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1-
She barely notices the ache in her muscles as she sees Vex'ahlia glance back at her for a brief moment, with a look she can't bring herself to decipher in her eyes, though it feels a lot like equal parts pity and hurt she's probably echoing back to her.
Her gaze burns through her in an uncomfortable way, and she rapidly turns away and begins her walk back to her–their– chambers. It doesn't help that her eyes are also his, that her heart betrays her whenever she spots her too quickly, her brain forming his face instead. It doesn't help that it's been mere hours and yet the grief is already raw and all-consuming, suffocating her in a way she can't help but wonder if she will ever breathe normally again.
The castle is dark and quiet, so unlike Vasselheim was when they left, a fact she's glad for. Whitestone is calm and weirdly safe, with its cold, empty hallways allowing her to slump her way through them without needing to appear a certain way to whoever might be watching her. Here, for a moment, she isn't a girl who saved the world, but simply herself, all broken pieces as she wanders in a ghost-like manner.
The only warmth comes from the fur at her side. She tries to softly smile at Trinket, who nudges her in the right direction every time she becomes a little too lost within her jumbled thoughts, but even that comes out strained.
She can't help the embarrassment coursing through her again at what she knows is a gesture born out of pity. Can't help but think of Percy and Vex out in the woods, holding each other close. Can't help the ugly jealousy that plagues her for a moment because it's not fair, and them sending Trinket to her like a child with a safety blanket doesn't really soften the blow. She knows it's irrational and hates herself a little bit for it, but none of that really matches the emptiness she feels inside.
Still, she's grateful for the presence all the same. For having something to hold onto, someone who won't talk to her like everything is normal or try to coach her through her feelings with a look that says I understand. It’s not helpful or soothing, and it won't bring back what was lost, so she cares little for it.
She pauses as she reaches the sets of doors that have been Vox Machina's chambers ever since they helped reclaim the city, and feels a lump in her throat. There is his room, the one he hasn't really used in over a year and will become untouched forever; and there is her room, the one that hosted both of them since they became a unit, not Vax and Keyleth, but Vax and Keyleth.
She opens the second door slowly, unsurely, and is grateful for the lack of personal things stored within the four walls. She knows she will have to face that tomorrow, as Zephrah can't wait, and she honestly can't either, but she feels the reprieve Whitestone gives her for one singular night.
Sitting down on the floor, she feels a shiver go through her spine at the cold touch of it, but she pays it no mind as she gestures to the bear at her side to lie down next to her, and later does the same thing herself. She's aware of the much too big bed in the center of the room, but she can't bring herself to use it. She's aware of her torn and dirty clothes clinging to her form, as well as the ache in her neck from the antlers and the overall exertion of the last few days.
She knows why she won't go near the bed, but she doesn't let herself think of it. She wonders if she should be crying, if that would be the normal thing to do, but she's all cried out and much too exhausted to even consider that train of thought for too long.
She can feel all that's pulling at her heartstrings in the background of her mind, waiting to be addressed, but somehow embraces the numbness instead, staring up at the ceiling and absentmindedly snuggling closer to Trinket as she lets her consciousness slip away.
For a moment, she pretends she's a few years younger, sleeping on the ground while someone else takes watch in the middle of whatever mission they found themselves in. Except it's suddenly much too quiet to really pretend, the lingering awareness of her loneliness weighing on her before she can neatly put it away like she did every other feeling for the night.
Still, in the coldness of Whitestone, she lets exhaustion claim her. On the first night of the rest of her life, she dreams of Vax’ildan.
2-
Nothing could have prepared her to step home alone for the first time.
It was only supposed to be a weekend trip, and then there were cultists, and Briarwoods, and a wannabe god, and the twins’ deaths, and a deal with a goddess, and goodbyes, and Grog missing, and-
With trembling hands, she drops her mantle on a nearby chair, spotting a half emptied mug on the table. His.
The evidence of their domesticity, of his presence in the house, is everywhere, hitting her all at once. Every corner has an object, a memory, a detail intrinsically tied to him, making it impossible for her to even try to carry on normally and pretend he wasn't living here with her mere weeks ago.
