In a world where the Absolute did not rise, Gortash still comes to power in Baldur's Gate. The Harpers and their allies hope to end his meteoretic rise with a meteoretic fall. Can a downtrodden Harper and a struggling Chosen find love along the way - and realize there's more to life than duty? Content Warnings: Themes of abuse, self-hatred, depictions of mental illness, past unhealthy relationships, canon typical violence All graphic content will be spoilered Cast: Delton Naïlo - an Ilmateri cleric with a clinic in Eastway and faithful ally to the Harpers (Played by @Bee (Tav: Delton)) Symon Cresswell - a spy and assassin for the Harpers who's dedicated his life to stopping Gortash and saving his city (Played by @Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+))

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Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Bee (Tav: Delton)

traver1111

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Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Bee (Tav: Delton)

traver1111

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Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Bee (Tav: Delton)

traver1111

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Delton is really trying here. Laena is making good points, reminding him of a very valuable and important perspective. But he just doesn't have the energy to keep dealing with her gentle prodding, even if she means well. For a few minutes, he chatters about the kids and their interests before he ducks into the back room. He tells himself Symon needs to see his sister. That he's worrying her horribly. If he's honest with himself, however, he just needs backup. He hums a little hymn, a Sending spell on his tongue. "Hi, Symon. It's Delton. Would appreciate you at the clinic, if you can. Laena's here too. Um, bye. And thanks."

Poor social skills aside, Helaena does realize something’s wrong. Delton retreating to a back room in a thinly veiled attempt to escape her just confirms it. Damn it, Lae. Great job. Pushing a man who’s already down. She decides to put the kettle on as a form of apology.

Symon starts awake at the sound of Delton’s voice, his head for once foggy with deep sleep instead of drink or nightmares. He’d more or less passed out as soon as he got back to his flat, his exhausted body demanding rest, no matter his own feelings on the topic. “Is something wrong? I can be there in a quarter of an hour,” he vows. And thanks. Simple words, with many possible meanings. Thank you for walking me back to my clinic? Thank you for calling in your overbearing sister? Thank you for letting me use you as a pillow? Thank you for gently steering Cal away when he started asking questions about the Harpers? “I’ll be there as soon as possible. And thank you too, Delton.”

When Symon's come through, all Delton can feel is guilt. He doesn't want Symon to worry. He just figured he'd want to see Laena... Humming another tune, he sends another Sending, "No rush. Just figured you'd want to see your sister and the clinic. No need to thank me. Didn't do much." After that, Delton goes around the back room he's in and closes the curtains. He then curls up on a cot in the fetal position, face buried in his knees and arms around tbdn. He prays that his skin will stop itching and it won't be so hard to breathe soon.

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Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

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He's already half-dressed and on his way out the door. "I'll be there," he reiterates. "Look after yourself, Delton. You've been through at least as much as the rest of us have. Let others help you, please." It's only a few more minutes before he's half-running down the streets. Delton might not think there's a rush, but Delton also thinks his clinic being destroyed is barely worth note. He'll believe it when he sees it. Besides, Laena's probably got the lecture of the century planned. Might as well give her the chance to give it as soon as possible.

Helaena makes tea. A simple ritual, one done at least once a day for years, in the mornings, in the evenings, in the afternoon, hundreds of blends, different pots, different cups, different kettles. For herself, for her family, for loved ones, for friends, for her apprentice when he needs to sit down and slow down and think through a problem instead of barrelling ahead. This tea is an apology. A weak one, of course, but it's what she can do now Delton's clearly searching for time by himself. TIme away from her. She's always been too much. He's just overwhelmed, she reminds herself as she makes a small tray with a few cookies and a sliced apple, in case Delton has, as she suspects, skipped breakfast. It's no one's fault. But there are few things so bad a good cup of tea doesn't help, at least a little.

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Bee (Tav: Delton)

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Delton just sits in the dark room, trying not to have a meltdown beyond what is currently happening. His thoughts are screaming at him all of the things that are wrong with him and his body feels like someone is roughly scratching sandpaper all over him. He's humming little prayers and trying to do the breathing exercises Theo taught him so long ago. Usually, they help. Today, ||he just wants to slice himself to ribbons.|| So, instead, he tries to self-soothe in the silent room.

