Chapter Text
Act I
Kira is at school now.
She must be, Xenk finds himself thinking as he approaches the familiar cottage at the outskirts of Triboar, the packed earth road leading there just as warmly familiar as the cabin itself. His horse knows the path, too, after the two years that have passed since he was first approached by this ragtag group of travellers who had the audacity to request the Helm of Disjunction for the purpose of stealing both an eleven-year-old girl and the means to re-awaken a dead woman from a conman. Xenk knows himself to be a strict man, straightforward and unyielding in his faith and morale, and the mere concept of handing the Helm over to a group such as this one remains ludicrous to this day; but as his trusted steed veers off the road and beyond the somewhat wonky wooden fence into the yard, he is reminded of the warmth that sparked to life deep within him upon being confronted with Edgin Darvis and his drive to see his family restored. It was coloured by desperation, that fateful day they were first introduced to each other, but even dirt and despair could not conceal the rich, violent love that is the core of Edgin.
Xenk is a man who has lived through indescribable horrors. He has dedicated his sliver of a life to atoning for what abominations his countryfolk have perpetrated, though none of it may have been his fault, in a despondent effort to perhaps forgive himself one day; and what stolen time the touch of undeath ever clinging to his veins has granted him he has devoted to protecting the innocent and the beautiful. In a way that is as selfish as it is altruistic, for he draws soothing comfort from each reminder that the world is not all darkness and despair, that there is good left to be safeguarded. To be celebrated.
Edgin Darvis, he contemplates as he demounts in a shower of metal clanging against metal, has not always been a good man. Even now, after the role he played in protecting the city of Neverwinter and its inhabitants from the Red Wizards’ seizing grasp, Edgin remains a liar, and a storyteller, and a bard. Perhaps those are all one and the same, Xenk acknowledges thoughtfully, but none of them can deny the warmth that Edgin Darvis radiates with every breath. With every sarcastic word spat into the night, every absurd excuse breathed into the abyss. Xenk struggles with relating to people, with understanding the metaphor and subtext they converse so freely in as though speaking in a secret code he is not privy to, but somehow that ceases to matter in the face of Edgin’s warmth, in the face of the love — love for life, love for adventure, love for those he has raised and chosen as family — openly pulsing through the bard and driving his every decision. Privately, the paladin occasionally wonders how his friend could have been so successful a Harper when he wears his beautiful heart on his sleeve, but perhaps time has changed him? Or it is Xenk who is misled, for Edgin is one of very few people he has ever felt he might understand, whose emotions might not be entirely concealed to him. (If not always, then certainly more often than any other person the years have introduced him to.)
Indeed, I shall hope it has not, he ponders quietly, for he has need of Edgin’s talents this sombre Uktar evening. Darkness has long since fallen although it is not particularly late in the day; as is typical for this time of year. The cabin’s windows shine orange and yellow with the flames lit within, but between cold breaths they lack much of the welcoming warmth Xenk has come to associate with the view. Truly, there is little doubt that Kira has left for school, and that Edgin suffers the loss of her presence bitterly.
The paladin cares for his steed with sure, patient hands, motions and gestures he has performed more often than he could hope to count, and leaves the horse to rest in the narrow stables set up behind the cabin as he heads for the door. His knuckles are loud against the solid wood when he raps a routine rhythm against it, and for a long time, there is silence. Xenk’s hearing is more sensitive than most humans’, and he finds himself increasingly disquieted until finally — finally — he hears a chair scrape over floor boarding, and heavy steps approaching. Then the door swings open ever so slowly and Edgin’s stooping silhouette is painted darkly against the flames’ light in his back. Xenk’s heart breaks for his friend.
As he has come to expect over the past few moons, ever since he began to regularly seek out Edgin and Holga and Kira, it further stumbles and staggers helplessly within his chest and he swallows around his woollen, swollen tongue at the sight. The bard is beautiful, even in his current state of mind, and he has been missed most ardently. Xenk is certainly conscious of his affections for this ridiculous, delightful man, to deny them would be falsehood to himself and he is a creature of truth. The paladin, however, also knows that not all truth is wise to be shared, and ensures to keep this particular truth secret to all but his own mind.
