#& nettelia 002

[safiyebalik]

who: @netteliax where: Lupercalia

It had been a day of fighting hellhounds and kelpies, wiping the sweat from her brow, she grinned. It was a pity that she lost but she was in public and so had to keep a good spirit for the crowd. While leaving the arena, she shot a cold look in Octavian's direction -- she hated losing and he was a growing problem. As a Keeper, she choose to remember all of the war and so getting her hands bloody helped to keep her mind clear, a fighters instinct that removed every obstacle that was on the field. She spots Nettelia wrinkling her nose at the warm beer and runs to catch up. Happy that the Archdruid is there. "Are you playing in any games?"

[naturesesme]

There was a vague softness in her face in response to Nettelia's light humor, at the very least an appreciation for the Archdruid's kindness. But she remained silent for a while, thinking about the pigeons at first and than feeling bad she hadn't done enough to help the little birds. The world should have loved and appreciated them for their sacrifices and it hadn't. She didn't do enough to help Revas either. Didn't do enough to help August or Eren. Doing enough in life seemed to difficult lately, nearly impossible.

"But we're all made the same." She sniffed. Born from the same soil, crafted by brothers. "Birds mate for life... I never thought that was as romantic as other people said it was. They'd just be lonely for the rest of their lives when they could have just found another bird to love... Now I kind of get it." She paused, thinking of the drow - now dark elves. She'd like Felandaris, she remembered him so well. But she'd been told what had taken the spring fey from her. "If I was as strong as my brother I'd find a way to kill them all too."

"Too tired to protest is generally how I prefer my company," Nettelia took a seat next to the poor, grieving girl and watched the birds as Esme did. "Makes for a quiet guest." Light mirth though she didn't entirely expect the druid to appreciate her candor. "Life finds a way," Nettelia offered instead, "it always does." That was the way of things, that was how people returned to one another, and that was what people generally consented to as fair. Though who got the most out of life, and who got the most out of love... That was entirely different altogether. "I was surprised to see them in the city still, and to learn that so many disliked their presence. It's a shame, they were brought here for a purpose once upon a time, domesticated to carry our messages for us. All these years later and they've remained, the love this world once had for them long gone." Nettelia remembered though, and so did Esme, perhaps that counted for something. "You're not a bird, Esme."

[destinedgray]

Octavian and Dionaeia had gone into a full rage towards the saytr prince, not that his older brother blamed them. But it had been foolish and ultimately it had been useless. They were all exhausted of energy, that much had been clear from the moment that the metaphorical fog had been lifted from the their eyes and he understood all that had happened. It was infuriating but in an annoying sort of way, not in a way that would have had the Archdruid ever looking for some way to get back at Hyrsam. He just wanted to gather his bearings, intending to have some time alone so as not to look so pathetically exhausted. But as soon as he touched down on the roof with eagle wings, it was familiar raven hair that caught his eye. Andreas, or Aren as he would always be to his sister, returned to true form and made his way over to her as she muttered.

“You always know what to say,” Aren muttered back, heaving a great sigh as he leaned forward. He spared a glance over to his sister and snorted, looking back out to the view. “You don’t look that much better.” He felt it then, that swell of power that radiating out into the city from somewhere far away. Recognition came because he’d once watched helplessly as the seraphim destroyed that all he held dear. “... That isn’t Hyrsam, is it?” Aren said more quietly, more exhausted as he figured Nettelia had already been quick to sense the swell of divine Grace.

@destinedgray location: A rooftop overlooking the pyramid notes: post midsommar, pre plague

In the distance Nettelia could feel a storm brewing, a swell of power that bore the unmistakable mark of Grace. A seraphim’s fury, acutely connected to the power within the earth, she could feel how they struck about the city. Stomping like impudent children. Nettelia could only speculate on what horror would be released upon them next. Vaguely she thought about Prometheus, so many years she’d angled to free him, and all this pain that had been wrought was a result. Somehow the Hyrsam’s humiliation stung less when Nettelia had expected to come to Rome and find the creatures’ she loved hurling stones at her. She supposed both would have been what she deserved, but nobody knew that better than her. Nettelia should have been sorry, she should have felt guilty, but she was not and did not feel either of those things. Even if he loathed her, even if everyone despised her, she could not change what she’d become.

