Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Wotcher Wilde,

I know you said we had to do this but I’m still trying to find the point of it. But orders are orders so,

What’s up with me? Hunt going well, tracked target to the north of Prague, he’s a right idiot and it shouldn’t take me more than a week to catch him.

Have you done the thing I told you to do re: Zolf? 

Grizzop.

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Hello, Grizzop-

Don’t think of them as letters; consider them field reports. Yours are already more intelligible than half the official ones I receive. Bearing that in mind, the more detail a report contains, the more useful I find it, so please spare nothing.

I suspected the target wasn’t the brightest when we first set sights - it is good to know one’s instincts are still well-honed. Perhaps I will stumble across something more challenging to your inestimable skills before you return.

No idea what you’re talking about wrt: Zolf.

Thank you for writing reporting so promptly. Please keep me apprised.

O. Wilde

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Dear, hello, wotcher, hey you,
Wilde,

It’s kind of hard to describe hunting through a city for leads unless you take notes the whole time and I’ve got a bow in my hand and no parchment handy and sometimes it’s hard to write if I haven’t filed my claws and really what is the point I could just tell you when I get back if you know what I mean. But I’ll do my best since Artemis seems to want me to since you asked.

Any way I caught up with him on the riverbank and he says he doesn’t have any information about the distribution of the vaccine and I did shoot one of his kneecaps (oh and cast zone of truth) so I’m sure he doesn’t. He’s given me the name of a contact in Paris so I’m heading there next. Dropping him off at the temple of Artemis on the way, usual receipts/reports will come in the mail after this I guess.

You know what I mean about Zolf. If I have to walk through the sexual tension in that inn again it’s gonna give me hives.

Grizzop.

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My esteemed colleague, Grizzop,

I am grateful for your willingness to make the effort on my behalf. I feel I should clarify that while I would welcome a minute-by-minute description of each moment of action, I do not actually require it. Broad strokes.

Besides, I know good and well you remember it all perfectly, no note-taking required. You are certainly adept enough at quoting myself back at me to make a point .  

Thank you for only partially maiming the mark this time, there is far less paperwork involved and I’ve enough of that to be going on with as it is. I might suggest reversing the order of operations - zone of truth then kneecaps if you are dissatisfied with the responses - but I suspect it would be yet again an exercise in futility.

Still. As long as you’re having fun. Give my regards to Artemis next time you visit a temple.

There is no tension whatsoever in the inn, Grizzop. If you have contracted hives, I assure you it comes from some other source. You may wish to have that looked at. We will, of course, handle any medical expenses that should arise.

Be in good health and remember I am

Respectfully yours,

O. Wilde

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Pretty sure I’ve never been esteemed anywhere, but as long as you’re having fun, Mr Wilde, Hello.

Zone of truth has a twenty five foot range, which I’m sure Zolf could tell you (or Azu if she’s still about) but you know maybe you should ask Zolf instead since he’s right there in the inn and has a voice and stuff that makes words like regular people’s voices do unless you really can only communicate in sarcasm in which case I guess  

Zone of Truth has a twenty five foot range and I can shoot a kneecap off at fifty. It’s hard to cast zone of truth on someone when they’re running away. It’s hard to run away when you’re missing a kneecap. Hence the order of stuff what I did. When you can do more to a mark than make them think you’re pretty see stars or whatever then talk to me about hunting methods.

I’m in Paris in case you hadn’t worked that out from the postmark and the contact here is hiding out in the ruins of Eiffel’s Folly. Goblins kind of stand out there so I’m talking to some of the Artemis folk (yes I know, mission critical only). Should have more of an update soon.

If I actually had hives I could heal them. I’m a paladin, remember? I think that whole thing I said before was what you called a metaphor?

TALK TO ZOLF. 

Grizzop.

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My dearest Mssr. drik acht Amsterdam,

(I use the French, as you say you are in Paris and when in France, and all that.)

I feel I should point out that communication in sarcasm appears to be something of a lingua franca for our little group.

I take your point, in re: relative ranges of spells versus projectiles and invite you to consider the variety of uses to which a pretty face a facility for illusion may be put. There are other methods than an arrow to inflict harm when necessary, I assure you. A well placed word, for example. I fancy myself an expert.

I am astonished that Eiffel’s Folly is even passable. In this case, I must insist upon details, when you have seen it for yourself because I’ve no hope you’ll stay out of it even with assistance from the temple . I had thought Guivres' annihilation of the place was complete. It would be useful, I think, to know where - and how, if possible - portions of it were spared.

Gracious, a metaphor! My good influence has clearly been more effective than I’d realised. I shall make an acclaimed author of you, yet.

I talk to Zolf daily, multiple times. Your concern for our communication is touching, but unwarranted, I assure you.

With sincerest regard,

O. Wilde

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Dear Pretty Face Mister O,

You reminded me what illusions are good for so I pinned the ears back and covered my eyes and pretended to be a kid - the Artemis folk gave me some kid’s clothes and a few French lessons (although Sasha’s been teaching me French - her lessons are more fun than the Artemis lot’s were, but don’t tell them that.) Sasha also gave me a few tips on disguises before all the business with the you know whats and there are a lot of kids about - orphans and stuff so I fit in fine. Paris is a right mess and the folly is still home to a lot of them.

I mean I said it was in ruins right? It’s not glass like Damascus was - I guess cos Guivres didn’t want to destroy the rest of Paris as well? The Folly just burned. It didn’t melt, and it’s been a while and people get tied to places I think, humans especially. Weird, but whatever.

I know you get homesick and you sing that

I found our guy but he’s not our guy - he’s just poor and tired and scared he’s just trying to put his life back together. He’s pointed me up the chain and I dunno why I’m surprised any more that it’s never the poor people behind this (I guess then they wouldn’t be poor any more). Moving on to Nice. Apparently our guy has a “villa” by the seaside. Why do you have so many different words for “big house” any way?

I’m not becoming an author from what Zolf says they’re either insufferable pricks, get dangled off airships by Bertie or they’re you and there’s already enough of you. Zolf certainly thinks so

I mean tell him how

When I say talk I really mean

If I was there I think I’d just mash your faces together.

Aight, don’t talk to him, just kiss him instead. There. 

Grizzop.

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My most admirable of agents, Grizzop,

Sasha’s French, I confess, is likely far better suited to work in the Folly than the paladins or clerics, particularly les mots bleus, as it were. I trust she has not neglected that critical vocabulary.

The human penchant for strong ties can be a liability, I know. We like the shape and taste and smell of the familiar, and we are strongly motivated to maintain it even if directly against our best interests. Such as relationships and the status quo . I suppose I assumed that she would spread her fire a bit more broadly, or at least completely. Such was the impression I received when I learnt of her plans.

I cannot decide if incomplete annihilation is a mercy or one more cruelty to people who largely could not, and cannot afford it .

It’s never the poor people. There is a reason I chose the subjects for my writing as I did. Consider: of all of the initial group, it was Bertrand MacGuffingham I chose to pillory. I know you’ve heard the story if nothing else for some reason Sasha delights in pretending to vomit over it .

