#saint waidwen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yanara126-writing · 3 months

Text

Hypothetically

Under normal circumstances, a stranger in the small village of Palemorn would have been cause for suspicion, but these were not normal circumstances. The village was teeming with people, traders, pilgrims, priests, but first and foremost soldiers, all shades of kith in armour with different states of quality and condition. Anyone looking for a uniform to tie the group of soldiers together would have searched in vain, it seemed like everyone had simply grabbed what was accessible to them, from repurposed sharp farming tools to ceremonial armour. The only thing uniting them was the symbol of the dawn, sometimes painted on chestplates or pauldrons, sometimes stitched into the tunic, sometimes etched into a hilt, but ever present.

Waidwen meets a stranger in a tavern and learns that either way he doesn't have long to live.

Read here or on Ao3 (4960 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

---

It was precisely because of this situation that no one batted an eye when the night after the god king's arrival in Palemorn, after the sun had set beyond the horizon and the soldiers had scattered all over the village in search of some entertainment, a stranger stepped into the tavern. He was a young man, old enough to be married but not to have taken over his family's farm. And the exact age to join a holy crusade in honor of their god. His brown hair, longer than was seemly really, was tied back out of his sun marked face, his clothes were clearly too large hand-me-downs with a lovingly embroidered emblem on the hem. An uninteresting footsoldier that barely anyone gave a second glance. And if his hazel eyes shone just a little too bright in the dim fire light of the tavern, well, stranger things were happening these days.

The tavern was already near bursting, filled with soldiers relishing in a night not spent in a hastily erected camp and villagers still dazzled by the awe-inspiring sight earlier that day that was Saint Waidwen's glorious arrival and were now hoping for stories from those who got more than just a single glimpse of their Saint and ruler. No one paid attention to the young soldier making his way through the crowd, his steps too awkward and posture too hunched to be anyone of import, and therefore interest. The sergeant who'd come into the small tavern an hour earlier in his polished, shiny platemail was much more interesting, and more than ready to keep telling stories of their glorious prophet and how often he'd already fought side by side with Saint Waidwen for as long as the rapt listeners kept buying him drinks. The newcomer briefly stopped at the edge of the crowd surrounding the man and listened to a few words. He didn't seem impressed with the heroic stories and simply frowned before moving on to the bar counter.

The man behind the counter threw him a harried look while hurrying from one end to the other, handing out mugs, jugs and tankards and collecting coin with nary even a moment to breathe. The young man waved his hand dismissively, he was in no hurry. The barkeep nodded lightly and moved on, ignoring the newcomer for now, much like the rest of the tavern.

He'd come here hoping for a moment of calm, a time free from the expectations and constant supervision his life had become, and yet, despite the anonymity the stolen tunic granted him, there was no peace to be found for Waidwen. Not from the constant roiling of heat in his soul and not from the stubborn fuzziness in his head that he couldn't seem to get rid of.

He leant against the bar, eyes shifting rapidly over the crowd as his fingers started tapping out a nervous rhythm.

"I am allowed to drink a cup of Wyrthoneg." He kept his voice low, only mumbling under his breath. The tavern was loud enough that likely no one would have heard him regardless, but there was no reason to draw people's attention with inane comments to himself. Then again, there was no reason to talk out loud at all, but it was a habit he'd developed over the last few months. An extra voice in your head suddenly makes the voice from your mouth the private one.

*There is no reason why you wouldn't be.* The voice was, as ever, calm and soft. There had been few moments in their partnership that Eothas had ever become agitated, and all of them had included grievous bodily harm. Which this would not. This was a fun, short outing, to take his mind off of the horrifying exhausting trek before all of them.

"Broder worries too much, it's not like anyone cares when we're not glowing." The stolen tunic had done its task, as had the hair tie he'd reluctantly used and no one in the tavern had given him even a second glance. No one cared about a simple soldier coming to drown his fears or revel in the attention, they only cared about Saint Waidwen, mouthpiece of Eothas. It rankled him, despite the relief of escaping the constant scrutiny for a little while.

