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Chapter Text

There was no formal celebration after the truce was established. Things kicked off rather rapidly after that; what with the dragon turtle, and Vokodo, and Aeor, the Mighty Nein had other things on their mind. And, of course, it didn’t mean that the war was over. Formal hostilities had ceased, but the theft of the beacon was the last log on the fire that caused the tension to boil over, and the fire pit still had to be deconstructed.

The Nein worked tirelessly as ambassadors to ease tension where they could; quelling outbursts in the borderlands, attending diplomatic debates as a neutral party, advocating for peace wherever possible. For a group of glorified mercenaries, they seemed to have a strangely soothing presence among the politicians. Perhaps it was because they all wore their motley hearts on their assorted sleeves, and they trusted each other implicitly, and the openness and honesty radiated out from them into the parliament chambers, making for a welcome change.

There was no formal celebration, but when they were satisfied that peace was imminent, and they had set up a large, sprawling base in Rexxentrum – a glorious patchwork building with several winding corridors, although it did not quite match up to the majesty of a tower – and they found a time that suited everyone, the Mighty Nein invited Essek over for dinner.

Dinner was not the relaxed cheese-and-biscuits affair they had been used to in Xhorhas. Welcomed by Fjord at the door, Essek propped his parasol by the coat rack and glided to his seat at the table to find most of the rest of the Nein already seated, waiting for his arrival. They greeted him with tense smiles.

“Something to drink, Essek?” Fjord asked, as he sat down.

Essek cleared his throat. “Wine, if you have any.”

“Of course.” He walked back to the kitchen, and an awkward silence fell over the room. It was, predictably, Jester who broke it.

“So, Essek,” she said, her sing-song lilt breaking through her initial hesitation, “how have you been? Have you been awfully busy?”

“Uh, yes, actually.” He looked down at his empty plate, feeling all their eyes on him. “I’ve been doing what I can to advise the Kryn Court, and, of course, dedicating any spare time to studying the beacons.” He dared not look at Caleb.

“Have you made any progress?” Beau’s voice was blunt as usual.

“Some,” he smiled weakly. “They are incredibly complex objects, you understand, I fear full comprehension could take millennia.”

“Lucky you’ve got time, then,” said Veth. She was sitting with her hand hooked over the crook of a very timid-looking Yeza’s arm. Essek chuckled lightly, unsure of how scathing her comment was meant to be.

“You must let me know what you find out,” Caleb said, his soft voice barely audible despite the growing quiet.

“Of course. As soon as we both get a moment.”

Caleb’s smile was warm, if brief, and silence drifted back over the table, broken only by a vague clattering from the kitchen. Fjord returned and poured out a bottle of thick, red wine, but not one of them touched their glasses until Caduceus came through with large platters of bright vegetables and pungent mushrooms. He and Fjord made several trips to and from the kitchen, and by the time they had completed their journey, a full, glorious spread of various Xhorhasian, Dwendalian and Menagerie delicacies covered the table.

“Enjoy,” said Caduceus, once he had sat down, and everyone dived in with a relieved vigour, grateful for a lapse in the careful civility. Suddenly, dishes were passed precariously from one end of the table to the other, bread torn with mutterings of “Excuse fingers”, and condiments haphazardly poured. Essek was grateful for the opportunity to finally drink the wine that had been so tantalisingly close for the past five minutes.

Once everyone had served themselves an appropriate portion, and a few sneaky fingers had mopped up dripping sauce, Fjord stood up.

“I think this calls for a toast. We’ve worked hard these past few months, and it goes to show that, like so many things, peace is not granted, but earned. To peace,” he called, raising his glass.

“To the Mighty Nein!” Veth’s shrill voice cut through the calls of “Cheers!” and “Prost!”, which dissolved into laughter and murmurs of agreement.

The thing that unsettled him perhaps the most about the tension before dinner was that it reminded Essek of how everything used to be, before this new Den had made such a raucous and clumsy entrance into his life. Of how his old Den had been; the torturous evenings with his father. The clipped, proper remarks about various approved subjects. The drawn-out silences where nobody could decide whether or not to say what they actually thought.

Fortunately, though, the conversation over dinner was much less strained than when Essek first arrived, although it did not quite return to the levels of joviality he was used to in the Xhorhaus. But it was bearable, at the very least, if not even familiar and comfortable.

And after the main course came dessert: puddings and pastries in all the colours of the rainbow, much to Jester’s delight, and sweet wine and bubbling laughter.

Slowly, but surely, a lull came in the conversation. They retired to the living room, where an odd assortment of furniture covered the floor; a lavish divan, an old, straight-backed rocking chair, various cushions and pillows scattered here and there, and, strangely, a plain wooden chair in the corner that everyone seemed to avoid. Limbs were draped over others, heads nestled into necks, eyelids drifting slowly shut.

And for a while, with fuzzy heads and warm hearts, everything was as it had been. A fire crackled in the hearth, and even Yasha, quiet though she was, told a few understated jokes. For a while, Essek felt safe and – dare he think it? – happy. He did not even let himself remember that it couldn’t last. He pushed those dour thoughts from his mind, subduing them with a sip.

One by one, or two by two perhaps, they drifted off to bed. Essek had his own bedroom here, separate from the official guest quarters, and he and Caleb were the last to part ways. Caleb’s arm almost brushed against his, and Essek thought he noticed a particular sadness in his eyes as they said goodnight – but then again, he often saw sadness there.

Chapter Text

The next morning brought a cold sunshine in Rexxentrum, which pierced the house with perhaps more intensity than he would have felt had he not indulged so much the previous evening. But, while uncomfortable, it was not unbearable, and he dressed and went down for breakfast. Caduceus was awake already, brewing an aromatic tea in an enormous pot.

“Here,” he said, handing Essek a cup, “this’ll clear things up a bit.”

Essek murmured his thanks, taking a sip of the spicy brew, and immediately regretting not letting it cool down a little. He disguised a splutter as best he could.

Caduceus smiled gently. “Careful.”

As promised, however, the tea did make what had once been a pleasant haze but was now a heavy fog disappear almost instantly, and for that Essek was very grateful. Beau was already in the living room, having been for a morning jog, and Fjord soon made his way in from the hot tub looking a little more worn out by it than she did.

Luc made his way down next, thundering along the corridors, jumping out at people with surprisingly accurate blasts from his toy crossbow, and Veth and Yeza appeared at the doorway, bleary-eyed, not long after.

When Yasha came in, she picked Luc up, squeezed him very tightly, and spun him round, planting a kiss on his forehead as she set him down again.

Frumpkin announced Caleb’s arrival, purring loudly and rubbing himself affectionately against everyone’s leg before eyeing Essek carefully, then choosing to curl up next to Beau, and Caleb stumbled in a few seconds later.

Finally, Jester skipped downstairs, wishing everyone a good morning much too loudly given the circumstances. She bounded over to Beau, startling Frumpkin, who darted back out the door, followed closely by an excitable Luc. Yeza rolled his eyes good-naturedly, chasing off after him.

Caduceus joined them with a large tray of porridge bowls, then sat on the floor by Fjord, who combed his fingers through Caduceus’ long pink hair. They ate in comfortable silence.

Soon, however, the silence failed to hide discreet glances, people looking at each other and then looking away, and Essek became aware that none of them were making eye contact with him. They each seemed to be daring the others to say something. Every so often, Fjord would clear his throat, but not follow up with anything.

“If you need to say something…?” Essek started, hoping that his voice conveyed some kind of relaxed amusement rather than betraying the trepidation he felt. Each of the Nein shot everyone else a somewhat panicked look.

“Well, Essek,” Jester finally said, “well, you see the thing is, um, we found out through a series of events and communications that, uh, the Peace Council has gotten wind of various pieces of information, and, the fact of the matter is that now they know about, well, um, you.”

“Ah,” he said, glancing reflexively at Beau and Veth. “They do, do they?”

“It wasn’t us who told them, Essek,” Jester said hastily. “We promise. We would never do something like that.”

