet off the bed and bowed down, peering under the cot. A quiet purring greeted her, and in the dim light she could see the animancer cat staring back at her. She sat back up.
“So there is.” It wasn’t terribly surprising. She’d developed a... habit of adopting absolutely every animal that would let itself be adopted, so the whole ship was filled with pets, much to Edér’s delight and Aloth’s annoyance. Still, she didn’t see the connection.
“I... I tried to pet it.” Oh. Oh! That made Favaen realize what must’ve happened. His dejected stare, aimed at anywhere but her, broke her heart all over again. And for once she didn’t know how to help. She’d never had this kind of problem before, usually the souls either left themselves after a few kind words and reassurances, or they just needed a bit more time to accept their own passing. None of them had ever been this independent as to attempt to interact with the physical world. For the most part they weren’t even aware of it. She wanted to console him, she wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be okay, but she knew trying would only make it worse.
So, it was time for a new strategy. Favaen took a deep, long breath, counting to four, held it for seven, and released it for eight, letting go of all her feelings of helplessness along with it. With nimble hands she untied her two braids, letting her ruffled, fiery hair fall freely over shoulders. She unclasped the cape still on her shoulders, took off her necklace and prayer beads, and unravelled the layers of fabric of her priest’s attire. When she was done, sitting on the bed in only her undershirt and cotton trousers, there was no sign of her being an Eothasian priestess, a herald of the gods, the captain of a ship, or the lady of a castle. She was only a woman, just like he was now only a man.
“I won’t pretend to understand how you feel. I have never been in your situation. But I promise you this, I will do whatever you think is necessary for you to move on. I will not leave you. I will not abandon you. And someday, whenever that will be, whenever you feel ready, I will let you go.” The promise hang in the air between them, heavy with importance, not because of who it came from, or who it was meant for, but because of its meaning.
Neither of them moved or talked. They just looked at each other, much like they had back on the bridge, only this time there was no expectation, no call for action, only the reassurance, whether he believed it or not. After a long, though not necessarily uncomfortable silence, Waidwen nodded, and a bit of the tension bled away, both on his face and in the atmosphere, leaving behind a lighter melancholy radiating off him.
“I had a friend once. He didn’t think much of my station either and wasn’t afraid to call me out on my shit.” He looked at her with a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless as he remembered better days.
“Would you like us to go find him?” she offered. Whether the friend was dead or still alive, she would do her best if it would help him.
“I think... I would appreciate that. We didn’t part on the best of terms.” That was a feeling she could understand, though she herself had never had the courage to seek out her parents again. “He was there that day. I knew… I knew how it was going to end. Not in detail maybe, but I knew I wasn’t going to leave that bridge again. Usually he was right there with me, but for all the people I was willing to drag down with me, I was selfish. I ordered him to the back, far away from the front lines. He didn’t take it very well. Especially after he’d already told me again and again not to go to there in first place.” And Waidwen’s death would’ve been another blow, one that might easily have swayed fondness to resentment. Favaen didn’t need to reach for him with her watcher’s senses to know how afraid he was of that reaction. She had lived with the same fear for half her life. “For all I know he’s still in Readceras.”
“I promise we will go find him and you will be able to say your piece.” A promise she was confident she could keep, not that she would’ve ever made it otherwise. Even if the friend was dead, perhaps she could find an agreement with Berath. Somehow, she would do this. But first… “First, I have to handle the matter of Eothas, though.” Handle, support… thwart. She wasn’t sure anymore. She loved her god, more than she would ever be able voice, but what he was doing now… No. She shouldn’t think like that. There had to be good reason for his actions. There had to be.
Waidwen frowned. “Yeah, what is that about anyway?” An excellent question that Favaen wished with all her heart she could answer.
“I honestly don’t know. He…” The words she wanted to say got stuck in her throat. It was one thing to know what happened, another to accept and acknowledge it. But then, wasn’t that what she wanted to help Waidwen with? She refused to be hypocrite. “He possessed a giant adra statue under my castle, destroyed said castle, killing me and my subjects, took part of my soul and is now marching across the Deadfire to an unknown location, absorbing every soul in His path.” Favaen had to take a deep breath, after having blurted it all out in one go. A slight blush dusted her cheeks at the rather undignified display.
Waidwen just stared at her, slowly blinking. Her face reddened even more, the longer he just gaped at her in silence. Finally, he smacked his lips once.
“You know, I want to call you a liar, but you’re way too unconvincing for that right now. Also, killed? I feel like I’m missing something here.” With a very deliberate motion he lifted his translucent hand, gave it a hard a look and slowly turned back to her. Favaen almost wished Berath would call her again.
“Yeah it’s… it’s complicated. I’m not sure myself really. All I remember is the castle suddenly collapsing and this excruciating pain…” The words brought back the few memories she had of the encounter, the absolute terror at not knowing what was happening, the short spark of hope that was immediately swallowed by agony. “Next thing I remember is standing behind the shroud and moving towards the wheel. Berath offered me a deal. My life in exchange for becoming her herald and following Eothas. The decision wasn’t very hard.”
“I’m pretty sure if still had a body, I’d have headache.” He sighed, seemingly steeling himself for something, looking into a corner again. “I guess you want me to talk to him, eh?” It was Favaen’s turn to stare. Somehow that simple question had completely short-circuited her brain. Her thoughts were both incomprehensibly fast and aggravatingly slow. Finally, something snapped back into place.
“I don’t want you to do anything. If you wish to speak to Him, I will make sure you have the opportunity, but I will never make you do something.” She gave him a few moments to truly let it sink in. “Just like it is your choice how we handle the news about you.”
“You mean whether you’ll tell anybody?” Favaen nodded. “I… I’d prefer it if you kept it quiet. My reign is over, and it should stay that way.” Favaen nodded again, this time pursing her lips in thought.
“Alright. In that case, I’ll have to figure something out with Serafen and Ydwin before meeting with Adaryc again.” Waidwen turned back to her with start.
“Adaryc?” He went back to staring into the middle distance, contemplatively chewing on his lower lip. “Adaryc, Adaryc…”
“Adaryc Cendamyr. He was a soldier in your army.” Though why he would’ve known a random young soldier, Favaen didn’t know. He still didn’t seem quite satisfied with that answer though. Suddenly he shot up, eyes glittering with recognition.
“The servant boy! But what does he have to do with anything?” Favaen decided to ignore that connection. There would be more than enough time for this later, for now she just wanted to get the necessary exposition out of the way and get back to bed. The adrenalin from his shock earlier (And how did he do that anyway? Questions for later.) was starting to wear off and a familiar weight was creeping back into her limbs.
“He’s a commander now and in the Deadfire as well. More importantly though, he’s a watcher as well. Since I have very little experience with other watchers, I have no idea if just stuffing you into the in-between is going to keep him from sensing you. And we’ll have to talk to him if we want any hope of finding your friend.” After a second of deliberation she added: “He’s a good man and still very much devoted to his country and you. He won’t go against your wishes.”
