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In the few short weeks leading up to Raishan’s demise, Keyleth had dreamed of all the ways she wanted it done.
In the darkness of her slumber, she saw herself, facing off against the blight that haunted her days and nights.
Her magic would bubble beneath scales, withering the serpentine form until the once-great Diseased Deceiver was nothing but a husk of wickedness barely worthy of pity, begging Keyleth for mercy as she flaked away, piece by piece, until all that was left was a mound of rotting teeth.
She watched her own vines sunder Raishan’s adamantine armor from flesh, digging beneath her skin like veins, strangling her from the inside out, crushing organs, rending muscle.
She saw her own half-elven form swelling into that of an earth elemental, jagged hands shoving into Raishan’s maw as she reared to spit acid, ripping jaw from jaw and yanking her forked tongue out at the root.
Keyleth once heard from a lovely farmer in Whitestone that when he found a snake in his garden, he would take it by the tail and crack it like a whip. If done correctly, the spine would snap with such force that the head would fly from the body. Keyleth dreamed, somewhat nonsensically, of snatching Raishan by the tail and lashing her body forward with such force that her lying, traitorous skull would sever clean off her body in one stroke.
Once, she was jolted awake from one such dream by the sound of a ragged gasp, and shot up with wild eyes to find Vax shoving away from behind her, ripping his forearm from where it had been curled around her waist. His jaw was clenched, breaths heavy, but his eyes were wide with concern for her, not himself. She had glanced down, and in the dim light of her room, saw the red imprint of her palm against his skin, already beginning to blister. Her hands burned warm when she clenched them to fists, tucking them to her chest. Before she could muster an apology, Vax was already moving closer, reaching out with his free hand to cup her face, questions on his tongue, his eyes searching hers for answers.
She had none to give.
She soothed the burn with the gentle touch of her magic, and pulled him back to bed. He went willingly, though worry furrowed his brow.
And when the deed was done, when Keyleth beheld Raishan— the last remaining member of the Chroma Conclave, the cruelest, cleverest mind in all of Exandria— dead, froth dripping from bloodied teeth, the remains of an animalistic indignity Keyleth, herself, had wrought, there was a half-moment where time stood still. She found, as she stared at the smoldering corpse of her mortal enemy, that she was waiting. Waiting for the burden to lift. To feel relieved, elated, grateful.
Grog had once told her to wait. To hold her anger inside, and let it build, until the time was right to strike. Hadn’t she done that? Although it was Kerrik, not her, who dealt the final blow, she had taken great satisfaction in sinking her magic into Raishan’s blood, driving her mad with it. The release of all that rage, built up, just as Grog said it would be.
Then, what is left still burning, seething in her chest?
Perhaps I should have been the one to do it, she thought but for a moment, lost. Maybe this is not enough. But that was ridiculous. Raishan was no more. The subject of her ire was torn asunder by her dearest friends— her family. This was vengeance, pure and true. Her people, slaughtered with so little thought, can rest easy knowing Raishan will never claim another life.
But as she stood, the voices of her friends muffled behind the beating of her heart in her ears, legs shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion, she felt like she was taking one long, continuous inhale, waiting, waiting for that release, for the peace she was promised by no one but herself.
And yet, the rage remained. Unfiltered. Roiling black and hot just beneath the surface of her skin. Itching to release, but now with no target, no focus.
Everything snapped back into motion, Vex’s cries ringing sharp in her ears, drawing her focus to the body not far from Raishan’s. Pike, charging past her, holy symbol already clutched in her hand.
Keyleth shoved the anger down, deep, and pulled her magic to her fingers as she forced her legs to move, taking her to the body of her best friend. Now is not the time to grieve. Now is the time to cling to those I can save.
…
She doesn’t think of Raishan again until she sleeps that night, body wracked with exhaustion, cheeks stiff and burning from the tears she had wept for Percy, for Kima and Allura, for Scanlan.
