Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Magic connected a caster to the world.

Mages who reach for connection, but try to pull that in and not make attachments grew plants

It was easiest in the lung – the constant influx of fresh air a prime planting ground. The plants set their roots into the veins and arteries. The blood thinned as the mage’s magic tried to keep them alive around the obstruction. One would think it would mean they would bleed out quickly from a minor cut, but wounds sprouted plants quickly. Fresh air again, and nutrients from the blood. It would seal the injury, at least.

The drow of the Underdark had walking gardens. People who wanted connection but were forced to abstain, they were some of the few exotic plants in the Underdark. They were often cut upon to open more 'soil' for the plants. Growing and growing and growing…

There was no cure, save to let the threads of their magic tie them to those whom they reached for, and even then the subject of that affection might reject the binding, consciously or subconsciously. Because it was a binding, those threads of magic tying them together on a level only other mages could detect.

Eventually, the growth would choke the mage. An injury too close to the heart was a quick enough end, roots worming their way into that muscle and tangling until it ceased to beat. More common was the slow end: the tangle of plants in their lungs suffocating them slowly as there grew less room to breathe.

Clerics’ healing was useless – it simply fed the plants. Similarly counterproductive were attempts to carve the plants out. They would grow from the cuts made to open the lungs for removal, preventing the hole in the chest from closing once more. No one survived those attempts, and only the most desperate even tried it.

So the drow learned to fear the need for others. Those who suffered from that living growth were shunned for their weakness – the weakness of needing another. The mages who suffered from the affliction hid it vehemently.

It wasn’t always flowers: leaves of greens or purples, soft stems or woody vines. Blooming or not, the result was the same. Some would claim the type of growth was symbolic – the color the flavor of the other’s soul, and the presence or lack of flowers indicative of the type of love, platonic or romantic, or some other combination.

It was all foolish. All that mattered was that the roots were dug deep, the green had flourished, and petals choked his every breath, ever since the ship.

Essek’s scorpion grass bloomed in tiny, powder blue flowers, and marked him as damned.

Chapter Text

The companionship, the knowledge of the loneliness to come, it had the grass in his lungs blooming. The small flowers threatened to choke him. The roots’ spreading stung like the actual scorpions of its namesake.

The cold air of Eiselcross would help slow the growth again. He wouldn’t be entirely alone, either – he’d have those of the outpost, people who relied on him. Already he’d been gone longer than he’d prefer.

Uraya was perfectly capable of running the outpost without him, but… he’d come to care for them all. So much could go wrong in such close proximity to Aeor.

He wanted to stay, though.

Just a little longer maybe… But, no – the longer he was near the Nein, the more the growth would flourish. As much as it hurt to leave them, it would hurt even more to stay. Already the magic inherent to the Grove chipped away at him. The parasites in his lungs, woven into magic, were plants after all. Plants grew readily in the Wildmother’s domain.

It was just killing him faster. The grass hadn’t bloomed while he’d been in the North. He’d forgotten just how troublesome spitting up petals had been.

How painful.

He was lucky enough scorpion grass was a relatively short plant, but the fact that the plant flowered at all frustrated him to no end. Why couldn’t it have been some sort of hosta – or even better, a moss like some of the reported cases? Something that didn’t flower.

The blooms reminded him of Caleb’s eyes, of Jester’s skin. Not quite a perfect match to either, but close enough to ache.

Essek stared at the flower-crown in his hands, feeling half-mad.

Objectively, the flowers were pretty enough – small, softly colored. Far better than something like the many petaled, thorned roses that would’ve drawn blood coming up. Really they didn’t look too terrible. Caduceus had spied the pile of flowers before Essek had been able to hide the last bout and commented that they were a good find – that they made wonderful tea.

The Clays grew tea from corpses. It felt fitting. Essek, after all, was a walking corpse – in a sense at least.

Caduceus had also given him directions to the little clearing where they grew naturally in the Grove. Sitting among them now, it was easier to appreciate their appearance.

“Since when do you make flower-crowns?” Veth’s voice cut through the soft din of birdsong and cricket chirps.

Essek stifled his cringe. He didn’t need interaction now. Company meant masking the pain and coughs once more.

“Jester taught me this morning,” He replied.

He kept his voice soft, testing for more petals in his throat.

“Huh.” Veth moved into his line of sight and bent to examine the ring of blooms in his hands. “And you’re practicing now because…?”

“I like to keep my hands busy.” He shrugged.

“Fair enough.”

Veth held out her hands.

It took him a heartbeat to realize what she was asking, but he handed over the ‘crown’. She made a show of inspecting it, twisting it back and forth.

“So. She sounded too casual. Essek braced himself for whatever she was about to say. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” He feigned affrontedness.

He’d feared someone might catch on. He hadn’t expected it to be Veth though.

Veth placed the flower-crown on her head. It was a little too big, settled a little lopsided. Essek swallowed hard around the roots branched around his throat.

“You’re sick. And you’re trying to hide it. For someone who claims to be smart, you really are an idiot. We have two clerics in the group, not counting whatever the other Clays are. Just ask for a little healing. Stop ‘punishing yourself’ or whatever by ignoring it.” She sat next to him, not looking his way.

He debated lying for a moment, but… he didn’t want to have to lie to any of them again.

“Clerics can't heal everything,” He responded instead.

Now Veth glanced at him, searching his face.

“You weren’t coughing as bad on the way to Aeor.”

Essek kept his expression neutral as he shrugged.

“The cold air helps, believe it or not.”

“Huh.” Veth plucked a blade of grass, split it down the middle with her thumbnail – idle fidgeting. “What is it?”

Essek tried again not to cringe. The urge to lie welled up in him once again. As did rustle of the blooms.

“I’m not sure of the name in Common. I doubt the word would translate well.” Not a lie, not quite.

As far as he knew, there wasn’t one – it was a curse carried with the drow from the Underdark. The Spider Queen’s punishment for caring too much for others. For daring to want connection. Connections were dangerous, after all – they led to community, which led to support. Support and community among the drow had been what allowed them to escape her clutches.

