Work Text:
And to think they would end up like this, separated from the rest of the group. Imogen should’ve seen this coming from a mile away.
—
The fight against the centaurs took its toll. After a quick assessment, they’d decided to find some cover to rest. “I don’t know,” Imogen had said uneasily. “I’d rather just—get outta here quickly.” The Feywild had a hundred things that might want to eat them at any moment, and as much as she loved—loved, as in appreciated—Laudna’s spookiness, she wasn’t keen on staying here much longer.
Ashton patted her shoulder, giving her a considering look. “Yeah, but we might be walkin’ into some shit at the Keep. We should make sure we have the energy if things get weird.”
They glanced at Laudna, and Imogen winced at the memories of red dust, the exhausted beat of her heart as they all tried to run. None of the Hells wanted to get caught in that again.
“Fine,” she bit out. “Let’s start lookin’.”
They all helped. Orym used his keen eyes, and Chetney his “alpha” sense of smell. Laudna sent Pâté out to scout. But after about ten minutes of searching, Fearne found a hidden entrance, in between heavy stone pillars covered by foliage and moss, a few miles from where the centaurs’ ambush took place.
It led to what looked like a wide garden, its stretch carpeted with bioluminescent flowers of all shapes and sizes. Laudna’s eyes lit up at the sight, immediately enamored.
But Orym spoke up, his voice low and guarded. “Careful. There’s someone here.”
It turned out to be several someones, actually. Upon entering the garden, they saw an improvised camp for a traveling party. Bandits, led by a dark elven man named Marvius, who presented himself as a keeper of the Gardens of Aletheia. Flanking him was a pixie, with large eyes and larger teeth set in her tiny face, carrying a pair of intricate daggers. Some rabbitfolk were tending to a small fire, their forearms engraved with glowing golden markings. And behind them was the cloaked figure of a beastmaster, a heavy bow slung over their back, watching them with too-perceptive eyes; They tended to a displacer beast resting on their lap, patting its soft onix-black fur.
At first, it was fine. Letters greeted the band with his usual “Smiley day!” while Ashton, Imogen, and Orym prepared for a fight. Marvius said nothing in return, his cold gaze indecipherable, but also didn’t attack. Imogen was reminded of Morri’s words: sometimes it’s better to talk and flee.
But it all went to shit when Pâté got captured. The Hells didn’t expect him to be ambushed by another pixie, one who looked identical to the first, perched upon the overhead branches and hidden from view.
“It’s not sporting to spy on others,” Marvius said as the pixie floated Pâté’s stunned body over to him. Laudna made a wounded noise.
Marvius inspected Pâté’s form, running the point of his crooked nails over the bird-rat’s skull and body, before snapping his fingers. In a flash, Pâté’s body folded into itself and went into the talisman hanging around his neck. Imogen could see a small glimmer contained within the gem.
He offered to hand him back. But of course—of course, ‘cause nothing good comes without a price, she’s learned that much—only if they bested him in a game of “Finders Keepers”.
There was certainly a catch, which turned out to involve betting. "Give me a heart for a heart" or whatever vague fey bullshit they use for deals these days.
The Hells thought themselves prepared but none of their offerings—a delicate wooden sculpture of two wolven forms intertwined from Chetney, an rusty bronze medallion from early days on the army from Orym’s and a ghastly looking heart-shaped statue made of candy and brambles from Fearne—seemed valuable enough. The feys’ patience was running thin and they knew they were getting cornered.
Something niggled at the back of Imogen’s mind. “A heart for a heart,” Marvius had said. But he was fey, and from literally everything Imogen had gone through in this stupid fey realm, words were not what they seemed. What if the man wanted something else? Something deeper—a secret? What if—she looked at Laudna, beautiful and worried and so brave—
—but no. No, that wasn’t it. Couldn’t be it. And even if it was, Imogen wasn’t—what could Imogen say? That Laudna was her—but of course she wasn’t. Laudna was her best friend. Only her best friend. That was all, and all she could ever be. So she didn’t offer it.