There are, I assure you, more than three authorial archetypes, Grizzop. I daresay you’d make a fine writer of letters-to-the-editor, if nothing else, elucidating in no uncertain terms how various high-profile individuals are completely fucking up failing to live up to their potential.

I won’t

There is absolutely nothing to be gained from

You are aware Zolf doesn’t , yes?

Why on earth would I do that? I fear fumes in the Folly or perhaps anticipation of the bright sun of Nice have addled your wits somewhat; do have a care not to overexert yourself, Grizzop.

With fondest wishes,

O. Wilde

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Dear Idiot,

I don’t have the time I’m on a horse which let me tell you isn’t my favourite thing (I miss Topaz, but Artemis isn’t big on celestial animals unless they’re leopards or wolves although okay yeah maybe I’ll have a word at the temple when I get back).

Yeah I’ve heard the story about Bertie. Sasha pretends to vomit really well. I think she could probably do it on the street for pennies - some of the kids in the folly would have had a good laugh from it. 

Lucky I’ve got a strong constitution. And I get why you did it. Sex isn’t the big deal everyone makes it out to be though which is something I think you know but

Just cos someone doesn’t do it doesn’t mean

There were some pretty rank fumes in the folly (that’s alliteration, right?) but none of them were hallucinogenic as far as I could tell and it’s been a couple of days now and I’m so tired of humans and dwarves and their time wasting and I still think you need to talk to Zolf. Or Azu if she’s there, she’s better at this stuff than I am. Not in my usual wheelhouse, and all that. When I get back I could shoot you both in the kneecaps although that seems a bit on the nose (or the knee) for Zolf.

You spent two years dancing around this and that’s a lot of my lifespan that’s more than long enough even for dwarfy mcdwarfson and tall dark and annoying.

I just want you two to be

Should be in Nice in a couple of days. Given the new information that’s come to light about what he did with the vaccine I’m tempted just to shoot him on sight, what do you think?

Admirably,

Grizzop.

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O thou most commendable of paladins, praiseworthy in all respects, Grizzop

Honestly I’ve no idea why you haven’t petitioned for a cheetah already; they are, I believe, the fastest land animal in the world. Imagine how much time you’d save in travel.

Sasha is, indeed, a woman of many and varied talents, most of which are incredibly useful and some of which appear designed specifically to fly up my nose at speed . A prodigy in many ways.

That is alliteration! I am thrilled by your progress, Grizzop. When you publish, shall it be under a nom de plume? Given subtext and, indeed, text, you may be positioned nicely to give Mr. Campbell a run for his money in that particular genre .

I have talked to Zolf.

In a manner of speaking. We have more or less-

A bit obliquely, perhaps-

Approached the topic on more than one occasion because two is in fact more than one and agreed that redefining the nature of our current relationship is likely unwise.

I value Azu and her outlook to a frankly startling degree, however I can predict with, I feel, pinpoint accuracy precisely the trajectory of a conversation of this nature. I see little point in proving myself correct.

Handsome, incidentally. The adjective you were searching for and so tragically failed to find is “handsome”. Goes along with “pretty face”, I am told.

Shoot on sight if you feel so inclined, but don’t shoot to kill. I should very much like to have a word with our elusive gentleman once in custody. If the Artemis lot object, tell them to put it on my tab.

Idiotically, apparently,

OW

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Before you panic

I’m fine

Dear Oscar Wilde,

Unfortunately our man in Nice was more prepared than we thought he would be and I’m holed up in the temple for a day to recover. He ran, of course. They didn’t do too much damage although it took me a while to get back to the temple. He probably thinks the trail’ll go cold or that I’m dead or something though so we’ve still got the advantage. Just going to make sure I have a few more arrows next time.

Might see about getting that cheetah while I’m here.

Could have used Sasha, although the travel time is bad. If Einstein’s around at all maybe you could

Scratch that. I’ve got this.

The high priest here wants to know who I’m writing to and I’m telling him it’s a bloody idiot, by the way although yeah you could definitely be called handsome - one who doesn’t understand that words are usually used to communicate things not talk around stuff. It’s gotta be all those years of being a spy-man and someone who makes stuff up for a living. Zolf’s incapable of saying how he feels because he’s Zolf and you’re incapable of saying how you feel because too many words get in the way. It’s like they’re all dammed up crowded in your head and they get filtered and only the stupid ones make it out of your mouth.

What does “we approached the topic” even mean? My guess is you just said something like “I value your invaluable valuableness” and Zolf just looked at you blankly for a while and then stomped off for a sulk. 

He might read Campbell but he wouldn’t recognise romance if it kissed him in the face like you should .

Use the words that have the right meanings.

Gotta stop writing now the shoulder’s aching a bit. Back on the road tomorrow.

Grizzop.

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Grizzop,

Einstein was available and I took the liberty of abusing his good graces. If Sasha does not deliver this to you in person something has gone very wrong indeed.

Make use of her. She is skilled and she is motivated and she has been instructed to follow you regardless so you may as well accept her help.

Report back as quickly as possible when there is news.

-Wilde

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Wilde,

I made Einstein wait while I wrote this one out. 

Thanks for Sasha. 

So what the fuck was that?

Grizzop.

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Grizzop,

Forgive the delay. Einstein was needed elsewhere.

It was a letter. It contained words, used to communicate things, rather than talking around something.

Have you made progress?

Wilde

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(a scrunched up note in a ditch on the road between Nice and Calais)

I’m going to punch you in the genitals again

Both of them this time

Artemis knows I didn’t sign up for this

Sasha says

If I didn’t lo

SCREW IT

Dear Mr Oscar FFW Wilde,

Apologies for the delay. I was too angry to 

Sasha and I are on the road to Calais as we reckon our guy has gone to England. He has family there (apparently all the nobs are related, at least that’s what Sasha says) so they’re probably going to try to shelter him. 

This is probably your area of expertise rather than ours so I’ll let you know which nobs he’s sheltering with when we get there and maybe you can use some of your stupid words to make them expose him. Or give us some intel on the people, so we can squeeze right.

Sasha is looking forward to getting to Calais, keeps talking about horseless carriages. Sounds like something Cel would be into.

About the other thing - I probably made it weird and I’m sorry. I just want

You deserve

Just cos I want you to talk to Zolf plainly doesn’t mean I don’t want you to talk to me

Will send more when we’re in Dover.

Grizzop.

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I didn’t realise you know all my na-

I had a note from Sash-

Fuck it

Grizzop,

I retract my recommendation - rather than a cheetah, you may wish to ask after a horseless carriage. Although - they’re rather loud, as I understand-

Never mind. A cheetah is likely your best bet after all.

Those are words, talking around something because I have never learnt how to say I’m sorry

While I can no longer put my hands on my copy of Twurp's Burke's Peerage - and I'm uncertain how much of it may even apply at this point - I feel certain my particular skillset should prove adequate to the task of ferreting out the little weasel from whatever fetid den he's infested.

That's alliteration and assonance if you care to know it.

You didn't make it weir

I'm

I don't know how, anymore

Please send word when you've arrived safely in Dover. Send word when you've found more information. Send word that I didn't break this, too.

Thank you,

O

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Wotcher,

I guess we could start this whole thing again? Sasha says hello. We’re in Dover and she’s trying to get me to buy eels from some bloke she calls the Soggy Bo’sun.