There's the spare key in the box near the entrance, the one he never used, as he was always right beside her. There's the spot he always sat on at the couch, where he absentmindedly ran his hand through her hair as she rested her head in his lap in the evenings. A spare shirt is neatly folded on top of the table, waiting to be put away, and, as she walks through the house, another one is crumbled on the floor, the one she had taken off of him the last night that they had stumbled through this very hallway into their room.
Inside the intimate four walls, the curtains are still partly drawn, the bed is unmade, and another mug is placed upon the bedside, this time hers. She vaguely recalls him bringing it to her on that last morning, one of the only ones she had had the luxury of sleeping in rather than rush to some business or another.
She recalls the hushed voices, the laughter, the sun filtering through the window and hitting him just right. If she closes her eyes, she can feel his torso under her hands, the shift in their bodies as she was pressed against the mattress, the ghost of breath on her neck as he pressed kisses against every freckle he could find.
With a shudder, she exits the bedroom and closes the door behind her. She will handle the rest of the house, for now.
Slowly, she starts making her way through the living room, tidying up what she can. She takes the mug and empties its contents in the kitchen sink, cleaning it afterwards. By instinct, as if second nature, she places it in its rightful place on the shelf, even though there's a voice inside her head telling her he will never come back to claim it.
She can't put the folded shirt in the wardrobe, as that would force her to enter the room again. She can't change into sleep clothes either, so she does the only thing she can think of and undresses right there, putting on the clean shirt. She shamefully feels as though she is somehow violating his belongings, his memory, but she pushes through it. The shirt is fresh and smells like soap, so it's easy enough to treat is as just any regular sleep shirt in just any regular night of her life.
She should be ravenous, after the whole journey through Pandemonium and the general lack of self care, but she cannot bring herself to search for a single thing to eat. She guiltily reminds herself she could've stayed for dinner with the others, but remembers Vex’s sickly face and stolen glances between Pike and Scanlan, and is momentarily glad to be home again.
Except it doesn't feel like home, not really, and she doesn't believe any amount of time will be able to change that now, to erase the memories or heal the bleeding wound left behind them.
Sleep doesn't come, even as she curls up on the couch. Zephrah is much too hot, and, now that everything is said and done, the events of the past weeks circle her brain in a never ending loop, until she's tossing and turning, sweaty and fighting for breath, feeling the walls close around her.
She gets up, walking in circles around the house until her right foot gets caught with something. The other shirt, still laying forgotten on the ground. She kneels down to pick it up, but ends up sitting in its place, holding it in her hands. Before she can stop herself, she holds it close and smells it.
It still smells like him, and the familiar sensation hits her like an arrow piercing through her whole body. Clutching it to her chest, she breaks down in sobs, realization hitting her once again that her love is gone, that she will never get to hold him or kiss him again, that she will never hear his voice again; that down the line, when everyone she knows is also gone, she might even forget the details of his face.
She doesn't sleep that night, stays in that spot for hours and hours letting every tear fall until her eyes are puffy and red, trying to get as many whiffs of his smell as she can from the worn out shirt as though she could wish him back by simply feeling his essence around her.
The next day, a raven comes to visit.
3-
The light weight in her arms is soothing and terrifying all at once.
The evening had been easy enough, her eldest niece a familiar and comfortable presence by her side as they both tried to entertain themselves through the seemingly endless waiting. Grog and Scanlan had been somewhere else, entertaining the younger children, a fact Keyleth was secretly glad for. As much as she adored them and doted on them, she found Vesper's pre-teen state infinitely less stressful to manage than that of the excitable toddlers.
She had also tried to check in on Vex, but she was well surrounded by her husband and Pike, with one fussing over her more than the other.
The delivery had been faster than any other, but it had still carried all of them well into the night. After all was done and over with, Vex had happily held her newborn son in her arms for about an hour, just long enough for greetings and first moments together, up until she had, much to her displeasement, passed out from exhaustion. Percy had ushered his children to bed promptly before returning to his wife’s side, and everyone else had migrated to what was technically Pike’s house in the city, but hosted them all in this calm period of their lives.
That had left Keyleth alone in the sitting-room couch, at least until her best friend had peaked his head inside, his newborn baby tucked securely in his arms. It took some convincing for Keyleth to hold him, which wasn't necessarily unusual, as she always fidgeted nervously around a brand new infant, but it somehow held more meaning this time.