“It seems that the Martinet told the Peace Council what he knew in order to save some of his own bacon,” Caleb confirmed, a bitter harshness underpinning his soft voice.

“The problem with this, of course,” Fjord added, “is that now the Council is looking for some kind of reparation.”

“As well they should,” muttered Veth.

Fjord shot her a disapproving glance. “Whether or not this is what we agree on, it seems there are some decisions to be made.”

Essek sighed. “I see.”

More concerned glances were exchanged. Jester shifted uncomfortably, her tail brushing the floor.

“So,” Fjord continued, “perhaps we should, um, enumerate our options and weigh the pros and cons?”

Essek pinched the bridge of his nose, then waved his hand in acquiescence.

“Alright, then, option one–”

“Essek goes to prison for a long time to pay for the crimes he committed against our countries and the tangible results to our families,” Veth interrupted Fjord without pause for breath.

“Yes, that’s one possibility. Now, there–”

“Pros,” Beau interrupted. “Essek pays for the crimes he committed against our countries and the tangible results to our families. The Peace Council has a – I’d say scapegoat but that implies the blame is mislaid – the Council has something to show for their efforts, a symbol for the wrongs, and once punishment is meted out everyone can move on.”

Beau stared at Essek unflinchingly, and he could only bring himself to glance at her out of the corner of his eyes. On the other side of him, he noticed Caleb was fretting at the sleeve of his shirt, his hair falling down over his eyes.

“Cons,” Jester said, her voice trembling dramatically, “Essek goes to prison for a long time and he is ever so lonely and scared!”

Essek fought hard to suppress a smile.

“Option two,” Caleb looked up at the room defiantly. “We continue the work we’ve done to ensure a lasting peace. We make reparations through our actions, we effect actual good in this world rather than just tokens of it. Pros: change happens. We move on.”

“We don’t reignite the war by seeking out vengeance,” Caduceus piped up. “We don’t cause suffering that cannot change the past.”

Caleb’s glance at him was almost grateful.

“Cons,” Veth said, “justice falls by the wayside. No offence, Essek, but what you did was pretty fucked up. We can’t just stand by and let bad people get away with it.”

“There have to be consequences,” Beau agreed.

There was a moment’s silence as the Nein formulated their thoughts. Essek dared not speak; he could not deny that Veth and Beau were justified, whether or not he agreed with them. And, honestly, he was tending towards agreement.

“Caleb,” Jester breathed, breaking the contemplative quiet. “Are you okay?”

Sure enough, Essek looked round at him to see Caleb staring intently at the ground, dragging his fingernails harshly along his arms.

“Essek,” Fjord stood up hurriedly, stepping over Caduceus’ shoulders, “do you mind if we take a moment? You could just wait outside.”

Somewhat bewildered, Essek got to his feet, and walked outside. This seemed too important a conversation for him to be left out, but he left nonetheless, using the feel of his steps against the floor to ground him. He heard hushed movements, chairs being dragged, the scuffling of knees as they all gathered closer to Caleb. Essek leant against the wall, breathing deeply to steady himself.

He should have known this was coming. It wasn’t like he wasn’t prepared for it to; he’d known all along everything could topple over at the slightest whisper. But there were so many things he hadn’t expected, despite trying to anticipate everything. He hadn’t expected a band of misfits to throw a spanner in his works at every turn, and he hadn’t expected them to be so endearingly clueless about it. He hadn’t expected to like them. He hadn’t expected to value their opinions more than anyone else in the Dynasty’s. He hadn’t expected to endanger his new Den. He hadn’t expected to long for their acceptance again.

They were right. His actions weren’t good. Nor were his intentions. He supposed he should be thankful that they even deigned to include him in the conversation.

Essek tipped his head back against the wall in defeat. After a few seconds, he heard Caleb speak through the thin wall, his voice quavering, weak, but with a quiet intensity.

“That man does not deserve any of this. He has made mistakes, ja. But we all have.” Caleb sighed. “We all have. Essek does not have the same blood on his hands as Ikithon,” he spat the name, “and the rest of the Assembly.”

“He’s a war criminal, Caleb.” Beau’s tone was low and even. Matter-of-fact.

“He was thirsty for a knowledge denied to him by his people. He was curious. He was foolish. But there is no malice in his heart. Surely you can see that.”

Essek’s breath caught in his throat at Caleb’s words. They were too generous, and yet he was grateful.

Caduceus’ low, soothing grumble was the first to respond. “Sometimes the results of our actions can counterbalance our intentions.”

“Then I am every bit as guilty as he is! Every bit and more!” Caleb’s voice was rising, picking up strength and intensity, filling with pain and disgust.

“Caleb, it’s not the same,” Veth started.

“Isn’t it? Isn’t it? I have told you my story, Veth, Beau, you have known for a long time what, precisely, I am. How do you judge me?”

“Caleb, I–”

“You’d be right, of course. I am not a good man. I never have been. I work every day to deserve this life I have, to deserve you all, and I am not sure that I succeed. And it wasn’t always like that: at first it was to change things. To make things as they should have been. Mein Gott, Veth, if Essek is guilty then so am I. I murdered my parents, or do you not remember? I killed them – and the worst part is, I wanted to. Because my intentions were never good. They were important.”

Caleb’s monologue dissolved into stifled sobs, and Essek, hearing his own words echoed back like this, sank to his knees. He had known there was a turmoil bubbling within Caleb since the day they met, and known it was dark since their encounter with the Volstrucker in the Dungeon of Penance, but he had never quite grasped its true nature.

“But it was different then, Caleb,” Jester’s soft voice floated through the wall. “You weren’t you. Ikithon was playing tricks on you and –”

“If you think I was not myself, then you are wrong. Just because I fell for that old snake’s venom does not mean I was not the same man I am today... I should have shown even traitors mercy.”

“You have to let yourself off the hook,” Beau said. “You’ve more than made up for –”

“I haven’t,” Caleb replied curtly. “And if I had, it would only be because I was given the chance to do so instead of being carted off to some dungeon.”

“To be fair, Essek is also doing a lot to bring about peace,” Yasha said.

“And, Caleb, you did get carted off,” Veth added. “You spent all that time at Vergesson. And after that, you made a difference.”

“As far as we know, has he shown any kind of remorse?” Fjord asked. “He said himself that what he regrets is only that we were in danger.”

“That’s as good a place to start as any, far as I can see,” Caduceus said.

“Right,” Caleb agreed. “Ikithon and the rest can rot, for all I care. Nothing they do will bring any good into the world. But while there is still good in Essek, while he is still willing to right this wrong, he deserves that chance.”

Anything that may have followed in the next few minutes did not register for Essek. His mind was reeling, and he was focused so hard on not letting a single tear fall that he did not hear anything from the living room. He was embarrassed when Fjord opened the door to find him curled up, clutching his knees, staring at the corridor wall straight ahead of him.

Straightening up quickly, he followed Fjord back inside. Everyone had resumed their seats, but they were, if such a thing were possible, even more on edge than before. Caleb did not look up as he passed, instead he clutched at his arms. Heart pounding, Essek sat back down.

Fjord cleared his throat again, and this time did carry on. “So we have some options. Thankfully, this information is not yet public, meaning we’re not yet pressured either way. The issue may be, however, that, should Ikithon and the Cerberus Assembly have any kind of trial, Essek’s name might be brought up.”

“And then whatever we decide will be kind of moot,” Beau finished.

“Precisely. We may have some sway over the Peace Council, but ultimately the decision will be out of our hands. So, Essek,” Fjord said. “What do you propose we do?”

Somewhat taken aback, Essek just blinked at Fjord for a few seconds. This was rather a lot to process. “I cannot deny that I am not especially taken with the idea of imprisonment.”

There were a few nods of understanding from the room. Caleb still did not raise his eyes.

“And,” he swallowed, considering carefully, “I feel like I would be of more use to you out here… I could do more, um, good.”