“Pfft. Cop out.” She glared at him from the corner of her eye, plucking more grass and splitting the soft, pale growing part from the darker green.

Not nervous. Trying to appear casual?

Essek sighed, hoped she wouldn’t hear the rustling of breath through grass from his lungs. He could almost imagine it was that which she was pulling – trying to rid him of the blades slowly choking him. Not that it would work – any raw patch she exposed would grow back twice as thick.

“I suppose the direct translation would be something along the lines of 'connecting threads like a vine of webs',” He tried, “There’s connotations missing, though.”

“That rhymed.” Veth’s lips twitched towards a smile.

Essek tried to memorize the moment – her in the over-large flower-crown he’d made – woven from the same flowers she and the others had caused in him – smiling slightly as she let the grass she’d been playing with fall away to the slight breeze. He could almost pretend it was the flowers around them that carried the scent, not the ones growing up from his lungs. He would miss her.

His throat closed, more flowers trying desperately to reach for the open air. He could feel the sting of the roots worming deeper into his veins. He tried desperately not to cough.

He twisted away from the sight, trying to clear his throat without gasping too heavily.

He spat the flowers that wretched their way up onto his tongue into the curl of his hand and wiped the evidence away on the grass. Hopefully the flowers would blend with the rest of the spider grass around them. Hopefully Veth hadn’t caught the move.

When he turned back, Veth was frowning at him though.

“That sounded pretty bad,” She commented with a furrowed brow.

Essek breathed carefully, testing, but nothing more choked him so completely.

“The cold air will help,” He tried to brush away.

He needed her to leave. He needed to leave.

“At least talk to someone before you fuck off back to yeti-land.”

“There are clerics at the outpost, Veth,” He replied gently, “and I’m hardly going to be sleeping in a sack on the snow.”

She glared at him a moment.

“You realize Jester is gonna Send to you daily. If not more.”

Essek blinked at the nonsequitor.

“She promised as much, yes.”

“And Caleb will be so disappointed if you don’t Send to him at least somewhat often.”

Essek bit back a wince. Please don’t mention Caleb. He and Jester were- Essek’s lungs wouldn’t be able to take it.

“He doesn’t know how to Send, you know. He’d worry.”

“I’ve already promised to keep in contact, Veth.”

“And I’ll be pissed at you if you up and vanish on up. Me and Beau would have to chase you down. Kick your ass.”

Essek stared a moment, keeping his face blank.

“If you’re worried I will run from you all, don’t-”

“Not run, just- cut us off. Martyr yourself, or do something stupid like get yourself killed.”

He wouldn’t need to. They would forget about him soon enough. The Sendings would dwindle until nothing came at all. Jester had warned she would keep in touch after the peace talks, after all, and she’d only Sent twice between then and when they’d reached Eiselcross. They’d asked for help as much as they’d asked after him – more so. Of course they had. ‘Don’t forget me’ screamed in time with his heart, but it would be for the better in the end. They shouldn’t have to worry about a Walking Garden. He was as good as dead already – just delaying the inevitable.

“Uraya has seen it before, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” He tried.

Not that he’d actually told Uraya about it yet.

“That’s your cleric up there?”

“One of them, yes.”

Veth sighed.

“Fine. Fine, just- When are you leaving?”

“The sooner the better, unfortunately,” As soon as he could keep his overgrown heart from shattering, “Likely immanently.”

Veth sighed, stood and brushed grass and petals from her seat. Just as they all would brush away the memory of him. The sooner the better.

“I suppose you’re gonna be saying goodbye to everyone then?”

“I should, yes.”

“Fine. Walk me back, The graves all look the same, I keep getting lost.”

Despite her words, she was the one who started on the path back.

She seemed to have forgotten she wore the crown of flowers Essek had made. The one he’d never intended on gifting. Maybe it was better to have been seen by someone, at least, before wilting.

Chapter Text

Cold air, it turned out, could not undo the damage done by his time with the Nein. It slowed the growth once more, of course, but that which had progressed while he’d been in Aeor, Cognoza, the Grove… He still had that wretched cough, still spat up flowers. Pretty blue things, clusters of five petals with yellow centers on the ones that came up whole. They were velvety soft once the saliva had dried.

Prestidigitation could cleanse, but it couldn’t destroy anything with much mass, and evidently the flowers were just big enough to count as ‘object’ instead of ‘filth’. They felt like filth. A disease. Parasites, each and every bloom.

He made a second flower-crown from the ones he spat up with long enough stems, felt like an absolute fool, and flung it to the fire. He resisted the urge to burn more things, then. Sat with his head in his hands. Coughed up more petals.

Burning the flowers felt… wrong. Like he was rejecting his friends completely. All he could see as he watched them curl into smoke was Veth wearing the crown he’d made before Teleporting back to Aeor – miraculously, it had only taken two attempts to land close enough to navigate back to the spires.

He could picture Jester and Caleb easy enough, but now the a soft blue summoned images of Caduceus brewing tea from the pile he’d picked from the clearing. Fjord’s expression, heart worn in fondness on his face as Jester gleefully taught Essek how to weave the stems together. Beau’s face of surprise when Jester had pranced up to place her crown on Beau’s head. Yasha’s soft hug when he’d announced he was leaving.

More flowers. He shoved them in his chest and swore to put them out of his mind. He, of course, failed. Soon enough, the chest was filled alarmingly high with those petals. They looked like flowers piled on a grave. He could imagine his own body laying under their negligent weight.

The people of the outpost had to think him painfully sentimental – more than one guard had spotted him hurriedly shutting the chest and banishing it in an attempt to hide the evidence. It had to look like he’d taken countless flowers with him. Ridiculous.

No one caught him actually spitting up the flowers, though, for all there were odd glances when a bout of coughs overtook him. If he didn’t know better, he’d guess it was pity. Maybe it was – they were certainly more relaxed around him then they had been when he’d first arrived.

He thought he was being terribly subtle until Uraya actually confronted him one dawn.

“We have a gift for you,” Uraya announced after their version of a knock at his champers, nearly the time he would bed down to trance.

“Who is ‘we’?” Essek asked cautiously.

“Your people and I.” Uraya set a box on Essek’s desk.

