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dhwty-writes · 3 years ago

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The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom.

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak.

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?"

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar."

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

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eponymous-rose · 4 years ago

Text

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E131 (March 30, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are Liam O’Brien and Sam Riegel!

Brian points out that a lot of Caleb’s greatest fears have come to pass. Liam: “It’s funny, because he’d kind of believed for a while that those things weren’t going to happen. After a while, he got complacent.” He notes that it was extra wild because everything with Trent popped up again in the midst of that complacency. And how did it feel to be defiant toward Trent? “I think Trent successfully made Caleb question if Caleb really was in control“ at the dinner party. “I feel like anything that I do is part of his plans for me, or is that just gaslighting? I’m legitimately scared of that dude.” Sam: “Of Matt?” Liam: “Sure.” He highlights the disconnect between knowing that the M9 is mechanically powerful and could possibly defeat Trent in a dice-and-stats battle, versus fearing him in a story sense and being convinced he can do almost anything.

Sam, on Luc’s death: “That was brutal, man. Matt Mercer is a-- he hates children! Clearly. He actively sought to kill a child in the campaign in as brutal a way as possible. He hates children and wants them dead. Canon. No, but to RP, that was horrible.” He highlights that so much of Veth’s arc has been about trying to get back to her family. “We had to choose something and we thought we were making the right choice. It was all Veth’s fault, and it was pretty rotten. My heart was beating pretty fast, and I certainly didn’t want to have my son die live on the stream. I don’t know what Veth would have done. That’s the end, that’s over. It’s almost worse than when your own character would die. This is something that would also kill Veth.” After the episode was over: “just shaken. I also didn’t know what to do next! That felt like a turning-point moment for my character, weirdly so close to what we assume to be the end arc of this campaign. I texted Matt later that night and was like, that’s it, Veth’s out, I’m tapping out.”

There’s an interlude in which Sam discovers a new dream to record an episode of this show from his Peloton. Dani informs him that she will not be inviting him back.

On Astrid, Liam: “I literally don’t know what she’s doing. I know that she’s dangerous, she always was ambitious, and there’s not been a moment where Caleb let his guard down with her. He’s not trying to reestablish what they had. He cares for the both of them, for Astrid and Eodwulf. He thinks about it a lot, still. He can’t tell how much she buys into everything that she experienced and is now living as a full-grown adult. He suspects that she’s bought in and is not going to change things, because she believes in the system, as much as he’d like to peel her away. He does believe that they want what’s best for the Empire, and stopping whatever wants to come vomiting out of a hole in the frozen north is good for everyone. And they’re powerful. They’re not trustworthy, obviously. But there’s enough at stake to make it worth it. He could imagine a situation where they fight each other to the death.” He was convinced Astrid was going to stop them when they left the tower and was really shocked when she held back. Sam: “Not me! I’ve trusted Astrid since day one. She’s the greatest! I sent a letter to her, she’s very nice, I think you guys would be a nice couple. I believe every word she says.”

On having to decide on Veth deciding to go off and save the world after Luc’s death. “Like I said, I was ready to be done. And then I decided somewhere in there that that’s not very D&D. So I thought I’d leave it up to somebody else, so I asked Caduceus to decide for me, essentially. She knows she’s putting her other family in danger if she doesn’t go. It’s an impossible choice, you know?” Liam: “I love watching you grapple with it, because you’re a lovely father and love your kids.”

On the Sanatorium, Sam: “That was brutal, man. Matt lulls you into a sense of complacency. We’d forgotten that Caleb was a stone-cold killer! It had been a while since he went on a murder spree. Still got it!” Liam: “I never meant for this character to be perfect sunshine.” Brian: “You don’t say.” Liam: “He’s very not-perfect, and I think in his brain, he was going in with the impression that they needed to get in and get out as soon as possible. The place is crawling with people with magic ability, and I didn’t have faith that we wouldn’t be sussed out or something wasn’t going to blow an illusion.” Everything was about getting out of there as fast as possible.

Did the conversation with Yeza help with Veth’s decision? “First of all, every conversation with Yeza is a beautiful one. Every time she talks to Yeza, it makes her feel good. In some ways, she’s gotten to the point now where she knows Yeza’s going to be supportive, she knows he’s going to allow her to do what she wants, but maybe that’s too much. Maybe she needs to not listen to him, basically, and be like, no, you need to be selfish now, dude, you need to say ‘come home, I’m sick of you leaving’. At a certain point, being supportive can turn into being enabling.”

Cosplay of the Week: Jester in the snow! (liljerbear47, photography by kairiceleste on Instagram)

On Trent’s motivations for chasing Caleb: “I really don’t know. The simplest explanation is to just hammer down the nail that’s sticking up. It has crossed his mind that all high-level wizards are in danger of their own ambition and egos, so it’s occurred to him that Trent might have the same kind of ideas that Halas had in the past, and maybe Caleb was always meant to be another body to jump into. Maybe in some sick, disgusting, twisted way, he wants him to be his successor. I am thinking of the next campaign, without getting too deep in, trying to do something that is much more ride-along. Caleb is very, very specific, and I thought long and hard about all the different pieces on the chessboard for him. For campaign three, I’m looking forward to seeing what happens.”

