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Zevlor couldn’t look at him. "I wish under better circumstances." |
His hands came to Yuta’s biceps, avoiding getting bloodied hands in the black hair cascading his shoulders. He hesitated. The cleric who gave him a coquettish, hopeful look, but he gently pushed Yuta away. |
"I..." he took a deep breath. "Owe you an explanation." |
The cleric had been curious, yes, as to what initially caused Zevlor to suddenly abandoned the very people he had been protecting all this time. Though, Yuta also didn’t want to hear it. He bit into his cheek, bracing for the worst. |
"But, please, first... The others. Please tell me they survived." |
"Yes, they found refuge. A few were taken, but we rescued them, too. Rolan fought off your attackers, but... Ikaron and Tilses didn’t make it. A – a few other I didn’t recognize. Hellriders, I think." |
Zevlor sighed, chewing his lip. |
"You’ve heard some of it, I’m sure. That I froze or... Broke. Or some other lie that is kinder than the truth." |
Yuta tried to comfort him, offering a hand to his cheek, but he stopped it, taking Yuta’s hand. Now was not the time for coddling, not a showcase of paramourship. |
Zevolr straightened his gait, regaining an authoritative tone. Emotion pushed aside. "We were ambushed by cultists, yes, but then I heard... Her. The Absolute. Their false god... She whispered such sweet promises into my mind. That I would be a paladin again, with a god’s purpose, a god’s power," he thrust his fist. "Everything I needed to protect my people." He looked down at his hands. He was a skilled fighter, yes. But no god behind him. No oath to fulfill. No order bound to. He was purposeless. Aimless. Dispirited, he continued, "All the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, they ran... They died around me while I imagined myself their savior. I didn’t just surrender to the Absolute. I welcomed it" |
Disgust and disappointment stained his sharp features. |
Through the tieflings he called his people, he could vicariously find purpose through them. This was meant to be the final mission of his Hellrider status. He must fulfill his duty, even at the cost of his life. His mind. His body. His soul. How cruel the Absolute was to nearly take away his purpose. His exile would have been for naught. A better hero would have seen them to safety. For that, at least, he could be thankful. |
Yuta placed a hand on his breastplate, over the golden scales of the Hellrider uniform. |
"You were controlled. Twisted," Yuta excused, shaking his head. |
Zevlor placed a hand over his. |
"It’d be nice to think so, my love. But whatever they twist begins in us. I cannot make amends. Not for this. But I can aid you. If you’ll still have me." |
The Cleric pecked the corner of his mouth with a chaste kiss. |
He had fought through literal Hells and back – life for him was always a mess of gore and hurt. His thumb wiped a smear of gore from Yuta’s indigo face – a knowingly vain attempt in the bowls of an Illithid nest covered in blood, viscera, and whatever grotesque sap they soaked in the pods. But he found comfort in Yuta’s lips, if only for the moment. |
"Go. I’ll make sure everyone here is safe." |
Zevlor couldn’t help a bit of selfishness. He kept the necklace hidden beneath his breastplate, hand coming up to press against it. If he died before reaching Baldur’s Gate, at least he could have a piece of Yuta with him. He didn’t notice the pale glow it emitted, hidden under his armor. |
Zevlor was able to gather the few he could find. Harpers, mostly, but a few other Hellriders that had me them on the way to Moonrise. His former underlings. They called him Commander. He refused the title. He was not a Hellrider anymore. |
They marched on. Careful, as the shadows were still strong, even as they began to dissipate. Careful, as creatures of the darkness still wandered the overgrown roads. |
The road to Baldur’s Gate was ahead. |
Zevlor chewed his cheek. His nose scrunched. His fist clenched. |
He wished he could have led his people here. He hoped they made it safely. His final mission, his last duty was a complete and utter failure. |
Still. He marched onward. The rescued Harpers and Hellriders were still under his charge. He could still save someone. |
The sky began to clear. It faded from black, to midnight, and eventually, the sunset – or was it sunrise? – glowed in the distance. |
Zevlor felt his knees tremble. Rivington. Wyrm’s Crossing. Not yet the Gate. |
A pat on his shoulder from a fellow Rider. Everyone came out of the darkness, washed over by light. One Harper sank to her knees, clawing the ground. |
They made one final camp, as they realized the sun was setting, not rising. One more dark to live through, then light can finally come again. |