Thus, of course, Laudna gave her ring away. “Because it makes sense,” she said.
Their ring. The gift that when presented brought a smile so bright to Laudna's face that it rivaled the sun. The ring that still brings this smile today, sitting secure beside a silvery band and wine red yarn bracelet.
The same ring that she traces with delicate touches whenever she is overwhelmed, sometimes lifting her hand under the afternoon haze just to see the sunlight catch before her eyes widen and she is shielding herself away, all too warm under Imogen's gaze. Imogen has had to look away too, if only for not being overwhelmed by an entirely unrelated warmth.
The same ring that now causes Laudna to look at her with a bitter uptick to her lips, ring sitting on her palm stretched open, the anticipation of yet another loss weighing on her bony shoulders like iron shackles and reflecting in her wet eyes—and it’s Imogen’s weight too, when she remembers red sand and skies in Bassuras, of feeling bound to death and destruction and loss, and she can’t breathe at the notion of yet another of their blessings being stolen—
The Witch Bolt sizzles through the air before Imogen’s aware of her hands moving.
—
The lair erupts into movement and noise and there's no time to think. The spell shoots out to hit the man square on his chest. She ducks just in time to evade an arrow that pierces the bark of a tree, sending splinters flying askew behind her. The air reeks of ozone.
From her periphery, Imogen spots Ashton and Orym charging against the rabbitfolk and the beastmaster before there`s the heavy clash of metal against metal. Chetney`s roar echoes around as he pounces on the displacer beast, claws and teeth on flesh and bone, while FCG and Fearne try to escape the twins' ranged attacks.
She doesn`t need to look to know Laudna`s trying to reach her. But no, she can't retreat without Pâté—it’s all her fault.
Marvius traces sigils in the air and Imogen isn’t fast enough to avoid a Ice Knife to her shoulder. Her vision swirls from the onslaught of pain and she just manages to dodge a rain of fire missiles by ducking behind a boulder. There’s a sound of impact, flames sizzling, and someone’s shouting orders and her hands are trembling. There’s no time to think, no time to apologize.
She braces herself before running off, her hands covered in glowing scars while tendrils of purple electricity seep into the ground, leaving handprints of crackling lighting. Before Marvius can escape, Orym intercepts him, his shield flying across the field to hit his left knee. Orym signals to her with a nod, trusting her to find an opening while his verdant eyes shimmer, causing vines to spring from the ground.
Marvius squirms as the plants lash out for his torso, holding him in place. The collar sways in the air, gem left in plain view. Imogen’s greedy eyes flash white and she Misty Steps, leaving a trail of pressure and heat behind as she gains momentum and reaches forward—
Imogen catches the talisman and pulls the chain until it snaps on the elven man’s neck. Stepping aside to avoid a blow to the back of the head, her eyes lock onto Laudna’s in a fleeting moment whilst she smiles—a small, desperate and flimsy thing, begging for a chance—but suddenly Marvius shakes off Orym’s vines to grip her forearm angrily. Her fingertips buzz with energy, muscles tensing as she prepares to release it in a spell.
“Since you seem to want it so much, my dear,” Marvius snarls. His hand raises and the gem begins to glow, the deep gold of his eyes now morphing into a sickly blue. The angry buzz reacts and bites back, her magic thrashing against her veins while being contaminated with foreign intent, but it's too late to stop. Her muscles pull taut and enchantments fall from her lips against her will, a marionette told to dance by its puppeteer.
His smile is a small, wicked, and vengeful thing that suddenly encompasses everything. “You can have it. Go and take it, you foolish, selfish girl.”
The last thing Imogen hears before she casts Dimension Door and everything goes wrong is Laudna screaming her name.
—
Imogen wonders if she’ll be falling forever during the few agonizing, ever-stretching seconds it takes her to reach the moss-covered hill. The air leaves her in a rush, lungs emptied in a burst of scalding pain, as she slides and rolls her way down to the bottom, coming to a stop in a dust cloud.