“A watcher, hm?” He seemed to drift off again a bit, his form shifting into different positions without actually moving. Under his, well not breath, but what else would you call it? Language was very inconsiderate to the dead. Favaen shook her head in attempt to wake up again. She tended to start deliberating strange things the more tired she became. The words that had sounded suspiciously like ‘explains a lot’ had already disappeared from her mind.
“I guess we can decide what to do about him later. Sounds like you’ll be busy for a while yet anyway.” Was he shifting again or was her brain just filtering too much?
“Hmm,” she hummed affirmatively, mentally planning out her timetable, while trying to keep the fuzzy feeling in her head at bay. “I always wanted to go down to Readceras. I never got to the see the musical.”
“What musical?” Waidwen asked, and Favaen blanched. Why did her mouth always have to be faster than her brain? She cleared her throat pointedly looked to the door.
“I didn’t say musical.” Waidwen’s eyes narrowed, some of the light-heartedness in the air freezing up.
“Okay, now you’re lying. What are you not telling me?” Favaen’s resistance was already crumbling. As much as she didn’t really want to explain that to him, she’d been raised better than to lie, much less to a saint. She started rubbing her fingernails against each other in a nervous gesture. She really didn’t know him well enough to know how he would react.
“Well, about two years ago a group of young artists first premiered a musical called ‘Saint Waidwen’ at the annual commemoration day. Since then they’ve played it every month, because it’s so popular with young adults. Though the older generation tend to see it more as… well, heresy.” Despite the fact that she could feel her face grow hot and red, she was also incredibly relived when Waidwen’s face split into broad grin.
“I hope you understand that we’ll definitely go see that later.”
“You’re taking this impressively well.” She herself was rather mortified at the knowledge that Kana was literally singing her praises, not that she would’ve had the heart to stop him. It was one thing to speak in front of the masses herself, a completely different one to have someone else tell your story. She trusted Kana, but still the idea made her uncomfortable.
“Are you kidding me? Before there were just a bunch of old people who kept trying to make boring paintings of me. A musical sounds much more entertaining!” He seemed legitimately excited and Favaen felt a warm feeling rise in her chest. Quietly she vowed to herself to get tickets as soon as this was over. “And a bit of heresy salts the soup. They’d have to try to really piss me off.“
And that sentence more than anything else she’d seen of him, proved that something, somewhere along the line had gone horribly wrong, and for the life of her Favaen didn’t understand what. Of all gods, Eothas had always been the closest to kith, had meant well with his decisions and had been worshipped for just that. Waidwen, this man before her, was neither the monster nor the saint she’d heard about. He was a young man, broken by his circumstances and rebuilt by pure stubbornness and spite. Both of them were good people. So why, why oh why had it gone so badly? How did a country with this man as king still stay so stuck in their ways with no tolerance for difference? Why had an essentially bloodless rebellion turned into a religious purge and a brutal war? Why did so many people have to die? Eothas, tell me why!
Favaen started when a hand waved directly in front of her face, creating no wind at all while almost touching her nose.
“Are you okay? You looked really down there for a second.” At some point Waidwen had kneeled down before her, or maybe he glitched his way there again, Favaen was too weary to question his abilities at that point. He was looking at her, worried frown on his face. For a moment she saw Edér’s face before her, years ago when he’d woken her from another nightmare from a life long past.
With all her might she forced a strained smile on her face. She did not have the mental capacity in that moment to deal with any of this.
“Yes, of course. I just haven’t slept enough yet is all.” She could see something in him slam shut at her denial, and she wanted to slap herself. Waidwen stood up with a nod, clearly making to retreat back into the in-between. In a desperate attempt to repair whatever she had just broken, she forced herself to her feet as well.
“Wait! I…” She swallowed as he indeed stopped, wearing the same mask of careful neutrality she herself had worn so many times, when the risk was too great too speak her mind. “I promise we’ll talk about it, but I’m just not in a good enough shape right now.” All her exhaustion and fatigue, both mental and physical, resonated with her words. That was all the heart she could bear to expose. She could only hope it was enough.
His mask crumbled a bit, the skin around his eyes crinkling and their light dulling. It might’ve been a trick of the light, or something else entirely, but even his already translucent skin seemed paler and his hair stringier. He looked as exhausted as she felt.
“Neither of us are.” The words were delivered flat and distant, almost like from another time. The next moment he was gone, leaving behind Favaen alone in her quarters that suddenly felt too dark, even though the evening shone clearly through the small window. She didn’t know if she’d succeeded or if she’d just entirely ruined every chance she’d had of helping him.
Her knees gave out and she heavily sat back down, shivering slightly, though her underclothes were warm enough for the weather. For a moment she debated finding Aloth and/or Edér, but that would’ve required movement and leaving her cabin, neither of which she wanted to do, so she laid back down and pulled her blanket around herself, hoping the physical warmth would help drive out the chilling fear that had settled in her soul.
Her last somewhat comforting thought before falling into a restless sleep was, that should she have broken his tentative trust too thoroughly to repair it again, she would hand him over to Adaryc. Certainly he would do better, could empathize with him better. He had actually lived through the same events after all. Not like her, who hadn’t dared to leave her safe home in the abbey until it was fifteen years too late. Who hadn’t had the courage to stand and see her god for herself and had instead followed the orders of a king she didn’t know.
But in the end, that was all past and lamenting it useless. Favaen had chosen her path, and she would walk it to the best of her abilities, even if the lantern guiding her flickered sometimes. Even if she sometimes misstepped. Even if she sometimes made mistakes. For she knew with a certainty she knew little else with, that no one was beyond redemption, if they were only willing to work for it.
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The Soundtrack for Saint Waidwen The Musical, written by young adults almost 20 years after his death, and therefore not entirely accurate to his story. The last song was added after the events of Deadfire.
Here the post with my long ass rant about how this is totally a thing.
#Pillars of Eternity#watcher wednesday#Waidwen#The Watcher#writing#fanfiction#edér teylecg#aloth corfiser#hurt/comfort#trust#The Godhammer#talking#emotions#humor#it's not all bad#death isn't nice#dying for 20 years even less#how the hell did this get so long?#I really don't know#this ended a lot sadder than I wanted to#but my characters rarely do what I want them to anyway#I can explain the musical thing#and I will in a seperate post#I'll link the post here as soon as I've written it
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Deadfire, day 11.
I just noticed that the room with the flesh construct controller is labeled “Flesh Management”. Because of course we had to go for maximum creepy with everything here, right?
Giving the flesh construct controller a prostate massage is one of the highlights of the series.
Oh, hello, Giftwrapper. Here you go, Edér, an adorable spider friend.
“Maybe they are not so smelly after all.” Why thank you, Sissak, that’s one of the best compliments I’ve gotten this whole playthrough!
