Work Text:
And I can hear him break
And he doesn't understand
And I wish that I could take his hand
inkpot gods - the amazing devil
The air above the city fills with the sweetness of the pear trees that flower atop the Por'co Falls. The Festival of Falling Blossoms starts in earnest far below, a celebration of the upcoming spring and all the signs of fertility, fecundity, and frivolity that accompany it. Zerxus keeps Tempus far enough away from the falls that the sparkling droplets of water only catch them with a strong wind, just the slightest cool relief from the emboldened sun on such a day.
Tempus squawks a bit, a rumble deep in his chest, and Zerxus pets the ruffling of his feathers. Several mages raise a pole in the center of Excelsior Plaza, the trappings of their simpler life in Cathmoíra not entirely leaving them. The lengths of colorful ribbon flutter in the air.
"Steady," Zerxus says when Tempus rumbles again, dipping them close enough to the falls that water spatters against his armor. They're set to meet Evandrin at this viewpoint, oh - Zerxus checks the glittering hands of the giant clock adorning the Herald's Tome tower - thirty minutes ago. Their duties in Avalir are rarely more than arbitrating disputes between mages, but the lassitude is particularly egregious during holidays and celebrations: no one wants to miss out. As such, Avalir won't miss her First and Second Knight disappearing for some length of time. Especially when the Second spends most of it watching over the activities anyway.
Patia had invited them to a lunch on the terrace overlooking Dawnsledge, but with things between Laerryn and Loquacious sparking like the kindling before an inferno, it wouldn't be a relaxing meal. Even if Zerxus had the - what Evandrin called "meddling mindset" - desire to help others, he couldn't see an easy fix to what was happening to his friends. Their freefall stretched viscous like honey, slow and taut, ready to harden, to snap.
A torrent of water splashes over Zerxus, making Tempus squawk indignantly and dive away from the falls, ruffling his cosmic feathers to catch sunlight in a coruscating show of color.
Zerxus squeezes water out of his hair, even as he recognizes the laughter above him.
"What a lovely day it is, Fugit!" Evandrin's chipper voice floats down from above as Fugit gracefully descends. She shimmers with her gold and cream and copper plumage, trilling in subdued greeting. She and Evandrin make a radiant pair, and the First Knight gained the moniker of Rising Sun from more than just Zerxus and the rest of the teasing Brass.
"Enjoying yourself?" Zerxus asks. Evandrin smiles that slow creeping grin that only tugs up one side of his mouth.
"Always, when I get to see you, dear heart." He means every word of it, but even after years of the flirtatious banter, Zerxus feels his cheeks warm with blush.
"You're late. Laerryn is looking for you."
"Oh?"
"She tried to explain why, but I can't keep up when she starts to bring up the positioning of the leylines and the harmonious frequencies of the… the…"
"The transplanar matrices, yes. Huh. I didn't think she was that far along."
Zerxus rolls his eyes. "She seemed very excited to share it with you. I told her we were meeting up and I'd - is everything alright? You aren't usually late."
Evandrin waves a hand around, swooping it to the side to catch some of the water. "Pinch asked me to speak to some 'persons of interest.' I know Cerrit was mostly watching their reaction to me, because, apparently, the First Knight can be a bit intimidating."
It wasn't being First Knight. Or, at least, it wasn't only that. The moment Zerxus first saw Evandrin, he'd been stunned by the man's beauty, the gleam of his deep red hair and the cut of his strong smile, the way his expression always seemed to know a joke you'd find yourself on the wrong end of. But more than that, something about Evandrin overwhelmed and compelled, made people desperate to follow him and confess. Zerxus had witnessed it enough times to know it wasn't magic, but some inherent strength of his personality that engulfed people like a spreading wildfire.
"He got what he needed?"
"Mmh. He offered me two bottles of the Gwessarian wine from his last trip down there, so it must've been very important." Evandrin sidles Fugit a bit closer, the two griffons' wings brushing. "You'll have to head to the Tome after this. Loquacious needs some quotes on the Septarion breach last week."