Dani: “Do I need to be keeping lore on your fucking ads?”

On the cursed dagger: “It was a tricky one, because in campaign one, one of the characters was under the influence of a cursed weapon, but it interacted with him and he knew what it was and what it did. And it affected his gameplay as a character. For me, Veth didn’t know what it was, ever. I as a player knew what it was doing, but Veth didn’t know at all. So it was kind of like my dirty, dark secret for many months. I knew this thing was coming perilously close to killing me, but my character didn’t know enough to bring it up to her friends. Nobody ever asked! So I was like, well, I guess this thing’s just going to kill me one day, and it’s kind of going to be a surprise.” Liam: “Sam, you love danger and self-destruction so much, you might as well be Mollymauk.”

On the fight in Yasha’s sequence, Sam: “You gotta put a character in your storm giant creature. It was so fun! It was so great of Matt to involve us in this encounter. It would’ve been fun just to watch, because Matt would have made it amazing and Ashley was sweating bullets, which is always fun to watch.” Sam notes he felt guilty, but Liam was going for the kill. Liam: “Matt’s gotta be careful about giving me that kind of story beat. I do not fucking care, I just fucking flip, I’m like, well, I’m going to destroy you, and I have no qualms about it. It’s too much fun!”

The Beau/Yasha tower date was in part inspired by not being able to give gifts as easily this last year. “This thing that we do together is a gift, but I love finding these moments, like the book for Jester and the tower for Yasha and for Beau. I really just wanted to give both of them a little magic for a night. I wanted them to leave this-- we’re trying to be as entertaining as possible, but shit is having an effect on all of us too, and I wanted them to have an escape, a great place to escape to.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot, plus Marion, Yeza, and Luc! (vocaz on Twitter)

On choosing Essek over Trent, Liam: “It would have been so interesting and awful and great! Essek and Astrid and Eodwulf are everything that Bren used to be attracted to that are terrible for him. Essek, hopefully he can with time find a way out of the hole that he dug himself into, but it was only two months ago where he was found out and his ambitions came crashing down around him. Long-term, I have high hopes for him, but I think it’s going to be hard.” In contrast, Astrid and Eodwulf are still “deep in the shit. It would have been really hard to navigate, but fun to play at the table. We made the right choice with what we went with. Essek’s just getting started, and Caleb doesn’t trust him entirely, because he was burned so hard not too long ago. He’s still more trustworthy than the other three. So it’s the better choice. While Caleb has all these ties on the other side, they’re really fucking dangerous. So if you have to choose, you choose Essek. But fuck that die.” Sam: “Veth, much like Sam Riegel, makes instant decisions about whether to trust someone or not and sticks to it forever. Astrid, 100% trust. Eodwulf, 100% distrust. Essek, completely distrust. I still don’t think he’s a good guy. Ikithon? Trust. 100%. Because you know where he’s coming forward, you know what he wants. I still want him dead, but I trust him.”

On Veth’s post-adventuring plans: “Veth is probably still too in it right now to think about what comes next. I, Sam Riegel, have a good idea of what I want Veth to do post-campaign.” Brian: “Maybe you shouldn’t tell us. Save it for the show!” Sam: “All she knows is she can’t do this anymore. It’s very unhealthy to be battle-wounded every other day. It’s fun for a while, but college has to end at some point, and she’s gotta go home.”

On Frumpkin changing appearance and returning to the Feywild: “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but the way it feels now for Caleb is that he feels too enmeshed in everything that has happened, and too much good has happened, and too much needs to happened, that that really narcissistic, selfish goal has the risk of harming everything else, which is more important. And that’s how he looks at it now. So he’s gearing towards letting everything from the beginning of the campaign, and where he started, go, and trying to figure out what use he’s going to be now and what he’s going to do if they’re not all dead. If Matt throws that shit down, I don’t know what I will do, I think about it a lot. But turning Frumpkin white and saying you’re free either way is him preparing to let go of everything he’s been holding on to for a really long time. He’s addicted to that idea that he can fix himself, and we’ll see if that hard choice gets presented, what he might do. But where he stands now, he doesn’t think that’s going to be reality, and he sees a way that he can be of use that he never really anticipated before, so he’s slowly shifting gears towards living with the pain he was trying to remove.”

On the last request scene and confidence heading into Aeor, Sam: “I feel like that’s a good request. I think all of us realized that if we die, that probably bodes badly for the world. I feel like all of us are at a point now as characters and as friends, that the first order of business would be to take care of everybody else’s shit, although we probably have different ideas of how to do that.” Liam: “I want the Empire to be healed, Caleb has all these memories of his parents and what they wanted for the world, and he wants that too. It’s clearly not in place now, the system needs to be broken and replaced. That could be a part of Caleb’s sunset. I don’t want Caleb to die, so maybe he can work on that after. As everything starts to shake out and we start heading towards our destiny, Caleb’s just free-floating. He’s not even going after the same thing he started for. So he’s looking at Veth’s family, and Luc specifically, and seeing that’s me, that’s a little boy in the Empire.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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professor-rye · 3 years ago

Text

For Inside There Is Love

Veth was the first person to see Caleb’s room, other than Caleb himself of course.

