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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | After Stratholme is purged of its latest incursion of the dreadlord Balnazzar and Colson is reunited with his former other half of his paladin coin, he returns home to Mordecai to process the revelations of the day and what it means to have another death knight in his life. 3700~ words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Morson
Mordecai sits at the table in their Telaar inn room with his clipboard. He is dressed in a navy blue vest over a white short-sleeved shirt, which means that he has been home for long enough to change out of his work uniform.
It looks like he is copying the same symbol over and over, trying to get it to look as precise as possible. It's more inscription practice, and he's using a regular pencil rather than magical ink for this.
Colson's arrival is heralded by the sudden appearance of his [Devotion Aura] from downstairs, projected outwards to immediately encompass Mordecai in a permanent grouping of party mechanics. His progress up is average, neither worrisomely slow or dangerously fast, heralding nothing beyond the awareness that the paladin is alive and well enough to make his way home properly.
When he gets to the door, there is only a brief hesitation of Colson being certain he is holding the key properly to the door, before it opens slowly. "It's me," he announces, unnecessarily.
Mordecai finishes the symbol he's drawing before he sets the pen down. "Colson," he says, smiling. "Welcome home." He scoots the bench back to stand, leaving his clipboard where it is.
Colson does not look like he took any serious wounds from Stratholme — his armor is fully intact, and it isn't extra crispy anywhere. There is blood on his armor and caught in his shorter hair, but it's the thicker, darker blood of the undead, not the truer red of the living, and so doesn't seem likely to be his own. There is only one physical oddity that he's carrying two (2) handkerchiefs in his left hand, and one is stained with bright red blood not yet darkened to brown.
The expression on his face, however, is that of a healer who knows he has set a bone that broke, and while it might no longer be shattered inside him, it is still tender, and it is painful to walk on. He opens his arms wordlessly for Mordecai, shutting the door behind him with a foot.
Mordecai starts forward, looking at the state of the blood. Is this going to stain his vest? Maybe. He unbuttons it as he crosses the room, shrugging out of it and discarding it on the side table. Vest saved, Mordecai steps into his husband's arms. His shirt can be sacrificed, it's fine, the laundry will either save it or it won't. "I'm here, sweetheart," he says, taking Colson's face in both hands. "Did something go wrong?"
Colson lets out a shuddering breath as he surrenders into Mordecai's embrace, eyes closing. He seems to take some strength from Mordecai's touch, as if it's in itself a [Renew].
"We were successful in entering Stratholme to vanquish the dreadlord Balnazzar and put the undead of the Scarlet Crusade to rest as best we may. There were no casualties, and all wounds successfully healed. The Silver Hand will hold the Bastion themselves, retaking it fully, and holding the line of the undead from there," Colson reports in a painfully even voice. None of those things suggest anything went wrong. "Fi was there, part of the Argent Crusade's forces sent to aid our task. She has adopted the name 'Mercy,' and did so in the hopes that I would not know her."
Ah, there it is.
"Oh," Mordecai says. He looks more closely at Colson's face, studying his expression, tracing lines with his fingertips. Mordecai himself looks concerned and protective. "I didn't know," he says. "I would have come if I'd known. But you couldn't have known either."
Colson exhales slowly, his eyes still closed. There's evidence of the strain he's faced with Roper in the past, those faint lines that have been deepened with pain and repressed. "No. I had no reason to believe it would be her. She did her duty admirably, and served as well as any other there in the purpose of our actions. At the end, she was…sated enough that she was almost as herself, as she had been. We spoke."
Mordecai does not seem reassured by this at all. "From the combat," he tries to confirm. "Did she cause you any physical pain?"
"No," Colson answers honestly. "After, while we spoke, there was emotional pain. I do not believe it was premeditated or fully motivated by the Hunger. It was…old grief and old feelings that I believe drove her to speak of it as she did. It was what Fi would have said." There's a faint shake to the words, echoed in the way his left hand clenches over the handkerchiefs held there, one dark with blood, the other cleaner but not untainted.
Mordecai doesn't relax, but some of the bristling subsides. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asks. "And now, or later?" He pulls back a little to reach for Colson's hands instead - both of them, handkerchiefs and all.
"Yes, and…I am not certain," Colson answers, opening his eyes as Mordecai touches his hands, still in their gauntlets. Some ripple crosses the paladin's face. "I believe I should like my armor off first. I…" He trails off, the thought unfinished.
"All right. Let's get your armor off." Mordecai reaches out to remove Colson's right gauntlet himself, allowing him to hold on to the handkerchiefs a while longer if he so chooses.
