Vox Machina Soulmate AU Preferences
Gender Neutral.
Includes Grog, Pike, Scanlan, Vax, Vex, Percy, and Keyleth
WARNINGS: (Temporary) major character death, some scattered angst
A/N: So guess who's been working on this one for three years? 😅 Text under the cut since it got hella long (18 single-spaced pages in Docs) Hopefully it was worth it. Can y'all guess my favorite character?
Grog Strongjaw - Seeing Color
There's nothing quite like the thrill of a fight - the pounding of adrenaline, your racing heart, the sweet sting of strain through your muscles, the burn of bruises forming under your skin where your opponent’s fists had struck you, and the roar of the crowd.
True, adventuring had brought you your fair share of fights when you’d been part of a party - traipsing cross-country to stop bad guys and explore and hold out hope of meeting your soulmate, but even that couldn’t compare to the fights in the Crucible.
You’d heard tell of the infamous fighting ring when your party had passed through Vasselheim years ago, and you’d entered yourself into that night’s fights. That first fight had been enough to convince you of where you needed to be. You resigned from adventuring that night, taking the next few weeks to stake out a claim there in Vasselheim before making yourself a regular contender in the Crucible fights.
It was another such night, with your blood singing through your veins and your knuckles burning from where you’d split them across some half-orc’s jaw when your head started spinning from more than just the blows you’d taken.
Your eyes had glanced, for the briefest of seconds, over the crowd of onlookers crowded around the brim of the pit to watch the fight, and your eyes met the bright brown ones of a Goliath standing near the front of the crowd. It took you a moment to realize that you could see the color of his eyes, not just the shades of grey that you should’ve seen there. If you could see color then that meant that this man was your soulmate-
A sharp blow to the side of your head jerked you back into the moment and the rhythm of the fight. You forced yourself to look past the rich browns of the dirt, the green skin of your opponent and the red of his blood, shaking away the overwhelming onslaught of new colors and going back to what you know.
You’re shifting your weight from foot to foot as you watch your opponent, ducking a few more of his wide swings, before finding yourself ready to end it. You planted your back foot, slipping deftly under your opponent’s arm and throwing your shoulder into his stomach, using your momentum to take you both to the ground.
You don’t allow him time to recover, planting yourself across his chest and using your leverage to rain brutal punch after brutal punch into the half-orc’s face until you see the consciousness slip from his eyes. As soon as you’re sure it’s not an act, you push away from him and to your feet. You step away, wiping a hand under your surely-broken nose and pausing only briefly at the sight of your crimson blood staining your skin.
Right, you thought, I saw my soulmate. He was gone when your eyes drifted back to where you’d seen him last and you felt a twinge of disappointment shoot through you. You shook your head, allowing yourself to be hauled up out of the pit and moving to track down the bookie to collect your earnings.
Now with your adrenaline waning and your coin purse weighing heavier against your hip, you begin to weave your way through the crowd, nodding your thanks as people clap you on the shoulder and congratulate you. You pause as a small red flower is thrust before you, stopping short.
Your gaze trails up from the flower to the person holding it, a smile tugging at your split lip as you find grey skin and tattoos and those same sweet honey-brown eyes over a shy smile.
“You, um,” he starts, tripping over his words as he tried to find them, “You fight good.” He holds out the flower to you, and your heart squeezes a little in your chest as you realize there’s still a clod of dirt clinging to the roots. He must’ve gone off to find this for you when you hadn’t been able to spot him in the crowd. “I, uh, I dunno if you started seeing color too…?”
You nod and his smile becomes a little relieved, tension easing from his shoulders the longer he talks to you.
“I just thought,” he clears his throat and you catch the sight of an elvish man in black and a gnome in purple snickering at the two of you a little ways off. You presume these are your soulmate’s friends, laughing as he fumbles through conversation. You can’t help but find the stuttering charming. “Well, it’s not as pretty as you, even in color, but I wanted you to have something.” He pauses, seeming to only now realize he hadn’t introduced himself yet. “Grog,” he says, sticking his hand out for you to shake.
You tell him your name in exchange, and slip your hand into his. Instead of shaking it, you tug him along after you, figuring it would be good to get to know your soulmate away from the crowd and the prying eyes of his friends. He follows you eagerly.
Pike Trickfoot - Twin Heartbeats
There had always been a second heartbeat thrumming alongside yours in your chest. You’d felt it speed up before when your soulmate was overcome with adrenaline, but for the most part it was always steady and slow and soothing - even now, with your own slowing to a stop.
You’d been passing through Whitestone with your adventuring party when you’d been set upon by a group of vampire spawn who were less than pleased by your arrival.
You were able to help down the first few of the spawn before one snuck up behind you and put a knife through you. Your friends had called out for you but you knew they were too far away to get to you in time, especially with the remaining vampires blocking them.
