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iatethepomegranate · 5 months

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We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 36

After Aeor, Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns to be a person separate from the trauma that shaped his life for so long, and begins the arduous process of preventing what happened to him from happening to anyone else. It gets far more personal than even he could have anticipated.

Chapter content warnings: References to deceased parents, grief, references to child abuse (Volstrucker program)

Chapter summary: Essek prepares to flee Rexxentrum while Caleb brings Nico back to the Academy for the first time.

Chapter notes: Chapter title from North by Sleeping At Last. I come back literally just before the new year arrives in my time zone. Hello!

***

Chapter 36: Though the storms will push and pull, we will call this place our home

“That’s some serious afterglow you’ve got going on, man,” Beauregard said, mouth full of bacon, in lieu of a greeting as soon as he found her in the kitchen back home.

“Yes, you seem very relaxed,” Yasha agreed, coming in from the garden with a basket full of root vegetables; Caleb suspected Caduceus had been working a bit of his magic on them to grow a little faster than usual.

“Where’s your boy?”

“Quick stop in Uthodurn,” said Caleb, swiping a rasher from Beauregard’s plate; she swatted his hand but made no real effort to stop him. “Apparently Reani has been wanting a specific kind of leather traded on the coast. He should be here in a few hours.” Caleb had almost gone with him, but felt a pressing need to take today slow. As good as he felt right now, tomorrow had the potential to be intense. He felt a little proud of making the choice to take care of himself; if that pride felt a lot like his friends’ voices, that was his business.

Yasha added a few more rashers to Beauregard’s plate. “Would you like eggs, Caleb?”

Veth had, of course, fed him before he left, but Yasha liked to practise her cooking. “Ja, bitte. Dealer’s choice.”

Eggs over easy today. The first one came out a little more solid than it should have been, but the second had a perfect, runny yolk inside. Caduceus had ultimately won her over to adding some wilted greens on the side and, of course, two slices of yesterday’s bread, gently toasted.

Caleb was full to bursting by the end of it. And to think, it was not much longer than a year ago when having a single breakfast was not guaranteed… let alone two.

He brought a plate to Nico’s room when Yasha had finished stuffing him. Nico was up and dressed, curled over his spellbook at the little desk in the corner. He was distracted easily enough by the smell of bacon.

While Nico ate, Caleb traced over the teleportation circle in his study. They’d had a few setbacks with it, so it would likely take longer than originally planned. One day, though. It wouldn’t stop him worrying about Essek, but at least reliable teleportation would take one worry off his plate.

Caleb moved to the lesbians’ living room to tidy up the runes of a few more recent spells in his spellbook; without the daily excitement of adventuring, his power grew slower, even as he had more time in the day to study. But… he was getting close to a breakthrough. It would take a little while longer, but one day… he would very much like to turn into a dragon. Nico sat with him, practising the spells Caleb had taught him.

Beauregard left for work, just as a disguised Essek stepped inside, carrying a little wooden box. He set it on the couch and began to unload… balls of wool? Knitting needles? The beginning of what looked like a scarf?

“Ooh, what do you have there?” Yasha asked, looking up from the pair of socks she was mending for Beauregard. Caleb expected they would announce their engagement any day now.

“You know, you are supposed to finish knitting before you go somewhere cold,” said Nico.

Essek dropped his disguise, just in time to gaze down his nose at Nico in a loose facsimile of the way he had always looked while floating, once upon a time. “I have been… given a project.”

“Reani, I assume?” said Caleb.

“Mm-hm.” Essek, endearingly, gazed at the collection with utmost confusion. “She suggested weaving, first, but… that is not so portable.”

Caleb could see where she had gotten that idea. Essek’s casting was elegant, elaborate, artful. Manipulating the weave with his fingertips, as they both did… but with Essek, his somatics were on another level entirely. A skill developed in an ivory tower, whereas Caleb’s somatics were much more efficient, pared down to their base elements.

“Everyone needs a hobby,” Nico murmured, already back to his studies. “Supposedly.”

Essek settled onto the couch and picked up the proto-scarf. “Yes. Well. We will find out if I am any good at it.”

He probably would be, given the level of focus he dedicated to spellwork. But, knowing Essek, he would become frustrated if he was not immediately perfect. The memory of Essek’s little frown whenever something did not quite go his way made Caleb duck his head back over his spellbook, lest Essek see his little smile and know exactly where his mind had gone.

The shock of Essek attempting to develop a normal hobby soon dissipated and everyone went back to their tasks, but Caleb watched Essek out of the corner of his eye. The knitting needles softly clicked as Essek picked up where he had left off, tongue held between his teeth. Caleb had to fight the urge to kiss him senseless.

He behaved himself until it was late enough to justify going to bed that evening. Then, he convinced Essek to put down the knitting. Just for a bit.

***

The week began anew. Caleb woke, slowly at first, his head in Essek’s lap. Then, with a jolt, he remembered what lay in store for him today.

