Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For so many days and nights he does not have a name. 

He has this cell, the rocking of this ship, the way it makes him desperately retch when it storms and the whole ship quakes and the timbers creak. 

He can do nothing to help himself in his current pathetic condition. They put the collar on him before he even left the prison for transportation - and when it clicked into place, he knew that this time his punishment was meant to be a life sentence.

The passage of time drags on. When he is awake, he can think of nothing more than how hungry is, how insubstantial the scant rations of conjured food feel in his stomach, how bitter and acrid the conjured water tastes on his tongue. When he is asleep, he sleeps like a baby. Which is to say: he wakes up screaming every three hours.

He knows full well that wizards are never to be kept with other prisoners, collared or otherwise - so when they bring in the grubby, shrieking goblin girl who wears no collar, he draws the obvious conclusion.

She was sent here to spy on him. To gain his trust and then betray him.

And yet…days and then weeks stretch on and she does nothing but show him kindness. 

She gives him some of her portions of food, telling him again and again that she is too small and that what they give her is too much.

The collar may be able to keep him from his magic, but it cannot make him forget what he knows.

By the feeble light that streams in from the tiny, soot-smeared excuse for a porthole window high above, he quietly begins to instruct her on the simplest spells - the ones he learned when he was just a small child.

The first happiness he has felt in the six long months since he lost everything he once knew comes the day she first conjures a tiny, floating ball of werelight.

He has asked her several times what her name is, and she has never answered him. On the day she casts the werelight, he asks her again, and this time she says, “It’s…not…it’s just…not…”

That is what he calls her: Nott. 

She smiles that sharp-toothed little grin at the nickname. He likes it when she smiles.

She calls him by the name he made up when she first asked him: Caleb Widogast.

Together, Nott and Caleb bide their time. 

Caleb teaches Nott what he can of the simple magic he can do without a spellbook, and Nott begins to teach Caleb how good it is to finally have a name that has never touched the lips of the ones who have hurt you.

****

Beau had another name once, and it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.

To be fair, that paper was probably pretty fucking expensive. 

These days she likes her name a whole lot better. She’s Beau the Troublemaker of the Suckerpunch - one hundred and forty five pounds of bad attitude strapped into a well-muscled, wiry frame with wry wit and machismo.

She’s hanging from the rigging now, spyglass leveled at the ship on the horizon, and she feels her teeth rattle in her jaw as the cannons of the Suckerpunch launch another salvo at their quarry.

She takes a deep breath and yells down, “Cap’n Molly! Direct hit! All three shots!” She watches carefully, using the benefit of experience to keep her sight on their quarry as the ship below her lists port from the momentum of the firing guns. 

She shouts down again, “They’ve got a fire that’s broken out amidships, mostly on the starboard side! There are two mages using some sort of magical water bullshit to put it out - but it’s got them all nice and occupied! I think the dinner bell’s ringing, Captain!”

“And a dinner bell ringing is music to my ears,” says the handsome purple tiefling who is standing at the helm below her. “Even when it isn’t our firbolg friend who’s ringing it. Alright, boys and girls - bring the Suckerpunch up along the port side of these miserable slaving bastards! Boarding party, get your asses ready for a fight with at least two spell-slingers!” 

The small, agile pirate brigantine bears down on the floundering frigate flying the Imperial flag - and another, smaller pennant, one Beau hadn’t seen until now - 

Beau frowns.

That’s when the first fireball hits the deck of the Suckerpunch.

****

Like all of the bloodiest fights, this is a fight where both parties saunter in with the misapprehension of victory.

By the time the tiefling captain is striding over the gangplank onto the scorched and blood-spattered deck of the Wight Widow, his face is bloody, his chest and his favorite hat are scorched - and while all of that would normally piss him off, right now, he’s more focused on the fact that half his crew is dead.  

This wasn’t an ordinary slave ship out of the Empire - it was a prison ship under the pennant of the fucking Cerberus Assembly. 

The Suckerpunch came under a heavy barrage of flame, ice and lightning the moment they were too close to disengage. The mages aboard the Wight Widow thankfully lacked the precision and tactical insight of proper war wizards, but in Molly’s experience even the most timid of these bookworms is a terror to behold in a fight - and the Cerberus Assembly does not train fools. 

The Suckerpunch is listing slightly and the rush of water and the hiss of steam behind him tells him that Caduceus is still having a hell of a time extinguishing the last of the magefire from the rigging. 

Below his feet the Wight Widow is already rapidly taking on water.

“Yasha, with me!” Molly barks. “Beau - loot what you can in the captain’s quarters - we’re not going to be able to get to the cargo hold, but I’m in the mood to try to get some of the bastards out of the brig if they’re still alive!” 

The hulking female barbarian is already at his side as they make their way around the flames and step over the dozen bodies on the deck of the Wight Widow. Then they’re clattering down the stairs into the crew’s quarters. 

All the doors to the rooms save one are wide open and the rooms empty.

In the only room with a closed door they find a corpse - a cleric wearing the insignia of the Platinum Dragon - who was quite clearly killed by the first or second cannon salvo while he was still getting dressed.

“This is the only reason we’re still alive,” Molly says bitterly. “We killed their healer before the poor sap even got his pants on.” Given that this body is mostly intact and not on fire, he quickly rifles their pockets, yanks the expensive and gaudy Platinum Dragon amulet from their neck, and then the pair of pirates presses on.

As they descend into the brig below, there is already a few inches of seawater on the floor. It’s only a handful of cells - not even as large as he’d expected it to be. 

“Why did they have orders to die for this?” Yasha mutters.

She wrenches the first door straight off its hinges and they find a terrified, manacled half-orc staring back at them.

“Are those manacles arcane, friend?” Molly asks. 

The half-orc can only nod.

“Yasha, deal with this bullshit,” Molly says, and he moves on to the second door.

He drops to a knee in front of the heavily padlocked cell and begins to work on the lock with his thieves’ tools using expert movements. When he first came into this life, this is how he made his money - and he likes to think he’s still pretty good at this.

There is a sharp clang in the next room that means Yasha has either destroyed the half-orc’s chains or killed him. 

This lock is a son of a bitch, though. Molly’s got the door lock open, but the padlock -

As he feels Yasha’s familiar form sidle up beside him, from behind her he hears the half-orc’s voice, scratchy from disuse: “The padlock’s enchanted. She should use the sword.”

Molly is already backing up.

With a sweeping blow from the massive sword called the Magician’s Judge, the padlock falls off the door with a satisfying clink.

Molly can feel the ship beginning to tilt more and more below his boots, and the water is rising higher. He kicks the door open and strides inside toward the man he sees in the shadows.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” a harsh little voice screams at him - and he has to sidestep when a goblin launches himself at his knees. She reaches the end of her chain and is jerked back like a dog - a sight that would be kind of funny if they weren’t all inches from death.

“Yasha,” he says, rolling his eyes, “grab the goblin.”

This room is full of the stink of long months at sea and the faint tang of something bitter and acrid which he cannot place. The man before him is a perilously thin red headed human, his eyes staring up at Molly with a rising tide of defiance in their blue depths.

Unlike the half-orc prisoner - who is a huge man compared to this little slip of a human - the prisoner before him has an incredible array of chains. Like the half-orc he has a Devil’s Collar on, but he is also wearing magical manacles on both his ankles and his feet which are chained together to allow only a small amount of movement. From the manacles on his hands, a chain connects him to a metal eyelet bolted to the wall. There is an arcane rune etched on every single link of the chain.

“What the fuck are you, friend?” Molly marvels as the ship shudders and continues to tilt.

“He’s a powerful wizard!” the goblin is shrieking in Yasha’s grasp. “He’s very smart! He’ll kill you! And if he doesn’t, uh, feel like it - I’ll kill you!”

Molly is trying not to laugh at her antics. “Prisoners of this misbegotten wreck- do you know if there are any more prisoners aboard? Because we’re short on time.” 

The wizard speaks for the first time in a thick Zemnian accent. “I do not know. They never let us see one another. If you did not have a cellmate, you were alone.”

The half-orc nods. “I never saw another soul while I was here save for seein’ the mages when they fed me. But before your guns hit our deck, there was someone screamin’ down here - and they sure ain’t screamin’ anymore.”

The whole ship shudders and creaks.

Molly sighs. “Yasha - I will take your sword, if you please - the fun one.” She hands the Magician’s Judge to him wordlessly. “Get those two topside. We don’t have any more time.”

As Molly tries to figure out how to get the wizard out of the morass of chains that restrict his movement, he says, “I didn’t hear you screaming.” 

“There is an abjuration spell around this cell,” the wizard says, never looking away from him. “They tired of my screaming quickly. The other prisoners…must have behaved better. Or they were not beaten so often. Who can say?” 

Molly looks away from his ongoing calculations regarding how he is supposed to get the man clear enough of his chains to cut them while still being able to swing the sword.  “Listen: I am going to use this sword to both cut the chains and dispel their magic. This is going to involve swinging the sword at you. You will do precisely as I say at all times - don’t fight, don’t bite, and don’t spit - or you’re going to the bottom of the ocean along with your captors.” 

The wizard is still staring angrily into his eyes - but he gives a barely-perceptible nod of understanding.

“Alright. Don’t mind me, I’m just trying not to kill you. On your knees - good. Hands above your head.” He uses the hand that isn’t holding Yasha’s immense blade to guide the confused wizard into the right position. “Keep them held up straight like this - attaboy. Now don’t move. ”

Molly stands back, hefts the blade, and brings it down on the manacles where they are attached about the man’s head - destroying the fastening on the runed manacles with a loud crack.

The tiefling yanks the chain out from the rings as the wizard struggles out of the now-ruined manacles, looking down at his free hands in near-disbelief.

Molly is feeling around the Devil’s Collar that encircles the man’s neck. Thankfully, it isn’t affixed to the rest of the shackles in any way.

“Alright - your feet now,” he says, and the wizard scrambles into position without him having to explain himself. He’s bright - Molly will grant him that.

Crack. The leg irons break open. Molly helps wrestle them off the wizard’s legs.

“Can you walk?” he asks the human.

“I will try.” 

Molly hauls him upright by the front of his tattered clothes and uses a few quick movements to lash his hands together with cordage he carries for this purpose. It’s just a safeguard, one he knows Yasha will take with the other prisoners. The wizard grimaces as Molly tightens the rope around his thin wrists, but keeps his word and does not fight him. 

Rope is better than iron right now. It might give way, but it’s easier to cut if they get into trouble and he needs to release the man.

When the ship shudders again and it is clear that the human is unsteady on his feet, Molly grabs the man around the waist and begins to march him out into the daylight and back to the Suckerpunch.

“Why are you doing this for us?” the wizard is asking.

“I don’t have a choice,” Molly says. ”They killed too many of my crew and the Wight Widow is going down beneath our feet. It’s put you to work or drown you alive.”

“The Wight Widow,” the wizard says. “That is the name of this ship, ja?” 

“Moonweaver deliver us, kid,” Molly says. “What the fuck did you do to these people?” 

Then they’re out once more under the light of the now-setting sun with the smell of burning pitch and charred flesh searing their nostrils.

The wizard freezes in his unyielding grip and at first Molly is rough with him because he assumes this is some doomed play at resistance - but seconds later he gets a good look at the man’s face and her recognizes the rictus of terror there, the distant, frozen expression of one who has seen too much - and is now doomed to see it again and again when things go wrong.

In the quiet moments in their early years together - when Yasha sometimes still tried to ask him who he’d been before he found her - Molly said all kinds of brilliant and flowery things about why he didn’t need to remember his past. 

In truth, he has always been afraid that if he ever found out exactly where all the scars and tattoos had come from, he would unleash this sort of scourge into his own mind.

He has to physically drag the wizard along with him, weaving around the hazards and bodies on the deck, and then manhandles him across the gangplank and aboard the Suckerpunch.

He spares one last glance at the deck of the Wight Widow. He thinks about calling out one last time for survivors - but the ship is dangerously low in the water now. If there is anyone left aboard alive, he’d rather spare his crew the knowledge that they were there.

“Give us whatever distance we can create without the mainsail!” he shouts to his own crew. He pauses, still holding up the stupefied and unresisting wizard with one arm, and rummages in his breast pocket to find the compass there. “North by northwest is straight ahead, maintain that heading until I can plot a proper course!”

With the bare remnant of the crew left behind and the main mast critically damaged, they can only move forward at a pathetic limp - but at least the rudder is working and some clever soul has already fixed the bilge pumps so the list has been corrected. 

Molly turns to Beau. “I’m taking this poor bastard below - once we’re underway, start taking an inventory of damages and cargo.” 

He throws open the door to the main quarters of the ship and hauls the wizard into the galley, where as expected he finds the half-orc and the irate little spitfire of a goblin.

The half-orc seems to have calmed the goblin down somewhat but she goes into a frenzy the moment she lays eyes on the wizard again.

“ What did you do to him!? ”

“Easy, easy,” he says. “He’s in shock - something about the sight of what had happened on the deck didn’t sit with him so well. Who can imagine why?” He eases the man down to the floor beside the goblin, who turns her attention from murderous rage to ministering to her silent friend.

To the half-orc, Molly says, “Can you behave yourself?”

The man nods. “Yes, captain. Honestly speakin’ I can’t do sweet fuck all with this fuckin’ collar on.” He tugs at the thing hopelessly.

“Good boy.” With a snick sound, Molly’s sharpened claws make quick work of the binding Yasha has placed on the half-orc man’s wrists. “Food and water can be found in the galley shelf over there - apologies for the current quality, we’ve been out of port for quite some time - and you can piss or puke in that bucket if you can’t help yourselves. These two stay tied up until they can follow your example and play nice.” 

The half-orc nods. 

“The galley door will be locked as a minor precaution. I expect you can bash it down if you all work together - but I would prefer that you do not.”

He closes the door, throws the bar over it, and runs up the deck to join what remains of his crew.

****

Caleb comes to his senses looking down at a length of silk rope binding his wrists.

The first thing he thinks is that for some reason it has been chosen and tied so that it does not chafe or cut off the circulation.

The next thing he becomes aware of is that Nott is practically standing in his lap and gently stroking his face while babbling endearments and encouragements.

He jumps when a jug of water thumps down beside him.

He looks up to see the half-orc looking down at him with obvious concern.

“You back with us, buddy?” the man asks. His accent has a pleasant twang to it that is utterly unfamiliar - which, to Caleb, is all the comfort the world can offer.

Caleb nods. 

When Nott unstoppers the water jug and presses it into his hands, he takes it and drinks greedily.

“This hardtack is about ten times as good as we got aboard the Wight Widow,” the half-orc says through a mouthful. “If you eat it with sips of water you can almost pretend it ain’t stale.” He sinks down to sit down about a foot from Caleb, munching on one of the hard ship’s biscuits.

Hesitantly, Caleb accepts a piece of hardtack from Nott, and begins to crunch into it. 

The half-orc isn’t wrong - it’s the best thing he’s had to eat in months.

“They’ve got lemons,” the half-orc says with a grin. “There’s even ale! I didn’t want to touch ‘em in case it pisses the cap’n off - but he didn’t say not to have any.”

“If you do not bring me some ale right now,” the goblin says, “I will bite you.”

“Lord, lady,” the half-orc laughs. “You don’t have to tell me twice - but if they get mad about it I’m gonna say you’re the one who directed the mutiny.” He fetches her a tankard of ale, and she downs half of it in a single gulp before pressing the tankard to Caleb’s lips.

Caleb has never been much of a drinker, but after he downs the half-tankard of ale he feels his frayed nerves start to settle down a little. Even at his distressingly low weight, it shouldn’t be enough alcohol to calm him down - so he thinks instead he is merely enjoying the comfort of having something half-decent to eat for once - the way it makes him feel like a person.

“The name’s Fjord,” the half-orc says around a mouthful of food.

“Nott,” the goblin says.

“Caleb.”

Fjord the half-orc gives them a toothy grin. “We’ll shake hands when we’re able, I guess.”

“The tiefling,” Caleb says in a low voice, “is that their captain?”

“Definitely,” Fjord says. His look darkens. “If he wasn’t this morning, he certainly is now. I assume if he brought us down himself, that was all hands on deck - and they don’t have too many souls left among them.”

Nott’s golden eyes glint. “Do you think we can take them?” 

Fjord shakes his head emphatically. “No. There are still at least five of them - the tortle is armored by his very nature, the tiefling is quick and wears that blade like was born with it, the firbolg is about 280 pounds, and the two human women both look like they could tear a guy in half with their bare hands. It might be a different story if we could get these collars off…but other than the real bad idea that I’ve got about tryin’ to get my hands on the barbarian woman’s magic sword, I don’t have any way of doin’ that just yet.”

“Ja,” Caleb says in a shaky voice. “And they will not be hasty to take these collars off of their own volition - not if they are smart.”

“They brought me aboard the Wight Widow about a month ago,” Fjord says. “How long were you aboard?”

“Four months, three days,” Caleb answers without hesitation. “Nott was with me for the latter two months and seven days.” 

“What did you do?” Nott asks Fjord, her clever eyes alight with curiosity.

“Nott,” Caleb admonishes.

“It’s alright,” Fjord says with a smile. “False idol worship. And I, uh, might have accidentally sent a real nasty beam of weird black energy at a mage who was tryin’ to shake me down for a bit of a disagreement?”

Caleb’s eyes flash with just a moment of mirth. “False idol worship, ja? If you are throwing about necrotic energy without meaning to, it sounds like your idol is just as fond of you as you are of it.”

“It certainly does seem that way,” Fjord says with a groan. “It is real inconvenient that he ain’t as forthcoming about my whole thing as other gods seem to be with their clerics. Now, if I might ask, what about you two?”

“I steal things!” Nott says with great gusto. “Wizards don’t like it when you steal their things - but their things are so shiny.”

“How about you, friend?” Fjord says to Caleb.

Caleb breathes a shaky breath. 

“Me?” he says in a small voice. “I said ‘no’ to a man that no one says ‘no to.”

****

The toll of the dead and the inventory of the damage to the Suckerpunch is read out to the entirety of the crew - a grim litany that just seems to keep going and going.

By the end, Molly is gripping both his horns in consternation. “For the love of all gods and monsters -” he says, “we are utterly and completely fucked - and this is the least pleasant fuck of my life. ”

“Well,” Yasha says, “your life has not been all that long.”

“Touché,” Molly sighs.

They are all looking down at the bodies of their ten dead crewmates. The only additional survivor they found was the half-elf Marius, spellbound and paralyzed behind a large barrel amidships. Caduceus used the last of his holy magic to remove the spell from him, and the firbolg now sits slumped against a crate, exhausted and a little bit listless from both the metaphysical and physical exertion of the day.

Beau’s face has an ugly slash straight across it, but her skill at dodging blows spared her the worst of it. It is superficial enough that Caduceus told her apologetically that healing it would have to wait for tomorrow, even adding regretfully that this delay meant it would scar - and Beau, always at her most ebullient in the aftermath of destruction, laughed and told him that if it did, she would treasure it.

And what have they gained from this pointless bloodshed?

Well, a great deal, actually.

Molly knows that if he can win over these prisoners or otherwise press them into his service - two spellcasters and that vicious little hell-raiser of a goblin who scored deep scratches across his darling Yasha’s chest - the Suckerpunch will be the waking nightmare of every slaver and merchant marine in the the West Reach.

That is, if they get out of this alive.

With a long drink of water and Yasha’s support - her calloused hands always so gentle when helping the wounded - Caduceus rallies enough to give a brief eulogy for those they have lost.

As he listens to the cleric speak, Molly’s eyes rest on the slackened, bloodied face of Gustav. Gustav, for all his faults, was one of his oldest friends - one of the people who found Molly when he was mute and walking mindlessly down the first road he had ever seen. And while Molly normally never stands on ceremony, he knows he has to look strong and resolute for his remaining crew if their morale is to hold up - so he does his best impression of somber gravitas, and refuses to let the tears come to his eyes.

They bury their lost comrades at sea.

Then they turn their attention to the formidable task of ensuring they wake up to a ship in the morning.

****

When the anchor is weighed and it is too dark to get much work done - for half of his crew are darkblind - Molly knows he cannot put off the task of plotting a course any longer.

He whistles for Orly, who joins him in his quarters.

When the tortle closes the door behind them, all semblance of stoicism disappears from the old creature’s wrinkled brown face. The lines of pain on his sun-weathered visage plainly show he mourns the loss of their sailors as sorely as Molly does.

“We shoulda…seen that…pennant,” Orly says balefully.

Molly sits down at the table and smooths his hands over the map in front of them, and gestures for Orly to sit down on the opposite bench.

“Yeah,” he says. “I haven’t even told the others, save for Yasha - but when we hit them too low with that first salvo and shot through the brig, we got part of the crew quarters too. By sheer luck, we killed their healer.”

“If we had not…we would…be dead,” Orly says. “They fought…like losing…was not an option.”

“I wonder if what they were protecting is at the bottom of the West Reach,” Molly muses, “or if it’s in our hold having a hot meal and a shave for the first time in months.”

“Hmmm…” Orly says, that pleasant sound that he uses to mean anything between “I have no idea what you’re talking about” and “I know exactly what you mean.”

His leathery fingers are tracing patterns on the map before them. Molly lights a second lamp so they can see better in the low light.

“I am sure…I do not…need to tell you,” Orly says, “but come morning we…must salvage…anything afloat…then…find some…sort of…harbor. We are…barely seaworthy. One storm…and we…are lost.”

“I am with you entirely,” Molly agrees. “The closest island is Selidor, and while there are fearsome tales of the place, it is clear even from this limited map that we should be able to find some sort of cove there.”

“Uninhabited…” Orly says, “but…in our…current state…I do not mind…a secluded place.”

“Do you think there are really dragons there?”

“No,” Orly says. “Songs say…the wizard Ged…destroyed the wyrm…of that isle. I believe…I like …our chances there. The dragon is dead…and the legends…keep others…away.”

After a brief discussion of the limited charts of the deserted isle they have to pore over, Molly nods curtly. “Very well,” he says, standing up straight. “We have a plan. I’ll go find my first mate.”

“Hmmm. Who…are you…promoting?”

Molly throws open the door to his quarters and shouts out, “First Mate Beauregard the Troublemaker! Where are you?”

“Oh, for fucksake!” Beau shouts back at him from where she and Yasha are lashing down the last of the loose cargo. “Why not Orly!? Why not Yasha, she’s been with you for fucking ever!”

Molly delights in ignoring her. “First Mate Beau, weigh the anchor - come first light we’re dragging aboard anything we can that isn’t a body, and then you are to set our course south by southeast at 150 degrees! We’re headed for Selidor - and ‘there be dragons’ so you’d all best keep your eyes peeled and your weapons at the ready!”

“Aye aye, jackass,” Beau says, and snaps him a mocking salute.

Chapter Text

After a trying day sailing a ship with a damaged main mast, the ragtag crew of the brigantine the Suckerpunch finds a secluded cove to drop anchor in.

None among them are more relieved than the two prisoners Caleb Widogast and his companion Nott. Even Fjord - who has been a sailor for all his years - looks relieved when he gazes upon the coast of this lonely isle. The steep rocky slopes give way to a lush forest that suggests a wealth of wildlife and fresh plants to forage.

When Caleb proved too weak to lift Nott to look out the porthole, Fjord lifted her with one huge hand and set her on his shoulder.

“Do you think they will let us go ashore?” the goblin asks anxiously. 

“I don’t see why not,” Fjord says.

Caleb nods. “There are not enough of them to keep us here if they wish to go ashore. They will need every set of hands they can to do the work.”

Fjord turns his head to look at the goblin on his shoulder. “Little one, I suggest that this time, when the large woman comes to undo your bonds, you do not bite her.”

“She deserves a lot worse,” Nott says angrily. “And no offense, but I don’t really care what you have to say about it!”

“Nott,” Caleb says, “I suggest that this time when the large woman comes to undo your bonds, you do not bite her.” He taps the fingers of his own bound hands against the rope binding Nott’s. “You will like this rope better when it is gone.”

Nott nods begrudgingly. “Yes, Caleb.”

He tousles her hair. In a low voice, he murmurs, “We will bide our time, just as we did before, only here, it seems we will be allowed to get stronger while we do, and that our wait will not be as long. Even if they do not remove the collars, once we get to shore, we can gain advantage through position rather than by force. We will make a break for it as soon as we get the opportunity.”

Fjord frowns. “Leave me out of this,” he says. “I know things might get worse with these people instead of getting better - but I’ll take my odds with them. I ain’t about wandering around some dragon-infested island with just the three of us.” 

Caleb shoots him a distrusting look.

“What you two do is none of my business,” Fjord assures him, meeting his gaze with his calm hazel eyes. “You have my word. If I could, we’d shake on it.”

After a moment, Caleb is able to tamp down the paranoia that has welled up in him. “Very well,” he says, “but know that if you cross me, this is a thing that you will only do once.”

****

They set off from the anchored ship in two of the three surviving longboats. The crew and the prisoners are intentionally split between the boats. 

While Molly instinctively knows it would be best to split up the wizard and the goblin, the two together weigh as much as the half-orc Fjord does on his own. So the captain does the next-best thing and puts Caleb and Nott in the longboat where Yasha, Beau, and himself can keep a close eye on them.

The hands of the human and the goblin remain bound. After the goblin started out the morning by almost taking a chunk out of Yasha’s arm with her sharp teeth, Molly is in no mood to take any risks with these two in a confined space like a longboat.

Still, he’s got a job to do. He needs to do all he can to win them over; while it is always easier to do this by splitting up such a close pair and working on them separately - one can’t do so too soon or too often without alienating both completely.

Well… that isn’t quite accurate - you can, you just have to break them down a lot further before you can start building them back up again.

Molly isn’t going to pretend he hasn’t gotten close to breaking someone before, but the times he had done so - before he had a ship of his own, before he knew who he was, where his boundaries were - made him certain that he was not the sort of man who could shrug off inflicting such brutality on another person easily.

He is deeply grateful that the person he has treated the absolute worst in his short life is still at his side. 

Beau sits at the bow of the craft, keeping her spyglass trained on the rocky beach and the cliffs above it. Behind her sit his two captives. Molly relaxes at the stern, stretched out and comfortable, as just in front of him Yasha mans the oars.

All of this is intentional, of course. He wants to be able to casually watch the two captives without making them too uneasy.

After letting silence prevail for half the trip to shore, Molly speaks. While he directs his words to both the scrappy goblin Nott and the wizard Caleb, he already knows that Caleb calls all the shots, so he makes eye contact with the human as he speaks. 

“I’m sorry about the rope,” he says evenly, “but after that little spate of nastiness this morning, I have to make sure I make my point: every time you assault a member of my crew, if you haven't also made steps toward generally being a productive member of society, you're going to face an escalating series of consequences.” He flashes a fanged grin at them. “I prefer to be nice, I really do - but if you do this again you’ll find my bite is much worse than my bark.”

Caleb offers him a small nod. “Understood,” he says. He’s very good at keeping his emotions from his face - or perhaps the experience of being bound evokes some of the propensity for dissociation that Molly witnessed in full when they were on the deck of the Wight Widow among the bodies and the flames. “I have already spoken to Nott about how she is to show respect to your crew. She has agreed to do so.” 

When the goblin doesn't speak, he nudges her. “Oh! I agree. Yes. Totally agree.”

Caleb clears his throat.

“And I’m sorry, Yasha,” the goblin grumbles.

Molly offers them an encouraging smile. “Thank you,” he says. “Since you are both promising to mind your manners, as a demonstration of good will, I will untie your hands once you are on shore - on one additional condition.” 

Caleb nods. “You may state it,” he says with his usual Zemnian formality.

“Caleb, if I'm right, you spent the most time aboard the Wight Widow - and you were kept under the worst conditions. As the captain, I am allowed to take slightly lighter duties than my crew - so you're going to stay with me as I scout the cliffs. Nott, you're going to spend the day with Yasha and help her out in any way she asks. If we can all get through the day that way without any more biting, I'll consider that progress, and you can join us for dinner tonight in the galley.”

Nott and Caleb exchange a glance. Nott looks a little alarmed but Caleb appears stoic.

He returns his blue gaze to Molly. “This is more than reasonable.” He pauses. “I appreciate your… consideration regarding my… condition.” He is frowning. “I hope to regain my strength now that I am permitted some exercise and better rations.”

“And I would very much like you to,” Molly says. Here comes the charm offensive. “Listen, Caleb - I won’t mince words with you. I can tell from the hideous way those fucks restrained you that you’re not just any old scholar with a spellbook. You’ve got some talent. In a perfect world, I'd like to win enough trust from Nott and yourself to convince you to join my crew. The one wizard I had is now dead - and he was never anywhere near skilled enough with slinging spells to warrant the kind of arcane bindings I found you in,” He smiles warmly at Nott now. “And you, my friend, have already proven your skill in combat.”

There is a hard line to Caleb’s jaw - and Molly is split between the feeling that the cold look in his eyes is for him and the feeling it's for someone else entirely.

Molly presses on, keeping his posture relaxed and open, his voice kind. “Is that something you think you two could come around to?” 

Caleb frowns just slightly - but it is Nott that speaks. “When will you take off his collar?” she asks.

Molly sighs. The goblin may be a savage little thing - but she’s also clever enough to ask the tough questions right out of the harbor. “Listen,” he says, “I know what that awful thing is. I’ve been forced to wear one myself - and it was by far the worst fucking thing anyone has ever done to me. Which, seeing as I’ve had to dig myself out of my own grave after being buried alive, is saying something.” He secretly enjoys the little look of shock that crosses Caleb’s face. “But there are two things stopping me. First thing: I have a responsibility to my crew. Caleb: you are powerful, you are scared, and you have no reason to think I won’t treat you even worse than those Imperial bastards did. If you were in my position you’d leave that thing on a little longer, too.”

Caleb laughs without a shred of mirth. “You’re right,” he says. “Were our positions reversed, I would do the same.”

“Second reason: that thing around your neck is of far better craftsmanship than any of the other things they had you restrained with - and it is right up against your skin. The only thing I have that could possibly get it off of you is a swing from the Magician’s Judge.” He gestures to one of the two swords strapped to Yasha’s back. “I hope you agree with me that this is not a risk we should take unless we have absolutely no chance of getting you to a skilled blacksmith.” 

Caleb offers him a small smile. “Yes - a blacksmith would be preferable to an accidental beheading. But…as you seem to understand, this thing feels like it is separating me from part of my soul. If a blacksmith with sufficient skill cannot be found expediently at the time when you decide you are ready to remove the Devil’s Collar, I would take my chances under your friend’s blade.” The bitterness creeps back into his tone. “I think you will find I am very good at staying still while people do unpleasant things to me.”

Molly lets himself wince at that.

“...Understood,” he replies, voice calculatedly gentle, “but I will do all I can to avoid subjecting you to such a risk.”

****

The moment that Captain Tealeaf helps Caleb from the longboat onto the rocky shore of the island of Selidor, the wizard feels tears in his eyes. He walks with the captain the twenty paces it takes to get above the tideline before his knees go weak and he sinks down.

“Easy!” the captain says in surprise.

“I apologize,” he says, as he raises his bound hands to try ineffectually to wipe tears from his eyes. “It - it has been months since I saw the shore. I feared I would never walk upon it again.” 

“Your hands, please,” the tiefling says softly.

Wordlessly, Caleb offers his hands to the man. 

With a quick flick of sharp claws, the tiefling severs the rope restraining his wrists.

Caleb fucking hates that he’s shaking and he can’t stop. 

The tiefling captain does him the great kindness of pretending not to notice, and instead looks down the beach to Nott.

“Come here, you little hellion,” he says in a friendly tone. “You have avoided biting Yasha for the twenty minutes she was sitting right in front of you, so your part of the bargain has been fulfilled. Let’s get those ropes off, hm?”

Caleb hears Nott run up to the tiefling and a moment later she is checking Caleb over with her now-free hands.

“We made it,” she whispers. “We made it. No more water.” She is crying a little too.

He nods weakly, and with her encouragement, he is able to get back to his feet.

****

While there are a thousand and one things they should be doing, Molly cannot possibly refuse his crew the chance to make a fire on the shore and rest themselves a little before they get to the hard work of salvaging, foraging and mapping whatever they can.

High in the rolling forested hills above, Molly can see the distant hulking gray form of the ancient ruined castle of Selidor. It frankly gives him a feeling of horrible dread when he looks up at it - but with any luck this is just the residual effect of ancient draconic magics rather than a present threat. The ruined silhouette of the structure at least assures him that it is not habitable for any being that prefers a warm, dry place to sleep at night.

When he knows they cannot spare any more time, he stands and claps his hands. “Alright, kids,” he says, “the party's over - for now. If everyone is a good citizen of the world today, we’ll tie one on tonight to celebrate how not-dead we are - and toast those we miss.” He smiles magnanimously toward where Nott, Caleb and Fjord are grouped together by the fireside. “That goes for you three as well.”

After Molly quickly doles out the day’s assignments, he gestures for Caleb to join him.

Before Caleb has made his way around the fire toward him, Yasha is at Molly’s side.

“Are you absolutely certain you are okay to go alone with him?” she hisses.

“Look at him,” Molly murmurs. “Without the collar I wouldn’t dare - but without his magic he’s as weak as a kitten. If he can kill me in his current state then I deserve to be dead.”

She grimaces at the tiefling. “If you insist,” she says. 

He affectionately clasps her arm, and then Caleb is close enough that they can no longer speak freely.

When Yasha’s back is retreating from them, Molly lets himself look Caleb up and down appraisingly. He really is shockingly thin - though definitely not unattractive, even under the months worth of grime,  wearing a plain brown robe Molly "borrowed" from Marius.

“You'll have to tell me when you start to get tired,” Molly says quietly. “I'm not ready to leave you alone out here if you start to flag, and I sure as hell don't want to put you under too much physical strain so soon. You've been through hell, and I'm not trying to break my new toy."

Caleb gives him a look that can only be described as incredulous. “You are… entirely more generous than I would be if our positions were reversed.”

Molly raises his eyebrows as they start off together northward along the beach. “How would that go?” he asks. “Fifty lashes? Hogtied and gagged for a fortnight?” 

“My methods are usually not so unrefined,” Caleb says, “but in essence, you are not incorrect.”

“You’ve led an interesting life, Caleb Widogast,” Molly says with a sidelong glance, “and I don’t want to know the first thing about it.”

Caleb offers him the ghost of a nervous smile. “Then we agree on that matter.”

“What I do want to know is what I can do to make you and Nott comfortable with us,” Molly says, all charm and compassion. “This isn't a slave ship - rather, it's a ship that has made a career of chasing down slave ships. Most of my crew began their time with us just as you have.”

Caleb looks a little surprised at this. “Who among your crew joined you in this way?”

“That's not my story to tell for them,” Molly says simply. “If they choose to tell you themselves, that's up to them. You should certainly feel free to ask them - we all have our own secrets, but how we ended up a crew isn't on the list.”

“Do all the people who join you this way stay with you?” Caleb hazards.

“Not at all,” Molly says. “Most find we're reasonable enough that they stay with us long enough to make a little money - but there are a few that have disembarked at the next port. Once you and I reach a place where I can trust that my name and the names of my crew won't come to your lips in front of the wrong people, Nott, Fjord and yourself will be free to go wherever you choose.”

They walk together in silence for a while. 

“You asked me what you can do to make me more comfortable,” Caleb says.

Molly nods. “That I did.” 

“I would appreciate some bandages,” the human says, "if you have some to spare.”

Molly shoots him an alarmed glance. “Are you hurt?” 

“Ah - nein,” the man says, obviously nervous. After a moment - a moment in which he is studiously avoiding Molly’s gaze and clearly working up his nerve - he gestures weakly to his arms. “These scars are…highly characteristic. Most of your crew have not noticed them yet - and I would like to keep it that way. If they are recognized by anyone, even via a casual description given by another - that will be the end of me.” He grimaces. “The people who put me in shackles were willing to let me live - but if they find me again after this second escape, even though it was… involuntary - I will not survive.”

Molly nods, processing this. “As soon as we get back to the ship,” he promises, “I'll grab some bandages from Caduceus and we’ll put them on you.” 

He glances down a few times at Caleb’s arms before curiosity overtakes him. He gently takes Caleb’s wrist in his hand to get a better look.

Caleb halts in his surprise, and Molly stops with him - but the other man does not actually jerk his hand away from Molly's careful hold on him.

The tiefling inspects Caleb’s forearm, tracing his fingers carefully over the curious scars there until he feels he can no longer push the human's boundaries. When he withdraws his touch he turns away as though still trying to decide which course to take.

“You’re right,” the tiefling says. “Those are fairly unique. Some sort of torture, I'm guessing?” 

“That was not the sole intention,” Caleb says bleakly, “but the pain it caused was a consequence which did not bother the person who caused it in the slightest.” 

Molly knows the little flash of rage and disgust that crosses his face is obvious, so he makes sure to keep his eyes straight ahead. He points to the inland side of the beach. “This is the way I think I want to go. We’ll hug the rock face so that we can get the lay of the beach while maintaining a bit of cover.”

They begin walking again. Molly lets the silence stretch on for a little bit before he speaks. 

“I apologize for that,” he tells the other man. “I’m curious by nature - but I’ll get you the bandages, and that’s the last time I'll pay any attention to the matter unless you ask me to do otherwise yourself.”

“Thank you,” Caleb says.

“You’ve obviously been through a few things,” Molly says mildly. “All of us have. Not asking too many questions is something we’ve all become fairly good at.”

This is a lie.

****

The only promise Caleb breaks that day is his assurance he'd tell Molly when he was beginning to tire.

After Molly’s third or fourth time leaving the other man on the beachhead while scrambling up the rock face to obtain a better view, the tiefling descends from the little cave he was exploring to find the human sitting down, his back up against the nearest rock. He is clearly a little pale.

Molly sighs. “Tired, hm? I believe your captain told you to say something when you started to tucker out, didn't he?"

“Ja,” Caleb says. “I’m sorry. This... this is humiliating. I was not like this before - before everything.” He waves his hand vaguely.

“Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do,” Molly says quietly. 

He offers Caleb his hand, and helps the man back to his feet. 

“Can you make it back under your own power, or should I go get Yasha to carry you?” 

“Please, please do not do that. I can make it back on my own two feet, thank you.” 

“And the first hint of machismo becomes evident,” Molly teases, beckoning Caleb to follow him back in the direction where the Suckerpunch is moored. He intentionally takes a gentler pace. “Take it from me - the sooner you come to accept that the toughest sons-of-guns on my ship are probably best termed ‘daughters-of-guns,’ the happier you’ll be.”

In spite of his pallor and his evident exhaustion, Caleb is smiling. “This is true even in my own small party,” he says. “Nott is… she is an exceptional person.”

Molly nods. “I was already impressed when she got her claws into Yasha the first time. To get her a second time in twenty-four hours, and with her teeth? That takes both bravery and skill.”

“Thank you for preventing Yasha from decapitating her,” Caleb says.

Molly realizes this might just be the first genuine thing Caleb has ever said to him.

The tiefling is glad he’s a few feet ahead of the other man so he can hide the cat-caught-the-canary smile that comes to his face.

Chapter Text

Possessed by two, but loved by one,

Violet blood runs under red sun.

Afflicted, captured, twain in two -

Still burning lucent, ever-true.

Betrayed by fire; water’s gift;

Through the glass song’s sere sands sift.

The dance begun, hands grasp your waist

And you twirl graveward, flesh laid waste.

Worm-wed husband, pale and cold -

Changeling, witch-wight, red and gold.

• “The Bard’s Foretelling,” from The Book of the Traveler (Abridged Menagerie Coast Edition)

****

That night, the revelry begins for most of the crew the moment they climb from their longboats onto the deck of the Suckerpunch.

For Caleb, though, the evening begins with a strange little interlude that he struggles to categorize.

As he is helped aboard by Fjord, he finds the captain is watching him from across the group of gathered crew - and he notices a roll of bandages in the tiefling’s hand.

Caleb cannot help it: his face brightens visibly. He had been thinking about this throughout the day any time he was with anyone but Nott or the captain - and it is a huge relief to realize that Captain Tealeaf - Molly, everyone is supposed to call him Molly - is keeping his word about helping Caleb conceal his scars.

He feels a strange feeling settle low in his gut as he pats Nott’s shoulder absently, then follows Molly into his quarters.

While the door has already closed by the time Caleb reaches it, when he tries it, he finds it unlocked.

He opens the door but then hesitates at the threshold. Molly looks up and flashes him a quick smile. “Come in!’

He is in the middle of slipping his colorful coat off absentmindedly, and gestures with one hand to the nearest chair. 

“Sit. We’ll make quick work of this so you can go have a good meal and a strong drink with the others. You’ve earned it.” 

Caleb pulls the chair out and does as he is told. Then he has nothing to do but watch as Molly lazily rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing a patina of incredible tattoos and a lacy network of scars. 

Following Caleb’s gaze Molly says, “What, you’re not the only one who’s led an interesting life.”

He’s got a little smirk on his lips that is definitely, absolutely not something Caleb finds devastatingly charming. 

Molly picks up the couple of rolls of bandages he’d tossed onto the nearby table when he entered his quarters, then steps up to Caleb.

He stands too close to everyone - Caleb has already realized this - but it is really hard to not take it a bit differently when he is alone with the man and about three feet away from his bunk - a bunk that would clearly accommodate two people. 

Caleb settles back in the chair as Molly stands between his legs, casually unspooling the bandages - only to look down at Caleb’s arms and hands, sigh, and toss the bandages back on the table.

“Now that we have plenty of fresh water, you're going to clean up some,” Molly says as he stalks away to the washbasin in the corner.

Half-embarrassed and half-annoyed, Caleb decides that absent any direct order, he is going to sit still and try to look unbothered.

Molly returns a moment later with a wet cloth. Using a flippant gesture, the tiefling murmurs a word to warm up the towel.

Caleb is suddenly furiously jealous that Molly-the-devil is not wearing a Devil’s Collar while he still is, Caleb gawks at the man. "Did you really just cast Hellish Rebuke to warm up a damp rag?" he asks archly.

Molly snorts. "Gotta use it for something. When I kill people, I prefer a more personal approach. Seems rude to just burn a guy to death from a distance, y'know? I like to let them know I care."

"I am a great proponent of burning people to death," Caleb says. "You do not have to do it from a distance."

Molly gestures to Caleb's arms. “I trust you still remember how to wash the rest of yourself, but in the interest of time, I’m going to clean off your hands and arms, yeah?” 

“Thank you,” Caleb grates out, and looks up at the ceiling as Molly takes a mercifully businesslike approach to scrubbing his hands and arms of the grime and muck that has built up over the four months he spent in the brig of the Wight Widow.

“Was this how you covered up your scars before?” Molly murmurs.

Between the intimacy of their position and the intimacy of the question, Caleb finds himself looking up at Molly in shock.

“Fuck,” Molly says. “I’m doing it again. I’m sorry.” 

Caleb hates feeling this fragile - so when he’s accomplished the task of getting his facial muscles back under his control, he goes for a nonchalant shrug. “If I may be permitted to be pedantic, captain,” he says neutrally, “you said you would stop asking me about my arms after you helped me with the bandages, not before.”

Molly is clearly trying not to laugh. “Please, please tell me you're calling me 'captain' because you’re an uptight Zemnian, and not because something about my demeanor has led you to actually respect me.”

“You say ‘uptight Zemnian,’” Caleb responds, “as though there is any other sort.” 

Molly does laugh now - a warm and inviting laugh that lets Caleb pretend for one dangerous moment that this is not a terribly perilous and fucked up situation he is in. 

Apparently satisfied with the job he's done washing Caleb’s hands and arms, the tiefling drops the rag carelessly to the floor, then leans forward past Caleb - briefly going from too close to way too close - to grab the bandages from the table behind him.

This time, when Molly starts unwinding the bandages and spooling them around his own nondominant hand in preparation, Caleb’s mouth goes dry with sudden dread.

The captain is so dexterous and exact with his hand movements - and while such a small tell would be lost on almost anyone but Caleb, to him it now seems undeniable that this man is a truly dangerous and nimble quarry with a blade.

