#perc'ahlia week

[crithaus]

#PERC'AHLIA WEEK Day 7: Free/ Random

You've all seen an old old draft of this with completely different composition a ways back on my blog and this lovely week with it's lovely server inspired me to actually finish it

So behold, the newest edition to the Royal House of Whitestone, the brand new Lady of the house, Lady Vex'ahlia De Rolo. De Rolo!! When Yennen finishes up the words and they have their kiss under the Sun Tree (scaled down for size for my own survival) Vex casts aside her old name and hand in hand they become devoted husband and devoted wife, pulling each other back from the brink and all that jazz, and enjoying this secret marriage snatched from the jaws of the world ending (again). I tried to make it a little less busy than Dalen's Closet and I failed BUT y'know....idk but it's cute so

Now, at this point she isn't technically pelor's champion but I cannot help myself and they're under the sun tree damnit so her future championship is manifesting already, and yea that's all folks, perc'ahlia week was a blast and next year I'll be on time for it so yea yea yea tell me your thoughts in the tags, reblog this and tag i beg you its the only thing that keeps me going artistically, look at what I can bring when you give me attention 😉

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Perc'ahlia Week: Free/Random

we did it folks! thanks to everyone who participated in @percahliaweek, esp the good folks who organized this whole thing! it's been so much fun to explore these prompts! here's hoping i stick the landing.

Percival de Rolo III wakes up on his last day knowing that he will not see another dawn. It hardly scares him; if anything, his aching joints have been screaming for rest for ages now, each one creaking and stiff like an unwound clock. He doesn't know where the certainty comes from, only that it doesn't feel macabre or fatalistic. He is going to die today. Better get a move on.

He doesn't begrudge Vex'ahlia's stubborn insistence that he's fine. He doesn't begrudge Vex'ahlia's stubborn anything. He lets her perform her morning ritual as usual, lies still as she grips one of his hands in both of hers and pours into him every ounce of magic she has for the day. The healing doesn't work, because he is not injured, merely human. Still, he smiles and thanks her, and they both pretend that it made things better.

Over breakfast in bed (all of his breakfasts are in bed these days, as are all of his other meals, and in fact the vast majority of his time), he quietly asks her to gather their family. She freezes, her forkful of eggs halfway up to her mouth. His vision is not what it used to be, but she is so beautiful, the golden rays of Pelor's dawn sparkling in her hair, now more silver than brown. She has always glittered, something beautiful and wild, a dragon who made a hoard of his heart.

She sets her fork down. She does not look at him. She asks if he's sure. He says that he is. She believes him, because after seven decades, she knows he is not a liar. It is a feat, the way she schools her expression into something that doesn't shatter his heart in two. She smiles and kisses his cheek. "Of course, darling."

They come, because for the past year or so, they have been preparing themselves for this very thing. Keyleth is called first, and she takes it upon herself to gather the most far-flung. Percy misses most of their arrivals; his energy wanes quickly after breakfast, and he passes in and out of sleep until a pair of lips on his cheek stir him back to consciousness. "Hi, Grandpa."

Vesper's eldest, Whitney, helps him into a sitting position. He feels each and every one of his bones as he moves. Beside her, her husband, an elven man Percy remembers not trusting for years, holds their infant son. Whitney's eyes are red and swollen. "Mimi says you...wanted everyone here."

Percy lets out a coughing laugh; gods above, they're great-grandparents now, and Vex still hates being called grandma. "I don't think I have many goodbyes left in me, dear. Better to get them all out while I can."

She sniffs. "Can't...can't Aunt Kiki do something?"

Slowly, he reaches over to pat her hand where it rests on the bedspread. "Keyleth has done more for me than any man deserves, as has your grandmother, as has Pike. I have seen my share of sunsets and sunrises, Whitney. Time for...better eyes than mine to take a look."

Just then, the door to the master suite opens, and more de Rolos come spilling in like light through an open window. Wolfe is first, one arm around Gwen, clearly keeping her upright; Danny follows, his aunt Cassandra hobbling beside him, leaning heavily on his arm. Danny's followed by his son, Shaun, and Shaun's very pregnant partner, whose name Percy can't remember. It's disorienting, but not the first time Percy's memory has failed him. Once he had the sharpest mind in Whitestone, keen enough to make the inventions that set his home years ahead of the rest of the continent, technologically speaking, but most days now, his mind feels like a sieve, permeable, untrustworthy.

Still, he smiles as the rest of his family spills in, children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, twenty in all, not including Cass, who is given the chair right by his bedside. So many de Rolos, in a castle once entirely empty of them. Percy sees so much of the family he lost in their faces—his mother's eyes, his father's nose, Ludwig's jaw, Whitney's hair—and not for the first time, he knows what it means to be immortal in the most human way.

As they say their goodbyes, as they sniff away tears, as they promise him to do right by their family name, he knows that the legacy he has been chasing his entire life, one not stained with blood and black with smoke, has been a fool's errand. His family is not his legacy. They are people, just as he is, no more, no less. They will be great and they will be terrible and they will make mistakes and they will make the world a better place because the gods know that Percy has been far from a perfect man, but he believes he has done what he can to sow in their hearts the seeds of kindness, charity, empathy. He cannot claim them as his legacy because they are still building legacies of their own, ones that will reach far beyond his time in this realm.