“Xenk,” Edgin croaks unenthusiastically, wearily, “guess it was too much to hope you’d leave if I waited long enough. Come in, then, if you’re already here.”
The comment stings, but Xenk sternly puts aside any pang he might feel. He knew that Edgin was unwell before he ever set foot upon the front step, and he refuses to take his friend’s abrasive ways to heart. Not when Edgin is suffering. Not when Xenk has learned, over the moons that have come and gone since their initial acquaintance, that Edgin turns to hostility when he is hurting. “My thanks, Edgin,” he enters the welcome warmth of the cabin when the bard steps aside to allow him access, closing the door behind him.
“How long are you staying?” The question carries within itself an offer, though not spoken, that means more to Xenk than he would know how to express.
“Only for the eve,” he answers regretfully, and fumbles hastily for the bag against his belt. Edgin’s shoulders sag even further, and though it is hardly obvious, Xenk certainly takes note of the effect his words have on his friend. He would not have understood it as an expression of negative sentiment (Weariness? Disappointment? Frustration?) in most others; but in Edgin’s presence, Xenk is bitterly aware.
“Dinner, then?”
The paladin ensures to offer a grateful, genuine smile. “I would be much obliged.” Finally, he succeeds at opening the buckle holding his bag closed and in quick succession produces three small pouches filled with different herbs and spices, awkwardly places them on the table. He invariably brings small gifts to show his appreciation whenever he seeks out his friends, though Edgin never fails to object such a practice. The small family of three is no longer hurting for coin after Lord Neverember emphatically expressed his appreciation for the role they played in saving the City of Skilled Hands from Sofina’s and Szass Tam’s reach; but they undoubtedly do not have funds to spare, either, and yet always graciously offer him meal and board without accepting any sort of payment. That’s what friends are for, both Edgin and Holga would say whenever he offered to see them compensated, and we’re friends now, aren’t we?
Edgin, headed towards the hearth, predictably rolls his eyes when the pouch is deposited upon his table. “You really didn’t have to, Xenk.”
“I wished to,” the paladin replies with a smile, unperturbed. “The herbs I collected myself, on my journey southward, and the spices I was gifted by a grateful noblewoman, in gratitude for slaying the beast roaming her family’s lands and threatening her children. I have little opportunity to prepare meals that deserve such fine seasoning, but you have a hearth and a home. Please, accept my appreciation of your opening it to me.”
Edgin sighs as he heaves a large pot up onto the hook affixed to the chain dangling from the ceiling. “You really don’t need to pay me for feeding you, you know. Stew okay?”
“Stew sounds lovely. Moreover, I am not paying you. You are my friend, after all; am I not allowed to offer you gifts when I wish to?”
He receives a look steeped in sharp annoyance in response, and Xenk’s stomach plummets. “Now that’s not fair of you, playing my own arguments against me. Really.”
Ah. Edgin is not truly angry at him, he understands now, and lifts a box of tools off his chair instead of requesting any further explanation or perhaps even offering an apology. Typically, the chair remains at the table, awaiting the paladin whenever he comes calling, but he has been away for four moons. He understands that his friends might have wished to shift such an obvious reminder of his absence to a space where it would less bother them, even as he aches with seeing the truth of it. Still, something tense and terrible melts from Edgin’s shoulders when he turns to see Xenk sink onto it with a rattle of metal, and the paladin knows he was right to reclaim his place in Edgin’s home.
Edgin, who is the flame of blazing warmth that reminds him to live, rather than exist.
Edgin, who loves so intensely he tears himself apart for it. Edgin, who knows not when to ask for help, who might stubbornly spurn the hand extended in support even as he falls to pieces.
Edgin.
~~~
“It’s been a while,” Edgin states nonchalantly, back turned towards the paladin and clever fingers working away at cutting up vegetables for the stew, the base of which is already simmering in the heavy pot. It does not appear like a declaration that requires any sort of response or even acknowledgement, but Xenk knows Edgin better now than he did when they first met. Words are Edgin’s art of choice, his craft and weapon alike. Even moreso, the familiarity and understanding that have bloomed between them are not a one-sided matter. Edgin, too, would be aware that Xenk struggles to understand the purpose behind a statement such as this, clearly spoken with intent that remains elusive to a man who knows not how to read between the lines. The question remains, does he wish to hide himself away from Xenk? Or is he too fractured to take the first step towards this conversation, and silently pleading for the paladin to take this burden unto himself?
