Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rudolph Van Ricthen, the greatest monster hunter of his generation, had one last foe to slay.

His curse.

"All who are closest to you will fall to monstrosities"

Or at least, so he thought. Our friends had known that the real challenge was his fear of this curse that haunted him. Rudolph was just too stubborn to notice.

So, little by little, Ezmeralda convinced him that since she was strong enough to slay Strahd with the help of companions, that she could handle any claws the curse brought her way. To do so she had to write many,

Many,

Many, 

Letters to insist that the monsters should fear them, rather than the other way around. 

So sometime prior, he decided to test this "theory" and arrive early for Samhaim in the Emerald Hills. First, he would interact with strangers in a friendly matter (as much as he could manage), then the strange friends he met last year. And if The Emerald Hills were still intact by then, he would muster the courage to hug his daughter by choice: Ezmeralda.

That morning, Rudolph struggled with his patience. At a crossroads, he pondered a four-foot tall post with many signs, all written in the Halfling tongue. If the almost-too-blue sky and amber fields and distant crimson forests said anything, he was certainly in the Emerald Hills. This place is partially hidden from "tall folk" deemed to have ill intent.

Van Ricthen had correctly assumed that this was some powerful, ancient magic. Luckily, Rudolph had hidden his "monster-gear" in a lead-lined chest, in some hidden compart in his wagon.

A halfling farmer noticed his confusion, and strolled over. The man's balding head barely reached Van Ricthen's middle, but he had seen enough funny tall folk to know that this one was no threat. 

He gestured with his hand, which held a lit pipe, in greeting and smiled. "Down here, sonny," one old man said to another. "Which way are you tryin' to go?"

Van Ricthen looked down. "I am searching for the residence of an Artemisia Greenwood. Do you happen to know her?"

The farmer leaned his hand against the post, and raised an eyebrow at the tall stranger. "Do you think we small ones all know each other?"

Rudolph felt his pulse raise. "I did not mean to offend-" 

The farmer bawled. "I'm just fucking with you! Of course I know about the Greenwoods! That strange girl and her friends were town gossip all year! I just like messing with you new people."

Behind, Rudolph heard his horse scratch at the earth and snort in boredom from this pause. He took a deep breath, and continued:

"So, good sir, could you kindly direct me to the Greenwood residence?"

The farmer shifted so that his back leaned against the post. "If you're a friend, wouldn't she give you the address? You're not one of those Barovian characters, are you? You're all so strange." He said in between puffs of his pipe.

Van Ricthen did have the Greenwood address, but Artemisia did not give him directions for once he found himself within the Emerald Hills. He told her that there was no need. Rudolph had studied the Halfling language once, it's true. But that was an embarrassingly long time ago, and he only now realized how little he could read it.

Besides, he never thought he would risk paying a visit.

Rudolph blushed under the shadow of his hat brim. Before he could reply, he smelled something earthy from the old farmers' pipe.

"...Are you smoking fucking weed right now?"

Chapter Text

Somewhere in an enchanted druid's cave, that smelled of herbs and earth in the best way, a very dry voice droned in Buqi's, large twitching ears.

"Heeeeeey, Buqi?" 

Buqi awoke with a start, darting their head this way and that.

"HUH? What now!?"

They nearly lost their footing on the soft, mossy cave ceiling. It glittered with amber, gentle lights that hummed with magic.

The dry voice spoke again. It came from Exethanter, Buqi's companion in immortality. He is welcome to teleport in and out of Buqi's cave as he pleases. If it wasn't so humid, he would have asked to store some of his precious tomes there.

Exethanter is a withered old lich in black and red robes, that quite littlerally studied himself to the bone (his favorite joke). He has a startling appearance. But that's not what startled Buqi this morning. 

"Apologies, Buqi. Did I, startle you?", he said between his breaths". (Wait, does he breathe?)

"You know not to wake me in the morning like that! You have those creepy skull eyes." Buqi gently chided in their sleepy, grumpy state.

"I know," breathed the lich. "But you appeared... Erratic in your sleep. As if you were... disturbed?"

After a moment, Buqi's eyes opened fully, and they made their fall gentle with new, artisan-made wings. 

They glanced at the stone calander kept close to the sunny entrance, craved with druidic runes, and remembered the day.

"Oh! That's right! I was havin' a nightmare!", said the old bat.