In the end, it was the disruption of the three year old twins, who had failed in their attempt to stealth, that made Percy pass the baby to her without a chance to refuse, as he got up and gently nudged them back to sleep before they made a noise that could wake their mother, who was still resting just down the hall.
Which left Keyleth all alone, sitting straight in the moonlit room and staring at the bundle in her arms. Without the chaos of her found family, she’s able to take a moment and observe his peacefully asleep face, the awe that usually comes with this moment momentarily blocked by a pang in her chest that she tries her hardest to shake away.
Vax’ildan. It’s conflicting how fitting it is, and yet how odd at the same time. She feels guilt riddled as she softly caresses his cheek, almost as if asking forgiveness of him in advance, because she dreads the day he grows up to resemble his late uncle even more, fears the possibility of him taking after her love in personality as well as looks, is concerned that she won't be able to look at him as she does his siblings. She knows it is not rational and it is not fair to him, who is all things good and innocent and new to this world, but without the joy of the rest of her family surrounding her, she cannot keep the anxieties at bay.
She doesn't notice that she's crying until Percy comes back, a concerned look on his face as he stares down at her from the doorway, “Keyleth?”
“Sorry,” she goes to wipe her tears rapidly with one hand, shaking her head as if to re-compose herself, “do you want him back?”
“You can keep holding him for a while,” he smiles softly, soundlessly sitting on the couch beside her, a hand placed on her shoulder reassuringly. It is a familiar enough touch that she shouldn't have thought much of it, but in her currently vulnerable state, it kickstarts the tears again, now flowing more freely down her cheeks as she fights for breath.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I-”
“I know,” he cuts before she can ramble with nonsensical, guilt driven apologies, “It wasn't a definite choice, we would've warned you beforehand if it was.”
She nods. “It suits him,” it's only then that she looks down again and notices little eyes peering up at her for the first time, as her nephew wakes from his peaceful slumber and burrows his face closer to her.
“There he is,” Percy's smile is now impossibly wide, with a softness she has seen countless times attributed to his children. She can't help but match it, even as the tears keep streaming down her face silently.
“He doesn't look like you at all,” she says, trying to cling to the lightness they're both offering her, clawing her way from the void that's been festering inside her for over a decade now.
Percy laughs, although it's practically a whisper, “No, he does not,” there is a gravity in the way he says it, an underlying fact they both share, but neither of them are ready to speak out loud just yet, “I think Vex was too delirious to think much of it.”
She hums, looking at the baby again, “I think she's stronger than all of us combined,” she whispers.
“That she is,” he says, a proud smile on his face that she’s grown to appreciate rather than envy. Not for the first time in her life, she's grateful for the blessings her friends have received since that fateful, fatal, dark day. She doesn't think she could hold her head up if not for the knowledge that they were on the path to healing, even if she shamefully felt left behind during her worst days.
There's a few minutes of silence, until he speaks again, “The children want to call him Freddy on the daily.”
That does get a chuckle out of her, countless memories brought back that almost feel like an illusion, as it so often happens when she thinks back on their adventuring days.
“That's perfect,” she says, and feels the tiniest hand reach towards her, though she knows it's most likely him stretching his arm, oblivious to his surroundings but slowly getting used to this new reality. She lets him wrap his hand around her index finger either way, softly tracing his little arm with her thumb.
They stay still, basking in the peaceful silence for what could be minutes or hours, until a set of footsteps snaps their heads up.
“What are you doing up?” Percy says in a panicked whisper, already getting up to wrap an arm around his wife's waist.
“Would you relax? I've birthed four children,” she says, evidently still tired but amused, then looks at the baby in Keyleth’s arms, “Hello, my darling.”
Her smile is wide as she takes him from Keyleth quickly and with ease, and she drops a kiss to his head, cradling him close. “I've missed you so much, forgive my oversleeping. Oh! He's smiling.”
“We've been through this, newborns don't smile,” Percy says, although his tone is light.
“I know when my son is smiling at me,” Vex snaps, not taking her eyes away from the baby for even a second, “and I also know when he's about to get hungry, so you should be glad I'm up.”