“I apologise, Edgin,” Xenk offers cautiously, settling for a course of action. “When I last set out in Flamerule, I knew not that duty would keep me from Triboar for so long, or I would have forewarned you.”
He keenly observes as his friend relaxes a little further still, and relief settles against his throat like a thin film of oil he would cough away if only he could. He has chosen correctly, then, to offer his apologies — for he has hurt his friend with his continued absence, comprehension follows in the wake of this observation. Xenk’s stomach plunges further.
“I… we were worried, that something happened. You’d been coming by much more regularly for a long while, and suddenly… anyway, Kira was devastated she didn’t get to say goodbye to you before she left for Neverwinter.”
In caustic spite of how subtext largely evades Xenk, he does not fail to hear the words his friend swallowed away before they could be spoken. I was worried.
“I apologise anew, then,” he slowly attempts to express the bitter, heavy emotion sinking into his skin. “My duties are often dangerous, as are the quests I take upon myself; and either require long travels only too regularly. Perhaps I ought to have warned you beforehand, that being my friend must, by default, encompass much waiting. Should you wish to reconsider —”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Edgin spits sourly, whipping around so fast the knife in his hand flashes silver in the firelight. “That’s not how friendships work, that you abandon them because your friend is an idiot who’s too good and righteous for the world and doesn’t know when to take a break!”
Too good and righteous. Edgin has called him that before — initially with visible disdain, which has now made way for what Xenk might consider fond exasperation, were he dispositioned to indulgence towards himself. “No reconsideration, then,” he amends softly, and Edgin harrumphs as he turns back around to finish cutting up potatoes. There is no single piece of meat in sight though he knows the bard to enjoy the taste himself, a simple observation that spreads familiar warmth through the paladin’s chest and slowly drives away the bitter heaviness wrought against his stomach before it may truly take root.
“I should hope so!”
“Nevertheless, allow me to apologise once more,” Xenk presses home, forcing his hands to remain calm in his lap and his gaze to rest on Edgin’s silhouette against the hearthfire’s light, “for worrying you, and for missing Kira’s departure for Neverwinter. I shall endeavour to seek her out at the earliest opportunity, and beg her forgiveness in person.”
Edgin drops the potatoes into the pot and stirs it once, before he finally faces Xenk fully. A shadow of a smile teases at the corners of his lips now, and the room grows further in warmth. “She’d like that, I’m sure. Tea?”
“Please.” For all his devotion to his Oath and its subjects both, there are none currently in this world Xenk would hate to hurt and disappoint more than Edgin Darvis.
A kettle, the water already boiling, is subsequently placed on the table by skilled hands and Edgin nimbly adds several loose leaves from a beautifully painted wooden tin placed on a shelf over his head — a tin Xenk remembers gifting to his friends once he was finally forced to recognise that they would accept no payment — before setting out two heavy mugs. He takes his own seat, then, and searches out the paladin’s gaze quite without warning.
Looking into people’s eyes is one of the many challenges Xenk faces in the course of social interaction. It is difficult for him to meet another’s gaze head-on, but for some inexplicable reason, the brilliant blue of Edgin’s has not made him uncomfortable in a very long while. Perhaps it is the blazing flames of life, though dimmed this dreary Uktar evening, that make Edgin’s eyes such a rare gem, a precious thing of beauty rather than a forbidding duty?
“What brings you here, then, Xenk? Another quest you could use a hand with? Were you hungry for my incredible cooking skills? Or did you just miss me?”
