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“Edgin.”
Before, he dreamed of death. Saltwater burned in his mouth whenever he woke—until it was too cold for the tears to flow, and they froze on his cheeks like gleaming jewels of grief. In every shimmer of blue, he saw his wife, and in every shimmer of gold, his guilt. In his nightmares, he drowned in it.
Then, the blue and gold made way to red.
We won, he always told himself, when he woke up shaking, mind filled with crimson clouds and ruby-hilted daggers. We won. We saved people. We won.
But he drowned in the fog, too. Quieter, this time. Because they hadn’t saved everyone, and maybe if he’d thought for two more seconds, he would’ve understood, and nobody would have died—
“Edgin!”
Slowly, his eyes flickered up from the hole he was mending—Kira had torn one of her dresses—to the doorway of the sitting room, or what passed for one, anyway. Holga levelled a stare at him; he hadn’t even heard her come in.
“Our pal Xenk’s decided to stop by,” she said matter-of-factly. “He wants to see you.” Holga looked down at his hands. “Also, you stabbed yourself.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, I did.” Edgin gently pulled the needle out of his finger, watching a tiny pinprick of blood bubble out of the wound. He didn’t even feel the sting. “I’ll—I’ll clean this up and be right there.”
But when he looked up, she’d already left.
Edgin wrapped a spare scrap of fabric around his finger and pinned it in place, not wanting to bother looking for bandages once Holga’s words had set in. He hadn’t seen Xenk since they escaped the Underdark, and that was nearing half a year earlier. As much of an annoyance that stiff-lipped paladin was, Edgin had to admit that he’d missed him.
And everybody else seemed fine with the casualties from the battle. They’d all been faceless strangers, and most of them rich bastards, too, but that didn’t mean Edgin didn’t still think they deserved a better fate than that.
Xenk… he’d lost part of himself to the Beckoning Death, as a child. Edgin wondered how he dealt with it. Did he, too, dream of red smoke and ivory claws, trying to drag him down into oblivion? Did rubies wink at him from shelves, twisting a spike into his heart like it was his own life that had been lost?
Edgin’s hip hit the door frame with a dull thunk, and he tried to play it off as casual despite the throb, lifting his arm to lean against the wood. “Hey, Xenk,” he coughed out, voice rough and ragged as he tried to force the words through his dry throat. “Long time no see.”
“One hundred and eighty days, to be precise,” replied the paladin on the road, his armour gleaming in the sun, so bright it was almost blinding. “My arrival would have been sooner, but I was delayed by… work.”
“Yeah. Cool.” Edgin shifted awkwardly, trying to make the ache in his hip go away. “I mean, uh, we weren’t expecting you, so you’re not late or anything—just in time for dinner, actually.” He rubbed his thumb against the wood, gaze shifting to Holga and Doric, standing behind Xenk’s blazing form. “I’m sure we could all get together, grab some food at the tavern, catch up—”
“I apologise,” Xenk interrupted, smooth tones washing easily over Edgin’s somewhat-anxious postulating, “I would like to speak with you alone.”
Edgin stiffened, blinking at him for a long moment, before looking to Holga and Doric for support; his jaw slackened as he readied himself to speak, even though he didn’t have any words yet.
The two women seemed just as surprised as he was—well, Doric was gaping at the pair, but Holga just had her eyebrows raised, which was about the same. When they caught him looking at them, Doric gave him a frantic nod, while Holga just popped a subtle thumbs up in his direction.
“Uuuuuuuhhhhh,” Edgin drawled out, as he sluggishly processed things. “I’d, uh, yeah, that would be fine.” His mouth kept moving without his direct input, adding, “No problem—I mean, sure thing, it’s a-okay with me—”
Holga pressed her face into her hand, and Edgin quickly shut himself up.
“We’ll catch up with everyone else… later?” he ended with a slight squeak.
“Oh, don’t worry about us,” Doric put in, hurriedly, giving a nervous laugh as she waved her hands dismissively. “We’re fine. Uh, not that we don’t want to see you, Xenk, but there’s no hurry—”
“Yeah,” Holga agreed, taking over from the tiefling with a nod. “You guys take as much time as you want. ‘M sure you’ve got lots to… uh, discuss.”
Xenk acknowledged both of them with a stiff incline of his head. “Thank you,” he said, before Edgin could question how weird they were acting. Then he returned his stony gaze to the bard, and Edgin swallowed thickly. “It might be prudent for me to come inside.”
“Oh—yeah, right. Inside. Please.” Edgin awkwardly flattened himself against the doorframe and gestured for Xenk to walk past him.
Xenk ascended the steps in front of the door, holding Edgin’s eyes with his usual intensity, which made Edgin want to shrink. Then he brushed past, armour almost clipping the edge of Edgin’s neck, and Edgin belatedly realised that he probably should have moved.