“Scheisse,” he hissed, but Essek put a hand on his chest before he could sit up. The hand slid upwards to Caleb’s collarbones, right at the base of his throat, thumbnail gently grazing the hollow there. Caleb closed his eyes and breathed. There was no rush. He wasn’t late. But it was hard not to be in constant motion at times like this.

Essek scooped him up, making a valiant effort to nuzzle the top of Caleb’s head despite Caleb being quite a bit taller than him. “You will give me the highlights, yes?”

“Natürlich.” He felt lighter… and not as a metaphor for his internal turmoil. Essek had reduced his density so they wouldn’t topple over backwards. Caleb curled up like a cat for a bit, until his body’s need to piss spurred him back into motion.

In the process, it occurred to him that Essek would have to leave very soon. Lingering as long as he had was ill-advised. Caleb was stabilising a bit; he would be okay without near-constant supervision from Essek and the Nein. It would not be fair to keep Essek in Rexxentrum for much longer, given the proximity to the Assembly and the scrutiny that entailed.

Essek was dressed when Caleb returned, kneeling on the floor to sort through the contents of his own vault of amber. It had been one of the first spells he had learned from Caleb during their time in Aeor, as it was more reliable than his previously-used Leomund’s Secret Chest, which tended to become increasingly unstable after 60 days.

Frowning a little, Essek plucked a pair of silvery earring studs from a small box and affixed them to his lobe piercings. Caleb leaned against the doorframe and watched him. He went simple today, just adding a pair of filigree ear cuffs to the tips of his ears. Essek tapped a nail against his tin of pomade for a moment before seemingly deciding against styling his hair with it today. Instead, he rearranged his collection of clothing, jewellery and other comforts within the set of amber chunks and began to ritually seal them back away. The pile looked a little bigger than it had last time Caleb had seen it; Essek was typically ready to run at a moment’s notice, but that signalled a greater disquiet than usual.

If Caleb hadn’t needed him, Essek probably would have departed the continent weeks ago, at least for a bit.

“The Nein Heroez would be happy to have you,” Caleb reminded him, digging through his drawers for clean clothes. He had his own go bag stashed there, but he hadn’t felt a strong urge to grab it and run since Trent was finally put away. He still had moments where old instincts threatened to take over, just a little bit, but he had been able to logic his way out of it most of the time. When that failed, Beauregard knew how to talk sense into him.

Essek hummed in acknowledgement, too focused on the spell for a substantive response. Caleb washed his face and trimmed his beard while he awaited the inevitable conversation. Maybe now wasn’t the best time, given what lay in store today, but he would feel better with certainty on this, at least. By the time Essek finished, Caleb was halfway dressed. Essek came up behind him, brushed Caleb’s loose hair aside, and pressed his cheek against his bare back, squeezing his middle. Caleb crossed his arms over Essek’s, squeezing back.

“I admit…” Essek sighed, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “I am getting nervous.”

“I know,” Caleb said softly.

Essek kissed his spine between the shoulder blades. “I don’t want to leave you, but if I ever want to return…”

“I know.” Caleb turned, taking Essek’s face in his hands. “I’m all right, Essek.” He understood, with painful clarity, what being on the run meant. It had been his life for years. So, he kissed Essek, and told him, “This is not our first rodeo, ja? We will talk as we always do, and you will bring back something interesting for us to argue about, okay?”

Essek’s cheeks darkened, and his frown lost purchase in favour of a sheepish little smile. “I’ll do my best, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb never tired of the way his chosen name flowed across Essek’s tongue. He kissed him again. “When are you leaving?”

The clouds returned to Essek’s expression. “Tomorrow, if that is all right. If you would like to meet after the support group, we can make that happen away from the Empire, but I think too many eyes will be upon you in Rexxentrum.” Essek turned his head to kiss Caleb’s palm. “I will go to the Nein Heroez for a bit. Jester has threatened to paint my nails again.”

“Frightening.” Caleb felt a little better for having that settled.

Essek pressed against Caleb’s front, nuzzling his chest hair. An endless point of fascination, given drow grew very little body hair at all. “When do you need to leave today?”

Caleb’s rude awakening had given him a little extra time. “We can spare a few minutes.”

***

Nico joined Caleb for the trip to the academy, citing the need to reacquaint himself with it before going back to class. They passed through the market on the way, where Lisbeth gave both of them hard candies and ruffled Nico’s hair.

“I will return home at the end of the week,” she told them in Zemnian. “You both better visit!”

Nico had laughed sheepishly at the time, rubbing the back of his neck. When they left the market, he veered into a back alley and doubled over, hands on knees, to hyperventilate for a few seconds. Caleb put a grounding hand on his back.

“Scheisse,” Nico muttered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I used to babysit her grandkids. She used to babysit me when Mother and Father were…” Nico went very still for three seconds. “That was a lot.”

Caleb made a mental note to check back with Lisbeth later, to see if she had anything left to make Nico’s dormitory more comfortable. He remembered, vividly as always, how hard he had cried when the Nein had bought him a quilt from her.

