#When I said I thought they were red tailed hawk my sister paused to say “huh?”

[kristhekrispy]

I just seen two hawks

[nerdypanda3126]

Playing with Fire – Ch. 8

So two things: first, I did write a little interlude between last chapter and this one, and you can find it here.

And second, in the part with Luka's journal, he's in a dark place at that point in his life and there's some suicidal ideation in there. If you'd prefer to skip over it, you can jump over the italicized parts, and as far as I know that's the only time it'll pop up in this story 💖

Read on Ao3 

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“You want to find my family?” Luka asked incredulously as he held a branch aside for her to walk past. 

He was tired, and so was she; they’d been walking all night, but Luka had insisted they needed to put as much distance as they could between them and the tower while they still had the cover of darkness. By the time the sunlight was able to filter down to them through the canopy, she suspected it was closer to mid-afternoon and they’d been up for a full twenty-four hours. He’d been stuck in his mostly-human form for the longest he’d ever had to endure it. Maybe not an ideal time to bring up her plan, but…  

“We’re already running for our lives, we don’t have a home to go back to, at least not for a while, so… While we’re out wandering anyways, I thought…” 

“We’d lead an angry mob straight to my mother and sister?” 

She rolled her eyes at him. Definitely not the best time to bring up her plan. “You’re cranky when you’re tired,” she noted, letting her own irritation slip into her tone. He grunted back, but it was more of a challenge than an assent. 

“Besides,” she pushed on, ignoring the way he bristled, “it might take a while to find them. How long do you think the townspeople will follow us, anyways? My guess is they get to the tower, see it’s empty, and turn around and go home.” 

“I’m not worried about them,” he grumbled. “There’s a certain friend of yours who didn’t seem ready to give up anytime soon.” 

If he had venom, he’d injected it into the word “friend.” She winced at his bitter tone. 

“Okay, so what’s your plan? We wander the wilds aimlessly chasing our tails for the rest of our lives?” 

He faltered and glanced over at her. The way he seemed so unsure made her realize he’d never had a plan. At least not past “stay alive and wait.” This was all new to him; he didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going. They’d traveled in as much of a straight line as was possible away from the tower, but other than that… he was lost. 

She drew closer to him and threaded her arm through his as an apology. He laid a hand over hers as he took her meaning and sighed. 

“Where would we even start?” he asked, his voice small in the quiet of the forest around them. 

“There have to be other towns nearby, and I’m sure someone would remember seeing dragons flying around 18 years ago.” 

“More townspeople…” he grumbled again. “Great.” 

She squeezed his arm in sympathy and they walked in silence for a while. She could feel the weight of the plan starting to fall on his shoulders, the idea of asking around, relying on humans, how long it might take. In truth, she hadn’t realized the enormity of the undertaking until she’d proposed it to him and now she could agree that it sounded impossible. 

“Maybe they’ve been waiting for you, too,” she dared to say. 

He let out a quiet laugh. “Ma wouldn’t, her treasure is the open skies and she wouldn’t wait for anyone.” He paused to think, then sighed. “Juleka might, though.” 

“Your sister?” 

“Mhmm. We were close when we were young. Before…” His eyes slid over to her and he let it drop. “She might’ve followed Ma at first, but I’m sure she wasn’t happy with the decision to leave me behind.” 

“What’s she look like?” Marinette asked, her curiosity overtaking her. He’d never talked about it before, but for once he seemed open to the topic. He smiled wistfully as he tried to remember. 

“A lot like me, I guess. Except, you know…not...” He gestured to himself, to his human form. “Unless she made the same mistake, but I doubt Ma would’ve let that happen again. And she’s taller than me, or at least she was when we were little. Maybe it’s changed a bit, but she was always kind of a lanky thing. Ma’s pride and joy, though, if I’m honest. It’s her fire. Most dragons have some variant of red; it’s rare enough to get blue fire, but Jules…” He shook his head, that wistful smile growing as he remembered. “Jules had violet fire. Unheard of, really. You’ll see when you meet her, she’s—” He caught himself then as he realized what he’d said. “If, I guess,” he amended quietly. 

She squeezed his arm again and smiled over at him. “When,” she agreed. “When I meet her.” 

He half-shrugged, but his smile warmed when he looked over at her. Before she could stop it, she yawned loudly and he laughed as one took him over, too. 

“First things first,” he said when it subsided, looking around at their surroundings. “We need to find a place to camp.” 

***

Later that evening they found a cave. 

Marinette had laughed a little at the prospect. Dragons, caves, towers, curses. Her life was sounding more and more like a fairytale turned inside out. Wasn’t there supposed to be a shining knight that rescued the damsel in distress from the terrible, fire-breathing dragon? 

But she didn’t feel very “in distress” as Luka joined hands with her to remove his stone and sighed with relief when his transformation took hold. She didn’t feel very in distress as he blew a small ring of fire into the floor of the cave, patting it down as he went to create a smooth, warm, bowl-shaped indent for them to curl up in together. And the only distress she felt as she tucked herself into his coils was her racing heart and trembling hands as the kiss they'd shared came back to her. He blinked up at her, sensing her hesitation, and uncurled a bit as if he intended to stand. 

She shook her head and laid her hand on his back, reassuring him, then took a moment to run her fingers over his scales, admiring them in their full splendor. Even though they were pitch black, they caught the bare light of the cave and glinted back at her like he was wearing a solid coat of jewels. They turned softer towards his belly, finer, more like the scales of a snake that she was used to as opposed to the armor he wore on top. 

As she continued to touch him, he let out that noise again, a small satisfied hum, and laid his head over his claws as he closed his eyes. 

His wings fascinated her. There was a solid joint of muscle on each side where they met his shoulders, as thick as both her fists put together, but the wings themselves seemed so fragile—she could see her hand through the delicate skin stretched thin between the bones. And yet they were able to hold not only his weight but hers, too. 

She felt it when she hit that sensitive spot that had made him ticklish before. Something like a chuckle rumbled through him and his wing flinched away from her reflexively, but he didn’t pull it out of her hands. That spot was along the side of the bone she’d been tracing, the longer one that nestled into his side when they were furled. She did it again out of curiosity and a shiver ran through him. 

She tried to remember what she’d read about dragon anatomy. But instead she was imagining how it must feel to him. Maybe something like if she were tracing the ridge of his shoulder blade when he was human. 

When she looked back at him, his eyes were still closed, like he was pretending to be asleep. She knew better, though; his breathing was uneven. As much as he was trying to hide it, he was hyper focused on her every move. 

She let her hand trail down his arm until she found one of his huge, rough hands. She picked it up despite his small grumble as his head shifted, and marveled at the largeness of it. The pad of what would be his palm was as big as her face, and the curved ebony claws reminded her so much of the hawks she’d seen in her life that she knew they were deadly. But his were each as long as her entire hand. 

As she set his hand back down, he opened an eye to look at her. She watched the slit of his pupil as it dilated to capture as much light as it could in the gloom of the cave. And the fiery blue that surrounded it was the same as the tuft of hair along his neck and at the tip of his tail. 

She should be frightened. Luka in this form was danger personified. Everything about him should have made her adrenaline spike. Should have made her want to run away or try to fight for her life. 

But as he blinked at her again, probably trying to understand what she was thinking, all she saw was… Luka. The same soul who had promised her mother he would take care of her, who had offered his life to her, who had saved her when she was too small to even know to be afraid. 

No wonder she’d still had dreams of sleeping curled up next to him. When she looked at him, at all of him, all she saw was safety and home. And as he tucked his wing around her like a blanket, she couldn’t imagine a safer place than right next to him. 

***

She grumbled awake when the light hit her eyes the next morning. She’d have to talk to him about getting curtains or something to cover that damn opening while they slept. She curled away from it, trying to press her face into Luka’s scales, but her nose was hitting something warm, and breathing, and...smoother than she expected. 

Her eyes flew open as she realized her lips had touched skin. 

It was later than normal and they’d already switched. Luka was human beside her. His arm was draped around her waist, she was curled up against his chest, and she had just nuzzled into his neck and brushed her lips against the hollow of his throat. She froze, but he was still solidly out, snoring lightly every so often, his arm a heavy weight around her. 

The night before rushed back to her. Fleeing the tower, their long walk, the cave they’d settled into for the night… and Luka. His dark hair was falling over his eyes, and those dark circles had returned after only one night of missed sleep. His lips were parted slightly as he breathed and he looked so peaceful she almost wanted to reach out and touch him if only to make sure he was real.

But she didn’t want to wake him. So as carefully as she could she extracted herself from his embrace and stood to stretch, realizing that all their walking from the past few days had caught up to her. Before she did anything else, she retrieved his stone from where he’d left it and slipped it around his neck so her flames didn’t attract any attention. Or worse, set anything in their temporary shelter aflame. 

They’d need to find food and water, but exploring their new area would have to wait until Luka woke up. For now she settled on taking inventory of what they’d brought with them, munching on a piece of bread from her parents’ bakery as she did. She froze when his lyre fell out, making an awful twang against the cave floor, but Luka only muttered in his sleep and rolled over. 

When she continued searching through the bags, her fingers caught on the leather of his journal. Another glance at Luka proved that he wouldn’t be awake for a while yet; losing sleep as they traveled had hit him harder than her. She walked as close to the entrance of their cave as she dared and sat in the light to read. 

The first few pages were mostly unintelligible. Scribbles and squiggles as Luka struggled with the quill and ink. Then came pages of the alphabet, unsteady at first, and traced over what must’ve been Jagged’s handwriting. The letters got stronger, more confident, and then on the next page, his first written word. Just his name, but she could almost see the pride he must’ve felt in accomplishing that one word. It stood alone on the page. She imagined a young Luka running out to show Jagged his hard work, beaming with the joy of learning a new skill. 

Then other words started to fill the pages. Jagged Stone, fire, bond, wings, rabbit, trap, tower. Naming things around him, sometimes with little drawings that accompanied the word. 

But then she saw the word “bakery.” Her breath caught. That wasn’t a word that Luka would be familiar with unless… 

Underneath that was a sentence. “My bonded lives in a bakery.” 

And as the pages went, she found more little tidbits about her life interspersed between Luka’s practicing. “My bonded has blue eyes.” “My bonded has black hair.” “My bonded likes the color pink.” “My bonded likes flowers.” 

It seemed he’d tried to learn as much about her as he could, but either Jagged never told him her name or Luka never asked because every one of them started with “my bonded.” She wondered if he did it on purpose. It seemed like something he would do. Waiting not only to meet her but to hear her name. 

He’d filled the next page, and it looked like a letter. Addressed to her. She glanced back at him, but he was turned away from her and she couldn’t see his face. She remembered how he’d stiffened when she asked if she could read it before he’d brushed it off as nothing. But he did say she could read it… 

So she did. 

***

To My Bonded,

You probably won’t ever get the chance to read this. I’m not sure why I’m even writing it other than I guess if the worst happens maybe there will be a small piece left of me that I can hope you would come to know.

From what I know of you, I think you might be someone who would listen.

Firstly, I don’t blame you if you’re angry with me. It probably hasn’t been easy on your end and I don’t know how much you’ve been told about our situation. Which is the worse curse, I wonder, knowing everything and waiting to see how it unfolds or knowing nothing and having to make a decision. Either way, I guess it’s really my fault anyways.

As for the second thing. I don’t know that I’ll have the chance to show you so I want you to know. I do care for you. Deeply. Sometimes that scares me because I don’t even know your name. The only thing I remember is seeing your eyes that day I rescued you. When they opened, when I knew you were okay, I was so relieved that I hardly even noticed your eyes were blue until Jagged reminded me years later. But they are, aren’t they? I wonder if they were like that before, or if maybe that’s another part of me that stayed with you.

I’m both dreading and hoping for the day I get to see those eyes again. Maybe when that day comes I can explain myself and apologize and tell you all this in person. Until then.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I didn’t think I’d write to you again. But Jagged told me today you had a ‘crush’ on someone in your village. A taylers boy, although I don’t know what that means. He told me about the fire too. He didn’t really have to. I felt it. I felt how your heart hurt and I wanted to go to you. Maybe I should have. I was afraid. 

Jagged said you were fine, that you would be fine. But next time I feel that, I’m coming to you. Scared or not.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I am sick of this place. I’m sick of this tower and sick of the waiting and sick of feeling like I’ll be stuck like this forever. I thought you’d come for me. Aren’t you curious about me? Don’t you know by now what’s happening, why I’m still here, that I’m waiting for you? Or maybe you’re staying away because you know. Maybe you want it to be this way, maybe this is your choice.

I don’t mean that. If you knew I’m sure you’d be here already. I guess I wish I knew how much longer it’s going to be like this. How much longer I’ll be waiting for you.

Yours, Luka

---

Dear Bonded,

I keep writing to you for some strange reason. It’s a sort of comfort, knowing that you’ll probably kill me before you get to read any of this. I’m sure that’s your answer now because your village has started sending men to kill me instead. They come up from your village anyway.

It’s okay. I get it. You’re probably scared of me. The rest of them have been so I can only assume you think the same. I haven’t let them win yet. For now there’s still a small part of me that hopes you don’t know anything about this. That it has nothing to do with you. For now anyways.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I hate the taste of blood.

Yours, Luka

---

Dearest Bonded,

This is my last letter to you. I can’t keep doing this. The men keep coming. I’ve tried everything to get them to leave me alone, but nothing seems to work. And I’m tired. I know you’re probably not coming. You won’t come. Even if you did, you’d be here to kill me. And I had every intention of giving you that choice, but I’ve made my decision. The next time those men come I’m not fighting anymore.

If you do find this. If you do come for me. I’m sorry. I’ve loved you with every breath.

Yours, Luka 

---

Dearest Bonded,

I’m a coward. Or a fool in love. Either way, I’m still here. I have to have faith in you.

Yours, Luka

***

She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder. Luka laughed as he sat down behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist to press his chest against her back and lay his head on top of hers.

“Dramatic, wasn’t I?” he asked, still chuckling. As much as she could she swatted at his hand with the journal. 

“You scared me! You shouldn’t come up behind someone like that!” 

“We’re the only ones here, who else did you think it was?” 

Damn him, she could hear his satisfied smirk in his voice. She swatted him again for good measure, even as he pressed a kiss to her hair, but his last two letters were still sharp in her mind. 

“Why’d you stop writing?” she asked, flipping through the many blank pages that were left. She felt him shrug behind her. 

“I didn’t see much point to it, really. Either you’d come and we’d live happily ever after and I could tell you everything myself or… not. And it wasn’t like I ever expected you to want to read it if things went badly.” 

“How long after this…” she started, but she lost her voice halfway through. She had to swallow hard past the lump that was forming to find it again. “How much longer did you have to wait for me?”

He was quiet for a moment and he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, probably trying to soften the blow. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. 

“It does to me. Luka, if I’d known any of this—why didn’t you let Jagged tell me?” 

He let out another of those soft laughs behind her and his breath ghosted across her neck. “He wanted to. We fought about it a lot. But I figured that would only make you feel… obligated.” 

She thought about that while she stared at his last entry. Of course it was impossible to think what she might’ve done, or how she might’ve felt because she only knew what had happened. The series of events that led her to him. The nightmares and the flames and thinking she was a curse to her family and her village. And up at the tower Luka was dealing with his own nightmare. He’d almost given up hope and when she did come to the tower she’d almost proved him right. 

His arms tightened around her as if he could sense where her thoughts had gone. As if to prove he was okay and it turned out alright. She pressed back against him and could feel his heartbeat thudding steadily through her own chest. Maybe he was right. Maybe it didn’t matter. They were together now. That’s what she’d told him. To stop blaming himself for what happened. She didn't blame him for anything and at the very least he'd already forgiven her, too. 

