#it's done! the last day of widobrave week
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widobrave week, day 7: post-campaign
after all their adventuring is done, Caleb, Veth, and their child go visit an old friend
The Mighty Nein had houses everywhere. No one could agree where to settle, so they settled all over. The Brenattos and Caleb took a large, comfortable house in Nicodranas, as far from the shore as they could get. Jester settled with Marion and the Gentleman in a town a few miles outside of Zadash. Yasha took care of the house in Xhorhas, aided by Beau, when she could be pulled away from the Cobalt Soul. Caduceus’ family enlarged and strengthened the borders of the Blooming Grove to accommodate a guesthouse just off the property, for pilgrims sent by the Wildmother and families visiting their tea-growing ancestors. That was where Fjord hung his hat, and he was a wonderful caretaker of the people of the Blooming Grove, just as Caduceus was a wonderful caretaker of its plants. Everyone in the Mighty Nein traveled frequently between houses, spending time with each other, pursuing their interests and goals, causing trouble and fixing problems. There was no house that didn’t have the mark of each and every member of the Nein somewhere in it.
And there was one more house. It was tiny, hardly more than a room surrounded by four walls a roof. But it was sturdy, and enchanted to be warm and safe. It was to this house that Veth and Caleb were traveling, on foot, mostly unaided by magic, with a child in tow.
(During storytime, the week before, Holly had asked for a story about their various aunts and uncles. Veth and Caleb were happy to indulge, and told them an early tale of a band of misfits and gnolls in mine shafts—with the violence tuned down to the five-year-old’s level, of course.
“Mama, how come I’ve never met Uncle Molly?” Holly asked, after the story had come to a close.
“Oh, sweetie,” Veth said, “We told you that Uncle Molly passed away a long time ago, remember?”
“Yeah, but Uncle Caduceus can talk to the dead. So it shouldn’t matter. Right, Papa?”
Caleb’s lips pressed together and he exhaled through his nose. “Not this one, I’m afraid.”
“Why not?”
“Uncle Molly wouldn’t like it,” Veth said. “He would want to remain at peace.”
Holly made a face and blew a raspberry, a sure sign that they both accepted the explanation and were annoyed by it.
As Veth tucked them into bed, she said, “We can take you to see where he’s resting, if you want. I think you’re old enough to go on adventures, now.”
Hastily, Caleb added, “Adventures with Mama and Papa, okay? No striking out on your own quite yet, young one.”
“Is Daddy coming with us?” Holly asked. Veth shook her head. “I’ll ask, but I’m guessing that Daddy is going to stay behind with Luc. He doesn’t like adventures very much.”
Holly took a little longer than usual to settle down that night, chattering away about the trip they were going to take, including all the gnolls they were going to kill with Mama and Papa’s help. Veth made a silent note to check with Beau for some appropriate children’s stories to read before bed in the future).
So that was how Veth, Caleb, and their five-year-old found themselves making the trek to Glory Run Road, the little house built by the Mighty Nein, and Molly’s grave. Holly was over the moons about going on a real adventure with their parents, and Caleb and Veth took turns having panic attacks about something happening to their child on the road.
“If we run into those fuckin’ Syphilis bandits again, I swear….” Veth muttered to herself. Caleb laughed.
“I don’t think that’s likely, my love. But we have the Tiny Hut and your crossbow. And I prepared Disintegrate today, just in case. We’ll be safe.”
“I know, I know. I just worry.”
Between them, Holly skipped along. The hand held by Caleb was lifted up as high as they could get it, due to the height difference. Every once in a while, they would shake out their arm, pronounce it in need of a rest, and walk backwards so Caleb could hold their other hand.
Travel was thankfully uneventful and Holly took well to traveling—clearly an adventurer in the making. On the third day, Caleb took a sharp turn off the main road and began pushing through the rougher terrain that surrounded it.
“Is this the place?” Veth asked. He nodded silently. Holly held up their arms, so he scooped them up and put them on his shoulders.
“Look there,” he said, pointing a few hundred yards ahead. “Can you see that little house up there? That’s where Uncle Molly is.”
Molly’s coat was waiting for them, tattered by weather and faded with the passing years. Be it from dumb luck, superstition, or divine intervention, no one had dared disturb the grave marker—or if they had, the coat had been quickly restored to its rightful place. Some kind soul had enchanted the coat to stay in place on its branch, unbothered by push and pull of the wind. The flowers that Caduceus had started had grown into a tiny meadow, as colorful and bright as their master had been.
