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The silence stretches on for days. Weeks. Centuries. He wants to wake up. He wants this to be a dream. He wants to come to back in the kennel, Godey slicing into him again. He wants to wake to hungry red eyes commanding him to flay himself.
Anything, anything is better than this empty body he cradles. Even to have dreamt this twisted taste of freedom and vengeance and love is preferable to having lost them completely. He'd take the madness of desperate imagination over the horror of the brittle boned corpse in his arms.
Yesterday he was talking to them about what color curtains their home should have. He had been thinking about the future for the first time in centuries. They had played along, convincingly enthusiastic about traveling with him if they didn’t like the idea of settling down immediately.
How had he been so blind to ignore the inescapable truth of them; they would rather die than be with him as they were.
“I will never forgive you. I will never forgive this. You bastard. It isn’t fair. You promised me, Solace. You promised.”
He feels sick. Their body should not be this cold. They were a warm fire. A soft blanket. They were a hot bath on a cold day. Comfort and safety. Everything he was not.
A gentle hand touches his shoulder, jolting his awareness back to his body. He was not alone, and they were still in the cursed Temple of Bhaal. Solace should not remain here. They would want to see the sky again. They would want to be bathed in moonlight once again.
His head drunkenly swivels to look up at Jaheira, the half elf's face stained with fresh tears. She kneels by him, lowering herself to his level. Her eyes below his. When she speaks her voice is warm but strained with sorrow. The old harper had been so kind to Solace. Telling them that their life was not doomed to misery simply because they were born of Bhaal. In quieter moments Solace had whispered that Jaheira was starting to feel like what they imagined a mother to be. He had kept his mouth shut on his belief that a mother should be less willing to kill her child.
Now the point was rather moot.
"They deserve a proper rest, cub. And you deserve to see them away from this wretched place. If you are ready, we will bring them home."
Home. Solace had wanted to go home. Had fought so hard to find something to call their own outside of Bhaal's influence. They had found part of a home in the people they've collected. The stupid dog and owlbear. The friends and allies they've trusted with every aspect of their nature. Him.
And they chose to die rather than endanger them.
He can't speak. He just nods and doesn't move. He watches Jaheira's free hand caress the peaceful but bloodstained face of Solace. Where her touch alights a gentle wave of magic follows, spreading like ripples on water. The blood on the tiefling's skin flakes away into nothing, leaving behind a blemish free corpse. Even their clothes looked pristine. The cavern in their chest is not mended, but if he shifted their shirt a little he could cover it.
Jaheira fixes their clothes while he trembles. Her hands busy themselves in Solace’s hair, fixing the tied up braids that had fallen out during the duel with Orin.
He finds himself standing, holding Solace close to his chest. He cannot think about why they are so light. He cannot think about what was stolen from them.
Karlach offers to carry them, her voice thick and haunted. He shakes his head. He won't let them go. He can't. They are his as he was theirs.
Were his. Are. Always will be his. His savior. His damnation.
He follows the people Solace had trusted to kill them. The sickening realization that he is grateful for their willingness to do what he could not if it came to it.
They had asked him to stay behind. So he wouldn't see them turn into a monster. So he wouldn't watch Jaheira and Minsc keep their promise. He had insisted, fool that he is, that he would not abandon them to their fears.
He had believed he could save them.
The sun itself mocks the somber procession. Jaheira and Minsc lead him outside the city to an empty cliff overlooking the sea. He doesn’t know where Karlach went. He isn’t certain how they got here. He never bothered coming this far north for victims. There were so many idiots in the southern half of the Lower City.
He is aware of Jaheira and Minsc trying to talk to him. He doesn’t understand a word. His eyes are locked on the sleeping tiefling in his arms. They must just be sleeping. They haven’t rested in the last week. They have been exhausted. It only makes sense they are unmoving in the deepest slumber they’ve ever experienced.
“Here, cub. Let them rest awhile in the sun.”
“Even the mightiest of warriors must rest after such a battle.”
He nods, laying his partner on a patch of bright blue and white flowers the druid had brought to bloom. It’s a beautiful scene. Their ash blue skin, the white make up they insisted on retouching every morning, their white hair in the ponytail they wore for battle. They would be uncomfortable with their hair up while sleeping.
He unties their hair, unweaving the braids and running his fingers through the now free locks. Some horrible sensation crawls up his arm and into his chest at how cool their long hair is to his touch.