And instead of the quiet void she has missed ever-so-much— prayed to return to, now that she has gotten her vengeance— she is back in that gods-damned laboratory. Raishan ahead of her, touching down to the stone floor, stalking towards her, claws scraping sparks as her limbs drag with fatigue. Her reptilian eyes are slitted, maddened.
Foolish… ignorant… naïve child. You cannot face your own failure, and so you cast your blame, absolving yourself.
Keyleth stumbles back, suddenly struck with a deep, sickening fear. She turns her head, and behind her, the sanctum is empty. She hears no clashing of swords, no familiar voices in her ear.
Perhaps we are more alike than you think, child. After all, the greatest deception is that of the self.
Raishan stalks forward, spitting the words as acid drips from her salivating maw, sizzling against the stone. You are guilty, Keyleth of the Air Ashari. It was I who opened that rift, and yet, where were you?
Keyleth holds up her staff, hand shaking, trying to summon a spell, and panicking when her magic shrinks away from her summons, rejecting her call.
Where were you, leader, as your people burned?
She trips backwards over something, and her boot squelches in wetness as she regains her footing. She looks down, and her hand flies to her mouth as she sees her boot buried in the scattered trail of Percy’s guts, his clouded eyes looking upwards behind cracked glasses. Keyleth moans and looks away, feeling bile rise in her throat.
Raishan is suddenly consuming her entire field of vision, hypnotic eyes catching her own and holding her hostage, burning into what little soul she must have left.
What good is a Voice with no one left to listen? You are nothing, girl. Pathetic. Weak. COWARD.
And suddenly she’s seeing herself, cowering before Raishan’s gaze, surrounded by the corpses of her family, the ashes of her people coating her skin, caked into her hair and under her fingernails.
“All hail,” croons Raishan, “the Voice that has been broken.”
A cry rips from Keyleth’s throat as she flails into consciousness, lashing out into the darkness. The echo of teeth ripping her vocal cords from her neck leaves her throat phantom-tight, chest heaving with sacred breath.
She half expects Vax to burst into her room, daggers at the ready, but after a few minutes of her own breath rattling the silence with no interruption, she isn’t sure whether she is relieved or disappointed. Her skin is sticky with sweat, although her sheets are shoved to the bottom of the bed and the room prickles with the cold of Whitestone.
Keyleth slides off the bed, cringing at the damp impression her body leaves upon the mattress, and walks to the window. The chilled breeze sweeps across her skin, and she shivers gratefully. Out she looks, across the city they fought so hard to defend, time and time again.
Not her city. And yet, she ensured its safety.
She should have been there.
What could she have done?
Anything.
She should have died with her people.
She should be dead.
A warmth under her fingers catches her attention, and she looks down to see her fingers clutching the sill of the window, red-hot light illuminating the bones at the tips of her fingers from beneath. She pulls her hands away, and two blackened impressions remain on the stone.
She should be dead.
…
She manages to keep her anger under wraps. Puts on a face, plays along.
Scanlan’s departure cracks the mask, ever so slightly. She feels the anger rise, but it manifests into weepiness and a fear that she resents. It makes her feel alone and weak, ashamed.
Maybe it’s a child’s way of thinking, but she’s angry that things aren’t fixed. They fought for so long to defeat the Briarwoods, and then the Conclave, and now, what do they have to show for it? Scanlan’s gone, and nobody knows how to feel anymore. They’re breaking apart— perhaps, have been for quite a while. And when they’re gone, who will she have then? A quarter of her people are dead, and the others will know that she failed, and how could she ever— could she ever be—
She drinks.
Heavily.
It doesn’t help much.
…
That night, Keyleth stands on the rift bank in Pyrah, and watches Thordak rip his way out of the Plane of Fire. He flails and tears his way through, tail lashing and leveling countless homes, his breath setting aflame what’s left as his massive wings carry him higher. And she stands in the middle of it all, unscathed, unable to move, ash singeing her skin, and watches the Fire Ashari burn alive.