*I'm sure.* Eothas said gently, because it was what Waidwen wanted to hear.

He continued tapping on the counter, bit his lip and tried to ignore the dizzying pressure in the back of his head.

He'd almost convinced himself that he was simply sleep deprived when someone slid through the mass of people clogging up the tavern and settled beside him at the counter. He winced as the pressure spiked for a moment. His fingers tapped faster. He was not in the mood for entertaining (gawkers).

The same didn't seem to apply to the stranger.

"I'm told it's rude here to let a brave soldier sit on their own." Waidwen didn't flinch when the stranger spoke and it felt like a needle was rammed into his neck. One deep breath later the pain subsided again, leaving only the constant buzzing that never left him these days. When he finally turned, the stranger was looking at him expectantly. Or at least he thought they were, with a death godlike you could never be quite sure. He'd seen very few of them and all of them in the last year.

There was something vaguely unsettling in the stranger's growth covered eyes and sharp toothed grin. The pitch black growths seemed almost crownlike, spanning over their forehead and nose in ridged layers and peaking in two high spikes, as well as arching down their cheeks, framing their cheekbones and mouth as the only visible features. A white, Waelite eye tattoo was carved into their forehead.

Waidwen frowned as the shape wavered a little. He turned and went back to tapping.

"They forgot to tell me then." It wasn't quite a growl. He didn't want to piss anyone off, bar brawls tended to draw attention, but he also really didn't want to deal with people.

The stranger laughed, their warm, smoky voice floating just above the noise in the room. "I think I like you. Tell you what, I'll buy you a drink and you forgive my social blunder?" He sighed and the wood was granted a moment of mercy from the relentless tapping. For a moment he debated simply leaving again. But then what was the harm in indulging this stranger for a moment? They'd notice soon enough that there were better targets for gossiping. He steadfastly shook off the vague, ever-constant concern warming his neck and ignored the needle stabbing through his right eye as he glanced over to the stranger again.

"Won't stop you from spending your own coin, but don't expect any stories out of me." He threw a surreptitious look over his shoulder to the sergeant who was still surrounded by adoring villagers. Occasionally booming laughter or a wave of cheers sounded from the group as the man animatedly waved his hands around during his tales of heroics of saving saint, god, and country.

Waidwen turned back to the stranger and swallowed a wave of nausea. He wished he hadn't waved off the bartender.

The godlike threw an amused glance to the colourful group before turning back and smirking with raised hands as if in surrender. "Promise, no elaborate dickwagging required." Waidwen let out an unenthusiastic huff, but didn't disagree. As the stranger turned to call out to the still buzzing about barkeep for the promised drink he blinked in mild suprise. Behind their head growths peaked out two buns of hair, fire red and coiled. Probably a rare remnant of their aumaua heritage if their teeth were any indication. Not that it was any of his business. Or interest.

Waidwen went back to tapping the countertop. The grain of the wood was soft under his hands, both well sanded by its maker and smoothed down by many passing hands. His fingertips burnt.

A tankard was banged on the table in front of him with enough force to splash the Wyrthoneg both over his fingers and over the wood, filling the soft grooves of the grain with the sticky substance. Without thought he lifted his hand and licked the drink off his fingers as he mindlessly watched the liquid slowly creep across the table, soaking into the wood like he saw the dawn's rays soaking into every living being, regardless of the sun's position in the sky. The coolness of his tongue helped little against the burning. Where the wood absorbed the golden liquid, it turned a dark brown colour, soft and almost soothing. Above it sat more sparkling drops, shimmering in the firelight brightening room, almost glittering like early stars during sundown. Staring at them he could almost see his own face reflected, sprinkled over the wooden surface, first in the beads of Wyrthoneg sitting on the already soaked full spots, then in ever smaller droplets, specks sitting in the grain, so small that the grooves looked like canyons and he himself scattered between all of them, in ravines, mountains, fields without focus or reason, the only constant being an overpowering *warmth* making up every shattered piece of him.