He hated himself for using their words to his advantage this way. More nods came, though, and he pressed on.

“But, ultimately, it seems I may not have a choice, if I understand the situation correctly. Perhaps better to be preemptive?”

“That way we could at least try to reduce any sentence,” Fjord agreed.

Essek buried his face in his hand for a moment, then lowered his hand to rest on his chin. This was the strangest dinner he had ever attended, and the fastest he had ever had to make a decision; one of the benefits of solitude was the ample time to ponder, to consider, to reach conclusions. And here they all were, his friends, waiting for his response.

“Essek,” Jester said, her big eyes full of concern, “it’s okay to take your time.” She always seemed to be able to read him. It was incredibly disconcerting.

“And… how long are we suggesting?” A knot was forming in Essek’s stomach.

“Well, luckily you’re consecuted,” said Beau. “And drow have long life expectancies. You could do fifty years and still have ample time to make amends.”

“Fifty!? Beau, that’s ridiculous!” Jester’s incredulity echoed his own internal monologue. “It would be awful to be alone for that long!”

“I’m just saying, Jes. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

Fjord silenced her with a glare, and she crossed her arms. “That’s probably something we’d have to negotiate with the Council,” Fjord continued in his even, measured tone. “But I wasn’t going to suggest anything more than one or two years.”

The knot loosened a little. Two years was nothing in his natural lifetime, let alone a consecuted one. But accepting this circumstance meant admitting his errors publically, and that could have dire implications within the Dynasty. It would certainly endanger his chances of actually getting consecuted, should he decide to.

Then again, that had always been the risk he ran. His hesitation left an awkward gap that no-one dared fill.

“We have time,” Caduceus said eventually. “We don’t need to decide right away. I don’t pretend to understand politics, but my impression is these things take a while.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t see any point in delaying – if it really is inevitable, then I had probably ought to turn myself in.” Essek smiled weakly. Seeing Caduceus’ concern, he added, “I think Beau and Veth are right. I think it could help bring an end to the war, for good. People need to see that both sides are at fault, and, well… Think of it as me doing my part.”

And with those few words, it was decided. The next few hours held only discussion of logistics, minute details, and the like, and Essek was decidedly less interested than he should have been, than he would have been given any other topic.

His fate, once again, rested in the hands of the Mighty Nein.

Chapter Text

Caleb’s first visit came as something of a surprise. It had been nearly a full month, and Essek had given up almost any hope of seeing him. In the long hours, he had enumerated several reasons for this; Caleb was a busy man now, as he always had been, and when he wasn’t making arrangements for the peace of the continent, he was organising syllabuses and classes for his new school. In darker moments, he mused that it was because Caleb was ashamed of him. That particular thought hurt, but not as much as the idea that Caleb had forgotten about him altogether. 

So it was with a joy that he struggled to bridle that he leapt to his feet when the familiar red hair lit up the monotonous hallway, and with no small amount of trepidation that he cleared his throat to greet him. 

Caleb avoided making eye contact, clutching his arm with one hand and a book with the other, and, as the guard returned to their post, a heavy silence lay between them. For a while, neither of them dared to break it. 

“Can I… help?” Essek finally found words. Horrible, stunted ones, but words nonetheless. 

“Um, ja.” Caleb’s eyes snapped upwards, as though he’d suddenly found the courage to look at him. “I came to ask for your opinion on something.”

“My opinion?”

“It’s related to Dunamancy. I’ve been trying to figure this out for a week straight, and I can’t make head nor tail of it.”

Looking now, Essek could see that there were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was paler than he remembered.  “If you can’t decipher it, I doubt anyone can, my friend.” Caleb’s brow furrowed slightly at the word, and Essek cursed himself for being so forward. 

“It always helps to have a fresh pair of eyes, I find.”

“My eyes aren’t that fresh, but I’d be happy to take a look.”

Caleb dropped to the floor with a rapidity that Essek half expected to break his bones, but, unperturbed, began to spread out several scrolls over the flagstone, each covered with scrawls of various sizes, in chalk, ink, and what looked like soot or ash, and Essek walked up to the bars of his cell to get a closer look. 

“I was talking with one of my students the other day – we’ve started some basic Dunamancy spells, Fortune’s Favour, Gift of Alacrity, nothing too taxing – when she mentioned something that I hadn’t noticed…” 

As Caleb launched into his explanation of his problem, Essek was only half listening. His focus was more drawn to the energy in Caleb’s voice, the way his eyes burned and his hands danced across the pages, how his mouth moved almost too quickly. Essek had to clench his jaw and shut his eyes for a while to stifle the regret growing in his chest. He had seen this passion before. He had been the kindling for it sometimes, and others, he had been a fellow flame. But it had been a very long time indeed; Caleb had been very guarded around him since the treaty was signed. 

After a while he noticed that Caleb had stopped talking, and was looking up at him expectantly. 

“I’m sorry,” Essek said, “I got distracted. Could you say that last part again?”

Caleb hesitated. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. What were you saying?”

“I think that there’s probably a very simple step from here -” he pointed at one scroll, “- to here.” He pointed at another on the other side of the spread. “And you could have a massively increased range. But I’ve tried everything I can think of, and every time I think I’ve got it, it slips away.” 

Essek sat down and started to examine the sheets, and Caleb scrambled to push them closer to him. Essek turned one scrap with his fingertips, squinting to make out the scribbles. He highlighted a particularly illegible one with his index finger.

“What does this say?” 

As Caleb tilted his head and reached to also inspect the word, their hands brushed for the briefest of moments. 

It was as though time stopped.

He stared into Caleb’s eyes and a pulse of warmth spread from his finger, up his arms. He hadn’t realised he had been so cold. His lungs inflated rapidly, and he had to suppress a shudder. And then, suddenly, Caleb drew away, staring at him with confusion, suspicion, worry. 

Essek withdrew his hand towards his chest, but in doing so, his long sleeve fell back, revealing the wide metal band encircling his wrist. It did not escape Caleb’s notice. 

“What’s that?” His voice was tinged with concern. 

Essek, frustrated at his clumsiness, but realising he would not be able to hide this from Caleb, revealed his other wrist, where there was another identical band. “Antimagic cuffs.” He smiled sadly and pulled his sleeves back over them. “Not much point to a prison cell if its occupant can simply teleport away, I suppose.”

“So you can’t…?”

“Not even a cantrip.”

Caleb furrowed his brow again, and rubbed the back of his neck, causing his hair to trickle over his fingers. “How are you?”

Essek sighed. “Bored, mainly. Glad to see you. I’m probably better equipped than most to deal with long periods of isolation; in Rosohna I could go days without seeing another soul, and it never bothered me.” 

Then. It never bothered him then. But that was before he had come to know the bright, unexpected sing-song of Jester’s messages, or the chaotic joy of a raucous dinner, or the feel of Caleb’s hand on his. Of Caleb’s arm around him. Of Caleb’s lips pressed to his forehead. Before he had known casual intimacy. And he knew, with a dull ache, that he probably would never know it again; he had felt the Mighty Nein withdraw from him on the day of that ridiculous party. 

“Well, I am sorry it took me so long to come and see you. I had to get about ten different kinds of permission from the Council. I managed to convince them it was advantageous to the peace to have the help of the most brilliant mind in Wildemount.”

“You are too kind to me.”

“I mean it.”

“No, I mean in general. That day in the house, I heard everything you said. That there was good in my heart. I don’t think that’s true.”

“I want it to be.” 

Caleb stared at Essek with a spark of the same forceful determination that he had shown on the ship. Essek, not knowing how to respond, looked away. 

He could feel Caleb’s piercing gaze as he spoke again. “Listen, I know that sometimes, when we cannot be kind to ourselves, kindness from others changes everything.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“None of us do.”

Silence fell again, and Essek shifted awkwardly. 

“Anyway,” Caleb said, “I should go. Lots to do. But I could leave these here, and you could cast an eye over it, if you feel like it.”

