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Part 1 of life in the margins of redemption
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2021-07-27
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2022-08-26
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47/47
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once upon a damn-you-all

Summary:

Cree Deeproots will do absolutely anything to get her friend back, even if it means traveling with a bunch of fools.

Mollymauk Tealeaf has gotten a second chance at life he didn’t expect and all the hassles that come with it.

And the Mighty Nein are determined to protect their friend and maybe change the heart and mind of a certain fickle tabaxi.

(AKA The "Creedemption" Fic.)

[not canon compliant with the The Nine Eyes of Lucien]

Notes:

SO LONG AGO Matt released some notes about what would have happened if the Mighty Nein had betrayed the Gentleman, involving, among other things, Cree breaking them out of slavery and accompanying them on a tour of the Dwendalian Empire to find the other Tombtakers. (Or at least that was implied.) Now, I do not want to exist in a world where Jester's dad tries to sell her into slavery, so I came up with my own scenario, because goddammit Cree ought to have a shot at redemption, and as much as I love everything that happened in canon, I am god here, and I can create and destroy as I see fit.

Chapter 1: were yesterday reprieved

Summary:

ARC ONE: WRATH

“Love is like death, it must come to us all, but to each his own unique way and time, sometimes it will be avoided, but never can it be cheated, and never will it be forgotten.”
- Jacob Grimm

Chapter Text

It had not been so long since the fight ended that the cart rolling its way back to Shadycreek Run could not still be heard in the distance. They were in that crucial, breathless few seconds in the aftermath of a horrific event where the mourning hadn’t come and the shock was still fresh. It was in this moment that a dark shape slipped in, unregarded, and knelt down next to the lifeless body on the road, murmuring spare the dying over it before digging into her component pouch for a diamond.

She tried not to stare at the lifeless red eyes, tried not to remember the last time she’d seen his corpse go cold. There had been no blood. He had almost looked peaceful. This time, he was just staring straight ahead with a gaping wound in his chest, leaving no doubt that he was gone, but, once more, she hadn't heard the dirge that was his blood crying out before being silenced. If she had just been a bit quicker...

She laid a furry hand on his chest and felt the tackiness of the blood pooling there stick to the pads of her paw-like fingers. She choked back a tiny sob. How dare fate decide that I get you back, only to lose you so quickly all over again, she hissed, mentally.

No matter. He had clearly found subpar traveling companions. She would take him away from it as soon as he was up again.

“Shit! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice, rough and unfamiliar, shouted, making her flick her ears, but she stuck to her task without looking up. “Get the fuck away from him! Shoo! Scat!”

She hissed audibly. The dwarf woman making all the fuss recoiled a bit and then hissed back with less effect.

The man she knew to be the wizard of the party Lucien had been with turned to see what the dwarf was making such a fuss about and she felt his eyes light on her. She met his, her golden eyes leveled against his blue. “....It was Cree, was it not?” He asked. His voice had a waver to it.

“Indeed.” Cree Deeproots, formerly of the Gentleman’s troupe, now a rogue agent in pursuit of her friend and the destiny he had started for them so long ago, turned away and produced a diamond from her bag. “You are a careless lot. To think an unlucky encounter on the road would be what takes his life.”

The dwarf began to fumble to light a cigarette in an act triggered by sudden on-set anxiety, while the monk began a rapid-pace approach. Instinctively, her hand went to her war pick with her free hand with the intent to threaten with it, but she stopped five feet from where Cree knelt, breathing heavily in and out through her nose in some attempt at cooling her clear temper. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Fixing your mistake,” Cree snapped, laying the diamond flat on Lucien’s still, mangled chest.

The monk’s hands balled into fists and she looked like she was on the verge of saying something, but the wizard gripped her arm.

“Beauregard… Bitte. Do not-”

“If she brings him back and he’s not-” She lowered her voice, thinking Cree couldn’t hear, but she could. People always underestimated the perceptiveness of a cat.

“Is it any worse than leaving him dead on the road?”

