Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was a slight buzz in the grove. There was always a buzz around when someone was getting ready to go on a pilgrimage. But this was different. More tense. More serious. More reluctance to let them go.

Stood silently in the corner of their tiny house, watching his mother hug his brother and sisters goodbye, giving his father a kiss on the lips. Watching his aunt ruffling their hair, and telling his siblings to be good while they were away, giving the same warning to his father as well.

There was a tight knot in his chest. Similar to how he felt when his parents left for the first time when he was a child. She had blown a raspberry into his cheek, making his laugh, and his father ruffled his pink hair, before they turned away, walking away for their little sanctuary. But this was different. More worrisome. More painful. Like there was something that he could do to make them stay, but he did not really know what it was.

“And Caduceus,” his mother, Constance, said, putting a hand on his cheek. “Stay out of trouble.”

He laughed dryly, not wanting to send her off with under poor pretenses. Praying to the Wildmother that he was doing a good job. He had never been good at lying.

She pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly against her chest. He clenched his fists behind her back. He did not want to let her go. A dreadful feeling was threatening to drown him.

“The Wildmother is with you,” she whispered into his ear, before pulling back, taking one last look at him.

“Be safe,” he said, desperately trying to not let his ears droop.

She gave him a soft smile, before turning, and allowing his aunt to say her goodbye.

Corrin cupped both sides of his face, looking deep into his almost purple eyes. Saying all that she needed to say in that one stare, before quickly touching his broad nose, and turned to follow his mother out.

They all stood at the exit of the gates, watching them walk into the Saveleyr Forest, waving behind them, before the darkness took them.

His father, Cornelius, held his youngest sister close, a worried smile on his face as well, and a hand on his own shoulder.

And then they were gone. Off to try to find the cure for their dying forest. Off on a mission for the Wildmother. And they were left here. Their father dispersed them, with a forced cheerful voice that only he could pick out. Off to do their chores in silence. There was still a lot of work to do. It was something that they could do to keep their hands busy. To try to bury their worries in tasks. But that would only work for a little while Caduceus knew that, even as he tended to the various graves.

Caduceus buried his nose under his blankets. The soft breathing of his family around him brought a little bit of comfort. It had been a little over half a moon since his mother and aunt left. It should feel like a normal mission that his family sometimes went on. So why was there a hole in his chest? Why were there feelings? Feelings that all of this was going to go wrong.

He buried himself deeper under the cloth. It had been one day. Nothing was going to go wrong. Nothing. They were going to be fine.

No matter how he tossed and turned, sleep did not find him that night. Or the night after that. Or after that.

Dark circles of sleeplessness started to come in under his eyes. He tried to act normal, taking care of the groove with his siblings and father, playing the occasional prank, and making dinner for his family. But everything required such energy. By the time he flopped down into his bed, be begged for sleep. And it never came.

As he lay awake in bed today, trying his best to will himself to sleep, something tugged at the corner of his blanket.

“Caduceus,” a hushed voice, deep with sleep said. Clarabelle stood at the edge of his bed, hands clenched close to her chest. “Are you awake?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, rolling over all the way to look at her.

“Can I sleep with you?”

With a soft smile, he scooched over, and lifted up the covers, allowing his younger sister to crawl in with him. She snuggled up to him, putting her back against his chest, taking one of his hands, and draping it over her shoulders. Her shoulders shook with anxiety, even under the weight of her brother’s arm.

They stayed in silence for a while, listening to each other breath. Caduceus’ mind started to wonder, the closest that he could get to sleep in recent days, before Clarabelle started to talk.

“The Wildmother gave me a dream,” she said, in a soft, almost broken voice. His heart immediately dropped. “I think that she wants me to go to the Kiln.”

"That’s great,” he replied, trying his best to keep the shakiness out of his voice, but could not stop himself from pulling her closer to his chest, and squeaking her hand a little

“You will need someone to go with you. It would not be very wise to go alone.”

“I know.” Her voice sounded so small, unnatural. “But I’m scared.”

“Going on a mission for the Wildmother is scary. But She has chosen you for a reason, and She would never give you something that you could not handle. This is your destiny. Colton, Calliope, or papa will go with you, to make sure you are safe. This is important woke for the Wildmother. To try to save our home. And you were chosen for a reason. She trusts you to be able to do this.”