It’s not like he was trying to hide it. After all, he made their rooms attached to each other by the lab on purpose right? Conjoined, to some degree. Veth assumed it was like that for a reason. Perhaps a subtle cry for connection?

Regardless, when she slowly snuck into his room while he was still downstairs in the library, curiosity burning to see what he had created for himself, she found her heart breaking just a bit.

It was empty. Blank. Completely devoid of all of the love and devotion that he had filled every other room with. Sure, there was furniture there, and Veth could recognize that the rustic zemnian style was probably somewhat homely to the wizard, but beyond that…

It was apparent what Caleb’s room said about himself.

The Tower was a love letter to all of his friends. And regardless of all her best efforts… Caleb did not love himself.

Veth stood in the dark room, heart aching for her friend for far too long before she very quietly left, closing the door behind her.

She couldn’t let this stand. She had to do something. ***

Jester was the second person to see Caleb’s room. She brought the adorable looking children’s book to Caleb to request the spell that would let her read it, but instead, Caleb offered to read it to her, which was just so very sweet.

And then, he led her into his room, which was blank and boring and empty. She didn’t understand at first. Everyone else’s rooms were so cool! So she told him plainly just how boring it was.

“Well, that took a lot of effort for you all, so no time for me,” he muttered, looking down at the book in his hand. Jester only had a moment to consider what he was saying and the terrible realization that followed, when Caleb continued hastily. “Okay, so this is meant for children.”

Jester nodded her head slowly in acknowledgment, letting Caleb pull the topic away from his room and to the book she had brought. Still, her heart was sad as she listened to him begin to read, his accent dancing over the words beautifully.

When she left that night, her thoughts were on the soft way Caleb read to her, and a forest full of dancing cats. However, the next morning dawned, and as she looked around her own room, so full of love and careful detail, she couldn’t help but remember the empty, bare walls of Caleb’s own suite.

She glanced over at her window, recreating the view from her childhood bedroom, but in beautiful stained glass. Her heart ached as she remembered that Caleb hadn’t even put a stained glass window over his fireplace, the way he had for everyone else.

Literally everyone had a stained glass window. But he didn’t…

“Welp!” Jester said to herself as she sat up in bed, “I guess it’s time to change that!” ***

It was hard trying to figure out exactly when to sneak into Caleb’s room. Jester had no idea how long he would be distracted down in the library, and painting took some time, especially if she wanted it to look good. Fortunately, stained glass was a bit easier to manage quickly, but still…

She set up her paints on the mantle of the fireplace and got to work, moving quickly based on a sketch that she had drawn earlier that day. There was only so much she could do, painting on solid wall as opposed to glass, but she made a point to add fake glowing motes of light to give it as close to a glass effect as she could.

She was still scrambling to paint when suddenly, she heard a door slowly open to her right. She froze, turning towards the sound like a cat caught in the food pantry, an excuse already on her lips.

But it wasn’t Caleb. It was Veth.

Veth was sneaking into the suite from the door to the laboratory, a large, plush blanket of vibrant colors and shapes draped over her arm. She froze just as Jester did, watching her for a split second before both women lifted their hands to point at the other.

“What are you doing here?!”

“Why are you in Caleb’s room?!”

They both babbled in tandem at each other for a moment before Jester couldn’t help but laugh. She had asked, but she could tell from the look on Veth’s face and the blanket in her arms exactly why she was here. And with her nearly completed stained glass painting in front of her, she knew that Veth knew what was going on as well.

“Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one at least,” Veth said with a wry smile. Jester stepped down from the fireplace, paintbrush still in hand to look at the blanket that Veth had brought. “It’s from Luc’s room. I’m going to put it on his bed.”

“Oooh, that's a really good idea!” Jester gasped. “I have a whole bunch of extra pillows in my room that I can bring too!”

“Well, it looks like you’ve got a really good idea yourself anyway,” Veth said appreciatively, pointing at the half finished painting. Jester had considered a lot of options, when she had been sketching out how she wanted it to look, but in the end, she had opted for simple but direct.

She was rather proud of it.

“Thank you,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “Wanna help?”

“Hell yeah I want to help!” Read more on AO3

#Critical role #Critical role fan fiction #critical role fan fic #cr fan fiction #cr fan fic #caleb widogast #Widogast's Nascent Nein-Sided Tower #found family #recovery #guerrilla style interior decorating #self-loathing Caleb Widogast #The Mighty Nein

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omniscientwreck · 3 years ago

Note

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

----------

The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

----------

The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #caduceus clay #critical role #the mighty nein #cr fanfic #critical role fanfiction #tm9 #my writing #omni writes #my fic #a little worried this is ooc for Cad but also I think he's just treating them like he'd treat his siblings #eventually you just gotta push people in the direction they're heading

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dawl-and-dapple · 3 years ago

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rating: general word count: 1443

Essek and Jester being sweet, based on the non-sexual intimacy prompt 'escorting the other to a doctor/ therapist appointment' given by @mllekurtz

***

Can you drive me to the dentist next week pretty please?

