Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This could be going better,” Ed yells.

“What?” Holga bellows back. She doesn’t bother turning towards him, just swings her ax around in a rapid arc that rebounds so suddenly she almost drops the weapon. “Shit.”

“I said,” Ed roars, over the high-pitched cry of the juvenile bulette that’s now chasing down Holga, “That this could be going better.”

“I can’t hear you,” Holga calls back. “This isn’t going very well.”

“Yeah,” Ed mutters to himself. “Good point.”

He takes a hasty step back as the ground in front of him shudders, but instead of another of the bulette brood erupting from the ground the pebbles rise upwards into the familiar shape of a hand--it’s been one of Simon’s favorite spells for the past month now, Ed’s trying not to comment--that sweeps off, gathering up Holga’s pursuer and trapping it against the ground. Holga, grim-faced, strides up with her ax and takes more careful aim.

It had been a mistake, stumbling into what’s apparently a nest of recently hatched bulettes. They’d been looking for the entrance to an abandoned fort, allegedly buried somewhere within these rolling hills. None of them had spotted the newly-disturbed dirt until the first creature had launched itself, pointy jaw first, out of the ground and nearly into Holga’s arms. It hadn’t, it turned out, been the last.

Ed’s never actually encountered one of these landsharks in person before, but there’s not much time to regret the new acquaintance now. At least four of the creatures have already popped out of the ground around them, and there’s no way to know how many more are lying in wait. There’s a roar behind him, deeper and louder than the bulette’s cries, and the last of the hatchlings goes flying past, crashing into a tree and sliding down to lie, motionless, at its base.

One of the most important skills a leader can develop is knowing when to get the hell out of here. Ed edges backwards. “Alright,” he says. “Back up the hill. Slowly.”

“Might be more of them,” Holga suggests.

“Yeah, exactly.” She glares, and he says, pointedly, “We aren’t getting paid for bulette hunting.”

Simon nods his agreement. Holga shrugs her reluctant surrender, and braces herself in the center of the small hollow. There’s probably no point in trying to persuade her not to cover their retreat, so Ed nods Simon up the slope--a hawk is already taking off from where the owlbear was standing a moment ago--and follows carefully after.

“Shit,” Holga says, somewhere behind him. Ed turns, lute held ready, just as the pointed head emerges from the dirt in front of her. Simon’s yelling something and Holga’s got this, of course she does, but Ed finds himself running as she hefts her ax, pelting down the loose gravel of the slope as fast as he can.

Which is why he’s already having difficulty keeping his feet under him when the ground beneath him starts, ominously, to give way.

He has just an instant for absolute panic before there’s a new, rhythmic sound behind him and a voice commands, “Take my hand.” Ed reaches out blindly and is immediately caught up in a strong grip. It’s only half-familiar, clearly not Doric or Simon, but he’s too busy scrambling up onto the horse’s back to pay much attention to the identity of its rider. It’s not until he’s safely astride that he feels armor under his hands, and has to sweep a familiar turquoise cloak out of his face, and realizes he’s just swung up behind Xenk Yendar.

It’s too late to let go, so Ed clings on grimly as Xenk swings his mount around, sword raised. The bulette that had just burst up under Ed--the one that put him in this absolutely fucking ridiculous position--seems, miraculously, to realize it’s outmatched. It snaps once, heavy jaws falling inches short of the horse’s legs. When that doesn’t work it retreats, hissing, back into the hole it just leapt out of.

They wheel, again, but Holga’s already dealt with her own bulette, and there’s not much for them to do. She waves them off, tiredly, and starts trudging towards them. The whole thing has taken less than thirty seconds.

Xenk, of fucking course, stays where he’s planted. Apparently Holga has competition for bringing up the rear, although judging by her face she’s not in any hurry to fight them for the honor. She’s stomping along evenly enough, no sign of injury, so Ed shelves his worry for her to re-examine later.

Xenk shifts, and Ed hurriedly loosens his tight grip. It’s not like he needs to cling on when they aren’t even moving. “Are you harmed?” Xenk asks, turning just far enough for Ed to see his unreasonably perfect profile silhouetted against the sky. He probably did that on purpose.

“Nope,” Ed says. And then, because knows what’s due, “Thanks to you.”

“Mere good fortune, that I was able to assist you,” Xenk says. The modesty in his voice is probably even real, damn him.

“Yeah, and just how did you come to be here to do that?”

Xenk shrugs. “I was riding through these hills and heard the sounds of battle. I did not know it to be you and your companions until my arrival.”

“Do you always ride towards fights?” Ed demands. “No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Xenk grins at that, for some reason. “I have been known to do so,” he admits.

Ugh. “We’re lucky you did,” Ed admits. “Thanks.”

Holga’s finally clear of the slope. Xenk turns and guides his horse at a more sedate walk, up towards the spot on the side of the hill where the rest of them are waiting in a tight little cluster.

“You owe me no thanks,” Xenk says. “It is a good thing you have done for the people of these hills. A brood such as that one would have caused much danger to them, had they grown to maturity.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ed says. “Sure. Danger.” Even Ed’s limited experience with Xenk suggests that he’s getting ready to say something else equally awful. Maybe it’s time for a diversion. Ed seizes the initiative and calls out, “Hey, everybody alright?”

Miraculously, they seem to be. Doric’s owlbear was more than a match for the hatchlings, and Simon had sensibly stayed back from the worst of the fighting. Holga’s bleeding from a shallow scrape down one arm, but Ed knows better than to offer help. She’ll deal with it on her own, if she wants to.

Xenk eyes the wound but seems to come to the same conclusion. He dismounts from the horse in one fluid motion, offering the rest of the group a bow--of course--before turning back to Ed and raising both his hands in invitation.

It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. Ed’s a grown adult who’s been riding his entire life. Xenk already knows he’s uninjured, and it’s not like he’s some fragile maiden hampered by skirts. He’s fully capable of dismounting from a horse on his own, without help, even if it won’t be quite as graceful as Xenk’s elegant movement. There’s no reason for Xenk to offer his help, and even less cause to accept it.

Ed swings himself down into Xenk’s waiting arms. He’s in them only for a brief moment, as Xenk catches him and lowers him, gently, to the ground. Ed doesn’t quite dare look at anyone else. “Thanks,” he says, again.

Xenk gives him a bow too--this is getting ludicrous--and says, to the group at large, “It was a pleasure to watch you fight. You work together well.”

That’s a ridiculous thing to say, when he only arrived in time to see most of them retreating while Holga took down the last--second-to-last--of the brood on her own. It’s not like Ed can point that out, though. Not with the rest of them watching. Holga’s smirking and Simon’s beaming in the glow of the compliment. Even Doric looks pleased.

Which is probably why Xenk is watching Ed for his reaction, since he’s already gotten a full measure of approval out of the others. “Thanks,” Ed manages. “We do our best.”

“More than that, surely,” Xenk murmurs.

Ed’s a bard, dammit, and he’s had enough of not knowing what to say. Time to try another angle of attack. “Hey, we’re going to ride a little further from that nest and make camp for tonight,” he says. There’s no point in continuing their hunt in this dwindling light. “You want to join us?”

Xenk hesitates, for just a moment. “I thank you,” he says. “But I have some miles to ride yet, tonight.”

That’s good. That’s probably for the best. Xenk obviously has things to do, things that don’t involve them. This way, they’ll be left in peace for the evening. “Sure,” Ed says, and then, inanely, “See you around.”

Xenk’s already mounting back into the saddle, but he twists to look down at Ed with another of those grins. “I am sure that I shall,” he says, with a confidence that’s frankly obnoxious. Then he’s raising a hand in farewell, and riding away.

In the low rolling hills, it takes a long moment for him to disappear out of sight. His cloak is flowing majestically in the breeze--how does he do that--and the golden light of sunset sets off the gold of his armor against his dark skin. He looks, even Ed has to admit, like something out of one of Faerun’s classic ballads, the kind he’d had to memorize as a student and hasn’t quite managed to forget yet.

Ed turns back to find the rest of the party staring, not after the departing paladin, but at him. “What?” he asks.

Simon shakes his head. Doric’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t comment. It’s Holga who takes a step forward and claps Ed on the shoulder sympathetically, which is a terrible sign. “Swept you right off your feet, did he?” she asks, with a grin.

“There was a bulette,” Ed insists. “It came up right under me.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” Holga asks, innocently. “I was a little busy at the time.”

“Yes.” Ed glowers at her. “Ask Simon and Doric. They saw everything.”

“Sure,” Simon agrees. “Everything.”

Right. Maybe they should have tried to keep Xenk around for the night after all. Ed’s friends surely wouldn’t behave this badly in company. “Come on,” he says, on what’s left of his dignity. “Let’s go.”

“Go get rescued by a big strong paladin,” Holga murmurs. Simon snickers, and even Doric laughs. Ed flicks them all a rude gesture, and stalks away.

Chapter Text

“Do you have to wear that armor?” Ed complains. “It’s really uncomfortable.”

“I am sorry,” Xenk says, sounding as if he actually means it. “Such is not my intention, I assure you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed grumbles, and tries to disentangle himself from a greave. It would be easier if there were any room to maneuver, but between Xenk’s bulk and the glowing green lines of the net they’re currently inhabiting, it’s hard to get anywhere. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered being smaller?”

“It has been some years indeed since I was able to accomplish such a thing,” Xenk says. “Hold still for a moment, and I shall see what I can do.”

Ed considers protesting, but it’s not as if anything Xenk can do will make the situation much worse. The net sways nauseatingly under him as Xenk shifts, disentangling his legs carefully from Ed’s and tucking them up in front of him instead. It’s a thoughtful gesture, accomplished without incident, and it’s probably just an unfortunate chance of physics that the increased density draws Ed inexorably down, right on top of Xenk.

It takes some self-control to struggle free without further damage, which would be just embarrassing after Xenk’s care earlier. Ed’s not usually easily embarrassed, but these are exceptional circumstances, so he tries to move cautiously until he’s sitting next to Xenk, facing him, legs similarly drawn up. They’re pressed together side to side, but it could be worse. At least Ed can tell where he ends and Xenk begins, now.

“Is that better?” Xenk asks. When Ed nods, he says, “I am sorry that I failed to perceive the trap in time. It was not my intention for us to find ourselves here.”

“This wasn’t all on purpose?” Ed shrugs. “I didn’t see it either. It’s just as much my fault as yours.”

In fact, it’s what Ed gets for walking at the front, with Xenk. If he’d stayed sensibly back he would have been clear of the trap, and be safely on the ground even now. But Xenk had suggested that they keep behind him so that he could lead the way through the dark of the ruin, and Ed had said he’d be damned if he’d follow Xenk around like he didn’t know what he was doing, and then . . .

Wait, no, scratch that. This is what Ed deserves for taking a job from Xenk Yendar in the first place. “I want hazard pay,” he says. “This wasn’t in our contract.”

Xenk grins at that, as if he thinks Ed is joking. “I shall see what I can do. The sworn siblings of Torm are sometimes given to negotiation, when the cause is just.”

Ed considers this. “Yeah, maybe you’d better not after all. Did you even tell them who you were hiring to help you on this one?”

“Yes,” Xenk says promptly. “Trusted companions who have fought bravely by my side in the past, and who I knew would ensure the success of our quest.”

For a moment, all Ed can do is gape. Before he can marshal his wits enough to reply to that--it’s going to take a while--Holga calls from below, “You two doing alright up there?”

“Yep,” Ed says. “Just fine. Everything’s going great up here.” A pause, in which there’s an unreassuring silence from below. “You’re working on it, right?”

“We’ll get you down as fast as we can,” Holga says. “Simon has a plan.”

“Oh,” Ed says, a little more quietly. “Great.”

“Give me just a minute,” Simon says, sounding a little strangled. “I think I have an idea.”