“I’m tired.” Nettelia admitted, physically speaking she hadn’t felt this hungover since Etheus had stolen a cache of fey wine. Emotionally she felt just as drained. She wouldn’t give up, she couldn’t. The archdruid was resolved to see her path through to the end, wherever it happened to lead. Fate might have had a plan for her, but Nettelia was not without designs of her own, she would not go down without fighting, and she refused to let her siblings' differences drive them apart. So much had changed, it was true, but in the end so much was the same. Older brothers were meant to be teeming with wisdom but mansplaining saviordom didn’t interest her at the moment, she knew what she needed to do, and she knew how to steel herself towards the end.

Still, the fact remained. “So, fucking tired.” Hair of the dog to her lips, she sat on a rooftop that overlooked the Pyramid and the surrounding area. Her golems restored as they patrolled the area, imbued with life and quasi-sentience through her own gift of transference. Oztalun’s tree was alright as well, thankfully. The satyrs had seemed disinterested in ruining it, though while the entire Order was in a musical episode from hell, Hyrsam would have had every opportunity. Violet eyes looked towards her brother as he took a seat next to her, “You look terrible.”

[prometheanpiero]

The last thing he remembered was wondering when he'd get the news of when and where the saytr king's funeral was going to be. Prometheus had been sitting on the roof of his stolen car, poking and prodding at his stolen phone and learning how it worked. Learning human things had become his favorite distraction lately and it must have worked pretty well if he didn't remember how he got to this locale. Though his mind didn't seem to linger on it for more than a second, the avariel's thoughts immediately straying to Nettelia when there was no will to stop them.

His wife; he remembered having to leave her for far too long and he knew the reasons but the details of the punishment evaded him. All he knew was how he missed Netta and he sought to find her among the crowd. He paused only a moment to admire the orchestra when a familiar voice caught every bit of his attention. Prometheus turned a little to the side, his smile widening and eyes brightening at the sight of Nettelia, ethereal and masked, appearing among the throng. His first reaction was relief and joy... but the second was a curious sensation of forgetting something bothersome. Etheus ignored it, taking steps over to. "I've been a little busy looking for my wife," he replied in his teasing tone, feeling carefree and playful like he hadn't in ages. He took Nettelia's hand into his own, kissing the top of it. "But I think I can spare the most stunning masked creature I've ever seen a dance. May I have the honor?"

@prometheanpiero location: the FUNCTION notes: oh to be ancient and in love

Something was off- Nettelia stood before Oztalun's tree in one moment, reminiscing of when her and Prometheus used to run wild beneath a similar light, and then in the next she was within a pyramid decorated wildly. Ornaments hung across the golden fig tree as if it had been decorated for precisely this occasion. It had grown since she had imbued it with his power, but still, it had not produced even a single fruit. Even as its branches extended towards the ceiling. From the pyramid she wandered to oaken streets, a sea of twinkling stars decorated the wooden sky as the streets were transformed into a forested gala. Nymphs played the sort of beautiful music she had not heard since in ages, fey danced alongside satyrs and drow alike.

It reminded her of a time forgotten to most, but not all.

"I know we never got much practice at these sorts of functions, but in the event that you were wondering: this is the part where you ask me to dance." A cellist by the name of Lil' Nasty accompanied the fey orchestra, Harlow, Isabella, and Aura accompanied him with more strings and operatic vocals.

[destinedgray]

She knew herself best, and she knew Prometheus best. He was used to being a big brother and a father and an advisor but his little sister didn't want anything now but her own hand and her own voice. There was a mixture of pride for her strength and pity for her suffering in his heart, but as long as Nettelia knew that her brother would remain at her side than he had said and done all that he could, all he would be allowed to. He cared for Prometheus. However, Aren couldn't care if they never saw him again as long as it was what made Nettelia happy. The only thing was that he had known his sister, and in that knowledge he doubted that she would let herself sacrifice that bit of what had made her happy once. In that sense they were the same.

