Archive of Our Own ^beta

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“Dear One…” Cool eyes swept across your face, scarred brow creasing into a frown. “You are troubled.”

You weren’t sure entirely why Abdirak was the one you had ended up in front of, but if anyone could understand the intensity of the pain, it was him. You nodded. “Migraine. Again.”

“Pain without purpose…” He shook his head, rough hand coming to rest for a moment on your forehead, guiding your eyes to close. “The body has many rivers through which pain can flow, opening one may release the flood from here. Would you like to try?”

You nodded again. You’d try anything at this point, it was too much, the pressure felt like your entire skull was on the brink of rupturing.

A gentle touch on your upper back helped to guide you, as he assisted you in laying down on a surprisingly soft couch. “Keep them closed, Dear One, but the light must remain for me to work.” A cool damp cloth was pressed over your eyes and brow, a subtle hint of magic weaving through to keep it cold even on your heated skin. “Stay there, I will be but a moment.”

His footsteps receded, barely audible as he kept every sound to a minimum. For your benefit, apparently. When he returned, you could hear a small side table set down beside you, and the scent of leather drifted closer as he unfurled the pouch of tools.

“Now, let us begin. Let this pain relieve you of the other, allow it to flow from one point to the next.” Abdirak cradled your head lightly in one hand, lifting it slightly from the cushions.

The pain was bright, flaring like a candle being lit, short and careful needles piercing just below your skull on both sides of your neck.

“Endure it, it will not last.” His voice was a warm comfort in a dark whisper, creeping into your mind and driving the pain back towards the needles. “Good. Breathe, slowly now.” He rearranged the cushions, laying you down again slowly so the needles remained but were not pushed or irritated.

The warmth of his touch travelled now from your shoulder to your wrist, lifting your hand, a slight massage to your palm to soothe you before the next blood could be drawn forth. There was no needle this time, instead it was a thicker spike, still wickedly sharp, driven directly through the soft pad between the base of your thumb and index finger. Your voice could not be stilled this time, crying out in the shock and searing heat of the pain, the feel of muscle pierced by the slender point.

“Let Loviatar hear you, Dear One, that she may trade one pain for another.” There was a smile to his words, but no malice. You were almost certain that had you looked, you’d see a small scar at the same point on his hand.

What he said before, about the flow of pain, you could feel it now. Like the fresh wounds drew the nerves down in a line, the pressure trickling down your fingertips with the hot blood that dripped on to the floor.

Abdirak remained by your side for some time, waiting for everything to pass, for your agony to ease. Soothing words distracted you, slight adjustments ensured the pain would not cease in its flow until it was gone. You weren’t even sure when you drifted to sleep, everything had been removed and healed before you could wake.

For his part, the priest seemed satisfied. Pain had been given purpose, Loviatar offered the prayer in your suffering…though perhaps it was seeing the relief on your face as your symptoms lifted away that truly left him content. It was always so hard to tell, but either way you were glad your exhausted feet had carried you to his door.

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“What vexes you, Little Rabbit? Those creases are not familiar.” Yurgir looked down at you, trying to figure out why you were shielding your eyes from the meagre light of the candles.

“My…my fucking head.” You just about managed to groan, the pressure increasing tenfold with the effort. “Feels like…axe…” You made a chopping motion with one arm, then pointed at the centre of the pain.

“There is no axe in your skull, Rabbit. You are…unwell?” He seemed unfamiliar with the concept, but watched closely as you nodded slowly. “A warrior cannot fight at half strength. Come.” He sat back against the pile of cushions and blankets, placing a couple in his lap to protect you from the rougher parts of his outfit, and his body.

The scent of the Orthon should have felt overwhelming, but climbing into the soft space, leaning against the ever-present warmth that radiated from his huge form, it felt like the smell of home. You breathed deeply, resting your head against his bare skin, nuzzling slightly as you felt his huge claw gently run along your scalp.