Never did much like eels.

I asked the folk at the temple of Artemis back in Nice about the cheetah and they said given my armor I’d probably be too heavy for one as a mount which made me laugh. I think they’re all just dead keen on leopards. I never told you about Eva and hers did I? 

I think maybe I get why you talk around

Our man passed through here, half the town is talking about him, apparently he’s not nice but we knew that already. Sasha did some digging at the navy outpost - apparently she knows the butler there or whatever they call the bloke who does all the actual work while the navy guys sit around and smoke and drink brandy. 

Doesn’t really seem like Zolf’s scene but I guess there’s a reason he left.

How is he

Sasha says they knew where our guy was heading because he mentioned a bloke called Douglas, who is apparently up in Scotland. Dumfriesshire, she said, which sounds like a joke name to me but then England is weird and I guess Scotland is more weird? Any way if you know of any rich buggers up that way you could fill us in since we’ll be on the road for a couple of days.

Grizzop.

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Hello, Grizzop

It would be Douglas, wouldn't it.

I already kn

It is to my intense regret that I know Douglas rather more closely than I could wish. He will be fleeing to his father, and while Douglas fils is an unpleasant coward, his father is a violent lunatic.

A quisling and a crackpot and I despise them both .

I should come

Be careful, both of you. They are dangerous men. I do not give this warning lightly.

If they harm either of you I will hunt them myself until I feel the life go out of them with my hands around their thro

And again- if possible, take one or both alive. If impossible… Honestly, the paperwork is not that onerous. And they are both irr

No, it needs saying: they are both irredeemable. Frankly, if you filled them with enough arrows that they could take wing with the fletching it would still be inadequate justice and deprive me of an opportunity to see the cold fear in that bastard's eyes

Again: be careful. Com Come home safely.

-O

Zolf is well. I'm- trying.

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Dear Wilde,

What did he do to

Were you and him

I’ve got enough arrows to hurt them as much as they

It’s really bloody cold on the road at the moment. Sasha got us a carriage, but it’s got horses, and a driver, so I’m not letting her drive it, not after what happened in Damascus. That means she’s sulking on the roof in the rain. I cast endure elements on her when she wasn’t looking though.

The driver too, he seemed pretty grateful.

It’s three days to Dumfriesshire and I’ve got nothing to do except look out a window and worry about you think about things and write so I figure I’ll just fill you in on stuff as we go.

⇷⇸

Sasha convinced the driver that she could drive for a bit. That was kind of fun but had to take the reins back or she would have worn out the horses. She’s much happier now and we’re playing cards.

⇷⇸

Sasha’s fallen asleep. She didn’t win all my arrows this time, just most of them.

⇷⇸

How come you all look so much younger when you’re asleep?

⇷⇸

Been reading over the old letters because three days is a long time and I’m really bored and I got angry again I don’t get it, really? That’s the big thing. I don’t get what’s complicated about it. Is it because you have so much more time? Because time when you’re miserable is worse than no time at all.

I don’t want to

It’s just hard to look at something you could have when I

Not gonna push it if you don’t want to answer I’m just trying to understand. It’s really late and I should go to sleep anyway.

Grizzop. 

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Grizzop,

England’s bloody cold all the time. I didn’t notice it until I was not in England more than I was in it, and the shock of understanding when I finally realised why we call it Blighty was astounding.

Blighted bloody country, is what it is.

I’m glad Sasha had a chance to try driving again. She really did enjoy herself the first time. I’ve had her petition for a curricle and pair on my desk for months and if I ever discover who told her about them I will be extremely creative in my retribution.

I don’t want to tal

There is no point in revis

How much truth do you want, Grizzop? How much do you actually want to know ? I suspect the gulf between what you know of me and what you do not is wider than you realise.

But if you would genuinely bridge it-

You deserve at least that from me.

I caution you again - have a care when you reach Scotland. Milord Queensberry is unpredictable and malignant. The best thing you could do is to put him down like a rabid animal before he can do any more harm .

Keep Sasha safe. Let her do the same for you. I trust you both.

-O

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The paper for this letter is water damaged and has several splotches of dark across its bottom half, obscuring some of the words.

Wilde,

Scotland is even more cold than England and it wasn’t even that long a journey to get up here. Your mate Douglas has a really big house, which I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about. Still it’s fancy and there’s lots of places to hide while we scout so I’m just waiting for Sasha to get back and figured I’d try to work out how to get you to trust give you my report. 

If it goes well I’ll be sending this one from Edinburgh and we’ll be close behind it either with a couple of folk for the cells or an autopsy report, I guess.

Weird that I’m 

You remember when I first met you and I thought you were…

Doesn’t matter how much of your past or whatever I know. Artemis thinks you’re a good person, and you’re pack.  

I don’t know if you get what that means, so maybe there’s things about me you don’t know either, for all your fancy spy stuff.

Cos what I know is part of the pack is hurting, and before you say anything about it means you can’t be useful or whatever yeah I might have thought that in Damascus but you weren’t pack then you were just some poncy bastard who held the keys to helping my friends and I needed you then and now I still need you but it’s different Zolf needs you now.

****** want to know the truth. You don’t ***** ***** me, I’ve got Arte*** fo****

****stopped *********Sasha has** ****. 

We figured that

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(Tucked into an inner pocket of Wilde’s clothing, interrupted and unfinished. There are smudges where the paper appears to have been hastily folded before the ink was fully dried.)

Grizzop,

You asked. In so many words, and in so many silences, you asked, and at this point I cannot deny that I owe you answers.

You asked why “this” - whatever “this” is - is so complicated, and the answer is, I suppose, that I am a complicated person. I frequently envy the unshakable confidence you have in your decisions and your actions. I have never been so secure in my direction, for all that I hold myself rigidly to whatever course I do ultimately deem correct.

Not “right”. Right and wrong as firm concepts blurred, for me, into uniform grey quite a long time ago.

That applies to everything .

I have never experienced a - romance, for lack of a better term - that was anything but at best a disappointment, and at worst actively harmful. Frequently mutually - and a comprehensive number of them fell into that latter category. To be quite frank, I have yet to witness, even second- or third-hand, an example of such a relationship that did not .

I should tell you that my knowledge of Lord Alfred Douglas and his reprehensible father comes from one such liaison. I would have given him anything for the asking; he never asked, but he took everything nevertheless and I learnt a difficult but vital lesson from it .

My experiences since then have done little to countermand those early lessons and while neither you nor Zolf is most assuredly not anything like any of those previous experiences-

I am.

I learnt certain lessons, and I learnt them down to the bone, and there are some things which cannot be untaught.

Beyond this: it’s not something I deserve.

I told you above that I operate entirely in shades of grey, and that is quite true. It enabled me to make decisions and determine courses of action that ultimately bought us advantages in our struggle, but those decisions harmed or killed a significant number of people.

Many of them - more I think than you might suspect - at my own hand. I ruined lives , Grizzop, many of whom did not deserve it, and I did it without hesitation, compunction, or mercy, in service to the broader goal.