Aren only listened, remaining silent until the end. The only glimpse of his inner thoughts was in the slight nod as she finished before Aren looked back out at the city. The magic emanated from far away, the storm approached. He took a breath as she stood up. "You'll find your happiness, 'Telia," he promised with a sigh. "No matter how that looks to you." Aren glanced over his shoulder at her briefly. She was the only one among the four who hadn't truly been given the chance from the very beginning. Nettelia was a fighter, maybe he was bias but she deserved it. Aren turned his gaze back to the city. "Tell them I'll return once I check the source."

END.

[destinedgray]

netteliax​:

Prometheus was about the last thing that Nettelia wished to speak about, now was not the time for any of the archdruids to bow out. They all realised that, and they all knew how much was on the line should they fail. There was perhaps no greater threat than what was ahead of them now, squandering her emotions and her time on someone who’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with her. It was more than just pathetic, it was hurtful. Nettelia was a great many things but she’d never thought that Prometheus would make her into anything else after he’d made her his wife; that he made her into a fool felt particularly cruel. Then again, she supposed she’d done that entirely herself. He couldn’t be faulted for failing to love her in the dark.

Sometimes it felt like her loneliness was the only rest she got, and forgiveness was better done in secret. She knew what Aren wanted and knew what he expected, some emotional break and look behind the broken glass. Some insight into the torment that lurked within her, but the satyrs had given her clarity. Despite the humiliation she felt grateful for as much; Nettelia could conjure venom to her tongue in a heartbeat. She could melt the sinew from bone with the weave of her words, but digging past the hurt had never been easy. It was hard to see through the rage when everything was red. Hyrsam forced her to dig deep, to see the world without her filtered anguish, it was that that she was grateful or. Nettelia would still butcher him if she ever saw him again, but that first part remained true. “My marriage is over, Aren.” She felt how he could imagine she felt, and she was as hurt and devastated as he could imagine she was. Nettelia looked down towards the pyramid, now was not the time for the reminiscing of a foolish heart. “There’s nothing more to say.”

♔

Aren, despite Erish and all she had made of him, was still no expert on love. He’d found it only once more after her and it was been brief and fleeting and taken too quickly. And then Andromeda wasn’t the love of romance more than it had been this complicated friendship and partnership. He’d also been a scared idiot with Erish in most of their lives. But he wanted to be more hopeful and optimistic because it was Nettelia. Because he couldn’t bare to see her so broken hearted. Then again, he had also briefly glimpsed at the way that Prometheus had looked at her at the satyr’s funeral.

“Traumatic experiences can change you. In some ways it’s forever, in others... the mind does its best to protect you. With work and with patience, that protection might not be necessary one day.” Aren didn’t want to give her false hope but neither did he believe it was false anymore. “You’ve never been one to give up on anything, sister,” he said with only a whisper of amusement, “and as much as you might want to now I feel like you won’t let yourself.” He paused, every bit of amusement fading. “I’m just saying that I don’t think it’s foolish if you don’t.” Aren thought for a moment and, as much as he might’ve hated to admit it to himself, he was no perfect hero that cared more for the masses than he did for his own. Aren had tried his absolute hardest to do right by the world and his promise to Oztalun but in the end he was just a man. Even the Gods themselves weren’t perfect. “I don’t think you’ve ever been foolish. I think you’ve been braver than all of us.”

[destinedgray]

netteliax​:

They four did not lack power or fire in any regard, but resolve was weakening. The cruel trials that Dionaeia had endured left her a shell of what she’d been, it made looking at her difficult at times. Nettelia remembered the warrior from four-thousand years ago, she had a similar issue with Aren. The years and the losses had been unkind to them. There were still moments that Nettelia had not shared with the others, quiet moments that the archdruid had not whispered to another soul. This was not the time, but the simple fact that the tree was the most important thing right now remained true. Nettelia felt that in her bones.

