#the layers of her almost losing vex to the raven queen to almost being a champion of her

[yashley]

So sad. Do you think I do not understand the sorrow of responsibility?

[dancerwrites]

to feel and to live

Percy, during episode 115. In memory of Vox Machina.

2.2k words, brief mentions of death and lots of angst. and perc’ahlia, because how could I not?

Hope you enjoy <3

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Percy had never considered himself an empathetic person. As a child and teen he’d been willfully ignorant of the world beyond his immediate interests, contrary to more of his outgoing siblings. Julius in particular had been the one to rush to the aid of a crying sibling and attend to anyone who required assistance, be it servant, citizen of Whitestone, or visiting noble.

Percy could remember Julius listening to concerns and putting others’ needs before his own, but as much as Johanna had tried teaching the same lessons to her second son, Percy had been too independent and secluded in his disposition, and never found the appeal in branching out… until his family was killed.

Until his family was killed and he escaped and he was forced out into a world with unknowns too numerous to count, like snowflakes piling up on the Alabaster Sierras in the height of winter. The external world became an avalanche rushing toward him and sweeping him up to be carried off amidst its chill, involuntarily thrust from one adventure to the next.

During his travels with the SHITs he’d wondered, quite often, how things would be if one of his other siblings had made it out. If Keyleth might’ve warmed up quicker to Vesper, who grew up tending the gardens with their mother, or if Scanlan would’ve appreciated Oliver’s lewd sense of humor. He found himself, on sleepless nights, questioning if Grog might’ve appreciated Julius’ melee fighting compared to Percy’s own style and, when the newly-christened “Vox Machina” split up before reconvening at Greyskull, if one of his siblings would have stuck around at all.

Later on he found himself wondering if fate would’ve carried his siblings in the same direction as himself. Then a tripped trap in a tomb and a meeting at the Raven’s Crest had him rethinking his opinions on Fate as a whole.

As his weapons spread, as they reached corners of the world farther than he had ever travelled and he hunted down the woman who, besides himself, was responsible for their existence, Percy felt an acute guilt that his weapons caused so much destruction. But he never felt sorrow for those who would be killed, only frustration and anger and fear that things would loop back around to affect those he had come to care for so deeply.

Percy had never considered himself an empathetic person, but he watched one of his brothers, not by blood but by choice, fade into shadow and he watched his beloved’s heart break as the person closest to her in all Exandria was shuttled away and he felt a wave of realization come over him. It was held back momentarily by a quip from Scanlan that had Manners wrapping the gnome in a tight cocoon of iron like the shackles Percy’d kept on his feelings and memories for as long as he could remember. It helped, for a moment.

“Percy, please,” Vex murmured, fingers clenched in a fist just barely hovering over her lips, voice trembling as her eyes darted from his face to Scanlan’s and back. “I can’t take it right now.”

Numbly he nodded and checked through Scanlan’s pockets perfunctorily. Finding nothing of interest, he called the ball back to itself and stepped back as Scanlan made a show of brushing himself off and Vex gave him a grateful nod before drifting over to Keyleth.

The sun overhead glinted from behind a cloud, and Percy glanced over, wandering to the edge of the balcony and taking a deep breath of fresh air that stung at his lungs, nearly warming him from the inside out at the sudden rush of coolness flowing through him.  

The city of Vasselheim was laid out below him, buildings smoking, but some scattered people dancing in the streets. People with homes, with lives that they’d saved – lives he’d helped save. There were larger crowds congregating in squares throughout the streets, and for a moment Percy could acutely imagine the friends gathered together and the families who’d lost members in the fight, but who lingered and laughed in the wake of it all.

The marble railing on the balcony stopped his progress forward, and Percy’s hands, calloused and rough, ran across the smooth stone, taking in its uniformity and mapping out each ridge and valley.

He took another breath, the second just as cold, and he felt it rushing through his nose and down his throat and spreading through his chest. It gave him a clarity of mind that he was altogether unfamiliar with.