She turned in his arms and slid her hand behind his neck to pull his face down to hers. As she pressed her lips to his, it felt like a promise. A promise that he’d never have to be apart from her like that again, bond or not. 

He melted against her and for a moment they were both lost in each other, in the knowledge that in this moment they were safe and together and that was all that mattered. 

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s note: I kind of regret the song choice due to its association with a certain movie but... it fits the chapter's themes. -shrug-

Edit: Changed the song I associated with this chapter because I think it suits Aguni and Yamaneko's pseudo-paternal relationship, which was highlighted more than the murder mystery on the Beach

go ahead and cry, little boy | you know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through | you gotta let it out soon, just let it out

X

As if a spotlight had been shone on her, Yamaneko’s body tenses at everyone’s scrutiny.

“Why does this concern me?” she starts, looking at the faces around her, all of them with varying degrees of wariness, save for her fellow militants. Her eyes flick to her father’s, and resentment blooms in her chest, spreading through her veins like bitter poison.

“She’s your stepmother,” Ann responds, examining the victim’s corpse with the purpose of scrutinizing every detail. Then, her eyes flick to Mr. Yamane, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Though, she looks more like an older sister.”

“We weren’t close. I haven’t spoken a word to her before we arrived on the Beach.”

Ann tilts the victim’s head with a gloved hand, exposing the wound to view. “I’ve yet to examine the wound, but it’s clear that whoever killed her used a sharp object. You’re one of the few militants who exclusively carry a bladed weapon, along with Last Boss.”

Folding her arms Yamaneko was about to go off on the taller woman, but she mentions something else. ”He’s under suspicion, too,” she mentions as she motioned to Mr. Yamane. “Her body was dumped from their shared room.”

“Me? That’s preposterous! Are you suggesting that I have something to do with my own wife’s death? I’m not even allowed to hold a weapon! It’s those militants you should be looking at.”

“You know what?” Yamaneko interrupts, bringing all the attention back to her when her head whips towards his direction, and her voice drips with venom at every syllable she utters. “If you can beat your first wife and your daughters for years, and lie through your teeth every time the authorities get involved, I believe you have the capacity to be violent with anyone and lie to our faces.”

“You dare accuse me when you’re the one who carries a weapon and holds a criminal record,” Mr. Yamane spits back, pointing at his estranged daughter with a wrinkled finger, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ve raised you myself. You’re an uncontrollable child. Disobedient. Delinquent! You dirtied the family’s name when your name showed up on the tabloids twice. It’s no wonder even your sister gave up on you.”

It took every fiber of Yamaneko’s self control to stop her from lunging at her father’s provocation. Instead, she hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t bring Mai into this. You are the reason why I had to resort to stealing! You kicked me out. I couldn’t even find an apartment without a guarantor because I was a minor. Do you think I would resort to that if I wasn’t so desperate without a family’s support? That criminal record means nothing here anyway!”

“My, my, this is a conversation you shouldn’t be having in front of strangers. Are scandals really commonplace in your family?” Niragi interrupts, and aims his rifle at Mr. Yamane’s chest. “Why don’t we just kill the old man?”

“See?! Even the company you keep reflects who you really are,” Mr. Yamane blurts, face red from rage. “No amount of discipline I tried to instill in Minami worked to keep her in check. She's a criminal. It’s why I disowned her.”

Aguni remains stoic throughout the entire ordeal, but the last thing the Yamacorp CEO said stirred something hateful inside him. He towered over Mr. Yamane in a show of intimidation. “I thought I heard you call my underling ‘daughter’ in that confrontation I broke up. So which is it?”

And just like that, Mr. Yamane’s domineering facade crumbles, stammering to answer the militants’ chief.

Hatter holds out an open palm, motioning everyone to quiet down. “These accusations won’t get us anywhere. Regardless of who killed Mrs. Yamane, peace on the Beach has been disturbed,” he mutters, expression grim, and jovial demeanor absent.

“The number of violent cases has been rising, but we have handled them quietly. This one is a public spectacle that might send ripples of fear through the entire Beach. Aguni, tell your men to go harder on their patrols and to keep themselves restrained.”

“You’re not even going to interrogate her?” Mr. Yamane exclaims, pointing at his daughter.

This time, Aguni is openly sneering at him. “Why are you so eager to accuse my underling of a murder, old man?”

The former CEO shrinks before Aguni, and any bravado he had dissipated. Yamaneko couldn’t suppress a satisfied smirk.

“Ah, Mr. Yamane, you were some corporate bigwig before coming to this country, am I right?” Hatter asks him. “As number one,” he nearly growls, voice dropping an octave. “I call the shots here. Your daughter brought back high-value cards from the games. Any member of the Beach like that is a fine asset. Unless she’s proven to be a traitor, murderer or not, no action will be taken against her without the executive board’s say.”

“Then you’re complicit in my wife’s murder. I won’t forget this,” Mr. Yamane spits, turning around to barge out the door.

Niragi scoffs at his dramatic exit. “I really want to put a bullet between his eyes. What a bastard, shitting on the military sect like that.”

“As much as I hate that asshole’s guts, you killing him right after his wife just died would just draw more suspicion to me, and the other militants,” Yamaneko replies, folding her arms and eyebrows creased.

From the corner of her eyes, Mira glances at her with a newfound curiosity.

“I think I should also mention that he begged me for help to get out of this place. The executive board should watch out. He’s known for stabbing business associates in the back to climb the ranks. My father is highly manipulative, and doesn’t stop until he gets the result that he wants,” Yamaneko adds.

“Hmm. He sounds like a potential Heart specialist too. Perhaps it runs in the family?” Mira croons thoughtfully, looking at her with the eyes of a child examining a shiny new bug she had found in the garden. “Ah, but you’re willing to impart information about your own father for the sake of the Beach and the executive board?” she asks.

Yamaneko cringes at the comparison between her and her father. “My loyalty is to the Beach, and to my chief. My chief is part of the executive board, isn’t he?”

Mira regards the CEO’s estranged daughter for a moment, and grins.

“That’s enough. Hopefully this incident is just an isolated case. Ann, if any similar cases show up, you know what to do,” Hatter said, almost with an air of boredom. And with that, Hatter leaves, adjourning the meeting.

“I do think an interrogation is in order, though. If you would allow me to borrow her for a moment, Aguni?” Ann asks, tilting her head towards Yamaneko.

Aguni’s stony expression turns sour, but he nods. The younger militant steps right ahead. “If it helps me prove that I have nothing to do with this, sure.”

The chief backs off, and he turns to the rest of the militants present. “I want to have a word with the two of you. Now.”

As the chief goes off on Niragi and Last Boss, Yamaneko follows Ann to a storage closet for cleaning supplies, and clears her throat.

“Well? We’re clearly not here to play seven minutes in heaven, so if you have a question, shoot.”

Ann rolls her eyes, expression otherwise stoic. “Right. How do you usually execute traitors?”

Yamaneko gulps, looking at her hands. “I usually aim for the carotid, or any other large artery I can target.”

“And why do you choose that method? Are there any advantages to it?” Ann asks, taking out a notepad and starting to jot down on it.

“It puts them out of their misery fast. Plus, the blood spurts in one steady stream without much spraying. It makes cleanup easier.”

Ann nods, and flips a page on the notepad. “What were you doing at around ten thirty in the morning?”

“Grabbing lunch at the lobby,” Yamaneko responds, folding her arms.

“Who were you with? Who did you speak to?”

“Last Boss. Though, I saw my father in the lobby too.”

Nodding and writing, Ann continues. “And what were you doing around two hours before the incident?”

Yamaneko hesitated for a moment, and Ann watched her like a hawk, noting the shift in her body language. Clearing her throat, the militant stammers. “I… I was having sex.”

“With whom?” Ann asks with a completely straight face, pausing from writing on the notepad.

“Is this even necessary to ask? God… I was doing it with Last Boss, obviously. I’m pretty sure some of the people in the rooms nearby heard us too,” Yamaneko says through her teeth, shifting her weight on one foot. “Can I go now?” she asks, face red.

Ann nods, and tucks away her notepad and pen. “You’re free to go.”

The militant leaves. She meets up with the others, who were receiving a tongue-lashing from the chief, and she joins their misery. Afterwards, Aguni motions at his underlings, and they follow. As they walked through the halls of the hotel, Yamaneko felt strength in their numbers.

Then, Aguni halts. “Yamane.” Her head perks up. “How many visa days do you have left?”

She pauses for a moment to think. “More than a week.”

“You’re on patrol duty with me for a few nights.”

“Right. Understood, chief.”

“Meet me tonight at the gate. You’re all free to leave.”

Niragi went ahead and trudged off, mood sour from Aguni’s reminders on the use of violence on the Beach. After checking if no one else is around, Last Boss puts an arm around Yamaneko’s waist, eyes searching hers.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him, before pressing a quick peck on his lips.

“You haven’t been on a patrol yet, haven’t you?” Takatora asked her.

“Mhmm.”

“Stay alert,” he says, voice hinting at some softness.

“Of course.”

Takatora would be lying if he said that he’s nervous about his lover’s first patrol, but as he watches Yamaneko meet up with their leader from a window, he felt some relief knowing that she’s made it far enough to rise to number sixteen and gain some semblance of trust from their chief.

Feeling a little cold from the absence of her jacket, Yamaneko walks towards Aguni, doing the best she can to look focused. She wouldn’t want to disappoint him on her first patrol.

“Yamane, eyes peeled,” Aguni said as he drew his pistol and motioned the younger militant to follow.

“Yes, chief.”

Halfway through their patrol, Yamaneko speaks up. “By the way chief, could you refer to me with my nickname instead?”

This gains her a stern, questioning look. “I don’t want to be associated with my father’s family name anymore.”

The look on Aguni’s face softens ever so slightly, and he grunts in acknowledgment.

“You don’t have to call me chief all the time,” Aguni says to her after some time as he scanned the perimeter for any suspicious activity. His underling looks up to him, a curious look on her face. She hasn’t heard the chief say much outside of games.

“But I find it respectful,” Yamaneko replies, hands hovering near her thighs, where her knives are holstered. Aguni blinks a few times before moving again.

“With proper training, you’d fit in with the SDF. There are more female recruits now, I heard.”

“Nah. I’m too much of a non-conformist for that.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Yamaneko motions to her face with one hand. “Good luck trying to scrub all this makeup off my face, chief.”

The snort he gives her sounds almost amused, but Aguni’s expression remains stern. “That attitude of yours, did it get you in trouble with your father?”

Yamaneko is taken aback from the personal question, but nonetheless, she responds to her leader. “Well, yes. I tried to suppress it and be a good daughter, I promise. Regardless, it’s just an excuse to beat me. Everything I did got me in trouble with him,” Yamaneko says almost too casually, as if her experiences weren’t the damaging, traumatic ones that lingered for years.

Old, painful memories started to stir within Aguni’s psyche upon hearing Yamaneko open up about her own upbringing. In the young woman before him, he saw shards of his past self, the angry young man who wanted to get back at his own father, but was robbed of the opportunity due to his death. His knuckles turn white from the rage simmering in his heart.

They continued walking, looking over the fences for any possible intruders. Every now and then, Aguni would tell the young militant what to watch out for, and what to do in certain scenarios. The patrol ended peacefully, much to Yamaneko’s relief. She leaned against a fence when they got back to the gate. Aguni folds his arms and observes her.

“Is there anything else you need, chief?” Yamaneko asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Yamaneko, day or night?”

“Uh, night.”

“From now on, you’re training with me every five in the afternoon, sharp.”

Eyebrows rising up her forehead, Yamaneko has a dumbfounded look on her face. “Training? For what?”

“Do you want to gain an edge over your bastard father, or not?”

One look in the chief’s eyes, and she knew he had similar experiences in the past; of feeling small and powerless against someone who should have been one’s shelter from the world. “Yes.”

“Then don’t be late.”

Aguni leaves, while a dumbfounded Yamaneko stays in her spot, still processing the events of the day. Cold fingers trail on her good shoulder and she turns to see her lover’s face. A smile blooms on her painted lips.

“Takatora. You didn’t attend a game?”

“I was patrolling on the upper floors. I can’t leave you here on the Beach alone either.”

“Ah,” she replies, holding his hand as they walk back to their room. “I guess we deserve a little break from all the madness of the games.”

After some time, as they lay on their shared bed, Yamaneko asks her lover a question. “Are you worried about my father being here?”

He nods, and squeezes her small hand.

“Don’t worry too much. Besides, the chief said he’ll be training me every five in the afternoon. I’ll kick the bastard’s ass if he tries anything.”

Takatora tilts his head. “The chief?” he asks almost disbelievingly.

“Yeah. It’s kind of strange.”

“You didn’t do anything to earn his ire, didn’t you?”

Yamaneko raises an eyebrow. “No.”

“Good luck. He’s... strict.”

“I know, I know.”

The first day she trained with Aguni, she expected it to be difficult, but not this severe. The wildcat pants as she ran her second lap around the Beach, sweat dripping from her skin and stinging the healing burns on her left arm. Onlookers were staring, and some militants were chuckling among themselves. Niragi sees her, and yells after her.

“Yamaneko, what the hell are you doing?”

“Chief wanted me to run laps!” she shouts, voice hoarse.

“What did you do?”

“Huh?” Yamaneko asks, irritation growing. “No time to talk, gotta run!”

Hanako, the militant who once accompanied her in the dressing room, watches as Yamaneko jogs past her, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. When the chief asks us to do something like that, it’s usually because we pissed him off,” she mutters.

“She must’ve pissed him off bad, then,” Saiko butts in, passing the other girl a cigarette.

As fast as her legs can take her, Yamaneko sprints at the last few meters when Aguni comes into view. As she runs past him, she collapses and lies on the ground. Her feet ache, and it doesn’t help that her sandals aren’t made for running.

“What the hell are you doing? You need to cool down. Walk!” he barks, and Yamaneko suppresses a pathetic sigh as she forces herself up. She paces around in circles, occasionally stretching her arms and legs. Satisfied, Aguni lets her sit, and he tosses her a bottle of water. She gulps it down.

“I’m gonna hit the showers now, chief,” she pants, and Aguni tilts his head.

“You think you’re done for the day?” he asks.

Yamaneko couldn’t answer, looking at him in disbelief.

“Not yet, you’re not. You still have some grapples and knife techniques to study. Stand up!”

She swore she wanted to cry, but Yamaneko kept her mouth in a tight line, swallowed hard, and got on her feet.

“This is nothing compared to the shit I endured in the past,” she thinks to herself, and carries on.

Two. Three. Five. Ten times, she ended up on her ass, disarmed and beaten by the chief every single time. As she was starting to reconsider what she thought earlier, the chief holds a meaty hand out, and she grabs it. Aguni helps her to her feet, and pats her back, almost making her lurch forward.

Yamaneko freezes at the friendly touch. All the touches she got from authority figures, her father especially, was nothing like this.

“Focus on your footwork.”

Then, he leaves without saying anything else. Tired, bruised, but fulfilled, Yamaneko shouts a spirited “Yes, chief!” as he walks away.

Taking a deep breath, the younger militant finishes what’s left of her water, and heads back to her shared room. Takatora is waiting inside, fresh from a patrol, and upon seeing her sweaty and disheveled form, he lets go of whatever he was reading to check on her.

Yamaneko holds two thumbs up and beams at him, voice failing her.

“Did the chief go too hard on you?”