Helaena knocks at the door of the back room, tray in hand. "Delton? You don't have to talk to me, or leave the room, but I made tea. I'll leave it here, okay? I'll be in the clinic cleaning up if you need anything. Take as much time as you need. Feel free to Send me or write a note or something if that's easier." Her voice is pitched softly, well aware Delton's ears are plenty sensitive enough to hear her. "I'm sorry you're suffering, friend. I'll leave you be." The tray is set at the door, a small pot of a soothing herbal tea, the scent of chamomile prominent in the blend, sitting next to a cup, a saucer with little ginger snaps, and a sliced apple. She's doing what she can. It doesn't feel like enough. The least she can do is make the clinic one less thing for Delton to worry about, right now.

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Bee (Tav: Delton)

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A quiet and weak voice is softly projected into Laena's ears, "Thank you. Just, my brain not agreeing with me. Not your fault. Sorry." He sounds strained, like the words cause physical pain.

Delton burrows himself deeper into a ball, really trying to breathe through the sensations. He's already counted down from one hundred in three languages. He starts again in Common, from two hundred. He knows he should go and get the tea, put something in his body. But the idea of getting up sounds like being sent to Hell. His clothes will shift against him and his hair will touch his neck and- Right now he just needs to lay here until the world stops being so loud.

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Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

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My brain not agreeing with me. It's not something she's unfamiliar with. Being so overwhelmed she can barely breathe, much less speak. Sound is the worst for her, smell hot on their heels. Sensations can be a struggle, too, anything sticky or tacky or itchy torture on too-sensitive skin. She hates itchy clothing at the best of times. Helaena isn't very religious, but she sends a silent prayer to any deities that might listen as she casts a spell she invented, or, well, modified, herself. For her, at least, it helps. Gods, she hopes it'll help Delton, too. The ward gently dampens most sensory input, mellowing smell and lowering sound, especially anything loud or high-pitched. Were there any sharp lights in the back room Delton's hiding in, he'd find them to be weakened to a manageable level. It's not perfect. Nothing is. But it helps.

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Bee (Tav: Delton)

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Delton immediately notices the dimming of the sensory input. Laena, you're an angel. It's not perfect. His brain is still trying to delineate every single thing he's done wrong today and, well, in his lifetime. But at least the feedback loop is weakened. So right now he just needs to focus on breathing and not letting the compulsions take over. It's been a long time since he's had this bad of an episode. Probably not since Theo died and he relapsed. There's a reason they keep razors locked in the house, after all.

She's enchanting seemingly every cleaning article found in the clinic to sweep, wash, wipe, dust and shine on their own when her brother shows up, hair a bit too messy, scruffy stubble a bit too long, worry tensing the lines of his face, but safe, uninjured, if not well then at least not as bad off as he could be. "Symon!" She ambushes him with a hug, then punches his arm, only a little lighter than if she actually meant it. "No word for a month and then you Send me out of nowhere like that?" she demands.

"Geez, Lae, give me a second to- Ow!" He's not surprised by the punch, not that she put much strength behind it. If anything, it makes him smile. Laena's only really violent when she cares. It's nice. Nostalgic. Reminds him a little of that time he slept with her roommate at academy and she went apoplectic with rage. Over a decade ago, now. "I'm fine, in case you were wondering. Nice apron," he teases, eyeing the grey-and-red striped garment she's put on over her robes.

"Oh shut your trap you ridiculous- _ugh._" She hugs him again, squeezing him as hard as she can manage. "Please don't disappear like that," she begs. "I know you can't always tell us what's going on, but at least Send us or send a note to let us know you're alive. Please."

He sighs and hugs her back. It's not that he doesn't try, but it often feels like there isn't much to say. I'm still in a layer of the Hells right here on Toril, yes it's awful, no I can't get out, how's Gran's hip doing? "I'll do better," he promises. "With things the way they are in the city, I doubt I'll be asked to go elsewhere for a bit. It's just not safe for you to be associated with me."

He's right. She hates it, but he is. Her position is precarious as it is, even if she's officially unaligned in the conflict waxing and waning just under the surface of a city consumed by terror and tyranny. Openly associating with her traitor of a brother is as good as a one way ticket to one of Gortash's secret prisons. Delton is dangerous enough, and he's not openly opposing Gortash. He's simply holding to the Ilmatari principle of healing those who need it, rather than those approved by the Archduke. Guilty until proven innocent. Implication is enough for suspicion, association enough for an execution. No one is safe under the Black Hand. "You snuck in?"