It’s been almost a year since Essek had first been asked to give one of his friends a lift. The requests had slowed somewhat since Caleb finally got himself his own car two months ago, but he is not yet necessarily free from this particular duty. Now he receives a text asking to be driven out of town most often when Caleb is occupied with work, sick, or inebriated.

These texts used to make him wince. After some time they made him smile. These days, they tend to catch him a little off-guard.

Is Caleb not available? he responds.

No, Jester texts back, he’s got an appointment too. Are you gonna be busy?

No, I will be available. I’ll drive you.

Thank you!! I’ll meet you outside the school like usual!! Love you so much!!!!

Essek puts away his phone. He remembers where Jester’s dentist is from the last time she had him drive there. There’s a nice café two blocks away where he could wait out her appointment, reading and enjoying a cup of tea, before driving her home again. He puts his mind to picking out which book to bring.

Five days later, when Essek arrives in the small car park across from the art college, he’s twenty minutes early. He occupies himself by methodically checking his emails, texts, then social media.

Caleb has sent him a photo of Frumpkin playing with his television’s cables. Essek asks if he’s forgotten about his therapy appointment. Caleb responds with a photo taken through a windscreen of a city road, blocked with traffic as far as the eye can see, and a text reading, I wish I had.

Someone knocks on Essek’s window.

“Hey!” Jester’s nose presses up against the glass. “You got here early,” she says, muffled. “You should have let me know.”

“I am not going to encourage you to leave class early, Jester.” He opens the passenger door.

“Boo.” Jester flops into the seat and begins buckling herself in as Essek starts the engine. “We could have hung out a little! We’ve all been so busy since the summer and I miss you, you know. I wanna know how you’ve been! Do you wanna talk about work? Probably not. How about, um, how’s the new flat? I heard Caduceus helped you settle in.”

“I have been well,” Essek says as he pulls out of the car park. “You remember that miniature flower bed you helped me build on my windowsill? I have been growing a little basil plant there.”

“Oh! Have you used the leaves to make anything?”

Essek winces. Of the scant few recipes he could reliably prepare, most are from his home. He’d failed to find a Xhorhasian supermarket in the area after moving and had taken it as a strong sign to try working with what he’d been given. But his lack of experience cooking anything at all made adapting that much harder.

“The cooking part...I am working on that. I will be asking for Caduceus’ guidance again.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it,” Jester says airily while digging through the small collection of audiobooks and music discs in the door compartment. “How long have you had these? Caleb’s car doesn't even have a CD player. Oh, I bet Caleb could help!” She grins at his reflection in the internal mirror. “He can make some very tasty Zemnian meals, you know.”

“I do know. I believe I’ve eaten one or two prepared by him at a dinner party with the others.”

“You should ask him to teach you the recipes.”

“I might. What did you get up to today? Painting? Sculpting?”

Jester smirks. She answers him, goes on to talk about her current project (a ten-foot-tall collage of hundreds of vintage pinup photographs, though Essek cannot parse the meaning of it). Essek gets the distinct impression that she’s barely holding herself back from needling him more.

As they reach the edge of the city, the traffic slows. A heavy sense of doom overcomes Essek, while Jester flips through the radio channels.

Someone behind Essek honks. He grits his teeth.

“Oh, the traffic here is pretty bad, huh.”

Essek flexes his hands around the steering wheel. “Yes, it seems so.”

Jester turns the radio off. “Do you have to be anywhere after this?”

“No,” he replies. The car comes to a dead halt. “I do not.”

Jester bounces in her seat as if she might be able to peer over the roofs of the dozens of gridlocked cars ahead of them. “Oh man,” she says. “I’d get there faster if I walked.” She goes quiet. After a heartbeat she smiles and turns towards Essek. “Hey Essek? Do you have any sexy audiobooks?”

“What?”

“Like, do you have a CD in here of someone reading a porn book out loud.”

“No, why would I have–?”

“That’s okay, I can plug my phone into the dashboard.”

“Please, Jester.”

“Okay!” She laughs, tucking her phone back into her jacket pocket. “What CDs do you have? All the titles are in Undercommon...”

“Most are audio documentaries. There are two about special relativity, one about magnetism, and one on the life of a particular astrophysicist. There’s also a rock album in there somewhere; my brother gave it to me as a joke.”

Jester snorts.

“I am very boring, aren't I?”

“No!” Jester suddenly grabs his shoulder and shoves him around in his seat, which would have worried him were they moving at any velocity at all. “You’re not! Essek, you’re very fun and interesting.”

Essek smiles as he’s shaken from side to side, keeping his eyes on the traffic jam ahead. “I am very fun and interesting,” he repeats.