There’s a grating sound from behind you, like a heavy door opening, and more people shouting as they enter the room. There’s a blast, a bit like the sound of a cannon firing, and the ground rumbles as someone large barrels past you, an enraged shout escaping them as they charge the vampires.
Blood is soaking your armor around the blade of the dagger plunged through your ribs but you can’t seem to focus on the spreading warmth or the clash of fighting around you. You can feel your soulmate’s heart spike sharply even as your own pulse weakens, and a few seconds later someone drops to their knees at your side. They press one hand over your wound and two fingers to the side of your throat to feel for a pulse.
“Shit,” they curse as they recognize the weakness of your pulse against their fingertips. “Not like this, not like this.” They say, and you cringe as they rip the dagger out of you, warm hands putting pressure against your wound. “We were supposed to meet somewhere nice. A tavern or a festival or something, not with you dying.”
You’re confused. This person is talking to you like they know you but you don’t recognize their voice. Unless…? Oh, you realize belatedly, head still muddied by the blood loss, They must be your soulmate.
You fight to open your eyes, taking in snowy white hair and pretty blue eyes and a concerned frown and you didn’t want to die before but now you really don’t because your soulmate is adorable and you can’t stand the thought of dying without getting to know her.
“Hi,” you croak, forcing yourself to smile.
A stunned half-laugh escapes her and she looks almost on the verge of tears as she presses her hands firmly over your stab wound.
“Hi,” she says back, eyes and hands beginning to glow with a brilliant golden light. It’s warm, like sunlight. “I’m not letting you die before I get to know you.”
You nod, agreeing like you have a say in the matter. For her, you’d figure out a way around death.
The pressure against your wound remains steady and you can feel the skin and muscle knitting back together under her fingers. Slowly, your heartbeat steadies, evening out to match hers, and you force yourself upright as she finishes healing you, catching sight of the ongoing brawl where her party is helping yours turn the tides against the vampires. You look back to her, eyes bright with challenge, “Most vampire kills decides where I take you for our first date?”
She grins, grip tightening around the handle of her mace as she charges in ahead of you. “You’re on!” she calls back over her shoulder.
You can’t help but smile as you follow her, heart beating in tune with hers, and know that you’d be happy to follow her anywhere.
Scanlan Shorthalt - Shared Melodies
Music had always been a part of your life. From the time you were little you’d had tunes and the starts of songs echoing through your mind. Of course, few of them had been your own - most of the songs had been in another’s voice. Your soulmate’s voice.
As you’d grown, so had your soulmate - the high playful voice of childhood deepening into a grown man’s tenor, soft and slightly raspy with years of experience. With the frequency of some of his songs, you’d come to figure he was a performer of some sort - likely a traveling bard. You’d learned some of his favorites through the years and couldn’t help but wonder over the stories that had shaped them, about what he’d felt and thought and lived through to make his songs what they had become.
You had often wondered what your soulmate looked like, if his features were soft like his tone or more defined like the way the lyrics rolled from his lips. You wondered if he would be your height or taller or shorter. You knew you didn’t really care about his looks though, not when his songs had given you insight into the type of person he was. You didn’t have to have seen him to know that you would love him.
It had been weeks since the last time you’d heard your soulmate’s singing playing through your mind with a chorus of other instruments to back him up, so you knew that he was likely traveling again.
This same knowledge made it hard to care about something so trivial as going to work when for all you knew your soulmate could be in danger, though you knew your town’s little tavern would not open without you there to run it. With that same knowledge, you forced yourself to unlock and throw wide the doors of the establishment.
You’d scarcely taken your place behind the bar when your first group of patrons filed in, a rather motley crew of half-elves, a Goliath, a human, and a pair of gnomes. They quickly claimed one of the large corner booths and the dark-haired half-elf woman came over to haggle for drinks. You stood your ground and finally she relented, paying full price and returning to her table laden with drinks.
It was still early so business remained slow, only a few of your regulars trickling in to take their usual seats at the bar. You’d fallen into your usual rhythm of serving drinks and taking payments when the music started. You could recognize the opening notes of one of your soulmate’s favorites, though it was louder now than it usually seemed. It wasn’t until you realized that you were hearing a slight echo of your soulmate’s voice that you looked up, your words cutting out from where you’d been speaking to a patron as your gaze darted up to the small stage at the other end of the tavern, where one of the gnomes from the party from earlier had taken up, singing and playing his lyre like it was more natural to him than breathing.
You were transfixed, unable to look away from this man who was apparently your soulmate. A smile tugged at your lips as you realized you’d been right - while it was nice to be able to put a face to the voice, it wouldn’t have mattered what he looked like. You’d have loved him either way.
When his song trailed to an end, you waved him over to the bar. He took one of the empty seats without argument, though the free drink you slid him seemed to be a surprise.