"Of course I did. Who do you take me for?" He's fortunate enough to have an appearance nondescript enough to be hard to pin down. Average height, common coloring, no easily identifying marks by design. There had to be a thousand men with brown curls and blue eyes just in Baldur's Gate. It also makes it incredibly easy to disguise himself. The cap and jacket he'd discarded at the door, the undershirt and sturdy, well-patched trousers of a laborer plenty to make him close to invisible. And he'd gone through a back entrance. Of course.

"I don't know, Symon, you-" She groans and rubs her forehead. "Would you like some tea?"

"Would I like _tea?_"

"Yes, tea. You pour hot water over leaves or herbs. _Tea._"

"Uh, sure?"

"Great." Tea it is. Tea is a lot more manageable than her brother.

Delton's brain is starting to wind down, just a little. He's going to stay in this position for a little while longer, however. He doesn't want to do too much too soon and go right back to the beginning, after all.

The tea's gone by the time he thinks to ask where Delton is, and realizes something is, in fact, wrong. The tray Laena left for him is untouched. Not a great sign, by any means. He knocks, gently enough it hopefully won't hurt sensitive ears. "Delton? Is there anything we can do? We won't bother you if you want to be alone, but we're not far, okay?" Experience with his sister aside, he has no real idea what to do. How to help. How to _fix this_. Because he knows it can't be fixed, unfortunate as it is.

A good sign is that he doesn't flinch from the knock. But that doesn't mean he feels up to talking through a door. Another hummed hymn and a Sending right into Symon's ears. 'You can come in, if you want. Just please don't be loud or touch my skin. Don't sorry about me...' He curls a little further into his blanket, only his red hair sticking out. Maybe he can try to sleep the bad thoughts away...

He does his best to make no sound beyond the ones necessary to keep from startling Delton with his presence as he opens the door and looks into the room. Delton's curled up in a cot along the far wall of the room, as far away from the covered windows and the door as he can get. All that's visible of him is a lump under a blanket and a shock of red hair. At least Laena had explained the issue was psychological rather than physiological, or he'd be even more terrified. He seemed unharmed, just stressed. But he hid it well, until he excused himself. I feel like it's at least partially my fault. Of course it's not your fault, Lae. It's just been a rough few days for all of us. He'd hugged her again before going to find Delton. She was taking her frustration out on some alchemical reagents necessary for some sort of potion now. Don't be loud, don't touch his skin. So his voice is barely above a whisper as he crouches down at the side of the cot. "Delton? Is there anything I can do that would help?"

Delton turns, lifting his head so normally vibrant green eyes - now much duller - can be seen. His voice sounds wrecked and pained when he speaks. "Hi. Sorry. Sometimes my brain doesn't like that I exist," when he's in this much physical pain, he becomes much more truthful. "Don't worry. Done this before. Just need to wait it out," a pause, "Another blanket?" His words are quiet, his accent no longer that neutral Waterdhavian lilt. Instead, it's very halting and stilted. The usually wordy cleric is reduced to smaller words - words he doesn't have to think about so much. The stress is making him shiver, however, even under the blanket like he is.

Sometimes my brain doesn't like that I exist. It hurts, almost physically so, to see the cleric who commanded a safe house filled with hardened killers and cocky adventurers in the midst of a catastrophe like it was nothing, shivering and barely able to speak. "Another blanket," he agrees, his voice still soft. The blankets in the clinic are the thin, easily washed kind so common to hospitals, so he grabs three, just in case, and spreads two out over Delton's trembling form, careful not to touch him. "Would you prefer I leave?" He's trying to speak as little as possible, simple yes/no questions Delton won't have to answer verbally, hopefully won't have to think too deeply about. He's trying with all he has to help.

Delton thinks about it. "It's nice...not to be alone...helps a bit..." Because it does. It's easier to bite back the feedback loop that screams your a burden when people take care of you willingly. It's easier to remember the good you do when people care about you. It doesn't make it all go away, but it helps. He snuggles further under the blankets. They help, a little. His body is no longer being wracked by shivers every moment. But a shiver breaks through every one in a while. "Sorry...that you have to...clean up my messes..." His brain is letting up, just a bit. But he feels like all Symon has done for him is clean up after the disaster that is Delton Naïlo. It makes him feel indescribably guilty.