I do not feel my decisions were incorrect, but I cannot deny that they were often cruel. My moral compass may have long since been buried beneath the weight of responsibility but it was not destroyed , and it requires that I accept the personal consequences for my actions. Even if they are only ever personally enforced.

Zolf deserves a future with a far better person than I.

And, if I may in my turn insist upon complete honesty from both of us: so do you.

I am uncomfortable discussing this further in writing, so I make this offer: on your return, should you wish to further exp

(A second letter dated after the first:)

Grizzop,

The nurse attendant has finally allowed me paper and pen to scrawl a brief note.

I am healing. The scar is, I am told, impressive. At least this one is not visible while I am dressed

I am not to have visitors and I have not been told why. Sasha managed to sneak in only once and is now required to wait outside the temple for reports from a cleric or nurse. I have asked that she send this to you.

I live in hopes that my gaolers shall see fit to release me soon.

 -O

Wotcher Grizzop, hope you dont mind I added a bit to Wildes note. P. sure he’s bein kept seprate bc of what he did to Douglas, their keepin an eye on him in case he tries it on again. I tried to tell em he aint like that normally but they dont listen.

He didnt tell you what happened becoz hes an idiot so I will.

I finished scoutin and found yr note on the ground and saw you were trapped so I used the emergency teleport ring to get to Wilde. Ive never seen him like he was when I told him - went all white and yelled for Einstein, and I almost couldnt keep up he was walkin so fast but hell if I was lettin him go alone I mean somebody has to keep him safe right?

Shouldntve worried. I dunno why we ever did

Hes scary , Grizzop. Never even touched either one of em just - used that hold-person thing he did to Hamid in Paris that one time so they couldnt run and he just looked at em and sang somethin I couldnt hear quite right and they screamed like he was peelin off their skin.

Told the younger one somethin like You took everything I loved and made it filthy and you will not take this 

Ive never been so scared in my life Grizzop. I am so glad I never crossed him like those Douglas blokes. I didnt know he could do stuff like that.

Anyway thats when the guards figured out somethin was goin on inside and I did the best I could to keep em off him bc he wasnt payin any attention to nothin but the Douglasses but one of em got past me and got a good slash in before I could get a knife in his throat and I thought Wilde was gonna die right there but Einstein was still about aparently and got us to the posydin lot in time.

He aint wrong, its a wicked scar.

Hope your doin okay and if it looks like Wilde dont need me Ill come and see you soon too.

-sasha

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Grizzop,

The Artemis temple in Edinburgh sent word that you’ll be staying there until Wilde is released from the temple of Poseidon which should be as soon as I can bash in a few of their pretty soon. In the meantime I’ve enclosed Wilde’s last letter, a note from Sasha and something that explains a fucking lot of fucking things another half finished one of Wilde’s that I’m pretty sure he was going to send to you before you went and gave him a heart attack got captured.

I dunno if it’s a breach of privacy or whatever but they gave us his personal effects and his jacket was one of the ones he really liked so I got it mended and cleaned and any way - I read the letter too.

He’s been smiling every time he gets a report from you except when he doesn’t

I was so angry but

Look, I know you think things aren’t complicated. Because they’re not, really, are they . But he’s right. He doesn’t believe he’s allowed to be happy. I’ve been there. Still am probably.

I guess I knew from pretty early on how you two felt so it shouldn’t be surprising that you knew about whatever the fuck we are him and me. I’m sorry you got caught up in it. But best thing for everyone concerned would be if you let it lie.

Yeah we’re probably being idiots, but the problem with idiots is that they don’t stop being idiots when you tell them to. They’ve got to earn it. 

I’m gonna have a word with him when I can burn the Poseidon lot to the ground get in to see him. I’m not promising nothing. Just a word. I ain’t good at them, but sometimes neither is he.

Zolf.

Oscar,

I heard it when you came for me it felt like when Artemis

You weren’t wrong about

Zolf found the unfinished note and he sent it along with the others, just so you know, he might have told you already. Days at the temple are good, I’ve been shooting with some of the acolytes, doing some meditation and stuff. Things I haven’t done since I was little. 

It’s weird but I’m kind of liking the waiting.

About what you said before the

Thing about me is, I’m always honest. Well. Unless you’re a mark and you’re not a mark or maybe you are and yeah maybe I’m gettin’ better at talking around a point rather than to it but that’s cos I’ve been hanging around too much with you lot.

You don’t know what I deserve. We all did things that were hard. I left Ve 

I know how much I’m worth. Eva and Artemis made sure of that.

Someone should help you work out how much

I think you’re worth more than what you think. To Zolf, yeah, but also to Sasha and Azu and Hamid and the world, and to me. The world wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.

I’m talking to the Artemis lot and they’re sending some paperwork over regarding what the Douglasses were up to and why you were there. First time I’ve ever been happy you’re so keen on making sure everything’s by the numbers, although you need to sleep more rather than staying up until I didn’t realise it could actually end up being useful. 

The priestess won’t give this letter to anyone but you personally so if you heard shouting that’ll be her standing up to whatever fish brain tries to tell her you’re not allowed visitors.

Love,

Grizzop.

Chapter Text

Lov-

Grizzop

I have been critical of the Artemis lot in the past. However, the symphony of potential injuries I was privileged to hear in the delivery of this letter was sublime . A perfect gift, and I thank you.

Talking around things is a deeply ingrained habit, it seems

You read what I’d already penned, so there is little point in backing away from that particular precipice, I suppose.

You are the most honest person I have ever known. I have a significant facility with words, but I confess to you here they are entirely insufficient to the task of expressing how intensely I treasure that.

I will not attempt to argue against your point wrt my worth in others’ eyes - and indeed, never intended to. I cannot dictate opinion.

You say the world would not be here were it not for my actions, and I suppose to a certain extent that is true. My point is - many of those actions were reprehensible, and I cannot ignore that as though I carry no burden of consequence.

I do. That is the cost of making those decisions. I do not resent it however deeply that wound cuts . The ends do not justify the means, Grizzop, even if the means offer literally no other alternative.

I am told the documentation you forwarded is under review and I am hopeful I will be released from this incredibly damp and slightly fishy-smelling purgatory care of the Poseidon temple shortly. I strongly suspect this has much to do with the small phalanx of Artemisian paladins encamped in the temple courtyard Grizzop how many did you send ?

I should like to see you, when I am.

I should like to see Zolf.

I should like to pretend for a moment or two that what you have said is true .

My love to you regardless,

O.

Zolf 

I presume you read it?

O.

Chapter Text

Oscar,

The Artemis lot usually get on with the Poseidon lot but he’s a prickly bastard and no mistake and I sometimes think my lady would love to shoot him in the kneecaps. Not that she would because she’s better than that but I can get that it would be satisfying. Anyway there were a lot of volunteers to go over there. I wish I’d gone myself but I was scared you wouldn’t

I guess I shouldn’t have been scared

You’re allowed to feel bad about stuff. I mean we’re all allowed to feel bad about stuff and we all do. I’m sorry I didn’t really get what Sasha was feeling, back when she was sick. 

I’m sorry I was mean to Hamid, back in Cairo. although not that sorry cos he was being a dick

I know Azu was sorry she didn’t know much about goblins and I’m sorry I just assumed she would know. 