Come first light, all were too restless, too eager, to stay any longer. Zevlor had gathered what coin he had left from his soldiering days, splitting it amongst the remaining Hellriders. The Harpers had homes, families, to return to. The Hellriders had no one but each other. |
"It isn’t much," he admitted, "but its enough for a room and some fresh food. Tilly would have... Tilly wanted to join the Watch. Enlist with them, if you feel the call." |
"What about you?" one asked. |
"I’m done soldiering," he said simply. |
"Go. You have your whole lives ahead of you. Do some good." |
They wanted to ask what he was going to do. Without gold, without family, without home. But he ushered them forward. He didn’t let them say goodbye. |
He looked at his camp. His meager tent. He could find work, he was sure, in Baldur’s Gate. Something calm. In all honesty he hadn’t thought this far ahead, certain he would die on the way. Or perhaps... |
His hand tightened on his sword. No. A coward’s way out. But, at times, he felt cowardly. |
A pang ached his heart. Were the others here? Would they even want to see him? He only wanted to know if they were safe. What of Yuta? Would his fawn want to see him? Would the diminishing threat, the eventual saving of the world he knew Yuta and his friends could accomplish – would it make the young tiefling realize he was wasting his time with a bothersome, burdensome old goat like Zevlor? |
He felt something bump his leg. |
He looked down, seeing the goat he had rescued from the Spire. |
"Oh?" He crouched down to it as it hopped up and down. "How did you make it out here?" He asked rhetorically, in a soft and kind voice. "You’re brave for making it this far. You must have gotten that from Yuta." |
He picked up the goat, cradling it. |
"Where’d the damn goat get off to?" |
Zevlor looked up, seeing Astarion creep from over the hills. Behind him the rest of the party as they were carrying their things. Their white dog – Scratch – came up and barked. Zevlor flinched as he saw, and remembered, they had an owlbear with them. The goat bleated and scrambled out of his arms, jumping and meeting the other animals, hopping around as the owlbear bumped its feathery head against it, mimicking a headbutt. |
Wyll and Karlach’s eyes lit as they saw Zevlor, beaming brightly. |
"It is good to see the ghaik has not yet burst through your skull," Lae’zel... complimented? |
Zevlor couldn’t get a word in before he was dragged into a near spine-crushing hug, lifted off the ground by Karlach. |
Wyll patted his shoulder as he recovered from Karlach’s warm-bodied affection. |
"Gods it feels so good to finally do that!" She exclaimed. |
"I had no doubt a man of your caliber could make it out of the darkness. Your light shines brighter than any shadow-curse," Wyll declared. |
Zevlor rubbed the back of his neck, tail flicking appreciatively. |
"You just missed the other tieflings," Wyll continued. "They made it. They finally made it." |
"They have all of you to thank." |
Wyll squeezed his shoulder. |
"You ushered them from Elturel, from the Hells. We can’t take all the credit. You filled them with hope. With strength. We shepherded them after you, for you. They deserve it. And so do you." Wyll gestured his palm to Wyrm’s Crossing, and to the Gate. "You’re free, too." |
Zevlor’s breath shook. |
"But I think someone deserves your time a little more than us." Wyll gently elbowed Karlach as her tail wildly, excitedly, swung, careful not to thwap Astarion as he and others continued forward. |
"So the old goat can still navigate in the dark. Lucky for him." |
Yuta stood before him, a ways away, waiting for everyone to disperse. He looked to Zevlor with a barely-contained joy, head bowed somewhat, hands tightly gripped together. |
Zevlor brushed past the group to him. Overwhelmed, he embraced the cleric who in turn nearly clawed at him, clinging to him tightly. |
Neither spoke. Only clutching the other as though shadows, cultists, mindlfayers could tear them apart any moment, faces buried in the other’s neck. |
Reluctantly they pulled away, just enough to look at the other. Yuta’s hand caressed Zevlor’s cheek, over the ridges of his cheekbone, fingertips skirting into his hair. Zevlor kissed his palm, brows knit as he tried with great difficulty to fend off the slurry of emotions that threatened to spill. Kissed his wrist, his fingers. |
Zevlor grit his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut as he buried his nose into Yuta’s palm. |
"You’ve made it," Yuta repeated in a soothing whisper. |
Zevlor’s breathing wavered. He arched down into Yuta, clutching his arm with both hands, barely staving off the threads that held him together. His shoulders, his knees began to shake. Yuta slowly pulled him closer, downward into the grass on their knees, kissing his brow between his horns. A red hand came to cover his yellow eyes, fighting back the sting of tears. Zevlor’s tail curled around the both of them. Yuta held him, soothing the back of his neck, cradling his head. He hummed a gentle song, one he wasn’t sure he even heard before. |