All three are true, Xenk thinks wildly, and gulps down the words before they may touch his lips. He has called upon his friends to assist him in his duties often enough, whenever circumstance demanded it; and though no Master chef, Edgin certainly knows how to prepare a meal that warms both belly and heart. Most importantly, however, Xenk has missed his friend more bitterly than any language could hope to express. “I would greatly benefit of both your skills and your company,” is what he says, with a smile of his own. It is not a lie and encompasses all three aspects without stating them too clearly. He does not lie and would not ever wish to take up such a distasteful practice; and yet necessity has taught him how to toe the line. Edgin might even be proud of him, if only he knew.
The bard in question snorts inelegantly. “‘Course you would,” he mutters sullenly, and Xenk clenches his jaw and quietly wonders what he has said to frustrate his friend so; bright blue eyes heavy with a pain the paladin could not name before they smooth over in pretend calm. Surely, Xenk must have implied something to have hurt or disappointed his friend after all. In spite of his best attempts, he always does. Knowing so, however, does not provide any answers, however much he might wish to understand and be able to avoid repeating such mistakes. “Me, or Holga, or both of us? You came here, and you haven’t asked after Doric and Simon yet, so I assume it’s not a job for the entire party.”
Is that good? Bad? If only Xenk knew. “For this particular venture, I believe you would be best suited to accompany me. I am in desperate need of discretion and someone capable of reading societal cues.”
The tension returns to Edgin’s shoulders as abruptly as the knife flashed to life earlier. “I’m not a Harper anymore, Xenk, and I won’t ever be. Just — let it go, will you?”
~~~
Xenk blinks slowly. For once, he is the one to retain eye contact while another averts their gaze. This is unfamiliar, many moons have risen and fallen since he last failed so pitifully at communicating with Edgin. He foolishly believed them to be past this, past misunderstanding each other’s every statement and intention.
“This is not a task relayed to me by the Harpers,” he clumsily attempts to clarify, but Edgin merely rolls his bright blue eyes in impatience. Irritation?
“But you’re asking for a Harper to accompany you.”
“No, Edgin, I am asking for you —”
“Me, as in- …” Edgin angrily interrupts himself, raises long, slender fingers to press against the bridge of his nose, then his temples. Xenk aches to place his own hands there and take away any pain that might torment his friend, but would not dare request such privilege. Edgin takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, searches out the paladin’s gaze once more: “You’re asking for a companion with the skills of a Harper,” he explains, voice only faintly strained, “and I used to be one. So you came to me.”
Oh, but that makes sense. Edgin would be worried that Xenk still sees naught but a Harper in him, which could not be further from the truth. Everything that used to make Edgin an exceptional Harper is still there, of course, but he is so much more than that. “There is some truth to your words,” Xenk admits quietly, because he is a creature of truth, and tries not to acknowledge the pang tolling through him when the bard tenses even further, “in as much as the fact that I would certainly profit of having a companion with the skills of a Harper. But I have not gone to request assistance from the Harpers. I have come to you.” Some tension bleeds out of broad, stooped shoulders, and Xenk breaths a little easier. “I am to attend a duke’s birthday celebrations, and attempt to detect any Evil at work at his estate. It will be a matter of some delicacy, and you are skilled at social interaction. Even more than that, you are charming, and effortlessly likeable, and you understand the undercurrents of other people’s relationships. And — I trust you. Having you by my side would indeed be a great boon.”
At the other side of the table, Edgin takes a deep breath. There is a rosy hue high on his cheeks, though barely visible with the merry flames in his back, and he rises abruptly to stir the stew still simmering above the hearth. Xenk observes him with patient confusion, and bathes in the peace of seeing Edgin at work in his home for however long he might be granted the blessing of enjoying it. When his friend returns to the table, he looks pensive, but much of the alarming tension has left his body.
“I’m not… I’m not sure I’m that man anymore, Xenk.”
This cannot be true. Xenk sees the truth whenever he looks at Edgin, sees the potential slumbering within the bard’s every word and gesture. Still, if Edgin does not believe in his own capabilities, Xenk can hardly force him to do so, and he would not wish to coerce his friend into anything the bard is not prepared to accept. “Would you still permit me to explain the circumstances regarding this venture?” Xenk requests nonetheless, ever hopeful that he might coax his friend into joining him after all. Mayhap Edgin might suffer Kira’s departure less, too, if he left the cabin behind for a while.