I’m sorry we completely screwed up signals when we first met. I’m sorry I punched you.

well okay maybe I’m not sorry about that cos I was angry about people making assumptions about us the way Shoin’s folk made assumptions about the kobolds and all of that and I figured that was what you were doing and I didn’t realise it was just cos you were a dick and

What I’m trying to say and not doing a great job of it is that you did bad things for good reasons and I know Ed would say that’s not allowed but Artemis understands that sometimes you’ve got to do it to protect the pack. You say that you’re morally grey but I don’t think you are. If you were morally grey you would have faffed about and not done the shit that needed doing and then we’d all be blue veined or dead.

Right isn’t always the same as good.  

I dunno if you even worship a god. I always took you for someone who’d be in with the Dionysus lot, or even Aphrodite, at least before Damascus but after Damascus it got weird and my lady wanted me to protect you there and she’s not going to let me stop any time soon.

And I don’t want to make that weird either. Cos it’s not because of Artemis that I care about you, it’s because of you.

See that’s what it comes down to I guess? You said you can’t dictate opinion and you can’t. And my opinion is that you deserve to be loved to have something nice after all the stuff that’s happened and not beat yourself up about the person you had to be before while you’re trying to be the person you are now.

That’s more than I’ve ever written I think. Maybe I should get a nom de plum or whatever it is you were talking about. 

Gonna follow behind this letter and meet you at the temple when they let you out or shoot them until they do.

Love,

Grizzop.

Oscar,

I mean yeah. A lot of words dancing around the fact that you’re an idiot and so am I. 

I dunno what Grizzop’s been saying but I can make a couple of guesses. 

Fuck Poseidon I just want to

Look when you get out we can talk properly and I promise I won’t go all single word answers on you like last time but you have to not be so you just assume you know what’s best for everyone all the time. Some of us are older and uglier and wiser. Or younger and better lookin’ and wiser. And shorter. You know what just  

Get better and get out soon. 

Z.

Chapter Text

Wilde’s experience with the cult of Poseidon had heretofore consisted of: Zolf. It’s a limited pool to draw from, he’s aware, but the past minor eternity few days (weeks...?) spent in the company of a broader selection has cemented certain assumptions, and jettisoned others.

Zolf isn’t Like That.

They are all Like That.

At last given his walking papers, Wilde finds himself unaccountably grateful for the extremely-well-armed and grim-faced collection of Artemis’ best which had very likely sped his release. He makes a note to stop at the temple soon and leave an offering, because there is no profit in annoying a goddess.

He is also grateful, less strangely, for the infinite usefulness of prestidigitation, because it means that when Wilde walks - somewhat stiffly - out of the temple and between the aforesaid paladins, he is sharply dressed, perfectly well-rested, sleek of hair and bright of eye, and the cane on which he is trying very hard not to lean is an elegant thing that happens to nicely match his tie-tack.

Wilde has a reputation to uphold.

The silent archers - managing somehow to make half a dozen or so appear legion - close ranks behind him to usher him out of the reach of Poseidon’s clerics and to the street.

That has to be Grizzop’s doing.

#

Zolf doesn’t tap his foot because that would be the ultimate exercise in futility and any way Grizzop is doing enough of it for both of them.

“Could you stop it?” he says, glancing down at the goblin, who has his arms crossed and his ears sticking straight out from his head and honestly, Zolf hopes that Wilde got enough rest in there because he has a feeling Grizzop isn’t going to let him rest at all now that he’s out.

At least not until there’s been some words.

He glances over to Sasha, who looks relaxed, leaning against the carriage they’ve brought. Einstein isn’t available at the moment, Curie having finally put her foot down about their overuse of him in the past weeks. “He’s an old man,” she’d said. “You’re going to wear him out.”

“Where is he?” Grizzop says and Zolf opens his mouth to say something but shuts it again when he sees the Artemis paladins begin to move.

His heart shouldn’t be hammering against his ribs the way it is. He definitely shouldn’t be gripping his glaive this tightly.

Oscar looks… well he looks the same. Of course he does. He’s dressed impeccably, but Zolf can see he’s walking with a cane, moving stiffly, and he remembers Sasha’s description of the blow he took, and his fingers tighten even further on the glaive and his vision goes a little dark at the edges, and he feels a small clawed hand on his arm and looks back down at Grizzop, who is smirking at him. 

Smirking.

Bloody cheek of that goblin. “He’s fine,” Grizzop says. “And if he isn’t we’re much better at lookin’ after him than your old lot.”

Zolf thinks of the letters. Grizzop didn’t show them to him, because they were private, between him and Oscar, but he’d seen the bundle and he knows enough of the story.

“You sure about that?” he asks, and his voice is rough.

“Surer than anything,” Grizzop flashes him a grin, then turns and somehow Oscar has covered the distance between them and he’s standing right there, one eyebrow raised, a curtain of hair falling over one eye the midday sun just catching the glints of silver threaded through it, and a smile just touching those full lips.

Zolf knows he promised he’d talk. But right now he doesn’t think he can remember a single word, feels like his breath is stuck in his chest and can’t release, wonders at the fact that he can be fifty-something years old and be terrified by the very presence of someone he… 

“Wotcher Wilde,” Grizzop says.

#

Sasha’s leaning on the carriage now , sure.

She’d been on top of the carriage, though, and had seen the temple door open, watched a tall figure in the doorway, watched the paladins subtly move themselves into positions that gave them each excellent line of sight to the rest of the courtyard and through the doorway (she’s impressed, they did it easy as breathing).

Sasha thinks about alerting the lads as she slithers soundlessly down to the street, and then thinks better of it.

Letting them stew is much more entertaining.

When Wilde finally gets to the gate, Sasa’s back on top of the carriage. For the view, of course, and not for any other stupid reason like there’s still a stupid little flutter of fear when she looks at him, because that’d be stupid.

And anyway, it’s a good view of the idiots being idiots.

They are bloody idiots, too.

Sasha watches Wilde make his way to where the other two lads stand ( he’s movin’ too slow; ain’t he healed up yet? That was a nasty one though ). She watches the range of poorly-concealed expressions roll like an incoming tide over Zolf’s face; watches Grizzop’s impatient fidgeting ratchet itself up into practically a hum; watches Wilde’s sarcasm slip over his expression like a mask he isn’t even aware he’s wearing ( maybe he ain’t ), and resists the urge to kick them all in the head.

How , Sasha wonders, if she can see it - Sasha who’s-askin’ Racket, who wouldn’t know flirting if it walked up and kissed her (it’d be dead if it tried) - how the hell could they be so oblivious ?

It’s obvious to anybody who looks at them they’re all besotted with each other to one degree or another.

On a whim, Sasha leans down and taps the driver on the shoulder.

“Betcha a silver at least two of ‘em kiss before they get in the carriage.”

The driver glances behind the carriage, considers a moment, then nods. “Done.”

#

The sun is lovely, and Wilde pauses a moment at the gate to feel it soaking into his tense shoulders and warming his hair. It feels good . Secretly, he has been afraid the Poseidon temple would be inclined to hold him indefinitely - not permanently, of course; ultimately the paper trail of evidence he’d patiently built would have forced their hand - and the thought has been a claustrophobic one in the back of his mind for some time.