Colson either so chooses, or maybe has hit some sort of strange place where he genuinely just does not know what to do with the handkerchiefs he's holding. Paladin_error.exe
Still, there's some strange relief that comes over Colson as the gauntlet is raised off his hand, which is glowing faintly with the Light, just a little brighter than skin really is. "Thank you."
Mordecai sets the gauntlet aside and squeezes Colson's hand gently. "Of course, love. Would you like to, um. Set those down?" Clearly something is up with the handkerchiefs. He doesn't get it, but he's not going to be rude about it.
"I…do not know," Colson confesses, staring at the handkerchiefs. "It is Fi's blood, from her tears, when she cried, they were tears of blood. I…" His brow moves in indecision.
"She cried blood?" Of all the things Mordecai has heard and seen of death knights, this is the first that actually makes him go a little pale. "Why-why don't you just hold those with your other hand for now, then, and I can get…" He gestures to Colson's left gauntlet.
Colson nods. To both the question and to the suggestion, the latter offering some level of relief. His priest is telling him what to do, it must be the right choice, as he swaps the handkerchiefs to his right hand.
"There you go," Mordecai says gently. He looks disturbed, though, and keeps shooting uneasy looks at the handkerchiefs as he continues with the armor removal. Pauldrons, then sword. "I didn't know they cried blood," he mutters to himself. He sounds unsettled.
"Neither did I," Colson says. "I am not certain that they all do." He stares at the handkerchief in his hand like he expects that it will spontaneously offer answers. "She cried just as she did on the day I told her I was to be married."
"She cried blood then too?!" Now Mordecai is genuinely horrified. (And clearly confused.)
"No, not the blood, the emotion," Colson explains calmly.
"Oh." Mordecai exhales. "Tears. Right." He sounds a little embarrassed. He shakes his head and continues removing his paladin's armor. It's far slower than it would be if Colson had done it himself.
Colson does not seem to be in a rush. He seems to still be processing something, slowly, but with his left hand now free and clear, he can use it to cradle Mordecai's cheek in his hand, and that seems to steady the paladin.
Mordecai doesn't say anything else until the armor is off, stacked neatly near the door. Then he pulls Colson into a proper hug, now armor-free. "There. Is that better?"
Colson presses Mordecai so close that it leaves no room for even the Light to squeeze between them, and even this seems to be not quite close enough, but it will do for now, as he relaxes a little more; under the armor, Colson's muscles are rigid, his shoulders painfully tight enough to bounce a copper off of. "Yes," he says, resting his head against Mordecai's. There's a quiet pause as Colson just breathes in and out, even and slow. Then, spoken like he's in a confession booth, and he is ready to at last shed a deep sin, he says, "Fi told me that when she was alive, she was in love with me."
Mordecai strokes Colson's hair, getting some dried blood on his fingers in the process that he doesn't take notice of just yet, matching his breathing evenly to Colson's.
Just as Mordecai seems like he might be going to calm down from she cries blood, that sentence hits him like an anvil. "What?!" Mordecai pulls free from Colson as if burned, his hands coming up to cover his mouth.
Colson distress leaps up as Mordecai pulls away, much further than Colson would prefer (as the optimal amount would be zero), but he moves slowly, reaching his hands up to Mordecai's face.
Mordecai stares wide-eyed at Colson for a moment, then slowly lowers his hands from his mouth. His eyes flick down towards the blood on his fingertips and the bloody handkerchiefs in Colson's hand and he startles a second time, but he stays rooted to the floor where he is. "Oh." Carefully, he puts a hand on Colson's chest, over his heart. "Well." His expression is doing a whole lot and none of it is helpfully labeled.
At the startle, Colson drops the handkerchiefs in his right hand, letting the wounded doves make their ways to the floor once more, so that he can set one hand to Mordecai's cheek, and the other to cover his hand over Colson's heart. Colson's eyes trace Mordecai's features desperately, with the attitude of a man who has been studying for years for this sort of test, and now, when it has arrived, is finding himself failing it.
There is no panic though, as Colson's heart rate holds steady under Mordecai's hand, because there is one more thing that Colson knows after years of study — it's always an open book test. "What are you thinking and feeling right now?" he asks softly, an open admission that Colson just cannot tell.
"Oh," Mordecai says. "A… few things? There are a lot of thoughts. And feelings. Um, I would like to sit down. Can we sit down first?"
"Of course," Colson says. "Where would you prefer to sit down, at the table or on the bed?" That is the only question Colson needs the answer to, just where, nothing else.