A voice ripped through his mind like the roar of a cannon firing.

"I do apologize for the mess, but I think there's more in the tankard than on your fingers," the stranger chuckled with entirely room-appropriate volume. They were leaning casually against the countertop with one arm while lifting their own tankard with the other, not-perturbed in the slightest. Waidwen suppressed another flinch and quickly lowered his hand. After a moment to reassemble himself he grabbed the tankard and took a large gulp, decisively not looking at the golden liquid in it.

Judging by the quiet sloshing sounds, the stranger was content to simply drink in company for now.

The alcohol, however little it was, helped to dull the sharp sting of too clear sound and too detailed vision for a while. Probably better that it wasn't more potent, he felt like he might really crumble out of the confines of his body if he loosened his control too much. A few more gulps dulled that feeling as well. Eventually he felt stable enough to be annoyed again. And patience had never been his strong suit.

"So, what's the deal with you?" he asked with all the elegance and subtlty of a hailstorm, because while Eothas had taught him how to speak with flourishes, he rarely ever bothered with them. Eothas never corrected him.

The stranger laughed again, the way the merchants always did when they thought he wasn't counting the coins. The muscles in his shoulders tightened in irritation, even as the stranger answered with nothing but friendly mischief in their voice, nodding towards the bartender: "My deal is that I give this nice man some coins and he gives me drinks." Waidwen couldn't see the wink, couldn't see anything of their eyes through the pitch black growths, but the implication of it soaked through his aching bones like a well intentioned balm. It did nothing to lighten his mood.

"Oh haha, hilarious. How about a joke of my own then: a death godlike walks into an eothasian bar," Waidwen muttered. He wanted to scowl, to be hostile and inhospitable, so the stranger would leave him to his misery, but truthfully he was too exhausted for it. He didn't acknowledge the gentle, hesitant brush at the back of his mind, a flickering candle, a muted ray of light through heavy clouds, a wavering hand nonetheless held out offering. The moment passed, the soft touch lifted and Waidwen didn't give in to the yearning, the instinct to grab for it and the relief it promised. Eothas did not comment on it.

Yet again, the stranger seemed unbothered by his blunt suspicion and laughed. "Does the bar I say 'I forgive you' as the godlike rubs their head?" That did finally crack him a little and he snorted, more in exasperation but also a little bit of amusement. It was hard not to give in just a bit when someone was at last willing to banter with him and gave as good as they got. People these days were hardly ever honest with him in any way that mattered. He took another drink.

The stranger waited for a moment as they watched him down more of the wyrthoneg, their amused smile never wavering for a moment. Eventually he had his fill of the watered down alcohol and set the tankard back down with just a bit too much force to be entirely casual. The stranger leant back on their school, crossed their arms and smirked.

"Alright alright, don't want to get purged for murdering a holy soldier with my impressive wit." Once again, a wink was implied in the short pause. Dimly Waidwen wondered if his easy perception of the godlike's facial expressions was normal or if it was a skill born from frequently having to interpret feelings that weren't his own. Eothas said nothing to the thought. Waidwen didn't linger on it. If the stranger noticed his brief inattention they didn't acknowledge it. "Truth is, I'm here on business, Waelite business." They tapped lightly on their forehead with a strangely hollow sound and the eye tattoo almost seemed to flicker. "And you seemed like an interesting enough start." To Waidwen the explanation tasted like slightly moldy sonnread. Still sweet but with an undeniable rotten aftertaste. He took another swig and let the stranger wait for the answer they were clearly fishing for. When the taste didn't wash away with the drink he couldn't bring himself to be surprised.