“I dunno, Caleb. It might be for him.”

Her fur bristled. “What the fuck are you two talking about?”

Neither offered an explanation and she was running out of time. As if sensing the rapidly dwindling window, herself, the dwarf woman tossed down and then stomped out her cigarette as if she had taken no comfort for it and was punishing it for that fact. “Hey! Princess Fuzzytits. Can you get him up or not?”

No one tried to stop her and before they could distract her further, she began to plead with the Somnovem to return her Lucien to her, to make right what was wrong and let him dream for them once more. It had been so long since she prayed to them and her magic had waned significantly in the years distanced from the Nonagon, but surely this much they could do for her. Surely, they wanted him back as much as she did.

The diamond shattered. A tense moment passed. And then Lucien sucked in a panicked, desperate breath and began coughing as he sat bolt upright, the savage gash on his chest healing slowly and promising an ugly scar. “Fuck!” He snapped, whipping his head around and flailing his hands out to his sides to snatch up those stupid, impractical blades he'd taken up. “Where are they?”

She opened her mouth to speak, thinking he meant the other Tombtakers, but the monk woman beat her to the punch. “…Molly?”

Molly?

Lucien’s eyes snapped to the monk. “Yeah? As opposed to…” and then they skated back to her and she saw a new panic in his eyes, one that brought her hackles up in light of the new information she’d been receiving inadvertently through this dance with these strangers.

“…..Cree. Fancy seeing you here.”

⚔

Molly’s lungs were on fire. Every breath felt like the air was made of needles, and yet he obviously couldn’t stop breathing. That would be bad. His only concession was that he wasn’t going to hyperventilate, and gods how he wanted to. Everything was even worse than it had started out being and curling up into a panicked ball seemed preferable to the alternative.

And Cree wouldn’t stop staring at him, expectantly, waiting for an explanation, and the worst part was he knew he owed her one. She had saved his life- sure, she hadn’t meant to get him when she did it, but she was still the one who’d brought him back when he could have just been left on the side of the road, another tragedy in this endless cycle of them. He would have failed Jester, Fjord, and Yasha. The world would have course-corrected around him because he wasn't supposed to be in it anyway, and he did nothing to make it better, because the people who mattered didn't make it out. (But Beau did- that would have been worth it, right? Yeah. That would have been worth it.)

But he was grateful- gods, he was ever so grateful- that it hadn't come to that brutal, tragic finality. Accepting that his life was never guaranteed to remain was not the same as inviting death with open arms- no matter how deep he cut and how badly that plan went, given a choice he would very much like the opportunity to not die stupid.

He couldn't look at her and that was finally what broke her and made her try to reach out to him again when there had been nothing but silence between them for far too long. “Lucien.” She wasn’t angry- gods, he wished she could just be angry at him. It would make this so much easier on him. He could understand anger, but this desperate hope, the utter devotion in her golden eyes… That was wrong and awful and he wanted it to stop, like he wanted everything to stop. “I need you to explain this to me. Please.”

Molly dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and hissed. “Gods, where to begin. It’s so complicated.”

“You keep saying that.” She reached over and laid a hand on his knee. “I promise I will understand.”

He laughed, uncomfortably. “You can’t promise that.”

“Tell me.” If he put this off any longer, he was in danger of her losing her patience with him, which might be pushing it- she didn’t seem like someone who would lose her patience with someone she revered so much, but he didn’t want her to bring down her frustration on everyone else should it come to that. She seemed the type to start swinging at everyone for brainwashing him, rather than assume that he just wasn't who she wanted him to be.

He hated telling the truth, though. It only cut people. She was better off with a lie, but he was better off living, rather then dying in a pauper’s grave on the side of the road. He owed her this. “I’m not Lucien.”

She blinked at him, and then scoffed. “That is impossible.”

“Not that impossible,” Caleb interjected, and Molly felt his heart do a somersault. Cree shot him a look, and her hand went immediately to the amulet around her neck- a red stone full of a liquid that shifted, but didn’t quite slosh around, every time she moved, implying that it was something thick and viscous.