“I will have plenty of time to look over the theory, though I cannot promise to help practically.”

Caleb nodded. “I’ll be back.” And with that, he walked away. 

Chapter Text

Essek did spend time looking at the spell. He pored over it for hours on end. He generated endless possibilities, not knowing whether any of them would have the desired effect, since he could not test them. Whole days went by where he studied the options, and in between them whole days where he lay on his bunk and stared at the ceiling, or paced the cell’s perimeter, getting his feet accustomed to the sensation. 

Despite having dedicated a significant portion of his life to the study of time, it seemed to elude him here; while the perpetual darkness did not bother him as it would have bothered his friends, having been used to it in Rosohna and actually finding it something of a relief from the bright light of the Dwendalian Empire, his usual markers of time’s passage were painfully absent. No more tracing of the heavens’ path. No more meetings with the Bright Queen. No more clandestine consultations with the Cerberus Assembly. Nothing. 

“There’s no time like the present,” he had heard Fjord say, at some point during the whirlwind that went before, but it seemed to Essek that there was in fact no time other than the present. It was still, stagnant, stretching endlessly out. Static. Stable. Solid. 

As such, he would have been hard-pressed to guess how long passed before Caleb’s next appearance. This one came as a surprise not because he had not expected it, as had been the case before – indeed, in the intervening periods spent staring blankly he found he could think of little else – but rather because of the way his memory had distorted Caleb’s face; in reality it was longer, with a brighter flash of pink under the pale skin, with brighter eyes, with brighter hair. Caleb was so much more vivid, so much more vital than in his mind’s eye that Essek chided himself for doing him such a disservice.

Even as he sprung to his feet Essek was aware how eager he must seem. He stepped up to the bars, smiling warmly. Caleb, however, kept his distance; he backed up to the opposite wall with his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched. Essek stopped, his smile falling from his face. He could understand Caleb’s disgust, but he couldn’t deny it was a little distressing. 

“Herr Widogast. A pleasant surprise.”

“Herr Thelyss,” Caleb nodded in response, with a brief, functional smile. That alone was more painful than anything the rest of the Nein had said about him. 

But the Shadowhand knew the time for business and the time for pleasure, and this was certainly not the latter. “I have the, uh, musings you requested. I confess nothing I thought of immediately struck me as the solution, but practice is always superior to theory.” The words felt oddly formal and stilted as they passed his lips, and as he drifted over to gather the stack of paper he pursed them slightly. 

Collecting himself, and turning back around, he held the papers just past the edge of the cell, not nearly far enough out for Caleb to reach without moving, in a shamefully desperate attempt to draw him closer. To bring him within arm’s length, so that they might once again have the chance to brush against one another. 

But Caleb, with a swift motion of his long fingers, summoned an Unseen Servant, and Essek’s work floated intangibly across the distance between them. Caleb received them, muttered a small “Danke,” and left the corridor empty once more. 

It was the patter of halfling feet that next roused him from the twilight state to which he had become accustomed. Essek barely moved this time, instead angling himself towards the corridor and arching his eyebrow quizzically. Veth and Yeza appeared in the empty space, arms linked, and stood there staring at him for a while.

Essek propped himself up on one elbow. It was not like Veth to be this quiet, experience had taught him. He waited.

Veth, eventually, stepped closer, clearing her throat. “I came to apologise.”

“Oh?” 

“I, um, I was too harsh before. And I saw how much it hurt Caleb, and realised I hadn’t extended the same forgiveness to you as I had to him.”

“I stand by what I said. The beacons were an excuse to start an overt war that had been on the brink of breaking out for decades. It is regrettable that I had any part in it, but it would have happened sooner or later regardless of my involvement. Feeling guilt for that feels like giving myself too much credit.”

“You know, that’s really not helping me apologise. Usually there’s some kind of mutual concession.”

“However,” he continued, “I truly am sorry for the pain it caused. I know I said it on that first day, and I know I’ll say it again. I’m sorry it was in the name of scientific curiosity.”

This seemed to have been the wrong thing to say. Veth immediately flushed with anger. “You separated my family. That’s not even remotely in the realm of scientific curiosity! You- you imprisoned my husband.”

Essek let her anger wash over him. It wasn’t like it wasn’t justified, and she needed a space to let it go. “Now you have the satisfaction of seeing it happen to me,” he said calmly.

“Oh no,” said Yeza, and Essek could have sworn it was the first time he had heard him speak, “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Essek couldn’t help but flinch. Here, again, the Mighty Nein and their companions demonstrated their hard-won generosity. Despite all odds, despite all their many battles, the Nein were kind. 

He did not deserve anything they had given him. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “I am sorry for that. I am sorry for cruelty in the face of humility. I am sorry for deception in the face of friendship. Know that I did not intend for any of this.”

“You could have told us earlier.” 

“And what? Risked all of your lives even more? Risked any chance of peace, even a peace so tenuous as this one? Forgive me, Veth, the Mighty Nein are many things, but subtle is not one of them. I weighed one calculated risk against another.”

“Gods, you sound like Caleb.” There was teasing in her tone now. Even if she did not forgive him, which was more than he merited by far, at least there was some semblance of normality. 

He’d take that.

It was something of a relief when it was Jester’s voice that he heard echoing down the hall, chatting away loudly as the guard escorted her; he knew roughly what to expect when it came to Jester. 

“Hi, Essek,” she hummed as she came into view, wicker-basket in hand. “I just came to say hello! I brought you some pastries!” And she dropped to the floor in much the same childlike manner as Caleb had, sitting cross-legged and thrusting the basket towards the bars. 

“Hello, Jester.” He smiled inwardly and made his way over, sitting down to share in her impromptu picnic. He reached into the basket, pulled out a cupcake, and examined it for a moment. Then, despite not having much of a sweet tooth, he took a large mouthful. It was, as anticipated, unbearably saccharine, but with it delightfully familiar. “Wonderful to see you. Did you make these? They’re delicious.”

“No,” she said, focusing on the bear-claw she had begun to shovel into her mouth, “Caduceus did. But I’m impressed; that was good small-talk.”

“I learned from the best.”

Jester beamed, crumbs gathering at the corners of her lips. She licked them away before releasing a barrage of questions. “How are you, Essek? How have you been? Is it okay here? Is the food good? Tell me everything.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. There’s food. I haven’t done very much at all.”

“Bored?”

“Quite.”

Her face suddenly became very serious. “Are you terribly lonely?”

He observed her for a moment, weighing the question. On the one hand, yes, he was. On the other, whatever he told Jester would inevitably be known to the rest of the Nein almost immediately. Then again, he didn’t really have that much to lose; he had already bared so much of himself to the Nein, and it seemed Caleb’s opinion of him couldn’t sink any lower. He sighed heavily, looked her in the eye, and nodded. 

“Oh no!” She wailed. “I’m so sorry it took me so long, Essek! I had to get permission from the Peace Council - I didn’t even know it was possible until Veth mentioned that she and Yeza came down - and then I had to wait for ‘Duceus to bake the pastries, and also I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone, since you didn’t respond to my messages, but I figured that after this long you probably needed some pastries. Why didn’t you respond, Essek?”

Essek slowly pulled back his sleeves to reveal the cuffs. “Magic can’t get in or out. Sorry, Jester, I didn’t receive your messages. Didn’t Caleb tell you?”

“No. Has he been to see you?”

“He didn’t mention it?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Essek said simply. It made sense that Caleb was ashamed, but it still felt like a blow to the chest. 

Jester, realising her mistake, quickly picked up again. “But he’s very busy these days, Essek, with the school and everything, it probably just slipped his mind. You know what it’s like when he’s focused on something; you barely see him for days on end.”

Essek nodded again. 

“Do you miss him?” 

He stared at her, trying to formulate a response, to calculate the repercussions of anything he could possibly say, and failed miserably. He dropped his gaze, and hoped it was enough.

“I understand.”  Her voice was gentle, the words more reassuring than anything anyone else could have said. “He misses you too.”