”Then I’ll stay,” he assures Delton without a moment’s hesitation. His smile is sad, but reassuring too. It tries to say it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. “I’m not cleaning up any mess. Right now, I’m just here for a friend who needs me. A friend who’d do the same for anyone who needed it.” He wants to reach out to squeeze Delton’s hand, but the instructions were no touch, so he doesn’t. Well, no, the instructions were no skin contact. So maybe… “Delton, would you mind if I touched your hair or rubbed your back? It helped La- I mean, it can help, when you’re anxious or upset. You can say no.”

Delton nods again, a grateful hum coming out of his throat. "Thank you, Sy...You're a good friend..." Even as much pain as Delton's in, he's still hopelessly sincere. "Laena is...okay? Didn't mean to worry...but needed to do something..." Before I did something stupid. He curls in on his blanket again, grateful for the covering. At Symon's question, he pauses. Would that help? Yes, it would. Theo used to do things like that. And, well, hopefully it wasn't a Theodus-specific cure. "Y-Yeah. Thank you. Don't have to. Seems like too much trouble...for me...' His brain has quieted, but it's not silent after all.

”I do what I can,” he demurs with a small smile. “And Laena’s just fine, I left her having a blast figuring out how many dustpans she could animate at once. She’s worried about you, but gets that you need some space.” At Delton’s consent, he starts to gently run his hands through the healer’s soft, bright red hair, careful not to scratch his scalp or touch his skin directly. “It’s no trouble at all, Delton. I’m just trying to help, yeah? You’re not troubling anyone. I just want to do what I can to make you feel better.”

Delton relaxes a little when he hears that Laena is blaming herself for this. It's not her fault that his brain is a mess. The petting to his hair is nice and it helps release some tension, helping him not feel so tight and weak. "I am trouble, Symon. I just keep pulling you into my messes. Three times now..." His voice is quiet and sad. "I promise I'm not usually this useless. But it's been one thing after another. And I think my brain couldn't handle it anymore." The massacre, then the nightmare - a bad one at that, and then the realization yesterday. Plus the criticism from both Gale and Laena this morning - well-meaning, but just too much. "...are you okay? You sounded a bit...stressed...in your messages." Stressed enough to make the conclusion that something was wrong, when Delton said nothing of the sort. Something was wrong, but Delton wasn't calling Symon for him to take care of him. Honestly, he just wanted to make sure Symon saw his sister. For both their sakes.

”I thought we established I’m the one who’s trouble,” he counters gently, his fingers still running through Delton’s hair. “Delton, I think everyone who was in that safe house was affected, one way or another. There’s no shame in feeling the effects, even a few days later. It was… horrible.” He’s a fucking hypocrite. “I’d say I hope things settle down a little, but… it’s the silence before the storm at best. We should all get what rest we can.” Is he stressed? Is he ever not? “I’m fine, Delton, I promise. And Laena got the chance to hug me and then punch me so she’s happy. You just sounded… off. It made me worry.” Sure, seeing his sister was nice, and long overdue, but… There’s still a bit of that foolish boy who signed up because he wanted to help in him. It’s very difficult for him to ignore suffering.

"You need to take care of yourself too..." Delton has been a cleric for fifteen years. He's trained in perception and insight. He knows that Symon doesn't give himself enough credit or breaks. The man was willing to almost destroy his shoulder, after all. "You were *there*...that's not easy." Delton is just dealing with the fallout, after all. But this has just been a trying few days. His eyes close as the petting continues. "My...best friend wants me to move back to Waterdeep." Had pretty much threatened to drag him home by his pointy ears, actually. Gale has tried everything. Blind dates, begging, bargaining...He hasn't managed to crack Delton yet, but he has thought about sending the kids to live with their Uncle Gale. His network can't be without a spymaster, after all. "That...plus my episode yesterday...and Laena's prodding just made my brain start to lose it. Will be fine." The nagging voice in his head says he's trapping Symon here, making him listen to his sob story. "You don't have to stay. I...like having you here, but you don't need to feel like you're ob-obligated." His control of his mouth hasn't fully returned yet. And he's also speaking his third language.