But. He is free, and (mostly) healed, and there waiting for him are the two (three? Wilde would have sworn he’d seen Sasha) people in the world he most and least wants to see just at this moment.

With a belly full of doubt, Wilde straightens and fails to suppress the resulting wince, lets habit pull him into a comfortable veneer of sardonicism, and closes the few feet remaining between them all.

“Grizzop,” he says by way of greeting, “Zolf,” because if Wilde says anything other than names right now the chasm at his feet might actually yawn open and swallow him whole.

A couple seconds’ pause gives him a few more words, and he gestures to the carriage (with, unfortunately, the hand holding his cane, and there is a moment of imbalance as stiff and protesting muscles nearly fail to compensate). “Shall we find somewhere else to be? Anywhere else to be.”

#

Grizzop ducks under the cane hand and slips a strong arm around Wilde’s waist and gives Zolf a look. “Gotcha,” he says, and doesn’t think about the fact that his face is now all but pressed into Oscar’s Wilde’s middle, breathing in the scent of whatever soap or stuff the poseidon lot think is good for healing.

It’s a familiar scent, underneath all the other things that aren’t, and it takes a lot of willpower not to just bury his face in it.

That said. For all his scrawnyness, Wilde isn’t light, and he’s also top heavy. “Zolf. Some help.”

Zolf, who shouldn’t be good at stealth, is beside Osc Wilde on the other side without Grizzop noticing how he managed it and the weight is evened.

Grizzop’s hands itch, as they take the last few steps to the carriage, as they help Oscar up into it, as he looks at Zolf, standing and looking in.

“Come on,” Grizzop says.

Zolf turns to him. “Before we get going,” he says. “You need to know that I don’t… “

Grizzop would not call on Artemis for something this trivial, but it is definitely tempting. Instead he just puts his hand out, touches Zolf’s arm. 

There have been a few of those, over the past few days. Touches. Whenever there has been a possibility of news. When it’s been late, and they’ve ended up sitting closer to each other than necessary. Waiting.

Grizzop won’t deny that they’ve been comforting. 

“It’s easy right?”

Zolf, to his credit, laughs. “Fuck, Grizzop,” he says. “You’re the only person I’ve ever known who thinks this shit is easy…”

“No,” Grizzop says. “But it is.”

“Gods…”

“You love him, I love him, he’s a bloody idiot, all sorted on our end, he’s the only one,” he jerked a thumb to the carriage “what we need to worry about. Right?”

He watches the muscles of Zolf’s throat move as he swallows. Loses patience.

He shoves Zolf into the carriage. Follows straight after.

#

Atop the carriage, Sasha sighs in annoyance and fishes a silver out of a pocket somewhere, and drops it into the smug driver’s waiting hand.

“Bloody idiots,” he tells her, and she nods her agreement. “Yup. Bloody idiots.”

#

Inside the carriage, Wilde waits. Not patiently; part of him wants Grizzop and Zolf to hurry , to get in already, so they can get this - whatever this ends up being - over with, so he can move on past the awkwardness and the ache he would much prefer to forget about. So he can get back to his work.

And then he gets his wish: Zolf and Grizzop clamber in and close the door, and Wilde hears the muffled crack of the whip and the driver’s encouragement to the horses.

A thought occurs to him, and he frowns, leaning with another wince to peer out the small window.

“Is... Sasha not with you? I thought I saw-”

Wilde cuts himself off. Sasha is either atop the carriage or has slunk off somewhere on her own business. She’ll find them when she feels like it.

And it is, frankly, a bit of relief that she won't be present for... this .

He closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself, gathering his thoughts, then opens them to look at Grizzop and Zolf in turn.

“So,” Wilde says, and hates the obvious weariness in his voice. He wonders idly how long the glamour holding his polished appearance together will manage to last. “How, ah. How shall we go forward, then?”

#

Zolf realises that he is twisting his hands together in his lap. He looks down at Grizzop.

“Why are you looking at me?” he says. “You’re the one who needs to use his words.”

Zolf takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, then forces himself to look up into Oscar’s. “Wil… Oscar… I mean. You know right? Grizzop told you and I told you - well alright not in words so much as in… other ways and you’re good at this kind of thing. Or at least you’re supposed to be.”

“Good at it in some ways,” Grizzop says, patting Zolf’s knee. “When it’s for a purpose that’s not him being happy. ”

Zolf snorts, smiling a little. Grizzop is way better at this than both of them. A product of having less time, he guesses, and that thought makes a hand constrict around his heart.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking rapidly, “that. I mean we know what the deal was with Bertie and we know… Douglas… hurt you and the business with your…” he waves a hand at Oscar’s face, then winces at Oscar’s expression, clasps that hand back in his lap and starts twisting them together again. “We get it, right? It was part of your job for so long and so yeah maybe it’s complicated for you but the whole thing where you think you don’t deserve us or you think we shouldn’t… have feelings for you is just bullshit. You don’t get to choose that kind of thing. Not to say I wouldn’t have, anyway, if I could have because we went through a lot and…”

Grizzop squeezes his knee again. “Right. Anyway. Point is, movin’ forward ain’t up to us, this is us doing that. Moving’ forward, Oscar, is up to you.”

He stops. Chews on his cheek. Waits.

#
Oscar.

For whatever idiot reason, out of everything Zolf has said, it's that which sticks out, tumbles aimlessly through Wilde's frenetically-churning mind, drawing his focus back to it again and again.

He'd called him Oscar.

Out loud.

To his face.

Wilde can feel the habitual mask of distance climbing over his face and closes his eyes, trying to find a piece of what has been said so far to latch onto. Something innocuous enough that it doesn't threaten the instincts that are screaming at him to end this end it shut it down and never look at it again-

In fact, it's a boot to the face that knocks him out of his internal spiral.

Sasha swings into the carriage through the window with a cheery "Oi, lads, didn't realise you were already doin' thi-" and stops when her foot connects with something that shouldn't be there.

When she wriggles the rest of the way through the window, Wilde is holding a hand to his face, the other one gripping Zolf's knee where he'd braced himself from falling the rest of the way to the floor. Sasha's spine freezes rigid as it dawns on her what it is she'd kicked.

"Oh- gods Wilde I thought- you got in on th'other side I thought you were- I mean I would've come in th'other window, right, if I knew you were right here-"

#

The impact of Sasha’s boot to Oscar’s face makes an audible sound with which Grizzop is at least a bit familiar and he winces in sympathy, even as Oscar is clattering in a tangle of limbs and cane across them. Zolf lets out a huff of breath and Grizzop scoots to the side, leaning down to get his hands under Oscar and shoving him back up off the floor.

He doesn’t quite get the angle right, though, and while he’d been aiming to plonk Oscar pretty much where he’d been sitting up to now he instead…

Deposits six feet three of gangly bard into Zolf’s lap.

Zolf makes an “oof” sound, hands settling on Oscar’s hips and Grizzop looks at Sasah who is still babbling apologies and it’s actually quite difficult to restrain himself from hugging her.