Molly swallowed and averted his gaze from it. He couldn't help but notice that she hadn't been wearing that when he met her in the pub. “It’s the truth.”

“No. Spellspitter illusions can lie. Blood does not lie, and this right here is the same blood as the blood you gave me in the Evening Nip. It sings the exact same song as it always has. I- I should never have laid it aside. Had I not, I would have known you have been alive this entire time. I would have come to find you. We could have been spared this nonsense." She bowed her head, simultaneously reverent and guilty. "And even if the blood could somehow lie to me, there is no denying the other irrefutable truths here. You are the Nonagon. You bear the fucking marks, no matter what those silly tattoos try to hide. You could not be anyone else.”

His hand went immediately to his neck, hissing at the reminder of those horrible raised eyes, like permanent welts, that would never take ink. He didn’t want to think about those. He didn’t want to think about anything regarding Lucien.

“What marks?” Beau squinted over at her, ignoring his discomfort.

“Don’t encourage this,” Molly hissed under his breath, and Beau relented. Cree didn’t seem all that interested in explaining herself anyway. She was nodding along to some mental theorizing she'd come up with on her own without anyone's input.

“So it is amnesia, then? That is fine. That is curable." She threw her hands up, relieved. "Oh, Lucien, you should have just said as much. You need not have...” She seemed to be struggling with that theory now, but once committed, she could do nothing but double down. “...spared my feelings.”

Why wasn’t she hurt? She was out here rationalizing his decision to lie to her, as if she had rationalized a dozen decisions that should have hurt her that came before this, even when she clearly knew in her heart that it made no sense. Not for the first time, he wished he could punch Lucien in his godsdamned face, but that would require the bastard to be physically present and he wanted that even less than he wanted satisfaction.

“It was a con. I was trying to save my arse. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you were so happy, and I was worried about what you might do if you thought I wasn’t him. We were in a bit of a tight spot just waltzin’ into the Gentleman’s, you know?”

Cree’s expression didn’t waver. “It is all right. You do not have to explain anything." She heaved a sigh through her nose and nodded firmly, a decision made and fuck anyone who might want to offer input on it. We will just go to Tyffial in Nogvurot right now. She can help.”

There were a dozen reasons why they couldn’t do that, starting with the obvious ones. “We can’t. In case you haven't noticed- which I doubt given everything- I just got killed. I was trying to get the rest of my friends back.” He gestured to the still-shocked faces of his remaining friends- and Keg, who was just smoking her confusion away with what must have been her third cigarette. Molly very much wanted to borrow another one from her, himself, but he’d save it for later when he could actually enjoy it.

She screwed her face up in confusion, struggling with his protests. “Lucien, this is pointless. Come home. Surely, none of this will matter when you are yourself again. Why waste time on it?”

Molly wanted to scream, but Beau did it for him. Bless her. “Hey! Leave him alone. He just fucking died for those people, all right? Who cares who he is- Molly or Lucien. We’re not letting you just cart him off to Nogvurot to try and-and trigger memories he doesn’t even want when we've got people to get back.”

Cree’s golden eyes shifted to Beau. Flashing her long panther-like teeth, she scowled as she began to finally stand after so long kneeling beside where Molly fell. At her full height, her shadow alone swallowed Beau whole. “You have no idea what you are talking about. I buried Lucien. I brought back a stranger, but as I have already said- blood doesn’t lie. He is Lucien, and I can get him back. It is what he would want.”

“And what about what Mollymauk wants?” Nott finally piped up, having been silent throughout this entire conversation, drinking away the tension without even stopping for breath.

“Mollymauk does not exist,” Cree shot back.

“I’m literally right here.” Molly was indignant and also being ignored, judging by how no one was looking at him anymore. Beau had her hands clenched and Caleb reached down to keep her from hauling off and punching Cree in the face. Seeing the situation was exploding, he took a deep breath, scrambled onto his feet with a pained wince, and tried again to shift eyes to him and appeal to some sense of reason that Cree must have possessed. “Look… I understand you’re hurting… and this is a terrible situation. But I’m Mollymauk Tealeaf and I like who I am. There’s no getting around that.”