“You have seen what cannot be unseen!” Some of the shit that goes on in this place? Damn right I have.
I am deeply amused at Edér’s protective outburst at Anlaf sticking his arm down the screamy thing being followed by Fassina nonchalantly saying, “Better you than me.”
Maybe one day I’ll run a Watcher who uses Llengrath’s spell here rather than Tayn’s—I can think of one or two who should have if not for their player’s weakness—but this one’s Team Tayn all the way.
All right, the moment of truth: Is Retina going to hatch this time? At least now I know to reload if it doesn’t.
*sigh* Nope, reload time. Let me try something—maybe it’s going into the Scriptorium afterwards and getting sucked into Tayn and Llengrath’s argument that’s fucking things up?
You know, throughout this DLC in particular, Edér and Rekke have very similar reactions to most things, controlling for their differing experiences and speech patterns. Killing the Memory Hoarder is a striking exception, though—contrast Rekke’s “Why would god let this happen?” with Edér’s “Reminds me of a wedding I went to once.”
Xoti, I realize you want the big man to like you, but you don’t have to loudly agree with everything he says.
Anyway. Back to the Collections to finish mopping up and see if the little abomination actually hatches this time.
It didn’t hatch until I got back to the Temple of Revelations lobby, but it finally did! I’m so glad to not be deprived of tiny hugs this time.
I never took a proper look at the description of Whispers from the Depths before. “Sometimes, it tickles.”
“Now I have two friends, and I feel richer than ever.” Oh no, more Bekarna feelings.
The History of Eora series contains some creepy information from the beginning, but it takes a turn for the far, far creepier when it starts covering the future.
For reasons I can’t really go into here, Volume XVI: The End of the Gods makes me smile and eyebrow a little. ““Who’s there?” the voice of nothing asked, and it was answered by no one.”
Well, Fyonlecg’s hinting that other civilizations did something similar to Engwith, or worked with them beyond the ones we know of, is certainly quite a sequel hook.
I think I’ll put the body back to sleep this time. I like the ending it gets, and it seems a reasonable thing to do.
Well, I was going to put it back to sleep, but apparently I killed it instead? I suppose that’ll have to do.
It’s very sweet how friendly and optimistic Tayn still is even if you kill the body. One day I’ll see if that still holds if you went Team Llengrath all the way and killed the prisoners in the Collections.
Tayn, Bekarna, go on, give each other a hug. You both need it.
It’s a thing people do when they’re carrying a lot of pain around and haven’t been supported in dealing with it that they get really mad when someone else looks like upstaging them, whether with their own pain or with their achievements. Tayn’s jealous outburst, and Bekarna having to talk him down by appealing to his ego before he’s willing to support her, is...yeah, I super get it. But I hope they can stay friends now that they’ve gotten that out of the way.
If someone’s going in cold, I can definitely see them finding out that Magran doesn’t want the three shards put together, doing it to spite her because of all the problems she’s caused throughout the series (you’re not the boss of me, fire mom!), and realizing too late that they played into Woedica’s hands instead.
Anyway. Without a last faction quest to do, I think it’s Ukaizo time. My regular endgame party is Edér, Xoti, Tekēhu, and Rekke, and there’s nothing going on in this playthrough that would make me want to change that up.
So I didn’t have to fight any of the factions in the channel, but on the other hand, oh shit, Guardian. I was really not expecting to meet this thing—I freed Scyorielaphas like I usually do, and he normally takes care of it. Well, let’s take advantage and explore his dialogue tree.
“Where would you even stab something like that?” Well, Edér, I suppose you, Rekke, and Anlaf can figure that out on the fly.
Well, that wasn’t bad at all, but I’m glad I had Story mode on to fight the Guardian for the first time.
Oh, babies. I wish I could hug all of you, but I’ll settle for claiming my Rekke hug. (And if any of you think the hug isn’t the main reason he’s part of my standard Ukaizo party, you don’t know me very well.)
Tekēhu atop Ondra’s Spire. You know the bit I’m talking about. Which is the main reason he’s part of my standard Ukaizo party.
(To round out the rest of it for the newbies, Edér is simply undroppable, and I figure Xoti will want to talk to her god. If I have to start dropping people because of faction alliances or romances or whatever, Xoti goes first, then Rekke, but it does make me sad.)
Looks like my adventures here won’t be completely rival-free; here’s the hazanui come to bother me one last time. I’m glad it’s her, I would’ve been sad to make poor Tekēhu fight his queen again or to have to turn on Aeldys after building such a good working relationship. Or even to have to fight Castol. It’s Castol if the VTC comes after you, right?
I’m a little sad that Karū didn’t bring Atsura with her, I would’ve loved to give him a good stabbing.
Tekēhu landed the killing blow on the hazanui. Good work, fishboy, I hope you enjoyed that.
“All but three hold gargantuan skeletons”—we’ve seen Abydon’s body, we just dealt with Wael’s, I guess the third one is meant to be Galawain’s hidden somewhere on Kazuwari? Erūke said something about the huge skeleton in the part of the Beyond linked to the statue being Galawain’s, but it wasn’t made particularly clear that the remains of his body in the Here were nearby. It does make sense, though.
Oh, Waidwen. Quick, come get a spirit hug while the camera’s back is turned.
I love that the sidekicks have Grand Promenade conversations now, but I wish they could’ve gotten chats with Eothas as well. I imagine Rekke’s would’ve been quite intriguing.
Making my usual last request of Eothas, a haven for the lost souls, since I don’t have reason to do much else.
Ha, I thought so. The narrator pronounces “Ofecchia” as /oˈfε.ki.ə/, about what I’d expect, so Wakoyo’s /ɑ.fə.ˈtʃi.nə/ is clearly a mispronunciation in-universe. My theory that he’s doing it deliberately because it’s a Vailian name and fuck the Vailians still stands.
Yeah, I don’t love the epilogue for the solo ending. But it’s nice to have had the experience this once.
Other than the Gullet becoming a second home for the Príncipi, I’ve gotten most of my usual endings. Including the Dawnstars collectively taking up sickles and lanterns and becoming Harvesters, while Xoti lays hers aside to become what a proper Dawnstar was before this. Clearly a memo got missed somewhere.
Come on, Hafjórn, I told you to leave that stupid iceberg. This “squat in the temple and become reclusive and fanatical about keeping everyone else out” business doesn’t look like leaving to me.
Welp, time for me to take a bow and then find something else to occupy my days with. Whew, that was fun.
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The Harvester
For @pillarspromptsweekly #0063: Spooky.
Cross posted at AO3.
The first time I played through Deadfire I wound up with Xoti's bad ending. A lot of the companions had not so great endings, really. There's a reason I don't write about Watcher Talia much.
Warnings for spoilers for Deadfire endings and bad ending Xoti.