"Bed," Mordecai says quickly, pulling Colson along with him as he steps over the handkerchiefs in a hurry to get away from them. He sits down cross-legged on the closest side of the bed, facing the wardrobe, with space for Colson to sit on his left or his right as he pleases.
Colson takes up his usual spot that puts him closer to the door, on that potential threat mitigation of anything that could enter through the door, and there's a bit of careful, slow caution as he settles in closer to Mordecai, moving up an arm in offer for Mordecai to cuddle against Colson in his Spot, but without expectation; it's only an offer.
Mordecai presses up against Colson's side, claiming his spot immediately. "Well, I'm jealous," he says. "And then I feel guilty that I'm jealous, just like with Roper. Because how can I possibly blame anyone for falling in love with you? And… I know this isn't something I should carry guilt over," Mordecai says a little sheepishly, "but it feels like you lost one of your friends because of me. Because that was the last time the two of you really spoke - when you told her you were getting married, and she cried. But I know that it isn't actually my fault in any way, and I think I'll be able to get over that soon."
He takes a deep breath. "I don't know how you would have felt about her if you'd known sooner, if she'd actually told you, if you would have returned her feelings in any way, um, before you really knew me."
"Ah," Colson says, and there's a faint frown of thought on his face. He brushes his fingers gently against Mordecai's shoulder, light strokes. "Do you want to know my thoughts on it, such as they are?"
"Yes, in a moment," Mordecai says. "You asked what I was thinking and feeling, so… I suppose I should probably confess that my very first reaction was 'Why does this keep happening?' and 'If Harvey Morningdew confesses his love to you one day I will scream.'"
"Ah," Colson says again, but this one sounds slightly choked, and he reaches up his other hand to his face, rubbing over his mouth. It would be super inappropriate to laugh, and it's probably only the heightened emotions of the day, but for someone who knows him well, it's too obvious that Colson is repressing it, attempting to speak in an even, controlled tone. "That would be…remarkably unfortunate on a number of levels, and surprising enough that I confess it very well may be my own reaction, which I expect would not go over well with Harvey Morningdew or Miss Westwind, somehow."
Mordecai laughs, because this can in fact be both funny and terribly tragic at the same time and he is not quite as good at keeping the laughter down as Colson.
Colson's own laugh, a bright, brief sound rings out as he tosses his head back. It's not a long laughter, and it fades into a hmmm sound, but it leaves some of the tension out of the paladin when it is over.
Mordecai is smiling again, at least, and he no longer seems quite as likely to jump out of his own skin. "I love you," he says. "May I kiss you? And then I'd like to hear your thoughts."
"Always," Colson says, leaning into Mordecai to claim his Welcome Home Kiss.
Mordecai uses the distraction of the welcome home kiss as an opportunity to move into Colson's lap, ending up sitting sideways with his hand over Colson's heart. There's still a shirt in the way. "I'm listening now," Mordecai promises.
There doesn't have to be a shirt in Mordecai's way, but that's up to Mordecai. Colson seems content to hold Mordecai there in his lap, one arm supporting his back, and the other hand set over Mordecai's over his heart, and his [Fear Ward] tattoo. Colson speaks slowly, that careful, measured voice of his. "Early on in our friendship, the subject was broached between Fi and I, of her wondering if I might have had…intentions towards her. I was clear then that I did not, and what I sought from her was indeed friendship and comradeship as a paladin in the Light." He pauses even longer, gathering a thought.
"If I had to categorize my feelings for her, I would call them 'love,' for the strength, but not at all romantic, not any more than my feelings of love for Cressidha are. I saw in Fi a part of the Light that was not known to me, and that connection mattered deeply to me as a paladin. Even had she spoken of her feelings, I cannot say that mine would have altered from that point. I also believe that my feelings for you were inevitable, and had she and I made any attempt, in the end, I would have only hurt her when I chose you. For me, the friendship she and I had was precious, and unique, and it shaped my path as a paladin. I only wish I had known how I was hurting her at the time, not seeing that we were not seeing the same possible ideal path of us stretching out ahead of us. That is what I regret in not knowing."
Mordecai listens in silence, although it's clear he's paying attention. "A part of the Light that was not known to you…" he murmurs.
After a little while of consideration, Mordecai nods. "I'm relieved to hear you were clear about your actual intentions towards her. I… the rest is… I'm so sorry about your friend, Colson. Did she ever say why she took an alias to try and avoid you?"