Percy blinked, looking away from the streets and turning back towards his friends. The gnomes and Grog had disappeared from view, but he saw Keyleth clinging tightly to Vex, her shorter hair just barely falling past her eyes so they were blocked from his view.

He felt an ache in his chest, like the prodding of a festering wound, and the realization that had briefly hit him a minute or so prior coursed through him again. The cold air of Vasselheim caught in his throat and Percy let himself lean against the railing behind him, tears coming to his eyes that he subconsciously blamed on the biting wind. His legs suddenly felt very weak and he sat, forcing himself to breathe steadily as sorrow bloomed in his chest.

For the first time in three years, it felt like he had caught up to the world.

He couldn’t deny the memories anymore, nor the pain that pulled at his heart. He couldn’t deny the holes in him that had never fully been filled, even with the patches Vox Machina had supplied, it felt like he was suddenly melting into the chilled floor.

Percy took another breath as he felt the pain of losing his family burn hot for the first time in years, spurred on by the agony on Vex’s face as Vax had disappeared into the Raven Queen’s embrace. And Keyleth, with her transparent emotions that she couldn’t help wearing out in the open… His heart ached at the still-tangible memory of her anguish.

He had never considered himself an empathetic person, but that was the only way he could explain feeling so much for the first time in years.

The guns on his back suddenly felt very heavy, layered on with the weight of the people whose bodies they’d passed on the way to the Platinum Sanctuary. His pouches and pockets, already laden full with black powder and empty potion bottles and more letters that he’d written over the last couple nights – one to Cassandra and one to Keyleth, one to Vex and one to Vax…

He dropped his hand down to his side, momentarily considering perusing them before his fingers caught on the outline of a different piece of paper folded into his inner coat pocket. Percy paused, breath catching, but he pushed past it toward the Dragon Slayer Longsword instead, drawing it from its sheath and weighing it in his hands, thinking of the many times he’d cut others down and needed to clean the blade. How many enemies had he struck down? How many others had been struck down with swords of a similar ilk, or with duller edges that caught on the skin?

His mind drifted to Craven Edge, that devil of a weapon, and his heart clenched at the thought of how many people had fallen to Sylas’ blade.

The contract in his pocket drew his attention again, but Percy pushed it aside, trying to use the same techniques he usually did to compartmentalize his thoughts even as the walls were bowing in around him.

Who had come up with the idea of a sword, he wondered. Had they been as guilt-ridden as himself? Had they been a warrior, battle-hardened already? What had people used before swords, anyway?

Usually unanswerable questions distracted him, but usually his mind wasn’t being overwhelmed with present and past emotions and wave upon wave of sorrow and guilt and a desire to break things apart to put his family back together.

He watched the sunlight glint off of the sword in his hand, the pommel shining as he tilted it back and forth, but it couldn’t hold his attention long enough, and he soon found his hand slipping down toward the contract again.

“Ipkesh?” he asked, eyes still locked on the blade as he tapped the contract (as if the perturbance would call his attention). “Could you bring him back? Would it, that thing you gave me, bring him back?”

One beat of silence, then two.

He saw Vex’s leggings in his peripheral vision and slipped his hand back toward the sword despite knowing there was no way he could look inconspicuous.

Three beats of silence. Four. Five.

“Hmm,” he murmured, feeling like a child ignored by his parents or a tutor, a bright flash of frustration fighting against the other emotions welling up inside even as he kept his voice calm. “Nothing at all. All right.”

Vex came closer and knelt down next to him, sinking to the floor with as much grace as she always possessed.

“How are you?” she asked, voice low but direct.

It cut him to the core all too roughly, despite her gentle timbre.

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh, feeling shakier as he said the words aloud. “I think I really miss my family. I think I miss my sisters and… my parents.”

Percy almost gritted his teeth to hold back the rush of pain and tears that threatened to overcome him once again. “I think I was going to be a clockmaker once,” he said, the words coming out of nowhere as he continued verbalizing his thoughts. “I haven’t thought about that in…” He trailed off, feeling bombarded by memories, both happy and sad, from his time with his family.