She finally stops shoving at his shoulder. “I should get you some new fun CDs for your car. I don’t even know where to buy CDs these days, but I'll get you some.”

“Can you promise there will be no more than one pornographic item in this collection?” he asks, raising his brow at Jester in the mirror.

“Oh, sure.”

“Then, as they say, go wild.”

“Neat. Hey! I know we’ve all been super busy lately but I bet we can do, like, a dinner party or something. Just one evening. Yasha got back into town this week and Veth says Luc has been spending most weekends at his friends’ houses so she can come over. Maybe a Saturday night?” She’s pulled out her phone already. “We can just hang out in my and Fjord’s flat for a while. Or yours!”

“I do not think I have enough space for nine.”

“But would you be free?”

He thinks. “Next weekend, yes.”

Jester pumps her fist in the air. “Awesome! I’ll text the others.”

The traffic moves ever so slightly. Essek watches the cars ahead of him like a cat watching a bird.

“Beau might be the busiest but I bet she’ll want to come. Oh, Caleb can cook something with Caduceus! One of those meals you liked.”

“Uh, maybe.”

“Maybe you can show him a recipe you know too. Try that sometime.”

“Hm.” The car in front finally budges. Essek inches forward.

“I bet he’d love that, Essek.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know you don't think you’re a good cook, but I remember that rice meal you made when I came over last spring and it was good!”

Now they’re driving again, if at no more than five mph. Essek grips the wheel.

“Make that meal, put on a good movie, wear something cute — that black top with the long sleeves I think — and it’ll be smooth sailing. Trust me, Fjord was no match for the tried and true Lavorre Technique.”

“Hm.”

“And then maybe you can finally talk to him about your big fat crush on Cay-leb.”

The car directly ahead halts. Essek swears and steps on the brake. He stares at Jester. “Pardon?”

She just grins at him.

“I was not listening. Sorry.”

“Oh that’s okay,” she croons, “But guess what…”

Essek is familiar with this tone. It doesn't scare him as much as it used to; he’s developed somewhat of a pavlovian response to her mischief in spite of his initial displeasure. As her grin widens, Essek feels a mirrored anticipatory smile spread across his face.

“You’re stuck in here with me,” she sings, waving her index fingers side-to-side with each word, “and we’re stuck in here together, and I wanna know the truth. So…” She leans forward. “Don’t you like him?”

Essek, face hot, but still smiling, reaches for the radio fast enough to fumble the air conditioning.

#cr fic #critical role fic #essek thelyss #jester lavorre #some shadowgast gossip #ficlet #critical role essek #critical role jester #critical role #modern au

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spritewrites · 3 years ago

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day 31: tickle monster

A birthday fic for the ineffable @wordstrings!! Happy birthday queen, hope it's a good one <3 Enjoy!

They’ve only been in the jungle a day when they first hear it.

It’s like some kind of slithering, squelching sound—like mud, maybe, or like something squishy moving through the plants. Caduceus hears it first, and halts them with a gesture of his staff.

“Through there,” he murmurs, flicking his ears in the direction of the noise. Fjord swallows and summons his sword. Something moves in his periphery—but it’s only Veth, ducking into a shrub to hide.

He swallows again.

They continue moving, carefully, through the brush. They’ve split the clerics, so he’s marking the back of the group with Jester, trying to follow exactly in her footsteps so as not to snap a twig or anything like that. This section of the jungle was definitely made for smaller creatures than he to make their way through—the vines twist and tangle, and more than once he has to slice his way through. He hopes the Wildmother doesn’t mind.

There’s another squelch.

They freeze. It’s closer, this time, and easy to place now that they’re listening for it. Behind them, and off to the right; probably, from the echo of the sound, not any bigger than any of them.

Beau hisses, “Keep going. We can take it if it attacks.”

“What if there’s more than one?” Jester says anxiously. None of them answer. There isn’t an answer.

“Take it as it comes,” Caleb says grimly, and they walk on.

The jungle grows thicker, and the heat is oppressive. Fjord tugs on his armor uncomfortably. Stealthing makes it unwise to speak unless it’s urgent, so he complains to himself in his head.

They haven’t even been walking that long, but the jungle is already such a tangled mess that they can hardly navigate. Who knows if they’re even going in the right direction? And besides, it’s not even a pretty jungle. The trees are twisted, and some seem marred by a fire that must have torn through once upon a time. And the vines are everywhere, trying to trap every limb that moves more than an inch. Plus, there’s something… itchy about the vines that are brushing by his side. And they’re a little thicker than the ones they’d been walking through earlier.

Fjord stops dead in his tracks.

Something is worming its way up under his armor.

He screams, hands flying to the point of contact (low on his left flank, by his hip) and nearly falls over into a clump of vines in his surprise. He hears the rest of the group stop, start shouting his name (as well as a colorful variety of curses), but he can’t focus on that.

Squishy, creeping mush is sliding between the plates of metal, not entirely unlike Frumpkin’s octopus form, unhindered by the width of the space it’s squirming into. Fjord is torn between the urge to gag or to scream again.

