Work Text:
Percy is haunted by many ghosts but one hangs closest. Reminders pester him constantly with every passing day
Vax is braiding Vex’s hair, teasing her the way siblings do.
“You’re a mess, sister,” Vax says, his voice light with jest. The scene is familiar to their band of adventures, just another piece of the post-skirmish routine. Percy finds it hauntingly familiar for an entirely different reason.
Dim memories of Oliver, tugging his sleeve to pull him from his workshop.
“You’re a mess, brother,” He says and he rubs grease off Percy’s forehead with a silk handkerchief. Oliver’s hand holds back Percy’s nut-brown bangs as Oliver works to clean up his brother’s appearance before they go to meet visiting dignitaries. Oliver’s own matching locks are perfectly quaffed and his clothes are pristine unlike Percy’s.
“Mother expected you in the sitting room at quarter past two, Percival.”
“Sorry.”
But that’s the past. Percy’s twin is dead and the half-elven twins he travels with are nothing but a reminder of pain. Percy pushes the pain away and strides away from Vex and Vax.
-----
Even when Percy finally tells the recently named Vox Machina about the fall of house de Rolo he does not mention that one of his many siblings was his twin. He can’t bear to imagine the pity that would appear on Vex and Vax’s faces. That sympathy could break down those carefully built walls Percy constructed to hold back his grief and he can’t allow that. Not now. Revenge matters more than Percy’s broken soul. But Percy’s mind cannot be restrained now that all his past has been iterated. When Vox Machina leaves him in his workshop, Percy’s thoughts turn to what he wishes he could forget and what he hopes he never does.
The cell is damp, smells of coppery blood and putrid bile. Percy’s back feels like its on fire. His arms are slipping from agony into numbness but he holds tight to Oliver’s form anyway. He’s bony from starvation, mottled with bruises and scabs much like Percy is. Oliver has been unconscious for gods know how long. Percy is not all that religious, but Oliver is all Percy has left, so he prays to every god he knows that he will wake. Mother and Father are dead. Julius, Vesper, and Ludwig were near their parents when the coup occurred. Percy can only assume they’ve suffered the same fate. Whitney had been imprisoned like Percy and Oliver. She was taken away days ago and never returned. Percy has no clue what happen to Cassandra, but he hopes it was quick. She’s only 13 after all. Oliver’s breathing is weak and his heart is stuttering.
“Please,” Percy murmurs with a voice hoarse from screams. “Not him.”
The gods do not listen. Oliver’s breathing ceases; his heart stops. His last moments are witnessed only by his battered brother. There are no last words to hold in mind, nothing to mark Oliver’s passing. Percy clings to his lifeless body, sobbing silently though he’s too dehydrated for tears.-
Percy throws a hammer across his workshop, clearing a workbench and his mind with a mighty crash of equipment. Oliver will be avenged. All of the de Rolos will be avenged. Percy focuses his energy on banging metal into shape.
------
Vex discovers a portrait of Percy and Oliver soon after Vax and Keyleth have left for Zephra. It’s hung in a dark back corridor since its commissioning when the boys were 16. Its remote location amongst rarely used receiving rooms likely protected it from the wrath of the Briarwoods. If anyone else had found it, they may have ask pointed questions until Percy cracked. Vex is more subtle.
“This is a lovely painting, darling. How old were you?” Vex asks after she’s guided their walk to the portrait. Percy stares up at the image. Oliver in the portrait looks down at him with that easy but restrained smile that befits a nobleman. He always had a noble ease about him that surpassed Percy’s own. Oliver’s coat is a rich brown with the crest of Whitestone embroidered at his breast. His spectacles are silver and thin framed. The Percy of the painting is dressed in a blue coat and brass glasses sit across his nose but otherwise is identical to Oliver. They have the same chestnut hair and storm grey eyes.
“We were sixteen,” Percy says and hates how his voices sounds distant even to his own ears. Vex hums and tenses her grip at Percy’s elbow. He can’t even begin to imagine what she’s thinking.