Edgin shrugs sloppily. “Sure, be my guest.” He motions for Xenk to continue; however, the paladin has barely opened his mouth to voice his hurt confusion when Edgin hurriedly adds: “It means go ahead, just an expression! You are… I told you once that you should feel at home here, rather than consider yourself a guest, and I meant it.”
Oh. Xenk smiles cautiously as he listens to his heart slowing down from the pained alarm flooding through his veins at Edgin’s words, and finds himself further encouraged when an answering smile blooms across the other man’s unshaven face. Good. Edgin pours them both tea with steady motions and wraps large, slender hands around the warmth of his own cup. Xenk does not permit his gaze to linger against long, long, long fingers, no matter how his heart might thump painfully at the sight.
“I was, uhm. I was recently approached by a dear friend,” he struggles to regain his equilibrium, “a fellow paladin of Tyr by the name of Eustace Comyn. I taught him much of our ways when he chose the path of armed vigilance and benevolent might many summers ago, and had the privilege of meeting his future wife when she, too, joined our order shortly after.”
“Wait, wife? You people are allowed to get married?”
Xenk finds himself blinking in confusion. Is this a genuine question, or an inquiry meant to jest and tease? “They have two children, soon to be three,” he offers hesitantly.
Edgin cocks his head like a curious bird, eyes bright and ever so blue. “No, really? I kinda thought that you might have taken some vow of chastity or something of the like, but… I guess not.”
What a peculiar misconception about paladinhood, though Xenk can only assume Edgin might not be the only one to believe so. “Some of us do, though by their own choice and not because our service to Tyr — or indeed any of the Triad — requires so.” Xenk fleetingly thinks he would rather not know what might have raised such a belief in the first place.
“Uh. Well. I didn’t really — you know what, never mind. What did he want, Eustace you said?”
Edgin, who wants to pretend he is barely listening, remembers Eustace’s name, mentioned but once, without effort. Xenk helplessly feels the warmth of a smile pull against his lips and proceeds: “His wife is Almut Comyn, formerly Almut von Dahl-Changeux.” Edgin’s gaze sharpens, for no discernible cause. “Her family owns a substantial estate by the River Rauvin, North of the High Forest, called Lorenzgut. In truth, Lorenzgut is almost a country unto itself; isolated from all others who might claim any right to its rule.”
“I’ve heard of it — came through there, actually, before Zia… before I lost her.” Edgin speaking of Zia always aches through Xenk’s heart. Not for any stabs of jealousy, he holds no illusions that he would deserve to feel such, but for how Edgin still clings to her memory. For how much this terrible loss pains him, even after all these years. He would have grieved that very loss anew, Xenk reminds himself, after the Tablet of Reawakening was used to restore Holga to life in Zia’s place. If Xenk himself had ever held onto any hope of seeing his parents again, only to lose it for the prize of saving his dearest friend — he cannot imagine the agony.
“Several other nobles of lower standing are subject to Duke von Dahl-Changeux, and a not insubstantial number of simple folk live on their landholding,” the paladin opts to continue his explanation, both to provide Edgin a distraction from his pain and because he himself knows not what else to say. “Almut has been… estranged from her family for a long while, due to differences with her younger brother Zabel,” he painstakingly relays what information Eustace and Almut shared with him. Edgin accepts the offer of distraction with greedy grace. He listens intently, pouring both of them more tea and nodding along. “Both her and Eustace have made their new home in Barakmordin in Tethyr, though they travelled North to meet with me. She last visited her homeland when their youngest sibling died eight years past and has not returned since, not even for her father’s funeral five years ago. It was a decision that hurt her greatly, as she disclosed to me; however, she knew not how to seek contact with her older brother and mother without sowing further discord.”
Edgin takes a thoughtless sip of tea, and curses colourfully when the yet too-hot beverage burns his palate. “Ouch! Oh for- … ugh. No, Xenk, don’t worry, it’s not that bad — I just, what changed?”
Xenk sinks back into his seat, metal clinking heavily against wood, and resolutely accepts Edgin’s assurances rather than forcing his unwanted concerns upon his friend. It is but tea, after all — right? “Excuse me?”
