Work Text:
She falls.
At the end of the battle, she sees a young woman, grievously wounded, and being the good and virtuous cleric, she reached out to try to heal.
(it isn’t a young woman)
(it isn’t wounded)
(it is waiting)
And before her god’s name could cross her lips that young-woman-that-wasn’t grips her tight, breathes her in, sucks her life away, leaving her nearly empty.
And if it wasn’t for that god whose name she never got to breathe, Pike Trickfoot would have died right there in the rubble, at the feet of the soul-stealer with iron in her smile.
But Sarenrae knows her own.
And Sarenrae isn’t letting that one
(that slight, diminutive)
(white-haired, pure of heart)
(smile on her lips)
(healing in her hands)
(gnome beloved by so many)
go down without a fight.
They scream her name. Plead for her to wake.
(wonder if each time they took her for granted was maybe one time too many)
They kill the soul-stealer, the young-woman-that-wasn’t, leave the iron in her smile strewn across the rubble and the ruins. And then they pick up their cleric
(suddenly all too fragile and small and broken)
and take her to the temple of Sarenrae.
Vax is the one who tells the cleric what they saw, the one who stands with her, holds her hand
(though there’s no way she can tell)
while the clerics inspect her, perform their medicine checks, make their grave pronouncements.
(And grave they are.)
Never seen this before, they say.
No one’s ever lived after seeing one of those, they say.
So there’s no way…
And then the head cleric, Tristyn, stops them. We have seen this once. Only once.
Tell us, Vax says firmly, sensing trepidation in the cleric’s heart.
And so he does.
There’s a temple. A journey. Many days away from here. An order of women who do not see the outside world, living at the top of a mountain. They do not come out. I’ll write you a letter, but… but I do not know if they will even see you.
And they can heal Pike? Keyleth’s voice shakes.
It is possible, Tristyn says. They can attempt to put her back into her body. But I have heard… I have heard they do not come back right. She may be lost to you forever.
She isn’t lost.
Pike swims in the rivers of her mind, warm and safe like an infant in the womb. She is somewhere beyond her body. She knows the rest of the world is out there, just beyond reach, but for some reason she can’t be bothered to think about it.
It’s all right, dear heart. Just sleep.
She knows there’s something wrong about it, knows she should open her eyes and rise and stand, but like an empty jug recently filled with so much running water, she no longer has a purpose.
Rest, dear heart, and I will watch over you.
And if Sarenrae says it, why should Pike try to fight it?
(She doesn’t fight it.)
“We need some way to transport her,” Percy says to Vax.
Vax hasn’t left Pike’s side since she fell. Even now, as she lays on a puddle of blankets in the middle of the temple of Sarenrae, he stands only a few feet away, refusing to move. She’s still breathing. She’s still here. We still have a chance.
He looks up at Percy. “A cart, perhaps.”
Percy nods. “I’ll see if I can borrow one from the farmers closest to the keep.”
When Percy leaves Vax kneels, unsure penitent at a shifting altar, and bows his head. “Sarenrae,” he says softly, his voice far too loud in the stillness. “Sarenrae…”
And yet from there he cannot go on. He doesn’t have the words to put his deepest fears into sound.
A gentle hand touches the crown of his head. I know, the god’s soft voice breathes into his ears.
“She is not in pain.”
No.
“Please… keep her safe, and may the rest of us survive long enough to get her to these women who can help. For if Pike goes…”
Vax can’t speak the end of his sentence
(so goes the rest of Vox Machina)
but he’s pretty sure Sarenrae knows what’s in his heart anyway.
"No,” Keyleth protests, when one of the clerics approaches them.
“Keyleth,” Vex murmurs. “We have to.”
“No.” Keyleth shakes her head, tries to find some way to get out of the situation. If she doesn’t
(do this)
(touch this)
(see this)
then it can’t possibly be happening.
(Except that it is.)
“She won’t need her armor for the journey,” Vex says softly. “And she’ll be lighter and safer -
(and stealthier her mind chimes in)
“without it.”
