Critical Role - He Came to Meet Me
Nov. 24th, 2017 09:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
squeaklingsTitle: He Came to Meet Me
Wordcount: 955
Fandom: Critical Role
Rating: PG
Warnings: spoilers for 115, themes of death
Summary: On a warm summer morning, Keyleth receives a visitor.
Notes: Inspired 100% by the song He Came to Meet Me by Hem. I've been trying to write this since 102, but can never seem to get the right feel. I hope this version finally conveys my feelings.
The grass is cool beneath her feet, and the dew clings to her bare toes as she makes her slow way to the raven tree at the edge of her village. In the pre-dawn light she can just make out the shape of the feather, and she traces it lovingly before her fingers move to the other relics laid within the bark. She knows them all by heart, knows their meanings and their memories, and retreads them in her mind one-by-one as the sun slowly crests the mountains and warms her back.
Good morning, she whispers as the light touches the raven feather, her voice gravely with old age and lack of use. The feather is as pristine as it was when Pike gave it to her, soft under her fingers where the tree doesn't cling to it. It's an old comfort, a daily ritual centuries in the making; one of the only constants in her long, long life.
The sun on her back is welcome, a contrast to the cool grass in the shadow of the tree, and she presses her forehead to the feather with a smile. Today will be a nice day, don't you think? she says, the same as she has said every morning for years.
There's a caw and a rustle of black feathers out of the corner of her eye, and she holds her arm out for her companion to land on. He's been the only other constant in her life since returning to Zephrah, an old friend to pass the years with. But instead of the familiar weight of talons on her wrist she feels cool, soft fingers, and her breath catches at a voice she thought lived only in her memories.
I do.
Vax kneels beside her, dark wings slightly extended as he smiles at her with that hint of sadness and embarrassment she remembers so well. He looks and sounds the same as he had that day in Vasselheim, a memory brought back to life, and all she can do is stare as her heart fills her throat. His smile falls ever-so-slightly as he gently brushes some gray strands behind her ear.
Kiki?
Vax... She reaches out to brush his cheeks and he leans into the touch, still as cold as he was all those years ago. Tears blur her vision but she blinks them away quickly. He's here, he's with her, she will not lose a moment.
He smiles and and brushes quick little kisses across her palm. She laughs as it tickles, but the tears flow more freely and he stops to thumb them away.
I missed you.
He smiles that sad smile of his and presses their foreheads together as he twines her gray hair between his fingers. His wings furl around them, holding in the early morning warmth, and she leans against them with a sigh. She's a frail thing beside his youthful body, wizened and gray.
They talk of many things within the safety of his feathers: of Zephrah, of Whitestone, of those he knew and those he never could. His nieces and nephews, so many generations removed yet still so familiar. Little gnome descendants and their friends. She weaves stories Scanlan would be proud of, tales of mischief and heartache and loss, of pride and courage and victory. She has seen so very many lives pass before her, always aware they will leave before she does, but she refused to shut herself off. She's stronger for it, a sentiment he echoes as she finishes her last tale.
He has stories as well. He talks of his mother, of his queen, of friends loved and lost. Of Vex and Percy and Pike and Scanlan and Grog and Tary. All those dear to him but whom he left behind. They aren't sad stories, despite it all, and she can hear the love in his voice as he speaks. He's seen so much and yet not enough, barred from the things he truly desires but learning to care for what he has. And he was there with them all at the end, a herald to lead them home.
A herald to lead her home.
The village is awake and moving about as he unfurls his wings and his voice falls silent, the bright noonday sun bathing them with light. She sighs and smiles.
Is it time? she asks, and rests her head against the tree as he helps her settle in among the roots. She presses a hand against the familiar bark, feels the warmth and strength coursing through it. Her raven tree. She feels more than hears it respond, a gentle farewell whispered through the wind in its boughs.
He kneels before her and nods, that same sad smile on his too-pale face. There is love in his gaze, unyielding and unending.
She presses a hand against his cheek and pulls him in to kiss his forehead. There's so many things to ask, so many things to finish. Is her successor ready? The child is barely older than she was when she first wore the mantle, wiser beyond her years but still so very very young. And what of her family in Whitestone, left alone without a word? And yet... Somehow her worries seem so small now, hard to grasp and far away.
Thank you, she whispers with a sigh, their foreheads pressed together as he takes a breath he doesn't need and she closes her eyes. Her raven tree feels warm, so very warm, and she falls into its embrace with a smile.