The tiefling takes Caleb’s hand gently, the surprisingly rough whorl of his callused thumb pressing into Caleb’s palm. He begins to wind the bandages around it sinuously, starting at the wrist and then working his way up toward Caleb’s elbow.

“Have you had to do this yourself yet?” the tiefling murmurs. 

He’s so close - so very close.

It's been such a long time since someone being close to me meant anything but pain.

“No,” Caleb admits. “This is… this is the first time I realized I would need to cover these marks.” He sighs, face suddenly pinched with pain. "In the life I led before, these marks were worn with pride."

“You know,” the other man says, “it’s a pity we have to cover them up. They’re dreadful - but they’re also striking. I kind of like them.”

Caleb swallows hard, and he knows he’s flushed bright pink - which is only made worse by the fact that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the way Molly is being so gentle with him.

He feels a little thrill of panic as he realizes his dread is starting to mingle with a much less manageable kind of response to the tiefling’s attention.

He tells himself that this is only happening because he is a young man who has spent too long alone, that he has also caught his eyes sliding over Fjord’s body and the first mate’s lithe and powerful form, that even Nott has not been immune to his occasional furtive glances -

He steadies himself - and with some effort, he manages to pull back a little from the moment, to force himself to reconsider this situation from a tactical perspective.

If he must, perhaps he can use the fact that he is inexplicably not completely revolted by the captain to his advantage. While he does not know for certain whether or not Molly is interested in men - being an incorrigible flirt is proof of nothing - the close confines of a ship at sea often give rise to unlikely liaisons.

How could he possibly be interested in your starved and scarred body? a particularly cruel voice says in his head. You weren’t handsome even before the fire, before the asylum, before the brig - how do you possibly think you could attract someone like him now?

“All done!” Molly says brightly - and at last he relinquishes his position in Caleb’s personal space. “Now, one more thing - just humor me a minute.”

Molly sweeps over to a bureau pushed against one wall. He rummages around inside for a few items - and then he tosses Caleb a pile of clothing.

“Go clean yourself up - I believe Nott is already availing herself of the option - and try those on. They should fit better than Marius’ stuff, and I have more to spare.”

“You do not need to do this,” Caleb admonishes him.

“You smell, Caleb. This is a small ship. I definitely do need to do this.” 

Molly ushers him out of his quarters, and Caleb sees no other option than to do as the captain insists.

****

Thankfully, Caleb discovers they are not expected to wash themselves out on the deck as sailors often must.

Instead, he finds his way down to the relative privacy of the hold, where Fjord and Nott are already scrubbing themselves clean.

While Nott has partially obscured herself behind a couple of crates, Fjord has no such compunctions, and is zealously scrubbing himself down with a soapy cloth in plain view. 

After briefly being dumbstruck by the sight of Fjord’s nude, well-muscled form, Caleb can only think, Yes, I have spent far too much time without companionship.

After a brief pause where he considers either bolting for his quarters or retreating to the galley to obtain some liquid courage before commencing with these indignities, he sighs, buckles his nerves together, and begins to disrobe.

Fjord glances over his shoulder, then tosses Caleb a cloth of his own and nods to a bucket of cold water and a bar of soap.

“I ain’t a fancy guy by any stretch,” the half-orc says, “but I’ll be damned if this doesn’t feel good.”

Caleb is starting to think he knows why the simple act of bathing is so fraught for him. After all, he was always well-groomed, clean-shaven and fastidiously tidy in his life before the fire burned away his happiness and his sanity. 

Between the loss of the will to care for himself, and the fervent desire to conceal as much of his former appearance as possible, the grime and the stubble and the tattered clothes have become the components for an abjuration spell he uses to shield himself from the world.

He feels numb and detached as he begins to mechanically undress.

“You have a cute butt, Caleb,” Nott says.

The wizard reflexively covers himself and looks over at the goblin, mortified - but the cackle she gives makes him realize she had seen the blank look on his face and has interjected a bit of levity to ground him.

By now Fjord has tied a tattered piece of sailcloth around his waist and perched himself on the nearest crate, where he is shaving himself using only soap suds and a straight razor.

When Caleb gives him an inquisitive look, then pointedly looks at the razor, Fjord shrugs.

“This thing is dull as hell, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says. “They ruined the blade on a perfectly good razor to give it to me - and the first mate told me if I don’t give it back we’re all getting locked in here until we do.”

Caleb chuckles, finishes his own ablutions, then dries himself with the robe he’d borrowed from the half-elf Marius.

With a pinched look on his face, he goes to inspect the clothes Molly has loaned to him.

As he goes through them, he feels the panic rising in him again. While Molly has clearly selected the least flamboyant of his garments to loan to him, it’s all still much too showy. It will attract attention, he cannot wear things like this, there is too much risk -

Nott has joined him, having redressed in some borrowed garments which have been pinned haphazardly to fit her.

“I like the one with the buttons!” she exclaims, showcasing a tunic that buttons up the chest with flashy fasteners of mother-of-pearl.

How is this shirt the least conspicuous option he has? It is not going to cover all of the burn scars….

“It goes with this,” the goblin says, holding up a pair of breeches. “Look, the laces are made from something shiny….”

Caleb groans. As quietly as he can, he says, “I do not want to wear this. People will look at me. I - “

“Caleb,” the goblin says gently. “We are on a ship. We sleep two feet away from Fjord, and the crew’s job is watching us. They have seen you. They are going to keep seeing you. I will not let them hurt you.”

Caleb sighs as he starts to resign himself to her point. 

“If you look nice,” Nott whispers, “maybe it will make them like us more. You’re very handsome.” 

His eyes focus on hers. Now that is a valid point, he thinks. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

With Nott standing insistently beside him, he pulls on the pair of deep teal leggings, then the loose white tunic with the mother-of-pearl buttons. He is a little abashed when Nott helps him put on his old leather belt - and cinches it a little tighter so that it cuts a more fashionable silhouette. 

“Is there at least a scarf or something?” he says, gesturing to the scars on his neck and chest.

Thankfully, yes, there are two. He picks the dark green one.

“The green coat?” Nott says hopefully.

Caleb looks at the seafoam green coat in alarm. “Nein, nein,” he says. “The dark blue one - bitte.” 

She hands him the midnight blue frock coat and he puts it on - somehow feeling more and more exposed with every piece of clothing he dons.

“There’s a matching hat with a white feather,” Nott says with a grin.

“Do not press your luck,” Caleb says. “I will jump overboard if I must.”

Laughing, she takes his hand to lead him up to the galley.

He loves it when she laughs - but in this moment, he hates how the sound of her happiness fills him with the treacherous, foolish hope that somehow a life on the Suckerpunch might be good for them.

****

Molly is halfway through his first generous tankard of ale - and many of the crew are already onto their third - when Caleb, Nott and Fjord enter the galley.

Beau walks over from where a friendly argument with Yasha is beginning to look like it will devolve into drunken sparring within the hour, and extends her hand to Fjord - who dutifully returns a pearl-handled razor to her. She winks at him, and goes back to reminding Yasha about the time she threw her through a table in their favorite tavern in Darktow.

Caleb is the last of the prisoners to enter the galley. He is trying to hide behind Nott - which is an almost charmingly futile act given her stature.

“Look at all of you!” Molly says, sweeping over to them like they’re his honored guests and not his captives. He’s changed into a violet waistcoat and breeches embellished with gold brocade trim, and a gauzy white silk tunic that he knows offsets his purple skin. “You all clean up nicely, I do confess.” He offers a glittering smile as his eyes rove over the three of them, and then he gestures invitingly to the table that is now bedecked with a lovely spread of food - including the first fresh greens and roots they have had in months, and some of the better provisions Caduceus has kept squirreled away for such occasions.

“Cheese!” Nott practically yells, and she abandons Caleb to bolt toward the table.

Caleb gives a surprised laugh at this. “Verdammt,” he says. “This is news to me - cheese comes before ale for her? I would not have guessed this.” 

He follows her toward the food. 

Playing his part as the gracious host, Molly walks over to the keg of excellent, bitter brown ale that was tapped specially for this occasion, and neatly fills three tankards. He then goes to press them into the hands of each of his three prisoners in turn.

“Much obliged,” Fjord says sincerely.

“Danke,” Caleb says as Molly hands him his own tankard.

Molly thinks he sees a little flush in the man’s cheeks that was not there before. When Caleb looks down to avoid his gaze, the tiefling takes the opportunity to study the man.

It doesn’t end up being nearly as clinical an inventory as he had hoped.

There’s just something so perversely delectable about seeing Caleb wearing his clothes. It’s ordinarily something that only happens when a man wakes up in Molly’s bed and his clothes from the night before are no longer… serviceable. 

“I’m glad those seem to fit you well enough,” he says, quietly enough that only Caleb can hear. “Thank you for doing as I ordered. You are being very good - and I appreciate that.” 

He seems to have struck upon something with his words, because Caleb goes from pink to a deep shade of red and downs half his ale in about two sips.

“Careful,” Molly murmurs, leaning a little closer. “You’re going to be a bit of a lightweight after all you’ve been through.”

Caleb nods, still unable to look at anything but his boots. 

After a few moments, Caleb appears to find his ability to speak again. “The purple things are very nice,” he says in a hushed tone, gesturing vaguely toward Molly’s own attire, “but I thank you sincerely that you did not order me to wear such a color.” 

“Of course not,” Molly scoffs. “A man cut from Cerberus Assembly cloth wearing something fashionable? I wouldn't force such an indignity upon you, pet.”

Caleb blanches white and briefly looks like he is going to completely fall apart like he did on the deck of the Wight Widow.

Molly feels a thrill of concern followed by a moment of regret. He moves his body to shield Caleb’s expression from the others. 

“Direct hit, hm?” he says.

Caleb does not respond at all.

“Caleb?” he says gently, and the man looks up.

“I thought we were not asking unwanted questions,” the human says hoarsely.

“I said we weren't asking indelicate questions,” Molly says. “Making indelicate statements is at the very essence of my being.”

Caleb’s eyes flash with something dark and cruel - something that genuinely makes Molly’s blood run cold and his heart beat faster - something that makes him worry that the man is more dangerous than he's accounted for -

Then Caleb nods to him respectfully, and moves to rejoin Nott and Fjord.

****

Even Caleb has to admit it: after the moment Molly wisely decides to leave him alone for the evening, the night of revelry is almost agreeable.

It is unfortunate that Molly has guessed the one secret that no one must know.

The man can be a jackass, this is true, but he is not as cruel as he pretends to be. So it is almost a shame that Caleb will not be able to leave this man alive when he makes his escape. 

The only thing that really rankles Caleb about this new development is - now that he knows he has to kill Molly - he knows he will need his powers back in order to do so. That means he will have to wait until the collar is off to get away.

Still, his anger at this is not lasting. The next tankard of ale dulls it, and the tankard after that all but erases it. After all, he thinks, I have waited longer to gain far less in the past.

He knows this situation is no one’s fault. This is all just the tragic consequence of the weave of fate dictating that their interests be diametrically opposed. Mollymauk Tealeaf is prying where he does not belong out of the logical interests of himself and his crew; Caleb is going to kill him to protect himself and Nott.

In a way there is a lovely, mournful symmetry to it - something he surely has the discipline to appreciate from a cold and detached distance.

****

Caleb only realizes he is drunk when he sees Nott stumble, so uncoordinated that Yasha has to reach out and catch her.

“Okay, little one,” he says, and goes over to collect her. “Time for sleep.”

“One more,” the goblin whines.

“Nein.” He grasps her hand.

“One mooooore,” she protests, but she does not resist when he leads her from the galley and down to the makeshift quarters the three prisoners have been allotted in the ship’s hold.

“I ffffuckin’ hate it down here,” Nott mutters as he helps her into the hammock that some surprisingly thoughtful person has strung a little lower for her comfort. “I can hear the water all around, too much water, water everywhere….”

“We will be free soon enough, friend,” Caleb says in a soothing voice, “and when we are, I will make sure you never have to so much as look at the ocean again.”

By the time he has draped Molly’s borrowed seafoam green coat over her like a velvet blanket, her bright amber eyes are already closed, and her chest is rising and falling in the easy rhythm of sleep.

****

Molly and his crew are all at least a little tipsy - but the sight of Caleb and Nott leaving the galley together immediately grabs their attention. A brief glance passes between Beau, Molly and Caduceus - and the three of them quietly repair to the corridor outside the galley.

With a quick incantation, Caduceus grants Molly a boon to his ability to pass unseen.

“Are you good to go it alone?” an obviously drunk Beau says, swaying along with the rocking of the ship.

“Definitely,” Molly says. “The goblin’s not even seeing straight, and the human is respectably sauced as well.”

Beau nods, and she and Caduceus rejoin the festivities.

Moving silently, Molly makes his way down the central corridor of the crew quarters aft of the galley, then descends the stairs to the hold.

When he briefly presses his ear to the door of the compartment where their prisoners’ hammocks are strung, he hears the murmuring first of Nott’s voice, and then of Caleb’s.

Satisfied that the human man has only helped his smaller friend to bed, Molly slinks back up the stairs, where he lounges against the wall until he hears the heavy door to the prisoners’ room close below.

He considers returning to the galley unseen, but then decides that now is probably the right time to catch Caleb with his guard down and try to begin to smooth over his comment about the Cerberus Assembly. It had clearly shaken the man to his core - which answered not just the question as to where he had learned his craft, but likely answered the question about where he had acquired his scars as well.

It’s going to be a bit of a feat to get Caleb to calm down a little after that exchange - but Molly thinks he knows how to at least make a little progress tonight.

When he hears Caleb coming up the stairs, he schools his face into the epitome of contrition.

Caleb crests the stop of the stairs and almost falls backward in surprise. “Ah! Captain Tea- Mollymauk, you surprised me!” He’s clutching his chest in an absolutely adorable display of shock.

“Sorry, sorry,” Molly says, and he sighs deeply. “It seems like that’s all I’m going to say to you tonight: ‘sorry, sorry, sorry.’”

Caleb’s eyes briefly flash with a bit of that open defiance that Molly saw in him before, but it fades quickly into a look of resignation. “I appreciate the apologies - but I do not appreciate the insistent intrusions into my affairs.” He pauses. “I particularly dislike your continued assurances you are not trying to pry, when that is obviously untrue.” 

Molly frowns. Well, at least he’s talking. It could be worse.

“Captain, will you permit me to go out onto the deck?” the human man asks. “I need some fresh air to clear my head.”

Molly’s look of guilt is genuine now. “Not at night with the whole crew drunk, Caleb,” he says. “Unless you don't object to a little company?” He pauses uncertainly. “I mean, if you don't want to be anywhere near me right now, that'd be more than understandable. You're welcome to just go back to the galley without me or head back to your quarters.”

Caleb sighs. “It is your ship, captain,” he says. “You may join me if you wish.”

Carefully keeping his distance, Molly follows the human out onto the deck of the ship.

The moon above is half-full and the stars are bright. A crisp, cool seabreeze buffets them as they step out into the night.

Caleb strolls to the railing at the port side of the ship. He stands silhouetted in moonlight, looking out at the dark shape of the island of Selidor.

“Not a single light, and no sign of smoke from fires,” the wizard comments as Molly approaches him. “It appears that you were correct in your assessment that Selidor is uninhabited - which has its benefits.”

Molly stands beside him, still taking care to give him enough space. “The view from here is a little deceptive, though,” he says to the other man. “If our charts are right, this island is a lot larger than it appears from this cove.”

Caleb nods. 

With his eyesight unimpeded in the moonlight, Molly sees that the man’s jaw is tight, and that he is gripping the railing in front of him with white knuckles.

He knows he has to say something.

“Listen, Caleb, the man sighs, "I know I been rubbing salt in your wounds. But every time I hurt you this way, I'm doing so for a very specific reason. The more quickly I get to know you, the faster I can stop doing this to you.”

Caleb shoots him a murderous glare. “You have done nothing to convince me that you do anything for anyone but yourself.”

Molly is surprised into a laugh. “Well…” he says, “let it never be said that you aren't an astute judge of character, Caleb Widogast.”

Silence stretches between them, broken only by the soft lapping of the waves against the bow, and the breeze tussling with the furled sails of the Suckerpunch.

At last, Molly speaks again. “If it helps at all,” he says, “the reason I'm compelled to learn what I can of your abilities and your entanglements back home is because you are fucking terrifying. I know it, my crew knows it, Nott and Fjord know it - and you know it, too.”

Caleb has a smile on his face now - but it is a grim and forbidding one, a smile that he would not allow himself if he was aware that tieflings are not darkblind. “Let it never be said that you are not an astute judge of character, captain.” 

Molly swallows hard. Now that he has this brief window into the expressions and body language that Caleb usually hides, he is realizing he has seriously overstepped his mark with this man. 

Well, here goes nothing. Time for the most difficult manipulation tactic of all: honesty.

“I see I have really fucked this up,” he says.

“Yes,” Caleb says, “you have.”

There is another long pause as Molly considers all his options. He realizes that he can’t see any way ahead that will gain him ground with Caleb and leave Molly himself unexposed.

“Would it be useful,” he says carefully, “if I let you to ask me some unpleasant questions of your own?” 

Caleb shoots him a surprised glance. “Of what sort?” he asks.

“Dealer’s choice, sweetheart.” 

Caleb’s brow furrows, and his eyes return to the dark waves. There is a long pause.

Please, Molly thinks. Please, just ask me something. Play the game, Caleb - I know you’re as good at this as I am.

“Which members of your crew came to you as captives?” Caleb asks.

Molly takes in a deep breath. To share this information is a breach of the decency with which he tries to treat his crew - but they will forgive him, while Caleb will not unless he does something to demonstrate he can give as well as take. 

“Of those you've had the chance to meet,” the tiefling answers, “Beau was in the brig of a Cobalt Soul vessel when we found her - and Caduceus was being held on a slave ship out of some pirate fort near Gardwan. Marius I kidnapped from Nicodranas - long story - and while I technically hired Orly, he didn't know what he was getting himself into. When we first dropped anchor in Darktow, his face was… a sight to behold.”

“Of all your crew, only Yasha came to you willingly?” 

“Yes,” Molly says. “And funnily enough, when Yasha, Gustav and Avantika found me outside of Darktow, wandering aimlessly, I was their captive for months.” The captain cannot help the discomfort that creeps into his tone now. “Let me put it this way: I am a rat bastard, but compared to Avantika, I am sweetness and light, a veritable angel of mercy.” He is frowning outright now, unable to stem the tide of the memories that is rising around him. “It was Avantika who put a Devil’s Collar on me,” he says, “and she didn't take it off for a year. When she finally did… she had enough of a hold on me to convince me to do quite a few things I'll never do again.” 

Caleb considers this. “What happened to this woman Avantika?” he asks.

“...I took her ship, and then I took her life - in front of her crew.”

When Molly looks up, he realizes that Caleb is now watching him with a careful, discerning look that hearkens to the way an academic would study an arcane text or a new kind of rare crystal. He actually turns toward Molly now, leaning against the railing so he can watch Molly more easily. It’s a much more open posture, much more relaxed. Even if the tiefling knows he’s relinquished the upper hand in this conversation, it feels like a win.

When Caleb speaks again, his voice is calm and his words are exact. “Which of your crew spent the longest time in their chains?”

Molly grimaces. Caleb certainly shares his own knack for sensing the exact way to get straight to someone’s nerves. “Without a question, that would be Beau. I wasn't yet the captain of the Suckerpunch when I met her - I was still under Avantika’s command, back when this ship was still the Squalleater. Beau’s defiant nature and Avantika’s penchant for cruelty led to… an impasse. Avantika kept her chained up until I took command and freed her.”

Caleb considers this. “The blue robes… a Cobalt Soul ship… and training to resist coercion when in captivity…?”

Molly nods. “You appear to have made the right connection.”

“Does the Cobalt Soul have the same sort of plans for her as my former mentors have for me?”

Molly shrugs. “They certainly want her back , but I think they want her back alive and well. No - the people who want her dead have…other affiliations.” 

Caleb laughs at this. “And so she stays with you?”

“Beau does whatever she wants,” Molly says with a fond smile. “She doesn't need anyone to protect her. She stays because she likes it here.” Molly lets himself meet the human man’s eyes now, his look imploring. “Which is why I believe you will eventually get over me being a bit of a prick and find some comfort here as well.” 

Caleb purses his lips - and he takes a long slow look at Molly.

His eyes come to rest on Molly’s lips - and he does not look away, nor does he attempt to hide his interest.

Molly is caught off guard. This…this is a little unexpected. He’d teased the man a little in his quarters before, but that was just Molly being Molly. Is this part of the reason the human has been so offended?

“What do you want from me, Molly?” the human murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk. 

Molly hesitates. Nope. Nope. Not today! Stay on task! “I want to be able to trust you enough to take that collar off,” he says. “And - if you're willing - I need a wizard for my crew. A gifted wizard like you isn't a windfall I can squander - not if I can help it. Though if you prefer to leave, when I trust you enough to keep my secrets I will gladly take you and Nott to whatever port you desire.”

Caleb’s gaze flicks back to Molly’s eyes now. “What you and your crew did to the Wight Widow,” he says seriously, “was a terrible thing. I will not pretend I have not done worse things to better people - but I have lost the will to inflict such things upon others.”

“That's a place where we're of the same heart," Molly admits. "I have done some really, really fucked up things, Caleb - but what happened on the Wight Widow is not how I run things now that I have my own command. There were a lot of mistakes that led to that outcome - mistakes I now wish I could take back.”

“What were those mistakes, Molly?” Caleb asks in that low honeyed voice that is starting to draw Molly to him like a moth to sacred flame.

The tiefling finds his words. “When we pursued the Widow, they ran - common enough, so we chased them. But when we fired a warning shot they kept running. I should have just let them go at that point - but we engaged. Then we missed the Cerberus Assembly pendant. After that….”

“After that,” Caleb says, “they would have played the ‘bird with the broken wing’ - and when they attacked, they would not have afforded you the courtesy of a warning shot.” He is staring unflinchingly at Molly now as though daring Molly to look away first. “When they failed and you boarded the Widow, they would not have allowed you to take any of them alive. They understand the tactical advantage a wizard with our training would give any adversary.”

“Your expertise, your training, and your advice, Caleb;” Molly says, “that's all I hope to gain from you - and unlike many captains on ships like mine, I won't force you into service if you don't want to stay with us.”

Caleb looks at him very carefully now. “You are telling the truth,” he says, and there is surprise in his tone.

Molly hadn’t realized it until just now: but yes, yes he is. He’s telling the truth - and it’s working.

Molly sighs, still holding Caleb’s gaze, meeting his challenge. “I… I can't just hurt you,” he says. “I have to be willing to give a little, to allow you some sense of control, or we'll never get anywhere. What I once did to Beau is not something I ever intend to do again.”

Caleb nods. In the darkness, his face is more open, and while his eyes are intense, his mouth is quirked into a slight smile. “You have maintained such gallant notions,” Caleb avers casually, “for someone who was buried alive and then kept as a slave in the brig of an apparent sadist.”

Molly finds himself grinning at the man unabashedly. “I could say something very similar about you.” 

Caleb worries his lower lip with his teeth just slightly, as though he is considering something. It’s hypnotizing. When he speaks, his voice is a little softer, a little more unsure. “Are you sure there is nothing else you want from me, Mollymauk?” he asks.

Molly suddenly feels a sensation akin to vertigo as the entire encounter takes a step to the left. He pauses briefly as his mind reels between different emotions and different responses and different desires and threats. “Mr. Widogast,” he replies, and it comes out a lot more breathy than he means it to, “do I understand you correctly?”

Now Caleb is smiling at him plainly. “Captain,” he rejoins, matching Molly’s tone, “you are acting exceedingly surprised for a man who has taken every opportunity to touch me since the very moment we met.” 

Molly tries to stay grounded. “You don't seem to like it very much when I touch you,” he points out.

“I do not like for you to touch me when you are being a total bastard.” Caleb’s smile has become a smirk.

“So….” Molly says, finding himself uncharacteristically off-kilter. “If I can be so bold - what exactly is on offer here?” 

Caleb does not break his gaze - in fact, he tilts his chin up just the tiniest fraction, and moves just a little closer to Molly. “You invited me into your quarters, stood right between my legs, and then gave me your lovely clothes to dress in for you,” he says, and fuck, no one should be able to make Molly’s mind just go completely blank like this. “You tell me what is on offer here.”

Fine. Fine. This is clearly just a game - a bid to get into his head, not into his bed - but it’s too damned tempting to not play along.

Molly steps closer to Caleb, so close they’re just a hair’s breadth apart. “Well,” he says, in a casual tone, “I do admit - I was curious how you’d look all cleaned up for me,” he says. “And it was a nice surprise when you actually obliged.” 

“You thought I did not know how to take a bath?” Caleb bites back.

“I thought you didn’t want to take a bath for me,” Molly purrs. 

He adores the jumble of emotions that flit across Caleb’s face - surprise, apprehension, and an undeniable hint of excitement.

Molly’s mind is going through everything he’s seen of Caleb since he dragged him off the sinking Wight Widow - every response to his touch, every little reaction to his words, every time the color rose in the other man’s cheeks. What did he say to Caleb when they were in the galley? Thank you for doing as I ordered. You are being very good - and I appreciate that.

Molly smiles wickedly. He leans in so that his lips are almost touching the soft curve of Caleb’s ear. “Caleb,” he murmurs, hot breath against cool skin in the night air, “do you like it when I tell you what to do - or do you like it when I tell you that I like what you do for me?” 

His horn just slightly brushes against Caleb's temple, and he hears - no, feels - the other man take a shaky breath - hears him bite back the beginning of a sentence that starts with “I - “

Molly pulls back so he can look into Caleb’s eyes - and the man looks somewhere between lost in the moment and just lost. 

“I asked you a question, Caleb,” Molly prompts.

“I heard you,” the other man whispers.

Molly has no way of putting the infinitesimal change in Caleb’s expression into words - but it slams him back to reality, to the power differential between them, to the collar around Caleb’s neck, to the obvious damage that the world has inflicted on the man he is currently toying with.

Molly straightens up, then steps back, and he sees the other man exhale a breath he’d been holding up until now. “It’s late, Caleb,” Molly says. “We’ve both had a bit to drink. You should head back inside; I have a few things to check up on before I turn in for the night.” 

Caleb nods, and it is as though a spell has been broken. “Good night, Captain,” he demures.

“Goodnight, Mr. Widogast,” Molly says, and there is no mockery in this formal term of address this time.

Caleb has already turned to walk away when Molly calls out to him. "Oh, and Caleb?"

The human man looks back.

Molly's voice is calm and polite. “I should tell you that I have a history of losing track of certain memories - and that the last few minutes will almost certainly elude my recall unless you choose to remind me at a later date.”

Caleb nods mutely - almost meekly. Then he turns and goes back belowdecks. 

Just like Molly told him to.

Chapter Text

Yasha wakes with a familiar excitement coiled around her heart like a snake. Yawning, she sits up from the pile of furs where she has spent the night balled up like a cat. The thrill she feels suddenly transmutes into a sickening dread when she remembers they are in a damaged ship on an unfamiliar shore.

When she emerges onto the deck of the Suckerpunch the dawn light is a sanguine red, and a quick glance to the north confirms what she feared: a low line of dark clouds is on the horizon.

Quickly, the barbarian removes both her swords and sets them on the ground before her with a ceremonial reverence. Then she falls to her knees, and makes a prayer to the Stormlord. As she is finishing her act of devotion, she hears the door to the cabin open. 

Unable to distract herself from the closing of her prayer, she carefully puts her swords back on, bows once to kiss the deck, and then stands to look at whoever has joined her in the red light. Caduceus is standing in the eerie dawn glow, holding a steaming cup of tea, and dreamily gazing out at the dark clouds on the horizon. 

“You should probably go get the captain,” the firbolg tells her mildly.

Yasha wordlessly strides across the deck to Molly’s quarters. She knocks on his door thunderously.

Molly opens the door a few moments later, still wearing his sleeping tunic and a simple pair of breeches. “Yasha,” he groans, “what the hell is it?" Then he sees the color of the light in the sky. “Go get Caduceus,” he says urgently.

She steps out of the way and points to where the firbolg is already standing on the deck, looking up.

“Perrrrrfect,” Molly says. “One second - I need a coat, I need my boots.” He closes the door.

When Molly emerges a minute later he is fully dressed, carrying his tarot cards in one hand and a handful of incense in the other. “Cad,” he calls out to the firbolg, “how quickly can you get hold of the Wildmother for a little tête-à-tête?” 

Caduceus smiles at him pleasantly, calling back, “How quickly can you do a tarot reading?”

“Dunno!” Molly replies. “Let’s race.”

As Caduceus disappears back downstairs to begin his own ritual intercession with his god, Molly plunks himself down on the deck of the Suckerpunch. He begins to set out his cards, weighing down each with one of the small stones in his pocket to avoid losing them to the stiff breeze.

Even as he begins to immerse himself in the ritual, as he begins to feel the power of the Moonweaver moving through him, the wind is beginning to pick up, the strength of each gust building ominously. He lights the incense, and then it is only him, the cards, and the goddess.

The card he draws for the past is The Moon, reversed. Darkness, fear, insecurities - the Moonweaver herself looking down on these mortal tribulations.

The card he draws for the present is The Tower, reversed again. Troubled times, turbulence , duplicity, stormy weather.

The card he draws for the future is The Chariot. Courage, discipline, departure.

****

It’s still miserably early, and Caleb’s head is throbbing. The memory of last night on the deck with the captain has him oscillating between the two options of killing Mollymauk Tealeaf with his bare hands and jumping into the sea.

Then Fjord is poking his head back into their quarters. “Something’s going on up on deck,” he exclaims. “C’mon. There is some weird shit... y’all gotta come see.” He looks somewhere between concerned and excited. 

With an opener like that, how could Nott and Caleb possibly resist following him up to the deck?

The minute Caleb steps onto the deck, it’s instantly evident that there are far more pressing concerns at hand than his embarrassment about the previous night. The sky is blood-red, and there is a weird fizzling in the air that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. He turns around once, trying to take in the bizarre sky - and that’s when he looks north. There are fierce storm clouds bearing down on Selidor and their wounded ship.

Then his eyes fall on Mollymauk where the tiefling is sitting tranquilly in the middle of the deck. He is cross-legged, his eyes half-closed, as he serenely draws cards from a tarot deck. 

Heresy, one small part of Caleb thinks - but the rest of him is utterly transfixed. The normally frenetic man’s serenity, the beauty of his purple complexion bathed in the surreal light of this uncanny sunrise is truly heart-stopping. He stands dumbfounded, only peripherally aware of the other crew members as they filter onto the deck. 

Is it the strangeness of the light? Is it his imagination? Or is there really an insubstantial, diaphanous glow weaving itself all around all of them right now?

****

Molly considers the cards that lie before him, trying to divine if there is anything he is missing, any ambiguity he has not spotted - but even as he revels in the Moonweaver’s carefree grace twining around him, he feels his mind being pulled this way and that, back to the moment, back to the world, back to the gathering storm.

He gives his thanks and praise to his goddess, and then he must leave the refuge of ritual for reality once more. When he looks up from his cards, he realizes his crew is gathered around him. He was so caught up in his communion with the divine that he did not even realize they had joined him.

He finds Caduceus standing right in front of him. Wordlessly, the tall thin firbolg helps Molly to his feet.

“What did the Wildmother have to say?” Molly asks.

“I asked her ‘how do we survive this storm?’ Her response was… curious. It is certainly more than I have received in the past.”

Molly nods. He knows better than to rush the man; Caduceus gets to things no sooner and no later than he needs to.

The firbolg has that beatific, meditative look Molly has come to know so well. When he speaks, it is almost a like a spell, a charm, a psalm.

“Since the crack in the bell, it rings all the sweeter;

There’s a hole in the wall where the light gets in.

You stand empty-handed at the door to the temple,

And I say: you should just come in.”

A surprised, hushed murmur goes through the crew. Molly considers this beautiful stanza. It is indeed shockingly verbose, as far as conversations with gods go. He runs over the words in his mind, examining the parallels between his own communion with the Moonweaver and Caduceus’ portent from the Wildmother.

Caduceus’ voice stirs Molly from his thoughts. “What wisdom did the Mistress of Trysts share with you, Mollymauk?”

Molly pauses to collect his thoughts into a concise summary. “...The cards told me that the past was dark, that the present is stormy - and for our future, the Moonweaver foretold of a departure.”

From across the deck directly behind Molly, he hears Caleb’s voice speak. The wizard says, “Fjord - has your idol told you anything that might help us?” 

The half-orc looks startled. “Uh,” he says nervously, as the eyes of the entire crew are suddenly upon him.

“Don’t be shy,” Caduceus tells the half-orc in his placid, unassuming way. “If you have been getting any sort of otherworldly impressions about current events from your patron, we are all ears.” His own ears prick forward a little bit as if for emphasis. 

Fjord looks utterly mortified by all the attention - and Molly has almost given up on the hope of him speaking when he finally breaks the expectant silence. “Well, uh, my… guy says, ‘Hide.’ Then ‘Consume.’ Then, ‘Return.’”

Caduceus looks back to Molly. “...I think we have our answer, friend. All the counsel we have been blessed with from beyond appears to be converging on one point.”

Molly nods. Putting his captain voice back on, he speaks clearly and confidently, head held high - doing a damned good imitation of what he’s meant to be.

“You can all see that a storm is coming. What I know logically to be true lines up with these portents: we have to leave the ship to be safe. The Suckerpunch is not seaworthy enough to be a safe haven for us in this squall. We will have to find somewhere on shore to take shelter.” 

There is a wave of exclamations and protests from the crew. Molly pauses, waiting for them to settle down before he speaks again.

“We will take with us all we can, and batten down the rest. If we are lucky, we will come back to a ship and not a wreck. Caleb and I scouted some caves halfway up the cliff face, just around the northern peninsula of this cove. I think that’s our best chance for a safe refuge right now.”

There is more dissent and grumbling, but it is more muted this time.

“Alright!” Beau says. “You heard the captain! Nott, you’re with Yasha; Caleb, with me; Fjord, with Orly. Let’s get moving, folks. Now gather ‘round for assignments….”

****

Nott doesn’t look up at the clouds. When the sanguine dawn becomes a dark, wind-whipped and threatening day, it means nothing to her. She only has eyes for the wine-dark sea that churns below them, and the growing violence of the waves.

Yasha has easily stepped across the gap between their longboat and the Suckerpunch. Nott gets the vague impression that Yasha is staring at her, exasperated, but it barely registers; she sure as fuck doesn’t care what this towering savage beast of a woman thinks of her - not ever, and especially not now. To Nott, the gap between the ship and the boat looks like a chasm, a canyon. Far too dangerous to even consider crossing.

“Nott,” the barbarian says, “may I please pick you up?” 

Nott looks at her.

“You need help,” Yasha explains. “I will help you.”

“Yeah,” Nott mutters. “Yeah. Okay.”

Yasha times her jump perfectly, landing back on the deck of the Suckerpunch with ease. Then she lifts Nott up and sets her down in the longboat before hopping back in herself.

“Thank you,” Nott says.

“Thank you for not biting me this time.”

****

It is just before noon when Molly can no longer defer their departure. On his word, all three longboats cast off from the Suckerpunch, and begin the journey through the dark waters toward the shore of Selidor.

The captain, naturally, is the last to leave his ship, leaping nimbly from the deck into the last longboat before it is lowered into the waves below. As the longboat swings back and forth in the wind, Molly carefully maneuvers around Yasha to take his seat at the bow.

He winks at a petrified Nott. “Are you doing okay?”

“Nope!” the goblin replies.

Then Molly must turn his attention to the way ahead to the island. With every passing second, the wind and the waves grow wilder, more unpredictable, more unforgiving.

“Beau!” he shouts ahead, and points out an immense piece of driftwood that is bobbing in the rough surf.

With practiced expertise, the captains of all three longboats avoid the hazard, and make their way toward the beach. Molly looks anxiously over the bow at the first two longboats as they close in on the spit of land that will be their landing place on the island. The real challenge is always with the dismount. It is difficult for Molly to maintain an adequate view of the other two boats as the waves toss their longboat around like a toy.

“Hey, Nott!” Molly shouts over the crashing cacophony of the surf. “Hold onto my belt, will you?”

The goblin shouts something in reply that he doesn’t catch - but the feeling of her taking hold of his belt and firmly anchoring him down says everything he needs to know. He holds his breath as the first longboat - captained by Orly - makes its approach - they’re leaping out - and then they’re safe on the shore, dragging their longboat up the beach.

The remaining two boats row on, braving the ever-increasing waves. Now the second boat is nearing the narrow spit of sand where Orly's crew is dragging their vessel up the beach. As Beau’s longboat is landing, Molly's world once more stands still - and again, they’ve made the jump, they’re out of the spitting surf and making their way up the beach.

“Molly!” Yasha shouts in warning. “Get down!” 

Molly drops onto all fours and holds onto the gunwales with all his might. A chorus of shouts and yelps is torn from the throats of the people in his longboat as a gigantic wave bucks the whole boat out of the water and into the air. Then the horrible moment of force passes and the longboat crashes back into the sea. Miraculously, the longboat and her oars are undamaged, and no one has been thrown from the vessel into the churning, treacherous water.

With a quick look over his shoulder, Molly checks to make sure there is not another large wave coming, and then he’s standing in the bow again with his eyes on the beach. They’re drawing closer and closer to the moment when they will need to leap out and haul the boat out of the waves without getting overwhelmed by the water.

Closer.

Closer.

“Now! ” he shouts, and he hears the sound of Yasha’s steel boots splashing into the water on the starboard side. He leaps out on the port side, grabs the nearest cleat, and together with Yasha he puts all of his strength into hauling the heavy, cargo-laden boat up the beach. 

He’s only ankle-deep in the water, almost to dry land, when something slippery and prehensile wraps around one of his ankles and pulls.

He shouts and falls onto his hands and knees as the creature tries to yank him back into the surf. When he falls on his face, he manages to unsheathe one of his swords; he even manages to nick his thumb on the blade to imbue it with the ancestral power that courses through his veins - and then he’s slashing wildly at the gray tentacle that’s holding him. He makes contact, partially severs it - only to be grappled by another tentacle. He connects again, and manages to scramble to his feet. He briefly catches a fleeting glance at hideous glassy gray appendages and the eyeless slate-gray bulk just below the surface of the water. 

Another tentacle shoots out and yanks his blade from his hands. He hears the shouts and screams of his party behind him.

“What’s why I carry two, motherfucker!” he roars. He draws his other blade.

Then with a violent rush the surf races up around him, engulfing his legs in a terrible embrace that combines with the creature’s death-grip on his ankle to bring any activity other than “stay standing” to a halt. He is now up to his thighs in the water, and then suddenly it is up to his chest. There is fear in him now, primal, hind-brain fear, simple and pure: the fear of drowning. He fights it - he forces his fear to be subordinate to his will - he knows he can survive this, he hears his crew yelling and rallying to his aid -

That is when he looks up and sees the immense wave that is seconds from crashing over him.

The jolt of adrenaline that overwhelms him allows him to stumble just two steps backward, struggling wildly to free himself from the grasp of the monster as panic builds. Then there is a sudden stabbing pain in his entangled leg that makes him howl in pain. The last thing that he hears before he goes under, over the cries of the crew and the crashing of the waves and the howling of the wind, is the sound of Marius singing.

Plunged into the murky and treacherous sea, he twists his body to try to find the surface. He writhes against the grip of the beast. There is no up and no down, there is just pain and panic and the instinct to thrash and fight. He is thrown head over heels and his head impacts the sand, momentarily stunning him - and making him drop his sword. His arms and legs reach out; he tries to kick and find the bottom without success. His head throbs, his lungs burn. He will breathe in soon. He will breathe in soon. He does not know if he will breathe in water or air - but he will breathe in soon - 

Then two sets of hands are on him, pulling him up, and his head is above the waves. Beau and Caleb are holding onto him, dragging him doggedly toward the shore. Together, their strength is enough to start to overcome the beast’s mighty grasp.

As Molly takes a huge gulping breath of air, he looks on as Yasha brings down the Magician’s Judge on the tentacle that is still gripping his ankle with a sickening, squelching thud. She cuts the vile writhing gray thing off in a single stroke and the creature recoils with an alien wail.

Then Molly is lying on his back on the sand, chest heaving, ankle throbbing, head spinning. Dimly, he realizes Beau and Caleb are standing over him.

Beau is shouting to Caleb, “Watch him! Try to get him back on his feet!”

Then Beau is gone, running down the beach toward the water, and Caleb is sinking to his knees beside Molly.

“What the fuck was that?” Molly asks Caleb weakly. He tries to sit up, but his head spins, and he collapses back onto the sand.

“Give yourself a second,” Caleb insists. “That was - I don’t know what that was - it almost killed you - “ 

“We’ve got to get to the caves,” Molly tells him deliriously, craning his neck in the direction that half of the crew has already set off in.

“Molly!” Caleb exclaims sternly - a tone that automatically commands Molly’s full attention. “You are hurt. Your ankle is very bad. I need you to listen to me, ja?” Molly feels Caleb’s arm under his shoulders, easing him upright. He feels strange, his head heavy, his thoughts clouded. “Look at me!” Caleb snaps. “You will be fine - but we need to stand up!” 

Molly nods. He wants to follow Caleb. He knows Caleb is right, but he can’t get his body to obey him. There is…there is something else…something else is wrong.

“Venom,” he gasps. “Poison - the creature - I’m poisoned!“

Caleb’s eyes go wide at this revelation - and then his face settles into a look of stoic determination. He eases Molly down onto his back. A yelp of pain is torn from Molly’s throat as Caleb yanks off the remnants of Molly’s left boot to get a better look at the wound on his ankle.

There is just a brief moment when Caleb’s careful, nimble hands are gentle on his skin. Then Caleb does something to Molly’s ankle that makes the captain shout and see white stars.

When he recovers from the pain and shock, he sees that Caleb is holding a massive, barbed spine in his hand. The mage throws it on the ground victoriously. Molly's head swims again, depriving him briefly of vision. When his eyes refocus, he finds Caleb kneeling at his side once more.

“I pulled the stinger out,” Caleb assures him. “I am certain you are poisoned, but at least there will not be any more of the terrible stuff getting into your blood. Come now, I've got you - you can get up. I will help.”

Caleb's arm is wrapped tight around Molly’s shoulders again. The human guides the captain upright with the kind of single-minded focus and attention that would probably make Molly’s world spin even if he wasn’t completely fucked up on sea monster venom right now.

“Stay off the left foot,” Caleb says in his ear, and then he’s helping Molly to his feet, supporting almost all of his weight.

Molly is only aware of two things: Caleb and the pain. To keep himself going, he focuses on the former: Caleb holding him, the sound of the other man’s heavy breathing, the feeling of falling into step with him as they leave the wet sand and begin what seems like an endless trek through the undulating dunes as cruel wind hurls stinging sand at their exposed skin.

“When did you get so strong?” Molly asks dreamily as reality ripples and tilts all around them.

“Marius cast a spell to inspire me,” Caleb explains. “This is magic. My body is weak - you know this.”

Molly laughs at this ludicrous statement, giddy and breathless. “You’re not weak,” he contests. “You’re strong.” 

He does not know how they get to the caves. He only knows he is there when Beau, Yasha and Fjord are all around him, carefully guiding him up the jagged cliff face, all three working together in what feels like a whirling, perfect dance of coordinated movements to ensure he does not fall.

Then he is lying on the cool stone floor of the limestone sea cave in near-darkness - safe, alive, with his crew all around him. His awareness of the pain in his ankle builds and builds, until he cannot hold back his whimpers and moans of anguish. 

Then he vaguely realizes a panicked Marius is standing above him with Caduceus. The bard places a trembling hand on Molly’s forehead, and begins to sing a spell. When it dawns on Molly what is happening, he does not resist. He allows the magic to take hold, and then he slips into the merciful arms of sleep.

****

At last, with all the longboats safely stowed, and all the cargo accounted for, Caleb steps out of the wicked wind and the torrential rain that is now pummeling the island of Selidor. The limestone cave is cold and dark, but it is dry, and the voices of the others soothe frayed his nerves.

“Nice work,” Beau tells him. She’s handing him a rolled up fur or hide of some type, soft and pliant under his numb fingers, as she guides him inside.