Zerxus groans. "From me? I'm not very good at giving interviews."
Evandrin leans in to peck Zerxus on the cheek, almost unbalancing the both of them. Fugit grumbles as she keeps them aloft. "You do just fine. You're perfect for Quay - he doesn't know what to do with your wholesome straightforwardness."
Zerxus sighs. "I suppose I should get used to it."
"Yes, especially since Laerryn claimed me in their little spat and I shouldn't be speaking to Quay anymore."
He can't help but laugh, looking askew at Evandrin's face gone soft with chagrin. "Will we have to choose sides? I'm more for reconciliation."
"Might be a lost cause, dear. Besides, you have to pick one eventually." Evandrin leans back, his thighs gripping tightly to Fugit's ribs. "You can't live between loyalties."
It's not a fair thing to say, and Zerxus turns to tell him, to say that while he will occupy the balance point between differences, his loyalties are never in question. He knows exactly what he'll choose, every time. Evandrin's dark eyes go wide and his arms spread out and it's the only warning before he drops off Fugit's back.
Tempus dives before Zerxus fully comprehends what's happened. The wind rushes past his ears, drowns out even the crashing of the falls, and all he can see is Evandrin smiling. Their gloved hands touch, catch, Tempus flying abreast with Evandrin's fall. They're suspended in the air, the sparkle of sunlight glinting off the moisture laid like gemstones in Evandrin's hair, across his golden armor.
Evandrin pulls, tips his head to the side, and Zerxus slides out of the saddle even as Tempus yowls in alarm.
They fall.
Evandrin's eyes roll back and his mouth drops in a loose smile. Zerxus strongly feels the weight of his armor, their armor, dragging them through the air. But he's followed Evandrin into terrible places, strange and dangerous and ridiculous, and nothing has ever stopped him.
A small tuft of black down floats between them and their rapid descent slows, nearly stops, the sound rushing back to them, Evandrin's fingers delicately pinching the feather.
"Good thing I saw Cerrit, hmm?" Evandrin says, as Featherfall gently lowers them toward the ground. The laugh that escapes Zerxus is too loud.
"Good thing."
Evandrin spreads his arms wide, though their hands remain firmly entwined. "You trust me, don't you?" he asks, his voice barely a breath on the thrumming air.
"Yes, of course. Of course." Zerxus holds him tight.
As Patia walks, she lifts scrolls with her mage hand and delicately places them in Zerxus' outstretched arms. Her shoes click loudly against the marbled floors in measured, careful steps. Zerxus doesn't think she's ever made a move that wasn't calculated, not since she'd been promoted. The orb circling her shoulders glows intermittently, and she hums, as if the two hold a conversation he isn't privy to.
"When you said you needed help, I admit I didn't think it would be this," he says, shifting the scrolls in his arms for better purchase.
Patia jumps, as if she'd forgotten Zerxus was there. She fusses with her hair, flicking it behind her and tilting her chin up. "This is helpful, yes, but you're right. I wondered if you might look at something for me."
She walks through a dark, gilded archway, gesturing toward a table near the arch to relieve himself of the scrolls. Zerxus meticulously arranges them so they won't fall before following Patia, her hand flicking out to light sconces as she passes. She sorts through the ring of keys at her belt, and the crack of metal strikes a rhythm with her confident steps.
The door she opens spans nearly triple his height, made of a wood the same jeweled green as Patia's emeralds, inlaid with writing Zerxus recognizes as Elven script but cannot read. He's been here before, though it isn't until Patia ignites the network of magic runes in the ceiling he remembers.
An orrery of the planes, usually forever moving in intricate orbits, interwoven and connected, but never touching. The large metal contraption with different precious gems and minerals standing in for the planes moves a soft hum and clink of mechanics. Evandrin told him it would've been easy to make it soundless, but the uncanniness of such a large device moving in silence had changed the design.