He lets them kiss his cheek. He whispers his love, over and over, endless and true. He smiles and looks into each of their faces, hoping the sieve lasts long enough to carry him into whatever comes next.

.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he awakes, the only de Rolo who remains is Cass. He can't see the white stripe in her hair anymore, because it is all white now. Her eyes are a soft blue, belying her almost complete lack of vision. Percy squeezes her hand. "You still with me, Cass?"

"You're asking me?" They both grin. "I've been trying to get rid of you for years. It's about time you got out of here."

"Yes, well, you remember how Mother used to scold me for being so slow to rise in the mornings."

"That's because you'd stay up until all hours reading."

"Which is why I'm so much smarter than you."

She rolls her eyes, and the air shifts, cools into something more melancholy. "Are you so sure it's now? You seem in such high spirits for a man convinced he's going to die today."

Percy doesn't know how to explain to her the knowing, the certainty in his bones that he could count the number of words he has left. He thinks of a night when they were young, far younger than they are now, when Cass would crawl into his bed during a thunderstorm, shaking and afraid. He tries to explain it the same way he explained to that little girl that the thunder wasn't going to hurt her. "The gods have seen my hubris, my cruelty, my ego throughout the years...and they have loved me anyway. How else do you explain this?" He gestures weakly with his free hand, and he knows that she knows he's not referring to the castle and its riches. "I awoke this morning with my wife beside me in the home that we built, and I felt their calling in my chest. I am not long for this world, Cassandra." Tears slip quickly and silently down her nose. "I'm not afraid. Whatever is coming for me, good, bad, or ugly, it was worth what I experienced here, with my family. With you. I should have died with the rest of our siblings, with Mother and Father, that terrible night. I didn't. Everything after has been...a gift."

"A gift for me." She brings his hand up to her mouth, kisses his papery skin with her thin lips. "Your children and grandchildren, they've been a gift to me, too. Thank you for giving me my family back, Percival."

He smiles, and new fatigue washes over him. His eyes blink slow and long, and she pats his hand. "Rest now, brother. You still have work to do."

He wants to argue, but the sleep rushes over him, dark and warm, like smoke.

.

When Percival de Rolo III awakens for the last time, he is very much not alone. Perched on his left side is Keyleth, timeless and ethereal. The circlet and mantle of her station are gone, and for a moment, they're kids again, the entire world at their feet. Her eyes are glassy, and he has to be impressed that she hasn't started crying yet.

Standing on the foot of the bed, each holding onto a poster, are Pike and Scanlan. Like Keyleth's, neither's face belies much of the past seventy-odd years, but he can't find it in himself to be jealous of all the life they have yet to live. He thinks himself lucky to have had this, such a perfect little slice of the world, fit exactly to size for him.

Between the two of them, already a blubbering mess, is Taryon, the only person in the room who looks the way Percy feels. His liver spots match Percy's, which must drive Tary crazy. He wonders if this is harder or easier for him, given that Tary has already been grieving Lawrence these past six years or so. He hopes that Tary can be of use to Vex, though if he had to guess, he'd think Keyleth is better suited to the task.

Because she is also here, his heart, his Vex'ahlia. She sits at his right hand, where Cass had been earlier, and gently runs her fingers over the inside of his wrist. She has never been anything less the most beautiful creature he's ever seen, and not for the first time, though perhaps for the last, he thanks the gods for allowing her to be his. Well over half a century together, and he knows by the tremulous bob of her throat and the eyes that will not meet his that she is using every ounce of her formidable strength to keep herself in one piece.

"Hey, Percy." He looks back to Scanlan, whose shit-eating grin has not changed a bit in all these years. "If you finally wanted that six-way, you didn't have to say you were dying to get us here. You could have just asked."

Pike punches his shoulder, but Percy laughs. "You'd never...keep up with me...Scanlan."

"Yeah, I bet that's true." He reaches down to pat Percy's foot beneath the blankets. "You always were a better man than me."

"The bar is in hell," Pike grumbles under her breath, and Percy coughs out another laugh. They must be off-again, he guesses. Well, it was nice of them to come, regardless.

"Tary." The man in question cries twice as hard when Percy says his name. "Have I ever told you...how proud I am...of you?"

Tary brings a shaking hand up to wipe at his eyes, and Pike pats his arm reassuringly. "That's what I care about. If a guy like you could see the good in a guy like me...well, I knew I was gonna be okay."

And Tary is more than okay, Percy knows. He's done more good in the world than any of them would have thought possible the day they met him, arrogant and annoying and so very naïve. Percy is proud of him, proud of the work they've done together and apart. Someday, not too long from now, these same people will gather around Tary, usher him as gently from this world as they do for Percy now, and Percy can only hope that they sing his praises as loudly as he deserves.