“My power… Transference,” Nettelia said, “it allows me to move more than just magic, but our blessings too. I offered Dionaeia this way out, if there was someone she wished to replace her.” She thought about Octavian’s madness and his torrid desire to run over the world with his flames. To burn it to ashes if it meant that he could rule over the desiccated bones. It wasn’t as if Nettelia lacked the ability, but the thought of tearing the gift away from the brother who’d meant so much to her, even if it was necessary, and even if she had no other choice left. For all that the archdruid was capable of Nettelia wasn’t sure she could magically castrate someone that had been damned for her actions to begin with. “That is to say, brother,” she touched his arm, “if this fight should ever become too much for you, Oztalun empowered me long ago to help you pass the torch to another of your choosing.” Or should the worst happen, like one of them were to meet a true end. Perhaps that was why Nettelia had returned, not because the world needed her, but her family. 

♔

Aren considered, his eyes leaving Nettelia as he pondered the consequences of it all. He was tired, he was so tired and he knew his sister could see that more plainly than most. He also didn’t see how he could stomach any more lives in the future if Erish would never find him again in them. It was a heavy thought, but one that he couldn’t find it in himself to think of just yet. Not when he so firmly wanted to believe, for Evy’s sake, that they could find a way to let her soul return again. But when it came to this fight they were in? To the druids as a whole and their survival? To making sure Alek and Rowan got out of this all in one piece? His smile was light, even a little sad. Aren turned his eyes back to his sister and shook his head. “I have no intention to put down this burden of our’s until we’re safe again... Until this world, in this life, is a little better for all us.” But it was clear that her offer meant something to him, something beyond the negative aspects of losing the Blessing Oztalun had bestowed upon him so very long ago. There was a hint of gratitude in his eyes as he reached out and gently squeezed her hand before letting go. 

“What about you, Nettelia?” Aren’s brows furrowed. “You’re so worried about the rest of us you’re forgetting we’re here for you just as much. At the very least, I’m here to say that I am.” He hesitated, looking down at the view before his gaze returned to her. “The Necronomicon’s destruction is something we will all fight for together but that’s not the only thing that weighs down on you. What have you been thinking - about Prometheus?”

[destinedgray]

netteliax​:

Emotional creatures, all of them. Octavian could not fathom working with a senate that he wanted to destroy, and Dionaeia couldn’t go anywhere without starting a fight. Now Nettelia was losing Aren too she- it wasn’t as if she were dead inside. Working with such an organisation was innate distasteful, you couldn’t throw a stone in this city without hitting someone whose lives they’d upended… And that woman, Marzia, as enchanting as she was, there was always something off about her. Nettelia couldn’t quite understand what that was, despite all this working with an organisation that had built  itself on a foundation of hunting and killing supernaturals was the most probable way to defeat an enemy of immensely powerful and dangerous supernaturals. Nettelia had never been content, not since Prometheus’ sentencing, and certainly not since Eden’s fall. For all of The Eye’s crimes, Nettelia had done worse, she had unleashed true horror upon this realm and it didn’t matter what she did or how hard she worked that would always be true.

“You think I don’t hate them?” Nettelia questioned, speaking more to the air as she felt the wildfire that burned ever present within her burn behind violet eyes. The edge over her voice was a blade, not directed in any way towards Aren but to the situation as a whole, walking into their training grounds and acting like it once hadn’t been the site of executions. Training their mediocre staff, working with creatures that Nettelia would have preferred not to. Coordinating with captains appointed among their ranks, leaders in this so-called army. Every moment of it was unbearable and every second she spent among them Nettelia had to still the urge to tear everything down. To destroy and ruin in a way that only a healer could. “Those bastards hurt my sister.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes though she did not dare to let them fall, “Poked and prodded her like she was an animal. Tortured her as if she did not devote her entire being to saving them.” The water from her eyes was gone now, but the fire remained. Nettelia’s violet eyes that epitomised violence looked to her brother’s crystalline blues, author of the necronomicon, mistress of madness, when Nettelia spoke of retribution she hoped no one took her lightly. “There will be a reckoning, we just have to survive long enough to get there. They will pay for every moment that she spent down there, tenfold. We just have to make it there.”

