Work Text:
“Caleb,” Essek said carefully the next morning. “How are you feeling?”
What could Caleb say? That he had woken up nearly every hour, fingers shaping a frantic counterspell as if he could stop the disintegration he had unleashed? That in between he had heard voices, and screams, and smelled burning? Essek knew all of that already, or suspected. After destroying the T-dock chamber, fighting off two Aeorian monsters, lifting several fallen structures, and gathering up everything that carried so much as a whiff of magical research, it has been easy for Caleb to pretend he was too exhausted to conjure the tower for the night. Every time he woke screaming, Essek’s face was already turned toward him, close enough to touch in the small safety of the bubble. He knew exactly how Caleb was feeling.
“Ah, you know me,” Caleb kept his smile tight and his eyes down. “A ray of burning sunshine, as always.”
Essek gave his own thin smile back like a gift, and raised his arms to shield his face. “And here I am without my parasol.”
The joke was surprising enough, silly enough, to drag a laugh out of Caleb’s heavy sigh. They continued chewing their conjured breakfast for a beat, and then Essek began to speak again, his tone careful. He was always so careful.
“You know, I have never been pious, but it becomes naturally easier to believe in divine power when you befriend those who wield it.”
Caleb tilted his head. Nodded. He didn’t know where Essek was going with this line of thought, but by now he trusted the elf—the brilliant prodigy, the friend—enough to follow along until he reached his point. “Sure. Caduceus, Jester, Fjord. They’ve all done amazing things, greater things than I ever could. Sometimes.” He tried to hold back the final word but couldn’t quite manage it. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect his friends, just that he couldn’t imagine relying on a power so conditional, so subjective. He frequently wanted to throttle “Artie” for the way he toyed with Jester, and Melora was only more mysterious, not necessarily more reliable.
Essek sipped his soup slowly. “But it also follows—do you not find?— that it becomes easier to dismiss that divine power as a simple tool, like our spells or a fighter’s sword. Spend enough time with an adventuring cleric and you might view their profound devotion as a useful skill. You lose sight of the larger dimension, the hand of fate, the divine.”
Caleb shifted uncomfortably against the dusty ground. He had been thinking exactly along those lines. He would feel exceptionally foolish if, someday in the distant future, Essek revealed a hidden talent for telepathy and mind reading… but it would explain a lot. “I suppose,” he grunted around a mouthful of toasted bread. “We devote our lives to gaining power through our own efforts. No divinity required.”
Essek noded quicker, a spark growing behind his eyes that Caleb recognized from a hundred impassioned discussions past. Gods, he appreciated that spark. It always meant his wizard friend was going to say something interesting.
“Precisely. Two beings such as ourselves, we are trained—by nature or circumstance—to discard fate, and gods, and mystery in favor of gathering knowledge and power. Our path makes it especially hard for us to… to admit ignorance of the potential effects of our actions. To let events fall as they will. And for that reason, it is even more exceptional that you were able to... that you made the choice you did.”
Caleb’s instinct was to hunch his shoulders and drop his head, but then he lifted his eyes defiantly. “The same choice you made,” he reminded his friend who never gave himself enough credit. He didn’t quite say “I’m proud of you, too,” but he hoped his eyes make it clear.
Essek, predictably, waved off the implied compliment. “Hardly the same,” he muttered, shadows clouding his face.
Caleb was not actually a ray of sunshine, but he wanted more than anything to chase those shadows away.
Caduceus would say something healing and wise. Jester or Veth would say something ridiculous. And Caleb, broken, breaking Caleb, who could overflow a bag of holding with all the ways he didn’t know how to make things better, only said “How is your shoulder?”
Essek rubbed his palm across yesterday’s injury, grimacing. “Sore, but not debilitating. I’m confident I could take another Aeorian monster or survive another trap today, but… I would prefer not to.”
And this, at least, Caleb could do something about. “A day off, then? I can put up the tower now. It’s time we took a look at some of these books we’ve been pillaging.”
The elf started to nod, his expression still so careful. “And you do not think you would benefit more from the… distraction of the ruins?”
If he was honest, Caleb didn’t think any distraction would quiet the desperate voice in his mind that wailed it would have worked! on the edge of his consciousness, but he forced a smile. He needed his careful, thoughtful friend to heal.
“I am more easily lost in a book than anywhere else,” he pointed out, and Essek could hardly argue that point.
***
“The most useful thing,” Caleb said, pulling armful after armful of Aeorian texts out of a bag of holding and dumping them on the table of the tower study, “would be to find out more about the beasts. There may yet be a vulnerability we haven’t identified, or a technique to keep them from attacking.”