“Yeah, fine,” Ed yells back. “No rush, or anything.” He glances up to see Xenk giving him a reproachful look, and grimaces. “He knows it’s a joke,” he says, hearing how defensive it sounds even as he says it.

Xenk shakes his head in unmistakable censure, as if he has the right to judge how Ed talks to his own people. “I have full confidence in your casting,” he calls down. There’s a strangled groan from below in response.

“Now, see, that just makes it worse,” Ed says. “You know you intimidate him, don’t you?”

“There is no reason why I should,” Xenk says. “And I merely speak the truth. Simon has shown himself to be a very able sorcerer.”

Ed, reflecting on some of the spells he’s seen Simon cast, isn’t so sure. “I’ll feel better about that when he gets us down from here.”

Xenk shrugs. “This cannot be the worst predicament you have found yourself in, surely.”

“No,” Ed says promptly. Then he starts to think about actual predicaments, and realizes that he’s starting to smile. Xenk, watching him, makes an encouraging noise. “Well,” Ed says, as if he’s ever needed any encouragement to tell a good story. “There was this one time, in the forest outside Amphail--”

He pauses as, from down below, there’s the sound of Simon declaiming a spell. For a moment nothing happens, and Ed’s just resigning himself to waiting for the next attempt when the glowing lines of the web flare more brightly and, to Ed’s horror, draw in around them.

It lasts only a second, but by the time the light dims their prison is noticeably smaller than before. Ed’s shoulder is tightly pressed against Xenk’s bent legs, the cold solidity of the armor an odd contrast to the softer warmth where it gives way briefly to cloth.

He shifts, as far as he can manage, to pull his own knees away from the points of Xenk’s pauldrons. The movement sends the net swinging, without accomplishing much. He gives Xenk an apologetic grimace and, keeping his voice as calm as possible, calls, “Let’s maybe not do that again, ok?”

“Shit,” Simon says, and then, more loudly, “Yeah. Good idea. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. So that wasn’t the right spell. That’s fine. Got any other ideas?”

There’s an ominous pause. “I’ll, uh, work on it.”

“Such devices as this are often resistant to interference,” Xenk says, as if that’s somehow going to help. He glances at Ed and says, “I am sure his next attempt will be more successful. We shall not be confined here long.”

Even Xenk doesn’t sound fully convinced anymore. That can’t be a good sign. Ed wishes he had room to pace, or at least to fidget without Xenk being aware of every movement. “Maybe there’s a solution that doesn’t involve magic?” he suggests, without much hope.

“We’re working on it,” Holga says, in a tone that very much doesn’t invite further contributions.

Well, that’s fine. They can come up with the plan this time, if they want to. Ed will just sit here, stuck uselessly in midair, sharing considerably too much body heat with his least favorite paladin.

It really is a lot of body heat, upon reflection. Even with the armor he can feel the warmth of Xenk’s proximity, or possibly just of his self-righteous ardor. “Double hazard pay,” Ed says, relieved when his voice stays even despite his inexplicably dry throat. “And a percentage of our take.”

Xenk frowns at him. “There is to be no take,” he says, as if Ed might have forgotten since their last conversation about it. “We are here merely to recover the orb. All other treasure of this place”--and they had seen chests of it already, painfully undisturbed under a thick layer of dust--“is not ours to possess.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed says. “Property of the lost temple. I remember. It was a joke.”

“I see,” Xenk says, sounding very much as though he doesn’t.

Alright, clearly a joke was a bad idea. That’s fine. They can’t just sit up here in silence, but Ed’s great at small talk. He can find something to say that won’t offend even Xenk. He’s good at this. “Did you really tell Torm’s people you’d rather take us in here with you than them?” he blurts, and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“Yes.”

“But--” Xenk’s watching him as if Ed’s doubt is inexplicable, which has got to be an act. Even Xenk isn’t that oblivious. “Why?”

“As I said. I trust the competence and good intent of both yourself and your companions. You proved yourselves in Neverwinter to be formidable allies, of great courage and quick wits.” A pause, during which Ed regrets every question he’s ever asked Xenk, and then, “And the alternative, I admit, was to bring some of Torm’s sworn people with me.”

“Hang on,” Ed says, because at least that’s a little easier to deal with. “Are you saying you don’t want to be around Torm’s paladins either?”

“I have ridden into battle with them at my side many times,” Xenk says. “A task such as this is different, however.”

“Yeah, in a battle you don’t actually have to talk to them,” Ed mutters.

He catches the flash of Xenk’s smile. “You yourself have chosen to come, despite the need to talk to me. Which I am assured, on good authority, is not to be enjoyed.”

Ed would feel guilty about that, except that Xenk is still smiling. As it is, he raises his eyebrows and says, “Yeah, but I’m getting paid. Wouldn’t that be against Torm’s, I don’t know, oaths of duty or something?”

Xenk’s still considering this when Holga calls, “Alright, new plan.”

Ed sighs, but does it quietly. “Great. Simon, I’ve got a good feeling about this one, you’ve got this.”

“It’s not Simon,” Holga says. “He’s, uh, still working on ideas.”

Ed translates that easily as still freaking out about which spell to use. “Oh?” he manages.

“So Doric is going to fly up there as an owl and see if she can slice through the net,” Holga says. “Then you can do that falling spell.”

Ed considers the glowing web uncertainly. It doesn’t look like something that an owl is going to be able to get through. “What do you think?” he asks Xenk, sotto voce.

“I have not encountered magic of quite this kind before,” Xenk says. “I do not know what may happen.”

Well, that’s reassuring. “Alright,” Ed says, and raises his hands in preparation to cast the featherfall spell. “Owls it is.”

There’s a moment of waiting. Then a large white shape sails silently up into the darkness and glides past them to perch on top of the net, landing so gently that Ed barely feels the impact. It bends and, with careful precision, positions its beak against one of the strands and bites down.

The net does move, then, swaying back and forth far more violently than can be explained by Doric’s interference. Then, to Ed’s horror, the strands flare to bright life once again. He has just enough time to think oh, shit before it’s contracting in on them again, faster and more aggressively than before.

Ed catches sight of Doric launching herself into flight--good, at least she’s clear--before he’s tumbling abruptly sideways. The trap is moving unpredictably, not a normal swinging back and forth, and it’s almost a relief when he feels a now-familiar set of hands grab his arm, and then his waist. There’s a confusing moment when he’s not entirely sure which way is up, and another when he grabs frantically back at the reassuring anchor of Xenk, and then the net’s settling back down and Ed finds, to his horror, that he’s firmly ensconced on Xenk’s lap.

He tries to push free, but there’s no point. The strands of the net are close in around them now, gathered just inches above Xenk’s bent head. There’s barely room to even sit up, much less side-by-side. There’s nowhere to go.

“You are not harmed?” Xenk is saying, which is a valid question. Ed’s pretty sure he will have bruises, after that wild ride with Xenk and, more importantly, Xenk’s armor. But he’s not hurt in any way that matters, so he shakes his head and says, “No. Just, uh, a little cramped.”

“I apologize,” Xenk says. “But I thought perhaps it would be better this way. You would not enjoy being underneath the armor, I think.”

That’s true. Ed has enough recent experience to know that half-plate is heavy. Ed could probably handle Xenk’s weight without it--once it’s suggested itself to the imagination, it’s unexpectedly difficult to ignore the thought of the warm solidity of him, gentle and more malleable without the metal between them, pressing Ed inexorably down against the cords of the net--but he would, he has to admit, rather be on top just at the moment. “No,” he says. This time his voice does crack, and he wishes he hadn’t left his waterskin in Simon’s pack. “That’s fine.”

“I am sure they shall free us soon,” Xenk says, in a warmly authoritative tone that doesn’t do much to calm Ed’s nerves.

“They’d better. If this thing gets any smaller I’ll have to climb right inside that armor with you.” That, or suffer some really gristly consequences, but Ed’s trying not to think about that right now.

“You must have faith in your companions.” A brief pause, while Ed considers just what kind of things he’s seen those companions do in the past. Maybe he should be worried.

Xenk, as if sensing the thought, stirs under him. “I do not suppose that now, under such circumstances as these, you should be more inclined to consider the wisdom of our ancient forebears?” he asks, sweetly.

Ed pulls back just far enough to see his face, which is no easy trick under the circumstances, and raises a finger. He’s about to say--something, it’ll come to him once he gets going--when he sees just how desperately Xenk is trying, and failing, to keep a straight face.

It must be Ed’s expression that sends him over the edge, because all of a sudden Xenk is actually laughing. It’s quiet, but given their proximity Ed can feel the laughter as much as he can hear it. He had no idea Xenk could even do that, and he’s filled with the irrational fear that if he so much as acknowledges it, Xenk will stop.

But he’s also Ed, and so staying quiet isn’t an option. There’s no room to plant his hands on his hips, so Ed just frowns theatrically and says, “You really think that’s funny? At a time like this?”

Xenk’s breathing evens out, although he hasn’t lost his grin. “Fear not,” he says. “I shall allow no harm to befall you.”

That level of sincerity should be illegal. “And just how are you going to prevent it?” Ed asks, gesturing at the shrinking trap around them.

“By persuading you not to crush poor Simon’s spirits,” Xenk says. “There is always, in my experience, some trick to such devices. A code, perhaps, or a key. Your friends shall uncover it in time, if we do not distract them.”

“Interesting theory,” Ed allows. “Although I’d like to see you try to stop me from saying whatever I like to Simon.”

“Should you indeed?” Xenk asks.

He’s not smiling anymore. He’s just sitting, eyes fixed on Ed’s, although it’s not like he has much choice. In the tiny space, with Ed turned around to face him, there’s nowhere else he could go.

Or that Ed could go. He’s stuck here with Xenk, whose eyebrows have risen in what’s unmistakably some kind of challenge that Ed can’t quite read.

It’s hard to keep looking at him. It’s even harder to look away, which is such an irritating discovery that Ed wrenches his gaze firmly to some point past Xenk’s head, refusing to look back. He’s just going to sit here, being very interested in this net, until the others figure out--

This net, which hasn’t looked particularly interesting up to this point. Now that he’s looking more closely, though, there’s something about the pattern of its weave that’s jogging his attention. There are actual cords under the glowing lines of light, thin ones that are irregularly looped around each other to make loose diamonds. He’d taken the variations in the pattern to be evidence of poor workmanship, but what if that’s not it at all.

Keys, Xenk had said. Codes. “Look,” Ed commands, pointing. Xenk follows his finger--with his cheek just inches away, it’s not like he has much choice--and Ed explains, “One loop here, in the center. But then the knots have two loops here, here, and here, all around the single one. And then the next row out has three, here and here.”

Xenk tilts his head, considering. “You think it may be of significance.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just losing my mind. But if I’m right, then maybe we can use it to get free. It starts here and goes out--look, there’s four loops on the next ring--and maybe we can too.”

Xenk nods. “You may indeed be right.”

“Yeah,” Ed says. “Or I may mess with this thing and make it shrink down even smaller on us.”

“Perhaps.” Xenk looks away from the knots, back at Ed. “I trust you, Edgin,” he says, with the same terribly earnest sincerity.

Ed’s not entirely sure he can think about that. Not now, when he has a trap to spring. “Doric,” he yells. “Can you get ready to catch us?”

There’s a sigh, and the rush of air that usually means Doric’s shifted into something larger. “She’s ready,” Holga yells.

“Right,” Ed says, and reaches out to unpick the first knot.

It’s only an hour later, watching Xenk carefully study the tiles of a wall--he’s murmuring to himself in a way that’s not even remotely endearing--that it strikes Ed as odd. Xenk’s clearly good at this kind of puzzle. He’d known the trick of the gnome’s bridge in the Underdark, after all, and had used a mechanical trap of his own to store the helm. Even now, he’s tapping on tiles in a precise sequence that convinces them, with a creaky groan, to open up and discorge the orb.