“Enjoyed my performance that much, eh?” he grinned at you, winking when he caught your eye.
You returned the smile easily, wiping at a stubborn spot on the bar a bit to the side of him. “Figured it would be a good start to pay you back for all the free performances I’ve gotten over the years,” you said, a slight chuckle escaping you at the baffled look on his face. “You’ve been working on that one a while, yeah? I think you picked up the melody a year or two ago, right? And you’ve been working on the lyrics since.” He’s speechless so you press on, “I think I liked the verse about the girl with the violets in her hair better than the new chorus though.”
That seems to get his attention. “I- I never performed that version,” he says quietly, his confident charade faltering for the first time since he stepped foot in your bar. “How do you know it?”
“You never performed it publicly,” you corrected, tapping a finger to the side of your head gently, “Doesn’t mean you didn’t have an audience.”
His performer smile fades as a smaller one takes its place, less show-stopping but so much more real that it almost makes your heart stop. “Maybe you’d like a private show later then?” A bright blush creeps up on him and you can tell that he’s having trouble keeping up the playboy facade when faced by meeting his soulmate. He scrambles to correct himself, “Not for that - well, unless you wanted to - but I’ve got the starts of about a million songs about you that I want to play for you. I mean, they’re not really done yet because it was hard to write something about your soulmate without really knowing them but-”
You lean forward and kiss him to interrupt his rambling. “I’d love to,” you say, ignoring the excited whoops from his friends at their booth. And you really would, happy to hear any tune your soulmate may wish to play, more than happy just to spend time with him.
Vax'ildan Vessar - Prophetic Dreams
You are no stranger to prophetic dreams. You’d seen visions of yourself standing beside the other members of Vox Machina long before you’d met them, witnessed the atrocities of the Briarwoods before they came to Emon, seen the dark figure guiding Percy’s actions before it exposed itself, and had even been able to see the light returning to Whitestone before the vampires’ defeat. But this- you’d never had a vision quite like this.
Some of your visions are peaceful, sure, but they have never made you feel quite so safe as your current dream does, with the soft light of dawn spilling through the window of your bedroom back at Vox Machina’s keep, dusting gently over the figure lying beside you in your bed. You watched as they shifted, long dark hair parting easily around the elegant point of an elvish ear and spilling in waves across their pillow. The blankets had slipped low along their side, the smooth pale skin of their neck and shoulder exposed to the chill morning air. You watch them sleep for a few moments, enjoying the peace that their presence brought you, before they shift, seemingly about to turn toward you. In the second before you would be able to see your companion’s face, you were jolted back to wakefulness.
“Shit,” you mumble, sucking in a harsh breath as you come face-to-snout with a massive grizzly bear. Your racing heart settles only slightly when the bear lets out a pleased grumble and noses at your cheek. “Good morning to you too, Trinket.” With your greeting, the massive bear rises back to his paws and lumbers back to the open door to your chambers and out into the hallway, presumably off to find Vex.
You begin to push yourself into a seated position when the thought reminds you of your dream. With the elvish features and dark hair, it’s entirely possible that the figure in your dream could have been Vex’ahlia, one of your companions. You’d heard of people being blessed with dreams of their soulmates, but would have never guessed yourself to be among them, let alone for your soulmate to have been someone you’ve already met.
You find yourself dressing in somewhat of a daze as you think, only snapping back to sharp focus as you enter the vast dining room of the keep, the rest of the party already sitting down to breakfast.
“Good morning everyone,” your eyes dart sheepishly toward Vex as you take your usual seat at the far end of the table beside Vax. She’s seated beside Percy, chin perched elegantly on her hand as she watches him speak.
“Nice of you to join us, sleepyhead,” Vax teases, shoving at your shoulder playfully.
You manage to drag your eyes away from his sister in order to swat his hand back, though you can’t fight the slight upward tug at your lips. Vax had always been able to make you smile, even through your worst days. You’re friends with the rest of Vox Machina of course, but you and Vax had always been closer than the rest.
“Whatever,” you huff, digging into the breakfast that the servants had laid out for all of you. You can’t help shooting a couple of glances in Vex’s direction now and then, but you try to do it surreptitiously enough so the others don’t notice.
Vax nudges you again, dark eyes fixed on you intently when you finally turn to look at him, “There a reason you keep eyeing my sister like that?” he prompts softly, voice lowered enough to avoid attention from the rest of the party.
You shrug, keeping your eyes trained firmly on your breakfast, but you could feel the treacherous heat of a blush warming your face as he studies you. “Had a weird dream last night. Can’t get my mind off it.”
“If you had a sex dream about my sister, I certainly don’t want details.” Vax’s face twists in mock disgust as he looks at you, “And I certainly wouldn’t talk about it around everyone, if Vex doesn’t kill you herself, Percy certainly will.”
