Chapter 1: The Weight Of The Past
Chapter Text
The Justice Hall of Emon, rebuilt after the end of the Chroma Conclave’s tyrannical reign, loomed large; a testament to the city’s commitment to order and law. Percy de Rolo - Whitestone’s savior and no stranger to the hall's imposing presence - stood before its stern facade. This time, however, he was not there to receive an honour, nor celebrate a victory. He was there to face judgment.
Inside, the air was thick with anticipation. The benches were packed, not with well-wishers, but with curious onlookers, solemn officials, and, in the front row, a collection of faces that both warmed his heart and made his stomach clench: Vox Machina. Next to them sat Cassandra de Rolo, her brow furrowed with concern.
The charge was assault. The victim: Desmond Otham. The event: a chaotic brawl in Emon during the feast of realms many months ago, fueled by fury against the Briarwoods. Percy, fueled by something far darker, had shot off Desmond’s hand with his now-destroyed pepperbox. The prosecution's case was straightforward: A crime was committed and Desmond Otham was injured with Percy de Rolo being the perpetrator.
They presented witnesses, recalled the event with cold precision, and laid out the evidence with an unflinching gaze. Desmond himself took the stand and testified, his voice laced with a quiet bitterness - but also with fear - as he spoke of the limitations imposed by the loss of his hand and described the pain and trauma he endured that fateful night.
Vex'ahlia shifted uneasily in her seat, her hand resting protectively on Percy’s shoulder. She, alongside the rest of her teammates, had seen him change, had witnessed his long battle against Orthax, and knew the man who stood before the court now was not the same as the one who’d fired that shot and driven by vengeance.
It felt wrong. Percy had saved Whitestone, saved the entire continent. He’d fought dragons, demons, and everything in between. He had wrestled with the darkness within himself and emerged, scarred but ultimately good. To drag him through this now as a changed man… it felt like a betrayal. She wanted to leap to his defense, to shout of his heroism, his unwavering dedication to protecting the innocent. But she knew it wouldn't help, much to her chagrin.
Scanlan, ever the showman, fiddled with his lute, trying to conjure a song of forgiveness and understanding. Keyleth, her eyes filled with ancient compassion, subtly channeled a calming presence into the courtroom, hoping to ease the tension. Grog grumbled audibly. “This is bullshit,” he muttered, earning a sharp glare from Pike. She squeezed his hand, a silent plea for restraint.
Cassandra sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her own face was a mask of worry. She knew better than anyone the torment Percy had endured, the lengths he had gone to exorcise the literal and metaphorical darkness that had consumed him. To see him brought so low, to be reminded of that dark chapter, was almost unbearable.
Percy, however, remained still, his posture composed, his expression unreadable. He’d insisted on this. He’d refused any special treatment, any attempts by Vox Machina to sway the proceedings. He believed in the system, even if it was flawed. He believed in accountability. He knew that true redemption demanded he face the consequences of his actions.
"Percy, are you sure about this?" Vex had asked, her voice filled with worry, when he first told them of his decision to plead guilty. "We can fight this. The circumstances were… extenuating." He'd met her gaze, his own filled with a quiet resolve. "I know you all mean well. And I appreciate it. But this is something I need to do. This is how I make amends."
The defense, led by a young, eager lawyer assigned by the city, was brief. They acknowledged the facts of the case, but subtly emphasised the circumstances surrounding the event. They spoke of the darkness that had gripped Percy, the insidious influence of Orthax that had twisted his judgment and fueled his rage. "My client…" the lawyer declared, "…was not in his right mind. He was a victim himself, a pawn in a much larger, far more sinister game." He then touched upon Percy’s subsequent actions: his tireless efforts to atone for his past, his unwavering dedication to protecting the innocent, his bravery in the face of unimaginable horrors. He reminded the court of Percy's near fatal encounter in Ank'Harel, where he nearly sacrificed his life by falsely confessing to murder to protect his friends, and was almost turned into one of J’mon’s golems as a result. He suggested that these actions spoke louder than any words.