As much as it stings Ed’s pride to admit it, those are all much more complicated puzzles than the pattern hidden in the net. Maybe Xenk had been more distracted by their predicament than he’d let on, or hadn’t stopped to look carefully. It’s just odd, is all, that it had been Ed to find the key to getting them released.

No time to think about that now, though. Xenk’s retrieving the orb carefully from its nest of decaying silk. Simon’s nearby, already ready to stuff it into his bag until they make it out safely. Holga’s on guard just out of sight down the corridor, conveniently stationed next to one of those treasure chests Xenk had so vehemently forbidden. At least this venture should help put food on the table for the next few months.

Xenk turns back, and grins--again--as he passes the orb to Simon. “Very well,” he says. “Edgin, should you prefer to take point as we return?”

The thing no one tells you about paladins is that they can also be outright bastards. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ed says, falling in next to Xenk as they make their way out, and home.

Chapter Text

“So I told her, if you like that there’s more where it came from!”

Lord Snome throws his head back and roars with laughter. Ed joins in, giving the man a friendly buffet on the shoulder that sends him swaying, almost falling off his stool. Good. Nearly drunk enough for the final push, then.

“You’re an old dog, Snome,” Ed says, which provokes a fresh gale of mirth. Once it eventually dies down, Ed asks, “Another round?” Snome hesitates, and he adds, “On me.”

“Eh, why not,” Snome says. “As long as you’re buying again.”

Snome’s vaults contain more gold than Ed will ever see in his lifetime, even including the treasure trove he dumped on Neverwinter. That’s fine, though. Tomorrow, Ed should recoup everything he’s spent tonight, and more.

Besides, Snome’s too drunk to notice that Ed’s been buying the cheap stuff for the last hour.

Ed stands with an artistic stagger. He’s just about to turn towards the bar when a voice behind him says, warmly and a little too loudly, “Edgin. I did not expect to see you here.”

Damn. Damn damn damn. Snome peers up at him with a bleary frown, apparently not quite drunk enough to overlook this. “Edgin?” he asks. “Thought your name was Taoughm.”

“Nickname,” Ed says. What in the nine hells is Xenk doing here? It’s just like him to show up and interrupt Ed’s business just as he’s getting to the good part. It’s not like it matters to Ed that he’s here--Xenk knows what Ed does, and his opinion of Ed’s activities has never mattered--but there’s no way to guarantee that he won’t interfere.

Snome isn’t looking convinced by his nickname story, so Ed adds, “Inside joke.” Better not drop Xenk’s name--if Snome has heard of him, that’ll ruin the persona Ed’s spent all night carefully cultivating--so he just says, “This guy’s an old friend,” and turns to offer Xenk a hand. He takes it with apparent enthusiasm, which at least soothes Ed’s worry that he’ll betray the lie. “What a coincidence, running into you here,” Ed adds, just to drive the point home.

The corner of Xenk’s mouth lifts, just slightly, in what can only be described as a smirk, and Ed’s hit with the overwhelming conviction that their meeting here is anything but coincidence.

He keeps his own smile firmly pasted on his face and says, without taking his eyes off Xenk, “Snome, give me just a minute to catch up with him. I’ll have that next round sent over, if you promise not to get too far ahead of me.”

Snome waves vague acceptance. Ed prays that he hasn’t just lost his window. But the risk of losing Snome if he walks away for a minute is lower than the risk of say-no-evil Xenk giving this all away. Probably.

He stalks off towards the dimmest corner of the taproom, too far from the bar or the hearth to be popular with the other patrons. As soon as they’re safely out of earshot he rounds on Xenk and says, “You have terrible timing, Yendar. What in the nine hells are you doing here?”

“Greetings, Edgin. I am glad to see you well,” Xenk says, apparently unperturbed by the hostility.

“Yeah, well, I’d be doing a lot better if you hadn’t come up and interrupted me. I’m working.”

“Working on what, precisely?”

Ed hesitates. Maybe this line of conversation was a mistake. “You sure you want to know about that?” he hedges. This can’t be a surprise to Xenk.

“Lord Snome is a very rich man,” Xenk says, in the same calm tones. “He has decided in recent months to expand his business interests to Neverwinter, and in preparation for doing so is transporting a large amount of his wealth along the High Road. Due to the value of the cargo, and his reluctance to spend the money necessary to hire a sufficient number of guards, the details of the caravan have been a closely guarded secret.”

“Is that so?” Ed asks, casually. “You seem well informed about Snome’s dealings.”

“You would not willingly spend the evening with one such as Snome. Holga is waiting for you in the inn across town,” Xenk goes on, and Ed’s heart sinks. “Once you have extracted the information you seek from Lord Snome, you and she will strike at the caravan. Tonight or tomorrow, if I do not miss my guess.”

Well, that’s great. At least Xenk knows that Ed isn’t the kind of person who’d choose Snome as a drinking companion. Small consolations. “Look, do you know anything else about him?” Ed demands. “All of that gold in his wagons is from overtaxation and taking advantage of people who can’t fight back. His tenants are in debt because he’s keeping double books. When they do have money, he sells grain and seed to them at double the going rate, and pockets the difference. He’s not a good guy, Xenk.”

“I am aware.”

“He doesn’t deserve that money.” Ed’s not sure why he’s arguing this so hard. It’s not like he’s going to change Xenk’s mind--in fact, this whole project was likely doomed from the moment he showed up--and he is still, technically, planning a theft.

“He does not,” Xenk agrees. Ed’s been around too long to let himself feel any hope at that, and his cynicism is rewarded when Xenk continues, “I am here in search of Lord Snome as well.”

“You want in on the job?” Ed asks, just to savor the expression--confused, indignant, more than a little self-righteous--that crosses Xenk’s face. “I’d have to talk Holga into it, but--”

“I am allied with others at this time,” Xenk says. “The Harpers have finally found evidence of Snome’s misdeeds. They are assembling it to present to the council in Waterdeep even now, but they fear that if Snome succeeds in moving his wealth to Neverwinter it may remain protected there.”

Of fucking course. “So you’re here to follow Snome and, what, stop him?”

Xenk nods. “As soon as I receive word from the Harpers that the council has issued orders, I shall act.”

So that the governors of Waterdeep can confiscate all of Snome’s gold for themselves. Great. “You know, I’m not sure we really need to get in each other’s way on this,” Ed tries.

Xenk just raises his eyebrows, in that irritating way that makes it seem like he knows more about Ed than Ed does. “I have negotiated with the council. All of Snome’s treasure will be returned to those he stole it from.”

Well, fuck. Ed tries to muster a casual shrug, but in the face of Xenk’s self-satisfied expression it’s hard not to glare. He hates paladins who act like they know everything about you, like they can see the future and know it’s going to go their way. Like you’re so predictable that they don’t even have to try. Like all they have to do is go around expecting the best of people for everyone else to just fall into line.

Damn it, Holga’s going to be furious about this. They’ve spent the last two tendays preparing for the job. She’s been out casing the road, looking for ambush spots. Ed had spent an entire evening gritting his teeth and pretending to drink bad ale with that idiot Snome. All for nothing.

“I am sorry,” Xenk says, and he actually sounds like he means it.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” Ed sags against the wall, letting his head fall back with a thud. “All the gold? Really?”

“I told them I should not offer my assistance if they did not agree to do so,” Xenk says.

“Fine.” Fine. Putting things off isn’t going to help. At least now he can give up on befriending Snome for the evening. “Good luck with your hunt, and all.”

Xenk’s lost his knowing look, thank all the gods. Instead, he’s studying Ed, head tilted slightly to one side. Abruptly, he asks, “May I escort you back to your lodgings?”

For a moment, all Ed can do is stare. “I’m sorry, did you just ask if you could escort me home?”

Xenk nods, apparently still in earnest. “It is late, and your inn is at some distance from here.”

It’s on the tip of Ed’s tongue to refuse him. This is even worse than the bulette, and Holga’s never going to let him live it down. But if Snome catches sight of them leaving together it’ll help preserve Xenk’s cover, at least. And maybe Holga will have to wait to kill him, if Xenk’s there when he tells her the bad news. “Alright,” he says, still not entirely sure if he’s going to regret this. “Let’s go.”

Xenk gives one of his half-bows and actually offers Ed his arm. It’s so unexpected that Ed almost refuses, but Xenk, who thinks he knows so much, is probably already expecting that. Ed’s not going to give him the satisfaction of being right again, so without protesting he tucks his arm into Xenk’s and lets him lead the way out of the crowded taproom.

Only to discover, when they make it outside, that it’s started raining. Ed can’t quite help the quiet noise of dismay when he steps out into the drizzle. He’s never liked getting wet, and he’s dressed for a night in a crowded taproom, not a midnight walk in the rain.

Xenk pauses as well, tugging Ed gently back into the sheltering lee of the building. He pulls his arm away, and Ed has a minute to wonder if this entire thing is a charade to keep up appearances in front of Snome, which would honestly be better tactics from Xenk than he’d expected. Instead, Xenk’s hands go to the clasp at his throat and, as Ed watches in disbelief, he unfastens his cloak and swings its heavy width around Ed’s shoulders.

“Um,” Ed says. This is unfair. Talking is Ed’s thing. Damn Xenk for leaving him without words again. “What are you doing?”

“The cold bothers me very little,” Xenk says. He frowns, and adds, “And your clothes are inadequate for this weather.”

“Look, it wasn’t raining when I--” Wait, no, that’s beside the point. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” One of the pauses that Ed’s starting to realize betray Xenk’s rather arcane sense of humor, and then, “But I wish to.”

Before Ed can figure out what to do about that, Xenk’s offering out his arm again. Ed takes it, almost without thinking, and Xenk leads them out into the dark street.

“So, uh, how’s everything going?” Ed asks. “It’s been a while.”

“Two months and twelve days since I saw you last,” Xenk answers, which is far more precision than Ed was expecting.

“You can’t possibly know that,” he protests, and catches Xenk’s smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you doubt it? It was the twentieth day of Tarsakh when we returned the orb to the temple of Torm, and you declined my invitation to remain there for the night in order to ride for home.” Another of those pauses, and then, “Or possibly merely to avoid the company of the temple’s inhabitants.”

“I wanted to get back to Kira,” Ed protests.

“You have been busy since. I heard of your good work with the Enclave last month,” Xenk says. “One of the master druids had high praise for your deeds.”

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” Ed protests. “We just went to help Doric out.” Not that their deeds don’t deserve praise--Ed’s particularly proud of a rather neat little fascination that helped turn the tide on a bevy of unruly miners--but he hadn’t expected Xenk to know anything about it. “Especially not compared to putting down a lich outside Yartar.”

“You heard of that affair?” Xenk says, with what sounds like genuine surprise.

“Half of Faerun is talking about it.” And Ed had, admittedly, interrogated the traveling peddler thoroughly as soon as he’d overheard them mention Xenk’s name. It only makes sense to keep track of the man, after all. If Ed had done a slightly better job of that, he wouldn’t have been so surprised tonight. “Is it true you took it down with just a dagger?”

“Only because I had already located its phylactery,” Xenk says, because he’s terrible at telling stories when they’re about himself. It’s a shame. Someday maybe Ed will teach him to do it better.

“I also heard,” Ed says, because he’s been hanging onto this particular tidbit for too long already and can’t quite resist, “That the Waterbaron of Yartar was very grateful.”

There’s just the slightest hitch in Xenk’s step. Ed chances a sideways glance and is rewarded by a dark flush so evident that he can see it even in the light of a passing torch. “She was most kind,” Xenk says. Then, as if the words are being dragged out of him, “And somewhat particular in her . . . attentions.”

Well, it’s not like Ed--or anyone else with eyes--could blame her for that. “And you survived?” he asked. “I’ve heard she’s a woman who knows what she wants. And is used to getting it.”

“She was not best pleased,” Xenk admits. “But when I told her my heart belonged to another, she said she understood and would not come between us.”