Moments later, Nott is rushing up to him. She grabs his leg in a stranglehold, sobbing into the cloth of his breeches, too overcome to even form words. He strokes her forehead and her ears lovingly as he looks to the first mate.

“What was that thing, Beau?” he asks.

“Fucked if I know,” Beau says. “It was nasty, that’s what it was. Big-ass octopus? Baby kraken? Who the fuck knows.”

“Where is Caduceus?” Caleb asks.

Beau points further back in the cave, where conjured dancing lights and the golden glow of lanterns light natural pillars of glittering limestone. 

Caleb manages to detach Nott from his leg and leads her back toward where the firbolg healer is ministering to Molly. Caleb halts in his steps when he sees that the tiefling’s head is tilted back listlessly, and his eyes are closed.

“Is - is he okay?” Nott squeaks.

“I do not know,” Caleb whispers.

For a moment, Caleb stands there motionless, unsure whether he should go over and help or simply flee. He re-centers himself, buckles fast his nerves, and goes to kneel down at Molly’s side next to Caduceus. 

“How is he doing?” Caleb asks the healer.

“He’s going to be fine,” Caduceus promises. The normally calm firbolg actually sounds a little strained. “The pain was getting to be too much, so Marius helped him by putting him to sleep.” The cleric fondly brushes a damn curl of violet hair from the tiefling’s forehead, then goes back to grinding up something pungent and bitter-smelling in a mortar and pestle.

Caleb looks over at Marius and gives him a tight smile. “Thank you for the strength you lent me. That was quick thinking. You saved your captain’s life.” 

“Thanks,” Marius mutters to Caleb. “You-you should sit down with us and get comfortable - when the Bull’s Strength wears off you’re going to feel like shit.” He laughs nervously. “It’s happened to me. One time I passed out in the middle of a stone-throwing contest. …It’s a long story.”

Not really paying the bard any mind, Caleb rolls out the fur that Beau gave him, and sits down on it cross-legged. This is not a time he wishes to fall unconscious; the crew has enough to worry about right now.

“That thing - “ Caleb says to Caduceus, “it stung Captain Mollymauk somehow. I pulled the stinger out on the beach; I probably should have kept it, but I was not thinking clearly at the time. I believe the venom is the reason he was so confused.”

Caduceus now looks at Caleb with genuine interest. “I would like to hear a little more about that."

Between the periods of concentration when Caduceus must focus to actively heal the captain’s wounds, Caleb describes the huge spine he removed from Molly’s flesh, the dark shape of the monster underneath the waves, and every other thing he can remember about the events that transpired on the beach.

“I don’t know much about sea creatures,” Caduceus muses. “Up until about four seasons ago, I lived in my family’s ancestral temple in the forest near Shadycreek Run - so while I knew plenty about beasts and monsters, the topic of sea creatures was way outside of my purview. This may have been a large animal - after all, it manifested no obvious magical abilities -  or some sort of aberration. If the latter is the case, I would have a much less favorable impression of this island - for where there is one aberration, there are often many.”

****

When Caduceus has finished his work and Molly is resting comfortably, the firbolg cleric stands up.

He has a little magic left - and he has one last task to complete before he takes a well-earned long rest. Silently, he walks a little further back in the cave, past where Yasha and Beau are curled up side by side, until he is well beyond the reach of the party’s eclectic constellation of werelight, candlelight and lantern light. He conjures a small glowing orb, just bright enough to ensure he does not trip. Right now, the darkness is actually something he desires.

When he is on his own, a few hundred feet past the nearest member of his party, he stands still. Now it is time to wait, watch, listen - to allow himself to get used to the dark, to get into phase with the vibration of this new and potentially perilous place where he and his companions must spend the night.

He gives thanks to the Wildmother, and then he asks for her to bless him with a deeper perception of this place: a sense of any good or evil creature that might reside here. He stretches his arms out before him, opening his palms in a gesture of invocation, and lets his eyelids slide closed as he surrenders himself to the divine. Gradually, the sound of ethereal music finds him, swelling, getting closer, then enveloping him. 

He cannot help but smile as he hears the joyful, almost mischievous melody, lilting and playful. It raises his spirits. For a few sparkling moments he is enraptured, taken away from the fear and the pain and the danger of the day by the magic of the song. But then another part of the harmony joins in, distant but insistent - and the moment is shattered. This new melody turns the harmony into something deep, foreboding, forbidding. This song is now a dirge, an echoing and sinister ancient chant.

With a shudder, Caduceus opens his eyes. The ethereal music recedes to the edges of his consciousness before fading away entirely.

Chapter Text

Death can be delightful; killing can be kind.

Mercy can be cruel; felicity can bind. 

Delightful death abhors your flesh, the flesh that I adore. 

We kissed, and two were born anew

 - and yet I know I am alone

When I’m alone with you.

• From The Book of the Traveler (Abridged Menagerie Coast Edition)

****

It could be a minute later or it could be a day later when Molly hazily returns to consciousness. He looks up at the rough stone ceiling of the cave for a while before he comes back to himself enough to remember where he is.

A few moments later, he realizes what woke him: a frightened whimper from the person sleeping beside him. He turns to see Caleb sleeping not even a foot away, curled up and facing Molly. He looks so pale in the monochromatic shades of Molly’s darkvision. While he is fast asleep, his face is a mask of pain. He keeps twitching involuntarily as though trying to get away from something he cannot escape. As Molly looks on, another strangled little sound of fear issues forth from his lips.

Where is Nott? Molly ignores the deep ache in his muscles and forces himself to sit up so he can look for her. He spots Nott on Caleb’s other side. He should wake her up… right? She’s completely out cold, though, and she’s had as rough a day as any of them. Molly takes a deep breath and looks uncertainly at Caleb. Should he wake Caleb, then? He holds no illusions about how the man detests him.

Then Caleb begins to mutter, “No, no, no, please, stop, no,” plaintively, desperately, and Molly can’t just let him suffer through whatever is haunting him.

He thinks he’s probably still high. That’s what he’ll say if this blows up in his face.

He edges his body closer and touches Caleb’s cheek, his fingers feather-light and cautious. “Hey, hey,” he whispers. “Caleb. You’re dreaming. It’s just a dream.” He runs his fingers soothingly through the man’s hair. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Caleb’s eyes flutter open. After a look of fresh, wide-eyed terror crosses his face - a look that honestly breaks Molly’s heart - something unexpected happens. Caleb doesn’t punch Molly in the face. He doesn’t even move away. Instead, he visibly relaxes when he recognizes it is Molly beside him.

Molly's heart is racing. “It was just a dream,” he murmurs.

He is still petting Caleb's hair, and the redhead acts as if the touch is welcome. Molly feels like he might be dreaming himself. Caleb's features are soft and open in this strange twilight kingdom they’re sharing, this liminal space where the past and the future don’t matter.

Molly realizes the other man is shivering. Whether it is the chill in the cave or his troubled thoughts that are the cause, Molly is overcome by the fierce desire to comfort him. He forces himself to relinquish the feeling of Caleb’s skin under his touch in order to reach behind himself and grab the blanket he feels bunched up against his back. 

Moving slowly enough, deliberately enough to give Caleb time to move away from him if he desires, he pulls the blanket over both of them. In the impossibly dim lantern-light, Molly meets Caleb’s eyes. His gaze is a silent question: Is this okay?

Understanding what is being asked, Caleb nods.

With this affirmation pressing him on, Molly is drawn to Caleb, drawn closer. Slowly, carefully, Molly reaches out and caresses his cheek again, just ghosting his fingers over his skin.

Caleb sighs, hot breath huffing against Molly’s face. “Your hand is hot - do you have a fever?” the human whispers, a little bit of worry creasing his tired face.

Molly smiles at Caleb. “No, it’s just a tiefling thing. You’re warm-blooded; I’m hot-blooded.”

“Interesting,” Caleb murmurs, his eyelids sliding closed.

“Thank you for not letting me drown,” Molly whispers. “That would have been a really shitty way to die.”

A smile curves Caleb’s lips as he opens his eyes. “It was not me - I only helped a little.” His smile suddenly fades. “When you went under the water, I thought we had surely lost you. I thought your crew would not even have a body to bury.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Molly chides. He returns to combing his fingers through Caleb’s red hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he’s always permitted to touch Caleb like this. “I’m not an easy man to kill.”

Why are you letting me do this? he silently implores the man. He almost wants to say it out loud - but he refuses to do anything to break whatever spell is allowing this moment to happen.

“Molly,” Caleb whispers.

Please, please, say my name like that again, is what Molly thinks.

“Hmmm?” is what he says.

“You cannot tell anyone about the dreams,” Caleb pleads. The look on his face is the worst fucking thing that Molly has seen in a long time.

“I would never,” he promises. “I... I mean, I have them too.”

Caleb nods. Not judging, not pitying, not worrying that Molly is too much of a damage case to function; just accepting that this is how things are.

Soon, Caleb is no longer shivering. The warmth of their proximity and the sound of the storm outside has lulled them both into a calm, wordless trance, where nothing needs to be said, and even thinking is unnecessary. They stay that way - Molly gently, carefully running his fingers over and over through Caleb’s hair - until Caleb’s eyes go from fluttering occasionally half-closed to sliding shut completely, and his breathing transitions into the slow, deep rhythm of peaceful sleep.

When Caleb is at last at rest, his expression serene, Molly smooths his hand over his tousled hair one last time. Then he pulls back a bit, and turns back to face the other direction.

He knows better than to try and convince himself that Caleb waking up in his arms would result in anything other than homicide.

****

Caleb wakes up sore but rested in the limestone cave above the sea. He lies still on his pile of furs for a moment, trying to figure out which of his recollections are real and which ones were just strange dreams. 

With a jolt, he realizes the sleeping form he is sharing a blanket with is none other than Captain Mollymauk Tealeaf.

He rolls over onto his back, and has a brief mental breakdown as he is forced by his eidetic memory to have a nearly perfect re-experience of the tender way Molly touched his face, how he gathered the blanket around them, the surprising warmth of the tiefling’s skin, the fiercely protective look on Molly’s face as he calmly looked into Caleb’s eyes.

It’s too much to handle. Instead, he throws himself headlong into denial.

You just almost died, he tells himself. Molly almost died. Everyone almost died. You’re currently the captive of a pirate crew that’s marooned on a deserted island that may or may not have a dragon on it. In situations like this, when people are under this amount of stress, sometimes things just… happen. 

Molly will understand that. He’s exasperating, insistent, imprudent - but he is not stupid. He will keep flirting and generally just keep being Molly, but he is not going to take this the wrong way. As long as you don’t give him anything else to go on, everything will be just fine.

When Caleb is finally able to wind down his racing thoughts to a more manageable pace, he quietly extricates himself from the blanket. Seeking to gain a bit of distance from where Molly still lies sleeping, Caleb makes his way toward the entrance of the cave to look outside. At the cave mouth he finds Yasha perched on a natural rock outcropping, looking out at the rain and the slate-colored sea beyond.

Wordlessly, he sits down beside her. “It’s calmed down a lot,” he offers.

She nods. They are quiet together for a long time. Caleb realizes it is very easy to be quiet with Yasha.

Eventually, he says, “Captain Mollymauk seems better.”

Yasha looks at him, then nods. “I will thank the Stormlord for his mercy."

Caleb is frowning out at the rain as he remembers the terror of wresting Molly from the sinuous grasp of the vile tentacled beast the day before. Without all of them, they never would have succeeded in saving him from what would have been a certain death.

“Do you think you and Beau killed that beast?” he asks Yasha.

The woman shakes her head. “No,” she admits. “With a beast like that, you do not assume it is dead until its head is on a pike in front of your ashwan.” 

The darkest part of Caleb, the black lacuna that was punched through his heart when he first gave himself over to the cult of Trent Ikithon, whispers to him. Certain problems can only be solved by a definitive act. Certain problems are stubborn, pernicious. You would be a fool to believe certain problems will die away quietly on their own.

“Yes,” he agrees. “With certain things, you have to confirm the kill.”

****

Given the natural uneasiness that comes from sleeping in a new place, one not terribly hospitable to habitation, the sun has only just risen and the entire crew of the Suckerpunch is already awake.

“Well?” Beau says, looking back at Molly from the vista of the sea offered by the cave mouth.

To all of them, the captain says, “Let’s go. No point in putting it off. If you’ve got a god to pray to - do so now.”

With apprehension hanging over their heads like the sword of Damocles, the party makes their way down the cliff face and around the cove’s northern peninsula. It is time to find out if the Suckerpunch is still afloat - or if they are really and truly stranded on Selidor.

When they round the peninsula, a chorus of gasps and curses erupts from the group. Molly just stands there, staring out over the now-calm sea in the chilly drizzle that is the end of the squall, his tail flicking back and forth so violently that those close to him have to step out of the way.

The Suckerpunch is afloat, but she is low in the water, and damage to all three masts is evident even from the shore. Orly wordlessly accepts the spyglass Beau hands to him, and he takes a long, careful look at their ship.

“Hmmm.…” the tortle begins.

“Fucking spit it out, Orly!” Molly snarls.

“She is… repairable,” the tortle says, “but it will take… weeks… and we will need… to conduct… extensive… salvage missions… for supplies. This means… exploring…. Just a few… abandoned… smuggler’s dens… or shipwrecks… and enough time… and she can… be seaworthy… once more.” 

Molly fumes. They would have to spend weeks on Selidor. Weeks of risking their lives exploring an untamed island that is cursed and haunted with powerful magic. Weeks when anything and everything can go wrong. Weeks of conflict, hardship and brutal labor - not just for his crew, but for three volatile and unpredictable newcomers with no reason to feel like they belong….

Molly wants to howl to the heavens, he wants to kick and punch and rage, but he’s the captain of this crew, and he needs to act like it. “There’s a chance, then,” he says resolutely. 

“There’s a chance,” Beau echoes, though she sounds less sure than she probably means to.

They all stand together in the gray misty morning light as they confront the reality of the incredible travails ahead of them.

It is Caleb who breaks the silence. “A chance is all we can really ask for in this life. I will accept ‘there is a chance’ any day.”

Molly can’t help but look back at him - but he takes great care not to let his gaze linger.

Caleb is right. A chance is all they need - the rest is just toil, blood and sweat.

****

In the days that come, the stranded party of the Suckerpunch falls into rhythm.

The day begins at dawn. The daily trip out to the Suckerpunch is always a group affair; none of them are willing to get anywhere near the water without the full party at hand and weapons at the ready. After Molly inspects the previous day’s repairs and works with Orly to determine what needs to be done next, they make a list of supplies they need to salvage. Then Orly stays on the ship with half the party to work on the repairs, while the rest of them return to the shore to begin salvaging.

Minimal input is required from Molly and Beau to allocate the crew and the captives between the shore and ship parties. The veteran sailors Orly, Marius and Fjord are obviously aboard the ship, and they enlist the burly Yasha to their aid; they also succeed in using whiskey to bribe Nott to join them so that they can take advantage of her short stature and dexterity for jobs in tight spaces. This puts Molly and Beau in the position to explore and map the beaches and the cliffs. Caduceus is a natural choice to join them, and while Nott and Caleb first protested being separated, the discovery of Caleb’s incredibly prodigious memory of texts detailing animals and plants firmly cements his place as a member of the shore party. 

On the fifth day, when Molly and Beau tell their crew and captives that the shore party will be leaving the relative safety of the beaches and cliffs to begin an earnest delve into the verdant forests above, Yasha wordlessly walks up to Molly and hands him the Magician’s Judge.

“Shouldn’t I take the other sword?” he asks.

“No,” she says.

He kisses her forehead. “Thanks, babe.”

She walks away.

“I love you too!” he yells after her.

****

Two weeks in, the limestone caves have become not just habitable but comfortable. Between the many things they have had to bring over from the ship in order to prevent the Suckerpunch from riding too low in the water and the many salvaged items from the shore that could not be used for repairs, what it lacks in privacy it makes up for in a sort of cozy, eclectic charm.

They call it “Water’s Gift.”

The only thing Molly earnestly doesn’t like about the cave is that Caduceus doesn’t like it. The morning after they landed on Selidor, the firbolg cleric told him of the strange music his goddess revealed to him when he tried to learn more about the place. At the time there were so many other threats and worries taking precedence that Molly didn’t give this eerie prognostication much thought. Now, though, the way that Cad is the only member of the crew and their captives who hasn’t warmed to their new abode keeps needling at him.

Molly is grateful to find that the happiest among their number are Nott and Caleb. Between the conditions they’d lived in on the Wight Widow and their mutual disdain for the sea, if he didn’t know better he would say they seem almost content. The pair has taken up residence in the small, narrow chamber that is the most distal habitable part of the cavern they share.

Molly gladly grants the pair this modicum of privacy. The back chamber of the cave is naturally the sort of space his crew tried to force him to occupy for himself, but he’s perfectly at home surrounded by people every hour of the day, so he took a much less private position closer to the entrance.

For his part, Molly has given Caleb some distance. He isn’t going to push the other man - and even though Caleb has obviously taken a place of leadership among the captives, to his credit the wizard isn’t pushing back against Molly’s authority in any way. It seems to be a balance both can work with.

What inroads Molly is making with Caleb, he is making through Nott. The goblin isn’t accustomed to being treated with kindness by people in charge. She’d been distrustful of him at first - but like a feral kitten, when he kept not just feeding her but eating with her, when he began to intersperse respecting her boundaries with moments of affection, he started to see a different side of her.

He now understands exactly why Caleb adores her. She’s sagacious, wickedly funny, clever, and - for all her claims of cowardice - he has seen her face down her fears on a nigh daily basis. Her mere willingness to get into a longboat everyday for their collective good is incredible, given the way she panics every time she has to step between the longboat and the ship.

****

The only thing Nott likes more than making collections is having a list of things she needs to collect.

Caleb has written down a very detailed list for her, and she’s having a wonderful time checking off the boxes.

The little goblin regards her new collection lovingly, stopping to touch each item in turn. A lodestone borrowed from the endless applications of the spell Mending aboard the ship. Little pieces of phosphorescent moss. A jar of dead fireflies. Short pieces of copper and silver wire. Little tufts of fleece pulled from the sheepskins they sleep on. A small bell stolen from the hem of one of Molly’s fine garments. A small leather bag of salt. Feathers from the first seagull she shot. A cured piece of leather. A ball of string. An owl feather found in a fallen nest.

Some of the things she particularly delighted in finding for Caleb simply because they were so precious to him. A small, straight piece of iron so he can hold a person still even if they’re stronger than him. Sprigs of spruce so they can travel together without leaving a trace. A vial of sweetly-scented oil so Caleb can bend someone’s will with the power of suggestion. Bat guano and the sulfur from a match to conjure a giant ball of flame.

Now she looks at her newest items: the real treasures. Treasures she found when she investigated the small box that serves as the ship’s treasury and discovered the lock was old and easy to pick.

Inside the box she found a lustrous black pearl so that her clever Caleb can identify any object. A small sphere of clear crystal so that he can create a secret shelter for them - or trap someone inside a crystal prison. The gaudy, glittering amulet of the Platinum Dragon complete with its glaring ruby eyes - well, okay, that one is just for her.

The amulet was so ostentatious that she hated it and loved it in equal parts the moment she saw it, and she has to take things like that.

That night, when Caleb returns from his latest foray with Molly and Beau and Caduceus, she pulls him aside.

At first, he is a little taken aback to hear of her boldness. “What if they notice?” he hisses. “These are things they might miss!” 

“What are they gonna do,” she whispers back, “turn us in to the guards?” He laughs at this. “Come on,” she urges. “Come and see.”

“Maybe later.”

“Caleb! Come on, come and see. You know you want to.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, but she can tell when he’s just putting on an act. She grabs his hand, and he only resists for a second before following her back to their little private den at the back of the cave.

When she takes her latest treasures from their hiding place and spreads them out on her bedroll, he gasps, and falls to his knees before them. He doesn’t reach for any of the things that he asked her for, though. He grasps the amulet of the Platinum Dragon, and holds it up. His hands are trembling.

Her brow creases in confusion. “I didn’t think you liked trinkets, Caleb!”

“How did you find this?” he gasps out. 

He’s worrying her now. “Should I not have taken it? I can put it back!”

“No, Nott,” Caleb exclaims as he pulls her into a tight embrace. “You - you have found something impossible, something beyond price.” His whole body is shaking as he holds her close. “I will be safe now. I can be safe.” 

“Caleb,” she whispers. “You are safe.”

“Nott, this is made solely for the use of a member of the Cerberus Assembly.” He pulls back to look at her. “It’s incredibly special. When I put this on, they will never be able to find me, no matter how much gold or how much time they pour into the task. And if they cannot find me, they cannot find you.”

She doesn’t deserve the devotion and adoration and love in his tear-filled eyes.

He hastily knots the broken chain of the necklace to haphazardly mend it, and puts it over his head. Ever-modest, he quickly tucks the amulet under his tunic and out of sight.

They don’t even eat dinner that night. They just lie together side by side on their piles of furs and blankets, planning a future. A future where they’re free.

Nott always believed in this future. She always knew Caleb could save her.

It feels so good to know that Caleb can now believe in it, too.

****

That night when Fjord comes to bed, exhausted from another day’s hard labor aboard the Suckerpunch, he sees Nott and Caleb huddled together on Caleb’s pile of furs. The nervous glance they shoot him when he suddenly appears makes him freeze, but once they realize it’s him, they relax.

He’s about to ask if he should give them a minute when Caleb gestures for him to come over. Tired and sore, Fjord grabs a couple of the furs from his own sleeping place, and joins them behind the pile of crates that forms a makeshift wall between their respective spaces.

The half-orc spreads out the furs beside Caleb and sinks down onto them with a small grunt, grateful to finally be off his feet. Looking around in the lamplight at the little place Nott and Caleb have created for themselves, Fjord can’t help but grin.

“Did you guys ever play ‘blanket fort’ when you were kids?” he asks.

“Yes,” they both say at the same time.

Fjord chuckles. “Goblins have a concept of ‘blanket fort,’ Nott?” he teases.

“Goblins are just big on forts in general. We can make them from anything.” She’s smiling back at him.

He realizes he no longer feels the slightest discomfort at the sight of her rows of sharp teeth. “I’m comin’ around to the realization that goblins are more sophisticated folk than we give ‘em credit for,” the half-orc says.

“They’re really not," Nott begins, but Caleb holds up his hand.

“We are discussing what we are going to do to get out of here,” Caleb says to Fjord. “I thought perhaps you might be interested in this conversation. If you are not, you are free to turn in for the night.”

Fjord grimaces. He pauses, thinking it over. “I admit, I'm much more interested in what you’ve got to say than I was when we first got stuck here.” He tugs unbidden at his collar. “I know we’ve been busy with all kinds of important stuff, but they haven’t even mentioned the collars in weeks , and they sure as fuck haven’t taken any steps towards figurin’ out how in the Nine Hells they’re going to get them off.”

Caleb nods. Fjord is beginning to learn how to see past the human man’s exterior a bit better, so he can tell that Caleb looks relieved.

Three are better than two, the half-orc thinks to himself.

“There is always the Magician’s Judge,” Caleb says. “Shielding our necks sufficiently to use it without fear of harm is a simple enough matter. There are bits of chainmail and similar materials everywhere here, much of which is not currently being used by anyone. Now that I know you can handle a blade, I am even more confident this can be done. You could use your skill to remove mine first, and then I would have the full benefit of my magic within a few hours to ensure we could safely remove your collar as well.”

“How does that work, anyway?” Fjord says. “Does all our magic just come back? Do we get more than before? Less?”

“It depends entirely on how much of your magic you had used in the day before they put on the collar.”

“That would be a whole fuckton,” Fjord groans.

Caleb smiles knowingly. “Trying to evade being captured by a bunch of murderous mages will do that,” he sighs. “While I saved a little bit of magic before the collar was put on so that I would not be defenseless when the moment came for it to be removed, I was only able to save about two spells’ worth."

Fjord nods. “Two spells ain’t much when you’re tryin’ to defend yourself.” 

“Precisely. Which means we need to do this with caution rather than attempting to do it by force. We still cannot take all of them, and we must have time for a proper rest after the collars are removed in order to protect ourselves.” 

“Ideally, yes,” Fjord replies. “Though after the last few weeks of lifting things on the deck of a ship, I like my odds in combat against anyone except Yasha or Beau a bit more. Plus, once one of these collars is off, it’s off. They won’t have any way of gettin’ one back on even if they want to - so if we can't get a proper rest, it ain't the end of the world. I mean, unless we die fighting, which is always a possibility.” 

“Well,” Caleb says, “we need to temper our optimism with a full acknowledgment of the many hazards. Now that Mollymauk has the blade on him at all times, we have an even more skilled and nimble swordsman than Yasha to contend with should we attempt to take it.”

“So, we need the element of surprise,” Fjord says with a shrug. “Three versus one. We can do it.”

Nott pipes up. “If we do this when he is sleeping, though, we’ll have to deal with all the rest of them.”

Fjord nods. “True; we’ll definitely have to scheme a little bit. Set things up for ourselves, move people around somewhat so we can get our opportunity all lined up.”

“Caleb,” Nott says, her voice conspiratorial. “You know what we’ve talked about.”

Caleb rolls his eyes. “Ja. I have not become any more enthusiastic about the prospect.”

When Caleb fails to elaborate, Nott turns to Fjord. “Caleb’s very handsome. He’s almost ended up in bed with Molly once already!” 

“Nott!” Caleb exclaims, before remembering to lower his voice. “That is a totally misleading and inaccurate statement! We were all sleeping here in the cave! He just happened to be next to me! He was high on poison!” 

Fjord is laughing. “I knew it,” he exclaims. “You dog, you!” 

"Caleb," Nott continues, her golden eyes wicked, "You know it isn't poison, right? If you bite it and you die, it’s poison; if it bites you and you die, it’s venom; if it bites you and it feels good, that’s foreplay.”

Caleb is turning deeper and deeper shades of red. “Poison, venom, wie auch immer! Nott, I do not want - how could I possibly want - “

“I would not kick Molly out of bed,” Fjord says, “and folks of the masculine persuasion are generally not even my cup of tea.” 

“See,” Nott says gleefully. “Even Fjord wants to fuck him!”

Now it’s Fjord’s turn to flush bright crimson. “That’s not what I said!” 

“It is exactly what you said,” Caleb rejoins with a grin. “You have confessed, Fjord the Tough. Now you too are a candidate to bear this burden for the greater good.”

“I don’t think I’m really in the runnin’ friend,” Fjord points out. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you.”

Caleb swallows hard as Nott cackles.

****

It’s nights like this - when Caleb’s had a hard time getting to sleep - that the dreams are always at their most cruel.

He feels like he’s only just shut his eyes when the nightmare wakes him, a choked yell tearing itself from his throat. He claps his hands over his mouth the moment he becomes conscious.

He knows, logically, that the others have heard him cry out before. He doesn’t have the dreams every single night like he once did, but it still happens far too often. They’ve heard him; he can’t help it. He can’t help himself, and he hates it.

Though he’s now aware that it isn’t uncommon for Molly to wake with a start and a yelp as well, reaching for his sword. The curious thing about this is that the crew acts like this is no issue, no surprise, no obstacle to following Molly wherever he leads them. Caleb assumes they do not recognize what such a plight says about the stability of the man who must bear it.

Maybe killing him will be some sort of mercy.

Lying awake and shivering on his pile of furs, Caleb wraps his arms around himself. Sometimes he can calm himself by just curling up against Nott, or standing and pacing back and forth a little, but tonight he tries both and finds no relief. He needs fresh air, he needs to stretch his legs and have a piss to clear his head.

He pulls on his boots and the midnight blue frock coat that has become his, and makes his way out to the front of the sea cave called Water’s Gift. When he passes the place that is Molly’s little alcove, he notices that the extravagant nest of furs and silks and blankets the captain has built for himself is empty. Caleb knows that Molly slips away into the night sometimes, though he has no idea where he goes. It strikes the wizard that this is another advantage he could use against the captain. 

When Caleb comes to the mouth of the cave and is about to make his way down the cliff face, he realizes Molly is sitting cross-legged on the sand not far below. The tiefling is in his shirtsleeves under the light of the full moon, gazing out at the placid sea beyond the broad expanse of the beach. It looks like he has his tarot cards and the other effects he needs for the ritual surrounding them, but the deck is now wrapped back up in the gauzy scarf he keeps it in, the candles he already snuffed out and bundled up beside it.

Heretic, Caleb thinks, but it feels like a term of endearment rather than an aspersion.

At this point, Caleb Widogast - traitor, parricide, a non-believer in a world where the gods speak and miracles are all around them - is letting go of the frankly naïve pretension of caring what gods other people pray to.

When he is almost to the bottom of the cliff, he jumps down to the sand below with a small thump. Molly turns quickly.

“Oh, Caleb,” he says. “You scared me. Is everything alright?” 

Caleb shrugs. “Just taking a piss,” he explains, and stalks off.

He briefly considers taking way longer than is necessary, but the lugubrious darkness of the forlorn and windswept island quickly reminds him this would be an unnecessary risk. When he comes back, he finds Molly still gazing out at the sea. There is no doubt that the tiefling has heard Caleb’s approach, but he seems resolved to leave Caleb to his own nightly perambulations.

As Caleb pauses now, watching Molly, he admits to himself that he needs to seriously consider Nott’s suggestion that he use sex - or at least the lure of it - to get Molly alone and vulnerable. He frowns a little. Given the way he has gone completely cold with Molly since the night he practically fell asleep in the tiefling’s arms, he knows that he cannot just segue straight into an attempt at seduction. Unless he takes his time and lets things warm up in a natural way, Molly will see the ruse for what it is in a heartbeat.

Caleb hates to admit it to himself, but this moment is an opportunity he probably should not miss. They’re alone together in the dark. Caleb wants Molly to get used to this, to get comfortable with him.

You need to stop thinking so hard, he tells himself. Just go over to him. You were good at this, once - you can make him like you.

Caleb approaches Molly where the other man is sitting serenely on the beach. He stops a couple feet away, just as Molly glances over his shoulder to offer him a small smile.

“Am I intruding?” Caleb asks.

“No,” Molly replies. “I’ve been done for a while.” He reaches out and pats his deck of tarot cards affectionately. 

“May I sit?” Caleb politely inquires.

“Of course.”

Caleb takes a deep breath, and sinks down onto the cool sand beside Molly. They don’t say anything for a long while. 

Caleb sits there plotting. He is going through every permutation of what he is doing and all the places it can go from here. He wonders if Molly is as unbothered as he seems, or if he is doing the same thing.

“You couldn’t sleep?” the tiefling finally asks.

When Caleb looks over, he sees that Molly’s face is somber and knowing. “Ja,” Caleb says. “...You know.”

“Yeah,” Molly sighs. “I know.” 

“Same thing for you?”

“Not tonight." Molly shrugs, as if acknowledging that what makes a night peaceful or troubled is unknowable. “The dreams have been a lot more common for me since the Wight Widow, though. When I do things that remind me of the things I don’t want to remember, the dreams are always a much bigger problem for a while.”

Caleb nods his head. “I have observed this as well. I have never read much about madness, but it seems like each sort has its own particular inner workings. It makes our minds unpredictable in predictable ways.”

“That’s a lot of words when you’re just trying to say, ‘me too,’” Molly quips.

Caleb has to chuckle at this. “Ja. I have always thought it is a terrible irony: the more words you learn, the harder it is to say what you mean.”

Molly looks over at him carefully. “I don’t know,” he says after a pause, “I think you just did pretty well with that one.” 

Caleb looks down as he feels a light flush come to his cheeks. 

Molly is right: I love it when he praises me. Am I so starved for warmth, for connection, that a simple compliment makes me blush?

Molly reaches over, and just slightly tugs the lapel of the midnight blue coat Caleb is wearing. “I’m glad you’re getting some use out of this thing,” he says. “I honestly never wore it.”

“I am sure you did not. It is far too modest a color.”

Molly is smiling at him in the moonlight, his face open and kind. “No,” he says. “It just clashes with my skin and my hair. I either have to go with dark purple or skip a little further away on the color wheel to burgundy or something.” 

“Is this how you always look nice?” Caleb asks. “Have you devised an entire set of aesthetic theories and principles to guide your wardrobe selection?” 

“Caleb,” Molly laughs, “you're the only person who doesn't do that.”

“I have a set of aesthetic principles,” Caleb protests. “Well, I have one principle, anyway: ‘clothes: wear enough of them that you cover what you wish to, but not so many that you get hot.’”

Molly just starts giggling hopelessly. Caleb doesn’t hear him laugh often - and giggling is something entirely new. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring at the man in the moonlight, enraptured, until Molly turns to return his gaze.

Molly is clearly indulging himself a little, letting his eyes linger on Caleb in the way he has been steadfastly refusing to do during the day. Then the moment ends. Whatever the reason is for the restraint that Molly has been demonstrating around Caleb, apparently it applies even here when they’re here alone together.

“You know,” Molly casually tells him, “I do this a lot. Whenever the moon is out, there’s a good chance that I’ll be out here.”

Caleb thinks he hears a bit of an invitation there, but it’s still important to stay aloof right now. Responding to this subtle provocation is too much, too soon. “You mentioned your goddess to me once,” he says instead. “The Moonweaver, I think you called her?” 

Molly blinks at him. “I did?”

Caleb’s keen memory doesn’t fail him. “We were still on the Wight Widow, ” he says. “You swore by her name.”

“I have almost no memory of anything on the Widow except trying not to kill you with Yasha’s sword and dragging you out of there through the fire,” Molly says. “What was I swearing about?”

“You swore when I told you I did not know the name of the ship I was on for four months.” 

Molly nods. “Yeah. I think that was the moment I started to realize exactly how bad you had had it on the Widow.”

It’s hard for Caleb to not try to pull away right now, to not instinctively withdraw from the pain of the memories. The Wight Widow was a place of beatings, hunger, and above all, horrible loneliness. Even when they had first brought Nott to him, it took him weeks before he could get past his paranoia and fear; he was lonely even with someone wonderful right beside him.

And then, there’s this horrible fact: “As my experiences have gone, things on the Widow weren’t even that bad.”

“That’s pretty fucking grim, Caleb,” Molly replies, but there is no judgement in it. It’s just a statement of fact, a self-evident truth they both understand.

After a few moments, Caleb speaks. “Any time someone is not trying to get into your head, it is not so bad, you know? Pain, deprivation, solitude - these things you can learn to bear. It is when they play games with your mind that you start to suffer on another level.”

The sudden realization of his glaring hypocrisy is an affront to his senses: he’s toying with Mollymauk’s mind right now. He’s manipulating and tricking him. He’s taking his own fledgling desire for the man and bending it to his use like a blacksmith hammering out metal to make a weapon.

Does he even want Molly? Or does he want to control him, to take what he needs from this man and then kill him? It’s literally impossible for him to tell.

“Well,” Caleb says, “I am starting to wax philosophical. That means it is time for me to go get some sleep.” He claps a hand on Molly’s shoulder congenially, and gets to his feet.

As he walks away, Molly calls to him. “Hey, Caleb?”

Caleb freezes, turns. “...Yes?”

Molly is smiling at him just slightly, in an odd, dreamy way. “Thank you,” is all he says.

Caleb stands there looking back at the other man, gazing upon this demonic creature bathed in the divinity of the moonlight, feeling like he is a part of one of Molly’s pagan sacraments. 

“Just… thank you,” Molly says. “This was… nice.”

Caleb nods, dumbfounded. Then he tears his eyes away from Molly, and leaves before he can make things any worse.

****

When Caleb finishes his whispered tale of the previous night, Nott just looks at him. “Oh, Caleb,” she sighs. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Caleb doesn’t know why he’s on the defensive, but he says, “I don’t think it went so badly! I mean, I did not throw myself at him. I acted almost kind of normal, it was friendly, and he practically invited me back - “

“Caleb,” his friend says gently. “You’re interested in him. It’s normal, it’s fine, you’re a young man and he’s quite fetching - but it is going to make things complicated if you keep trying to use this ploy. Maybe we should think of something else….”

“It doesn’t have to complicate anything!” Caleb mutters, affronted that she thinks he cannot compartmentalize his feelings. “I think I can use it. It makes a lie easier if a piece of it is genuine, you know.”

Nott looks like she is going to say something else, but then her face softens, and she relents. They sit together for a while in silence, something that has become so natural for them.

“I’m sure you’re right, Caleb,” Nott concedes at last. “You’re very smart. Whatever you say is what we’ll do.”

Chapter Text

It has been three weeks and two days since the Suckerpunch was crippled in a small cove on the isle of Selidor.

This morning, the denizens of Water’s Gift are going about their usual routine.

Perhaps Yasha’s daily intercessions with the Stormlord have been successful, for the sea has been calm; while it has rained, it has not stormed. 

Floating on the now-untroubled waters, the Suckerpunch has been under continuous repairs that have been gradually gaining ground.

Caleb is just preparing the rucksack and woven basket he has been using on his daily foraging trips when Fjord casually sidles up to him.

The half-orc mutters, “Something’s up. Molly and Beau were arguing all night. They kept their voices down, but eventually it got so heated that they took it outside.” 

****

After their usual morning sojourn out to the Suckerpunch in the longboats, Molly gathers the whole party on the deck of the ship. 

“I’m sure this is no secret,” he says, “but we are critically low on the supplies we need to continue repairs on the ship.” The tiefling glances in the direction of Beau before he continues. “We’ve had a number of discussions, and we have drawn up some potential plans for more aggressive salvage excursions. We need to get a little bolder - and to do so safely, we’re going to need everyone’s help.”

Orly speaks up. “I do not like…pausing repairs,” he says, “but I know well…how badly…we need…supplies. Metal, cloth, nails; all are…running out.”

Yasha shrugs. “Where to, then?”

Molly sighs. “That’s where most of the disagreement has come from. I have heavily favored continuing into the caverns that extend beyond Water’s Gift. The sea caves have been hospitable to us, and we’re surely not the only ones in the island’s history who have occupied them. The caves are the ideal den for smugglers. We have no idea how far back they go or what we might find inside. The supplies we desperately need might be right under our noses.” 

Beau looks unenthused. “While I’m willing to defer to Molly’s authority here, I don’t like those caves one bit. Caduceus got a bad read on whatever’s deeper inside there. I think it’s a bit risky that we’ve even made Water’s Gift our camp - and I definitely don’t think we should poke around in there any more than we have to.”

“If we don’t go into the caves,” Fjord says, “then where are we talkin’ about goin’ instead?”

Beau replies, “We can start in the cove and keep going along the beaches in search of shipwrecks in either direction. Alternatively, we can all see the ruins above us; who knows what we’ll find there, or what ruins of smaller settlements we might find along the way.”

Caduceus speaks up. “While I admit I am still very uneasy about the prospect of delving into the caverns beyond Water’s Gift, I would like to point out that there is magic everywhere on this island. Just because I have some sense of what might lurk in the caverns connected to Water’s Gift does not mean that the rest of the island is safer. This may be a choice between bad and worse - but at least in the case of Water’s Gift we have an appropriate level of concern about the evil that might lie below us.”

Caduceus’ vote is the deciding one.

They begin to plan a descent into the caves.

****

There are two days of brutal work as the crew and their captives transfer almost every tool, every coil of rope, every winch and every pulley from the Suckerpunch across the water to Water’s Gift.

On the second night, Molly and Beau inspect the preparations and deem them adequate.

The celebration they hold isn’t full-on revelry like they indulged in to celebrate escaping the Wight Widow with their lives, but it’s certainly a welcome diversion from their worries and cares.

As Caleb bounds up the cliff face to join where Fjord and Nott are already clanging together tankards of ale, it occurs to him that he can do so without losing his breath.

It’s just another sign that the day that they will be free will be soon.

When he gets to the top, he gives Fjord a friendly jostle as he tousles Nott’s hair. Fjord has already poured him a tankard of ale and pushes it into his hands.

“I dunno if this is crazy,” Fjord said, “but I’m kinda excited. Journey-proud, my mom would say. It’s always a good night when you’re goin’ somewhere new in the morning.”

Nott is smiling. “I’m just glad we’re going somewhere without water for once,” she says with a contented sigh. “Caves are fine. I’m good at caves!”

Nearby, the crew is also circling up, pouring drinks, joking and carrying on.

Caduceus has prepared a feast. Caleb still doesn’t know how the cleric makes so much from so little - what they’re able to forage plus conjured food and water - but he always does an impressive job. One would never guess that so much of what they eat is pulled straight from the aether.

Caleb perches on the cliff that hangs over the beach with his two friends, comfortably buzzed, and filling his stomach with their cleric’s excellent cooking.

It’s strange to realize that these are likely the best people he’s thrown in with since he was a child living with his parents.

Even before the fire, he might have had a warm bed to sleep in, he might have had food to eat, he might have thought he was free - but he was a puppet, the thrall of a powerful man who poisoned him against those he loved most.

He was happy then - but it is because he was happy, because he was a true believer, that he did the abhorrent things he did.

He is brought back into the present moment when Nott punches his arm.

“You’re in your head again,” she says fondly as she hands him another ale. “Can’t you join us for a while and have some fun?”

He can’t say no to her. 

When he realizes that Orly has pulled out his pipes and Marius his drum and that the others have started to dance, he knows she’s going to make him join them. 

He doesn’t even fight it. If she’s happy, he’s happy.

****

Molly has a simple approach to festivities with his crew. He shows up, makes a big show of passing around food and drink, incites some low-level debauchery - and then it’s time to retreat to the sidelines.

It’s always a balance. He wants them to feel like he’s present, but he can’t be too central without killing the mood a bit.

Tonight, he finds a seat on a crate over by the keg of ale, and settles back to watch Beau make a fool of herself while coming onto Yasha.

It’s going to work one of these times, Beau, he thinks. She’s just dense. Keep at it.

When the dancing starts, it’s a pleasant distraction from the worry already coiling in his gut.

He isn’t sure why he’d assumed Caleb would not be a dancer.

The man is graceful, light on his feet, and easily moves to the rhythm that Orly and Marius are improvising. The red-headed human is smiling and laughing, twirling Nott around like she’s the belle of the finest ball in all of Exandria.

When Fjord grabs Caleb’s hand and starts leading, Caleb effortlessly switches roles, letting Fjord whirl him around and then dip him low. The half-orc can apparently turn into quite a flirt when the mood strikes him; Molly grins as he watches Fjord repeatedly pull Caleb in close and whisper into the human’s ear as they dance. 

Fjord’s laughing, Caleb’s laughing. It’s quickly devolving into horseplay - and when Caleb accidentally gets slammed into Beau, the game is officially on.

In the blink of an eye Beau has Fjord in a headlock, Caleb is laughing so hard he’s got tears in his eyes, and Yasha is enthusiastically coaching Fjord on how to attempt to break Beau’s hold.

Molly feels the painful press of hope inside his ribcage as he watches them. 

So much has gone wrong, but maybe he can still make them into a crew.

Then his eyes alight on the cruel collar tight around Caleb’s lovely neck, and he has to look away.

****

Molly can never sleep the night before a journey. He’s convinced it’s something that’s hardwired into his brain, something his ancestors needed in order to survive in a dangerous young world full of people and creatures who wanted to hurt them.

He lies in his pile of furs and blankets as he waits for the pleasant buzz of alcohol to wear off. Then by midnight he’s up again, quickly and quietly descending the cliff face down to the beach.

He stops halfway down when he sees a figure already sitting on the sand below. 

It’s a cloudy night, the moon just barely visible behind the gauzy clouds that drift across the sky.

Molly doesn’t want to bother Caleb, but he just can’t force himself to go back inside right now; he’s too antsy. 

He descends the rest of the way, intentionally knocking a small rock down the limestone cliff in order to alert the other man to his approach.

Caleb only looks up briefly as Molly walks over to him.

“Captain Mollymauk,” he says in a friendly tone.

“Do you mind if I sit with you? I’m a ball of nerves thinking about tomorrow.”

Caleb gestures amicably to the spot beside him. 

Molly is pleasantly surprised that the human has apparently brought something to sit on to spare himself from the cold of the sand. 