“No. Well, yes. But, it’s fine. I learned a lot,” she says as she sits next to him. “You know, he’s more of a parental figure to me than my own father.”

Takatora snorts at the idea of Aguni being a father, but the more he thought about it, the more he agreed with her. He’ll never say it out loud, though.

On the tenth day of Yamaneko’s training, in the middle of sparring with the chief, one of Hatter’s men approached them.

“Aguni. Please come with us. Take her with you too,” he says in an urgent manner, brows furrowed in concern.

“You better have a good reason for this interruption,” he growls, picking up a towel and slinging it over his shoulder.

“There’s been another killing. Please take care of it discreetly. Hatter doesn’t like it when things like this goes public.”

A lump forms in Yamaneko’s throat as she follows Aguni to the hotel room holding the victim. When they arrived, Ann was there, assessing the situation, and the victim sprawled on the floor, a diagonal cut on his neck. A few men were setting up a stretcher nearby, and they halted when they saw the leader of the militants enter the room.

“It’s similar to the previous case,” Ann starts, taking off her shades. “The wounds are consistent with the type I found on Mrs. Yamane. A laceration to the neck with a sharp object,” she continues, holding a clean handkerchief and tilting the victim’s head. “And this time, the glass fragments stuck on his skin are more obvious. Whoever committed these murders used a shard of glass as an improvised weapon.”

The taller woman turns to Yamaneko. “I’ve corroborated your statement with the other residents on your floor. They indeed heard you that morning, so you couldn’t have been with your stepmother. Your method of exsanguinating traitors before disposal doesn’t align with the ones used in these murders, either. The odds of you being the killer are low, from this information.”

“Any clue on the killer's identity?” Aguni asks, watching the corpse. The victim died with his eyes wide open, the look of terror etched on his face.

“We have a lead,” says Ann, full of cold confidence. “For now, bring her to the makeshift lab discreetly. I need to do a full autopsy.”

Boots thudding against the floor, Aguni walks towards the corpse, and hooks his arms under his armpits. Instinctively, Yamaneko grabs his feet. As they lay him down on the stretcher, the victim’s mangled arm, riddled with stab wounds due to his attempt of protecting himself from his assailant, slips and dangles off the edge. Looking around, Yamaneko grabs the end of a curtain, and puts it back in place. The victim’s Beach tag, number 28, reflects the moonlight streaming from the window, and Yamaneko’s eyes trail to the glittering mess of broken glass on the floor, which contrasts with the dark blood splatters on the wood.

“Hey, Ann,” she calls her attention. “I think I found the murder weapon.”

The taller woman hands her the handkerchief, and she picks up a large shard of glass, its pointed end jagged and stained with blood. Ann holds it out in the light, making out some fingerprints.

“Good,” she said, then she prompts them to follow.

“That face is going to haunt me,” one of Hatter’s men comments, and Yamaneko gulps.

“Me too,” she adds.

Hatter’s devotee looks at the militant, a question hanging from his open mouth, but he chooses to keep it shut. Sensing his hesitation, Yamaneko rolls her eyes and quietly gets to work.

Glancing at the dead’s face, whose eyes were frozen in an expression of distress, Yamaneko grimaces and closes his eyes with her fingers. She pulls the curtains off the rods, and covers his bloody body. The crimson quickly soaks through the fabric.

That night, the wildcat sat in the bath longer than usual.

Wading over to his lover’s side, Takatora helps Yamaneko settle into his chest as he wraps both arms around her. In silence, she mulls about her day, brows furrowed.

“You’re bothered by something,” Takatora speaks up.

“I had to carry a corpse with the chief earlier. And my father is still living on the Beach. Ugh. Takatora, I just want to get away from all this. I mean, I’m not going to leave and turn traitor. I crave some change of scenery, maybe explore some places outside the Beach.”

Playing with Yamaneko’s hair, Takatora presses his mouth behind her head. “Supply runners leave for food and gasoline at eight in the morning. I help put away the gas when they return in the afternoon.”

Yamaneko looks up to give him a mischievous grin. “Do you think we can scare them into driving for us?”

He nods, and she laughs with a childish giddiness.

“Great! There’s this place I’ve been wanting to visit again.”

[creampuffqueen]

Worlds of Fire and Darkness | Chapter Fifteen (Winnie/Cirrus)

Read this on Ao3 here! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! 

Cast of Characters

The aftermath of the terrible earthquake in the Summer Court.

Winnie POV

The world was standing still. Still and smooth as glass, or clear water, or fresh fallen snow. The world stood still even as it seemed to crash and burn at the same time. 

I was there, but not. Only the weight in my arms kept me there, in that place. The shadows writhed around me; I couldn’t keep them contained.

Saphira. Saphira Vanserra was curled in my arms, her soft brown hair tickling my chin. I couldn’t see her, but she was there.

Other people were around me as well. I could scent them, though the air was ripe with the stench of blood and vomit and piss as well. 

High Lady Vivianne was nearest to me, only a few feet away. She was holding Dain, little bitty Dain, tight against her chest. Neia, Tarquin and Arianna’s daughter, was further away, but still there.

Camille and Caliphe were gone. My cousins- gone. Where were they? How were they? 

A soft whimper drew me back to the present, a strong inhale that brought the wayward shadows careening back to me and started the world again.

The city was screaming. A deathly, unearthly howl came from below, from the people. 

The city was destroyed. The breath left me again in a gasp, my whole body seizing with the horror. 

People are dying, the shadows murmured in my ear. A female, trapped beneath a sheet of rock. A male was thrown off the dock and into the ocean, and so were tons of debris. A child-

“No more.” I snarled aloud. “I don’t want to know.”

The toddler in my arms was shaking. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t shout. But she shook, violently. 

“Winnie!” Someone was yelling for me. But the screaming from below wasn’t stopping. It was louder, more horrifying.

People are dying.

“Winnie!” The scream came again, through the dust and destruction. Saphira’s small nails dug into my arm, her tiny body shuddering. 

My father. My father was the one yelling… Azriel didn’t yell. Elain didn’t yell. But there it was, my mother’s desperate scream joining my father’s. 

“I want my mama.” Saphira whispered. 

My feet were rooted to the floor. My wings drooped, dragging behind me, not able to protect me as dust caked in my hair.

Saphira started to cough. In front of me, I heard the small wheeze of Vivianne’s son, the baby not able to breathe in the cloud. 

“Winnie!” My mother’s howl cut through the gloom. Shadows swirled around me, and by some miracle, I got my feet beneath me and stood. 

As I stumbled forward, still holding the toddler in my arms, a smooth, sleek talon caressed my mental shields, tapping for entrance. It was incredible the shields in my head were up at all, let alone keeping anyone out. I allowed the daemati inside.

Winnie, My uncle Rhys’s voice filled my head, and I had to stop moving to focus. Let us know you’re all right. Use your shadows. Come to us. Your family is worried sick. And Cirrus…

He paused. Like he wanted to soften a blow of bad news.

You need to come quickly.

I couldn’t get enough focus to respond. I had always been awful with daemati abilities, and they were practically nonexistent. With the chaos raging around me, there was no hope for me to use them. 

Instead, I used my shadows. Focusing on them again brought forth a flood of information I didn’t want to deal with- the people dying, the ruined city. I blocked it out, and probed only the meeting hall. 

They tracked down my family easily. My father, he was first, like calling to like. His shadows wove around mine, a comforting blanket as he realized I was near.

My mother was close by, dazed, choked, but safe. She clung to Azriel’s arm, and my father wasn’t letting her go. 

A walk that should have taken moments was taking much longer. Far too long, far too treacherous. The only sign of fear Saphira showed was how she trembled. 

“Winnie!” My father was close, but his sudden call had me tripping over scattered debris. I barely managed to keep my balance, landing on one knee rather than my hands. Glass ripped through the thin fabric of my trousers, and I bit back a yelp of pain. 

“I’m here!” I shouted back, heaving myself upwards while still holding Saphira tightly. 

Only moments later, strong arms wrapped around me, and I heard the distinct sound of a sob.

My father was crying. 

I nestled my head against him, letting out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. He was okay. We were okay. 

Azriel led the way, still holding me tight. Elain held close to his other arm, though she’d taken Saphira from me, holding her in the comforting way only a mother could. 

We passed through a shield of wind, the magic causing my skin to tingle. Uncle Rhys’s magic, holding strong.

Our group was sorry looking. Nesta and Cassian, Nesta leaning against her mate in a rare moment of vulnerability, one hand clutching his and the other resting on her stomach, on the barely-visible bump of a growing child. 

Camille and Caliphe sat together, the eight-year-old curled up on her older sister’s lap. Feyre sat nearby, alongside Tess, who had Mireya’s head in her lap. The female was somehow more pale than ever before, her breathing rapid and shallow. 

Rhys was the only one standing, and even he looked worse for wear. Sweat dripped down his temple and neck, onto the ripped collar of his fancy shirt. His magic… 

It was draining him. The most powerful High Lord, his powers drained. A harrowing thought. 

I turned away. 

That was when I saw him. Prostrate on the floor, carefully positioned near his mother to keep him out of harm’s way…

Cirrus. Covered in blood. His own blood. Covered in his own blood.

It ran in red rivulets down his head, caking and drying on his neck and shoulders. Blood on his hands, his knees. 

“What happened to him?” I barely managed to choke out. 

“I don’t know.” Feyre whispered. “He, Tess, and Mireya found us. Mireya was already unconscious. He was fine one moment, and the next…”

“There are other people out there.” I addressed my family firmly, trying my hardest to keep my composure. “We need to get them, and help them.”

“The whole city is in ruins, Rhysand.” Azriel added. “The sooner we clear this up and find everyone, the sooner we can go help the people.”

Little Saphira, still in my mother’s arms, suddenly made herself known with a soft whimper. “I want my mama.”

“I know, darling.” Elain told her. “We’re going to find your mama and your papa. Your big brothers, too.”

“I want Daylor.” Saphira added. “Big brother.”

The mention of the Autumn Court male made my wings flare unintentionally, and I fought to bring them back. In the chaos, nobody noticed. 

“I’m going back out.” I snapped, my nerves already frayed enough. “Vivianne is out there, with Dain. And Neia, too. And we have no clue where Mor and Amren are.”

“Winnie, wait.” Azriel grabbed my arm before I could leave the relative safety of the wind barrier. My father gave Elain a pointed look. 

“When the earthquake hit,” My mother started. She gently set Saphira down, and the toddler clung to her legs. 

“I had a vision.”

Everyone sat up straighter at her words.

“You haven’t had a vision in years.” Nesta said. 

“I know.” Elain sighed. “My gift has been… silent, for a while now. But as soon as the quake started, so did the vision. If Azriel hadn’t been there I might have been killed by debris. I couldn’t move.”

“Have you ever had one that strong before?” Feyre asked. “I don’t remember your old ones rendering you immobile. Just dreamy for a minute.”

“It could have been shock.” Elain said with a shrug. “The quake, the vision. It doesn’t matter what happened then. Just what I saw.”

My mother closed for eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. Dragging the memories and the vision up, keeping the details fresh. 

“I saw a hawk.” She breathed, eyes still closed. “Brown and gray, but the tail feathers were rust-colored. It was ruffled, weak. It had been flying for a long time. It was tired.”

Elain took a breath, and continued. “Its eyes. They were… so strange. I’ve never seen a bird with eyes like it before. The brightest blue, ringed with gold…”

Her voice trailed off for a moment, and she whispered something I couldn’t hear. Her eyes snapped open.

“The fairest eyes from legends old.” 

“Where is that from?” Rhys asked, voice slightly strained. “I feel as though I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“Aunt Amren says that.” Caliphe piped up. “A rhyme, from one of her books.”

“Yes,” Nesta added on, “I think I’ve read it somewhere before.”

“There’s more.” Elain told us. She swallowed thickly.

“The hawk disappeared into the trees. And in its place, a swarm of bats swirled into the air. Everything was silent until then, but when the bats arrived… they were screaming, in human voices. They were terrified.”

“The bats were trapped. A cage, it came from nowhere. It trapped them all. And I was there, and I could do nothing to help…”

A tear rolled down my mother’s cheek. Azriel stepped closer, wrapping her in his arms as she dissolved into sobs.

“I don’t know what Elain’s vision means,” Feyre finally spoke, “but I know that we need to get up and try and make sense of what is happening now. Cirrus needs a healer, a proper one.”

“Can nobody heal him now?” Camille asked, brow furrowing. “Can none of us use our healing powers? I would do it, but…” her voice trailed off then. It was a sore spot for the teenager, really. Her powers aligned towards Summer, Day, and Spring, with none of the healing power of Dawn like her mother and brother had. 

Rhysand shook his head. “No, Camille. None of us can.” He took a deep, steadying breath after he spoke. “Something… is blocking my magic. Like a damper, but not quite. I can’t reach my powers.”

“I can’t either.” Feyre sighed. “It’s like the well of my magic has dried up. I have to reach so far down for just a drop.”

“My shadows are working fine.” I mentioned. “Tess, what about you?”

Tess shook her head. “Winnie, the shadows are a part of you. They’re different than magic.”

“But magic is also a part of you.” I argued back. “So why are my shadows working but everyone else’s powers aren’t?”

A soft groan came from where Mireya lay, and everyone’s gaze snapped to her. She shifted slightly, moaning in pain, eyes screwed shut.

“Mireya.” Tess murmured. “Mireya, can you hear me?”

The female gave a soft nod, slowly easing her eyes open. Her face was still pale, but at least she was awake. Her whole body shook as she gently pulled herself up to a sitting position, and the effort left her panting hard.

 “What…” She spoke thickly, as though her lips weren’t following her brain’s orders, “what is going on?”

“I’m going to get your mother and brother and bring them back.” I told her, before anyone could argue. “And I’m going to search for everyone else, make sure we’re all accounted for.”

“I should come.” Mireya tried to sit up further, only for the blood to drain from her face again. She laid back down in Tess’s lap.

“Stay here.” My cousin told her. “You’re weak right now. You passed out during the earthquake. Rest.”

While she didn’t look happy, she didn’t protest. Or perhaps she didn’t have enough energy to. 

I could tell my uncle was struggling to keep the shield up, and keep all the dust away. His magic wasn’t failing, but it certainly wasn’t cooperating. The sooner we found the others, the sooner we could get to cleaning up.

“I’m going with you.” Cassian said, giving Nesta a quick glance. My aunt nodded almost imperceptibly. 

“I’ll go as well.” Azriel added. “Two Shadowsingers are better than one.”

Together, with my father and uncle, we stepped outside the shield of wind. 

Almost instantly, I had to pull up my shirt to cover my nose. The dust was still thick, clouding around us and clogging in every place it could. Even with the face covering, all three of us couldn’t stop coughing. 

“This way!” I shouted, gesturing broadly, to where I remembered I had fallen first, when the ground started shaking. 

I let my shadows loose as we walked, their whispers filling my ears. The ground was unstable, and it shifted every so slightly with every step. Movement was difficult, as none of us wanted to bring down what was left of the palace.

After all, if the upper floors had sustained this much damage, I trembled at the thought of what had happened to the foundation. 

“Two High Lords that way.” Azriel said, having to raise his soft voice to be heard. He gestured in the opposite direction that we were headed, and I tensed at the decision being offered. 

“I’ll get them.” Cassian replied, relieving me of having to change course. “You two go get the others.”

My uncle shifted slowly to where Azriel pointed, walking away until all that could be seen were his dark wings flared wide. My father and I continued in the same direction, both of us silent as our shadows did their work. 

