Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

              It had been hard to get here, okay? First, Tarvis had tried to kill them. Then, Devan’s grandmother appeared and tried to kill them. Then dragons appeared and tried to kill them.

              There was even a brief moment where Devan tried to kill her. But then Dren started crying and then Devan started crying and then they started hugging. Murder doesn’t count if everyone’s crying.

              But it had been worth it! Because now they were here, some sunny island in the Ozmit, renting a cabin and spending evenings taking long walks on the beach. It was nice and quiet and remote. Sometimes, under the light of the moon, Devan would press her mouth against hers. And it was like everything in the world was quiet and still. Like their love was the only thing keeping the world moving.

              So yeah, Dren was pretty much loving her remote island get away.

              …until it got much less remote.

              First, the cabin next to them got rented. It was another lesbian couple, a red-headed half-elf named Keyleth and blonde gnome called Pike. They seemed nice and very enthusiastic to meet Devan and Dren. It was hard, sometimes, talking to new people. So much of her life had to be edited to make sure the Clasp didn’t figure out where they were. But she was pretty sure that their new neighbors were keeping things too. Once Dren asked how their garden looked so nice after they’d only been there for a week and Keyleth squeaked and ran away. Pike, left standing there, just smiled.

              But they were pretty nice! And every so often they'd be drinking tea or doing each others hair in the window and wave to Dren and Devan. Part of Dren kind of wanted to get closer to the pair. They seemed sweet. She floated the idea of giving them a haiku to Devan who just gave her a fondly exasperated look.

              Dren beamed. No one at the Clasp ever gave her haikus fond looks.

              But after the first set of neighbors, things escalated. They got more neighbors. A human who introduced herself as Allura and another halfling, Kima came to the island. Dren was pretty sure Kima was a very different sort of halfling than Dren and Devan. For starters, Kima’s biceps were twice as large as Dren and Devan’s put together. These neighbors spent less time on gardens and more time doing… other things.

              Dren and Devan would walk outside and find the new new neighbors outside together. Allura would be reading a book, turning the pages without using her hands. Kima would have a greatsword of similar height to herself and furiously swing it while screaming. Sometimes, they noticed Dren and Devan staring and waved. Most of the time, they were absorbed in reading and/or decapitating invisible enemies.

              Dren and Devan were both a little a bit afraid of the couple. Possibly more of the human than the halfling.

              Speaking of rational fear, their other neighbors were also clearly frightened of them as well. When they first ran across each other. Keyleth’s eyes went as wide as saucers, Pike started pointing, and all parties paled. Without a word, both couples very quickly went back to their respective cabins. Dren and Devan just stared out the window.

              Occasionally, they saw Kima and Pike lifting heavy things together and talking. So maybe afraid wasn’t the right word. But Dren didn’t necessarily love having fighters and mages next to her. Where were the poets, goddammit.

              But, fine, new equilibrium. Dren could adjust. Then things got ridiculous. A freaking pirate ship anchored itself off its shore. Devan grabbed her hand as they walked outside. If it was the Clasp, Devan and Dren had nowhere to run. Dren would face death bravely, clutching her lover, prepared to screw over those bastards one last time.

              Eventually, a row boat manned by a pretty dark-skinned woman and a half-elf with feathers on the bay came across shore. Jauntily, the half-elf stepped off. “Hello, lovely to meet you. I’m Vex’ahlia, I just need some shore time to let my…”

              At this point, Dren and Devan’s neighbors had stepped out and started openly staring.

              “Vex…?” Keyleth started “Why are you here? And a pirate?”

              Vex carefully put a hand on her companion's sholders, quietly leaning into her space. Oh, Dren thought Ohhhh. “Keyleth, we’re not pirates. Darlings, may I introduce you to the dashing Captain Adella. Adella, dear, this island we were going to let Trinket on apparently has some of my friends already on it. That’s Kima, Allura, Pike, and Keyleth.”

              “Oh, is Keyleth the one—”

              “Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be offended about the irate-pay thing.”

              The discussion then turned to bears (?) and dragons (??) and being really gay and avoiding responsibility (okay, that one Dren understood.) But for the most part, the conversation was incomprehensible.

              Dren? Devan messaged in her head What’s going on?

              I’m not sure. But I think we accidently founded crazy lesbian island.               

              I’m glad that I get to be on crazy lesbian island with you.

              Yeah. Me too.

Chapter Text

                Keyleth was going to do this. She was going to make this happen. Sure, it was scary. Sure, it wasn’t the most well thought of plans, but---

                “Is there something you need, dear?”

              Goddamnit she didn’t even get a chance to gather her resolve

               She turned to the voice and blinked, surprised to see an attractive tiefling woman looking at her, half amused.  “Oh, hi! I’m, uh, Keyleth, nice to meet you.”

               The woman’s smirk slowly grew into a smile “Zahra, the pleasure’s all mine.”