For now, “Drink some water, Nico.”

Nico grabbed the waterskin tied to his belt and took a hearty swig, roughly wiping his mouth. “Fuck. How do you deal with that?”

Caleb couldn’t help but chuckle ruefully. “I cried like a baby after I met her the first time, and I don’t remember her from my childhood. You are dealing with it very well.”

“I will take your word for it,” Nico muttered. He took a few deep breaths. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They continued towards the Shimmer Ward. Nico watched their surroundings closely. Like Caleb, the wonder had long left his gaze, to be replaced by nostalgia. It was an odd look on someone so young, but Caleb supposed every Volstrucker was aged by their experiences. Nico was the last one to complete the training. The last one, Caleb hoped, who would have to carry the consequences of the end result.

Sadness was Caleb’s oldest companion by this point. He had learned long ago banishing it wouldn’t work. It was here. This was very much a sad moment, watching Nico go through those same feelings Caleb had… and still did. He breathed with it and let it be there.

“I used to love it here,” Nico said softly.

“Ja,” Caleb agreed. They passed by Camarouth Cottage and its beautiful yellow stone exterior. The memory of how fucking frightened Caleb had been when the Nein stayed there was hard to shake, but he could objectively appreciate the architecture and the gardens… and remember how good the food had been.

They didn’t talk much after that, each lost in their own memories, until they reached the academy grounds. There, Nico faltered, taking in the manicured lawns and the towers and bridges and the students milling about before the morning’s classes. Not too many at this time of day, but Caleb recognised a handful of the beginners.

Micha clocked Nico from the shaded alcove where they had been chatting with Margie (human, she/her, Karmordah) and Ella (gnome, she/her, Hupperdook). They streaked across the perfect grass and flung themself into Nico’s waiting arms, babbling in rapid-fire Zemnian. From what Caleb could pick up, given their face was squished into Nico’s jacket, Micha was chewing him out for going missing, and for stressing Felix out, and for not talking to Micha when they were in Blumenthal, and for a whole host of things for which Caleb had no context.

Nico sighed and patted their head. “Yes, I missed you, too.”

And then Micha started sobbing into Nico’s jacket, which Caleb took as his cue to leave. Nico mouthed fuck you, but Caleb shrugged and kept walking. As he approached the front doors, he sent Nico a message:

“Kaspar’s parents will be here shortly, but I’m sure Professors Weber or Winterheart will offer up their offices if you need to get Micha somewhere indoors.”

Nico replied, “Not helpful, Caleb. Fuck you.” There was no hostility in his tone, however. “Call me if Kaspar or Annike give you any trouble.”

Caleb had tried not to express his nerves too much around Nico regarding this meeting, but he should have known he would have picked up on it. The offer was appreciated, even if Caleb had no intention of dragging Nico into this unless absolutely necessary. The young man had quite enough on his plate today.

Not that Caleb felt any better-equipped, but that feeling had not stopped him in a long time. Sometimes, things simply needed to be done, no matter how you felt about being the person to do them.

***

He encountered Astrid lounging in his desk chair. He sighed at her.

“Guten Morgen, Astrid.”

She smirked up at him. “Now that your man has fucked the anxiety out of you, I have some final pieces of advice for your meetings today.”

Caleb, resigning himself to being a visitor in his own office for the moment, flopped into one of the guest seats on the wrong side of the desk. “I appreciate your help.”

Astrid handed him a sheet of paper. “Memorise this information about Bysaes Tyl and Kaspar’s mother. The Assembly does not think much of her, or anyone from the city, but she is a diplomat for her people and deals with Rexxentrum regularly. Not the ambassador, technically, but she is quite young for an elf. She has time to work her way up, if marrying a human from Rexxentrum hasn’t killed her career prospects. Which it might, at least until he dies.”

Caleb scanned the page. Valhana Ta’nes was a cultural attaché, some kind of diplomat who was on paper tasked with managing cultural exchange between Bysaes Tyl and the rest of the Empire.

“We have long suspected their cultural attachés are also spies,” said Astrid. “The elves of Bysaes Tyl are protective of their culture, but are smart enough to exchange just enough to stay in the Empire’s good graces.”

“Nico did mention it was strange Trent would go for someone as well-connected as Kaspar,” Caleb murmured, reading over the rest of the notes. Valhana had shown some magical aptitude herself, but tended to favour weaving it through music or speech. A bard, then.

Astrid hummed, twiddling with one of Caleb’s quills. “Ja, Trent was quite convinced she’s a sleeper agent. Marrying a human and having a half-elf child are not well-regarded in Bysaes Tyl, so it is likely she has been promised political protection or career progression if she does her time in the muck with the rest of us.”

“And if you convince her own son he owes loyalty to the Empire…”

“Trent worked very hard on that boy.” Astrid laid the quill aside and lifted herself from Caleb’s chair. “Kaspar was born in Bysaes Tyl but has spent a lot of time in Rexxentrum. His loyalties were muddled, as one might expect.” She squeezed Caleb’s shoulder as she passed on her way to the door. “Do try not to turn him entirely against us, Bren.”