“Rest here, Little Rabbit. You have fought well. Stop fighting, for now.” His other hand began to caress your back, supporting you as you curled closer into the strange comfort. Any other time, the feel of him near you, knowing what lurked beneath the cushions and furs below you, that would raise your pulse and awaken an entirely different beast…but for now, you let him indulge you, following his command to let go a while.
Perhaps Yurgir was an unwise choice of respite for most, but you had long since earned his respect, and that came with these hidden moments of tenderness that few would believe if you told them.

Somehow, that made it all the sweeter. This was for you, and you alone. Nobody else was worthy of the soft caress, the hint of a deep purr rumbling in his chest that soothed the last of the worry from your mind. You heard the faint sound of the last candles snuffed by a swift and easy magic, the edge of sleep finally drawing your mind into a soft and peaceful rest.

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"Darling, look into my eyes. That's right, keep your focus right here. Listen to my voice, breathe slowly. No more tears alone, love, you are a light in my endless night and I shall not let your flame burn low. You and I, we are more than the scars we never should have earned, and we are certainly far stronger than any blade or bow that has ever tried to take us down. You still do not believe it? You are here, living and breathing, despite all of your worst days.  Now, one day at a time, darling, one foot in front of the other. No stumble can erase how far you have come." 

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"I am here, my heart, what do you need? No shadow curse or vile beast can reach you from within my arms, no force of nature can tear you from them either. Take all the time you need, my love, I will not leave. Your tears are your strength, not your shame. Let me teach you of all I see within you, your boundless potential proving the acorn can become the oak. I see how you shelter others with your leaves, so let us - let me - hold you through the storm. Your boughs may bend but they will not break." 

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"You endure your pain so well Dear One, but you must stop believing you deserve it. Pain is a gift, it can be loving, and deliver that love to Loviatar. But it must never break, it must not be delivered without purpose. Do not be so foolish as to believe your own hand is purpose enough. Let me show you the right pains, Dear One, the pain that can heal you. No others shall be permitted to taint the art that is you with sullied brushes." 

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"Ah my Little Thief, you wish to steal yourself away? No, I shall not have that. How bold you were to look me in the eye and to broker your own deal! I could have killed you the moment you stepped into my abode uninvited, but that, Little Thief, would have been such a terrible waste. You noticed, did you not? When I saw you, when I truly saw you, that I did not see just a body stood brazenly staring me down without a scrap of cloth to cover you. I saw potential, so very much delicious potential. Come now, lie back, tell your dear Haarlep what troubles you, and I shall erase every last one from your mind."

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"I know you, as well as you know me. I’ve felt your influence, everything from my face to my fate decided by your hand - and I feel the care in every decision."

"It’s not easy, I know. You have to make those choices yourself, in your own life, stuck in permanent Honour Mode. If I could ease that burden, take control for a while to solve all those quests you’re avoiding…

"But you don’t need me to do that. Not really. You’ve got that power, you have that strength - you always have. I don’t need a tadpole to recognise what we share, or to see that you’re the hero in your own story.

"It’s ok to rely on your party, too - I couldn’t make it across Faerun in one piece without my companions, the ones that you love as much as I do. So you don’t have to keep trying alone, either.

"Look around your camp, really look at them all. Everyone is fighting their own battles, but that doesn’t mean they won’t lend their sword to help your fight too - you’d do the same for them too, wouldn’t you?

"Now, remember to take your rests - long and short - and have the supplies you need to restore yourself. Don’t forget your potions to counter those debuffs, too.

"Gather your party, player, venture forth. You’re stronger than you think."

Click here for a Tumblr post with a recording of this piece by ValVetine as the voice of Tav

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“My heart you look…pale.” Halsin’s arm was around your shoulders in a heartbeat, amber eyes seeing right through you.

“I’m always pale, druid~” Astarion teased from the other side of you, earning a raised eyebrow from the other man.

“If you want to help, there are herbs in my pack and a kettle by the fire.”

“Don’t they say that laughter is the best medicine? If you need a cook, I suggest asking the wizard.”