"I believe the intent was clear to not speak with me, to not have our past revisited. As usual with Fi, I did not act as she expected from the start, which is that it did not matter what name she called herself, or what hood that she wore, the moment I saw her, I knew it was her," Colson confesses. It's his way, with those that he cares deeply about. "I went after her when she left at the banishment of the dreadlord, to offer my gratitude for her actions, as I know that death knights have come to expect a certain level of…behavior from the living in regards to their efforts. I knew already that it would not be Fi, not as I knew her. She was…so close though that it was painful."
Mordecai sighs. "You went after a death knight. Alone." He curls a little closer, leaning his head on Colson's shoulder. "It wasn't like with Roper? She had more self-control?"
"She had been quiet and unprovoking the entire time within Stratholme," Colson says gently. He doesn't defend himself or his choice, and there is a tension of guilt that stirs. "Though she inflicted pain in what she said, it was nothing that Fi herself would not have said while alive, and with as much natural effect to my feeling. She did not press it or attempt to deliberately expand on the cruelty even when she knew where she might press, and I controlled myself in turn when it grew acute." He has promises to keep, after all.
Mordecai hums quietly. "All right. I trust you. I suppose you couldn't have known until she told you, either. You don't think I would be in any specific danger from her, do you?"
Colson's arms tighten reflexively and protectively around Mordecai, and it's not his imagination that the barest shimmer in the air was a few molecules of a [Hand of Protection] not truly cast with thought, but with some immediate instinct partially tapped. Colson inhales deeply, lets it out slowly. "No, I do not think so, at the very least not when she is not as well sated, and her emotions are not so close. When she is…Hungrier, she is less as she was, colder and while the Hunger is always a danger, it is nonspecific and she seems to hold it in control. I did not sense or hear any animosity towards you in resentment. I believe if she resented anyone, it was only I."
Mordecai smiles dreamily, less in response to what Colson actually said and more because of the Light he felt. "I see. All right. Thank you for not letting her hurt you any more than, well, what was inevitable."
"If I can be of assistance to this Fi, to aid her as she attempts to find meaning in action, as she has expressed she wishes to do, then I shall do so, though it will not come at my own expense, I promise. There is nothing more I can do for who she was, as I well know, and I will mourn that loss, but while I do not believe true redemption is possible so long as the Hunger compels suffering and cruelty, I persist in believing in the virtue of tenacity to try, and Fi yet still tries, even as she is now."
Mordecai nods. "I understand," he says softly. "I'll support you in that however I can, as always."
"Thank you." Colson leans into Mordecai, resting against his priest gently.
"What do you want to do about those handkerchiefs?" Mordecai asks. "Are they… her tears… something you want to keep a reminder of? Or shall we put them in the laundry?"
"Ah." Colson looks over to where the handkerchiefs lie on the floor. "I do not believe the blood would come out, not at this stage. In any ordinary circumstance, I would simply dispose of them." He breathes evenly, the neutral lines of his face not a mask, but a resting point of complex thought without distress. "It feels…strange to do so, as though I am destroying something of hers, and yet I confess I do not feel any desire to keep them as memento or reminder. It is not what I want to remember about her, either of before, or of today."
Mordecai kisses Colson's cheek. "Would you prefer it if I handled them, then?" he offers.
Colson is silent as he considers it, brushing his thumb along the back of Mordecai's hand meditatively. Eventually, he inclines his head, his eyes soft as he looks at Mordecai. "Yes, thank you. I do not know that there is any truest right choice, but perhaps this is close enough."
Mordecai nods. "I'll handle it, then." He stays where he is, comfortable in Colson's arms, not doing anything about the handkerchiefs. Or the traces of blood on his shirt. Or the blood in Colson's hair. "A few years ago, I would have tried to wash them. They're kind of expensive."
Colson's brows lift slightly. "Ah." It's not that he doubts Mordecai, it's just that this seems to be news to Colson. "I have many, and Cressidha would make more if I were to ask."
Mordecai blushes faintly. "Right. Well. We can afford more of them. Let's go shower? You have blood in your hair."
Colson leans in closer, stroking his thumb in gentle sweeps across Mordecai's hand. "I would like it if you would join me, and help me with it."
"Mmhm. I will. Thank you for asking, love." Mordecai loops his arms around Colson's neck and speaks a Power Word. "Fortitude. Will you carry me? Just because."
Colson repositions his arms under Mordecai's legs and better supported along his back, his expression soft and the former signs of stress falling away from where they've clung to him like blood spatter. "Always," he promises.
Mordecai beams at him. All seems to be well in the world again, or at least in the household.