“No promises,” Caleb muttered.

And then she was gone.

#shadowgast #critical role #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #cr2 #professor widogast #my fics #ao3 #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic

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iatethepomegranate · 8 months

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We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 34

Chapter content warnings: lengthy discussion of grief and deceased parents, references to child abuse and brainwashing (so, Caleb-typical backstory)

Chapter summary: Caduceus reminds everybody that he is, effectively, a magic grief counsellor. Caleb, sitting in his heartbreak, conjures the ghosts of his past for Jester. Beau consensually reads another person's letter.

Chapter notes: Chapter title from Saturn by Sleeping At Last. Please accept my apologies for the length absence. Full chapter note on AO3.

***

Chapter 34: You taught me the courage of stars before you left

Caleb took a deep breath in the quiet of the salon, hearing nothing but the soft crackle of the fireplace. He sank to the rug in front of the flames and put his head in his hands. He was so tired. He could not imagine ever sleeping again.

Soon enough, and not unexpected, the footfalls of another person filled the space. “Hey.”

Caleb filled his uncooperative lungs with air. “Hallo, Herr Clay.”

“Mind if I sit?”

“Nein, my house is your house.”

A smile in Cadeuceus’s voice. “That’s nice.”

Caleb steeled himself and swivelled to face him. Caduceus took the couch Caleb had slept on so many times during the study trip to Aeor, when he had needed the assurance of another’s presence, long before he and Essek had ever shared a bed. Caduceus was watching him, of course, with that gaze that stripped you down to your base components. So this was a serious conversation, then.

“What’s on your mind?” Caleb asked, the impulse to just get this over with warring against the urge to get out of here before any more layers of his sanity could be pulled away tonight.

“Mister Caleb, do you know how many funerals I have seen in my life?”

“A lot, I imagine. Why do you ask?”

“How many have you seen?”

“A few. Not so many..” A handful in his childhood, the makeshift burial they had given to Mollymauk and every time they drank to him thereafter.

“What do you think is the point of them?”

“Um. Well, I suppose the, uh, deceased do not get much out of it.”

The corner of Caduceus’s mouth quirked upward. “You’re right. Funerals are for the living. Of course, you follow the rites based on the culture and worship of the deceased, but they have already passed on. A good funeral gives their loved ones a chance to close that chapter of their lives.”

“To say goodbye, ja.”

“Yeah, and to reflect on the time they had with that person, to remember they are grieving because of the love they shared. And to understand that, no matter the end, it mattered.”

Caleb struggled with that last bit sometimes. He tried. He really tried.

“It’s only one step in a long process,” continued Caduceus. “Tell me something, Caleb.”

Caleb… was a little busy keeping the steel of his emotional barrel intact. Or keeping the flames inside him from spilling out. Fucking metaphors.

Caduceus folded himself forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What are you mourning?”

Caleb thought back to the stew, the quark, the chives. The green beans. To the Baumanns’ funeral, to familiar and unfamiliar faces, to headstones old and new. To memories of ash and dust, weeks and months and years old. The smell of apple tarts on the wind. Illusory silhouettes against flame. False memory with real consequences. Gaps where no memory could find purchase, and the uneasy gratitude for that void. Inky letters, some tearstained, some shaky, some precise and unyielding. Of plans, desperate hopes, desperate stubbornness. Of time. New hopes, new setbacks, new goals, yet always the possibility of a second chance. The weighing of consequences and that desperate burning need to make it right. Of letting go. Going home. Trying to grow around the chasm where his heart was meant to be.

Caduceus was still looking at him, eyes firm in response to whatever he had seen on Caleb’s face. “Tell me, Caleb… when did you accept that your parents were really gone?”

It was not a pretty answer, but he knew what it was. “After the T-Dock. That second time.”

“A few months ago, then.” Caduceus sank to the floor in front of him, his eyes betraying the grim satisfaction of a man who had just confirmed what he already knew. “You went to see them afterward, yeah?”

“Ja.”

“You know…” Caduceus rested his back against the seat, pulling one knee up. He still took up most of the space between them. “Every so often, some time after a burial, a loved one will come to the Grove. Someone who was, for some reason–estrangement, usually–not there when it happened.”

Caleb felt his patience beginning to fray. Or, perhaps more accurately, what little calm he had gathered. The rope suspending him above the ravine of yet another breakdown.

Caduceus breathed deeply. “There is a part in all of us that expects we will one day bury our parents. That goes beyond outliving them. They brought us into the world, and we expect to care for them when they leave it.”

The reminder was unwelcome. He didn’t want to snap at Caduceus, but, gods , he was close.

“But, not everyone can do that. You brought them the letters?”

Caleb nodded, not sure he was in the mood to be comforted, or whatever the fuck Caduceus was trying to do.