“There was a moment,” he choked out after a brief moment for reflection, pulling himself back together to look up at her, eyes meeting hers, and he felt like he was shaking with the effort of all he was letting go. “Do you remember when we met?”

Her lips curl into a small, knowing smile, and her eyes follow the happy expression despite the tears still drying on her cheeks. Percy is taken aback yet again at Vex’s capacity for love and brightness in the most trying of times, but he can’t dwell on it for too long because he needs to let her know, needs to lay his secrets bare before her before he loses his nerve.

So he does. He tells her about seeing her and thinking it could only be a dream, or some hallucination preceding death or, perhaps, whatever comes afterwards. It’s as if the past few years have been under some sort of fog, even after Orthax’s grip had been cut away and cauterized like a gaping wound.

Percy is not a good man. This he knows. But the sudden weight of guilt and anxiety and – is this what empathy felt like? Realizing, somehow, that those people around you are not figments of your imagination but are real and tangible and that they feel as you do?

Gods, empathy weighed far too much. And he tried to explain to Vex his understanding, or what it used to be (he’s not sure anymore) about brokenness and why he was willing to fight with a goddess for a brief moment… It all feels so shallow in the scope of everything else.

Almost nauseous at the thoughts spinning in his head, Percy half-missed Vex’s whispered comfort as he forces out the truth that’s suddenly looming large as the Ttian still standing eerie vigil over the city.

“I am so tired of hurting people,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to hurt anyone anymore,” she replied immediately. And Vex made the words sound like he is forgiven, like he could, possibly, someday, make up for the weight of the atrocities he’s committed. Her teary eyes are radiance and her smile is mercy, sweeping him up and pulling him in.

How did he ever get so lucky?

“I love you very much,” Percy whispered, feeling like he was slowly being patched back together, carefully and by hand with neat, precise stitching.

“I love you,” she said, placing a hand over his own.

It’s enough.

-

Later that night, out in the woods, curled together underneath stars he used to try to count, Vex’s words come back to him as he holds her close, having spent enough time together that he knows where to put his arms to fit her in them perfectly.

“We’ll fill each other’s gaps. We’ll be the glue.”

There, in the forest of his home, with just the two of them against the rest of the world, as close as they’ve ever been physically, Percy can say, with full confidence, that he understands exactly how she feels. The love she holds for him and the desire to see him be more than he’s ever imagined he could be…

He finds himself swearing, beneath the sight of Pelor or the Raven Queen or whoever else might be watching, that he’ll help hold her together just as she’s done for him all these years.

Percy fell asleep as the load of others’ concerns was lifted from his shoulders, even if only for a moment. And as he drifted off, nose buried in Vex’s hair and fingers twined around hers, he found himself thinking that, for all its weight, empathy was worth it.

[dancerwrites]

Hope (the tune without words)

An edited and revised version of “Hope (is but a building block)” which I posted a few hours after the episode. I fixed a couple narrative errors, some grammatical stuff, and just some thematic elements because writing. 

Title from Emily Dickinson’s “Hope” is the thing without feathers -

“Hope is the thing without feathers /  That perches in the soul / And sings the tune without the words / And never stops at all.”

Summary:  Sometimes people leave and you can’t get them back (and sometimes that’s not the end of the story)

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal thoughts, all the spoilers, mentions of gore

[AO3]

–

Kerrek stands, breathing heavily, the glow from his hammer fading as Raishan’s body falls to the ground, limp. He blinks once, twice, his vision solidifying on Percy’s prone form, the gunslinger’s gut slashed open.

Kima walks up beside him, clearly in his periphery, and places a hand on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on the green dragon corpse before them, and she speaks carefully to the room.

“You did what had to be done. Thank you.”

His mouth mumbles something about helping Percy, bypassing his brain entirely, and Kima shakes her head, eyes downcast.

“I think he’s beyond either of our power now,” she says, before straightening and calling for Allura, leaving him to the two bodies at his feet.

Kerrek falls to his knees, paying no mind to the shouts bouncing around him.

It’s just noise now.

He prays, willing his hands to imbue Percy’s corpse with life, but the magic fails to take hold and so he does what he can. Triage – something he has far more experience with than he does the aftermath of battle.