               “Oh! This is your store.” It had actually taken a fair amount of time for Keyleth to find it, she had somehow expected more neon on a fortune tellers sign. Instead, her storefront was topped off by a practical script-esque font in small lettering. Somehow Keyleth expected a wizened crone or a mysterious oracle, not this attractive woman staring at her in amusement. 

               “Well, it’s not much, but it is mine.”

               “I like it. The sign in the window is a nice touch.”

               Zahra looked over as if she expected the sign to be different. In the window, a handwritten “NO REFUNDS—IT’S NOT MY FAULT IF YOUR FUTURE IS SHIT” was on prominent display. “Yes, I find that honesty is sometimes the easiest path. There’s a time and a place for hearing a fake future and it’s not on my time and it’s not in my place. A friend wrote that for me though, tact isn’t his... strong suit.”

               Keyleth nodded and smiled. And continued to smile.

              “Would—Would you like to come in?” Zahra tried

               “Huh? Oh! Yes, sorry, you must think I’m an idiot”

              “Not at all” Zahra said holding open the door.

               The interior of Zahra’s store was both somehow more and less what Keyleth expected a fortune teller’s store to look like. There were no skulls and very little drapery. There were, however, lots of old books piled up on sensible dark wood furniture, surfaces littered with crystals and stones.

               The tiefling took a seat across the table. “So what is it you need? Help, I’m sure, but with what?”

               “How’d you—wait, no fortune teller, that’s a dumb question. Sorry, it’s been a stressful week. I’m actually a witch myself. And it’s been a bit stressful because of a lot of really unexpected events. I actually have a friend who practices augury? But sometimes we’re underground for long periods of time and I thought it might be helpful to have someone else know some future seeing that didn’t depend on birds. Or entrails.”

              “I’d love to help, but I’m not much of a teacher. Have you tried the college?”

              “Yeah, but we do really different types of magic. I do natural magic and the college doesn’t understand magic that doesn’t come out of a book. I understand the theory behind herbal divination, but I just need to see a fortune teller that doesn’t use a crystal ball. I can pay, I promise.”

               “There’s no need for that. I can show you some basic stuff. Well, I can try.”

               With that, Zahra got up and went to a backroom behind a curtain. Keyleth fidgeted impatiently for a few minutes before Zahra returned. Carefully, the fortune teller placed two cups on the table. One was a small silver cup filled with stones, the other a mug filled with tea.

              “You said you do nature magic, right? I’m betting herbal. I don’t know too much about that field, I know others that can predict the whims of fate by the growth patterns of thyme. My expertise revolves around rocks and the moon. I do know tea leaf reading, however.”

              Eagerly, Keyleth started gulping down the tea. A second later, she paused, muttered a quiet wind incantation and resumed drinking the now-cooler tea. When she was finished, Zahra inspected the remnants of her cup.

             “The trick to magically seeing the future” Zahra started, tucking her white hair beneath an ear “is acknowledging you’ll never really see the future. It’s too fluid, too hard to know. The trick is to have objects you know. I know every piece of chipping paint and hairline cracks in this cup. I know this cup well and this tea blend well and that’s how I know what’s happening. You’re… druidic and elemental magic, right? It’s clearer to me now. You’ll need to know your bones and plants like you know the tips of your fingers.”

               Instinctively, Keyleth turned her hand over to look at her finger tips. “What do you see?”

              “Daring adventure, lifelong friends. Lots of loss. Beware of a one-armed woman and be careful not to overlook what you don’t see.”

              Keyleth nodded. Yep, this is what she generally expected a fortune teller to be. Cryptic and unhelpful.

              Zahra detailed other fortune telling methods. A moon chart would take too long, but Zahra did tell Keyleth that her path would be air-stone-fire-water from Keyleth’s drawing of an opal, agate, amber, and aquamarine which was actually fairly constructive even if Zahra didn’t realize it.

              “Finally” Zahra began “I wouldn’t be a fortune teller worth my salt if I couldn’t read palms. It’s cliché, but surprisingly accurate.”  Keyleth couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that ran through her at Zahra’s ‘finally.’ She knew that the tiefling had a business to run, but she was just… really cool. And pretty. And interesting. That’s all. 

              Keyleth handed over her palm and Zahra began to carefully trace over it. “You see, this line tells of your strength. It’s thin, but deep. Perhaps you need more confidence in yourself.”

              “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

              Zahra ignored her, “and this line, this tells me that you’ll have good luck in your immediate future. And your love line…”

              Keyleth leaned in excited.  “…your love line says you should get dinner with me later this week.” Keyleth looked up and realized exactly what Zahra just said and exactly how close they were right now.

              The druid nodded and smiled.

Chapter Text

              Adella loves being a sailor. She loves the open sea and the freedom and her crew. There is a rhythm to it all. The waves rocking the boat in time to the sea shanties of her crew and the sun steadily creeping down the horizon, leaving her ship the whole world, expansive and uncontained. Even when it’s boring (or worse,) even when it’s exciting, she loves it. She loves it fiercely, with her whole being, and possibly more, loves it entirely.

