Chapter Text
Keyleth awoke to the sun streaming through the undrawn curtains, groaning at the pain that pulsed behind her eyes. She threw her hand over her eyes as she heard the snuffling and groans of Ves’salia behind her. She turned with a smile to look at the elf, her narrowed gaze showing that she felt just as miserable as Keyleth did.
“Here, just a moment - “ Keyleth rasped.
She sat up, wincing at the wave of nausea that greeted her. She stumbled to her bag and pulled out a handful of gems, murmuring the incantation. Ves’salia groaned and shoved her head into the pillow as the magic washed over her. Keyleth sat on the bed and cast Greater Restoration on herself as well, sighing as her head cleared and the nausea abated.
Both women looked at each other and giggled, their laughter turning hysterical as Keyleth fell back, reaching up to grip Ves’salia’s hand and squeeze it. They were interrupted by a knock at the door, and a robe-clad Ves’siah a smile on her face. Her black hair was loose about her shoulders and Keyleth could see a trace of the hangover that she had just cured - though not as severe. Ves’siah had always been so responsible.
“I’m glad to see you’re both still with us. Breakfast is almost ready, if you can stomach it.”
Ves’salia grinned, heaving herself forward to rise and place a kiss on her daughter’s cheek.
“There are many perks to having an Archdruid in the family,” She said with a wink, straightening her ruined gown primly and striding towards her rooms.
Ves’siah watched her mother go with a soft smile, her hazel eyes warm. Keyleth rose easily - her body would be warm and loose for the rest of the day, the result of the spell.
As she stood a glint caught her eye, and she turned back to see a long, perfect feather on her pillow - and a tightly rolled piece of parchment tied to it. Ves’siah glanced over as Keyleth saw it, walking to the pillow with a concerned expression. They looked at it together for a moment before Keyleth reached out, running her hands along the glinting feather.
“...does that happen often?” Ves’siah asked quietly.
Keyleth shook her head, the pleasant buzz of the spell waning as her heart rate rose.
“No. No it does not,” She whispered, taking the parchment in her hands. It was small, sealed with a simple leather tie.
Keyleth glanced to Ves’siah, her face worried as she looked from the parchment to Keyleth.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Keyleth sighed, shaking her head and quickly pulling the tie. Written on the paper in blood-red ink in looping script lay a single word.
“Sorrowmere?” Ves’siah read aloud beside her, her confused brow looking at Keyleth as her hands began to shake, a burst of flame from her hands incinerating the paper.
Ves’siah jumped back as the paper burned before leaning down to pick up the feather, untouched by the flame. Keyleth stood still, her eyes wide as her hands burned, mouth slack. She dimly felt Ves’siah touch her shoulder, standing in front of her with pleading eyes.
“Keyleth? Keyleth? Aunt Tree?” She said gently.
Keyleth snapped back, her breath choppy. She gripped Ves’siah’s hand, shaking her head.
“What does that mean?” Ves’siah asked desperately, her brows drawn in concern.
Keyleth closed her eyes, pursing her lips.
“It means that my visit must be cut short,” She said curtly, releasing Ves’siah’s hands to sit on the bed, gathering her things from the side table and into her bag.
Ves’siah shook her head, confused as she sat beside her, a hand on her shoulder.
“What do you mean? Auntie Keyleth, please -”
Keyleth took a deep breath and closed her eyes, looking up at Ves’siah.
“It means that I am being summoned , child. It means…”
She looked to the window, taking in the snow capped mountains, the soft scraping of chairs and building of voices as the family trickled down to the dining hall. She turned her gaze to Ves’siah, her dear face torn with dismay.
“I have been summoned to speak to the Matron. Hopefully for the last damn time.”
Ves’siah’s mouth fell open, and she gripped her robes.
“Can’t you speak to her here? The Temple is -”
Keyleth cut her off with a raised hand, rising from the bed and tying her bag shut tightly, her hands tugging sharply on the cords.
“She calls me to Vasselheim. To Raven’s Crest. It is where the heart of her power lies, where she can speak most clearly. I can’t say that I did not suspect she would do this, but I had hoped she would not. But life has taught me that we do not always get what we hope for,” Keyleth said, wincing at the bitterness in her voice.
Ves’siah stood and reached out to hug her tightly. She was tall, and her words were close in Keyleth’s ear.