Despite the playful arguments, the odd pair were a warm comfort. Within a few minutes you found yourself propped up on some pillows by Astarion’s tent, with a soothing drink in hand and one elf either side of you. Words were hard to find, with the ache settled deep in your gut stealing the energy required to find the right response. Instead, you found it easy enough to lean back into their arms as they kept you company through the long night. Lively conversation and soft affection, a warm embrace, a soft touch…between the two, the pain became easier to withstand.

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“The body’s capacity for pain, Dear One, is near endless,” Abdirak’s brow furrowed with concern, the flog he had been using in the fervent prayers across his own back quickly set aside as he beckoned you closer, “yet there is a limit to endurance for that which we do not choose.” 

Cool hands pressed first to your forehead, then – after a brief glance and nod of approval – laid over your abdomen where pain was tangling itself into tighter and tighter knots.

“Lay down a while, I am no healer but neither am I a stranger to your agony.” The priest of Loviatar, gestured to a stone slab covered with little more than a coarse blanket and a surprisingly comfortable pillow.

He stepped away to his bag as you got yourself comfortable, the bright streaks of crimson across his shoulders and back a stark reminder of the devotion he often chose for himself. Maybe a traditional cleric should be where your feet carried you, but there was always something more comforting about Abdirak.

He didn’t question your pain, he didn’t offer foul herbs that did little to ease the suffering, and he never treated you as some weak and fragile thing to be pitied. 

It wasn’t long before he returned, setting down a small bag to one side, a large object wrapped in thick leather still tucked beneath his arm. “Now, Dear One, let this pain have a purpose – to drive out the other, so your song might reach the Maiden’s ears. Let her hear you, and you will be blessed, yet if the hymn is too much for you to sing her praises I will end it immediately. Do you understand?” 

You nodded your head. Upon your last visit, he had given you a word and a signal, either one guaranteed to bring a swift stop and a potion to ease the pain. You hadn’t had use for it yet, Abdirak seemed to have an intimate familiarity with the limits of what a person could endure, and his praise always seemed to raise those, too.

He unfastened the leather bundle, a heavy stone revealed within the package placed with care upon your stomach. Aside from its weight, you could feel a heat from it that was almost at the point that burned you. But only almost.

“Wonderful!” He cried as your voice left your lips in a low groan, the ache that had been twisting replaced by the swiftly rising temperature of your skin beneath the smooth rock. “Now, let us begin.” 

Over the next hour, your body became a patchwork quilt sewn together by dozens of sensations, pains that were a gift , that sharpened your mind to a keener edge than the blade that drew out the scarlet lines of Loviatar’s prayers down your sides. All throughout, Abdirak laughed and beamed with pride, praising the limits of your endurance and how beautifully you bore the pain.

In time, the agony that had brought you to his door was long forgotten, driven from your mind and body as you were transformed into a work of art under the hands of a true master of the craft. Your body was painted with sensations, suffering chiselled away until all that remained was an effigy of your fortitude.

The warm embrace of the Priest of Pain was the only balm you needed when it was done, soothing your heart and soul as the blessing of his beloved goddess wrapped around you along with his arms.

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“Ah, there you are, I was hoping I might—” the familiar face had appeared at the opening in your tent – red skin, brown hair half tied in a loose bun, and vivid yellow eyes that peered at you with concern beneath gently curved horns that rose above the wrinkles in his expression. “I’m sorry, may I come in for a while? I heard…I thought…” 

You simply nodded, a little unwilling to leave the comfort of your blankets, half a mind to send the Tiefling away until you felt better, like you could handle company again, yet the other half…the other did not want to see Rolan leave so soon. 

He relaxed a little, slipping inside and closing the canvas flaps that served as a door behind him before sitting beside you. “I hope you don’t mind…though I suppose you wouldn’t have invited me this far if you did. Thank you, for trusting me, even if I hardly deserve it—” Rolan cut himself off again, as if frustrated that his own tongue kept moving of its own accord without waiting for his permission to speak. “I apologise, it seems verbosity is common in our kind. Wizards, that is, I know you’re very familiar with…I’m doing it again.” 