Staring at the back of Xenk’s neck all the way, as if he might suddenly spring on him, Edgin fumbled for the door, and slammed it shut. And that was the start of that.
When Xenk had said ‘speak with you alone’, Edgin had expected talking. And there had been some words exchanged, mostly polite ones, before the awkward silence had settled. Edgin hated awkwardness. He may have offered Xenk a drink—he couldn’t quite remember; it was difficult to think with the paladin’s teeth scraping at his jawline.
But they definitely had talked, a little bit, before some sort of charm settled over Edgin, and he definitely had asked to kiss Xenk before shoving his tongue down his throat. Chivalry wasn’t dead, and all that.
And it turned out Xenk was a damn good kisser, too, along with everything else—maybe instead of talking (infamously not a strong suit of his), they could just do this, instead. Edgin preferred it, by a long shot, and embracing Xenk’s lips was so much easier than trying to dissect his metaphors.
Then Xenk put his knee on Edgin’s chest, and flattened him down into the couch with a loud fwump and creak of the springs. The curtains were drawn, but sunlight streamed through the cracks, illuminating Xenk’s skin from behind. He was glowing again; typical of a paladin, really.
“I did intend to have a conversation with you,” Xenk stated, no hint in his voice that he’d just been kissing Edgin breathless. “Your tactic of misdirection is curious to me.” The pressure of his knee pushing on Edgin’s torso was light, surprisingly, but with a latent power behind it that informed Edgin, gently, that he was very much at Xenk’s mercy.
Edgin swallowed again. “No offense, but talking really isn’t your thing,” he replied, voice breathy from the position his lungs were mashed into. “And—wait, sorry, misdirection? Seriously? What, you think me sucking your face off was just a—a distraction?”
Xenk lifted an eyebrow. “It’s a common form of deception, preying on the base instincts of humankind,” he answered simply. “I admit, you are skilled.”
“I’m not that—I’m not like that, Xenk. Yes, okay, maybe the timing has something to do with the fact that I know you’re probably here to talk about Sofina, and I’m already going through enough shit with that as it stands”—Edgin took a gasping breath and continued—“so I decided to move up the feelings-unboxing, alright?” He grabbed Xenk’s knee with both hands and tried to push him off; predictably, nothing happened. “Besides.” Slumping back down, the tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips. “If you thought I was distracting you, why’d you say yes?”
A quiver of amusement warped Xenk’s placid expression. “I, too, have base instincts,” he informed him. “I am not a monk.” He lifted his knee, finally letting Edgin breathe properly and sit up. Edgin let out a reflexive gasp.
“Take your armour off,” he demanded, “and we’ll talk.”
As it turned out, Xenk was good at that, too.
Pauldrons, breastplate, bracers, and belt were deposited in a nearby, empty armchair, without breaking eye contact, leaving him still considerably dressed, but his frame no longer disguised by metal. His blue tunic clung to his chest much better than his plate armour had, and it made Edgin feel considerably more inclined to chat with him.
“Comfortable?” Edgin teased, smirking openly now. “That stuff looks like it’s heavy.”
“I have the strength,” Xenk answered. “You should wear more armour. Cloth does not protect against blades.” His fingers came to gently rest over Edgin’s heart.
“No,” Edgin managed, feeling the past creeping back in, and when he looked down, he could almost see the poisoned dagger. So he kept his gaze fixed on Xenk. “No, it doesn’t.”
“You are a mystery to your friends, Edgin Darvis,” Xenk continued, “and an enigma to your enemies. I do not know why, considering how you wear your heart on your sleeve.” He pressed his whole hand against Edgin’s chest, but Edgin didn’t budge. They were standing eye-to-eye, folded into each other’s space despite the rest of the room around them. Intimate. “Why do you wish that you had died?”
The question made Edgin’s heart stumble into a frenzy, and he wanted to run, but Xenk was preventing his flight. So he did the next best thing; he turned the tables, grabbing the front of Xenk’s tunic and mashing their faces together again. They crashed back onto the couch, Xenk’s body as solid as steel, but he wasn’t fighting back, so Edgin easily flipped them over and pinned the paladin between his knees. Then, annoyingly, he had to breathe, and he sat up, almost upset at how Xenk still managed to look perfect and serene.
“Edgin,” Xenk murmured, his voice taking on an almost mystical, enchanting quality. “I am here because your friends are worried about you. I can ask an easier question, but I will continue asking questions.”
“Ask an easier question,” Edgin replied, instantly. “Ask—” he repeated, chest heaving, as he gently dug his thumbs into Xenk’s stomach, “ask an easier question.”
“Do you have affections for me?” came the sneak attack, masterfully hitting Edgin in the square of his back. “You were insistent that this”—‘this’, Edgin assumed, was the lip-wrestling—“is not a ruse. I am curious.”
