Work Text:
By the time Caduceus sits down to do his prayer of healing after the intense starlit battle against some strange monsters along the Dwendalian road, every single member of the Mighty Nein is aching and bruised and bleeding. Yasha and Beau are wrapping bandages around their wounds, a familiar ritual by now. Fjord and Jester are checking over each other and exchanging the little healing magic they can spare. Even Caleb and Veth got hit with a few ranged abilities. So, Caduceus sits down underneath Catha’s glow, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath just as a warm breeze blows by, and begins his prolonged prayer.
He retreats deep into his mind, into that soft and blank place where mediation and prayer live. As if releasing his hold on his body, he pushes past the aches of his own injuries to connect with his divine magic. He imagines a simple field at first, covered in tall grass that sways in the wind. He is walking slowly among the blades, the cuts on his hands becoming harmless slices from the grass.
Please, Wildmother, heal them, he prays in silence.
The grass gives way to flowers. Daffodils sway in the sunlight. Violets burst into view. Orchids open their petals to the clear sky. Forget-me-nots form out of the soil below. Roses cut through his legs with their thorns, and their sweet fragrance covers up the smell of blood.
Please, Wildmother, heal them.
The flowers turn into fungus and lichen and moss. The vibrant colors become muted and earthy. The beauty of life turns over to the wonders of decay and death and rebirth. Tea leaves spring out of the mounds of mushrooms. The smell of rot carries on the next gentle breeze, but it’s more comforting than disturbing.
Please, Wildmother, heal them.
Mounds of dirt and stone emerge from the ground. Freshly-dug graves scatter the path forward. Headstones break the flat plane of the horizon, crumbling and reforming. The Grove forms around where he walks ever onward. A sense of utter peace washes over him. He’s home.
Please… Wildmother… heal them.
The bright sky darkens gradually. Looming trees with a peculiar—yet familiar—purple coloration rise from the earth. He stumbles in his path. He can feel the corruption all around him, the same corruption that has plagued his entire life. The air grows cold and still.
Please… Wildmother….
The trees grow closer and closer. He slows, his feet feeling heavier and heavier. He feels like he’s about to be swallowed up by the thick, corrupted trees, and then, he realizes that he’s instead being swallowed by the earth below. The ground has become a thick mud, a hungry quicksand with a mind of its own. He’s sinking down. The pull is an inevitable, unstoppable force. He has no chance to resist.
Please….
The rest of the Nein only manage to catch the sight of Caduceus slumping over heavily to the side where he had sat down away from the road for his ritual. Immediately, everyone rushes to him, with Beau and Yasha reaching his side first.
“Cad?” Beau tilts his head to face up towards her and finds that his eyes are closed. “Hey, hey now. Wake up, man. What kinda shit have you gotten into now?”
Yasha positions herself behind his back and lifts him to settle against her chest, supporting his dead weight. She brushes his long pink hair out of his face. “Caduceus?”
The firbolg shifts in her hold, his eyelids fluttering open. He gives a confused hum that matches his bleary gaze.
By now, the rest of the Nein have made it over. Caleb maintains some distance, keeping an eye on their surroundings with the dancing lights he creates. Fjord hovers over their fallen friend, and Jester kneels in front of Yasha with open concern.
“Is that blood?” Veth asks as she points out the stains on Caduceus’ clothing.
“Oh shit,” Beau says as she takes a closer look in the new lighting.
“Caduceus, why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?” Fjord asks.
Caduceus blinks, the night sky above him a little too reminiscent of the vision he had just passed out to. As he returns to consciousness and his mind’s connection to his body, he registers some aches and pains that he hadn’t been aware of before beginning his prayer. “I… um… wasn’t aware that I was hurt.”
He looks down at himself and finds blood staining his fur and clothes from a few collections of nasty claw marks along his limbs and torso. As a wave of lightheadedness hits him, he realizes that he must have lost more blood than he had expected.
Caleb winces as he also spots a jagged cut that has torn through the leg of Caduceus’ pants. “That one is going to scar.”
Jester flexes her hands as she moves closer to the firbolg. “I don’t have much left today,” she says as a way of apologizing as the faint pink light of her magic glows from her palms.
Some of Caduceus’ wounds close under her divine healing, and it’s enough to push away the dizzy spell. “Thank you,” he tells his fellow cleric, his perpetual soft smile turning up with hints of mischief at the corners. “I know how much that means from you.”
She pouts at the insinuation. “I heal people! I’m a cleric, and I heal all of you.”
“You do,” he concedes before beginning to rise from Yasha’s careful hold on him. “Now, let me return the favor.”
He starts up his prayer of healing once more, but there’s a bit more care all around. He’s careful not to slip too far into his own mind, and the rest of the party are careful to keep close watch over him as he spends the time to entreat the Wildmother for her help.
As the Mighty Nein feel the familiar soothing magic wash over them and heal their wounds, they reaffirm their promises to themselves not to take that magic—or its caster—for granted.