“Almut, for all that she’s still suffering the separation, sounds like she’s made peace with the situation. What changed?”
Is there such a thing as making peace with the loss of one’s family? If so, Xenk has never found it for himself; and neither has Edgin, he knows. “She has begun to feel a… drain, for lack of better wording, to her soul; as though something were leeching the very life from her veins. She doubts not that the vessel of this drain is her blood connection to her family, and I trust her assessment. There was certainly a… a shadow, I know not how better to describe it, to her presence that I had not felt there before.” Xenk is familiar with not finding the words to express feelings or human nature. The occult and magical, however, the divine and mystical, he rarely struggles to describe and explain. It is a most uncomfortable experience.
Edgin’s eyes are tight and tense. “An evil shadow?”
The paladin feels his jaw tauten sharply at the memory. “Undoubtedly. A potentially undead shadow, even, though I fear I could not tell you what gave me that impression.” Xenk has always related to undeath more intimately than to any other kind of Evil. It is both a blessing and a curse, a tool to be used in his quest to stand against any such depravity and an infinite reminder to torture him with cruel nightmares.
Against Edgin’s haunted features, the tension only appears to tighten. “And what are you planning to do about it?”
“Duke Eugen von Dahl-Changeux, the current ruler of Lorenzgut and Almut’s older brother, celebrates his birthday a tenday from now.”
“So that’s the duke’s birthday party you’re planning to infiltrate.”
“It is indeed,” Xenk affirms gravely. “There is one ally in Lorenzgut still left to Almut, who met with her in Marpenoth. Though he will not speak to her of what is afoot in the East, he has promised to confirm my identity as a visiting Lord as a favour to her.”
“Wait. You — you, who doesn’t lie — are going to be undercover at a noble’s birthday party?” Truth be told, Xenk shares Edgin’s incredulity, but what other choice is left to him?
“You are right to doubt my chances for success, of course. However, this does appear to be my best opportunity at finding answers without endangering my friend — the longer I wait, the more damage she might suffer-”
“-And you said she was pregnant, didn’t you?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, shit.”
“I have made inquiries before I came here,” Xenk further explains the truth of the situation. “Though they used to be open and welcoming to outsiders, the people of Lorenzgut are now known for their extreme insularism and bigotry towards any who do not directly answer to the House von Dahl-Changeux. These celebrations, I believe, will be my only opportunity to gain entry into the heart of Lorenzgut in the near future. Even worse: There has been word that they serve a new deity. Whether the object of their worship is truly a new being, simply a figment of their imagination, or perhaps an old god or demon reimagined… remains to be determined, but if such guarded knowledge has been carried beyond their borders, I must expect this deity’s vassals to have done the same.”
For a moment there is silence before Edgin explodes into vicious curses once again, even more expressively than before. “You think the Harpers are already infiltrated? That’s why you’re here?”
Xenk shudders at the implications of such a statement. It matters not, however; he will do what must be done, even if he shall be alone in doing it. “I was informed that the Harpers spurned Almut’s request for aid when she initially came to them two moons ago. I know not, of course, what reasons they might have had for doing so, but surely there are common folk in danger within the borders of Lorenzgut. Thus, I must assume that the Harpers might be compromised. I have, of course, considered requesting help from the brothers and sisters of my order but… none of us are particularly gifted at subterfuge, as you well know, and the favour granted by Almut’s friend extends only to me. There are none but you I would trust to support me in this endeavour, Edgin, but beyond that — I am here because it is you whom I would have by my side if the choice is mine.” There is truth to that statement that goes far beyond what he is trying to express, Xenk realises far too late, and he feverishly hopes that this will not be one of Edgin’s unpleasantly insightful moments.
Luck favours him for once: The bard does not appear to have caught notice of the precarious undercurrents wrapped around Xenk’s thoughtlessly intimate words, too distracted by his own misgivings.
“That sounds like a rather dangerous undertaking, especially if you believe these supposed cultists already have agents spying for them in major organisations throughout Faerûn.”
“I doubt that many organisations are truly infiltrated. It matters only little, however — at most, this is all the more reason to challenge the issue, and promptly.”
