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Paultin was all too familiar with mistakes. He had made his fair share. Hell, his continued existence on this plane was a mistake. Van Richten claimed that he had let him live as a child but Paultin could never bring himself to believe him.
After all the damage Paultin had wrought, how could he not say letting him live had been a mistake?
After the confrontation at the tavern, Paultin made sure that he wasn’t without a bottle or wineskin in his hand. Hell, it had been working for him for the last twenty-something years, it should work now. He keeps telling himself that as he has drink after drink and the angry hole in the pit of his stomach still remained, gnawing at his every nerve. He honestly couldn’t remember how young he had been when he started drinking or why. Perhaps it was the until-recently-repressed memory of his family’s brutal murder. Maybe something else in his life happened that drinking made easier to handle. Either way, wine has ended up being a constant for Paultin - he could always rely on it to do what he needed it to do. Even doing it a little too well.
After all, how black out drunk had Paultin been when Diath had been dragged off to the stocks? If he had been sober, would he have been able to stop him being taken away? He definitely would have at least made it to him before Strix’s crazy-ass brother hung him in the gallows.
That hadn’t been the first time Paultin had personally failed someone and, as the friendly faces of Ezmerelda and Falkon flashed in his mind, it certainly hadn’t been the last. Hell, if he hadn’t let himself get spirited off to Ravenloft, perhaps he could have done something to stop Strix from being killed that first time around. Then Evelyn wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself and be condemned to a living hell as an emotionless tin can.
Paultin found himself clenching his fist and taking an extra large swig when his thoughts dwelled too much on his paladin friend. He should have driven her away when he first took notice of the same golden curls and admiring eyes appearing in the crowd, night after night, tavern after tavern. It had felt nice, having an actual fan admire him for his craft, the only thing he could be proud of in his life, but that bright face saw in him... something. He has no clue what it is. Well, was. He hadn’t missed how much duller the twinkle in her eyes were whenever she looked at him, the shine in her unchanging smile seeming to fade with each passing day.
Why did this make him feel even worse? She was the one who thrusted such unrealistic expectations on him! He never asked for this. He should finally put her in her place. Spurn her affections, snap at her kind words, scream at her until she gets it through her thick, naive skull about how pathetic and stupid it is for her to wistfully hope for him when he was just going to keep disappointing her.
But he doesn’t do it. He can’t. So Paultin hates himself a little more and takes another drink.
At least Evelyn was trying to speak to him, despite how much her heart wasn’t in it. Strix won’t even look at him. Out of all of their reactions, Strix’s had been the one that Paultin had understood the most, but also the one who surprised him. Everyone knew Strix’s wrath - her anger was like an explosion. Loud, sudden, fiery - literally more often than not - all-consuming and completely destructive to all in her path, but over in an instant. This anger was different - it was a cold anger that spread slowly over time, suppressed until it could be contained no longer. An invisible sword was being held over Paultin’s head and he was just waiting for her to strike him down.
When he looked at her, during times when she was alone tending to her owlbear or doing some other menial task, he could see the weariness in her eyes, the slight creasing of crow’s feet in her brow and the gauntness in her cheeks that you would only see if you were looking closely. He could see the shine of a slowly creeping leathery look consuming her hands and remember just how old she was.
How much older she had become after fifty years trapped within a godforsaken hellscape, mourning for the only family she ever truly had.
He really should tell her what happened to the last family he had. Maybe he will when her rage is finally unleashed.
But it never came. Paultin suspects that it was because of him.
Diath. The young man can’t help but look at him with a face akin to a wounded dog whenever they speak. Paultin thought at first it had been pity. He’d almost broken his current wine bottle when he finally realised it was guilt. Guilt! What did Diath have to be guilty for? Did he feel responsible for him? Why? He wasn’t a fucking kid that needed babysitting. He made his own decisions!
And look where that had got him.
He had been forced to grit his teeth to keep his tongue from lashing out. He had never been able to understand Diath Woodrow. Why did the man always put himself in positions where he was responsible for people? Did he just enjoy suffering? Surely Paultin can’t be the only one notice a pattern of what happens to people who try and befriend their motley crew. But Diath - always willing to lend a hand to those in need, even at great risk and cost to himself. Why would you want to spend your whole existence getting hurt and probably dying over and over for people who will either die because of you or end up hurting you even worse? Maybe even both.