Essek fought his initial instinct to look back up at her. He shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and remained perfectly still. 

“Did you know that ‘Duceus and Fjord have opened up a tea shop? It has a massive garden that they’re going to start a new cemetery in. It’s called The Tea Leaf, after Molly of course – oh, you never met Mollymauk, did you? He was a tiefling, like me, only he was lavender. I miss him a whole bunch, Essek. But the best part of the shop is that Fjord and Cad bake every single day, and that means I can set up a weekly delivery of pastries to come here, and I could even deliver them myself, provided I talk it over with the Council first.”

At some point in her ramblings, Essek looked up again. Jester’s joy was infectious, and he couldn’t help but feel some small pang of warmth in his chest, some hope for the better. 

It was amazing what she could do with the help of a cupcake. 

Chapter Text

If Essek had been surprised to see Caleb before his first visit, it was nothing compared to now. He had received no word in a very long time, and, frankly, after the way their last meeting had transpired, he doubted he ever would. 

This time, as that familiar golden crown blazed into view, illuminating the corridor once more, he remained motionless, nonchalant, so as not to unsettle his visitor. 

This time, he let Caleb make the first move. It resulted in a rather long pause as Caleb considered how to start. 

“Your contributions proved very useful,” he said finally. “We managed to alter the spell.”

“Did you really? What was it, in the end?”

“A smear of clay.”

Essek nodded keenly. “Yes, I thought that might be the case. The extra anchor – I can’t wait to try it.”

“One day, mein Freund.”

Essek’s heart skipped a beat. Friend? Surely he had misheard. Or perhaps it had a different shade of meaning in Zemnian with which he was unfamiliar. That Caleb would consider him a friend went against all evidence to the contrary. 

He stuttered to keep the conversation going. “Tell me, um, about the school. How are things at Widogast’s Academy?” 

“Things are progressing. I’ve been so busy. But the students are incredible, Essek, you should see them. They are so full of passion and excitement, that hunger for knowledge, and when they get together and the ideas are bouncing around, well, you know what it’s like –”  Caleb cut himself off. “Sorry, I know you must miss it.”

“No, no,” Essek replied. “By all means, let me live vicariously. It is better than not living at all.”

Caleb nodded solemnly, and Essek thought he saw understanding behind the intense sadness. 

“Tell me more, please.”

“It is a school for the Arts; Arcane, Martial, Expressive. Beauregard teaches there, part-time. She is an incredible teacher; I drop in on her classes just to watch her command that respect. Sometimes she tries to teach me things, but I must confess I am not very good.” 

“We each have our weaknesses.”

“And Jester, too. She takes a painting class once a week, and runs a few sessions here and there for students who need a break. The campus is covered in bright murals of dick-flowers that I would not dream of taking down.” Essek could not hide his amusement at this, chuckling quietly. Caleb added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “In all honesty, I only ban graffiti to give her something to rebel against.”

“She never fails to impress me.” Essek paused for a moment. “Did you know she stopped by?”

Caleb shifted awkwardly and averted his gaze. “Yes… she, uh, she mentioned that you needed some company.”

“That may be true, but I also think it might defeat the whole object of,” he gestured vaguely around the cell, “this.” 

Caleb furrowed his brow slightly, and a small orange shape appeared at his feet. As Frumpkin padded through the bars and rubbed his body against Essek’s ankles, Caleb murmured, “I know how much she hates to see loneliness.”

Slowly, Essek leaned down to stroke Frumpkin’s fur. The soft, golden hairs parted under his fingers like wind-blown grass, and he was overcome with a wave of longing. The cat purred loudly, and Essek found it had a more soothing effect than he had expected. Perhaps it was due to his long confinement. 

Realising he had not responded, he quickly struggled for some words. “Don’t feel you have to come here on my behalf, though.”

Frumpkin vanished.

“Oh.”

Essek looked up; Caleb was already turning to walk away, scowling. 

“Caleb, wait, that’s not what I meant.” Cursing himself, Essek rushed towards the barrier, reaching his arms in a vain attempt to catch him, but Caleb showed no sign of stopping. “I am very glad that you are here. I would not have it any other way. But I don’t want to be an imposition, or to cause you unnecessary discomfort. I know how you feel about me.”

At this, Caleb did stop, but did not turn to face him. “You do?”

“Yes. And I’ve struggled with it for a while now. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t feel the same – despite whatever similarities there may be between us, I –”

But Caleb’s frame had already vanished into the darkness of the corridor, leaving nothing but emptiness. 

Essek stared hopelessly at the space Caleb left. Then he kicked the wall, sending a shooting pain through his foot, and sank to his knees. The stone was cool, and he pressed his palms and forehead to it, let out a cry of anguish, and fell backwards onto the floor. 

He did not know how long he lay there. 

Chapter Text

Very little changed. Hours spun themselves into days, days spanned out in agonising seconds. Time passed quickly, and slowly, and Essek thought only of one thing. Caleb. 

He dwelt there, in Essek’s mind’s eye, floating tantalisingly close. But just out of reach. Too far to change anything. To apologise.  

As the hours passed he would lie motionless on the bunk, staring at the ceiling, shirtless and dishevelled; he no longer had need for any façade of propriety. He had sunk further than he had ever dreamed possible, further than even his father could have predicted. 

Just as he thought he would be able to make amends, he had burned the bridges his new Den had constructed for him. For all the time he had spent mulling over his choices, calculating and recalculating his every move, all that mattered in the end was a few moments of vulnerability. Two seconds here and there where his guard was down, and he had let someone in, or shut someone out. 

Such was the nature of fate. His study of Dunamis should have prepared him for that. 

He took to sleeping more. He didn’t need to; the elven magic in his blood allowed him to meditate instead of shutting his body down like humans did, but it was a habit he had picked up staying at the Xhorhaus, and he found it gave him a break from thinking. Brief escapes from consciousness that gradually became less brief, and more frequent. 

Essek was roused from one of these escapes by a repetitive scraping against his cheek and a weight on his chest that restricted his breathing. Disoriented, he opened his eyes, and a ginger cat came into focus. He would recognise that cat anywhere. Even through his groggy haze, the eyes faded from Caleb’s bright blue back to yellow just a split second too slowly for Essek to miss it. He blinked a few times, still unused to the sensation of waking, to see Caleb sat against the far wall. Essek pushed himself up onto his elbow, and Frumpkin adjusted his balance to stay on his chest. 

Essek relished Frumpkin’s warmth. It had been so long since he had had any contact with another living being, even a magical one, that he suddenly felt very protective of the ball of fur on his bare chest. He pushed Frumpkin to his chest with his open palm, and moved very slowly so as not to frighten him off. 

If there was a reason for Caleb to be here, Essek could not think of one. He stared at Caleb, scarcely able to believe his eyes. Caleb was rubbing his thumb and index finger together, looking back at him. 

“I don’t understand.” Essek’s throat was dry, from sleep, and disuse, and perhaps nerves. 

“I spent the whole journey here trying to come up with an excuse that you’d believe. The Council was satisfied with ‘research’ but since I don’t have anything to show you…”

If Caleb had thought trailing off would spare him having to say the words aloud, he was wrong. Essek waited, and when no continuation came, prompted, “So why did you come?”

“I don’t have a good reason. I really don’t. I wanted to spend some time with you, Herr Thelyss, if you will allow me.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for not being dressed. Had I known you were coming…”

Caleb dropped his gaze and smiled briefly before looking back up. “I don’t mind.”

They didn’t talk for a short while. Essek ran his fingers through his hair to coax it into a more presentable arrangement, then returned to stroking Frumpkin as gently as he could. Then he asked, “How long has it been?”

“I’ve been here for only ten minutes.”

“I mean since I saw you last.”

“Oh.” Caleb considered. “A little over a week. Can you not tell?”

Essek gestured around the cell, highlighting the lack of a natural light source. “I don’t have much to go on.”

“I thought wizards just knew the time.”