Essek could hear the rattle of glass from inside.

“By my people, you mean-”

“The outpost.”

“Who in particular?” Essek approached while curiosity and caution warred.

“Quite literally all of us.” Uraya grinned, “We all pitched in a few coins.”

Essek frowned.

“You shouldn’t spend your earnings on me. I have more than enough on my own.”

“Yet you don’t use it.” Uraya lifted the lid of the box. “Not for yourself anyway. Consider it a letter of appreciation – no one liked Hallwas. Most, in fact, hated him. We would hate to see him back in command.”

Inside the box were several jars. The contents, when Essek plucked one up for inspection, were a beautiful amber. Thick liquid, so viscous from the cold it was nearly solid. If he didn’t know better, he would think it was-

“Honey?”

“Indeed,” Uraya’s grin spread even farther, showing off their sharp teeth.

“How in the world did you get…” Essek tipped another jar to glance through the box.

All six jars held that same amber, dark until the light of the fire caught them. Essek turned wild eyes on Uraya.

“I cannot possibly accept this,” Honey was valuable in the Dynasty. It required bees, which required both light and some source of pollen. “How did you possibly afford this?”

“I told you: we all chipped in.”

“All fifty-seven of you?” Essek demanded, incredulous.

“Believe it or not? Yes. Some more than others, sure, but everyone threw at least a little in the pot. Between all of us it really wasn’t all too much.”

Essek stared at the box and its jars.

“Why?”

“Coughing up all that pretty has to hurt,” Uraya answered with a shrug, “Besides, how are you going to save the next scouting party if you can’t speak to cast?”

Referring to the incident two weeks ago. They would’ve had to have ordered the box at least a month ago, though, for it to be shipped all the way to Foren.

Essek sat down hard and swallowed around the tightness of his throat.

“You know then.” He didn’t bother making it a question.

“Of course we know,” Uraya answered anyway with a scoff, “You think you can keep something like a garden secret all the way up here? Where everyone is practically living in each other’s boots?”

Essek’s hands were shaking. He folded them together in his lap.

“We’ve all agreed it’s those adventurers, too. The ones you went off with a few months ago. You were doing fair enough before they showed up.” Their eyes narrowed, “Which one is it?”

“Which one is what?” Essek asked faintly, barely present in his own body.

Uraya sighed and rested a hand on Essek’s shoulder. The shock faded back and Essek’s short breath deepened. Essek shot a sharp glance their way. He hadn’t given blanket consent to their non-invasive spell casting for it to be used for non-practical purposes like this. The Calm Emotions, unless Essek was wildly mistaken, did its job though.

“You don’t have to hide this. It’s not a secret needing to be kept.” Their voice had settled into their usual calm lilt, speaking as a cleric rather than simply Essek’s friend.

Or both – they could be both at once, Essek reminded himself.

“Now. The half-orc? The fire-haired one? Which one is the wizard? Knowing you he would have to be a wizard.”

“Caleb,” Essek answered softly, “Caleb is the wizard. And- It’s all of them.”

“The human then, yes? I told Kelgoyrr it was the human. And all of them? I’m assuming not in a bedding sort of way – pretty sure that’s not really your thing.”

The brief mental image of Beau and Jester naked in the hot tub so long ago rose up and he wrinkled his nose.

“No,” He assured quickly, “It’s- Just- Most of them are-”

“Platonic save one or two then?”

Essek nodded.

“All but Caleb,” He let himself whisper.

Uraya hummed.

“Deep breath now, it’s all about to come back.”

The spell was ending then. Caleb would’ve been able to tell him the exact second. Essek took a full breath, as though preparing to submerge underwater.

And then the flowers choked his throat once more.

Eventually, somehow, he ended up on his hands and knees, vision blurred with tears from the force of the coughing. He pulled a full cluster of flowers out by the stem. No blood, thankfully. That would only make the grass grow faster. Uraya had a hand on his back, murmuring to him throughout his fit. Essek couldn’t make sense of it – didn’t even try.

He could feel Uraya’s magic wash over him periodically throughout the bout. Those brief seconds, he felt as though air filled his lungs once more – only to be lost again. It was probably the only thing keeping him conscious throughout, with how bad the coughing was.

“In theory,” Uraya was saying as his hacking began to slow at last, “The plants make oxygen, which most humanoids breathe. Give the garden in there a little boost, and you get a little air. Doesn’t help in the long run, but can keep you alive for a moment or two.”

“When did you do any research? I didn’t think-” He managed to gasp around coughs.

Uraya’s eyes focused back on him. He’d been filling the space with idle chatter then, trying to give Essek something to draw himself to through the coughing. Usually, that was Essek’s technique for panic attacks. He’d sat doing the same with Caleb only a few months ago, when Caleb had tried to creep off after they’d dealt with settling Trent.

The idea the coughing was anything like a panic attack felt demeaning, though he supposed both shared the difficulty breathing.

“I escorted some missives just two months ago, remember. I managed to stop by and go through a few records then.”

“How long have you-” Essek gagged on more petals, “You known?”

Uraya sighed. He sat next to Essek, letting his hand slip from his back.

“I told you it’s difficult to hide something like this here. A few said they’d seen something off before your adventurers showed up, though they hadn’t known precisely what. After? We were all surprised with how quickly it progressed. Now we are shocked you are still breathing.”

Essek forced himself to take an even breath around the pain of his throat, then took another. Uraya reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

“Where you’re at should be getting exponentially worse.” There was a question to his tone. “You should be dead by now.”

Essek let his eyes slip closed and debated for a moment before giving up on any sort of decorum – Uraya had seen him at his lowest by then, anyway. He eased himself back so he was flat on the floor. Focused on breathing slowly, not giving in to the tickle of petals just behind his tongue lest he start up another fit.

“Plants can’t grow this far North. Not scorpion grass, at least.”

“Clever,” Uraya sounded genuinely impressed, “Did you take the position for that alone?”

“Not alone,” Essek admitted, “but I needed out of the City. Court is… stifling at times. And I was a researcher long before I was a courtier. Honestly… I’ve found I’ve enjoyed my time here, despite its trials.”