Despite the isolated location of the grave, the site itself and the little house a few dozen yards away from it were welcoming. Veth and Caleb brought Holly into the small house to put down their bags and take a moment to collect themselves. The interior of the house was comfortable, and there were several beds of varying sizes. On each wall was a painted message, repeated over and over in different languages. Veth picked up Holly and brought them over to the wall that had a message written in Halfling.
The Mighty Nein welcomes you to the final resting place of Mollymauk Tealeaf. Take shelter here as you pass through. Eat and drink as you require. In return, we ask that you leave behind a bottle of something strong and lively for the next traveler passing through—Molly enjoyed anything that would surprise him. Leave every place better than how you found it.
The words Long May He Reign were carved into the wood above the door, in dozens of different languages. A small shrine to the Moonweaver was set up in the far corner, and the corner nearest to the door housed a handful of chairs and a sturdy table with shelves built underneath it. The shelves held non-perishable provisions for a simple, filling meal and about a dozen diverse bottles of booze. Nott’s old bottomless flask had joined the collection several years prior, and it still sat among the bottles.
Holly solemnly listened as their mother read the message aloud. Then they wiggled out of Veth’s arms and said, “I wanna met him now.”
Outside, Caleb spread a blanket out on the grass by the coat and sat down with his family.
“Hello, Mollymauk,” he said, pulling Holly onto his lap. “There is someone here who would like to meet you. Holly?”
The child perked up. They waved at the coat. “Hi, Mr. Molly. My name is Holly Brave Brenatto-Widogast. I’m five. Mama and Papa are your friends. Mama says when you knew her, she was a goblin called Nott. So when I say Mama, that’s who I’m talking about. She says I came to visit you when I was still in her tummy. But now I’m meeting you for real! I wish I could have met you while you were alive, ‘cause our names match. Molly and Holly. I think that’s cool.”
They paused. “You have a nice coat. It looks like a painting that Aunt Jester made for me once. Papa says you fought with swords. That’s so cool! My brother Luc started training with his crossbow when he was five, so I think I’m old enough to start learning sword-fighting. But Daddy says no.”
“That’s right,” Caleb said. “You can wait until you’re a little older until you go full blood-hunter on us.”
He gave Holly a quick hug, which made the child burrow their face into Caleb’s coat for a few long moments. When they spoke again, their voice was choked up. “I don’t like that Uncle Molly is dead. I never got to meet him. It’s not fair.”
“I know, darling,” Caleb soothed. Veth ran her hand through Holly’s short red hair comfortingly.
“We miss him,” Veth said. “In a lot of ways, his death made us—the Mighty Nein, and me and your father—be better people. If he hadn’t died, we might have stayed selfish. We owe a lot to Molly. But that doesn’t mean we can’t miss him.”
“That’s why we come to visit him sometimes. That’s why we brought you with us, this time,” Caleb added.
“How did he die? Did he get sick?”
Veth looked over at Caleb, silently asking him a question. They were well past the point they where they needed a twisted wire to communicate silently. Are they old enough to know that story? Should we tell them?
They’ll learn from someone, somehow, Caleb’s eyes answered. Veth sighed and settled back on the blanket. Caleb took one of her hands and kissed it, a reminder that he was here with her.
“Once upon a time, a group of friends were torn apart by a cruel man named Lorenzo…”
And as she sat at the grave of her friend, with her husband at her side, she told her child the story of a man whose end was, in many ways, their beginning.
#sparklepants#critical role#widobraveweek#widobrave week#kit writes#it's done! the last day of widobrave week#i've had so much fun#thank you to everyone who commented and liked and reblogged#i'm going to collect all my fics on ao3#expect that link later today
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widobrave week day 3: flowers
1.
They're travelling in the rain, using it as cover, when Nott notices the flowers. They're partially hidden by the tall grass at the side of the road, and only someone of her stature would be likely to notice them – they're a kind of pale yellow most would dismiss, but Nott regards fondly.
Sneaking a look at her companion, who's walking steadily but a bit slumped over, Nott darts over to the flowers and grabs a handful. It's been a long time, but one of the only nice things about being stuck in this horrible, nasty, alien form is that her fingers are smaller and definitely more deft than they ever were as Veth.
Caleb doesn't ask until they're a long way down the road. When he finally brings it up, his voice is hesitant, as if he's afraid he's intruding.