They took a few, deep breaths and looked to the mirror set into the cave wall. Buqi looked exhausted, with dark eye circles and messy hair. They decided to fix the hair first, and went to their rustic drawers for the wooden comb Vola had given him last Yuletide.

"What, may I ask, was the subject of this... nightmare?", The Lich drawled in his peculiar voice.

This gave Buqi pause while plaiting their silver-grey hair. 

They took a deep breath. 

"Well, you know, it's been about a year..."

"A year? What a small measure of time. I prefer... Decades instead," he mused, as he often did when his mind got dusty in the mornings. 

"A year since I met him ," Buqi explained. 

The word "met" was an understatement. That trip through the Mists, that encounter with the Dark Lord, nearly cost Buqi their life. But it also might have saved it. It was the worst and best and most difficult time in the old bat's life, and they had survived. They even had new wings to show for it.

But somewhere in Buqi's heart, there was an ache. An ache that grew each time the day retreated into night sooner and sooner. 

Today was the day. Samhaim, a holy day on the Druid calendar that lines up with many autunmal festivals for the peoples of Faerun. But this year marked another milestone.

"...Buqi? You stopped your... braiding?" Exethanter drawled, with his head cocked slightly to convey confusion. The baubles on his favorite headdress jingled.

Buqi walked past Exethanter to their bronze, spring-fed basins and spouts. They continued to plait their hair and wash up.

"Well, he hurt me. And my companions, you know..."

"Yes, I witnessed your magnificent battles. Fate was uncertain at that time, so I watched closely. Is there still... A wound in their mind? Is it remedied with greater restoration? I could recite it, I may I have the necessary scroll and components." Exethanter offered.

Buqi, now washed and fully dressed, smiled warmly at his very strange friend.

"Not quite. But you're helping, old man."

Buqi picked up their pack with all the nessecities for the day: components such as incense, their homemade blackberry jam, and some halflings leaf "just in case". They didn't need to bring their own this evening, but some spare leaf never hurt. Especially with Granny Greenwood around. 

"My companion: I still do not understand why you insist on walking. I find it... Silly when we could just teleport," Exethanter told Buqi.

Buqi smiled once again at his companion.

"It's the journey through these woods that I like. Remember how I introduced you to everything in it? I have to greet the Spirit in every living thing on a day like this. It's a Druid thing."

"Ooooh, yes. Your Druid ways. I find them... Fascinating. You are permitted to show me these woods again, since my memory does not always serve me and the woods change throughout the short years." Exethanter informed.

Buqi chuckled softly to them self while packing. "Sounds like a plan," they said, now calm. Buqi strode towards the entrance for their carved wooden staff, with The Lich in tow.

With their clawed thumb, they gently pet the soft fur of the dried little bat nestled in its crook, and felt the staff's cool, wintery veins. The ice that took hold in the Amber Temple.

This was their Shelliegh, their druid's staff, and its features told Buqi's harrowing tale.

In their hands, it could cast maginicant winter storms, and bring tangles of bramble from the earth. But today, it will simply help Buqi hike towards the Emerald Hills, and admire the view.

"Are you all packed?," Buqi asked Exethanter. They noticed that he brought his silk and velvet bag of holding, with dark, swirling patterns.

"Yeesss, I brought my favorite accursed tome and top five favorite skulls. And I will not bring them out in front of the squishy mortals unless asked, as per your request."

He paused for a moment.

"Buqi? I meant to give you something"

The Old Bat paused at the doorway, morning light warming his fur. "Hmm?"

Out from his deep pocket, Exethanter produced what looked like the most ancient, rock-like cake, studded with dried currents"

"It is a soul cake. Samhaim tradition, correct. I am doing the 'trick-or-treating'. Does this count?"

The little red lights in his socket looked cheerful somehow. At least, Buqi could tell.

Buqi chuckled softly. "Yes it is!"

They gingerly picked up the cake and ticked into a kerceif for... Storage? This one didn't look edible. It must have stayed in the Amber Temple for centuries. 

But it was still a gift. 

"Thank you. Now, let's going! I want to feed my birds on the way, and we're going to lose our sunlight talkin' here all day!"

Exethanter looked at the dirty, grassy ground outside and opted to hover behind his Druid friend. 

And thus, two old bats sourjurn for Samhaim in the Shire.