“You’re in the blue?” Vex asks for confirmation.
“Yes, Oliver always said I needed more color in my life. He thought I spent too much time with my work away from the rest of the world.”
“Your work will wait, Percival,” Oliver coaxes as he takes his place on the set. Their mother has been fussing over the background of the portrait for hours but now she’s fussing at with Percival’s jacket. She smoothes it down while Percy glares at his twin.
“Enough with that attitude, pup. The faster you cooperate the sooner you can cloister yourself away again,” Johanna de Rolo admonishes, stepping back from Percival and ushering him to take his places next to Oliver.
“As you say,” Percy says, punctuating the statement with a dramatic sigh. He stands next to Oliver and their mother leaves for other business. The painter has them stand there for hours with only minimal breaks. Percy grows irritable and fidgety quickly, but Oliver maintains poise though it grows more strained. When Percy’s hands begin to shake and twitch Oliver speaks up.
“A game, brother?”
“What can we possibly do in this situation?” Percival asks.
“Word games, of course. Rhyming perhaps?”
Percy groans.
“Come now, lighten up, Percival!!”
“Fine.”
“Irreverent.”
“Perseverant.”
“Gratified.”
“Calcified.” …
Vex nods, a soft, sad smile coming to her lips. “He’s not wrong,” She teases. Percy coughs out a laugh that breaks into a sob. He swallows thickly and chokes down on the creeping anguish before it breaks him completely. Vex steers them away from the portrait silently and Percy feels a wave of gratefulness for her.
------
Pike learns next, through JB and the few records that survive in the library, and she does indeed goes to ask Percy directly. He’s in the study he still can’t help but think of as his mother’s when Pike comes to him, looking nervous.
“Percy?”
“Yes, Pike? Is something wrong?”
“JB mentioned something and I just…wanted to ask about it. You—You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but…” She trails off giving Percy ample opportunity to rebuff her unasked question.
“Just ask,” Percy says, uncertain of where Pike is heading.
“The records of your family are muddled, but one paper we found announces your birth, or at least the timing is right for it to be your birth…and your brother’s.” Percy’s heart feels like it’s fallen to the floor.
One of Percy’s earliest memories is of his third birthday. There were gifts and sweet cakes and music. Being young, the twin de Rolos had tired quickly and had curled upon their father’s lap while the sounds of violins and laughter filled the air.
“Happy birthday, pups.” Percy remembers his father saying and feeling the words against his cheek that pressed to Lord de Rolo’s chest. “Be glad that you share this day, because it means there was no instant on this world that you were alone.”
Percy’s tiny hand had found Oliver’s as they dozed off safe and warm. The moment was the most tender of Percy’s childhood, for older children rarely were granted such open affection. In that moment, Percy truly believed he’d never face the world alone.
Vex has coaxed him into mentioning Oliver on occasion, but Pike bringing him up is foreign and unexpected.
“Are we correct?” Pike’s voice reaches to him, quiet as she is. Percy wants to speak up, to say yes, but his words don’t come. The silence stretches and Pike takes that as Percival’s denial to answer.
“It doesn’t matter, we’ll just—“
“It does,” Percival interjects. Pike stares up a little shocked at Percy’s reaction. Percy can’t find the words to explain, but he doesn’t need to.
“Follow me,” Percy says quietly. He leads the cleric through the halls of Whitestone castle to that buried hall. It’s brighter now and better looked after than it had been. Percy knows that Vex had covertly requested that the servants care for this section of the castle. She’s kind like that. The portrait hangs in its place and Percy stares up at his brother. His heart twinges at the sight, but now he can manage a weak smile. Percy can hear Pike gasp at the painting.
“Oliver Albert von Musel Kowolasski de Rolo II,” Percival says just above a whisper. “My twin.” For the first time since Oliver’s death, Percival claims him as his twin out loud. It reminds him of all he’s lost. There’s a hole in his soul, left by the loss of his family, particularly the twin brother who he thought he’d always have at his side. Percy pushes it all away, as he’s done so many times before, refusing to break down here and now. He walks away, leaving Pike in the hall under the unmoving gaze of two sets of identical grey eyes.
