makinglies | Respite

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faerun

Respite

The lake is dark and calm with a small breeze by the time they arrive at its shores. The stars above reflect perfectly in the still waters before them, and a small copse of trees lines one side, starting on their side of the river and jumping along the other side.

Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.

He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.

As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.

Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.

"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.

Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.

A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.

Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.

"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."

♥

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Jon freezes when Wolfe starts laughing. At first, there's a sense of affront. Is the laughing at him? He's done nothing to warrant it! Has he...? But the tenor of it shifts, stretches on too long, draws itself out into tears of agony from peals of relief. He knows that sort of laugh, the half-madness and full helplessness in it.

Whatever trivial concerns he'd had before are set aside as his gaze shifts sharply to Chris. The cleric is already stepping in to soothe far better than Jon knows he could. There's a part of him that wants to shy away, to hide in the room with the sofa with his own emotions. He can't let himself crack like the rest of them. He's broken too many ways too many times already. Amelia's breaking down, Wolfe is breaking down, Chris is likely to break down soon. He doesn't have any particular right to it, does he?

Jon has gotten most of what he wanted. A new world without the Dread Powers' influence (for now, provided the Eye doesn't try to start something with the gods of Faerun), Chris and now Wolfe back, escape from Duplicity. He doesn't have Martin... his Martin. Both of his Martins. Dead and worse, given what Wolfe has said already. Morrigan, as well. Ava, Alessandro, Lyall, Jamie. Christ, there are so many names. And add onto all the people who went through the other doors they'd been bound for. Tim and Jamie. Leeds and Ororo.

He registers the look from Chris, but pretends not to, nor to understand what's been said. Instead, Jon fights his impulse to retreat and moves around tentatively to place a hand on Wolfe's shoulder. "It's..." It's not all right. Nothing is fine. "We're going to get through this."

Turning his head to hide in Chris' stomach, Wolfe nonetheless moves his hand to cover Jon's on his shoulder, a gesture of thanks where Wolfe doesn't have the ability to speak. He appreciates the gesture. More than he could say even if he could find his words, because Jon isn't a bright side sort of person. The fact that he's making the effort is unfathomably comforting.

It takes Wolfe some time to calm down. Not an unbearably long time, though it feels that way to him. Any time spent paralyzed by his own woe feels unbearable, but he knows the others wouldn't see it that way and would admonish him for thinking it himself, just as he would them. Funny how his own medicine is just as sweet as it is bitter.

At length, Wolfe sighs into the fabric of Chris' shirt, stooped and spent. He let's his hand drop from Jon's unless his friend does anything to hold onto Wolfe's fingers. He nearly apologizes but he doesn't want the protest he'll get for even beginning to say the words. "Thank you" comes out instead.

"I should see to Amelia, its been awhile..." He wants to, but Chris' hand in his hair is something that he'd imagined more than once in his captivity, fingers sliding through the strands in such a way that tugged at Wolfe's heart in memory and does so now more fully. Its hard to break away. He inhales a rattling breath and swipes at his eyes, still remaining with his forehead pressed against Chris' middle and leaning just a little into Jon's hand, not caring that its awkward.

"...You could come as well? I doubt she'd mind." He gives Jon a sideline glance, the ghost of a cheeky grin on his face that reflects in his eyes, even if he's half obscured by his own shoulder. "She might just mind if you join us, though. You should probably start your bath without us."

Whatever they each go through tonight, it will be the needed breaking of the dam, but grief is a ghost that haunts the soul for a long time. It wouldn’t be the last time any of them crumbled. Just as in Duplicity, so long as all of the pieces were in one place, they could be put back together again. Here in Faerun, they might even have a shot at healing.

When Wolfe doesn’t move of his own accord, Chris pulls back himself and leans in to press a kiss to his mage’s lips, a brief taste that makes that buried ache pang before he buries it again.

“Go on. You’re better for soft than I am.”

That fetid feeling of resentment after Wolfe had vanished when nearly everyone in creation seemed to be there to help Amelia while Chris’ support were all grieving with only two people to even give voice to how Chris might feel snags at him now. Let them figure themselves out first, he wasn’t alone just yet and he could wait for the rest.

“She needs you for more’n just this and I’ve a ridiculous brat of a man to keep me busy.”

He waves Wolfe toward the shower with no intention of hearing ‘no.’

There's something in how Chris responds - in that kiss and more - that grabs Wolfe's entire attention. He sits up, catching Chris' fingers before he moves too far. He doesn't say anything but there's that look in his eye, that he knows something is eating at his love and that he wants to soothe whatever the ache is. Wolfe gives a gentle squeeze as a promise and then frees Chris to badger Jon, finally getting back to his feet. His knees creak as he does.

"Go on, then. Use your hard edges to soften his," he says with another grin to Jon, one he hopes gets across that he thinks they'll get through this too. They just have to try.

--

After a brief pass by the dogs to let them know they can eat their kills - which apparently they'd already decided was the case and made a bloody mess of the corner near the door that Wolfe used magic to make a less grisly scene - Wolfe approaches the shower. It's just a screen that separates it from the rest of the extremely open concept floorplan, but something in how its places obscures not just sight but also sound. Maybe its magic, he doesn't know, but he's grateful all the same.

