Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was there.

She was right there.

Percy stood on the high wall of the ziggurat and steadied Bad News on his shoulder, staring daggers at the woman who’d taken everything from him. He’d been shaking before, unsettled, but now it felt as if he were being drawn down down down into a straight line—into hyperfocus. It was just him, and her, and the space between them.

Space a bullet could shatter in a heartbeat.

Now or never, Percy thought, hands moving automatically. His muscles tightened as he focused, and he forced himself to take a moment—a breath—to relax. He could feel the susurrus hiss of shadows curling in the back of his skull, whispering kill her, kill her now, but he managed to push that aside. He would face that later. He would face whatever had his friends whipped into a frenzy all around him later. What mattered now was—

Was—

Kill her.

—was this.

The mechanism locking in place. The bullet hitting the chamber. The trigger tensing beneath his finger and Lady Briarwood’s eyes meeting his across the distance as Percy began to smile.

BOOM!

The gun kicked hard against his shoulder, jolting him back. Percy dug in stubbornly, watching with cold focus as Lady Briarwood’s own shoulder blossomed red. Blood spattered out like a flower unfurling, and gods, but it was beautiful; it was even better, knowing he was the one who made her cry out. He was the one bringing her pain.

Go ahead, Percy thought, eyes still locked on her even as he dropped Bad News to load his next round. Fight back. Make me work for it. You’ll still be dead at the end of this.

And once her name was burned off his list, he would… He… He didn’t have time to worry over what would happen then. He only had time to prepare his gun, dexterous fingers moving automatically as Lady Briarwood stared up at him with blood streaking her pale cheeks, staining her fine dress, pooling about her feet. She stood unsteadily on the raised dais at the heart of the ziggurat, and there was fear in her eyes: he could see it, even at this distance.

It made the darkness inside his gut churn.

The dark orb spun before her, flickering strange shadows across her face. The others were all here—were shouting to each other, darting about, fighting back—but for a moment, it felt as if the two of them were locked in secret conversation. In understanding.

You took everything, Percy thought grimly, lifting Bad News to his shoulder for another shot.

Those dark eyes narrowed on his, chin lifting. Then, unexpectedly—chillingly—Lady Briarwood began to smile. He saw her lips move, and even over the distance of the battlefield, Percy swore he could hear the words she breathed as her gaze ticked toward his left:

Not yet.

His blood went cold, freezing him in place even as she lifted one hand, elegant finger pointed straight at Vex. No, Percy thought, shadows swirling and parting about his feet as he dropped Bad News a few inches: as if that would be enough to stop this. No, wait, you can’t— “Vex!” he cried in warning, already knowing he was once again too late. He should have— He— If he’d only—

Vex looked up, startled, one hand steadying her broom. The battle had been a hard slog already, and blood streaked her pale cheeks. Dark strands of hair had come free from her braid, fluttering wild around her, and he was too late to do anything but reach out, as if he could pluck her from the sky and pull her to safety.

And then, green fire.

It hit Vex in the chest, sending her jerking back. The end of her braid swung with the impact, and her eyes flared with sickly light. Percy watched, horrified, as necrotic energy swarmed across her, seeping away her vitality in an instant. He swore he could see the shadows bloom beneath Vex’s eyes, the hollows deepen at her cheeks and collarbone, the skin dry to parchment. Her hands clutched reflexively around the shaft of the broom as she crumpled forward—and yet by some miracle, she didn’t fall.

Percy watched, stunned, as the green light faded and Vex remained wonderfully alive, chest expanding and contracting with shuddery, panting breaths.

Alive, he told himself, staring up at her floating there like a ghost refusing to give up its form. She’s alive. She made it.

He swung his gaze back to Lady Briarwood, relief transmutating into murderous glee, muscles shifting as he lifted Bad News again. He could see the shock and panic on her face, could practically feel the frustration rising off of her. The orb spun faster, shimmering, blood slowly spilling over the dark onyx sphere.