It was rare that I wished for powers other than my own, but in this instance, I would have given anything for the power of light or wind. Even my heightened Fae senses were useless in the clouds of dust, so thick that even the sunlight of the Summer Court couldn’t penetrate them. 

Without being able to see more than a few feet ahead of me, it was no surprise that I tripped- but this time, it was over a person.

I hauled the person upwards, my father stepping in to help me. It was Neia, her silvery hair caked with dust, and various scrapes covering her body from debris.

“Neia,” I said, gently pulling her towards me, “I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Walk with me.”

The girl seemed to shrink in on herself, but she did as I asked, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. One of her shoes had come off, and her fancy embroidered tunic was ripped. 

We made our way back towards the larger group of people, and Neia’s breathing became labored, as if she were desperately reigning back sobs.

Finally, I could see Rhys ahead, but at that exact moment, Neia cried out, clinging to me as her hold finally slipped and she broke down. 

“Come on,” I urged, tugging her gently, “it’s only a few more steps. You’ll be safe.”

She just cried harder, choking both on her tears and the dust. 

Seeing her, just a child, so upset, so unraveled, got my already frayed nerves on end. I wasn’t sure how I wasn’t just like her, broken down and crying. I was detached, not all there.

And after all, this was her home. And it was completely destroyed. 

A few shadows twined with my own, the sign my father gave before appearing in my peripheral vision, supporting the High Lady of the Winter Court. The baby was tucked down her dress, keeping him away from the dust as much as possible. 

“Neia.” I coaxed. She was coughing now, in between sobs, and I couldn’t bear to just sit and watch. Carefully, I pulled her into my arms, carrying her bridal style the last few feet to the barrier. 

Inside, my mother greeted me, brushing the hair that had come free of my braid out of my face. She helped me ease Neia to the ground, then led her over to Caliphe and Saphira. 

Feyre still sat by her son, unwilling to leave his side. Camille had moved to crouch over him, violet eyes taking in the sight of her older brother. 

Moments later, Azriel and Vivianne arrived, and the latter nearly dropped to her knees in relief when she saw her daughter. 

“Mireya.” The young female couldn’t muster enough strength to lift herself from Tess’s lap, but she reached for her mother nonetheless. Vivianne wrapped her in a tight hug, and Dain peeked over the collar of her dress to peer at his sister. Mireya hugged him, too. 

“Feyre.” Rhys murmured, so soft I wasn’t even sure I’d heard him. But his mate cocked her head, and the two locked eyes, undoubtedly having a mental conversation. 

In some sort of understanding, Feyre moved over, allowing Rhys to come and sit by his son as well. The High Lady’s gaze and attention turned elsewhere, to a place I could not see, as I felt a flicker in the shield of wind. 

The only barrier keeping us all from the dust and destruction. 

My uncle’s face was pale and sweating, a sign of the effort to keep his magic going. If Rhysand, the most powerful High Lord, was struggling to use his powers, then how were the rest of us to fare?

In an answer to my question, Camille glanced over at me.

“It’s as though my powers have been locked away, Winnie. I can feel them, see them, but I can’t use them.”

Seeing my curious glance, my younger cousin shrugged. “It seems as though my Daemati abilities haven’t been affected, though. Your mind is wide open.”

I refused to dwell on that, instead listening to the whispers of my shadows.

People are dying in the city.

“Azriel.” Rhys said, gently combing fingers through Cirrus’s mussed hair. My father turned towards his High Lord.

“I need you to go to the Night Court, as soon as possible. I need to know if our home was affected by the earthquake as well.”

“I will go when I am sure that this city is being taken care of.” he replied softly. A small flash of annoyance in Rhys’s eyes, though it disappeared soon.

Before anyone could respond further, Cassian arrived, leading the two High Lords behind him. Thesan and Tamlin.

At the arrival of the High Lord of Spring, everyone tensed. Tamlin’s green eyes were steely, one of the only parts of him visible beneath the layers of dust.

“Thesan.” Rhysand started, and I could hear the strain in his voice, see the barely restrained curl of his lip as Tamlin surveyed the group. “Is there anything you can do for my son?”

The High Lord of Dawn hesitated for a moment, stepping closer to Cirrus. “What happened to him?”

“The same thing that happened to me.” Mireya answered softly. “He must have felt what I did. That tugging sensation, deep in my gut. I don’t know what it was.”

“He also hit his head.” Tess added. “I think he could be concussed.”

“My magic is… not obeying.” Thesan admitted with a wince. “I am struggling to use it. I could hardly reach it enough to heal my own wounds.”

So it wasn’t just the Night Court that was having issues with their powers.

Even with the declaration, Thesan still bent down to look Cirrus over. He placed a hand on his pale forehead, then traced down to where the blood still ran in a slow rivulet.

“All his wounds are only skin deep.” Thesan muttered, more to himself than any of us. “His own Fae blood should be healing him by now.”

“Our Fae blood should be healing all of us.” I snapped, feeling my temper starting to rise. Everything was all wrong, and I had stopped praying to wake up from a nightmare. Everything was all wrong, and everything was also undeniably real. “But it’s not. We don’t know why. Can you heal him or not?”

Thesan looked like he might be considering snapping back, but after a few moments, decided against it. “I can try my best.”

Holding his hands over Cirrus’s bloodied head, it took a long, silent minute before a faint glow began to emant from them, the light so soft it was hardly noticeable.

It took several minutes, minutes where we all waited with bated breath. A bead of sweat dripped down the male’s brow, sliding down and taking dust with it. 

And slowly, ever so slowly, the skin where the blood gushed out began to knit together, until fresh, brand new skin sat in its place, as raw and pink as the day he’d been born. 

“He will be sore.” Thesan panted, sitting back on his heels. “But it will not be as severe as if it were left untreated.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes met those of shimmering gold, sincerity lacing every word as he said, “Thank you.”

After another moment of silence, it was Tamlin who spoke this time.

“I need to find my son. And we must return home.”

“We all want to return home, Tamlin.” Feyre snarked, then took a deep breath, steadying herself and the shield of wind she now commanded. “But none of us will be able to if we don’t find the others and figure out the damage already done to the Summer Court.”

Tamlin gave a snarl, glaring at Azriel. “As if you weren’t already sending your Shadowsinger back to your hellish court.”

“I am not leaving until I am sure each and every person in this meeting is safe.” Azriel’s voice was low, dangerous. Tamlin just rolled his eyes.

The male’s bright green gaze landed on me, and his face twisted in a cruel smirk that had my blood boiling. 

“Or were you thinking of sending the youngling to do your spying for you? I do say, she is… quite small.”

“Yeah, and you saw with your own eyes how she kicked Autumn’s heir’s ass yesterday.” Tess snapped back. 

“Stop arguing!” Camille hissed, standing up and placing her small frame in between me and the High Lord. “We’re accomplishing nothing with this.”

“My daughter is right.” Rhys agreed, gently easing Cirrus to the floor and standing up. “Tamlin, you have control over wind. How about you put that to use and clear this dust?”

The High Lord of Spring’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. One of his hands tightened into a fist, and had I focused more, I might have seen the beginnings of those claws Aunt Feyre always talked about. 

Instead, I observed Tamlin’s face, allowing my shadows to twine around him, unabashed, gathering what information they pleased. Reaching so deep for his power, he could do little to protest. 

A breeze, flower scented and gentle, flowed around us, strong enough I could feel it even with the shield my Aunt kept up around us. The wind that was so at odds with Tamlin’s personality, soft and soothing to the male’s brash and rude demeanor. 

Whatever that power was, it worked, because the dust cleared, surely and steadily. A few bodies were uncovered, and other Fae were cleared into the open, dazed and confused, but still standing.

I didn’t bother wasting time just watching. Neither did the rest of my family. Even Aunt Nesta got up, and joined us to go gather the people. As the dust cleared further, even Feyre dropped the protective shield in favor of rescuing the others. 

I reached High Lord Tarquin first, where he stood with his wife, Arianna. Both looked dazed, but Tarquin’s face shifted into one of relief as he spotted Neia with us. The young girl stood and ran into her parents’ arms, sobbing all the while. 

More people were retrieved, various entourages of Courts. I rejoiced when Mor and Amren were recovered, thought the latter only snapped that we shouldn’t have been worried, and she could care for herself. 

Among the gathered people, I felt a flash of disappointment when Lord Eris emerged with a snarl. 

Though, of course, if he had died in the quake, that would mean that Daylor was the new High Lord of Autumn. I wasn’t quite sure how that made me feel. 

The feel of his skin on mine still remained in my mind, though buried far, far in the back. The sounds he made, the way he moved… all of it fresh, nearly demanding to be thought about. I refused to let those thoughts win. 

People are dying in the city.

All thoughts of the male died as the shadows crooned in my ear, nearly mocking. So rarely did they show personality, as they did now, and never before had they been so aggressive, so demanding.

People are dying. You must do something.

It took all my willpower not to hiss out loud. I glanced over my shoulder, to where Tamlin still stood, though his golden face was ashen. He looked as if he were on the verge of collapse. 

At least the dust was cleared. Though it revealed the full scope of the destruction. It was a damn miracle the floors this far up were still holding our weight. 

Nobody was speaking. The floors were so weak, we just might all crash to the ground if someone started an argument. 

Still, Eris spoke up.

“While I’m glad everyone is here and accounted for, we need to retrieve my sons. They were all still asleep in their rooms.”

“And I need to take care of my city.” Tarquin replied, his even temper worn short. “Get your sons, Eris, and head back to Autumn. In fact, everyone can head back to their courts. Survey your own damage. We don’t need extra people in the way.”

“Our meeting isn’t over-” The High Lord snapped, but was silenced when Tarquin held up a hand.

“I am one word away, Eris.” His voice was low, deadly, the normal gentle High Lord gone. “One more word, and I will drown you where you stand.”

Eris’s face went as red as his hair, and he snarled, only for his wife to place her hand on his arm, reigning him in. She glanced over at Saphira, in her arms, the little girl’s eyes wide. 

He backed down, incredibly. All eyes in the ruined hall were on him, and he knew it. Still, he glowered at Tarquin with lowered eyes. 

“Eris, let us help you get your sons.” Azriel spoke suddenly, and the tension in the room sparked. “It’s safer. We have wings.”

“As if.” The male hissed back. “Keep your Night Court filth away-”

“Please.” Eris’s wife spoke above him, voice desperate. “Find my boys. I don’t care what you must do. But you kept my daughter safe.”

Eris’s growl was guttural, but the female didn’t so much as flinch. 

“Bring my boys back to me, please.” 

She was desperate, I realized. A mother’s instincts, she would do whatever it took to have her children by her side and safe. No matter what her awful husband said. 

I was ashamed to admit I didn’t remember her name. Hadn’t bothered to, seeing as she was just another one of Eris’s playthings. A prized brood mare, to gift him as many heirs as possible. 

She’d done her job well. Three healthy sons, one healthy daughter. And she kept her place at Eris’s side, at his right hand. Perhaps she wasn’t as meek as I’d once assumed.

Azriel gave her a solemn nod, then turned to Cassian. Tess, who was still supporting Mireya, couldn’t come. Neither would Rhys or Feyre, so engrossed in caring for Cirrus.

There were three Autumn Court males. And two Illyrians.

Unless I went as well. I was strong enough to carry one of them. I met the eyes of my father, only to find him already looking at me in anticipation.

I nodded once.