Pike hops up onto the bed, her socked feet padding over so she can kneel by his elbow in front of Keyleth. She grips her holy symbol, now worn and smoothed, in one hand and rests the other over Percy's heart. "Everlight, please carry my friend into the next life with the same light and compassion he has shown me in our time together." Her voice is strong, but Percy can hear the tremble in it. "As faithful as I have been to you in my life, he has been twice as faithful to me, to his friends, to his family, to the people of Whitestone. And I think you and I both know that faith does not come quite so easily to some as it does to others." She opens one eye to grin at him, and he winks back. She closes the eye again to finish her prayer. "Let his soul rest among his ancestors, and may your benevolent light never stray from those he leaves behind."

There is a long beat of silence, and though his eyes are not what they used to be, Percy swears the mid-afternoon light streaming in from the wrought-iron windows flares just a bit brighter. Pike releases her holy symbol, leans down, and kisses his cheek. "Y'know," she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear, "for someone doomed by the narrative, you did alright for yourself, Percy."

"I couldn't...have done it without you."

The first of Pike's tears falls, and she slips back to the foot of the bed wiping at her eyes. Percy lets his head tip to the side, and Keyleth's face is as red as her hair, her own tears falling fast and loose down cheeks that don't look a day over thirty. "Hey."

"Hey." She sniffs, taking his hand in both of hers. "I know...I have a lot of goodbyes coming my way. Goodbyes I don't even know about because the hellos haven't happened yet. But you...fuck." She scrubs at her eyes with the back of her wrist. "I don't know what my life looks like without you, Percy. I don't wanna find out."

Oh, he truly does not envy her yawning years. He knows no one who deserves to have her heart broken less than Keyleth does, and yet he knows that so much heartbreak awaits her in the millennium to come. He squeezes her hand, and he prays to the Dawnfather that all of that heartbreak does not quiet her, does not harden her heart from the joys this world has to offer. Keyleth was made for sunlight, for spring flowers, for flight. The shadows will come, but they must not dull her shine.

"Keyleth, Voice of the Tempest." He attempts to gather as much authority into his weak voice as he can muster. "I charge you with not just the welfare of Zephrah, but with that of Whitestone, and of Tal'dorei as a whole. There is no one I trust more to act as steward of these people. Your wisdom, your generosity, your empathy...more than ever, you are needed to bestow your gifts upon Exandria. You know..." He smirks up at her. "We've met gods, Keyleth. And this may not be the best time to blaspheme, but they've got nothing on you."

She throws herself onto him, and it hurts, but he takes it. One last hug from his best friend, from the sister he gained after so much loss. Her tears soak into his neck, and for the first time today, his own prickle behind his eyes. He regrets all of the things he will miss, the wonderful accomplishments of his friends, his progeny, his neighbors. It is such a mortal thing, to know that the world will keep spinning in your absence, and to love and hate the spin for it. But someday, even the ageless Voice of the Tempest will rest, and if the gods know any mercy, he will see her again.

Before she pulls away, a shaking, sniffling mess, she whispers in his ear, "Tell him I still love him?"

He nods. He already knows, but Percy will tell him anyways.

As if on cue, there is a small commotion near the one open window on the far side of the chamber, and everyone turns to see a raven, too large to be natural, resting on the sill, as if it has always been there. There is a cracked sob from Percy's right, and he turns his head to see his wife covering her mouth with her hand.

Just enough time left, then.

"Come here." A small tug to her hand, and she's coming up to sit beside him, hip to hip. She brushes his thin, limp hair from his face, and he struggles to bring her hand, wrinkled and beautiful, to his lips. "What a life, eh?"

Her answering smile is watery. "The best one I could have imagined. It's the best gift you've given me."

"Well, I gave you quite a lot."

"It's my love language, darling, and you were always so fluent."

He laughs at that, and it dissolves into a cough. The raven flutters its wings in his periphery. "Let them take care of you?" His eyes cast over their friends before returning to her crumpled face. "We didn't create this wonderful life together for you to be alone when I'm gone. There are so many people who love you, Vex'ahlia de Rolo, and while I will always be the first among them, in this world or the next, I am not worried for you."

Her hair, unbraided and streaked with silver, spills onto his chest as she leans over him. "I'm not worried for you, either. I know that wherever you're going, I'll find you. I'll always find you. It's kind of my thing, after all." She sniffs loudly. "So take my heart with you, alright? I'll want it back when I get there."

"My extraordinary, incomparable wife. My heart, my judgement. My treasure, my salvation."

Crying, she kisses him, and it feels just like it did that first time, in a snow-capped wood, when they were kids and death was just another monster they could slay. He tastes the salt of her tears and the warmth of her skin and he knows every agony, every loss, every sorrow was always and will always be worth her. For the briefest moment, his heart pinches, a desperate wish to stay, but when his final kiss with his wife ends, he's smiling, because how many men can go to their deathbeds with no regrets?

He looks to his friends once more, each one a gift, a story, a legacy, and with a fading voice, says, "Vox Machina. What an honor it's been to change the world with you." His eyelids feel so heavy; he's already slept so much today. To his wife, he murmurs, "Dear, do you mind if I rest for a moment?"

"Of course, darling." She bends down to kiss his cheek. "Rest now. I'll be here."

The last things he sees are Vex's shining eyes, and across the room, a raven taking flight.

.