When the tiefling sinks down onto the sheepskin Caleb’s laid out, he sighs. He should have thought to do this sooner. Taking care not to touch Caleb, he curls his tail around behind him on the warm fleece. It’s a huge improvement over having bare skin against cold sand and rough stones.

Caleb gives him a brief, appraising look. “It seems you believe tomorrow is going to be a bit of a production, ja?”

“Almost certainly,” Molly says. “Based on how the music sounds when Caduceus listens to the caves on an ethereal level, he thinks the caves we plan to explore are a truly extensive network. It might take us a few days to explore them - and while we thankfully don’t have to stay inside them at night, there’s always a chance someone will get stuck, or that there will be a cave-in, or…you know, any one of a hundred things that can happen when you’re trapped under the earth.”

“You’re so brave when almost drowning,” Caleb muses, “but underground is more difficult, it seems?” 

“I was okay with almost drowning because I didn’t have time to overthink it.”

Caleb is looking ahead, but he is smiling. “I do not need much time to overthink something. It is more or less my constant state of being.” 

“How about you? Can’t sleep, or just haven’t been to bed yet?”

“I have not been to bed yet. At first Fjord and Nott would not allow it, and now I need to sober up a little, otherwise sleep will be a hopeless impossibility.”

Molly thumps his tail fondly on the fleece behind Caleb without really realizing he’s doing it. “It’s really good to see you three having a little fun,” he says. “I’m glad you can take a little comfort in one another. I know…I know this isn’t what you want.”

“Well, this is not what anyone wants,” Caleb says. “At least now, we are more or less ‘in the same boat,’ if you can forgive the despicable pun.”

Maybe it is the alcohol still thrumming in his veins, maybe it is the way everything always seems freer and easier between them at night, but Molly reaches out and runs his finger around the cruel metal line of the Devil’s Collar around Caleb’s neck.

The tiefling is a little too gratified when Caleb only moves away from his fingers by a fraction of an inch before recognizing what he’s doing and settling back down. 

“We’ve got to figure out how to get this fucking thing off of you,” Molly says. “There’s no point in keeping your wings clipped. I know you’d rather have your magic for this expedition - and I’d rather you have it, too. I’m not going to pretend I can trust you completely after just three weeks, but….”

“You would rather have the ‘devil you know’ than whatever is hiding in the dark,” Caleb says. “...No offense.”

Molly’s lips curve in mirth. “None taken.” 

The tiefling is running his fingers along the Devil’s Collar, and then he’s stroking a line along the pale skin that borders it.

He yelps when Caleb grabs the end of his tail hard.

It is an immediate shock to his system that makes him drop his hand and focus on the feeling of Caleb’s fingers twined around him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs breathily, and Caleb drops him like he’s been burned, a flush darkening his cheeks.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

“Nope,” Molly says, equally mortified at displaying so openly. “Just, ah, sensitive. The nerves there are connected right to the spinal cord, after all.”

Caleb shoots him a brief, guarded look - one of the many subtle expressions that Molly is still decoding.

Molly looks back out at the ocean, but he can’t help the brazen smile that’s on his face.

“You haven’t been around a lot of people with tails before, have you?” the tiefling posits.

“Nein. The place of learning where I spent much of my life was upsettingly inhospitable to all but a few races, none of whom had this anatomy.”

Molly flicks the end of his tail back and forth like he’s a rambunctious cat.

Caleb lets out a little huff of a laugh. “I find so much of what I am learning about people outside my narrow experiences fascinating,” Caleb says. “You, Orly, even Fjord - the details about what makes you what you are are delightful.” He frowns. “Maybe you will know this…Fjord’s teeth, his tusks. Do male half-orcs not always have the pronounced tusks their orc brethren have?”

“They usually do,” Molly says. “I think he must file them down, or someone forced him to.”

Caleb winces. “Wouldn’t that hurt?”

“I mean, it would hurt me.” 

“Your teeth are very sharp. Are they also called tusks, or just teeth?”

“Fangs, actually. Incisors if you want to get technical.”

“Are there any parts of humans that are foreign to other races?” 

Molly laughs at this. “Not many. The random little places you have fur on you can be kind of cute, and the diversity of eye colors is pleasantly exotic. With most races, you know what you’re going to get with eye color - but with humans it’s always a surprise.” 

Caleb is looking at him. “Can you see mine in the dark?”

Molly turns as though he is trying to see, though of course it’s really for the chance to gaze into Caleb’s eyes uninterrupted. “No,” he admits. “Darkvision is just shades of gray. But I know they’re blue.”

Caleb has an odd, calm smile that makes Molly’s tail thump against the blanket on the other side of him.

The movement is not lost on the other man. Without breaking Molly’s gaze, Caleb reaches over and intentionally, slowly, runs his fingers along the ridge atop Molly’s tail, starting about halfway down, and making his way to the end.

It takes all of Molly’s will to not make some really, truly undignified sounds.

“Does this always feel good?” Caleb murmurs.

Molly lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh, but at least falls short of a groan. “I mean, not if it gets slammed in a door - “ 

“You know what I mean, Molly,” Caleb says, slipping into that hypnotizing low tone.

Molly shivers in the cold night air. As if Caleb isn’t missing a single thing his body is doing right now, the human man pulls up closer so that they are pressed side against side.

“You’re being a real brat,” Molly says, and when he opens his red eyes, he knows he sees a little look of guilt flit across the other man’s face.

“I don’t know what I’m doing right now,” Caleb whispers, and it sounds way too vulnerable.

Caught up in his own arousal, Molly can’t help himself. “That is an obvious lie.”

Caleb runs his fingers along the spade-shaped tip of Molly’s tail, never tearing his eyes from Molly’s face, as though he’s drinking in his expressions. He’s exceedingly gentle at first, but when Molly gets used to the sensation, he starts making slow, idle circles there with the whorl of his thumb.

Molly is transfixed, just staring at him, reveling in the intensity and the focus in the human’s expression.

“Caleb,” he says, “you’re teasing me.” 

“What else do you want?” Caleb asks, his voice playful.

Molly leans in.

“Do I need to draw you a fucking picture?” he says, his voice sultry, his breath tickling Caleb’s ear.

He can hear the other man’s breathing hitch. He wants so badly to press his lips against Caleb’s pulse so he can feel the pitter-pat of his racing heart, so he can taste the sweat on his skin.

In his most debauched bedroom voice, Molly says, “You can play this game, darling, but you can’t make the rules.”

Then he’s wrapping his tail around Caleb, pulling him closer.

Caleb turns to face him, eyes wide, his hands hesitantly resting on Molly’s chest. His eyes drop down as though he’s overwhelmed.

A little part of Molly’s mind says, This is too good to be true. He’s doing this because you said you would take the collar off.

The rest of Molly tells this part of him to fuck straight off.

“Look at me, Caleb,” he says.

After a moment’s pause, Caleb obeys. His face is unreadable, but his cheeks are flushed dark in the black-and-gray that is Molly’s experience of the world at night.

Caleb quakes when Molly’s thumb strokes his lower lip - but it isn’t a shudder of desire. It’s an inadequate attempt to suppress a flinch.

Molly lets go of him at once.

“Caleb,” he says, and it comes out as a dangerous growl. “Let me offer you a little advice: don’t offer me something you aren’t ready to give to me. You’ll just make me mad - and neither of us wants that.”

Caleb swallows hard, his face plainly showing his fear. Then he nods just slightly.

“I - I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve been too forward.”

Molly smirks a little. “Forward isn’t a problem…but you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Caleb lets out a breathless little laugh. “I know, Molly,” he says. “If you liked to hurt people, you’d have forced me already.”

Molly can’t help but wince. “I - “ he pauses, once again astonished at the kind of cruelty Caleb has been exposed to. Did that happen to him? Did he see it happen to others? “There are some things I could never enjoy just taking.”

Caleb looks incredulous. “Yet you steal for a living.”

Molly lets himself look at Caleb, to pin down the other man with his gaze. “Does that bother you, Caleb?”

Caleb looks a little abashed. “No,” he says after a pause. “It is…refreshing, actually. I have been around people who did bad things all my life, yet they always pretended they did these terrible things for the greater good.”

“You are doing that thing again,” Molly says, “where you use a lot of words to say something simple. What you’re trying to say is, ‘Yeah, Molly, I like it.’”

Caleb is smiling at him impishly. “Very well: ‘ja, Molly, I like it.’”

Molly leans in so they are only centimeters apart, so close that it is easy to imagine closing that last bit of distance between them. 

“It is patently obvious that you like it,” Molly purrs. “You like that I steal things, you like when I keep you tied up, you like that I order you around and ask you questions that make you look at me like you’d like to see my bloodless body at your feet. Hearing you finally admit it has been the highlight of my night.”

He taps the other man’s cheek in a companionable way that only slightly transgresses the boundaries between two men just having a conversation, and leaves Caleb on the beach.

****

Caleb barely sleeps.

For once, it isn’t the dreams that keep him awake.

He lies on his pile of furs, staring blankly up at the faint glint of the limestone stalactites above. 

He’s furious.

He can’t tell if he’s angrier at Molly or at himself. 

He hates Molly for having such a keen eye for emotions, he hates that when he sees resistance he doesn’t just push past it. He hates how Molly’s ability to control his own desires puts Caleb in the position where he has to be the one who convinces Molly he’s okay, that he’s not scared to death of intimacy, that he can touch and kiss and make love like a normal person. If Molly would just hold him down and fuck him already, that would be easy. It’s the gentleness, the care, the contemptible amount of weak-minded consideration Molly shows him that he can’t handle.

Caleb hates himself because he’s uglier than he was before, scarred and skinny, devoid of the unassuming confidence that once made people want him. Maybe Molly can get worked up to the point where he just takes - but Caleb isn’t ever going to see that from him. He knows he’s not enough for this impossibly attractive man, this lovely creature who dances so effortlessly between domineering and demure in a way that Caleb finds positively breathtaking.

Nott is right; this is a terrible fucking idea. This is not going to work. Caleb is too susceptible to Molly’s charms, and he’s not attractive enough to get the tiefling wrapped around his little finger like he wants him.

Caleb groans slightly and closes his eyes.

Stop thinking. Just stop thinking! That’s your problem, that’s why you can’t make it seem genuine, that’s why you freeze up when he gets close.

This is just sex, Widogast! This is as simple as social interactions get. What’s wrong with you? Are you so damaged that you’ve lost your ability to do something even beasts can do?

Caleb tries, he tries really hard to stop himself from dragging himself over the coals like this, and he somehow succeeds.

Where his mind goes instead is a near-perfect memory of the way Molly’s face looked in the moonlight when he stroked his tail, the way he mercilessly teased Caleb out about the thrill he gets when Molly plays at being cruel.

Caleb had been lying, of course, when he’d pretended he had no idea what he was doing when he grabbed his tail. The other night, the human had endured an educational (if extremely humiliating) discussion with Fjord to get a few tips on the finer points of tieflings’ physiologic quirks. 

Still, the rapidity with which Caleb’s caress had worked on Molly had been fucking amazing. The tiefling had been so unselfconscious, so languid in his display of arousal, long lashes falling closed as he’d involuntarily arched his back and tried to choke back the noises he so obviously wanted to make.

Would I fuck him? Would he fuck me? Would I even care which one it was in the moment, or would I just give him whatever he wanted?

Guiltily, Caleb turns over away from Nott, and palms himself slowly over his breeches, his eyes closing automatically.

You like that I steal things, you like when I keep you tied up, you like that I order you around and ask you questions that make you look at me like you’d like to see my bloodless body at your feet. 

This will not do.

Sitting up, he punches his pillow viciously.

Then he stalks away to go somewhere more private in the back of the cavern in order to deal with this distraction.

Only afterward does he finally get a few hours of fitful sleep.

****

Maybe it’s the frisson and excitement of the unknown perils that the day may hold, but Molly feels invigorated the next morning.

He’s not hungover. He isn’t embarrassed about teasing Caleb. He doesn’t even regret it - even though he knows he probably should. 

He’s grateful when Caleb seems to have no problem meeting his gaze, and even returns a perfunctory smile that Molly flashes his way.

The party is all grouped up at the front entrance of Water’s Gift, listening to Beau address the group.

“Alright, folks. First, while I normally don’t take backtalk from you idiots during assignments, today is a little different. We’re going into a creepy-ass dark place with some really tight spaces, so if you get a job that you know you won’t be able to do, due to claustrophobia or any other major malfunction, you need to tell me. I would rather move people around now than have you freak out once we’re inside.

“I am not going to lie to you and pretend that I know what the fuck I’m doing inside a cave, so above all, I need you to use your common sense. Don’t push yourselves too far physically; if you’re tired, you’re tired, and it’s time to rest. Don’t go into somewhere new without stopping and getting a really good look at what’s in there first. If you see even the remotest signs of mortal habitation, it’s time to stop and check for traps. Don’t forget who among us is blind in the dark. And don’t go anywhere without a partner!

“I’ve tried to make it so there is at least one person with darkvision in each pair. Marius, you’re with Orly. Yasha, you’re with Fjord - and you two should probably be in the back, because you’re both too fucking jacked to scout ahead in tight places. Caleb, you’re with Molly. Nott, you’re with me - stop making faces, I’m a ray of fucking sunshine! Caduceus, you’re going to hang around somewhere in the middle of the pack so you’re able to unfuck our shit if we get ourselves in a bind either fore or aft. Are we good? We’re good! Move out!”

Molly is glowering at Beau’s already-retreating back. She’s switched Fjord and himself between the pairs - no doubt so there will be at least one other pair who are both lean enough to scout ahead with her and Nott.

Together, the party makes their way into the caves.

****

As the party continues to wind deeper and deeper into the caves beyond Water’s Gift, Molly can’t help but feel more and more excited.

Other than a gentle downward slope, the floor of the cave stays surprisingly level. There are only a few places where they have to scramble or climb, and past the stretch of the cavern that’s closest to the sea, it is surprisingly dry inside.

After each tight bottleneck they have to squeeze through, the cave opens yet again into a chamber.

Molly looks back to Caleb with a smile. “It is absolutely impossible that this cave wasn’t used by smugglers or pirates at some point,” he says. “Obviously they didn’t use Water’s Gift as their entrance - or if they did, it was cleared out thoroughly - there are a million places in here that are perfect for hiding out. It’s not even that damp, so they could have stored pretty much anything they wanted down here.” 

“I am surprised how far we’ve come already,” Caleb says. “It is hard to believe we have been sleeping right at the mouth of a network this extensive without any knowledge of it.”

“Beau is gonna eat shit when we get back,” Molly says smugly, and Caleb laughs.

****

As the morning progresses, Molly and Caleb swap the leading position with Nott and Beau every half hour or so. Molly’s hunch was clearly correct: while Nott is completely in her element underground, Beau’s combination of darkblindness and lack of experience in such terrain make her uncharacteristically trepidatious. 

The only reason Molly remembers it’s time to switch positions again is when the clockwork in Caleb’s mind prompts him to say, “It’s been half an hour,” but Beau is always champing at the bit to switch when her time is up.

Gradually, the party starts spreading out a little as each pair settles into their own pace.

By the time Caleb says, “It’s noon,” Molly is surprised so much time has already passed. There’s so much to look at, so many little obstacles and things to explore, that he’d lost track.

Remembering that Caleb has far less endurance than he does, Molly feels a pang of guilt.

“How are you doing?” he asks. “If you get tired, remember that you have to tell me, otherwise I’m just going to run you ragged without noticing.”

“I am just fine, Mollymauk,” Caleb reassures him. “I am already a lot stronger than I was when you found me. I am actually rather enjoying it down here.”

“Your goblin friend’s enjoyment of dark and claustrophobic spaces is starting to rub off on you, hm?”

Caleb chuckles. “Up above, I have a thousand different things to worry about. Down here, there is just one big thing to worry about. It clears my mind quite effectively.”

“There’s nothing more relaxing to me than the threat of mortal peril,” Molly says with a mischievous smile. “Caleb Widogast, we have far too much in common.” 

****

Caleb’s mental machinery has just chimed one o’clock in the afternoon when they come across the first signs of habitation in the caverns.

It is just a pile of empty crates, a cache of long-discarded bottles that once held liquor or beer, and a stack of ancient torches - but Molly is practically bursting with excitement.

“Beau!” he shouts back the way they came. “I fucking told you! You owe me twenty five gold, you asshole!”

Soon, the echoes of Nott and Beau hurrying to approach are audible, and Beau’s torch appears in the large cavern they’re standing in

“Well, fuck me running,” Beau says as they look down at the pile of discarded items. “You’re right, purple man. I owe you money.”

“Everyone just cool it for a minute,” Nott says. “I need to check for traps.”

Unsurprisingly, the pile of trash is free from any signs of sabotage.

****

Nott argues that she should keep at the front of the file to check for traps as they go - but between Molly’s excitement and Caleb’s inexorable willingness to follow Mollymauk Tealeaf into the boundless depths of a literal abyss, the marching order remains as it is.

In every successive chamber, they continue to find little hints of the people who used this place before them. Ancient sconces for torches on the walls; scorch marks where campfires once burned on the floor; long-decayed pieces of furniture; innumerable empty containers. As they go, the signs become more and more common.

They spot their first windfall when a pile of scrap metal is discovered beside the umpteenth pile of broken boxes. 

Molly crows at his success, and Beau and Nott stay behind to enlist those further back in the file to help carry out their prize.

After another long stretch of a natural corridor that is a particularly tight squeeze, Molly and Caleb at last make a real discovery.

This chamber is palatial, with great stalactites dripping down from the ceiling to join stalagmites on the floor like natural pillars. Everything glitters with a thousand tiny white crystals - and the beauty of this place was clearly not lost on the ancient denizens of Selidor, for amongst the natural splendor a small temple has been constructed.

Molly and Caleb are both spellbound by the sight. With Nott still far behind them, they both do a quick cursory check for obvious traps on their own, then enter the sunken circular sanctuary at the center of the immense natural cathedral.

There is a small iron reliquary at the foot of a central altar bedecked with a series of jars and urns - perhaps funerary, perhaps offertory.

They aren’t fools. Together, they make a much more thorough and cautious inspection of the containers from a safe distance.

“Do you think we should wait?” Caleb asks. “How confident are you in your abilities to figure this stuff out?”

“I’m fairly confident that there aren’t any magical or arcane traps on the outside of these vessels, but the chance that we aren’t going to find something super cursed in here is slim to none.”

“‘Super cursed,’” Caleb says, unable to stifle a laugh.

“That’s the technical term. Forgive the jargon; I don’t mean to confuse you.”

“Okay,” Caleb says. “So: right now, loath as I am to admit it, I am more dispensable than you are. Please stand back; I am going to try to open these things to see if we have found the jackpot, or if I am just going to be ‘super cursed’ from now on with nothing to show for it.”

Molly almost outright refuses to let Caleb put himself at risk while his captain just stands there, but he stops himself. 

The man is tough and capable; if he wants to do this, it is his choice.

“Suit yourself, hero,” Molly says with a wink. “I already have enough bullshit haunting me; if you wanna take on this ghost for us, be my guest.”

Molly retreats to the partial cover afforded by the nearest limestone pillar, and watches as the human approaches the altar.

Caleb hesitates for just a second before his hands contact the first of the jars. Molly holds his breath, and wonders if he can get away with briefly averting his eyes.

Caleb opens the first jar.

Nothing happens. 

He shakes it out, and a pile of ash falls out - followed by the familiar clink of coins on the stone floor.

“Looks like Beau will be able to pay you before we even leave the caves!” Caleb says, excited.

He goes through the next three jars, yielding scraps of burned paper, jewelry, and still more coins. Funny enough, Caleb only has eyes for the scraps of paper - which unfortunately do not immediately appear to have anything written on them that is still legible.

When Caleb opens the fifth jar, he gasps in rapture, a look of pure joy on his features.

“A book,” he says in disbelief. “It is a whole book!” 

He shoves his hand into the jar.

An ear-splitting crack like a peal of thunder goes through the entire chamber.

Molly has the Magician’s Judge drawn and he’s sprinting to Caleb’s side. He grabs the other man by the arm and drags him down behind the altar as the entire cavern begins to shake around them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he chants as Caleb swears fluently in Zemnian.

****

Beau stops in her tracks when at the sound of a reverberating crack ahead

“Oh shit,” she breathes.

Moments later, the rumbling and shuddering of the stones around them reaches them.

Nott is already bolting ahead of her, shrieking Caleb’s name.

Beau runs after her - her fear of the dark now overtaken entirely by the fear of losing yet another friend.

****

The rumbling all around Caleb and Molly grows and grows toward some unspeakable crescendo. It is as though every piece of rock ahead of them and behind them is settling at once, grinding stone against against stone, a fearsome and consuming vibration that shakes their very teeth in their jaws and makes their ears ring - 

“What the fuck do we do? What the fuck do we do?” Molly keeps repeating, frozen with his back up against the altar, not sure if he is screaming it or whispering it -

“Cover your head! Idiot!” Caleb shouts - and when Molly doesn’t obey fast enough, Caleb suddenly has the tiefling gathered against his chest.

Molly’s head is tucked under Caleb’s chin as the other man braces both of them for what seems an inevitable impact.

“Goodbye, Molly,” Caleb says into Molly's hair.

Then, with a shrieking, crackling, popping sound that feels like it echoes inside their very skulls, the crystals around them begin to grow, impossibly jutting out in every direction, surrounding them with a white crystalline maze of incredible proportions in seconds.

Then the sound and the rumbling and shaking is joined by a sudden, oppressive sense of breathlessness that goes beyond panic, beyond mere dread. It is as though the very air around them has become insubstantial and insufficient to meet their needs. Molly tries to speak, to scream, and he can’t, he can’t get enough air - he is going to be buried - there is dirt in his mouth, there is dirt in his eyes - 

There is a sudden all-consuming pitch of vertigo and Molly’s vision blurs, he retches, the whole world is in full tilt -

Then it’s over.

The two of them are in an immense crystalline palace of horrible curves and angles, the very dimensions an affront to their eyes - and they are alone.

****

“Be joyful, for worse is yet to come.” 

• Excerpt from The Canticles of St. Margaret of the Endless Night

****

Molly has never been shy about crying - but right now, he couldn’t stop these sobs from shaking his whole body if he wanted to.

He was almost buried. Buried. Again.

Caleb is clutching him against his chest, rocking him slightly, shushing him, his fingers tangled in Molly’s hair. 

“You’re okay,” he keeps whispering. “We’re okay.”

Molly buries himself in the comforting darkness of Caleb’s scarf. He feels like if he catches one more glance of the horrible maze of glittering crystal around them, his already tenuous sanity is going to shatter into a million little pieces.

“Come on now,” Caleb is whispering into his hair. “I know you can put yourself together. You are a swashbuckling pirate captain with a giant magic sword, ja? You can do this.”

Molly feels something that might have been a laugh or might have been a shudder go through him, and he forces himself to pull away from Caleb.

When Molly looks at the other man, Caleb’s face is drawn and pale.

“Molly,” he says. “We need to talk - about this.”

And he tugs at his collar.

Molly nods. “I - I’m listening.”

“I have been keeping a little something around in the event that some occasion like this might arise,” Caleb says gravely, and now he’s rummaging inside his rucksack.

He pulls out a small, fine piece of mithril mail. After rolling it out for Molly to inspect, he looks down at the Magician’s Judge in the tiefling’s hand, then back at his face.

“No fucking way,” Molly says. “No! I could hurt you! What - what would I do then!? Our cleric might not be able to reach us in time!”

“Molly,” Caleb says doggedly, “right now, you are in a position where I am useless to you. You have a choice: you can either abandon me to die or you can spend all your time, all your energy defending me from the evils within this cursed place until one of them overwhelms you. I know you well enough to know which of these you will choose - and so I would like to have a fair chance at being useful to you.”

“Caleb,” Molly says desperately, “I can protect you.”

Caleb looks briefly skyward, as though imploring some deity for fortitude. “Perhaps you can,” he says. “However, defensive capabilities are not my only abilities. I have access to many powers and spells which you do not. If I had access to my powers, it is entirely possible I would have been able to detect the arcane trigger mechanism on this book. You cannot keep my hands tied together any longer without laying down your own life - and mine.” 

“You don’t even have a spellbook! You don’t have spell components!”

The tiniest ghost of a smile crosses Caleb’s features.

“I have components,” he says, patting his pockets. “And now, I have a spellbook, too.”

Molly looks at the book on the ground beside them - and realizes it has fallen open to a page inscribed with intricate arcane runes.

“Let me put it this way, Molly,” Caleb says. “If it is just you defending us and I cannot help you in any meaningful way, if we are indeed separated from our friends, then death is a near-certainty. Be it a natural hazard, another trap, or evil creatures now awakened in these halls - something is going to kill us. So, if you use the sword on me and your worst fear comes to pass and I die, you did not kill me. This place killed me, and you were merely the vessel for the inevitable.” 

“You’re insane,” Molly says. “Please, please don’t make me - “

“I am insane, Molly,” Caleb says, gaze unwavering. “You knew this already, and you have kept me with you anyway. Do not hold it against me now.” 

****

Now that he is close to the moment he will be free from the oppression of the Devil’s Collar, Caleb is patient and composed.

He allows Molly to explore the new topography of the crystal-pierced cavern until the captain has doubled back at least once through every passageway and corridor and is wearing a look of burgeoning panic.

“There’s no way back,” Molly says. “There’s a way forward, but there’s no way back.”

“A way forward is almost certainly a way out,” Caleb says evenly. “Based on everything we found, it seems clear that the route in from Water’s Gift is not the way the people who braved these caves before us entered them.”

Molly is nodding his head, as if he’s trying to convince himself that what Caleb is saying is true.

“Maybe if we just look one more - “

Caleb grabs Molly’s arm.

“No, Mollymauk,” he says. “You know as well as I do: we have been thorough. We have been thorough twice. ”

Molly looks like he’s about to rip his arm away, like he’s about to start shouting at Caleb, but then his shoulders sag and all the rage goes out of his face.

“Fuck,” he says. “You - you’re right. We have to do this.”

Caleb nods. “There is no other way,” he says. “If I do not have my magic, we will die. Waiting just prolongs the time I remain helpless.” 

Molly looks distraught, but he’s clearly listening now. “Where do we want to do this?” he says uncertainly.

Caleb shrugs. “What did you say to me once? ‘Dealer’s choice.’” A tiny smile comes to his lips. “If I am going to have a sword ritually swung at my throat, I think the altar seems thematically appropriate.”

This startles a laugh out of Molly.

“Caleb,” he says, “you’re nuts,” but he sounds like he doesn’t mean it.

Caleb takes Molly’s hand and leads him to the altar.

“I’m not lying on top of it,” he jokes.

“Please don’t,” Molly says. “We’re already cursed enough as it is.”

Grinning, Caleb shrugs off his blue coat (Molly’s blue coat) and undoes his scarf (Molly’s scarf) before undoing the buttons of his shirt (Molly’s shirt). As he sinks to his knees, he realizes Molly is just staring at him, his jaw slightly agape.

Caleb sighs. “Let’s focus on ‘do not kill the unlucky Zemnian boy,’ ja? You can stare at my scars later.”

“I have done some real, real weird shit, Caleb Widogast,” Molly says, “but this day is proving a hell of a contender for the all-time leaderboard.”

Smirking, Caleb tosses Molly the piece of mithril mail before lying back on the stone.

Molly kneels down at his side. “Do you think there is a right way to do this?” he says. “Like, a specific position?

“I think any place you strike me will be equally bad,” Caleb replies. “I might as well be on my back; it will be harder to flinch if I am lying flat on the ground.”

As Molly is feeding the mail carefully under the collar, Caleb feels a brief thrill of panic as it presses against his windpipe - but the collar is looser than when it was first put on, and Molly is quickly able to position the mail between his neck and the collar in a way that does not cause more than mild discomfort.

Molly checks and fidgets with the mail until Caleb snaps, “Mollymauk! Stop inspecting the wheels on the cart! You are going to be the end of me!”

“Wait, that’s what we’re doing?” Molly says. “I thought it was the other way around.”

Caleb glares at him.

“Sure. Fine. Fine. ” Molly gets to his feet. “I guess it’s literally your funeral, so….”

“Tell me when to close my eyes,” Caleb says.

It’s bizarre how calm he feels.

There’s nothing more relaxing to me than the threat of mortal peril.

Molly lines up his sword, taking a few short practice swings to get the trajectory right.

Caleb is looking at his face, because there is nowhere else to look.. He is grateful when he sees the fear there gradually be replaced by the calm resolve of someone who has held a blade many times and knows how to use it.

“Okay,” Molly says. “Time to close your eyes.”

Caleb obeys without hesitation.

[Soundtrack for maximum drama: “The Wolves” by Cyrus Reynolds.]

“One."

Caleb wonders if this is how he dies.

“Two."

There are probably worse ways to go.

“Three!"

There is a sharp impact on the front of his neck that makes him make a choked sound, there is the sound of metal on metal, and then a raw pop - 

It is the sound of an abjuration spell blinking out of existence.

Caleb sits up, and the piece of mithril mail slithers down to the floor unimpeded.

He grabs at the collar, and feels the opening at the front of it where the Magician’s Judge has split it in twain.

He looks up at Molly in joy.

The return of his magic hits him like a punch in the face, knocking his whole world sideways in the best way possible.

“My gods,” he murmurs, reeling, dizzy. “It is…it is so good, Molly - “

Molly is right in front of him, kneeling before him, prying the now-inert Devil’s Collar from Caleb’s neck as the wizard tries not to swoon from the frankly incredible feeling of having his magic all flood back into him at once.

“Yeah,” Molly says, “pretty fucking good, isn’t it? It’s like having the best drug and the best lover you’ve ever known at the same time.” 

Caleb hears the clang of the ruined collar dropping to the stone floor beside him.

Caleb yanks Molly down against him and hugs him tightly.

“Thank you,” he says fervently. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. ”

“I should have done this long ago,” Molly says, and when Caleb pulls back a little, Molly’s face is full of guilt.

“It doesn’t matter,” Caleb says. “Thank you. Thank you - and Molly…?”

Molly looks at him expectantly, eyes warm, expression unguarded.

“I am sorry.”

Caleb kisses the man tenderly.

Grasping the straight piece of iron he’s had in his hand since he took off his coat, he casts the spell Hold Person.

Chapter Text

“It requires great piety to choose the path of righteousness, for in mortal lives, righteous deeds be punish’t as oft as evil ones.” 

• Excerpt from The Canticles of St. Margaret of the Endless Night 

****

The look in Molly’s eyes is a poignant mix of betrayal and horror.

Before the spell robs the tiefling of his ability to speak, he says just one word.

“Why ?”

Caleb thought he’d feel triumphant, that there would be a sense of victory when he did this - but instead, he just feels empty.

Thankfully, he has years of experience to fall back on. 

He’s done this before. He knows all the steps.

He easily shoves Molly backwards off of him, catching the front of the tiefling’s coat in time so that he does not fall any harder than Caleb wants him to.

When he has Molly lying on his back, paralyzed and unresisting, Caleb briefly rummages inside Molly’s coat for the small coil of silk rope he knows he’ll find there.

He pulls it out and begins binding Molly’s wrists with quick, expert movements.

When he’s happy with the result, he moves to Molly’s feet. He’s only got so much time before - 

Molly kicks him in the face, sending him thumping backward against the stone altar.

Caleb laughs in astonishment as he tastes blood. His lip is split.

“You are fiesty, Mollymauk Tealeaf,” he says. “I have never had someone shake it off that fast.”

“Fuck. You.” Molly says and he’s on top of Caleb, his bound hands around Caleb’s throat - 

Caleb calmly puts his hands around Molly’s throat, locks his elbows, and uses Mage Hand to give Molly a shove.

Caleb is expecting the shift in their combined center of gravity; Molly is not. Even though Molly is stronger than he is, he’s able to roll on top of the tiefling and take the upper hand.

Astride the other man’s waist, he takes the Mage Hand and imbues it with a dark chill.

The searing grasp of the Chill Touch is enough of a shock to get Molly to let go of Caleb’s neck long enough for the spectral hand to force Molly’s hands to the ground.

Caleb methodically tightens his stranglehold on Molly’s neck as he looks into his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself repeating. “I’m sorry.”

He knows he can’t stop now. To do so is to ensure his own death, or - worse yet - a captivity without end.

He’s never had to be so base as to strangle someone to death with his bare hands before, but he knows what he’s supposed to do. He keeps his grip tight as a vice as Molly thrashes ineffectually below him.

The tiefling’s normally pale violet face is turning a deeper and deeper purple as the agonizing minutes stretch on. Caleb is beginning to become seriously worried that his arms will soon be too shaky to complete this task when the blue tinge to Molly’s lips and the tiefling’s rapidly fading strength signal that the end is extremely fucking nigh.

When Molly falls limp below him, Caleb keeps the pressure on mercilessly - he’s almost done, his quarry almost dead - 

And then, for some reason, he lets go.

The decision to spare Molly’s life having been made, he cannot hesitate. He grabs the rope he’d dropped when Molly kicked him. 

He makes quick work of binding the man’s feet and then lashes the end of his dexterous tail to one of his ankles. 

He stands and looks down at the unconscious tiefling. He licks his lips and tastes the iron of his own blood. 

The color returning to Molly’s face tells Caleb that the man is still alive.

“Are you a spitter, Mollymauk?” Caleb asks the motionless man. “You seem like a spitter.”

He uses his discarded scarf to gag Molly, cinching it tight with practiced hands.

Then he sinks down beside the tiefling’s unmoving form, covers his face, and begins to silently weep.

****

When Caleb has taken what time he requires to compose himself, he uncovers his eyes, wipes his face, and wills himself to look at Molly.

The tiefling’s color has normalized. Were it not for the ugly dark bruises beginning to form around the other man’s neck, the easy rise and fall of his chest would make him look as though he were only sleeping.

Caleb feels the chill of the ancient subterranean stone floor seeping into his bones. He buttons his shirt back up. He picks up his midnight blue coat and pulls it back on.

With a pang of guilt, he then gently pulls the tiefling’s head into his lap to spare him from the cold.

With almost all of his magic spent, it is imperative that Caleb create a shelter for them to rest in for the night. If someone or something comes across them now, they are both dead. 

After he’s swept Molly’s violet curls from his face and arranged them in the way Molly likes them, Caleb finds the small spherical orb of clear crystal in his coat pocket. He sets it on Molly’s chest, and slips into the trancelike reverie that comes over him whenever he casts a spell.

When he opens his eyes a minute later, he finds himself with a faint, sad smile on his face in spite of everything.

The inside of his little hut is exactly as he left it. While it isn’t really a space sensu stricto, over the years he has learned how to make a few small customizations to the spell to make it more habitable. It isn’t much - a warm, soft blanket, a few pillows, a small stool he uses as a table - but it’s his. 

Sitting as he does now in the shadow of this uncanny crystal temple and his own unforgivable acts, the familiarity of this little tent is as deep comfort to him as he can hope for.

“What the fuck do I do now, Molly?” he whispers.

He knows he should dig into his pack for his supply of food and water. He hasn’t eaten since they had a meager lunch several hours ago, but he thinks if he tries to swallow anything it will come right back up. 

He can’t decide if his inability to kill Molly is a sign he’s falling apart, or a sign he’s getting better.

Whatever it is, it’s messy, and it hurts.

Absently, he strokes Molly’s face.

It seems unfair that Molly got to do this before, when Caleb was awake and pliant in his arms instead of cold and half-dead like Molly is now.

“That’s on you, Widogast,” he says to himself in Zemnian. “You could have - but you didn’t.”

With the hut constructed around them, Caleb feels a deep and profound fatigue. He knows he needs to rest. While it is a risk to try to sleep here, it is a bigger risk to fail to replenish his magic and be caught by the things that no doubt roam these cursed halls.

Gently, carefully, he slips out from where he is sitting with Molly’s head in his lap, resting the tiefling’s head on a pillow instead. He rearranges the other man’s limbs for him so that he’s curled on his side and somewhat comfortable-appearing.

Caleb sees Molly stir for the first time, and hears him whimper.

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He’s not ready for this. He’s not ready to be forced to look into the man’s eyes again. He’s never going to be ready for this.

Molly’s eyes fly open. 

The acceleration from unconsciousness to panic takes less than half a second.

Caleb’s glad he did a damned good job of ensuring the tiefling couldn’t actually hurt either of them or escape, because Molly fights like, well, a demon. He is wide-eyed and throwing every ounce of his strength into freeing himself, trying to find a way to loosen his hands or his feet or his tail from the bindings.

“Shh, shh,” Caleb says, and he gently touches Molly’s arm, though of course this just makes the man fight harder.

When Caleb finally screws up enough courage to look Molly squarely in the face, he realizes his mistake.

Molly isn’t looking at him full of vitriol and hatred; rather, he is utterly consumed with fear that is so, so much more than what is happening here and now.

“Oh, fuck,” Caleb says, immediately heartbroken. “Please, Molly, I am not going to hurt you  - I mean, I have decided not to hurt you? Please. This is not like what that horrible woman did to you at all, you are safe, I just - “

Tears are streaming down Molly’s face and he’s sobbing into the gag as he struggles.

“Fuck - verdammt, I cannot - fine, fine, you may spit on me or bite me if you wish.”

As quickly as his hands will move, he unties the scarf he’s used to gag Molly.

The word Molly sobs, over and over, is the last word he said to Caleb before he was paralyzed.

“Why, why, why, why?” 

“I don’t know,” Caleb says, and his voice breaks as he sits close to the man, fruitlessly stroking his arm, his face, his hair. 

With shaking hands he’s fumbling in his bag to grab his bottle of water.

“I was good to you,” Molly sobs.

“You were,” Caleb whispers.

“I took the collar off!” 

“You did,” Caleb whispers, and damn it, damn Molly, he’s crying helplessly all over again.

Molly looks like he’s trying to say something else but he keeps getting lost in his own desperate terror, his eyes darting helplessly around the small tent faster than they can even focus.

“Here,” Caleb says firmly, showing Molly the water bottle he’s pulled from his pack. “Gags always make my mouth dry. Do you want some?” 

Molly is hyperventilating, staring into the middle distance, so Caleb cautiously raises the bottle to his lips for him.

Molly takes a few greedy gulps before stopping and resting his forehead against the floor, trapped in a terrible labyrinth created by his own mind.

Caleb doesn’t know why he does what he does next.

It is undeniably a bad decision. It’s a weak position, a chance for Molly to hurt him badly.

He supposes he doesn’t care what happens to him at this point.

He lies down next to Molly, so that they’re face to face. Moving slowly and gently - so that Molly can shove him away with the smallest movement - he wraps his arms around the tiefling.

“You are such a fucking asshole,” Molly sobs as Caleb presses their foreheads together.

“I am a garbage person, Molly,” Caleb says, his voice cracking halfway through. “You are good. You were good to me. You are good to anyone who deserves it, and many who are not.” He is rubbing the other man’s back in smooth, slow circles.

“What are you going to do with me?” Molly asks, completely hysterical.

Caleb heaves a huge sigh, and closes his eyes.

Good question.

“In the morning,” he says, “I will untie you. If you would like to kill me, we will have a fair fight. Whoever wins, wins. If I still had it in me to kill a defenseless person, I would have done so already.”

He opens his eyes and leans in to plant a chaste kiss on Molly’s forehead.

“I am so sorry,” he says, and he knows it is the truth. “I know you were in chains longer than I was. I know what you are feeling right now. I know how bad it is. I just…I want a chance. I want to have my magic when I untie you.”

“You are such a fucking asshole,” Molly says plaintively.

“Ja,” Caleb agrees. He pauses. “You know you can bite me, right? Maybe headbutt me? It might make you feel better.”

He feels a slight huff of air against his chin - incredulity, frustration.

Yet against all odds and all logic, Molly seems to be calming down - or at least tiring out.

They lie there in silence together while Caleb keeps tracing soothing patterns on the other man’s back and wishing he could just blink out of existence.

Silent minutes stretch on until even Caleb has completely lost track of the passage of time.

Caleb tells himself he is staying this way for Molly’s sake, that the physical contact is obviously a profound reassurance for someone who likely spent his time in captivity completely alone.

A part of him knows that this is as much for himself as it is for Molly. 

Caleb knows he will never get another chance to just lie with Molly like this, holding him, stroking his face and his hair, feeling the unnatural warmth of his skin and his hot breath on his neck. 

He missed all the chances to do this that led up to this moment - and he’s sure as hell not going to miss the last one.

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually, they both fall asleep. 

****

When morning comes, it feels almost like so many mornings before it: waking up in his cozy little hut with someone he’s come to care for sleeping beside him.

It is such a cruel irony that it almost makes him physically sick.

He opens his eyes to gaze at Molly’s sleeping face, temporarily free from the signs of fear. 

That won’t last long.

Caleb lies there for about a minute, thinking hard, before he realizes his decision is a foregone one.

There are no tactics to plan out. He’s at the end of the line - for himself, and for all of these things he has done.

He moves as quietly and smoothly as he can to pull out the tiny little knife he keeps in his bag.

With one quick motion, he cuts the bindings on the sleeping Molly’s hands. Then his feet. Then his tail.

Caleb takes a deep breath.

He takes the Magician's Judge and lies it reverently before Molly, so that it may be the first thing he sees when he wakes.

Then Caleb stows the knife safely back in his bag, and pulls away from the tiefling’s form until he’s sitting at the other side of the tent.

There’s no sense in dragging this out.

“Wake up,” he says miserably.

Molly’s eyes fly open - but before he can go straight back into panic, he jerks his hands up and finds them unbound.

He scrambles up into a sitting position, his hand already on the hilt of the sword.

When the tiefling speaks, his voice is even rougher than it was yesterday - a tangible consequence of Caleb's brutality.

“Holy fuck,” he says. “You weren’t lying.”

“No,” Caleb whispers. “I am very, very sorry. I - I don’t know, I don’t know why I did it.”

Then the wizard bows his head and closes his eyes. He’s done trying to run from his bad decisions. 

Seconds pass. 

Then it has been a minute, and nothing has happened.

Caleb opens his eyes to look up at Molly in confusion.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” he asks plaintively.

“I’m not going to - “ Molly begins, and then a look of fury suddenly comes to his face. “You know what? Actually? Fine.” 

Molly backhands him viciously. Caleb sees bright lights and falls backward. When he reflexively presses his hand to his mouth, he finds blood dribbling down his chin again, his split lip reopened by the blow.

“There you go,” Molly says. “Now we’re even.”

“What?” Caleb says. “What?” 

Molly doesn’t even look at him for a moment. He’s massaging his wrists and then his ankles. He experimentally prods at his neck before groaning.

He reaches over to Caleb’s bag and helps himself to the bottle of water

“For fucksake,” he says when he’s drunk his fill. “Just - why!? What the fuck were you trying to do?”

Caleb looks down again in shame. When he finds his voice, he says, “I was trying to kill you the way I have killed many others, but I simply….”

Molly just shakes his head as though in disbelief. “What - you lost your nerve?” 

“Yes,” Caleb says, and it comes out sounding shaky. “I tried to kill you. I could not. I lost my nerve.” Caleb scrubs his face with his hands, rubbing his tear-stained cheeks and his puffy eyes. “Maybe I just…cannot do this thing I was once quite skilled at.”

Molly just sits there, looking at him, taking sips of water.

“Okay,” he says, voice a constant reminder that Caleb almost strangled him to death. “I’m going to ask again, and this time you're going to answer me. Why?"

Caleb just sits there as he tries to formulate an answer.

Every single thing he thinks doesn’t even make sense to him.

“Start talking, Caleb,” Molly says, voice monotone and dangerous. His face is hard, his hand still on the hilt of the Magician’s Judge. 

“I - I had this plan," Caleb stutters. "I had this idea of all the things that I needed to be free. I needed spell components, I needed a spellbook, I needed the collar off. And I needed - wanted - to kill you for keeping me like this. I came into these caves with only the spell components I could stuff into my pockets, and then suddenly I found this spellbook, and the collar came off. The best I can do to explain myself is say that when the collar came off I - I lost my caution and my sense - I wanted to have everything all at once.”

Molly just shakes his head. “How - how did you think you were going to get out of here alone? We have no fucking idea where we are, we don’t know what’s out there!” 

Caleb pauses a long moment.