Your gaze snaps up to meet his and you scramble to protest, “That’s not- it wasn’t like that!” You clear your throat as the rest of the group looks over at your exclamation, “Sorry,” you say, waving them off. “What do you mean?” you continue once everyone resumes their previous conversations, “Why would Percy be mad?”
Vax makes a face, wincing like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. “They, uh, they don’t want to tell everyone just yet, but they’re engaged.”
You can’t even form words in response, thoughts derailing at your best friend’s admission. Admittedly, you hadn’t given Vex much thought romantically before today, but after your dream you’d been sure that she was your soulmate. A future that you could count on, but now that Vax had told you she and Percy were involved-
You push your seat back from the table, mumbling a quiet “Lost my appetite” as an excuse and quickly ducking out of the room.
You move without thinking of the destination, feet carrying you down the hallway and up the stairwells until you reach the top of your favorite tower. You step out onto the balcony, sitting down on the edge of the platform and letting your legs hang over into the open air as you stare out over the horizon.
The scuff of a boot on stone alerts you to his presence before he even speaks, though you have the suspicion that it was more for your benefit than of an oversight on Vax’s part. He’d always been too stealthy for your well being.
“Care to tell me what caused that reaction?” he says softly as he sits beside you, pulling a small dagger from its sheath and flipping it idly between his fingers.
You sigh, fingers clenching into fists where they rested against your thighs. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“From you? Certainly not,” he reassures you, bumping you lightly with his shoulder. “If there’s something upsetting you, there’s reason for you to be upset. You’re not one to make a big deal out of nothing. If you want someone to listen, you know I’m here for you.”
A deep breath whooshes out of you as you try to convince yourself to start talking. Eventually you force yourself to begin, “I think I had a dream about my soulmate last night.”
Vax’s hand falters and the blade slips through his fingers, plummeting through the air and streaking toward the ground, only to reappear at his belt seconds later. “Is that so?” he says after a long moment, voice strained and tight in a way you’d only heard before when he’d been injured. “Did you- did you think my sister was your soulmate?”
You shrug, unable to meet his eyes. “It was a pretty valid guess with what I saw.”
Vax hums, hands stilling on the hilt of his blade, “I’ve had dreams about my soulmate as well. Do you care to know what I saw in mine?” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “I saw the setting sun, brilliant gold staining the treetops of the forest stretching out beyond the walls below me. I watched the night start to fade and the stars emerge and as beautiful as it was, all I could think was that I couldn’t be happier because I was with my favorite person in their favorite place.” He pauses, seeming to steel his nerves before continuing. “I was right here, looking out over the keep, and I didn’t need to look to know who was beside me.”
“Are you saying-?” You can’t even bring yourself to finish the question, mind racing as you try to process what your best friend is suggesting.
Vax lets out an amused little huff, back to flipping his dagger deftly between his fingers. “You know I’m in love with you, right? I have been for years now.” He shrugs as he catches the blade once more, shooting a soft glance at you, “It’s alright if you don’t feel the same, I don’t want to pressure you at all, just to suggest that your dream may not have been about my sister.”
Your dream races through your mind once more, the sweeping black hair pooling on the pillow and the sharp point of an ear. The pale skin nearly glowing in the light and the comfort you felt. All of these features could belong to Vex, sure, but could have belonged to Vax just as easily. If you were honest with yourself, you doubted you’d have felt that safe around his sister since he had been the only one able to bring you such peace. Even now, with Vax’s confession hanging over you and the silence stretching ahead, you don’t feel alarmed at the situation. It feels right, natural in a way that you wouldn’t have anticipated but couldn’t have felt easier now that you thought about it. You aren’t quite sure how you had ever assumed your dream was about Vex, when you should have known it was about him.
“I think you’re my soulmate,” you say finally, eyes darting over to peek at him just long enough to catch the soft look on his face as he examines you. “I think it was you all along but I was too afraid to give the idea any real consideration.” You heave a deep breath and your shoulders sag as you slump against his side, leaning your head easily against his shoulder, “I can’t say I’m in love with you yet, but I can’t say I won’t be.”
He leans over to press a gentle kiss against the top of your head and you can feel the shift of his lips as they pull up into a grin, “That’s okay,” he says, an arm coming up to loop easily around your shoulders to hold you close, “If I get even a chance to stay beside you, that is more than enough for me.”
In that moment, as the sun continues its ascent over the horizon and the golden light begins to settle, you understand the ease that a soulmate is meant to bring - the safety and comfort they provide - and can’t help but thinking that the chance to be with Vax was worth far more than a life with anyone else.
Vex'ahlia Vessar - Shared Marks
The drawings hadn’t always been there - when she’d been a little girl, Vex’ahlia had wondered if she even had a soulmate since there’d been no signs of a shared bond or physical soulmark. She’d wondered whether they existed, what they’d be like - if they’d know her straight away or if it would take time for both to recognize the connection.