"I'm taking care of myself, I promise. Looking after others helps." It's a healthier distraction than his usual ones. There can't be anything wrong with reassuring his sister and soothing a friend, can there? "I think... I think it's still sinking in. What happened. I'm not sure if trying not to think about it is the best way to handle it, but it's how I'm staying functional right now." He listens as Delton speaks. Delton's friend likely has a point. Especially with the kids... The Gate isn't a safe place to be, right now. It's not like he hasn't made the argument for his family to leave. They refuse, of course. Stubborn buggers, the lot of them. He loves them more than anything. "I'm sorry it all became too much. Sometimes it's the smallest thing that's the last straw." A word, a touch, one more thing going wrong... He's no stranger to the strange paths of spirals. "I don't feel obligated, Delton. I'm here because I chose to be. If I didn't, I'd be cleaning up the clinic with Laena, or not have shown up at all. I'm not going to leave you alone unless you ask me to," he vows. To him, it's the least he can do.

"But who looks after you?" The words fly out of his mouth without his consent, but it's a thought that's been on his mind ever since he saw the man the first time. "Not thinking about it...will only get you so far..." It's the road to ruin, that one. Avoiding it just makes the fallout worse. He slowly leans forward, sitting up. He's careful to not remove the blankets from on top of him, because he's still very cold. He leans into the gentle petting. The meltdown part is over, but his skin will be sensitive for a while yet. "Thank you, Symon. You're a good friend. Probably might be...off for the rest of the day though..."

His family, he thinks immediately. Aly. Jaheira. The rest of the Harpers. When he lets them. And that’s the real problem, isn’t it? “I’m hoping it gets me until the worst of this is over,” he admits, mostly to himself. Giving up is not an option. Neither is leaving the fight. So all he can do is… keep going. He carefully wraps the last blanket around Delton’s back as he sits up, ensuring he won’t get too cold. The other man looks better, but hardly well. “I try,” is all he says to Delton’s insistence he’s a good friend. He does try. A good Harper, a good son, a good brother, a good friend. Whether he succeeds is another matter entirely. “And don’t rush it. You have nowhere you have to be. If you’d like, though… I could reheat the tea my sister left you. Or make some fresh. It might help.”

He's grateful when the blanket is wrapped around him, giving Symon a small but genuine smile. Taking stock of his senses and deciding he's okay with some physical contact, Delton reaches out and takes Symon's hand. "You can talk to me, Symon. I'm not going to judge you or try to fix you. But you're going to get hurt if you don't stop and process. And you being hurt is going to hurt the people you love," his voice is slow and halting, interspersed with pauses. But he means what he says. "And you succeed," he says, seriously, "even to people you just met." Pulling the blanket a little closer, he chews on his lip. "You can just reheat. Don't go through the trouble of making a new one for me."

He squeezes Delton's hand, hoping the touch is reassuring for the cleric, too. "I don't think I'm ready to talk about it yet. But I hear what you're saying, I promise." If I stop to process, I'll never get back up again. I can't stop now. This is too important. I'm needed. I'm actually doing some good, for once. "The last thing I want is to hurt or worry the people who've made the foolish choice to love me even more." His smile is faint at Delton's reassurance. He's glad he got it right. At least this time. "Laena probably made a fresh pot if I know her. Are you alright being left alone for a minute? I'll be right back, I promise."

Delton nods, pulling the blanket a little closer around him. He looks exhausted. Your brain actively fighting you is taxing, after all. He's tired but at least he's upright now. Maybe when he gets some tea in him, he can figure out things he can do that won't send him back on the downward spiral.

He returns a few minutes later, fresh tea in hand. Say what you will about the Cresswells, but their Gran has trained them well on how to look after someone struggling. First line of attack and defense? Tea. In this case, a soothing chamomile blend fortified with honey. “Have you eaten anything today?” Symon asks while pouring Delton a cup. “I know it’s no use to tell you you should, you know that already, but if there’s anything that’s easier for you to eat I’ll do my best to find it.” He knows Laena’s safe foods like the back of his hand, or at least what they were a few years ago, and at least a few comfort foods for every other person he cares for. Sometimes a bowl of chicken soup can make a world of difference.