              You know what she doesn’t love? FUCKING PIRATES.

              The second mate sees them first, a ship off in the horizon. Adella tries to recall any other ships in transit, in this part of the ocean right now. To be cautious, Adella tries to steer them off the course. The unknown ship just gets closer and closer. Her ship’s fast, but this ship is faster and Adella has a bad feeling that she knows which one it is.

              She tells the crew to get ready to fight. Technically this could all be a big misunderstanding. Technically this could be a friendly trading barge. But practically there are few ships faster than Adella’s. She knows of one for sure—her dread enemy the S.S. Greyskull staffed by the worst pirates.

              She doesn’t mean worst in the sense of atrocities. She means worst because they’re all fucking idealist idiots. They’re like the pirates out of stories, they only attack other pirate ships, ships run by assholes, and hers apparently. She swears that she heard the red-headed half elf say that the real treasure they found was friendship. Adella heard they didn’t even steal that much and while piracy is obviously awful, at least when Adella did it, she was good at it.

              The worst of the whole lot wasn’t the red-head with the druidic magic or the Goliath that foamed at the mouth.

              No, the worst was that fucking gnome.

              Her appearance belied her true nature. Sure, she looked cute, angelic even, she was a cleric of all things. But Adella would swear the gnome was devil spawn. Do you know what it feels like to be punched by divine energy? Adella knows.

              Just thinking about her sets Adella’s blood on fire.  

              She’s interrupted from her brooding by a crewmate. “Captain, we have visual. Uh you’re not gonna fucking like this.”

              She sighs, Jenkins is a good kid, steady with a sextant, but he’s a piss poor curser. What kind of sailor is bad at cursing? He only uses curses when he’s nervous she’s going to bite off his his head. “What am I not going to fucking like?”

              “It’s… It’s the Greyskull, ma’am.” He proffers meekly.

              “Fucking fuck.”

              “Yes, Ma’am.”

              Her crew did well, admirably even. They managed to stave off the pirate’s boarding for a good few minutes. Of course, Greyskull’s crew can fly. She still felt deep within her heart that this was cheating. (Adella voiced this once to the gnome cleric who just pointed out that they were pirates.)

              Adella took on the attackers, slashing her way into the fray of combat. She was the captain, that’s how it was done. Of course, when it was the Greyskull, it was different.

              It didn’t take long for the cleric to find her.

              One minute, she ways parrying a sword wielder, getting ready to strike and disarm a crossbow wielder. The next, a blur of white blue was leaping at her, wielding a mace. Thankfully, Adella’s attacker clanged so she heard the jump well enough to take a step back. But from then, it was on.

              It was an odd match up. Adella was used to fighting bastards with bottle shards and sharp elbows, mobility and maneuverability the highest priority.  The cleric was essentially a slow moving tank. (How does someone even wear plate at sea? Doesn’t it rust?) Slow and small, the gnome had surprising vertical and was capable of manifesting spiritual weapons and holy flames. Not that Adella had seen those tricks in a while, her and Adella’s fights were less back alley maneuvers and magic, and instead more personal.

              The dance started. Adella was fast with her footwork and quicker with her swords. Her strikes clashed against her armor, a few of them cutting a few strands of the cleric’s pretty hair. The cleric stood, unmoved. It became a trade, Adella desperately circling and the cleric slowly but surely pushing her back. Adella got more blows in, gave more than she got, but she realized that she was being isolated from her crew.

              They’d be fine, her crew was competent and independent. Adella also got the feeling that the Greyskull wasn’t trying to hurt them. Adella once demanded that they tell her why it was her ship they decided to harass, the other gnome just said ‘they were taking the monster for a walk’ whatever the fuck that meant.

              (the same gnome, the one that wasn’t hers, also talked about getting ‘Pike some booty.’ Adella preferred not to think about that.)

              She had bigger problems to worry about, even if they came in the form of a small woman. She had moved off the defense and started launching an offensive. Adella was good, she dodged the heavy blows and weaved around the mace strikes. With a lucky hit to the cleric’s hand and a careful application of momentum, Adella to get her attacker to drop the mace.

              The blonde grinned. Adella knew that smile. That smile did not bode well for her.

              The cleric took a running start and jumped, tackling Adella to the ground. The gnome had her pinned, knees on shoulders, heavy weight that Adella wouldn’t be able to dislodge. A few strands of hair escaped from the pirate’s bun, gently brushing Adella’s face. Victoriously, she leaned down and kissed Adella fiercely. Adella pushed up against familiar lips, the familiar tastes of sea salt and rum.

              Adella fucking hates pirates.

Chapter Text

              “Are you sent from the gods? Because you look divine”

              “I’m pretty sure you’ve already done that one, Kima.”

              “Allura, I’ve been coming here for a year. What can you expect from me?”