Then she turned fourteen and the smudges started appearing, thick dark smears of ink coating the sides of her hands and staining her fingertips. She’d thought it was some strange disease since it’d happened while she and Vax had been camping out in the forests outside of some miniscule town, but Vax had watched on in awe and pointed out the way some of the trailing lines looked like letters - badly drawn and wonky in shape, but letters nonetheless, and Vex realized that there was someone on the other side of her tether afterall.
The letters had smoothed and straightened with the years, but their author never wrote to Vex directly, no matter how many times she reached out. She’d all but assumed that her soulmate didn’t care to know her and given up when the first little doodle arrived. It wasn’t much, just a crooked little flower etched into the pad of muscle at the base of her thumb, but it felt like more than just a practicing of letters - it felt like it was for her.
Since then, the drawings have become a bright spot for her - something that she finds herself eagerly checking for each morning and hoping appears before sleep claims her each night. There’s no rhyme or rhythm to when they appear, not really, but over the last year or so the subject matter has been becoming more and more specific.
It’d started subtly - just a little bird on the inside of her wrist. A blue jay. She wouldn’t have even thought it was personal if it weren’t painted the exact shade of blue as the feather she wears in her hair.
Then there was an arrow that spanned the length of her leg, sharp edged and perfectly fletched, with lightning crackling around the edges.
The next one was a bundle of thorns ringing her wrist, far too similar to the thorn forest where she’d been possessed in the feywild to be a coincidence.
It’s late, well past midnight, when the sensation of a paintbrush over her skin jerks Vex from her sleep and she moves blearily to the tall mirror against the wall of her chambers to watch the colors bleed to life against the canvas of her skin. It’s all oranges and pinks and reds blending into a vivid gold across her abdomen, a sunset taking form - a rich black cuts through, creating ground and the shadows of trees and mountains. A landscape then, Vex thinks to herself. The darkness gains further shape, shadows coalescing into the form of a woman and a large animal beside her. It’s a bear. The painting is of her and Trinket.
Vex’s unseen artist brings in a grey to accentuate the pair and the detail is nothing short of tender - there is love in the intricacy and she can’t refute her suspicions any longer - her soulmate is someone she knows, another member of Vox Machina.
The realization is overwhelming, sure, but it’s also sort of reassuring - that whoever fate thinks she’s meant to spend her life with is someone who’s already proven to have her back and value her skills. It’s… easier somehow to think of this other half of her heart as someone she already cares about. It’s also infinitely easier to narrow down who it might be.
Obviously her brother is out, as is Keyleth since Vex knows the Ashari’s soulmate mark matches Vax’s. Pike and Scanlan are eliminated for similar reasons and Vex feels confident in discounting Grog, since the Goliath’s huge hands would make the level of detail in the drawings virtually impossible. This leaves her with Percy and, well, you.
A paladin from Baldur’s Gate, Vex had assumed you’d be as stuck up and self-righteous as most of the other paladins she’s met but you’re not. You’re a newer addition to the team, but fit into the group as easily as breathing - quick to prank Vax and Scanlan and Grog, but never hesitating to stop the situation if it starts to go too far. You’d stepped between Percy and a blast from Delilah Briarwood in the battle at the Ziggeraut, helped Grog pick himself up after his loss at the Crucible, helped Keyleth with her research into the other Ashari tribes, and even helped Scanlan figure out what to do next when he learned he was a father.
She’d given you a hard time once, late at night when the two of you were on watch and the rest of the party were asleep in their bedrolls, teasing you about tying yourself to someone else’s ideals by taking your oath and you’d smiled like you were letting her in on a secret.
“My oath is to myself,” you said, voice soft enough that she almost wondered if she’d actually heard you over the crackling of the campfire, “To trusting myself to know what is right and what is wrong and to do what I can to help keep the balance.” You’d looked sheepish in the golden glow and Vex had been shocked to find herself thinking you cute, “It’s not something many would understand, certainly not something most paladins would relate to, but it’s what I devote myself to.”
The sound of your voice haunts Vex now, even as the ticklish sensation of the brush’s strokes fades and her mysterious artist leaves her once more. She can’t look away from the scene of her and Trinket captured by the light of the setting sun, perfectly at home in the trees. She’s not sure anyone has ever known her so well before.
Vex doesn’t sleep that night.
-----
You’re already at your usual place at the long table when Vex makes her way to breakfast the next morning, still clad in your ever-present armor, even when there’s no plans for an adventure for the next fortnight. Vex takes her seat across from you wordlessly, ignoring the conversations around her in favor of studying you.
You smile softly at her, nudging a plate already loaded with her favorites toward her. “Had to fight Grog for the last of the bacon, but I saved some for you.” you said, like this thoughtful little action wasn’t giving her a crisis.