Boots come off, then blood-stained shirt, but thats it before Wolfe pads barefoot into the shower area to find Amelia just how he thought he would: a fully clothed and sodden lump on the floor. With a swallowed groan of effort, Wolfe lowers himself down to the floor with her in the heated spray, gently brushing her shoulder until he gets her eyes on him. Without a word and making no effort to hide the splotchy redness crying causes to paint his face, he simply opens his arms, inviting her in against him with a gentle, fragile smile.

Maker take him, seeing her even like this feels the same as coming home. Tears sting his eyes again and he just... let's them. Its alright just to be what they're going to be right now. As long as they're together.

Wolfe’s grin and Chris’ long suffering are charming in a way, but Jon’s fully aware he’ll need to fend off Chris trying to get him to break down like the others… while doing everything he can to avoid his own.

He starts pulling away when Wolfe does, edging toward the quiet room while the other men have a final discussion. When Chris starts moving for him, though, the edging becomes more of a quick step.

“You should go with him. I told you I’m not undressing when Amelia might walk out of the shower at any moment. You might as well see to her. And yourself. We could all do with a shower before blooding up your hot springs.”

If he just pretends he’s fine, then Chris will tend to the others who need it more. Clearly.

He can see in Wolfe’s face he’ll be cornered later, but that’s later and for now, they have partners to fuss after. Wolfe goes on his way and Jon is practically running from him.

Luckily, his legs are longer.

He crosses the room, wings unfolding as he goes, so that when he gets to Jon, his Archivist is pinned between door and feather and cleric.

“They’ll be fine. They need each other without me right now. Which means, despite your best efforts, you’re not escaping me.”

He reaches down and cups Jon’s chin with one hand, green eyes intent on studying his boyfriend.

“Why’re you trying to dodge out from letting someone care?”

There's little privacy in this open concept of a temple, but there's something about the cover of Chris' wings that makes it feel like they're properly hidden. It helps that he knows Wolfe and Amelia must be having their own moment together behind the screen of the shower. They're likely not thinking about Chris and Jon. Unless they are. Unless they're listening together? The absurd image of two soaked (still in their clothes) people pressing their ears to the screen, eyes squinting as they try to hear past the water, comes into his head.

And is promptly dislodged by Chris tilting his chin up with a warm hand. It takes an enormous amount of effort not to melt into the touch and give in immediately to whatever it is the cleric wants. But Jon likes to imagine he's made of somewhat sterner stuff than that.

"I'm not the one whose world is falling apart. I knew our being... copies was a possibility. That they might be storing people away to torture and kill in worse ways. I've already had those existential crises." More than once. Maybe a few more times in the future, but he's trying not to think too hard about it. "And there's only so much 'care' to go around. They need it more. You need it more, probably. Your whole plan for being here was just upended. Why are you trying to comfort everyone else?"

Edited 2025-09-30 16:31 (UTC)

He at least has the decency not to show he sees when Jon actively resists Chris's offer of comfort. He has patience; it wouldn't be the first time he chipped away at Jonathan Sims. Though his question does deserve a moment of honest reflection, he can do that much in exchange for pushing them all.

"Knowing it's a possibility and knowing it's true are two different things, love." He knows Jon knows that conceptually, even if he deems it different for himself for whatever reason. "And I have plenty of care for those who're here. I wouldn't be if I didn't."

He wasn't that selfless.

"But as for why...wish I could tell you it's out of goodness or love. Unfortunately, I guess it's just because it's what I can do. I should be cleaning up a war, healing, taking stock, fighting with the others to make them believe you're meant to be there too. I had a hundred different arguments and speeches ready...but there's nowhere to put them. So I can do this."

Jon grasps Chris' wrist, not to pull him away, but just to have the contact and something to do with his hands. "I assume the worst. They don't." The cleric is a little more on the pessimist side with him, but he knows that extends toward practicality, not the Archivist's doom and gloom. "So, I just... I don't know. There's not much I can do right now, either. I'd sort of been thinking how I could convince them, too. Maybe, uh... claim I could do some sort of truth spell and compel one of them, then you to prove what you were saying was true?" How much weight the Guardians would put in that remains debatable, of course.

"And now we're- I don't know what I'm going to do here, Chris. I'm not good at the things all of you are. I'm from the-" He holds back on saying 'modern world.' "A world more like Duplicity than this one when it comes to technology and comforts. I can't hunt." Not for anything they can eat. "I don't know how to build a fire. I've only just started moving past basics with a dagger. I have 'dietary needs' that are hard to deal with.

"It just feels like I'm going to be more a burden than a help to you now." At least if they'd had the castle and all of that, he could have fallen back on being some sort of scholar, recording everyone's experiences with the dragon, starting an archive for the city. "That's why you should be comforting people who- people who can actually contribute something useful to us as a party." Because that's what they are now. Some bizarre little 'adventuring party,' like a fantasy game.