♔

In the past, Aren had seen Nettelia as more apparent with her emotions. He thought even after what had happened with Prometheus that Aren could more easily seen into how she felt before he’d missed the darkness that she’d later adopt in his absence. The Necronomicon and what she’d done had changed her, as had Prometheus in this unreasonably angry state of his. He knew his sister’s love was potent and that it was relentless when it came to them, just as it was for any of the four Archdruids. Family in all manner but blood. But he’d figured she’d found some way to armor herself in apathy for Dionaeia’s sake and the need for diplomacy. That she’d presented a brave face for so long that now it was more or less permanent. He looked at his sister now and he recognized the honest Nettelia he had always known show through the mask that they all put up in their own different ways. 

Aren was silent but the message came across in his eyes, in a look that spoke of understanding once the surprise and the concern washed away. He gave Nettelia a subtle nod and the promise was cemented. Whatever happened, The Eye would pay. “... We will, sister.” Andreas wasn’t one for titles - they were more dramatic in modern day then they had once been in the past - but he promised this with every life he’d ever lived and every name he’d ever had. It wasn’t just Andreas that needed this for Alek but Aren for Dionaeia and for every druid that had ever been taken by the organization. “I keep hoping Oztalun would have understood because he should have known. He should’ve known we’ve lived in this world too long to be the heroes that he hoped for.”

[destinedgray]

netteliax​:

“Boils would be interesting, overdone though, don’t you think?” What else was there for the immortals to joke about? Whatever storm would wash across this city was nothing but a deterrent, one that would inevitably slow them down when they’d already spent the better part of the last month singing. At the very least the enemy had also been equally distracted, still, she could not help but feel like they were playing catch up. Aren had slept for so long, Octavian’s imprisonment, Dionaeia’s torture, her death. Destiny conspired to bring them all together but still, she could only hope that it would be enough. “Octavian’s acolytes are all progressing very quickly,” it was astounding really, though Nettelia took this as another sign of fate playing her hand. Octavian was the only one among them who still had the power to create more of their kind, they had not talked about what that could mean for them. Their brother was pure chaos right now, keeping a handle on him was not an easy task, and there was no telling what he might do when the battle came. The necronomicon had to be destroyed in a very particular way… If Octavian got his hands on it. He was already a vessel for its will, though he seemed to confuse it for his own. “You were quiet at that summit, it’s unlike you.” Aren was the archetype from which all other white saviours had been drawn, the first of his kind. She thought he’d have been the loudest in the room. 

♔

“Mmm... yeah,” he agreed with a sigh. Aren found himself relaxing as he figured any illness, magic or otherwise, would be easily dealt with by both Octavian and Nettelia should it occur. However, the mention of Octavian’s acolytes made him look troubled all of again. Aren had never showed any signs of disliking any of them. On the contrary, he genuinely enjoyed the Pyramid being full again with these new druids. But the unspoken concern of their wayward brother being the only one to choose the next generation of druids was worrying, to say the least. “We’ve been lucky with them,” was all that he could murmur in the moment. What was the point of worrying about their lack of blessing if there was nothing to be done about it?

Nettelia held that very subtle undertone of sisterly sass, but after being raised with Alek he finally knew for certain that that was exactly the sort of way siblings showed they cared sometimes. He sighed. “If we’re going to get into what my deal is with the summit then I’m going to bring up your's. Then we both finally have to have an open conversation that doesn’t downplay our emotions, all of that without any music or singing.” He gave her a look, a silent promise of a trade, then checked his non-existent watch. “I’ll give three seconds to say ‘never mind, don’t care’ and back out.” Though he genuinely hoped she’d instead start with whether or not she was actually doing okay. All Aren had gathered from the couple’s spat was what he heard from the yelling and the gossip, nothing from his sister or how she was doing over Prometheus.