"Nott the Brave, I see that you have been– ah, fiddling, with something, for some time now–"
"Oh, this?" Nott asks. She holds up the mess she's made of the flowers. They certainly stick together (mostly because of the wire she slipped in,and the rain that dripped onto it despite her best efforts), although the petals have gotten a bit mangled and soggy.
She holds the crown up to Caleb. "It's for you," she says shyly. "For good luck."
He takes it, and turns it over in his hands for a moment. For a moment, Nott thinks she spots his mouth turning up at the corners before his expression returns to its normal vaguely depressed neutrality.
Caleb places it gently on his head, and the yellow blossoms stand out nicely against his grimy hair. Nott grins at him, pleased.
"Thank you," he says, sounding touched.
"No problem!"
2.
"For good luck!" Nott exclaims, jumping up onto the inn's table and slotting a bright pink flower behind Caleb's ear. She grins at him and jumps down, running back out of the room before he can react properly.
Beau, sitting across the table, stifles a giggle at Caleb's poorly disguised startle. He flushes a bit, and adjusts the flower so that it won't fall out.
"She does that," he mutters. "It's..."
It’s what? endearing? adorable? more than he deserves? something he can't stop thinking about?
"...nice."
Beau laughs freely this time. "Whatever you say, man. Are you gonna finish that?"
Caleb pushes his half-finished drink over to her. He should not get more tipsy tonight.
He tries to make an excuse as he stands up from the table, but all that comes out is, "I am... heading to bed, Beauregard. Have a nice evening."
"Bye," Beau says, still visibly amused. She stands up, too, and wanders across the room to where Jester and Yasha are whispering to each other. Caleb passes out of the room before he sees her sit down.
He should talk to Yasha about getting a pressed flower book for himself, he thinks, and then half-buries the thought and all its implications in his mind.
3.
Caduceus wakes up early to the sound of his and Fjord's door creaking open. He can't tell what time it is exactly, but the light coming in the porthole is faint, and the sensation of waves rocking the floor he stands on is nearly nonexistent, as it never is after sunrise, so it must be pre-dawn.
Grabbing his staff from its position beside his hammock, he bemoans his lack of darkvision.
"Who's there?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.
"It's me!" comes the response from the darkness, and Caduceus relaxes.
"Rather early in the morning, isn't it, Nott?" he asks. She must need something, to come into their room at this hour, and he takes a moment to sigh internally before climbing out of bed, slipping on his fuzzy slippers – a gift from Jester – and standing.
Peering towards the door, Caduceus can make out the gleam of reflected light from Nott's eyes a few feet away.
"I need flowers," Nott says without further prompting.
Caduceus tilts his head at her curiously, but doesn’t ask. “Well,” he rumbles, “I happened to pick some up from that last island we stopped at, and so did Ya—”
“Can I have them?”
Caduceus decides he’s too tired to keep up with Nott’s enigmatic personality this morning, and shuffles over to his things to dig out the blue sprigs. He tries to be quiet in order to keep from waking Fjord up, but several things fall and rattle as he searches.
“Here,” he says finally, turning and giving the small bouquet to Nott. She flashes a grin at him and dashes out of the room in the time it takes Caduceus to blink.
“Thanks!” she yells behind her, and Caduceus sighs as he watches Fjord stir in his hammock.
-
Caleb wakes up in the late morning to blue flowers woven through his hair and a note tucked in his hand that says, in messy but readable handwriting, ‘sorry. looked like you were having a bad night. hope these help your luck.’
He smiles.
4.
During one of their weeks of rest, on an evening where their whole group is hanging out in the common room, Nott sidles closer to Caleb. She hops up on the back of his chair, balancing precariously.
“What—” Caleb starts, and then feels her fingers run through his hair. She’s done this before, but rarely, and it has been a long while. As the tangles are tugged out, he relaxes despite himself and the group’s eyes suddenly on them.
“Aww,” coos Jester, and then, as Nott starts to weave in the flowers, “Ooh!”
Jester bounces a little, knocking into Beau sitting next to her. “Can you do me next? Please?”
“Sure!” Nott chirps. “They’re good luck.” She speeds up her braiding, and Caleb feels her leaving a few more gaps than she normally would in her haste.
After a preciously short while, Nott leaps down from her perch. She pulls another handful of flowers out of her pocket while she runs over to climb onto the couch next to Jester, taking the opportunity to step on Fjord’s toes as she goes. He yelps and pulls his legs back, a few moments too late.
Caleb turns away, and tries to ignore the flame of jealousy threatening to devour him. He already got his flowers, and perhaps only Yeza before him, but that makes the fire worse, and he has to think about something else.