The orrery is thirty feet tall, half again in width, and motionless when Patia stands beside it. She crosses her arms.
"Could I ask you a question?"
"About this?" he says, nodding at the orrery. "I only know a little; Evandrin is more -"
"Yes, he and Laerryn are quite thick these days." Patia smiles and guides him closer. "I'd like your perspective. Someone who isn't all mixed up in this. What do you notice?"
"It's usually moving," he says. Zerxus approaches the machine, ghosting his fingers over the central diamond standing in for the prime plane. Beneath it spins a metal rod bent into a crossed loop. There's just enough give that the parts can be struck together, producing a clear note. He taps the ends together - and frowns.
The note is wrong.
(Nydas had tried to teach him an instrument, to his utter frustration. "Your pitch is immaculate, how are you able to tune every instrument but cannot play a single note?"
"Maybe he can sing," Loquacious offered, called in to confront the problem that was Zerxus' lack of musical talent as if on the scale of a citywide disaster. "Try this note."
Loquacious sang. Zerxus flinched. "You're sharp - that's the one that's too high, right?"
A scowl smeared across Quay's face before he controlled it into only a thimbleful of a frown. "That's the note I meant to sing."
Nydas' hearty laugh filled the air.)
"This isn't the note for the prime plane," Zerxus says. It's true that all of this is better known to Evandrin, but his excitement had spilled into explaining it to Zerxus. Writings from the time of the Schism described the different planes, as many as they could (they were more, Evandrin had said, probability was on their side), and a single mage could relocate themselves to a specific plane if they knew the resonant frequency. Dozens of mathematical proofs determined the most likely notes for each of the known planes. The prime plane wasn't in question - smaller teleportation spells rang with the same tone.
Patia watches him intensely, unblinking.
"It's a half-note flat," he says tentatively, looking for more of a reaction. He strikes the metal again and the sound doesn't change. Zerxus wanders toward another plane, this one represented by an almost colorless aquamarine, and clangs the shiny metal. He knows this note, recognizes the tight orbit around the prime plane. The note he hears is very wrong. "This one must be… a note and a half sharp. Why are they doing that?"
She walks toward one of the farthest gems, a bright ruby glittering in the nearby golden light. When Patia strikes the iron loop, a sinking feeling tugs at his gut.
He touches two more, ones he also recognizes. The notes are wrong for those as well, and even if he isn't smart like Laerryn or Patia, he can pick out a pattern.
"They're all a half-step away from the prime plane." He rings them again, just to be sure. Nothing changes. He can not explain why the tuning forks losing their specific tone bothers him, but it creeps up his spine and sinks fingers of unease into his ribs. Zerxus tries the one for Feywild again, frowns.
"The notes are, for the most part, conjecture. We've been able to confirm some, but the nature of the planes and travel between them remains in its incipient stages. Though - we are trying to remedy that." Patia pinches her first two fingers together and draws a vertical line in the air. When her fingers stop, a quill appears in her grasp. She immediately begins to write, though Zerxus has seen this trick before and knows the parchment is nowhere near her.
"I know your work and I trust it, Patia," Zerxus says. Her quill stills for a moment before resuming. "Laerryn will want to know about this."
"Yes, I'm writing to her right now." Patia flicks her eyes up to his, a small smile tucked in the corner off her mouth. "We really should get her to develop some sort of device for instant communication."
He nods, once in acknowledgement, and again before turning to leave. She calls his name. As he glances back, he catches her face in an open expression, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, the tension around her eyes making them crease.
"I'll figure out what's happening. You - believe that, right?"
Zerxus takes a long moment to scan her over, the way her posture straightens and the vulnerability bleeds away until she's as untouchable as the marble that houses her throne of scrolls. He smiles at her, dips his head in a small bow. "I believe in you, Patia. That's all I need."
She doesn't drop her politician's armor again, but it's no longer brittle, and her fingers still where they had been nervously twitching at her side.