Percy listened attentively, but said nothing. He would not hide behind excuses, however valid. He would not deny his responsibility. He knew that the pain he had inflicted on Desmond Otham was real, regardless of the forces that had influenced him.
The closing arguments were delivered with passion and conviction. The prosecution painted Percy as a violent vigilante, a danger to society who had gotten away with far too much already. The defense portrayed him as a flawed hero, a man who had overcome unimaginable darkness to become a force for good. The judge, a harsh but fair woman named Elara Riegal, listened intently, her expression betraying nothing of her thoughts. She adjourned the court, promising a verdict within the week.
The days that followed were filled with anxiety. Vox Machina, usually so boisterous and carefree, were uncharacteristically subdued. They rallied around Percy, offering their support and reassurance, but beneath the surface, a sense of unease lingered. They knew that the fate of their friend rested in the hands of the court, no matter what they did. But as we know, fate can’t be changed but it can be bent.
Finally, the day arrived. The courtroom was even more crowded than before. The air was thick with anticipation. Percy stood before the judge, his face a mask of calm. Judge Riegal addressed the court, her voice clear and unwavering with an air of authority. She acknowledged the complexities of the case, the mitigating circumstances, and the compelling arguments made by both sides. “This court…” she declared, “…recognises that the actions of the defendant, Percy de Rolo, were influenced by the corrupting power of the demon known as Orthax. It also acknowledges the defendant’s subsequent efforts to atone for his past actions, as well as his numerous acts of heroism and service to the realm. However, the fact remains that a crime was committed. Desmond Otham suffered grievous harm at the hands of the defendant.”
She paused, her gaze fixed on Percy. “Therefore, this court finds Percy de Rolo guilty of assault.” A collective sigh swept through the courtroom. Vex’ahlia squeezed Percy’s hand, her grip tight. He met her gaze, offering a small, reassuring smile.
Judge Riegal continued. “But, in this kind of case, we must balance the need for justice with the desire for rehabilitation.” There was no doubt that the judge was leaning towards leniency. “Before I hand down the sentence, Lord Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, is there anything you would like to say to the court?”
Percy stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. “Your Honour, I understand the gravity of my actions. I know that I caused Mr. Otham great pain, and for that, I am truly sorry. I accept the verdict of the court, and I am prepared to accept whatever sentence you deem just. I am committed to making amends for my actions, not just in the eyes of the law, but in my own conscience.”
He turned to face Desmond Otham, his eyes filled with remorse. “Mr. Otham, I know that words cannot undo what I have done. But I want you to know that I am deeply ashamed of my actions. I hope that one day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” The courtroom fell silent, every eye fixed on Percy. His words, spoken with such sincerity and humility, seemed to hang in the air.
Judge Riegal nodded slowly, a hint of a smile upon her otherwise stern features. “Thank you, Mr. de Rolo. This court has taken your words, and your actions, into consideration.”
She cleared her throat, her voice regaining its official tone. “The sentence of this court is as follows: Percy de Rolo is hereby sentenced to one hundred hours of community service. Furthermore, the defendant is ordered to craft a prosthetic hand for Desmond Otham, to be presented to him as an act of restitution.”
Relief washed over Vox Machina and Cassandra, their faces breaking into smiles. They had expected far worse. The judge had recognised both the severity of the crime and the sincerity of Percy’s remorse. So had the rest of the courtroom. It was another relief that no one really hated him, not even the victim.
Desmond Otham, his face etched with surprise, looked at Percy with a newfound curiosity. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected forgiveness, let alone a prosthetic hand crafted by the man who had taken his own. Percy bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Your Honour. I accept the sentence, and I will fulfill my obligations to the best of my ability.”
He approached Desmond Otham, extending his right hand. “Mr. Otham, I will begin work on your prosthetic immediately. I promise you, it will be the best I can make.” Desmond hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached out and grasped Percy’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. de Rolo,” he said quietly. “I… I appreciate it.”
As Percy left the courtroom, surrounded by his relieved friends and family, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known in years. The weight of the past had been lifted, not entirely, but significantly. He had faced his demons, accepted his responsibility, and taken more steps towards true redemption.