She coughs up dirt and blood alike, waiting a few minutes to gather her bearings before propping herself on one weak arm and scanning around. This pit, wherever it may be, is small. There’s no visible way out save for a single trail that leads further into the shadows; her only light source comes from above, a dull sunlight that reaches only a few feet into this chamber, but looking up reveals a roof of pitch-black darkness.
"Oi, quite pouting so much. There's nothing we can do 'bout this high-level type of magic, I tell ya," says a familiar voice.
The ratbird looks defeated, and maybe a bit nervous when he scurries up next to her. She supposes that whatever mix of stress and anger must be showing on her face is enough to put him on edge. But a quick search for wounds on his scruffy body or cracks on his skull reveals he's as undeadly alive as usual. He's okay, they’re okay, she didn't ruin everything and they'll escape this place together.
"Pâté!" Imogen gasps, face softening with a wobbly smile. "I'm so, so sorry. We should've been more careful with our flanks and sending you around like that was real stupid."
"Oh well, this fall ain’t enough to knock down my ol’ mighty self, y’know?” Pâté snickers, puffing his belly with an air of defiance. He turns his back on her, squinting at the shadows farther down the dirt path. “We still need to get outta here though. Our girl must be crying herself a goopy river.”
Shit. She stands on scraped knees, marching towards the entrance and almost knocking Pâté to the ground. “We need to go. Laudna's up there, and they’re fighting—”
“Calm down, girlie!” Pâté flies in front of her, little paws raised in a placating manner. Imogen tries to move past him but he keeps blocking her path. She manages only a few steps before giving up, arms crossed in annoyance. “First of all, ya need to situate me a bit. It’s no surprise I have some irresistible charms, but how did ya end up here? Did they—as they say, did they get the hots for ya too?”
Imogen visibly recoils while trying to access the situation. “Wh–What? No, I was trying to get you back. They offered a deal but we—actually, It was me who blew it, so things got a bit um, a bit messy?”
“Things are always messy ‘round the lot of ya.”
“Yeah,” she mumbles. “I mean, we’re trying...” With a flick of her wrist, several motes of energy burst into space; Dancing Lights enclose them, lighting the chamber in a purple hue. "Let's keep walking, alright? I only have a few minutes before they snuff out. And be quiet, we don't know what's lurking around."
"'Kay! Quiet as a rat." He flies closer, eyes switching between her shoulder and her face in silent questioning. Imogen scrunches her nose, motioning for him to sit despite her weariness. He beams, totally unaware, before ducking to hide under her scarf, tail waving in excitement as they walk down the trail. She supposes she doesn't hate it.
“'But what went wrong?” he rasps from below her chin. “You’re as charming as those fancy diplomatic folks! I’d be gawking right about now—if I had a jaw, that is. Eheh, silly me!”
“Oh.” Imogen blinks, shaking her head in hopes of gaining clarity. Instead, the turmoil in her mind only gets worse: she sees Laudna, her inky eyes shining with delight at the garden; Laudna, whimpering like stricken puppy at Pâté being captured; Laudna, turning away in hurt and disgust at the want burning inside Imogen. Laudna, leaving her. "They asked for a secret of sorts." She clenches her hands anxiously in front of her chest, head bowing as her pulse spikes. "Told us to bare our hearts 'cause they wanted something special enough to hurt."
“That’s so fuckin’ rude, oi."
"Right? Of course I didn’t tell them, but before we could come up with a solution, anything else to offer—shit, Laudna didn't wait a beat before giving the ring away. I don’t know why the hell she’d go and do that. It’s almost like—”
“Almost like you mean nothin’ much to her?"
She shrugs, baffled. “Yeah! And I was so scared, Pâté, ‘cause about that secret, I don't know what I’d do if Laudna knew."
The flames inside his eye sockets flicker in surprise. “Eh?! Yer telling me Laudna doesn't know?”