“Wait,” Keyleth said, sounding very far away. “Something’s…”

In a flash, the orb suddenly dilated down, becoming little more than a speck of darkness.

Lady Briarwood reared back, both hands lifting palm-forward. “No,” she cried. One of Vax’s blades flashed as it passed her, just missing; its gleaming steel whispered past the dark fall of her hair, stirring its ends in a deadly breath, but she was too focused on the orb to notice. “No, it can’t be too soon. Please!”

Another dagger flew, this one passing just overhead as she dropped to her knees. The unholy tangle of bodies writhing along the walls seemed to seize, spasming; Percy watched through the scope as they shrank back from whatever was happening up on the dais.

Kill her, the voice that had taken over his mind whispered, full of hate. Do it, do it now. But something else inside him was shouting a warning—one he could not ignore—and he dropped Bad News just as the bodies froze mid-writhe, their macabre limbs tangled in instant rictus.

His eyes flew back to Vex, hovering high above the platform, her shaken, weakened form barely hanging on. And in some strange kind of foresight, he knew—he knew—what was about to happen seconds before the spell triggered.

“VEX!” Percy shouted the moment all magic was snuffed out…and Vex’s flight came to an abrupt end.

She tumbled forward, twisting mid-air as the broom plummeted beneath her. He caught an impression of wide, terrified eyes in a too-pale face, the shadow of Lady Briarwood’s spell lingering—sapping her vitality to almost nothing. She was high enough up that a fall at any time would have hurt, but now, now, gods now she was so weak he swore he could hear the rasp of her scream followed by the sickly crunch of bones, the impact reverberating through him as shock colored the world in shades of red and black.

It happened so fast, none of them had time to do more than suck in a shared breath: one moment Vex had been hurt but alive, hovering above the dais. The next…

He dropped his gun, taking a shaken step forward. Only Keyleth’s hand clawing at his elbow kept Percy from stepping right over the edge of the high wall and toward his own fall. He froze, letting his friend hold him back, staring at the crumpled mess of robes and hair and twisted limbs. A bright halo of blood began to seep around Vex’s still form, a single blue feather carried by the steadily growing stream.

“Vex,” Percy whispered, stunned, even as Vax all but howled, “VEX!” He was a blur of darkness out of the corner of Percy’s eyes, running and leaping over the edge. He tumbled, spun, lithe as a cat as he fell toward the hard ground, landing with a bone-jarring thud that would have felled a lesser man…and stumbling up in a staggered run a heartbeat later.

Vax didn’t even look at the witch huddled on the dais; he had eyes for nothing but his twin sister, already reaching for her even as he skidded to his knees through the growing corona of her blood.

“Pike!” one of them shouted, and Keyleth’s nails dug into Percy’s arm as the gnome pushed to the edge of the wall and peered over. They were so high up—higher still for someone so small—but there wasn’t even a flinch of fear in her eyes as she reached up to clasp her pendant with one hand, the other extended in a graceful arch.

He could practically feel the warmth of the healing spell as it wafted past him, filling his lungs with the scent of Whitestone in summer; green fields and secret things; books with freshly inked spines and his mother’s perfume clinging to the long fall of her hair…

…and then, just as suddenly, all of that was gone as the spell fizzled, dying before it could reach the twins.

There was a stunned moment of silence, broken by Scanlan’s: “So magic doesn’t work?”

The horror of that—the hopelessness—was like a blow to the stomach. Percy sucked in a breath, eyes burning with fear, with rage, as he caught movement by the orb. Lady Briarwood was rising, her expression drawn; her eyes were locked on them and one hand was lifting again.

“Percy,” someone began, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care. He needed to kill this woman now more than ever, the sight of that single blue feather flecked in blood filling his vision, filling his mind, filling everything until there was room for nothing else. He choked back a noise and lifted Bad News, swinging it until the woman who had taken everything from him was in his sights.

