This is an alternate universe where Tucker survived the escape, but was recaptured by the Order and brainwashed into becoming an assassin for them. His first mission is to kill Morden.
He has light magic because that’s the running headcanon in my friend group.
CW: Blood, violence, implied/referenced torture
He stares at the dark-haired man in the valley. Is that his target? It must be, he looks just like the poster that his handler had.
Light magic shimmers at his fingertips, his hands burning slightly with the familiar pain of mana exhaustion. Gods, he just wants to go back to sleep. But he knows that he won’t get any rest until he kills the target, and even then only a few measly hours.
Far too short of a respite. He’s not really sure how much longer his body will hold up.
Stop, stop, he can’t keep thinking about that. Questioning his handler is forbidden, he learned that so long ago. And he doesn’t want them to have to reteach him.
The man is crouched by a tent, but looks up when he approaches. His eyes widen, jaw dropping.
“T- Tucker?” the target whispers.
No. The target is wrong, he’s not Tucker anymore. At this point he’s not sure if he ever was.
A ray of light sears into the man’s chest, followed by a stab of his knife.
Blood pools on the ground, the target falls to his knees.
He’s not fighting back. His eyes are full of horror, watering with tears.
“What did they do to you…?”
He stabs again, and again, the target finally resisting, trying to catch his arm, disarm him.
It’s not enough.
Distantly, he hears voices. People. Returning to the camp.
He can’t be caught here. Being exposed will earn him the harshest punishment that his handler can give.
The knife raises up for a final blow, interrupted when a silhouette leaps down from a cliff platform.
No. No, no, no, nononono–
Panic overwhelms him, and he drops the target, scrambling to run away. He can’t go back in there, he can’t–
They jump him, knocking him down onto his back. He screams, all pretense of stealth abandoned, and sets off a light explosion.
Wrists throbbing, he runs down the valley, desperately searching for an escape.
On the left and right, there’s nothing but sheer walls. Walls and-
A cave. He ducks inside without a second thought, regretting it immediately when he sees how it ends in a pool of water.
So this is how he dies.
At the entrance, the figure pauses, peering into the cave. Before they can give chase, though, someone grabs their arm.
It’s the target, wounds still bleeding, leaning on them heavily and talking to them, face twisted with desperation.
He can’t make out the words through the ringing in his ears.
He has to get out. Dipping his hands in the blissfully cool water, he only allows himself a moment of relief before blasting the cave wall with his magic.
Light sputters and dies against the unyielding stone, but he tries again. And again. And again.
Tears are running down his cheeks, the pain in his limbs extending up to his shoulders, the very act of charging a spell agonizing.
His legs are trembling, threatening to give out at any moment. He sinks down against a cave wall, hand clenched on the hilt of his dagger.
The world is blurring before his eyes. He’s tired. So, so tired.
Gentle hands take hold of his own, attempting to pry the knife out of his grip. Soft words reassure him, their meanings lost, but the voices are so achingly familiar.
Half-lost fragments of his memory seem to slide into place.
Player.
Morden.
But they’re dead.
No one can escape the Order.
And yet they’re here.
Dimly he realizes that they’re picking him up, arms tucked under his back and legs. It feels so warm, so safe, and after so long…
Why are they doing this? For him? A useless friend who couldn’t even plan an escape properly?
“You’re not useless,” Morden’s voice insists. “We never could have made it out without you.”
Morden’s wrong. He ruins everything, he knows it, why else would he have gotten caught? Without someone to give him orders, he’s not capable of anything.
Player lowers him to the ground, and he curls up again. He hurt Morden, and they haven’t said anything, they probably hate him.
Unfamiliar voices approach, and he tenses, ready for them to attack him while he’s vulnerable. With the state his arms are in, there’s almost no way for him to fight back.
There’s some arguing between the voices before Morden crouches down beside him, pulling him into a hug.
After a minute Player approaches as well, trailed by a scruffy older man and a fierce-looking girl. She seems upset, and he shivers, wondering if this is when the other shoe drops.
Instead, the strangers hang back as Player approaches him, pulling Morden to the side and all but pushing him to go take care of his wounds. They take the man’s place at his side, huffing as they inspect one of his arms, carefully turning it over and looking at the angry red marks stretching up his arms, his ley lines burnt out from overexertion.
A small tin emerges from the aether, its label smudged and illegible. Within is a strong-smelling tincture, which they wrinkle their nose at before starting to rub it onto his arms.
The substance is cool, and numbs the fiery pain that lances up his arms with every slight movement. It’s relief that he’s been denied for such a long time, and tears start to gather in his eyes again. He sniffles, unable to express his tangled mess of feelings with words, but they seem to understand, letting his head fall against their shoulder as he finally breaks down.
“It’s okay, Tucker,” they whisper.
“You’re safe now.”
There’s a bad ending version where Morden dies. It’s about 3x shorter so I wasn’t sure if it would be worth posting on the forum, but I can drop it in the comments if anyone is interested.
)