Keyleth just nods, tears in her eyes.
One of the clerics shows them to a dressing room. Another brings them a bowl of warm water and some soft cloths. Percy returns from borrowing a cart and wordlessly holds out a set of Pike’s clothing and her comb; he’d gone back to the keep without quite knowing why. Vax carries Pike into the room and stands there awkwardly, unable to say anything, until Vex shoos him out gently.
She and Keyleth work in silence
(reverent)
(almost)
for an hour or so, removing Pike’s armor and the sweaty, dirt-encrusted clothing underneath, washing Pike’s small body. In her undergarments Pike seems fragile
(vulnerable)
and soft. Keyleth winces as she moves the warm washcloth across Pike’s torso, the cloth going over a fist-shaped bruise and the long banded bisecting scar that’s one of the only reminders of Pike’s death
(her previous death Keyleth’s traitorous mind thinks)
from their fateful encounter with the glabrezu.
Vex combs the snarls and tangles out of Pike’s white hair, keeps her eyes on Pike’s face. She swears she sees Pike’s eyes open once, swears she hears Pike’s voice in her ears
(what are you doing, Vex?)
(amused, of course, as she would be)
but a quick glance at Keyleth tells Vex there’s been no change in Pike’s condition.
At last Pike is clean and redressed in the set of clothes Percy procured. Vex braids her hair back and tucks her holy symbol beneath the collar of her tunic.
Vax returns and carries Pike out into the yard, out into the sunshine, to the cart that’s been lined with blankets and pillows. And there he hesitates.
(It looks too much like a funeral bier and Vax’s arms freeze up, refusing to put her down.)
“I’ve got it,” Grog says gruffly. His gigantic arms slide under Vax’s in a surprisingly deft way and he scoops Pike up into the air.
Cradled against him she weighs as much as a feather. He looks down at her, her sweet sleeping face, and emotion socks him in the gut like a giant’s fist. “It’s gonna be okay,” he mutters to her, tears in his eyes. “We’re gonna figure it out. I promise.”
Grog lays her on the cart and strokes her face. His hand looks gigantic against her head and he wants to cry without really understanding why.
Tristyn and another cleric approach. The younger man puts a necklace of braided lavender around Pike’s neck, then steps back, looking at Tristyn. The head cleric steps forward and places one hand on Pike’s forehead. He murmurs a soft prayer, slipping a holy symbol into her hand.
He raises his head to take in the rest of Vox Machina. “May Sarenrae guide you on your journey. May she see Pike’s spirit restored. May she bring you all back safely.”
Night falls several hours outside Emon and Vox Machina makes camp. As he usually does, Vax volunteers to take first watch. The others curl up in their bedrolls around the fire, prepare themselves for the night ahead.
“Vax,” Grog says, seeming a bit hesitant. “D’ you think we should…?”
He gestures towards Pike’s cart, and Trinket, who’d pulled it without complaint.
“... give her a bed?”
Vax looks into Grog’s face, trying to understand the goliath’s intentions. He can’t see anything other than honesty and pain. “She might like that,” Vax says.
They set up a space near Vex and Keyleth. Keyleth watches the proceedings with concerned eyes, her attention on Pike. After Pike’s snuggled up in her blankets near the other girls, as Vax is heading off to being patrolling the camp, he hears Keyleth’s voice, softly.
“I’ll tell you a story so you won’t be scared - one I learned when I was visiting the earth Ashari. Once upon a time…”
When Vax comes to wake Vex for watch, Percy’s sitting near Keyleth’s bedroll. The druid is asleep; Percy’s fingers trail through her hair but his words are directed at Pike. “... so the boy, still devastated from his brother’s death, taught the mechanical man, his brother’s invention, to fight! And they went out to find the masked man who stole the boy’s inventions, compatriots…”
He’s not sure how he knows, but something in his heart tells him they’ll keep telling stories until the sun comes up, voices carrying Pike through the darkness.