That was all the confirmation he needed, and the three of us traveled deep inside the ruined palace, searching for the heirs of Autumn. 

~~~~

Neither my father nor my uncle questioned why I knew exactly where I was going. Even with most of the palace destroyed, I remembered the turns and twists and which way to go. 

I was both grateful and annoyed at the vast amount of windows in the Summer Court. On one hand, they provided lots of light, but on the other, shattered glass covered almost every surface. My knees barked in pain just at the sight of it. 

There was less dust in the hallways, thankfully. Enough for me to cough on, though. Most of it had already floated out the windows.

“We’re close.” I declared, as both my nose and my shadows alerted me. Loam and crackling embers, the unmistakable scent of Autumn. 

“Nasir and Alen are on that side of the hallway. Rooms nearby.” I gestured. “Daylor is right here.”

“Winnie,” Azriel started, but I was already pushing my way inside. 

The door closed behind me, and my father didn’t follow. I didn’t care. 

Daylor’s room was as opulent as mine. More so, even. As well, it looked wholly unaffected by the havoc wrought outside. The only indication something had gone wrong were the cracked windowpanes, and the pictures on the wall that were tilted oddly. 

And, of course, the male that was sitting on his bed, a silent observer.

“Your father made it sound like you were half dead.” I remarked, still standing by the door. “But you look pretty coherent to me.”

He gave me an insufferable smirk, crossing his arms. It was really unfair how attractive he was. It was unfair that one look took me back to the night before, where he’d had me pinned to the same bed… 

“Why didn’t you leave?” I asked, unable to keep the snarl from my voice. “It’s been chaos in the meeting hall. People are dying down in the streets, and yet you’re still just sitting here.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment, didn’t uncross his arms. Eventually, he took a deep breath, and spoke.

“Is Saphira okay? And my mother?”

I gave him the same treatment, and kept silent, even as my instincts screamed at the cruelty of keeping him in the dark.

“Your mother is fine. Organized the search party, actually.”

He snorted. “I’d hardly call one winged girl a search party.”

I picked at my nails, pretending to be bored. “I believe the word you used yesterday was half-breed.”

The smile turned predatory. “And I believe the word you used yesterday was bastard.”

“None of that matters now, Daylor.” I said back, refusing to fall for the bait he offered.

“Of course, Elowen.” He was testing me, seeing how far he could push before I snapped. I wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

His eyes narrowed again, and he asked another question. “What about Saphira? Is she alright?” 

A weak spot on the impenetrable heir of the Autumn Court. He cared for his little sister, even more than for Eris, his High Lord and his father.

“She’s fine.” I could almost see the sigh of relief. “Didn’t even cry when the quake happened. She’s resilient, that one.”

Daylor’s handsome face tightened at that, a glare forming, though not aimed at me. The expression lingered for hardly half a second, but I still could see it plain as day. 

At the question no doubt evident on my own face, he scowled. “Saphira doesn’t cry. Hasn’t for years.”

There was a story behind that, I was sure. But right now… I suddenly became starkly aware of the situation again. I hated him for it, for the way he could get me off task so easily, distract me so thoroughly. Hell, the entire city was in ruins, and here we were, discussing his younger sister’s habits.

“We need to leave. Get off the bed and come with me.”

Daylor glanced down at the ground. “If I move, this entire floor will collapse beneath us.”

I sent my shadows out, and stiffened at the information they retrieved. Correct, Daylor Vanserra was. He couldn’t move from the bed, for if he did, yet another part of the palace would crash to the earth.

A small spark of panic surged inside me, and I shoved it down quickly. No time to panic. Time to think. 

“We don’t have all day, Elowen.” Daylor snarked. I sent a withering glare his way.

“Maybe try and come up with an idea to save yourself, then, if you’re in such a hurry. You know, instead of sitting on your ass for hours.”

I stepped forward, one foot, two feet… the floor gave a loud groan, and I hopped back. A crackling sound came from beneath the plush carpet, no doubt the floor getting ready to give way.

Think, Winnie, think.

I watched as Daylor slowly rose to his feet on the bed, tall enough that he could touch the blue-painted ceiling. He shifted from foot to foot, brushing his hands through his hair in a manner that could almost be considered anxious.

“Stay still.” I hissed through gritted teeth. “This floor is seconds away from collapsing.”

And he listened. I didn’t have time to take in, however, when the floor groaned again, this time sagging right in the middle. When that part went, so would the bed. 

Daylor would have to be one lucky bastard to survive that drop. And considering everyone in the meeting hall had survived the earthquake, I was pretty sure our luck was running low. 

I didn’t know what to do. I was trapped, far away, with the only exit being the door behind me. My shadows were writhing, collecting information, but nothing of use. 

People are dying.

“I know.” I muttered back, “I know.”

“What?” Daylor snapped, crossing his arms again. I ignored him.

I was still mulling over my choices, when, suddenly, the door behind me slammed open. I stepped forward out of shock, my entire foot going right through the floor.

“Winnie!” Azriel roared, but I was already moving. Ripping my foot away, I sprinted to the bed, throwing myself upon it. I didn’t have any more time to think. Just time to move.

Daylor shouted profanities as I grabbed him, scooping him into my arms just like I had done with Neia earlier, though it took more effort. 

Crashing sounded behind us, but I didn’t dare look. Instead, I hurled myself off the bed, keeping the male secure in my arms.

The balcony door. It was unlocked, though it didn’t matter, as I smashed through it anyway. Glass exploded around us, and I heard screams, smelled blood, but I didn’t care.

I jumped right off the balcony. I heard Daylor’s roar, one of raw terror, but I didn’t slow. We hurtled towards the ground, the wind shifting the shards of glass deeper inside my skin.

At the last second, I flared my wings wide, a roar of my own on my lips. We soared upward, catching the wind, the sky somehow an open, endless blue, even with the destruction below us. 

The wind rippled my hair out of my face, and I breathed the first deep, true breath I had in a while- and I could have enjoyed it further, if it weren’t for the Autumn Court male’s screaming.

Turning back towards the ruined palace, I bit back a yelp of pain as one of the shards of glass dug further into my skin. But it was soon lost in a gasp of horror as I saw the palace from above.

Where we had just left was entirely caved in, floors and floors sliding down the side, still crashing. 

My father was still in there.

I blocked out the blind terror that threatened to overtake me, taking in another deep breath. I angled us toward the meeting hall, though every part of me begged to be down in the city, where the scent of terror and despair was pungent. 

It didn’t take long for us to arrive back at the palace, with the speed my wings could take me. The glass was growing more painful by the minute, and I knew I needed to stop and get the shards removed. 

Everyone was silent as we landed. Every single person, even the littlest children. I practically dumped Daylor onto the floor, but the male managed to keep his balance through sheer luck. 

I met the eyes of Eris first. The perpetual scowl, the anger, was still present. In fact, he looked more resentful of me than usual. Even as his son stumbled over to him. Injured, but alive.

His wife spoke to me instead, her littlest child still wrapped up in her arms.

“Thank you.”

I gave her a stiff nod in return, as every movement sent a spark of pain through my body. 

Rhysand met me next, pulling me towards him. 

“Winnie,” he murmured, “what you just did was incredibly stupid, and incredibly brave.”

“Brave and stupid, my two middle names.” I joked. 

“I’m going to get Thesan to heal you.” He continued, though he cracked a small smile.

“Don’t bother.” I insisted. “Just help me get the glass out, and I’ll be fine.”

My uncle gave me a look, but didn’t press. Just led me away from the commotion, to a quieter part of the destroyed meeting hall.

“Where are Cassian and Azriel?” I asked as Rhys worked, gently pulling shards of glass from my body with a pair of tweezers he’d summoned from… somewhere. I almost dreaded his answer. 

“Alive.” He answered. “And well. I feel them. Neither is injured.”

I tensed, biting my lip as a particularly long shard was removed. “I just worried. Azriel startled me, and that made half the palace crumble…”

Oh gods. I’d just crushed half the palace. All for one measly male, a Vanserra at that. 

“No,” Rhys soothed, “you did not bring half the palace down. Just one wing. And it would have fallen anyway, Winnie.”

“Still.” I muttered, shifting awkwardly where I sat. 

We sat in silence for another few minutes, the only noise being the bits of glass pulled from my skin. Blood dribbled from a few of the gashes, though none of it was nearly as bad as Cirrus’s head had been.

When all the glass was gone, Rhys pulled a roll of bandages from the pocket between worlds, wrapping up the most bloody wounds. Thankfully, none of the glass had pierced my wings, leaving most of the bandages to be wrapped around my arms and legs. 

The shadows sensed them before I did, this time. I turned to glance up at my father as he arrived. Caked in more dust, but no other visible injuries.

“Winnie.” Azriel breathed, sitting down and pulling me close, though gentle on my fresh injuries. “Thank the Cauldron you’re okay.”

“I thought you might have gotten crushed when the floor collapsed.” I whimpered, allowing my father to hold me.

“No, no.” he insisted. “Winnie, I was so worried- you jumped out of a window, for Cauldron’s sake!”

“I’ve got wings, dad.” I chuckled. “And I’m fine. Did you and uncle Cas get the others?”

Azriel nodded. “Nasir was still out cold. Alen was up, but didn’t know where to go. Both of them are fine now.”

Rhys glanced between us, violet eyes calculating. He was up to something, starting a scheme.

Sure enough, he stood up, offering me a hand up. Azriel stood up as well, brushing the dust off his pants, then looked up suddenly.

They were talking using their minds. A secret, easy communication that was impossible to overhear, not with the way both of their minds were guarded. 

“What are you talking about?” I hissed, keeping my voice as low as possible. My father and uncle shared another glance, before my father gave a short, sharp nod.

I’m sending Azriel on a mission. Rhys said into my mind. Something about this doesn’t sit right with me. Cirrus and Mireya getting sick, struggling to reach our magic… this isn’t a normal earthquake.

He was right. But… 

Let me go with him. I demanded. It took everything in me to send back just one sentence, but I was determined. I needed to find out what was wrong, who was behind this.

You suspect foul play. Rhys commented. It’s a possibility.

Winnie, you are not going. Azriel sent back. If it is foul play, I don’t want to put you at risk. 

I can take care of myself, I thought angrily. I’m strong, and none of my powers were weakened. I need more experience, anyway.

More shared glances, more unspoken conversation. I had no doubt that my uncle had just read my mind, and was now relaying the message back to my father. I just had to hope he’d convince him. 

You can go. Rhys finally said. But Azriel says that if there is even a sign of danger, you leave immediately. 

Okay. I could work with that. I gave my uncle and father a bright grin, smiling wider when Azriel returned it. 

I want you both to leave as soon as possible. Get out of here before anyone questions it. Head back to Velaris, get supplies you need, and go out again. I’ll take care of things here.

“Can I at least tell Tess? And my mother?” I whispered, mind too exhausted to attempt more mental speaking. Rhys nodded.

Quickly.

I nodded, turning away from our small group to the larger one, where I could spot my cousin still with Mireya, keeping her up.

The Winter Court heir was looking better, but not fully recovered. She still looked shaky on her feet, evident by how she was leaning on Tess. 

“Tess!” I called, and she looked over. I stepped closer, close enough to breathe into her ear, “I have to leave. My father and I are going on a mission.”

She nodded quickly, turning back to her friend. Tess and I both knew how important secrecy was on a normal day, but this was even more so. If the other courts found out, I knew there would be a big debate. 

I met her eyes again, hazel meeting hazel. “You take care of the people down there, Tess.”

Another nod. “I will. Good luck.”

Mireya glanced between us curiously, but didn’t comment. And I turned away, seeking out my mother for one last goodbye. 

That was when the shout came, the distinct voice of my little cousin, Caliphe, yelling across the room.

“Cirrus is waking up!”

Cirrus POV

Every part of me hurt. My legs, my back, my head. 

Great Cauldron, my head. 

Blinking against the harsh sun through the shattered windows, I let out a groan that sounded pathetic, even to me. I could already tell that just sitting up was going to be a trial. 

And… the odd, tugging sensation deep in my gut was nearly gone. Before, it had been so intense I couldn’t stand up straight, had puked up my breakfast. Now, it had disappeared, as suddenly as it came. 

All of this information, before I even took a proper look around. 

The lights were too bright, and I screwed my eyes shut tighter. Still, I couldn’t block out the hazy shadows above me, accompanied by the familiar scents of my family.

Caliphe, more specifically. 

“Wake up, sleepy-head.” My little sister demanded. I gave another undignified groan, my head giving a throb of pain from the noise.

“Can’t- get… up.” I mumbled through stiff lips, my tongue dry. “Water…”

“He wants water!” She called, her loud voice causing me to wince again. 

Comforting arms wrapped around me, my mother’s scent flooding my senses. She gently pulled me into her lap, as if I were no more than a child, careful of my aching body.

“Drink this.” She coaxed. I cracked my eyes open enough to take in the glass she offered me. How she found a cup of water in the chaos surrounding us, I didn’t know. But I sipped from it gratefully. 

Every part of me felt… off. Fuzzy, like a dream.

I had dreamed, when I was unconscious. Flickering flames, shifting from red to orange to gold in an instant, embers crackling loudly. 

Strange dreams were the least of my problems, however. Even the odd ache in my gut that had disappeared wasn’t as concerning as the destruction all around us. 

I took another sip of water, mentally checking myself over. Head? Throbbing. Body? Aching. And my magic… 

Subdued.

“I can’t reach my magic.” I said dumbly, glancing around at my friends and family. “Something is wrong.”

“I know.” Feyre soothed. “It’s happened to all of us. Don’t use your magic right now, Cirrus. Let yourself recover some more.”

“But… my magic.” My mind couldn’t compute. Magic had always been at the tips of my fingers, at my beck and call. I could switch from water to wind to light in an instant, power flooding out of me.

It was still there. All of it was. Just… pushed deep inside of me. Coaxing up even something small, like a drop of water, would be an effort, I could already tell. 

And the strange damper was affecting everyone. It seemed like a miracle that the glamour on my wings still held strong. For little Caliphe, hers was gone, Illyrian wings on full display. 

“We need to get out of here.” My father urged. “Azriel, I want you and Winnie to take Cirrus back home. Let Madja care for him.”

“I don’t need to be coddled.” I snapped. “I know that there are people who need our help. Don’t push me away.”

“You can’t even stand right now, son.” Rhys deadpanned. “You’re going home.”

After another moment’s hesitation, he gestured to my littlest sister. “Take her as well. She’ll only get underfoot.”

“Hey!” Cali protested, but her demands fell on deaf ears. 

“Why are uncle Az and Winnie leaving, anyway?” I interrupted the oncoming tantrum to ask my cousin a question.

“I want to make sure the Night Court hasn’t been affected.” My father responded evenly. 

And I want them to search for the source. The quake wasn’t a normal one, that’s for sure.

I gave a brisk nod, not feeling confident enough in my powers at the moment to respond mentally. I trusted Azriel and Winnie. They’d find the culprit, and they’d figure out how to get our powers back fully. 

“We should get going.” Azriel said softly. “Sunset is nearly upon us.”

He was correct. The sun was dipping towards the west, and I knew that soon, the sky would be filled with the brilliant pink and orange of a Summer Court sunset. 

It had been late morning when the earthquake had happened. How long had I been passed out?

Everyone looked uncomfortably between each other, but said nothing. Instead, Rhys nodded to my uncle.

“Safe travels, brother.”

Winnie took my hand, in preparation for winnowing, while Azriel grabbed Caliphe. My sister looked put out, but didn’t complain. 

“Take care of yourself, Cirrus.” My mother whispered, giving me one last soft squeeze. She cracked a forced smile. “And don’t let your sister eat too many cookies.”

“We should all be home soon.” Rhys assured me. “But I want to help Tarquin’s people. Their city was destroyed in the earthquake.

A spark of hatred flashed through me, for my father making me leave, not letting me help. Innocents were dying, losing their homes, and I was being toted back home, nothing more than a wayward child.

But I didn’t have enough energy to be angry. So I just nodded.

“Let’s go.” Azriel said gently. Winnie squeezed my hand once, and then we were gone, squeezed through the pocket between worlds, suffocating for just a second. 

And I found myself sitting in the living room of the River House, my cousin by my side. Azriel and Cali sat on another part, my little sister still pissed from being taken from the action. 

I took a deep breath, keeping the ache at bay. My head was pounding again, and I shut my eyes against the light.

“I’m getting Madja, and then we’re leaving.” Winnie told me. I nodded vaguely, not quite hearing her.

The sound of fire crackled in my ears, and I sat up straight, surprised to find no flames near me. Visions danced before my closed eyes, flames of glittering gold far too close to my face.

That heat felt real, yet it wasn’t. 

“Aunt Lainey had a vision.” Caliphe said bluntly, crawling across the couch after Azriel and Winnie left. My cousin to get the healer, my uncle to gather supplies.

“What about?” 

“I don’t remember everything,” my sister shrugged, “but I know she saw a bird. A hawk, I think. Then aunt Nesta and uncle Rhys talked about aunt Amren’s books for a while.”

“Not much to go off, huh.” I muttered dryly, and Cali shrugged again. 

Winnie was back, Madja at her side. I reigned in my groan at being coddled, yet again, as the older female came over to examine me.

“Winnie!” Cali said suddenly, jumping up. “What was the rhyme aunt Lainey said? About the blue eyes?”

After a moment of thought, my cousin answered. “The fairest eyes from legends old, the brightest blue, ringed with gold.”

Caliphe nodded, satisfied, while fire flickered at the edge of my vision at her words. 

“Winnie, let’s get going.” Azriel called after his daughter. “As far as I’m aware, nothing in Velaris is amiss. We check out the rest of the Night Court, and we keep going.”

Madja glanced up from where she’d been fussing over the cuts on my knees. “If you will, Lord Azriel, not everything is fine. My magic has been weakened.”

The color drained from my uncle’s face. “Here, too?”

Madja nodded. “It’s still there, but hidden. Hard to reach.” Looking over me once more, she continued, “So I’ll give you a tonic for the pain, my Lord.”

“Then our mission has become more important.” Azriel sighed. “Winnie, finish up. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

My cousin didn’t object, slinging a skin of water over her shoulder as well as a small pack of other supplies. Azriel was prepared similarly, and both of them had shadows weaving over their shoulders.

Shadowsingers, the both of them. Some of the only magic that didn’t seem to be affected.

Madja gave me a small, sweet-smelling tonic while she went to work wrapping bandages over my legs. Winnie as well was covered in them, but whatever had caused her to need them couldn’t have been too bad, if she was still being allowed to go with her father. 

“I’ll look into that rhyme while you’re gone.” I told her. “You said it might be found in Amren’s books, right?”

Winnie nodded. “Yes. You might want to look at more than that. See if there’s a way to weaken power in a long range.”

She leaned in, squeezing me tight. I returned the hug, as did Caliphe, until Azriel gave a pointed cough.

“Stay safe.” I warned. “You don’t want to leave Tess to beat up all the Illyrian males by herself, do you?”

Winnie gave me a wicked grin as she stepped away. “I wouldn’t dream of it. She can’t have all the glory.”

She stepped away, and I took a sip of the tonic. Clasping hands with her father, the two of them winnowed away, leaving no trace behind.

Cauldron keep them safe, I prayed. 

Outside, starlight shone in through the windows. In the short time we’d been in the River House, night had fallen, leaving the only light to be what reflected off the rippling Sidra.

I wrapped an arm around my little sister, sending up a few more prayers while I finished off my tonic. For my family, my friends, for the ruined Summer Court.

More flames, at the back of my mind. My gut gave a soft tug in answer. I ignored it, staring out the window instead.

The brightest blue, ringed with gold.

Instead of those, eyes of piercing forest green stuck in my mind. More fire. A flicker of lightning, a breath of wind. Another tug in my stomach.

Fly fast, Winnie.

