#please someone save the vorb

[ravendruid]

I promise.

Spoilers for Campaign 3, Episode 65. My brain wouldn't shup up about the idea of Keyleth asking Bells Hells to save Vax from the orb, so I wrote this.

It hasn’t been that long since Orym left Zephrah for the last time, maybe a few months before he joined Bells Hells. Most things look the same, but there is a new feeling of unease and uncertainty in town. People whisper and look in the direction of the odd group, and a few children stop in awe, but no one approaches them. It’s not that Orym is unknown in town. It’s just that when once he was received with smiles and thanks for his efforts and fighting alongside the Blades to protect them and their leader, now he is regarded with sorrow and, by a small group of guards that patrol, some semblance of anger. 

The halfling’s step falters when the duo standing guard outside the Tempest’s house block the group’s entrance. He says his name, reminds them of his position and gives additional information on why he must seek an audience with her, but the guards don’t budge.

“You may enter, but they need to stay out,” One of them says.

Orym looks back at his friends. They aren’t known in Zephrah and their looks alone are enough to cause unease and distrust, either because of the old gnome with a feral look in his eyes; the faun lady whose gaze twinkles at dangling earrings and semi-hidden trinkets; the gold and green rock man with purple crystal hair, not to mention whatever the fuck is happening on his head; the Aeormaton, which by itself is already a rare sight; the half-dead woman that carries a wooden bird-house as a backpack—thank the gods Paté isn’t in view; or even Imogen, who would pass as the most common of them all, but who now has purple lightning spreading from her arms to her legs (and her partially covered chest). No. Orym understands. He gives his friends an apologetic look and nods at the guards who allow him inside. 

Not many people are allowed to visit the Tempest’s personal house. An honor usually reserved for the close-knit members of town, friends and family. Orym never dwelled on what it would look like inside, but as he steps in, he takes the cozy atmosphere, the smell of a variety of plants, herbs and soil, the books strewn about, the trinkets from all her travels, and… are those children’s toys? The house itself is not too large. The kitchen and living room are one single unit, and two doors lead to what Orym assumes to be two bedrooms. Sitting on a plush couch is an older man with long grey hair and deep green eyes that he recognizes as the Tempest’s father, Korrin. Orym bows, muttering a greeting to the man, who quickly stands as he notices the halfling. Korrin waves his hand with a chuckle, dismissing the formalities. 

“I—How is she?”

Korrin’s grimace at the question makes his stomach turn. “She’s—” Korrin sighs, rubbing his face with one hand. A small tear pools in the corner of his eye. “—stubborn. She won’t let the healers do their work. She’s alive, but it’s not a pretty sight,” he warns and Orym nods. The image of Otohan slashing and cutting through the Tempest’s prone body assails him, and he can’t help but wonder if the man standing in front of him knows the entire story of what happened in Marquet.

“May I talk to her? I have some information I would like to discuss with the Tempest, but if she isn’t fully recovered, I’ll—”

Orym doesn’t finish the sentence. One of the wooden doors suddenly opens to reveal a tall woman leaning on a staff. Orym drops to his knees with a silent sob. Keyleth, the woman he swore to protect with his life, is so small in her hunched form, pale with deep red gashes all over her arms, chest, and face. Korrin was right. It isn’t a pretty sight.

“Tempest,” His eyes water at the sight. 

“Orym,” Her voice is weaker and quieter, with so much fear and insecurity.

“Keyleth, dear,” Korrin walks over and wraps an arm around his daughter. She doesn’t shoo him away. Quite the opposite, she leans into him, supporting her weight on the man. 

“I heard you say you have information,” Her voice wavers. Orym nods, finally finding the strength to rise to his feet. 

“I do, Tempest. A lot has happened. My friends…” He turns his head back to the front door. Keyleth mutters something to Korrin that Orym can’t decipher, and the man helps her sit on a soft dark green armchair, fluffing some pillows behind her back and covering her slashed legs with a blanket. He then crosses the room, opening the front door to mutter a few words with the guards, and a few moments later, the odd group fills the small room. 

“I’m sorry I’m—” Keyleth gestures vaguely to herself before waving to the different seatings around the room. “Please, find yourselves somewhere to sit. Would you all like some tea?”

One by one, Bells Hells finds somewhere to sit. Imogen and Laudna press against each other on the sofa, leaving room for Orym to sit directly in sight of the red-haired woman; Chetney and Ashton find a dining chair each and turn it to face the group while Fearne opts to sit on the floor with FCG standing next to her. Somewhere in the kitchen behind them, Korrin busies himself filling a kettle and bringing down a set of mugs from a high cabinet.

“So,” Keyleth smiles gently, taking in the odd faces with a twinkle in her eye. Bells Hells look different from the last time she had the chance to actually talk to them when she brought the group to Whitestone—even if it had been in a rush. As her eyes pass over their faces, her breath falters when she lands on Laudna, the reason for such a rushed trip. Keyleth heard about the woman’s story and how their lives had been connected. She can’t help but feel the guilt build up inside her again. If it hadn’t been for Vox Machina, Laudna could have still been alive in Whitestone and not dead twice over. 