Four days outside Emon the sky grows dark with storm clouds. Great gusts of wind wrap around the hilly path like thick wet blankets. Above it all there’s a sound, a bizarre
(desperate)
keening.
On the cart Pike’s forehead furrows and her hand curls tighter around the holy symbol the cleric in Emon gave her. Vex is the only one to notice the slight glow spilling from Pike’s closed hands, and even she has only mere seconds to register this before all hell breaks loose.
Three black figures spill out of the sky, sharp angles and talons and shrieks. They set upon the group in a flurry. Their movements are keen and angry and razor-focused, taking Vox Machina by surprise.
The first of the figures - a monstrous crow-woman like the others - attacks Percy, taking him to the ground. Vex manages to get off a shot as the first crow-woman turns; Scanlan calls up Bigby’s Hand to push her off the path and down into a crevasse. Grog hammers one with his axe and Vax sets upon the same with his dagger.
Keyleth pins the third one down with a series of twisting vines. As they approach her, the morrigan, the crow-woman, turns towards Pike’s cart, towards Trinket, who’s guarding it, and her horrid mouth gapes wide. Her red eyes flare with a devilish gleam. “This one,” she hisses. “Give us this one.”
Trinket lets out a roar.
"Soulless little one,” the morrigan breathes. “Empty little vessel. So… open. So delicious.”
It wrenches free from the vines and swoops towards Pike.
Trinket bellows.
A flare of light bursts up from the holy symbol clenched in Pike’s hand and the morrigan howls in pain. It writhes and screams as it disintegrates, bursting into nothing more than a series of shadows and dust.
Vex scrambles over to the cart. Pike’s face is twisted in fear; tears stream down her face. Her eyes remain closed, and there’s no sign that she’s awake or back into her body, but she’s definitely terrified.
“It’s all right,” Grog says, and he puts down his axe, scooping Pike into his arms.
He cradles her against her chest and finds himself humming a song from their childhood, one her uncle used to sing for birthdays. It always reminds him of watching Pike fashioning flowers into crowns for all of the children in the village. Birthday crowns she called them.
He feels her heart rate slow, hears her breathing ease. “Atta girl,” he says gruffly. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Not while we’re here.”
Pike’s face relaxes, and a soft glow radiates up from her hand once again.
“Atta girl,” Grog repeats. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
They reach the foot of the mountain after sunset on the sixth day. It’s cold and dark and the entire world seems to press down on them.
One thing becomes painfully clear almost immediately. There’s barely enough room for Trinket to make it up the path; there’s definitely no way the cart will be able to make the journey up.
“Doesn’t matter,” Percy says, and without further discussion he gathers Pike in his arms. “We’ll carry her.”
As they climb there’s not much to say. It seems reverent, the silence, as the shadows paint down the landscape around them, coloring the rocks plum and ebony and deep wine.
Percy looks down at the gnome in his arms. “Thank you for trusting us,” he says, unsure of where the words are coming from. “You always trust us, don’t you? You have a big heart, and all you want to do is trust others. And yet we walk you into the depths of hell every damn day and expect you to save us. And…”
His foot stumbles and he forces himself to regain his balance. “And every day you do.”
The cold air bites his lungs. “I’m so sorry, Pike.”
At the first plateau on the mountain they stop for water. Vex approaches Percy and holds out her arms.
“Are you sure?”
Vex nods.
“Let me know if she gets too heavy,” Percy says.
The shadows seem to deepen the higher they climb, and Vex swears she starts to hear high voices singing in the trees around them. They don’t sound unhappy; they almost sound welcoming, as though they’re drawing Vox Machina closer, closer
(closer, never to let them go)
(trap them in, feet stuck in honey)
- and it’s worrying.
“Do these people want to keep you?” Vex asks Pike. “They don’t even know you… but they should know you’re ours.”
Vax takes Pike at the next plateau, passing his canteen and the lantern to Vex. “I did some scouting ahead. We’re nearly there,” he says.