Keyleth calls your name and you start, hand retracting as you turn to face her and Vex’s eyes catch on a flash of color as you move.
There's red crusted under your fingernails.
Of course, it could always be blood, but your armor is spotless and you’re not careless enough to leave your hands bloody if you’ve already polished your armor. And with armor like that - a kit that covers your full torso and down your arms, there’s really no way she’d have ever been able to see any artwork hidden beneath. But your fingers - you were deft enough to create detail like the ones she’d seen last night, creative enough to piece together magic like the designs you wove from thin air.
It had to be you.
Vex reaches over to snatch the ink pen Percy was using to scrawl out blueprints on the back of a napkin and presses it hard to the back of her hand, smearing the dark liquid in a messy swipe across her skin and watching intently as an identical blur bleeds to life across the back of yours.
Your fingers tense instinctively at the feeling of the ink creeping over your hand and you catch her eyes as you shift to pull your hand under the table surreptitiously. She can see the moment you realize she knows when you set your fork back down with a clink, a tense look on your face as you push back from the table and stalk out of the room without another word.
-----
Vex finds you in the armory, sitting with your back to the wall as you drag a whetstone along the edge of your sword. You don’t even look up as she enters, though the tightness in your shoulders confirms that you know she’s there.
“How long have you known?” she asks, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “How long have you known you’re my soulmate and not told me?”
You swallow sharply, like the words cut deeper than any blade would be able to. “Since Whitestone,” the words are soft, something you never thought you’d have to say aloud. An admission of guilt you’d been unready to give. “I drew a protective sigil on my wrist, something to ward against necrotic energies, and I saw it on yours a few minutes later.”
She remembers that - the strange whorls and barbs of runes she couldn’t read bleeding to life just where her arm guard didn’t cover. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Vex hates how fragile her voice sounds - how it sounds like she’s close to tears.
You finally look at her then and Vex realizes that she’d never known what color your eyes were until this moment. Hadn’t realized how lovely they are.
“I didn’t think you’d want me even if you knew,” you say, and it kills her how matter-of-fact you sound. “I don’t have anything to offer - no money, no land, no title. Vex, you deserve far better than me.” Your eyes drift back toward the door like you’re seeing far past it, “It always seemed like there was something between you and Percy, so I decided I would leave myself out of the picture so you could pursue someone who’s a better match for you without the weight of destiny dragging you down.” There’s something bitter in the twist of your face, in the sharpness of your voice on the word ‘destiny’ and Vex feels an answering pang in her chest.
She frowns at you, crossing her arms over her chest. “That wasn’t your decision to make,” she bites out, pressing on when it looks like you want to argue, “It’s my decision whether I want to pursue something with Percy or if I’d rather explore what we could have together. You had no right to take that choice from me.”
The rhythmic grinding of the whetstone against metal finally stops and you look up at her. There’s a long moment when you look like you want to argue with her before she can see the set of your jaw loosen and you nod, “You’re right.” You sigh, pocketing your whetstone and sheathing your sword as you stand and move to stand in front of her. “It’s your right to decide what you want for your future and I won’t stand in the way of that.” You look… smaller… without your armor, like without the thick plates of steel to protect you, you’re back to being only human. She’s a little taken off guard to see you without it, especially when you must’ve known she was upset. You take a deep breath, like you’re forcing yourself to press on, “Vex, I’ve loved you for a long time. Before I even realized you were my soulmate. I certainly don’t deserve you, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”
Vex can’t help but smile as she leans in to kiss you. Really, what more could she possibly have hoped for in a soulmate?
Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III - Names
The sound of a struggle jerks you from your fitful sleep, but you stay still, slumped against the back wall of your cell, eyes closed and breathing even, until the gate of the cell beside yours slams closed and you can hear the guards disappear off down the corridor they’d come from. Then you push yourself upright and make your way over to the thick stone wall separating your cell from the Briarwoods’ newest prisoner.
“You alive over there?” you ask, leaning against the shared wall. It extends a few inches past the thick bars at the front of the cells and the side walls of the cells are solid stone, making it impossible to see into any of the other cells apart from the one across from you, but even if you’re unable to see the new prisoner, an enemy of the Briarwoods has the potential to be an ally of yours.
There’s the shuffle of clothing, a pained hiss and then a thump against the other side of the wall, like whoever was on the other side had fallen against it.
“I have to get out of here,” your new companion groans. The voice is deep, masculine. It’s accented, thick with Whitestone’s regional dialect, but also strained in a way you were plenty familiar with. He’d been screaming.
“Briarwoods or Ripley?” A shudder wracks through you at the thought of your own experience with the Briarwoods and their lackeys. You can still feel the burn of Sylas’ fangs in your throat.