The following weeks were busy for Percy. His community service took him to the soup kitchens where he met people he normally would never have the pleasure of encountering. He worked to build houses with Grog and Vax, helping to house the less fortunate. Through that and other forms of community service, it was a humbling experience, a reminder of the importance of compassion and service.
He dedicated his spare time to crafting the prosthetic hand for Desmond Otham. He poured his heart and soul into the project, using all of his ingenuity and skill to create a device that was both functional and aesthetically pleasing. He met with Desmond several times, discussing his needs and preferences, ensuring that the prosthetic would be tailored to his specific requirements. He even incorporated some subtle enhancements, small gadgets and tools that would make Desmond’s life easier.
During these meetings, a strange sort of camaraderie developed between the two men. They talked about their lives, their experiences, and their hopes for the future. Desmond began to see Percy not as the monster who had injured him, but as a complex and flawed human being who was genuinely trying to make amends. Percy, in turn, learned to understand the depth of Desmond’s pain and the long-lasting impact of his actions. He realised that true forgiveness was not something that could be granted easily, but rather something that had to be earned, through time, effort, and genuine remorse.
Finally, the day arrived when the prosthetic was complete. Percy presented it to Desmond, his heart pounding with anticipation. Desmond examined the device carefully, his eyes widening with admiration. “This is… incredible,” he said softly. “I never imagined it could be so… advanced.” He attached the prosthetic to his arm, testing its functionality. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the range of motion. He picked up a tool, demonstrating its dexterity. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mr. de Rolo,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.
“Thank you.” Percy smiled. “It was my honor, Mr. Otham. I hope it serves you well.” Desmond extended his hand, and Percy shook it firmly. In that moment, a bond was forged between two men who had once been adversaries, a bond built on forgiveness, understanding, and the shared desire to move forward.
Percy had paid his debt to society. He had fully atoned for his past. He had finally earned the right to call himself a truly redeemed man.
The weight of the past had been lifted, and he was finally free to look towards the future, knowing that even the darkest shadows can be overcome by the light of hope and the power of forgiveness.
And Vox Machina was there by his side to see it all.
Chapter 2: Deleted scene
Summary:
Before publishing this work, I had this scene in the drafts. But I cut it because I believed it was a little too harsh. You’ll see.
Chapter Text
Percy stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. “Your Honour, I understand the gravity of my actions. I know that I caused Mr. Otham great pain, and for that, I am truly sorry. I accept the verdict of the court, and I am prepared to accept whatever sentence you deem just. I am committed to making amends for my actions, not just in the eyes of the law, but in my own conscience.”
He turned to face Desmond Otham, his eyes filled with remorse. “Mr. Otham, I know that words cannot undo what I have done. But I want you to know that I am deeply ashamed of my actions. I hope that one day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” The courtroom fell silent, every eye fixed on Percy. His words, spoken with such sincerity and humility, seemed to hang in the air.
Judge Riegal nodded slowly, a hint of a smile upon her otherwise stern features. “Thank you, Mr. de Rolo. This court has taken your words, and your actions, into consideration.”
She cleared her throat, her voice regaining its official tone. “The sentence of this court is as follows: Percy de Rolo is hereby sentenced to one hundred hours of community service. Furthermore, the defendant is ordered to craft a prosthetic hand for Desmond Otham, to be presented to him as an act of restitution.”
Relief washed over Vox Machina and Cassandra, their faces breaking into smiles. They had expected far worse. The judge had recognised both the severity of the crime and the sincerity of Percy’s remorse. So had the rest of the courtroom. It was another relief that no one really hated him, not even the victim.
“However…” The judge added with a firm voice, hushing the gallery. “Before Mr. de Rolo begins his community service and the construction of the prosthetic, he must first understand the pain and suffering he inflicted upon Mr. Otham.” She gestured to two guards who approached Percy, carrying a strange device – a complex array of wires, nodes, and arcane runes woven into a gauntlet.