Delton takes the tea gratefully, letting the cup warm his hands and the smell soothe him, just a little. "Thank you." He hasn't eaten anything today. The lecture this morning had soured his appetite which he should've taken as the first sign that he needed to take a step back. He knows his face reveals he hasn't eaten. He'd be on his children's cases if it were them. "Soup is...easy. Clear broth. I, um, don't eat meat. Fruit or toast might be okay..." Yes, he's raising three tieflings who often eat meat a little rawer than he would like. That means he cooks meat. That doesn't mean he has to consume it.

”Vegetable broth, fruit or toast,” he echoes with a nod. He immediately brings over the sliced apple from Laena’s tray, kept pristine with one of her spells. “How about this to start, then I’ll see about getting you some toast and soup?” he offers. Soup he might have to leave for, but toast should be possible to whip up from what Delton keeps in the clinic. Being vegetarian and raising tieflings must be a challenge.

Delton nods, picking up an apple slice and fidgeting with it. He doesn't really feel like eating, even if he should. "Thank you. I'll...try." He starts to nibble on the apple, small bites to make it easier to get through. Food and he have been on strained terms for a long time, after all.

He doesn’t want to leave. Part of this is the realization Delton’s unwell, that he shouldn’t be alone. Part of it is he plain and simply doesn’t want to leave. Yes, the cleric’s doing better, sitting upright, talking, stomaching direct touch, drinking tea. He’s still clearly unwell and will be for some time yet. The competing desires to get soup and to not move an inch are leaving him conflicted. “Do you have what I’d need to make you some vegetable broth in your house?” he asks. “You would be more comfortable resting there, too.” And it’s safer. Paranoia never strays far from his thoughts.

"Symon, really, I'm fine. You don't need to worry," he says with a weak smile. He still doesn't feel up to standing up, but he sips at his tea. "I really don't want to bother you even more than I already have." Symon seemed to drop everything for Delton. He doesn't deserve that. "I'm sure that you have a million better things to do, Sy, than take care of a stubborn and idiotic cleric." It's silly that he even had an episode.

”Well, I’m here already, might as well make myself useful, right?” He smiles as he sips from his own cup of tea, even if chamomile isn’t exactly his favorite. “You’re not bothering me. And since you made the argument I’m not fit to get back in the fight, mentally if not physically, no, I don’t have anything better to do than being right where I am.” The only other plan he had was a vague idea of getting in touch with the rest of his family, but Laena is right here, so that makes that a lot easier. “Besides, been ages since I cooked, don’t thank me until you’ve confirmed the results are actually edible,” he jokes.

Delton's smile brightens slightly, ducking his head a little in embarrassment. "I guess I did convey that. Um, yeah - I should have the ingredients in my house. I, um, like to garden." His house is full of plants after all. His garden has fruit trees, vegetables. flowers, and herbs . He likes a variety of plants, after all. "I, um, don't want to leave Laena. That feels unkind. And I've already been unkind enough."

"I think she's been making pretty decent headway on the cleaning and tidying part of things," Symon muses, cataloguing the massive difference in the state of the clinic when he first saw it the day before and when he arrived today. "If you'd prefer your privacy, you could probably make the argument she can just as easily start to work on restocking from her tower. If not more easily." Knowing Laena, she'd have every ingredient she'd need in stock, and then some. "Delton, what matters is what will make you feel better. Laena won't mind, I promise you. I'd prefer you weren't alone when you're... unwell, but I'm not going to force anyone's company on you, me or my sister's included. There's nothing unkind about prioritizing your own welfare."

Delton shakes his head, "It's not my privacy I care about - I just got overwhelmed. I feel guilty, letting other people clean up my messes..." Whether the physical evidence in the clinic or, well, the mess that I am. He sips at the tea again. "I think...I think company would be good. It's easier..." to remember people care, "when I have company."

"Then I'll stay." It's as simple as that. The cleric's clearly doing better, speaking without too much trouble, sitting upright, able to at least stomach tea. It's progress. Symon would very much prefer to keep building on that instead of reversing it by introducing more stress or potential triggers. "Take your time with your tea. I'll be right back, I promise. Is there anything I can get you?" It's truly unfortunate he can't make soup appear out of thin air. That would be a lot more useful than his magic's ability to charm or ensnare, most likely. More practical in everyday life, at least.