A quick glance at Oscar’s face makes him certain that no real damage has been done - it’ll bruise but only if Zolf doesn’t… ah.

He watches as Zolf shifts a little under Oscar’s weight, his blush very noticeable next to the white of his beard, then sees the angry red mark across the unscarred side of Oscar’s face. 

“Sasha, really?” He says, glancing at her for a second, then back up to Oscar. It feels a bit like time slows down in the carriage at that point, as Zolf brings up one hand to cup the offended cheek.

“‘Ere,” Zolf says, soft and low, and then murmurs the spell, and Grizzop feels the edges of his magic and sees the familiar white glow as Oscar's face is engulfed by it.

The magic fades but Zolf doesn’t drop his hand, his thumb gently brushing over Oscar’s cheekbone.

“Nice one Sasha,” Grizzop whispers, and sits next to her on the opposite seat, not even trying to hide his grin.

#

"Mate," Sasha whispers, staring in commingled horror and fascination as Wilde is first healed, then caressed, "I didn't mean to do that." She bites a worried thumbnail and glances beside her at Grizzop. "How mad d'you reckon 'e's gonna be? I mean, when-" She waves a vague hand at whatever inexplicable thing was happening in the seat opposite. "When that's done."

#

Wilde's face is burning , and he's not entirely certain which cause is the stronger. Sasha wears large boots and kicks like a mule and he's fairly certain she broke his nose again . But then again, it's been immediately healed, leaving behind a too-recent memory of the impact and 

    and

And a

...hand?

On his face.

And that's the other source of burning: Wilde is blushing in a way that he hasn't since childhood, with embarrassment; with off-balance uncertainty; with-

With warmth.

He is, Wilde realises, sitting in Zolf's lap.

Well, "sitting". Perched, really, entirely too large for this and still more than a little askew from having fallen and then been essentially flung there.

And one of Zolf's hands is on his face, still . And the other one is resting with evident care on his hip.

And Oscar Wilde- acclaimed playwright, author, poet, bard- finds he has forgotten every word he ever knew.

#

The spell is one he can cast without even thinking and the damage to Oscar’s face is straightforward enough to heal so there really isn’t any reason for Zolf to keep his hand where it is, feeling the texture of Oscar’s skin, it’s warmth, curling his fingers over and down to his jaw.

Oscar is heavy in his lap, pressing down, and it should be a lot more awkward than it is - dwarves aren’t truly built to be chairs for fully grown adult male humans - but Zolf’s hand on Oscar’s hip tightens at the thought that he might get up. 

Oscar is looking at him, the mask of indifference and sarcasm gone, lips partially open in surprise, breath coming a little faster than normal, just like Zolf’s. He can feel the hammering of Oscar’s pulse, too, under his fingers which are still gently exploring Oscar’s face. 

There is definitely something he should be doing, right about now. The carriage rocks and Oscar wobbles slightly on his perch, and Zolf slides the hand that isn’t occupied up until it’s resting in the small of his back, ostensibly to steady him against the movement, but also pulling him closer against his chest, tightening the embrace.

It’s very, very easy to tilt his face upwards so he can feel Oscar’s breath against his skin, the warmth of it tickling the hair of his beard.

“Movin’ forward,” Zolf murmurs, and Oscar blinks down at him, the slightest twitch in one eyebrow at the words. “Fuck it.”

He’s still too fucking tall, so Zolf moves his hand around to the back of Oscar’s head, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, and tugs the giant idiot that he loves down towards his lips for a kiss. 

#

Grizzop bites his fist, and without taking his eyes off Oscar and Zolf, reaches up to clap his other hand over Sasha’s mouth before she can say anything.

#

It’s the most natural thing in the world, kissing. It’s something Wilde has done all his life - sometimes shyly, sometimes with unshakable confidence, sometimes often in arrogance; in service to his own desires, to others’ desires, to the Meritocrats; countless times, enough that all the faces have blurred together, become one unidentifiable ur-person occupying the space in Wilde’s head marked ‘former lovers’.

It’s a space he very carefully doesn’t look anymore, hasn’t in a very long time.

They all end up there. All of them, eventually, and generally sooner rather than later, and Wilde has grown so tired of it, of the inevitability of it infecting all his interactions beyond the most casual. Beneath all of his carefully-reasoned, morally-weighted arguments lies this : Oscar Wilde has been hurt one too many times, and he has hurt far more than that.

But

There are

Hands

On his hip on his neck and they are 

Warm and

Known

And there is a mouth on his 

And it’s a mouth he has, if he is being honest (catch Oscar Wilde being honest) studied at length, considered, pondered in solitude; memorised the shape and curve of it, wondered in unguarded moments what it would feel like, what it would taste like and the answer is it tastes-

...like this.

Like salt and smoke and something sweet. Like sea spray and the honey Zolf puts in his tea. Like nothing else.

All of Wilde’s arguments have fled. There is no standing against nature, and Zolf is a force of it.

Going forward

Fuck it.

#

It’s a good thing Grizzop got a hand over her mouth when he did. Sasha’d drawn a sharp breath and then there was a goblin palm covering the lower half of her face ( how are Grizzop’s hands that big? ) and Sasha’s grateful for that half-second or so of reflection he gave her because she’s not entirely certain what was going to come out.

Is that what kissing is like? ...huh.

Sasha scoots forward on the bench seat, stretching to peer at Zolf and Wilde from a better angle. It drags Grizzop’s hand off her mouth but that’s okay. The first shock of WOT THEY’RE FINALLY KISSING has eased and she’s far less likely to interrupt.

That’s. Huh. That’s a lot of tongue involved.

Weird.

Sasha slides back again, elbows Grizzop in the ribs, and leans over to whisper, “So like. You gonna get in on that? I seen you lookin’ at ‘im. Both of ‘em. Looks like now’s the time, right?”

#

Grizzop lets his hand fall from Sasha’s mouth and blinks rapidly, to clear eyes that are suddenly blurry with moisture. He’s totally not crying. And he isn’t going to. 

His heart does feel a couple of sizes too big though and he swallows as he watches Oscar hesitate for the shortest of seconds there’s still a possibility he could screw this up Artemis give me strength before…

Yes. Finally.  

He shakes his head in response to Sasha’s question. “Give them a bit,” he hisses back at her. “That’s… two years of… whatever there, gonna take them… uh… oh. Um.”

His words trail off as Zolf’s hand comes up to join the other tangled in Oscar’s hair and tilts both their heads so the majority of what’s going on is hidden from his and Sasha’s view. Oscar makes a muffled noise (Grizzop guesses he might have something in his mouth stopping him from being intelligible - which is a good tactic actually and one he’ll have to remember once it’s his turn) his hands fisting in Zolf’s shirt and slides off Zolf’s lap as the dwarf twists his body enough for Oscar to land on the bench beside him rather than on the floor of the carriage.

“Huh,” Grizzop says. He’s impressed. That was a lot more dextrous than he’d anticipated, from Zolf.

#

Oscar’s lips are soft and full (exactly as soft and full as Zolf had always thought they might be). For a second Zolf worries that he’s gone too far, that without the talk, without the express permission that Oscar is so unwilling to give, he’s done something unforgivable, because it is a moment before they move against his.

