Chapter Text
He’s been holding back. He’s been holding back and he knows it, and curses himself for it with every hazy bit of consciousness he has left. He’s sorry, but knows he can do nothing about it now. He still thinks it, though, thinks it over and over again. I’m sorry, Beauregard. Caleb. Nott. Jester. Fjord. Yasha. Keg, even. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you all better.
He uses the last of his strength to gather a bit of blood and spittle in his mouth, projectile launching it right into the center of Lorenzo’s face. The blood streaks crimson underneath Lorenzo’s eye, and Mollymauk Tealeaf can feel every slight shift of the glaive that pierces him as his vision fades with Lorenzo’s final, brutal twist.
(His memory after that is hazy, but he swears he sees a swirl of black feathers and feels a careful, deft hand grasp his own and help him up once more.)
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Mollymauk gasps, sputtering for air as his eyes flutter open. He slams his hands down onto the ground beside him, pushing himself up into a sitting position as he desperately inhales. But there’s air there, fresh, clean air that he gulps in frantically. Fresh, clean air, and murmuring voices all around him.
“Huh?” is all he manages to murmur, his voice hoarse from disuse, before he feels a small impact on his chest and Nott the Brave is gripping his shirt with the strength of someone much larger than she is. Before he can react, something much larger barrels into his back, and he can feel the way Jester trembles as she cries into his shoulder, tears soaking into his shirt.
“You’re back, you’re back, it worked!” she chokes out between sobs. “Y-You’re- I didn’t know if it would work- I don’t- even with Caduceus, I didn’t know if we could- Molly, you’re back, you’re back, and don’t you ever leave us again!”
Nott simply grips his shirt tighter, wordless. The fabric twists in her grasp, and he places an arm gently around her. He grasps Jester’s hand where it clings weakly to the collar of his shirt, squeezing it gently. This only makes Jester wail louder, her shoulders shaking as she buries her face into his shoulder. He plants a few kisses on top of her head, brushing his lips across her horns and her hair and her cheeks. He shifts, pulling Nott closer, but before he can say anything to her, she speaks.
“I-I only… After you died, I tried to stick by what you said, and not steal from happy people.” Her voice is resolute and steady. “And- well, it was for you, but also, there are some really fucking rich grumpy people out there, so. Thanks.”
Mollymauk blinks in surprise, then gives her a small smile. He does. He leans forward and presses a careful, tentative kiss to the top of Nott’s hood, and when he pulls back, he feels a little bit of the tension in her form release.
He looks up, finally, scanning the faces of his friends, his family, and sees tears glimmering in everyone’s eyes. Fjord is unabashedly teary, sniffling quietly, Caleb is misty-eyed, Yasha has tears flowing freely down her cheeks, and he can hear Beauregard’s muffled, choked sobs that she’s trying to stifle behind her hands.
But most interesting of all is that there are two new figures, standing side by side a few paces away from the group. One of them is a tall firbolg fellow with a shock of bright pink hair and floppy ears, and the side of his hair sheared short. He smiles calmly and waves when he sees Mollymauk spot him, and speaks in a calm, soothing baritone.
“Welcome back.”
Molly simply nods gratefully, not trusting himself to speak. Introductions can wait for later.
The other figure, however, is a young man draped in a flowing black cloak adorned with raven feathers. His hair is jet black, a sharp contrast to his pale skin. Pointed ears jut out from under his hair, signifying some elven heritage, and the look on his face and in his dark eyes is bittersweet.
That’s the last that he can see before Fjord and Yasha crumble almost simultaneously, both of them rushing over to wrap Molly in a bone-crushing hug. He rasps out a laugh, and sees Caleb pace over as well.
“Welcome back, Freund,” is all that he murmurs into Molly’s ear as he adds his weight to the pile.
Beauregard still looks pissed, even while she’s crying. There are tears and snot dripping down her face, and she hiccups as she wipes her nose with the back of a clenched fist. “You absolute fucking- mother fucking asshole!”
She winds up, then decks Molly in the arm. It’s not very hard, but she still apologizes immediately after. Fjord doesn’t even have to goad her into it, and he’s in no state to anyways. He’s crying almost as much as Jester and Yasha at this point.
Once Jester, Fjord and Yasha have managed to control their tears (though not quite their sniffling), Molly gestures over to the two new figures. “Who’re they?”
Jester immediately perks up, though she still doesn’t let go of him. “Oh my gosh! We didn’t introduce you! That’s Caduceus Clay, the new guy. He’s a cleric, like me, except that he’s friends with the Wildemother instead of the Traveller! He’s, like, really cool though. I promise. Also,” she whispered, leaning down to stage whisper conspiratorially in his ear, “He gives, like, the best hugs.”
Mollymauk chuckles. “I’ll certainly have to, someday. If, of course, Mr. Clay will allow that?”
Caduceus’ smile is as warm and comforting as earlier. “Well, of course.”
Molly grins, “I like him already,” to which Jester squeals in delight.
“What about the other one, though?” He asks, his eyes flicking to the half-elven man, who’s leaned casually against a tree near where Caleb is sitting. Jester’s brow furrows in confusion, and in worry.
“Other one? Deuces is the only new guy, silly.” Her tone is light, but Molly senses an underlying strand of worry.
He shakes his head, an exhausted smile plastered on his face. “You know what? Maybe I just need some rest. Dying wasn’t too great for my health, you know,” he quips, red eyes gleaming. Satisfied, Jester giggles again before giving him one last squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. Mollymauk hums happily, then retreats to his bedroll in the tent he shares with Fjord after the tearful reunion has ended.
As he settles in, arms stretched above his head and tail carving aimless swirls through the air, he notices that he hasn’t seen the half-elf since maybe an hour ago.
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Mollymauk groans as he stretches, reaching his arms above his horns. Why is he sore? He’s literally been dead for months. You’d think that long of a rest might make the bruises a little better, but no.
He pushes himself upright, running a hand through his hair, and glances over to see if Fjord is awake yet.
“AH! What the fuck, man, you scared me!” Molly presses a hand to his chest. “What’re you doing in here? Also, if I may ask, who and what the fuck are you?”
Fjord is gone, but his bedroll isn’t empty. The half-elf from before is stretched out on the bedroll with the lithe grace and danger of a lion lying in wait. He tosses a dagger up, catching it lazily, over and over again, and it glints in the weak sunlight that makes its way into the tent. He tosses it one last time, then catches it and sheaths it in one fluid motion.
“My name is Vax’ildan, and I am the champion of the Raven Queen.”