[destinedgray]

netteliax​:

It wasn’t as if she could argue, they’d been performing in a fucking circus act for weeks straight and she looked about as terrible as she felt. “No,” came Nettelia’s tired sigh. She’d almost have preferred another orchestral number to whatever the Blessed had concocted. Nettelia had hoped her instruction was clear, though perhaps the four had resolved to wipe the slate clean. That was their nature, after all. You couldn’t blame a scorpion for stinging the frog, even if it drowned them both. “Shall we take bets on what they’re planning?” A bleak request, but the author’s sense of humour had been just that for some time. Though, she was only joking, even if her “I’d say we have an hour at any rate.” While the city at large was clearly under threat, there was little that could assault the Pyramid that couldn’t be defended against in some way. So long as the four of them were present. Octavian’s fire could burn through magic, Nettelia could heal or transfer just about anything, and her older brother and sister were apt with their sharp objects. Among other things, naturally.

♔

“Well, they don’t need to start a war since there already is one,” he replied bleakly. Dark humor was not something that he would resort to with other druids or really anyone but those that he was close to; a pressure that Aren placed on himself to be a hopeful and optimistic sort of leader in appearance. But this was Nettelia. “Cheap to copy Theneras with a magic bomb… Then again...” he hummed thoughtfully. No, Aren wouldn’t put it past the seraphim to resort to that. Like his sister, however, he was sure they would find a way to keep the Pyramid safe. This was something that they would be united for, they would have to be. Even Octavian would want to protect himself for the Necronomicon if not for the rest of them, that was if the book pulled on his puppet strings. Despite how resentful Aren was at Octavian succumbing to fighting his own kin, he knew his brother was truthful in his own desire to protect the druids when the book didn’t move him. “Maybe locusts? Boils?” Aren’s expression became more genuinely grim as he realized that that were, actually, missing a plague. History tended to repeat itself and seraphim were rather predictable, at least at an Archdruid’s age.

[destinedgray]

netteliax​:

Luck was not a force that Nettelia was comfortable counting on, then again, neither was fate. Considering how cruel it could be. There was still so much that she did not know and so much that she feared she would lose. Had it been fate that had brought her back, or was she here just to make things worse? Healers had the bloodiest hands and after everything that Nettelia had done she wasn’t sure if she could truly discern the line between what was right and what was wrong. Kill one to save another quickly added up. Killed ten to save ten. Killed a thousand to save a thousand. Nettelia remembered a time when everything had felt so clear and clean, it wasn’t like her to doubt herself but when she looked in the mirror she saw Prometheus’ hateful gaze staring back.

“You’re talking about Prometheus,” Nettelia did try not to roll her eyes, at the very least violet hues did not make it all around the socket but rather did a half turn before they settled once more. “Aren the philosopher, the greatest of the Greek heroes, the king: the brother I knew wouldn’t be content to sit there and nod. The fate of the world is at stake and you had very little opinion on the matter. You’re hiding something.” She didn’t care about how emotional the whole ordeal was or wasn’t and as far as she was concerned the entire pyramid already knew where she and the avariel stood. Most of the city did now, considering her little introduction of Prometheus as she all but rolled out the red carpet for her husband if only to watch him squirm. “If there’s something you want to ask,” Nettelia looked towards him, “then ask, but don’t change the subject.”

♔

Nettelia was stubborn and wouldn’t budge, Aren was less stubborn. He was at least much less stubborn than his sisters because the two were small but far more frightening than anyone he knew besides Evy - fighting with them was a very last option. She knew it. It’s what made the pointing out of the only two loudly influential lives he’d had that much more sardonic. The both of them knew Aren wouldn’t puff out his chest and demand an answer first but instead oblige his little sister with one first. Though the elder still had the dignity to give her the sort of look that meant they weren’t done, he would still surely request some answer from her.