Vex rushes over, calling for Pike, and Kerrek feels his scarred heart pushing at the seams even as he dismisses the flashes of memory from his last adventure.

Of what could have been, and what wasn’t.

Sometimes allies fall and they don’t get up.

(and sometimes you give up on them before giving them a chance)

Part of him envies Vox Machina’s steadfast belief that they will not lose one of their own, and part of him wishes he still had that.  

(a small portion of him is glad he doesn’t. being able to let go lessens the hurt, Kerr has found)

But Pike’s revivify takes hold, and Kerrek feels the invisible barrier that had kept his magic from pushing through suddenly disappear and he wills healing energy into the man below him even as Vex bursts into loud sobs, layering kisses over Percy’s cheeks and face.

When Percival’s eyes open, Kerr takes a step back to leave them a modicum of privacy.

(there are some things not meant to be shared)

Kerrek pushes down more never-quite-forgotten memories of days long past, and he surveys the rest of the party, counting heads to see that everyone is there and standing and well.

But he sees Scanlan’s pale form, clutched to Vax’s chest, and hears Grog’s shouts as if through a tunnel.

“Fix him! We’ve got all of these people with magic; you’ve all got magic spells, so fix him!”

Kerrek sees Vax’s bowed head, his lips tight and his eyes closed, and he understands. But then the rest of them start back up, and someone says “Vax, the Raven Queen – you can talk to her, right?” and there are too many memories there.  

Kerrek turns to survey the rest of the cave, his heart heavy.

He is met with the sight of dragon corpses and evil magics, the likes of which he is sure he will never be able to comprehend, and Kerrek feels a shiver down his spine as he glances back to the rest of them, who have shifted their focus to Allura, who asks them to come closer so they can teleport away.

Vox Machina, so much younger than himself and yet so much stronger than he ever was.

Kerrek had been fully prepared to face his death while fighting Raishan, but fate said otherwise. He has some other purpose, and as loathe as he is to continue living sometimes; especially when those who have died deserve it so much less than he himself does, Kerrek will fulfill that destiny.

(he’ll do what he always has done – what needs to be done)

The teleportation fails and they take what they can from the sanctum, though he finds himself caught unawares by a glyph on the floor that glows and sends a rush of pain through him, his muscles tensing and tightening and his vision whites out in a fiery haze. His ears are filled with the rush of blood that is drowned out by the screams being forced from his body despite his inability to move, until his sight clears and he sees Vax crouching over him, Scanlan’s small form still held in his arms.

Even as Allura warns them not to approach the glyph until it has faded, Kerrek finds himself gasping, the pain leaving quicker than he had anticipated.

He’s suffered worse, and all that matters is it’s still not sufficient penance.

(years and years of working and it’s never enough)

Kerrek knows they need to get out, before anything else happens. And he knows that despite the prowess of those around him, at least part of his purpose is to protect others. It always has been, and that’s not changed, regardless of who has fallen or why.

They start heading back, and he hears the laughter of the flaming skulls. He sees their familiar forms and charges forward, even as bullets, arrows, and beams of sunlight shoot past him. He takes the impact of two flaming beams of energy to his shoulder and leg, but he takes his blows at the skull that has not fallen, smashing it out of the air. He turns back to them, trying not to let his gaze linger on their faces.

“The way is clear,” he says, and he leads them back the way they had come not even an hour before.

When they emerge into the dying sunlight Kerrek takes a glance at the cave behind him and almost regrets it, with the memory it brings to the forefront of his mind, when he last departed a necromancer’s lair.

He feels a divine spark of reassurance – small, but enough to start thawing the icy coldness that had settled over him in the cave. Kerrek offers a prayer of thanks and follows the rest of them, stopping only when Allura finds a clear place to make her teleportation circle.

And then she and Kima are gone, and Kerrek is staring at the place they vanished, half-wondering if he should run through and follow them.