Zerxuz pauses outside the door to the Tower, leaning his forehead against the sun-warmed wood. He's exhausted. He'd flown across Avalir and back at least four times, and another three on foot when Tempus stayed at the Golden Scythe to help Nydas. After Fugit delivered a message saying that Evandrin would be otherwise engaged for the day in the Meridian Labyrinth with the Architect Arcane. She'd also delivered a list of Evandrin's duties.
It wasn't too much - it was never too much, Zerxus could always do more, always push through - but the messages were concerning. It wasn't the first time Evandrin begged off First Knight duties to dabble with Laerryn. The occurrences, however, had increased in the past month or so. Zerxus didn't ask any questions, though several festered in the shadows of his mind, trying to bloom into outright anxiety, paranoia.
When he opens the door, the Tower is quiet. Evandrin must still be far below, beneath the machinations of the city. Despite Evandrin's knowledge lacking, especially compared to Laerryn, he gives her a sounding board like none other. Zerxus hopes they're making progress on whatever the project.
He works off his gauntlets and sets them on the table beside the door. It isn't usually his policy to go out in full armor, vambraces and pauldrons and gorget, but it hadn't felt right to take the duties of the First Knight without them all. They're not much of a pain to remove, clunking when he sets them heavy on the wood. Evandrin helped him into it all that morning, his clever fingers tying his knots 'a secret Elven way don't ask' and a kiss to every join of metal when he finished.
Zerxus breathes a heavy sigh when he finishes the last buckle on his breastplate, lifting it carefully over his head and setting it properly on the stand in the small room off the main entrance. Evandrin's polished armor gleams next to it, a thin dusting of debris along the shoulders. Has it been so long since he's worn it?
While he may not be much of a cook, even Zerxus can throw together hard cheeses and cured meats for whenever Evandrin was able to make it home. He walks through to the kitchen. He'll grab a cloth there and wipe down the worst of the sweat, a habit he hates of himself, but the weariness weighing at his bones stops him from giving in to that distaste. He steps through the main hallway again when he notices it.
The lump on the floor is small, a nothing trace of little notice, except where wetness shines with the pink rays of the setting sun. Zerxus pauses, kneels. He touches the unobtrusive smudge, his fingers gone tacky with the drying liquid, and picks it up.
Blood, dark as it dries, makes the thing indistinguishable for a moment, until Zerxus carefully rubs it between his fingers, trying to separate it into distinct parts. He tears a bit of it, but he can make it out.
A small, four-leafed flower, one petal torn in half from his fumbling. He exhales slowly, centering his weight beneath him, calming the thud of his heart into a manageable rhythm. He hadn't been quiet undressing, and it would be better if whomever was there didn't realize he knew. Zerxus withdraws his dagger from its sheath and follows the main hallway.
More flowers litter the ground, a macabre trail enticing him onward.
They grow in number, clumps of them scattered. The blood brightens, from brown to red to crimson, fresh as a wound.
Zerxus takes another deep breath. "Evandrin?"
"Here," a raspy voice calls. The steel in his back softens, but Zerxus doesn't allow himself to relax in full. There is no end to the things that could impersonate Evandrin, clothe itself in his voice and tempt him into complacency.
The back of their apartment lets out into a balcony where they can see the endless horizon as Avalir speeds over land and sea. It's a serene little place of awe, where Evandrin spends many mornings and evenings, watching. It's the first place Zerxus will look for him. Clutching his dagger tight like he definitely shouldn't, Zerxus rounds the corner, dreading the sight.
The flowers mix with strewn garments, pieces of fabric in muted colors leading ever-onward to where Evandrin sprawls in one of the chairs. He's nearly nude, limbs flung akimbo, the open doors ruffling his red hair in messy tangles that stick to his sweaty forehead. He smiles weakly at Zerxus, and smears of blood mar his skin as if he's been wiping it away for hours.
Zerxus falls to his knees in front of his husband, magic flooding out of his hands in silvery white. Evandrin groans, turns his face away and closes his eyes.
"That's very bright."