“Only the best ones, clearly.”

“You flatter me, Herr Thelyss. Besides, there are many things you can do that I cannot. I don’t know how to float, for example.”

Essek bit back his first thought, caught himself before he stumbled into a desperate offer to teach him. Instead, he said, “Well, Herr Widogast, it seems we each have our areas of expertise.” 

Neither of them could think of a response after that, and they remained silent and motionless. Essek ran his fingers over Frumpkin’s back, and Caleb continued to rub his thumb and index finger together, all the while their gazes locked, simply regarding each other. 

Finally looking down, Essek repeated himself. “I don’t understand.” 

“What is there to understand?” 

“I can’t think of a single reason for you to want to spend time,” he looked dubiously at the surroundings, “here.”

Caleb tilted his head. “I can leave, if you want.”

“No, no,” Essek said hurriedly. “Stay. I’m just trying to work out why someone would spend so much time in the dark with a man he didn’t feel comfortable enough with to call by his first name.”

A slight pause followed, and Caleb’s eyebrows drew even closer together. Essek had seen this pained look before. “You are an intelligent man, Essek. Can you really think of no explanation?” 

Essek did not dare answer. Hazarding a guess would have only revealed his increasingly desperate thoughts, and in his experience those who were not accustomed to silence would often try to fill it. The pause, however, stretched out, and Essek had to remind himself that Caleb was not like other people, that Caleb was as used to the quiet as he was. 

He was about to give up when Caleb opened his mouth to speak. “You must realise, surely, that my form of address is meant only as a sign of respect.”

“I would have thought we knew each other better than that by now. The other Nein – you use their given names.”

“I didn't want to offend you, since you do not consider me as close as I consider my family. When you told me the other day that you did not like me–”

“Wait,” Essek interjected, “not like you? Forgive me, Caleb, my memory is hazy at best lately, but I find it incredible that I would have said that. Inconceivable, even.”

“When you told me, unprompted, that you had struggled for a while with reconciling the way I feel about you and the fact that you do not feel the same way,” Caleb continued, “it was made painfully clear to me that you do not consider me a friend. Understandably, of course,” he added, swallowing. 

Essek stared in disbelief. He had pulled himself upright now, clutching Frumpkin into his lap. “Why did you come back?”

Frumpkin’s claws suddenly dug into Essek’s skin, and he winced a little. 

Eventually, Caleb shrugged. “You know, I shouldn’t have. It was selfish of me. Weak. But I found I couldn’t stop thinking about spending time with you.”

Every cog in Essek’s brain was whirring violently. There was some piece of this puzzle that he was missing. “At the risk of becoming too repetitive,” he said slowly, “I don’t understand.”

“What is there for you to not understand?”

“How wildly you could have misinterpreted my meaning the other day. I merely meant to reassure you that whatever contempt you may hold for me, I do not reciprocate it.”

“Herr Thelyss – Essek – now it is I who do not understand.  Contempt?”

“And it’s understandable. I mean, we’ve talked about it before; I betrayed you all. And I’ll never be more sorry for anything than I am for that. But I don’t resent you for it – indeed, there’s nothing to resent.”

Caleb held up his hands. “Stop, stop, I think we are misunderstanding each other.” Essek fell silent. “There is some mystery here, and I think we need to unravel it together. Logically, methodically. Let’s start at the beginning. Now, why would I feel contempt for you?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” Essek said, tilting his head. “We have discussed at length my misdeeds, the ways in which I endangered you all and so many others. There is no end to the number of reasons for which you should detest me.”

“That is, um, and I mean no disrespect – I sincerely do not wish to insult you because you are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met – but that is one of the most ridiculous things you have ever said. I know for a fact that you heard me that morning, you said so yourself. I have been in your shoes.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “I know what it is like to betray the people you love. I could no sooner judge you for it than I could forgive myself. And,” he added, lowering his head, “I thought that was why I disgusted you. For my hypocrisy.”

“Hypocrisy,” Essek shook his head slowly. "I do not think you could disgust me, Caleb Widogast. But tell me one thing: why were you so distant, if it was not contempt? The day you came to pick up the research,” he could feel pain creeping into his voice, “you barely said three words.” 

“By that point I was convinced,” Caleb started, but did not finish the thought. “I didn’t want to outstay my welcome or irritate you any more than necessary. You called me ‘friend’, and I did not deserve it. I assumed that, when our hands touched and you shuddered and drew away, it was because you couldn’t bear to touch me.”

“Quite the opposite.”

Caleb sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Essek watched as the golden strands fell back into place, his own fingers still coursing the length of Frumpkin’s back. The desire to step forward and touch him, just to place his hand on Caleb’s arm, was so incredibly strong. Instead, Essek channelled the feeling into stroking the cat, absorbing the comforting vibrations on his lap. 

“I cannot stay long,” Caleb said. “There are things I need to attend to at the Academy.” 

Essek knew that this was an excuse, that Caleb’s preferred method of dealing with frank, emotional discussion was to bolt as soon as it became too much – he recognised himself in that regard – but he was thankful that he had stayed as long as he had; none of this had exactly been comfortable. 

He nodded. “I understand.” 

Then, as Frumpkin sprung from his lap and Caleb made to leave, he called, “I can teach you how to float, if you like.” Caleb’s eyes lit up. “Bring the highest quality paper and ink at your earliest convenience.”

The corners of Caleb’s lips twitched. “I have missed you, Essek.” And he left. 

Chapter Text

Essek spent the evening running through the floating process. He couldn’t actually channel the magic required, of course, but he cast his mind back to how he had first taught himself to do it so that he could teach Caleb. It was much harder than he had anticipated to put words to the action; it had become second nature to him over the course of his time in the Lucid Bastion – so much so, in fact, that he had had to make conscious efforts to stop around the Nein. It felt almost silly to think about it again in such a basic way. 

He was not, however, going to mess this up. This was a chance to rebuild this burnt bridge and, by the light of the Luxon, he was going to take it. 

Caleb arrived not very long after; Essek would have put it at the next afternoon if forced to guess. There was a spring in his step, and he carried under his arm a selection of high quality paper and ink. He could have been an eager schoolboy, but for the wrinkles starting to crease his brow. Spreading out his materials on the floor, he sat down, dipped a quill in an ink jar, and set it to rest. Then, he pulled back his coat and retrieved a tattered notebook from his holster. Essek had seen the book a few times, but it looked noticeably more worn than it had before. He pointed this out to Caleb. 

“Ja,” Caleb sighed good-naturedly, rubbing the spine like it was his familiar, “I’ll have to get a new one, one of these days. It’s been with me through so much, though. Still, I can’t complain – to have these funds and access to all of this knowledge I have now is… it’s everything I ever dreamed of.”

Essek smiled and sat opposite Caleb. Frumpkin hopped up onto Essek’s shoulders, wrapping around his neck like a scarf. He scritched behind Frumpkin’s ears a little, then turned to focus his attention on his new pupil, who was now poised, quill in hand, practically quivering with excitement. 

“So,” Essek began, “it’s basically just a modification of the Fly spell, which I think you know, yes? But you alter the incantation to change the way the energy is channelled, and switch the bird’s feather for a bee’s wing to mimic a different kind of flight. You can’t hover any more than four or five inches off the ground, but this means you can do it for lots longer, and without having to concentrate very hard at all, especially as you become more practised.”

Caleb took fervent notes as Essek started to run through the details he had prepared. He explained how he had come across this variation after spending hours in boredom and all the theory for getting the procedure correct, and all the while Caleb listened intently. Essek noted with excitement, and some relief, that it was there: the spark he had hoped for was igniting. 

As he came to the end of the description, he hesitated slightly. “Of course, the best way to learn is by doing.” He stood up, and Caleb, having finished the last of his notes, followed suit. Essek held his hands, face up, through the bars, and Caleb looked down at them curiously.

“It helps if you have something to push off,” Essek explained.

For a moment, he wondered if he had gone too far too soon. But after a second, Caleb slid his own hands face down onto them. 