“This device…” The judge explained, “…will allow Mr. de Rolo to experience the pain of having his right hand shot off. It will not replicate the emotional trauma, but it will provide a visceral understanding of the physical agony that Mr. Otham endured.”
A gasp escaped Cassandra’s lips. This was unexpected, cruel even. To force Percy to relive that moment, to inflict such pain upon him… it seemed excessive. But Percy remained composed. He nodded slowly, accepting the judge’s decision without argument.
The guards approached Percy, and with methodical precision, strapped the gauntlet onto his right hand. Desmond Otham watched with a mix of apprehension and grim satisfaction.
The device hummed with energy, a faint blue light flickering around its intricate workings. Then, a searing pain erupted in Percy’s hand, so intense that it threatened to overwhelm him. His vision blurred, and he stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet. The pain was very similar - too similar - to what he had experienced when he shot his right hand to dispel Orthax from him.
It was a burning, tearing agony that ripped through his nerves, a constant unrelenting assault on his senses. He felt the phantom sensation of his bones shattering, his flesh tearing apart and his fingers blown off. A low groan escaped his lips, and he clenched his jaw, fighting to maintain his composure. Images flashed through his mind: the smoking pepperbox in his hand, Desmond’s scream, the blood and the words - your soul is forfeit.
The pain intensified, threatening to push him over the edge. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, drawing on all the mental fortitude he had learned in his battles against Orthax. He could hear Vex calling his name, her voice filled with distress, but he couldn’t respond. He was trapped in a vortex of agony, reliving the moment he had caused so much pain.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pain began to subside. The blue light faded, and the device went silent. Percy stood there, panting heavily, his body trembling. He opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Desmond’s. He saw a flicker of understanding in the other man’s eyes, a hint of empathy. “Desmond,” Percy said as the guards removed the device, his voice hoarse, “I… I understand now. I truly understand the pain I caused you. I am so sorry.”
The courtroom erupted in applause. The tension that had hung heavy in the air for so long finally dissipated, replaced by a sense of relief and catharsis. Percy de Rolo had faced his demons, accepted the consequences of his actions, and emerged, scarred but not broken. He had paid the price for his redemption, and in doing so, had earned the respect and forgiveness of those he had wronged.
The court was adjourned. As people filed out of the hall, Vox Machina rushed to Percy's side. Vex wrapped him in a tight embrace. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice trembling. Percy returned her hug, his grip firm. “I’m fine, Vex. It was… difficult, but necessary.” He smiled reassuringly.
"Percy, that was… intense," Vax said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Are you okay?" Keyleth asked, her eyes filled with concern. Percy managed a small smile. "I'm fine. Relieved, actually. It's… over."
Grog, never one for subtlety, boomed, "One hundred hours? That's nothing! You can build a whole orphanage in that time!" Scanlan, ever the opportunist, piped up, "Think of the publicity! 'Whitestone Hero Builds Prosthetic Hand for Victim!' It's gold, I tell you, gold!"
Percy chuckled, shaking his head. "Thank you, guys. For being here." Cassandra approached him, her eyes filled with pride. "I am so proud of you, Percy. You handled yourself with grace and integrity." "Thank you, Cassandra," Percy said, his voice softening.
He then turned to face Desmond Otham, who was standing nearby, looking somewhat overwhelmed by the attention and what he’d seen. Percy extended his hand. "Desmond," he said, his voice sincere. "I would like to begin working on your prosthetic as soon as possible. I want to create something that is both functional and comfortable for you."
Desmond hesitated for a moment, then shook Percy's hand. "I appreciate that, Mr. de Rolo. I… I look forward to seeing what you come up with."
SophieStarlight on Chapter 1 Mon 31 Mar 2025 01:06PM UTC
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Lykoi12 on Chapter 1 Mon 31 Mar 2025 01:31PM UTC
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Lazyguest (Guest) on Chapter 1 Fri 18 Apr 2025 08:50PM UTC
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Lykoi12 on Chapter 1 Sat 19 Apr 2025 05:59AM UTC
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