“I’m not trying to hide anything from you, ‘Telia. But what doesn’t change anything wasn’t worth sharing to me, especially since I’m not as level-headed as you remember. I can’t talk without getting restless. I can’t look some people in the face without...” A muscle ticked in his jaw. Aren moved his tongue behind his teeth as he looked down at his fisted hands. He willed them to spread on his lap, relaxing some of the tension. “Dia isn’t the only one that has a bone to pick with The Eye. Everywhere I turn they’re there... They get their hands in my life and somehow always find something new to tear apart that isn’t me, just someone that I care about. It’s the worst sort of curse because it isn’t mine to fight. First our sister... then they took my brother Alek. I know they’ve had other druids, maybe even some of my own acolytes and I never-” He shook his head. “No, I just have to stand in front of them now as their ally and pretend like I don’t fantasize about ripping their throats open.” He finally glanced towards Nettelia. “That satisfy?”

[prometheanpiero]

netteliax​:

Few understood the devotions of siblings, Nettelia had thought she’d understood what ran between Prometheus and Epimetheus but the true kinship between herself and her fellow archdruids had come after her husband’s sentencing. Previously they’d spend their days training, trading stories from the garden, and sharing in one another’s laughter and joviality. As it happened, nothing bonded one person to another quite so well as grief. They’d all been there in a way, but Nettelia had not forgotten the way Octavian had held her as she wept against him, like she was a crumbling ruin and somehow only he was capable of holding it all together. Dionaeia who’d stirred her to life once more by forcing her from her bed and thrusting a spear into her arms once more. Aren, whose love for Erish reminded her so much of what she’d lost and what she was missing.

She couldn’t abandon them, any of them. Octavian had taught her how to heal better than any spell or herb ever could, Dionaeia had shown her how to push forward even when it hurt, and Aren gave her something to hope for. “I know the feeling.” Nettelia whispered, this home that he conjured was inspired, she’d long talked about wanting to relocate their cabin to somewhere on a cliffside overlooking the sea. So many years she’d thought that mysteries walked amidst its dark depths, it was only upon reflection that the druidess realised she’d always been a creature lurking within. “So long as we’re together, that’s all I want.” Hosting the extensive family her eldest brother had crafted wasn’t a horrible idea though, Octavian with his growing harem of acolytes as well. She smiled at this, genuine and bright. It felt like a first in a very, very long time.

“No-” she whispered, Hyrsam had begun his descent, his proclamation; he declared them all fools and as she took a step back she realised that was precisely what had been made of her. The magic dispersed as the tree where they’d been embedded seemed to slowly dissipate upon the wind, the city righting itself as buildings reconstituted around them. The two caught somewhere between the ruins of an old world clamouring to become something shiny and new once more. “No, we won’t.” Nettelia remembered everything now, felt the ache of truth in her chest and moved to leave Prometheus behind before she could be humiliated by him any further.

✴

“Great,” Etheus murmured, smiling as brightly, if not more brightly, than the woman in his arms. Plans were the avariel’s speciality and all he wanted now from his life was plans for them, for the two of them. There was nothing that could have given him more joy in that moment. “Together. We’ll find our place in this brand new world. A new home, a new life, whatever we want... We’ll build something better than dying for.” He grinned as he spun her, then brought her close again. “Something worth living for.” He wasn’t sure how those words formed, words that spoke of something a little more dire than he might have liked... but somehow they rang true to him and he felt them deep down. He would have been a martyr for Nettelia without question and without hesitation, but he didn’t want that. Etheus wanted hope and future for them both - he wanted to live a life with her.

Of course, things weren’t so easy as idealistic dreams. Hyrsam gave them but a moment in time, a delusion that couldn’t last. When the realization finally came it seemed to seep every ounce of hope from his body, and therefore all the joy and energy. Everything else came rushing back. He hardly heard Nettelia as she whispered. And when she let go he found himself lost in his own head. Terrors and grief brought back in such a sudden manner that he could old freeze and stare as the Archdruid turned away from him, turned and left.

END.

[prometheanpiero]

netteliax​:

Somehow Nettelia imagined that it wasn’t at all that simple, a simple matter of time and place when the last memory she had of her husband was a typical morning where she’d awoken in his arms. Something had come, some… Nettelia shook the memory from her mind and let herself focus on the present for once. It was more palatable, it seemed, because it was as Etheus had said, in this instance she couldn’t help but think that they were truly too fortunate.