Cree hissed, but backed down, which he liked even less than her not backing down. He didn't like that kind of power when it didn't come laced with a spell- spells wore off. This was something else, something deep and horrible and broken inside of her that reminded him of the uncomfortable way she talked about Lucien that had set his teeth on edge. “Then I wasted my time. Perhaps I should have left well enough alone. It was too much to hope.” She began to stand, and Molly felt his heart break for her. She didn’t deserve this. She seemed like a nice person, if not a bit of an overly dedicated one. Everything about her screamed that she had no other way to be.

And, more to the point, it occurred to him that they were still outgunned and outmanned versus Lorenzo. They couldn’t afford to continue on without a cleric on board. Gods, but that was a risky idea. She might push a door open he didn’t want opened. And then there was the matter of her constantly denying his personhood...

Nothing like being desperate to make you make some grade-A decisions. “Cree, wait…” He stood up with her, catching her arm before she could pull away. She went rigid under his touch. “Just… Give us a minute. Keg?”

“Hm?” She blew a smoke ring and then pressed a hand to her battered platemail, over her heart. “Oh, am I still here? Am I invited into the conversation? Is someone gonna fuckin' explain what the shit you're all on about?”

Molly rolled his eyes and gently steered Cree in her direction, which was no mean feat. She was as big as Yasha. “Cree, this is Keg. She’s a delight. You two should talk. We’ll be over here.”

Both Keg and Cree looked like this was the last thing either of them wanted to do, but somehow Cree didn’t argue (Molly didn’t like that one fucking bit either), and Keg just accepted this was her lot in life now. “You’re tall,” she said, succinctly, as Molly waved Beau, Nott, and Caleb over out of earshot. “Like… Really tall.”

“I think Keg is aroused again,” Nott muttered, and then joined the huddle Molly initiated.

“Molly, why didn’t you just let her go?” Beau demanded, immediately. “She’s a fucking bitch.”

“She’s not a-” Molly hissed between his teeth. “Yes, she’s being a bit of a bitch, but would you be any nicer if you were in her position? You’re not even nice now.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped, but the bite was lost. She had just watched him die, he realized- die to protect her, even. It was going to take some adjustment to get used to the idea that it had happened, and that it was something other people were fucked up by, while he just brushed it off and moved on.

Well. Mostly. The trauma was there, but he wasn't going to acknowledge that he had it.

“If it weren’t for her, I’d be dead. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.”

“So killing her is off the table?” Nott glanced over her shoulder, hand going to her crossbow. “Because just say the word and I’ll pop her.”

“You’re not popping her.” The idea of killing Cree for the crime of loving the person who used to own this body didn't sit well- and gods, she did love him, didn’t she? He could see it in her eyes. That poor woman had shite taste.

Caleb finally spoke up, “You are considering taking advantage of this, are you not, Mollymauk?”

Molly made a face. “Is it that obvious?”

“I know you would not consider indulging whatever lies in…" His eyes fell on one of the red eyes- the one staring out of the peacock head on his neck, "... that body’s past if you did not have a good reason.”

Once more, Molly’s heart did a little vault. Fuck. Why did that dirt wizard always have to say the exact right thing? “She could help us get them back. We need her.”

“Ja, she is… quite powerful.”

“And she knows Shadycreek Run. She said her people had a hideout there.”

“She’s not gonna fucking do that unless we give her something,” Beau growled. “She’s gonna try to get you to go to Nogvurot to see her stupid friend the second we’re done.”

There was the cost, and it was unimaginably high… But for Yasha. For Jester. For Fjord. Yes, he could pay it. He had faith in his ability to withstand whatever Lucien’s people tried to throw at him. Maybe.