Not the full truth, but enough of it to not touch on a lie.

“Scorpion grass isn’t kept around the temples. I never really looked at them too closely. Pretty little things, aren’t they? Ignoring the circumstances, at least.”

Essek scoffed aloud, nearly setting himself off again.

“They’re prettier without the coating of saliva,” He replied dryly.

With a quick wave, he chased away any traces of phlegm. He then cast twice more, just to be sure.

Uraya hummed contemplatively and picked up one of the full clusters that had choked Essek – one of the bunches still attached to their stem. He hadn’t had to deal with that before. It was getting worse, then, a meager breath at a time.

“The tiefling was blue,” Uraya commented.

Essek sighed, then nodded.

“She is. As are- As are Caleb’s eyes.”

He squeezed his eyes shut once more. He’d never admitted it out loud. Maybe why it had advanced as suddenly as it had.

“Pretty.” Uraya dropped the branch back into the pile.

They stood and moved to one of Essek’s drawers, began digging through the contents.

“What are you doing?” Essek asked, nearly too tired to be affronted.

“Looking for your mess kit.” Uraya answered simply.

“Why in all the- Second drawer up on the right.” Essek directed, bewildered.

Uraya moved to the correct drawer and sorted through more of Essek’s things. He had nothing that needed hiding there per say, but the casual nature with which Uraya invited themself left him somewhere between insulted and fond. It was too similar to how Jester would have-

He forced the thought from his mind, the taste of petals rising once more in his throat.

Uraya grinned as they held up a spoon, of all things. Essek propped himself up on his elbows to watch in utter confusion. They hummed to themself as they moved back to the desk and plucked one of the jars of honey from the box.

“You’re joking,” Essek’s voice was flat as Uraya presented him with the jar and spoon.

“Not in the slightest.”

“I’m not eating it by the spoonful.”

“You are this once,” Uraya replied with the utmost confidence. “I try to heal your throat and it’ll only make things worse. You don’t take care of it, and you’ll be coughing again before the hour is up.”

Essek glared at them. They didn’t even blink.

The jar was chill. The Prestidigitation passed his lips with nary a thought, and as the glass warmed in his hand the amber inside flowed more readily.

It was the same color as the necklace Caleb wore around his neck. The same color as Caleb’s magic.

Essek folded over once more, breath robbed again by the plants in his lungs.

It took a long time for the second bout to die down. Every time he thought he had it under control, it would return with full force. He pulled bushels of flowers out, twice even by the roots.

“Do you have Blight prepared today?” He managed to gasp to Uraya.

“I am in no way, shape, or form casting that on you,” Uraya snapped back over his choking, “And no.”

“It’ll kill the grass faster than it will kill me.”

“It may still kill you!”

“So have a diamond on hand.”

Uraya looked as though Essek had summoned a fish and slapped them with it. It was an odd combination of shock, confusion, and insultedness.

“Absolutely not.”

“Uraya-”

“It’s not happen. Eat your honey and stop making mad requests.”

“Uraya. A single casting of it will not kill me.” He sounded so very hoarse, earned by every cough. Soon his throat would grow so raw he’d begin coughing up blood. When that happened, the grass would spread to his esophagus. He’d be lucky if he lasted an hour after that. “This will. If you did any modicum of the research you claim to have done, then you know I normally would not last the night, now.”

Uraya actually bared their teeth in a snarl. It surprised Essek instead of frightening him – He’d never seen them with such an expression.

“Let the bond form,” They snapped.

Essek’s eyes drifted shut. Pain. Shame…

“I can’t.”

“Of all the stubborn, self woven, foolish-”

“No, Uraya,” Essek interrupted, “I literally can’t. I’ve tried.”

That had Uraya frozen.

“They fought it?” They asked flatly.

Essek nodded, pulling the jar of honey close again if only to have something to do with his hands.

“Likely instinctually, but the fact remains.”

“Force it.”

Essek recoiled at the mere thought.

“No.” He snarled back, “Even if I knew how, I would not.”

“You can always abolish it afterwards,” Uraya snapped, “They are killing you.”

“That is their right.”

“And it is ours to keep you breathing! Moreover, it is our duty!”

“You can’t save me, Uraya. I dug this grave. I knew it would end me the night I noticed its existence.”

Uraya was actually shaking with anger, fists clenched tight enough they risked drawing blood.

“It’s been a month since I’ve even heard from them. I cannot fault them for their wishes, and I will not force my presence, let alone my magic, on them without their consent.”

Jester’s messages had become more and more sporadic, then had simply fallen off completely after Trent’s sentencing. Caleb had brushed him off the last two times Essek had Sent – ‘Busy at the moment, apologies friend’.

“And if they were willing to accept it? If they knew it would keep you alive?”

“Then the flowers would return as soon as the bond faded, and it would fade without it being mutual.”

Uraya held their pose for a breath, then slumped all at once.

“I should’ve warned you what I was the moment I noticed your comradery. For that, I apologize. I’ve been dead before I even set out for Foren.” Essek continued, gently.

“Do not apologize to me. Not for that.”

“If you’d known I was a Garden-”

“It would’ve been the same,” Uraya snapped, interrupting him.

They sat down hard, gaze lost somewhere in the middle distance.

“Eat your honey.” They muttered, sounding almost petulant.

Obediently, Essek scooped up a dollop of honey. It dripped from the spoon in a long, sticky string, which he had to wipe off three times on the rim of the jar before it broke. It was sweet – almost disgustingly so. Not as bad as Jester’s pastries had been though. He shut his eyes against the memory.

“None of us care that you’re a Walking Garden,” Uraya muttered, “You know that right?”

Essek sighed around the spoon.

“You’ve been good to us. It doesn’t matter if you have three days left, or three centuries. If we thought it would help, just about every one of us would abandon our posts to hunt down that group. But I can’t heal heart-sick, even if the object of affection is dead. It just means there’s no hope of acceptance. And you’re obviously too stubborn to get over them, since you haven’t already.”

“Please don’t kill my friends,” Essek replied faintly, horror warring with tears of gratitude, “They… I was in a dark place before them. They were the first to reach me – to persist until I reached back.”