Once more, Essek found himself wondering if Caleb had excelled in his study of Dunamis – time seemed to freeze again.  Caleb’s eyes were blazing, a bright and impassioned blue, and Essek could not hold his gaze for long. Looking down at the point of contact between them, he saw Caleb’s milky white skin against his own palms, hands that had seen more action than he had ever dreamed of, and he felt their warmth and the subsequent rapid swelling in his chest, but this time Essek did not withdraw. He felt his cheeks fill with a smile, and used that warmth to bring himself to look back at Caleb. 

“Now,” he murmured, his throat very dry indeed, “push down on my palms.”

Caleb obliged, and Essek kept his arms steady to provide a firm foundation. Their hands seemed to tessellate, fitting perfectly into the other’s indentations, giving at the contours. And that warmth – Essek couldn’t get over just how inviting Caleb’s touch was. And slowly, surely, as they muttered the words together, Caleb began to rise from the cold stone floor.

“Good,” Essek breathed. Caleb did not respond; it took a lot of effort to focus on a spell the first time you tried it. 

For nearly five minutes, Caleb floated, his robes swaying by his side, his eyes alight, his breathing heavy as he maintained concentration, his hands pressing firmly against Essek’s.  And then, suddenly, his feet hit the floor. 

Caleb, panting slightly, grinned. “I’ve always wondered what that would be like.”

“And now you know.”

“And now I know. I am excited to try that again, but first I am going to take a short break.” And he immediately dropped to the floor and lay on his back with his head as close as possible to the bars. Essek did the same, and he could feel the strands of hair that flowed over the boundary tickle his own. 

They lay in silence, breathing together, their chests rising and falling in synchronisation, until Essek whispered, “Tell me about the stars.”

“The stars?”

“Yes. In Rosohna they are always visible, and I know them all. But it has been so long since I’ve seen them, and I couldn’t tell you what the sky looks like in this area of the world.”

Caleb said nothing for a moment, then out of the corner of his eye Essek saw his arm shoot upwards, pointing at the dull, bare ceiling. Essek let his vision unfocus and let Caleb’s finger and voice guide him through the heavens. 

“Directly above us is the Hourglass,” his hand traced the shape in the air, “with the brightest star in the bottom corner, Glanztraum. If I ever wished on a star in my youth, it would have been that one.” 

“We call it Ragaren wun-Olloth: discovered in the dark. You can always set your course by it.”

“And here,” Caleb’s arm moved downward, “is the Southern Claw…”

He continued to point out the invisible constellations, and Essek compared them to the Kryn names, and reoriented himself with the sky. 

Eventually, he stopped listening to Caleb’s words, and started to let the hum of his voice resonate in his ears. And he stopped worrying about Caleb, and started to remember his other troubles.

As Caleb came to a natural ending of his celestial tour, Essek made a decision. “May I make a confession?”

There was a split-second’s pause. “Of course. Anything. What’s the matter?”

“I have not been consecuted.” 

Caleb immediately pushed himself upright, and turned round to face him. “What?”

Essek also sat up, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Caleb. “I never underwent the consecution ritual.”

Frumpkin skirted in front of him, eyes glowing bright blue, and put a paw on Essek’s knee. It rested there for a long time, and Essek was grateful that he didn’t have to say anything, that he could be seen without having to witness Caleb’s reaction. 

And just as the silence grew into something comfortable, Caleb spoke. “This changes everything.”

“This changes nothing.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” There was a quiet spark of anger in his voice. “All the plans we made were based on the knowledge that you would outlive us all by centuries. Millennia, even.”

“What difference would it have made? The deciding factor was simply that it would have come out anyway. Whether or not I turned myself in, I am a traitor to the Dynasty, and would have been executed by the Kryn court. This is by far the best outcome I could have hoped for.”

“I told myself that it was alright. I convinced myself that all of this was acceptable because you were damn near immortal.” Caleb spoke softly now, and Essek turned to see betrayal written all over his face as his eyes returned to their normal colour. 

“A few years is nothing in the life of a drow.” He hoped to reassure Caleb, but it didn’t seem to help. 

“A few years is everything in the path to redemption. Scheiße, a few moments is everything. I can pinpoint the exact moment my life changed course, and it was when I started to rely on someone else. To trust someone else.”

Essek lowered his head. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

A few moments passed. Caleb rubbed his arms. “Did you want to be consecuted?”

Essek considered for a moment. “Honestly? I was on the fence even before you came along. And then you appeared, so wide-eyed, and I...” He chuckled darkly. “I suffer from a chronic need to impress, even if you were a nuisance. But now? Now I don’t think I’d want to even if I had the chance. Now I know how long I’d have to live with regret, and how long I’d have to live without you.”

Caleb stood up and began to pace the length of the corridor.

“None of this is on you, Caleb,” Essek said. “This was my decision. You did everything you could with the information you had to reach a favourable outcome. I always knew this could happen - and worse! The risk I took was calculated… But mathematics never was my strong suit. So I made a choice, in the hope of leaving the situation better than it was before.”

“You don’t have to say that just for me, you know.”

“I’m not. I’ve been thinking, Caleb – by the Luxon, I’ve done very little else – and I know what all this means to you, but, more importantly, I know what it means to me. Before this, all I cared about was knowledge. That thirst went unchecked because I had no reason to check it. I didn’t know what it meant to...” Essek swallowed. “To actually care about anyone else.”

Caleb nodded with a resigned understanding, and the two of them shared the still space again. When Caleb began to stir, Essek realised the last thing in the world that he wanted was for Caleb to leave.

“Do you want to practise once more?” he offered. 

Nodding again, Caleb approached Essek’s outstretched arms. Contact reestablished, for the first time in months Essek felt good. His chest was light and his hands were warm, and he was looking at the only man in the world who could understand him. At first, that thought terrified him, but slowly the panic subsided, morphing itself into something like comfort. 

Caleb floated unsteadily at first, pushing down on Essek’s palms for support, but quickly gained confidence; he was the fastest learner Essek had ever met. Essek could have sworn that a slight wind was whipping up the strands of Caleb’s hair. He dared not break eye contact.

He began to smile, a slight tug at the corner of his lips as he gazed at this majestic being, crowned with gold, eyes burning with the fire of concentration. And all of a sudden, Caleb slipped, landing with a soft thwack on the stone. Stumbling forward slightly, his face stopped just a hand’s span from Essek’s, who pressed ever closer to the cold iron bars. For the first time, he was angry at them; before he had just been frustrated, or resigned, but now he pushed his temples against them in desperation.

“Sorry,” Caleb mumbled, “I got distracted.” But his face did not stop drifting towards Essek, jaw lifting to close the gap between them. 

And when there was a hair’s breadth between them, something in Essek stirred violently, and he jerked backwards. 

“No,” he breathed. 

“I’m sorry,” Caleb muttered, looking away.

“Just - not here. Not now.”

Caleb slowly raised his eyes towards Essek, his brow now set with determination. “I have to go,” he declared. 

The ache returned as Caleb turned to leave, and as he disappeared from view, he felt a tugging at his ankle. 

Frumpkin had stayed. 

Chapter Text

Frumpkin did not leave his side for the next three days, save for skirting under the bunk at the sound of the guards’ footsteps; he spent most of the time curled around Essek’s shoulders, eyes fading periodically to blue, then back to yellow as soon as he looked directly that way. 

Essek had been hoping to see Caleb again, ears straining for the familiar footfall, but none came, and he wondered if he had put his foot in it once more. Time and again he told himself that Caleb was just preoccupied with his duties, but he couldn’t push the thought that he had somehow messed it all up from his mind. Frumpkin’s presence was somewhat reassuring, however, and made for the next best thing.

He was settling back into this renewed solitude, rendered far more pleasant than before by his new feline companion, by this tangible reminder of what he was holding on to, when Frumpkin once more leapt and skittered out of sight, and a few moments later Essek caught the faint sound of approaching steps. A few sets, actually.