Essek smiled wryly from behind his own stack of papers. “Do you anticipate an almanac of Aeorian animal handling?”
Caleb tutted and added a generous load of books to Essek’s side of the table. “The second most useful thing,” he said firmly, “would be to categorize what we do have.”
Essek nodded, still smiling. That smile made Caleb want to smile too, even if he couldn’t quite manage it yet. He was glad he had conjured the tower instead of venturing further today.
As they settled down to work, Essek gingerly pulled open a scroll and winced at the motion of his shoulder, and Caleb’s stomach twisted. He was *very* glad he had conjured the tower.
*Hi Caleb!*
Jesters voice bounced into his mind, making him smile and set down his quill. Across the table, Essek glanced up, eyebrow quirked, fingers already half-pinched for spellcasting, probably planning to summon another inkwell or a plate of soup to match his own, or anything he so much as suspected Caleb might need. It was becoming habit, natural for him to provide caring gestures towards his semi-functioning human companion. Caleb’s heart lurched with something like pain and something like love.
*How’s Aeor? Did you know there’s fish in the ocean that glow?? How do they do that is it magic?? Anyways Fjord wanted—*
Caleb’s heart lurched again. He missed his friends, even when he knew they were all on the right path, even when he loved the path he was currently on.
Essek was still trying to ask him a silent question, still ready to help.
“Hi Jester,” Caleb said aloud. Essek cracked a fond smile and turned back to his scroll. “Alles ist gut here. Fish mainly use phosphorescence, which isn’t inherently magical, though light spells sometimes channel that phenomenon.” Essek hid a laugh poorly behind his hand, and Caleb shrugged. Oversimplification it might be, but he’d like to see Essek do better in 25 words or fewer. “Happy to discuss further.” He had plenty of magical energy left, and no plans to use it on anything more strenuous than keeping his tea warm.
He waited, certain Jester would send another message, but suspecting Fjord would make her count this one out ahead of time to make sure his message was actually delivered. Essek mouthed “phosphorescence?” At him across the table, eyebrows arched.
Caleb tapped the side of his head, and Essek easily turned back to his work, understanding the conversation was not done. He was so understanding, it threatened to break Caleb’s fragile heart.
*Thanks Caleb, you’re really smart! Fjord says you’ve been gone a while, need more healing potions? We have TONS. Also, are you banging Essek yet?*
Ah. Caleb’s eyes flicked across the table. Essek’s head was bent over his scroll, a thin layer of illusory darkness blocking everything below the line he was currently reading. It was the habit of someone whose brain tried to jump across text too quickly for comprehension, and the habit of someone who was used to studying alone. Caleb, who absorbed whole pages of text in moments, hated it because it made it difficult to peek over Essek’s shoulder and get a sense of what he was reading.
He loved it. He loved the ridiculous hot boi elf and all his ridiculous study habits and his inexplicable kindness and the frustrating curiosity with which he raised his head, waiting for Caleb to answer Jester or report what the call had been about.
“Ah-let me see,” Caleb replied to the sending, scraping his chair back and walking—not running, but walking briskly—out of the study. It was semi-plausible. They kept a stash of potions in a storage closet on the bottom floor. Caleb *knew* already exactly how many they had left, but Essek and Jester didn’t know that he knew. “Our need is not so great presently, though we would always appreciate a restock and a visit. To discuss complicated matters further.” Essek’s hearing was so good, Caleb couldn’t be sure he was out of earshot even as he floated halfway down the tower’s core, but hopefully Essek would assume he was still taking about the fish. Gods, why couldn’t they still be talking about the fish?
He felt bad making Jester drain her spells, so as soon as his feet touched he used his own sending to anticipate her next outraged message.
“I am not avoiding the question. We have not… Aeor is dangerous; it’s magic tempting. Our focus has been on safety and… making ethical choices.” It would have worked, the voice hissed in his head. You didn’t even try, you left them to die, you never loved them, you love nothing and no one…
The venomous voice was thankfully replaced by Jester’s gentler admonition. *Caleb!! Danger is sexy!! Bend the fabric of reality to save him, then kiss him while he tenderly bandages your wounds! Don’t you want to—?*
Didn’t he want to. Gods. Part of him had wanted to kiss Essek since the moment he had laid eyes on the mysterious Shadowhand. The bright blazing sex symbol of the dynasty, who was both painfully proper and intriguingly devious. Caleb had wanted to grab hold of his starched cloak and drag him down to the ground with the rest of the mortals back then. He knew better than to go after brilliant wizards, and he had suspected it would turn out to be even more dangerous a romance than Astrid and Eadwulf, but… Jester was right. Danger was sexy.