“We had all kinds of stories come through the Grove. Part of what we do is listen, after all. How long were you writing those letters?”

It occurred to Caleb that he had never told anyone outright, though he supposed Essek would have some idea. “Oh, about five years. On and off.” He hadn’t started right away; it had taken some time to regain enough control of his faculties to think clearly enough about what he wanted. Letters had been part of the plan early on, though he hadn’t been wholly sure about it at the start. There had been times where his existence had been so monotonous in bare subsistence that he couldn’t bear to waste paper and ink to bore his mother and father. Then, of course Veth and the rest of the Nein had happened, and everyday had been a new experience that he ached to share.

“Five years of letters.” Caduceus leaned forward a little, suddenly intense. “What an incredible gift for them, Caleb. Truly.”

Caleb inhaled deeply through his nose and blinked upward at the top level of the salon, counting book spines he could see at this distance.

“I’ve heard stories of regret and estrangement from our visitors,” said Caduceus. “The hardest ones, the people who struggle the most, are those for whom the choice was out of their control. The kids sent off to war, who battled sickness, or were a whole continent away and did not hear the news until it was too late. They wanted someone to blame. For some people, it’s easiest to put the blame on someone else. For others, the ones who need to feel control over their lives, they turn the blame inward.”

Caduceus’s gaze was heavy on Caleb, even as he wasn’t meeting it. This wasn’t the first conversation the Nein had had with him about this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. On another day, he may have been more receptive. Today, however, he was too fucking miserable.

Caduceus sighed slowly. “I know that is an ongoing project. You’ve done good work on that. Today, though… you are upset. Do you know why?”

Some things were falling into place. Thinking back to standing outside while the wake continued inside the Schneiders’. That ongoing feeling of outsideness, wrongness, bitterness and even defeat. He knew he’d done everything he could for Nico, and that it would never be enough. It was difficult to offer support for something that he himself had never been permitted to experience.

So, maybe, it really was that simple today. It was hard to stand by and watch Nico have this when he didn’t. It was even harder to be directly involved in making sure it happened.

Caleb inhaled, shaky as it was. “I tried not to think about their, um, their funeral.”

Caduceus nodded, a small smile reaching his eyes, the kind he gave when someone was finally understanding what he tried to say.

“I was in the madhouse by then anyway, and if my plans worked out, it wouldn’t matter. I think… I didn’t see any value in being surrounded by people talking about how wonderful dead people were when they were alive. I’ve already eaten my fucking words there. And, well, I am not sure I would have gone even if I had been able to. Never asked Astrid or Wulf if they went. Probably not. I never thought it would bother me this much, not having the choice. It was… not mine to want.”

“You have spoken of them a little in the past. Tell me more.”

“Oh, um…”

Before Caleb could get his thoughts in order, Caduceus’s ear flicked and he glanced to the side, as if listening for a sound behind him. Caleb glanced at the door, to find it open a crack, and shadows breaking the stream of light.

“How long have they been there?” Caleb asked.

“Not long. Do you want them here?”

Caleb had left the dining room to get some alone time, but he had been overwhelmed with feelings he had been unable to parse on his own. He still felt shitty. It made more sense now, though. Less all-encompassing. And he found himself in want of the unique, oft-overbearing, affection that came with the Nein as a whole.

“Ja, I think so.”

“All right,” Caduceus said over his shoulder, “you can stop hiding now.”

Like a handkerchief out of a street magician’s sleeve, the Nein piled into the salon. Veth pelted herself across the room and tucked herself under Caleb’s arm.

Jester claimed his other side, throwing an armful of pillows and blankets into his lap. “Come on, Cay-leb! Tell us about your mum and dad!”

Fjord, with his put-upon smile, brought in more bedding. “Jester would like to have a sleepover.”

“Well, that can be arranged,” Caleb replied, throwing the pillows around and unfurling the blankets. “Although, I may need to step out until I hear from Felix.” There was only a 5% chance the message wouldn’t arrive, but 5% was a lot on a day like this.

“We’ll come back,” said Essek.

“Ooh, should we invite Nico?” asked Jester.

“I think Nico wants to be left alone,” Fjord replied. “He’ll come if he wants company. Caleb, we interrupted you. Please, whatever you want to say, we would love to hear it.”

“A moment, if that’s all right.” Caleb needed to think.

“Of course.” Fjord laid out the remaining pillows and blankets. The Nein arranged themselves around the space, lounging like a bunch of lazy cats. The non-lazy cats of the tower brought in extra fruit and cheese.

While the slumber party was built around him, Caleb thought of his parents. The good times. Una’s apple tarts and stews, hanging from her skirts at the market, planting green beans together. Leofric carrying Bren on his shoulders, sneaking him extra bits of stewed apple behind Una’s back, Bren watching him come down the road as he returned home from the Righteous Brand. Making little globules of light, watching the delight on his parents’ faces, Una finding his first books about magic. Leofric, not fully understanding but wanting to help, learned about magic components and brought him glowworms for his Dancing Lights, bits of copper wire so he could send them Messages at silly times. The fear, and then joy, when he showed them his affinity for fire and how it could help Una in the kitchen and keep them warm when the firewood was too wet to catch. Pouches of candied almonds Bren and Una made together for Leofric when he had to return to the Righteous Brand. The pride on their faces when he was chosen for the Academy.