Only a blind stupid person could miss how much Diath is at Strix’s side, how she is his first priority whenever the danger has been abated. He would die for her - he pretty much became undead for her - and she will never see him the way that he longingly looks after her. He will never tell her. He was too good to put such pressure on her. Always the better one, always the hero.
He had never liked Simon. Diath hadn’t even denied it when Paultin had confronted him with his pieces. The one thing that Paultin truly called his own - the little robot he felt he could truly call his son - and Diath couldn’t even pretend to be happy when Paultin got him back.
But it had been Diath who had held Simon’s hand, much in the same way Paultin would, and guided him through the snow. He had crouched down next to Simon, his actions gentle like he was interacting with a real child, and let him run to his side. His sad words had echoed in Paultin’s mind has he had stood there blankly, tightly gripping the puppet that stubbornly refused to be parted from him.
“We took care of him for you”
Arguably the most important person to Paultin, the one thing Diath had despised over all else, and he had still taken care of him. All of them. For him. After everything he had done. This stuck with Paultin as they left the Shadowfell and they all reunited with Dragonbait and the vegepygmies. They were scared of him at first - he didn't blame them. He had to push down the self-loathing that threatened to spew forth everytime he caught a fearful glance from the one with the boot on his head - Miranda called him Celery. He thought about just turning away, how much easier it would be, just focus on himself and the task he needed to do. But then the image of Diath holding Simon's hand comes to the forefront of his mind and he steels his nerve, even if he needs some wine to get him through it.
Coming face-to-face with Miranda was the final straw.
Standing in front of the Raven Queen's throne, her long dark hair hung limp around her blue-veined face, her eyes shone with an icy cold that chilled the blood in his veins. She stood in front of them with a terrifying elegance, her casual hiking outfit replaced by an elegant gown of pure black that threatened to consume all light in the room, her elven hands outstretched as the Ring of Winter on her left hand exuded its full power. In contrast, Paultin's hands shook with the chill as frost lined every inch of the room. Behind him, Evelyn stood awkwardly over an unconscious Strix, fighting through the cold threatening to rust and stiffen her joints. Diath was locked outside the door, Paultin could hear him shouting and banging. Another noise joined in the clashing at the door, smaller and metallic, like a stiff but constant knocking. Paultin's heart tightened as he realised it was Simon. Diath's voice echoed off the walls as he kept screaming their names.
Miranda stalked forward, each step an unearthly glide. She looked almost royal and she wasn't even the Raven Queen.
"You have come for it." There was no uncertainty in her voice, it was as hard and cold as the rest of her.
Paultin's hand on his wineskin tightened slightly, "I have."
"It will not have you again. Not after you proved yourself weak." Her voice came out almost like a hiss. Miranda's eyes narrowed as Paultin took a step forward.
"I don't want the Ring's stupid power. Look at yourself! It's doing to you exactly what it did to me!" Paultin gestured to his hair, "Trust me, this shit? It does not dye out, believe me, I tried."
There was a snort behind him. Huh. Guess he could still get a laugh out of Evelyn. Miranda blinked at Paultin - for a second, she looked confused - before she slowly began to smirk down at Paultin from her place on the throne steps. She stretched the hand with the Ring on it, as if showing it off, directly at Paultin.
"Yet you stand before me now and your eyes do not leave this ring."
The metal of it glistened under the lights of the throne room and, in an instant, Paultin swore he could hear the whispers of the Ring in his ears, begging him to take him back, reminding him off the good times they had together. And it was there, right in front of him. He could literally raise his hand and touch it. His fingers shook as they held onto his wine. Paultin could feel the shivering figure under his cloak, clinging to him for warmth and protection. He had forgotten to take him out of there, and thankfully so. Paultin knew firsthand that he didn't do well in the cold.
"You miss it, don't you? The power. The control." Miranda clenched her fist, the ice in her eyes burning even brighter, "The absolute certainty that all you have to do is think and it will be yours. You crave it. You say that you don't, you promise your friends that you have changed but I can see it in your eyes. You haven't and you never will. Why do you insist on trying to fool yourself?"