It wasn’t danger he wanted to kiss now. It was a short elf with a snarky smile and a cowardly heart who worked so hard to change and grow and make better choices. It was mugs of tea, sparkling eyes and ideas. He wasn’t reaching for a brilliant flash of fire in a cold world. He was already so wrapped in warmth, and it felt greedy, almost unbalanced, to ask for more.
Jester sent her own message, presumably because Caleb had taken too long:
*I’m just saying you should either kiss him or come get some healing potions so neither of you dies before you get your happy ending—*
Caleb inhaled sharply. For all her hamster unicorns and bright colors and dick jokes, Jester had a knack for slicing painfully at truths his logic worked hard to shield him from.
“I… appreciate the encouragement. Maybe someday, if Essek is of a mood to, we will be together for a while. But a happy ending? Impossible.”
He didn’t know how many spells Jester had left. He felt guilty for letting her waste so many. He felt guilty for letting Essek waste so much time, so much warmth, on a human with a paltry half century of life ahead of him. He was, deep down, an incredibly selfish man. It would have worked. If you hadn’t given up on them.
He cast another message and tried to keep his voice steady. “Anyway, we are quite well stocked for now. In a week maybe— “ the universe shifted suddenly around him, the arcane energy fading from his voice and the wire in his hand. Strange, and not unfamiliar, but so out of place. A counter spell?
He turned around. Essek stood in the doorway of the storage room, face an unreadable mask. The face of the Shadowhand, not the face of his friend. Caleb’s heart and mind raced for an explanation. He’d dealt with charmed and otherwise mind-controlled allies often enough to reach for his molasses, cursing himself for burning so many spells, for letting his guard down, for thinking himself safe.
If he was about to be crushed to death by the force of gravity, at least it would happen in a room well-stocked with healing potions. Maybe Jester would appreciate the irony.
A moment passed. Two. Essek did not attack. Caleb’s hand twitched and he started to feel foolish. “Ah, Essek?” He asked. “Did you need something?”
Essek lacked his intricate mantle, his silver shoulder pieces, but not the icy stare he had always worn with them. “I apologize for my intrusion,” he said, his Common more clipped and formal than usual. “It was not my intention to overstep, but now that I have heard… I have questions.”
Caleb couldn’t be sure what that meant, but he heard the uncertain waver behind the formality of Essek’s tone, and his hand dropped in relief. Still his Essek, then. Just… uncomfortable. Covering emotion behind old habits. Caleb fully understood that impulse, if not it’s context.
“Certainly,” he said, trying to gesture back towards the library, trying to step around Essek and leave the storage room, but Essek didn’t shift to accommodate him, and then they were standing closer than Caleb meant them to, and Essek was floating, eyes level with the taller human’s.
“Why ‘impossible’?” He asked.
Caleb’s heart stuttered.
Caleb’s stomach dropped.
It would have worked. You could have done it. The possibility was in your grasp. Why didn’t you take it?
Essek floated forward. Caleb took a step back, then another.
“Perhaps I should begin differently,” Essek said. “Yes. I am ‘of a mood to.’ I am of a mood to now.”
Caleb’s back hit a shelf. Healing potions—six of them, his brain helpfully recalled—rattled on top of a crate of dried meat strips that he fed to cats as often as he ate them himself. Also on this shelf were four empty bottles, three sandbags, and two coils of hempen rope. Caleb rattled his head a bit to stop it listing the entire contents of the storeroom. Essek was close enough now that Caleb saw the slight twitch of his lower lip, the burning intensity of his eyes, details that betrayed his calm expression. He was waiting, and waiting anxiously, for Caleb to give him an answer.
*Caleb! Your message cut off, that’s, like, so weird! Cough once if you’re in trouble and twice if you’re boning Essek. Have fun don’t die!*
Caleb closed his eyes. “Ehm, I will message you another time,” he whispered pitifully. He couldn’t make himself sound less breathless. Undoubtedly Jester would be reporting something wild and scandalous to Fjord. He couldn’t quite think what, because at that moment Essek narrowed his eyes and cast something that looked suspiciously like the arcane runes of the anti-scrying amulets.
“It may be hypocritical to wish for privacy in this moment,” Essek sighed. “But please, indulge me.”