Wait, what? “Hang on,” Ed objects. “You’re a paladin.”

“Yes,” Xenk agrees. Ed can hear the smile in his voice.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to lie.”

The smile is gone when, after a longer-than-usual hesitation, Xenk says, “Indeed, I dislike doing so.”

Ed’s not entirely sure what he’s said wrong, which makes it a hell of a lot harder to fix it. He’s about to try his usual strategy--talking more until the problem somehow goes away--when there’s a sound of shouting, and splintering crockery. They’re out of the well-maintained part of town where Snope’s inn stands, and have made it into the somewhat seedier side where Ed and Holga are staying. Now, just across the street, the door of a rundown tavern bursts open and a knot of angry, yelling figures spills out into the street.

Even a quick look is enough to make it clear there’s no real reason for concern. The combatants are drunk, and sloppy, and not concerned with anything besides their own grievances. Ed’s ready to walk past when Xenk, with his own wary glance across the street, smoothly steps around Ed, transferring his hand from one elbow to the other so gracefully that it takes Ed a moment to assimilate what’s happened. Xenk’s barely even broken his stride. All that’s changed is that he’s now between Ed and the fight.

This is getting outrageous. Ed might not be wearing some showy sword swinging on his hip, but he can take care of himself. He’s been taking care of himself for years. Decades. He doesn’t need whatever this is.

He’s about to say so, in some detail, when Xenk asks, “Does Kira not travel with you?”

Huh. Trust Xenk to have found the one topic that can disarm him. “No, she decided to stay behind with some friends. She’s been taking lessons with a new tutor and she decided she didn’t want to miss them.” Ed’s not entirely sure where Kira comes from, some days. Which, all things considered, is probably for the best. For Kira, at least.

“You must miss her.” When Ed only nods, Xenk asks, with what is probably supposed to be tact, “And Targos as well.”

“Eh.” After a moment Ed relents, and says, “Sometimes. The woods are nice this time of year. It’s mostly evergreens up there, but the wildflowers should be starting just about now. We get some good thunderstorms in Flamerule, too. Biggest clouds you’ve ever seen, and thunder so loud it shakes the windows. Kira and I always go out to watch them coming in over the lake.”

“It sounds very beautiful,” Xenk says. “I should like to see it someday.”

After everything else that’s happened tonight--Xenk is still walking between Ed and the street, Ed’s arm is still tucked into Xenk, and he’s still wearing the damn cloak--that probably shouldn’t surprise him. But the thought of someone like Xenk arriving in sleepy little Targos, in Ed’s home, is too incongruous to accept. Ed considers and discards answers--What would I even do with you there is out, and Yes, you should is much worse--and settles on “I think you’d get bored.”

“I am sure I would not.”

For a moment, Ed doesn’t understand why they’ve stopped walking. Then he realizes, belatedly, that they’re at the door of his inn. He tries to unfasten the cloak, which has gone heavy and sodden with the rain, but Xenk puts one hand over his, holding it in place on his arm. He looks serious, unsmiling, and once again--damn Xenk and all paladins--Ed’s not sure what to say.

“I should never be bored when I am with you,” Xenk says, just in case Ed had missed the point. Then he takes a step back and, eyes never leaving Ed’s, lifts Ed’s hand from his arm and kisses it.

The kiss lasts just a moment, the merest brush of Xenk’s lips against the back of his hand. It’s not physically possible for such a brief contact to leave Ed feeling scorched, or breathless, or to make his heart start racing as if he’d run all the way back to the inn.

Xenk releases his hand, bows, and, before Ed can say anything, strides away into the night.

Oh.

Well.

So that’s how it is.

It’s only as Ed turns to go inside that he realizes he’s still wearing Xenk’s cloak.

Chapter Text

The next month leaves Ed with a lot to think about.

Looking back, he’s not entirely sure how it took him so long to spot . . . whatever this is. He’s not usually this thick, or at least he’s pretty sure he’s not, but it’s been so long since anything like this was even on the table that he’s apparently forgotten everything he’s ever known about, well. Romance.

That’s probably not what Xenk would call it, but even thinking about words like “courtship” make Ed feel like he’s about to break out in hives, so it will have to do. Besides, if Xenk wanted to impose labels he could have used his words in the first place, instead of going around escorting people home and kissing their hands without letting on what’s really going on.

Assuming Ed is right about what’s going on, that is. He considers, several times, the possibility that he’s making it all up. Maybe kissing the back of a friend's hand is a cultural tradition in Thay, or used to be a thing a century ago when Xenk was learning all his manners. He discards the possibility that Xenk’s messing with him immediately--it’s simply impossible--but does considers the much more probable alternative that Xenk’s losing his mind. Maybe that’s just what happens when you’re over a hundred, magic or no.

Or maybe it’s what it looks like. Maybe Xenk is courting Ed in earnest.

Which would be a problem, because if that’s what’s going on then Xenk is clearly winning.

Ed might not know what he wants to do about this whole situation, or how he feels about Xenk, or how things would even work out if he decided he did want this. But he is absolutely and positively certain that it’s past time to even the score. Whenever Xenk next shows up--and Ed’s starting to count on that eventuality--he’s not going to just sit around and let Xenk play the romantic hero. He’s got to fight back.

He’s still working out the details of exactly what that will look like a couple tendays later, when Kira appears one evening in her new dress, gives him an incredulous look, and says, “Dad, is that what you’re wearing to Midsummer night?”

Ed gives her his best offended look. “Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“You didn’t even change,” she objects. “That’s just what you were wearing in the garden this morning. I can even see the dirt on your knees.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like anyone’s going to even notice what I’m wearing,” Ed tells her. “Not when you and Holga look so fancy. I’ll just fade right into the background.”

Holga snorts and says, “I’d like to see that.” She eyes him and asks, “Forget, did you?”

Ed knows she’s noticed his entirely pardonable and really quite minimal distraction, and just has to be grateful she’s decided not to say anything in front of Kira. “Yeah, well, I’ll go change. If you really insist.”

Kira agrees vociferously that she does, so Ed raises his hands in surrender and retreats back into his bedroom. If Kira wants him in finery, he decides, she’ll get what she wants. He’s half expecting another preteen protest when he emerges in his nicest clothes, the dark trousers and a finely-woven indigo jacket that he keeps for performing in high company and that really are too much for Targos’s Midsummer festival, but Kira just gives him a judicious look and a nod of approval. “Come on,” she insists, grabbing his arm. “We’re going to be late.”

The main square in Targos is decorated traditionally, with brightly colored streamers and garlands of wildflowers tacked to every available surface. Lanterns are strung up over the open space that will shortly become the dance floor, and Ed can see a small cluster of local musicians setting up to one side. He stops by to drop off his lute, for when he inevitably takes a set, and turns around to see an astonishingly familiar profile standing on the far side of the square.

For a moment he’s not entirely sure whether Xenk is really here or Ed’s imagination is running entirely out of control. In place of his armor, he’s wearing a long coat that doesn’t quite conceal what Ed’s pretty sure is a pair of indecently tight trousers, and he’s not wearing a sword. But as Ed makes his way over he can hear Xenk’s unmistakable voice saying, “--chose to remain behind with his companions and confront the wizard.”

“Really?” Ed recognizes the speaker as one of Targos’s housewives, a woman he’s never known well. She can’t take her eyes off Xenk, although Ed’s pretty sure it’s not the story that’s captivating her. She certainly doesn’t sound very impressed with it. “That group of--”

“Rarely have I seen such bravery equaled,” Xenk says. “They ensured the safety of the people of Neverwinter before fighting Sofina, despite her power.”

“You think that’s impressive, you should see what this guy can do to a dragon,” Ed says.

Xenk turns and gives him what looks like a genuinely delighted smile. Ed, experimentally, bows, keeping both hands tucked strategically behind him. Xenk returns it--no surprise there--and retorts, “It was not I who bested Themberchaud, but your quick wits that saved us.”

“Wouldn’t have worked if you hadn’t kept me from being swallowed.” Ed considers that, and then adds to their audience, “And took out a band of Thayan assassins first.”

The knot of women surrounding Xenk--none of whom seem particularly happy to see Ed arrive on the scene--give him admiring looks. Ed’s not even slightly gratified by the way Xenk completely ignores them. “Edgin. I am glad to see you.”

“Yeah, same,” Ed says. And then, with an apologetic smile around the group, “Do you have a minute? There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

He really isn’t making any friends around Targos today, but he is the one who leaves with Xenk, so it’s not like their opinions really matter. As he leads the way back across the square, he says, “I can’t say I expected to see you here.”

“I had some business nearby,” Xenk says. “And I hoped I might find you here.”

“Yeah, well, here I am.” That seems woefully inadequate, so Ed adds, “You, uh, going to be here long?”

Xenk shakes his head with what looks like real regret. “I am afraid I cannot. There are reports of bandits to the east, and I ride for there tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Ed says. “So just one night, then.” It’s absurd to feel disappointed about that, when Xenk just ambushed him in his own home with no warning.

“Yes,” Xenk says. “We shall have to make the most of it.”

That’s exactly the kind of comment Ed’s been strategizing responses for, but that will have to wait. They’re already back to where Kira and Holga are waiting, and the last thing he needs is for one of them to overhear this conversation. “Hey, Kir,” he says, before she can manage to escape with her friends. “You remember that Holga and I mentioned Xenk? Well, guess what.”

He will grant Forge this much, Kira’s time in Neverwinter left her with excellent manners. Xenk responds with his usual charm, and Ed’s pleased to see that by the time he’s complimented Kira dress she’s giving him a genuinely pleased smile. He’s a little less gratified when she decides to share the entire story of his own wardrobe misadventures that evening. Xenk listens seriously, gives Edgin an evaluating look, and tells Kira, “I think you were entirely correct. A most pleasing effect indeed.”

“Ok, I don’t have to stand for--”

Ed’s cut off as the band strikes up the first chord--and by Milil’s harp, someone really needs to tune their fiddle--and Kira takes a covert look around for the friends she’ll spend the evening dancing with. Xenk flicks him a glance and says, “Miss Kira, might I trouble you to lend me your father for a few minutes?”

Kira’s eyes widen, and Ed’s filled with a momentary hope that she hasn’t followed what’s going on. Then she glances at him, and back at Xenk, and her face lights with amusement. “I think that’s a good idea, sir,” she says, while Holga tries and fails to hold in her guffaw.

Xenk nods in solemn acknowledgement, then turns to offer a hand to Ed. “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

Oh boy, he’s in for an uncomfortable conversation with Kira later. “Sure,” Ed says, and puts his hand in Xenk’s. “I’d like that.”

It’s only as they’re taking their place in the set that it occurs to Ed to ask, “Do you know how to dance?”

“You shall have to find that out for yourself,” Xenk says, and then it’s too late to worry about it, because the band is striking their four potatoes and launching into the tune. The woman calling the dancing has apparently decided to start out gently, because it’s one of the slower and smoother dances in the local repertoire. Ed knows it well enough that he can, fortunately, get away with devoting only half his attention to the figures.

Which is fortunate, because it’s immediately evident that Xenk can dance. His hand is warm in Ed’s as they advance forward, and then back, and he meets Ed’s eyes for just an instant before turning away to clasp the hand of the couple across from them. Ed has to wrench his attention back to his own steps, turning with his own neighbor, until they break away and Ed’s staring back into Xenk’s eyes as he takes his hands in his own.

They’re still warm--of course they are, it’s midsummer, everyone’s warm and Ed is losing his mind--and generously calloused, and entirely steady in Ed’s own hands as he walks forward, Xenk moving away with every step Ed takes. Ed almost misses the moment when he’s supposed to release Xenk and stumbles, just a little, over his own feet as he backs away. Xenk, eyes not leaving Ed’s face, arches an eyebrow. Ed grimaces in response, and by the time Xenk weaves over to him he’s laughing again.