Percy chuckles, choosing to respond with a kiss to her shoulder rather than with words, arms still wrapped securely around her.
“You guys are as sickening as usual,” Keyleth teases, leaning back against the couch.
Vex looks at her for a moment, words forming in her lips before she purses them, deciding against it. Whatever she was about to say, Keyleth is glad she didn't, as light-hearted as it would've probably been. She doesn't think she can take a tease back or a reminder, not tonight of all nights, when she's feeling raw and weird and a million things she will probably choose not to unpack, as is customary for her these days.
“You should rest, Key” she says instead, “we're about to be perpetually exhausted for months, especially with the two monsters running laps around their little brother,” she chuckles, “but there's no need for you to be up.”
“I'll go up to my room in a moment,” she lies. She knows the most she can take right now is to slouch in her spot on the couch.
They both raise an eyebrow at her strained smile, in a way Keyleth has seen them do multiple other times, with that trait long-lasting couples have of almost melting into one person. It shouldn't sting, not after so long, but it does.
Still, they nod and say their goodnights to her, leaving the room still interlocked, walking in sync. Keyleth waits for their footsteps to fade before she closes the door and returns to her seat, leaning her head against the cushions and forcing her mind to think about her duties back in Zephrah instead. She runs through her to-do list, thinks about her father, about Derrig, about her upcoming trip to Vasselheim. Anything to keep her away from what-ifs and wishful thinking that will only, inevitably, hurt her more.
It doesn't take very long for her to drift off to sleep, the events and emotions of the day catching up to her. She can't escape in her dreams, though, can't keep them orderly and realistic.
The next morning, she will convince herself the little boy in her dream was her new nephew, forgetting the reddish hair that adorned his head instead of the usual brown all de Rolos sport, or the freckles on his nose, or the grin that could only belong to one other person she's known in her life. The images dissolve in her brain as quickly as they pierced it.
After breakfast, she will leave, returning to her life with a determined pace. She has to.
4-
The first thing she notices as she cracks one eye open is that subtle light is starting to creep through the pitch black sky outside, the transition from night into dawn underway.
Nothing seems unconventional at first when she takes in her surroundings. She's in her room, tucked in bed, though she struggles to recall laying down to rest the night before, or even getting home, for that matter. It's not until she fails to sit up that she starts picking up on details that clue her in on her situation, working like puzzle pieces falling into place.
The sharp pain coursing through her entire body at the motion is a sharp giveaway. But then she notices other things out of place: wraps around her torso, a damp cloth falling from her forehead, a chair next to her bed, curtains drawn halfway as if hurried, her antlers on the shelf instead of at her bedside, a bowl resting on the small table in their place.
The memories of the last twenty-four hours come back rushing, slamming into her faster that she can brace herself for the impact: the solstice, Ludinus, Otohan, Orym, Vax.
“Vax,” she murmurs, a name spoken out loud for the first time in what feels like ages. She can't recall the last time she allowed herself to say it, doesn't know if she indulged in a memory with Vox Machina, if she mentioned him to her father, if she simply spoke it aloud to herself in a moment of quiet, doesn't know if it's been years or decades at this point, or if she echoed it to him while bleeding out on the ground the previous day.
The name falls off her lips easily, far more than she imagined it would, after all, especially considering she usually avoids it as though it's going to haunt her. And it does, even when left unsaid. It haunts her every day of her life.
She stays still in the bed, head throbbing and wounds stinging like electric shocks coursing through her body, as if he was going to appear out of thin air to nurse her back to health, or simply brush her hair back, or reclaim his spot on the other side of the bed she currently resides in.
None of that happens, of course. But it had, hadn't it? He had come to her aid when she needed it the most.
A small part of her, one she would never let anyone in on, wishes he hadn't. In the loneliness of her own room, one that's been far too long to consider theirs anymore, she wishes she had been left in the ground to bleed, and rot, and slip away quietly.
Not for the first time, she imagines him guiding her through the transition from life to death. She wonders if he would appear as him, if he would recklessly steal a kiss from her for one extra, blissful moment, or if he would appear soulless and cold, the picture perfect image of his goddess before her.
She would usually have no trouble wiping these thoughts away before they even start, having grown well versed in the avoidance of it all, but she's having a hard time keeping the cracks from forming in her shaken state.