When they start to move, though, Zolf forgets that he was ever worried about this at all. When Oscar runs his tongue over the seam of his lips, and Zolf parts his to allow him inside, his mind narrows down to nothing but the feel of him, of this.

He forgets they’re in a carriage kissing like teenagers in front of Sasha and Grizzop, at least until another slight bump in the road forces him to realise that Oscar’s perch is still precarious. Tactical brain takes over for a second (just a second, and gods is it hard with Oscar’s hands creeping up his chest, Oscar’s tongue in his mouth, Oscar’s body pressed against him) and he twists, just enough to get his bum onto the seat instead of Zolf’s lap, enough to steady him so he can lean in closer, kiss deeper, touch…

He needs to breathe and breaks off, finally, pulling back, but not far.

Not far.

#

There is a knot in Wilde’s spine, right at the base of it, deep deep deep in his core. It’s been there for... years, more of them than he cares to count.

It’s a tightly-wound thing, curled up around itself and tenaciously immovable. Sometimes he forgets it’s there. Other times he can barely move for the weight of it.

In the span of thirty seconds, in the lap of a dwarf, Wilde feels the knot soften and the sweet ache of it draws something like a gasp - or perhaps a grateful sob - from his throat.

Wilde is not entirely sure if he is dizzy from the kiss or the blow to the head, but when Zolf lifts and slides him to the bench seat, the world slides briefly out from beneath him, black at the edges of his vision. He braces a hand against the side of the carriage, the other one clutching Zolf’s sleeve, while he waits for the swirling uncertainty to pass.

It passes when he feels Zolf draw back and Wilde manages to pull in a breath. That may answer the question of where the dizziness came from.

#

Sasha doesn’t give Grizzop a chance; when Zolf breaks off, she shoves her own wrist in her mouth to prevent the immediate cheerful yell of approval from escaping.

Somehow she feels it would not go over well, just at the moment.

Probably not the applause, either.

Sasha doesn’t see why , it’s not like she (and everyone else who’s ever met the idiots) hasn’t been waiting for them to figure this out for literally years .

Speaking of idiots.

She has one hand crammed in her mouth, sure, but the other one is free.

So Sasha uses it to shove Grizzop off the bench and toward Zolf and Wilde.

Oops. 

#

Grizzop, never one for sitting still for any length of time, is mid bounce of excitement when Sasha’s (surprisingly strong) hand shoves him forward. He stumbles, because he wasn’t expecting it and Sasha is fast, not because he’s distracted and emotional and half crying and twisted up inside with equal parts relief and guilt lets out an oof as he collides with the tangled mess that are Zolf and Wilde’s limbs. 

He should scramble back, let them have their moment, but he’s here now and he’s damned if he’s going to waste any more time, so instead he climbs up on top of them hugging whatever bits he can reach, nuzzling his face into what turns out to be Wilde’s hair and clutching at Zolf’s arm.

It’s hard to sort out which bits belong to which person but it doesn’t matter, in the end, it doesn’t matter because they’re both his.

“You’re such bloody idiots,” he says, voice muffled by Oscar’s cravat. “Artemis knows why I love you.” 

#

Zolf isn’t exactly surprised when Grizzop barrels into them but he does put a boot in a fairly sensitive spot as he scrabbles for the right position and Zolf lets out a soft “oof” of pain before Grizzop manages to settle, curled in Wilde’s lap, head tucked into Wilde’s neck, voice entirely muffled by the stupid amount of fabric Oscar feels compelled to wind about himself every day. Zolf almost pulls back, until he feels a strong, small hand grasp one of his, fingers lacing and holding on for what feels like dear life while Grizzop peppers kisses over Wilde’s cheek, rattling off insults to both of them.

“Oi,” Zolf says, weakly, leaning back in his seat, the hand that isn’t trapped behind Wilde’s back by a squirming goblin reaching instead for one of Grizzops ears, giving it a small, sharp flick. “Ease up, Grizzop.”

Grizzop looks up from Wilde’s face and pokes a tongue out at him. “Not bloody likely,” he says, then launches himself into Zolf’s lap instead.

Across from them, Zolf can hear Sasha giggling. 

Well. He guesses he never really had that much dignity, any way.

#

Wilde is aware of a muffled sound like “--!” and then, suddenly, he is being climbed like a tree by a frantic goblin, which is not anywhere on the list of events he’d anticipated experiencing over his life.

It’s not an unpleasant one, at least, aside from the occasional scrape of a claw. And it’s brief, because Grizzop wastes no time even when being awkward, and then apparently...

Apparently whatever this is, has become... 

Just this. Thing. That feels oddly correct , a goblin and a dwarf beside (or on top of) him, and it somehow just-

fits. 

Across from him, Wilde notices Sasha for the first time since she nearly concussed him with a solid left boot. She is sprawled over the opposite bench like she owns it, and has nearly bitten through her wrist in an effort not to make noise.

He catches her gaze and holds it.

“How much?” he demands.

Sasha blinks innocently, and Wilde snorts.

“Don’t give me that. How much? ”

Sasha is prevented from answering by the carriage slowing to a stop. There is a creak and sway as the driver dismounts and comes ‘round to open the door, and Sasha grins ferociously at him when he does, still fearlessly staring at Wilde.

“Oi mate,” she crows, “y’owe me a gold. Pay up.”

Ah, Wilde thinks as the driver stares at the three of them entangled on the bench seat and then, grumbling, pulls out a purse to fish out a gold coin. That much.

That’s fine. He can’t begrudge Sasha profiting from it; as far as Wilde is concerned this unexpected and bizarre rightness is priceless.

Chapter Text

OI HAMID GUESS WOT YOU WILL NEVER BELEI BELEE BIL GUESS WOT HAPPENED

you owe me a gold mate thats wot happened

They finally did it the idiots finaly figured it out

only took how many years ?

anyway you owe me a gold an i miss you come see me n bring some of that almond stuff i had last time that was good

-sasha

wotcher azu i owe you a gold its in the envle on-vel tucked in the letter

its alright tho 

i just always figured itd be grizzop who got fed up first never wouldve pegged zolf for makin the 1st move

then again he does read those books

hidden shallows, right?

anyway the idiots look happy so alls well that ends well right?

betcha they have a fall wedding

double or nothin?

cheers!

-sasha

wotcher apophis hope your doin' alright

so you remember a while back we were talkin, right, about wilde n the group and you said there was no way an i said look ive met 'em all i KNOW and you said youd beleev it when you see it and i said bet a gold on it and you said i would so hate to steal ur money sasha but by all means

well

zolf aint slept in is own bed in a week an grizzops started hangin his bow up over wildes door so i reckon im a gold richer now

cheers mate! tell saira i said hi

-sasha racket

eyenst

inesti

skinny bloke with the hair

how the hell dyou spell yr bloody name

anyway i came into some gold you wanna go to spain again an watch the bulls only that was a great time an id kinda like to do it again an this time maybe chase em now i know where th guards are

my treat

i cant stand listenin to these idiots anymore its disgustin an if i see 1 more moony eyed longing glance over th brekfist table imma pretend to throw up in wildes coffee

lets go get pissed in spain, mate

cheers

-sasha