Well, he didn’t have a choice, now did he? He couldn’t lose anyone else. He couldn’t die again and leave them alone. Cree could prevent that… And hell, it would probably do to get her some better friends. He tried to leave every place better than he found it- or every person. Why not her? She probably deserved it.

“Then we go to Nogvurot. It’ll be fine. I came back as Molly despite her asking for Lucien when she..." He couldn't quite bring himself to say revived me. "Maybe Lucien’s just completely gone.” He didn’t buy that for a second. Too much bled through for him to believe that, but a con is a con is a con, and sometimes you had to con yourself, just as much as you conned others. The art of the snow job was just as effective in acts of self-delusion as it was in anything else.

Beau still didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t see another argument available, so she backed down with a sour lemon expression. “Fine, but if she tries anything shitty, I’m gonna punch her.”

Molly arched a brow. “How’s that different from any other day?”

She flipped him off, and they broke apart, returning to Keg, who was smashing her latest cigarette under her heel (how that woman still had functioning lungs was beyond him), still talking to Cree. The tabaxi seemed to be just taking the one-sided conversation in stride, but with the slightest edge of impatience to her demeanor. “I only met one tabaxi. We kinda dated for awhile. She tried to clothesline me in a barfight, but I was too short, and we kinda hit it off. It was mostly physical… Like really physical. I feel like most people don’t hit each other that much- not in domestic violence way. Just… We were punchy people. I think she ended up getting with this weird bard. Fuckin’ bards, man.”

Molly cleared his throat, having waited until Keg had fully shoved her foot so far in her mouth that it couldn’t go any further to interject, because he would take whatever delight he could get out of this fucking day, Moonweaver help him. Cree’s ears perked up as she turned to the sound, and Keg just huffed out a “thank god” and turned away like she couldn’t bear to keep staring at Cree after babbling like that.

“All right, so...” Molly clapped his hands together. “I’m willing to go to Nogvurot with you, but we do have this mission from the Gentleman to bring Ophelia to him… And also the far more pressing matter of our friends being in the hands of slavers.”

Cree’s ears flattened to her skull and she bared her teeth. “You did not say it was slavers that killed you.”

“To be fair, you didn’t really ask.” Her reaction was something to be noted. Molly continued, leaning into fast-talk to hopefully sell his offer. “You seem to be pretty against them- that’s good. Maybe you can help us get them back, complete our objective for your boss, and then we can go see... Tyffial, was it? Everyone wins.

Her ears were still flattened to her skull. “Do you know who the slavers are?”

“The Iron Shepherds,” Beau supplied. She crossed her arms over her chest and studied Cree like she was hunting for a weakness. “You know ‘em?”

Cree growled, panther-like. “They are the Jagentoth’s dogs. Of course it would be them. Lucien dodged those bastards his entire life, after all. I am shocked they did not recognize you.”

That hadn’t occurred to Molly, even though he knew that Lucien was from Shadycreek Run from their last conversation, much as he would have liked to forget it and every other tidbit of information she had dropped at their last meeting. He put a hand over his chest where his new starburst-shaped scar sat, still tacky with blood, puzzling over this new fact. Maybe Lorenzo had. Maybe that’s why he had made sure it hurt when he drove the glaive home. But whether he had or he hadn't wasn’t the point. He was about to be a very, very vengeful ghost in that fucker's history no matter what name he wanted to call it. “So you’re more than willing to tear them apart, right?”

He really, really hated the way she looked at him- with reverence, even knowing he wasn’t Lucien, as if she was still hoping, as if she had rationalized even this as proof that Lucien was still in him and wanted her at his side. “For what they did to you and for what they have done to others, yes. I will help.”

She eyed up Beau, Nott, and Caleb and then shifted her focus to Keg, who coughed and looked away. “After all, it seems your traveling companions are subpar at keeping you safe. That is my job.”

Beau cracked her knuckles, and Molly just gently forced her hands down. This was going to be a long fucking trip.

But absolutely worth it, if it got them their friends back. He could handle some discomfort if it meant they could hope again.