              Allura had to concede that point. Faithfully, Kima would walk into the library during her shift and give her a pickup line before asking to reserve a book. It was a minor miracle that the Religious Studies major had yet to run out of pickup lines or books.

              “Besides” Kima added “It’s different.”

              “Oh?”

              “I’ve used heavenly and radiant, but never divine.”

              “Are you keeping track of this?”

              Kima looked, wounded “You sound surprised.”

              “I remember the project. You wrote down the deadlines on five sheets of paper, one of which was a receipt from a hot dog stand.”

              “Did we get an A on that project?”

              “Professor Thordak—“ Kima immediately did a cross “—died during that class.”

              “And it was a hell class. Like half of our friends dropped. But did we get an A?”

              “Yes, we did.”

              “Then what’s the problem?”

              “There’s no problem, I’m just amazed you can remember all of the pickup lines.”

              “Some things are worth taking the time for” Kima said with a blink. Allura could feel the blush rising to her face.

              …Allura could see the blush on Kima’s face.

              A solid few seconds of staring was broken up with someone from behind Kima coughing pointedly. Allura jumped, she somehow didn’t see them over Kima.

              …all five feet of Kima. “Don’t make me kick you out of the stacks again!” Allura said to the departing girl.

              “That was only once!”

              Allura held up two fingers.

              “Twice!”

              “This semester.” Allura pointed out. Kima just grinned, did a little salute, and walked off.

              “I appreciate you not flirting with your girlfriend while on the job” some pretentious freshman checking out a philosophy text muttered to her.

              Allura slapped on her usual “I-have-to-interact-with-people-for-minimum-wage” smile her work-study job required before the words sank in. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

              The jerk just raised an eyebrow.

              Allura resisted the urge to reiterate the statement. Even though it was true. Kima was not her girlfriend. She was just a friend who happened to be a girl. A very attractive girl. A smart, opinionated girl who flirted with her. But not her girlfriend anywhere other than Allura’s dreams.

              Her shift went by, uneventfully. Why people thought the library was a hook-up spot, she’ll never understand. Most of her time was spent reading at the front. She was making steady progress through a dry text, a philosophy of math book translated from French, when Drake interrupted her. They exchanged pleasantries, chatted for a little while. Drake, another friend besides Kima who she made in the trial of fire that was Historical Gender Studies, was intelligent and good company. And stubborn as a mule.

              “You have to.” He pleaded

              “Have to do what?”

              “Ask Kima out. It’s killing me.”

              “My personal life is none of your business.”

              “This is the best humanities library to study in and your pining is killing me.”

              “We’re not like that.”

              “You’re exactly like that.”

              “I don’t even know if she’s gay.”

              Drake just looked at her. “Vysorren, you met in a gender studies class. She is currently wearing flannel, a snap-back, and a tank top that says ‘Gal Pal-adin.’”

              “I’m not in love with Kima.”

              “That’s not what I asked. Also, you’re lying. What’s her major?”

              “Religious studies with a minor in ass kicking.” She answered automatically. “That doesn’t count, everyone whose met Kima has heard her joke.”

              “I’ve done this with her, she knows all three of your majors and all the minors you had considered. What’s Kima’s deadlift personal record? What was her least favorite part of her study abroad? What’s Kima’s biggest dream?”

              “In my defense, ‘punching a dragon in the face while eating fried chicken’ is a fairly memorable dream.”

              “Look, if she would say yes, would you ask her out?”

              Allura picked up her book. There probably wasn’t an answer to ‘How to Ask Your Hot Friend, the One with the Biceps, Out When You’re a Skinny Nerd’ in it. It didn’t hurt to check. This was a problem encountered by centuries of math majors before her.

              “All you have to do” Drake continued, as if she had assented, “is say this…”

***

              “Ally! I thought you were still on shift!”

              “I just got off and Drake harassed me into doing this”

              “Doing what?”

              Allura sighed and looked up, avoiding Kima’s eyes all together “Hey, did it hurt?”

              “What?”

              “Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?”

              “I cannot believe I have given you a solid of material and this is how you ask me out.”

              “Like you’re so smooth” Allura said defensively  

              “I got a pretty girl to ask me out, I am very smooth.”

              “Is that your way of saying yes?”

              “No, this is.”

              (Allura was starting to understand the whole appeal of the ‘making out in the stacks’ idea)

Chapter Text

“You know” Cassandra starts, eyes watchful to the mass slowly approaching, “this isn’t the first time the undead have invaded Whitestone”

              Kaylie turned, “Have you ever considered moving”

              Cassandra had a point she wanted to make, a point about family and responsibility and duty. Cassandra also had a point in the form of a dagger which she should really be sticking into the thing that was trying to eat her brains. In fighting, Kaylie and Cassandra traded off as if it was a dance. Kaylie pushing the undead away with a burst of sound and Cassandra dismantling their most vulnerable parts. Cassandra distracting them while Kaylie decapitated them with her sword. There was a rhythm to it, a beat that the bard and the lady were both in synch to. Finishing off the last of that wave, they took a brief reprieve to catch their breath.