“Stay for breakfast, please. I - I’m not ready to -” She stammered, her voice hitching.
Keyleth held her, running a hand down her back.
“Hush love, I’ll be back, I’ve already told you all that. I meant to stay for a month, and I won’t let her take that from me. I’ll stay for breakfast, but then I must go. I do not have the time to waste, and the Matron does nothing idly.”
She felt Ves’siah nod into her shoulder, sniffling as she pulled away and wiped her eyes.
“Alright then. Come on, Victor wants to see the dragon before you leave. He was so upset that he missed it,” She said with a broken chuckle.
Keyleth gave her a tight smile, reaching forward to kiss her forehead. She held her there for a moment, inhaling the smell of Ves’siah’s clean hair, her fine perfume, the baby-smell that clung to her robe.
A few hours later Keyleth extricated herself from a horde of irritated De Rolo’s and family, whispering promises of return to tearful children and a steely-eyed Ves’salia.
Joni accompanied her to the Suntree, the square parting for her and growing silent once more. She gave the crowd her best Tempest measured smile, passing through the Suntree and into the biting air of Vasselheim.
She stood for a moment in the bracing wind before shifting into a raven, pushing herself on strong wings to the dark spires of the Duskmeadow district. She stopped before Raven’s Crest and dropped her form, another roil of anger filling her as she looked at the massive structure. She gathered herself and climbed the steps, the massive doors falling open before her.
She strode through the temple, Mantle billowing behind her as her staff pounded on the stone floor. The sound reverberated off of the tall chambers like the beat of a drum. Worshippers and priests alike parted for her with stunned expressions, whispering behind their hands as she passed.
She shifted once more as she came upon the steps, flying her way up and returning to her form in front of the dark wood door. She heard the sound of quick footsteps behind her, looking back to see the pale face of one of the High Wardens rushing towards her, confusion in her dark eyes. She turned back to the door as the footsteps stopped.
“I request entry, Li’velle. Alone.” She clipped, turning her head to look at the young half -elf.
Lieve’tel’s great-granddaughter met her eye before giving a short bow, her eyes wide as she looked upon Keyleth.
“I will not deny you, Tempest. May I ask why?” She says softly, placing a hand on the cool wood.
Keyleth levels a look at her, fighting the fire that is screaming in her veins.
“I have business with the Matron. I will leave it at that.” She says sharply, turning her gaze forward as Li’velle nods, the massive door falling open beneath her slender pale hands.
“I understand. I will guard the chamber for you,” She said softly, her face more pale than before as she looked at Keyleth with a chastised expression.
Keyleth strode through the door, standing still as it shut behind her with a muffled boom. The swirling colors of the glass windows played across her skin, red bleeding to orange to bruised blue. She took a few steps forward, wrinkling her nose at the iron-smell of the blood pool, still and black before her.
The silence of the Temple is deafening, and she fights the urge to scream as memories assault her - laying De Rolo after De Rolo to rest in the silent catacombs. Standing alone in the darkness after the other mourners left, alone with corpses and a Raven, eyes dry and chest tight. She steps before the pool, bile rising as she gazes into it before lifting her head to the undulating colors of the windows.
“I’m not fucking going in there,” She calls out into the darkness, slamming down her staff.
A shockwave emanates from it, and she feels a grim satisfaction as a few of the windows rattle in their panes, a three-foot wave cresting from her feet in the pool. The echoes chase each other as she listens, her heart steady in her ear.
“I am eighteen hundred years old, and I will not drown in blood for you. If you wish to speak to me, do so now. I have more important things to do than yell at you, goddess,” She said defiantly, her words sharp and clear.
As the echoes of her voice decayed around her, she wondered for a brief moment if she was pushing her luck. She wondered if he could see her now, what he would think. She realized that she didn’t care.
She grinned with satisfaction as the colors darkened in the massive windows, gripping her staff tightly as a cold wind blew across the pool. A form rose from it ahead of her, massive and dark. It floated over the pool, shrinking down to that of a woman, shrouded in black, a porcelain mask obscuring her face. Keyleth rose her chin as she stood before her, stopping a few feet away.
“Greetings, Voice of the Tempest,” She says, a cold breeze emanating from her form.