There was something a little adorable in how he spoke, how he was almost apologising for existing in your space – a far cry from the more pompous man you’d met so long ago. Yet something about it stung at your heart, too. There was a familiar feeling to those overt apologies, the undercurrent of guilt that brought them to the surface, and the drop in confidence in himself was like looking into a mirror. 

“I just… I know where you are, what it is that you’re feeling. And I need to tell you – you’re wrong.” 

You blinked. That wasn’t what you’d expected to hear, and certainly not with this amount of sincerity in his eyes. 

“It’s alright to doubt yourself now and then, gods I can’t remember a day that has gone by when I haven’t questioned half the decisions I’ve made and the paths I’ve walked. But…those times, when you can’t trust yourself, when you can’t trust your opinions and feelings, that’s when you need to look further.” Rolan’s tail pawed at the ground behind him nervously as he indicated over his shoulder. “Out there, you have people, companions, friends who believe in you, even when you can’t believe in yourself.” 

Your eyes drifted to the tent’s entrance, thinking of a dozen names or more and the faces that accompanied them. You had hidden here with the pretence of exhaustion from endless battles, but it was more than that. Of course, you were tired, but it was the conflict in your own mind that wore you down the most. Thoughts and fears, and every terrible thing you thought of yourself when the night was dark and silent enough to hear the unkindness of your consciousness. 

“They see everything that you can’t. Try to believe in them , that their view of you might just be the right one. You’re worth is in more than what you do for them, and they see that too.” He smiled, a warmer expression, one that was painted with a hint of nostalgia. “Cal and Lia, they’ve seen me the way you are now far too many times…and it’s hard to hear sometimes, but they tell me this too. They make me sit there and listen to their bickering and their jokes, and gods sometimes they even try and sing the most ridiculous—” 

It was easy to imagine Rolan’s siblings putting on a performance to cheer him up, and even easier to imagine the scowl on his face at the attempts. Somehow the thought alone was comforting, and knowing that even the proud and great wizard that would clearly surpass his peers someday knew what you were feeling. Perhaps…if someone so accomplished could feel that… 

He continued a while, letting you lay quietly and listen to him talk. You didn’t find yourself minding it one bit, as he told stories of his siblings and his youth, spoke of the grand plans he once had and how they’d changed over time. At some point, your eyes drifted closed, no longer willing to fight the waves of fatigue that weighed heavily upon them, or the dull throb of ache in the back of your skull.

When you awoke several hours later, the cushion by the side of your bedroll no longer had a wizard sat upon it, but it wasn’t empty, either.

A couple of books had been left there, along with a note in overtly-flourished handwriting. Beside both were a small potion and a flash of water that still had frost on the glass – no doubt an extended form of magic to keep it cool and refreshing for you. There was also a small box, that upon closer inspection contained several treats within – simple sugared candies and fruits, ones that you soon realised were the same that Rolan had spoken of his siblings finding or making for him on days just like this.

Perhaps… It might not be easy to hear his words, or believe them just yet, but it might be worth a try. At the very least, although the tent was empty it felt a little less lonely now. 

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“Spells slots,” Gale said simply, as if it solved every part of the equation that had been frustrating you all week. “Well, in a manner of speaking, at least.” 

You waited patiently as he tried to arrange his thoughts into something more coherent, unwilling to disturb his mind whilst it was at work. The sound of his voice alone was soothing, and the care with which he stayed by your side as you remained simply propped up in your bed…

“I know you aren’t a wizard, or any kind of spellcaster for that matter, but the theory is the same.” He smiled softly, conjuring a few symbols in the air that shimmered as if made of light and Weave alone – perhaps they were, he had been right in his assessment that magic was not your speciality. “In the morning, you only have a certain amount of spell slots. Some are for simple spells, and some for far more complex casting.” 

The lights moved around, organising themselves by size as you looked on almost entranced by the simple display. Not for the skill in casting it – this was an easy cantrip for someone as experienced as the Wizard of Waterdeep himself – but the meaning…perhaps it might finally make sense of the exhaustion that had bound itself within your very bones. 