…
Taryon gets on her nerves in a lot of ways. He’s arrogant. Incompetent. Naive. Nothing she hasn’t seen— or been— before. But he’s endearing in his own frustrating manner.
But she won’t lie; there was something in her that had enjoyed toying with him. Testing him. Maybe she was quietly punishing him for being Scanlan’s… replacement, in some way. Not that Scanlan could ever be replaced, but… it was so soon. She had nowhere to place her anger at his departure, as he wasn’t here to receive it. Taryon served that purpose just fine, and he ended up perfectly alright in the end. Proved his mettle, even, if anything.
But at the end of it all, still, she was left with several bullets in a loaded gun, surrounded by her loved ones.
She’s noticed the way she has to actively tamp down her temper now, stop from snapping at minor comments. She wants to bite the bit at everything; start an argument, get angry. She considers asking Grog for a good old-fashioned brawl, looking for that sated satisfaction he always seems to return with after a night at the fighting ring. But in the end, her aversion to talking about it outweighs her desire to ask. Even Grog is perceptive enough to know when something is bothering her, and she couldn’t bear it if he mentioned it to anyone else.
She can handle this. This is her burden, and she won’t let those around her burn for it.
She smiles, jokes, laughs, and cries. Drinks.
Keyleth is many things. A good liar is not one of them.
…
“Kiki.”
Keyleth flicks one eye open to register the light filtering in from the hall, casting a line across her cheek. Vax’s shadow darkens the space between, briefly, as he slips inside and eases it closed once more. She hears him walk to the bed, feels the mattress sink by her bent knees.
“Kiki.”
“Mm?”
“What’s been going on with you lately?”
Keyleth hums and reaches out, feeling around for his hand. His palm presses against hers, and he laces their fingers together with a quiet exhale of breath. His thumb strokes across the top of her knuckle as he waits for her to answer.
“Keyleth. Please. You know you can tell me anything.”
“Good,” Keyleth murmurs, face half buried in her pillow. “I’m good.”
“No, you’re not,” he whispers, and she can practically sense the furrow between his brows. “You’ve been on edge since the battle, Keyleth. Please, just talk to me. What’s going on?” His fingers tighten against hers, and he moves a little closer, tucking the side of his hip into the crook of her abdomen. His free hand smoothes up her spine like he’s calming a horse. “Please.”
Keyleth blinks her eyes open in the darkness and lets them adjust. With the light of the moons filtering through the open window, she can see the fine details of Vax’s features in high definition. His hair slips like shadows over his shoulders, the few pieces that frame his face gently swaying in the slight breeze. And just as she thought, his dark brows are pinched together in concern, his eyes flickering over her face, trying to read any trace of information she lets slip.
She swallows hard.
Will you watch him burn?
“Vax, I’m fine, I—“ Her throat tightens. Phantom fangs rip her voice away.
Coward. Pathetic. Weak. Child.
“Oh, Kiki,” Vax murmurs, settling even closer, leaning forward and unlacing their fingers to cup her face in both hands, pressing their foreheads together. “I can feel… I don’t know why, but you’re suffering, and I want to help. Let me. I’m begging you.”
You will watch him—
“I see her,” Keyleth gasps out into the deafening silence.
Vax thumbs across her cheek. “Raishan?”
She nods, ever so faintly. She’s embarrassed by how her eyes prickle with heat, how she feels a tear slip from the corner of her eye to trace down the side of her nose.
“She’s gone, Kiki. You know that, right?”
Another nod.
“We killed that bloody rotting serpent. She’ll never hurt another soul. And you—“ Vax huffs a breath that ghosts across her lips. “You broke her. My beautiful girl. Scared the shit out of me a little, but you did it. And it was incredible.”
He kisses the corner of her mouth, and her gut twists.
“You did right by your people,” he continues, tilting his head to kiss the other side. “You did right by yourself.”
She should be dead.
“I don’t feel it,” she whispers into him, her voice hoarse. “I feel— I don’t feel— it didn’t go away, Vax. It’s all still there.”