              “So how did you defeat the undead horde part one? Can we do it again?”

              Cassandra hesitated. There’s really not a polite way to tell your beaux that you spent five years betraying your people and living with vampire captors. When in doubt, resort to the answer Cassandra has been using since she was five: “Percy did it. Well, him and Vox Machina did it. They killed the necromancer and freed the city.”

              “Okay. The good news with Vox Machina is that there’s near a 100% chance that Vox Machina will do something stupid and save the day.”

              “What’s the bad news?”

              “I never said there was bad news.”

              “There’s always bad news.” Cassandra said, darkly.

              “Well, whatever they do will be very stupid.”

              “Most likely. Are you not going to mention our… situation? As part of the bad news?”

              “I’m pretty sure that’s part of the good news.”

              “Kaylie, I have a castle. With guards. We’re stuck in abandoned house where no one knows where we are.”

              “It goes against my honor as a person, bard, and—” Kaylie falters for just a brief second, only incongruous because she never misses beat “—and as a Shorthalt to say being stuck in an abandoned house with a pretty girl is a problem.”

              “You’re not the problem. The zombies preventing us from leaving are the problem.”

              “We can take them! And if you’re worried about duty or honor or some other bullcrap, I can send word.”

              “How?”

              “Magic” Kaylie said, creating a minor illusion to allow sparkles at her waggling fingertips. Cassandra would never say this because it made her sound petulant and it went against her policy as a sister, but Percy was right. Magic was totally cheating. "New plan. Let’s run upstairs, hold a defensible position, I'll send word to one of your guards, and we wait for explosions off in the distance to--"

              Their conversation was interrupted by a far-off, barely audible moan. The girls exchanged glances and began to secure the dilapidated house they were stuck in. Quietly, they made their way upstairs and placed extra precautions. Cassandra looked out the window, saw the mass of bodies that prevented her from getting to a place where she could be useful. Groaning, she sank down next to the master bed and placed her head in her hands. Very carefully, Kaylie sat on the mattress next to her.

              “I’m the leader of Whitestone and I’m useless to any of my people.”

              “You’re keeping yourself alive. That’s useful.”

              “It doesn’t feel like it.”

              “Getting yourself killed would be so fucking stupid. You can’t fight your way out and right now, I doubt you could sneak your way out. A Whitestone citizen’s life isn’t gonna be improved by finding your body on the street. Sacrifice is easy, staying alive is harder.”

              “People are getting hurt and I’m here, safe with you.”

              “You’re allowed to be happy, Cass. I blame the lack of sunshine for you being stupid and sad. After this, come with me to somewhere sunny. I’ll take you to places that haven’t been invaded by the undead even once.”

              “I can’t just leave my responsibilities behind and run away with a dashing musician.”

              “From what my stupid Da told me, your stupid brother left his responsibilities and ran away with a dashing musician, thief, literal mother bear, feral druid, illiterate brute, pompous scholar, and Pike.”

              “He left to save the world.”

              “The world seems pretty saved and you seem pretty miserable, babe.”

              “I’m really not sure if I’m the ‘babe’ type of person.” Cassandra said, careful to handle ‘babe’ with detachment as if tone would prevent Kaylie from seeing her blush.

              “Maybe you should see this saved world. We can go to Kymal.”

              “Is Kymal nice?”

              “No, it’s an absolute shithole.”

              “I can see the appeal.”

              “You two siblings can take turns. There’s world’s outside of Whitestone. I can show you places that aren’t always cold. Places you can get into a good bar fight. The best make out spots in Taldori”

              “Last time we ran off to make out with each other, we got stuck in a house during the zombie apocalypse.”

              Kaylie leaned down and kissed her gently “and see? That turned out so well.”

              They held hands while the watched the window, waiting for whatever came next.

Chapter Text

              There were a lot of after’s.

              After the Chroma Conclave, after Scanlan, after the completion of her Aramente, after Vax, after Hotis, after Vox Machina went on hiatus…

              A lot happened. Then, not a lot happened. Keyleth started assuming more responsibility among her people, spent less time killing dragons and more time working with the needs of her people. She put away her blights and learned more spells that helped crop harvest. It’s good, she thinks. On the one hand, constant adversity had forced Keyleth to grow. On the other, Zephra is her roots, it grounds her. The feeling of home surrounds her like a cape, it feels like the plants and the ground knows her name. Certainly all the villagers. Here she isn’t awkward Keyleth. Here she’s worldly, strong Keyleth (who occasionally is a bit awkward.) At first, she was upset after leaving her family (or her family leaving her,) but now it feels like she carries herself a little bit higher, her back a little bit straighter.