3 Fonauton, 2830
At sea, en route to Port Maje
High Priestess Saewyn,
It is likely my letters shall reach you all in one go as I shall have no means to mail them before we arrive in Port Maje. If we make it to Port Maje. The sailors here are a superstitious lot who claim the island is haunted ever since the the leadership of the island was assassinated and the Vailians were driven out by Queen Onekaza. Haunted by a Harvester of Guan, can you believe it? Or at least that’s what I’ve deduced from their wild tales of a ghostly figure wielding a lantern and sickle that stalks the island. Of course there are Harvesters of Guan, said I, Her Majesty allowed the Children of the Dawnstars to settle in the region after expelling the Vailians. It is worrying, however, that we’ve had no word from the settlement these last few months…
I suspect it’s merely distraction from a bad harvest, or perhaps no ships willing to visit the region due to these wild stories! Ha! If so, we must fix the situation before the settlement winds up completely cut off from the outside world. It does not give us credit to have our brothers and sisters abandoned.
The new settlers, the Gjyrsc family, Beren and Marani and their children Charim and Aelse, are doing well. The girl worries from the tales of the sailors, but the boy runs around swinging an imaginary sword at imaginary ghosts. They should inject some life into the mission settlement.
Yours Faithfully,
Dernsc Cracgyn
8 Fonauton, 2830
Maje Island
High Priestess Saewyn,
I write to you in the most unfortunate circumstances. This letter will not likely reach you for some time and I hope our party will be in a better situation by the time I am able to mail this. We have been shipwrecked! A violent storm fell upon us and broke our poor ship upon the rocks as we rounded the island. The Gjyrsc family and I are unharmed, but our Captain Durnmar has been left with a broken arm and a broken head and two-thirds of the crew are dead.
We have dragged what little possessions and provisions we could find unspoiled out of the wreckage and set up a makeshift camp on the beach to protect ourselves from the elements. The Captain has ordered everyone to stay put and wait for rescue, but what rescue will we find? Ships have been avoiding the island. We must pray that our missive to the settlement at Port Maje was delivered and someone comes looking for us.
Of the family, the mother and daughter are bearing it as best they can, but I don’t think we can stay camped here much longer. The boy Charim views it all as a grand adventure, right out of a mass published novel. I shall try to take some inspiration from his enthusiasm, but I am worried about our amount of supplies.
Yours Faithfully,
Dernsc Cracgyn
11 Fonauton, 2830
Maje Island
High Priestess Saewyn,
It is with a heavy hand I write. Captain Durnmar is dead. Fever took him, and indeed is taking many of those injured in the wreck. It is not much longer that we can stay here. Our supplies and manpower grow short. While we have not waited long, I fear no one is coming. I believe our best course of action is to set off across the island to find Port Maje. It should not be that long of a journey and we no longer need to worry about… the injured.
The superstitious sailors of course fight me on this. And with the only sensible man of the lot dead, there is not much I can do to budge them. It may just be myself and the Gjyrsc family. Beren Gjyrsc agrees with me that there’s no hope in remaining here. We are making preparations to set out tomorrow.
Yours Faithfully,
Dernsc Cracgyn
13 Fonauton, 2830
Maje Island
High Priestess Saewyn,
The strangest series of events has occurred. Do you know a young woman named Xoti? She claims to be a friend of yours. She seems a bit unorthodox, but I suspect she will be our deliverance. I should start from the beginning.
We set off into the island yesterday; myself, the Gjyrsc family, and one off the sailors called Dunnur. Dunnur had been to the island before and agreed to serve, albeit reluctantly, as our guide. You would think I’d be used to the climate of the Deadfire by now having lived here these past seven years, but I do admit I was a tad overwhelmed by the humidity and the insectoid wildlife as we began our trek. Regardless, we seemed to make good progress our first day.
However, this morning, disaster struck! Dunnur went to collect water and while we waited a little over an hour, he never returned. Assuming he deserted us and headed back toward the beach camp, I was furious, but Gjyrsc convinced me to set off toward the stream to look for him. I was shocked at what we found. Dunnur, dead! Cut to pieces! His shocked, sightless eyes staring up at the sky as the blood dripped from his savaged chest, flayed strips of skin peeling loose. Whatever beast attacked him must have had claws like knives. I covered my nose as Gjyrsc made the sign of Eothas.
I, of course, performed the funeral rites for poor Dunnur as Gjyrsc went back to check on his family. I wish we could have given him more of a proper burial, but it was not a suitable sight for the women and Gjyrsc and I agreed that our party needed to stick together and move along. Whatever savage beast attacked Dunnur could come for us next!
Morale was low, having lost our guide and in such a shocking way. We still endeavored to try to continue onward in the same general direction, hoping we would stay on track and eventually hit the outskirts of Port Maje.
Morale was lower still as the sun began to sink in the sky and we came to the realization we were hopelessly lost. Possibly going in circles if Mrs. Gjyrsc is to be believed. I was beginning to lose all hope, visions of beasts with razor sharp claws dancing through my head, when we came upon a small clearing.
Perched on a stump in the middle of the clearing sat a young woman dressed in green, a sickle and glowing lantern hanging at her belt. A Harvester of Guan! My heart leapt, as we must be nearing the settlement after all!
She held the skull of some animal in one hand and appeared to be in deep conversation with it. “Now I know what you’re gonna say, Watcher. That I shouldn’t’a done it. But I need to… I need to keep reapin’…”
“Ho there!” I called. “Are we nearing Port Maje?”
She looked up and broke into a wide grin as she saw up approaching. She hopped to her feat, tucking her skull in her bag. “If it’s Port Maje you’re lookin’ for, you’ve still got a long ways to go. We’re basically on the other side of the island. How’d you get so lost?”
I recounted our shipwreck as she nodded along sympathetically.
“Ain’t that a shame. I can get you over to Port Maje if that’s where you want to be goin’. New settlers? I love new settlers.”
I explained my mission from the temple to re-establish contact with the settlement and her face brightened.
“Saewyn and I go way back. I’m Xoti, by the way. You’ll have to fill me in on what’s been goin’ on back there.”
We’re setting up camp with our new party addition as I write. Gjyrsc is giving her a wide berth still. I suspect it was the skull. Harvesters can be a bit eccentric so I won’t hold it against her. Xoti has made fast friends with young Aelse by offering to do her hair.
Xoti says we should reach Port Maje in a few days. Circumstances are looking up.
Yours Faithfully,
Dernsc Cracgyn
15 Fonauton, 2830
Maje Island
High Priestess Saewyn,
Circumstances are poor. Young Aelse insisted on accompanying Xoti on a scouting expedition this morning and slipped and fell down a ravine. Xoti was not able to recover the body, although she says she was able to recover her soul. Mrs. Gjyrsc is beside herself and even Charim’s sense of adventure has been stifled by the loss of his sister.
---
Further tragedy has struck! In the night, the grief stricken Marani Gjyrsc went back to look for her daughter and ran afoul of some creatures. Xoti found the body. Poor Mrs. Gjyrsc was ripped apart in the same manner of the unfortunate Dunnur. With how dangerous this island seems to be, I hope that we shall find Port Maje all in one piece.