“I don’t think that mattered to me,” he says weakly. “I think I just wanted to…to do what I did. It did not matter what happened to me afterwards. There is so little I still want in this world.”

Molly takes one hand off his sword to rub his horn. It looks vaguely like the tiefling equivalent of a human rubbing their temples to alleviate a headache.

“The next question is an important one: are you going to do this again?”

Caleb forces himself to meet Molly's gaze. “Nein. I was awake for a long time last night. I…I kept thinking that I did not know why I should want to kill you. You are…compared to other people I have dealt with, you are simply not that bad. You really are not.”

Molly heaves a sigh. He is starting to look more tired than angry.

The tiefling wordlessly rummages around in Caleb’s pack, and finds some conjured food. He eats a little, drinks more water, then turns his attention back to the human man sitting still and silent across from him.

“Caleb,” Molly says, and he sounds way too calm for this situation. “You - you know this isn’t the first time someone I took as a prisoner has tried to kill me, right? It’s practically a rite of passage. Beau almost had me when I first cut her loose; if Caduceus wasn't such a sweetheart, I'd have been toast.” 

Caleb tries to comprehend this. “Molly…” he says, “do not make excuses for me.”

“I absolutely am not,” Molly snaps. “This was lunacy. You almost killed me - and you almost stranded yourself in here alone without anything except your spellbook and a handful of spell components! I’m just - I’m just saying that I can understand why you thought this was something you wanted to do.”

“I am glad you understand it,” Caleb says, “because I honestly do not.” 

Molly sighs and leans back against his side of the tent. 

Caleb automatically hands him a pillow. Other people who are in this space can rarely effectively manipulate the objects; it’s just something he has to do.

Molly accepts it. “Listen,” he says. “When I got my freedom, I’ve already told you what I did. I killed Avantika. I wasn’t even professional about it. I decapitated her in front of her crew, the gods and all of Darktow.” 

“That is nothing like this!” Caleb says. “She kept you in a collar for a year!” 

“She was indeed very cruel,” Molly says, “and at the time killing her seemed like something I needed to do. Now, four years later, when I look back? I don’t really see it that way. I’m not sorry…but if I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t. Not to spare her, but to spare myself from the burden of having killed someone in cold blood.” 

Caleb just looks down at his hands, at his own blood smeared all over them.

“Then you are a good man, Molly,” he says. "I am not."

Molly lets out a huff. “Do you want to know a secret, Caleb? There isn’t any such thing as a good person or a bad person. There are only good deeds and bad deeds.”

“...That is an astonishing rationalization for my behavior now, and your own behavior in the past.”

“Only if you only apply that logic to yourself,” Molly says. “If you apply that to every person you’ve ever met, every person you’ve ever treated well or treated poorly, it’s a pretty fucking bitter pill to swallow.”

“Molly, you are bafflingly naive for a man of your mien,” Caleb says. “I was taken into the den of a monster just as you were - but unlike you, it made me into a monster.”

“Only monsters are monsters,” Molly says softly. “You and I - we’re just people trying to get by.” 

Molly reaches forward toward Caleb with the kind of slow, careful movement that one would use to avoid frightening a wounded animal.

Caleb freezes, unable to bear being touched right now, but too guilty to refuse anything Molly wants from him.

Then Molly takes Caleb’s hands in his own, and begins to unwind the ruined, blood-smeared bandages from his arms.

Caleb watches the gentle, deliberate way Molly is still inexplicably willing to touch him, and he finds himself unable to move, unable to speak. His mouth is dry and he wishes he could just disappear.

Molly has removed his bandages, then sets them aside.

The tiefling pours some water on the hem of his coat, and begins to wash the blood off of Caleb’s hands.

As he washes Caleb’s hands clean, Molly speaks, calm and matter-of-fact. “How long can you keep this shelter up?” 

Caleb wets his lips as he gathers the composure to speak. “I’ll have to recast it soon,” he says. “Whenever I do, it lasts eight hours. I can do it now if you would like.”

“I think that’s a good idea, yeah. I think by morning I’ll be able to make myself useful, but right now I need a little more time to lick my wounds. Do we lose our protection while you cast the spell?” 

“Yes - but only for one minute.” 

Molly nods. “I’m going to pop my head out and make sure we’re not about to be ambushed by a hundred ghosts or some bullshit. One second.” 

Caleb sits there, looking down at his now-clean hands, as Molly gets up and moves over to the entrance of the tent to look around.

The tiefling man looks sore and tired, he’s bruised black and blue on top of his violet complexion - but he’s alive.

“I think we’re okay,” Molly says. “Can I sit here while you cast the spell?” 

“Ah,” Caleb says, “yes - unless you want to spend all eight hours outside.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” 

Molly shifts closer to Caleb.

Caleb is not quite sure this is real. He almost feels like maybe he untied Molly and Molly killed him. Maybe he is dead, and for some inscrutable reason he was given a happy afterlife by mistake.

He slips into the reverie of channeling his spell, and loses himself there in that welcome oblivion for a short time.

When he reenters reality, he is sitting exactly where he was before in the same familiar tent. The only thing it lacks are the bloodstains.

Caleb looks at Molly - sees the telltale marks on his throat - then immediately has to look away.

He can take the bloodstains off his fucking tent but the angry-looking ring of bruises around the tiefling’s throat isn’t going anywhere.

His stomach churns and he tastes bile in his throat. He realizes he’s shaking all over, that he can’t look up, that he can’t speak.

“Hey, hey,” Molly is saying. “It’s been a really bad day. Not everything is copacetic between us, there’s a lot of stuff we need to sort out - but I’m still here. I don’t want to kill you. I will not put another collar on you or tie your hands or anything else you don’t want me to.” There is a sound of a heavy sigh, one that sounds more pained than Molly has any right to be right now.

“You are incredibly forgiving,” Caleb says bitterly. “I do not…I do not even know how to…how to.” He just stops. What is he even trying to say?

“You’ve never been around people who actually forgave you for things before,” Molly says. “You’ve been around people who played around with your head using the concept of forgiveness, who used it as something they could always withhold from you, and as something you somehow always still owed them - but they didn’t actually forgive you. When I first met good people - Beau, Yasha, Gustav - it took me a long time to wrap my head around that one.”

Caleb feels desperately lost. “I am sorry, I am just - I was expecting something different. I was expecting…anything but this.” 

“Caleb,” Molly is saying, and suddenly his hand is tilting Caleb’s chin up to look at him. “I am not blameless here. I am not sure whether or not I made the right decision keeping the collar on you - I am not sure if timing this differently would have changed the outcome - but I do know that I’ve been…weird with you.” The man has the temerity to sincerely look guilty right now, after all Caleb’s done. “I should not have pursued you while you were still technically, you know….”

Caleb is just staring at him, slackjawed. “Really?” is all he can say. “You…really? You feel…you feel guilty about that? I started it!” 

“You starting it was fine. Me running with it was not even remotely okay.” 

“I cannot believe you.” Caleb says. “You have not done anything to me worth apologizing to. Everything you did I would have done to you ten times worse if our positions had been reversed.”

Molly sighs. “Caleb, people have treated you like shit. I know where you’re at with this, how impossible it is for you to understand this particular type of fucked up right now. The longer you spend around people who don’t constantly stomp on your boundaries like they’re smashing grapes to make wine, the easier it will be to wrap your head around it.” 

Caleb just can’t fit everything that’s happening right now into his skull. His heart hurts, his lip is bleeding again where he’s been worrying it with his teeth, he feels sick - 

“Hey,” Molly is saying, and then he’s moved over to sit right beside Caleb, shoulder to shoulder.

Caleb knows that he’s breathing fast, that he’s looking through Molly instead of at him, but he can’t stop.

“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb,” Molly is saying, and there are warm, firm hands on his back, running over his shoulders and the nape of his neck.

Caleb feels his fingers fisted ineffectually in Molly’s burgundy crushed velvet coat and he still can’t focus and he can’t breathe.

“Okay,” Molly is saying. “New plan. Unless you tell me to fuck off, we’re doing the thing you did for me when I woke up flipping out. Let’s just lie down.” 

Caleb lets Molly ease him down onto his back on the soft blanket that covers the tent floor.

“I’m just going to lie next to you, okay?” Molly is saying. 

Molly is being so sweet, so genuine. It is somehow making everything so much worse.

The tiefling curls up at his side and then his arms are around him, holding him close.

This, at least, Caleb can process. He can feel the warmth, the rise and fall of Molly’s chest, and he focuses on that, trying to pull himself out of this spiral.

He feels Molly’s tail twining around his leg, not too tight, just…there. Present.

Caleb lies there and lets Molly hold him. He lets the crash of feelings overwhelm him, the hope and the fear and the guilt, the sheer confusion, the absolutely incomprehensible amount of pain that he has been carrying.

He is sobbing. He doesn’t even remember when he started crying. He’s shaking like a leaf in a storm and Molly is just holding him, stroking his face, his hair, his belly, shushing him, being warm, being solid, being real.

“It’s okay,” Molly says. “You tried to kill me - but you didn’t. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Killing people who are good to me is what I do! ” Caleb sobs.”This is what I do!” 

“Caleb,” Molly whispers into his skin, “if you’ve killed someone who was good to you…it wasn’t me. No matter what mistakes you’ve made in your past…I’m not one of them.”

Chapter Text

“One small candle, burning bright 

Keeping back the endless night.”

• Excerpt from The Canticles of St. Margaret of the Endless Night

****

In the short time she has known Nott, Beau thinks she has seen the goblin pass through every single emotional state known to mortal beings. The tiny woman is a whirlwind, spinning from excitement to rage and back again at the turn of a head or the flip of a coin. 

She didn’t expect that when Caleb went missing, Nott would be…composed.

The goblin woman was frantic initially, of course. If Beau is to be perfectly honest, she was frantic herself - which was not helped at all by having to scream into the weird little wire in her hand again and again, trying to talk to Caleb but getting no response. Yeah. That image is never gonna be in the “greatest hits” album of her memories, that’s for damn sure. 

After Nott came to terms with the fact that Caleb was out of the reach of the spell, though, she settled into the ponderous, single-minded focus of finding her friend.

It didn’t take much exploration for Beau and Nott to determine that the way forward was hopelessly blocked by the strange, glittering quartz crystals that had grown instantaneously across their path forward.

That is when the two of them became aware enough of their surroundings to realize that the crystals had blocked the way out of the caverns for them, too.

This time, Beau panicked. 

Nott didn’t.

As Beau paced back and forth like a tiger in the Zadash menagerie, Nott tried to contact every other member of their party in turn using her little trick with the wire.

When it didn’t work, she turned to Beau. 

“Listen, I’m not good at magic, but I’m pretty sure this spell keeps…fizzling out.”

“What does that even mean!?” Beau yells, like shouting is going to help.

After the echoes stop deafening them, Nott replies.

“I don’t think they’re not responding to me because they’re all dead or all unconscious,” the goblin says. “I know I’m casting the spell the way Caleb taught me to, but I don’t think it’s going anywhere. There’s something blocking it.”

“This is some evil fucking bullshit!” Beau yells at the caverns around them.

She punches the nearest chunk of crystal.

This is a mistake.

Nott makes her sit down, and gives her a healing potion that Beau is almost certain was stolen from the stock on the Suckerpunch .

“Let’s pretend this is a puzzle,” Nott says, “and try to figure it out. We’ll pretend we’re solving a mystery and that it’s not even a big deal or anything.”

Beau thinks that’s a much better idea than punching rocks.

****

The appearance of the wall of crystal that completely blocks off Fjord, Yasha and Caduceus from advancing further into the cave seems sudden and inexplicable. Unlike those farther ahead, for these three there is no apparent warning; one moment the path ahead is there, the next it is blocked.

Fjord admits he and Yasha might have gone a little crazy trying to break it down with whatever they could grab.

They couldn’t even make a dent.

“Why, Stormlord?” Yasha shrieks like a gryphon. “Why would you have me give him the Judge? Why not the other blade?”

When a defeated Fjord and Yasha finally slump down against the cave wall beside where Caduceus has been standing silently, locked deep in his communion with the unknown, the cleric opens his eyes.

“I can understand nature,” he says. “I can work with nature. This isn’t nature.”

“So what the fuck is it?” Fjord asks.

“I - I don’t know.”

Yasha is clenching both her fists around the massive pommel of her sword, knuckles white.

“I want to keep going,” she says, “but we cannot keep going forward. We must find another way to get to them.” 

Fjord nods. “I don’t like turning tail and runnin’ away, but this ain’t that. We don’t know what these crystals are liable to do next. We can’t help the others if we get trapped, too.” 

They look to Caduceus, who nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”

As they make their way back, they overtake Orly and Marius, who had been ferrying the scrap iron they’d discovered back toward Water’s Gift.

Between the five of them they split the burden of the precious iron and steel, and make as fast an exit from the caves as they can.

At the very mouth of Water’s Gift, they all sit together: exhausted, filthy, leaderless.

They grab what food and ale is already handy, and eat and drink together joylessly.

Caduceus sits apart from the others, staring out at the sea.

Yasha goes to stand beside him.

After a time, Caduceus speaks. 

“I…I feel so out of my depth here. I don’t always show it, but I always feel that way. I was just a gravekeeper. What am I doing here? How can I possibly help them? I’m just…me.”

Yasha pauses. “I think…I think I know something Molly would say.”

Caduceus turns towards her. “What would Molly say?”

Yasha gestures to the sea. “He would say we are looking out at the largest grave in Exandria right now.”

The smile Caduceus gives to her is warm and open, like sunshine after rain.

“Thank you, Yasha,” he says. “That’s really comforting. I’ll try to remember that.”

****

There is no daylight to wake them underground, but eventually, Caleb opens his eyes.

His face is pressed tight up against Molly’s chest, his dried tears and snot and blood making a mess of the man’s normally immaculate shirt.

He freezes. A moment of terror and revulsion breaks over him. 

Nothing makes sense. This is - this is - this is too much, this is not - 

He slowly shifts back away from Molly and sits up.

He clenches his eyes closed and he wills himself to get himself together. Molly is fine; so is he. The collar is off; he has spell components; he has a spellbook. He has Nott to get back to.

You are weak, he tells himself. You are better off than you have been in the eight months since the fire and you are using this moment to go to pieces. Are you not a mage - are you not a man? 

When he has been able to school himself into a passable state of composure, he opens his eyes.

He prods his lower lip. It’s scabbed over. It’s probably rather spectacular in a mirror, but not too bad to live with.

He shifts back a little to sit up.

Molly stirs, and rolls onto his back.

“What time is it?” he says muzzily.

It was clearly not a real question, but Caleb can’t help but answer, “About ten o’clock. Give or take.” 

“Morning or evening?”

“Morning.”

“You are something else,” Molly says, and smiles up at him.

Caleb looks down at him and feels the cold hand of dread and fear grip his heart again.

“I wish we could lie here forever,” Molly says, “but I’m afraid we’ve got some ghosts to punch.” 

****

The moment Caleb steps out of the tiny tent, the spell ends, and the comforting little space blinks out of existence.

At least he’s himself again. The thrum of his magic is still a little intoxicating, especially when he uses it - but it feels more and more natural with every spell he casts.

There is so much comfort he can take from being able to pour himself into ritual and inquiry, to focus on the serenity of the objective and lose the confusion and the anxiety of the subjective

The space around them that was once the large, empty room of the temple is criss-crossed and pierced with immense jutting struts of alabaster and clear crystalline structures that abut and intersect each other in ways alien to nature. 

Now that Caleb has his innate sense of the arcane back, he doesn’t need to cast a spell to know: this place where powerful and evil magic has dwelt for centuries. 

“Well,” he says, “I think it is time for me to start to get a sense of what sort of place this really is.”

Molly nods. “Other than using your eyes and looking around, how do you usually figure out giant haunted dungeons full of deadly traps?” 

Caleb frowns. “Well, if I am to be thorough, I use spells for investigation of the arcane in a cycle. The first spell to employ only has a range of thirty feet and lasts ten minutes, so we must choose a spot where this will be of the most use.” He looks around them. “This place is at least sixty feet by forty-five feet; the altar is mostly obliterated, and I do not see any other areas of interest where my eye readily falls. I do not know if this is the place or the time….”

“This room trapped us in here for a purpose,” Molly says. “It wanted to force us to move forward.” The tiefling points in the direction where they know the maze of crystals opens to the as-yet unexplored tunnel beyond. “I think that’s where we’re going to find most of the danger, as well as any hope of escape - so that’s where I think we should focus our efforts.”

Caleb peers in the direction Molly has indicated. “If we are going to be on the move, then I should not expend my power until we know we will not need it for less academic purposes.”

“I think…I think that’s the way to go,” Molly says.

Together, they cautiously begin to make their way through the labyrinth of sharp, glittering shards, deeper and deeper into this crystal kingdom.

****

Once they leave the part of the maze that was once the huge, contiguous temple chamber, it is an exceedingly tight squeeze going forward. What’s worse, the further they get, the natural rock of the space increasingly supplanted by crystal, until they are spending every step squeezing between razor-sharp jutting pieces of quartz.

After about an hour, there is not yet any end in sight.

“Whoever made this,” Molly says, “they are seriously fucking with us.”

Caleb sighs. “Ja. Either that, or their purpose requires that we move slowly.” 

Molly has to turn sideways to make it through a nearly obstructed part of the passage. “Do you think this curse we triggered is just something old that happened to still be active when we stumbled into it, or do you think whatever is doing this is still here and directing it even now?” 

Caleb pauses in his progress. While he isn’t yet willing to expend any significant amount of magic, he clears his mind momentarily, and allows what impressions exist to reach him.

It takes a moment, but he feels dread start to coil, real and urgent, in his gut.

He shakes himself and opens his eyes.

“There is no way to be sure,” he says, “but I am worried that it is still here. That does not mean it is still a living, thinking being that can have new ideas and make new decisions - but I doubt the sense I am getting from the weave around us could possibly be created by a few arcane traps left behind from centuries ago.” 

“Great,” Molly says.

****

The narrow, dangerous path they have been on has gone up and down, left and right, but there is only ever one narrow path replete with fissures and ledges in the crystal that make the going slow and treacherous.

Caleb and Molly have been traveling at a crawl for well over an hour through this unforgiving landscape. 

They are tired, and both have sustained more than a few slashes to their limbs and bodies from particularly narrow areas or unexpected snags.

Caleb almost runs into Molly when the tiefling stops short in front of him.

In the barest whisper, Molly says, “There’s a very, very dim light way ahead of us.”

Caleb freezes and immediately snuffs out the dancing lights above them. “Is it moving?” 

Molly pauses, his gaze ahead unwavering, watching whatever he sees ahead. “No, definitely not.”

The darkness around them is inky and absolute. Caleb tries to peer ahead past Molly and with his vision he is unable to pick up anything but a glint on the crystals that is so faint he must wonder if it is a trick of his eyes.

“Do you think I can keep up the dancing lights?” Caleb asks. He is already feeling the thrill of fear as his eyes try to habituate to the darkness but can do nothing to compensate for the utter absence of light underground.

“We can’t risk it,” Molly says. “If there’s anything in here, it is going to be much more sensitive to light than we are. We could give ourselves away striking a piece of flint at this distance if we are being watched by creatures that are native to these depths.”

Caleb nods. “You’ll have to guide me, then,” he says. His nerves are audible in his voice.

He hears the shuffle of Molly’s feet and the rustling of his clothing, and then the man’s hand squeezes his shoulder briefly.

“Try to trust me,” Molly mutters. “Just try, okay?”

They begin to slowly creep forward. Molly whispers directions and guides Caleb with his hands, showing him the obstacles and the way ahead with painstaking care.

Caleb is tired and frustrated and the closer they get to the light, the more his dread builds. After they’ve taken twenty minutes to travel barely ninety feet, his nerves are shot and he’s fuming. 

“I am going to use the fucking lights!” he hisses to Molly.

“No,” Molly’s voice says firmly. His hand reaches up and brushes an errant lock of Caleb’s hair from his sweaty brow. “In thirty feet, I promise you that you are going to be close enough to the light up ahead to see. We’re almost there.”

They creep forward, one step at a time - and at last Caleb can see ahead that werelight is illuminating a chamber at the end of this narrow, precarious path.

He can see Molly’s hand is on the glinting pommel of the Magician’s Judge, and Caleb is already mentally sorting through his options for defensive spells.

At the very cusp of where the chamber opens up ahead, Molly brings them to a stop.

Together, they scan all they can see of the room ahead, just watching.

A full minute passes. The light never moves. No shapes move ahead in the near-dark. No sounds reach their ears except the sounds of their breathing, the occasional dripping of water., the shifting of their feet and the beating of their hearts.

When Molly turns to look in Caleb’s direction, the human does not need to see his face to know what question he is being asked.

Caleb nods his head. Yes, let’s go.

They step into the chamber, and immediately spread out.

The place they enter is…not what Caleb expected. Not even close.

The chamber is perhaps thirty by thirty feet. Looking above, below and around him, Caleb realizes it is completely composed of crystal, but the crystal here has been shaped to smooth it and make it far more compatible with mortal use. The floor has only barely-perceptible cracks and grooves no different in texture from floorboards, and one could easily fall against the walls here without sustaining more than a few superficial cuts.

Unmistakably, this is a living space.

The ceilings are lower than any other part of the caverns so far, and ancient globes of werelight are festooned from them in a small cluster as though for the use of people for illumination. 

To the left, there is a small, empty hearth. A table made from some sort of black stone and two black, gleaming chairs sit there. There is a desk on the left of the hearth and what looks to be some sort of workbench on the right of it. On their left Caleb can peer between faded onyx hangings that there is a chest, an ancient bed, and even a vanity table with a mirror covered in a black dropcloth. 

Molly turns to Caleb with a look of complete incomprehension on his face.

Caleb looks back at him in wordless horror. 

“What the fuck is this shit?” Molly whispers.

Caleb nods. “Ja. This is…this is….”

“Creepy. This is creepy.”

Caleb sighs, collecting his thoughts a moment. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, okay, okay. I think this is the time when I have to take a chance and spend some of my magic figuring out how deadly this place is.”

“On a scale from one to ten,” Molly deadpans, “this place is no lower than an eight and a half.”

Caleb sits down on the floor. He pulls out his new spellbook, removes the black pearl and the owl feather from his pockets, and begins to channel Detect Magic .

When he opens his eyes and becomes aware of the room around him, the strange, octarine glow that is the color of magic lights up all around him.

“Wow,” he says, simply.

Molly is sitting across from him, watching him raptly.

“So,” he says, after taking everything in for a minute, “unsurprisingly, this place is absolutely rife with magic. Many different schools. Some is very, very old; some is new.” He purses his lips. “The newest by far is the crystal all around us. It isn’t actively magical, but it has the signature of something that was conjured very recently.” He squints at it. “No, that’s not quite right,” he says. “There is a much weaker aura of abjuration around it. Maybe…something to contain our ability to cast spells that reach beyond the boundaries of this space.” He frowns. “It isn’t a physical boundary, though - because it doesn’t have to be. The fact that I can’t see anything beyond the walls of this room tells me we are surrounded by at least a foot of solid stone on all sides.”

“What about the stuff?” Molly asked, his tone still hushed. “Is this stuff all trapped? I assume everything in here is trapped.”

Caleb’s pensive frown deepens. “Everything in here has an exceedingly faint aura of conjuration around it,” he says, “which is consistent with having been conjured long, long ago - perhaps a hundred years or more. As for traps, active magic in a contingency state - something with a trigger - is usually very bright in my vision when I cast this spell. I do not see anything like that here.” 

Rising slowly, Caleb makes his way carefully through the room, looking at every single surface and every piece of furniture in turn while Molly follows him like an anxious shadow.

When they get all the way to the other side of the curtain, there is a shelf.

It is full of books.

“Don’t even think about it,” Molly says in a low growl.

Caleb glowers at the man. “...I am curious, Mollymauk,” he bites off, “but I am not stupid.”

They stand there just looking at the books together.

“These books are not necessarily trapped,” he says carefully, “but they were conjured recently. They have exactly the same glow as the crystal walls do.”

Molly nods, his face showing his deep disquiet. 

“Caleb,” he says. “Something in here is fucking with us. Specifically, it’s fucking with you . You set off a trap when you grabbed a book - and now it’s given you a whole bookshelf full of them.”

The human nods grimly. “Whatever has made this place is still awake and aware - and it is cruel .”

****

After poring over the entire room for almost half an hour, Caleb turns to Molly. 

“My initial statement still stands,” he says. “There is not a single active trap in this room - though the place is alive with magic. I see the conjuration used to create this place, the abjuration used to keep us from using magic to directly interact with the world outside the space, the little bits of dormant divination and transmutation on the vanity and the tools and the dishes  - and then, underneath it all, there is something else. There is just this vague chill that is in everything, something old. I cannot see it, but it creeps in every time I look at any magical aura in this room. It is necromancy.”

“Is it a signature from the thing that’s fucking with us?” Molly asks.

Caleb shrugs. “Perhaps. Or perhaps the entity we are dealing with merely took over a space that was created by a powerful necromantic entity. I cannot tell without much more study.” 

“I’m still not touching anything in here,” Molly says. 

“Absolutely not,” Caleb says. “Whatever made this place is extremely, extremely powerful. I cannot necessarily fully comprehend everything that a being this capable can do, and I do not feel comfortable interacting with any more of this place than I strictly have to.”

“So, what now?” Molly asks. “There’s no obvious way forward. Do we go back?” 

“That is the question,” Caleb muses. “Overall, the dominant impression I am getting from this room is…well, one of two things. It has either been devised to lull us into a false sense of security, or it is meant to house us for quite some time while this being exacts something from us that it desires.”

“This little tent you can create,” Molly says. “I assume it offers us some protection, right?” 

Caleb nods. “It is not an illusion - it is a fairly high-level form of evocation. It is impermeable to creatures, objects and magical effects, and nothing can see us when we are inside.”

Molly nods. “Uh…do you mind setting it up, then?” he asks.

Caleb feels a pang of guilt when he looks at Molly and realizes that the poor man looks exhausted. 

“Of - of course,” he stammers. “You must still be tired and sore from yesterday.”

He rummages in his pockets for the crystal sphere, and sits down on the floor.

“Stay near me when I cast it, please,” Caleb says. “You do not want to be stuck outside for eight hours.”

With a soft laugh, Molly sits beside Caleb on the quartz floor. “I don’t think that would be so bad. That bed looks comfortable for something that’s hundreds of years old and fundamentally evil!”

Caleb slips into his trance.

When he opens his eyes to the familiar sight of his little hut around him, tucked away from the world, he sighs with relief and thumps his head back onto the pillows.

There are always pillows behind him when he conjures this hut for a reason.

“Can you get out some food and water?” he says to Molly. “I think I should eat something.”

He hears Molly rummaging in his bag for a moment, and then opens his eyes to the other man settling down beside him and handing him a bit of conjured food.

When Caleb takes a bite, it’s nowhere near as good as when Caduceus has made it fresh, but hunger quickly takes over and he inhales it.

When he finishes double the portion he’d normally eat and drinks as much as he wants from the ever-replenishing bottle of conjured water, he stands up and completes his nightly ritual of stringing up the magical cord that will wake him if something powerful enough to interfere with his hut tries to get inside.

Then he sinks back down onto the blanket on the floor and lies down, occupied for a while with thoughts of the crystal maze, the many forms of magic he has found, the creatures he has read about that might be able to make a place like this.

“This place is horrible,” he says, “but the hut makes it a lot better. I can forget about what is outside for just a second when I am here.”

Molly nods. “I’d hate to imagine what this place would be like without magic,” he says. “I’m angry we even tried to explore something like these caves without you having full access to your powers. It was an incomprehensible risk I never should have taken.”

Caleb looks up at him and smiles a little. “You can stop berating yourself,” he says. “We have both done things we are not proud of to one another, and I still contend that trying to kill someone is a little more serious than correctly interpreting a dangerous person as a threat and keeping that threat in check.”

With a sigh, Molly sinks down beside Caleb, lying on his side so he can look at the other man. “You are a very stubborn man, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb laughs. “I may have been told that before, but not by any more than a hundred people. Maybe two hundred at the very most.” 

“Sounds about right,” Molly says, smiling at him.

He is smiling at Caleb like nothing else matters, a look that makes apprehension and paranoia start to creep into Caleb’s mind once more.

Caleb looks at Molly - and, like every other time he’s looked at the man since what happened the previous day, his eyes go straight to the bruises on his neck.

This time, he doesn’t let himself look away. Somehow, the bruises are better to fixate on than this unearned, nebulous sense of disquiet he feels around Molly.

Molly smiles at him gently, clearly following his gaze. “I’m still alive,” he says.

“I cannot believe I did this,” Caleb whispers.

“What you did wasn’t okay,” Molly says, “but get it.” He settles against Caleb with a sigh, lightly draping a hand over his waist. “If you ever put your hands on me again, it will be different - but in this one particular case, with everything that has happened to you and everything I’ve done to you, I think you deserve one more chance to not be a fucking asshole.” 

Caleb looks Molly right in the eyes and says, “I will never do anything like this again. If I put my hands on you, it will not be to hurt you.” 

He feels a blush color his cheeks.

Please, please, do not notice, Molly. 

Molly raises his eyebrow momentarily before smiling at Caleb.

“Caleb,” Molly says.

Caleb knows his color is deepening. He cannot speak.

Molly’s voice is steady, his gaze even. “Will you take off your coat, please?”

Caleb feels the heat in his face as a thrill courses through him. He swallows, nods, and sits up. He removes the coat.

“Now the scarf,” Molly says.

Caleb nods wordlessly, and discards the scarf as well.

“Good,” Molly purrs. “Now lie on your side, facing away from me, please.”

With another silent nod, Caleb lies back down and does exactly as Molly says.

Molly draws himself up behind Caleb, his arm tightening around Caleb’s waist.

“I really liked watching you dance with Fjord the other night,” the tiefling says against his neck.

Caleb shudders at the sensation of Molly’s hot breath on his skin. “Ah - really? I had worried you might, ah ....”

“What, be jealous? I have no claim over you, Caleb. Not unless you want me to.” Molly plants an impossibly soft kiss on Caleb’s neck, making his breathing catch. “I loved watching him put his hands on you and use his arm to pull you closer and closer. It made me want to try it for myself.”

Caleb feels a little moment of surprise at the unfamiliar feeling of Molly’s tail wrapping around his belly, curling itself around him right alongside Molly’s arm.

When Molly splays his hand out possessively over Caleb’s stomach and nuzzles his neck, Caleb’s head falls back against the other man and his eyes slide shut.

“Fuck,” Caleb whispers, and the next words just fall out: “I have wanted this.” 

Molly whispers in his ear, “The first moment I saw you wearing my clothes, I was done for. The fact that they’re your clothes now and they’re all you ever wear is a gift you give me every single time I see you.”

And then his lips are on Caleb’s skin, kissing him gently, working his way from the spot behind his ear down the side of his neck.

Caleb bites back a very pathetic kind of sound and he squirms a little in Molly’s grasp - which only makes Molly’s arm and tail tighten around him, holding him closer.

“What do you want me to do to you?” Molly says. “Tell me what you want.” 

Caleb can’t even find words to explain it, so he settles for, “Whatever you want.” 

Molly chuckles into his skin. “That isn’t going to cut it,” he says. “Not even close.”

And suddenly his clever, hot tongue is flicking against Caleb’s earlobe.

Caleb gasps.

Molly laughs again, the hot breath right up on Caleb’s ear, and suddenly he licks inside the sensitive curve of Caleb’s ear in earnest, and starts to do absolutely obscene things to it with his clever tongue.

It’s an immediate sensory overload that makes Caleb lose the battle and moan and writhe in Molly’s grasp, mindlessly trying to get away even though he wants to do nothing of the sort.

This earns him a nip of teeth on his earlobe, and a whisper of, “Be good for me, okay?” 

Caleb makes a choked sound and nods, willing himself to hold still as Molly keeps doing things to his ear and his neck that threaten to short circuit every nerve in his body.

“You are good at this,” he gasps, and Molly hums appreciatively against his skin.

“You’re delightful, Caleb. Everything you’re doing right now is fucking ruining me, you know that, right?” At that, Molly pulls Caleb back against him and grinds his hips forward so that Caleb can feel his hardness pressed up against him.

“Mmmf,” is all Caleb can manage.

He feels just the lightest impression of Molly’s sharp teeth against his neck before the man pauses.

“Are marks okay?” he asks.

“Fuck,” Caleb says, because right now that seems like the most erotic thing that he’s ever heard a person say. “That only seems fair, ja? You will - you will be wearing mine for quite a while, and you had no choice in the matter.”

Molly doesn’t tease him, he just sinks his teeth in, and a yelp tears itself from Caleb’s throat.

The pain crescendos, and then Molly is pressing a tender kiss on the bite mark.

“I told you to tell me what you want me to do to you,” Molly whispers in his ear. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“Ja,” Caleb says, “I am sorry, Molly, I will try.” He desperately works to herd his neurons back into something capable of a coherent thought. “I want - fuck! I just, I want you to put your hands all over me. I want you to kiss me - my neck, my mouth, all over, bite me where you want but kiss me in between like you just did. I - I will not last very long, but I want to come with you touching me.” 

“Moonweaver fucking deliver me,” Molly groans against his skin, and suddenly he’s rucking up Caleb’s shirt with his tail hand while using his hand to undo the laces on Caleb’s breeches.

“Do you want me to - “ Caleb begins.

“I want you to just keep making those fucking noises,” Molly says fervently. “I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you. I want you to tell me when you like it, I want you to tell me when it hurts, I want you to tell me when you’re close, I want you - “

Then his hot, strong hand is on Caleb’s cock and Caleb feels a jolt of pleasure and he bucks into his touch. He couldn’t stop the low, desperate moan he lets out even if it wasn’t exactly what Molly wants from him.

“Yes,” he’s saying. “Yes, please, touch me, kiss me while you do it.”

Molly begins slow, deliberate strokes with his hand while he lavishes kisses on Caleb’s neck.

“Bite down,” Caleb begs.

“You needy little brat,” Molly says, and he does exactly as Caleb asks.

Caleb is making needy, debauched sounds without even realizing it now. His breathing is fast, his heart is racing. He keeps looking down at Molly’s hand wrapped around him, the rhythm speeding up a little now, and he reaches his hand back so he can use Molly’s hip as an anchor, so he can grind back against the other man - earning himself a groan against his marked-up throat.

“Oh gods, Molly,” he’s saying, “Molly, please, please - “

“Please what? ” the man growls.

“Please, can I be on my back? I need to touch you, I want to touch as much of your skin as I can, please - “

He’s on his back so fast it almost knocks the wind off of him, and then he gets to behold the absolutely life-ruining sight of Mollymauk Tealeaf stripping off his clothes as fast as he possibly can.

Caleb reaches for the pushed-up edge of his own shirt before asking, “Can I?”

“Fuck yes you can. Hurry up!”

Caleb’s uncooperative hands have only managed to get the shirt off before Molly is stripping off his breeches for him.

Then Molly is on top of him, skin against skin, Molly’s cock pressed up against his own - not yet moving, just touching. Caleb whimpers and throws his head back. It’s way too much and not enough at the same time.

“You know,” the tiefling says, “our first kiss was the worst.” 

“Ja?” Caleb says, too breathless and turned on to even feel guilty. “Want to try again?” 

Then Molly’s hot mouth is on his. 

Caleb opens his mouth to Molly as soon as he feels the first flick of the man’s tongue, and then he’s doing his damnedest to fuck Molly’s mouth with his tongue as the man’s increasingly desperate gasps and choked sounds reverberate through him.

There is not much they have to make this moment anything more than skin against skin, rutting and grasping and thrusting against one another. There is not much they need; when two people want each other, the most mundane things can feel like magic.

It’s only a matter of time before both of them can taste blood from Caleb’s split lip, but they’re way past the point where it’s anything more than another thrill.

Caleb spreads his legs wider, then hooks one leg around Molly, and grabs the base of the other man’s tail with a firm hand.

Molly’s mouth leaves his and he stutters out “F-f-f-fuck Caleb!” as he arches his back with a pornographic splendor that is probably going to feature in Caleb’s fantasies for years.

Grinning up at him, Caleb bucks his hips up against Molly’s while using his grip on his tail to drive the other man down against him.

Molly’s eyes are wild now. He’s coming apart as Caleb starts to control their movements, one hand on Molly’s tail, one hand so tight on the tiefling’s hip that it’s probably going to be yet another mark in the morning.

“What do you want, Molly?” Caleb says, gazing up at the tiefling with a look that can only be termed worshipful.

“This,” Molly moans. “Please, gods - no, wait, please, can you - please - “ 

“You know the rules, Molly,” Caleb says impetuously. “You must use your words.”

“I - I’m already close, but I want, I want your fingers, please, I need your fingers inside of me.”

“There you are,” Caleb says. “Was that so hard?” 

He keeps his grip tight on the base of Molly’s tail so he can maintain some of his control over the rhythm at which Molly is now rutting against him. He runs his other hand up Molly's back and down again, slicking his fingers with sweat, and then he begins to tease at Molly’s asshole, spreading him but not breaching the tight circle of muscle just yet.

“Please, Caleb,” Molly is practically sobbing. “Don’t tease me, I’m so fucking close.”

“So am I,” Caleb breathes. “Ah - tell me if I hurt you,” he says, because that seems like the kind of thing Molly would say if their positions were reversed.

“Don’t you fucking dare be gentle with me!”

Then he’s pressing inside of the other man while thrusting up against him, and the strangled shout that wrenches itself from Molly is the most sublime thing he’s ever heard.

He doesn’t even get to the point where he has a chance to consider if a second finger is possible before Molly’s desperate moans tell him he’s almost there.

“Kiss me,” Caleb says. “Please. Now. ”

Molly kisses him, deep, passionate, like Caleb means something to him, like he isn’t broken or ruined or scarred.

Then Molly throws his head back and wails as he’s coming in messy spurts all over Caleb’s stomach, clenching down on his finger helplessly.

The sudden introduction of the slickness combines with the glut of sensation that is Molly losing the ability to support any of his own weight, and it utterly robs Caleb of whatever remaining control he still had over himself. He bucks his hips up against Molly into the wetness and the warmth and the pressure while using Molly’s tail to meet his rhythm, and then he’s coming, and Molly is catching the obscene sounds he’s making with his own mouth and kissing him like it’s the end of the fucking world.

If it’s the end of the fucking world, Caleb thinks that’s just fine.

****

Molly is in the dark when he wakes up, his body freezing, his lungs burning, the air he is breathing insufficient to sustain him.

When he claws at the wood above his face, it is thin enough that he can gradually make progress - but when his desperate scratching finally breaks through, that is when the dirt starts pouring in.

It’s in his eyes, it’s in his mouth, and panic overtakes him, one type of suffocation suddenly exchanged for an even more violent and rapid one - 

Mollymauk Tealeaf sits up straight, hand on the hilt of the Magician’s Judge, filling his lungs with a huge, desperate gasp.

Caleb is sleeping beside him, and as Molly sits there, struggling to regulate his breathing, Caleb turns over with a soft groan to look up at him through hooded eyes.

When he sees the look on Molly’s face, he instantly sits up, and makes a small gesture with his hand so that the tent is full of werelight.

“What did you see?” Caleb whispers.

Molly shakes his head. “It was just my dream,” he says.

Caleb looks a little cautious. “Ah…I do not want to pry, but was this the same dream as always, or was it different?”

“It was the same one I always have,” Molly says. 

Caleb nods. With another wave of his hand, he turns the light back off. 

“Try to rest, Mollymauk,” he says softly.

Molly settles back. He runs his hand down his chest, and looks down at it.

“Did you clean us up?” he asks with a small laugh.

“Ja. We were…disgusting.”

“Using a spell or something?”

“I am a wizard that can conjure a hut or a fireball or a living animal from nothing. Do you think I cannot clean up a book if I spill something on it?”

****

While two men who have lived as Molly and Caleb have could never rest peacefully after all that has transpired in the past two days, the pair at least manage to take turns slipping in and out of fitful sleep.

What finally definitively wakes Caleb and makes him sit up in surprise is the moment he feels the slight twinge at his temple that always comes before he receives a message from another spellcaster.

For one moment, he feels the fierce grip of joy as he waits to hear Nott’s familiar voice.

It isn’t Nott, though. The voice is unfamiliar to him. 

The young woman has a strong Menagerie Coast accent and a carefree exuberance about her way of speaking that is at odds with their otherwise foreboding circumstances.

“Hi! I’m Jester! I saw you in the mirror. Lydia and Edward, they’re the worst right? We’ll talk soon! The mirror or Sending, whatever, but - ” 

The message ends.

“Ah,” Caleb says. “Hello. Nice to meet you. Just so you know, the message must be no more than twenty-five words.”

“Who are you talking to?” says Molly’s muzzy voice from where the man’s face is pressed into the pillows.

“I have not the slightest clue,” Caleb says, “but she seems…friendly?”

Chapter Text

In the dim light of the tent, Caleb is curled up on his side. Behind him, he can feel sometimes feel Mollymauk turn in his restless sleep, but at least the tiefling has been asleep for a while now.

Jester , Caleb thinks. Her name is Jester.

She could be real - or she could be the next thing this place thinks a pair of hot-headed young men will want to reach out and touch without asking enough questions first.

If she is evil, though, he is not sure why they have not already suffered for his choice to recklessly respond to her Sending.

In the dark, he frowns. It has been a strange couple of days when it comes to impulsive behavior. He knows he is not the man he once was - but what he has been doing has not made sense.

He lets himself fall on his back so that he can look over and see Molly’s face in the barely-there werelight where the other man is resting beside him.

The tiefling, asleep though he may be, feels him move, and his lashes open, revealing the dull glow of his red eyes.

“Morning,” he says. 

He stretches, then lazily reaches out, and pulls Caleb against his chest.

This sudden contact is warm, reassuring, and almost familiar now.

So when Caleb thinks, I’ll kill him - I have to , this time, he finally realizes it’s all wrong.

Caleb’s eyes fly wide open and he scrambles away from Mollymauk, who quickly releases him.

“Caleb, I’m so sorry,” the tiefling says, looking mortified. “It - that was obviously a bit much, I’ll use my words, I apologize - ” 

Caleb is staring at him. “No, Mollymauk. It is not you. It is me. There is something wrong with me. I - “ he swallows hard. “I had this thought again about wishing to hurt you.”

Molly’s brow furrows. “...I surprised you; that can happen.”

Caleb shakes his head. “You are not understanding me. There is no part of me in this moment that wishes to hurt you. This is - this is interference. Not madness from within, but madness imposed by another.” He lets out a long, shaky breath.

Molly sits there for a long moment. “We should have listened to Caduceus,” he says. “We never should have come here.”

Caleb sighs. “I will not pretend for one second that killing you was not something I already wanted to do before I came down into these caves. What I hope you can see is that impulsiveness is not something I ordinarily struggle to contain. I have done terrible things - but when I do them, I plan, I move pieces into place, and then I act.”

Molly is nodding as he thinks. “I buy that,” he says. “Yeah, I definitely buy that.” He’s rubbing one of his horns like he’s got a headache again. “I…I mean, it makes me feel a little better that this violence wasn’t all you - “

“It was still me,” Caleb says. “The only thing that was not me was the choice to act without a plan.”

“The real question is, who is doing this?” Molly asks. “Who is doing this to us? Is it the girl who talked to you in your head?” 

Caleb thinks about this, then shakes his head. “I do not think so. If it has been her all along, or something controlling her, why would she have waited to talk to me until we got down here? If I were the one trying to exert such control on another person, and I could invoke this enchantment and also use Sending to speak to them directly, why would I not use both?”

“I want to talk to the girl,” Molly says. 

Caleb frowns. “We do not know if that is safe.”

“We’re in a cave full of evil magic and we already almost killed each other once; I’d say we’d be hard-pressed to make anything much worse.”

Caleb purses his lips as he considers this. “I admit, we are in a bind. This may be one of those rare times when being bold is the safest course of action.” 

****

Caleb sits before the uncovered mirror. The octarine gleaming of his recast Detect Magic spell shows no change from yesterday, revealing only the same aura of divination magic as it did before.

The surface of the mirror is rheumy with age such that his reflection is barely visible in the glass. 