They find her later that night, a faint impression left at the base of the tree, the raven feather over her heart and snowdrop flowers at her feet.
Wordcount: 955
Fandom: Critical Role
Rating: PG
Warnings: spoilers for 115, themes of death
Summary: On a warm summer morning, Keyleth receives a visitor.
Notes: Inspired 100% by the song He Came to Meet Me by Hem. I've been trying to write this since 102, but can never seem to get the right feel. I hope this version finally conveys my feelings.
The grass is cool beneath her feet, and the dew clings to her bare toes as she makes her slow way to the raven tree at the edge of her village. In the pre-dawn light she can just make out the shape of the feather, and she traces it lovingly before her fingers move to the other relics laid within the bark. She knows them all by heart, knows their meanings and their memories, and retreads them in her mind one-by-one as the sun slowly crests the mountains and warms her back.
Good morning, she whispers as the light touches the raven feather, her voice gravely with old age and lack of use. The feather is as pristine as it was when Pike gave it to her, soft under her fingers where the tree doesn't cling to it. It's an old comfort, a daily ritual centuries in the making; one of the only constants in her long, long life.
The sun on her back is welcome, a contrast to the cool grass in the shadow of the tree, and she presses her forehead to the feather with a smile. Today will be a nice day, don't you think? she says, the same as she has said every morning for years.
There's a caw and a rustle of black feathers out of the corner of her eye, and she holds her arm out for her companion to land on. He's been the only other constant in her life since returning to Zephrah, an old friend to pass the years with. But instead of the familiar weight of talons on her wrist she feels cool, soft fingers, and her breath catches at a voice she thought lived only in her memories.
I do.
Vax kneels beside her, dark wings slightly extended as he smiles at her with that hint of sadness and embarrassment she remembers so well. He looks and sounds the same as he had that day in Vasselheim, a memory brought back to life, and all she can do is stare as her heart fills her throat. His smile falls ever-so-slightly as he gently brushes some gray strands behind her ear.
Kiki?
Vax... She reaches out to brush his cheeks and he leans into the touch, still as cold as he was all those years ago. Tears blur her vision but she blinks them away quickly. He's here, he's with her, she will not lose a moment.
He smiles and and brushes quick little kisses across her palm. She laughs as it tickles, but the tears flow more freely and he stops to thumb them away.
I missed you.
He smiles that sad smile of his and presses their foreheads together as he twines her gray hair between his fingers. His wings furl around them, holding in the early morning warmth, and she leans against them with a sigh. She's a frail thing beside his youthful body, wizened and gray.
They talk of many things within the safety of his feathers: of Zephrah, of Whitestone, of those he knew and those he never could. His nieces and nephews, so many generations removed yet still so familiar. Little gnome descendants and their friends. She weaves stories Scanlan would be proud of, tales of mischief and heartache and loss, of pride and courage and victory. She has seen so very many lives pass before her, always aware they will leave before she does, but she refused to shut herself off. She's stronger for it, a sentiment he echoes as she finishes her last tale.
He has stories as well. He talks of his mother, of his queen, of friends loved and lost. Of Vex and Percy and Pike and Scanlan and Grog and Tary. All those dear to him but whom he left behind. They aren't sad stories, despite it all, and she can hear the love in his voice as he speaks. He's seen so much and yet not enough, barred from the things he truly desires but learning to care for what he has. And he was there with them all at the end, a herald to lead them home.
A herald to lead her home.
The village is awake and moving about as he unfurls his wings and his voice falls silent, the bright noonday sun bathing them with light. She sighs and smiles.
Is it time? she asks, and rests her head against the tree as he helps her settle in among the roots. She presses a hand against the familiar bark, feels the warmth and strength coursing through it. Her raven tree. She feels more than hears it respond, a gentle farewell whispered through the wind in its boughs.
He kneels before her and nods, that same sad smile on his too-pale face. There is love in his gaze, unyielding and unending.
She presses a hand against his cheek and pulls him in to kiss his forehead. There's so many things to ask, so many things to finish. Is her successor ready? The child is barely older than she was when she first wore the mantle, wiser beyond her years but still so very very young. And what of her family in Whitestone, left alone without a word? And yet... Somehow her worries seem so small now, hard to grasp and far away.
Thank you, she whispers with a sigh, their foreheads pressed together as he takes a breath he doesn't need and she closes her eyes. Her raven tree feels warm, so very warm, and she falls into its embrace with a smile.
They find her later that night, a faint impression left at the base of the tree, the raven feather over her heart and snowdrop flowers at her feet.