              She might be growing slower, here, but she’s still growing. In a good direction. But her sholders settling a fraction of a centimeter lower came day by slow day. Keyleth was still caught off guard when in the usual round of letters Vox Machina, Percy talked about going back to Draconia for the year anniversary of Tiberius’s death.

              At those words, Keyleth felt a wave of grief. Sometimes Keyleth felt like she was the only person she knew who hadn’t died. She was deeply, intimately familiar with the fact that some people died and were lost and just couldn’t be brought back. But there was a part of Keyleth, always, hoping that they’d come back. Part of her that couldn’t be quieted was waiting still for her mothers touch, a friend’s princess.

              Keyleth RSVP’d yes and went a week early. Whitestone seemed so different from when they first saw it. Trade had been reestablished, new people were moving in. Whitestone benefited from its lack of dragons. She said hi to Percy and Cass, worked a minor miracle with the farmers for a little bit. The person she was the most excited to see wasn’t much of a person at all. The buds were coming back, the bark looking healthier than Keyleth had ever seen it.

              Hey, Sun Tree, it’s been a while, how you doing?

              A-OK, Kiki. You good?

              Yeah, I’m good. It was time for me to go back home. Your buds look really nice, I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to watch them grow in.

              It’s no problem Kiki. I’m a tree. I was here before you and I’ll be here after. Just hanging out, limbs swaying in the breeze.

              OK, Sun Tree.

              Good to see you Kiki.

“I forgot you could do that” a female voice says behind her, someone who got close to her without Keyleth hearing.

              Keyleth gives Vex a hug as greeting. “It’s so good to see you! How are you? How’s Emon?”

“It’s… something. The rebuild is shaping up nicely, almost everyone is back in. The council’s a pain though. And there’s the… stuff with my brother.”

              “Is he OK?”

              “He’s around here somewhere, lurking about. He’s gone a lot, business with his goddess.”

              Keyleth notices the sidestep and doesn’t say anything. This, she thinks, is a mark of maturity.

              “Are you ready?” Keyleth belatedly realizes her question was incredibly vague, but if Vex had any difficulty in following her thought process, she didn’t say it.

              “No. Yes. Maybe.” When Vex answers, she says it with a full throated laugh. It seems honest and vulnerable and confident and bright.

              Keyleth maybe had a crush on Vex when they were adventuring. Maybe. Keyleth wasn’t sure if she wanted to be Vex or have Vex. All Keyleth is saying is that there’s a lot of maybe’s.

              Maybe Keyleth is tired of that.

***

              Of course when Vex pulled her aside after the ceremony, asking for a favor, Keyleth went with her.

              Keyleth would do anything for that girl if she needed her. The fact that the after of the ceremony was awful didn’t hurt. Between Scanlan’s noticeable flinching when he missed a note during the dirge, Vax and Percy’s struggling to make eye contact with their exes, and Grog’s visible effort not to flex and rip his suit, Keyleth was glad to go on a nature walk with Vex.

              Keyleth sent a prayer for Pike as they made their way through sparse trees. Vex walked a half step ahead of her, confident in their path despite the fact that Keyleth knew the ranger hadn’t been to Draconia in a year.  After 30 minutes of walking, they reached the gorge. There lay a proud tree growing over the remains of Vorugal.

              “Stupid sounding question, but would you mind, darling, talking to my tree? I’m curious about what it has to say.”

              “I’ve heard dumber.”  Keyleth presses a hand to the trunk and focuses. The tree is a tree. Most trees, gifts of Pelor aside, don’t have much to say. Keyleth asks it a few questions—mainly about its past and Draconia’s presents—but besides a new festival involving planting trees in memory of the Frigid Doom’s demise, she doesn’t learn anything more than she would asking any other tree. Vex looks torn between disappointment and relief when Keyleth relays this.  

              “So, nothing about Saundor then?” Vex asks

              “Nothing at all. A Fenthras tree speaks like any other tree. There’s silence before Keyleth finds what she wants to say. “You’re nothing like him.”

              “He didn’t think so.”

              “Vex, you’re smart and kind and courageous. Not some bitter guy unable to get over the past. Saundor did nothing but pollute his suroundings, you saved the world.”

              “I did. And you know what, I still don’t feel very brave.”

              “Bravery isn’t a feeling. It’s just a thing you do.” Keyleth grabs Vex’s hand and places it on the tree, her hand covering Vex’s to make sure she didn’t pull away. “This is the tree that grew from the corpse of a dragon which you killed with your bow. Saundor,” she pauses, drawing on generations of druidic wisdom passed down by her ancestors “ain’t got shit.”

              Vex’s laugh is quiet, but true. Keyleth’s eyes are inexorably drawn to her. The silence that follows isn’t awkward like the silence of the current Vox Machina or compatible like the walk over here. It’s the quiet before a storm, a moment charged and waiting.

              “Vex, can I do something stupid? Or possibly brave?”

              “Darling, ‘stupid and possibly brave’ is our motto.”

