Moonlit Justice - RemusPrime - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

The crackle and pop of the campfire added to the sounds of jubilation. The refugees rejoiced with wine, another day survived. The thoughts of bloodshed and carnage, of goblin screams and ogre bellows, were swallowed up by drink and the comforting darkness beyond the camp.

Remus was cleaning his sword; a large rag wiping the red away to make it a pristine silver. The warmth and the glow meant that she could never sneak up on him, as the one horned tiefling joined his quiet vigil.

“Hey, soldier. You know; that thing suits you.”

The man looks down at the blade, quirking an eyebrow. Although the blood was washed away, he felt like he could still smell it, as if it clung to his rough beard.

“Because it came from a killer?” He asks quietly, his voice a little rough after the long days events.

The tiefling laughs, shoving his shoulder in a companionable manner, and he suppressed a wince as the heat causes his shirt to smoulder.

“No, dummy. That’s the weapon of a Paladin. Sure, those assholes we killed were fucked up followers of Zariel, but they could still smite.”

The man goes quiet, losing himself for a moment in the memory. The sheer unrelenting ferocity of the swords previous wielder had literally killed the now wielder. Remus had been struck so hard, and so fast, that he had started his journey to the other side. It was a fight they hadn’t been prepared for. Yet thanks to Shadowheart’s quick usage of a scroll of Revivify, he had returned to life, and due to Karlach’s unrelenting ferocity, the villains had been dealt with.

“That they could, my friend. I don’t want to think I’m anything like them.”

The muscular tiefling shrugs, holding a metal cup that seems to be glowing slightly in her other hand.

“I admit, you had me scared when we told that Drow we’d attack the grove with her. But I didn’t know you well enough, then. But you’re a good man, and a good pal. Now, the goblins are done, and we’re all here.”

She winks at him, and he smiles in return. Her enthusiasm is infectious, her love for life here in the moment. She’s called away to dance with Wyll by the fire, but Remus still doesn’t quite feel like celebrating.

He rubs his rugged beard tiredly, sheathing the sword and leaning it by his tent. A blade that had taken his own life, but now in turn, he used it to take the lives of others. Is that justice? He trusts no one will take it; even if Mol’s crew did, they’d bring it back when it was needed. He stands and raises a hand to return a wave from one of the archers he fought beside on the defences, but moves off from the light into a quieter patch of gloom beneath a tree. That archer was the only one of them that made it, and seeing her, just reminded him of the cold eyes of those who didn’t survive the battle.

The spot by the tree is already taken, however. Another tiefling, middle aged and masculine, sits by the tree, his eyes glowing with infernal light, matching the glow from the pipe in his hand.

“Taking a break from the festivities?” Zevlor asks quietly, his own voice tired and scratchy. He still wears his armour, his weapons nearby.

“A little loud for my tastes right now. Mind if I join you?”

Zevlor gestures with his pipe to the earth.

“I cannot deny you, our saviour.”

The words are genuine as much as they are jest. Remus shakes his head as he sits down on the earth near the tiefling.

“I didn’t save you. Your defences were strong.” Remus pauses glancing at the older man before adding. “Commander.”

Zevlor chuckles wryly. A small shake of his head causes the pipe smoke to twist in the air.

“Ah, you heard that, did you? No, just Zevlor. I am a Hellrider no longer. And it is I who should call you that, Hero. You can bluff and bluster all you like, but we all saw you out there today. I thought we were done for, when the goblins started raining in the sky from barrels. But you didn’t flinch. You stayed strong. And we won the day.”

There is a comfortable silence as Remus looks from the tiefling, back to the group celebrations. They sit with it for a couple of long minutes, before Zevlor speaks up.

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time here with an old grouch like me. You are young, and you should enjoy yourself.”

Remus looks back to him, avoiding the statement as she fields his own question.

“You used to be a Paladin, didn’t you? When you were a Hellrider, before the fall of Elturel.”

Something changes in Zevlor’s fiery gaze, and there is a quiet firmness to his words, a hellforged steel.

“I never broke my oaths, Remus. I am no longer a Hellrider, it is true, but I will always protect my people.”

He looks back to the human man, gaze considering. He gestures with his pipe, leaning an elbow on his own knee.

“I don’t know what darkness lurks within you, young man. But we all have our demons- or devils- to contend with. I wasn’t sure about you at first; I have met many men over the years with a love for gold and violence. Just take Aradin. Bluster, bravado. But you- you are not like them. You know how to fight, I have seen that. But there is more to life than fighting.”