It is apparent now on close inspection that the black conjured stone of the vanity table itself is new, and that this mirror affixed to it is much, much older.

He sets down the black pearl and the owl feather on the vanity table, and presses his fingers to the glass. Then he slips into his trance, and begins to speak the words of an incantation to identify the object.

When he opens eyes and returns to the present a minute later, he looks up to Molly, blinking in surprise.

“I have read about these,” he says. “This item is from the Age of Arcanum - and I did not think any still existed. It is an ansible, a means of holding more lengthy periods of Sending than the current state of arcane learning allows us to. Perhaps even an image.”

“How do we activate it?” 

“Are we ready to?” Caleb says, his voice a mix of anticipation and worry.

“No time like the present, wizard man,” Molly says, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“This is either going to be exceedingly complicated or distressingly easy,” Caleb says. “Let’s try the easy things first.”

He raises his fingers back up to the glass, shuts his eyes, and tells the ansible that he wants to use it. Then he thinks of Jester’s name, and imagines the sound of her voice.

He hears Molly take in a sudden, surprised breath.

When he opens his eyes, he is looking at the face of an excited blue-skinned tiefling woman. She is holding a paintbrush in her hand, and wearing a black velvet dress of some quaint design that harkens to an earlier age.

“Oh my God!” she squeals. “I was watching you sit there for ages and then you finally decided to talk! Hi! Hi! I’m Jester!”

“Hi there, gorgeous,” Molly says, grinning. “I’m Molly, and the handsome one is Caleb.”

“It is so so so so good to talk to someone,” she says. “So! How did they catch you?”

“Ah, I touched a book,” Caleb says. “I like to read.” 

“Really? I did the same thing!” the young woman says, leaning forward, her tail making excited curls and waves behind her as if for emphasis. “Do you follow the Traveler too? Isn’t he the best god ever?” She has picked up a book and is gesticulating with it excitedly.

“Ah, no, I do not believe I have had the pleasure of knowing the Traveler,” Caleb says. He has a fairly good knowledge of heretical gods, and hasn’t heard of this one; perhaps it is a patron instead. “Tell me, did you come to these halls seeking this book you touched, or did you simply find something you could not resist?”

“Oh, the Traveler sent me here, he told me all about it!” Jester says. “He’s really, really cool and really smart, he’s my best friend. I didn’t know he even had a holy book until he told me there was one here! So of course I had to come.”

“When was it that you came here?” Molly asks.

“That was…uh….” The young woman is looking up somewhere behind her mirror, and appears to be counting something she can see there. “Wow! A little over two hundred days, that’s a lot!” 

Caleb swallows hard, momentarily robbed of speech.

Molly - bless him - continues on in Caleb’s stead. “That’s a lot of time. Have you, ah, been alone?” 

“In my room?” the girl asks. “Yes, mostly. Sometimes I have to go to dinner. It’s really really boring. I only have to go because I hate it.” 

“There are other people here, then?” Molly asks, surprise evident in his tone.

“Oh yes,” Jester says. “There’s Lucas, he has to go to dinner too because he likes to make things in his room and thinks it is a super big waste of time which it totally is. Yeza is a halfling and he makes potions, he has to come to dinner for the same reason. Marcy is cool and almost as beautiful as my mom, and she likes people so she doesn’t go to dinner much. And there are two more in another room that I have heard talking and arguing but I haven’t seen yet - they haven’t taken the cloth off the mirror. They’re brand new just like you are - do you know them?” 

Caleb feels a painful pang of hope. “The voices,” he says hurriedly. “What do they sound like?”

“One is a girl and her voice is pretty high and squeaky and she gets excited. The other is a girl and her voice is really low and she gets mad. “

“Just two voices?” Molly asks, and he sounds devastated.

Caleb looks over at him. “Do not immediately go to the worst possibility,” he says sotto voce . “Maybe they were far enough outside when the crystals grew that they were not trapped.” 

Molly nods.

“So…..” Jester says. “Here’s the thing I kind of need to tell you about the Shattered Hold.” 

“The Shattered Hold,” Caleb repeats.

“When I first came here I was the fifth person. There were other people waiting, just like I am waiting now.” The girl pauses. “Edward and Lydia have a game they play when they have enough people.”

Caleb exhales slowly, waiting for the girl to continue.

“The reason I’m not dead is because I won the game,” the girl says. “I fought really hard, and at the end I gave up something really big - so I got what I wanted. I got the book. The Traveler says I should have asked to go home to my mom instead. He’s always so smart. That’s what I’m going to ask for this time.” She frowns, worry creasing her normally carefree face. “I don’t know if I can win twice, though. It was really, really hard.”

“This game,” Molly says, voice urgent. “Tell us everything you can about it.”

Jester heaves a sigh. “I can’t. It’s really annoying. There are certain things I can’t talk about. I want to, but when I try, I can’t get the words out, and I feel really sick. The Traveler says that Edward and Lydia put some kind of binding on my tongue when I got here so I cannot spoil the game for the others.”

“So these people, Edward and Lydia - ” Molly begins.

Jester cuts him off. “They’re not people ,” she snaps, purple eyes suddenly uncharacteristically angry. “Maybe they were people once, but they aren’t anymore. They’re dead, and they - “ she frowns, opens her mouth, frowns, tries again, and then stops, frustrated. “They’re dead and they’re assholes,” she finishes.

Caleb shoots a glance at Molly. “Jester,” he says to the young woman, “will we be able to speak to you again if my friend and I take a moment to discuss this?”

“Oh yeah!” she says brightly. “Just wake up the mirror if you need me; I always sit here when I’m drawing. And I’ll see you at dinner no matter what!”

Caleb just stares at her. “Dinner,” he repeats.

“We’re definitely going to dinner tonight,” the girl says. “Whenever there are new clothes, I know we’re going to dinner. Check your closet.” 

“New clothes?” Caleb asks in a tone that makes it sound like he doesn’t even know what clothes are.

“Oh yes, they always give us new ones. To replace the ones that get bloody or burned. They like us to look nice.”

****

Molly stands still as stone while Caleb says goodbye to the comely young tiefling girl and presses his hand against the mirror, briefly closing his eyes and murmuring something.

Then Molly pulls the black cloth back over the mirror.

Caleb just sits frozen at the vanity for a few seconds before looking at Molly.

“This is like a nightmare,” he whispers. “This is almost exactly like a nightmare, and I need to wake up.”

“We’re trapped underground,” Molly whispers hoarsely. “This is my nightmare.”

****

Beau is pacing back and forth in their room like a caged beast.

Nott is watching her from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the black silk daybed where she  spent the night. For the umpteenth time, she’s running over their lack of options in her head while worrying that she’s going to have to use another healing potion on Beau’s knuckles at any moment.

Then she feels a strange but welcome sensation in her head that makes her breath catch in her throat.

Seconds later, her most desperate want manifests itself.

“We are here,” Caleb’s voice says. “Hopefully we will see you at dinner with our hosts and the other captives tonight. They are playing a deadly game.”

“Caleb!” she says, knowing at once she has wasted the word and not caring in the slightest. She’s on her feet without even realizing it. “Did they hurt you? Where are we? Who are they? I - I love you. Stay safe. You probably can’t reply to this message.” 

When Nott wipes the tears of joy for her eyes and can finally see Beau again, it is the first time she has seen anything like hope on the human woman’s face since they were first trapped in this crystal prison.

****

The name ‘Fjord the Tough’ was once a joke among Vandren’s crew, for while the half-orc is burly when compared to most humans, he’s a slight little thing compared to the average male orc.

Here on Selidor there is no such joke. These people call Beau ‘the Troublemaker,’ Nott ‘the Brave,’ and they call him ‘the Tough.’ 

It feels as though all of them in this strange little kingdom of nine lost souls have a chance to reinvent themselves that the outside world would never allow.

The part of the party of the Suckerpunch that is still free is walking along in single file at the top of the cliff face, winding their way along the thin, tortuous path that is the making of the island’s many feral goats. 

Miles away from Water’s Gift, they are making steady progress in approaching a dark, slumped ruin.

Ahead, Caduceus stops in his tracks, and a wave of his huge but delicate hands signals he’s casting his spell again.

“No good and no evil,” he says. “Just the lonely wind.” 

“I’ll take it,” Fjord says.

The firbolg cleric uses his staff to dig another wild carrot from the wet clay soil and puts it in the basket he has slung over his shoulder. He then continues to lead them forward.

As the group finally approaches the ruin, they spy a large raven perched in a stunted mulberry tree that is slouched against the nearest wall. Even as they get within a hundred feet of the bird, it continues to sit there, watching them with its clever corvine eyes, head cocked curiously.

Caduceus stops and holds up a hand, bidding the others to stop behind him.

To Fjord he says, “This island is supposedly uninhabited; this bird should be afraid of humans.” Then he waves his fingers, his eyes sliding shut.

Fjord holds his breath.

Caduceus looks back at him, a pleasant look of surprise on his face.

“There is music,” he says. “It is strange, but not dark or worrisome.”

As if the universe heard the cleric’s words, a woman appears standing below the raven in the mulberry tree.

Fjord’s eyes go wide and he has his hand on the hilt of the shortsword Yasha gave to him aboard the Suckerpunch . 

At times like these, his inability to access the falchion is nothing short of agony.

The woman is a tall, stately drow, her countenance exquisite and elegant. She is dressed in a simple brown dress like any humble housewife in Port Damali, her only adornments a lustrous black jewel around her neck and a silvery purse strapped to her simple hide belt.

The half-orc is no master of the arcane like Caleb, but he knows the woman’s uncanny appearance at once to be some sort of illusion concealing her true form. However, she has taken no effort to fashion it into an actual disguise; rather, it comes off like a pleasantry, a concession made for their comfort.

The drow cocks her head in a strange mimicry of her raven familiar, and then a smile comes to her face. She extends her hand, and the bird comes to perch on it comfortably.

“Strangers, welcome to Selidor, and to my little home. I had hoped you might come.”

Caduceus bows. “Good afternoon, mother,” he says. “We had hoped very much we would find someone here, for we and our friends are in grave danger.”

“Aye,” she says. “That you are. As any of the younger peoples of this world you call Exandria would be.” Her smile becomes a little wry, a little sad. “Though fear not, for the danger does not come for me, and within the boundaries of my humble dwelling I can protect you.” 

“We are deeply grateful,” Caduceus says. “I am Caduceus, and this is Fjord. Yasha. Orly. Marius.”

The drow bows deeply. “I once had a name given to me by my brethren,” she says, “but the last of my coven died many years ago. The mortals I have known call me the Wight Widow.”

A grin breaks across Caduceus’ face. “We knew your name before we even landed here;” he says, “though we did not know of you, we came here because of the ‘ Wight Widow ’ nonetheless. This is a portent from the Wildmother; we are walking the path of destiny.” His gentle visage is full of hope. “Mother, will you do me the honor of allowing me to make you some tea? It comes from my home, and if I do say so myself, it is quite good.”

She smiles only. “My dear, I was going to offer you and yours the same thing. Fortune in her infinite symmetry smiles upon us. Come, come; let us get you out of the wind so that we may speak in earnest….”

****

Far below, in the halls of the Shattered Hold, Caleb is perched on the elegant black brocade that covers the ancient bed wrought from seamless black obsidian.

Molly is standing before the ebony stone armoire inspecting its contents.

“I mean, it’s not my aesthetic,” he’s saying, “but I’m kind of into it.”

He is holding up a gauzy, low-cut white shirt and an old-fashioned black morning coat. Already laid out on the bed are breeches with fine crystal buttons down the sides.

“I do not know how you can be so calm,” Caleb says. “We are being toyed with by sadistic creatures - and we are about to be presented to these creatures on a silver platter wearing their favorite things? Are you sure we should wear these clothes?”

“Oh, come on, love,” Molly says. “I’ve slipped out of far more serious binds than this - pun unintended - without a scratch on me.” He’s terrified, of course, but it’s easier to be glib. “Jester was quite clear: she always wears what they give her. I think a similar gesture of obeisance is a good idea right now. This is quite literally the least we can do to mollify them while we get a sense of our situation and of the other prisoners.”

He walks over to the bed, smooths the rest of his outfit out beside the breeches, and sidles up between Caleb’s thighs. He kisses the man’s forehead, and then strokes his fingers against his beard. He feels a little thrill of smugness when Caleb relaxes instantly into his touch, ever-so-slightly nuzzling against his hand.

“You seem a little calmer,” he says.

Caleb gives a breathy laugh as he tilts up his chin to look at Molly properly. “I am a little frightened by what that says about how I seemed before this. It is not exactly soothing that you now know me for what I am, but it is cathartic. If I am very, very lucky, at best I will have a long life ahead of me full of hiding every part of myself from those around me. To have a small respite from that is more than I thought I would ever get.” The look of deep disquiet returns to his features. “...Still, the danger that is all around us…perhaps I am not afraid of you, but I am terribly, terribly afraid.” 

“Try to take it one moment at a time,” Molly murmurs. “It accomplishes nothing if we are afraid. Indeed, it seems to be exactly what they want - and if I’m not a contrarian, my name is not Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

“Is it?”

Molly blinks at him. “Is it what?”

“Is your name really Mollymauk Tealeaf?”

Molly smiles now. “It isn’t the name my parents gave me, at least I don’t think so,” he says. “It was the name on the tombstone of the grave where Gustav found me - a tombstone with a date of death a century before my own, but my adoptive tombstone nonetheless. So Mollymauk Tealeaf is my name now, and it’s the only one I need.”

Caleb looks at him with that voracious curiosity Molly is coming to adore. “You mean you do not remember what your name was?” he asks.

Molly shrugs. “I know the only past I need to know, the past that starts four years ago when I clawed myself out of the cheap pinewood box I was buried in. These scars, the weird tattoos I covered up with designs I actually like - these are not the marks of a man I want to know, let alone a man I want to be. I’ve got enough things haunting me; I don’t need to take on someone else’s ghosts.” He grins defiantly. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s gone, and he can rest in pieces.”

Caleb nods. He has a strange, fond smile on his face. “Caleb is not the name my parents gave me, either. No; I gave up that name the day I became…who I am now.” He is still smiling, but his eyes are mournful. “My so-called teachers, my so-called friends, those who would become my captors, those who would discard me when I shattered into a remnant of the person they trained me to be - none of them ever knew a Caleb Widogast. Caleb Widogast is what Nott calls me - so it is my name. Like yours, I am starting to think it is the only name I need.”

Chapter Text

Molly puts on the Zemnian Regency-era finery he has been provided by the grim overlords of the Shattered Hold - complete with a disastrously delicious pair of black guar-skin riding boots - and awaits the treat of seeing whatever gothic attire their hosts have gifted Caleb.

Adorably, the human man had seemed a little bashful about changing in front of him, so Molly had left him to dress in the relative privacy of the heavy black velvet hangings that surround the sleeping area in their quarters. 

Apparently coming on himself beneath me while moaning like a two-gold whore is fine, but changing in front of me is a bridge too far, he thinks with a smirk. Good to know .

When Caleb appears, Molly’s breath catches in his throat.

He’s wearing a starched white Regency shirt still unbuttoned at the high collar, a form-fitting waistcoat patterned with the lily-flower crest that was once the Xhorhasian royal emblem in the era before the Kryn, and he’s fiddling hopelessly with a brilliant plum-colored cravat.

“What am I supposed to do with this thing?” he says as Molly steps up to him.

Molly’s only dealt with this sort of necktie a couple of times, but is still able to sort it out quite quickly. 

“You are so good at these things,” Caleb sighs as he examines the stylish knot with his clever fingers.

Molly blushes deep magenta when he remembers where those fingers have been.

“I’m a man of sophistication and culture,” he says with a wink. “Who’s to say I wasn’t a deposed Xhorhasian royal in my past life? The signs are all there!” 

“How can you be so calm?” Caleb says plaintively. Then he briefly touches Molly’s face. “Ah, did you shave?” 

“A razor and lather appeared where those little stone jars are by the washbasin,” Molly says, and he can’t help but grimace. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

Caleb sighs, looking skyward. “I suppose we do not,” he says. “Wait here. I must step out into the crystal hall, otherwise it will smell intolerable in our quarters for days.” 

“Fuck no you’re not going out there alone,” Molly says. “We don’t go anywhere alone. They’re probably just looking for a chance to separate us.” 

He follows Caleb as the man picks his way carefully through about twenty feet of the crystal tunnel that led them to these strange quarters, and then the man turns to him.

“There will be fire,” he says. “Do not worry.”

In spite of the warning Molly still can’t help but stagger back when Caleb’s face suddenly bursts into flame.

A second later, Caleb’s face is smooth, albeit covered with black ash.

“I cannot bear the smell of burning hair,” the wizard says, “but I always, always manage to cut myself when I use a razor. I always had a natural proclivity for flame - and that is a recipe for never learning to shave in the ordinary fashion.”

“That is mental,” Molly says, “but I concede it’s damned efficient.”

After Caleb has washed the ash from his face in the black washbasin, he turns to Molly.

“Shall we talk to Jester?” he asks. “I hope she can give us a few pointers on the, ah, etiquette for these dinners.”

Molly nods, and they both walk to the vanity.

This time, Molly takes the seat before the mirror.

Molly presses his fingertips against the glass. “How do I do this, exactly?”

“It is very easy,” Caleb says. “Just think of her.”

Molly closes his eyes briefly, imagines the blue tiefling, and then opens his purple lashes.

“Omigosh, hi!” Jester says. She’s got a small brush in her hand and is in the midst of applying kohl around her eyes. “Edward and Lydia really went crazy with my gown for tonight, wait until you see it,” she says. “They must be excited to have new people.”

“I’m absolutely loving the deep purple lip with the fuschia blush,” Molly says with a toothy grin. “I could never pull it off with my coloring.”

“Oh, I think you could,” Jester says brightly. “I have a really, really good sense for colors. I give the best advice on makeup, you don’t even know.” 

“Jester, are you able to talk about these dinners?” Caleb says, without a shred of Molly’s feigned confidence in his tone. “I want to be as prepared as possible.”

“Yes, yes,” she says. “Hold on, hold on, you are interrupting a lady doing her makeup, you are so rude.” She has picked up a silver hand mirror, and finishes applying her eyeliner while they watch her expectantly. “There! How do I look?”

“Ravishing, darling,” Molly says. “Now give us the royal protocol primer for debutantes, or my companion here is going to be driven to distraction.” 

Jester purses her full lips to evenly distribute her lipstick, then sets down the hand mirror. “Well, a hallway will open up. Don’t be scared if you feel weird when you step from the hallway into the ballroom - I think you’re passing through the aether for a second or something. It isn’t dangerous - or at least it hasn’t killed me so far. The people staying in each room enter separately - Lucas thinks that’s because they don’t want us to see where the others come from, but I think Lydia and Edward just like the show.” 

“Jester,” Caleb asks, “you mentioned that they inflict…distress on people. Do you know how they select the things that they do to us? Do they watch us? Can they see inside our heads?”

The girl considers this. “They definitely watch us - not so much in here, but out in the Hold. I think that’s the real reason we have to go to dinner. I don’t think they can see inside our heads - but Lydia can make you think things.” 

Caleb shoots Molly a wide-eyed look.

Jester sighs, looking uncomfortable. “The reason we’re here is that we’ve got something about us - something bad inside of us - that they like. They do whatever they can to make us miserable when we’re near them because they want to bring it out. In fact, there’s sort of an agreement between me and Marcy and Lucas and Yeza that we do things to make each other a little angry - because if we leave it to Lydia and Edward, they come up with things that are much worse.” 

Molly manages to keep the frown from his face, instead resting his face on his hands and leaning forward flirtatiously. “What could possibly be wrong with you, Jester?” he asks.

“Oh, me? I’m lonely and I talk a god and one time I locked a man out on a balcony wearing only a corset by pretending to be my mom.”

“By pretending to be your mother?” Caleb asks from behind Molly.

“Yeah. I’m not going to lie, it was pretty great." Jester grins and it’s all fangs. "That’s me - what about you? What’s your dark secret?”

“I’m a pirate and a scoundrel,” Molly says. “And Caleb here is criminally good-looking.”

“I am a traitor and murderer,” Caleb says flatly, “and even if I were not, making me miserable at a formal dinner would not be hard.”

****

Caleb has resigned himself to sitting in one of the obsidian chairs by the fire. The conjured green-gold flames flicker and undulate. He thinks it’s easier for him to look at them because they’re the wrong color.

He’s tapping his foot on the ground, and drumming his fingers on the table.

Molly is pacing around behind him.

“Are you nervous?” Caleb asks.

“Fuck yes I’m nervous,” Molly says.

“I don’t trust Jester,” Caleb mutters.

“I don’t think we can trust anyone in here,” Molly says. “I mean, I get the sense she’s telling the truth, but we’re about to be pitted against each other in some sort of deadly game - and being nice goes out the window when you’re fighting for your life.”

“I mean, if you look at it that way,” Caleb says, “then we cannot even trust each other.”

Molly has walked to the fireside. He leans against the mantel, staring pensively into the green flames.

“Molly,” Caleb says.

“Well, we’ve already tried killing each other,” Molly says. “And we know how that ended. You won.” 

Caleb feels his gut twist as his eyes are drawn magnetically to the bruises on Molly’s neck. They’ve gone from a deep black and blue to purple and puce, but they are every bit as lurid.

The human man looks down at his hands. 

You know you have to, a seductive voice says inside his head. You know exactly what to do. It’ll be easy.

Caleb stands up immediately, utterly furious at this incessant incursion.

“Fuck you,” he snaps. “Fuck you. I’m not doing anything. Not to him, not to anybody!”

There’s no point in fighting it, the voice says. You knew you had to kill him long before you came into my little domain. I look kindly upon those who are willing to kill to save their own lives.

Somehow, even in this moment of the voice’s tacit admission that this inner monologue is not his own, it still sounds like him - he hates how it sounds like him, he hates how it feels like it’s his idea - 

He suddenly comes back to himself and sees Molly frozen by the fire, staring at him with wide eyes.

They just look at each other for a long moment.

Then Caleb rubs his face with his hands.

“It’s happening again,” he says, so angry and so very, very tired. 

When he returns his gaze to Molly, the tiefling’s look is thoughtful and intense. “It happened when I mentioned how we hurt each other,” Molly says.

Caleb blinks. He’d been too caught up in his anger and this bizarre contortion of his usual self-loathing to put that simple connection together.

Molly’s face is full of worry, and the muscles of his shoulders and neck are tight. Hesitantly, he steps toward Caleb.

“Is it okay if I come close,” he says, “or is it better if I give you some space right now?”

Caleb carefully considers this. “...I think close might be better, if you can stand it. If what you say is true and fear and distrust make me more susceptible to Lydia’s suggestions, the most reasonable hypothesis is that the closer we remain, the safer you will be.”

Molly smiles at him, warm and open. It’s clearly designed to put him at ease, to draw him out of the undercurrent of terror he’s been caught in since Jester laid out the reality of their situation for them.

Damn Molly, because it works.

The tiefling crosses the room. He stops when they are about a foot apart.

“Of course I can ‘stand’ being near you,” he says. He looks Caleb up and down appreciatively. “And while I know neither of us are going to be particularly fond of the folks who picked out these clothes, I absolutely love you in them. You’re always handsome, but you look like a lord. It befits you.”

Caleb looks down at his ridiculous garb. “I hate these things,” he says shortly. “These clothes are as detestable as the thoughts that keep shoving themselves into my mind.”

“Listen,” Molly says sternly, closing the distance between them and wrapping his hands around Caleb’s waist. “We’re going to go to dinner tonight. We’re going to have a terrible time. After that, though, we get to take these off, yes?” 

Caleb looks up at him in disbelief for a few moments.

“I tell you that I am thinking about murdering you,” he says, “and still you talk of making love to me.”

Molly grins down at him. “What can I say, darling; I’ve always been a sucker for things that can kill me.”

****

The splitting, crackling sound of glass on glass makes both Molly and Caleb stand up quickly from their respective places at the table in front of the fire.

Directly opposite the crystal corridor where they first entered these chambers, a new corridor has suddenly opened.

“Well,” Molly says hoarsely, “I suppose that’s our cue.” 

“We are going to die,” Caleb says.

“Everyone is dying, love,” Molly says with a rakish wink. “We’re all just dying at different rates. Now, are you going to offer the belle of the ball your arm or not?”

Caleb snorts in amusement and offers his elbow to the tiefling.

They both take a deep breath, and walk down the crystal hallway, taking care to thread their way around the sharp and dangerous jutting pieces of quartz.

At the very end of the hallway, even though they can see a high-ceilinged, brightly-lit room ahead - there is the unmistakable pitch and yaw of the world, the unmistakable moment of panic and apnea that comes with stepping through a portal.

As they enter the room, both stop in their tracks and take in their surroundings.

The ballroom is about the size of the crystal temple where Caleb foolishly grabbed that fateful book - but the grandness makes that impressive structure look modest in comparison.

The crystals that jut from every wall are tinged with amethyst, each one a perfect specimen that any collector would kill for. From the ceiling there hang incredible gilded chandeliers that have the striking, angular aesthetic that is the hallmark of dwarven design. Here, too, amethyst crystals have been artfully added as further adornment.

The floors are black obsidian, glinting in the light of the myriad white candles that light the room from the chandeliers above.

At the long table - another marvel of gilded dwarven craftsmanship - they see Jester, as well as the three other grim-looking strangers that must be the other captives the blue tiefling spoke of.

The last curious thing Caleb’s eyes alight upon is the huge, shattered crystal of obsidian that serves as the centerpiece of the ballroom. It looks as though it might have just fallen there and broken into its six huge fragments, but sense of the arcane tells him this is an important artifact.

He quickly casts Detect Magic . Indeed, this ancient relic is imbued with a formidable conjuration spell.

Beside them, Caleb realizes there is a butler, standing serenely, waiting for them to deign to look his way. He is a striking, beautiful high elf with full lips and golden eyes. Every part of the man glows with the octarine luster of the hue that denotes magic of the school of illusion.

“Good evening,” the butler says with a deep bow. “His and Her Grace Edward and Lydia, Duke and Duchess of Shatterhold, welcome you. If you please, may I humbly ask how you should be introduced?”

Molly and Caleb exchange a glance, and Caleb gives Molly a small nod.

Molly turns back to smile at the butler, saccharine and cold. “I am Captain Molly Tealeaf, and my lovely companion here is Archmage Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb can’t help the sputtering noise that comes from him, but thankfully the butler appears oblivious.

“Your seats will be beside Ms. Marcy Shilling,” the butler says softly. “She is the lady of dark elven descent on this side of the table.” Then he raises his voice and says, “I introduce to you the honored guests of His and Her Grace, Captain Molly Tealeaf and Archmage Caleb Widogast.”

The others turn their way. When Molly offers a flourishing bow to the other assembled prisoners, Caleb sighs and matches the bow.

He wills his feet to move, and leads Molly over to the table.

He automatically pulls out the chair beside the drow woman for his tiefling companion, and then takes his own seat. He smiles awkwardly over at Jester where she is waving at him excitedly from a few seats away.

“Hi Caleb!” she practically shouts. “Hi Molly!” She indicates a nervous halfling man across from here. “This is Yeza, he’s a super good alchemist.” She then lovingly pats the shoulder of the human boy beside her. “This is Lucas, he’s super smart, he can fix anything.” She grins. “I guess we’ll meet your friends soon!”

“I’m Marcy,” the drow woman beside them says, offering first Molly and then Caleb a firm handshake. “Welcome to Shattered Hold, the Tenth Hell.”

They both pause, staring at her.

“It’s a joke,” she says, and takes a deep draught of the deep burgundy wine in her crystal glass. “Can I interest you in a glass of wine? It’s poisoned about every third time, but they usually don’t do that on their first night with new ‘guests.’”

“That sounds delightful, Marcy,” Molly says, and Caleb nods mutely.

She waves her fingers flippantly in the air, and an octarine-tinged servant appears and pours both Caleb and Molly generous glasses of wine. 

Caleb purses his lips. “Marcy, am I correct in surmising that being poisoned here is not as fatal as it would be elsewhere?”

“Oh, yes,” Marcy says, heaving a sigh that Caleb knows is literally long-suffering. “They choose painful poisons, or poisons that kill us right in front of one another - but it’s never permanent.” She grimaces. “Jester’s been here the longest, and she says the only time anyone dies is during the game. Which apparently is likely to commence quite soon, now that you’re here.”

“Where are you from, Marcy?” Molly asks. “I don’t recognize your accent.”

The woman laughs grimly. “I’m from a place called Medium, an interplanar city. I got a sort of punishment from our monarch, and ended up here on Selidor. Yeza and Jester are from Exandria, but Lucas over there is from some place called Neverwinter thanks to some experiment going awry.”

“Eclectic, to be sure,” Molly says.

At the sound of the butler’s voice, Caleb whirls around, heart racing - to see the faces of Nott and Beau standing in the doorway now.

“I introduce to you the honored guests of His and Her Grace, Ms. Nott the Brave, and Cobalt Adept Beau the Troublemaker.”

“Oh man,” Marcy says, grinning. “We’ve all been one-upped in the name department.” 

Caleb only has eyes for Nott, and she is looking straight at him, practically running to him. She’s wearing an incredibly cute black frock dress with a diamond pattern that matches that of Beau’s tuxedo. He stands to draw her into a huge hug.

“I thought I might not see you again,” Caleb says, and tries desperately not to cry.

“I knew I’d find you,” the little goblin says. “I’ll always find you. I’ve lost other people, but I won’t lose you.” 

Beau is crushing Molly in a bearhug. When she pulls back, she’s scowling at his neck.

“What the fuck happened to you!?” she says. “Who the fuck did this?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Molly says quietly.

Beau looks like she’s about to say something else, but a brief glance around the room stills her tongue.

“Sit, my friends,” Caleb says, taking his own seat. 

Nott scrambles up onto the chair beside him, and appropriates Caleb’s glass of wine. She downs it in a single gulp.

The servant appears and fills both of their glasses.

“Maybe this place isn’t so bad,” the goblin deadpans.

Then she looks curiously down at their fellow prisoners at the other end of the table - and she freezes as though she’s stared down a basilisk.

Caleb looks at her in alarm, and grasps her shoulder to try to rouse her. “What is it?” he whispers. “Nott, what is wrong?” 

She cannot tear her eyes from the other end of the table. She cannot speak.

Now Beau, too, is looking at Nott in concern. She follows the goblin’s gaze.

“The halfling?” she asks quietly. “Do you know him?”

Nott appears to try to speak several times, and finally manages to say, “Yes. His - his name is Yeza.”

“Is he bad?” Beau asks. “I can punch people to death, you know. Happy to do a favor for a friend.”

“Beau,” the goblin says, voice quavering, “please don’t.”

Caleb feels almost angry. He knows Nott, he wants to comfort her - but he cannot do so unless he knows who this man is. “Who is he, Nott?” he asks, voice gentle and soft. “Who is he to you?”

“Yeza Brenatto,” the goblin says, “is someone I used to know in another life.”

They all sit in silence for a while, knowing better than to ask more questions. Nott drains two more glasses of wine.

Caleb musters the will to speak. “...I know I am pointing out the obvious,” he says, “but he does not appear to recognize you.”

“He can’t,” she says miserably.

“Is there…some sort of enchantment?”

She shuts her golden eyes, and the pain on her face makes his heart ache. “‘An enchantment’ makes it sound kind of nice,” she says. “It’s a curse, Caleb. It’s a curse. I’m not the woman that I once was.”

Molly cuts in, voice low and urgent. “I hate to interrupt the cryptic revelations,” he says, “but we need to talk. Our new friend Jester warned us that everything we do is watched while we’re in here. We have a lot to discuss - but we can’t do so here.”

“I mean, can’t they watch us anywhere?” Beau says, taking a huge sip of her own wine.

“I am sure they can,” Caleb says, “but Jester says they are much less likely to do so when we are in our quarters.”

“Why do we trust this Jester person, exactly?” Beau asks.

“Ah, it looks like you are about to be able to decide if you trust her for yourself,” Caleb says, gesturing to the excited blue tiefling walking towards them.

She is a few steps away when she freezes in her steps, the toothy smile on her face vanishing instantly.

“Oh, Traveler,” she groans. She turns and goes straight back to her seat.

The drama of the inexplicable appearance of a halfling from Nott’s past life forgotten, all of them turn to look at the entrance.

The two figures that have appeared are both gorgeous elves, their pale skin and eyes speaking of noble high-elven lineage. They are clad in incredibly avant garde high-fashion garments in the colors gold, green, and violet. The man wears a golden half cape with fur trim, while the woman wears golden shoulder pads.

The butler raises his voice and exuberantly proclaims,

“Honored guests, I have the generous pleasure of introducing His and Her Grace Edward and Lydia, Duke and Duchess of Shatterhold. Please stand and offer them a round of applause.”

The other prisoners stand automatically, and to his horror Caleb realizes he is standing as well, turning toward them and clapping, an enraptured smile forcing itself onto his face.

Then the illusory band appears, the lights dim, and the music starts.

Caleb feels the thrall release him and he looks around in breathless terror at his companions.

“Welcome to the fucking party,” Marcy says. “We’re their dolls, their mannequins, no different than the wooden dress-forms they slap glamors on and animate to serve us wine and red meat - and playtime’s just beginning.”

Caleb is watching every move the two gorgeous elves as they stride up to him and his companions, almost strutting, showing off their shapely, androygynous forms and their glittering attire.

When they approach, Molly is all smiles, and extends his hand so that Lydia places her delicate hand in his own. He bends and kisses the gold ring on her finger. 

“Your Grace,” he says sweetly, and then does the same to Edward before winking at him lasciviously. “And Your Grace. You two are a sight to behold.”

“You all look lovely,” Lydia says graciously, looking all of them up and down. “Do you like our gifts?”

“We love them,” Beau says, monotone, staring at the woman with narrowed eyes.

Lydia pretends not to notice her, and her eyes alight on Caleb.

He stiffly extends his hand just as Molly did. She offers her graceful hand to him, and he kisses it.

Her hand is ice cold, but he is disciplined enough to only flinch rather than recoil.

“Your Grace,” he says. “It is my pleasure to finally see you, but if I am not mistaken, I believe I have already met you.”

“I knew you were a clever young man,” she says with a smile. She raises her eyebrows at him. “Please, won’t you join me on the dais? I’d love to have a drink together.” She gesticulates grandly toward the elevated platform across the room with its smaller, more ornate golden table.

Caleb shoots a worried look at Molly but the tiefling is patently ignoring him, and appears to be in the process of flattering Edward within an inch of his unlife.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he says. After a moment, he successfully forces himself to offer her his arm, which she takes. 

He leads her over to the dais, where a black obsidian chair has appeared beside the pair of fantastical gold ones embellished with amethyst crystal.

He sits, again glancing nervously over at Molly, who is still entirely focused on Edward. Nott appears to have managed to tear her eyes away from the halfling Yeza to anxiously follow him with her golden gaze.

He forces himself to face the exquisite high elf beside him.

“I must say,” Lydia murmurs, “that you and your friends have been most agreeable. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Caleb says. “We are all used to putting up a fight - so we know when we’re out of our league.” He smiles, but it feels more like he’s baring his teeth at her like a caged animal. “You have been quite generous to us so far. I think a little good will has been earned.”

“Oh, Caleb,” she says. “Tell me, have you heard from any of the others exactly what it is we do here?”

He waits, letting the pause stretch out between them before he answers. “There is a game,” he says. “There is only one winner. The prize is generous; the penalty for losing is…definitive.” 

She grins at him. Her teeth are unexpectedly sharp, her eyes full of want and malice.

“If I may ask, your Grace,” he asks mildly, “when will this game occur?”

“We have waited quite some time,” she says, “but we must wait just a little longer, for the night of the full moon. Mercifully, that is only tomorrow night.” 

Caleb decides to bet on Jester’s assertion that Lydia’s connection to his mind is solely an emotional one. “Tell me,” he says, “are all the combatants pitted against each other? Would your...suggestion help my chances?” He allows his eyes to dart in Mollymauk’s direction, slightly narrow, and then return to the elf.

“There is only one winner, Caleb,” she says. “You are a bright, bright young thing - so I know you already know the answer.” 

“I am deeply honored by your interest in me,” Caleb says, and he smiles at her slyly. “Am I correct in my assumption that the extent to which I am able to receive your counsel is related to my…disposition?”

She nods. “It is much easier to make a suggestion to a person who already harbors some sympathies to the point I’m trying to get across.” She says it with a tone no more consequential than the one would use to talk about the weather. “The stronger that sympathy, the more ground I’m able to gain.” She steeples her hands and leans forward a little. “Now, Caleb, I’ve answered one of your questions. May I ask you one of my own?”

“Of course,” he says, with a thin-lipped smile.

“How is your pain tolerance?”

He just looks at her. Unimpressed. 

If it’s an attempt to intimidate him, it’s not nearly enough.

She grins.

“You needn’t say anything,” she says, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “Human faces always tell me the truth.” 

She pours them both a drink.

The really fucked up thing is that the rest of their polite conversation isn’t just pleasant - it’s interesting. 

He gets a strong sense that she may have a patron, but unlike an ordinary warlock like Fjord, she’s also a learned expert in the arcane. Her academic discourse on arcane theory is incredible.

“You know, Caleb,” she says after they’ve whiled away about half an hour like this, “you’ve clearly got a passion for magic - and your education doesn’t have to depend on boring mortals with their hierarchies and rules.” She leans in conspiratorially, a position which affords him a lovely vista of her decolletage that he pretends to barely register. “You should consider what you want from Edward and I - and you should give major consideration to the option of staying with us and learning from us what we know. Should you win, we would be thrilled to have you.” 

He blinks at her. Her supple breasts, the hum of the conversations in the room, the fact that he’s so far from Molly, Nott and Beau - all is forgotten.

He thinks to himself, if she was going to whisper in my ear, she should have whispered that. I’d have brought the whole party down here and given them over to her in a heartbeat .

“That is an intriguing proposition,” he says. “I promise you, I will think it over seriously tonight.”

It is only when Molly and Edward sit down right beside the two of them on the dais that Caleb realizes they’re all over each other.

The moment they sit down, Edward has a possessive hand on Molly’s thigh, and Molly is doting on him, leaning close, laughing at his jokes.

The fact that all of this is just a ploy for survival doesn’t stop the pang of hurt Caleb feels, and the subsequent slow, building sense of rage that makes his jaw tighten.

He forces his eyes back to Lydia.

She had been putting on an excellent impression of a smile for their entire conversation up until now - but in this moment, she’s looking at him and it’s so much more than that.

Her look is genuine and raptly attentive, and it scares the shit out of him.

He breathes out slowly, feeling like a cornered rabbit looking into the eyes of a wolf.

It’s strange, so strange, but as he breathes out, it is as though he exhales a small puff of black smoke. 

Before he’s even sure he’s really seen it, it dissipates. 

“That’s why you haven’t killed your captain,” Lydia says, like she pities him, and like pitying him delights her. “How sweet.”

Caleb thinks carefully about what Jester told him about these two creatures, and about the attention his anger just gleaned him.

He looks back over at where Molly is pressed side against side with Edward, whispering in his ear, giggling.

Caleb intentionally wonders, I wonder if Molly would go as far as letting this vile creature actually fuck him just to secure an upper hand in the sick game these two monsters are playing with us. If he did, would I agree to go along with it to stay close, or would I be too jealous? Would I put his life at risk just because I want his attention for myself? 

He pictures Edward thrusting into Molly’s mouth, and he feels the hand holding the stem of his wineglass tighten, his knuckles turning white.

Perfect.

Caleb looks back at Lydia, jaw clenched, eyes burning with rage. He gazes straight into her eyes as he exhales slowly through his nose - and he sees the black smoke in his exhaled breath.

She’s staring at him rapturously - and for the first time, when he smiles back at her, his expression is entirely genuine as well.

****

In spite of the fact that Caleb has had to spend half the night with Molly a few feet away flirting shamelessly with a sadistic monster, by the end of the evening, he finds he is barely bothering to spare the two the occasional glance. 

His jealousy is easy to forget in the pursuit of as much as he can possibly deduce from his interactions with Lydia.

She doesn’t tell him a damned thing, obviously - but she doesn’t have to.

He’s happy to indulge in her idle, pleasant conversation about the arcane, her servants, the architecture of this place - but the real reason she is hanging off his every word is obvious only to Caleb and Lydia herself.

She’s interested because Caleb is doing what he does best: making himself miserable.

It does not matter what the source of his pain is, and there is no need to even allude to it in words. Whenever he focuses on a strong negative emotion, whenever he pauses to ruminate on one of the many painful memories he carries with him, a puff of black smoke appears on his next breath. Every time it does, she leans forward. Soon, she’s looking at him with the ardor of a lover, and has eyes for no one else in the room.

He pauses their conversation only to drink the wine she pours for him and eat the tender cut of rare meat that one of the illusory servants brings for him.

As he eats, for the first time, he thinks of Trent Ikithon. He thinks about the fire.

He hears a choked gasp from Lydia when the image of the flames, the sound of his own screams of anguish, the pain of the burns hits him.

The fact that he just got more of a reaction from her with that than he would have if he’d slid his hand up her thigh isn’t just a perverse thrill - it tells him it is possible to hold a small amount of power over her for at least a moment or two.

Since he knows he has her caught up in these violent delights, he decides to take a chance.

“Your Grace,” he says, “I am very intrigued by the black onyx orb at the center of the room. I very much enjoy how you have left it there even though it is shattered. Is it arcane in nature? Or just a  bold design?”

“It was once arcane,” she says, “but it had to be destroyed when Edward and I took Shatterhold from the power that created this place.” She gestures grandly to the ballroom around them, looking around herself with a fierce, proud joy on her cruel face. “While we have made innumerable improvements to Shatterhold over the last hundred years, we always felt a sentimental attachment to the thing, even if it doesn’t really match our aesthetic. When one is victorious over a creature as powerful as Fenhuan’toa once was, one likes to keep a little trophy to remind oneself of the accomplishment.”

Caleb laughs pleasantly. “I imagine one does,” he says. “I regret that I have never triumphed over anything worth mentioning to one so accomplished - though if I decide to take Your Grace up on Your generous offer to tutor me in the arcane, I am hopeful that some day I may be able to achieve such feats.” 

She smiles at him adoringly. “I suspect you might,” she muses. “I suspect you might.”

For what feels like the first time in hours, she glances around the room, and sighs with genuine regret.

“Caleb, my darling,” she says. “I do think I have neglected the others all evening - and I try not to be cruel. I’m sure you’re all ready to retire to your chambers. Can we continue this conversation another time?”

“Of course,” he says demurely. “I am honored that Your Grace has spent so much time with me already.”

“Edward, dear?” Lydia says, leaning toward the man she’d mentioned was her brother. “It’s getting late. Shall we retire?” 

The lovely male elf looks over and sighs. “I suppose we should, dear sister,” he says, stroking his hand up her thigh in a decidedly non-brotherly display of affection. He offers Caleb a perfunctory, tight smile. “Thank you for your companionship this evening, Archmage,” he says. Turning to Molly, he gives a winning smile. “And thank you very much for yours, Captain.” 

As he stands, Edward takes a moment to clasp Molly’s chin affectionately - far, far too hard to be anything but cruel - and then he and Lydia take their leave.

As expected, as the stately pair of elves prepares to leave the ballroom through the crystal hallway, the familiar, dreadful feeling of losing control comes over Caleb as he stands, cheering and applauding for the Duke and Duchess of Shatterhold as they make their grand exit.

****

Molly throws back a last glass of wine in an utterly ineffective bid to rid himself of the feeling of having Edward’s cold hands and colder smile roving all over him all fucking evening, grabs Caleb’s arm, hauls him upright, and makes a line straight for where the other captives are standing and making their way toward the exit.

When the others see the two of them hurrying over, they pause.

Jester looks a little nervous as they approach.

“We don’t have long,” she hisses to him. “The thrall will begin again if we try to spend more than a minute in here without them - and I really, really don’t like it.” 

Molly nods, glancing over at Caleb, but the other man’s eyes are looking across at the halfing Yeza and the teenage human Lucas, beckoning urgently for them to approach.