She painfully becomes aware of the fact that she can just barely recall the sight of him from however many hours before. The effort of it frustrates her. He had been there, materialized in front of her for the first time since he stepped through that portal thirty years ago–since the wedding, actually, but she doesn't allow the memory to pierce through her brain–, and yet it's all a blur to her. She can just barely make out his outline over her in her mind, but she doesn't even know what's real and what's imagined anymore.
She can't even begin to conceptualize the idea of him being trapped in that orb. The heartache of that is enough for her to focus on her current physical pain instead, intentionally shifting her weight to lay on her side so that the burnt of it will wash away every thought, sending her into a mindless, barely concious state once again.
Her father will occupy the chair at her bedside eventually, she knows, and people will wish to speak to her about politics and wizards and world-saving plans. She also hopes Orym and his team will stop by at one point. All of it feels pressing, but her body is actively failing her, her brain fuzzy and unfocused and the pain in her core greater than she recalls since her adventuring days.
With all that, her night stretches into dawn, and then morning, and then noon, and so and so until she's able to stand again.
For the first time in three decades, no raven comes to visit.
5-
The clatter of a glass hitting the ground snaps her from her shell-shocked trance. Glancing ahead, she spots Pike lightly reassuring Grog that it's okay as she helps him pick up the broken pieces from the ground.
On the couch to the end of the room, a ten-year old Gwendolyn sleeps soundly, curled up with her head in her father's lap, who, in turn, has an eyebrow lightly raised towards the twins and Freddy as they sneak drinks from Scanlan. Gwendolyn had been perhaps the most enthusiastic of the children–the rest of them far too grown to be really considered as such anymore, although she thinks they always will as long as their parents live–, but had only had so much time to pester the adults with questions before she started yawning, the late hour getting to her.
And then, of course, there is Vex and Vax, sitting directly to her left and engaged in a hushed conversation she can barely focus long enough to listen to, but seems to carry an intensity and weight to it that she's certain she's not prepared to match.
The sight of them together once again is enough to send her spiralling. They look as right as ever, being meant to sit by side by side, but anyone can spot the cracks if they choose to linger on them. Vex may not have seemingly aged much, her partly elven blood slowing the process down considerably, but seeing her beside her brother, frozen as he was thirty years ago, makes the slight differences hit like a kick in the gut. It keeps Keyleth from the blissful delusion her friend is choosing to wear for the night, and she can't decide if she's envious or glad for it.
She keeps her head straight, only catching their movements out of the corner of her eye, maintaining her line of vision ahead of her. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend it's like any other night, like Percy's birthday a few months ago, when he'd complained that they needn't celebrate it while simultaneously hugging her in gratitude. She can't help but miss what, in hindsight, now seems like an easier time. Before the Apogee Solstice, before they rushed in to rescue Vax from his entrapped space, almost losing his twin too in the process.
A hand squeezes her own, warm. It’s not the one she's dreading, not the one she's longing for. Her niece looks the perfect mix of her parents while training her concerned eyes on her.
“When did you get so grown up?” she jokes, squeezing her hand back, hoping to reassure her that she's fine. After all, she's supposed to comfort her, watch over her, not the other way around.
“You just always look young,” Vesper retorts. It’s true, and it’s still something for her to grapple with, but she knows her family deals with the topic too, in their way. The reminder, even in the form of a joke, throws her off balance for a second, but she doesn't let it show in her face, not to her.
“You should join your siblings,” she chooses to say, instead. Her niece looks past her deep in thought, to the uncle she had never met up until three hours ago but has known all her life. She sees the hesitation in her face and feels it like a mirror reflecting back. Nodding, she gets up and leaves her with a last look, and Keyleth can see the way her shoulders instantly relax when she faces her siblings instead.
She doesn't know how long she sits in silence, simply listening to the overlap of voices around her. All but the two she's desperately trying to block out. She stays still until she feels a small tap of her knee, and shoots up from her seat like she's been burned.
It goes mostly unnoticed in the chaos of the room, at first, except for the two pairs of identical brown eyes gazing up at her from the seats to her left. She gives a small shake of her head before starting to walk towards the door, waving goodbye to Percy and Pike who have by then noticed something amiss as well from their respective spots in the room.