“Perhaps I should ask if you know this dance,” he says as, eyes still locked, he and Ed spiral around each other for a handful of beats, not quite touching, before Xenk holds out his hand in invitation.

“It’s been a while,” Ed admits, and then Xenk’s arm is firmly around him and he’s swinging Ed in a tight circle, fast enough that they’re on the edge of disaster but not quite falling out of control. His grasp feels familiar, and safe, and Ed’s possibly in more trouble than he’s realized.

But then they’re breaking apart to advance forward again, back to the beginning of the dance. Xenk isn’t looking at him, for once, and Ed takes advantage of the breathing room to ask, “So how did you learn our northern dances?”

Before Xenk can answer it’s time to turn to their neighbors, so it’s not until they’re reunited that he says, “I have traveled widely, even if not in Targos. And your dances are not so different from the rest of the realms as you think.” There’s a pause, while Ed steps back and Xenk weaves across to him. As they circle around each other, not quite touching, Xenk says, “Although in the south they would prefer to do this,” and, as he steps into the swing, raises Ed’s hands and spins him around until one hand is on his shoulder and the other, joined with Ed’s, is raised high in the air over their heads. The move brings them closer to each other than the swing Ed’s used to. They’re nearly of a height--Xenk’s maybe an inch or two taller than Ed--and Ed can’t help noticing that Xenk, and Xenk’s face, and Xenk’s mouth, which is smiling again, is right there.

Right. Fighting back. Ed twirls himself out of the hold, this time, and when Xenk comes back to him 64 beats later, Ed scoops him up and takes the lead for himself. Xenk falls easily into following, which lasts another round of the dance before he takes over again. They trade back and forth a few more times, until Xenk comes back and spins Ed around more times than he can properly keep track of, and he has to hold on to Xenk’s arm for balance even as they start into the next figure.

“It is a true pleasure to dance with you,” Xenk says, the next time Ed takes his hands to walk with him across the set. “Although it is no surprise to discover it so.”

Ed lets him go, but keeps his eyes on Xenk until they’re swept back up into the swing. “I could say the same,” he says, and then, “Why did you really come to Targos?”

He has to wait, again, until they’re finished turning through the figures. It’s not until Xenk is back, circling around Ed without quite touching, that he says, “I wanted to see you.” He offers out a hand. Ed puts his own in it and is drawn in close once again. Quietly, in his ear alone, Xenk says, “Midsummer is a time for revelry. Even, perhaps, indulgences that cannot be made at other times. I wished to spend it with you.”

Just before they break apart, Ed says, “You’re not subtle, you know.”

This time, Xenk doesn’t take his eyes off Ed’s, even as he turns with a neighbor. Ed, unable to give up in the face of a challenge, meets his gaze. It’s still an interminable 48 beats before he comes back and, spiraling around Ed, says, “Subtlety was not my intention.”

He times it perfectly, damn him. Before Ed has any chance to say anything about that the music comes to a close. Xenk releases his hold on Ed, takes a step back, bows. “Thank you,” he says into the silence between them. “For the dance.”

“Uh,” Ed says. “Yeah. Thanks.” He jerks his head towards the band. “I should, uh. I told them I’d jump in on a set.”

“I look forward very much to hearing you play,” Xenk says, and Ed flees.

So, ok, that didn’t go exactly as Ed had intended. That’s ok, though. There’s still time to come up with a plan. From his perch on the improvised stage he can see Kira passing up and down the dance, and occasionally Xenk, who’s apparently a wildly popular partner with Targos’s residents. He stays safely up there, only descending for a customary dance with Kira, up until the end of the evening. Then, just before the final dance, he slips down from the stage and, smoothly cutting in front of at least three other hopeful partners, asks Xenk, “Would you like to waltz?”

That earns him a surprised smile, and Ed realizes belatedly that, given their earlier conversation, it’s possible Xenk will read something into this that he’s not entirely sure he means. It’s too late to worry about that, though, because Xenk’s already putting one hand on Ed’s shoulder and the band is playing the first slightly flat notes of a waltz.

It’s a beautiful tune, one of Ed’s favorites, and he spends a few moments appreciating the music, and then a few more admiring Xenk’s grace as he steers them around the floor. He moves with his usual fluid efficiency, and all Ed has to do is follow his cues to turn in a quite creditable performance.

Xenk had said that Midsummer is for indulgence, after all, so Ed takes a minute to lose himself in the simple pleasure of music and movement, and the joy of dancing with such an able partner. But as much as he’s enjoying Xenk’s company, he has higher purpose, so on their second rotation around the square he says, “What did you mean, that you weren’t trying to be subtle?”

Xenk smiles, just a little. “I see that you are not either.”

“I think maybe we’ve gone past that.”

Xenk raises an arm and twirls Ed under it, gathering him back up and saying, “I did not think it such a cryptic remark, I will admit.”

As if Xenk doesn’t know perfectly well what he’s done. “What do you think you’re doing?” Ed demands.

Another arched eyebrow. “What do you suppose?”

“Well I know times have changed, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say that”--ugh, and if Ed’s wrong about this he’s never going to be able to show his face around Faerun again--“you were trying to court me.”

There’s a pause, as Xenk takes them in a few swooping turns. Then he raises one pair of joined hands over their heads and turns Ed under it, tugging him in until Ed’s got Xenk’s arm wrapped around him, side pressed gently but securely against Xenk’s own. They walk forward in step, together, and Xenk takes advantage of his new proximity to murmur, “Were I courting you, I would tell you that I came to Targos in the hope of just such a moment as this.” A pause, as Xenk navigates them around a couple that have decided not to wait until the end of the evening to start their own Midsummer indulgence. Then again, low in Ed’s ear, “I would tell you that your skill in a dance is such that I find it impossible to take my eyes from you. If I had my way, I would have spent the entire evening with no other partner but you.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to say,” Ed says.

Xenk lifts an arm and disentangles them, tugging on Ed’s hand to send him into a spin and then releasing him entirely, just for a moment, before catching him up again. “I should mean it.” Another series of pivoting turns, equilibrium precisely balanced between them, and then Xenk goes on, “Were I courting you, I would tell you that your grace while dancing is but one of the things I admire about you.”

“Hey, if we’re talking grace--” Ed protests, but Xenk’s already going on, “I would say that it pales in comparison to the steadfastness of your bravery, and the sharpness of your wits. I would tell you that I admire above all things your honor and your devotion to those you call your own. I would say that I take delight in your smile, and wish to see it every day.” Another spin, Xenk releasing Ed and then catching him so effortlessly it seems like they were never apart. “I would beg to be allowed to pay my addresses to you, and convince you to be my own.”

Xenk’s timing is still impeccable. Before Ed can say anything the music slows, and Xenk twirls him once more as the final notes fade away. “So?” Ed demands, as the rest of the dancers around them break into applause. “Why don’t you?”

“I should only say such things if I knew they were welcome to the listener,” Xenk says. “But I would never speak them if you did not wish it.”

Amidst the chatter of departing villagers, it feels like they’re trapped in their own little bubble of silence. Ed feels the shape of the moment, weightless and fragile, like something that could be popped with one careless movement. “And if I did?” he asks.

A tension that he hadn’t even seen flows suddenly out of Xenk, replaced by a small, sweet smile. Ed follows his look to the corner of the square, where a yawning Kira is propped up against the wall. Holga catches Ed’s eye, winks--he’s going to get her for that later--and wraps an arm around Kira, leading her off towards the cottage.

“May I walk you home?” Xenk asks, and this time it’s Ed who offers out his arm for the taking.

After the noise of the crowded square, the walk back is quiet and contemplative. Ed, for once, doesn’t feel the need to say anything much, and apparently Xenk’s already said everything he feels he needs to. The silence between them feels companionable and comfortable, as if they’ve reached an understanding.

Maybe they have.

It’s not until they get to the door of the cottage that they pause. “I must bid you good night,” Xenk says quietly.

“You sure you can’t stay another day?”

“I must not.” Xenk sounds regretful, at least. He’s facing Ed, a dark figure against the clear, star-filled sky. He’s so close that for a moment Ed’s sure he’s going to reach out, cup a hand against his face, or the small of his back, and pull him in for something more intimate than a waltz.

But instead, after a frozen moment, Xenk takes a step away. He grasps Ed’s hand, again, which is not at all the same thing. The kiss this time is lingering, not the fleeting contact of last time but a slower caress. Ed’s heartbeat still quickens, but instead of the adrenaline rush of before he merely feels a sense of relief. Of familiarity. Of comfort.

And, well, of something else too, but apparently that’s something Ed’s going to have to deal with on his own, because Xenk’s taking another step back down the path. “I shall see you soon,” he murmurs, as if he’s taking it for granted he’s going to get in the last word again this time.

“You’d better,” Ed says. “Hey, be careful out there, ok?”

“As long as you take care as well,” Xenk says, and--having managed it after all, the bastard--disappears into the night.

Chapter Text

The conversation with Kira is both better and worse than Ed had expected.

Better, in that Kira is apparently unphased by the news that her father’s being courted by the strange paladin she met just the night before. Ed’s not sure how much of that is due to Holga’s interference, how much to Xenk’s charm, and how much to Kira’s habit of accepting whatever he throws at her next. She likes Xenk, at least. That’s enough to go on.

Worse, in that the conversation inevitably involves Ed admitting that he has no idea what’s going on or what’s going to happen next. That might not phase Kira, but Ed’s not wildly excited about it. He’s never been one for predictability and routine, but this level of uncertainty is something else.

Especially given that there’s not much he can do about it besides wait for Xenk to find him again. He briefly considers the idea of something more proactive, but all Xenk told him was that he was riding to deal with bandits to the east, which is hardly helpful. All Ed can do is settle in, however unwillingly, to wait.

In the end, it doesn’t take as long as he expected. It’s not even a tenday later when, returning home from checking the traps strung out along the forest’s edge, he discovers Holga waiting for him on their small porch. She looks mildly perturbed, and as he gets closer he sees that she’s holding a folded paper.

“Hey, Ed,” she greets him. “Much luck?”

He holds out the pair of rabbits in demonstration, and she grunts her approval. “What’s that?” he asks, nodding towards the paper.

“Peddler coming into town just dropped it off.” She offers it out, apparently with relief. “I think it’s for you.”

Sure enough, the front of the paper is labeled, in a small, neat script, with the single word Edgin. Ed’s never seen the handwriting before. He’s almost certain he knows whose it is. “Did they say where it came from?”

“Just that someone asked them to bring it here.” Holga regards the letter with the distrust she reserves for the written word. “What do you think it is?”

She’s going to tease him mercilessly when she figures it out. “Not sure,” Ed says. “Hey, you want to get these skinned before dinner?”

She regards him ungraciously but accepts the rabbits, and Ed escapes inside with his letter.

Dear Edgin,

I hope this letter finds you well. Its courier is, I must admit, unknown to me, but they promise faithfully to see it delivered and I trust my confidence in them will not be misplaced.

I write to you from the eastern marches, where we continue our campaign against the bandits. It appears that they are not numerous, but they know the terrain well and have gone to ground. I anticipate it will take us quite some time, and the assistance of the local inhabitants, to deal with them. I am likely to remain here longer than I first intended, which I regret only so far as it will delay a future visit to Targos.

I think often of Midsummer Night, and the dances you were kind enough to grant me. It brings me joy to recall that evening--the feeling of your hand clasped in mine, your skill in divining my every intention as we waltzed, the understanding between us built not on words, but on actions--even as it reminds me how badly I miss you now.

It takes very little to bring you to my mind. The music my companions play around our fire makes me think of your skill with the lute (and I must confess that their limited talents in that line make me wish even more for your presence). The flash of a blue jay’s wing is the same color you wore on Midsummer’s night, and the paler blue of an evening sky reminds me of your eyes. On clear nights, I wonder if you see the same moon as I.