When Percy opens his eyes, he sees them, his friends, their heads bowed and shoulders trembling. They are circled around his deathbed, and Percy watches them mourn. It's far and away the strangest scene he's ever beheld.

"Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III."

He turns, a smile already coming to his face. Oh, the ease with which he moves! He looks down at his hands—smooth and dexterous, hands he hasn't seen in years. "Would you look at that."

The black-feathered figure in the corner of the room is masked, so Percy can't see his face, but Percy doesn't need to see the smirk to feel it. "A handsome bastard once again, I see."

"Screw you, I was always handsome."

"No arguments here." The Champion of Ravens strides closer, and Percy can't help but feel a bit intimidated. "Welcome home, brother."

And they are embracing, reunited after so many decades of grief. "Thank you," Vax murmurs, in his strange, not-quite-Vax voice. "Thank you for taking care of them."

"It was my privilege." They separate, and the two dead men look at the ones they've left behind. "We still felt your loss. Every day, we navigated the hole your absence created. Them in particular." He gestures to Vex and Keyleth, who hold hands over his body's torso as they weep. "I just hope I did enough to help them find the way."

"You did. And now it's my turn." Vax sweeps a hand back, and the door to the chamber opens, but instead of the marbled hall he's used to, Percy sees only a brilliant, blinding white light.

Percy frowns. "Is Grog in there? To be honest, I thought he'd be the first to greet me. You know how bored he gets without someone to entertain him."

"I'm afraid I don't know. I only walk to dead to their doors. I don't get to see what's inside."

For the first time today, Percy's heart well and truly breaks. "Well, just know that as long as they live—" He jerks his head toward the remaining members of Vox Machina. "—your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

"I live as long as they live."

Percy chuckles. "First the mask, now the quotes—you want to be me so bad."

"Get in the light before I throw your ass in there, Freddie."

Grinning, Percy claps him on the shoulder as he passes by, letting is strong legs and youthful knees take him toward the door. Just a step away from the frame, he stops, bathed in the warm, mysterious light. He looks back one last time at his family, wonderful and perfect and his, and murmurs, "What a nice story, indeed." And then he steps into the light.

[you-poopin]

All His Heart

Perc'ahlia Week 2024

Day 1: Courage/Heart

Percy wakes from a nightmare beside the woman he adores with everything he has.

I hope you enjoy my first Perc'ahlia Week fic of the week! So happy to be participating again this year!

[missizzy]

Perc'ahlia Week Day 4 Fic

They started practicing with each other's weapons during that first year they took off from adventuring. By then, Whitestone's rifle corps was turning from a group thrown together to prepare for a possible dragon attack to a permanent institution. Percy fought against it at first, but already accounts were trickling in of where Ripley had sold her guns and possibly even her designs, and once it became clear they could not be suppressed, he instead became determined that Whitestone would at least be the strongest with them. That might be why, one morning, he turned to Vex and sad she should probably at least learn how to shoot with the smaller gun.

After a few evening (the first of them rather embarrassing, honestly), Vex got pretty good at hitting even relatively small targets at quite a distance. But she couldn't say she liked it. It was too loud, and the smell was unpleasant, and the metal felt alien in her hands. Plus she thought if she tried to use it regularly, the jamming and breaking would drive her crazy.

Percy conceded her points when she told him all this. It also left him concerned about how himself smelled to her, but she was quick to reassure him she minded the smell less when it was faded and mixed with his general scent. She even demonstrated to him exactly how much she didn't mind his smell at all.

He did get her to still occasionally go to the range and practice with the pistol. Sometimes she ended up doing so alongside the rifle corps members, and they generally clapped and cheered her on, the baroness training alongside them. She even ended up recruiting a couple of them into the Grey Hunt part time, thought she did insist they learn the use of stealthier, more reliable weapons as well, for that.

When she first said Percy should try to learn how to use a bow, Vex meant it half as a joke. But somehow it turned serious quick, and it wasn't at all long after she found herself talking him through the use of the oldest and simplest of her bows. He struggled with it way more than Vex had with the gun; she's not sure she wouldn't have given up, honestly, had she been in his place.

But Percy was a determined son of a bitch when he wanted to be, and he persisted with it. He never got nearly as good as her, of course, but he got to be a pretty decent shot.

He even took some shots with her more magic bows, culminating with that memorable day when he (accidentally) took down a bird with Fenthras. Although when the dead bird landed on the castle, the staff was not too happy about the resulting tree. He stuck to her other bows after that.

Back in the field, they stayed with their normal weapons, the ones they knew how to win with. But from then on, they knew they could at least try to fall back on each other's, too, if need be. It also helped them read each other's moves in combat better, be more prepared for what each of them did. And sometimes, when Vex stood with her husband's gun on the range during practice, she thought she understood him better overall, and she hoped the same was true for him.

[bookish-blood]

I was looking forward to writing something or other for Perc'ahlia Week (especially since I haven't written anything for a loong time), but I've read so many posts about how bad it is when you don't get the characters right, that I don't even want to try anymore. I guess I'll just stick to reading all the new fanfiction.

[littlebosslady7]

I rewrote my entire final story because I was like what if it sucks. Now I think it does not.