Molly feels the goblin Nott grip his knee beside him and bury her face in the side of his breeches as the pair approach, and he places his hand on her head gently to try to soothe her.

“Do you want to take a button from the breeches? They’re really nice,” he murmurs to her, but she only shudders against him.

As Marcy and Jester warily stand guard and Beau looks strained and tense, Yeza and Lucas hesitantly approach.

Caleb doesn’t waste a second. “Yeza, Lucas,” he says pointedly. “If I told you that you both have something on your face and you need to take a look in the mirror, would that make sense to you?”

Both of them nod urgently.

Jester speaks. “Lucas is famous around here for always getting things on his face,” she says. “That’s actually how I met him. It’s a really, really interesting story - but a story for another time.”

“What the fuck, Molly?” Beau says.

“Sending. Later. I love you,” is all he says, and he leans forward to kiss her face as he squeezes Nott’s shoulder.

Then the thrall grasps all of them once more. Their tongues are stilled, and in ones and twos, they all exit the ballroom.

Chapter Text

I know no evocation save that of my vocation:

The spoken word -

A story told, a story heard -

The art of weaving lies to tell the truth.

• “The Bard’s Psalm” from The Book of the Traveler (Abridged Menagerie Coast Edition)

****

The first thing that Caleb does as they come back to their quarters is hurry over to the vanity and uncover the mirror.

He slides into the seat as Molly walks up to stand behind him.

When Molly joins him, Caleb looks up at the tiefling and says, “If you have an objection to me contacting either Yeza or Lucas, now is the time to make it known.”

He watches in the mirror as Molly nods.

“Whatever you want, Caleb,” he says. He gives his shoulders a brief squeeze, then goes to perch on the bed - out of sight, but not out of earshot.

Caleb presses his fingers against the cool glass of the ansible, and asks it to show him Lucas.

When he opens his eyes, he thinks for a horrible second that the glass has cracked right in front of him - but then he realizes that the broken glass must be on the other side. Only a few seconds later, the curious face of Lucas appears - followed by the face of the halfling Yeza.

“Good job,” Lucas says, clapping his hands in excitement. The human boy is only perhaps thirteen years old, but the tired lines under his eyes make him look a lot older. “Not everyone gets it so quickly - but I guess you’re a spellcaster. You have a bit of the edge over the others.”

“I would like to think so,” Caleb says. “Tell me - for I have a suspicion that one knows the true answer to this - can we speak freely via the ansible?”

Lucas nods. “Yes,” he says. “As far as we know, yes. When I first got here about six months ago, it had been disabled - either by Lydia and Edward when they took over the keep, or even in the time before that.”

Yeza pats the young man’s arm affectionately. “Lucas here is the one who discovered it and fixed it,” he says. “I’m an artificer of sorts myself, but if I was a prodigy like this lad, I’d be ruling Exandria by now.”

Looking between the two, Caleb asks, “Tell me, did Lydia and Edward put you in the same quarters from the beginning?”

Both men shake their heads. Lucas answers him, “No. This literally happened the day you and your friends were trapped here. Our quarters forced us into the ballroom, and when we walked back into them, we entered the same space, and all of our possessions were already here. This has advanced a hypothesis of mine into the realm of theory - if not established fact.” 

“Oh, good gods,” Caleb says in relief. “I have a few fledgling thoughts of mine about the nature of this place - but I knew they would die still in the nest if there were not others who had studied the same things for longer. Please, please tell me whatever you can.”

Lucas nods. “You may have already noticed that there are two different types of architectural elements in the Hold - with the most tangible examples being the stonework. The ancient elements of the onyx and gold dwarven temple of the phoenix god Fenhuan’toa are a millennium old or more, including the ansible, and even much of the furniture and the items which Edward and Lydia use to sustain us in our quarters. The crystal elements and anything wrought from silver or adamantium are only a hundred years old, and were made by Lydia and Edward. I saw you noticed the shattered onyx globe they’ve left at the center of the ballroom, yes?”

Caleb nods. “I didn’t have much time to investigate it, save to notice it had a glow of conjuration about it. Lydia said she and Edward broke it to defeat this entity Fenhuan’toa. What do you know about this creature?”

“Little. There are some carvings from which I gleaned the information that this is a phoenix god of the ancients, and that the onyx orb was what bound him to this realm. This place was once called the Temple of the False Hawk. As best we can tell, it became the Shattered Hold when our captors broke that orb. Did you happen to notice how many pieces it broke into?”

Caleb blinks, recalling the image of the orb in his mind. “Six,” he says.

Lucas nods, obviously excited now. “So, the few times I’ve been able to investigate the pieces - usually when Lydia and Edward get distracted - I noticed that after the initial spontaneous break in the orb, there are tool marks indicating secondary breaks were intentionally created.

“Shattered Hold was most likely once a single temple in the material plane not unlike any other temple in Exandria. When Edward and Lydia broke that orb, it did two things. It accomplished their objective of banishing Fenhuan’toa back to another plane, but it also actually broke this place into pieces. I’m sure you’ve tried to use spells like Message to try to reach your allies; the reason you need Sending or the ansible to reach people who are supposedly in here with us is because we aren’t actually in the same physical place. We aren’t even in the material plane - we’re in separate pocket dimensions that were spawned when the orb shattered.”

“How are you sure of this?” Caleb asks, and he realizes that Molly is now beside him, listening just intently as he is. “How are you so sure these spaces were created by the orb, and not a separate process?”

“The key is the number six,” Lucas says, with the gleam of victory in his eyes. “There are six pieces of the orb, and six discrete pocket dimensions. The ballroom is an actual physical space, and the only place you can actually interact with anything else on the material plane, though of course it’s incredibly well-warded to prevent us from doing so in any meaningful way. The pocket dimensions are our prisons, places where Lydia and Edward can leave us unattended for as long as they like without fearing we’ll escape. The five pocket dimensions are occupied by us and the other prisoners here; presumably, the sixth is where Lydia and Edward live. When you and your party were trapped here, only one of the pocket dimensions was vacant, so they had to move Yeza and I into a shared space in order to keep you all.” He grins. “Were it not for their gluttony - had they only kept one or two of you instead of all four - I would not have had this confirmation of my theory - and I wouldn’t be ready to move forward with my plan.” 

“Lucas and I have been talking this over already,” Yeza says quietly. “We have both decided that whatever happens, what we want is to be the last people that Edward and Lydia ever trap like this.” The unassuming halfling’s eyes are full of cold determination. “Even if that means we die.”

Molly speaks up. “These people are my crew,” he says to the two men through the glass. “They relied on me to protect them, and I got them stuck here. If there isn’t a way out for all four of us - and ideally for you four as well - then I don’t give a single fuck what happens to me.” 

“I feel the same way,” Caleb says. “If I cannot bring Nott with me when I leave this place, then there is no point in leaving.” He closes his eyes for a moment as he fights back tears. “I have lost so much,” he says hoarsely. “I cannot lose it all again.” 

“How about the girls?” Molly asks. “Will they back us if we try whatever insane plan you’re clearly working yourself up to tell us about?” 

Lucas nods. “Marcy will in a heartbeat,” he says. “She wants nothing more than to kill these liches. The first day I met Marcy she died right in front of me because she stabbed Lydia. I didn’t find out until later that she already knew that thing was just Lydia’s puppet - that Lydia and Edward have probably not even been in the same dimension as us at any point ever - and she still got eviscerated again just for the satisfaction of it.”

“Jester was initially a little more uncertain,” Yeza says, “but in my conversations with her over the last few months, she’s become more and more upset by what she’s had to watch happen to the rest of us. She’s come around.” He frowns a little. “Can we count on your friends?” 

“They’ll back us,” Molly and Caleb say at the same time, and then both laugh a little as they exchange a glance.

Molly explains, “Beau has followed me to a near-certain death more times than I can even count, and Nott is as selflessly dedicated to Caleb as he is to her. We’ll ask them, of course - but even if we couldn’t, I’d be every bit as sure of my answer.”

Lucas nods. “Good,” he says. “That’s really, really good. Okay: last big question. Do either of you know the spell Mending?” 

Caleb just stares at Lucas.

He can’t help himself, he bursts out laughing, shocked and amazed and so very, very impressed with this young man, who is not old enough to have a single hair on his chin.

When he realizes the boy now looks hurt, he quickly recovers and says, “I do not, but it is common, and - and - I’m sorry, I believe I have followed your logic and I cannot believe you have just posited a credible plan to unshatter the Shattered Hold with a cantrip.” 

“Do you really think it could work if we mend the onyx orb?” Lucas asks anxiously.

Caleb shrugs, still unable to contain his excitement. “I mean, it might immediately summon Fenhuan’toa back to the material plane, or simply kill us all instantly - but as we have all agreed that death is an acceptable price to pay if it means these monsters never take another victim, I think your plan is brilliant.”

“Gentlemen,” Molly says, “this plan is insane, unsafe, ill-advised, and - in case I haven’t already made it abundantly clear - I’m begging for the chance to aid you in bringing it to fruition.”

“Amazing,” Caleb breathes. “Amazing! Now we just need to find one person among us who knows Mending.”

“Oh yeah,” Molly says, “and I know Mending.”

 ****

The hut of the Wight Widow of Selidor smells of incense and drying herbs. 

The strange, lovely drow who is their host has prepared a tea for them that is redolent of cedar and star anise, and she has allowed Caduceus to perform his own sacred ritual and brew tea for her in return.

After days and weeks with only the ruined Suckerpunch and the cold comfort of Water’s Gift, Fjord thinks this simple but well-built hut is an incredible comfort.

“Tell me, children,” the Wight Widow says, relaxing on a cushion. “Do you know what I am?”

Caduceus smiles at her. “I think you are a gracious host,” he says.

She laughs. “I have not had company in a long, long time,” she says. “I am glad that I am still able to perform this duty.”

“Ma’am,” Fjord says, “our friends are in the caves below. Crystals grew instantly between our party and those travelin’ with us, trapping them. What can you tell us about this place? Do you know anything about this curse we’ve stumbled into?”

There is a brooding look that comes over the Wight Widow’s face.

“It is not a curse,” she says. “There are two beings of great and terrible power who have shattered and ruined a sacred place below us. What was once a temple to a god that time forgot is now a mockery of his divinity.” She looks amongst them. “In the past, when others have come here, by chance or through intention, they have come in ones and twos. While it hurt me when they were captured, there was no sense in trying to use force to help them; I am strong, but I do not have nearly enough strength to best two evil creatures of the arcane skill that the liches in the caves below us wield. But you…you have come together; you may be strong enough if I aid you.” She takes another sip of her tea. “I ask you again: do you know what I am?”

Fjord looks at her for a moment. “Honestly, ma’am,” he says, “I know that ain’t your real face and I have no earthly idea what you really are - but to me, it doesn’t really matter. You’ve been good to us; we’ll be good to you.” 

She smiles at him fondly.

“Young half-orc,” she says, “would you allow me to take this burden from you?” 

She touches his collar.

The breath catches in his throat as an almost painful press of hope expands inside his chest.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d reckon I’d like that very much.”

She nods. “You will all see my form, for I must drop my concentration to dispel this evil item. I am a hag - a creature of the night. We feed on the evil dreams of the younger races of this world - and all of you are tortured by evil dreams. I owe you for my nourishment - and I have another motive too.” 

“Whatever…you are…” Orly says, “whatever…you look like…if you want…to take off…the lad’s collar…then you are…our friend.”

She smiles at him, then returns her gaze to Fjord.

The illusion of her drow appearance fades. 

Sitting in their midst is a hideous, fiendish creature with curved horns and black-purple mottled skin, her hair a mass of tangled dreadlocks, her talons as sharp as those of the raven familiar perched on her shoulder. Her revolting face still wears that same kind, beatific expression as she gazes at Fjord now.

“Many of us are born into evil,” the creature says, her true voice now low and scratchy, “but those who are born into evil do not always follow an evil path. So, too: creatures born in the light do not always walk in the light. Indeed, I am a night hag, and I seek to be your friend, while below us in the shattered temple two high elves enslave your friends.”

Caduceus speaks. “We would have been grateful for a cup of tea. What you are giving to us now is beyond price.” 

The Wight Widow gestures to Fjord’s collar with her talons. “Is it acceptable for me to touch your neck now?” she asks, expression still gentle in spite of her demonic features.

He nods, swallowing hard. If this is what it takes, this is what it takes.

She touches her fingers to the collar, closes her eyes, and mutters an incantation.

Pop.

He feels the collar give way.

An amazing wave of sensation hits him, a metaphysical suckerpunch.

Vaguely, he feels Caduceus and Marius helping to pry the collar from his neck, and then he’s free of it, he’s free of it completely, he’s grinning and tears of pure joy are running down his face.

He reaches out to grasp the Wight Widow’s wrinkled hands.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says. “Thank you so much.” 

A sudden need overtakes him, and dreamily, caught up in this pure elation, he drops her hands.

“Do y’all wanna see something really neat?” he asks. “Gimme a little room, here we go!”

Sssshink! He summons the falchion.

For the first time in three months, he feels complete again.

The Wight Widow is looking upon him and the falchion in his hand solemnly.

“This is the reason that the fates have brought you to Selidor,” she says. “At last, all is beginning to become clear. Uk'otoa’s servant comes to free his brother’s temple.” 

****

The minute they have closed the ansible’s connection to Yeza and Lucas, Caleb casts Sending to Nott.

He pauses to compose himself before he speaks. 

“We have a plan. The game is two nights from now. If our plan works, we might all die - but our captors will die with us.”

A moment later, he feels the telltale twinge at his temple, and he hears Nott’s reply. 

“That is the best news we’ve had since we found out you and Molly were alive. Beau and I will be ready. Stay safe, okay?”

Caleb smiles fondly. 

Nott the Brave, indeed.

He is overwhelmed. Knowing he is going to die should not fill him with hope, he knows this - but having already resolved himself to die for the purpose of killing one monster, it feels good and right that he is making preparations to die in the act of ridding Exandria of two creatures as vile as Edward and Lydia.

Molly is standing behind him where he is sitting in the chair before the vanity, and he lightly rests his hands on Caleb’s shoulders.

“How are you doing?” he asks softly.

Caleb meets his eyes in the mirror. 

“I feel amazing,” he says. “I just made a death pact, and I feel amazing.” 

“Yeah,” Molly says, and he lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I’m right there with you. You and Lucas are both brilliant; if you say this might actually work, then it might actually work. If this plan is our best chance at blotting Edward and Lydia out forever, I’ll assume any risk to make it happen.” 

Caleb looks at him thoughtfully. “Did you succeed at learning anything from Edward?” 

Molly groans and shakes his head. “I’m almost tempted to pretend I was gallantly distracting him while you learned what you could from Lydia, but all I actually accomplished was getting the memory of his cold fucking hands stuck in my head for what will probably literally be the rest of my life.”

Caleb laughs, shaking his head. “With Lydia, I only confirmed what was already obvious: when we suffer, it feeds them. It may also be kind of attractive for her? I am not sure about that part, but that is how it looked. There may be some minimal value to using our suffering as a distraction; beyond that, I gained no real insights.” 

“I know this might shock you,” Molly says, “but I think these two just might be sadists.” 

Caleb laughs. “I am glad that Lucas mentioned that I cannot actually burn Edward to death right there in the ballroom,” he says. “Otherwise, if I had been forced to see his hands all over you again, I would have been sorely tempted to try. You may be above jealousy; I certainly am not.” 

Molly swallows hard as something dark crosses his expression. “In a way,” he says, “I think it’s a mercy that we won’t be here for very long. I would rather…I would rather be dead than to see them do certain things to you or Nott or Beau. Certain things I am quite sure that they would do if given the time.”

Caleb nods solemnly. “I am with you,” he says. “My…my reaction to the way you were with Edward was…it was enough for Lydia to make the connection. I feared in that moment I had doomed us to…well. I have seen and endured some terrible things, but I was not keen to add that to the list.”

“Just so you know,” Molly says, “my general opposition to you killing me does not extend to you killing both of us with a giant fireball if it gets that grim. If Edwards wants to fuck me without my say-so then he’s going to be sticking his dick in a jar of ash.” 

It’s not funny of course, none of this funny, they’re talking about facing an unthinkably horrific form of torture, but Caleb wasn’t okay even before the fire, so he’s laughing, he’s laughing so hard he feels tears in his eyes.

He gets to his feet, and walks over to the main living area. “Let me wash up,” he says. 

“Look at you,” Molly says. “Washing up! I didn’t even have to ask!” 

“What can I say? I know what you like. Come; Iet us get some rest. I want to spend tomorrow figuring out everything we can to safeguard this plan. We need a backup for every backup, ja?” 

Both of them wash up, and the evening begins to wind to an official close. Caleb goes to aimlessly rummage around in the small wardrobe for nothing in particular; there is nothing of use save for their own dirty clothes.

“I assume that since we’re going to die anyway, we can sleep in the evil bed, right?” Molly asks cheekily.

Caleb turns to look at Molly, laughing. “Sure,” he says.  “My gods, I have probably not slept in a real bed in…eight months? I think the last time was probably in the asylum….” 

When he realizes he has said the last part out loud, his heart goes cold and he freezes where he stands.

Molly, the perceptive bastard, sees his face. Of course he does - and of course he gets that soft, gentle look that makes Caleb want to scream at times like these.

Thankfully, all Molly says is, “Why don’t you get undressed?” 

It’s as Caleb is standing there that he realizes that he might only have one more night with Molly. 

“Do you think we can somehow survive this?” he asks, and it comes out sounding far too strained.

Molly shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “You’d know better than me - though I’m sure obliterating six pocket dimensions that were created by banishing a god is probably beyond the scope of routine reading for young wizards.” 

Caleb sighs. “Correct,” he says.

“Are you going to just stand there looking sad?” Molly asks. “Are you trying to get me to cheer you up?” 

The amount of relief that hits him when Molly makes this tacit offer hits him like a punch to the gut, so immediate and overwhelming that it almost takes the breath from him. 

“You said I should take off the clothes, ja?” he says.

He suddenly has Molly’s complete attention.

“Yes,” Molly says, voice soft and smooth. “I did.”

Slowly, Caleb does what he’s been told, and starts to untie the plum-colored cravat that’s been strangling him all night. 

Molly just stands there, watching his hands move with an intensity that makes Caleb’s pulse quicken. 

“You have gorgeous hands,” Molly whispers. “Wizards, artists, musicians - you all have such a way of moving your hands, elegant and exact. I suppose you all have to learn, or you’d never get anywhere with your craft. You, though…you put the rest of them to shame.”

“That is the most egregious bit of flattery you have aimed at me yet, Mollymauk Tealeaf,” Caleb says as he starts working on the mother-of-pearl buttons of his shirt, baring his scars and his pale skin for Molly to see. “It is wholly inaccurate.” 

“I don’t think so,” Molly murmurs. “I know you think so, but you think so many things about yourself that aren’t true.” 

“Is this not true for all of us?” Caleb says, though he knows he’s misdirecting. Instead, he starts on the laces of his breeches, which works to distract Molly much better than words ever could. 

“Am I going to get to fuck you tonight?” Molly asks, and Caleb almost chokes.

“Ah,” Caleb says. “Um.” He busies himself with removing his breeches, and then stands up. He’s already half-hard just watching Molly’s eyes rove over his body hungrily.

“Unless you usually top,” Molly says. “If you want to fuck me, I’m fine with that too.” 

Caleb blinks a couple times before he can actually marshal the ability to close the distance between Molly and himself, before he finally gets to feel Molly’s warmth against his body and feel Molly’s possessive hands on his hips.

“I am versatile,” Caleb says, and if he wasn’t already blushing he certainly is now. “While I would like very, very much like to further explore the way it felt to have you shaking in my arms while I fucked you with my fingers, I have desperately, fervently wanted you to hold me down and fuck me for the entire time I have known you.” He smiles slyly. “How does that sound, hm?” 

“Divine,” Molly whispers. “That sounds divine.”

He leans in and kisses Caleb. 

It’s like a match falling onto kindling. It starts out slowly, but when the fire catches on, there’s no stopping it.

Molly’s arms are wrapped around Caleb, the strange heat of his body so alluring, and Caleb is kissing his neck, being gentle as he uses his lips and his tongue to trace the bruises he left there.

Molly tangles his fingers in Caleb’s hair and pulls him back so he can kiss him, hungry, needy, finally just taking what he wants, and Caleb melts into him.

When did this start to feel natural?

He’s letting Molly back him up against the bed, because of course he is, and then the covers are yanked out of the way and he’s on his back on the sheets, falling into conjured down pillows with Molly between his legs. 

When Molly pauses ravishing Caleb’s mouth with his tongue to ask, “What do you want me to do to you?” Caleb is ready.

“Get me ready fast,” he says. “Grab something, anything, I have sweet oil in my pack, it’s a component for - nevermind, you do not care. Do not let me relax too much as you go; add every new finger while I’m still tight.” He grinds up against Molly experimentally. “You’ll need at least three, I think.” 

Molly is flushing magenta with lust, and he starts to lavish his attention on Caleb’s neck. When he gets to the place he marked Caleb the last time they were together, he bites down - gently, because it hurts already from the bruise - and it makes Caleb hiss.

“Keep talking,” Molly whispers in his ear, and goes back to his neck, using lips, tongue and teeth in turn to tease him, switching his approach between tender and painful every time Caleb starts to get used to it. 

“Ah,” Caleb says, because he’s struggling to just breathe, let alone think or speak. “Ah - I - oh fuck Molly! Scheiße, how are you - how are you so good at - sorry, I will talk. Yes. While I would love to watch your face while you fuck me, I want you to be able to fuck me as hard as you can, so put me on my hands and knees. I want it to feel like too much, I want to feel full. I want you to use me, to do whatever you want, to make me yours, to either make me beg and plead for everything you give me or go so fast I scream for you to stop - whichever you want more in the moment. Wrap your tail around my stomach and press it against my chest so I can feel it on me, put it in my mouth if that isn’t too much to - “

“Okay,” Molly says, and his voice makes it clear he’s already halfway undone. “New plan! No more talking, or I’m going to come in my fucking pants.”

Caleb reaches up and on a whim he tears at the stupid gauzy white shirt that Molly had to wear to dinner, yanking it so hard that the top two buttons pop off. Then Molly’s laughing, kissing him languidly as he undoes the rest of the buttons.

Caleb thinks to himself, I will remember him this way always. I will remember how it looks to see him happy, to have him flushed and laughing in my arms with his eyes bright and his hair wild. He is the high celebrant of a pagan god and I am just a lowly worshiper - but this moment is ours. 

Then Molly has pinned down Caleb’s wrists. He's staring down at the man below him, his strange red eyes full of some sort of emotion that scares Caleb to death.

Molly begins to kiss him again in earnest, and Caleb is going to pieces.

Molly is thrusting against him a little as he holds down his arms and he’s still wearing his breeches and Caleb is moaning into his mouth, impatient, wanting so badly to feel more of him.

Molly bites the part of his neck just under his chin, a place where no reasonable piece of clothing can possibly cover the mark, and it draws a surprised “Oh!” out of him. 

“You’re so fucking sweet like this,” Molly whispers against his flesh, making his heart flutter and his cock ache. “I want to fucking own you, Caleb. I want to make you mine.”

“Molly,” the human groans. “Please, undress, you need to fuck me, I need you to fuck me, please, this is the last wish of a dying man - “

“Did I not tell you to shut the fuck up?” Molly says, voice already rough, and then Caleb is mourning the loss of the warmth and the friction as the tiefling goes to rummage in the pockets of Caleb’s midnight blue coat (Molly’s midnight blue coat).

Caleb strokes his own cock a little - careful to keep his touch light, teasing, because he’d rather die than come before Molly is inside him - and he watches Molly strip off his breeches. 

As Molly climbs back between his legs, Caleb reaches for him, but Molly swats his hands away, hard enough that it stings.

Molly says, “Hands above your head,” guiding him to the position he wants him in. “Keep them held up like this - attaboy.”

Caleb sighs at the sublime irony of these words.

“I know you probably don’t remember,” he whispers, “but that is almost exactly what you said to me when we first met.”

“We are so fucked up,” Molly laughs, as he is undoing the small vial of oil, and filling the room with the sweet scent of clary sage and juniper. “That is so, so fucked up, and it should not be something that makes me so fucking hard I want to just fuck you without prep, fuck you so that you can’t walk in the morning.”

When Caleb realizes Molly is about to start working him open with him lying on his back, when he realizes that he’s going to be able to watch Molly’s face as he concentrates on him and him alone, his prick jerks in anticipation.

He sighs in relief when he finally feels slick fingers against his entrance.

“If it hurts,” he whispers, “that would be ideal.” 

Molly’s eyes are locked on his as he pushes his index finger inside him, and Caleb’s head falls back on the pillows as he just revels in it.

“Eyes on me,” Molly says, and Caleb’s eyes snap back to him.

“Too slow,” he whimpers. “More, please.” 

“You’re so desperate, and it’s killing me,” Molly says. “I love it when I know you need me.”

He starts to fuck his finger in and out and while Caleb couldn’t tear his eyes from Molly’s face right now if he wanted to, it takes all his training and discipline to keep his hands above his head like he’s told. 

In a way, having to force himself not to move, to keep obeying even when he wants so badly to touch Molly, to touch himself, is more intense than being held down.

“Do you want I should touch your tail?” he asks, breathless.

“Only when I’m inside of you,” Molly says. “Be patient, pet. You’re being so good, I know you can be patient.”

That’s it. Caleb is going to die right now.

“Two fingers,” he’s saying presently, and Molly obliges, pressing into him with both so quickly that he yelps.

“Too much?” Molly asks, and he’s got the nerve to sound worried.

“Nein. Nein. Perfect, more, more, bitte - I can take it.”

With the pressure and the stretch of two fingers, the angle Molly’s is working at starts to do what it does so damn well. Soon he can’t control the noises he’s making, he can’t help but wail and arch, can’t stop himself from begging Molly to let him move his hands and fucking touch him.

“Shhh,” Molly whispers, eyes alight, completely absorbed in his task. “You’re doing such a good job. Just a little longer.”

Caleb is just about to ask for more when he feels Molly add a third finger and he cries out, full, achingly full, and so, so ready for what he knows is coming.

“Only a minute,” he begs. “No more than a minute like this, please, I need you, please, just take me, please - “ 

“Nine fucking Hells, will you shut up?” Molly says, looking dazed, looking like he’s starting to get pretty ragged himself. “What did I tell you? I’m not trying to come until you’ve come with me inside you, and this - this is sabotage. Sabotage!” 

“I’m ready,” Caleb says.

Then Molly’s withdrawing his fingers, and Caleb is treated to the devastating sight of Molly slicking his cock with a hand that’s actually shaking a little.

It's so difficult to believe that someone this impossibly lovely - this empyrean fae creature he’s somehow summoned into his life for this brief enchanted moment - is truly aroused by him, but the signs are undeniable.

“On your hands and knees,” Molly says.

Caleb obeys immediately. When he feels Molly pressing the head of his cock up against his opening he makes a little strangled sound.

“Molly,” he whispers, and then Molly is pushing into him and he’s gasping and he’s squirming and has to rest his head on his forearms and focus, really focus and press back into the pressure, to give as good as he’s getting.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Molly says, lips against the skin of Caleb’s back, lighter than featherfall, as he holds still, instinctively letting Caleb relax and try to get used to the feeling. “You don’t realize how lovely you are. It kills me. I want you to know it, I want you to know that I - “

“Molly,” Caleb whispers - a warning.

“Sorry, pet,” Molly says, kissing him. “Sorry,” he says. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes.”

Caleb’s heard of people saying they see stars when they’re getting fucked, but he’d always assumed it was a figure of speech. When Molly pulls out and pushes into him, far faster and harder than most would dare, he learns otherwise. Oh gods, he’s lost. There’s no hope of meeting Molly’s thrusts, there’s no hope of controlling when he comes or where, all he can do is fight to hold himself up and let himself be subsumed by the pain as it gives way to a white-hot desire that is going to burn him alive.

He’s making sounds and possibly pleas but he’s got no idea what he’s saying and it’s all entirely unnecessary because apparently Molly knows exactly what he needs and exactly how to give it to him.

When he feels Molly’s tail wrapped around his wrist his mind refocuses and he rediscovers a goal worth chasing, saying, “Your tail, let me - “ 

Then it uncoils and the soft curve of the spade is pressed against his lips. He sweeps his tongue over it and he feels Molly shudder as he fucks into him mercilessly.

He takes it into his mouth, licking and sucking, pretending it’s Molly’s cock and wondering if he’ll have time to have Molly come in his mouth before they both get themselves killed. 

That thought is apparently all it takes to get him over the edge. He makes a strangled sound and orgasm crashes over him. He’s coming all over the sheets and with each thrust it gets smeared on his belly and his chest while he struggles to just breathe.

Before he’s even weathered the aftershocks, Molly’s rhythm goes from wicked to brutal, driving into him - making him shout and shout - 

Molly is panting, and even when he can’t shout any more, Caleb just keeps keening and gasping with every thrust, every one connecting with his swollen prostate, making him tighten and convulse again and again around the cock inside him, and he’s breathing in sobs, honestly just crying, unable to control himself. 

Molly is asking, “Where do you want me to - ?” in a voice that leaves no illusions.

Caleb lets Molly’s tail slip from his lips to say, “On my back - fuck, no - no, come inside me.”

Molly thrusts into him a few final, furious times - collapsing forward, not even holding his own weight, sinking inside him as deep as he can, and biting down on the painful bruise on Caleb’s shoulder one last heavenly time before he finishes.

When Molly finally remembers to support his own weight in order to not crush Caleb, he pulls back just a little, and his softening cock pulls out of Caleb with a lewd, sucking sound.

Caleb makes a meek little groan, and he collapses onto his side. At last his body stops twitching and shuddering, and he can only lie there, limp and sated.

Molly is on his side in front of him, and then he’s pulling him into his arms, stroking his hair, petting his back, kissing him as he comes back from the brink.

“That.…” Caleb starts, but he can’t string a sentence together.

They lie there together. Eventually, Molly pulls the sheets and the coverlet over them.

“Was that good for you?” he asks.

“Mollymauk,” Caleb says, “are you really asking me this? You - you just took me apart like you built me.”

Chapter Text

Click here for a brief music playlist for this chapter (YouTube).

There is a moment in the early morning when Molly wakes with Caleb pressed up against him, tousled red hair tucked under his chin, and he thinks that if they weren’t dying, he’d have to worry about how his interest in the man is getting serious. 

It’s entirely unclear to him if his feelings are even remotely reciprocated - and he doesn’t even know if Caleb knows. How can he know; the conditions under which they’ve met have been coercive at best, and even if they hadn’t been, he knows better than to put stock in relationships that occur when people are in close quarters at sea until they’ve also been proven on land.

Still, gods - Caleb is so very lovely. Clever, vicious, calculating, and - against all odds and all his protestations - kind.

There are a lot of people who would probably worry about Caleb’s unknown history, his nightmares, the way strong emotions are sometimes enough to goad him into things he regrets deeply later.

Molly doesn’t think he has any room to judge in that department.

He tells himself that with all that’s going on, with what lies immediately ahead of them, he can just enjoy this - and let Caleb enjoy it too. 

The good news about all the bad news is that there’s no pressure.

Molly can’t help but sigh and smile as he recalls the night before. Caleb is such a spitfire, so full of will. Being able to get him so raw and open and needy is ecstasy. There’s something so consummately satisfying about getting him to just stop thinking for a moment, to use sensation to get him past the way he worries away at himself like a dog chewing at its tail - if only for a brief interlude.

He’s absently stroking Caleb’s skin, just relishing this moment.

He has always felt that watching someone sleep is much more intimate than sex. The fact that Caleb has tripped and fallen into trusting him - likely because he’s got no better option, likely because he’s habituated to adoring horrible, warped people who hurt him - and it affords him this opportunity. He wants to be able to save this in his memory forever.

Maybe they’ll sleep in.

Maybe they can just stay like this a little longer.

****

At dawn, the denizens of the Suckerpunch wake up where they’ve camped on the rocky promontory called Dhan-over-Essen, where they spent their night in the shadow of the ruined black stone tower. 

Caduceus and the Wight Widow cook a small breakfast on the open fire outside the woman’s hut, and they all sit inside the hut to eat.

“I have spent the night in communion with my goddess, the Crone Mother, Celigune,” the Wight Widow says. “As I suspected, we do not have much time. The two liches who have long blighted the ancient halls of the Temple of the False Hawk below us are indeed preparing to undertake this foul ceremony tonight under the full moon. While the strange warding these creatures have placed around their sunken kingdom prevents me from directly perceiving your friends or their dreams, my goddess tells me they are alive.”

“Ma’am,” Fjord says hesitantly, “I was thinkin’ on this last night. Do you think…do you think that the False Serpent will be upset if I do end up making this…connection to the False Hawk we’ve talked about?”

The hag looks at him for a moment, her strange black gaze incisive. “I do not know, my child,” she says. “No matter how old or powerful we mortals grow, the minds of the gods remain a mystery to us. All I can tell you is that, if you value your friends, communing with the orb of the False Hawk may be the only advantage we can gain against the foul beings who hold them captive.”

“Is this journey to begin soon?” Caduceus asks.

“Yes,” the hag says. “When a door must be opened, it must be opened. There is no time to waste.”

****

Jester wakes up early.

She sits at her vanity table, using the ansible as a mirror as she slowly brushes out her dark hair.

She’s trying to figure out what to say.

Finally, she can’t put it off any longer.

Her eyes slip closed, and the young tiefling casts Sending as she thinks of her mother’s gentle ebony eyes, her heart-shaped vermillion face.

“Hi, mama,” she says. “This might be my last message. If you hear from me again, it will be because I’m coming home. I love you so much.”

A few moments later she hears her mother’s voice.

“My darling,” the Ruby of the Sea says, and the young tiefling can hear the strain in her voice. “If you do not come home, I know it is because you followed your heart. I love you. You make me so proud.”

Jester sits there in silence for a long time, not moving.

“Traveler,” she says softly, “I’m not scared of dying, but I’m scared my mom will be really, really sad without me. If I die, will you look after her?” 

She lets her eyes close, reaching out to him for comfort.

After a moment, she hears that familiar voice, that voice that has kept her company since she was just a young girl.

“I already look after her, Jester,” the Traveler whispers. “I always will.”

****

Caleb wakes to the telltale twinge at his temple, followed by the sound of Jester’s voice in his head.

“Hi Caleb! I talked to Yeza. Of course I’ll help! The Traveler taught me Mending already. What else should I prepare for tonight?”

He sits up, yawning and stretching. He is pleasantly surprised to realize that the warmth curled around him is Molly’s sinuous form.

“Good morning,” Caleb says to Jester. “Do not bother with healing spells. Prepare spells for damage, controlling movement, and shielding us. Things will move too fast to heal.”

He pauses, thinking perhaps she will cast the spell again, but there is only silence.

He sighs, and lies back on the pillows.

“I think that’s sound advice,” Molly says.

“Ja,” Caleb says. “The high probability of a fatal outcome and the rapidity with which we will either succeed or be killed makes damage mitigation irrelevant.” 

“You know,” Molly says, “I think the ideal arrangement between you and I will ultimately be that I boss you around in bed, and you boss me around everywhere else. You’ve got a flair for tactics.”

Caleb laughs, rolling his eyes. “I would not wish such a thing on my worst enemy,” he says, “and you are not my enemy anymore. I suspect you never really were.” 

“For such a clever man,” Molly says, “it took you far too long to catch on to that.”

Molly is idly running his hand up and down Caleb’s arm when his fingers brush up against the chain that is around Caleb’s wrist, hidden from view by a small illusion.

“What’s that?” Molly says, feeling along it.

Caleb chuckles. “I am very surprised you did not notice it sooner. It has been right there every time we’ve made love. I apologize in advance for not telling you sooner, but it seemed like a minor matter compared to everything else that was transpiring.”

He drops the illusion, revealing the amulet of the Platinum Dragon cinched tight around his wrist.

Molly inspects it. “Is this the necklace I stole from the dead healer on the Wight Widow? ” he asks in surprise.

“The very same,” Caleb says. “Nott’s chronically sticky fingers brought it into my possession. I take it you do not know what it is, otherwise Beau or one of your other crew would have been wearing it already.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” Molly says. “What the hell is it?” 

“This amulet is imbued with incredibly powerful abjuration magic,” Caleb says, smiling at Molly, open and free. “It is what actual members of the Cerberus Assembly and those with their favor use to maintain their privacy from their enemies and rivals. In other words: it is a second chance for me - a chance to not just escape them for good, but to actually keep those I care for close to me without the fear that I will inevitably cause their deaths.”

Molly swallows hard. “Well,” he says after a while, “I guess being a thief finally paid off.”

****

Just before nightfall, new clothes appear in their wardrobe.

These new outfits are variations on the same Zemnian Regency styles they were given to wear the day before, but instead of plum-hued accents, the accents are all bitter carmine.

“I feel like I’m preparing for a ritual sacrifice,” Molly says as he gets dressed.

“That is most likely because we are preparing for a ritual sacrifice,” Caleb sighs.

Molly shaves, and then he sits at the vanity, using kohl to line his eyes, and vermillion to tint his lips vivid red to match the accents of their clothes.

“It is a damned shame that they don’t have mascara,” he laments. “I don’t want to die without mascara on!”

“What is mascara?” Caleb asks.

Molly laughs.

****

After hours of following the Wight Widow deeper and deeper into the earth from the entrance to the caverns that lies below Dhan-over-Essen, they finally stop in a small chamber at a place that is bricked over with ancient obsidian blocks and adorned with abjuration runes wrought from long-tarnished silver.

The night hag lights a small magefire, and they settle down beside it.

“What now?” Fjord asks nervously.

“Now, we wait,” the Wight Widow says. “For many years, I have followed the pattern of this dark ritual the liches perform. On the night of the first full moon after they have captured five victims, for just an hour, I feel the pain and terror of all of the victims at once. Then all of the misery is snuffed out save for the pain of just one.” She gestures to the bricked up door. “This is as close as we can get to the part of the liches’ lair that is here with us on the material plane - or at least it is as close as we can get without them being alerted to our presence. We will rest here, regain our strength - and when I feel the anguish of the souls of your friends, we shall act.”

“Ma’am,” Fjord says, “may I ask what may be an indelicate question?”

Her wizened, hideous face smiles. “I insist you do so.”

“Ah…if you get sustenance from nightmares, why are you tryin’ to stop these folks from doin’ what they do down here?”

The hag nods. “A reasonable question,” she says. “I suppose many of my brethren would do nothing to help you or your people; indeed, there was a time when I would not have helped you either. Yet, as I have aged, and as I have spent many years with my only sporadic companionship coming from you and races like yours, I have come to understand that nightmares are never in short supply for your people. No, you younger races have enough nightmares when you are asleep; you do not need to have them when you are awake as well.” 

****

Molly and Caleb are sitting silently at the table in front of the fire. 

A few moments after Caleb’s near-infallible internal clock strikes eight o’clock in the evening, they hear the crackling, popping sound of the corridor back to the material plane opening.

The moon must be rising.

Molly briefly reaches across the table and squeezes Caleb’s hand.

“It’s time,” he says.

Caleb nods solemnly.

Together, they rise. Caleb offers his arm to Molly, who takes it with a sad smile.

“Well, Caleb Widogast,” he murmurs, “It’s been nice knowing you.”

“It has been my pleasure, Mollymauk Tealeaf,” Caleb says. 

Molly pinches his cheek affectionately. “I like the idea of marching to our deaths side by side with you still smelling like that oil infused with juniper and clary sage.”

“Sex and violence,” Caleb says mildly. “That is us, distilled into a bottle.”

Together, they make their way down the crystal hallway. They brave that brief moment of apnea and panic that comes when they step through the unseen portal at the end, and then they can hear the voices of the others. 

Their fellow captives, their co-conspirators, their opponents in this twisted game: Molly looks at all of them fondly. The one he’s known for years, the ones he’s only just met; they’re all party to a strange kind of camaraderie.

If the worst must come to pass, then today is as good a day to die as any, and these people are as good to die beside as any he’s ever known.

The captives huddle together, a nervous charge in the air.

“They will be here soon,” Jester says, low and urgent. “You all know my tongue is bound on so many things. What I can tell you is this: don’t tell them ‘no.’ If they ask you to fight or to die or to make an impossible choice, you have to do it. If you say no, that’s an immediate death, right here in front of all of us.”

Caleb nods. Keeping his voice to a whisper, he says, “Molly and Jester are the ones who can accomplish what we seek to do. Whatever you can do to get them closer to the item, you must do it.”

“Ideally,” Jester says, “one of us will fall down near enough to touch it. The spell takes one minute, and there has to be physical contact. If two of us work together we can do it faster, but that seems like it would be really really hard to pull off.” 

“The last thing I must say is this,” Caleb says. “If we accomplish what we intend to, the last part is up to me. The minute you see them - the minute you really see them - inspire me, bless me, keep me alive however you can - but take cover. My spell will extend for twenty feet around me on all sides - and while I am well-practiced in shielding myself from such things, I may not have the concentration or the power to protect you if you remain within that sphere.”

“If we can’t get away in time,” Marcy says, “don’t hesitate. Just light them up.”

“I will not hesitate,” Caleb says. “I never do.”

****

The night hag has been resting in a meditative trance, the eerie blue flames of her magefire illuminating the fearsome contours of her ancient visage, when her eyes suddenly fly open.

She rises to her feet. 

“It is time,” she says. “The captives have returned to our plane.” She pauses, attuning herself to some unseen force, some sixth sense that Fjord can’t begin to imagine experiencing. “Yes - I can feel all of them, all eight of the ones who have entered the liches’ lair. It is time to start breaking down this wall.”

Fjord closes his eyes tightly, and he thinks, Okay, giant snake god. If I’ve ever needed you, I need you now. Get me through this one, get my friends out alive, and I’ll do whatever you want.

****

Caleb has something else to say, but he’ll never remember what it is, because that’s when the fanfare of trumpets startles them.

Seconds later a full band marches in, followed by a whole crowd of people.They all look mortal, every one of them joyous and enraptured and cheering, and it makes his blood run cold to know that this is all an illusion - not for them, but for Edward and Lydia’s enjoyment.

The lights dim, the crowd oohs and ahs, and then the thrall sets in.

His body is cheering, clapping, and grinning like a child at the circus - while in his mind he’s overcome with revulsion and impotent rage.

Spotlights illuminate the crystalline hallway, and then the illusory forms of the two liches appear, strutting out like they’re on a catwalk, sharp teeth gleaming as they smile, and the crowd goes into a frenzy.

Music swells, a foreign and fundamentally upsetting rhythm that the pair of undead creatures appears to absolutely adore. 

They ascend their dais, blowing kisses to the crowd, winking devilishly at their captives.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Edward says, all smiles. “Welcome to our little wonderland! We’re so excited to have such a great crowd here tonight - and so many wonderful contestants.” His eyes rove over his unwilling captives, and the thrall releases them.

Caleb hears Nott gasp, and he looks over to the crowd.

The illusion has been dropped, and he sees that instead of people, it is a crowd of wooden dolls like dressmaker’s mannequins, faceless and featureless, animated by some incredible feat of necromancy. He can’t suppress a shudder.

Then Lydia speaks, and he returns his eyes to the dais.

“Tonight,” she says, “our reigning champion, Jester Lavorre, will decide where we’ll begin. Jester, darling, hold out your hand, please!” 

Jester gulps, and holds out a shaky palm.

A single golden die appears a few inches above, and drops into her hand with a soft sound.

“Throw the die, Jester,” Lydia says, her face so sinister, so hideously attentive and so cold at the same time.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Jester whispers, and she steps up to the table, and rolls the die.

“What did you get, sweetheart?” the lich asks her with a simper.

“Three,” Jester says softly, and the mannequins clap excitedly.

“Lucky you! You picked yourself!” Lydia exclaims. “Boy oh boy, doesn’t it feel great to not put your friends in the ring?”

Jester is shaking with fury, her fists balled up at her sides.

“Who is going to face you down, Jester?” Edward asks.

“Pick someone weak,” Marcy mutters beside the girl. “Pick someone weak - not Molly or Caleb.” 

Jester looks helplessly around - and then Yeza steps forward. 

