Disclaimer: I do not own Dice, Camera, Action or Dungeons and Dragons. Spoilers through episode 84.
Consolation Prize
In that moment, though lost in the depths of the Shadowfell with no exit in sight and the life slowly draining from three of their numbers, Paultin couldn't remember being happier. He had never treated the three foot tall construct as anything other than a living thing to be cherished, but seeing his adopted son standing before him with soft skin, round cheeks, and a surprised smile on his very human mouth, he had felt a rush of emotions like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Hearing Simon's first words, feeling warmth from the arms wrapped tightly around his neck, seeing the myriad of expressions he tried out on his new face - nothing could have possibly prepared Paultin for such a gift.
A "consolation prize", that's what the Raven Queen had called it. Something handed out to a loser in a display of pity. A reward of less value than that given to someone smarter, faster, stronger. An item of such little significance that it is generally thrown away or sold for something more useful.
He could have had a kingdom at his feet. The hand, the chalice, the ring - all dangled in front of him with the promise of power. But despite that promise being snatched from him, he found he didn't care. In fact, as he had picked up his little boy - his little human boy - and looked around at the friends who had stuck by him through all he'd done, he had scoffed at the Raven Queen's choice of words. "Consolation prize" - not a thing in the world, in any world, could have given him more joy than being able to see the admiration and mischief in Simon's big eyes.
How naive he had been.
It would be another few days before they found a portal leading out of the Shadowfell, and over that time it had been impossible to not notice how the ever present despair cast by the realm itself clung to Simon. As a construct, such a thing had no effect on him, but his human mind was susceptible to it's dark pull, and soon the playful smile melted into a tired and fearful frown. The voice Paultin had been so happy to hear grew silent, and he constantly caught Simon studying his hands. Perhaps he had already begun to curse his new existence even then.
Food also became an issue. With an extra mouth to feed and game scarce, the first pains that the boy experienced were those from hunger. Paultin had been more than willing to take a lesser share for his son's benefit, but the persistence of the Death Curse weakened him more and more each day, and there was only so much food he could do without before lack of energy to keep moving became a problem.
Constructs didn't feel emotions. Constructs didn't need to eat. They didn't grow tired or get scraped knees or cry.
But most importantly, they could defend themselves.
Leaving the Shadowfell behind at last should have been a moment of relief, but Paultin had merely sighed in exasperation when they emerged to find themselves in the midst of a zombie hoard. He had quickly sprung into action, returning to the lush, vivid jungles of Chult proving to lift everyone's spirits despite their predicament, but when he had turned to Simon with the order to attack, the look on the boy's face had stopped his adrenaline cold in his veins. A real mouth hung open slightly in confusion, his darts, his defenses having been stripped from him. He had no weapon and no armor, only an all too soft child's skin as feeble protection, and as a zombie scurried up behind the boy in his unsure state, ready to tear his claws into the delicate flesh, Paultin had panicked.
He wasn't sure he had ever moved so fast in his life, but as he ran to cradle Simon protectively, his mouth spewed magic and curses. Gigantic Thunderwaves blew both friend and foe off their feet as terrifying whispers drove some mad and sent others scurrying away. But despite his best efforts to fend them off and use his body as a shield, when all had grown quiet, the small boy's skin was still pale, streaks of bright red blood splashed across it in sharp contrast.
Evelyn had quickly and graciously healed the child, but Simon hadn't stopped shivering in his father's arms until late that night when sleep at last claimed him. This had been nothing like a scraped knee or an empty stomach. The pain had been sudden and intense, and on top of it all, his only means of self defense had been stolen from him, replaced by a flimsy body that tore and bled from attacks the construct had been able to shake off. The puppet that had once felled giants had become weak and vulnerable, fully dependent on those he could once help protect.
The playful personality that Paultin had loved and encouraged sunk deeper and deeper beneath growing layers of fear and paranoia. Every night Simon had questioned his current state of existence, begging to know why he had become so frail, helpless, useless, pleading for the pain to go away and the return of a mouth that could shoot poison at those who attacked him. Only Paultin's music had seemed to calm him, the boy falling into a fitful sleep in Evelyn's gentle arms as he played his mandolin.
Looking back on all of this, the Raven Queen's words rang like mocking laughter in Paultin's head. She had given him what he wanted, a Simon who was flesh and blood and could one day grow into a man he could be proud of, a man better than he had ever been. But it was not a gift bestowed upon a winner. In the end, it was not a gift at all but a curse. And as Paultin held the dead, frozen body of his consolation prize tightly in his numb and shaking hands with Miranda smiling cruelly down at him, he couldn't help but think that he had been given something so precious purely for the sake of allowing the Raven Queen's new champion the pleasure of ripping it all away.
A/N: Well, this is now my third DCA fic in a month. Guess this is my life now! This is what happens when everyone starts worrying about how squishy Simon would be if he was a full human.
As always, critics and grammar police are appreciated!