For all his talent in reading others, Chris had always been notoriously bad at hiding how he was feeling unless it was under the veneer of impassivity all proper noble women maintained. Unfortunately, he doesn't have that veneer ready just now, and his confused incredulity is entirely unmasked as it grows with Jon's words.

"Hold on...I'm gonna assume it's cause we're tired and unsettled and grieving that you just implied that after all of our years together, I'd consider you worth less of my time for the perceived contribution to this party. A perception I'm afraid your education is limited on, clearly. My fault for not being clear from the start."

He leans in a little closer, a brow raising as he does so. "I don't need you to fight or hunt or even charm people, Jon. I need you because I need you. Because I haven't been in a relationship with anyone as long as I've been with you, even Wolfe by a measurable bit. You'll be a help to us because of this." He reaches up to tap Jon's forehead. "You're the smartest of us. You eat information like you're starving and, even if this is my world, there's so much I don't know that I have little doubt you'll learn and internalize in a snap. I need you cause your mind is sharp and you'll likely learn first what we can eat safely and what'll kill us, and you'll see things we won't simply because you come from another world, another perspective. I've no doubt we're all gonna need you as much as you'll need us to make sure nothing takes a bite out of you. So...no more of that, alright?"

Jon feels his heart start to flutter as his boyfriend leans in, crowds him after a fashion. He knows he shouldn’t find it attractive, this sense of being trapped, but Duplicity’s clearly done something to him since dragging him there some seven years ago. He swallows and glances away momentarily as he pulls his own thoughts together.

“You- I mean, you don’t know that for sure. I can barely even read or write common. What happens if whatever translation effect we had in the City goes away?” He remembers the time that had gone out in Duplicity, how frightening and confusing it had been. They’d managed to get by, but miming wouldn’t work for every person in Faerûn, and having people think he’s completely illiterate… the shame would break him before anything else they’ve learned.

He's entirely ready to argue against whatever non-point Jon has to make...except he does make a point. Enough of one that Chris can only find mild satisfaction at flustering his partner. He sighs, but doesn't pull away. If his proximity was jostling those negative thoughts, then he wasn't going to let that one up.

"I do know all of that for sure because I know it's all true. I've no reason to lie about myself or my motives, you know I'm not so kindly as to say something just to make you feel better if I didn't believe it. I know, too, that you're smart. You know that you're smart...and now you've gone and proven my latter-most point by reminding me of the damn translation thing. I'll write out something to start on: the alphabet and common phrases, but once we've some money, I'll get us some books to start learning from. If it fails afore that...I've got some magic that can help in the short-term."

Jon knows it’s at least a little bit flattery, but he can’t help another flutter as Chris praises him for noting the translation issue. He had been the one to think of that first. There’s a temporary solution, as well, which is a mild comfort.

“I’m not- If my powers keep working properly, there is the possibility I’ll be able to read and understand, as well, I suppose. It, uh… it never really came up in the city except the once, but I’m sort of… poly-lingual? I think it’s because the Eye wants me to be able to take Statements from anyone. I was just able to understand another language I’d never learned. More than once.

“But actually learning would be good. Just in case it only works for Earth-based languages?” He’s not sure how adaptable an eldritch fear entity could be on another plane. At least somewhat, given Duplicity. “I can start making a list of all the things we need to make sure are covered, maybe? Language… illnesses. Amelia, Wolfe, and I have never been here. We might catch every sickness and disease under the sun with our immune systems not being adapted to it all…”

He brings his hand up to brush his fingers through Jon's hair...and tries to sneakily pull it from its hair tie in the process.

"I think it might be better not to rely on the Eye's translation abilities. It might be fine, but just in case it...I don't know, gets it backwards or associates it with an Earth language that's not quite right, I think you and Wolfe have some learning to do."

The thought about the sickness is sound too, if the three of them don't end up huddled up and sad in a week or so, Chris will be genuinely surprised.

"That list'd be very helpful. That's two now you've put thought to that I haven't. For illness, at least, I know some local plants we can keep an eye out for and I can cure anything too dire. Unfortunately...I'm gonna need to let you all suffer through the basic stuff so you can get stronger, so we'll need those herbs to make it easier for you all. Anything else dire we need to plan for? Orr can it wait until after a bath and dinner?"

Jon is far too used to Chris touching his hair at this point to fight him as the tie is tugged out and his hair tumbles to his shoulders. He has just enough awareness to frown as he realizes what's been done, but Chris is asking him for something. A list. Lists, Jon can manage. It should keep his mind away from the present dire topics if he thinks of future horrific things. First and foremost is that he has nowhere to safely stow his Statements long-term. Unless Chris can keep anything left in the temple when he rebuilds it somewhere else. Not that they have terribly much yet, but there are all manner of elements outside these walls. And in it, with the water and the steam. His mind is already on what that's going to do to the paper.

"I'll start on it after. I... are you really going to make me get in there with Amelia right over there? What if she sees me? What if I see her? I doubt she's keen on witnessing me in my birthday suit, even if she might like seeing you and Wolfe in yours. Couldn't you just... prestidigitate anything off of me now? I can wait until she goes to bed, then get in.

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