Yours Faithfully,
Dernsc Cracgyn
16 Fonauton, 2830
Maje Island
High Priestess Saewyn,
We make slow progress. I hardly know where we’re going anymore, as we are too deep into the jungle to make sense of the shoreline and the canopy blocks out the stars. Our party is subdued. Gjyrsc will barely look at Xoti, blaming her unfairly for the loss of his wife and daughter.
While my spirits are bolstered by her vivacity, forgive me, I know she is your friend, but there is something a bit… off about her. Occasionally talking to people or referencing things that aren’t there. However, overall she seems harmless enough.
I asked her at the fire this evening about her work as a Harvester of Guan.
She patted the lantern on her belt. “Oh, I’ve been doin’ it before the rest of the church started. Got called a heretic more than once. But I take the job seriously. I’ve been traveling around the islands reaping lost souls. Someone’s gotta do it.”
I remarked that by the glow of her lantern, she must almost have a full batch to take over to Ukaizo.
She nodded and grinned. “Almost full. I’m looking forward to it. It’s been too long.”
I will forgive her for her eccentricity for her devotion to the cause.
Yours Faithfully,
Dernsc Cracgyn
18 Fonauton, 2830
Maje Island
High Priestess Saewyn,
I have deeply misjudged this situation. I fear these letters will never reach you and I continue to write out of only desperation. I fear I will not live long enough to finish this one.
Last night, terrible night, wretched night! I awoke to Charim’s scream. Scrambling out of my bedroll, I struggled to light a lantern, then realized it was unnecessary. The light of Xoti’s lantern illuminated our camp well enough. Illuminated her standing over Charim’s bloody body, her sickle dripping with his blood! In her other hand she held aloft his heart, ripped from his chest!
She took a bite from the heart, blood trickling down her chin. “I’m tryin’ this new thing, Watcher. See if it helps with the soul absorption. Can you feel it? I feel it, the prickling under my skin.” She licked the blood off of her sickle, her eyes unhinged, staring at me, but not at me!
With a cry, Beren Gjyrsc threw himself at her. She sidestepped him and swung him around, her sickle at his throat. “What’re you doing, Edér?” she cooed. “You know I’d never hurt you.” Her sickle traced a bloody line across his jaw. Gjyrsc tried to elbow her in the gut, and the sickle slashed across his neck. He crumpled to the ground.
I cowered back as she turned to look at me. “Look what he made me do, Watcher. Don’t make me do the same to you.” Dropping the chewed heart on the ground, she pulled her lantern from her belt and circled it in the air. Her laugh was the most unholy sound I’ve ever heard. “I think it’s ready, Watcher. Watch me again!”
Xoti pried the door of the lantern open and held it up to her chest. Her hair whipped around in non-existent wind as her eyes started to glow. She screamed, a scream I’ve never heard the likes of before as her skin cracked open, bloody, along her veins. The lantern pulsed as she threw her head back in pain and exhilaration.
Suddenly, the light of her lantern flickered out and she laughed her unholy laugh again. “Damnation, that always hurts worse than playing ball with a beehive.”
“What are you?” I managed to stutter.
“Me?” Her boots squelched in the puddles of blood. “I am The Harvester. The original. Shepherd of souls. Guide to the lost. I keep them safe. Keep them in me. Even if they don’t see it yet, I make them see. You, see, right Watcher? You see them all.”
In the dark, I scrambled to my feet and ran blindly into the night.
Alas, Xoti had not been leading us wrongly and I stumbled into the town of Port Maje. What was left of it! Broken buildings, broken bodies! We have heard no word because there is no one left alive to send word!
I hide in this broken down barn as I hear her out in the street, lantern jangling at her waist. “I feel so, good, Watcher. So good. How can I make you understand?” Her footsteps grow louder. “Won’t you join me? We can be together forever.” She’s getting closer. Eothas save my soul-__.__.
[Here the letter trails off in a spattering of ink and blood.]
#pillars prompts weekly#xoti#pillars of eternity 2#deadfire#pillars of eternity fanfic#prompt 0063#fanfiction#fanfic
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Confirmation
It’s the first time I ever write an “old couple” style fanfic in English. If you find anything unsuitable please let me know.
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It’s been a week since the Watcher confronted Eothas. With the Wheel broken, Aloth doesn’t really know what will become of kith of the upcoming generation on Eora. Whatever happens, he doubts that his own effort would change anything, that’s what the Watcher has taught him. The wisdom of not overthinking on everything is a welcoming change of pace. Thinking back on what he has accomplished, his past seems always shrouded in a heavy mist. He didn’t choose his birthright, his family, his Awakening. But the decision led him journey alongside the Watcher is like a ray of sunshine that cast into his life. He never feels the need to worry about the next destination, wherever the Watcher goes, it’s the right direction.
The moment when the Watcher committed her affection to Aloth, he felt two twisted forces conflicting inside his chest. He really enjoyed the Watcher’s company, that’s for sure. Five years ago when he revealed his true identity to her, hoping nothing but her forgiveness.
“I forgive you, Aloth.” the Watcher said without hesitation, “But I want you beside me, not behind me. I’m not asking you to trade one master for another.”
It’s been a long while since he ever remembered anybody gave him the vast amount of respect and understanding. Being around with the Watcher feels… easy, natural. Not that she’s a druid and the soothing spells she can cast during battles, the power she draws from nature. It’s the way she’s been doing things. Sometimes he might not agree with that much credit she gave to the undeserving, or flattery words just to please some higher-ups. She may say something tedious yet follows her heart and does some good. It opens Aloth’s eyes that a person could process such multitasks, as long as her heart is in the right place, he’s probably in no position to judge. Perhaps he values the unspoken wisdom the Watcher shows during their journey, that to resolve a situation with extreme measure is a recipe for disaster. Aloth didn’t want to lose her, if he could peer into her soul, it certainly shines like a beacon drawing him closer each step ahead.
Somehow, he had too much responsibilities on his shoulders, he couldn’t rely too much on the Watcher, especially five years ago when she gave him the opportunity to reform the Leaden Key, to do something good on his own. He sure wouldn’t like to squander the faith she put into him. The consequences of his action didn’t turn to his favor, and he knew the uncertainty of his duty, to some extent it might cost his life. To commit his feeling towards the Watcher could bring her long term pain if they were to depart once again.