Imogen focuses on the path ahead, pretending her heart doesn't weep as she answers, “No, she doesn't." As she reaches the end of the trail, the lights reveal a single doorway. It’s built on a slightly-raised platform, marble steps leading to an altar framed by several statues on each side, their inanimate faces frozen in longing. The one she’s closest to seems to have partially crumpled, all the carvings that rendered its beauty now weathered by the elements. Upon further inspection, they all seem to be facing the door, resting one delicate ivory hand above their chest. A heart for a heart. "It’s something no one knows, but specially not Laudna, and I'd rather not talk about it—”
"That you're in love with 'er?"
"—with anyone, yeah, I'm so in love—I'm. What?" She sputters, coming to a stop just a few feet away from it. Is it too late to leave without him? No. No, she couldn't. Laudna would be inconsolable, and she's not about to throw a fit—
"Missy Imogen wants to sweep ol’ Laudna’s dusty chimney?"
“I-I want to sweep what from whom now?” she chokes, hating how it ends in an indignant squeak.
“That’s the secret, ain’t it?” He asks, leaning forward in his privileged seat. “You fancy the deadliest undead witch of Tal'dorei. And yer also afraid the woman’s growing distant, tired of playing dollhouse. Laudna may be naive but my avian side of the skull has been on yer bullshit for a while." Pâté's cheeky wink leaves Imogen wishing she didn't rescue him after all. She fumbles twice before her hand finally lands on the handle, desperate for a way out, but the door doesn't budge.
Imogen’s rendered stupid and doesn't bother hiding it. She suspected Orym, with his tact for the most subtle changes, and Fearne, with her whimsical and knowing quips about the mundane, or maybe Chetney, with all the care he tries to hide behind his grumpy attitude. And yet, a fucking rat’s called her out on it.
The embarrassment is so strong she could die, her body returning to earth and soil to sprout bioluminescent flowers. Laudna might appreciate those, right? Would they glow a pretty fiery pink, as bright as her cheeks feel right now?
"Not a worry, it bothers me, too, sometimes," he carries on after she doesn't say anything. "I feel a itty-bitty bit afraid she's leaving this half-thing here behind her to never look back. But Laudie's always been floaty like a ghost, traveling wherever her whims took ‘er, a wild spirit."
Imogen's eyes threaten to burst with hurt and fondness alike, a dopey grin surfacing the tide. "Ain't she?" she whispers.
"And maybe that's her way to freedom. Laudna and I, we've been left hanging most of our lives. If even a randy guy like me is learning to settle down, 'cause Sashimi got amazing teaching skills with that clever mouth— Oi, don't you dare— Oof!"
She clicks her tongue, holding him aloft by the tail. Pâté turns around to quirk his boney chin; she doesn't need proper features to read his mock-betrayal. "Keep your private outings to yourself, you rascal.”
"C'mon, I was just trying to cheer you up! Besides, the sway of my mama’s hips— I rested on Laudna's for years, so I know ya appreciate those juicy bundles—" Pâté eyes meet hers and he folds inward with a yelp, shrinking under her piercing glare. "M'sorry! Just kidding!"
"You're insufferable, y'know that? An absolute menace." She rolls her eyes, redirecting her watery scowl to the closed door. He struggles for a bit before crawling her gloves so he's looking directly into her eyes.
"What I'm tryna say is," Pâté says from his perch, "maybe we don't get a say in where she chooses to settle down." Imogen is taken aback by the shift in intonation, the serene resignation his voice carries. Looking into his eyes, she notices the flames have dimmed slightly. “That woman's been running for whatever remains of her life since I know 'er but just begun to find her footing. I know it's kind of scary, but we’ll do our best to help 'er until then.”
“It’s just—" she hesitates. All the words she'd swallowed for years feel like nails rooted deep into her throat, refusing to leave without drawing blood and bile. Imogen grunts at her own inability of feeling without guilt, chuckling humorlessly when Pâté gives her wrist a reassuring squeeze.