“What happened then?”

Essek swallowed hard, the sweet of the honey mixing with the taste of the flowers. He wanted to be sick.

“I am not a good friend,” He replied softly, “Once they knew all of me…”

“You know we don’t care where you’ve been. None of us do. Nearly all who come to Vurmas are running from something – chased by something. Whoever you were before you set foot on the snow doesn’t matter to us. You could’ve murdered the Bright Queen herself, the past does not define you here.”

Essek's breath shook. His throat closed entirely independent of the flowers and roots.

“I wish it was enough,” He managed to choke out before the first tears began to fall.

He folded over yet again, this time it was sobs that robbed him of breath, not flowers. Slim arms wrapped around him, and it took him a long moment to realize there were tears in Uraya’s eyes, too.

“I will prepare Blight tomorrow,” Uraya murmured, “But you will promise me you will live as long as those pretty little flowers allow. You will not roll yourself into the web without a care.”

Essek drew a shaking breath.

“I will try.”

Chapter Text

It became a holding pattern — not a sprint but an endurance race. 'Keeping pace with a moor-bounder' was the colloquialism — a feat that wasn't a matter of if one would succeed but rather for how long would they last. It was truly a matter of 'how long would he last' in his fight to breathe. He wouldn't be surprised if his people at the outpost had bets placed on it.

Some days were worse than others. Some days he drank his tea — more hot water and honey at this point, actually — and swallowed hard around the irritating itch.

Other days were bad. The sky might be the exact shade of Jester's skin, the hues of a sunset could've been Caduceus' hair, the sun without wind would have the same gentle heat of Caleb's magic near him… Those were days that required Uraya's help. Essek wasn't sure they had even used painful spells before Essek, let alone Blight. It was just another thing to feel guilty over, demanding harm from one who chose to heal.

Each casting of Blight hurt, of course — was agony in fact. It wasn't something one should learn to embrace, but when the choice was between death by suffocation and a brief stab of pain? It was an easy decision — even when each casting left an ache in his joints that lingered for days.

The cold was his true savior, though. Even the hardiest of plants had difficulty growing so far north. Scorpion grass was not like the few sparse patches of lichen that would creep up the rocks in the sunny seasons. The frost wilted its flowers and stems. It meant Essek would spit up cracked sticks on better days. Far from comfortable, but it brought with it the hope that he may hold out long enough for the entirety of the roots to shrivel into frostbitten twigs.

It was a race, of sorts — would the flowers die first, or would Essek?

It was unheard of — there was no record of Walking Gardens persisting for any extended length of time at his stage of the growth. There were also no records of a garden spending so much time in such extreme cold, though. He had no way to predict what would happen. That unknown was almost as bad as the choking. Almost.

If it were just bad days balanced against good, it might've been enough. This was Essek's life though — he knew well his luck would be far from sufficient.

To go with that delicate balance, were the days no one expected him to live long enough to see dawn. Those were the days when Uraya's Blights couldn't even guarantee his survival — they only gave him enough air to struggle on for endless hours.

If the good and bad days nearly balanced, the days a Blight was so scarcely sufficient upended the metaphorical scale. The slow improvement would crash back down, and he'd begin the cycle again.

In another attempt to buy him time, they learned exactly how cold Drow could become before going hypothermic. It took a while to modify the warming enchantment he'd placed on his rooms, but the result was a carefully calculated, uncomfortable temperature of cold-but-not-quite-freezing. The gnolls of the outpost became the only ones comfortable staying with him without being fully kitted in their coats and furs.

He was always cold. His joints and throat always ached. He survived though. Days turned into weeks, and he survived.

Jester never Sent. Caleb, who was just as capable of learning the spell, never did either. Some days that fact hurt more than others. Some days it nearly killed him.

Maybe it could work, though. Maybe, just maybe, he could outlive the impossible.

That hope vanished like a snuffed candle the day Caleb showed up at the outpost.

Chapter Text

Uraya's knock was the same as all goblins Essek had met — not a rapping of knuckles but the 'rat-tat-tat' of claws drumming at his door. Uraya being the only goblin at the outpost, Essek knew who to expect.

He thought.

Uraya stepped in with a frown bordering on scowl. The expression had Essek standing to meet them, concern swimming in his chest. It had been a decent day, possibly even a good one were he not afraid voicing it would flip his luck.

"You have a visitor," Uraya started — redundantly, as said visitor swept in before they even finished the sentence.

The pinks of dusk haloed him, flakes of snow decorating his vibrant hair. His smile was wide and his eyes practically sparkled.

"Essek!" It was Caleb, voice light with a joy that Essek had never expected to hear from him again.

He couldn't be here. How was he here?

Caleb grasped Essek’s forearms, hands under his elbows.

"It's good to see you, my friend." His voice was so warm.

His hands were so warm. Essek wanted nothing more than to sink into his grip, curl against his chest while the heat of Caleb's arms wrapped around him like they had in the Grove, an eon ago.

He, of course, couldn't breathe. If a mere reminder of Caleb was enough to have him coughing, having him actually present…

He tried to draw even even the smallest slip of air. Found nothing. The garden of his lungs flourished. He could taste it blooming.

The world dimmed. He stumbled. Caleb had an arm around him then, supporting him as his knees began to fail. Caleb's hold was the only thing that kept Essek from simply crumpling to the floor. Taking more and more of Essek’s weight, Caleb lowered them down.

Some one was calling him. Caleb? Uraya? Caleb held Essek propped up against his chest. He was saying something, the noise loud and urgent past the buzz of the fading world.

Essek would die here. He was dying here. His screaming lungs struggled vainly as the plants grew.

His vision swam. He glimpsed Uraya in the graying dark, their hands moving in a pattern he knew so well at this point.

Caleb didn't even begin to ask what Uraya was doing, though. He didn't try to speak at all. Instead, one hand whipped up from Essek, fingers forming somatics almost faster than Essek could think.

Counter-spell.

All Caleb knew was Uraya was casting a harmful spell on Essek. He didn't know it was the only thing that had a chance of calming the flowers now. With an adventurer's reflexes, after the Counter-spell some form of attack would come in reply.