"I thought you said 'no dickwagging required'?" he eventually muttered into the almost empty tankard, tasting only disappointment. Perhaps he should have been concerned. About spies, about yet another priesthood on his tail. But fear had been long burnt out of him, leaving only the dry ashes of resignation. No, he was not afraid of Wael. For all he was concerned, the whole world might as well be Waelites now, when all anyone ever wanted from him these days were answers that he didn't have or couldn't give. Perhaps he should be grateful that at least this one was bothering a random a soldier and not Saint Waidwen the Divine King. The thought felt like being violently shoved into a frigid lake.

The stranger's laugh sounded like jingling keys being dangled over his head, just out of reach.

"It's not," they assured, and Waidwen didn't believe it for even a second. "I don't even really know you're the one who has the secret that led me here. All I know is that I have to sit here for a bit and have a drink with you." The stranger, who really made a lot more sense as a Waelite priest, smiled, toasted their own tankard to him and drank. When they set it back down, it sloshed as if still full.

"Seems like a very vague holy mission," Waidwen huffed, elbows on the table and staring at the wall behind the counter, because he'd never been good at being polite or knowing when to stay silent. Hypocrisy sounded like a discordant temple bell struck at the wrong angle, familiar.

The priest shrugged, making the small, clear crystals attached to their scarf jingle ominously. "Comes with the trade. Though I wouldn't call it a 'mission' really. That would imply that Wael told me to do it. This is more of a... Personal interest." They did not wink this time, just smiled amiably with a sense of serenity that seemed almost out of character. Waidwen didn't like it any better than the sly grinning.

He took the bait anyway.

"So how do you know you have to sit here with me for your... Personal interest?" he asked, his loaded pause the exact same length as the stranger's. Over the last year his sense of time had become somehow both extremely precise and completely unreliable, a second stretching out into an unknowable infinity while whole days blended together until he couldn't be sure when he'd slept last. He'd also become very good at drowning any cold, creeping dread in the heat of annoyance.

"Ah, just because Wael didn't tell me to do it doesn't mean they had nothing to do with it," the priest replied. For the first time in their short conversation he really focused on the priest next to him. Their clothes were made for travelling, sturdy and altogether unassuming at first glance, except they were clearly of dyrwooden make. Their scarf suddenly stood out in sharp contrast, dyed a muted blue and decorated with crystals that seemed to almost glow slightly. The eye tattoo on their forehead was now purple. None of it had in any way occurred to him before. He was not afraid of Wael, no, but it was very different to not be afraid of someone out of reach, who may or may not be paying attention to you, and not being afraid of someone potentially right in front of you.

He narrowed his eyes and held the warmth in his head closer. The incessant buzzing flamed up again. "What does that mean?"

The priest chuckled, as unbothered as they had been throughout the entire conversation. "Nothing as grand as what you're imagining right now I'm sure. I don't start glowing for one. We just... Have an understanding. One that occasionally lets me siphon some knowledge from the vastness that is Wael if I go look for it." A slight tap on one of the crystals with their nails produced a quiet ping that reverberated through Waidwen's ears like a temple gong. But the sound was hollow, empty, like a hall left unfilled, the worshippers long gone. His shoulders marginally relaxed, but he stayed cautious. Few rooms stayed empty for long if someone was still living there.

"That sounds suspiciously like something you shouldn't be telling me." Perhaps it was a form of animancy instead? Waidwen frowned, eyeing the priest in front of him. He was not at all sure on his own stance on the practice, there had been so many other problems to deal with and realistically the only place animancy had in Readceras was as a political accusation or in a moral play, so he hadn't bothered looking into it. But if his choice was between a questionable mortal practice or another god getting personally involved, he'd certainly prefer the animancer.

"Maybe," the godlike agreed with a shrug. "But something tells me that I must anyway."