------
Vax doesn’t know until two days before his death. It’s a quiet somber evening and Vax has pulled Percy away from the rest Vox Machina. Percy knows there’s a reason for their excursion and waits for his brother-in-law to speak. Vax takes a few moments to gather himself. “
You’ll look after them, won’t you?” Vax requests in a question.
“Keyleth and Vex, they’ll need you.”
“I know,” Percy says. “I shall do my best for them.” Vax nods, seemingly satisfied, but Percy waits instead of walking off. They won’t have many more moments like these and each needs to savored while they can be.
“I can’t imagine living in a world without Vex,” Vax admits after one of his long heartbeats pass. “And she’ll have to go on without me.”
“We’ll get through it,” Percy states with brusque certainty. “I survived losing Oliver. I’ll make sure Vex survives losing you.”
Vax startles, turning a questioning look to Percy. Percy ducks his head and clears his throat awkwardly.
“My twin died shortly before I escaped the Briarwoods. We weren’t quite like you and Vex, of course, but,” Percy pauses, dwelling for a brief moment on that hollowing feeling in his chest.
Percy’s quick mind rushes to Oliver, not a memory, but thoughts of what life would be like if Oliver had lived. He may have escaped with Percy, been there during those dark days of Orthax and imprisonment, met the eventual members of Vox Machina with Percy.
Oliver would have liked Scanlan’s jokes and lewd songs. Oliver would have got along well with Keyleth’s bubbly personality. Oliver would have flirted with Vex, doubly once he realized that Percy adored her, just to get a rise out of his twin.
Oliver would have known better how to reconnect with Cassandra and help her heal. Oliver would have been more capable at restoring Whitestone than Percy is. Maybe all this speculation is based on a nostalgic view he brother, but Percy knows the lost possibilities are what hurt the most nonetheless. He can’t act like his life wouldn’t be more whole with his twin in it.
“I know how Vex will feel if you’re gone,” Percy tells Vax earnestly. “because I’ve felt it everyday for years. I may ignore it, but I am familiar with that gap in my soul.” Vax’s eyes are sympathetic as he lays a hand on Percy’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Freddy.” Vax says. “I didn’t know…”
Percy smiles wryly and shakes his head. “Not many do anymore. It’s the past and I don’t bring it up much. Vex knows and Pike does. As does Cassandra, of course, and most of Whitestone's longstanding residents. Your ignorance is forgiven.”
Vax squeezes Percy shoulder for a moment with his cold hand. Then he nods and walks away leaving Percy alone. Percy pushes back tears and returns to his business. There’s no time to worry over lost twin brothers.
------
Vax is gone.
Percy's desperate pleas to a sheet of parchment are unanswered. Vex’s tearful face is there before Percival and he feels something inside him break.
Percy remembers the night before the Briarwoods came. Oliver visits his room in the late hours. Percy is reading by his fireplace and startles when Oliver speaks in an awed voice.
“This is wonderful, brother.”
Percy turns to see Oliver examining a half-finished clock that’s laid across Percy’s desk. It’s an elegant take on a cuckoo clock, with an owl as the bird. It’s missing some numerals, the doors to conceal the small owl, and one of its side panels, but it is wound and ticking quietly. Oliver marvels at it like it’s a masterpiece.
“Your hours in the basement have payed off. You’re quite good this, Percy,” Oliver says with a smile.
“I suppose,” Percy says with false modesty and a proud grin.
“Since you won’t be a proper lord, perhaps you could be a clockmaker?” Oliver offers.
“Perhaps.” Young Percy quite likes that idea.
“I think I was going to be a clockmaker once,” Percy tells his wife years later, slouched in a corner, scorched and bruised from battle. Years past seem to be catching him now. He can’t muster the strength to fight off the grief that has chased him doggedly since his family was destroyed. Maybe it's time to stop running.