A year ago—a week ago—the shot would have been for his mother. For his father. For all the brothers and sisters he had lost. It would have been for himself, for the vengeance he nursed day and night until it became its own living thing inside of him, whispering venom in his ears.

But now, in this moment, all he could see was the woman who had killed Vex’ahlia, and that was enough to have him trembling as he tightened his finger on the trigger…and sent a bullet winging through the witch’s chest.

It hit hard enough to send her sprawling back, flung in a spray of blood and snaking black hair. She hit the dais with a solid crunch. Fine robes sprawled around her, sodden within moments with blood; it pooled like a halo about her unmoving body, an unintended echo of Vex’s still form.

And he felt…

He felt cold. He felt suddenly so very cold as the first billows of smoke began rising around him—coiling like manacles about his wrists, his throat. Keyleth made a torn noise, and Scanlan gave a shout, as that dark whisper filled his mind, echoing like the bottom of his own personal oubliette: Yes, yes, yes. Now. Do it. Do it!

She was unconscious, but she wasn’t dead. Not yet. One more shot and he could change that. One more shot and he could end her, could destroy her, could feed her soul to—

To—

He sucked in a breath and steadied his aim, head full of static. It would be so very easy to kill her now and be damned, and his whole body quaked as he forced himself to adjust his sights away from Lady Briarwood’s exposed throat and toward one of her outflung arms.

BOOM!

Bad News echoed, and a spray of blood erupted from her still form: not enough to end her life, but more than enough to keep her down until they figured out what to do with her. After, he thought, grimly ignoring the furious howls echoed through his skull, we save Vex.

Because in this moment, in this crucible of choice, that was what mattered. Not vengeance, not the demons in his skull, not whatever promises he’d unknowingly made. For the first time in as long as he could remember, love trumped revenge, and wouldn’t it figure he’d realize just how much that meant now, when everything was at its darkest?

“It isn’t working!”

The shout came from Vax, hunched over the body of his sister. She was in his arms, utterly still, streaked in blood. Viscous fluid dripped from lax lips, and Vax held an empty bottle of healing potion in one hand, expression shattered and confused as he looked up at them—barely acknowledging the shot, or the shouts, or the end of the bloody battle that had cost them so much. “The potion. It isn’t fucking working.”

“Get her out of the room,” Percy mumbled, feeling numb. Then, louder, “Get her out of the room!” The buzzing in his skull was excruciating—nearly enough to send him to his knees—but he pushed past it to focus. Briarwood was unconscious and Vex was dying. Despite the hissing of…whatever that thing was…inside him, he knew, he knew, his priorities. He shoved his gun aside and fumbled for the forgotten rope. “We have to get her out!”

“I got this,” Grog said, then gave a shout as he jumped off the edge of the wall, hurting down to the ground below. He landed hard, stones cracking beneath his weight, grunting with the effort. Scanlan shrugged and hopped down after him, lighter on his feet. He hurried toward Vex and Vax in Grog’s wake, visibly limping, ankle twisted.

“Someone needs to see to that…thing,” Keyleth muttered, casting one worried glance toward Vex, and another toward Percy, before jumping down. He barely paid her any mind as she rushed toward the downed witch and the slowly spinning orb.

Vax was huddled over his sister, rocking her. “How do we get her—” he began, visibly desperate. Then: “Keyleth, we need vines!” He half-twisted as she hurried up the steps, expression crumpled up with frantic tears. “Fuck that bitch! We need to get my sister out of this room. Keyleth.”

“Doors’re closed,” Grog said, crouching just past Vax’s shoulder. Scanlan hovered nearby, one hand out as if he were tempted to try a spell, even as his eyes tracked Keyleth on her way up the steps toward the unconscious Lady Briarwood. “Need me to bust us out?”