(he is too slow, too hesitant)

He follows Vox Machina. He listens to their certainties, their hopes, and their silence as they all continue walking away from the hill, from the death emanating off the center of the island. He listens as Keyleth shares what she saw, and he feels a renewed sinking feeling in his chest even as Percy reiterates their plan to her and she locks eyes with each of them individually, her own wide and pleading and never wanting to give up.  

(they may have won this battle with hope, but hope is not everything, and it cannot solve any problem)

And when they reach the shore, just as they begin searching around for a large enough tree, Keyleth steps up to the edge of the tide, the water lapping at the leather of her boots, her eyes scanning the horizon.

Kerrek sighs, managing to take two steps toward her before she points out to her right, hand shaking.

“They’re there! Aw, shit! I don’t know if it’s them- it looks like them, I’m sure it’s them-“

He places his hand on her shoulder and, feeling his age, the tiredness in his bones, silently begs her to give up the meaningless search.

“Oh child, wishing doesn’t make it so.”

(he knows from experience that hope is strong, but never quite strong enough to conquer the inevitable)

Sometimes you need to find the strength to move on, to grow out of the fire that passes in and around and through you. To be a leader you often have to accept the difficult truths.

“But there’s something! There’s something out there and it might be something different, but there’s something!”

“Keyleth-“ Percy tries to interject, but Vex has already taken off on her broom, speeding out over the waves set aglow by the setting sun, and Keyleth is giving her directions over their earrings.

“Good, no, a little too far to the left- That’s good, straight ahead… “

But eventually Vex flies out of range, her and the broom only a speck in the sky, and Keyleth’s breath catches in her chest once, twice, before she seems to choke and she collapses into Kerrek’s shoulder, reminiscent of the day before when she had broken down in the Cinder King’s lair.

He worries, but he holds her close and rocks her gently from side to side, trying to break the truth to her as whispered words in her ear.

(hope cannot heal broken hearts)

“Sometimes people don’t come back,” he says as the waves rush against the shore and the sun creeps lower and lower, feeling some of her tears seep through his jerkin. “Sometimes people leave and you can’t get them back.”

His mouth continues to move without his urging as he tries to comfort her, inane phrases of truths he’s learned over the years.

(her hopes are already dashed – he wants to let them fall gradually)

Still Keyleth finds it in herself to mumble Vex’s name into her earring, the optimism inside her like a fire that can’t be put out, even if only the smallest sparks remain. While Kerrek continues to murmur his reassurances, she babbles into the earring, asking for something, anything; a sign that they’re alive.

“What?!” Keyleth exclaims, sitting upright in response to some impetus that has the rest of Vox Machina gazing out over the ocean waters. “Oh thank the gods.”

And she collapses into him again, tears flowing down her cheeks in never-ceasing rivulets. Kerrek looks around, wondering what had happened, and he makes eye contact with Vax, who is standing only a few feet behind him.

“My sister said she found them; Kima and Allura,” Vax says, his chest high and his arms strong despite the weight they carried. “They’re on their way back.”

Kerrek gapes for a moment, not knowing what to make of the turn of events, but he nods and looks away from Vax’s stare, his hand coming to rest on Keyleth’s shoulder, his own words outstripped in importance in mere moments.

Sometimes people leave and you can’t get them back.

(sometimes they leave, but you won’t let them stay gone)

And when they come together and exit the portal to Whitestone, into the chill dusk air, Kerrek thinks he understands the difference between Keyleth and himself.

Kerrek has seen enough of the world to see how hope has failed, but how rising from the ashes is possible and even likely.

Keyleth (and Vox Machina) have seen enough of the world to be able to hope in everything they believe in, never letting that go until every option is exhausted, ever potential spent.

(that steadfastness hasn’t held a place in his heart for years)

He watches and prays in the deepening night, and feels his own spark of hope return to him even as darkness falls and friends hold vigil.

[dancerwrites]

Hope (is but a building block)

SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 83

Written just after the episode and not proofread because it’s fuck-all AM. Title is a work-in-progress, but I don’t give a shit.