Keyleth gives her a crooked grin, inclining her head in respect. She did not hate the goddess as she once had - but she still wasn’t thrilled to see her. The knowledge that one being had given her so much joy and misery was hard to handle, even now. But she did grudgingly respect her, if out of nothing more than love for those that had passed through her care.
“Greetings, Matron of Ravens. You have called me here for a reason, I hope.” She said, her voice hoarse.
She could almost see the ghost of a smile flash across the Matron’s masked face.
“Not one to waste time,” She responded, and Keyleth felt a shocked laugh cough out of her chest.
She threw her head back and gripped her staff, letting her head loll forward once more to look at the floor.
“We both know that I have little time to waste.” Keyleth responded, raising her chin to meet her hollow gaze.
The Matron tilted her head to the side, and it reminded Keyleth of the Raven, the way he would look at her like she was a loose puzzle piece.
“You are correct - your thread grows short, Tempest,” The Matron said lowly, and Keyleth felt a thrill up her spine, gripping her staff tightly.
“My successor is almost ready. I do not fear death, Matron. You know this.” Keyleth responded flatly.
The Matron grows quiet, and Keyleth wondered if she had pushed her too far. Once again, she found that she did not care.
“My Champion still longs for you,” The Matron said quietly, and Keyleth felt her bravado slip, a sudden tight ache in her throat choking her.
She swallows it down, shaking her head with a sad smile.
“As I long for him. You know this.” Keyleth responded, watching as the Raven Queen’s form grew perfectly still.
A moment of silence stretched. Keyleth watched, breathless, as she raised a bone-pale hand to lift her mask.
She is beautiful, as she knew she would be. But her beauty is...cold. The planes of her pale face are sharp and angular, a hollow casting down her cheeks like the point of an arrow. Her lips are full and crimson, but her eyes - her eyes are striking, large blood red irises gazing at her through long, dark lashes, her arched brows drawn together as she stares at Keyleth. She noted that her ears were long and pointed, like that of an elf.
Keyleth squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, determined to stand tall before her. The Matron searched her face, her bright eyes fixated on her.
“I do.” She said simply, her voice like the scattering of dead leaves across a stone tomb.
Keyleth felt a sudden rush of pity for the woman in front of her, her name and identity lost to time. She remembered suddenly that she had once been mortal - had she loved another as well?
“Your time draws close. And my Champion knows this. You say that your successor is close to ascension,” The Matron continued, and Keyleth felt a spike of dull fear as she smiled, her full lips pulling in her thin face.
“There must be a Voice of the Tempest. As there must be a Champion of the Raven Queen,” She said.
Keyleth felt like she was falling, air streaming past her as her vision tunneled.
“...what are you saying?” She says between her teeth.
The Matron gives her a tight smile, and Keyleth shudders as she reaches out a cold hand, hovering over her cheek.
“You are wise, Keyleth. Far wiser than most,” She says, her voice a sonorous whisper in the chamber.
Keyleth shook her head as a roaring sound filled her ears. She gripped her fist tightly, nails digging into the flesh of her palm. She gritted her teeth as she looked into the Matron’s face, fury boiling in her as she recognized the expression she wore.
Pity.
“I cannot release my Champion until there is another to take his place.” The Matron said simply, her smile falling as she watched Keyleth, hand returning to her side.
Keyleth felt her hands begin to shake, a warm trickle of blood trickling down her palm as she clenched her fist.
“There is one who could take my charge, one who you know.” The Matron intoned, her eyes kind, so kind that it made Keyleth want to scream, to shift her old bones into a dragon and tear her pale throat out.
Keyleth gritted her teeth, mouth twisting in a grimace as she unclenched her hand and placed both of them on her staff. Her mind filled with questions, but she wasn’t sure of how well she could speak them. Instead she took a deep breath, the cool wood of the staff familiar under her knobbed fingers. She did not miss the glance that the Matron leveled at the blood that ran down her arm from the half-moon wounds.
“Who?” She rasped, leaning her weight into the staff.
The Matron looked above Keyleth’s head, raising a long finger to point behind her. Keyleth grumbled and turned. Behind her stood a figure, wreathed in a dim light. Keyleth’s eyes grew wide as she took the figure in, turning back to the Matron.
“Aniah.” She stated.