He gestures again with the pipe, almost poking Remus in the chest.

“Do not lose that light you have inside you. These people-“

He gestures to the broad celebrations, to Wyll and Karlach dancing by the fire, to Gale sitting in animated discussion with Alfira, to Astarion and Lae’zel having sort of minor conflict about wine in hushed tones.

“They look to you for protection. The responsibility will scare you, I know it. You may not think so, but you chose this. Every day you make choices that will save lives. You chose to lead these people, and they, in turn, chose you to lead them. It is a heavy weight, my friend. But they all live because of you. They laugh, and sing, and dance. And isn’t that the best thing you have ever heard?”

The older tiefling closes his eyes, a smile upon his devilish features. Remus sits with him in silence, listening to the celebrations. The words of the veteran sink into him, settling in his stomach. They feel right, even as they don’t feel entirely accurate. His thoughts can’t keep him still, however, and he rises. Even Zevlor can see the dark stain in his soul, even if he doesn’t understand it.

“Thank you. Commander.”

Before Zevlor can protest at the reminder of his former rank, the younger human picks his way through the outskirts of the camp. The sounds of revelry fade more into the gloom, and the light of the fires is replaced with another, subtler light. The silvery light of the half moon shines down, and Remus finds himself on a mossy old rock, looking at a slope below that leads to a burbling brook far beneath.

He closes his eyes. He can almost feel the tingle of the moonlight on his skin, he can feel the autumnal breeze as it whispers through the coast, his brown hair flecked with the grey of a man two decades his senior dancing in the wind.

The sound of movement behind him causes his muscles to tense, the scent of leather and soap and sweat and something else on the breeze. A new smell. A bear?

Remus turns, and the looming shape of a muscular elf emerges from the shadows to stand beside him. Halsin, the newly rescued Archdruid, his scars darker in the moonlight. There are similarities between the two of them, despite being from different cultures and different walks of life.

The human glances up at the elf hundreds of years his senior, who’s own brown eyed gaze is fixed on the moon above.

“Have you seen the murals within the grove?”

The question catches Remus off guard. He doesn’t know why, but the Druid puts him slightly off balance. Perhaps the combination of the wisdom, the confidence, and the size of the man, an old, wild elf out of the stories like he used to hear as a lad around the campfire. He responds as he recovers himself.

“I have. Shadowheart told me, roughly, what they meant. The creation of the grove, the followers of Silvanus and Seluné, betwixt Harp and Wilde, tearing down the forces of darkness.”

The elf nods his head, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. A smile sits easily on his face.

“She cares for you, you know.”

Remus’ pulse quickens, and he feels sweat on his neck. Was he about to get relationship advice from the bear?

“Shadowheart? She told you that?”

He can’t stop the surprise from his voice, as Halsin looks at him, a single raised eyebrow.

“No; Seluné. Shadowheart can speak for herself.”

Remus feels like a trickle of cold water has dribbled down his spine. What must the Druid think of him. A young fool, bumbling around things far greater than himself. But the mention of the moon goddess unsettled him.

“…Oh. Shadowheart has nothing but bad things to say about Seluné.”

For his own reasons, Halsin smiled wryly.

“That young woman has her own path, shrouded in darkness as it is. And you have yours. You know, I have been a Druid for over a hundred years, Remus. I have not only spent time in the company of bears, but other animals. Badgers, squirrels, boar. And…wolves, also.”

The chill on Remus’ spine increases, as if he was plunging into an icy lake. No wonder the elf unsettled him so. The truth seen in those eyes of nature. He meets the gaze of the older and larger man, setting his jaw. He would not back down from this fight, just like any other. He doesn’t speak, waiting for the older man, and the elf continues.

“That parasite within your brain. The work of the illithid. It has suppressed the change; hasn’t it? Much like Astarion can walk in the sunlight, you need not fear the moon any longer. How many years have you been changing? I have not seen the bite upon you.”

Remus’s fight or flight instincts rage inside him. He could leap from the rocks, flee into the forest. But then the artefact would no longer protect him. And Zevlor was right. He had a duty to protect these people, now. He lets the tension leave him in a sigh, shoulders relaxing, forcing his blood calm.

“All of them, Halsin. I was born under the moon. It is in my blood.”