He didn’t realize it was something old, something ancient, flitted across the ages, a gift from the Scribe of the Dead. A subtle thing, soft and lilt. |
They stayed like that a few minutes more, given privacy by their peers. |
Zevlor sat up straighter, wiping his face from tears. |
"Gods," he began. "You didn’t come here to hush me like a babe." |
"It was nice to hold you, all the same." |
Zevlor smiled, though abashed by his behavior. |
His eyes flittered down, his hands came up behind his own neck, unclasping the necklace he hid in his breastplate. He pulled it out, handing it to Yuta. |
The blue fawn’s eyes grew wide and bright, rivaling Selûne’s celestial orb. |
He rubbed his cheek against the cool metal before looking up at his infernal savior. |
"Rolan said you went to the Spire. That you... killed them." |
Zevlor chagrined. "I should have asked if that’s even what you wanted. I didn’t even think. They were your parents, and I—" |
"I’m grateful." |
Yuta took his hands, clasping the necklace between them. |
"I’m so grateful. I wasn’t very worried about them coming for me. But I’m relieved all the same. They can rot for all I give a damn." |
"Your father wasn’t a Paladin," Zevlor cut through. He was particularly drawn to outing him as a charlatan, anger threatening to boil in his stomach. He shook his head. "He was pathetic. He didn’t even know how to fight. How to hold a sword. He used his image, his power over you and your mother as patriarch of his pathetic, phallic blight. All for control. I’m... Sorry you ever had to live with such godless garbage." |
Yuta was quiet. Holding Zevlor’s hands. He... Didn’t know how to fight? Could Yuta have escaped all this time? Thirty years of his entire life, stuck in a tower like some Cormyrian fairytale, and he could have... left? |
"All this time, I..." |
"No. Don’t do that." Zevlor cupped his face, making them lock eyes. "I know all too well of what ifs and if only I could have known. It’s trapping. The worst for your heart, for your mind. You were lied to all your life. That is not your fault. And there was real danger. I would never blame you for enduring. Do not blame yourself." |
He stared, fiercely determined, almost too tightly squeezing Yuta’s face as though it’d physically sink the words into his skull. |
The cleric nodded. Zevlor looked to the animals as they chased each other around the field, annoying a few passers-by. |
"Good. I... See you found the goat I saved. Many of them were frail, diseased. That one, though, just needs a good diet, maybe check for worms. But he’s been fattening up." Zevlor looked to Yuta. "He looks so much healthier now." He stroked the cleric’s corvidian black hair, admiring its shine. |
"Do you have somewhere to stay?" |
"Admittedly... No. I do not. I honestly didn’t think I’d make it here alive. I only needed the others to make it, not me." |
"I’m glad you made it." |
Camping near the Gate wasn’t all that bad. It was a bit noisy, noisier than Zevlor had anticipated after sleeping out in the quiet countryside for so long. But not as noisy as Avernus. |
He awoke with a start often, however, hearing a loud clang in the distance from the Steel Watch patrol, or the clacking of boots on cobblestone – just civilians trying to make due, not bandits nor goblins on the road. |
His hand came to his brow, rubbing it as he tried to settle his heart, breathe in, breathe out. The world around felt too far away, distant and muffled. He jumped, a hand touching him. |
"Sorry," Yuta whispered. "You’re awake, again." |
Zevlor frowned. He didn’t mean to burden the other with his own troubles. |
Yuta urged him to lay back down, limbs tangled together, tails curled around their waists. |
Yuta’s hand fell to Zevlor’s chest, whispering infernal, calm. |
The pale pink glow settled in his ribs, drifting across his body. In an instant, it melted away. He sighed with great relief. |
The times Yuta didn’t wake, he sat up quietly waiting for it to pass. Sometimes, it didn’t. Sometimes, it kept him up all night. He knew in his mind they were in little danger. Each of them were perfectly capable warriors. But still, his body reacted without him, heart beating hard against his ribs, unable to stifle it even as he tried to close his eyes and sleep, feeling tighter and tighter as though walls enclosed around him. What if I don't wake up? What if something happens and I remain asleep? What if I woke up to blood? |
Yuta noticed he seemed tired. Those days, he had Zevlor stay in camp while some of the others scouted Baldur’s Gate for their varying needs and entangled quests. |
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