He tries both.

The creature doesn’t seem impressed. It’s not… wet, exactly, nor is it slimy— the sensation against his skin is more than of a frog, perhaps, or some other amphibian. It’s unpleasant, and Fjord has a sneaking suspicion it might be poison; it could secrete something toxic, or have little stingers. Why else would it be worming its way under his shirt? Only nefarious things do that—and Jester when she’s in a mood, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Help!” he shouts (might be more of a yelp, if he’s honest with himself), and lifts out his arms to jam the hilt of his sword into the place where he thinks the creature is. But the second he extends his arms, unbending the part of his torso that folded the second he felt the mush on his skin, there’s—there’s a poke.

He’s all adrenaline and nerves, so for a moment, it barely even registers. But then it happens again. Then again.

And it. It. It tickles.

This fuckin… thing... is tickling him.

“Are you alright, Fjord?” asks Jester, who’s suddenly at his side—where did she come from?—but he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with something wriggling and smooth moving up the bottom of his ribcage. He collapses in on himself once more, trying to control the spasm in his lungs. One arm—tentacle?—wraps over the edge of his armor, and the Nein gasp.

“It’s like a squid or something,” he hears Beau say. Close enough.

“He’s—he’s on my—” Fjord crumples, choking. “He’s got my—”

With a squirm that feels almost intentionally mischievous, the poking works its way into his underarm, and he can’t, he really can’t—

He gives, as much as he can to something like this, legs folding til he’s just a heap on the ground, shaking with held laughter. It’s embarrassing, is the thing—and it’s just his friends, and it’s just a little octopus monster, he’s probably not in any real danger—but the idea of being taken down by some kind of fuckin’ tickle monster in the middle of the jungle is just a little more than he’d like to explain today.

“Help,” he hisses. Beau grabs him by the shoulder.

“What the fuck, Fjord—”

Through his struggle, he hears the telltale sound of Caleb prepping a Fireball, but then Jester’s frantic voice: “You’re gonna hit Fjord!”

At this point, Fjord would take any help he could get. He tries to brace himself on one arm, but a tentacle wraps around his ribs and squeezes. It fucking tickles, more than anything like that should, electric and fidgety and unbearable, and he cant help it—he bursts into giggles.

“Hhhelp,” he wheezes, “can’t take it—”

“What the fuck,” Beau repeats. The others are talking too, probably, and he feels some kind of spell hit him. Oh, healing, that’s Caduceus. How thoughtful. But… it’s not hurting him, it’s—it’s—

“He’s tickl—fuck, he’s tickling, I—I can’t—”

“Tickling?” That’s Jester. He’s fucked.

He tries to reach for the clasps of his armor, hoping to give one of them with more mental capacity than him access to the creature inside his clothes. It’s tricky, to fight the instinct to just curl into a ball and shriek with laughter. If he can just expose it, they can—who knows, stun it or kill it or—

One probing arm worms its way over his belly, and he’s fucking done for. With a squeal that probably scares away every living creature within a mile, he crumples, squeezing the creature close to his torso and crying with laughter. Half-formed words spill from his lips, but they’re no better than babbling for all the language he manages.

Gods above, he’s going to have to start making death saving throws if this keeps up.

There are hands, too, on the outside of his armor (whose, he couldn’t say), that are groping around, trying to snag the creature, but it’s slippery. The tendrils on his belly poke, squeeze, and knead, even as his ribs and underarms and even neck remain well within tickling range of this monstrous bastard. Fjord’s taken a good tickling in his time, but this is something else, otherworldly—and it can’t understand him, or won’t. It won’t stop when he begs, when he cries, when he can’t breathe—and if his friends can’t—if they can’t—

A panic starts to set in, gripping and cold, and just when he sputters out “Ssave mehehe,” there’s a powerful yank on his stomach and the sensation vanishes.

“Got it!” Yasha. Bless Yasha.

Fjord gets an elbow under him, finally, but it gives immediately. He slumps back down on the forest floor, breathing hard. Gods. Fuck.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Caduceus soothes, rubbing a large hand over the back of his armor. Probably checking for wounds, in all honesty, but it feels like comfort and that’s what really matters.

He glances up. Yasha’s holding the creature at arms length (smaller than he thought, which is strange), and Caleb’s sending bolt after bolt of fire at it until it’s a charred mess. Good riddance.

A phantom tickle shivers across his stomach, and he winces, rubbing at the skin. He can see Beau holding back a grin—and probably a dozen teasing comments—out of the corner of his eye, but Yasha or somebody must have said something to her because she’s holding her tongue.

Fjord groans, holding his aching abs. “Fuckin feel like I just ran to Port Damali and back.”

“You look like it,” Veth says. “What the fuck happened?”

“Dunno. It got up under my armor.”

“And tickled you,” Jester says pointedly. Fjord feels his face grow hot.

“Yes, that.”