“Give it to me,” he says into her mouth, his nose pressing against her cheek. “I’ll hold it for you until you’re ready.”
And in a moment that feels like an inhale with no end, Vax fits their lips together, both hands combing into her hair, newly chopped shorter. He cradles her head, gentle as can be as he kisses her, demanding and asking and giving and taking and pleading, and… offering.
And finally, she gives.
Keyleth pushes up onto her elbows, and then her hands, their teeth clicking together as she rises to her knees, looming over him where he sits on the edge of the bed. Her hands come to his neck, fitting to his nape, cupping the back of his head, keeping him close. Her chin tilts down to maintain the kiss; his face turns up to meet her. His hands skate down to her hips, and he lifts her to straddle his lap. She notices now that he came having already stripped away his armor, with only a soft, loose tunic and worn trousers between them. She breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far, feeling dizzy as the oxygen between them is stripped by their hot breath.
Her hands slip down the column of his neck, coming to rest at his shoulders. He’s still that uncanny way he can be when he wants to remain unseen, his eyes utterly locked onto hers.
Keyleth gives him a sweet, gentle press of her lips against his Cupid’s bow. Her fingers tangle in the soft material of his tunic.
She wants to tear it from his skin, clothe him with her touch. But not yet.
Keyleth sighs, content to feel him, taking her time to trace her palm down his spine, where he sits rigid and perfect for her, across his sides, where she feels his heart thrum steady. She takes her time tracing the lines of his face with her thumbs, smoothing the crease from his brow and stroking along the curve of his ears. Gorgeous.
Her hands return to cradle his head where he remained, so attentively tilted to see her face, and sinks her fingers into his hair. It’s all down tonight, and she feels the full density of it, the silken strands slipping across her skin. She spends time here, as well, combing the larger tangles free, tracing the stray braids with the tips of her fingers. Vax hardly blinks, but she sees his eyelids shudder as she winds her fingers deep and, one hand bracing the back of his neck, begins a slow, steady pull that tilts his face away from hers and towards the ceiling.
Vax’s throat bobs hard and he breathes steadily through his nose. Keyleth does not lean forward to follow, but his eyes still track her, even as it becomes harder to do so. Still just watching, waiting. Asking, giving.
She breaks his gaze to dip down and press a line of soft kisses from the base of his ear down to his clavicle, first on the right, then the left, tilting his head as she sees fit to access the crook of his jaw. His head is loose weight in her hands, completely relaxed. Trusting.
When she’s had her fill, she sits tall again, tightening her grip on Vax’s hair. This time, she hears the faintest noise from him, a leased breath accompanied by a soft moan that strikes heat in her abdomen.
“Who are you?” Keyleth whispers against his lips.
Vax’s response is faint, like he’s using the last of his air to speak his truth. “Nobody. Only yours.”
She sighs, feeling the words sink into her chest, chasing away the fear, the insecurity. “Yes, you are. Forever?”
Vax shudders in a shallow breath. “And a day, Kiki.”
“I’ll take that day.” She releases his hair, barely allowing Vax a moment to breathe as he reorients before she’s crushing their lips together again, pressing her body flush against his. He comes alive in that moment, his hands unfreezing from where they’d been rooted to her hips, surging up her silk tunic and curving around to her back, pulling her closer still. And suddenly, as much as she loves the feel of his shirt beneath her palms, it’s only in the way, and she pulls back to reach down and yank it upwards. Vax is quick to help her pull it off completely, and it disappears into the darkness as he goes for her own top, tugging it over her raised arms. The breeze from the window chills her skin, and she’s all too eager to press back against him once more to soak in his heat.
He groans against her lips, arms wrapping around her lower back and holding her close as she presses her hips down against him, feeling the rigid heat beneath his trousers.
He would kiss her forever, if she asked, she thinks. He’d be content to stay here for days, hard as a rock, lips pressed to hers, giving her his air. Warming her skin with his touch. She doesn’t deserve him. She wants him. Needs him.