“What has happened? Where are they?” Lea’zel’s voice demands, the sound of her determined stride meeting his ears. He doesn’t look up. He can’t look away from Solace’s peaceful face. He has never seen them this calm. He barely registers that more sets of feet are joining them.
“Lea, stop it. I told you what happened. Stop.” Karlach’s voice is soft. Haunted.
“They cannot be dead, istik. It is not-” The gith woman’s voice cuts off abruptly. The sound of her footfalls nearby. She must see them now.
“Hells…” Wyll chokes, barely above a whisper. The troupe of strange folk that Solace had gathered together; the people they had given hope to time and time again, see the unmoving body of the paladin before them. For a long time, no one moves. The murmur of confusion and despair hums in the air.
A white blur darts into his vision before he understands what happened. The sound of sad whines reaches his ears and he focuses on the white dog that is nudging Solace’s left hand with his nose. Asking for pets.
“Scratch…” He hears his broken voice attempt to chastise the animal. He can’t. He can’t tell him to stop. The dog whimpers and whines, high and sad. He lays down next to the tiefling, his body pressed against them as much as he can. The dog rests his head on Solace’s hand.
A growling chirp is next, the lumbering owlbear cub demanding the same care from Solace as Scratch. It freezes, smelling the air and turning to him with warm, pleading eyes.
“I’m sorry, feathers. They’re gone.” He breathes, fighting the quiver to his voice and failing. The owlbear looks back to the unmoving paladin, takes a step towards them, smells their boots, and lets out a mournful call before jumping to their head and desperately nudging them as if to wake them. Shadowheart’s sob speaks for all.
The druid coos to the cub, soft and kind. The creature wails and throws itself down next to Scratch, sad trills mingling with the dog’s whines. The dog shifts to nudge the cub’s side with his own.
“Stand aside. They cannot be dead. The faithful of Sel-” Dame Aylin’s voice cuts through somber silence until her own voice is stolen by Solace. Isobel is at her wife’s side, eyes wide and tearful before she kneels by Astarion’s side and her eyes and hands begin to glow.
He would have imagined he’d feel hope at her actions. Or appreciation. He feels nothing. He knows it’s pointless. Isobel didn’t see Bhaal kill them. She doesn’t know the full horror of the strange dent in the tiefling’s covered chest.
“No. No it… Maiden above, what happened? What could… Their soul is just, gone. I can’t sense any memory of them… It- it’s like they never existed.” The half elf whispers, completely lost.
Somewhere, somehow, the understanding of the fight, of Solace’s struggle, makes its way around the group. The view from Minsc’s eyes makes its way through the tadpoled individuals, every moment of Solace’s fight with their sister. The beast within the paladin finally breaking free despite the paladin’s efforts. The duality of the hatred of their father; determined to be free and furious at being abandoned. And the sight of how they died. How Bhaal had ripped from them what they did not want, leaving a broken body behind. Jaheira had explained to her fellow tadpole-free individuals what had happened and why. Dame Aylin vibrates with fury and Isobel swallows a quiet sob.
He hasn’t moved from Solace’s side. He can’t. How could he leave them here?
The sun moves across the sky, giving way to night as the collected group mourns the anchor of the team. The moon, as if playing some cruel joke, rises in its full glory, slowly illuminating the corpse of a paladin who would have done so much more good if they had only been allowed. They almost seem to glow in its light, their hair vibrant, their makeup shimmering in the light of their goddess.
“I… I can perform the last rites of Selune if you think that’s appropriate.” Isobel breathes, asking for his permission. He scoffs, empty. Why would he be the authority on what death rites Solace should have? He didn’t believe in putting faith in such things anymore. Solace was the closest thing to a god he could believe in and now, according to the cleric at his side, their very soul was taken by their father.
But Solace had found comfort with the Moonmaiden. She Who Guides the Lost. And they had felt so very lost for so long.
“I… they would approve, I believe.” His voice croaks.
Isobel offers her hand to him and he blindly takes it, letting her guide him to his lover’s head, placing their head in his lap. She crosses Solace’s hands over their midsection, lacing their fingers together over a moon pendant she pulled from her own neck. She pulls from her component pouch a vessel of holy oil, dips two fingers in and gently applies it to the tiefling’s forehead, chin, and the hollow of their throat.