And, I must admit, every song of love they sing makes me wish only to be with you.

Were it in my power, I should return to Targos at once. As it is not, I wish merely for you to know that my thoughts are with you, even when I cannot be.

I hope, most sincerely, that you shall not object to receiving such a letter. From our conversation that night I can only assume that you shall not; but if your feelings have changed, or I have misunderstood them, then I can do no more than offer my most abject apologies.

I shall live in the hope that such is not, however, the case.

Yours,

Xenk

PS: You must permit me the indulgence of saying I was correct. I did not find my sojourn in Targos at all boring.

That’s it. Ed turns the paper over, but all that’s on the other side is his name and the remnants of a wax seal. There’s nothing about how to find Xenk, how to get a message to him. How to reply.

Ed reads the letter through once more, to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. Then again, just in case. He’s about to embark on a third try when Holga bellows from downstairs that the rabbits are ready, and is Ed planning to turn them into a stew any time soon or just leave them out for scavengers?

Alright. It’s fairly obvious that Xenk doesn’t want a response--or at least isn’t expecting one--which just means it’s going to take Ed a little time to figure this out. That’s ok. He’s not in any rush.

Well, except to get dinner started, because Holga’s calling again. He makes it as far as the door, then turns back. The letter’s still lying on the bed. He picks it up, folding it carefully and tucking into his pocket. He’d better keep it where he can find it. Just in case.

**

“Are you sure about this?” Holga demands.

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Simon looks harried. Beside him, Doric’s face is, as always, stoic. “I told you, the Enclave heard that there were two corpses found outside Thornhold that were flayed alive. They’re positive it’s--”

“I didn’t mean that,” Holga cuts in. She turns, scowling, and asks more directly, “Ed, are you sure about going after more Red Wizards?”

Ed wishes he were. “We have to,” he says, with as much confidence as he can muster. “Just because we stopped Sofina doesn’t mean Szass Tam and the rest of them aren’t still out there, and we have no idea if they’re still after us.” Everyone winces at that, and he adds, “Besides, we’ve got this. We managed with Sofina, and this time we’ll have help if we need it.” Help that he’s wildly unenthusiastic about summoning, but he still knows how to contact the Harpers near Thornhold. It’ll be fine.

Holga nods thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t mind going and getting some of those bastards,” she says, and stands decisively. “I’m gonna go get my extra ax.”

Ed had started making arrangements for Kira as soon as he’d seen Simon and Doric’s faces when they arrived--she’s never coming near a Red Wizard again, not if he can prevent it--and it won’t take him very long to pack. “Leave in an hour?” he suggests, and everyone else nods.

Fifty minutes later, Ed’s ransacking the kitchen for provisions when there’s a knock at the door. He’s tempted to ignore it--they don’t have time to lend a neighbor a cup of sugar right now--but if he does that there’s a good chance Holga will answer, and she’ll be even less tactful about the interruption. He extracts himself from a cupboard and makes it to the door just in time for the second knock, opening it to reveal a very young person in slightly-too-large chainmail.

Ed stares at them. They stare back at Ed, eyes wide. After a moment they say, “Edgin Darvis?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ed says. “That’s me. Can I help you?”

“I was asked to deliver this directly to you,” they say, all in one frantic breath.

“Alright,” Ed says, slowly. “Deliver what, exactly?”

Their eyes get, improbably, even wider. In a scramble that would do Simon proud, they produce a white envelope that is, once again, labeled with just one word.

“You’ve been with Xenk,” Ed says, and the young person--presumably one of the nebulous “companions” Xenk had mentioned in his letter--nods. “Is he ok? Is everyone alright?”

“Yes, sir,” they say. “But I’m to travel back to Fireshear, and he told me to deliver this.”

It’s hard not to reach out and snatch the envelope. Ed takes it slowly, and tries for a smile. “Can I get you anything before you go? We, uh, don’t have much in the pantry right now, but if you’d like--”

They’re already shaking their head and backing away. “I have to go, sir,” they say. “Orders.”

Ed doesn’t make any move to stop them, just nods his goodbye. The letter doesn’t feel thick, just a sheet or two of folded paper. He’s still got eight minutes. That’s enough time.

My Dear Edgin,

I trust this letter finds you and your family well. I did not, I think, get an opportunity to tell you how glad I was to meet Kira, who is everything I would have expected her to be--amiable, bright, an excellent dancer, and possessed of a sense of humor that reminds me distinctly of someone else I have known--and I hope, of course, to further our acquaintance. You must also know by now that I hold the highest esteem for Holga. The conversation she and I had on Midsummer made it very clear that she holds your best interests at heart, as well, for which I must be grateful to her.

We have nearly finished up our work here. To my relief, we have been able to take most of the bandits unharmed, save for their dignity. They are the usual ragtag group, more desperate than mercenary, and I hope that they may yet find a brighter future someday. A party from Lord Nandar’s guard shall deliver them to Revel’s End soon, but I am very close to being finished with my appointed tasks.

I write to ask if I may visit you in Targos in some day’s time. I wish very much to see you, and can only hope the sentiment is reciprocated. I do not know how long I may be able to stay, but any time with you would be very welcome to me.

Letters can only say so much. Were I by your side, I should be able to more easily convey how difficult it has been to maintain my concentration in the distasteful work that lies before me here, when I should prefer so much to spend it in more pleasant pursuits with you. Having such a brief taste of your companionship has only made me long for it the more. I should enjoy the peace of Targos, with you by my side. Perhaps we would walk in the woods that you hold in such affection, or watch those same thunderstorms arrive with Kira. In the evenings, I would sit by the fire with you, in silence or in conversation, but above all in your cherished company.

I cannot wait to walk beside you again.

I regret that I cannot give you a more exact date for my return to Targos, but please be assured that I am doing everything I can to hasten that day. I remain impatient to be united with you.

As I remain yours.

Xenk

Fuck. Fuck. For a moment, Ed’s wildly tempted to go back inside and pull everything out of his bags, tell the others they’re staying here after all. Holga’s right. They don’t need to take on Red Wizards, not when the Harpers can do it for them. They’ll just stay home, and then when Xenk comes—

And then, when Xenk comes, he’ll discover Ed safely here, instead of out in the world where he might do some good.

Well, shit.

“Ed?” Holga asks, poking her head out the door. She gives his conspicuously empty hands an empty look. “You ready to go?”

“Give me ten more minutes,” Ed says. He ignores her scowl and hurries inside. He’s not entirely sure just where he left his quill.

**

“We’ll take our leave and go,” Ed sings. The last notes of the song fall away, completely unnoticed in the hubbub of the crowded taproom.

Good. Everyone’s stopped noticing that Ed’s here, which is exactly what he needs. He launches into a jig--an instrumental piece is just what he needs to fully disappear into the background--and takes a covert look around to make sure everything is ready.

It had taken time, and nearly a month of travel and investigation, to get them here. The trail had been long cold by the time they’d gotten to Thornhold. It had only been some shrewd bribery, and an unexpectedly successful interrogation by Simon, of all people, that had led them deep into the Sword Mountains. From there one clue had led to another, and then another, until they’d finally wound up in a busy tavern, a day’s ride outside of Waterdeep, that’s frequently patronized by one Miss Herdare.

Now, Simon and Doric are sitting at her preferred table in the corner, doing an astonishingly convincing impression of an awkward young couple on their first outing together. The rest of the taproom has filled up quickly, and Holga’s occupying the table closest to Ed’s hearth, glaring ferociously at anyone who approaches. Ed trusts she’s keeping a close eye on the door, ready to vacate her place at just the right moment. With any luck, Herdare will end up next to Ed’s hearth while she conducts her business tonight, and then--

“Sir?” one of the barmaids asks. She’s holding out a mug of ale, which Ed hadn’t asked for. “I have something for you.”

At least she’s here now, instead of drawing attention to him after Herdare’s arrival. “Thank you very kindly, miss,” Ed says. “Playing’s thirsty work.”

He’s rewarded with a smile. “Not just that, sir,” she says, and draws something out from her pocket. “There was a gentleman here last week who asked me to give this to you.”

“To me?” Ed asks, trying to keep his voice light. “I think you must be mistaken, miss. I didn’t even know my travels would bring me here until just a few days ago.”

“It must be,” she said. “He told me to look for a man skilled with a lute and who has blue eyes and looks like he hasn’t shaved for at least a fortnight.” She looks Ed up and down. “He even told me you’d play that tune, begging your pardon.”

Dammit. It’s not Ed’s fault that the first jig that had come to mind had been the one they’d danced to last month. “He was here?” Ed demands, before he can stop himself. “Tall? Dark skin and hair? Big sword? Face that would make Sune jealous?”

The maid nods, and giggles. “That’s him, sir. He stayed two nights and it was a pleasure to serve him, I must say. We were all disappointed when he left.”

She’s not the only one. Ed shakes his head ruefully and holds his hand out for the paper.

Xenk’s learning discretion, at least when it comes to aliases. The letter isn’t addressed, but there’s a familiar dark red seal on the other side.

Dammit, Ed doesn’t have time for this right now. The letter’s going to have to wait. Herdare could arrive at any moment, and Holga’s already giving Ed curious looks. He’ll have to deal with this later.

He takes a swallow of ale and waves the tankard at the maid in thanks. Only once she’s safely across the room does he break the seal and lay the letter discreetly in his lap, absently picking out a quiet tune as he reads.

Dearest Edgin,

You will forgive me, I hope, for the unorthodox method of delivery--and for departing before your arrival. Believe me, I regret the necessity as much as I regret missing you in Targos.

Thank you for your note. You need never apologize for writing in such haste; I know how precious such moments are, and merely appreciate you dedicating them to me at all. While I was sorry to miss you, I cannot doubt that you and your companions made the right choice. The danger from these Red Wizards only continues to grow, and I--and all of Faerun’s people--must be grateful for your perseverance against them.

Kira delivered your letter most faithfully, and was a kind hostess for the night I remained in Targos. Unfortunately, circumstances called me away in the morning--so our own visit would have been curtailed had you remained. I find that only small consolation, I must confess.

Nor does it reconcile myself to the necessity of leaving these inn before your arrival. But I am afraid that I cannot linger. Nor, if I am honest, do I believe that my presence would assist you in your task. But I look forward, eagerly, to the day when such practical concerns need not govern us.

I anticipate, even more, the day I may once again fight by your side. In my years traveling the realms I have allied myself with many fine people, but there was a companionship to traveling at your side in our journey to the Underdark that I have rarely found with others. It will be a long time before I forget the pleasure of making your acquaintance and learning of the capable bond between you and your comrades, of the ease with which you assist each other in overcoming obstacles. I enjoyed, above all, watching you recall yourself in the pursuit of your quest to not only get revenge upon Forge Fitzwilliam but also assist those most endangered by his recklessness.

My impatience to see you again is only somewhat assuaged by the knowledge that you are doing so again. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors, and trust that our fortune in passing by each other will change soon.

With my affection,

Xenk

PS: My business does not, I promise you, infringe upon your own. However, if I were you I would not concern myself any further with Miss Herdare. Her pursuits, while outside the law, have no connections to Szass Tam or his red wizards. Moreover, the Waterdeep guard has recently taken an interest in her affairs, and I understand that she will shortly be enjoying their custody.

Well, that’s just great. Ed doesn’t bother concealing his scowl as he folds the letter up carefully, tucking it inside a pocket that, despite Holga’s recent accusations, certainly doesn’t rustle with the sound of paper when he moves. He catches Simon’s eye across the room--the boy is really doing an incredible job of holding Doric’s hand as if he’s afraid she’s going to bite him--and jerks his head towards the door.

No wizards, no lead, and no Xenk. Fantastic. “Come on,” Ed growls to Holga, who’s staring at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Let’s go.”

**

The grey-robed acolyte peers at Ed uncertainly. “Can you tell me what happened, sir?”