Delton just shrugs, sipping at his tea even more. He's not used to people caring for him when he's like this. Well, not since Theo died at least. Usually, it's on him to care for other people. The role reversal is a little...disconcerting at best. Watching Symon go, he keeps a mantra of positive things in his head, trying to distract himself. He won't spiral. Not again.

Laena, as it happens, seems to be done with almost everything she can do at the clinic. With an assurance that Delton's feeling better, and Symon will stay with him for as long as necessary, she sets off for her tower again, with her apologies. As if she has anything to be sorry for. "Laena had to head back to the tower. Are you feeling up for the move to your place? I'd rather not leave you here." And the wards wouldn't let him in on his own, of course. "And you should be as comfortable as possible. No way in hells should you be doing anything but resting for the rest of the day. You should, regardless, I doubt you got more than one night's sleep over three days in the safe house."

About six hours over three days. He's not going to say that though. Delton thinks Symon might get a little upset at that knowledge. "Yes...I should be fine to move," he sighs a little, "Symon, I've ran on much less before. I'm okay to be up and moving." The safehouse was, by far, not the worst massacre he witnessed. Unfortunately, he doesn't doubt he'll see stuff out of his worst nightmares as this conflict goes on.

"That's not very reassuring, Delton," Symon counters with a huff, slightly amused. Grim humor can do a lot. It's been a steady companion over the years, especially once the bodies started piling up. "I don't want to be a mother hen, but it's fair to say you're not at your best. You need rest. I think we all do. I slept like a rock last night, and that's after I passed out on your couch." Passed out... with Delton. Waking up with Delton curled up against his shoulder. We were both running on empty. Far from the strangest situation I've woken up in, anyway.

Delton can't help but smile into his tea, the slightly amused huff Symon releases a little endearing. "I think some rest would be good for the both of us. And you're not going to get any if you're worrying over me," he points out. Sighing, he rubs his hand across his face, "How about you make me soup and in exchange you stay around the house and relax? Let me not worry that you tucked me in just to go jump into something dangerous."

The wildest plans he might have had was dropping off a message to his parents, but fair enough. He still doesn’t really feel the urge to shut his mind off with as much distraction as possible, be it a fight, a fuck or enough alcohol to down an ox. It’s still there, niggling at the back of his mind, but mostly he just wants to be right where he is, looking after a friend. “That sounds like a good deal,” he agrees. “I can stay put for an afternoon, at least. I might have to ask you to borrow some stationary, though.” No harm in getting started on that long-overdue letter to his family, after all. They know why he hasn’t contacted them, but they still deserve to hear it.

Delton nods at that, continuing to sip at his tea. "I'm pretty sure I have stationary to spare." He's raising three school age children. He has so much stationary to spare. But, he worries. Worries a lot for the man in front of him and his utter disregard for his own safety and well-being. Keeping an eye on him gives Delton some peace of mind. "...Did you get to spend time with Laena?" He really hopes he didn't bring Symon here for him to shirk his time with his sister. They both needed it, he could tell.

His smile widens. “I did. She spent most of it badgering me for not writing home, as you’d expect, but she bullied me into promising to write our parents. You can only get so much into a 25-word message.” Visiting would be wonderful, but, well, it’d have to be to somewhere neutral. Somewhere they wouldn’t be damned if he got spotted on his way in or out. In public, preferably, but that increases the risks of getting seen together… He hadn’t considered it worth the risk. His sister had quite adamantly disagreed, and he’d promised to do his best to find a way. “I miss them,” he admits. “All of them.”

Delton reaches out and squeezes Symon's bicep. "They definitely miss you too." He can't imagine not seeing one of his kids for months. The very thought makes him anxious. He sighs and starts to get up, shivering when he leaves the warmth of the blankets. "I suppose we should head over. Though I hope that I'm not too reliant on Laena's spell..." It would be just his luck that he leaves the safety of the spell and spirals again. Frankly, he'd probably grit his teeth and get over it at this point.

”Oh, right, about that…” Symon fishes around his pocket for a moment until he pulls out a silver coin that shines a bit brighter than it ought. “Laena put the spell on this. Said it’ll recharge daily. Command word is… Silentium, I believe.” Without the intention, the spell doesn’t cast. His sister’s enchantments are clever like that. “She thought it might help if you had a bad time after she left,” he explains. “Spell lasts for eight hours.”