Now Aloth is standing on the Defiance’s deck alone, with sea breeze brushing through his hair. The sun is about to set upon Serpents Crown. Everything around him feels quiet, serene even. Fresh air and a clear head sound as normal as they do, they were luxury in Aloth’s past life, especially when Iselmyr’s constant babbling plagued his mind. Which reminds him the promise the Watcher keeps – privacy and space. She never bothered him unless there’s something really important, or Eder came up with a joke he would like to share where the Watcher came joining the fun. Reflecting on what the Watcher said after their first kiss, Aloth has to admit that he never thought of the “enjoy our time together” option before. To him, love is the equal measure of responsibility, respect, passion and collaboration. His past shaped him into a man of solitude, and he feared for the uncertainty of the future. Yet he forgot, of all the kith on Eora, everyone lives in the present. The closest thing he overlooked all the time, is the “present” the Watcher has given back to him. They have been sharing more and more private moments together since then.
After the final confrontation with Eothas, the other companions departed one by one, pursuing their own newfound goals. The Defiance is awfully quiet at the moment. It’s strange how Aloth misses friends like Eder, Xoti, Pellagina and Maia. He doubts that their path would ever cross again, for he and the Watcher are going back to the Eastern Reach.
Speaking of which, the Watcher is still in Captain’s cabin. And there’s still a question lingering in Aloth’s mind. He grabs a bottle of Forgetful Night from the lower deck, then walks towards Captain’s cabin, takes a deep breath, then knocks on the door.
“Knock knock.” the Watcher sounds like she’s about to laugh out loud.
“I would like to talk to you… if you don’t mind.” Aloth tries to keep his gesture serious.
“Of course not, please come in.”
The Watcher is reading a book, it’s…
“Is that my grimoire?” whatever Aloth was going to say, it’s wiped away by his grimoire in her hands. He hasn’t used his own grimoire since she gave him Arkemyr’s grimoire. He entrusted his grimoire to her but had no idea she’s interested in learning advanced arcane arts. The Watcher lowers the leather bound book and sits up straight: “Uh, yea, I know druid spells are quite different from wizard’s, but I could still learn how to channel elemental energy more effectively. It’s a bit tricky but I think it’ll work.”
Aloth sets the bottle of Forgetful Night on the desk, arms across in front of his chest with his left eye brow lifted:” Are you still thinking about beating me on the enemy account?” It’s a little competition between him and the Watcher, about who would get most kills after each fight. Aloth usually wins.
“Heh, you know me too well.” The Watcher grins back to him.
Aloth sits down beside her and puts a hand on her shoulder: “Not that you are also trying to heal my wounds. My account can hardly qualify my skills. I’m just glad we could survive all the hostile encounters and live to see another day.”
The Watcher shrugs: “It’s a challenge I’m willing to take up. You are well-versed in history, you can tell me how many slavers and pirates are going after us now that the political balance of Deadfire is tipped over specifically by us?”
“Point taken,” Aloth looks down and admits: “We have a long way ahead of us before we get home, don’t we?” The Watcher nods in silence, and stands up to take out two wine glasses from her cabinet.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” The Watcher asks as she gives a glass of Forgetful Night to Aloth.
Oh, the stupid question lingering in his mind.
“Well…” Aloth lets a dry laughter out of his throat, he can feel the tip of his ears turning red: “I’ve been meaning to ask you: why me?”
“I beg your pardon?” as if her question doesn’t sound like one, a playful smirk is crawling up on the Watcher’s lips. She might as well know what Aloth is all about, she’s just waiting for him to speak out his mind.
“It is no secret that Xoti and Tekehu had confessed their… let us just say, interest in you, before us. Considering my situation back then, I could hardly qualify of being the best suitable candidate to sustain a healthy relationship. Years of solitude had burned out the fire within me, it would be a really slow pace for me to rekindle the passion for you again. But you turned them down, even where they are better at dealing with love and passion.”
Aloth pauses for a bit, waiting for the Watcher’s response. Instead of saying anything, she just stares into his eyes, as if searching for an answer there. The playful smirk is still hanging on her face, normally Aloth would find that kind of smirk irritating, yet at the moment he just can’t help but smiles to himself, breaks from her eye contact and looks down at his clasped hands.
“If I was looking for pleasure, I would go for them,” for a while the Watcher finally responds, as if taking his question seriously: “As for Xoti, she’s spirited and adorable. If I were to have a little sister, it would be like her. She probably got the wrong message when I was trying to care for her. The affection she seeks, it doesn’t matter whom it comes from. I was merely helping her make up her mind before she got too rushed ahead.”
The Watcher takes a long sip of the wine before continuing: “Tekehu is bold, in fact, too bold he doesn’t know the meaning of subtlety. His skill and power need guidance, so does his way of taking up responsibility. And… it’s been a real headache every time Ondra crawled into my head when we had a conversation.”
Aloth suddenly looks up, with a “no way” expression on his face. The Watcher smiles and nods, as if trying to tell him it is no joke. Then he is about to say that doesn’t really answer his “why me” question, but the words come from his mouth suddenly become high-pitched voice, of whose the Watcher knows too well.
“Fay, the lad’s been worrying n’ too caring for ye, just lay’m down already…”
Aloth rolls his eyes trying to suppress Iselmyr to the back of his mind, he shakes his head violently then takes a mouthful wine. By the time he regains control of his thought, he realizes that the Watcher is leaning against the back of her chair watching him, it’s like a cat watching a wounded mouse. He doesn’t quite know what to make of the increasingly hot air between them, whether it’s because of the alcohol or something Iselmyr said.
“Where were we...?” he palms his face with the voice only himself can hear.
“You know, I’ve always had a thing for a man who doesn’t know how attractive he is.” the same smirk is still hanging on the Watcher face, even broader this time. Aloth rolls his eyes again: “Please, I’m…”
Before he can protest any further, the Watcher half kneels down in front of him, keeping their eye contact on the same level. She takes his hands into hers as a gesture of apology, then she says: “I’m no stranger to solitude, for my long years being a hunter in the wild I’ve known the taste of freedom as well as isolation. People always say I have observing eyes and a sharp mind, I’d say I just see things others rarely notice. When I look at you, I see the deep sorrow that you are trying so hard to hide, the burden you have endured, the misfortune you have suffered. You have a kind and trusting heart, yet it’s difficult for you just to offer it to anyone. I would never forgive myself if I watch you stray away from the right direction. You are my responsibility. As for ‘why you’... aside from that much time we've spent together, it comes from here-” She’s pointing at her heart: “Time and time again I entrusted it to you, you’ve never disappointed me. And I wish to be the first one you can fully trust.”
A long silence lingering between them. Aloth opens up his mouth trying to make out a word, he finds nothing in his vocabulary would justify the affection. He leans in close to the Watcher, pressing their foreheads together.
“Hey,” the Watcher murmurs in a super soft voice: “You wouldn’t come to my cabin just to talk, would you?”
Aloth chuckles.
“I suppose not.”
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My past is awfully similar to Aloth’s, so I kinda know where his hesitation is coming from. His little romance subplot feels “accurate” for someone like him. I’m glad we could give him a Watcher he deserves. The competition thing between Aloth and the Watcher is a little easter egg form LotR.
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A Death in Your Name - Gravity of Love (4/5)
How can one mortal soul be so important to a god?