The music shepherded them, “That I love you,” Nettelia admitted, “that I have always loved you, that I will always love you.” Violet eyes looked past Etheus as she spied his brother slowly dancing with Mila, the hedgehog held tight to the inflatable dinosaur costume that he was wearing. Expert formal attire indeed, Nettelia was happy to have accompanied him here. “Seems as though your brother is having fun,” she remarked candidly, “I am glad he followed you to this realm. It’s always been hard to imagine one brother without the other.” Forethought and afterthought, the truest of companions. 

✴

“Then our wills are matched,” Etheus replied, leaning close enough to play whisper in her ear before their movements changed. “And we’ll continue as we are... taking this new world by storm.” The avariel wasn’t sure what had him choose that particular set of metaphors but it felt right in the moment. Prometheus would have done anything for his twin, though he couldn’t imagine what sort of silly moment had convinced him to let Epimetheus bring Nettelia to this. Perhaps he’d realized he hadn’t been able to attend, just to be able last minute. He could only find all of it endearingly amusing. As they spun and Prometheus caught a glimpse of Epimetheus where Nettelia had glanced over. He grinned before looking back down at her.

“It’s hard to do anything without him,” the younger twin admitted. He had even created a part of the human physiology to mutually benefit with some of the scraps of Epimetheus’ creations, bacteria as they liked to call those things now. “At first it was just me and him... Then you came along... now your brothers and sister are mine too. Their spouses.” He dipped his wife in the dance before continuing. “This time we should probably build a bigger house... Lots of guests rooms... somewhere by the ocean, of course.”

[prometheanpiero]

netteliax​:

“You may.” Prometheus’ lips brushed her hand and she welcomed his touch to lead her onto the dance floor. There was something very odd about this night, she didn’t ever remember attending a party where she was going to be so busy: she had her circus performance as Sid the Squid in an hour, Music with the Mollusks after that, then there was Cheering with the Clams, and she didn’t even want to get into Repetition with Ravens or Acrobatics with Arachnids. It was a shame, Nettelia would have liked to devote more of her time here to the man in front of her. Her husband, Prometheus. It didn’t feel strange to think about, in fact, Nettelia found it all very comforting to think of him as such. There was something weighing on her though, “I feel as though we’ve been apart for so long,” came Nettelia’s admission, “and I’m trying desperately to find my way back to you.” Even now with his hand in her own, those familiar eyes locked with her violet hues, “Like we’ve been cast in the same ocean but I’ve no way to get to you.” It was an odd, almost dissociative state. Like she was dreaming or she had been dreaming for some time, and was just now waking up and trying to shake the sleep from her eyes. “It’s the strangest sensation.” 

✴

Etheus led her to the dancefloor, feeling somehow as though something about this was surreal and far too dreamlike. It was odd. It should have felt more natural and alive. He could only figure it was the time spent apart from his wife (how long had it been?) and the magic of the party; saytrs were such hedonistic creatures that he wouldn't put it past them to have put something in the air. But the avariel didn't seem to mind. Odd as things were, he couldn't help focusing on what was making him so happy instead and that was her hand in his. That was the music that played as they started to dance and the familiar timber of Nettelia's voice.

"We have but..." Etheus hesitated, puzzled before he allowed himself to smile. She was there. "We're here now, Netta. Your hand in mine, not an ocean between us - just the air we choose." He gently spun her before bringing her closer to him, smile faltering just slightly. "Though somehow I know what you mean... even now I look at you and I can't believe it." But Etheus looked hopeful with realization. "Perhaps that's it: Disbelief. That after all this time, we're still here... Like it might be forbidden. As though we're breaking some sort of rule being this happy, being this lucky," he murmured, smiling. Breaking the rules; it meant some people should have felt guilt but there was nothing of the like in his heart. "But there's no such thing. Maybe nothing can stop us now but our own two wills. So what does yours tell you?"