There were two guards he recognised, and a halfling woman with dark, choppy hair and a scowl to rival Beauregard’s wearing a Peace Council insignia on her robes. This was Kelbrix Wineswallow, the Council’s representative from Felderwin. 

“Essek Thelyss.” It was not a question. “You are to come with me.”

And for the first time in several months, the guards unlocked the door to his cell. 

“By all means,” he said, somewhat puzzled, but more than willing to comply.  He fell into step behind her, and the guards flanked him. “Might I inquire as to where we are going?”

“You might.”

Essek waited awkwardly for a follow up, but none came. Eventually, he prompted, “So, where are we going?”

“Out,” Kelbrix responded curtly. 

“Out? As in…?”

“Yes.” 

“Forgive me, but you don’t seem too pleased.”

She sighed heavily. “Were it up to me, you’d never be leaving. But the Council, while not under the authority of the Empire, has had its hand somewhat forced by King Dwendal.”

Matters were not becoming clearer, but Essek did not want to push his luck by continuing to probe. He figured it was only a matter of time before everything made sense. 

They passed several cells and even more stretches of bare wall on their way to the administration office. There, he was sat in front of reams of parchment, each of which contained a separate declaration that he dutifully read and signed, and then Kelbrix left and he was alone with the guards. 

Essek knew better than to try and strike up conversation, so instead he pondered. He couldn’t be sure of exactly how much time had passed, but he was certain that it wasn’t the full length of his sentence. He had no idea what might prompt King Dwendal, whom he had never met and who, most likely, did not even know his name, to apply enough pressure to force the Peace Council to release him. 

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of Salfan, the gnomish man who had fitted his cuffs on the day of his arrest. He hopped up on the desk and rolled up his sleeves, his legs dangling playfully over the edge and only just clearing Essek’s knees.

“Hands, please,” Salfan said, and Essek presented them obediently. Salfan’s fingers skittered deftly over Essek’s wrists as he murmured some incantation, and as the metal bands fell away, Essek felt some burden being lifted from him, like he could breathe properly again for the first time in months. He had to catch himself as he almost began to float with the relief. 

“There you are,” Salfan grinned. Essek rubbed his wrists gratefully as Kelbrix grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to the door. 

Blinking, Essek steps out into the harsh light of the Rexxentrum morning. He screws up his eyes as the sun blazes down, and it takes him longer than usual to adjust. The hot air fills his lungs, and he takes a few deep breaths before his first step towards the main gate. 

A group of figures stand at the Claykeep’s perimeter, and as he squints, Essek realises he would recognise that silhouette anywhere. The Mighty Nein.

His pace quickens. The gates unlock. 

Essek stands at the gate and looks at each one of his friends. For a moment, he hesitates; he has not spoken to Beau or Caduceus or Yasha or Fjord, and he doesn’t know how they feel about him now. He studies each of their faces, looking for any signs of hostility, or worse, forgiveness. They each stare back at him. 

And then it all falls away – tension and formality crumble and Essek is enveloped by their welcoming arms. All of them embrace in the Rexxentrum morning, arms pressed around shoulders and backs, faces pressed into chests and necks, and his parasol appears above them, ending up in Caduceus’ hand. 

If there are people staring as they make their way through the Tangles to the market, Essek neither knows nor cares, and the likelihood of them spotting him amongst the enveloping bodies of the Mighty Nein is minimal anyway. He is warm, and safe, and comforted as he feels his friends’ physical reassurance, and this time, finding Caleb and burying his face in his neck, Essek lets his tears fall. He sobs unabashedly, and they all hold him tightly, and nobody says anything. 

Then, as his breathing evens out, Beau says, “Let’s go home.”

The day passes quickly. Essek spends as much time as he can as close to Caleb as possible, brushing his arm in the corridors, touching their feet together at lunch, pressing his shoulder closer in the study. Caleb does not seem to mind; Essek makes sure to check regularly for any signs of frustration on his face, or in Frumpkin’s body language. 

And this time, when dinner comes, it is a joyous occasion. There is still the odd awkward silence, granted, but that was just the way it had been before, and although Essek is still uncertain about how he should be around these people, they spare no expense in making him feel welcome. 

Over the course of the meal, Essek finds a moment to ask a question that has been rattling around his mind since the morning. “I can only assume,” he begins hesitantly, “that I have one or more of you to thank for my release. I highly doubt the King pressured the Council for that of his own accord.”

They all fall silent, and for a moment Essek wonders if he shouldn’t have mentioned it. Caleb is deliberately avoiding eye contact. 

“Well, you can thank Caleb,” Jester pipes up. “The other day he came back and didn’t leave his room for hours. When he did, he left straight for the Castle.”

Pink flushes Caleb’s cheeks and he looks up almost guiltily.  “Admittedly, yes. I did talk to Dwendal. But in my defence, all the paperwork I’d sought fit to prepare had mysteriously already arrived on my desk by the time I got back from seeing you.”

“Oh?” Essek arches an eyebrow. 

“Ja. It seems someone,” his eyes can’t help but wander over to Veth’s seat, “had already taken the pains to prepare an argument.” 

Everyone stares, wide-eyed, at Veth now, who also blushes. “Honestly, Caleb’s just being modest. He just doesn’t like to brag about how clever he is.”

Essek smiles, and his chest swells more than ever with appreciation. “Well, whoever it was… I’m very grateful.”

The night fades in and the Mighty Nein have drinks in the garden, carefully cultivated by Caduceus and Yasha to provide a rainbow of wildflowers underfoot and a fragrant canopy overhead. 

They talk about nothing in particular.

At some point in the evening they find themselves lying face up on the grass, a nine-spoked wheel of stargazers. Caleb gives them the tour of the heavens, but this time, Essek appreciates the beauty in each star, and in everyone’s stories behind them. For Yasha, the Hourglass is called Tempest’s Shield, protector of the skies. Fjord knows Glanztraum as the Lodespark, guiding seafarers through the night. What Caleb calls the Western Spear, Jester calls the Lollipop – and there’s also the Cinnamon Swirl, and the Black Moss Muffin, and the Southern Bear Claw, all of which she named herself.

It is well past midnight as the conversation dies down, and people start talking about going to bed. 

Essek tries to convince them to stay, starting up a new strain of conversation each time someone suggests retiring, but the buzz never lasts long, and, especially after such a long day, his capacity for small talk is dwindling. 

“Essek,” Yasha eventually murmurs, making sure she is within earshot of Caleb, “you don’t have to spend the night alone.”

It always surprises Essek when she speaks, because she so rarely does so, but she uses the time she is not talking to observe, and Essek shifts uncomfortably as he realises she has seen him. 

Caleb’s cheeks flush as he realises what she means. “Of course, you’d be welcome to stay in my room.” 

Jester, in the middle of giggling as she brushes a strand of Beau’s hair from her eyes, spins around. “Yeah, Essek, if you want me and Yasha to move your bed into Caleb’s room, we can.”

Essek nods sheepishly. The Nein spring into action, Yasha and Jester hauling the wooden frame into Caleb’s room, everyone else clearing things out of the way and holding open doors.  

And then, one by one, they all head off to their respective rooms, leaving Caleb arranging the bedding and Essek hanging back in the doorway. 

When Caleb finally looks up, he sees the worry on Essek’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t deserve this.” 

Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose, then looks seriously into Essek’s eyes. “You have to stop saying that. If not for your sake, then for mine. I have spent so much time thinking about how I didn’t deserve things, and they passed me by. You have a long life ahead of you, and I’m not going to let you waste it. Do you remember what I said to you that day?”

“With painful clarity. ‘Maybe you and I are both damned…’”

“‘But we can make a choice, and leave the world better than it was.’ We don’t take the chances we deserve, we take the chances we get. Because otherwise we miss everything, and nothing changes.”

And like that, everything becomes clear. 

Essek closes the distance between them, takes Caleb’s face in his hands, and kisses him.