They told him stories of their own then. Of nobles having their pockets lightened, of government secrets stolen, of drafted spells mysteriously vanishing from their inventors' desks and of the small nibbling in the back of their own mind, never words, never orders, never a presence, but something far more delicate and interpretable. In the privacy of a crowd that didn't care about either of them, and with a steady, hot pounding behind his eyes, ready to burst forth at at any moment, Waidwen learned a bit more of the world, of gods, of cultures, and of people seeking to meddle with all of it. In a way it was almost comforting, the knowledge that out there, authority was not allowed to simply stand, that there was resistance to power, even in this strange way. It made him feel oddly reassured, connected in a way that had nothing to do with the silent voice in his head.

With each amused story some of the heat drained out of him, like a cool evening wind blowing away the noon's warmth, and he relaxed. At one point a new tankard was placed in front of him and he absent-mindedly sipped the wyrthoneg. Eventually he caught himself laughing at a mayor finding the love letters to his 3 misstresses pinned to the village board one morning. For a moment suspicion sparked in the back of his mind, but it went as fast as it had appeared. He was tired of being suspicious and for the first time in months he found it difficult to even try. Sweetness on his tongue, drink in his stomach and only the gruff voices of the people around him in his ears he decided that maybe he could stand to let it go. Just for one night. Even the pain behind eyes subsided just a bit.

Eventually his companion's stories trickled off, leaving a comfortable silence between them. The lights of the tavern were warm, the wood soft, and Waidwen was content for just a little while. But this piece of relief brought with it something else: curiousity. Something was itching in the back of his mind, for once it had nothing to do with Eothas, at least not directly.

Waidwen took a sip from his cup, enjoyed the taste for a moment, and then broke the silence.

"So that personal relationship of yours, it sounds a bit... Vague. Removed. Hypothetically, wouldn't it be easier for both of you to just be more direct about it? Something like, I don't know, share a body? If that works. To let you talk more easily, make use of that power yourself." He shrugged and drank again. The heat swirling up in his throat had nothing to do with the drink.

The godlike tilted their head curiously. "Is that what you think your saint is doing?"

"I wouldn't dare guess what his holiness is doing, I'm just curious." Waidwen lifted his tankard and took another sip to not have to look at them. The taste barely covered the ashy feeling in his mouth.

The priest hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I for one hope he isn't, for his own sake." They paused for a moment, mouth still open and fingers tapping on the table twice. Then they apparently came to a decision. "You see, mingling with the divine is a little bit like working with a raging river. What I did is dig a little pond," they cupped their hands, elbows on the table and fully turned to him, "And then I connected that pond to the river through a thin canal that has a movable gate. And when I need water I use a cup to get some from the pond. I have multiple layers of distance and safe guards. What you're describing would be more like throwing the cup into the river, shattering it and polluting the river in the process. Both would be ruined."

Somewhere behind them a tankard crashed to the floor, followed by a roar of laughter. Waidwen blinked. The death godlike stared back. Probably.

"Well. That sounds... Painful." His mouth felt dry. He took another drink.

"Oh I'm sure it would be excruciating. And fatal." The godlike agreed cheerily, then drank as well, a content smile on their face.

For a moment Waidwen considered thinking further on the comment, but quickly thought better of it. The cup in his hand was a much better thing to contemplate. He lifted the tankard and nodded to his drinking friend. The flesh under his nails itched, like they didn't fit quite right on his fingers. His hand never wavered.

"To not doing excruciating and fatal things then." The godlike chuckled and clanked their tankard against his with friendly enthusiasm.

"To not doing excruciating and fatal things!" As Waidwen emptied the tankard with one large gulp, the liquid felt alien running down his throat, slimy and rough at the same time, invading his body even as he let it. He slammed the tankard down on the wood with a satisfying crack, smacked his lips and sighed in a contentment he didn't feel.

The soles of his feet started burning in his boots, and he decided it was a night for bad decisions. He turned to the godlike, leant back in his chair and theatrically let his eyes wander over them. He didn't know quite what to make of them, more than usually, with their covered eyes and strange growths on their face, but he supposed they were probably attractive. Tall and built broadly, in a way that spoke of hard work and good food. The hair was a bit odd. Then again, what wasn't odd about him.