So, Caleb talked about them. All that and more.

Coming home and reading folktales in new languages to his parents, with soot from the fireplace and salt from the kitchen. Una finding new books in dwarven and elvish and even Marquesian so Bren could read them to her. Caleb teaching her a bit of Sylvan and Celestial he had learned at school. Leofric bringing him pieces of phosphorus once he was old enough, even though the Academy provided plenty of components.

Dancing in the little sitting room. Bren–Caleb–learned to waltz from his parents. From his mother, he learned the apple tart recipe that he’d never worked up the nerve to replicate, amongst many soups and stews that had saved his life in the early days post-Vergesson. From his father, he learned basic weapons training, even a little hunting for small game. Even if he wouldn’t be caught dead wielding them under most circumstances, he did know how to use daggers, darts, slings, quarterstaves and light crossbows. The day he hit the centre of the target with a crossbow led to sharing his first beer with his father, watching the sunset until Una called them in for dinner.

They were good parents. Good people. Loved by Bren, and loved by the people around them. They had also loved the Empire, even if it didn’t love them back in the end.

“They sound really cool, Caleb,” said Jester.

“Ja,” Caleb replied, his voice rough after talking so much. “The coolest.”

“Did they always live in Blumenthal?” asked Fjord.

“I believe so, ja.”

“Hey, your mum… big reader?” asked Beauregard.

“Ja, the biggest.”

“And your dad?”

“A little poetry, ja. He liked to read aloud.”

“What’s Zemnian poetry like?” asked Yasha.

“Depressing,” replied Beauregard.

“Oh, some of it,” Caleb said. “But a lot of it is quite beautiful. The fairytales are rather grisly, though.” It had been quite some time since Caleb had sat down to read poetry; maybe he would find the time now. Try to reclaim this thing he had once shared with his father.

“The Cat Prince was nice,” said Jester.

“That is the happiest one.” There were various theories as to whether the boy and his mother died of plague at the end of the story, but she didn’t need to hear those. “I will have to tell you about the Waldhexe sometime.” If he could stomach how close it felt to the truth these days.

“The vortex?”

“Close enough.”

“Did you write to them when they were alive?” asked Beauregard.

“That’s a rather intense question,” remarked Kingsley. True to form with Beauregard, though, so not much of a shock.

“I did a bit, ja. Less so after Trent brought us into the program.” It was hard to write letters when he couldn’t talk about what he was doing on a daily basis. He could only write about the fucking beer hall so much before they would have figured out something was up. “I told myself–and I suppose Trent did as well–that our parents would be proud of what we were doing, but… well.”

“What did you write about? Back when you could.”

“Boring, daily things about life at school. Little facts I learned. I sent books I thought they might like, or spices and dyed wool in colours that were hard to find in Blumenthal. I just wrote for the sake of writing, really.”

“That’s really sweet, Caleb,” said Jester, clamping onto his arm like an octopus.

“Ja. Well.” Not that much later, he was writing to dead people. So.

“What did they look like?” Jester rummaged in her bag, grabbing out her sketchbook. Oh. That was… a lot.

Short of casting Seeming on everyone again (he did not want to do that), Caleb only knew the one spell that could create visual illusions, so he found a piece of fleece and some leftover jade, which he fabricated into enough dust for the spell. And he cast Programmed Illusion.

“What’s the magic word?” he asked, as he cast, setting a trigger for the illusion to activate.

“Pleeeeease.”

That was indeed the magic word. Across the way, just outside the Nein’s circle, two lifesize images of his mother and father sprang into existence. Una, with her long red hair pulled half-back and wearing her favourite green dress and brown boots. Quite tall; she and Bren (Caleb?) had been roughly of a height when he had been accepted into the Academy. Of course, he kept growing for a few years afterwards. Leofric, tall and broad-shouldered, dark hair greying at the temples and streaked through his beard. Dressed in his usual quilted doublet and gloves in blue-grey. Hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Bren-Caleb had almost matched him in height the last time he’d had the chance to stand face-to-face. Both pale. Kind eyes.

They smiled forward for a moment, and then turned to each other. Una raised her hand. Leofric took it in his and put his other hand on her waist. They began to waltz together in a small, slow circle.

Caleb had not seen them in seventeen years, and he remembered them as if he had just spoken to them yesterday. Not even the eleven years of oblivion had wrecked this part of his memory.

Still, seeing them in his mind was different to seeing them .

Scratching of Jester’s pencil on paper. “Caleeeeeb, you parents were so good-looking.”

“You look just like them, Caleb.” Yasha.