“Me!” Nott says. “Pick me!” 

Jester nods dumbly to the goblin before turning to the liches on their dais. “I pick Nott,” she says.

Caleb can only look on, numb and detached, as his best friend in the world walks forward with the tiefling girl, and then they are standing right beside the fractured onyx sphere.

“Molly, if you get chosen,” Caleb whispers, “it looks like you’ll be able to fall right there.”

Molly silently nods. 

“Jester, you know the rules,” Edward says. “Why don’t you tell the rest of the contestants how this game is played?”

Jester says something that no one but Nott can hear.

“Speak up, sweetheart!” Edward says gleefully. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about - last time you did so well!” 

“We fight to the death,” Jester says.

Nott nods, her face calm.

Caleb sees Jester’s lips move as she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

A giant, spectral unicorn coalesces behind Jester, and Nott simply raises up her tiny fists.

“Wait,” Caleb hisses. “Does - does she not - does she not even get a weapon?”

“She’s got one,” Molly says miserably. “She’s got a crossbow on her back. She just hasn’t drawn it.”

Jester freezes. The unicorn whinnies behind her, but it does not move. 

“Just do it, Jester!” Nott yells. “Just do it! Hit me with everything you’ve got, don’t give them a good show!” 

Jester nods.

The unicorn rushes forward, head down, razor-sharp horn leveled at Nott, as a black ball of energy coalesces around the cleric’s hands.

Caleb screws his eyes shut tight as he hears the rush of the evocation, the sickening sound of the unicorn impacting Nott’s tiny body, the agonized scream.

When he opens his eyes, he’s watching Nott look down at her own blood-soaked hands as blood rushes down her abdomen from a gaping wound in her chest.

“ No! ” he screams, and when he does, a huge cloud of black smoke billows forth.

He tries to run to her, but a flippant wave of Lydia’s pale, graceful fingers holds him in place as his dear friend collapses to the ground.

The unicorn comes around again but there’s nothing else to do.

Nott is bleeding out on the floor, and Jester is sobbing, black smoke leaving her with every gasping, shaking breath. 

“Jessie,” Marcy says. “Jessie, honey, it’s okay. It’s okay, just come back here, baby.”

Barely able to carry herself, Jester stumbles back to them, and collapses against Marcy, sobbing helplessly.

“It’s not okay,” Caleb is whispering. “It’s not okay.” He feels Molly grasp his hand, give it a brief squeeze, and let him go.

“Jester, excellent job!” Edward says brightly. “It looks like our reigning champion is one step closer to keeping her crown! If you win again, Jester, what are you going to wish for? What is your heart’s desire?”

“I just want to leave,” the girl sobs.

“What a lovely wish,” Edward says. “Well, I wish you the best of luck. Archmage Widogast, I believe as you are the one who appears the most affected by your friend’s demise, it is your turn to roll. Please hold out your hand.”

Caleb opens his palm, his cold eyes not even leaving Edward’s face when he feels the die fall into his hand.

He throws the golden die down on the ground, then looks down at it.

“Six,” he snaps.

Lydia sighs, as though it’s the best thing she’s ever heard. “That means it’s the special round where my brother and I get to choose a special game for two contestants,” she says. “Roll again, Caleb!” 

Caleb picks up the die.

He throws it down violently.

“Five,” he says tersely.

 “Wow,” she says. “Another lucky roll! That’s you, Archmage Widogast - and your friend, Captain Tealeaf.”

Caleb and Molly share a glance.

“Step right up, gentlemen!” Edward says. Turning to Lydia, he asks, “What game would you like to play, dear sister?”

“Let’s start with…a wager,” she says. “I’d like each of you to pick something you have which you’re willing to give to us. It can be an object, a memory, even a body part. Whoever gives up the most gains the most! Caleb, you’re the one who rolled - you’re first.”

Caleb pauses, considering this carefully.

“Well,” he says to Lydia, never breaking her gaze, “there is…there is not much I have left, Your Grace.” He takes a deep breath, juggling just a few options, comparing and contrasting, before he finally settles on an answer - an answer he hopes will hurt enough to grant him the upper hand.

Black smoke is already billowing from his mouth and nose.

“Well?” Lydia says.

“I will give you the memory of the only woman I have ever loved,” he says. “Her name was Astrid.”

Lydia is in ecstasy.

“What a bold opener!” Edward exclaims. “That’s going to be hard to beat, Molly.”

A tiny sound of pain, choked and miserable, tears forth from Caleb’s throat.

“Molly,” he says desperately, “Molly, her name is Astrid, her name is Astrid, but - Molly, I can’t remember her face Molly!” 

“Her name is Astrid,” Molly says. “Her name is Astrid, okay?”

Caleb just stares at him a moment as his mind boils and bubbles, as something terrible and painful and so very, very strange happens inside his skull.

“Her name is Astrid,” Molly repeats.

Caleb just stares at him.

There is fear in Molly’s face now, real fear - and Caleb is honestly struggling to comprehend exactly what the fuck is happening. 

He wants to know, he needs to know: did he do something? Has he done something again?

“Caleb,” Molly says, and he says it like a warning, “her name is Astrid.” 

“Whose name is Astrid?” Caleb asks.

A look of abject misery comes over Molly’s lovely features like a shroud.

His next exhalation is pure black smoke.

Caleb hears the swearing and exclamations from his fellow captives behind them. He looks back at them briefly, confused, his head cloudy and muddled, but then Lydia’s voice draws his attention back to the dais, the sound of her voice breaking through his befuddlement as though interrupting a spell.

“Molly,” the lich is saying to the tiefling beside him, “it’s your turn to make your wager.”

Molly is looking at Lydia now like he’s going to throw all their plans away and rush up to the dais just for the momentary satisfaction of destroying the lich’s illusory form.

“Molly,” the creature repeats, voice low and dangerous.

“I’ll give you all of my memories,” Molly says. “Let me keep the last four years - everything before that, you can have, you worthless fucking lich!”

This actually startles a laugh from Lydia.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “I’m not a lich; I’m assertive.”

Edward is grinning like a cat with a canary. “Caleb,” he croons, “I didn’t think Molly could beat you - but he’s absolutely put you to shame!”

Caleb covers his face.

Even in his confusion, even filled with the fear that he just did something terrible he can’t remember, he is thrilled and overjoyed at his friend’s bold gambit.

He remembers with a shock of cold dread that hiding his face can’t hide his emotions. He refuses to be the one who spoils Molly’s brilliant ploy; he refuses to be the reason his friend has to wager something that actually matters.

He forces himself to think about the fire.

He forces himself to think about how his parents died.

He forces himself to remember how he burned them alive.

The huge, billowing clouds of black smoke that start to come out of him with every breath are perfection, they’re just what he wants, just what he needs to help Molly get away with this ingenious gamble.

“Molly, don’t,” he exclaims. “You don’t have to!”

“It’s okay, love,” Molly says. “If I’ve still got you and my crew, it doesn’t even matter.”

“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb,” Edward scolds. “You can’t get so emotionally involved! You’re the one who is the most affected by this - so it’s your turn to roll again!” 

Caleb numbly looks around the floor for the golden die. He picks it up, holds it in his hand a moment, and drops it.

He misses the subtle movement of Lydia’s hand as he throws the die yet again.

He groans.

“Five,” he says. “Again.” 

“Molly and Caleb,” Edward crows. “You two sweethearts can’t catch a break. Very well! Time to fight, my darlings. May the best man win - though I get the funny feeling that whoever triumphs will be the next one to roll.” 

Molly turns to Caleb.

“I guess the fates had this plan for us all along,” he says sadly.

Caleb can’t even speak. 

“Who are we to deny fate?” the tiefling says. “Come on, lover. Let’s give them the show of a lifetime.” 

He grasps Caleb’s hand and coaxes him forward.

They walk together to stand just behind the fractured onyx crystal, intentionally taking a position where whoever falls will do so within arm’s reach of their sole objective, their only hope of actually winning this sadistic game.

They cannot help but stand right over where Nott is lying, bleeding, her chest moving in irregular, agonal gasps as she stares blankly at the ceiling.

Molly and Caleb stand face to face, about three feet apart, just looking at each other.

“Caleb,” Molly says, “you know I’m falling in love with you, right?”

Caleb nods, swallowing hard. 

“Of course I know, you idiot,” he says.

They both take a few paces back, and Molly removes the Magician’s Judge from the scabbard he has slung across his shoulders. With practiced finesse, he nicks his thumb open on the blade, and his eyes light up with the infernal orange glow of whatever strange demonic magistry it is that flows through him.

A battle cry tears forth from Molly’s throat, and he rushes forward.

Caleb casts Hold Person.

Molly doesn’t resist. He freezes in his tracks right over the shattered onyx orb.

Caleb smiles bitterly at the irony of it all, at the fact that this is the only man he’s ever had at his mercy and allowed to live - and now he’s being forced to kill him anyway.

In the past eight months since the fire, he hasn’t genuinely felt grateful for the training he received from Trent Ikithon even once - until this moment. 

In this moment, the many, many hours of instruction he once received on how to deal sublethal damage carefully and exactly give him some cold comfort.

Caleb holds out his hand as the shadows all around them condense into a cruel, curved spectral blade that burns with a purple fire.

He rushes forward and uses it just like he was taught to, inflicting rapid, shallow stabs and slashes across Molly’s trunk, death by a thousand cuts, intentionally avoiding the heart and the great vessels and instead directing his blows in such a way that Molly will bleed more slowly.

Combined with the pain of the physical stab wounds, the additional psychic damage inflicted by this spell somehow tears a shout from Molly. Perhaps the tiefling has inadvertently resisted the magical hold Caleb has on him, or perhaps Caleb faltered in his concentration; whatever the reason, he is able to grasp his stomach as he falls to his knees, stricken and keening in pain.

When he falls, his hand falls limply against the nearest shard of onyx.

Caleb closes his eyes just a moment, and he is only able to hold back the tears that want to fall by way of the practiced stoicism all Scourgers must learn.

The end of this whole fucking palace of nightmares is at hand, he tells himself. Keep going. You can keep going - sell the act.

He smiles triumphantly down at Molly as he focuses on their imminent victory, on the triumph ahead rather than the misery of what he’s done to the man lying at his feet.

He looks up at Lydia, his eyes cold, the smile still on his face.

“You are such a good boy,” Lydia purrs. “Finally! I always knew you had it in you. How do you feel, love?”

“I feel fucking amazing,” Caleb says, and it’s the truth. “Your Grace, as I have bested my opponent, have I scratched out his success in the game of wagers?” 

“Of course!” Lydia says. “He can’t collect his prize if he’s dead. Tell us, Caleb, what will you ask of us if you win today?”

“I have considered your generous offer to train me,” he says. “I intend to learn all you can teach me in whatever short time we have together.” 

Caleb turns. He steps over the bodies of Nott and Molly and walks back to the others.

Beau is just standing there, her face streaked with silent tears.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb whispers to her. 

He knows she will likely die thinking he just actually killed Molly - thinking he actually wanted to kill Molly. 

“Beau the Troublemaker,” Edward says. “It’s your turn to roll.”

Beau holds out her hand. The die materializes there.

Caleb stands there between Marcy and Jester.

He holds his breath.

“Beau,” he says, and she turns.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he hisses. “I’m just stalling.”

She nods, composing herself, and takes her sweet, careful time as she walks up to stand before the dais.

From the center of the room there is a bizarre, clicking, crackling sound.

It is essentially the sound of the crystals sprouting that they have learned to dread - except it’s playing out backward.

Instantly, Lydia and Edward aren’t even looking at their captives. 

Every mannequin falls to the ground, the magic torn from them as the two liches refocus their attention on the black onyx orb that has knitted itself back together and is now rotating just slightly in midair.

It glints briefly with a strange purple luster before shrinking down to the size of a fist with a faint pop sound and falling to the ground.

Caleb dashes forward at a full run.

He casts Blur to foil any attempt to target him, stoops down, and grabs the crystal as the whole room shakes around him, as the white and purple crystals decorating every surface begin to crumble and disintegrate, leaving only onyx and gold behind.

He wants to reach down and touch Molly, to see how he is, to see if Nott is dead or if she’s still hanging on - but while he is still in the room, while he still sees, hears and feels what is going on around him, he is also somewhere else.

As he holds the orb in his hand, he feels something burning inside him, something new, something bright, something wildly and intoxicatingly powerful.

The False Hawk appears before him, as though conjured from a black and purple mist, towering up to the height of the crumbling, shaking chandeliers. It is a gorgeous obsidian phoenix that burns with a royal purple flame.

As the room quakes around them, as the walls themselves begin to lose structural integrity, he hears a word inside his head.

Reward.

Then, another word.

Consume.

It’s patently obvious what he’s meant to do, and only a fool would refuse a gift like this at a time when so much is on the line.

Caleb follows what his body tells him to do, and presses the black obsidian orb against his chest, right against his sternum. With a strange, calm certainty, he knows he’s stronger than he should be. He realizes he can press it straight through his ribcage, deep inside himself, where it belongs, where it will be able to feed him all the power he wants and more.

As he shoves it into his chest he hears the sickening, nauseating cracking and popping, but strangely, there is no pain until it is all the way inside his chest, until he has to yank his hands back as flesh, bone and cartilage knit back together.

Then it burns white hot - and somehow this pain feels right.

With a thunderous crack, the roof starts coming down around their heads.

In an instant, there is furniture raining down from the sky, every single thing that was once in their rooms. He casually throws out a powerful abjuration to protect himself and those he is with from the falling objects, and he smiles, knowing the time for vengeance is at hand.

He glances down for an instant and sees the trail of blood that indicates both Molly and Nott have been dragged out of his way.

He only has to wait another half a second before Lydia and Edward - the real Lydia and Edward, two liches, skeletal and cloaked in finery that hangs off of their bony forms - crash to the obsidian floor right in front of him.

He takes the sulfur in one hand and the bat guano in the other and he slaps his hands together as he says the incantation - the one he could say in his sleep. 

The immense ball of purple flame erupts around them, forty feet in diameter, burning everything, burning the liches’ clothes and their bones, destroying all the furnishings and linens and frippery from the rooms of the captives, destroying the items that held the phylacteries they’d thought would be so safe scattered between their little pocket dimensions.

As he watches everything blaze around him, as he watches them stagger and fall, he says,

“You can play the game - but you can’t make the rules.”

As the roof caves in around them, as seawater begins to flood into the chamber, the great black phoenix looks at him with its glittering onyx eyes.

It says just one more word to him, and it sounds strangely enough like an endearment.

Firebug. 

Caleb feels the last mote of his magic leave him. 

He staggers and falls.

The last thing he sees is the burning skull of Edward, eyeballs being rendered into bubbling ichor, seawater pouring into their vacant voids, filling the skull like a drinking gourd.

Then the terrible eidetic recall of his most unforgivable act crashes over him like the wall of water pouring down from above, and his mind goes blank.

Chapter Text

Later, Caleb will only have the barest fragmentary memories of the time when he was lying in the water, unable to catch his breath, unable to think, as the memories and panic washed over him and pulled him under.

He remembers Fjord standing over him.

He remembers how the half-orc somehow held an immense field of incredibly powerful abjuration around him, around the others who had gathered with them, keeping the crush of thousands of pounds of sea water off of them all by the sheer force of his will as his eyes burned with a black fire.

He remembers holding Nott’s body against him, sobbing, refusing to let anyone else touch her until Beau and Yasha physically restrained him and Molly picked up the goblin’s form and cradled her in his arms.

He remembers when Fjord finally sagged down, his magic depleted. He remembers looking up as the water began to pour through the rapidly-disintegrating dome of force that had been their shield.

It was only when the first water got into his lungs that he suddenly came back to himself and started to swim.

It was no use, of course. He knew that - but there are certain instincts that cannot be suborned. He struggled upward frantically, kicking for all he was worth, even though the dim light above told him he was at least a hundred feet down. 

Of all the incredible things that happen, what happens next still catches him off guard.

As he drifts in the near-dark, breathing in water, his strength leaving him, unconsciousness looming, he sees Marius.

The half-elf is swimming impossibly fast, his movements fluid and graceful.

He grabs onto Caleb tightly, a lithe arm around his waist, and with swift, powerful kicks of his sinuous serpentine tail, Marius starts to drag Caleb rapidly toward the surface. 

Caleb tries to fight the drive to breathe in, but there is no use. His lungs want what they want and there is no way to stop himself. 

There is light and there is darkness. His lungs burn, his heart races, his eyes sting from the salt and when he can open them they still won’t focus.

His chest hurts, his ribs feel like they’re breaking.

It’s because they are. 

When he opens his eyes, he realizes that Jester is above him, forcing her clenched hands down on his lower chest brutally.

“Wake up stupid!” she says. “Caleb, Caleb, please, please wake up!” 

In her frenzy, she clearly doesn’t see that his eyes are fluttering open, and keeps shoving down against him again and again. He coughs up a disgusting amount of briny seawater, shoves her off, and collapses on his side as he coughs up the rest.

The first word he manages to find as his fingers scrabble around in the sand and his arms refuse to hold him up is, “Nott! Nott?” 

“Shhh, Caleb,” Jester is saying, pulling his head into her lap, getting his hair out of his eyes. “Your friend the firbolg is with her. Do not bother him, he is doing a Revivify. The Traveler taught me to do that but I wasted too much magic killing Nott and saving you.” 

“Molly?” Caleb asks hoarsely between coughs. “Fjord?” 

“I think - I think your friends are all here,” Jester says. “And the firbolg says the Wildmother can help Nott. We’re…we’re okay. We’re alive, we are okay. Also, how did you meet a mermaid guy? That’s really, really cool!” 

Caleb nods and his head falls back against the wet sand.

As his eyes slide closed again, he sees the glowing, burning form of the False Hawk before him, he sees the swirling purple fire around the great creature that is now patterned brilliantly with intricate dwarven-made designs of copper and gold.

He feels the words it speaks inside his skull like a dull ache.

Reward.

Return.

And then, the word he somehow knows to be a term of affection.

Firebug.

This time, when he passes out, he knows he doesn’t need to fight it.

****

Maybe it is a day later, maybe it is two.

Caleb wakes up in a bunk.

His eyes fly open and he sits up with a gasp.

With incredible relief, he realizes the warm form beside him is Nott. She is bandaged from neck to abdomen, but her chest falls and rises easily, and she smiles involuntarily when he scratches her little head and strokes her ears.

When he can tear his eyes away from his sleeping friend, he realizes with a little surprise that this can only be Molly’s quarters - which fills him with dread.

“Molly?” he calls out.

“Shhh,” a voice says, and he looks down.

His heart swells when he sees that on a huge pile of furs and blankets beside the bed, Molly is lying there in the half light, asleep or unconscious but alive. The person who has hushed Caleb is Yasha, who is curled up protectively at the tiefling’s side like some huge, loyal beast.

Yasha looks exhausted, her usual ceremonial warpaint absent, with only the contours of the portions that are apparently ritual tattoos still present. She has bandages up her left arm and covering both of her hands. On the back of the hand nearest to Caleb, he can see the blisters from burns peeking out between the strips of cloth. Molly is bandaged from waist to ribs, with bandages on his hands as well.

“What happened to your hands?” he asks as a pang of disquiet swells in him.

Yasha smiles at him, full of warmth and pride. “Molly, Beau and I had to grab you to get you to let go of Nott so Caduceus could see to her. You were frightened, so you did not realize we were helping, and you did not shield us from the purple fire that was burning all over your body.”

“Did I burn Nott?” His voice is a whisper. He can’t even force himself to look down at her. He can’t see the burns, not again - for even though part of his keen mind knows they are not there, the other part of him is certain his eyes must have mislead him before.

Yasha shakes her head. “No,” she says. “Even wherever you had gone to inside your mind, it seems that protecting your small friend does not require awareness from you.” The pride on her face is obvious. “Beau told us of all you did,” she says. “We had known from the circumstances of your captivity that you were powerful, but I hope indeed that I may soon fight by your side so I may see you at work.” She grins outright now. “With you and Fjord added to our number, our enemies will be even more proud to survive us than we will be to vanquish them.”

Caleb tries to reach down and touch Molly now, but as he does, he feels a pitch of lightheadedness, and Yasha has to reach out to catch him. She doesn’t even flinch when he impacts heavily on her burned, bandaged hands.

“Filthy wizard man,” she says, “you must rest. Unlike your small friend and Molly here, Caduceus could not heal what felled you. Caduceus said it was an expenditure of far more magic than you rightly should have been able to possess, and only time can restore it to you.”

“I almost killed Molly in the process,” he says.

Yasha actually laughs at him as she rises to lower him back onto the pillows, huge hands surprisingly gentle. “What you did to Molly - and what the blue one did to Nott - was the most selfless act imaginable. Most among us can find the strength to strike down a foe, but not all of us have the bravery to strike down a friend for the greater good. Nott and Molly were willing to die for you, and you were willing to be the one that killed them.” After a moment’s hesitation, she touches his cheek with calloused fingers. “Will you rest now, little one? You must regain your strength if you are to keep protecting us lesser folk.” 

****

When he wakes once more, it is because of a familiar hand on his face.

He opens his eyes, and smiles lovingly when he sees Nott leaning over him. Amazingly, she’s on her feet and fully dressed.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she says, “but Yasha said you were going to freak out if you just woke up and I wasn’t here. Is it okay if I go over to Water’s Gift to help out? Everyone who’s able-bodied is working three shifts to bring everything back over to the Suckerpunch. We’re pretty sure there’s no more evil in those caves - but there isn’t a soul in this crew of ours that’s willing to stay there after everything that happened.” 

“This crew of ours, hm?” he says, and he can’t stop smiling.

“Of course,” Nott says. “What, did you think they never would be?” 

He sighs. “I guess not,” he says. “I guess…I guess I couldn’t - but not because of how they actually treated us, at least not after the first few days.” 

“Well,” Nott says, “better late than never, right?” She kisses his forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

She turns to make her way to the door but trips on something.

“Careful,” Yasha warns.

“Oh no! I’m sorry, Molly!” the goblin squeaks, stepping over the tiefling gingerly.

“Nott?" Molly’s voice says to the goblin. “Oh, thank the Moonweaver, you - you look - you look okay. Is Caleb still here?” He is groaning and wincing as he forces himself to sit, and Caleb doesn’t think he’s ever been more relieved to see another person awake and alive in his life.

“We will take our leave,” Yasha says with a small smirk coming to her face. “I am going over to the shore with the others, Molly. I suppose you are in charge.”

Then she ushers Nott from the captain’s quarters, and the door shuts behind the two women.

Molly seems like he’s just frozen there, the obvious pain from his wounds mingling with a fierce joy on his features.

Caleb reaches out, and tucks an errant purple curl behind the tiefling’s ear.

Then Molly is wincing as he gets to his feet to clamber into bed with Caleb.

Caleb clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You are going to hurt yourself,” he chides, but he’s already scooting back to make room for the other man.

“I don’t care,” Molly says thickly, and he’s running his now-unbandaged hands over Caleb’s face, his chest, his arms, like he needs to touch every single part of him to be certain he is alright.

“I am fine, Mollymauk,” Caleb says, and he kisses the man’s lips, slow and gentle.

Molly tries to pour himself into the kiss, rushing into him to deepen it, but Caleb uses his hands to brace against Molly’s chest and pull back. He wants to just look at him, to take his time.

“I cannot believe we are both alive,” he says. “I really thought - I mean, we both really thought that was going to be the end.”

“I don’t know how much you remember,” Molly says gravely, “but it very nearly was. If the rest of the crew hadn’t already been right there to come to our aid, and if Marius and Fjord hadn’t been considerably more comfortable with water than I’d previously known they were, we’d all have drowned.”

Caleb nods, processing this.

“Stay with us,” Molly says. “You, Nott, Fjord - please stay with us.” 

Caleb just looks at him for a long, long moment as fear and hope war inside him.

“I…I cannot make any promises right now,” he says.

Molly looks destroyed, and Caleb’s heart aches just to see his face like that.

“What I can promise you is this,” Caleb says. “I am happy here - happier than I thought I would be anywhere after I lost everything I knew just a few months ago. I want to stay on the Suckerpunch .” He runs his thumb over the full curve of Molly’s lower lip. “Moreover, I want to stay with you. It is just…it is so much more complicated than that. Now that I have this amulet, I have options I thought I would never have. While one of those options is the chance to stay with people that I care about, to know people can actually be safe with me, I also have the ability - the responsibility - to begin to take steps to prepare myself for the fight I have ahead of me.” He cannot keep the darkness from his expression. “I have a war ahead of me - perhaps a war without end - but a war I am resolved to fight, no matter where it takes me. I cannot undo what has been done to me or to my family - but I can stop it from ever happening to anyone else.” 

“When the time comes for you to fight,” Molly says, and it is honestly painful how serious he is, “then I’ll fight them with you.”

Caleb gives him a sad, knowing smile. “I thought you might say something like that,” he says, “and I hope you listen to me when I say this: I don’t want that - not yet. I am willing to let you risk your life for me - but not heedlessly, not recklessly, not without a very good and well-researched plan.”

Molly grimaces. “I don’t like that one bit,” he says.

“You do not have to like it. It is simply how it has to be - for now.”

Molly sighs. “If you’re going to be stubborn as fuck about everything else, can I at least get you to kiss me?”

“I think that can be done,” Caleb says, and he closes the distance between them.

This time, he’s not interested in taking orders.

He kisses Molly, nips his lower lip, and feels the man sigh as he opens to him.

He draws him out, hot and fast, his hands roving over Molly. The other man is wearing simple breeches and the bandages on his chest but little else.

Caleb smiles into the kiss. Did he think he was going to take his time? Did he forget how absurdly and unfairly alluring this man in his arms was?

Molly is entirely pliant in his arms, opening his mouth for him, his hands bunched up in the thin cotton shirt Caleb is wearing which Caleb can only assume is one of Molly’s own.

Caleb flips Molly onto his back, drawing a hiss of pain from the other man, but he knows Molly doesn’t care and so he tries not to either.

The tiefling spreads his legs and Caleb settles between them - though he doesn’t lean forward just yet, instead making quick work of the laces on Molly’s breeches, the man sighing below him in something between relief and rapture as Caleb strips off his breeches and throws them unceremoniously to the floor beside the bed.

“There’s always something so delicious about being fucked within an inch of my life in my own captain’s quarters,” Molly purrs, though if he intended to say anything else it is broken off into a soft moan as Caleb licks a hot stripe from the base of his cock to the tip. 

“Are you sure it will not hurt you too much to be fucked right now?” Caleb asks from where he is currently taking in the heady musk of Molly’s skin. “You are still a bit bruised and cut up, Molly.”

“If it does, I don’t care.”

“Allow me to clarify: will it hurt you enough that Jester or Caduceus will have to come and sort you out? There are some forms of humiliation which I do not find attractive.”

“Oh - no. Whatever magic you hit me with burns and smarts and kind of has this weird pins-and-needles sensation, but the physical damage is mostly repaired.”

“Very well,” Caleb says, and he leans forward to take Molly’s mouth once more, making a soft sound of appreciation when the other man yields to him entirely.

Caleb leans in to kiss and lick Molly’s neck over the last ghostly reminder that the man sighing and arching up against him is the same one he almost strangled to death.

He reaches up impulsively and takes one of Molly’s horns to bare more skin for himself, and Molly groans.

“Oh, yes,” the man says, a heady mixture of desire and surprise. “The horns, oh yes - it’s not an erogenous zone like the base and the tip of the tail, but it’s a personal favorite.” 

“Noted,” Caleb murmurs into his skin, as he sucks a red mark onto the sensitive place behind the curve of Molly’s ear.

“I really like being naked and spread out beneath you with you still dressed,” Molly whispers. “You’re going to fuck me, right? We arrived mutually at the conclusion that you are going to fuck me, I’m almost sure of it.”

Caleb’s kiss is rough, bruising, insistent, as he reaches between them, and caresses down Molly’s belly and along the sparse, thin trail of violet hair that stretches from his navel to his groin.

When he palms Molly’s cock his touch is light and teasing but Molly still moans into his mouth, already hopelessly aroused. 

“Listen,” Molly gasps when he breaks the kiss, “you are going to have to be pretty limited in the stimulation, because otherwise I’m not going to be able to last.” 

Caleb nods, smiling down at him. “I will suck your cock another time, then.”

“I would like to stress that it’s going to be a rain check on you sucking my cock, not a permanent deferral!” 

Staying up on his knees to avoid placing too much of his weight against Molly’s cock - he’s as interested in making sure Molly lasts as the man himself is - Caleb kisses him stupid again for about a minute before standing up from the bed.

“What? Where are you going!?” Molly exclaims.

Caleb snorts and rolls his eyes as he walks over to the washbasin, where he vaguely remembers seeing a small caddy of various inscrutable tonics and serums of a cosmetic nature the last time he was in Molly’s quarters. He finds one that at least looks like oil, and opens it to smear some on the back of his hand. Finding it is not scented too much to do the job, he returns to where Molly is sprawled out on the bed.

He’s got to just pause there to take all this in for a second. The tiefling is sprawled out, presenting himself like a gift for Caleb and Caleb alone. His exotic red eyes are bright with lust and his lips are even fuller than they usually are, his cock hard against his belly, legs already spread wide to take whatever the fuck Caleb wants to give him.

Which is everything. Not just sex: everything.

Caleb stands there, and he knows this is insane, he knows he barely knows the man, but he already cares about him so much.

Caleb settles back between his legs.

“Tail to your side, please,” he says, and his voice comes out gentle. “Thread it under your leg, down here. Thank you.” He’s trying to maintain his level of command to calm his nerves, but he’s starting to sink into this moment, to want more than anything to make sure he treats Molly like he’s precious, to treat him the way he deserves to be treated. “Am I correct in surmising that when I touch your tail, it is a very welcome form of stimulation, but not enough to get you off by itself?”

Molly looks momentarily stunned before he manages to answer, “Um, yeah. Yeah.”

Caleb gives him a sly smile, then leans down to start kissing his thighs, tender and slow, working his way lower, nuzzling against soft skin with his rough cheeks. 

****

”I am going to cast to clean you just a little,” Caleb murmurs with an impish smirk.

”Okay?” Molly laughs. “I’m kinda down for whatever, Caleb.”

The feeling is strange, cool and oddly dry, but it quickly passes from Molly’s perception the moment Caleb begins to kiss lower once again.

Molly’s addled brain processes what’s happening, and he groans. He cants up his hips, unabashedly begging for it. As Caleb’s hands spread him, Molly’s eyes slide closed; his breath stutters.

He tries to slow down his breathing, but it is no use the moment he feels the first flick of Caleb's tongue against his opening. He gasps, moans, writhes. “Come on,” he whispers. “Oh Gods, please.”

“Mmf,” Caleb says, and licks into him in earnest, making Molly gasp, and hook his heels over the man’s shoulders. 

The moment he starts licking him, Molly knows this is not the first time he’s used his mouth like this. 

When Molly grinds down onto his face, Caleb makes a soft, huffing sound that is surprised - but he leans in, driving his tongue into him, building a rhythm, meeting the little downward nudges of Molly's hips with more pressure, pulling his cheeks apart.

The tiefling is soon breathing in ragged gasps, his head falling back, his eyes rolling up in his head, as he’s fucked by this smooth, slippery intrusion. 

It’s so fucking good and he can’t help himself, he keeps making little whimpers and moans, and his cock is so painfully hard. He just keeps riding the waves of pleasure, even though he hates how he can’t get any more inside of him than what Caleb is already giving to him. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been when he finally feels thumbs spreading him wider and he moans as the tongue flicks deeper inside.

“For this next part,” Caleb warns, “Please try to control the noise, ja ?”

“Easy for you to say,” Molly says. “Your mouth is full - “ he makes a strangled noise as Caleb drives a thumb into him to the hilt.

“Sorry,” Caleb says, “I - I should use something slick for this.”

“No, that - oh Gods, that is - that is exactly what I want,” Molly gasps, adjusting, and he wriggles his hips, then starts pressing down. “I’m not going to break, I promise.” He looks down, and is rewarded by the sight of Caleb's enraptured face, his lips full and wet. 

“I cannot believe I have not had you on your back like this before,” Caleb whispers, and he slowly, tortuously, starts to withdraw his thumb, getting it all the way out before he fucks back in with one smooth motion that makes Molly have to bite back a truly scandalous sound. 

Then his other hand grasps the end of Molly’s tail where it has been thumping against the bed and Molly moans like a whore.

Caleb smiles, but it isn’t filthy. It’s…intimate, adoring, like he’s amazed, like he wants everything he sees and more - not just the body but the person.

With the next stroke with his thumb, Caleb finds that telltale angle, and Molly just gasps, “That’s it, thatsitthatsitthatsit - “ and that’s all Caleb apparently needs to start fucking him in earnest with his thumb.

A minute or so later Molly briefly protests the loss of the sensation but quiets himself when he hears Caleb unscrewing the bottle of oil.

Moments later he’s getting even more than before as Caleb starts to fuck him slow and deep with his index and middle finger as Molly just pants and writhes.

Unlike when Molly is the one doing this to him, Caleb isn’t bossy or demanding this time. He’s every bit as intense and attentive as before, but he’s completely focused on every single tiny movement Molly makes, every sound he utters, every tell that Molly has. Caleb leans over him, kissing his chest and belly, whispering soothing, nonsensical things into his skin, tasting his sweat, telling him he’s pretty, telling him he’s not leaving, telling him he’s perfect. 

When he tries to add another finger, Molly stops him. “Not too much prep, love. I’m having trouble keeping it together as it is. You know what I want.”

The man between his legs gazes up at him, eyes alight with that powerful, ponderous curiosity that Molly adores.

“I really want to - “ Caleb begins.

“Yes, yes - you want to, and I want you to! Two is fine, two is plenty!”

“Very well,” Caleb says, and he stands. 

He makes wonderfully quick work of undressing, his eyes never leaving Molly’s, and then he’s slicking up his cock while Molly just gazes upon him in wonder.

Caleb pauses thoughtfully, then briefly walks over to Molly’s shelf of liquor. He takes a sip out of the first bottle he finds, licks his lips, swallows, and comes back over the bed. It’s such a simple act, but so profoundly thoughtful and respectful, so frankly charming that he thinks Molly wouldn’t want to taste himself on his lips, that Molly is stunned wordless.

People have treated you like trash all your fucking life, and here you are making an effort to learn how to treat me well.

Caleb sinks back down to kneel between Molly’s legs, and the fact that Molly is going to be able to kiss him and watch his face as he does this is such a violent delight that it literally takes his breath away.

“Ready?” Caleb says, and Molly sighs when he pushes his cock head up against his entrance.

“Don’t stop unless I tell you to,” Molly says.

Caleb starts to push in and Molly is making a lot of noise and he doesn’t give give the tiniest fuck about who hears him. Caleb does as he’s told, and keeps pushing, slow but steadily, easing himself in.

Caleb stops at what must be halfway because Molly’s breathing is so harsh and ragged, and he just leans in, and kisses him. He tastes like cognac and musk and sweat. “More?”

“Yeah, I’m just - just overwhelmed - in a good way, not a bad way. It doesn’t hurt too much.” 

“Is there enough oil? I want to do this right - “ 

Molly pulls him in for a kiss, groaning as Caleb inadvertently sinks a little deeper. “This is right,” he whispers. “This is better than right, Caleb. This is perfect.”

Caleb nods, and lavishes more kisses on him as he pushes the rest of the way inside him, slow and sweet. Molly can’t help but let out a shout when he bottoms out, and Caleb catches his lips to kiss him quiet.

“Does this feel good for you?” Caleb asks, as he holds still over him, stroking Molly's thighs in a soothing, gentle gesture, like he’s trying to calm him.

He can only nod his head, closing his eyes as he works to relax, to adjust.

Apparently able to read him just right, Caleb knows exactly when to start to pull himself out, to begin to work him open with slow, deliberate thrusts, until Molly feels his body finally give way just a little more. Caleb doesn’t miss it. The moment he knows he can start to pick up his pace, he does.

Molly opens his eyes to take in the sight of Caleb’s face as his desire builds, as his control starts to melt away and leaves behind that sordid, unabashed need that Molly so fervently needs to see.

Caleb grunts, and starts pressing in as fast as he likes, a drip of sweat from his brow falling onto Molly's chest.

“I am never going to be able to forget what this looks like,” Caleb whispers to him, looking up from where his cock is thrusting into Molly’s ass to Molly’s eyes, wonderfully earnest and intense. “You are so beautiful, Molly. I do not deserve you.”

Molly said he wouldn’t break, but he was lying. As Caleb leans back forward to steal another long, slow kiss - combined with a wicked snap of his hips - Molly finds himself digging his claws into Caleb's back, and keeps moaning into his lips like a slut. He’s pretty sure he’ll come just from this, being fucked wide open, but of course that’s when Caleb, this very good man who knows how to do very bad things so very well, works his hand underneath Molly and grabs the base of his tail, rough and possessive.

Molly can’t even put words to the sounds he makes from here on out. He’s gone. It’s all too much in the absolute best way possible.

It’s like time has become just an abstract concept. Molly measures the moments only by the increasing rhythm and power of Caleb thrusting into him as his body finally comes to accept the human completely.

He knows, as Caleb’s thrusts become almost brutal, as the weight of him starts to actually press them close enough together that Molly's own thighs are up against his chest, and Caleb's belly starts to rub against his leaking prick, that he’s close to his climax.

That’s when Caleb moves his hand from his tail to his cock, and starts to stroke him.

Molly pulls their lips apart to say, “I’m really close, I’m going to - tell me - “

“Tell you - what?” 

“Tell me you love me,” he whimpers, and he knows it’s pathetic. “Lie if you have to, but please Caleb, just tell me you love me this once and make me believe it.”

Caleb looks at him like he’s terrified, like his heart is breaking. “You are such a fool,” he says between heaving breaths. “Of all the things, Molly? Fine - fine. I will - if you want me to - I will. I love you, you foolish, transcendent creature.”

Molly knows it is a lie, but it’s a sweet, lovely lie, the kind of lie one tells to soothe a frightened man or comfort a wounded one, and it’s enough to send him over the edge.

Chapter Text

Six weeks have passed. 

The addition of a wealth of new salvaged materials from the Temple of the False Hawk and the benefit of at last having a full crew was enough to get the Suckerpunch seaworthy for the month-long journey back to the Menagerie Coast from the West Reach.

Molly has woken up every morning with Caleb curled up against him. He’s kissed him, he’s made love to him, he’s enjoyed his smile and his touch and his near-constant companionship.

Even if it weren’t for all of that, the simple fact that Caleb no longer starts when Molly touches him, that he lets him hold him when his dreams startle him awake - that, that would be enough.

Molly knows better to push the matter of what he’s confessed about his feelings, what he begged the man to say to him that first night together back on the Suckerpunch. 

It’s been so long since these furtive words were shared between them that he’s caught off guard the morning Caleb finally decides to broach the topic.

They’re standing at the helm together, watching the distant silhouette of the great statue of the Wildmother slowly materialize in the mist that cloaks the great port as seabirds wheel and call above them.

Caleb says, “Molly, I - I haven’t said anything. About…what you have told me about how you feel.”

Molly’s eyes are immediately on him. He holds up his hand.

“Listen, Caleb,” he says. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t owe me anything - not even an explanation. This last month, I’ve been happy, and I hope you’ve been happy too. That’s all I want.”

Caleb clasps Molly’s hand in his own. “I have worked myself up to discuss this,” he says, voice calm, “so I will continue if you do not mind.”

Molly nods. “Of course.”

“I do not love you,” Caleb says.

He knew it was coming but it’s still a suckerpunch to the gut.

 “...but it is not for lack of passion or adoration or loyalty. I feel those things every time I look at you. It is because I…I have been through so much. If I am able to love anyone, it will be you, and it may even be soon. I am just…I am not able to quite yet. Even when Nott tells me she loves me, I just stand there looking like a fish gaping on a dock.”

Molly smiles at him through the pain. “I would like it very much if you someday can say you love me and mean it,” he says gently, “but even if I am not the right person, I am just happy for the time I’ve been permitted to have you at my side.”

“I have already been happy with you, Molly,” Caleb says softly, drawing him close to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “That is already something you have given to me which I thought I would never have again.”

****

Marion Lavorre has waited for this moment for almost a year.

When she sees the incredible assortment of colorful folk who have made their way up the front walk of the Lavish Chateau, it is with a mother’s intuition that she knows them for who they are - and that she knows the human girl at the forefront is her darling daughter.

Vermillion skirts rustling, she runs to her daughter and crushes her against her bosom, smelling her hair, crying.

“Oh my sweet thing,” she says, “my little Sapphire. You have come home to me. I too will thank the Traveler tonight; a mother will pray to any god who can return her only child to her!”

When the young tiefling in her human guise stands back, even the illusion cannot hide the tears streaming down her face.

Cupping her daughter’s cheek a moment, Marion manages to collect herself.

“Come,” she says. “Let us get inside where we will have some privacy. I want to get a good look at you - and I want to meet all your friends!” She takes her daughter’s hand in her own, and gestures for the others to follow them both inside. “Please, honored guests! Come; the very least I owe you is a little wine, dance and song! You have brought my little girl back to me, and I will forever be in your debt.”

When the group enters the Lavish Chateau, Marion is a little charmed that the scruffy-looking human man actually stops on the threshold as if uncertain if he may enter - but thankfully, there is a lavender tiefling at his side who grabs his hand and drags him in.

****

[Music for maximum feelings: Benj Heard - Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana cover).]

A week at the Lavish Chateau passes with an indolent sort of grace. They revel and talk, they boast and brawl; they enjoy fine wine, good food, and the comfort and privacy afforded to them as the honored guests of the legendary courtesan the Ruby of the Sea.

Now, it is just before dawn. 

Caleb is already dressed, and his things are already packed.

He pauses to look at the sleeping form of Molly, feeling the regret and sadness well up in him.

He feels a particularly strong pang of guilt as he looks at the half-empty wine glass on the bedside table. It’s not something he has ever enjoyed doing to anyone, let alone someone he cares so deeply for.

Caleb kisses the sleeping Molly on his forehead, runs his hand through the tiefling’s soft curls, and then it is time to take his leave.

Out in the hallway, Nott is already waiting for him.

“Did you say goodbye to Yeza?” Caleb whispers as they descend the stairs.

She shakes her head. “I…I don’t think I need to,” she says. “He can’t know, Caleb. I just…I left him some gold. For him and the boy. They deserve that much from me.”

Caleb pats her shoulder.

“Maybe someday, Nott,” he says. “Maybe you’ll be ready someday.”

Maybe I'll be ready someday.

Together, the pair makes their way outside into the crisp, cool mist and the pre-dawn light of Nicodranas.

Caleb is always a little taken aback by hired help, but particularly so when they are as perceptive and attentive as the people Marion Lavorre employs. The stableboy has already readied the horse he bought yesterday, and stands with it just outside the front gate.

Caleb hesitates before him, tips him what is either too much or too little, and lifts Nott onto the horse.

He reaches down to the ground and picks up a handful of fresh mud from a puddle. In front of the shocked stableboy, he dirties his face with it.

Then he steps into the stirrups and slings himself up behind Nott.

With a flick of the reins and a squeeze of his knees, they set off at a canter.

Nott says, “How long is it going to take us to get to Zadash?”

“Two weeks.” 

“Do you think Molly will come after us?”

Caleb can’t help but smile.

“Of course he will,” he says. “Why do you think we need the head start?”

****

Molly wakes late in the morning, head throbbing.

It isn’t strange that the bed is empty - but when he looks around, he realizes Caleb’s things are gone as well.

He thumps his face back into the pillows and groans.

He knows Caleb well enough; he knew this was coming. He’d just hoped it wouldn’t be so damned soon.

Presently, he forces himself to sit, and swings his legs over the side of the bed to stand.

He walks over to the small desk that had become Caleb’s the instant he walked into this room of theirs, this little place they shared away from the world.

There’s a note.

All it says is this: “Keep them safe. Keep our secrets. I’ll be back soon.”

For Molly, that’s enough. 

All he ever asks for in this life is a chance.

****

THE END OF PART ONE OF THE "FIREBUG" SERIES.

BE KIND AND REWIND. SEE YOU IN PART TWO!