"Hypothetically, what would you say if I asked you to leave here with me? For the night?" For some reason he expected something then, some emotion or reaction not his own. He didn't know why he was disappointed when nothing happened but his own tension rising. He closed the hand not gripping the tankard into a fist and hoped the stranger didn't see the way his knuckles turned white.

The godlike chuckled. "Hypothetically, I'd thank you for the compliment. But since your heart isn't in it, I'd leave it at that." Their smile seemed softer than the others, understanding in a way that grated against him more than anything else. He hated himself a little bit for the relief that was all his own spreading through his limbs.

He hmphed and turned towards the bar, trying to dredge up the appropriate anger for being turned down. As always he failed.

"Don't take it personally." The godlike shrugged, still smiling softly. "There's plenty of people who don't find sex all that attractive. It's hardly a character fault." His neck burnt, this time in embarrassment, but he ignored it, just as he ignored all else. He hated that a stranger had seen through him so easily. Still he didn't quite manage to be truly angry about it either. At least the rest of this conversation assured him that he wouldn't have to endure the constant judgement for much longer. That dark thought did elicit a spark of a reaction in a part of Waidwen not quite his. Another part of Waidwen took some savage pleasure in it. The majority of him ignored it.

"What, is my sexual behaviour your secret?" he grumbled into the tankard, glaring into its empty depths.

The godlike laughed. "Maybe. Who knows really." The entirety to the country. But who was counting. (The entirety of the country and they didn't like that they'd never gotten past zero.)

Waidwen sighed and dragged a hand over his face. It left a strange fizzing sensation in its wake. Everything felt heavy, dragging and bloated with a certainty that never stopped yanking him forward. The tension in his limbs had evaporated, leaving him with nothing but the ashes of himself. For once he could afford to run away from them. He pushed the tankard away and got up, trying to concentrate on the feeling of the ground under his feet rather than the swirling in his head.

"Well, either way I think it's time for me to turn in. Got a way to march tomorrow." The godlike didn't seem to mind his somewhat abrupt goodbye and simply nodded to him amicably.

"Good night and good luck then." Waidwen nodded back and turned, no doubt to never see them again, one way or another. Despite everything he still felt a twinge of regret, like there was something he was leaving behind in that tavern full of noise bullshit and lies.

Eventually he'd managed to fight his way through the crowd and stepped outside into the cool air of night, the noise behind him finally muffled through the door. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes focused on the surrounding houses and not the stars that hung like threats in the sky. He started walking towards the camp beyond the village border. He'd of course been offered to stay in the mayor's house, but first he'd have to change back into his own clothes, which he'd hid outside the village.

His hands starting stinging, like the fingers were about to peel off from both hand and bones. He flexed them for a moment and sniffed, a mixture of spite and tired acceptance filling him.

"Well. Nothing we didn't know before, is it." His voice was quiet, even in the silence of the night as they'd left the bustling tavern behind. Nothing like the booming voice of Saint Waidwen. Nothing like the grudging rasp of the soldier. Just him and a rapidly shrinking eternity.

Eothas didn't answer, but a soft warmth returned to his neck. Not burning, not pushing, only present as they moved onwards to something neither of them could stop.

It occurred to neither of them that they had never felt the need to ask the stranger's name.

And so lone soldier slowly strode through the streets, in the direction of the camp just outside the village, noted by no one.

Inside the tavern, a godlike clacked their tongue and sat, thinking.

Anyone bothering to ask the locals the next day about a death godlike drinking in the tavern would have their silly delusions quickly corrected. The village of Palemorn had not seen any godlikes in more than a decade.