Summary: Sometimes people leave and you can't get them back (and sometimes that's not the end of the story)

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal thoughts, all the spoilers, mentions of gore

[Edited and revised version here]

[AO3]

---

Kerrek stands, breathing heavily, the glow from his hammer fading as Raishan’s body falls to the ground, limp. He blinks once, twice, his vision solidifying on Percy’s prone form, his gut slashed open, and Kerrek falls to his knees, paying no mind to the shouts around him.

It’s noise, pointless noise now.

He prays, willing his hands to imbue Percy’s corpse with life, but the magic fails to take hold and so he does what he can. Simple triage, which is something he knows far better than battle.

Vex rushes over, calling for Pike, and Kerrek feels his already-scarred heart breaking even as he dismisses the flashes of memory from his last adventure. Of what could have been, and what wasn’t.

Sometimes allies fall and they don’t get up.

(sometimes you give up on them before giving them a chance)

Part of him envies Vox Machina’s hope, their steadfast belief that they will not lose one of their own.

Part of him wishes he still had that, but a small portion of him is glad he doesn’t.

(being able to let go makes it hurt less, Kerr has found, in his past experiences)

But Pike’s revivify takes hold, and Kerrek feels the invisible barrier that had kept his magic from taking hold suddenly disappear and he pushes life into Percival, even as Vex bursts into loud sobs, layering kisses over Percy’s cheeks and face.

(when Percival’s eyes open, Kerr takes a step back to leave them a modicum of privacy. there are some things not meant to be shared)

Kerrek pushes down more never-quite-forgotten memories of days long gone, and he surveys the rest of the party, counting heads to see that everyone is there.

He sees Scanlan’s pale face, clutched to Vax’s chest, and hears Grog’s shouts as if through a tunnel.

“Fix him! You all have magic, so FIX HIM!”

Kerrek sees Vax’s bowed head, his lips tight and his eyes closed, and he understands. But then the rest of them start back up, and someone says “Vax, you can talk to the Raven Queen, right?” and there are too many memories there, too many parallels, that Kerrek turns to survey the rest of the cave, his heart heavy.

He is met with the sight of dragon corpses and evil magics, the likes of which he is sure he will never be able to comprehend, and Kerrek feels a shiver down his spine as he turns back to the rest of them, who have shifted their focus to Allura, pleading with her to get them out.

Vox Machina, so much younger than himself and so much stronger than he ever was.

Kerrek had tried to make up for his past mistakes, and he was fully prepared to face his death with Raishan, but fate said otherwise. He has some other purpose, and as loathe as he is to continue living sometimes; especially when those who have died deserve it so much less than he himself does, Kerrek will fulfill that destiny.

(he’ll continue doing what he’s done since running away. he'll do what needs to be done)

The teleportation fails and they take what they can from the sanctum, and he finds himself caught unawares by a glyph on the floor that glows and sends a rush of pain through him, his muscles tensing and tightening and his vision whites out in a fiery haze. His ears are filled with the rush of blood that is drowned out by the screams being forced from his body despite his inability to move, until his sight clears and he sees Vax crouching over him, Scanlan’s small form in his arms.

Even as Allura warns them not to approach the glyph for at least ten minutes, Kerrek finds himself gasping, the pain leaving quicker than he had thought it would.

He’s suffered worse, and it’s not important.

(they need to get out, before anything else happens. his duty has always been to keep others safe and he’s not letting that go regardless of what has changed since that fateful day all those years ago. he has grown since then, and learned that there are worse things than physical pain. it will fade; he will persevere)

So when they start heading back, he hears the laughter of the flaming skulls, sees their familiar forms and charges forward, even as beams of sunlight, bullets, and arrows shoot past him. He takes the impact of two flaming lances to his shoulder and leg, and he takes his blows at the skull that has not fallen, smashing it out of the air. He turns back to them, trying not to let his gaze linger on their confused and hurt faces.

“The way is clear,” he says, and he leads them back the way they had come.

When they emerge into the dying sunlight Kerrek takes a glance at the cave behind him and almost regrets it, with the memory it brings to the forefront of his mind, when he last fled from a necromancer’s lair.