But Essek couldn't breathe. He couldn't call for a stop, couldn't beg him to wait, couldn't explain it was needed.

He did, instead, all he could.

As he lost more and more of the world, he lurched up. Clinging to the arm Caleb still had around him and using it to practically climb more upright, he caught Caleb's casting hand. As their fingers laced in a lopsided clasp, the half-formed Counter-spell slipped out of reality — interrupted.

With one wrist in Essek's desperate, claw-like grasp and his other hand's fingers tangled, Caleb would be unable to cast all but the most basic spells.

Now, Caleb cried out in surprise — in objection — but even as he tugged uselessly against Essek, Uraya finished their spell.

Then Essek could breathe again. He could breathe.

"Don't," he gasped with his first blessed draw of air, tugging at Caleb. "It's alright, it's- don't-"

Essek swayed against Caleb's hip, slumping against him. Caleb tore his hands free of Essek's but didn't disintegrate Uraya with his reacquired mobility. Instead he turned to Essek, one arm went around Essek's shoulders to keep him slumping to the floor, the other came up, poised in front of them both — ready to cast.

He was turned awkwardly — somehow twisted to be most of the way between Essek and Uraya.

"It's alright," Essek choked out again, sipping on wonderful wisps of air.

His head was heavy. He let it loll onto Caleb's shoulder. It was nice to pretend Caleb cared enough to protect him from the world — to protect him, even, from the flowers rooted in his lungs. He knew better, but it was such a lovely dream.

He was so warm that Essek ached from it.

The door to his room-turned-office slammed open, though, the guards no doubt having heard Caleb's shout. Their crossbows were raised, ready to fire. They couldn't- they would hurt Caleb. They needed to- Essek needed to-

“Hold,” Uraya ordered with calm, almost resigned confidence, “he is within his right.”

Thank you, Essek should've gasped. Instead he let his eyes drift shut like they wanted to. Air was too precious to waste on words when Uraya had the situation under control. Essek would thank them once his heart stopped fluttering like a dying humming-bird and his lungs cease their abused spasming. Breathing was too sweet a phenomenon to care about that ache in the moment, though.

Caleb was demanding to know what Uraya was doing, what possible justification they could have for harming Essek, his voice a snarl and his accent thick in his anger.

"Plant dies faster than flesh,” Essek found himself replying.

Essek felt Caleb's cheek shift against the crown of his head as he presumably shot a glance toward Essek. Essek pried heavy eyelids open to bask in his attention. It was a good choice — Caleb's blue eyes reflected the pinks of the setting sun, turning them a fascinating color. He was beautiful. Essek sighed, and let the world begin to slip away. He was so tired, and Caleb was warmer than anything he'd felt in an age.

"If you tip off that edge I am going to use one of those pretty diamonds you have to bring you back so I can bite you," Uraya's voice interrupted his drift.

Essek resigned himself to opening his eyes again, just enough to glare at Uraya. They stood a few steps back from where they'd been while casting, arms crossed, and scowled back.

Caleb's arm was still up between Essek and Uraya though, fingers in the first form of a spell's somatics. Waiting. Prepared.

Essek reached out to pull at that arm. There was a dunamantic twist to Caleb's fingers, meaning the spell he held would be a dangerous one. Essek tried to lace their fingers again — one of the best ways to stop a caster from completing a spell's needed motions — but Caleb twisted his hand out of the hold before Essek could manage the clumsy attempt.

He didn't knock Essek's hand away, though, nor did he let Essek’s arm drop as it wanted to. Instead, his hand cupped Essek's, pulling it in toward both of them where Caleb still curled half over Essek.

He was so warm.

"Explain," the growl to Caleb's voice sent a shiver down Essek's spine, "Now."

That was for him — that anger was because Essek had been hurt.

The math didn't add up. Caleb hid from Essek's magic as though he were invisible, yet he held Essek so close. One of those — the protective or the rejecting — was a lie. The grass in Essek's lungs told him which one, but Caleb seemed so earnest.

Maybe it was the principle of it all? Maybe he still felt he owed Essek for those favors he'd been collecting so early on? Those were long since discarded, though. Essek owed the Nein infinitely more than they owed him.

"It's okay," he mumbled to Caleb as his people shot glances at each other.

"That's not an explanation, friend." His voice was still wonderfully deep.

His anger seemed leashed when speaking to Essek. Tight, but not sharp.

"What do you know?" Uraya asked.

"That you attacked him," Caleb snapped back.

"False. You very nearly killed him though." Uraya stepped forward then, hands coming up in order to touch Essek.

Caleb quite nearly snarled his "Stay back". It wasn't quite a proper bestial growl, nor did it sound like a drow or goblin's hiss, but his anger still ground through.

"His veins will scar," Uraya replied.

Their patience was thin — Essek could hear it in their voice.

"You nearly killed him!"

"He can take two of those. He has yet to die on me." Their eyes flicked over to meet Essek's, "And he has promised I will not be the source of his death."

Essek reached out with the hand Caleb wasn't clutching. Uraya caught it, and the Lesser Restoration flooded through the gaps left by the shriveled roots. The ache of necrosis eased back a little, and Essek sighed.

"No one has explained any of this," Caleb snapped, readjusting his grip as Essek sagged.

"You should be the one to explain," One of the guards who'd rushed in — Rreikx, one of the gnolls — snarled, baring his teeth.

His growl was almost harmonic in his voice, and his crossbow was still pressed against his shoulder — aimed just off of Caleb, easy to snap back up to target. Next to him, Kelgoyrr looked similarly ready, eyes hard and jaw clenched.

"Tricks to lengthen the pain." Rreikx spat out.

Essek frowned. It wasn't Caleb's fault Essek couldn't let go and move on, and that crossbow was aimed far too close to Caleb for Essek’s comfort.

"What are you-" Caleb began, before Rreikx gave a full-throated snarl, ruff standing up and teeth on full display.