“I’m afraid I might have broken my leg,” Ed says.

“Jumped out a window,” Holga adds, helpfully. “Running away from a wizard.”

“Holga,” Ed hisses. “That’s not important.”

The acolyte leans over the narrow cot, brows furrowed. “Are you sure it’s broken?”

“Had to carry him here myself,” Holga says. “Window was on the third floor.” She grins, and adds, “Should have heard the sound he made when he came out it, too.”

“I wasn’t expecting--” Ed says, then breaks off abruptly as the acolyte gingerly prods at his leg.

“Huh,” he says, which isn’t a deeply reassuring sound. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a closer look.”

“Sure,” Ed says, waving an invitation.

It’s not easy to ignore someone poking around at a broken limb, but Ed does his best. The ward of Waterdeep’s busiest hospital is at least full of distractions. The cots around Ed are filled with a bewildering variety of people, from an old man who keeps insisting he’s ready to go home to a young woman that, Ed realizes belatedly, is in the early stages of labor. The pain eases a little, and the acolyte hums to himself thoughtfully. “I think we’re going to have to set this before we can heal it all the way, sir.”

“Oh,” Ed says. “Great.”

“I’m just going to get someone,” they say. Before Ed can reply to that--not that he’s entirely sure what he’d say, it’s not as if there’s any point in protesting--they’re already gone, disappearing into the chaos in search, Ed trusts, of a more experienced guide.

“Well, this is fantastic,” he says, flopping back against what passes for a pillow. “You’re sure Doric and Simon are safe?”

Holga nods. “I sent them back to the Harpers.”

“Oh. Good.” Just what Ed always wanted, to rely on Harpers to take care of his people. Especially after he’d failed, so completely, to do so himself. “Dammit, we should be the ones out there,” he says, not for the first time.

“Yeah, well, stop jumping out of windows.”

“I didn’t plan to. I just didn’t realize she was one of them,” Ed protests. “She seemed so quiet. And harmless. Dammit, she looked like she was twelve years old. It’s not my fault I didn’t realize she was an ancient necromancer out to kill us all.”

Holga shrugs. “Now that you found her, the Harpers can deal with her. Wasn’t that the plan?”

It’s not that she’s wrong. That had been the plan. It’s just that there was still a small part of Ed hoping, no matter how illogically, that he might be able to present the Harpers with a fait accompli. They’ve handled red wizards before. He’d just thought they’d be able to do it again.

“At least it’s all over,” Holga adds, in what’s probably supposed to be a comforting tone.

“Yeah, without us,” Ed mutters.

He’s about to expand on this theme when the acolyte returns with an elderly woman, also dressed in Ilmater’s grey, who promptly takes charge. The interlude that follows is distinctly unpleasant, but it’s no more than ten minutes until the cleric is laying her hands on Ed’s leg and muttering the familiar words. There’s the usual wash of warmth, and then the pain is abruptly gone.

“Thanks,” Ed says, once he’s gotten his breath back. He digs in a pocket and produces a small handful of gold coins--they can’t really spare them, but he knows what’s due--and offers them out to her. “With my thanks,” he says, and she actually deigns to smile.

“Ilmater’s blessing on you,” she says, but, oddly, stays at the bedside. After a moment, frowning thoughtfully, she asks, “Edgin Darvis, is it?”

Holga must have given his name when they arrived. Ed had been a little distracted at the time. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, hoping it won’t somehow get him in trouble.

“Wait here,” she orders. “I have something for you.”

Ed considers protesting that he’s not really in the mood for some vile concoction, but he knows better than to argue with the healer. Besides, it’s too late; she’s already gone.

“Could go straight home,” Holga muses. “It would be nice to see bug. But I also heard something about old smuggler tunnels out this way. We could go take a look.”

“Tunnels could be good,” Ed allows. “Wouldn’t hurt to take some gold back with us, either.”

Before Holga can say anything else the cleric’s already back. She’s carrying, not some vial, but a folded sheet of paper. Despite himself, Ed can suddenly feel the beating of his heart. He tries to ignore Holga’s smirk.

“This arrived a few days ago. I was asked to deliver this to you,” the cleric says, still sounding as if she disapproves of everything Ed stands for, which is probably fair.

“Thank you,” he says, suppressing the urge to snatch it from her. And then, knowing he can’t stop the smile creeping over his face, “It means a lot.”

She sniffs, and eyes him. “So does Xenk Yendar. I trust I’m delivering this into worthy hands?”

It’s almost reassuring, knowing that Xenk has someone looking out for him. “I hope so,” Ed answers, honestly, and she sniffs once more and hands the letter over.

Dearest,

I confess, I do not know if this missive will reach you or not. I have written several, and left them where I hope they may find you. I think I will imagine you reading these words, in any case, for I find it most difficult to force myself to write them when I consider otherwise.

I was not entirely honest, in my last letter, when I said I wish to fight by your side again. Not as it touches the heart of the matter; I do wish to, but my motives are not entirely as straightforward as I communicated to you then. I am aware that the situation with the Red Wizards is more complex than first thought. It has been difficult, over the last days, to imagine you seeking them out while I am, however unavoidably, far from you, and I wish very much for the indulgence of being able to stay by you until you are safe again.

I know that you are very capable, and that you have others to guard your back. But I dislike, very much, to think of you in such danger. Were I able to be by your side, I should not only have the pleasure of your company--and of watching you in your endeavours--but of ensuring that you would come to no harm.

I realize that the lives we have each chosen for ourselves are ones of risks, and indeed I would have them no other way. But your wellbeing matters greatly to me, and I wish to do everything I can to protect it, and you.

I hope I shall not offend you by saying so. It is merely that I know that if you receive this letter, at the temple or hospital, it is likely because some harm has befallen you or another of your party, and I do not like to think of it.

I cherish you, and I do not know what I should do were harm to befall you.

Please be careful. Take care of yourself, as much as you can. I shall hope to see you safe and well soon.

Most Sincerely Yours,

Xenk

Alright. Enough is enough.

The cleric, it turns out, is only a few cots away. Ed forces himself to wait until she’s done with her patient, then clears his throat and asks, as patiently as he can, “Do you know how to get in touch with him?”

She raises an impatient eyebrow. “With Xenk Yendar?”

“Yes.”

There’s a fraught moment, but she’s apparently considering the request seriously. “Yes,” she says, thoughtfully. “I believe it can be done.”

“Good.” Someone must have pen and paper around this place, and Simon and Doric can surely wait just a few minutes longer. “Good. I have a message for Xenk.”

**

Dear Xenk,

6:00 on the 12th day of Eleint, at the Mermaid’s Arms on Dock Street in Waterdeep.

Don’t be late.

Always yours,

Ed

Chapter Text

If anything’s become clear over the last few months, it’s that Xenk is good at this.

That probably shouldn’t be so surprising. He’s had a lot of time to practice--Ed finds himself hoping, entirely sincerely, that he’s not the first person Xenk’s made advances to over the long years--and he’s clearly figured out what he’s doing. Even Ed has to admit that he’s got a certain kind of charm, if you like that sort of thing. And, well. Ed has eyes. Xenk’s coming into this with a few natural advantages, is all he’s going to say about that.

That’s fine, though. All Ed needs to get on top of this is to come up with the right plan.

Holga’s already on her way back to Targos, thank all the gods. She’d gotten her full measure of teasing in first, of course, but at least Ed won’t need to face her that night. Or the next morning, or whenever he and Xenk are done with . . . whatever they decide to do. Ed has privacy, is the point, and he intends to make the most of it.

From there, every piece falls smoothly into place. It’s been years since Ed’s been to the Mermaid’s Arms, and that was on Harper business, not pleasure, but the place is well known for the very private rooms available for hire. Even after all this time, Ed can still picture the elegantly set table, the pair of chairs placed invitingly in front of the fireplace, the discreet screen shielding the bed, all set off by the soft glow of candlelight and really excellent food. It’s going to be perfect.

Not that Ed’s planning to have much use for the bed. Probably. He doesn’t even know if that’s something Xenk’s interested in, and it’s far too soon to concern themselves about that anyway, and Ed’s not entirely sure he’d remember what to do in it even if Xenk wanted to, and--

Well. Maybe there are some things you can’t plan for.

Armed with intelligence gleaned from a careful interrogation of some of Ilmater’s people, Ed takes his time over the details of dinner. And the number of candles to be placed in the room. And the best bottle of wine to be brought up from the cellar, and the proper flower arrangement, and, if only in the privacy of his own mind, the right things to say. To do. To show Xenk that he’s not the only one who wants this, and who is ready to do something to get it.

Which is all well and good until five o’clock on the 12th of Eleint, when Ed finds himself facing down an apologetic maid who definitely doesn’t deserve to be the target of his rapidly fraying temper.

“What do you mean, there’s no room?” he demands, not for the first time. He’s lost count, which is probably not a good sign. “I was here two days ago. Edgin Darvis, I ordered a room and dinner.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says, wringing the hem of her skirt between her hands. “We’ve had a large private party take every room in the place.”

“Yes, but I already booked mine,” Ed says. “Who in the nine hells can just come in and take it instead?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I’m not allowed to say.” She gives a nervous glance over one shoulder, then leans in and adds, “I really am sorry, sir. The owner decided . . .”

For a moment Ed considers bribery, but his chances of competing against whoever is rich enough to convince the owner to rent out the whole inn are probably too low to make it worth risking his dignity on the attempt. “Right,” he says. “Alright.” And then, because dignity is overrated, “There are really no rooms at all?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says again. Ed waves a hand in general absolution and she gives one more nervous bob and backs away, closing the door behind her, and Ed’s out in the street. Alone.

That’s fine. This is fine. This wasn’t covered in any of Ed’s backup plans, but that just means he needs to come up with a new one. He’s good at that. He’s got an hour until Xenk comes, which is plenty of time to--

“Edgin?”

Ed’s not proud of how badly he startles, or how quickly he spins around. Xenk’s standing there, of fucking course, practically glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. He’s dressed in the same blindingly white shirt as Midsummer, already open at the collar in a way that’s frankly unfair to someone who’s trying to concentrate. And he is, perhaps understandably, starting to look concerned.

Ed knows exactly what to say in this moment. He knows how to step forward smoothly and clasp Xenk’s hand between his own--he’d decided, some days ago, that he’s not sure he has the aplomb to kiss one with the same grace as Xenk has displayed--and murmur something about how glad he is to see Xenk, and what a pleasant sight he is indeed. This is his chance to set the tone for the entire evening, and he has a plan.

So of course he blurts, “You’re early.”

“I received your note some days ago. I did not dare be late.”

“Oh, yes. Uh, good.”

The worst of Xenk’s worry is smoothing away, apparently replaced by amusement. Better, except that Ed has a sneaking suspicion it’s at his expense. “Is all well?”

“Yep,” Ed says. “Everything’s great. There’s just a, uh, small change of plan.” He offers Xenk his best winning grin. “How do you feel about picnics?”

The dock district is, fortunately, as busy and bustling as ever. Ed at least has the presence of mind to offer Xenk his arm--too little too late, probably, but at least it’s better than Xenk getting there first--and Xenk lets him take the lead as they meander through the narrow streets. They find a stall selling hot hand pies, which might not be the highly spiced confection of fresh game and buttery crust that Ed had been anticipating for tonight but smell good enough to nearly make up for it. He buys one of each kind of filling, and still insists on stopping at a cart selling confectionery to buy a sample of their wares too.

By the time they pass a stall with bundles of wildflowers Ed’s feeling comfortably resigned to their fate. Xenk gravely accepts the bouquet Ed presses on him, and Ed realizes that they’re both running out of free hands. Maybe that’s enough shopping. Smoothly, as if he’d planned the whole thing--and this is a great plan, Ed should have thought of it sooner--he steers them along the Way of the Dragon and, eventually, out the large southern gate of the city.