“Goddess of Light. She Who Guides. A brave, kind, loving soul was taken this day.” The half elf speaks evenly, practiced in this ritual enough to get past it being her friend, for now. She daubs oil on the backs of Solace’s clasped hands, her fingers trembling.
“Solace was a friend. Troubled by what they had no choice in being. They fought against the strength of Bhaal himself; victorious in the end.”
Hatred. Sorrow. Fury. Resentment. He’s not sure who or what his feelings are directed at, but he feels it. As surely as if he had a stake shoved into his heart. His hands are shaking as he holds Solace’s head in his hands.
“Grant them safe passage from this plane to the next. Grant them harbor where they would need. Shelter the soul of your faithful from those that would seek to do them harm.” Tears roll down the cleric’s cheeks as well as his own.
“When they beseech you for aid; hear them, Mother Selune. Lady of Light. Be a beacon of hope and safety to the friend we lost. Take into your embrace the paladin who has earned their name; Solace.”
The holy oil flickers with radiant white light as the cleric finishes the version of final rites she graces her friend. A sensation of calm follows the completion of the ritual, even as the ache does not ease. He offers an almost sincere smile of appreciation to the cleric. She returns the expression, sadness in her gaze.
The night’s vigil continues, Gale summoning blue and white light to gently float around the assembled friends. It was almost beautiful. If not for the reason they all gathered, it would be very nice to spend time with friends under the moonlight. He isn’t listening to the soft patter of fond memories their friend’s tell each other. He has busied himself braiding Solace’s hair into the style Dame Aylin had worn in the shadowfell. The tiefling had wanted to try it but had never felt there was enough time to bother. He incorporates a few blue flowers as he goes, smiling at his work.
Halsin and Jaheira weave a blanket of Moonflowers and Night Orchids together, gently laying the beautiful act of love over the paladin that had saved all of their lives many times over. None more so than him.
Minsc and Boo, still so new to the group; lacking any personal connection aside from the paladin saving his life and mind just the day before, still weaves a crown of native Rashemar flowers with his limited magic. When Astarion is finished doing the tiefling’s hair the ranger offers the crown wordlessly to him, a soft, sad smile on his stupid face. He’ll never admit it, but the man has his charm.
Shadowheart looks utterly lost. The first person she had ever truly trusted is gone, and without them she doesn’t know if she’ll ever find her parents. She kneels down and presses a soft kiss to the tiefling’s forehead, tears falling from her face to the tiefling’s. She gently wipes them away, careful to avoid messing up their make up.
Lea’zel keeps her distance, her face growing ever more tense until she can no longer take it; stomping over to her fallen comrade and kneeling, her forehead to theirs. A litany of gith words spill into the night air; none of them the familiar castigations or insults she’d hurled since day one. When she stands again her eyes are red rimmed but she does not cry.
Wyll, so formal and charming most days, is a stuttering mess of heartbreak. He stammers his apologies to both Solace and Astarion; for not being able to save them. The sorrow is so genuine he can't muster the strength to be irritated. He just nods at the man, his eyes empty.
Gale is distant, his expression haunted. Solace had died believing him worth more as himself than a potential new god of magic. Astarion can tell from the man’s eyes; he’s thinking about being able to bring them back if he were a god. The wizard catches his eye. He doesn’t know what Gale sees in his expression, but he knows what he feels. He would give anything to have Solace back. If that meant helping the wizard ascend to dethrone Mystra, he would help him. But that is a conversation for later.
Dame Aylin does not speak. She barely looks at Solace. Her furious eyes on the symbol of her mother in the sky. It’s her rage he appreciates most out of all of the offerings the assembled had brought. Her silent indignation that her mother would let her savior and friend die to an abomination like Bhaal. Her eyes stream with tears that hold only outrage.
It is unspoken; but when the moon had reached its zenith, all Solace’s friend’s circled around their body. No pathetic holding of hands. No unanimous cry of pain. There is just the silence of losing a friend. A confidant. A lover.
Halsin and Jaheira gesture with their hands, the earth tearing itself asunder at their behest. A six foot deep hole for them to rest in. A nice view for them to be visited at. He wonders if he should demand more time. He wonders if he should be buried with them until Gale can raise them.
He presses a trembling kiss to their cold forehead like he has done so many times before. He's not ready to do this. He probably never will be.