No, Percy thought, coiling the rope, mind working a mile a minute. They’d already tried that; it would never work. They needed—

“We’ve got to get her up and out,” Vax said, echoing the rapid direction of his thoughts perfectly. Then his searching gaze found Percy. “Percival, do you have a…” He spotted the lasso Percy was making and his expression relaxed a fraction. “Rope,” Vax finished.

“Catch!” Percy called down, anchoring one end of the rope around his waist and tossing the rest down. It hit the stone with a heavy slap, and Vax was struggling up in an instant, Vex’s head lolling horribly against his shoulder. Percy had to force his gaze to tick to the left, away from her still form as Grog took some of her weight and helped carry Vex to the waiting rope. They bound her up in it, ragged ends harsh against her skin, her sodden blue-and-brown armor. Gods, he needed to somehow banish the buzzing in his skull; he had to think, to help her.

Vax stared up at them, his hands cradling his sister’s neck. “All right,” he croaked, voice breaking. “She’s in your hands. Pike, Percy, pull!”

“On three,” Pike began, but the excruciating thought of how long it would take to get Vex up to safety—away from the field that dampened magic and toward desperately needed healing—was a coal in his chest. He couldn’t lose her. That was the only thought playing in repeat in his mind, beating back the howl of his demon and its eternal thirst for blood: he couldn’t lose her. He loved her. He couldn’t lose her. He loved her.

“Catch her,” Percy ordered, then gripped the rope tight and ran blindly off the other side of the high wall, hurtling thoughtlessly toward the ground. He didn’t bother trying to slow his fall, to catch himself; his own pain didn’t matter. The hard crunch of impact didn’t matter. The feel of his skull smacking stone, the blinding white light, the horrible moment where he couldn’t suck in a breath—none of that fucking mattered, because as he rolled over onto his back, gasping, he could see Pike with Vex curled in her arms, and that was bloody fucking worth any pain he felt.

Heal her, he mentally chanted, unwinding the rope from his death grip. He tried to push himself up, palm skidding across the floor, slick with his own blood. Didn’t matter; couldn’t matter. His gaze stayed fixed on Pike and Vex as the little gnome laid her hand across Vex’s slack face. Heal her, please gods, heal her.

Pike’s head jerked up, eyes round with horror. “It isn’t working!” she said. “We’re not far enough away.”

“Pull her out of here!” Vax’s howls echoed up from the other side of the wall, and Percy forced himself past the pain, struggling up even as his mind’s eye painted a picture of Vax desperately scaling the tangle of corpses that lined the other side of the wall: both of them, always, forever, fighting to get to Vex. “Pull her out!” His screams echoed uncannily through the ziggurat’s dark cavern.

“Take this!” Percy yelled, scrabbling at the edge of the rope. His nails caught, broke, but he managed to get it untied just as Grog’s grey head appeared over the edge of the wall, his giant hands hauling him up faster than any of the others could manage. Percy flung the rope, praying Pike understood: Vex needed a counterbalance if they wanted to lower her down safely. He couldn’t trust his own strength to catch her otherwise. “Lower her to me!”

Grog rose up, batting the end of the rope aside. “I got her,” he mumbled, lifting Vex from Pike’s grip. Huge arms enfolded her, and his big body briefly stole her from Percy’s view. His heart spiked in response, and he fumbled at his coat for the potion he was sure he still had, waiting, waiting, waiting as the seconds seemed to crawl by. If too much time passed, gods, would they lose her for good? Would she be snuffed out just like that, stolen before he could even tell her…

Before he could confess that…

“Vex,” he murmured with numb lips, watching with warring hope and despair as Grog cradled Vex close and leapt off the side of the wall. He landed not ten feet away, stone cracking beneath his feet—but his big body had Vex so carefully cradled that she barely moved. Then he was straightening, expression grim, and running full-tilt away from the ziggurat.