PERC’AHLIA WEEK 2023

September 24th-30th 

Day 1, Sept. 24th: DAWN / TREASURE 

Day 2, Sept. 25th: DARKNESS / LEGACY

Day 3, Sept. 26th: MASK / TRINKET 

Day 4, Sept. 27th: SHOOT / REBORN

Day 5, Sept. 28th: FAIRYTALE / CLASS

Day 6, Sept. 29th: YOURS / LATER

Day 7, Sept. 30th: FREE / RANDOM*

* For the Random prompt, we suggest rolling dice for loot/encounter tables/prompt lists or online prompt generators. See what inspires you! We can compile links if you need ideas <3

A hearty welcome and thanks for your patience! 

Perc’ahlia week ‘23 is a fan-hosted event to celebrate Percy and Vex in all their smitten glory. From the depths of despair to the joys of parenthood, love certainly opened doors for them ;) The prompts are intended to be open-ended and inspiring creativity: is class a five-star event, a teaching moment, or a potential class swap AU? How about the infamous plague doctor mask, or does this remind you of them masking their feelings? The only limit is your creativity!

This event will be welcoming fans of Campaign 1 of Critical Role as well as those from The Legend of Vox Machina - we hope to foster an environment where spoilers can be avoided by either party and will request that campaign works tag themselves #cr1 spoilers so TLOVM fans can blacklist that tag. 

Why late September? Well. Friday the 29th is the anniversary of Campaign 1 Episode 69, ‘Passed Through Fire’. Or, you know, the episode where this happens:

(GIF credit @moiraineswife)

Tag any creations made for the event with #percahliaweek, or @ us here @percahliaweek, and we will reblog it. Or you can submit directly to the blog if you'd prefer!

We also have a Discord server - both to encourage eachother to work on WIPs and just hang out. You can find us HERE <3

Any questions? An FAQ should be up soon and will be linked here - for any further questions, please don’t hesitate to send in an ask!

[nomidreams]

i was so sad today and now im crying

[burr-ell]

show me yours and i'll show you mine, meet me in the woods tonight

↠ perc'ahlia week day 4: scars/tomb

[kalolasart]

Perc'ahlia week Day 1 prompt Courage

@percahliaweek

[etoilesdeglace]

“Ugh, I’m as cold as a corpse”

[aq2003]

day 1 of perc'ahlia week: dawn/treasure

(c3 era!)

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Perc'ahlia Week Day 2: Darkness/Legacy

day 2 of @percahliaweek! ngl this one got away from me. also available on ao3!

BOOM.

Percy jolts upright, eyes straining in the darkness. Only by the sliver of moonlight peering through the heavy drapes is he able to see Vex beside him, shoving herself up from her own pillow. "Was that—"

"A gunshot." Saying the word out loud kicks something inside Percy into gear, and he twists around to fumble for his glasses on the nightstand.

"Oh gods." Vex throws back the covers. "The kids."

They hurl themselves out of bed, hurtle toward the door, Vex pausing only to snatch her dressing gown from where she'd hung it on one of the bed's posters. Still, she's faster than he is, doesn't have the aging knees that he has. Without discussing it, they split up once they reach the wing of the castle that houses the children's bedrooms. Percy gets to Danny's room first, and when he creaks the door open, the low lights from the hall sconces light up the riot of curls on his pillow. He closes the door just in time for the one next door to open.

"Dad?" Vesper rubs at her eyes, her hair braided over one shoulder exactly the way her mother taught her.

"Go back into your room."

"Did I hear a gunshot?"

Before Percy can answer, Vex is there, her face drawn. "Gwen's fine, but the twins' rooms are empty."

The shadows pull long as her words settle onto his shoulders like a mantle. The twins are gone. There was a gunshot. Percy can feel each and every heartbeat in his throat. Vesper's face is pale as her hair. Percy tries to regulate the tremble in his hand as he grips onto his eldest's shoulder, but he's sure she can feel it when he says, "Please stay here and keep an eye on them." He watches the resolve harden in her eye, her spine every inch her mother's. She nods.

They can hear them now, the roused guards within and without, but they simply cannot wait. Percy and Vex tear back to their bedroom, each yanking on boots and grabbing the weapon that, even all these years later, is never far from hand. They must pass three dozen guards before they make it to the grand foyer, where Captain Leore is waiting for them. "Lord and Lady de Rolo, scouts report the gunshot came from the Parchwood on the western edge of the castle grounds."

"Search the castle from top to bottom for the twins," Vex commands, her voice a godly echo among the marble. "They're unaccounted for. We're joining the hunt outside."

There is no argument, not when the Lady of Whitestone speaks. The captain ducks his head in a bow and is off, instructing the surrounding guards to begin the tossing of Castle Whitestone. Percy shares one more look with his wife—he is equal parts terrified and admiring, and he hopes she can tell them apart—before they shove out together onto the sprawling blue-black lawns of the castle grounds.