It takes a moment, but the reply comes. “Ripley. This time.”
You hum, knowing just how thorough her ‘testing’ can be. You move to pass your hand through the bars at the front of the cell, stretching as far as you can toward his cell. Your companion does not move, so you wiggle your fingers pointedly. Eventually he relents and slowly slips his hand into yours.
A smile crosses your lips for the first time you can remember since being imprisoned, and you let the warmth of your magic fill your veins, congregating where your palm meets his. His fingers relax in your hold and his breathing eases a little as you heal the worst of his wounds.
“Incredible,” he breathes, flexing his fingers and marveling at how quickly the pain had vanished. “How did you…?”
You shrug, though you know he can’t see you, “It’s a paladin thing. They took my sword when they tossed me in here and Delilah found a way to block the rest of my magic. I guess they left this because it's handy to have a constantly replenished bloodbag for Sylas.”
Your companion makes a sound of disgust, but he settles against your shared wall as close as he could figure to where you stand and you mimic his position.
The night passes quickly with someone to talk to and the following weeks pass similarly, with one or the both of you dragged off to be tortured during the day and you doing what you could to patch each of you up during the night. You’d come to know each other as the time passed - he’d told you about his parents and his siblings and what it was like to grow up in Whitestone, and in exchange you told him about yourself, though you both were careful to avoid giving your names. Names mean knowing one another, solidifying the bond between you - giving yourself something to grieve in a place where loss is all too easy to come by.
It’s another such evening of licking your wounds and easy conversation when you find yourselves interrupted by the door at the far end of the dungeon crashing open. You fall silent and feign sleep as you normally do when the guards make their rounds, but you can hear your companion shifting to get a better look at the newcomers.
You can hear five - no, six- people racing past, arguing about a bounty and finding a cultist, when one set of footsteps stop, pausing in front of his cell.
“You there,” a woman’s voice calls, loud enough that you can tell she’s addressing your friend. “Happen to be some sort of cultist?”
“I beg your pardon?” You can hear the dry derision in his voice, all the outrage he could muster in his exhaustion.
There’s the soft scuff of a shoe, but that’s your only sign of one of the other intruders returning. You doubt you’d have noticed it if you were any less perceptive.
“The other cells are empty,” a man’s smooth voice tells the woman, rich and soft and you can catch the faint hint of an accent. Not from Whitestone. “This must be our asshole.”
You nearly snort, but start to move instead, slowly shifting your weight up onto your feet so you can surge forward at the first sign of trouble. Your armor would have made such a stealthy maneuver difficult, if not impossible, but unarmed as you are, you’ve become remarkably light on your feet.
“If you’re looking for the raving mystic, you’ve missed him by two days,” your companion’s voice says, even and steady as you’ve ever heard him. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d have almost been fooled into thinking him uncaring. Only you knew how he’d cried the night the only person he’d seen in weeks that hadn’t been out to hurt him had died. “This environment didn’t agree with his constitution.”
The rest of the intruders had returned by this point and you can hear a few disgusted grumbles at the sight of your friend’s decomposing cellmate.
“Suppose we can kiss that reward goodbye,” the first man muttered, and from your new vantage point you can make out a pale half-elf with dark hair, a similar looking woman beside him. Siblings?
You filed the observation away as you took in the rest of the group, weighing your odds.
“Maybe not,” the dark haired woman replies thoughtfully, stepping closer to the cell bars. “You don’t seem like you belong in a place like this. We’re a bit short on funds and you talk like you come from money.” She hums, and you can see the way her dark eyes study your companion. You wish you knew what she’s seeing, “How much would it be worth if we break you out?”
“A small fortune, I dare say,” your companion says, and your brows raise. You’d assumed he was someone well-born by the way he spoke and the stories he’d told you, but you hadn’t thought he was someone worth a fortune, small or otherwise. The dark haired woman gives a signal and her brother moves to start picking the lock on your friend’s cell. “If I wasn’t flat broke at the moment,” he finishes and you could slap him for ruining his own escape. He huffs at the strangers’ silence and presses on, “Why bother lying? You’d find out soon enough there’s not a silver to my name anymore. I am totally alone in the world.” He pauses, and you’d give everything in your power to know what he was thinking, “Almost totally alone. Perhaps you can relate?”
The woman seems to consider it for a moment, sharing a look with her brother “You’re shit at negotiations,” she says.
“He is brutally honest, though,” you say, moving forward to lean against the bars. The corner of your mouth twitches up at the way the group startles, surprised by your sudden appearance. They’d forgotten you were there. “It’s a skill you may very well need in the future.”
She turns her gaze to you and it’s clear to see that she’s weighing the worth of your words, “Fine.” She signals her brother again and he clicks the lock open, sliding the gate to your friend’s cell open, “Let’s see where the truth gets us.”