He looks down at Pike’s still form and though he can’t put his finger on it, something thwacks him in the sternum. “Keyleth,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.
The druid is next to him in a flash, eyes concerned, hands steady. “Her breathing,” Keyleth says after a beat. “It’s not right.”
She shakes her head. “We have to hurry.”
She can’t breathe.
Sarenrae! Pike cries out.
It’s darkness all around her. Emptiness. Cold.
For the first time she realizes she might have made her own prison
(she might truly be lost)
(damn the promises of gods and mere mortals)
and she might die behind the bars of unconsciousness - soulless, voiceless, helpless.
(terrified)
Her hand clenches around the holy symbol
(and all she can smell is lavender)
until her palm burns red hot and she wants to flinch away from the blinding light
(until it seems like the light and the emptiness are pulling in everything around her)
(including her choking, gasping breaths)
as she cries out again -
Sarenrae! Wake me up!
“Something’s on the move,” Vex reports, running back to the group. “We’ve got incoming. At least five. Big, whatever they are.”
“Grog!” Vax says urgently, his fingers itching for his daggers.
The goliath sheathes his axe without comment and moves towards Vax, his arms ready to take Pike.
“If we all get bogged down,” Vax says, “no matter what happens, you have to get Pike to the temple.”
A howl splits the night.
In Grog’s arms Pike gasps for breath.
It’s either the beginning or the end of something, but there’s no way to tell which it would be.
(until it’s over)
(and then it would be far too late)
They’re wolves. Sentry wolves, dark gazes and foaming mouths. And there are more than five of them - there are twelve.
Grog shoves towards Scanlan and Keyleth, wolves twining towards them. He punts them out of the way. “Here,” he grunts at Keyleth, sliding Pike into her arms. “Gotta get her there.”
And then he rages.
“Come on, Scanlan,” Keyleth says shakily.
Scanlan looks down at Vax and Vex, at Grog and Percy, and then at Pike in Keyleth’s arms. He takes a deep breath and begins conjuring lightning bolts, firing them into the flock of wolves. “I’ll cover you - you go!” he shouts. “Get her up there!”
Keyleth hesitates just long enough to see the lightning bolt impact the ground right in front of a wolf. Then she clutches Pike to her and starts running.
Keyleth isn’t sure when she loses track of her breathing versus Pike’s breathing, but eventually she realizes they’re both gasping. Keyleth’s feet slam into the rocky ground, skirt tangling around her ankles, thorns and brambles tugging at her skin. The wolves sound like they’re right behind them, the howls ringing in Keyleth’s ears.
And then she’s up, out of the tree-lined path, out into the open night air. It’s cold and Keyleth feels utterly exposed. She slows in the shadow of the temple, comes to almost a standstill as she sees several hooded figures emerge.
Her own breathing returns to normal, though her heart is still pounding. Pike’s gasps become more agonal, and tears flood Keyleth’s eyes. “Please!” she calls out to the hooded figures. “Please, you have to help her!”
Keyleth turns, seeking a face, a gaze, anyone to plead Pike’s case. Instead she only sees more of the hooded figures, slinking out of the darkness to surround them. “Please,” Keyleth begs. “Please, you have to -”
One of the hooded figures moves closer, a slender gloved hand emerging from the folds of the robe. Keyleth freezes as the figure’s fingers stroke down Pike’s face.
“So beautiful,” the figure whispers. “So fragile.”
“Help her,” Keyleth implores. “The cleric in Emon - he told us you could help her.”
The figure turns back to the others gathered around and begins to sing. Her voice is sweet and sorrowful, and Keyleth has never heard anything quite like it.
Pike’s gasps turn into sobs, then to screams. Keyleth’s knees go weak and she forces her body to remain upright. “Please,” she begs.
The figure approaches Keyleth again and holds out her arms.
“Please.”
The figure doesn’t respond, simply stands there expectantly.