Caleb shot to his feet before Essek could stop him, hands poised but not quite casting. Rreikx in turn stood to his full height, almost half again as tall as Caleb. Caleb made no indication of balking. The Nein had fought gnolls before, Essek remembered, of course Caleb wouldn't be intimidated.

"Rreikx-" Essek tried with his hoarse voice. Uraya stepped in before he could finish, though.

"Enough! Both of you. Widogast, you have harmed one of ours. Rreikx, our commander has ordered that this one's troupe is to come to no harm by our hands."

Rreikx began to snap something back, but Uraya bared their teeth in return, and — for all their goblin frame was so much smaller than the both the human's and gnoll's — Rreikx let himself fall back to his usual hunch, jaw tense, but no longer actively threatening.

"How have I-"

"You," Uraya snapped, interrupting Caleb, "Will be quiet a moment. You," they rounded on Rreikx, and on Kelgoyrr beside him, "will tell our crowd the situation is under control."

Essek blinked, before leaning around Caleb to glance at the door that Rreikx and Kelgoyrr had left open in their haste. Past the flurries of snow eagerly swirling in, a plentiful handful of his people stood watching, half with weapons ready.

If Caleb attacked, he would be met with a hail of bolts.

Rreikx paused a moment before giving a frustrated huff and backing out of Essek's room. Kelgoyrr hesitated longer though.

"It's alright," Essek answered aloud, "I've a little time left in me."

Tension flicked through Caleb, there and gone again like a flinch.

"Go," Uraya repeated, and Kelgoyrr at last relented, easing the door carefully shut behind him.

"All the way," Uraya's voice was dry.

A moment of nothing, then the door clicked, fully latched.

Uraya sighed.

"What is happening?" Caleb demanded once again, but knelt down from his ready stance as Essek swayed against him.

Did all humans run so warm or was it Caleb affinity for flame that left him nearly burning to the touch?

Uraya sighed a second time, seeming to sift through their words carefully.

"How much do you know about drow magic in history? Essek, would you…?"

Essek dipped his head in acknowledgement and raised his hands to activate the Private Sanctum he had imbued into the room.

"Very little," Caleb replied as the magic washed over them all, "and depending on how far back you mean, absolutely nothing."

"So you know nothing of gardens?"

"Of- how does that even begin to relate?"

"Nothing then." Uraya repeated as they stepped over to duck under one of Essek's elbows to press him upward.

Caleb helped, too. Between the two of them they had Essek standing again, for all he stumbled as though drunk.

"To the bed," Uraya directed quietly.

Essek saw Caleb glance around the room, taking it in properly for perhaps the first time.

"Elves don't sleep," It wasn't an objection, but the calm in his voice sounded carefully controlled — a question disguised as a statement

"They do when they're dying," Essek replied softly, and Caleb froze again.

His hands flexed where they propped Essek up, one at Essek’s side and the other holding Essek's arm over his shoulder. His grip tightened, but then relaxed before it could reach the point of painful.

"How do we stop it." His tone was flat.

There was a stillness to him that felt dangerous. Ready.

"Not 'what is it'?" Uraya tilted their head.

"You presumably already know, so it's unimportant. What's important is how we stop it."

Uraya's lips twitched into the slightest of smiles.

"I think I could've liked you, once." Then they shrugged, "We don't. You could, but you won't."

Caleb's hands tightened again, didn't release this time. His glare was a poisonous thing.

"W-"

"Don't deny it," Uraya snapped before rolling their shoulders in a forced attempt to release their tension. "You could've solved this months ago, and you didn't. You could've let him be — we might've held it at bay with the snows — but you didn't. You've turned months into days. You have no right to ask anything of us."

"He is my friend," Caleb snarled.

Essek could almost hear the grass swaying in his lungs. He choked on a breath before it settled back. It was enough to have Caleb's attention snapping back to him though.

"Don't you dare," Uraya snarled, almost as bestial as Rreikx, "claim to care when you are the source. His orders are the only thing keeping you safe here. Your lies are plain. They only carve the wound deeper. I should let the others take your head, and I might if I had any hope it might help or if they had even a chance succeeding against you. As it is, killing you will kill him, and that I cannot do, even if it would be the kinder death."

Caleb was silent a long moment, hand flexing and relaxing on Essek's arm.

"How?" His voice sounded almost as hoarse as Essek's.

"Magic makes ties that bind," Essek explained instead.

Caleb's attention whipped around to him, his chest rising and falling as though he'd been running.

"A spell that cannot fully form must expend itself somehow, surely you know this."

Caleb nodded, eyes still wide — almost wild in his expression.

"Then what is the question?"

"How does that… do this? What is this?"

"Bed," Uraya urged again, quietly.

Caleb's movements were precise to the point of flawless. Exact. Sharp.

"Drow… that sort of magic rebounds, when denied. It expends itself elsewhere. Bonds are strong magic, so the effects are strong." Essek shrugged.

Caleb didn't lower him so much as kneel and guide Essek down with him.

"How does it- How do we fix it?"

Essek sighed, eyes slipping closed as he was guided so very gently back.

"We don't. Even if you did care, the flowers would likely take me with them should they wilt."

"What-" Caleb sounded choked, "Essek."

Essek's eyes shot open as Caleb's brow touched his.

"Of course I care," Caleb's voice cracked over the words as if wounded — nearly desperate.

The small blooms filled Essek's throat again, and he wrenched himself onto his side to try and draw a gasp of air.

Caleb was calling his name, practically chanting it as Essek coughed. A small hand touched his back and agony of a different kind swept through him.

Uraya had Blighted him enough times for him to recognize that flavor of pain through the near-panic of choking. This was one of the few times they'd had to cast it on him twice in a day, though.

"If I do that again then I will be the source of his death, rather than the flowers," they said quietly.

"You're a cleric. Why won't you heal him?"

"It would undo everything I'd just done. Would you have me bounce him on a string like a fly? Each casting hurts him Widogast. I thought you knew how such spells work."

"Uraya," Essek gasped, not even bothering to roll back over — he was so very tired, "don't. Please."

Uraya sighed again, then growled in helpless frustration.

"What is happening to him?" Caleb asked, quiet.

The warmth of his hand on Essek's shoulder was starting to hurt — maybe he really would burn from it.