#pillars of eternity #writing #fanfiction #waidwen #eothas #original character #she is a she but waidwen didn't care and so doesn't know #death godlike #wael priestess #character study #she doesn't mind #waidwen learns he's definitely gonna die #he is not as a shocked as he probably should be #ace waidwen #a headcanon i will defend with a digital stick

14 notes · View notes

bragganhyl · 2 years

Note

a kiss to distract for whoever>:)

Yay, thank you 🥰 here's an Edér x Watcher thingy, inspired by a certain book in the Forgotten Sanctum dlc.

Word count: roughly 1600 words

Gaura never thought she would ever grow sick of browsing a library, but the Archives of the Hand Occult truly put her patience to the test. The Restricted Section was somewhat smaller than other parts of Wael's sanctum but even so, the Watcher had to split up her team to search for whatever book Bekarna needed. And for the book Llengrath needed. And for clues about Maura's whereabouts. And for anything that could help them deal with the strange wizard they've encountered in the Collections. She groaned as she watched the massive bookshelf stretching along the wall in front of her, then allowed her eyes to close. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath, trying to bury her own frustration and exhaustion under her lungs as it expanded with rejuvenating air. She exhaled and reached forward, still blindly, still tense, still wishing to be somewhere else, somewhere such as... Caed Nua.

The Watcher's eyes popped open, surprised at her own mind. True, she missed her fortress, but for some reason it wasn't her home, that she remembered. It was the ruin she found. Gaura blinked a few times, trying to focus and it was only then that she noticed: she was touching a book. Even through her gauntlets the book felt strange to her touch. It reminded her of the air in Caed Nua, while the place was tied to Maerwald's soul and carried his agonies. It reminded her of the unnatural cold in Durgan's Battery while the souls of the Pargrunen were still bound to it. It reminded her of the impenetrable darkness in Sun-in-Shadow, formed by the fractured souls imprisoned there. The book didn't feel quite as suffocatingly... wrong as these places did, but even the slightest hint of it got Gaura snatching it off the shelf and examining it closely. For the most part it looked like about a dozen other volumes that she has seen, even down to the cover decoration. It was just a book about the Saint's War. Only the title seemed strange: A True and Accurate Account of The Ten's Final Stand. The Watcher raised an eyebrow at it. She turned to the cover page, that was emblazoned with a sigil marking the book's accuracy and authenticity. Normally, Gaura would have laughed at it, bitterly, unable to decide if this was an obvious mistake or a very clumsy attempt at misinformation. But she couldn't shake that feeling of... misplacement that she noticed. Something told her that what she held was a remnant of the wrong time in the wrong place. She flipped the book and started turning the pages from the back, until she reached the final page recounting the events at Godhammer Citadel.

They really expected ten of you to stand against the dawn?

Gaura remembered Waidwen's final memories on the bridge: the way Eothas' voice boomed from his throat with earth shattering power and volume. This recounting showed a calmer Saint on the bridge, more in control, more at ease, and for some reason that sent a shiver down the Watcher's spine.

...lighting his pipe and pocketing the tinder...

'Waidwen didn't smoke,' Gaura whispered to herself, hoping that her voice would repress an image her imagination painted for her. 'Silly,' she scolded herself with a chuckle. She found it a little ridiculous how even the most accidental reminder would have her thinking of Edér. She shook her head, and continued reading.

Reckon you’re going to have a hard time standing in our way. Plan is to march right on over you folk and stick anyone between with a pike. Nothing personal about it. So, here we go.

Gaura felt nauseous. This wasn't funny. She couldn't remember if she ever felt as terrified by familiarity as she did in that moment.

Such were the last words of Saint Edér before the Godhammer Bomb cauterized him from-

'Gaura.'

The Watcher spun around with a gasp when she heard Edér's voice. The farmer stood by the entrance to the room, frozen in surprise by her reaction.

'Did I startle you?' A faint, reassuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he cautiously approached her.

Gaura reflexively hid the book behind her back. As well as her shaking hands clutching it.

'A little, I was lost in thought. What's up?'