“Then we should be careful as we continue.” Caleb’s making his way back over to the group, buckling up his spell component bag. “There are other threats in this jungle besides the kind that will bite and tear.”

Caduceus nods in agreement, helping Fjord to his feet. All things considered, the recovery isn’t bad; the exhaustion is really the worst part of it. And the feeling like every tickle in the world will converge on him if he moves his elbows even an inch away from his ribcage.

“You alright?” Caduceus asks him, wiping a bit of jungle sludge from his hair. Fjord nods numbly.

“Well,” says Jester cheerfully, “at least it didn’t do something you don’t like.”

Well. A little uncalled for, given the amount of other humiliations he’s faced today, but. Not untrue.

“Come on,” he says brusquely, summoning his sword back to his hand and pointedly ignoring the questioning looks of the group. “Long ways to go before we rest.”

“Let’s hope you last that long, giggles,” Beau snorts, giving him a shove and taking off into the trees.

Fjord sighs. Long ways indeed.

#tickletober2021 #samstickletober2021 #critickle role

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salamoonder · 4 years ago

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Alright, so here’s the thing. At this point, I actually don’t care what Artagan has or hasn’t done and, morally, what that means. It’s irrelevant. Interesting, but irrelevant. What I want to talk about is what the Nein, excluding Jester, know about him, and what they do with this information, and how they cast judgment.

Here are things that the nein have actually seen: fleeting glimpses of a figure in a green cloak. one conversation with a giant archfey who has recruited jester’s help in planning a convention. further, fleeting glimpses. very very brief phrases.

Here are things that the nein have heard about him from jester: he’s pretty cool, you guys :) . he’s got a chaotic streak, like her. he helps her pull off pranks. he’s always shown up for her. he’s handsome. he taught her magic. he kept her company when her mom was busy. he is her first friend. he is her best friend. he is her oldest friend. she really loves him.

and yes, they know he misrepresented himself to jester for years. they know he sent them to an island where you lose your memory every night. they know that he is sketchy as fuck and they do not know if he means what he says. and that is reasonable and understandable and fair.

here is something that i don’t know if you guys know about abusers, regardless of if artagan is one or not. (and he’s not. i’m not even going to say i don’t think he is, he literally is not abusive. words mean something; stop throwing them around because you personally don’t like someone.) you cannot tell their victims that they are abusive or awful or manipulative or horrible, and expect that to help. that makes it worse. the same is true of cults. you cannot, and i mean CANNOT, make yourself hostile, because then the outside world is hostile, and the abuser is safe. the outside world is hostile, and the cult is safe. furthermore you’re reinforcing what every abuser and what every cult plants in their victim’s heads--i’m the only one who would put up with you. i’m the only one who really loves you. everyone else will be cruel to me, but i’m the only thing you have. even if the nein had reason to suspect that the traveler was straight up abusing jester instead of just weird and shady, that is not a good response.

no matter how bad artagan is or isn’t, fjord, caduceus, and beau are still being condescending. they are still failing to trust that jester knows what she’s talking about. they are still trying to coddle her, they are still treating her like a child, and i want to talk about that. i want y’all to see that they’re still treating her like she’s emotionally fragile. like individually, i want to talk about that, and also the fact that everyone seems to want to lump caleb into this. (and yasha?? yasha has barely said anything about him, y’all.)

i’m going to skim over caduceus a bit because i don’t think his is a jester-centric problem. he tends to just trust that he either has the correct answers to a situation, or that even if he doesn’t know what’s correct, he knows what isn’t. this arc has been very interesting, because it’s been a lot of “i’ll play along with this because it sounds intriguing, but i’m going to be very self righteous about it the whole time.” like. the “we’re good” when jester brought up transferring followers to melora is haunting me. why “we’re good”? i get cad’s philosophy that not everyone is going to flock to one god--that’s fine, that makes sense. but the implication of “we’re good” really makes it sound like “mmm no thanks, none of these people would end up in my cool and correct religion anyway.” because he doesn’t know! he doesn’t know if any of these people would actually be happier and better off with melora. or. maybe he does know, or has decided, that they wouldn’t be, because these are not the kind of people that he could see himself falling under the same moral umbrella as. (lmao love how i said i was going to skim. anyway. again, less a jester thing, more a “cad is smug about everything” thing tbh.)