How many times had Caleb looked in a mirror and tried so fucking hard not to trace the familiar features? How many times had he wanted to and refused to allow himself the complex comfort that it could have brought?

Caleb didn’t realise his cheeks were wet until Veth dabbed at them with her handkerchief. A little aching part of him felt both soothed and aggravated. It was… harder than he had expected, mere moments ago as he had crushed the jade. He had once believed with everything he had–heart, soul, fractured mind–that the next time he saw their faces, he would give them the letters and whisk them away to Emon. Not watch an illusion based on a long-dead memory.

Oh, this had been a bad idea. He pulled on the thread of the spell, letting the images of his mother and father fade away.

“The, um, passcode will work again in ten minutes,” Caleb said weakly. “I just… I’ve had enough, I think.”

Jester kept scribbling, bumping him with her shoulder.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Beauregard, “but your mum was kinda hot.”

“In your expert opinion?”

“Yeah, I am an expert, man.” Then she switched topics so fast Caleb could almost feel his brain eject from his skull. “What did you write to them after? In the book.”

“Oh. Um.”

“Beau,” Fjord murmured from behind his hand.

Caleb acted before he could second-guess himself. He was done with these kinds of secrets. He pointed at the shelf where he had been counting books with his eyes. “Final bookcase, second shelf, third from the right.”

Beauregard scrambled up the stairs and grabbed the book, holding it out to him. Caleb took the duplicate of his book of letters to his parents and slowly paged through it, still deciding what he wanted to show them. The book was a little cleaner, less scuffed than the real one had been. He doubted anybody but him would know the difference, but it had been deliberate… to remind him of choices made.

“Is this a copy?” asked Veth.

“Ja, the salon holds a copy of every book I have read. No exceptions.” Caleb skipped over the early letters; those would be too fucked up to start with. Jester was reading over his shoulder, but she couldn’t read Zemnian without magical assistance, so she was just being a nuisance (her primary love language).

Eventually, Caleb settled on a letter he had written in Trostenwald. He passed the book to Beauregard.

She put her hand over the pages as if to stop herself from accidentally reading it. “Me… really?”

“You understand Zemnian, ja?”

“I’ve been learning, yeah.”

“Can’t you understand, like, every language?” asked Jester.

“Spoken language. Still gotta study the written bit.” Beauregard squinted at the page. “Okay, I think I got it. Might be awkward, sorry.” She cleared her throat, and read: “Dear Mum and Dad –ugh, that sounds wrong… sorry, Caleb. Fuck, already butchering this.”

“It’s fine, Beauregard.” Anything was better than Caleb having to read this aloud himself.

“Fuuuuck. Okay. I’m writing this letter from an inn in Trostenwald. Nott and I have made some new friends. A bunch of weirdos, really, so we fit right in. We went to the circus and wound up solving a murder mystery. We saved the town from a nergaliid–a fiend that sucks life from people. It had been feeding on a little dwarven girl for years, posing as a lizardman, but something made him impatient. He turned an old man at the circus into a zombie and we had to kill him to protect the crowd and ourselves. The circus nearly took the fall; the owner, Gustav, is staying in town to work off a debt imposed by the Lawmaster. He has guilt on his conscience and I am not sure why, but it’s not my business. It seems the carnival is finished, but the people are free and want to start over on the Menagerie coast. They are family, after all. Jester, one of our new friends, a strange blue tiefling with a lot of opinions, wanted to keep the tent and turn it into a hot air balloon… whatever that is. Her companion, Fjord, a half-orc with some kind of magic that is new to him, is interested in Soltryce Academy. I’m not sure what to do. He is impressed by my parlour tricks. I found myself tapped of magic recently and resorted to fire in a fight. It did not feel very good, to put it lightly. At least I still have a conscience, I suppose. ” Beauregard looked up from the letter. “Oh, that’s what the fuck happened to you. Didn’t you try to convince us you were just freaked out by the fight?”

Caleb shrugged. “I didn’t know you very well.”

“Fair point.” Beauregard went back to reading. “ No matter, there is safety in numbers. Nott and I have only been out of prison about six months, and it has been hard with just the two of us. Nott is a little scared of Yasha, a big woman from the circus with a sword to match. She seems all right. A bit of a loner. They are a shifty bunch. Fjord is a people-pleaser. Beauregard, another human, asks too many questions, but at least she is open about it. She seems connected to a library in Zadash. I will keep an eye on that one. Maybe she can help my research, if she doesn’t bust my balls first. Mollymauk is a purple tiefling from the circus… a colourful fellow, full of shit and very loud, but that will keep attention away from the rest of us.

“ The last few days have been a lot. I have nearly died several times and put myself at the mercy of the crownsguard more than I would like. Frumpkin is a sparrow at the moment and I can’t afford to change him back. The circus folk keep talking about family and it bothers me a little bit, as selfish as I am. I think I’m ready to leave this place.