You misunderstand. I'm not Galawain or Magran, I'm not used to people dying for me.
And yet they do. Some willingly, some not.
Iovara's sister, inquisitor and high priestess of Eothas', has made a mistake, her way of righting it impacts more things than she's expected. Perhaps Iovara has more in common with a certain god than she likes and perhaps Eothas should rethink his actions, or lack thereof, if he doesn't like the consequences.
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Iovara meets Emblyn again, almost two thousand years after their deaths.
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Read here or on Ao3
Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)
Almost two thousand years had passed since her death, and she’d spent most of them alone. The others, many of whom she’d known in life, had long since begged forgiveness. She’d been angry in the beginning, angry that they’d forsake all they’d worked for, angry that they’d forsake her. But two thousand years was a long time, and the flames had gone out.
Iovara had been sure, that she would spend the rest of eternity alone in darkness and silence, when even Thaos stopped coming to torment her. It was a sad certainty, but one she’d learnt to... well not live with, but to endure.
But then something strange happened. At first only slowly, so that she almost didn’t notice it, but soon the stream of souls once again flowing through Breith Eaman swelled, to the point where Iovara thought there had to be another inquisition. Yet the souls didn’t stay, weren’t bound to a single prison like she was. Instead they surged through, further into the earth, down, where she knew Sun in Shadow to be. It worried her, but what could she do about it, stuck as she was?
And then some time later, she had lost any precise sense of time long ago, Thaos came again. He didn’t come to her, but she didn’t need to see him to know he was there. The essence of souls permeating the place reacted to him, became denser, as if it was trying to both flee and follow him at the same time.
Then, completely out of nowhere, another familiar presence entered her perception, one she hadn’t expected to ever feel again.
Emblyn.
No, not Emblyn, but who she’d become in this life. Even in a new body, carrying new scars, there was no doubt that it was her. The familiarity almost made her dizzy, and for a moment Iovara could pretend everything was like before, before everything had crumbled around them.
But then reality returned, and she noticed all the things that had changed. She didn’t recognize the face her sister carried, or the way she held herself. The clothes she wore were different from anything Iovara had ever seen before, yet undeniably still the robes of an Eothas priestess. As much as that irked her, it also gave her a sense of stability she hadn’t known she wanted. At least it seemed the god had kept his promise.
Others followed her, and for the first time Iovara noticed how her perception had really changed with her death. Thaos had shielded himself from her it seemed, for she could see far more of these people than she ever had before, the scars and doubts their souls carried, and also the bonds they had formed with each other. Like colourful silk ribbons they spread between, some stronger, some more flimsy, some straight, some with knots in them. It was a strange sight, but also comforting to see, that Emblyn had found a place for herself.
They stopped in front of her prison and Iovara felt a gentle tug on her soul. She let it pull her out and constructed her corporeal form, for the first time in almost two millennia.
“Hello, sister. It’s truly been an eternity.” Emblyn blinked at her, only a spark of recognition in her eyes, the same way, one might recognize a stranger, one had seen before. Because that’s what Iovara was now, a stranger. Trying to bury the hurt deep down, where no one would see it, she asked: “What brings you here?”
“It seems, I still have something to settle here,” Emblyn (not Emblyn) answered, hesitant, but steady. Looking at her again, Iovara could indeed tell, that something was off. Her soul didn’t seem as tethered to her body as it should be, slightly misplaced, though not enough to present an actual danger, and a bit... wrinkled in places. Not torn, but marked. The dark-haired elf behind her had a similar feel, though not quite the same.
And now that Iovara thought about, why could Emblyn (not Emblyn) even see her? She didn’t seem to be a cipher, so... a watcher? Yes, that had to be it. She’d heard of the talent, though never seen it.
Emblyn (not Emblyn) told her of Thaos’ latest scheme. It didn’t surprise her. It seemed that even though the world had changed, the players hadn’t. What a waste of life and energy this was, yet what could she expect from Thaos. He’d never thought suffering worth of notice.
“You knew me, when Thaos knew me also. I need to know something about that time. There was something in that life, that my soul can’t let go of. I need to know what it is, but I’m running out of time. I see moments from back then, you, the inquisition, Thaos.” There was desperation in the request, that broke Iovara’s heart again. The woman before her, the body that was so obviously not Emblyn, looked like she hadn’t slept in months. Though she held herself with confidence, head held high with the practice of a missionary used to leading and convincing people, it was a crumbling one. Iovara didn’t want to keep digging into those wounds, but at same time a small voice to the back of her mind whispered hopeful things to her, that perhaps if she gave this woman answers, she would get answers from her sister too.
With a viciousness she didn’t know she still had, Iovara shoved the voice back and swore to help Emblyn find the peace she’d apparently been denied all these years.
“I can see his influence still hanging like a sword over your neck. Just like it always has. He... inspired something in you. Something that held you so tightly, that you doubted what I taught until the end.” Iovara trailed off, suddenly aware of where exactly this was going to go. She wanted to help, truly, but she was all at once reminded of how it had ended last time.
“And what was that?” For the first time Iovara hesitated to answer, fearful of what that answer would unleash. She stalled for time, looking at the other people in the room, frowning a little. They saw her, that much was clear, their eyes fixed on her form with varying degrees of excited curiosity and confusion, though how was something she could only speculate on. Perhaps the bonds had something to do with that.
She couldn’t stall forever however and they deserved an answer, just like everyone did. Iovara sighed.
“That the gods aren’t real.” The reactions of her companions were what she’d seen many times before, denial, tentative humour, and hesitant acceptance, but it was Emblyn (not Emblyn) Iovara’s attention was focused on. A confused frown marred her features, not the shock Iovara had expected. “What I taught was, that the gods, whose faith we spread, weren’t gods, but something completely different. Something made by people.”
“So, you founded your own faith?” It was an honest question without contempt or sarcasm. What a strange thing to take from that revelation, but thinking about it Iovara could only agree.
“I never thought about it as faith, but I think you’re right to call it that. Let people see and decide for themselves, that was my faith.” And perhaps she’d had faith, that the people would make the right decision and turn away from the false gods, but with a short look at the Eothas symbols, she decided that she didn’t want to make this harder than it needed to be.
And so they talked. Iovara shared her story and the things she’d learnt in a far calmer and more relaxed setting than she ever had before. There were no stakes, nothing to achieve, no one to surpass, only a story to tell. And they listened. She could feel their disbelief, but they listened and thought about it without arguing. Even the angry priest, who Iovara could tell wanted to shut her up more than anything, clamped his mouth shut, muscles in his jaw tight and bulging, but he was silent.
She told them the truth, how the gods were false and made out of the desperation of a people who couldn’t live with the answer to their questions. She told them how she found out about the truth, overhearing two engwithan missionaries and finding it to be true. She carefully skimmed over the details to her personal life.
The inevitable question came, as it had to.