The moon is waning, hardly brighter than the surrounding stars, so they charge forward in inky darkness. She can see better than he can, of course, so he lets her take the lead. She's also far more intimately familiar with these woods at this point, spending so much time with the Grey Hunt as she does, so when they reach the treeline and what little light they had is swallowed wholly by the thick canopy above, he relies on the sound of her footsteps over the leaf litter to figure out where she's going.

It's torturous, this hunt, when Percy can see nothing and has no idea what he's hunting. He should have stayed inside, should be helping search for his missing children, but he knows, he knows they're not in there, the way he knows the weapon in his hand, the way he knows the woman in front of him, and so he inches forward, waiting, hoping for—

"Don't move!" Vex's sharp command is punctuated by the familiar creak of her bow being raised, and Percy whips his own pistol into the air, even though he has no clue what to aim for. There's a distant crunch of footsteps, one, then another, and then a small, "Mum?"

"Wolfe!" And then Vex is running, and Percy is lost. He tries to stumble after her, but she's too quick, too consumed with asking their son a thousand questions at once. "Are you hurt? What are you doing here? Did you hear the gunshot? Where is your sister?"

"Vex'ahlia." Percy hates that he has to ask, but he is blind.

Vex sniffs. "Right, sorry darling." There's some fumbling, and then Vex, more at home in the woods than he think she'll ever be in a castle, lifts up the small torch she's made of fallen twigs.

She's standing just a few yards away, next to Wolfe, who is dressed in dark clothes and who, Percy can see now, has blood on his hands. His stomach swoops low, a high buzz of panic in his ear. He charges forward, grabs Wolfe by the arm. "Where is your sister?"

The boy—for gods' sake, he is just a boy, a kid, scarcely out of leading strings—swallows hard, then whispers, "There was an accident." Before Percy can pass out, Wolfe continues, "Follow me."

Then he spins, breaking out of Percy's grasp—just a boy, but then, Percy is no longer young himself—and charging deeper into the Parchwood. Percy can't even look at Vex as they follow, can't see the terror in her eyes that courses through his own veins. There was an accident. Is this fate, then? An accident, one twin ripped from the other, a lifetime of absence, a limb severed—

"Le, I found them!" Wolfe crashes to the forest floor behind a massive oak, and Percy and Vex come around, hearts racing and breath short, to see their daughter slumped against the roots, her wild dark curls matted and filled with debris, both hands clutching her side. Beside her, one of the Rifle Corps' weapons glints threateningly in the light from Vex's torch.

"Holy shit!" Percy barely has the wherewithal to catch the torch that Vex launches at him as she collapses to Leona's side. He watches blood gurgle up between Leona's fingers, her face pale and expression weak. "Darling, look at me."

"Hey, Mum," Leona says with a halfhearted smile. "Funny seeing you here."

"It's alright, dear, I've got you." Vex gently pries Leona's hands away, humming apologetically when she hisses in pain, and then settles her own fingers over the wound. Within a few seconds, Vex's magic works its way into her skin, the edges stitching themselves back together.

Leona lets out a big sigh, her eyes sliding shut. "That...that helps."

Vex's arms snatch Leona up, clutching her to her chest. "You scared the shit out of us, both of you."

Wolfe starts to stammer, an apology, an explanation, Percy's not sure, but he doesn't get the chance to say anything, because Percy grabs him by the collar and shoves him mercilessly against a nearby tree. "Are you fucking proud of yourself?"

"D-Dad, I—"

Percy brings the torch close to his face, so the heat makes sweat bead along his brow, so he can see the fear and shame in his eyes. "Where did you get it?" Wolfe's completely blanched, his mouth gaping like a fish's. "Answer me!"

"I took it!"

The torch light dances as Percy's hand shakes. "Percival..." Vex's warning does little to pacify him. "And what, just decided to shoot your sister?"

"Dad, it was my fault." From behind him, Percy can hear Leona try to straighten up, but Vex fusses to press her back down. "I tried to take it from him, it's my fault we were tugging over it—"

"I just wanted to try it out, I swear I didn't mean to do anything, I was gonna put it back in the morning—"

Wolfe is fully sobbing now, and he should be. A few inches in, and there is a new de Rolo to add to the crypt beneath Castle Whitestone. A few inches in, and Wolfe lives the rest of his life knowing the exquisite agony that his mother will carry with her to her grave.

He tightens his fingers in Wolfe's shirt. He wants to explode, to set the Parchwood ablaze, to search each and every square inch of Exandria until he has recovered the last of the evil he has wrought upon this world. His daughter almost died tonight, at the hands of her brother, with one of the weapons that Percy himself built.

"This is my fault." He lets go of Wolfe, who shrinks down against the tree trunk, his dark eyes, his mother's eyes, wet and wide. "This is my legacy. Both of you." He turns to look at Leona, who's crying now as well, before looking down at the gun on the ground, so silent and still. "That too. I thought maybe I could pick and choose. If I brought enough good into this world, I could eclipse all the bad I created." He steps away from Wolfe to pick up the gun, quickly spilling all of its remaining ammunition onto the forest floor before tucking it into the pocket of his pajama trousers. "We can discuss the ways your lives will be miserable for the foreseeable future in the morning. For now..." He shoves the torch at Wolfe, who scrambles to take it. "Come on, let's get home."