“Keyleth!” she hears as she speeds down the hallway. Her own heartbeat pounding in her ears makes it difficult for her to differentiate the voice. Vax? Vex? She's not sure, can't fully grasp the possibility of the former following her, not when she's woken up every day for decades forced to accept the fact that he was gone and never coming back.
She doesn't realize the footsteps behind her have changed to a sprint, catching up to her, until she feels a hand reach her wrist. Coming to a stop, she realizes how cold it is, and it makes her breath catch in her throat.
“Kiki-”
“Don't,” she says, turning to face him. The hand at her wrist goes still, and then lets go, falling limp to his side.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers, it's almost enough to send her running.
They stay in a momentary awkward silence. Heartbeat pounding in her ears, she allows herself to fully study his face for the first time, though it does not bring her comfort. The visage in front of her looks much too pale and tired, too unlike the face that used to light up every time she entered a room, even if the features are the same.
There's no denying it's him, but a simple look immediately reminds her that he's been at the service of the Matron for over three decades now, devoid of life.
“I just can't,” she runs a hand through her face, “and I know how selfish it is, but-”
“No, no,” he reaches up, seemingly to touch her again, but clasps his hands together instead at the last moment. It's a relief and a punch to the gut all at once. She can't deny the part of her that wishes he would just touch her, that wants to collapse against him and hold him. But she's well aware of the fact that he won't be here in the morning, that he's still gone, technically, that he's not hers to keep. And that kills her, further twists the knife that sits permanently in her heart.
There's so much left unsaid in the space between them, so many conflicting feelings clogging her mind, and yet not enough time to unleash any of them. She knows this. He knows this, which is probably why he steps back away from her.
“Goodnight, Keyleth,” he whispers in resignation, offering the hint of a sad smile.
“Goodnight,” she echoes back to him. She doesn't speak his name, fortifying the invisible wall between them. It is possibly the last word she will ever say to him, and, ironically, she finds herself missing their original goodbye all of those years ago.
He nods and turns away from her. She still watches him go, committing his frame to memory like she had done many times before. Another silhouette stands at the end of the hallway, awaiting for her twin with an arm ready to take his. They fit together perfectly, even after all this time, a reminder that they were born together, and meant to stay together in a parallel, perfect world.
Vex shoots her an apologetic look in the distance, one that Keyleth is too tired to give a response to in any way. She envies her easy compartmentalization, her ability to treat this singular night as a gift and experience it to the fullest, even with the knowledge of how immensely hard the following morning will be.
Keyleth can't see it as a gift, not when it feels like a punishment. A tease, a reminder, the smallest taste to a starved heart before taking it all away again, forever.
The thought locks a new feeling within her, one that's infinitely easier for her to deal with, one she can grasp like a lifeline: anger. Pure, unadulterated, crisp anger coursing hot through her veins, clogging her mind. She doesn't even take notice of her surroundings, moving automatically until she's inside the temple she knows all too well, slamming the door behind her with as much force as she can manage.
The candles aren't lit, but she doesn't bother lighting them. She has never cared to pay respect for the goddess, and she sure as hell wasn't going to start now.
Staring up at the face, her voice comes out like poison, “Why can't you leave him alone?” she exclaims, “When will his service be over? Fifty years? Two hundred years? A thousand?” She curls her fist in a ball, the pressure so great her knuckles turn white.
With a shaky breath, she continues, “You could be gone tomorrow, and you know it. What will you do to him then? Will you release him? Will he d-”
Her voice cuts with a sob, and she brings her hands to her mouth as she shakes, barely keeping herself upright until she inevitably falls, her knees hitting the cold ground beneath her as she cries, her breaths shorter and shorter with each passing second.
She doesn't know how long she stays there, in the empty temple where time seems to stand still. However long after, face puffy with dried out tears, she picks herself up, reassembling the pieces of her heart best she can.
The walk back to her chambers is quiet. She doesn't go back to check on the others, too mentally and physically exhausted to form a single word, and perhaps too terrified of the possibility that he will already be gone again, that she will find a broken Vex’ahlia in his place.