And he is hers.
Keyleth groans at the renewed surge of heat licking across her skin, and as much as it pains her, she breaks away from his mouth, both of them panting.
“Kneel,” she breathes. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and kisses the bridge of his nose. “Kneel for me, Vax.”
With a reverential sigh, Vax, still holding her, slides to his knees, off the side of the bed, and turns as he does, setting her on the edge where he once was, his body fitted between her open knees. He cups the backs of her calves in his hands, fingers strong and calloused from countless daggers past.
Already, her skin prickles with chill, feeling so far from the furnace of his torso, but anticipation warms her veins. She looks down at her lover as he sits back on his heels and looks up at her, thumbs idly stroking the sensitive backs of her knees. He looks like a fallen angel here, with dark hair spilling across his shoulders, torso bare and faintly illuminated by the moon, her shadow cast across him from above.
(If she could see herself, she would see the way the moonlight frames her from behind, reflecting off her auburn hair in a crimson halo, pale skin practically glowing, the picture of the merciful god hearing out the pleas of the repentant, allowing them to beg mercy, benevolent. But only Vax is privy to this vision, and he could never find the words to describe it if he tried.)
He tilts forward into her, eyes fluttering shut as her fingers find their way back into his hair. His head ducks forward to press his cheek against the soft inside of her knee, and she catches a glimpse of the raised impression of her own hand between his shoulder blades, where the Clasp’s mark once lay on unblemished skin. In a moment of inspiration, she combs through his hair to his nape, and traces down his spine with her fingertips, leaning forward to do so. Vax’s breath hitches, and, hesitantly, she trails the edges of the print. The skin is scar-soft and young, but far past healed. And yet, it might as well be raw for as much as Vax shudders at the touch, his fingers tensing around her calves with a hollow, broken groan.
“Keyleth.” He says her name with no direction, as if he just wants to savor the sound of it in his mouth.
She traces up his back once more, never losing contact with his skin, and cups his chin to bring their gazes to meet once more. He looks utterly consumed, his lips slightly parted for shallow breaths, a flush high on his cheekbones.
“Keyleth,” he says again, giving her calves a small tug. “Please.”
Keyleth is surprised she doesn’t blush to match him. Something in her rears its head, bringing a small, satisfied smile to her lips instead of a flustered grin.
“Go on,” she says softly, her thumb brushing the swell of his lower lip before withdrawing to tug the tie on her silken shorts loose.
Vax sighs like the weight of the world has slid off his shoulders, and she has to suppress a yelp as he pulls her forward suddenly, her hips dangerously perched on the edge of the mattress. His fingers slide her sleepwear down and off. Then, her legs are up and over his shoulders, and his breath is hot against the inside of her thighs, then further, and further—
His tongue sweeps through her in broad strokes, starved, his fingers gripping her hips like iron. She doesn’t even try to hide her gasp this time as his mouth finds her clit with familiar precision, holding nothing back. No buildup, not tonight. Her hands are back in his hair immediately, gently tugging, but not enough to pull him away. She wouldn’t dream of it.
Vax tears climax from her with teeth and tongue, and he doesn’t stop. She’s still shaking with the aftershocks as he presses a trail of kisses along her thigh, looking up at her with those dark, dark eyes as he noses back into her heat. It’s only when she gasps his name and gently pushes his head away that he sits back, but even then, it’s only a little. His lips and chin shine obscenely in the moonlight. Keyleth had somehow managed to stay up on her elbows out of pure determination to keep her eyes on him, but her breathing is unsteady and her chest is flushed with color.
“Come here,” she whispers, and Vax is surging up to meet her, graceful as ever, sliding his hand beneath her lower back to tug her further onto the bed with him. His hair hangs down to brush over her bare skin, silk-soft, and the leather of his trousers presses cold against her thighs where they bracket his hips.