"He loves you." Caleb's breath caught at Uraya's words — caught and didn't release.

Essek cringed to have himself laid so bare.

"You and your friends. But not one of you will allow the magic to connect you to him. The only reason that happens is when the recipient pushes back. Refuses and denies even the smallest of bonds. You claim to be his friend, but you are killing him."

"But I do- I've not felt a thing! How can-"

"It is a subconscious denial, then." Essek could imagine how Uraya waved the words away. "In short, because you reject his magic it has turned in on itself and grown into plants in his lungs. By now the roots have spread — to the point now we might feel them under his skin.

Essek sighed and clumsily pulled one hand out of its glove, held it up for them both to see. Open wounds grew flowers, too, the blooms greedily finding their way to any air they could reach. The places Essek’s skin had cracked from the dry cold were no different. Tiny blue flowers painted his knuckles.

Caleb made a wounded sound.

"Even if you believe I-" Caleb sounded almost like he was begging, his desperation thick, "You cannot doubt that Jester at least loves you…"

"She is the same. I've tried. Several times. With all of you." He let his hand fall limp against the mattress once more. "She hasn't Sent either."

"She- scheiss. She and Fjord have been helping Kingsley with the usurpers who object to his becoming the Plank King. She's been saving her spells. I think she Sends only once a week to her mother, so that she at least knows she's alive."

Essek raised one shoulder in a shrug. The excuse didn't matter. No matter what she did or said, she still shied away from his magic, letting it coil back on itself. Her, Fjord, Caleb.

Yasha, Beauregard, Caduceus, Veth…

All of them.

Until there was only him.

Him, with the scorpion grass' flowers in his lungs, wheezing on his own pitiful want for connection yet unable to accept anyone else in their place.

His bonds with Uraya and the others of the outpost weren't enough to drown out the flowers. He, selfishly, wanted.

"What does it feel like?" Caleb asked after a long silence, "Maybe if I know what it should be, I might be able to find it. Or…"

Essek sighed. No one had pressed before. Thinking on it, on how to phrase it… it stung in a way that had him gasping.

"It's…" He finally choked out, "I've read it's supposed to feel like pushing against a wall, but… It's like trying to grasp for something blindly. It shouldn't be difficult, but I reach and its like you're not even there. None of you. Just… nothing."

He stopped himself before giving voice to the root of the ache — 'And I, alone'.

Alone.

"Not even-" Caleb started to echo before his breath caught again, just a small hitch.

He hissed something in his own language, too rapid for Essek to catch with the few words he knew.

Then,"scheiss, scheiss, scheiss, scheiss-".

That Essek recognized — at least as a swear of some kind.

Caleb was tearing at his own coat, gloved fingers struggling with the ties. He growled in frustration and ripped the gloves from off his hands so they would stop impeding him, jerked open his high collar after that. He yanked the revealed chain of a pendant off over his head. It snagged at his hair, but he didn't even seem to notice. He threw the amulet away hard enough Essek heard it clatter against the far wall.

"What-"

"Try again," Caleb demanded, interrupting him.

It was Essek's breath's turn to hitch.

"Caleb… I can't-"

He wouldn't survive another rejection now. Uraya had already Blighted him twice. Either Uraya casting a third time would take him or the flowers would.

"Please," Caleb's gasp sounded almost as though he'd been the one choking rather than Essek.

Essek sighed. He was dead either way, he supposed. Now or in a week, it wouldn't be long after all this.

He reached.

There was no flailing in the dark, though. Barely had he begun to stretch out his awareness when he was met. It was as though something impossibly bright reached back, wrapping almost violently around him. He couldn't breathe.

Voices, movement, then warm weight pressed along his back and smeared across his sternum. Caleb was speaking. Essek could barely hear him over his own choking.

He eventually recognized his name — chanted almost like a mantra — and "please".

He felt as though he were burning — not just where Caleb curled around him, but like every thread of his magic was lit aflame.

"Bitte, bitte, bittebittebitte-"

Something curled around his magic — his self — much as Caleb was curled around him physically. The roots in his lungs almost seemed to dig claw-like into his lungs, veins, flesh-

The fire he felt found those roots, though, and they were practically torn away from where they were anchored.

Hands on his shoulder, his hip. Not Caleb — not that burning heat that seeped into his spine, and chest, and lungs.

Uraya. No spells spread through him, though. They weren't casting. Instead words spilled from their lips, too. Prayers, Essek recognized eventually, mixed with soothings.

It was distant though, not like how Caleb's voice seemed to thrum through his bones.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt-

Then, air.

Only a little, but his strangled silence morphed into horrid coughing. There was air, though. It was hard to draw in around the flowers and tangled roots, but it was there.

The grass almost shriveled in his lungs — or at least it felt like it did. Leaves and peddles were nearly sharp with how dry they were on his tongue as he choked. He could taste blood along with the sweet pollen. Were they cutting his throat or had he finally coughed himself raw?

They burned. He burned. Caleb burned behind him — Caleb, who was twisted around every fiber, every thread, of Essek's being.

Essek hadn't realized how truly cold he'd been, not until he had Caleb's magic coiling around him like a constrictor snake. It hurt. Somehow though, it felt like his heart had only then started beating, like it had been still for an age before.

It drummed in his chest until his ribs ached with it — or was that from the coughing?

No, it had to be from the fire Caleb was pouring into his flesh, soaking in through his shirt and skin and seeping into muscle and marrow.

Was his blood aboil? It felt like it.

Roots tore at his abused throat. Would they anchor there, too? Of course they would, with the blood. They always chased where crimson touched air. He was as good as dead, then.

Caleb was there, though — wrapped so tight that he almost strangled Essek all on his own.

"Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe-"

His voice was desperate in Essek's ear. Molten liquid dripped onto his cheek and neck, then Caleb buried his face in Essek's hair.

The world dimmed. It tripped and stumbled out of Essek's grasp. He couldn't tell if his ears were ringing, or if it was the buzz of his coughing. Both?

"Essek," Caleb called as the world slipped away from him, "Essek-"

Then, at last, oblivion.