He feels a divine rush of assurance that is small, but enough to start thawing the icy coldness that had settled over him in the necromancer’s lair. Kerrek offers a prayer of thanks and follows the rest of them, stopping only when Allura finds a clear place to make her teleportation circle.

And then she and Kima are gone, and Kerrek is staring at the place they vanished, half-wondering if he should run through and follow them.

(he is too slow, too hesitant)

He follows Vox Machina. He listens to their certainties, their hopes, and their silence as they all continue walking away from the hill, from the death emanating off the center of the island. He listens as Keyleth shares what she saw, and he feels a renewed sinking feeling in his chest even as Percy reiterates their plan to her and she locks eyes with each of them individually, her own wide and pleading and never wanting to give up.  

(they may have won this battle with hope, but hope is not everything, and it cannot solve any problem, regardless of how strong it is)

And when they reach the shore, just as they begin searching around for a large enough tree, Keyleth steps up to the edge of the tide, the water lapping at the leather of her boots, her eyes scanning the horizon.

Kerrek sighs, taking two steps toward her before she points out to her right, hand shaking.

“They’re there! Aw, shit! I don’t know if it’s them- it looks like them, I’m sure it’s them-“

He places his hand on her shoulder and, feeling his age, the tiredness in his bones, begs her to give up the meaningless search.

“Oh child, wishing doesn’t make it so.”

(he knows that. he has had more experience than them, and he knows that hope cannot break boulders or move mountains or bring friends back from the dead.)

Sometimes you need to find the strength to move on, to grow out of the fire that passes in and around and through you.

“But there’s something! There’s something out there and it might be something different, but there’s something!”

“Keyleth-“ Percy tries to interject, but Vex has already taken off on her broom, speeding out over the waves set aglow by the setting sun, and Keyleth is giving her directions over their earrings.

“Good, no, a little too far to the left-“

But eventually Vex flies out of range, her and the broom only a speck in the sky, and Keyleth’s break catches in her chest once, twice, before she seems to choke and she collapses into Kerrek’s shoulder, reminiscent of the day before when she had broken down in the Cinder King’s lair.

Hope cannot heal broken hearts, Kerrek thinks.

(he worries, but he holds her close and rocks her gently from side to side, trying to break the truth to her as whispered words in her ear)

“Sometimes people don’t come back,” he says as time draws out, feeling some of her tears seep through his jerkin. “Sometimes people leave and you can’t get them back.”

His mouth starts to move without his urging as he tries to comfort her, tries to help her understand that chance is a very fickle master to turn to.

Still Keyleth finds it in herself to mumble into her earring Vex’s name, the hope inside her like a fire that cannot be put out, and while Kerrek still murmurs his reassurances, she babbles into the earring, asking for something, anything; a sign that they’re alive.

“What?!” Keyleth exclaims, sitting upright in response to some impetus that has the rest of Vox Machina gazing out over the ocean waters. “Oh thank the gods.”

And she collapses into him again, tears flowing down her cheeks in never-ceasing rivulets. Kerrek looks around, wondering what had happened, and he makes eye contact with Vax, who is standing only a few feet behind him.

“My sister said she found them; Kima and Allura,” Vax says, his chest high and his arms strong despite the weight they carried. “They’re on their way back.”

Kerrek gapes for a moment, knowing what he heard but not what to make of it, but he nods and turns away from Vax’s stare, his hand coming to rest on Keyleth’s shoulder, his own words outstripped in importance in mere moments.

Sometimes people leave and you can’t get them back.

(sometimes they leave, but you won’t let them stay gone)

And when they come together and exit the portal to Whitestone, into the chill dusk air, Kerrek thinks he understands the difference between Keyleth and himself.

Kerrek has seen enough of the world to see how hope has failed, but how you can rise from the ashes.

Keyleth (and Vox Machina) have seen enough of the world to be able to hope in everything they believe in, never letting that go until every option is exhausted, ever potential spent.

(Kerrek wonders if he can’t use some of that steadfastness and wonders where his went in the many years since he went adventuring)

He watches and prays in the deepening night, and feels his own spark of hope return to him even as darkness falls and friends hold vigil.