The tilt to Edgin’s lips is familiar, though Xenk has never known to assign it sense and meaning. “It’s… a lot, for anyone to take on alone.”
“I fear not the Evil at work, nor any confrontation with it, even on my own. However, I expect to struggle with the social expectations I will be forced to navigate if I wish to be successful, and I would not risk innocent lives for my own inadequacies. This is precisely why I requested your aid.”
He still retains hope that he might change his friend’s mind. Upon this latest entreaty, however, Edgin sinks into himself, devoid of strength and the beloved warmth of life in his veins. Xenk’s heart stumbles painfully.
“I… I can’t, Xenk.”
~~~
“For what reason? If it is Holga’s apparent absence —”
“She’ll be back tomorrow. No, this isn’t about her. This is… this is about me. I’m not… Xenk, I’m not the person you’re looking for. I’m not who I used to be, and I’m not… okay.”
“You are suffering,” Xenk confirms sympathetically, sorrowfully, “grieving. I know. But even in grief, you are capable of the deeds I would ask of you.”
Edgin laughs, and it is a dreadful, heart-wrenching thing. “Grieving? I’m not- … but, maybe you’re right. Maybe… maybe I am.”
“You should permit yourself such grief, my friend. Healing does not devalidate the losses you have suffered.” He would offer whatever relief and counsel he may, if only Edgin would accept it.
“Losses — shit, Xenk, I’m not in the mood for a sermon.”
Xenk fails to see how his offer of understanding constitutes a sermon, but his purpose was to console Edgin rather than agonising him further. Clearly, he has failed miserably. “Alright.” His tongue tastes foreign in his mouth, against his teeth. He wishes that, one day, he might stop hurting Edgin simply by being himself.
“Thing is,” Edgin trips over his own words, “I can’t come with you, Xenk. I can’t… I can’t have you, and all those people, depend on me, when I can barely hold my own shit together.” Hold his own shit — ah, another expression. One Xenk has heard before, even, but the vivid image conjured by the words always leaves him stumbling throughout a conversation. “I’d be less help than liability, and I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
He looks wretched, more miserable than Xenk has ever seen him, and the paladin finds himself standing from his chair with his heart beating violently in his throat. He did this to Edgin. “I understand. Do not apologise, please — I will be alright on my own, I am sure.”
Because Xenk is a horrible liar — because he never lies, and has no skill nor practice — Edgin, of course, finds no consolidation in the well-intended words. “Was that- … did you just —” He stares at Xenk with wide eyes, shaking like a leaf, and Xenk feels an answering quiver tremble through his own legs at the realisation that he only ever succeeds at exacerbating Edgin’s woes. What a pathetic friend he makes, a paladin who may heal most mortal wounds but fails to offer any support beyond the sharing of Tyr’s divine gifts. Many are better served being helped by a kind stranger than opening their hearts to Xenk Yendar, who knows not how to communicate even after a century of not-quite-a-life.
“I shall send word if I am waylaid by further duties once I leave Lorenzgut,” he offers stiffly, painfully; desperate not to heap further hurt upon the bard, “so you need not worry about my wellbeing. Please relay my apologies to Kira as well, for having missed her departure for Neverwinter. I — look forward to telling you of my experience once the Evil endangering Almut has been dealt with. Please be safe, Edgin.” The last words he all but whispers, and mournfully observes the flinch they flog through Edgin’s too-thin body. It is time to leave, then, lest he aggravate the bard’s suffering even further. He should not have requested Edgin’s assistance in this matter, should not have selfishly convinced himself that a purpose might help alleviate his friend’s pain for his own gain.
The harsh crackle of flame against wood and Edgin’s sharp breathing are the only sounds to be heard over his heavy footsteps when Xenk strides towards the door, leaving behind the chair he only just reclaimed. No dinner has been eaten, but the cabin has grown cold and dismissive in the face of Edgin’s awful distress.
Xenk remembers mournfully that his hair has slowly begun to grow again, ever since he was allowed to call upon that cabin, to rest in that chair. He can but hope that, if he does return, he will be welcome once more.