              Hands still pressed against the Vorugal’s tree, they kiss. There will be an after, Keyleth knows. They will have to return back to a dead friend and a broken family and responsibility.

              But right now is pretty great.

Chapter Text

              Here’s where Vex feels comfortable: in a forest, on a mountain, on a horse, with her brother, with her hands on a bow and a world before her.

              Here’s where Vex is: in a fucking corset, at one of Syldor’s friend’s teas, surrounded by tittering gossips and gossiping tits. Her brother was smart enough to get himself banned from the party by their father for shoplifting. Could’ve done her the favor of telling her, law enforcement and/or her father’s disappointment would be much preferable to this hell.

              Chamomile only goes so far to wash out the taste of disgust out of her mouth. Currently, they were talking about napkin colors for Drenivir’s 95^th birthday celebration. A spirited debate was raging on whether or not gold embroidery was too much for the young lord’s celebration.

               “Vex'ahlia” Fenweth, the hostess, said, piercing voice clear as a bell and just as effective at quieting the masses, “you’re 25, 35, right? I know you’ve told me before, dear, but I always get the smaller numbers confused.”

              Vex'ahlia smiles and tries to communicate with her eyes the general ‘fuck you and the carriage you came in’ sentiment that she so desperately wanted to say. Instead: “I’ve never understood why it’s considered crass to ask about a lady’s age, I don’t mind telling you that I’ve just celebrated my 18^th birthday.”

               “Oh, my. I forgot your blood meant that you aged so quickly. You look so mature for an 18 year old.” Fenweth pointedly looks down at her chest. Drenivir’s gaze follows the bitch’s stare and stays there. But the half-elf notices that when Fenweth looks up, her bronze complexation is spotting a bit more of a blush than her usual tacky make up.

               “It takes some people so long to mature at all” she keeps her voice cheery. Fenweth is not as clever as she thinks she is. Fenweth is not as subtle as she thinks she is. Fenweth is not the predator that Fenweth so clearly thinks she is. Fenweth is going down. If she’s lucky, Vex’ll meet her halfway.

               “That’s true, your life is so short, I’m glad the gods give you a chance to live some of it as an adult before death comes for you.” Even some of the elf’s lackeys let out a small gasp at that. Too blatant, poor form. Even Fenweth seems to notice this error on her part right after she says it. One of the other members of high society excuse themselves to the third living room at this, not able to endure the heat and so departing from the kitchen.

               “I just wish death would come a little bit quicker.” Vex took a sip of her tea. It wasn’t even particularly good tea. Poor form to answer poor form, a clear show of strength would just startle the elf and she’d flee. Vex needed to give Fenweth a chance to build her own funeral pyre. More guests scurried out. Good.

               “I’ll say something at your funeral, I just learned this beautiful bit of celestial poetry. I know a nice dirge in Sylvan. What do you speak again, Undercommon? Abyssal?”

               “fuck you and the carriage you rode in on” Vex gives into impulse, she stands up and shares the setiment in Undercommon, harsh consonants tumbling out of her mouth “may demons pry out your teeth so they can feed you your tongue” in Abyssal. The last of their companions scatter out, scared of something just a bit foreign to them.

               “Oh, how lovely. What does that pretty piece mean?” the elf rises, standing to meet her challenge.

               “It’s a poem comparing the turn of a tree to the inevitability of time. Would you like to learn how to say it?”

               “Oh, I’d love a language lesson. I can compensate you for your time, dear.” Vex takes a step forward. Let Fenweth think she’s reacting, Vex is a few steps ahead.

               “I’m a fairly cunning linguist, darling, it’s no trouble to teach you. Us urbanites often can pick up a language just a bit faster. Your family owns farm land out west, if I remember correctly. You’re a country member, right? No need for coin between friends” Face flushed, Fenweth takes a couple of steps forward.

               “So generous, Vex’ahlia. A lesson for a lesson then. I know some of Syngorn’s dances can be hard for those without elven grace.” Fenweth gets right up in her face at that, as if her furious head bobs conveyed any sense of grace to Vex.

               “I think I’m doing pretty well at this dance right here, you delightful conversationalist” Vex says, finishing in Undercommon. Fenweth is close at hand now, Vex can see her opponents individual lip hairs when Fenweth curls her mouth into a snarl.

               “You’re not as clever as you think you are, dear. I know you’re insulting me. Why don’t you stop with the stupid ruse.”

              “I’m not saying anything bad about you, sublime host. I’m complimenting your ladylike demeanor and your special mind.” Vex mixes up the Abyssal and the Undercommon, make Fenweth work tomorrow when she invariably asks a tutor for a rough translation.

              “Shut up”

              Vex smirks. Easy bullseye. Easier than trapping a hare. “Make me”

              When they rejoin the party a little bit later, Fenweth’s usually put togetherness looks a little bit off. If anything, Vex’s shoulders just look a little bit less tense.