“Of course,” Caleb gulped. His words sounded far too eager. “I… apologize. It was rude of me to speak about you. I know your powers of perception are…” this was not the conversation he should be having. None of this was right. He sighed. “You must know I am very fond of you.”
Essek made a strange hiss, like he’d just dodged the teeth of an Aeorian monster, like he might still be waiting for the next attack.
“Why impossible?” Essek repeated, and Caleb hadn’t wanted to start with this conversation, hadn’t wanted to ever have it. To avoid it, he had avoided reaching for that tempting flame, and yet they had arrived here anyway, Essek’s eyes burning into him, and he supposed there was nothing left to do but explain.
“In a few decades,” he said softly. “Not too far off, I will be an old man. And you will be… you.”
Essek’s face softened. His eyes, still locked with Caleb’s, sank down several inches as his feet touched the floor. “I am already an old man,” he said.
“You know what I mean.” Caleb worried his fingers against the scars of his arm. “Or… perhaps you don’t. I do not wish to… magically extend my life. I am done with that sort of power. I expect to die, hopefully peacefully, but very soon in the grand scheme of your lifetime.”
Essek nodded softly. “Another courageous decision.”
“Or a selfish one.”
Essek laughed, then, loud and surprising. “You know what it means that I remain un-consecuted, do you not?”
Caleb flushed. He hadn’t meant to catch Essek in the splash of his self-deprecating remark.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. I’m sorry that I gave up, that I let it go even though it would have worked. “This is not how I wanted to…”
Essek stepped forward.
“How, then?” He asked.
Caleb had once said “an even weaker wizard than me” and Essek had laughed in understanding. They were both physically unimposing, the drow shorter and slighter, but Caleb no more powerful for his height advantage. Why did it feel like a heavy weight was pressing Caleb into the shelf, then? Why did the warmth of Essek’s body inches from his own feel like dunamancy?
“How did you want to do this?” Essek asked, face cool and curious but eyes shining bright and warm.
Caleb found himself quite out of words, of numbers, of thoughts. “I didn’t want to rush you…” he muttered, feeling his face heat at the ridiculous twist of truth. “It… I didn’t want to rush.”
Essek nodded thoughtfully. “Caleb, you must know that I am a coward.” He held up a hand to cut off Caleb’s protests. “I have many skills in battle, and self-preservation is one of them. I do not participate in casual heroics. I do not pull people away from falling buildings, or sword attacks, or toothy maws of beasts.” He raised one eyebrow, shifting his wounded shoulder ever so slightly in an unnecessary reminder that he had done exactly that less than twelve hours ago. “I do those things only because there is something I hold more dearly than my own life.”
Caleb felt a bit like his own chest was caught in a toothy maw. His mouth felt very dry, and the space between his shoulder blades very wet. For Essek to say that, and say it so plainly… whatever he thought of himself, that was courage. Courage Caleb was unsure if he could match.
“You… I…” seconds ticked by. Healing potions remained unconsumed on shelves next to coils of rope and bags of sand and sacks of jerky. Essek stood so close to Caleb and looked up into his eyes and didn’t move forward an inch. He waited for Caleb. He’d been waiting for Caleb.
He loved Caleb, and Caleb was wasting time they didn’t have.
Caleb reached for the collar of Essek’s shirt. He gave it a slight upward tug, and as expected the drow rose instantly and effortlessly. It had become second nature for him to respond to Caleb’s silent requests.
He moved forward just as smoothly, to mirror the slightest lean of Caleb’s head.
His mouth was warm like arcane fire. Caleb waited for the painful scorch of regret and fear that never came. There was only more warmth, bubbling like alchemy in his chest and stomach, pressing like Essek’s lips on his face and Essek’s hands in his hair and the smell of tea and soup and scrolls and ink and home.
He lost track of time.
And when Essek pulled back, when Caleb gasped for breath and smiled like a fool, there was still so much warmth between them.
“We’ll talk about your ‘impossible’,” Essek promised fiercely. Caleb’s heart pounded in anticipation of a lively debate.
And then, because he was an evil man, he cocked his head to one side and let his eyes unfocus for a few seconds.
“Apologies for the delay, Jester, but you’ll have to excuse me,” he said. “I am quite busy at the moment, if you can believe it, banging Essek.”
The drow’s fists thumped weakly into his chest. The starry eyes rolled. “You are capable of many wondrous things, Caleb Widowgast. Deception is not one of them.”
They pressed together again, and the warmth blazed, and when the vicious voice whispered it would have worked, another, warmer voice answered back, it did.