'Aloth found some papers about the vithrack we ran into. Looked like something we could use,' Edér replied as he closed the distance between them. Without hesitation he reached for the Watcher's shoulders and lightly ran his hands down her arms. A part of her cursed him for knowing her so well. But she didn't resist him. She let him pull her wrists forward, revealing the book in her hands. 'A True and Accurate Account of The Ten's Final Stand,' he read the title out loud. The last few words rolled off his tongue somewhat staggered, putting a frown on Edér's face. 'This...is what got you so spooked?'

'I wasn't spooked, I was... mortified by the historical inaccuracies,' Gaura tried to speak casually but all it took was single look at the veteran to see she wasn't convincing. His gaze was warm with his concern for her, but something steely was hiding under the surface: frustration over being lied to.

'Those can be funny though,' he took the book before she could say anything else, and opened it at a random page. Gaura's heart skipped a beat. Deep down she knew he deserved to know about this strange, tragic life he had in a different time and different place. But another part of her remembered the Hel his doubt put him through all too vividly.

'Edér...' she called out to him, not quite sure what else she wanted to say - what she was supposed to say - and as he looked to her she found that whatever words formed in her mind got stuck in her throat.

The next thing she knew, her lips were on his and she was clutching the collar of his breastplate, trying to steady herself. Edér was stunned for a fraction of a moment, but once he regained his composure he kissed back slowly, cautiously. He placed his free hand on the small of her back, giving her just enough support so she could let go of his armor and let her hand slide to his chest instead. She pulled away but before the farmer could voice the questions she glimpsed in his eyes, she lightly pushed against his chest, just forcefully enough to move him if he too allowed it. And Edér obliged her. An astonished grin brightened his face as he let himself be shoved against the bookshelf behind him. Gaura claimed his lips again, and this time she poured all her certainty and reassurance into their contact. Whatever other lives they've lived, in that very moment, at that given place, they had one another. Edér sensed her insistence and answered it with his hunger for her. The Watcher heard the book hit the floor before she was embraced as tight as her and the veteran's armor allowed it - which was far from enough for him. He broke the kiss with a frustrated groan, and reached for the straps on Gaura's side.

'Gods damn it,' he struggled to loosen the buckle with his gauntlets on. 'You gotta help me out here, Honeycake,' he held his hands out to her, his plea and complaint clearly written on his face.

Gaura softly chuckled as a response and instead of helping him, she took his hands and held them against her heart.

'I don't think we have the time.'

Edér sighed and gave her a hesitant nod. 'Right... Shouldn't keep Aloth waiting.' He leaned forward and left a kiss on the Watcher's forehead before he pulled his hands away from her. He was just about to turn and leave, when he noticed the book he dropped. He picked it up and made a flimsy attempt at dusting it off, then he offered it to Gaura. 'You're feeling any better?' He asked, remembering the state he found her in, only to be met with soft laughter.

'Yeah. I suppose the mind games of this place started to get to me,' she said as she took the book. 'I just needed something... certain and real to ground myself, I guess.'

'Don't forget "true",' Edér said as he gestured at the book. Gaura's smile faltered. It would have been so much easier if she could just treat the contents of the book as a lie too.

'Are you going to be alright?' She asked back. A small but insistent part of her already expected the worst reaction to the truth that she could think of.

'Why wouldn't I be?' The farmer shrugged with a smirk. A moment later he made his way to the entrance and called back out to her. 'C'mon, we ain't got all day.'

The Watcher sighed as he stepped outside and left her out of his field of vision. Gaura turned to put the book back to it's original place, now blocked by another tome that was no longer supported. She glanced at the cover with the wrong words adorning it. She truly wanted to set it on fire. She could have easily put it back on the shelf, as well. And yet the book quickly disappeared in her pack. Edér deserved the truth, and the love that would make it easy for him eventually. And she was going to grant them both at the right time and the right place.

#pillars of eternity #edér teylecg #edér x watcher #wrytinge #oc fic: gaura #gaura sélfolgh

12 notes · View notes