Percy followed, sprinting as fast as he could manage. He was dimly aware of Vax yelling something from behind him, but there wasn’t time to take heed. There wasn’t space in his whole body for anything but Vex Vex Vex as they put much-needed distance between her and that damned place with its magical null. The pound of Grog’s footfalls echoed up in uncertain syncopation, Percy falling farther and farther behind with each long stride—but he just pushed himself harder, forced himself faster, fumbling with the potion in his coat and praying for once in his miserable life.

Please, he thought, aching inside. If there is justice in you, if you care about anything at all, save her.

As prayers went, it was the most heart-felt he had ever been in his life. And somehow, someway, it worked. He was losing ground, falling more drastically behind, and yet he still saw the moment her lifeless hand twitched, curling weakly around one of Grog’s biceps.

“GROG!” Percy shouted, using the last of his breath. Behind them, there was an unhinged cry, and fuck, but there were tears streaming hot down his cheeks, but it didn’t matter—it didn’t matter!  Nothing in this whole wide world mattered except that Grog was slowing, stopping, blinking stupidly (wonderfully) down at Vex as she coughed and sputtered against the healing potion still on her lips; working, thank the gods. Saving her life.

Grog turned, Vex sprawled in his arms as Percy stumbled up to them, Vax trailing some distance behind. Her eyes blinked slowly open, and she took them both in with a sort of gorgeous bemusement. One corner of her mouth kicked up as she rasped, “Grog, you smell terrible.”

Grog blinked again, then lifted her higher in his arms to take a sniff at his pits. The movement jostled her, turned her weak chuckle into a cry, and Percy reached up immediately to cradle the back of her skull. “Gentle,” he scolded, other arm snaking around her. He had her cradled in his own arms between one breath and another, sinking down to the safety of the stone floor with her sprawled over his lap. Hazel eyes turned up to meet his, dark hair a tumbling waterfall around her, between them, and oh gods but each breath she took was its own answered prayer.

He was dazed, frozen in place by the hazy warmth of those eyes.

They weren’t alone. Grog was a step away, and Vax was seconds behind them, and Percy knew the moment he arrived, he would have to surrender Vex to her terrified twin, but for one moment he held her cradled within his arms, revenge forgotten—demon vanquished even if it still swirled deep in his gut, spitting its poison—love, somehow, unexpectedly, triumphing here in the heart of his childhood home. She was smiling up at him tentatively, hopefully, as he reached with bloodied, battered fingers to cup the line of her jaw and lift her face to his.

Not for a kiss. He didn’t deserve a kiss; he was too twisted up, still, too broken for someone as shining whole and beautiful as Vex’ahlia. But in a moment of weakness, Percy let everything he was feeling shine through, forehead pressing to hers as he breathed in the scent of her, reveled in the beloved weight of her, let himself feel everything—everything—as she let out a soft breath and curled her fingers about his wrist in silent agreement.

I love you, he didn’t say; couldn’t, yet.

I know, you idiot, she may as well have replied. And, undeserving as he was, hurt as he was, broken as he was, Percy swore he could also hear in her soft, breathless laugh: I love you too.

I love you too. As if loving him were ever a simple thing.

He let out a puff of breath, reeling inside; scared and hopeful and shaken and longing. There was so much he needed to do before he could earn that kind of confession, but it was a start. It was a first step; a choice made, in this moment, between Vex’ahlia and the vengeance he’d thought for so long he wanted. He should have realized long ago that it would always, always be Vex his heart turned to first. Someday he’d be able to tell her that too. But for now, for this moment, until he somehow pulled himself out of this darkness…this, he decided, holding her close, grateful for every breath she took, would be enough to save them both. To make them stronger.

And here, Percy thought, beginning to smile—despite the demon in his chest, the fear in his heart, the revenge left to go fallow and forgotten, so very small compared to the enormity of almost losing the women he loved—is to new beginnings.

To new beginnings…and to the end of a long and terrifying road he would never, never have to walk alone again.