1

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Laena, you are an angel. He'll have to make her a cake for this. Gently reaching out, he takes the coin and pockets it himself. "You Cresswells sure are something." Giving, caring, unsure of your own worth. Take your pick. "I guess we ought to go. I'm sure Laena's going to Send me with all the new enchantments on the place." He just hopes it doesn't hurt people's ability to come and seek healing.

”Uhhh, I think she left a note. But it can wait.” Even his sister’s near-inexhaustible magical reserves had been near their limit when she finally admitted she’d done as much as she could. Symon has no doubt she’s got the place warded more tightly than the patriar vaults at the Counting House. Not that he’s personally tested those or anything, that would be silly. “And what do you mean us Cresswells I’ve heard from reliable sources the only things we have in common are the curls and the stubbornness.”

Delton nods with a smile. "It can wait," he agrees. The look on Symon's face actually makes him laugh. "No, I think you're much more alike than either of you like to admit. Stubborn to a fault, kind, caring. The things that count." "Even though I would argue that you're much more mischievous, Trouble." He shoots a cheeky grin, still not at its usual strength but a good faith effort.

Stubborn to a fault he’ll agree with but kind? Caring? Laena is those things, of course she is. He… tries. “I’ll take the reputation as the family trickster, then. My sisters can certainly attest I used to be quite the prankster.” He smiles at the memory of frogs left in schoolbags and the contents of the sugar bowl being exchanged for salt. “That was a long time ago, though. We’ve all been more or less grown for a while, if not necessarily always equally mature.” Siblings never really grow out of a bit of petty playfighting, after all.

Delton's laugh is more like a giggle, "I'm glad you have such a good relationship with your siblings. I hope my kids have that." His own siblings are...not good people. He doesn't really think about them if he can help it. "But siblings tend to bring out the pettiness in you, I think. Somehow, Rolan and Lia are always bickering over something." He's steady on his feet and gestures for Symon to follow him out the door.

He huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Gods know I did. With both my sisters." Cal strikes him as a sweeter kid than he'd ever been, though. Far less of a menace than his sister, despite both being the youngest of three. "I think your kids do. They're close." Rolan clearly felt protective over his siblings, perhaps too much so, but that's not surprising given their history. "I'd be a lot more worried about indifference than bickering. Bickering means they care."

Delton gives a weak smile at that. He knows all too well what indifference can foster. His siblings were the definition of indifferent to him. They didn't care if he lived or died, after all. "Yes, I try to foster a home where everyone feels comfortable. I just wish...that Rolan would remember I'm the parent, sometimes." His eldest is so used to doing it on his own. He doesn't know how to reassure him that he's safe and okay and allowed to be a kid.

”Well, judging by my own older sister… Sometimes it’s no good to tell the eldest they’re not responsible for their siblings. They just consider themselves to be, regardless.” Jeyne had always been the dutiful one. The sensible one. He loves her dearly, but he suspects her life would bore him half to death. “He’ll figure it out. He’s got you looking out for him.” He pulls on his cap again before venturing outside, covering his most distinctive feature. It’s not ideal for him to potentially be spotted with Delton, but it’s more important for the still-shaky cleric to not be alone right now.

Delton's smile strengthens slightly at that, "I know there's a degree where that won't change. But, I worry. Sometimes he tries to parent *me.*" Rolan is so used to having to be strong all the time, to being the one who's always okay. But he's just a kid. One of his babies. He's quick with leading Symon back to his house, the gate swinging open discretely before them and just the same behind.

”He’s protective of his family. And I suspect he’s a chronic control freak. Perfectionist. Many wizards are,” he adds fondly, thinking of his own sister. “I think you’re doing great, Delton. Even worrying about that instead of considering a kid who mostly takes care of themselves a blessing means you’re doing better than most.” The wards of Delton’s home brush against his skin, warm and comforting. Its owner welcomes him, and so does the house. “So, soup? Just the broth?”

Delton gives a little laugh at that. "My best friend is probably the pinnacle of that. Keeps setting me up on dates in hopes that he can get me to come back to Waterdeep." He's...considering sending the kids to live with Gale and Tara. But him? He's got work to do. "Convenient don't equal healthy children. I think...I think a lot of people need to learn that." He walks into his home, the subtle smell of healing herbs and cinnamon incense hitting his nose. It makes him relax, just a little. "...Yes. I'll probably be able to manage that."