“ I will have to be more careful with this book. Nott doesn’t ask questions, but Jester and Beauregard are quite nosy. Yeah, I’ll take that. Very fair. That said, we are a shifty bunch. I assume everyone has their secrets. Staying quiet helps a bit. Time will tell how much I can trust them, but they are decent enough travel companions for now.

“I will write again in a few days. I love you. Bren.” Beauregard shut the book. “Wow, that was way more normal than I thought it was going to be.”

Caleb gave her a rueful smile. “That one was, ja.”

The others didn’t have much to say, it seemed, limiting their gazes to various tasks of fluffing pillows or smoothing blankets. Yasha, perhaps unsurprisingly given her history, and Caduceus were the least stiff.

“That was lovely, Caleb,” said Yasha. “I’m sure they appreciated the stories.”

“I hope so.” It was hard for Caleb to believe in much, but he had somehow been able to hang onto hope that Una and Leofric Ermendrud were able to watch over their son, and had received the letters he had finally buried with them. “The, um, the letters are always here. You are welcome to read them, if you would like. Some of them are a little… not very nice, though, and I have changed my mind on many things since writing about them… so, I ask forgiveness for anything hurtful I have written.”

“That’s okay, Cay-leb,” said Jester. “Can you cast a spell on us so we can read it?”

“Comprehend Languages can normally be cast on the self only,” said Caleb. “Essek and I may be able to figure out a space in the Tower that allows anything conjured with it to be translated, though it would not be complete until I cast the tower again.”

Essek had already steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, frowning in concentration. “We could make it work. Every book conjured with the Tower is a book you have read. We could, in theory, design a space where those books are translatable into any language you can speak. If I recall, that would be Zemnian, Common, Sylvan and Celestial?”

“Ja, that is correct.” Caleb had also picked up a little Undercommon thanks to Essek, and could read small amounts of Aeorian thanks to their study trip. Not fluent in either of those, though.

“Are you sure you’re alright with us reading these letters?” Fjord asked.

The Nein had stuck with Caleb after learning about the things he had done. They had stuck with him even when he was an asshole (then again, they were all assholes). They already knew what he had originally intended with the letters. There was no reason to hide them. He didn’t need to explain his rationale in detail, either.

“Ja,” was all he said.

“Perhaps next time you cast the tower,” Essek said, “you can provide a reading nook where tower texts can be translated into your languages. A lever system, perhaps, to activate the enchantment for a specific language?”

“Ja, that could work.” Caleb would design some runes… divination made the most sense. Comprehend Languages and Tongues were both from that school. For an area-of-effect, perhaps he could base it on something like Detect Magic. To create a circle on the material plane… that could take a year or more. But in the tower, the space could shift to his needs without too much difficulty… once he figured out the inner workings.

He had some writing to do. He also needed to step out of the tower to better the odds of Felix’s Sending getting through to him.

So, while the Nein settled in for their slumber, Caleb and Essek excused themselves.

“Are you coming baaaaack?” whined Jester, curled up amongst the pillows with her sketchbook still in her lap.

“If Felix calls me shortly, ja.”

They stepped out of the tower. Caleb had found a new burst of energy, now that he had a magical problem to solve, so they headed to the study. Essek pulled out stacks of paper while Caleb gathered inks and quills. They spread everything out on the floor and got to work. While Caleb calculated the parameters for this new tower effect, Essek worked through the daily teleportation circle enchantment.

Felix’s message came not long after Caleb had copied out the various divination runes that were likely to form the base of this enchantment.

“Hallo, Caleb. Things are quiet here… finally. We are going to bed. Thank you for helping. How is Nico?”

Caleb replied, “Nico has gone to bed, but would appreciate a message. We had some conversations that will need time to stick. He has eaten. Gute Nacht.”

Felix, who had a limited capacity to cast at the level required, did not Send again. Caleb hoped he had the reserves to drop a note to Nico, at least.

The teleportation circle flared and went dark. Essek crawled across the space to join him. It was still an odd sight, sometimes, to watch him drop the float at times such as this.

A kiss on his temple. “This is a good start, Caleb Widogast. Let’s see what we can do with it.”

They fell into their well-worn rhythm, passing papers and theories back and forth, swapping spellbooks, scribbling new ideas and scrapping the ones that were no longer suitable. The world slowly righted itself.

Soon enough, Caleb could barely keep his eyes open. He could have kept going for a bit longer, even as exhaustion slowed him down, but Essek stacked the papers and set them aside.

“We will finish in the morning,” he said, holding out his hands. “Shall we return to the tower tonight?”

The warmth of the fire and the company of their friends sounded perfect. Caleb let Essek guide him by the hand downstairs and into the tower once again. Most of their friends had already dozed off, but there was some space between Veth and Jester where Caleb could fit, with Essek sitting cross-legged close by. The ladies rolled over in their sleep to absorb Caleb into the cuddle pile.

A long day, but it was done. Caleb finally let sleep claim him.

#caleb widogast #shadowgast #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic #my fics #critical role #cr2 #ao3

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