There’s nothing left to do. Bowed, cowed, sobbing, Keyleth relinquishes Pike into the arms of the hooded woman.
The wind sweeps up the mountain, twisting together Grog’s yells and wolf howls and the singing of the women. Keyleth falls to her knees.
She can’t breathe.
“Breathe!”
She can’t breathe.
“Breathe!”
She can’t. She can’t breathe. Can’t even remember what breathing is, only that she needs to do it and she can’t.
“Come back to yourself! Breathe!”
There’s nothing. No air. Only a void calling her down.
“Remember who you are, daughter of Sarenrae!”
“Breathe!”
As it turns out, being reborn is a lot like dying. It’s painful, there’s screaming, bright light surrounds it all, and then there’s simply nothing but silence and an overwhelming feeling of starting again
(which doesn’t make sense)
(because it’s not supposed to)
(some things in life - or rebirth - just don’t)
with open eyes and a gasping sense of oh, it’s me, I’m back.
And maybe a little -
Oh, yes. This is exactly where I belong.
Pike’s eyes fly open and she wheezes and chokes. Her entire body throbs and her vision is blurry. “Grog?” she manages to get out.
A thick, warm, very familiar hand cups hers. “Yer all right,” her best friend says gruffly.
“What… what happened?” Pike rasps. She’s having trouble coordinating breathing and talking and seeing.
“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” Grog says. “Just rest.”
“Stay,” Pike says groggily, and she slides away from the world again.
When she wakes again the light is soft and the room is warm.
“Somebody ought to write a ballad about you, woman,” she hears Scanlan say.
Pike smiles. “You already do.”
“Yeah, but, I mean…” Scanlan looks flustered, and then he leans in and gives her a kiss.
Pike leans into his touch. “Is anyone going to tell me what happened?” she asks after he pulls away. “Or at the very least, where we are?”
The story comes out in pieces. Soul stealer - soulless Pike - cleric Tristyn - journey from Emon - morrigan - wolves - and the secret order of women who for millennia have been guarding the secret to putting souls back into bodies, here at the top of a mountain.
“How did you get me here?” Pike asks. Trinket nuzzles her and gives her a sloppy bear kiss.
“We walked,” Keyleth says.
“Trinket pulled you in a cart,” Vex adds.
“And then when that didn’t work…” Percy shrugs. “We carried you.”
“Oh,” Pike says softly. So many emotions sweep over her in a tempest. “You… why?”
Vox Machina looks back at her in surprise.
“Why?” Vax sounds startled. “Because you needed to get here and it was the only way.”
Pike shakes her head. “But you…”
“Yer ours,” Grog says gruffly. “It was the only way, so we did it.”
“You’re going to be a bit weak for a while,” Keyleth says. “So we’re staying. Helping with the gardening.”
“And the tinkering,” Percy puts in.
“And carrying stuff,” Grog adds. “And also, ale.”
Pike smiles.
“Sarenrae kept us safe,” Vax says softly. “She kept you safe.”
He picks up her hand and puts something into it. Pike looks down to see a braid of lavender twined around a very old holy symbol. “She knows how important you are to us… and if we forget that sometimes, I guess it’s our own damn fault we end up fighting morrigan and wolves.”
He closes her fingers around the holy symbol. Pike smells lavender. She closes her eyes and lets it wrap around her like a blanket.
They carry her again, down the mountain this time, her body still weak but her consciousness much, much stronger. Pike sits on Grog’s shoulder, looking up at the entire world around her. Things seem sharper, lovelier, sweeter.
When they reach the foot of the mountain Pike taps Grog with her foot. “Where are we going?”
He looks up at her. “Where d’ ya wanna go?”
Pike listens to the musical world around her - the birds singing in the trees, the wind twisting through branches and the entire land rising up green and lovely -
(there’s nothing wounded)
(nothing waiting)
(it all simply is)
and she rises to the challenge.
“Doesn’t matter to me - as long as we go together.”