Frumpkin leaps up into his lap at the barest telepathic nudge, and Caleb buries his face in the fey cat’s fur (trying not to muss his hair) while nobody is paying attention to him. He is a truly stupid man, isn’t he.
5.
Nott stops Caleb, before they head back up the stairs of Essek’s house with their friends. She tugs on his sleeve, and takes out the handful of flowers she saved from their last trip out of Xhorhaus, placing them gently in his large hand.
“For good luck.” She says, trying to keep a grin on her face for him. This might be the last time she’ll have the opportunity to give him flowers; to protect him, however symbolically, from terrors real and imagined and remembered in his sleep.
Caleb takes the bundle and tucks it behind his ear almost absentmindedly, catching her gaze and not looking away.
“Nott- Veth- flowers could never be enough to keep my luck fair when you’re not there beside me,” Caleb says, kneeling on the stairs so he can look into Nott’s eyes more closely. “I won’t stop you from leaving, if this works, but I do— I do wish you’d stay.”
Nott glances away. “I— we’ll see,” is all she manages to say. Caleb can almost always see what she’s thinking, know what’s wrong at a glance; it’s usually comforting, but lately it's been terrifying. She swallows, trying to summon the last of the courage her latest nip of alcohol gave her, and starts up the stairs again.
“Let’s do this.”
+1.
"One more thing," Caleb says nervously. "Or–two, sort of, but–"
"What?" Nott asks patiently. She takes her leg back out of Marion's bathtub, turning to face him once more.
Caleb shifts his kneeling stance so he can reach his largest pocket. He pulls out the crown without having to look at it; he's been rehearsing this for days.
It's a full, beautiful thing– it took Caleb nearly two hours at the florist to figure out what he wanted. Said florist had tried to educate him on meanings, but Caleb knew No–Veth– wasn't likely to care.
The flowers –roses, daffodils, orchids, you name it– are mainly yellow, red, and orange, but there are small blue blooms tucked in here and there, and the bottom is flush with warm green leaves.
Jester makes a noise of awe somewhere behind his back, and he hears with unfortunate acuteness Yasha's intake of breath.
Praying that neither will make a scene, he places it on her head and adjusts it tenderly, keeping his eyes locked on hers although he knows his face is letting her see all the things he could never say out loud.
"For good luck," he says.
When she emerges, an hour later, glowing and happier than Caleb has ever seen her, she’s still wearing it.
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widobrave week, day 6: alternate universe
in this red-string-of-fate soulmate au, your red string doesn’t show up until a turning point in your relationship, a moment that ensures you and your soulmate will be together for the remainder of your lives
Red strings of fate were rare enough as it was. The Mighty Nein stuck out as it was. So the appearance of a red string, between Nott’s left pinky and Caleb’s, was fucking terrible, in her opinion. No more easy cons where they pretended to be strangers. Every creature who fought them would know that the best way to win would be to take out the other. One tiny addition made bigger targets on their backs, in and out of battle. Caleb and Nott were not together, not in the traditional sense of the word, but with that blasted red string hanging between them for the world to see, who would believe it? No more brushing off tender moments as platonic. No more pretending feelings were anything more than a passing crush. No more safety. And if Nott-the-Brave-The-Goblin thought it was terrible for all those reasons, Nott-Who-Was-Secretly-Veth-Brenatto thought it was worse.
The string had appeared after Caleb told Nott and Beau the truth about his past, as she promised to stay by his side until he could forgive himself for the sins he’d committed. Stupid. She never should have said that out loud, never should have put a life-long pledge into the air where it could be overheard by gods and fates and be acted upon; such a strong oath that the fates mistook it for a fated bond of commitment, fidelity, love. Though, if she were honest with herself, she was committed to Caleb. And she loved him. Gods, did she love him. But the fidelity part….wasn’t she breaking that by virtue of already being married?
“We…should talk about this,” Caleb said, once Beau (and Molly) had made their exits. He lifted his hand to examine the string. Nott turned away, not wanting to see the curiosity and reverence on his face. No matter her current feelings on the string, every child in the Empire grew up hearing fairy tales about them—she’d been a wide-eyed child once, and Caleb obviously had, too.
“Nope,” she said stubbornly, sitting down on the bed and crossing her arms, fully turning her back to Caleb. The string stretched to allow her to move, slack enough to curl around her body without becoming taut, never in danger of snapping. She felt Caleb pick up some of the slack and weigh it in his hand. There was a soft tug around her pinkie and she whipped around to see him pulling gently on the string near his hand. He dropped it guiltily. She turned away again.