"What happened? Are you alright?" Evandrin's skin is chilly beneath his trembling hands, though he can't be sure it isn't from the wind.
"Oh, you know," Evandrin says, voice a rough burr in the seat of his throat. "Always something going around in Avalir."
His healing didn't have any visible effect. He isn't built for it though - he would need to contact the mages specializing in such things. Zerxus dabs at Evandrin's cheeks, his throat, his sweaty chest with the edge of his sleeve.
"Laerryn -?"
"Oh, I left when I didn't feel right. Wouldn't want anything to happen to our Hierophant." Evandrin laughs, and coughs, and when he pulls away blood lingers at the corner of his mouth and his hand cradles several more flowers.
"I have never heard of an illness like this. I'll get Fugit and take you to the healing wards -"
"Ah, er." Evandrin chuckles, more delicately this time. "She's not… available. Right now."
In all the years he had known him, Zerxus had never seen Evandrin dismiss Fugit. She was always near him, supportive and tactical, getting him out of more scrapes than even he. Evandrin would never let the spell fade for longer than it took to cast it. Zerxus opens his mouth to protest, to question.
The sweat collects in swelling droplets on Evandrin's flesh, gathering in the sweet notch of his collarbone, sliding along the side of his cheek. The blood splashes in bright streaks around his mouth and his dark eyes have lost their mischievous gleam. Zerxus' skin has always been several shades darker, but the contrast where he grips Evandrin's shoulders is stark, the other so pale he's nearly translucent.
Whatever path he should take, he doesn't move on his own. "What do you need me to do?"
Evandrin taps Zerxus' jaw, then the plain above his own heart. "Just here, love."
Zerxus leans over, even as his mind screams to leave, to get help, to solve this before it gets any worse. But he's always trusted Evandrin, regardless of circumstance, regardless of his better thoughts.
The thump of Evandrin's heart is steady, at least. Zerxus closes his eyes. "Let me help you."
"Trust me," Evandrin whispers, turning to cough into his hand as the other twines in Zerxus' hair.
"I do." He does, he does, he does.
The kiss isn't as he expects. More forceful, he'd thought, aggressive and assertive, teasing even, the biting hint of something stronger.
It is soft. The press of lips to lips intensifies slowly, the skin so soft, petal-soft, the barest hint of moisture so it sticks, so they part only a sliver of light and their lips catch before sliding together once more. It tastes only of skin, salty and the barest sweetness, a hum sending shivers through his body. Fingers delicately tangle in the sensitive hair at his nape, pulling just enough to feel, to catch, to snap back into the moment of it.
The soft susurrus of a sigh fills his ears, even as the screaming outside continues unceasingly.
Zerxus presses their foreheads together, the skin hot, the edge of horns an unfamiliar pressure. He starts, "I don't think…"
Another hum, a cheek rolls against his, the cheekbone sharp and the breath this time curling with a tinge of brimstone. "I've done all you asked. I am your servant to command in this."
Zerxus shudders with the words, even as he shakes his head. "I didn't want - I wanted to protect my friends, my city."
"So you say. The city you grew to think so little of, this ouroboros gorging on its own flesh and doomed from the very start. And your friends, love? The ones who kept such secrets from you, who tore the veil asunder merely for curiosity, like a child trampling an anthill? Do you wish me to protect them?"
The light behind Zerxus' eyelids grows ruby red. He slides his hand along a neck, a throat, a jaw, until he cradles the face between his palms. He opens his eyes.
It is still Evandrin, even where it is not. The twitch of lips can barely be called a smile, and it is always what Evandrin wore when he wanted Zerxus to remember a secret that only the two of them shared, their private perfect womb that birthed such devotion.
"You would?" Zerxus whispers, his hands clenching in the giving fabric under his fingers. "You would protect those I hold dear?"
Asmodeus nods, his thumb tracing Zerxus' bottom lip. "If they would allow me, then yes. Whoever you still hold dear. Trust me."
Zerxus takes a breath, and trusts.