“Yeah,” Edgin breathed, surprised at how easily the answer tripped off of his tongue. “Yeah, I do. I love you, I think. At the very least, you’re as hot as a hell hound, and I’m kind of into your whole… straight as an arrow thing. Considering I mostly hang out with criminals—former criminals, these days. Infuriating, but—yeah.” He was rambling, and his mouth was dry again, so he hesitantly stopped.
“I see,” Xenk replied, betraying nothing. “Am I much like her?”
Edgin didn’t have to ask who he meant. “I don’t want to talk about Zia, Xenk.”
“Do you feel as if you are betraying her?”
Through gritted teeth, Edgin hissed out, “Ask an easier question.”
“You must answer the difficult ones, Edgin,” Xenk said, shaking his head. “There is no point to me being here if you don’t.”
“Well.” Edgin dug his fingers in deeper, tugging at Xenk’s tunic. “I’m sorry you wasted a trip, then.” He thumbed the buttons, the stitches, everything—intent on anxiously exploring Xenk’s torso through the barrier of cloth. “Plus, this… game of yours isn’t very fair. I should get to ask you a question, too.”
“If I answer your questions truthfully,” Xenk asked, “will you do the same with mine?”
Edgin pitched a sigh. “Yeah. Alright. Fine.” Then he leaned down and briefly caught Xenk’s mouth again with his own. “But only if I can keep doing this, too,” he mumbled against Xenk’s skin.
“Acceptable.” Xenk sat up, and Edgin instantly slid out of his lap without a single push necessary. “Ask your question.”
“I…” Edgin fumbled, suddenly realising that he hadn’t thought this through. “Do you have, uh, affections, as you put it, for me, too?”
“Yes,” Xenk answered swiftly, nimble fingers brushing a curl out of Edgin’s face. Despite all the aggressive kissing they’d been doing, the gentle touch made Edgin shiver. “At first, I found you… infuriating, but cute—like a newborn puppy. Now I find you rather intoxicating.”
“Ah,” Edgin choked out. “Gotcha.”
“Now—my original question, Edgin.” His grip had fallen to Edgin’s collarbone, pressing his fingers into the dip of his skin there. “Why do you wish that you had died?”
“In… in place of Zia,” Edgin asked, straining, but Xenk’s warm touch kept him balanced, “or Holga?”
Xenk’s answer was predictably Xenk-like. “Whichever would bring you the most relief.”
“I…” Xenk’s thumbs lifted his chin, keeping their eyes level. “It… should have been me. I was the one who stole from the Red Wizards. I should’ve been the one punished. Not Zia. She didn’t—I just wanted to—”
“I know.” Xenk held his face tenderly, and spoke with the same care. “You were attempting to improve your situation. And you have another question.”
“Right.” The whiplash almost hurt, but Edgin was glad for it. He didn’t think he would’ve been able to have this conversation any other way. Maybe Xenk was onto something with his blunt mannerisms. “Same question. D’you ever wish you’d… been killed with your parents?”
“Yes,” Xenk answered. “I have wished it, in the past. But I know that I carry them with me, always, and I am glad that they are remembered.”
Edgin let out a long breath. “That’s… yeah. I understand. Other people don’t really have very good memories of… your people, do they. So you kind of have to carry them all.”
“It is a burden I am glad to bear,” Xenk told him. “I hope that one day… it may return to the way it was in my youth.”
“Yeah. Me too,” Edgin admitted. Xenk was too kind to have his home sullied by undead monsters, or have his reputation eternally tainted by where he was born. Maybe Edgin was a little biased, but still. He was right. Then something else flew to the forefront of his mind. “Sofina—is she—”
“You know it is very difficult to kill what is already dead,” Xenk answered, before he could finish asking. “But the horn has been hidden again, and it will remain hidden until I discover a way to destroy it.”
Edgin’s head fell back against the edge of the couch. “Good,” he said. “Guess I just wasted my next question, huh?”
“I am done with the questions,” Xenk answered, “for now. If you would permit me, I would like to stay in town for a few days. I believe the rest of your friends would like to… ‘catch up’.”
Edgin thought for a moment, trying to push away the dull ache in his chest. “I… if I offer to let you stay here, will you wake me up in the middle of the night to ask me more questions?”
“No,” Xenk said. “However, I will insist on having a better, more productive conversation at a later time tonight.”
“I guess I can agree to that.” Edgin ran his hand over Xenk’s knee. “Xenk, I…”
“You have witnessed terrible horrors,” Xenk interrupted, “and I wish to help.”
Maybe he should have said ‘thank you’, but Edgin couldn’t find the will. Instead, he just continued, sheepishly, saying, “I should probably tell Kira you’re staying over.”
“That would be wise.”
And Xenk drew his hands away, leaving only the tingling imprint on Edgin’s skin, and the sliver above his ribs.