“The others have already seen it. Mollymauk and Beau at least, and even if they keep it quiet, it’s not like we can hide it from the group. We should at least have a plan in place. Some sort of explanation.”
“I’m trying to sleep,” Nott said, pointedly staring at the wall.
“You’re not lying down.”
“Goblins sleep sitting up.”
Caleb scoffed in a way that meant you’re full of shit. “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it. Tonight.”
Nott nodded sharply. Eventually, Caleb picked up the string again. Despite herself, she chuckled. Of course he wouldn’t be able to leave a new arcane unknown alone. She let him fiddle and did her best to keep her mind blank. Just as she was drifting off into a light sleep, still curled up with her chin on her knees, Caleb began talking, quietly.
“I know why you’re upset. After what I’ve just told you, of course you are. And I kept—everything that I’ve done—from you for so long. You’re right to be mad. You deserve a String who is honest, kind. Someone more deserving of you.”
That was officially too much for Nott. She turned around and dangled her legs off the edge of the bed.
“Caleb. You can’t be serious,” she grouched, well beyond annoyed.
Caleb looked up and frowned. His eyes were so full of sorrow and self-loathing she was surprised that he wasn’t physically drowning in it. Nott felt her bad mood soften. She took his hand, covering it with her two smaller ones. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? I’m going to be by your side, no matter what. And this,” she said, touching the red string, “is proof of that.”
The last part had come out a little dry and annoyed, but she felt she was owed that by the universe at large.
Caleb said nothing, his head dropping to break eye contact with Nott and focus instead on their hands, twined together. Nott sighed, weighing how much to tell him.
“This…the string. It’s unexpected. Definitely. I—I just assumed I’d never have one.”
That was true. Yeza had once asked her if she thought their string would ever appear. He and Veth had been waiting for it, on their wedding day, the day Luc was born, all the days after. Once she was Nott, she just kind of accepted she wouldn’t have one—no one, not even kind, loving Yeza, could be fated to love a goblin.
“But it’s not bad,” Nott hedged. Also true. It did a lot, actually, to wash away some of the black hatred in her heart against herself, this goblin who no one could love. Categorical proof that she was wrong.
“But you’re not happy,” Caleb said. He shrunk in on himself a little further. “I understand.”
That almost made Nott laugh. “Caleb. Your soulmate is a goblin. You can’t be happy with this.”
Caleb’s head whipped up. “My soulmate is you,” he snapped. “Goblin or not, it’s you. Of everyone in this group—everyone I’ve met—I’d have it be you every time.”
He flushed and dropped his chin again. Nott put a hand under his chin and lifted it, just a little.
“You just told me, not an hour ago, that you used to be in love. What about that person?”
“She’s not you,” Caleb said simply. “If I was meant to be with—with her….”
He took a moment to shake his head, as if to clear it. Nott’s heart clenched. She knew what it meant, for him to almost say her name aloud—she hadn’t spoken Yeza’s since she died. He took a deep breath and continued, “If I was meant to be with her, I would have a string with her, or the string between you and I wouldn’t have manifested.”
He smiled wanly. “You ask if I am happy? Am I happy that my greatest friend heard the horrors of my past and pledged herself to me, regardless? I am, Nott. I am happy that you’re my soulmate.”
He took a moment to study her face, then quirked his eyebrow and said, “not that I don’t trust your word alone, but it is nice to have a fated promise of your loyalty.”
“This doesn’t have to change anything between us,” Nott said.
“And if it does? Would that bother you?”
“No,” Nott said, too quickly. It might a problem later, of course, if she ever got back to her body and her husband, but that was a distant, out-of-focus future. Caleb was right here, in front of her, warm and breathing and looking at her so earnestly. “Would it bother you?”
Caleb took the string hanging between them, gathered it up, and looped it loosely around their joined hands. He pressed his lips against her knuckles. Less than a kiss, somehow more significant. His voice low and almost fierce, he said, “This is unexpected, as you said. Unprecedented, maybe. But you and I will figure it out. We must simply help each other be brave.”
Despite his words, Nott knew which of them needed to be brave right now. She kissed him, sweetly, and rested their foreheads together. There was relief in his eyes, but also joy, and that, more than anything, made Nott finally smile.
She said, “Then I’m glad it’s me and you. We make each other brave.”
#sparklepants#widobraveweek#widobrave week#critical role#kit writes#day 5! and it's sappy! you're welcome
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