Chapter Text

              Keyleth came in, put down the five wicker baskets of flowers she was precariously balancing, came over to her girlfriend and leaned down to give her a kiss.

              “Pike! I got the flowers!”

              “I know, I saw! That’s a lot of flowers! They’re very nice.”

              As Keyleth turned to look at the exact amount  she brought in, she realized a slight problem.

              “We don’t have a big enough of vase, do we?”

              “I’m not sure if we have a big enough table, dear”

              “I might’ve gotten a little bit… overzealous. It’s just so exciting to have an actual garden instead of some balcony boxes. What should we do about the… extras?”

              Pike thought for a bit. They could split up the flowers, put them in separate arrangements, although truthfully every surface in their house basically had some kind of plant on it. They could…

              Pike and Keyleth looked at each other and spoke at the same time “…flower crowns.”

              “It’ll be great. All of our friends will wear one.” Keyleth squeals excitedy “I can finally make the twins wear a color.”

              “…you do know Kashaw is coming, right? But please go for it anyways. I wanna see Kashaw’s face when you give him a flower crown to wear.”

              “What do you need help with in the kitchen? I can sous chef for you.”

              “We’re doing good on time. And on wine, both equally important. The meat’s in the oven, the extra-Grog meat I made yesterday, we need to make the mac and cheese, everything else other people are bringing, right?”

              “You’ve made the entrée, we’ll do the mac and cheese, we’ve got a trunk full of junk food and popcorn to lay out, I made sure we had carrots, celery, and dip.”

              “Good, good”

              “Grog’s bringing ale, Scanlan and Kaylie are bringing stuff for mixed drinks, Percy’s bringing drinkable wine…”

              “…will that be enough alcohol?”

              “Grog’s bringing personal caskets.” Pike whistled. That’s a lot of booze. And yet, somehow, still probably not enough. “Vex is bringing pie, Vax is bringing a side, Kima is bringing a mystery side…”

              “…oh no.”

              “It’ll probably be fine? Allura’s coming too and she’ll probably stop something too much. Cass is bringing a cheese plate, Gilmore is bringing cake, Zahra’s bringing a pasta, and Kashaw is bringing a vegetable because, and I quote ‘I don’t know how any of you malnourished motherfuckers survive.'”

              “Keyleth, dear, will our house survive its house warming?”

              “I think divine miracles are more your forte than mine.”

              “…fuck.”

              “Yeah.”

              So, side by side, they finish getting ready. They finish cooking, finish measuring out ingredients, lay out the food. The radio alternates between a series of news podcasts giving thoughtful and insightful commentary on political matters relevant to the community (because both Keyleth and Pike want to stay informed and stay active in their local politics) and a music playlist primarily featuring rock, punk, and rap (because both Keyleth and Pike want music they work up a sweat to and also it seems a shame to waste the fact that Keyleth has memorized all the intros so that she can point and watch her girlfriend kill it.)

              They finish with time to spare, Pike laying down the last fork right when Keyleth finishes the final flower crown. It’s 6:40, they’ve got like a whole 20 minutes before their guests are supposed to arrive.

              “You really are a miracle worker. I’m always running late when hosting. Remembered that time when I hosted Thanksgiving?”

              Pike remembered that Thanksgiving.  All of their friends remembered that Thanksgiving. The police, the fire station, and unfortunately the coast guard remembered that Thanksgiving.

              “We should be ready. We’ve only been planning our house warming for like a year.”

              “…we were busy?” They actually were. Pike had been assigned night shifts at the hospital, Keyleth got involved in organizing a rally, they bravely fought off a rat invasion lured in by Keyleth’s peach tree out front, they got involved in a drug war with terrorists that threatened the city and they bravely fought those off…

              “At least they’ll get to see your garden grown. It’s a lovely garden.” Pike pointed out

              “It’s a lovely home.” They shared a grin. It took effort making things grow, making something or somewhere or someone felt loved. It was hard. But they had done it.

              “…it was a lovely home.” Said Pike “I would not take a bet that says it’s still standing by the end of this.”

              “It’ll be fine. Scanlan will give us a sex toy as a house warming gift—“

              “Undoubtedly.”

              “—Grog will break a chair—“

              “Probably”

              “Vax and Kash will start a food fight. Kima will get drunk halfway in and start making out with Allura. Percy’ll get drunk and start daring people to properly say his full name. Vex and Zahra will make snarky comments that will be both flirts and insults. They will all be horribly embarrassing.”

              “They’re pretty great, aren’t they?”

              “Yeah, we’ve got a good family, you and I.” Pike grabbed Keyleth’s hand as they sat and wait for the world (or at least their house) to end.

              “You know, we do have ten minutes…”

              “Pike, that’s not enough time…”

              “…for anything too fun, yes, I know. But we’ve got some nice ambient music. Would you care to dance? I bet I can still do a lift with you.”

              Keyleth’s smile was radiant. “Let’s do it.”