Whitestone had been a source of comfort to her in the past. Tonight, though, she can see its haunted hallways for what they are, passing through rows of portraits of all those lost. She doesn't know how Percy and Cassandra can handle it.
In the morning, as she exits her room, she encounters a singular black feather. Without a second to catch her breath, she knows he’s gone.
+1
For the first time in months, Keyleth wakes slowly, eyes kept closed as she burrows her face on her pillow, curling closer in on herself. That is, until the feeling of an arm by her side startles her awake.
It takes her a split second to remember the night before: the image of him at her doorstep, the uncertainty, the invitation, the bottle of wine they had shared while catching up on years worth of conversations, the kisses traded back and forth, both of them just barely gracing the other with their hands as if scared the illusion would shatter if they pressed too hard.
She tries to keep as still as possible as she adjusts her eyes, not wanting to disturb the sleeping body laying beside her. With the sun filtering through the window, she can finally appreciate the sight of him fully, and is overcome by his presence.
The reality of him hits her all at once, clouding her senses, and yet her traitorous brain cannot help but brace itself for impact, waiting for this all to have been a heavenly dream she would inevitably wake from.
“I'm not going to fly away, you know,” his voice is raspy with sleep and, to some degree, disuse, and he shifts ever so slightly to face her better. She can tell the exact moment his eyes adjust to the light and focus on her, as she sees his whole face soften with an expression that used to be a daily sight for her, many, many moons ago.
“Good morning,” she greets him, still somewhat unsure of how much intimacy is permitted of them right now. But they promised they would explore it together, so she reaches a hand towards him, hoping he will take it.
He does, and gives it three squeezes. She knows what it means: I love you. She squeezes back.
They stay in peaceful, comfortable silence for a few minutes, until she drops his hand to lay on her stomach instead, closer than before, observing him.
Realization strikes her “You're blushing,” awe overtakes her, and she's certain she must look so stupid as she softly traces his face with a finger, which only makes the skin under her fingertip flush a darker shade of red, “You couldn't do that before.”
“Maybe you were just sitting too far from me,” he responds, a smile tugging at his lips.
“I was sitting next to you all evening.”
“Mh, too far,” he teases, fully smirking now.
“How about now?” her tone is light, still awestruck as she shifts impossibly closer, to the point where she's almost fully situated on top of him, sneaking leg in between his.
Whatever he was planning to say dies in his lips as she presses hers against them, tentatively, softly, like they're relearning each other after all their time spent apart.
“I can't believe you're here,” he says against her lips.
She laughs softly, “You can't believe it? I can't believe you're here.”
“You know what I mean,” he replies, pulling her in for another kiss, after which she leans her head down, just low enough to feel his heartbeat against her cheek. He wraps his arms around her.
“How mad do you think your sister is going to be that we didn't go to them immediately?” she asks, a mere murmur against his chest.
He laughs, the sound so carefree and wonderful that she feels like her heart is going to burst out of her chest at any moment, the vibration of his body under hers a reminder that he is here, and he is alive, “We’ll just say I showed up later today.”
With that, they lay together longer, basking in the warmth of each other's bodies.
It's not until she receives a knock at her door that they get up. She politely informs that she will be taking a trip to Whitestone in the afternoon, and that she has personal things to sort through until then. She does wonder if she should stop by her childhood home on the way, but leaves the thought hanging, waiting for her to figure out when it's time.
For now, she shows him the small changes she made to the place during their separation, watching as he almost sheds tears over her keeping some of his things in the wardrobe. His smile is infectious as she hands him the mug he always used to drink out of every morning, and if he sees it's been broken and put together since, he doesn't comment on it.
They still have about a million things they need to discuss, some more lighthearted, some harder. But they also have time for once. For the first time in their relationship, there isn't a clock ticking in the background, only them figuring out the rest of their lives together, like they had always wanted.
For the first time in forever, Keyleth feels hopeful, the air in her lungs lighter than it's been in decades, replacing the clouding smoke that had seemed to follow her like a permanent fixture in her grief.
Perhaps they're not exactly the people they were thirty odd years ago. Perhaps some pieces still need to be stitched back together, or some are too broken to do so, but they will try to navigate everything together. As she looks at him, she has no doubt in her mind that they will keep moving forward, together.
Forever, and ever and always.