“So perhaps this morning you cook breakfast, this slot is gone. Now you don’t have enough spare to go to the market after lunch and draw a bath when you get home, and thus you must choose.” Gale’s fingers made quick work of elegant motions, changing the arrangements again. “Or maybe you have used all of your low level powers today, but you still have a lower level task like making the bed – you can use that higher level spell slot to cast it, but again it takes away from your more powerful spell potential later.” 

You nodded, everything beginning to fall more and more into place. He always had a way of calming you like this. Just his presence alone seemed to help.

“Then…you take a rest to restore them, but sometimes you don’t even get all of it back.”  He smiled sympathetically, dismissing the shimmering symbols with a swift gesture. “It isn’t fair, truly. Would that I could give you some of my power…but I can offer you one thing – understanding. I know what it means, how it feels…” 

Gale’s expression turned a little more melancholy, his fingers subconsciously hovering over the mark embedded in his chest – the source of his greatest shame, an affliction you dearly wished you could cure just as much as it seemed he wished to help you with your own struggles.

“This…takes away my energy, has reduced what I used to be able to do by an alarming amount, even before the tadpole took up residence in my brain and ate away at the rest of what I was once capable of. And I know…I know I have nobody to blame but myself…” It was heart-breaking, to see soft brown eyes fall to such sorrow, but there was a spark that still lingered, one that brightened when he looked at you. “But we persevere, don’t we? Even if we must accept our limitations and get some rest.” 

A soft kiss pressed to your forehead with even more affection than you had expected, his thumb idly caressing your cheek for a moment. 

“It is ok, you know – to rest, to let yourself recover. You need it, and fighting it all the time is only going to be detrimental to you in the long run.” Gale kissed you once more, before pulling the blanket up closer around you. “Whatever you need, well your wish is my command. Please, never hesitate. I do, after all, have more spell slots to spare than most, and I would rather spend them on you.” 

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Piercing storm-grey eyes regarded you quietly, assessing your distress in mere moments. In times like these you often found yourself wondering if perhaps Abdirak could see pain itself, though it was more likely just intuition built on years of experience and devoted worship. 

Just as you were about to speak, he held up a finger, silencing the words before they could form upon your lips. “You need not say a word, Dear One, for that will exacerbate your suffering, will it not?” 

You nodded quietly, keeping even those motions minimal to prevent the throbbing in your tooth and jaw from spreading further.

“You are aware you could visit a druid, life cleric, or a host of others who might soothe you?” A slight smile spread as he spoke, he already knew your answer.

A small shake of your head confirmed – you didn’t want to seek their aid. Not when Loviatar’s most devoted priest could tend to your needs instead. Besides, none of their spells nor potions would remove the pain instantly or completely. The specialist could treat it, but even that would bring its own agony. No, you didn’t need a balm, you needed a transformation , someone who could hold your pain in the palm of his hand and let it blossom into something beautiful, something worthy of a god . 

Abdirak rummaged a moment in some pouches, quickly grinding a few herbs and wrapping them in a leaf which he handed over to you. “The taste is quite dreadful, but that in itself shall serve as the first part of your offering.” 

You quickly realised what he meant as you cautiously bit down – bitter clove and sharp mint mingled with several other flavours that were an assault on your tastebuds, yet the edge of the pain was dulled. Not enough to erase it, that would not do, but you finally began to feel a little of the agony-induced fog lifting from your mind. 

“Very good,” cool fingers traced carefully across your cheek over the problem area, continuing along to your jaw before descending towards your neck. “Would you like to join me in a prayer, to receive Her full blessing?” 

The meaning was clear – the offer of a pain you could choose, one that would bring your voice to sing out to Loviatar and in turn feel the warmth of her embrace. And, perhaps, his too. You turned towards the table, looking to what might serve best from his array of tools. The axe…would be too much, as would the dagger. The thorned whip seemed to be a little more than you might handle today, but the plain flog? The leather felt soft in your hands, turning it over reverently as you took in the intricately woven details along the grip before handing it over.

“An excellent choice, Dear One.” The excited edge in his voice was palpable – there was little doubt that this act of devotion would leave little room to even think about the lingering ache in your tooth.