His eyes don’t stray from hers as she reaches down and fumbles with his belt, tugging his trousers open and releasing his cock, hot-blooded and straining against her palm. Vax’s breath catches as she draws her thumb across the tip to find the wetness there before reaching between her legs to gather her own slick. When she has her fingers around him, stroking far too slow, his eyes flutter shut and his head dips forward to mouth at her neck, choosing a sensitive spot at the crook of her jaw to taste her skin, teeth gently scraping in the aftermath.
All too soon and not soon enough, she holds him to her entrance, free hand guiding his hips forward until he’s hilted inside her, his biceps trembling where his forearms are pressed to the bed on either side of her head. Keyleth sighs contentedly and presses a kiss to his shoulder.
“Gods, you feel—“ Vax cuts off with a strangled groan as Keyleth shifts beneath him, finding a more comfortable position for her hips. His voice is strained when he continues. “Fucking amazing.”
She tilts her chin up to find his mouth again, and he meets her with a dip of his head, lowering his torso until they’re pressed firmly together, heart to heart, hips to hips. His weight atop her is soothing, safe. Her hands trace up his sides and over his shoulder blades, the tips of her fingers feeling, once more, the soft, raised indentation of her own hand, and a shiver travels down Vax’s spine as she feels himself pulse inside her. He groans and breaks the kiss, hanging his head to press his mouth to the crook of her shoulder.
“Fuck, I am yours,” he whispers against her skin, hoarse. “Yours to love. Yours to break. Yours to do with whatever the fuck you want, Keyleth.” A shallow breath. “Tell me what you want. You’ll have it.”
What does she want?
Her mind reaches out for all those things, all that she’s turned over in anguish for days, weeks, months; all that she lost, all that she missed, all that she needs to do.
And there is nothing. Her worries slip through her fingers like grains of sand.
There is only him.
“Fuck me,” she breathes against the curve of his ear, hands brushing up to his shoulders and down his upper arms.
Vax groans, lifting his head and readjusting to hover over her. Her palms find their way to either side of his neck, feeling his heartbeat thump against her fingers. His hips begin to grind back and forth, never leaving too long, drawn back to press their skin flush, like if he could, he’d burn her grip into his flesh, fuse bone with bone, becoming a monstrosity to the outside world, but a creature whole and at peace within. The cold breeze from the window is far away now, there is only heat and pressure, like a blade beneath an anvil, beaten and battered into something beautiful, something new. Nothing lost, nothing gained, just reforged to a new and beautiful purpose.
She feels like she should say something; anything, but she can’t find the words between her gasping breaths. As if he can sense her stumbling, a charmed smile curves his lips and he presses their mouths together, the teeth of his grin clacking against her own burgeoning smile before they melt into each other in earnest.
Not too long later, she feels his back tense beneath her fingertips and he breaks from her mouth to groan quietly against the side of her neck, a tremble taking over his muscles and setting his pace off-kilter. But without a word, he pushes on with a renewed vigor, one of his hands finding its way between them and settling against her clit. His breaths are ragged with effort, but it’s not until she shudders beneath him, his name on her lips, that Vax slows his pace.
They stay like that for a minute, maybe more, just taking in what humid oxygen they can get in this small corner of the world they fill. Keyleth tugs him down weakly, and Vax settles on his side curled against her, his bicep beneath her head, other arm laid across her waist. Together they regain their breath, exhaustion and syrupy satisfaction weighing them down like the best of elvish wines.
“Vax,” she says to the silence, some time later.
“Keyleth,” he responds, his voice a murmur, dredged with sleep.
She searches for the words she wants to say: that she’s sorry she’s a mess; that she isn’t fit to rule; that she’ll never be free of the weight of her people’s deaths. But none of it comes to her lips. There is only a quiet, drifting space that fills her mind. Not numb, but empty.
So she tilts her head to look at Vax, who seems moments away from dreaming, his eyelids shuttered, breaths even and soft. She turns onto her side to face him, pressing her forehead to his and allowing him to pull her deeper into his embrace, legs twining together.
She closes her eyes.
For the first time in many, many moons, she’s not afraid to dream.