“You don’t like me much, do you?” Fjord asks cheekily, the first time they are alone.
It’s been nearly two weeks of planning the big event for the false god —for Jester, he reminds himself, it’s all for Jester— and the archfey hasn’t been shy about his opinion on Fjord. He would’ve thought the petty comments were aimed at him because of his connection to an actual, real, deity, but Artagnan doesn’t seem to have the same issues with Clay as he does with him. It’s personal, then.
Fjord is no stranger to being singled out. He’s been a target of far worse poking than this. However, he’s not a chubby half-monster kid anymore. He’s a grown man, with a supportive deity behind him and a loving family to back him up. So, instead of dodging the conflict as he would have a year ago, he decides to face it.
To his credit, The Traveler doesn’t bother denying it. He smiles and shrugs dismissively instead.
“I’m far too magnificent to even concern myself with you. I simply find you... boring.”
“Is that so?” Fjord arches an eyebrow.
“Your distrust in me is simply dreary. I have no time to entertain your paranoid worries, momma’s boy, and I hardly understand why Jester would bother to, either.”
Fjord knows he’s getting close but he gives no indication of it. He digs in a little deeper with an easy smile.
“I could say the same about you,” he says lightly, and thinks he recognizes a spark of anger behind the green irises, “after all, you’ve lied to her all this time and she’s still trying to help you.”
Artagnan laughs; the sound is musical and inhuman, it sends a shiver up Fjord’s spine. He’s suddenly reminded the power of who he’s messing with, but he knows better than to back down now. He can’t risk showing any weakness.
“I’m hardly the only one of us who has pretended to be something they are not.”
“I never lied to her,” Fjord jumps, maybe a little too fast.
“Neither did I,” the archfey smiles coyly.
Fjord shakes his head. “Jester knew who I was all along, from the moment we met. I never had to play a part with her. She knows me.”
“Does she?” The Traveler scoffs. “So you’re confident that she’s never doubted you, that you never gave her reason to second guess your intentions.”
The way he says it makes Fjord’s stomach twist into knots. He suddenly wants to know what Jester could’ve confided on him, desperately so. The mask slips for a second but it’s enough to give Artagnan the upper ground.
“Do not berate yourself. You are simply a mortal. I am much more than you. I am her patron. I am her protector. I am her first and oldest friend in the world. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”
Jealousy. It takes form crystal clear in Fjord’s mind and it’s such a simple answer that he has to repress a laugh. The Traveler is jealous of Fjord, of Jester’s attention and friendship. The thought builds Fjord’s confidence back up at the speed of lightning. Part of him relishes on the knowledge that Jester thinks highly enough of him to make her former god insecure.
“You have known her the longest,” he concedes, “and she trusts you. You are very lucky. I know what it’s like, having her support even when you don’t deserve it. I know first hand how she can change you just by seeing the best in you. She cares about you, so I will only say this once: if you hurt her, I will find the darkest deepest pit in the multiplanar sea and bury you in it.”
As he speaks, his words gain a darker threatening tint, a left over from his former patron’s influence. The fey’s smile remains, but his eyes turn dark as coal for a moment.
“Then we understand each other,” he says, voice smooth as silk, “for I can extend the very same promise to you.”
They hold each other’s gaze. Something else, like static before a storm, starts to gather between them, only to be cut in half by a ray of sunlight.
“There you are!” Jester’s sugary voice precedes her appearance. She stands between them with a deceivingly light smile that doesn’t do much to cover the darkness under her eyes. She’s running herself thin trying to make this event perfect. Perfect for The Traveler. “What are you two doing standing around? We have so much more to do!”
Artagnan’s face is soft again with fondness, all traces of danger erased from his eyes as he looks down at the cleric.
“You are right as always, my dear,” he says, caressing her cheek lightly.
Fjord feels the ghost of tentacles crushing his chest as his eyes follow the fey’s long pale fingers. Jester smiles, and hooks her arm with Artagnan’s.
“C’mon, we have to practice the show!” She says, pulling him along. “You’re gonna look so so handsome as you pretend to ascend, everyone will love it! Fjord! Fjord, are you coming?”
The Traveler turns over his shoulder, his expression all smugness now. His green eyes twinkle with victory.
“Yes, momma’s boy, are you coming?”
Jealousy. It stabs him in the chest, across the scar of his old falchion. Fuck.