“Is it true?” A simple enough question, with a simple enough answer, but Iovara knew it wouldn’t be enough. She sighed, as she saw the doubt in those eyes. Eyes that looked different than she remembered, yet oddly the same.
“You asked me that before, but nothing I can say would be the proof you seek. If you want certainty, you need to continue on, follow the flow of souls, and you will find what I found. An answer... and more questions.” She kicked something loose then, some old reflex that she hadn’t used in two millennia. She wanted to convince, and she would use every tool at her disposal. As she let her perception wander over the colourful group of people, she saw the doubts in each of their souls, like she never had before, and dragged them out.
Iovara didn’t quite understand some of her own questions and references. The tragedies the blond man still couldn’t leave behind or understand. The strife the Magran priest had with his goddess or the actions gnawing at his soul. The ideas of unity the aumaua carried. But she knew enough to aim there, those weak points in their confidence. When she turned back to Emblyn (still not Emblyn) the words flowed out of mouth before she could stop them.
“What, if we couldn’t be sure of anything?” The woman before her took her time answering. With a thoughtful expression and pursed lips, she stared into the nothing for a while, and Iovara let her. Rushing an answer would help no one, and Iovara knew herself how difficult acceptance was. The answer that came was one she’d certainly never heard before.
“What would it change?” Iovara stared in confusion. She’d heard many things, but this surprised her. Emblyn, no definitely not Emblyn, seemed to notice the confusion of those around her and tried again. “What I mean is, we already can’t be sure of anything. There are eleven gods, and eleven ways to look at things. Obviously, they’re not sure about anything, or they’d all want the same, so why should we be? Everything’s a matter of how you look at it anyway. Don’t get me wrong, this is... shocking. It gives perspective and people should know about it, but in the end it doesn’t change anything. The gods are still real, and if you step on one’s toes, they’ll step on you. Some of them at least. Someone’s origin doesn’t decrease the value of who they are.” She ended the impromptu speech with a shrug, as if she herself didn’t know what to do with that. Iovara sure didn’t and neither it seemed did anyone else. Silence reigned, until the blonde man started laughing. It was a loud, genuine laugh, that made his whole chest vibrate.
“If there’s anyone who can give me an existential crisis and solve it in the same conversation, it figures it’d be you.” He stepped forward and lovingly patted her on the shoulder, a large, fond, and somewhat exasperated smile on his face. The rest seemed less sure, but still followed his example and relaxed. It was... endearing, in a way Iovara hadn’t expected. It made her almost jealous to watch, a feeling she’d never associated with Emblyn of all people.
“I suppose that is one way to look at it,” she admitted, after having swallowed down the strangely bitter feeling. “I’ve been down here so long, it seems my rhetoric skills are somewhat rusted.” Despite her own conflicted feelings, she was glad. This was what she’d asked for so long ago. For Emblyn to be happy, even if it went against her own believes. She wouldn’t begrudge her this. She wouldn’t.
Still, there was this burning question, that just wouldn’t leave her alone, no matter how much time passed. And now she had the chance for an answer, she couldn’t let that go to waste.
“I’ve been alone with my thoughts for so long, I’ve made peace with my mistakes and punishment. But there is one thing, that I can only put to rest once I know, once I understand.” Iovara hesitated for a second, as she watched the woman before her. This woman, who was so clearly not her sister, and yet looked at her with the same patient acceptance as Emblyn had. “I need to know why you decided to stay loyal to the inquisition, even when you knew the truth. Do you... do you remember?” Why, Emblyn, why?
“I think... it’s not the inquisition I stayed loyal to, that was... an unfortunate side effect. It was Him. Him and Thaos.” Iovara watched as her eyes became glassy, looking into a different time and space, a different life. Her hand held onto the small Eothas symbol on her necklace, like an anchor to the here and now. “I... I followed Thaos, because he made me think it was right. Until I didn’t.”
She started trembling and Iovara began to regret asking, but then the elf stepped forward, a worried frown on his face. He grasped her shoulder in a gentle, but firm grip and she slowly stopped shaking. After a deep breath and grateful look in his direction, she turned back to Iovara, more confident and steadier than before.
“Whatever her reasoning was back then, I want you to know I am sorry for those actions, and I can only hope you will forgive me for them.” Though without a doubt earnest, the words felt... learnt somehow. With a start Iovara realized, that she must have said them many times before, and had probably meant them every single time. Again, those eyes got her, shining with sincerity and an underlying spark of fear. Much like Emblyn’s had once.
“I’ve always forgiven you. I may not have understood, but I could never hate you. And I suppose that you didn’t either will have to be enough assurance.” They both smiled at each other, and for a moment all Iovara could see was Emblyn back on that tower, bathed in the light of the setting sun, finally content. The moment ended, but for some reason Iovara didn’t mind that. Even though the answer she’d gotten could barely be called that, it was somehow enough. She’d always question, but at least now she knew, her sister hadn’t hated her.
A sudden gasp pulled Iovara out of her blissful contemplation, and the priestess pulled out a dagger from under cloak, holding it out to her. Iovara almost flinched when she saw it. She’d done so well ignoring it, that she’d apparently overlooked her picking it up.
“I found this here on the floor, is it yours?” The question was so innocent it was startling. As though this was just another weapon, as though this wasn’t the same dagger that had violently ended her life once. The blade had caught quite a bit of dust over the course of many centuries, but with a bit of cleaning it would be as good as new again.
“Keep it, it was yours once.” It took her only a split second to decide, but she knew it was right. Perhaps the dagger could be put to good use once more, even after the act it had been used for. She almost wanted to giggle at the thought, redemption for a knife.
A nod confirmed her wish, and the dagger was put away again. Iovara was prepared to say goodbye now, the group before her still had something important to do and she’d already taken up more of their time than was good, but still the woman before her hesitated.
“If you want, I could help you. You don’t have to stay here. And I know you don’t want to ask for forgiveness, but I could help you back to the wheel myself.” A sweet offer, but one she couldn’t accept.
“Thank you for the offer, but even so, it would make everything I worked for null.” The priestess only nodded, sad, but not surprised at her declining.
“I disagree, but I will respect your wish.” She motioned for her friends to follow and started down the path further into the caves. Just before leaving the room, she turned back to Iovara, who’d watched her leave, a wistful smile on her face. “I’ll come back when I have time.”
She didn’t give Iovara time to deny her, and instead just turned back and left. The blonde human stayed behind for a second and shot Iovara an affectionate, wordless look, that clearly said ‘what can you do?’, before following her down the stone path. Iovara watched the empty space for a while, contemplating what had just happened, before letting her form disperse and drawing back into her adra prison once more.
“I hope you find your answers, sister.”
#Pillars of Eternity#Eothas#Iovara#The Watcher#fanfiction#tragedy#Iovara's sister#finding peace#religion#sibling love#thaos ix arkannon#hypocrisy#from everyone really#Watcher Favaen#actually talking for once#understanding
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