Paultin never told anyone about his time with the Ring. He didn't know if they’d understand and, with how fragile everything is, he wasn't ready to risk it. The funny thing, it wasn’t the power that Paultin craved. He never needed power. The ice magic, the animals - that had just been some fun, a good time, a distraction from the shitshow they were going through with Soulmongers and death curses and fighting about snake gods. No, it gave him something that he had been desperate for his whole life, something the drinking could only echo. When everyone else was lost to that accursed temple and it was just him and Miranda, Paultin genuinely believed that he had lost them all. He was alone again and he couldn’t cope. He was drowning in despair and it was the whispers of the Ring that reached in and pulled him up for breath. It wrapped his mind up in a comforting caress, casting its magical tendrils into the crevices of Paultin’s mind hidden so deep that he thought them forgotten and convinced him that he needed it. That without it, the pain would come back and he would fall apart, alone and cast aside like the worthless waste of space that he was.
The Ring had been right about the pain. The moment it vanished, it all came rushing back and more as the guilt and shame of what happened, what he allowed to happen - again! - crashed onto him like the shock of cold water awakening him from deep slumber. During one of his many sleepless night, he’d find himself twirling his raven-black hair in his fingers, the lasting reminder of his mistakes, and contemplated slicing it all off. But he didn’t. He couldn’t forget this. He needed to remember, to stay on this path. Perhaps the first time in his life, Paultin knew his purpose.
Paultin took a deep breath and purposefully dropped his wine bottle. It clattered to the ice-covered floor with a thud, bouncing once before rolling away. Miranda cocked a graceful eyebrow at this. Slowly, Paultin began to stride forward to Miranda. He could hear Evelyn calling his name but he couldn't look back. He was too close now.
"It hurt, didn't it? When they were gone."
Miranda's eyes widened in surprise, "What?"
"Your friends. The ones you lost when you met us. The vegepygmies you lost when..." Paultin faltered for a moment, "...when I killed them. It hurt, being so alone."
As Paultin stepped forward, Miranda took a step back, her eyes glaring daggers at him, "Come no closer or I will freeze you like you did them."
"Go ahead. It's not going to bring them back. It's not going to make the pain go away."
He kept going. Miranda stood frozen, disbelieving in what she was hearing.
"You lost everything when you found us. And even then, you stayed. You stayed to warn me about the Ring, despite how far gone I was. You stayed and helped them. It was you who took the ring off and got it away from me. But you... you were scared, you were desperate and it told you everything you wanted to hear. It planted beautiful fantasies in your head and tells you that it wants you and only you and always will. It tells you that if you turn away from it that the pain will be worse and that you will be alone again."
Paultin was now toe-to-toe with Miranda. Her blue eyes were full of fear of him. He was used to this. Slowly, he began reaching into his cloak.
"It isn't wrong about the pain. You can't help the pain. It isn't easy. It sucks, so much. I can't sleep - at all. Every time I look in the mirror, I remember what I did and I tear myself up inside. I cannot count the amount of times that I thought it had to be easier just to turn the Sun Sword on me and end it all - not just on me but on everyone around me. But then that's where the Ring is wrong. Because while it is painful..."
With deliberate care, Paultin pulled out Celery, holding him close in his arms and making sure Miranda got a good look at her beloved vegepygmy, "...you are never alone."
Miranda looked down at Celery in Paultin's arms, clearly the last thing she expected to see. The hard lines around her eyes momentarily softened, her mouth falling agape in shock. Celery shook in Paultin's arms but that could be Paultin himself, his hands desperate to grab onto the wine bottle he discarded. Gingerly, Miranda reached out with her non-ring hand and gently traced it down Celery's moss-green face. The terrified creature recoiled from her touch. Hurt flashed over her expression.
"Celery? Celery, it's me-"
Miranda's eyes turned to Paultin, wide and shining. A crease appeared in her brow. Paultin wondered if she was talking to the ring in the same way he did. He was quick to speak, hoping he could interrupt the Ring's twisting words.