Chapter Text

Sometime in the afternoon, two other “tall folk” walked hand in hand in the village square. One, to the delight of the local children and anyone who needed help putting up garlands, was very tall.

“Vola! Can you toss me up in the air again?,” One asked with wide eyes. He was half as tall as Artemisia, which made him microscopic to her.

Ezmeralda smiled and chuckled. “I told you they wouldn’t stop asking, babe. You have to be firm with them.”

“You’re right,” Vola said with conviction.

“They’re just so cute,” she thought. 

Vola prepared herself and told Tommy that she can’t toss him up in the air anymore, his mom said it was too dangerous. Remember last time? At the grape harvest festival he wound up on someone’s roof, couldn’t get down and cried?

Tommy bowed his curly head in recognition of the fact.

Ezmeralda, a local celebrity even before her last trip to Barovia, knelt down and told him that they could still play with them at the festival tonight.
With that, the tiny creature smiled and bounced to go run around in a field somewhere. Or whatever halfling children do.

The pair sat on a new bench made for to accommodate their size (especially Vola’s), and watched as townsfolk scurried to put up decorations and prepare their offerings for the evening ahead. The afternoon light shone gold on the hills, and, Vola noticed, on their wedding bands. Vola looked at the piece of amber embedded into Ezmerelda’s ring, the one she commissioned with a piece of the Amber Temple itself. She thought about their life plans and smiled.

“I like this place, but it’s so weird ,” Vola remarked. “I feel like I could just walk onto some of these house tops. I wouldn’t even have to jump,” She said, smiling at the funny image.

Vola was right. Almost every building in these hills blend in with the surrounding landscape. Bees buzzed among goldenrod on top of the school house behind them. She was glad Artemis had insisted she visit, of course. But it just wasn’t home for her. She grew up in a tribe that traveled over cold steppes under the watch of mountains, and trained with her family until she could hunt and fight for herself. So yes, Vola loved visiting her friends in the Emerald Hills. Art, as Vola liked to call her, lived with her granny and Ireena next door to her uncles. And Buqi was only a day away on foot. 

But she was itching for the road. And so was her fiance.

“Right after the festival, we’ll say our goodbyes and find some monster asshole to slay,” Ezmeralda promised.

“Hm?” 

“You were in your head again. Thinking about monster slaying?”

“Damn Ez, you’re getting good at reading me,” Vola said.

“Soon, you won’t be able to hide anything from me,” she mused. She leaned back on the bench, and let her arms hang from the back of the seat. She looked up at the sky. It was almost too blue here. Vola followed in her relaxation. 

“I think,” Vola said, “I want Art to officiate the wedding”.

“Oh shit,” Ez said. She went up with a start and put and pinched her brow. “We were so busy upgrading our gear that I forgot about our actual fucking wedding.”

“Me too,” Vola chuckled. She stayed seated. Her proposal to Ezmerelda was at the gates of Ravenloft, because Vola could not know if she would have another chance. But now? They had so much time. It was incredible.

“We can plan out specifics when we rejoin my people,” Ez continued. “But I think Lady Eva should officiate too. That’s usually her job at Vistana weddings”.

“Oh shit,” Vola realized. “I should go invite my family. I went out traveling for my Oath and forgot to update them after we killed Strahd,” She said. “I guess I could send a pigeon…”

Vola had joined Ez in leaning forward on their bench.

“Man, I am so bad at this wedding shit,” Ezmerelda muttered to herself.

“Babe, you’re not bad at anything,” Vola told her. She wrapped her arm around Ezmerelda’s shoulder. “It’s not like either of us have gotten married before. I thought I’d never have a relationship like this,” She said as she smiled.  

“Besides,” Vola continued. “I wanted to make sure we were ready in case in something fucked up our plans,” Her eyes wandered to the wicked scar left on her green, toned arm.

Ezmerelda’s gaze went to her intricate, bronze leg. “I get it, honey.”

The town’s hum had quieted as the people rushed inside for their fifth meal of the day. The sky blushed.

“So, what monster are we slaying for our honeymoon?” Vola asked.

Ezmerelda laughed. “Whatever asshole we find first.”

Vola smiled. “Come on, let's go see if granny needs help”

They stood, breathed in the chill breeze, and made their way back to the Greenwood residence. Hand in hand.

“I love that lady, she’s such a riot”

“As long as she doesn’t flirt with us again”