~~~~

And there it is! What did y'all think?

Any more guesses on what caused the earthquake/strange sickness/disappearing magic? I mean, it's probably really obvious, but I just love hearing y'alls opinions!

In the scene where Winnie saves Daylor, there's a little bit of something there... a hint of his true self... hm

The next ACOTAR chapter will probably be only Winnie, unless I decide to change something and include another POV... we'll see. Do y'all like the multiple POVs or single POVs more?

As for the next chapter... I won't tell you anything except the Sygan kiss will finally happen. No more info. I will just say, it's going to be intense.

Love y'all! I really hope you liked this chapter!

Comment to be added or removed from the tag list

@queen-of-glass

[missbrightsky]

Falling Feathers

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“Beautiful,” Rhysand breathed, “Absolutely beautiful.” He pulled back the arrow a fraction farther, training the head on the swan that was gliding through the sky.

He had been riding through the forest when the biggest bird he had ever seen glided overhead. What a prize that would be! And he urged his horse faster to keep up with it. It entered a cave under a waterfall, so temptingly close that he couldn’t give up now. Dismounting his horse, he stepped lightly on the log spanning the river and followed the massive bird through the cave.

A hawk? Or perhaps an eagle? It was unlike any creature he had seen before.

The cave opened up into a forest that was unfamiliar to him. Dozens of times he had ridden through the forests surround the castle, but never through here. The leaves were a vibrant emerald. Mushrooms the size of dogs dotted the roots of trees that reached towards the sky.

Ahead, the bird had risen higher in the sky. The early evening sun gilded its russet feathers gold. He raced past trees and bushes, hardly noticing the animals hiding in the foliage. Animals that were fairies underneath the warlock’s curse.

The sound of rushing water started to filter in, a blue lake fed by a nearby stream started to glint through the trees. The bird swooped down towards the surface, claws outstretched. A cry sounded. It was almost human-like.

The bird rose again into the sky as a flash of white lifted up from the lake surface.

A swan… pure white feathers tinted pink in the fading sunlight. It flapped its wings, rising. The massive bird swooped down again and started to pursue the swan, driving it closer towards me.

“Beautiful,” Rhysand breathed, “Absolutely beautiful.” The larger bird peeled off, but he was too focused on the swan to care. Its feathers would make the most gorgeous gift to his mother, maybe enough to get her off his back about marriage.

Rhys’s arm strained, quivering with the force he needed to keep the arrow drawn back. Something was stopping him from releasing it. The swan continued to fly through the sky, unaware of the hunter below that was so close to taking its life.

The last of the sunlight faded from the sky, tinging the world with shades of lavender.

The swan began to glow with the purest light, causing Rhys to slacken his arms in complete awe. Never before had he seen such a phenomenon.

“FUCKKKKKKKKK,” came the shout from the swan, now a human woman that was whirling her arms through the air as though trying to fly. She crashed into the surface of the lake, causing a massive splash that sent ripples through the body of water.

She surfaced, sputtering and spitting out water, “God fucking dammit,” and started to swim towards the shore. Rhys raced forward, still in shock but felt utterly compelled to help this woman. Before he could reach her, she emerged from the lake, her blue dress soaking wet. “Fucking Hybern,” she muttered before realizing that she was not alone.

Rhys halted a few feet away. Before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even wet, her hair was a golden brown that reminded him of summer. When she met his eyes, they were like the sea he wanted to sail so badly, blue and grey with flecks of green and stormy with rage.

“Hi,” he said lamely, cursing himself for speaking such an idiotic one-syllable word.

She took him in, her gaze guarded, but… interested. Maybe the admiration of looks went both ways. “Hello,” she returned, looking a bit awkward and uncomfortable, probably from her unexpected swim in the lake.

“Who are you,” he asked, still unable to stop himself. Any thoughts had emptied out of his mind.

She surveyed him again, deeming him worthy of that small piece of information. “Feyre,” and then recognizing him, she bowed slightly, “Your Highness.”

He grimaced at the honorific, not liking the formality. Finally, common sense started to trickle back in, but not enough that he didn’t phrase his next question better, “What are you?” and then blushing at the lack of tact in the words. His etiquette tutor would be rolling in her grace right now.

The woman, Feyre, raised an eyebrow at him, relaxing a bit more at his embarrassment. “A human,” she paused and a small frown formed on her lips, “Well, I used to be. I live in the village with my father and sisters, but I went into the forest one day and a warlock caught me and turned me into a swan. Thankfully, the Fairy Queen took me into her protection after I was able to pull the crystal from the tree and gave me the ability to be a swan by day and a human by night. We’ve been looking for a way to break this curse.” Taking in the look on his face, she added on, “And now you think I’m bat-shit crazy.”

“N-no!” Rhys blurted out and then caught his tongue, “I mean, I just saw you turn from a swan into a human so it’s not too hard to believe.”

She let out a small, bitter laugh. “Yeah, I guess you did.” Her gaze turned critical, “How did you get here? The only way in is through the-“

“The cave under the waterfall? I was following this massive bird through the forest and it went through there. Which thinking back on it, that probably wasn’t just a bird was it?” She sighed, biting her lip. The fidget was distracting and led his mind down a new line of thought that wasn’t particularly helpful right now.

“That was Hybern, the warlock that has cursed me and this forest and all the creatures in it. He-“

The massive bird appeared again, swooping down and landing in a flash of light that was dimmer than Feyre’s. “One arrow!” the warlock yelled, “All you needed to do was shoot one arrow!” the warlock’s face was red and twisted into an ugly expression. “Now you’re completely useless to me.” He held out his hand, a ring glowing crimson on it, power crawling through the air.

Rhys reached towards his quiver for an arrow but Feyre stepped in front of him. A shout formed on his lips, but it was unnecessary. A line of red power shot towards them and was stopped by a shield of purple, seemingly emanating from the crown on Feyre’s head.

Hybern lowered his hand, cutting off the beam, growling. “One arrow from a human hunter and that crystal would be mine and you,” he pointed at Feyre, “would no longer be my problem.”

“Fuck off, Hybern, go ruffle someone else’s feathers. You have no power here,” Feyre said with her own growl. Rhys suppressed a shiver, the strength in her voice only made her more beautiful.

Hybern shifted his stance, ready to attack when a shrieking filled the forest. “Daddy!!!!!!!!!! Daddy, help!!!!!!!” his head whipped towards the source.

Feyre smirked, “Looks like Amarantha needs your help.”

Hybern looked back, his gaze red and full of hatred, “This isn’t over,” and transformed again, taking off towards the screams.

Once Hybern’s tail feathers had disappeared, Feyre turned back to Rhys. “Are you ok?”

He could only nod his head, speechless at the show of power he had just witnessed.

“It’s getting dark, you’ll want to get back to the castle before dark, I don’t know if or when Hybern will return,” Feyre said.

“What about you? What will you do if he returns? I can’t leave you here alone,” Rhys protested, not wanting to leave this woman alone here.

“I’m not alone, I have the fairies to help me fend off Hybern,” she reassured him, a small smile quirking her lips at his distress.

“Then let me help you find a way to break this curse,” he begged. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being under someone else’s spell.

She regarded him one more time, this final assessment striping him down to his soul. Feyre nodded, “Alright, but only if you return to the castle at dawn.”

Rhys breathed a sigh of relief; he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to this beautiful enigma just yet. “Deal.”

Feyre’s smile full on bloomed, melting my heart and causing me to return it. “This way then, I’ll introduce you to the Fairy Queen of the Forest.”

He followed her around the edge of the lake, the smile not leaving his lips as shadows deepened around them. He wasn’t sure what he had gotten himself into, but it would all be worth it to see Feyre freed from this curse. He just hoped that she would see past his princely title and got to know the man underneath.  

[uncannychange]

Jason knew his father worked in a high tech research laboratory doing, well he wasn’t sure, it being secret and all. And yet one year for some reason management decided to have a “bring your kid to work “ day anyway.

A bit chaotic no one noticed when Jason wandered into a restricted area and found some abandoned projects. One labeled ORATES setting on a shelf by itself all dusty and alone looked to Jason like it might be fun. “Maybe it’s some kind of Artificial Intelligence TED Talk dispenser or something.” thought Jason sticking it in his backpack, after all, it was very dusty so it was not like it got used or thought about anymore. The chaos of the ill-planned work event let him get away with taking it.

Unknown to Jason what the device’s name meant was Other Realities Attained Through Energized Superstrings, and Jason would have figured that out if he had paid attention to the world around him as he set on the steps outside the apartment building where he and his father lived as he fiddled with the ORATES trying to get it to work.

After all seeing three pigeons in a group of a dozen or more suddenly turn into red-tail hawks and take out after their former flock, a street light become a larch tree, a neighbor, and Mrs. Martingale in Apartment 3 G on her way to the store shrink from her five-foot, seven inches of height to become a four foot even litter person, her clothing changing so along so easily she didn’t even notice… yet, would have tipped Jason off that the device was not about to give him a lecture.

What it gave him, as he continued to fiddle with the dials was a new reality it plucked from another universe. With a snap suddenly Jason Tatham was Jasumin Takenaka Japanese exchange student from Osaka, who at the same time still knew she was or had been Jason of Burbank.

Taking herself in Jason / Jasumin’s first thought was “Oh crap, A.R.C. Research is going to throw me in jail if my dad doesn’t kill me first!”

That however proved not to be a problem as it turned out that his father had been turned from Nathan Tatham to Natsuko Takenaka and no longer worked at A.R.C. Research, but was the manager of the Octopus Japanese Restaurant whose only problem with her daughter was that she wanted to start taking ballet lessons again.

“This is going to get weird.” thought the Jason in Jasumin heading off to make herself feel better about the whole thing by doing some shoe shopping that Jasumin wanted to do. “I’ve got to show this thing to the other guys!” thought Jason thinking of his three best friends Keith, Mac, and Wendell.

Jasumin Takenaka , Japanese exchange student, who just a few hours before had been a young American man by the name of Jason Tatham until through the use of a weird device he “borrowed” called an ORATES, which he thought was just a funny-looking radio but was actually an advanced experimental device the letters of its name meaning Other Realities Attained Through Energized Superstrings. Fiddling haphazardly with the ORATES had led to him being turned into Jasumin and shifting reality around the new her so that she fit in, even to the point of turning his father into his mother, and a restaurant manager instead of a research scientist at A.R.C. Research, so getting help from them was now out of the question.

So what was Jason / Jasumin to do?

Why of course find his three best friends Keith, Mac, and Wendell and show the ORATES to them, yeah that should be fun thought Jason with a bright Jasumin giggle.

The first of his friends that Jasumin found was Keith Cook who didn't believe Jasumin when she showed up at his housing project home claiming to be a transformed Jason with the device that had changed him, but even if it was a weird joke Keith was not about to let it prevent him from spending time with the attractive girl at his door.

“Anyway that's what happened,” she explained giving the whole story of what had happened. “Right, Jasmine is it now? Sure, so if that's true then show me what that box of yours can do, fix this place up and make me look like not so much of a kid.” said Keith “It's Jasumin,” said Jason “which is Japanese for Jasmine, but still different, and while I'm still not sure how to work the thing...” Jasmine stopped on seeing the look of scornful disbelieve on Keith's face. “Sure let's give it a try,” she said and started moving dials and switches then switched it on while getting out of the frankly shabby apartment so as not to be too near it when it did it's work again.

Standing outside the door Jasumin heard the distinct deep B flat of the ORATES doing its thing, knowing it would cut itself off when done. Opening up the door and looking in she was shocked to see the job it had done on the sad excuse the city did for affordable housing, but not as shocked as what it had done to her friend Keith. “Holy crap that thing is real!” shouted a person who didn't look at all like his friend, but did fit in with the very expensive remodeling of the room she stood in. The former Keith took herself in “Jason you bitch! You've turned me into a MILF!”

As they assessed the situation that indeed seem to be the case as Keith found that on pausing and thinking about “her” life she somehow knew she was now Mrs. Kerri Cook, a forty-year-old divorcee (he refused to dare look in her mind to find who she had been married to) who lived with her equally `Sex in the City' older sister Felicia, who just a few moments before had instead been his single mother!

“This is insane!” said Kerri, “turn me back. NOW!” “yeah... I don't think I can.” said Jasumin “I've done a lot of messing with the thing, and I've turned a three stray dogs into ponies, an empty store into apparently a place that sells yo-yos, balloons, and flavored popcorn, and two when those two bullies, the Holland Brothers, made a rude pass at me the box sent them screaming down the street looking like a pair of GILFs older and sexier than you, but I haven't been able to turn anything back to how it was.”

“Oh, that's just great!” said Kerri, “now what?” “I guess we could ask Mac, he's the science guy,” He should be at that part-time job he has at that bar on 5th,” said Jasumin. Not being able to think of anything else to do, the pair headed out that way.

Fortunately for Jasumin and Kerri while their friend Mac was at the bar where he worked, Fifth on 5Th, a nondescript generic lounge for young professionals and those who wanted to appear like they were on their way up without going broke, he was there alone setting things up for opening time in the evening.

“Sorry ladies, we don't open until four,” said Mac on seeing his transformed friends enter. The “ladies” explained their predicament, to their surprise Mac was more open to the possibility that the ORATES might be real, going on about alternate universe theories, and quantum flux states.

Because of this Jasumin felt bad that she had so doubted their friend that even before he started talking she had placed the super-science device next to Mac and turned it on thinking she would have to eventually to convince him anyway.

“Wait a minute, what did you Dumb Dora's do?” asked Mac “I know I haven't been hitting the giggle water so something isn't jake here!” That was when Mac, or after the ORATES had worked it's weirdness on him Macey noticed he was wearing long black silk glove on her left hand. Which led to her taking in the former low key lounge that now looked like someplace that Gatsby and friends might hang out. Which then led to the inevitable self-discovery on Macey's part “Horsefeathers! You dizzy dolls have turned me into hotsy-totsy Sheba! A choice bit of calico, bushwa! I've got bubs!”

“Ah...yeah?” said both Jasumin and Kerrie not sure they were understanding just what the flapper that Mac had morphed into was saying.

“Look, I'm sorry, this all seems to have gotten out of hand...” Jasumin started to say.

“Can the balloon juice sister!” said Macey. “I know a diamond as big as the Ritz when I see one, let us blow this popsicle stand, find Wendell like you were going to, do what we gotta' do then I'll let you in on the plot I just hatched to make us some mazuma.”

“Is that anything like money?” asked Kerrie. “You know your onions Bearcat!” said Macey “let's head for my hayburner and find Wendell.”

With that Macey shot up and dashed out of the changed Fifty on 5th the other two new women followed her to Mac's car.” “23-Skidoo!” said Macey.

“Crap!” said Wilhelmina, formerly Wendell Brown and hour later having been quickly and without much ado exposed to the ORATES.

“Alright, what's you idea for making money?” asked Kerrie “Turns out I'm a lot more high maintenance than I use to be.”

“Simple dolls!” said Macey “we become the best hit molls ever seen, only instead of whacking the dopes we turn them into something useful to society like cake-eating dames or cigarette girls or some other sort of floozy and there Neds your uncle, we're in the money.”

“Jōdandaro!” said Jasumin, or “you've got to be kidding me!” in Japanese rolling her eyes up in exasperation.

“I've got to use the bathroom.” said Wilhelmina “Am I going to have to set down to do that now?”

The career of the ORATES Moll Mob was, to say the least, not having the most impressive of starts.