"If Laudna's always showering me with compliments—telling me how capable and brave and good I am—then why doesn’t she rely on me more? What does it matter if I’m good enough for everyone else in the world, but not for her?” She turns to lean her back against the door, sliding to the floor until she can hug her knees, chin resting her folded arms. “I hate this newfound distance ever since she came back. It’s like standing on different sides of a chasm, y’know? Like, I see her—we see each other, but it’s like walking towards the same direction while being miles apart. She died, and I can’t even look at her without feeling like I’m about to—to do something stupid—”
Darkness reclaims the altar as Dancing Lights extinguish. It's just them now, two inadequate beings in the dark.
She shudders head to toe, a painful tingle spreading on her chest. Her unoccupied hand raises to claw at her vest, just above her heart, “—when I just wish she stayed by my side. I don’t want to let her go.”
"Then don't,” Pâté says, like it's the only answer she could possibly need. “Just hold strong and let it carry ya whenever you need to be."
"But that’s the thing— what If she lets me go? What if it ruins everything we have?”
“Yer not making any sense, woman. Ya trust this fluttering feeling in yer gross, swollen, currently beating heart, dont’cha?”
“Yeah,” she sobs, tears flowing earnestly, “I love her so, so much. I’m in love with her—with everything she is, everything she does. She’s my favorite person.”
(Around them, the rock starts to shift, but they don’t pay it any mind.)
Pâté scoots closer, tilting her head so his little paws can swipe at some of her tears. “This type of precious bond ain't breaking easy, I tell ya. I spent most of my ratty days inside Laudie’s spooky head, and though most of ‘er decisions were plagued by regret under that leech’s unprompted commentary, I’m damn sure loving ya wasn’t it.”
Imogen sniffles. “Really? You think so?”
He nods, patting her nose in an attempt to soothe. “Ye! So don'tcha worry yer pretty head. It’s not our fault if she’s growing some guts to face life head on." His flames flicker again, skull tilting to the side in evident pondering. "Or maybe it is? She's growing way too independent, stronger than both of us."
She laughs. "Yeah. We really don't know how to function without her, huh?”
Pâté throws his head back, his boisterous laugh sending his tattered wings to flutter behind his back. "No, we don’t! But that’s fine, Laudna’s a good egg. And if it gets too lonesome, us passersby have each other, 'kay?"
“Yeah, okay.” Imogen stands up, heaving a deep breath. She reaches to scratch the tip of his beak, giggling when his fur fluffs out. "Thanks, buddy, for everything." She turns to face the door and lifts both hands, scars humming back to life with newfound purpose. “Shall we go, then? Back to her?”
Pâté perks up, the flame on his eyes blazing to match the devious glint on her own. “Ye ye! Let’s get out of this fuckin' hellhole!”
The hum crescendos, sending arches of energy zipping and fizzling violently in the air; Imogen floats, arms outstretched to beckon the energy outward, preparing to cast something heavy enough to render this useless door to pieces and—
A final grinding of stone shakes the ground. The eyes of every statue flash green in unison, a dozen cracks erupting on the polished marble as they fall from their bases and crumple, sending the both of them reeling backwards. Entire portions fall from the walls and ceiling, the entire chamber now collapsing into itself as the magic that filled it weakens.
She feels a tug on her scarf and notices Pâté’s cheering, his maniac cackles echoing around as one finger points urgently to the doorway.
Imogen watches, enraptured, as many roots—different than Orym’s, now slithering like gnarled and twisted snakes, their bark going from a dull bleached white to a deep churned black—invade the crevices, holding onto every reachable surface and pulling apart, forcing the door to wilt and bend. Ethereal flowers, dazzling lilies and lushy poppies, cascade from their brambles in rolling waves, disappearing before they hit the floor.
And sunlight streams through the open doorway, where a familiar shadow waits for her. Imogen! she hears, and Laudna’s voice fills her mind accompanied by a divine chorus: lovely, musical, as though she has never left.