let’s move to fjord. he is quite honestly making me almost more uncomfortable than beau, because he’s making statements that i don’t really actually believe. “we just don’t want you to get hurt” is all very well and good. coupling that with agreeing with beau that they shouldn’t leave jester alone with artagan? without telling jester? does not jive. (i’m still not over the ridiculous of that, by the way. yeah this dude--no, this ARCHFEY, who could snap you in half in a moment--has been alone with her regularly for the first 20ish years of her life but now, now he’s going to try and kill her, and you’re going to be the one to stop that.) fjord keeps saying things like this--that he trusts her--but he doesn’t actually act like it. at one point he even says “if jester has faith in the traveler, that’s good enough for me, i suppose.” but it’s not, and he doesn’t act like it is. you know who actually acts like that? caleb. caleb’s getting his own paragraph though this is getting long as fuck. but if fjord actually meant that? he would’ve told beau “listen i know this situation is sketchy and i don’t like him anymore than you do but because i trust jester i also trust that she knows what she’s doing here, and i’ll be there to back her up with whatever she needs/wants me to do”. but he did not say that or anything like that. instead he agreed with beau to essentially be bodyguarding jester--without consulting jester about it at all. he wouldn’t have told jester “he’s generally full of shit, right?” about the traveler. jester is continually telling the group over and over again that she knows what he’s like. she knows Exactly how he can be. and the sad thing is, if fjord actually believed that she knew what she was talking about when she said that and if he believed that he could actually talk to her frankly and not that her feelings had to be protected at all costs (my skin is still crawling at “we don’t wanna ruin jester’s special day”. it’s not a five year old’s birthday party), then he would have straight up told her. he would have said “hey we’re concerned enough that he’s going to hurt you that we don’t think you should be alone with him. can we help guard against that?”

and i’ll be honest, i’ve kind of been squicked out by all the romantic posts about fjord and jester because he’s spent the last few episodes genuinely treating her like a wonderful but vulnerable child who needs to be protected from the world. when he told beau "I'm probably the least clued in as to how jester feels” i was like YEAH NO SHIT. and i know he meant it in a romantic sense but i feel that it’s true in general. like i get that he’s scared to talk to her. that’s fine. he doesn’t have to talk to her about her feelings, romantic or otherwise. but if he’s acknowledging that he does not at all know how she feels then he has no right to behave as if he does know. and again i don’t mean this in a romantic sense. i mean it in a, he is making the assumption that she can’t handle reasoned criticism of the traveler to her face, kind of sense. he and beau both are opting for “random insults, threats, and judgments they have decided apply” over “genuinely this is why we are concerned”. there has been a lot of “you don’t need him” and “you are better off without him” and “you’re better than him” and “you have us why do you need that” and those are judgement statements that are essentially meaningless. all they do is further demonstrate to jester that they don’t actually understand why she’s upset or what she actually wants.

i think caleb, mr i-eat-encyclopedias-for-breakfast, likely just has a better intellectual understanding of the fae and that may be why he’s not as outwardly concerned as the rest, but he’s also actually decided to trust jester that she knows what she’s dealing with. she has demonstrated both verbally and with her actions that even if she may not have known about artagan initially, She Knows How This Works. and he trusts that. caleb truly went “alright, i trust that you know what you’re doing, where do you need me” and that was IT. i’m not saying that he’s not allowed to be suspicious or concerned or wary of the traveler: i just don’t think he is. and i hate that people keep lumping him in with the rest of the nein “treating jester like a child” because they think he’s predatory or something--especially as caleb and fjord are pretty much the same age--when he is literally the only FUCKING person consistently asking jester how she feels and then actually acting accordingly.

and the thing is, you don’t have to be caleb and largely unconcerned, it is actually possible for you to show concern and alarm and wariness for your friend’s best friend without condescending to them and veth has been doing that this whole damn time. we know how she feels about him; she decidedly does not like him. but she set that aside to really fully listen to jester and then tried to be helpful to her in deciding what to do next, without inserting her own opinion. veth is the only one acknowledging that, sure, this looks really bad and i don’t like that guy, but you know him best, jester, and you know yourself best and so it should be your choice what to do in this situation. she reminds jester--if he is really a friend to you, and he is doing things you don’t like, then you can talk to him about that and he should listen. i want to talk about how when jester suggested that artagan join the mighty nein, there were exactly three reactions. extremely lame excuses from everyone but caleb and veth, “maybe, like, an annex--” from caleb, because he knows what everyone else is gonna say, and “we don’t like your friend” from veth, literally the only person who has apparently decided that jester can hear that without dissolving into a puddle or something.

and i want to make it clear--i don’t hate the actors. and stories are supposed to make you upset and uncomfortable, to an extent. they’re supposed to make you think. you’re not supposed to be happy when darth vader blows up alderaan. you’re not supposed to be happy when edmund betrays his siblings to the white witch. these are all excellent, excellent character choices and i applaud the cast for making them. and i don’t hate fjorester. and like yeah there have been a lot of cute moments in the last few eps. and they are cute and their story is compelling and it’s interesting. but i wish people would stop acting like fjord’s attitude towards her is perfect and lovely and that he trusts her sooo much when he is going behind her back like this. i am...the biggest widomauk shipper. and i have to admit my heart does the swoopy thing every time i rewatch the forehead kiss. but that wasn’t great. it was overall really not a good read or handle of the situation. it was, there was an attempt. and i do think fjord is trying. and i think beau is trying too. and i think all of their attitudes however terrible just come from a place of loving her and wanting to protect her. but--and here i must point frantically back at artagan--loving someone does not mean that you’re not hurting them.

#artagan #the traveler #jester lavorre #fjord #beauregard lionett #caleb widogast #veth brenatto #the mighty nein #critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #thane watches critical role #long post

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