[bigfan-fanfic]

The Prince and the Baker - Pt. 2

Written for @herald-divine-hell. Thank you for being my friend, and I hope that this is worth the wait. Featuring OCs from both of us.

Esmyial had never spent the night before in a bed that wasn't of the finest materials, in rooms not designed for opulence and elegance, and he absolutely loved the experience. He had slept in a bed Tash explained belonged to his brother Arno, who was not using it, as he was traveling with a mercenary company, the Valo-Kas. It seemed Arno was human, as the bed was of normal size, compared to Tash's, which was proportionately large.

Tash's fathers had been pleased to meet Esmyial. Kaaras, the large Qunari man, his hair salt-and-pepper and his eyes gold like his son's, his horns nearly brushing the ceiling when he stood up, had welcomed him and thanked him for protecting Tash. Colm, the baker, a blond human with a full beard and shining blue eyes, had offered Esmyial lodgings for the whole Tourney, to which he had been very grateful.

They had spent a large portion of the evening (after a hearty meal of sandwiches made with leftover bread from the bakery's sales and fresh cheeses and vegetables brought by Kaaras, who worked often as a hunter to trade with the farmers on the outskirts and selling the skins to tailors and tanners in Markham Town) simply talking to each other. Tash talked about his love of baking and reading, and how every year he went to see the Grand Tourney. Esmyial responded with stories about his parents and siblings, and his life in Skyhold, although he refrained from mentioning that his mother was the Divine and his father was the ruler of the Frostback Kingdom. Esmyial figured Tash thought him the son of some minor noble lucky enough to live in the famous castle.

Esmyial couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm Tash seemed to have for everything, whether it was talking about his daily chores or getting a twinkle in his eye listening to Esmyial's stories. And Tash admired the quiet strength and care in everything Esmyial did, whether it was neatly arranging his things at the foot of the bed or pausing for a few moments to think before responding to an excited question from the other.

They stayed up far too late into the night, learning about the other. And something in Esmyial fluttered as he listened to Tash's breathing slow and turn into soft sleeping breaths.

---

The next morning, Tash awoke Esmyial with breakfast in bed. "You have to keep your strength up for the Tourney!"

Esmyial gratefully dug into the large plate of eggs, a pair of warm rolls beside it that he could dip into the yolks, and a small bowl of fruit with cream, a Marcher attempt at Orlesian crème fraîche with berries. He glanced up to see Tash hovering somewhat nervously.

"Oh, my apologies. Thank you for the meal." Esmyial said politely, although he had already given thanks when served. He thought back to his etiquette lessons. Jacqueline always seemed to be better at them than he was. Maker, even Isalian was better at them than he was. What was it? Did Marchers only say thank you after the meal or something? Had he made some sort of horrid breach of etiquette?

"Oh, er, no, it was no trouble." Tash said, starting. "I... I know that it isn't what you're probably used to. I... I made it all fresh."

Esmyial stopped, and gave Tash a hard look. "This... is one of the best meals I've had in my life. You made all this?"

Tash's face broke out into a grin, and Esmyial's heart fluttered again. "Well, I didn't make the berries, obviously. The bushes did that. But I cooked the eggs and took the rolls from the morning batch I made, and I mixed the cream." His voice lowered conspiratorially. "I also put powdered sugar on the berries."

Esmyial chuckled and resumed eating. "It's... ah... berry good."

Tash snorted in laughter. He seemed comfortable enough to go and get a plate for himself. They ate in companionable silence as the morning mist began to clear. 

---

Seeing as how his fathers had allowed him to take the day off, he offered to lead Esmyial to the registration tent, walking through the set up marketplace stands for merchants with their merchandise and makeshift barracks for competitors unable to find accomodation. There were always some on-the-day additions, he assured the young prince.

"So... do you have a strategy for the Tourney?" Tash asked, tilting his head. "Any allies you're planning to team up with? Are you fighting with a house or company?"

"No... not exactly." Esmyial said, the nervous jitters growing in his stomach. Being with Tash had completely made him forget about his nervousness. "I'm a freelancing sword."

"Ah." Tash said, grinning. "A mysterious knight of mysterious origins. That's good. Most of the fighters will wait to engage you, see what you do first. Freelancers are the wild cards of the melee. That gives you an advantage. Trust me; I've been watching these since I was old enough to watch things."

Esmyial smiled, only to frown as he noticed Tash looking at him appraisingly. "What? What is it?"

"You need something to help you stand out. The crowd's interest does, in fact, play a role. You're going to have a hard time winning if they're pelting rotten vegetables at you because someone more interesting is in the ring."

Esmyial's eyebrows raised. "I've never been to the Tourney. They do that?"

Tash nodded. "They like doing it to nobles who do fancy moves and let their house guards do the real fighting. We Marchers have kind of a thing against nobility. Another advantage of being a freelance fighter. It's not just me who enjoys the idea of the wandering knight. We need something special to help you stand out, like a crest or something."

"Or a favor?"

"That could work. Something in bright colors, maybe a deep red or a sharp green..." Tash seemed lost in fantasy for a moment as he imagined the possibilities, before returning to reality. He glanced around and quickly ducked towards a stall selling bolts of cloth, grabbing a shiny strip of green silk and slamming a copper piece on the seller's bench before the merchant could protest.

"This is the armor you're wearing?" Tash asked.

Esmyial nodded. "Yes."

Tash smiled. "Great." He brought the strip of silk up to his face and slowly breathed over it. Esmyial felt the surge of magic and saw a vague haze spreading across the cloth before it cleared. Tash quickly tied the cloth strip around Esmyial's bicep, the tails of the knot just enough to flutter artistically but not get in his way. "There. I placed a barrier on it so it won't get dirty and will keep distinguishing you."

Esmyial smiled. "So... this is my lord's favor, yes?"

"Oh... er... I... if you want it to be, I suppose?" Tash said, blushing deeply.

Esmyial's smile became a smirk. "I believe I do."

"Er... then a favor it is."

Esmyial ran his fingers through the tails of the silk bolt. "Then I shall return this to you along with my victory in the melee. I will seek you out in the stands."

Tash smiled. "I'll be right under the box for the royal guests."

"I shall dedicate my victory to you, my lord." Esmyial said, starting to chuckle.

Tash giggled and nodded. "Well, hurry, or you won't be able to get in!"

---

Esmyial glanced around anxiously as the competitors were led onto the field designated for the melee. They were meant to wait there while the royal guests were announced. There was a lot of buzz this year, but Esmyial kept his eyes focused on the area below the royal box, searching for Tash. His anxiety melted away, and he even flashed a confident smile at the Vashoth, who had politely squashed himself into a single seat above the jostling groundlings, his height meaning he almost scratched the bottom of the royal box with his horns.

Marcher ruler after Marcher ruler was announced. Lord Tethras, Viscount and the dark-haired Messere Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall earned a round of applause from the crowd. Esmyial's grin vanished. He hoped that Varric wouldn't recognize him.

---

"Remind me, Varric, why we come to these things?"

Varric sighed at his lover's reluctance. "Come on, Cal, you've been a Marcher for years, it's like Fereldans and their dogs. This is our dogs."

"I wish. It would be a whole lot more interesting if there were dogs involved."

"You never stop talking, do you?"

"You wrote me that way." Hawke teased, sticking out his tongue. Varric jabbed him in the sides, making the Champion bark with laughter in a most undignified manner.

---

And Queen Ava of Starkhaven, the other Champion, was announced alone due to King Sebastian staying behind to manage a revolt. Esmyial had had quite the crush on her when he was little. He was now struggling not to hide behind the burly Fereldan beside him, knowing that Ava, as a close friend of his father's, would certainly recognize him.

---

"Brother."

"Sister. So you got roped into this thing, too?"

Varric sighed loudly. Ava smiled at him. "Yes, but unlike you, I didn't get to come with my husband, so stop complaining."

Cal grumbled a little.

"So, it's been a while."

"Yes, well, we've all been busy. Although, I have heard a certain bit of news..."

"What's that?" Cal wondered.

"Oh, right. You mean the... guest coming to the Tourney." Varric nodded, tapping his nose.

Ava grinned. "Right. I knew you'd know, Varric. You have nearly as many informants as the Inquisition used to."

Cal pouted. "You both are doing this on purpose, and I hate it."

"But we just gave you a hint!" Ava teased. "But you had better figure it out in the next five seconds.

Cal's eyes widened. "Wait a minute... Amayian's coming here?"

---

Esmyial gasped as he heard the trumpets. This was not something he had expected.

"King Amayian I of the Frostbacks!"

The crowd glanced in shock as the former Inquisitor walked into the royal box. And Esmyial turned pale as Amayian's gaze settled directly on him without a trace of surprise. He smiled inscrutably, and Esmyial's heart nearly stopped as his eyes focused on the silk strip around his bicep, and then slid to look right at the back of Tash's head. Esmyial shook his head, trying to convey everything he wanted to say in that small desperate look.

Amayian inclined his head, eyebrow raised. He looked back at the Vashoth in the stands, who was unaware of the interest the Divine's husband was taking in him, who gave Esmyial an encouraging wave. The look on his face was clear. We will talk about this later.

He had wanted to escape his father's shadow, the shadow of being the heir to the throne of Ferelden, the shadow of the Sunburst Throne his mother sat on. He wanted to win the Tourney as himself, not as Prince Esmyial. But it now seemed foolish that that could be possible. He liked who he was without the worry of who he was expected to be. The way he was talking with Tash late into the night, or walking in the morning, flirting without having to worry about political alliances and slighting the heirs of such-and-such. And yet, his father had not exposed him yet.

He considered the facts. He liked the Vashoth son of a baker and a hunter living in the Free Marches, and he was the Prince Esmyial, heir apparent to His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin. He had run away from home to participate in the Grand Tourney. His father would already be livid. And now he wanted to somehow convince his father not only to not drag him back to Skyhold, but to allow him to stay and fight in the Tourney as a freelancer, and to stay in the house of a baker.

Esmyial felt like borrowing the words of Varric. "Well, shit."

[miniongrin]

I’m just gonna slide in here with an AU I’ve been wanting to write for a while for FMA, where The Elric brothers are half Isvhalan—yes, it’s been done before, but fight me, I want to make my own Ishvalan culture. Which... would be why I spent three hours today researching the ecology of the deserts of Israel and Saudi Arabia instead of doing my homework, and found some very interesting things about cacti, jackals, and succulents, not necessarily in that order. But I digress.

All you need to know for this story bit: Ed has gold eyes but otherwise looks Ishvalan, Nina is currently alive, Scar is an angst bucket living with a chimera in an abandoned house in the outskirts of East City. That’s explained, but not here.

                                                     —§§§—

Scar doesn’t say anything, worried as he is about Ed’s sudden idleness. Worried, but mostly sorrowful. He didn’t truly expect them to find a way to save the girl—he knew he was trading her peace for the chance of some tenuous connection to his people. That sin is one he has acknowledged, but the boys will have a harder time. He knows they will.

But he’s at a loss as to how he might guide a young spirit through grief. He never found the way himself.

Ed’s pencil tapping stills, finally, and he stares distantly at floor, the stripes of light where light slips between the boarded windows.

“Brother?” Al shifts as though in discomfort, though Scar is, at last, positive that the boy has no tactile sense of his mockery of a body. “Is the research going alright?”

For a moment, Ed is still as a priest’s vigil. The picture is broken abruptly as he dumps his book onto the floor with an explosive sigh. “The guy who wrote this book is an idiot and no one else has any better ideas, and seeing as I’m not gonna experiment on chimeras when it’s probably gonna kill them or worse, it’s—“ He looks up at the ceiling, anger in the tense line of his jaw. “The research is going fucking awful. I’ve got no idea how to fix her.”

Nina whines and shuffles closer to him, affected by his upset. She noses at his shirt with a tortured “Ed—ward?” and Ed wordlessly raises his flesh hand to pet her mane without looking down.

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Al says quietly.

Ed snorts and shakes his head, finally looking down at the chimera as she lowers her head into his lap. “You’d think we’d have learned our lesson about human transmutation, Al.”

The gauntlets clench. “This isn’t the same thing!”

“Nah, you’re right,” Ed agrees easily. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t just as hopeless.”

Ed glances sidelong at Scar. His smirk has that peculiar hopeless twist to it that Scar has already seen on too many young Ishvalans—it hurts more than he expected to see it on this face, too.

“You must think we’re pathetic,” Ed murmurs. “We talk big, promise we can fix her, and—we’re still just human.” Ed tugs at the glove on his right hand, a sliver of automail showing at his wrist. “If that.” He gives a humorless laugh.

“You’re human,” Scar says quietly. That is one thing the Amestrians cannot take away from his people.

Ed’s gaze is unreadable. “You ever heard the story of Icarus?” he says. Scar shakes his head, and he continues, “It’s a great story. Some genius hero made himself wings out of wax and bird feathers. Flew way up into the sky—I’m not sure why, he never told anyone, because he got too close to the sun, and the wax melted, his wings fell apart, and he fell to the earth.” He pauses, deliberately, and adds, “I wonder if while he was falling, he had that horrible realization that he was only human. You know, before he was just dead.”

Al makes a tiny, gutted sound, but he doesn’t say a word.

The challenge in Ed’s golden gaze feels molten in Scar’s gut, and for the first time in a very long time, he feels a thought like a desert breeze, like a whisper from Ishvala. “That reminds me of a story my people used to tell during the storms”

Ed raises one pale eyebrow. “You tell stories during rainstorms?”

“Sandstorms,” Scar corrects. “And yes. When the storms come, you must seek shelter and stay there until they pass. We tell stories while they remain. Do you wish to hear this one?”

Ed’s eyes narrow, but Al’s shoulder’s aren’t quite so slumped, and for a suit of armor he looks almost curious. “Sure,” Ed says. “Why not.”

It’s been years since Scar has told a story, but sitting across from an Ishvalan boy ready to burn, it comes back to him more quickly than he had thought. He settles into it, sitting in the lotus position with his wrists resting on his knees, and takes a deep breath. “This is a story of Elozhih the Trickster, the child of Ishvala who has as many shapes as there are grains of sand.” The traditional opener for the tales of Elozhih. Perhaps it’s his imagination, but Scar thinks it’s quieter outside this little hut, suddenly; he knows it’s wishful thinking that hears a soft whistle of wind and the shush of sand against the walls. This would be a horrible place to wait out a sandstorm, anyhow, with the gaps in the boards over the windows and the door that doesn’t quite settle in its frame.

“Long ago, before the People had fire, Elozhih was walking along one evening as the sun was ready to sink below the horizon, and came across a tribe of the desert people that traveled the dunes. They were gathering hides and weavings and huddling close together with their neighbors. Elozhih, puzzled by their grim faces, took the shape of an old, weary traveler, and approaching the desert people as one under Ishvala, asked them why they huddled together so bleakly.

“‘It is cold when the sun goes down,’ they said, ‘for he takes the fire of the day with him when he goes to sleep. And as our moon-sister’s cycle fades, we cannot see in the night to find each other, so we must stay close together.’

“When Elozhih heard this, he frowned and watched the sun-brother as he took his fire past the horizon to where he slept in the night. ‘This is the cruelty of our elder brother,’ he said. ‘My brothers, my sisters, may I stay the night within your warmth and safety?’

“The desert people agreed, and shared their hides and weavings with the Trickster. When the morning came, the sun rising with his fire into the sky, Elozhih thanked the desert people for their hospitality and walked away across the sands.

“When he was out of sight, Elozhih turned into a bird and flew up to the sun.