The weight in your chest loosens as he steps free of his cell, stretching out to his full height for the first time in weeks. He’s scruffy and needs a shave and his hair’s more dust-colored than white, but he’s handsome and free and that’s all you could’ve hoped for for him. You stretch your arm through the bars and clap him on the shoulder, “I hope you live a good life,” you say, starting to pull your hand back.
His fingers closing tight around your wrist halts your retreat back to your corner, “I am not leaving you here to rot.” The firelight refracts against his glasses and his eyes are blazing as they bore into you. “Especially not when it’s my name on your wrist.”
Your heart lurches and your gaze drops to your wrist - the sleeve of your shirt long-since shredded by Ripley and the Briarwoods’ attention and the name of your soulmate on full display. Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III. It’s been inked into your skin for as long as you can remember, but you’d never imagined actually meeting him. Part of you still doubts it, but you can see the shapes of your own name peeking from the sleeve of his tattered shirt where it’d ridden up his arm.
His smile doesn’t falter as the dark haired rogue moves to unlock your cell as well, “Please, love, call me Percy.”
Keyleth of the Air Ashari - First Words
There’s a surprising amount of pressure to always have the right words when any of them could be the ones that your soulmate recognizes - that any unfortunate string of words could be what tells your soulmate “It’s me, I’m right here! Please see me and choose to stick around!”
It’s romantic, sure, to know that someone out there will hear her say something and know it’s her but for someone with anxiety like Keyleth’s, it’s also kind of the worst type of soulmate bond to have. Why couldn’t she have had one of the easy ones, like having her soulmate’s name written right there on her wrist or seeing color when she meets their eyes for the first time? Why did she have to live her life in perpetual fear of saying something stupid in front of some hot (Keyleth’s an optimist - she likes to think she’ll be attracted to whoever Fate has decided is perfect for her) stranger and hoping they don’t take one look at her and turn right around.
It’s something that’s always in the back of her mind, even when it definitely shouldn’t be what she’s focusing on. Like now, for example, when Vox Machina is helping clear the debris and search for survivors after the Chroma Conclave attacked Emon. The skies have split into a massive deluge of rain, water coming down in thick sheets that’ve helped to smother most of the remaining fires, but the damage the dragons caused was plentiful and plenty of people were still injured and killed, dozens more caught in the destruction.
The fight had taken most of her magic and she’s exhausted, muscles shaking as she strains to move a thick support beam that had several survivors trapped in a building on the verge of collapse. She startles as another set of hands join hers, the stranger heaving from the other side of the beam - their breath comes heavy but they seem to possess the strength that she’d already expended.
“Ready when you are,” the voice comes and it takes a long moment for Keyleth to realize that she’d actually just heard the words that’d been haunting her for years - that this person, whoever was on the other side of the smoldering joist, was her person. She swallows hard, grits her teeth, and strains. Inch by inch, the support shifts until the people trapped in the building are able to escape.
“Get clear!” Keyleth’s soulmate tells her once the last refugee has made it out and she’s quick to take a couple steps back as she and her soulmate both release their hold on the still-smoking beam. And that’s when she sees you for the first time, and you’re not what she’d pictured because you’re so much better.
You, in your singed and torn city guard uniform, with soot smudged across your cheek and a gash across your temple still bleeding sluggishly. You, with the rain plastering your hair to your face and your clothes to your body. You, who just helped her save people. Who didn’t ask how to help, just jumped in because it’s what needed to happen. You, who very well might be one of the hottest people she’s ever seen, like whatthefuck- You, who’s staring at her like she might be a little bit crazy because, oh, you’d asked her a question hadn’t you?
….she doesn’t know what you’d said. Gods, had she really been too busy thinking about you to listen to you? She blinks, mind reeling as she scrambles to think of anything and -
“Great weather we’re having, huh?” There’s a split second of confusion - this utterly baffled look in your eyes - that has her doubting what she’d heard you say, that makes her wonder if you’re actually her soulmate or if she’s horribly misread the situation and about to make a fool out of herself and she’s started weighing the benefits of running off to live in the woods forever (not all that bad of an option, really) and then you’re laughing and it might be the best sound Keyleth’s ever heard.
“I was never much for rain,” you manage as your laughter fades, and that barely there curl of a smile has Keyleth all but melting. Your eyes soften as you look at her, “If today’s shown me anything, it’s that you can find incredible things in the rain.” Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable and Keyleth doesn’t feel like she has to ramble to fill the quiet. You smile playfully and drop into a low bow, offering your name to her like you’re a noble at some fancy party meeting royalty and she snort-laughs as she lets you take her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. She might’ve been embarrassed for it if you didn’t look at her like she’d hung the sun.
She takes your hand, slips her fingers between yours, and walks with you deeper into the ruined city, determined to do as much good as you can. Together.