It’s been one of those blazing Eleint days that apparently only exist to make you wish it was winter already. Now, though, evening is blunting the edge of the heat. The shadows of the few trees scattered about the bluff stretch out long and narrow in the evening light. Beyond them, the ground falls away, leaving Ed and Xenk with a wide view of rolling grasslands and, some ways beyond them, the dark mass of the forest.

Ed finds the nearest patch of shade and, after some digging in his pack, unearths a cloak that’ll serve as a passable blanket. It’s small enough that he and Xenk have to sit side by side, nearly-but-not-quite touching, so at least there are some benefits to improvising. Ed unwraps the packet of pies, and turns to offer one to Xenk with elaborate courtesy. “Dinner, my lord?”

“Very kind of you, good sir,” Xenk murmurs. Ed takes an experimental bite of his own and is reassured to find that it’s as good as it smelled. He leans back, letting his arm brush against Xenk’s as if by accident, and asks, “So, you got the letter, then? I wasn’t sure.”

“Ilmater’s people delivered it to me most faithfully,” Xenk says. He eyes Ed, and adds, “Although I am given to understand that my entreaty for caution arrived too late to be of use.”

“I’m fine,” Ed says, before that can go any further.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Xenk says, with evident sincerity. “Although I regret that you had need of healing at all.”

Well, that’s at least one thing Ed doesn’t have to take sitting down. He raises an eyebrow. “And what were you up to all this time? Nice and safe, was it?”

Xenk, irritatingly, smiles. It’s small, and distinctly smug. “I came to no harm.”

“And just how was I supposed to know that?” Ed demands. “All those letters, and you didn’t say a word about where you were, or what you were doing.”

“Did you wish to know?” The question is apparently genuine, as if the possibility hadn’t even occurred to Xenk.

“I couldn’t even write back to you,” Ed says. “You didn’t tell me how.”

Xenk blinks, as if it’s a novel idea. He sounds distinctly hopeful when he asks, “Did you want to?”

For a dangerous moment, Ed’s tempted to say he didn’t, and never would. Xenk probably deserves it. “Of course I did,” he says, instead.

“I see.” The smug look is back, damn him.

It’s clear that Ed’s not going to win this round. Time for a new approach. “So, just how many letters did you leave scattered all over the Sword Coast?” Ed asks, in a spirit of general curiosity.

Xenk pauses and looks down at his lap. Ed realizes, with some delight, that he’s embarrassed. Much better. “How many did you receive?”

“Four.” When there’s no immediate response, Ed decides to press his advantage. “Xenk. How many were there?”

A pause, and then, “Significantly more,” Xenk says.

Huh. “That’s not really an answer,” Ed points out, although without any heat.

“I did not wish to fade from your mind in my absence,” Xenk says.

Ed’s mouth drops open, which is admittedly not his best look. He’s too busy to care. “I’m sorry, you were worried I’d forget about you?”

“It was an ill timed separation,” Xenk says. “You have a great deal to occupy your time, and doubtless encounter many others whom you find agreeable. I wished to tell you of my feelings, and ensure that you knew the depths of my affection for you. But I also feared that absence would not, in a courtship of such short duration, make the heart grow fonder.”

“Alright,” Ed says, because apparently he needs to clear a few things up. “First off, there are no others.” Xenk looks back down, but it’s not entirely clear if he’s convinced or just embarrassed again, so Ed goes on, “There haven’t been any others. I wasn’t sure there ever would be, and there definitely haven’t been any since I met you. Xenk.” He’s looking up again, which is probably a good sign. “It’s you. It’s only you.”

A pause, and then, “I am relieved to hear it,” Xenk says, low and serious, without taking his eyes off Ed.

Which would be fine, except that it turns out Ed has more to say. “And also, you are the last person I’d ever forget about.”

“Indeed?” Xenk asks. There’s just a hint of challenge in his voice, which is all the excuse Ed needs.

“You are, without a doubt, the most memorable person I’ve ever met. It’s infuriating.” That sounds a little less complimentary than Ed intended, so he clarifies, “Look. I met you wandering all over the realms helping people and being noble and waving around a glowing sword, and I thought, oh, I get this guy. He’s a paladin. He’s sure he knows what’s right and he’s out to save the world and punish anyone who gets in his way.” Alright, that’s not helping as much as he’d hoped. Fortunately Xenk doesn’t look offended, just thoughtful. “But then you started helping us steal from Forge, even though you had no reason to trust us. You showed up in Targos and charmed my kid so much she keeps asking when you’re coming back, and you try to keep me away from brawls in the street but tell me how much you want to fight by my side, and you leave, what, a dozen letters--“

“Somewhat more than that,” Xenk murmurs, which Ed doesn’t have the capacity to think about right now--

“All over the place because you think I’m going to forget about you?” Xenk is still listening, which is good. He’s going to have to get used to this kind of thing, if he’s planning to spend much more time around Ed. “I don’t understand you,” Ed says. “I’m not sure I ever will. But I’d like to try.”

“I am familiar with the feeling,” Xenk murmurs, which makes sense. Even Ed isn’t very good at understanding Ed. There’s another silence, more comfortable than the earlier ones, during which they each manage a few bites of the pie. Ahead of them, the sun is dipping towards the horizon, the clouds about it just starting to edge with gold.

“What would you have written to me?” Xenk asks, as if he’s just carrying on an earlier train of conversation. “Had you been able to?”

“Well, I would have told you to stop dodging me and come help us fight Red Wizards,” Ed says, which earns him a smile. But as easy as it would be to fend off the question with jokes--and it would be so much easier--Xenk deserves better than that. “I would have said that I missed you too,” Ed admits. “I nearly stayed in Targos when I got your first letter. Sometimes I still wish I had.”

“It grieved me to miss you, too,” Xenk says.

“I would have told you that the dancing was fine--good, I mean,” Ed adds hastily, as soon as he sees the look on Xenk’s face. “Great. Wonderful. But that wasn’t my favorite part of Midsummer night.”

“What was?”

“Walking home with you,” Ed admits. “In the quiet. Just the two of us.” It’s oddly difficult to meet Xenk’s eyes as he adds, “I like walking with you.”

“Well,” Xenk says. “That is convenient, since I enjoy it as well.”

“But most of all,” Ed says, lowering his voice, “I would have told you to stop writing letters and come do something about it.”

He relishes the brief moment where Xenk looks nonplussed, then surprised. Then his eyes come alight with amusement--also good, if not quite as great as Ed finally winning a crack in his composure--and he says, “Oh? And what would you have me do?”

Ed notes that he and Xenk both, conveniently, have their hands free. “Well, if you really need the advice, you could try something like this,” he suggests. He leans in--Xenk is right there, and this is such a better idea than a stuffy dinner in some private room--and makes a show of looking Xenk up and down before reaching behind his back and taking one of Xenk’s hands to draw it, carefully, around his own waist.

The warmth of proximity should be unbearable, on a day like today. Instead, Ed finds himself melting into the embrace as Xenk’s arm tightens, drawing him in closer to his side. He gives into temptation and lets his head rest on Xenk’s shoulder. They sit there for a pair of still, silent minutes, watching as the clouds shift into orange, and then pink, and Ed’s initial fear--that he’ll ruin the moment, that Xenk is going to regret this any second now--fades into calm.

“Mmm,” Xenk says into the quiet, in a tone that can only be described as constructive criticism. “A creditable attempt, Edgin. But I think perhaps it would be better thus.”

He pulls away slightly--Ed can’t quite help a small noise of protest--but leaves his hand on the small of Ed’s back, holding him in place as he brings the other up to rest lightly against Ed’s cheek. The pink glow of the clouds transmutes into a soft flush on his face as it softens into a smile. “You are so very beautiful,” he says, and Ed can’t quite hold back a snort.

“Yeah, no, I’m not taking that from you,” he says, and pulls back far enough to put both hands on Xenk’s chest and push.

Xenk, who stands unflinching before dragons and undead assassins and drunken brawls in the street, falls backwards into the grass without resistance. Ed, not one to give up an advantage, follows, hands planted on either side of Xenk’s shoulders, knees probably getting horribly stained in the dirt. Xenk stares up at him, with the same damn smirk, and says, “A marked improvement. But do you not think it would be better if--”

Ed leans down, and kisses him.

It turns out that Ed hasn’t entirely forgotten how to do this after all. Xenk, apparently unsurprised, makes a quietly pleased sound, and leans up into Ed. The last heat of the summer day melts into the heat of the kiss, and Ed’s just strategizing how to get into a position that will be more sustainable for middle-aged knees when there’s a sudden single clap of thunder and then, out of the clear evening sky, a sudden downpour.

“What the hell?” Ed says, sitting up before he can stop himself. The sun is just disappearing behind the horizon, leaving only the smallest wisps of clouds in the sky. Beside him, Xenk makes a choked, startled sound and brings a hand up to shield his face.

Ed twists, staring back towards the city. The rain is falling steadily here, but even from this distance it’s easy to see that the inexplicable storm gets heavier and heavier over the city, apparently centered above the mage’s academy at Blackstaff Tower.

“Fucking wizards,” he says, and beside him Xenk lets his arm fall away from his face and starts laughing, loud and unrestrained. Rain is running down his face, soaking his hair and having an unexpectedly fascinating effect on his white shirt, and for a moment Ed’s tempted to just let nature--or magic--run its course.

But he’s here to prove that Xenk isn’t the only one who’s capable of courtship, so Ed disentangles the cloak from the remains of the picnic, rescuing the bag of pastries in the process, and offers it out. Xenk, still laughing, rolls onto his side and reaches out a hand to grasp Ed’s and, gently but firmly, pull him down. He lands half on top of Xenk, half to the side, and before he has a chance to do anything about it Xenk is bringing the cloak up over the two of them, trapping them both inside.

This is starting to feel familiar. It’s been a while since Ed’s been stuck with Xenk like this, and he takes a few minutes to appreciate it. Xenk certainly doesn’t seem to mind either. He’s still grinning when Ed eventually disentangles himself and pulls away as far as he can in the confined space, which still isn’t very far. “Well,” he says, belatedly aware that he’s smiling too. “This isn’t exactly how I’d planned tonight to go.”

“I do not know that I have ever spent a more enjoyable evening,” Xenk says, with his usual sincerity. He ducks his head, making a show of capturing Ed’s eyes, and says, “It has been entirely perfect. As are you.”

“Uh huh,” Ed says. “I hope you realize I’m holding you to that next time I need bail.”

Xenk blinks. “Has there indeed been more than once--” He stops and shakes his head, which is probably for the best. “It matters not.”

Ed’s pretty sure that it does, or will someday, but he doesn’t mind putting that day off a little longer. “Works for me,” he says, and shifts far enough over to put his head back down on Xenk’s rather wet shoulder.

“We cannot remain here,” Xenk says after a moment. “Much as I might wish to do so.”

“Watch me,” Ed mumbles.

“You shall catch your death if you remain in those wet clothes.” Xenk shifts, and asks, “What did you have intended for the rest of our evening?”

“Dancing,” Ed says. “I figured we’d find a tavern with decent music somewhere.” He lifts his arm and regards the damp sleeve despondently. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea now.”

“Perhaps not,” Xenk agrees. “We shall have to attempt it another time.”

Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. “Sure,” Ed says. The sound of the rain is dying away. He’s not sure whether that’s a relief or a disappointment. “And then I thought I’d walk you home.” He clears his throat, and nudges the somewhat crumpled bag of pastries pointedly. “Maybe even stay for a little while. If you wanted.”

A pause, more comfortable than ominous. “I should like that,” Xenk says.

When Ed pulls the cloak away, the evening sky is glowing a deep shade of blue. Above the city, the first stars of evening are emerging. Somewhere nearby, he can hear the peepers start to sing. The remains of the picnic are scattered around them, as ruined as Ed’s plans.

Perfect. Huh. Ed offers a hand to help Xenk up, and doesn’t let go.