He's still trembling as he and Vex lift Leona to her feet. The wound is healed, but she's still sore. She's too big for Percy to carry now, or maybe he's too old, but either way, she has to walk with one arm around each of her parents' necks, and it is a slow, limping walk back toward the castle.

Wolfe leads the way, lighting the path so Percy can see where he's going. When there's a bit of space between them, Leona turns her head to whisper, "It really was an accident, Daddy. It's no one's fault."

He offers her what smile he can, because she, too, is just a kid, and she doesn't know that she's wrong. There is so much fault, so much blame to go around, but it is late, and it can wait until later.

"Don't worry about it now, cub." He kisses her cheek. "I'm just...very happy you're okay."

"Me too."

He tightens his arm around her, feels the even in-and-out of her lungs, and prays to whichever god is listening that the lights of his life are never snuffed out by his legacy of darkness.

[you-poopin]

Perc'ahlia Week

Day 5: Free/Random

Vex and Percy's wedding reception is going very well, but their song being played makes it even better.

Title from Taylor Swift's "Mine"

@percahliaweek

[missizzy]

Perc'ahlia Week Day 6 Fic

(Note for those who have only see The Legend of Vox Machina: this starts with a moment from the show, but continues with events from the stream, so general spoilers.)

Of course, the first time I wore something of yours wasn't much like the later, more fun times. It was still romantic, I suppose, you offering your coat to me like that. But honestly, it felt much less so with the guilt you had about you at the time. It sometimes felt a little strange, that whole thing, where you couldn't forget about your part in what had happened, when I wasn't thinking much at all about who might have done what wrong. I had so much else to think about related to the whole thing, I suppose.

But I do remember feeling very warm indeed, as I pulled your coat tight around me. Very, very warm.

It took a while, perhaps, before I got to wear something of yours again. But there was definitely a feeling that came from it happening in the treasury.

Honestly, I didn't even do it on purpose. It was just our clothes really did get tossed everywhere, and I was thinking about how we ought to get back upstairs. Even when I first realized the shirt I was pulling on was too big on me, my first thought was a perfectly mundane hope I could just keep it on, you could pull your coat over, and we could just get to the upper floors like that. Only for a moment, of course; I knew you'd never agree to that, even if noone was likely to get a close look at us on the way up.

And there you were, just looking wide-eyed at me like that. For a second, I thought we might end up being down there a good deal longer. But more than lust, I saw awe, and approval, even delight.

It drove home to me for the first time that you truly had given me Whitestone, along with yourself. Power and responsibility settled down on me, as I sat in the garb of a de Rolo and looked around that treasury, and since that day, I have never forgotten that I now hold both, in a way I never even thought I'd want, let alone get.

You were still going to insist on getting all your own clothes fully back on before we emerged, so it was still only a few moments of my wearing your shirt. That time.

There was more time on a morning when we were en route to Vesrah. When I woke up just a little bit before you, and your shirt was right there. I remember the linen settling against my skin, a little damp but I didn't mind, and the smell of you was so strong in the warm air-objectively, it wasn't even all that pleasant, but I very much liked it. It made me feel giddy, beset with a level of happiness beyond what I'd been used to for most of my life.

And that was all before you woke up, once again laid your eyes on me, and well, the awe and all those wonderful things were still there, but this time, it was the clearly the lust that rose to the surface. For both of us.

I suppose it was a little surprising how long the shirt stayed on. Since I hadn't buttoned it up, it wasn't like it was all that much in the way, though.

So that's been a thing since then. Though the shirt's more of one for warmer days; I still can't imagine going about our bedchamber-either in the castle, or my own house-in only a shirt, even one your size, during a winter morning. That's what your coat is for, obviously.

That was why I went for it, that first morning. Plucked it from where you'd hung it and wrapped it over a thick nightgown, and I even pulled stockings on. That left me warm enough to sit with Trinket and just take a few minutes together.

When you woke up, and laid eyes on me, I did see the certain spark in them. Just a spark that morning, not inclined to ignite just then. When you remarked that you liked how I looked in your coat, I was able to appreciate that comment while knowing it wasn't leading to anything, unless you counted my keeping the coat on my when I came back to the bed to take a few minutes with you next, and I might have done that anyway.

I would remember it. First, I would remember it a little on those couple of late evenings when you again draped your coat over me, though that usually mattered less then. I think the majority of the time I'm wearing one of your coats, it really is there to keep me warm, and it usually does.

But even if, usually, wearing your coat is just about warmth, there are still those times where it's instead about heat.

I don't think either of us will ever forget that first night I got back to to bedchamber before you, and had time to get myself into your coat-and only your coat. I considered adding one of your shirts to the mix, but decided to keep it simple, at least that first time. Sometimes since, it's been a good thing to put on both when I'm pulling this on colder nights, but this night wasn't quite that cold.

Besides, when you walked in, and saw me sitting there, it was absolutely delicious to feel nothing but that coat on my skin while the heat pulsed through me. Also, it allowed me to keep it on and wrap it around us both, at least as long as I could hold it in place. And once I got on top, well, it was certainly staying on then.