A flicker of surprise is obvious on Halsin’s face, followed by an earnest, sorrowful kindness. Remus feels a dulled surprise as the elf speaks.

“It is no wonder you walk on the edge of a knife, my friend. Have you ever sought out a grove? We Druids know much about shapeshifting, about assuming the forms of animals. Others of your ilk have come to me before.”

Remus can feel his anger rising. He feels the spite needing a release, that boiling resentment that simmers low within him.

“And what? You gave them a quick death, a silver noose?”

He grits his teeth, not backing down from this Druid who he feels like can see through him. This calm, wise elf, who is flaying Remus with his words, baring his unspoken truth to the night air. Halsin is silent for a moment, studying Remus’ face, his own expression grave.

“No. No, that is not my way. Those who are bitten can be cured. I have spent many long years relieving people of their curses as best as I am able. It is not always pleasant or easy-“
He holds up his hand to stop Remus’ next biting words, seeing them rising up already.

“And those who cannot be cured, I help as best I can. But it is Seluné is the Moonmaiden; and it is her who cares for you most deeply. You are her child, as are all lycanthropes. She weeps for those of you who hurt. It is she that knows the truth of your soul, Remus. Not I.”

The Druid continues on, speaking his words, the younger man staying silent, absorbing them.

“There is a power within you. I do not speak of the parasite. It is an old power, an ancient one. You must understand it, and learn it. We cannot hide from what we are. But I know this. You are a good man. From your actions, I have seen it.”

Halsin puts his hand out into Remus’ chest, a physical barrier between the human and the rocks below. A warm, physical connection, an anchor in the world beneath the moon. Remus can feel the primal power within himself, allowing himself to feel it rather than suppressing it, the call of moonlight singing to his blood, and his eyes take on a yellower tint as Halsin continues.

“I have seen you spare even goblins- and those whom the Absolute has claimed, where my rage does not permit me, and I would sooner see them dead. I have seen groves burn when these creatures are allowed to grow unchecked, following their dark powers.”

The Druid has a flash of anger to his eyes; that familiar look that Remus knows all too well, the primal urge to kill and tear. Perhaps Halsin has spent longer time as a bear than Remus has been alive. There is a connection between them, two wild animals staring each other down. But the Druid’s anger fades as quick as it came, and his hand eases on Remus’ chest.

“You intend to venture to Moonrise towers, and you will have to contend with a darker curse than the one you already carry. Your path is paved in moonlight, even if you do not see it yet. I will support you and your friends as best I can.”

Remus exhales, watching as the Druid turns to regard the rocks below, glistening with moonlight and water. With a shifting of bones, feathers and skin, the druid is replaced by a great silver owl, which launches towards the moon. The druid is nothing if not dramatic, Remus considers. He feels so tired, the import of today sinking into his bones. Not only the physical fighting, the screams of burning goblins, but the weight of responsibility he now carries.

All these souls, looking for him to guidance, as if he could see them through. Karlach, who had fought out of hell itself to taste the air of freedom. Shadowheart, shrouded in pain and mystery, who didn’t even know herself. Astarion, wit sharp as a blade, eager to stab it into any target. Gale, carrying an immense burden with an easy smile, the weight of a god’s eye upon him. Wyll, tortured by his own devilish adversary as much as he needed her power. Lae’zel, a weapon honed by centuries of a people dedicated to warfare.

And what was he? He had convinced himself he was just a simple man trying to get by with a blade and grit, keeping away from society so as not to harm anyone when the full moon took hold and the change came upon him. He used to travel from town to town to do what he could, make a little money and help those who needed it.

But all these people- he couldn’t deny it any longer. They considered him a hero, a leader, a saviour. And he supposed he was, even if he didn’t feel like it. As Halsin and Zevlor said, his actions had spoken louder than anything else. Perhaps there was more to life than just survival, than the simple fight.

As he looked up at the moon, the trail of her tears drifting around her, the sound of music drifted from the camp, Alfira’s voice lifting up in song. He should rejoin them. A dark haired beautiful and scarred half elven face weighed heavily in his thoughts, unbidden, conjured by the night air. Shadowheart. She had a primal fear of wolves. What would she think, if she knew? Would she run? Halsin would keep his secret, he knew, at least for now. But that was a problem for another night. This day had enough problems already.

He turned back, to rejoin the celebrations.

Moonlit Justice - RemusPrime - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

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