The Matron inclined her head.. She regarded Keyleth for another long moment and closed her eyes, disappearing the figure with a snap of her fingers.
“She has served me well. She has reason to take my charge, as he did.”
Keyleth sighed as she leaned on her staff, shaking her head. A lock of long white hair fell into her face, and she brushed it back behind her ear. She stood straight once more and took a deep breath, feeling her temper cool as she filled and emptied her lungs. The Matron raised her eyes to hers once more.
“Why do you tell me this.We both know my time is short - I am literally saying my goodbyes,” Keyleth said slowly, words heavy in her mouth.
The Matron looks almost amused, one eyebrow arching.
“He asked the same. You are powerful, Keyleth. You have guided and trained many over the years, and your successor stands at the precipice of ascension - Aniah fights with her. They are as devoted to each other as Vox Machina was. If there is anyone who can guide her to her destiny, it is you, Keyleth.”
Keyleth laughed bitterly, aghast.
“And why of all people would you ask me to convince her to follow you ?”
There was a flash of sadness in the Matron’s eyes, and Keyleth felt a pang of guilt that she pushed aside.
“Your thread is short. You have the power to change the fate that awaits you. I was once mortal, Tempest. I am not ignorant of the bond that you share with my Champion. Despite what you may think, I am not cruel. I simply am. Vax’ildan gave me his service, and I gave him his sister’s life, and then his own - twice. I called you here as a favor, Tempest. If there is none to take his place, I will keep my Champion at my call. I will do what I must to protect the sanctity of life and death, as you have.”
Keyleth closed her eyes and tried to ignore the rush she felt as the Matron said his name. She had not heard his name in so long. A flash of memory - Vax holding Vex’s lifeless body, face streaked with tears. She had been so scared, so terrified that the Raven Queen would come for him in the night. She had been so scared of...everything, then. She had turned him away that night, terrified of losing him.
Little did she know he was already lost.
Weariness filled her, and she bit her lip as she considered the Matron’s words. She had seen the truth in her red irises - this was a favor. A gift. She looked keenly into the goddesses face.
“What would you ask of me?” She said softly.
The goddess came closer, her beautiful face blank once more.
“Speak to her. Guide her. She has much to gain - and little to lose. Send her here - to me.”
Keyleth narrowed her eyes, shaking her head.
“She will lose more than she can imagine. But who am I to judge - my fate was decided for me as a child.” Keyleth said softly.
The Matron inclined her head to Keyleth, and placed her mask to her face once more.
“You may be surprised, Tempest. Your story is not the only one,” She murmured, the shadows beginning to fade and pull towards her form.
Keyleth watched as her image began to dissipate, the colored light of the windows breaking through once more.
“I suppose I should thank you, goddess,” Keyleth said quietly.
The Matron cocked her head to the side once more, her form dissolving into the blood pool.
“Perhaps. Perhaps I will thank you in the end, Voice of the Tempest,” She said, her bright red eyes the last thing to fade as she disappeared in a flurry of feathers.
Keyleth sagged as the shadows dissipated, taking ragged breaths as she leaned her weight into the staff. From behind her she heard the creak of the massive door. She turned her head to see Li’velle, wearing a concerned expression as she ran to Keyleth, moving in front of her and placing her hands on her shoulders.
“Keyleth, are you alright?” She whispered, her grip tight.
Keyleth reached up weakly to pat her hand, giving the Highwarden a tight smile.
“Your Queen has given me a task, as if I didn’t have enough to worry about,” She said.
Li’velle’s brow furrowed deeper.
“What do you mean?”
Keyleth shook her head, looking back out at the blood pool. It was still, the colors playing across the inky surface once more. She looked back to Li’velle, straightening her spine.
“I’m afraid my visit to Vasselheim will be cut short.”
Li’velle stepped back, her face dropping.
“Is this goodbye?”
Keyleth stopped, and turned to the half elf. She could see the dark eyes of Liev’tel looking back at her - a dear friend that she had never expected. She had known her child, and her child’s child, since the day they were born. She realized with a rush that this was one that she would not have to bury. She gave her a warm smile, and reached out to squeeze her shoulder.
“We both know that goodbyes are temporary, Li’velle,” She said.
Li’velle returned her smile, and watched with wet eyes as Keyleth shifted into a raven once more, flying out of the open temple door and into the darkening sky.