“Miss Tempest?” The robotic voice of the yellow Aeormaton brings Keyleth back to the group in front of her as Laudna fumbles in her seat. She averts her gaze to her lap, twisting and turning her hands on her skirts. 

“I’m sorry,” Keyleth apologizes with a soft smile, unsure of what to say next. She can’t exactly voice her thoughts: your friend has a strong resemblance to my sister. Or I’m sorry I was responsible for your death. 

“You mentioned you had information?” She opts to say instead.

Orym nods, having Keyleth’s full attention on him. The halfling recounts the events since they last saw each other at the Malleus Key. He shares all information they have discovered, and once finished, Imogen takes his place in recounting the other half of the group’s events, mentioning the magic items and research they found in Ludinus’s tower in Mollaesmyr. Keyleth drinks in their words, smiling at the mention of exploding goats and fighting angels—not so much at the idea of followers of Pelor trying to take control over a village. She still remembers her days as an adventurer—has it really been thirty years? Vesper is already a grown woman, so it has to be—and hearing the younger group’s tales brings her joy.

“...and that’s when I heard it, the screaming atop the Malleus Key,” Orym finishes retelling the vision the Matron gave him, much to Keyleth’s horror. 

“No!” Keyleth stands upright, the blanket pooling at her feet. “No, he—” She starts pacing the room, followed by Korrin, whose arms are extended to grab her if she falls.

“Who is he?” Imogen asks. “We saw him briefly, we saw him come to your rescue, and then he was—”

Keyleth’s green eyes focus on her, fiery with rage but also full of sorrow.

“He’s—He was—He…” Keyleth trembles slightly as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before continuing. “He is the champion of the Matron.”

The group looks at each other and then back at the tall woman. Orym recognizes the sorrow in her eyes. He was someone very dear to her, maybe as much as Will was to him. Orym wants to ask more about the feathery figure, but he tables it for later. Instead, he offers up the rest of the information they gathered just before traveling to Zephrah, “It seems like Ludinus is on Ruidus, and possibly the only way to travel to and from Exandria is using the beacon that connects—”

Orym doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to once Keyleth nods, understanding what’s between the lines: they need Vax to stay where he is, suffering, so they can defeat the archmage. As much as it pains Orym—and Keyleth—they know it has to be this way but, at the same time, they exchange a silent look. The woman stands, supporting her weight onto her staff, and walks towards the back door. Korrin stumbles to go after her, but she waves him dismissively, beckoning Orym to walk with her instead. The halfling does so, jumping from the plush couch and running to keep up with her long legs as they walk through the soft pebbled path of her backyard, a multitude of flowers and plants greeting them.

“Orym,” Keyleth turns to face the halfling, bending slowly to sit on a stone bench underneath the canopy of trees that partially cover the path. 

“Tempest,” Orym bows slightly. Keyleth chuckles and waves a hand at him.

“Please, call me Keyleth. There is no more need for formalities between you and me.”

He nods, blushing slightly at the request. 

“I remember how brave you were years ago, when—” Keyleth trails her gaze on the halfling, swallowing hard as she remembers the attack perpetrated on her, the one that killed her best sword and his son, rendering the kind man in front of her a widow. “I—I never thanked you for that. You lost so much that day, and I—”

“Keyleth,” Orym’s voice is soft and kind, and it melts with the tears that fall down his cheeks. “You don’t have to thank me. I did what I had to do to ensure your safety, and I would do it a million times over.”

It’s Keyleth’s turn to blush and release a twinkling tear. “Still,” she whispers, afraid the wind will carry her words to undeserving ears. “You lost someone very dear to you because of me. And—”

“The champion,” Orym smiles in recognition. She nods. “You love him.”

“Until my last dying breath.”

“We will save him, I promise.” Orym places a hand in hers, focusing his look on her green eyes. “I promise Temp—Keyleth. As soon as we are done with Ludinus himself, as soon as we have a chance: we will save him. Bring him back to you.”

“No,” she lowers her head in shame. “You cannot bring him to me. He must return to Her.”

“The Matron?” Orym is confused. He doesn’t know much about the gods, but he has heard some champions of the gods walk the Material Plane, so why wouldn’t he? 

Keyleth nods, and when she speaks, her voice wavers and burns like a thousand shards cutting skin, “His place is with Her. Not with me. Never with me.”

“Key—”

“Not yet,” she interrupts him, burying her head in her hands. “Not yet. It’s too soon. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Orym places his hands on her shoulders, feeling the pain of the memory of when he saw Will again. He knows what she means. It’s not time for them to reunite, either. They still have a long path ahead and a world to save. 

“I'll save him, I promise.”