We even stayed tangled up with it for a minute or so after we were done, although it was too soaked in sweat to stretch that out. Long enough for me to playfully ask if I looked more powerful in the coat, to which you replied that I always looked powerful to you-and I couldn't really object to that answer, could I? But yes, you like me like this, and so for the rest of our lives, I think, I'll be borrowing a shirt or a coat occasionally.

I'm rather sorry most of my own clothes are too small for you. Most of them were very much never be your style, either, but now that I can spend a little more money on things like my hunting jackets, I do think some of them would looked splendid on you, except I doubt you could get your arms into them. Occasionally you've worn a scarf of mine, but that's not really the same thing.

But there is one other exception: my cloaks. Maybe not an article of clothing you'd be that inclined to borrow when your own is a Vestige. But you don't bother with that every time we go out into the woods together. And so came the evening you, me, and Trinket stayed out past our bedtimes and your coat got wet and had to be removed, and so as we sat beside the fire and you pressed nervously against Trinket's fur, it was I, instead, removing my outermost layer and draping it around you. You turned so pink, then, but your smile was so bright, and as the evening went on, you pulled it tighter around yourself, until you were nearly burrowed into it.

And this time, when I playfully asked how you liked the little role reversal, you just said, "I like it a very great deal, my dear. It makes me feel like I'm yours."

[shorthaltsjester]

@percahliaweek Day 4: Scars / Tomb

Perc'ahlia + An Intro to Forgiveness (and, worse, being forgiven) // Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken

[vexing-imogen]

a vexing query

@percahliaweek Courage/Heart

"So," Scanlan starts, leaning in towards Keyleth, Pike, and Zahra conspiratorially, "who do we think she meant?"

They all three look at each other and then back at him. "Huh?" Keyleth asks at the same time Pike asks, "Who?"

"Vex!" he hisses, doing a quick scan of the room to ensure that said ranger or her brother weren't within earshot. "You know, with the tree guy." He puts on his best Vex voice, "My heart is someone else's."

(They're totally impressed.)

The ladies exchange another look, this one more amused than confused. (Heh, nice rhyme, Shorthalt)

"You mean you don't know?" Pike asks, incredulous.

"It's so obvious," Keyleth agrees.

Zahra snorts, taking a swig of her drink. "I wasn't even there, and I believe I could at least hazard a guess." She leans over and whispers something to Keyleth, who nods, and then settles back in her chair, satisfied.

There are several beats of silence as Scanlan looks from person to person, waiting for one of them to put him out of his misery. Keyleth seems to be trying to hold back giggles, and Zahra's tail is lashing back and forth.

The awful truth suddenly dawns on him. "None of you are going to tell me, are you?"

Zahra and Keyleth crack up laughing while Pike draws out, "Nope," popping the P and grinning smugly.

He stares at them, aghast. "Why not?"

Keyleth shrugs. "It's more fun this way."

As he sputters, Zahra adds, "You're a smart guy, Scanlan. I'm sure you can figure it out."

Scanlan groans. "I don't know, it could be anyone!" He racks his brain, running through the very, very, very long list of everyone Vex has ever flirted with. "Jarett?"

"No," Pike says, "but that's not a terrible first guess."

He thinks for a minute. "Allura?"

"Colder," they chorus.

"Jeez, okay," he mutters. He narrows his eyes at Zahra. "Is it you?"

She hums. "Oh, I wish, but no," she says. "You are quite a bit warmer, though."

His next guess is a long shot, but, "Is it me?"

Pike barks out a laugh. "In your dreams." (Okay, fair, but she doesn't have to be so rude about it.)

A low murmur of conversation fills the room as Percy and Cassandra enter, clearly just passing through.

"Oi, Percy," he calls out, "help me out here. Who was Vex talking about when she said her heart was someone else's?"

Percy goes very pale, and then very red. "I, uh," he stutters, his voice going higher than usual. "I haven't a clue. Not a one. If you figure it out, let me know." He takes a couple of steps and then turns back. "On second thought, don't do that. I don't care to know. Never mention this to me again. Thank you."

Once the door has shut behind him, Scanlan lets out a low whistle. "Guess I'm not the only clueless one."

This sparks another round of raucous laughter from the ladies, and Scanlan accepts that he's not going to get anywhere playing their little guessing game. He knocks back the rest of his drink, bids them goodnight, and sets off through the castle to his room.

He turns a corner and comes across Grog, stretched out across the corridor, eating mayonnaise out of his jug.

"Hey there, buddy," he greets, hopping up to sit on one of Grog's feet.

"Oh, hey, Scanlan," he says, taking a drink from the tankard of ale at his side. "Feels nice to have a night to ourselves for once, doesn't it?"

"You said it," Scanlan agrees, letting his head thump against the wall. One measly night off before they're off again, chasing down some magic something-or-other through a desert. "Say," he starts, "you wouldn't happen to know who Vex meant when she said her heart belongs to someone, do you?"

"Didn't know it was some kinda big secret," Grog says through a mouthful of mayonnaise. He swallows, belches. "It's Percy, innit?"

Scanlan chuckles to himself. "Whatever you say, Grog."

(Yeah, it's nice to not be the only clueless one.)