"I have been taking care of him for you."
There was a creaking noise behind them. Paultin didn't look away. He was too close now. He pulled Celery close to him, letting the little vegepygmy cling to his chest, ready to protect him if things went sour. Miranda looked from Paultin to Celery to Paultin again. Her hands were shaking now. She looked so confused, like she didn't understand what was happening. Feeling Celery shivering, Paultin pulled his cloak half around him to cover the poor thing, using the opportunity to secretly take the hilt of the Sun Sword out of his belt and hide it behind the cloak.
Miranda was shaking her head now, "My... friend. Celery's my friend. Why? Why would you? You - you hate me."
"Miranda, you are not even on my top ten list. Not on mine and certainly not on theirs." Paultin gestured behind him. Strix was up now, being held up by Evelyn, while Diath stood in the doorway, holding back Simon from dashing up the stairs. Right behind them, Dragonbait was wrestling a fussy owlbear from running headfirst into the room to tackle Strix. All of them, sans Dragonbait, were looking up at them with apt interest.
"These guys...Oh, wow. Right. Getting real." Paultin didn't mean to start crying. It just happened. His eyes burnt as tears streamed down his face. His hands shook violently, desperate to grab hold of his discarded wine and he hated everything that was happening with every fibre of his being but he was coming apart at the seams and he couldn't hold it back anymore. This must be how Strix felt all of the time.
"I wouldn't have blamed them for dumping me off the nearest cliff for what I did. And regaining their trust wasn't easy. I still don't think I deserve it." Paultin turned back to Miranda. Everything about her once regal posture now screamed with uncertainty. For the first time since they arrived, she was looking like the old Miranda, "But they are the reason why I'm here today. They didn't give up on me."
With a deep breath, after a second of hesitation, Paultin stretched out his free hand to Miranda, wide and welcoming. He fought against the unending cold penetrating his skin. In his mind, Paultin desperately began to pray - didn't care to who, though he threw in a Lathander for Evelyn's sake.
Please. Please let me save her.
"You aren't alone. You have never been alone."
Time seemed to slow. Miranda looked from his hand back to his face as he watched the dance of a thousand emotions in her eyes. He wondered if this what it was like for him. If she was even considering him, perhaps he had been even further gone when he was saved. A spark of hope, as unwanted as it was, was struck in his chest.
Miranda finally looked back at Paultin's hand. Almost robotically, she lifted up the hand that was wearing the Ring on it before turning to look at it. A wave of pain deepened the creases in her face, the blue veins seeming to pop in consternation as she made this difficult choice. Then in one swift movement, the Ring was removed from Miranda's finger and thrown against the wall of the Raven Queen's throne room.
Paultin dashed forward as Miranda suddenly collapsed, dropping the hilt of the Sun Sword in his haste and falling to his knees to cradle her in his lap. Celery poked his head out of his cloak, beholding Miranda with a look of terror and worry. Behind him, he felt bodies gathering. Something metallic leapt and attached itself to his back - he instinctively reached around and patted Simon on the head. A small hand fell down on Paultin's shoulder as Strix struggled to get down on her knees next to him, pressing her fingers to Miranda's wrist. After a moment, she sighed.
"She's alive."
"Thank goodness!" Evelyn's cheery voice echoed in the room as she fluttered over to wherever Miranda had thrown the Ring, Paultin had been pointedly not looking, "Now, Paultin, keep your eyes to yourself while we deal with this."
"Yep." Paultin didn't removed his eyes from Miranda's face. He watched as her ice-blue veins painstakingly slowly began to recede from her face. Celery, getting braver the longer he looked at his previous leader’s unconscious form, reached out and put his hand on Miranda’s, his eyes never leaving her. Paultin was frozen in disbelief. He actually did it. Another hand fell on Paultin's other shoulder and he finally turned to look at the proud smile on Diath's face.
"Paultin, that was one of the bravest things I've ever seen. And we saw Evelyn willing to fight a god." His hand squeezed on Paultin's shoulder, "You're a hero."
Paultin scoffed at that, but didn't deny Diath a smile. Paultin was no hero.
He just knew what it was like to make a mistake.