There was a moment of silence. Caduceus could feel his sister’s breathing getting shallower and slower. She was drifting off into sleep.

“Will you come with me?” she asked, half delirious.

“No,” the rely was a little too fast, “I have to stay here and take care of the groove.”

With a soft “oh” Clarabelle slipped into a deep sleep, leaving Caduceus to try to quell his sobs, and let silent tears fall down his soft face.

A few morning’s afterward, Caduceus stood at the entrance of their rusty gates, and waves as Colton and Clarabelle walked away. The hole in his chest got a little bigger, almost hurting as it tore, as he watched his sister and brother disappear into the darkness of the infected woods that surrounded their home.

They were going on a mission for the Wildmother, there was no reason that he should be sad. This was a happy thing. They would have more of a chance to find a cure. This was ok. Everything was ok. He was ok.

It was days after that that he was packing a bag for Calliope and his father to leave as well. Putting the supplies into their bags as slowly as he could. An almost audio pilot motion, that he did not notice his sister appear next to him.

“Thank you,” she said, trying the last knot of her bracers “that should be enough to get us to the Kiln.”

She took the bag, and closed it, swinging it over her shoulder, and started to the door, before stopping. When she realized that Caduceus was not following.

“You ok?” Calliope asked, throwing back a glance.

“Of course,” Caduceus did his best to swallow a sob, and dry up the tears in his eyes, before closing his father’s bag, and following his sister to the gate.

“Alright Caduceus,” his dad said. Despite how tall he was, his father was still a head taller. A hefty man, in thick armor, with a hearty walking stick in his hands. Much bigger than Caduceus. Much stronger, much more equipped for this kind of journey. Caduceus was a bean pole. A pale, pale bean pole, who could best serve the Wildmother by staying here. He had to remind himself that. “You take care of anyone who comes down here. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Yes papa,” Caduceus said, unable to lift his eyes from the ground.

“Oh, it’ll be alright,” he put his hand under Caduceus chin, and lifted his head. “We’ll be back. Don’t worry, until then, take care.”

With a silent nod, and the same from Calliope, they both turned and walked away. Just like everyone else. Everyone but him. He had to stay here. It was his job. This was how he could ever the WIldmother. He had to remember that. Remember.

He tried to stop himself. He really did. But the silent prayer was torn out of him, as he begged Melora, dropping to his knees and begging as soon as he knew the last of his family was out of sight. Praying that they would come back. That he would be able to go with them. That they would not leave him.

“Please,” he whispered, “Please don’t leave me here.”

Sleeping got even harder to get. It was easier to work, to keep his mind off of having to think. It had been so many seasons. Too many for him to count. Not that he could count very high anyway.

Sometimes eating slipped his mind,, Going the whole day without eating, but it seemed pointless to eat anything that late at night, and he could just wait for breakfast. It’s not like the lack of food hurt. It was oddly comforting. An escape from the giant hole that had been ripped into his chest.

Tea was easy to make. So he made a lot. Gardening was easy, so he did that a lot. Taking care of the graves was even easier, so that he did the most.

He drank in any time someone would come by with their dead, craving the interaction with other living things that could respond to his questions. And the hole got a little bigger every time they left.

It was the morning of another day, getting up from his bed from another sleepless night, and dragging his heavy limbs over the side of the bed.

He glanced out the window, at the suspicious amount of light that poured in. It was more noon than morning. Not that is mattered.

Pulling a silk shirt over his skinny frame, feeling how to lose the fabric laying over his shoulders, when a few months ago, it had fit perfectly. He did not think about it too much, before picking up the boiling pot of water, that he did not really remember putting on, and pouring it.

A noise. Something outside. His long ears twitch at the faint noise, and turned in that direction. With a sigh, he picked up the tea and opened his front door.

A goblin. That was the first thing the noticed, and was taken a little back by it. But the rest of the people around were even more strange. They had climbed over his gate, and were standing in the middle of the Blooming Grove. A human woman dressed all in blue. Another human, this one male dressed in dirty clothes, holding back a ways from behind the others. A dwarf woman, out beside the human woman, a cigarette in her lips, and partially leaning on a very large hammer. And a firbolg women, eyes filled with joy, and halves clashed together, and close to her face. They were a stark contrast to the colorful flowers, and graves that were everywhere.

“Huh,” he said, not really sure what he had been expecting today, but it had not been this. “I think I have three more cups, hold on.”