“As he came close, the sun-brother burned brighter with rage, for not even the moon-sister dared shine next to him when he was in the sky. ‘Who dares to fly into my domain?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you know that I can cast you down as easily as your feathers burn?’

“But Elozhih did not seem to care. ‘Your might is indeed great, sun-brother,’ he said, ‘but I care not for your burning. I wish to see the sky beyond your fire.’ And the Trickster flew even higher, until he was nearly at the height of the sun.

“The sun was angry with Elozhih and reached out a hand to strike him from the sky. Elozhih dived, but still the sun touched his tail, setting the feathers alight with fire, and Elozhih screed as if in fright and flew swiftly back to the sands of the desert.

“When the Trickster landed, near the people who had been so kind to him during the cold night before, he used the fire on his feathers to light one of their hides, and then the sand to extinguish the fire that burned him still. The desert people saw this fire, and there went up a joyous shout, and they said, ‘who is it who brings the fire here?’

“Elozhih took the shape of the old traveler he had worn the night before, but his burned tail now formed burned legs. Still the desert people recognized his face. ‘Favored of Ishvala, I am Elozhih the Trickster, and I am he who tricks the cruel to bring relief to those harmed. I have brought the fire here, to you who were so kind to another of Ishvala’s children. Use it well, and use it kindly.’

“And he turned into rik-naram, the burned hawk with its red tail, and flew away.”

The peace in telling a Trickster Elozhih story after so long has sunk into Scar’s bones, and it isn’t until the last word dies in the air that he truly looks at the boys again. Al is utterly still, mimicking Scar’s posture in rapt attention.

Ed grips his automail wrist tightly, eyes wide and jaw clenched. When the silence stretches, he starts, roughly, “That’s—“ He stops, swallowing, and lets go of his wrist, the movement abrupt like he nearly had to pry his own fingers off the metal. He continues, voice flat, “That doesn’t sound a whole lot like Icarus.”

Scar raises his eyebrows. “Does it not?” But he knows what that internal battle looks like, even now. So he waits.

“A hero flew too close to the sun,” Al says softly, “and was burned.” His helmet tilts toward his brother. “That sounds like Icarus to me.”

Ed growls and glares at Scar. “Sure, but it’s not—“ He seems to lose the ending of the sentence and just glares harder. “Icarus’ arrogance killed him. That Trickster just—“ He waves his automail arm, apparently to wordlessly describe what Elozhih just did, but he swiftly tucks the arm back under his flesh one like trying to hide a burn.

“Edward,” Scar says quietly. “Who did you burn for?”

The blood drains from Ed’s face and he stands abruptly. Nina yips as her headrest vanishes, but Ed doesn’t falter as he storms out the door. Al starts and aborts a call after his brother and gets to his feet with a glance in Scar’s direction. He stops to pet Nina’s head briefly before taking off after Ed.

Scar is left in an old, abandoned house with an abomination of a doomed girl. Nina shuffles over to him and rests her head timidly on his knee, and Scar gently strokes her mane. With his left hand, not his right—he won’t send her to peace, yet. He doubts the Elric boys have truly given up.

If Ed comes back. But Scar finds himself oddly unworried; the boy has been burned, but he is Al-Rik, of the clan of the hawk, and Elozhih always returns to his people when he has flown away.

[shannaraisles]

Her Beacon And Her Shield - Chapter 27

The chaos of their assault on Adamant was worse than Amelia could possibly have imagined.

At dusk, Cullen's trebuchets swung into action, flaming projectiles smashing great hunks of ancient masonry from the walls, keeping the defenders busy as the rest of the army moved into position. When the trebuchets fell silent, it was the turn of the soldiers on siege ladders and bearing the battering ram to advance. Amelia caught a glimpse of Hawke atop one of those ladders, the first to breach the Grey Wardens' defenses as a small phalanx of soldiers bearing tower shields enclosed her party in a protective shell. That small space was cramped and dark, yet the sounds of the battle were still all around; the sounds of men screaming as weapons found their mark, of rocks hitting the shields held solid above her head, the roar of the men at the battering ram as they drove it toward the gate. At least once, she felt herself stand on a body part, an arm or leg belonging to one of her own people who had fallen just to get her here. It would be worse inside the fortress, she knew, but she had to get there. The ancient gate stood no chance against the modern equipment deployed against it, and as the brittle iron gave way, the shields around her fell away to allow the Inquisitor and her people to clear the first courtyard of demons and their bound mages. Then the real fighting began.

Hard-pressed, Amelia fought her way onto the battlements with her friends close at hand, joining up with Hawke to secure the three choke-points Leliana had identified, wresting control of the fight from pride and despair demons that might otherwise have killed too many of her people in this assault. What few Wardens they came across who were unwilling to fight took Stroud's word and pulled back, rather than join the fight against their fellows. The deeper into the fortress they got, the stronger the resistance became, and Amelia was glad to have the addition of both Hawke and Stroud at her back. Without them, any number of demons or mages might have taken her life before they ever reached the heart of the fortress. But finally they did burst into the main courtyard where the ritual was taking place. Several mages stood around a pulsing rift, warriors standing by, as above them their Warden-Commander slit the throat of one of their own under the direction of Erimond.

The Tevinter spotted them first, issuing orders in a shrill tone. "Stop them! We must complete the ritual!"

Amelia pushed forward as the warriors turned toward them. "I did not come here to fight you!" she shouted, her eyes fixed on the platform above. "It's done, Clarel. There will be no ritual, and no demon army."

"Then the Blight rises with no Wardens to stop it, and the whole world dies!" Erimond declared, stoking the fear she could see in the eyes all around her. "Is that what you want? And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty."

"Masterful performance, Erimond," Amelia snapped back at him. "Top marks."

"We make the sacrifices no one else will," Clarel asserted with a frown. "Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them."

"And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!" Stroud burst out angrily.

They all saw Clarel hesitate. "Corypheus?" she echoed. "But he's dead."

"He is not dead," Amelia informed her. "He planted this Calling in you all. It's false!"

Erimond scowled, seeing his influence over the Warden-Commander failing with every word. "These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel," he urged her fervently. "We've come too far to turn back now."

Clarel paused, indecision clouding her expression. Then her face cleared. "Bring it forth," she ordered the mages around the rift.

They stretched forth their power to widen the rift, offering a glimpse of the truly enormous demon waiting on the other side. Amelia and her party surged forward, desperate to stop this before it went too far, but the Warden warriors pressed in around them, ready to fight to the death to defend their mages and their Warden-Commander.

"Please!" Hawke pleaded with them, no one willing to be the first to strike. "I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It is never worth the cost!"

At Amelia's other side, Stroud snarled in frustration. "I trained half of you!" he protested as the Wardens advanced. "Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!"

"Listen to me!" Amelia turned her imploring gaze onto the warriors who threatened her. "I have no quarrel with the Wardens - I have spared those I could. I don't want to kill you, but you're being used ... and some of you know it, don't you?"

The Warden directly in front of her hesitated, raising his hand to stay his comrades' attack. "The mages who've done the ritual," he said, and his voice was heavy with suspicion and regret. "They're not right. Look at them. They were my friends, but now they're like puppets on a string."

Clarel's voice rang out across the courtyard. "You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!"

"He's not afraid," Hawke shot back. "You are. You're afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing."

Her words hit home. Amelia saw Clarel shudder at the possibility that Hawke was right, even as Stroud capitalized on that blessed moment of reason.

"I honor your bravery, my brothers and sisters, but this is not the way." He put up his sword, sheathing the blade at his side, and Amelia followed suit, raising her staff from battle-ready to simply upright. Behind them, their small party did the same; this seeming surrender further disconcerting the Warden warriors who faced them. "You have been tricked."

Almost as one, the unbound Wardens turned to look at their Warden-Commander, the leader they had trusted on this dark path. None of them wanted to believe it, and yet the sheer conviction in the voices of the Inquisitor, the Champion, one of their own ... it could not be denied. But she was looking to Erimond, her Tevinter ally, suspicion finally dawning on her face.

"Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges," Clarel suggested, and Amelia felt her tension ease just a little. The woman was frightened, but not out of her wits. "To avoid further bloodshed."

Erimond's false sympathy evaporated as he realized his hold over the Warden-Commander had been broken. "Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally," he suggested in turn. He raised his own staff, striking the stones three times. "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor," he called down as an unpleasantly familiar shriek rent the air. "He sent me this to welcome you!"

From over the battlements swooped Corypheus' pet archdemon, red lyrium eyes burning with malevolent intent. Amelia stared up at it as the Wardens scattered around her, as her friends dove for cover, standing her ground just as she had done in Haven. But this was not just any dragon, and she was not stalling to save lives this time. There was a purpose to the dragon's circling. It was here for her, and the moment it saw her, that purpose became blindingly clear.

"Duchess! Move!"

But she couldn't move, terror rooting her to the spot as the dragon circled once again, flame decorating the sky as it turned to plunge toward her. She saw the mouth open as it bore down on her, saw the flame ignite ... and felt two hundred pounds of Champion hit her hard, knocking her out of the dragon's path and behind a sturdy stone statue of a griffon. Hawke pinned her in place as the flames streamed past on either side of them. Amelia shuddered, trying to shake off the terror that had frozen her limbs as Hawke met her gaze fiercely.

"You all right?" the Champion demanded forcefully. "Don't get scared, Inquisitor. Get angry!"

Amelia swallowed, forcing her terror aside with no little difficulty. "Angry," she repeated, slowly gathering her wits together. Fear would not serve her here, Hawke was right. She should be angry; angry that Corypheus had pinpointed her fear, angry that Erimond had exploited it. "Angry, I can do."

"Good." Hawke nodded, unsheathing the two-handed sword at her back. "Let's give that thing something to really scream about!"

Champion and Inquisitor charged out of cover together, the only people moving in the courtyard. This time, Amelia did not freeze in fear; she threw ice into the gaping maw that flamed overhead, dousing that flame as it screamed down at her. Another scream erupted from the chilled mouth as Hawke's blade cut deep into its tail, and suddenly the courtyard was alive with movement. Mages turned their demons loose to attack the Inquisition, only to find the Warden warriors raising arms against them. With the dragon circling, with demons snarling and spells firing, Amelia almost missed seeing Erimond flee, pursued by Clarel.

"Cassandra!" she yelled above the chaos all around them, pointing her staff. "That way!"

The Seeker nodded, dispatching the demon before her to charge after the Inquisitor, Cole close on her heels. Hawke and Varric were quick to join them, falling in with Stroud as Amelia lead the way from the courtyard, sprinting through incidental battles with demons, trying to stay one step ahead of the dragon while endeavoring to close the distance between themselves and Erimond. A few hairy encounters slowed them up, but finally they rounded the bulk of the tower to find Clarel had cornered the Tevinter mage on the parapet overlooking the Abyssal Rift.

"You!" the Warden-Commander was shouting. "You've destroyed the Grey Wardens!"

Her spell caught Erimond by surprise, but he was laughing as he rose onto his knee. "You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch," he taunted her. "All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes, and you couldn't wait to get your hands bloody!" He cried out in pain as she hit him with another blast of raw power, curling in on himself even as he rasped. "You ... could have served ... a new ... god ..."

"I will never serve the Blight!" Clarel snarled. Her next spell sent him sliding back toward the tower as the dragon swooped down.

Amelia shouted a warning too late - the dragon caught the Warden-Commander in its mouth, biting down hard as it shook her form violently. Clarel's blood sprayed the horrified watchers as her body was hurled to the far end of the parapet. Heedless of the danger, Amelia bolted forward, unwilling to just stand by and watch as a formerly good woman was killed so brutally. A sweep of the dragon's tail knocked her to one side, pinning her briefly underneath Stroud as the others were knocked to the other side of the jutting parapet, no one in any position to help the fallen woman.

 "In war ... victory ..."

"She's alive!" Amelia gasped, scrambling onto her feet as the dragon loomed over Clarel's bloodied, broken body.

 "... in peace ... vigilance ..."

"Wait!" Stroud caught her arm as she started forward, forcing her to a halt. "What is she doing?"

Amelia squinted through the dragon's legs, watching as Clarel's broken hands formed a complex sigil that was all too familiar. "Oh, no ..."

 "... in death ..."

"Get back!" Amelia screamed, trying to drag Stroud away. "She's -"

The explosion was deafening. In her last moments, Clarel released every vestige of magical energy in her dying body in a shockwave that caught the dragon full in the face. It reared back, its great bulk shattering the stone railings that lined the parapet, sending huge chunks of masonry dropping into the deep abyss that bordered the fortress. The dragon slammed down into the stonework, scrabbling for purchase as the sturdy construction came apart beneath it.

"Run!" Hawke yelled, urging them to make a break for the tower, even as the stone beneath them gave way.

Amelia tripped and stumbled, struggling to make headway as the ground beneath her feet sank and juddered. Stroud was close by her side, refusing to leave her, the dragon taking flight behind them. She paused just a moment too long in her rush, hearing Cassandra scream her name as the world shifted, sending her into free fall with her friends not far behind her. All she could hear was the thunder of her heartbeat and the rush of air in her ears; all she could see was the endless chasm beneath her. All she could think was how stupid she'd been ... how Cullen would grieve her loss. And the Anchor on her hand flared, green flames erupting below her. She passed through the flames without harm ... and the world around her changed.

The abyss was gone, replaced with the pseudo-rock formation and unmoving clouds of the Fade. The sounds of the fall were suddenly silenced, their collective voices trying out in terror the only sound inflicted on their ears as the fall was reversed, all of them accelerating toward an unexpectedly solid surface. Amelia whimpered, closing her eyes ... and the impact never came.

"What in the name of ..." Varric's wonder broke through her fright.

She opened her eyes, and there was the surface just above - or below - her head. Suspended there, she glanced around, unsurprised to find her friends floating in much the same way.

"This is ... odd," Cassandra said, her voice dark with anger to cover her fear. "What is this?"

"Where are we?" Stroud asked, his voice rough with shock.

Rather than answer, Amelia turned her eyes back to the rock surface so close. She reached out to brush a fingertip against it ... and gravity asserted itself. With an abruptness that shocked the breath from her body, she crashed onto the rock heavily, blinking as her personal horizon reasserted itself as well. Around her, she heard her friends land too, their pained groans joining hers as they each shook off the disconcerting sensation.

"We were falling," Hawke groaned, pushing herself onto one knee. "Is this ... are we dead?"

"No ... no. Nonononononono ..."

Amelia rolled onto her knees, seeking out the owner of that voice - Cole. The strange spirit boy was crouched nearby, his pale eyes wide as his hands flexed and clenched, panic pouring off him.

"This is the Fade, but I'm stuck," he whimpered, terror bleeding through his voice. "I can't ... why can't I ...? This place is wrong. I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn't like this."

"It's not how I remember the Fade, either," Hawke offered, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Perhaps it's because we're here physically, instead of just dreaming." Her head turned, meeting Amelia's eyes. "The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?"

"I don't know." It was frustrating just to say that; she couldn't imagine how frustrating it was to hear her say it. "I still can't remember what happened the last time I did this."

"What do you remember?" Cassandra asked then, on edge in the eerie half-light.

Amelia shook her head, at a loss as to how to answer. "I ... was running," she said helplessly, knowing this wouldn't help. "There was a woman, I think, but I don't remember any details. I don't remember anything."

"Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can't assume we're safe now," Hawke pointed out. "That huge demon was right on the other side of the rift Erimond was using, and there could be others."

"In our world, the rift the demons came through was nearby, in the main courtyard," Stroud said thoughtfully. "Can we escape the same way?"

"Well, it beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?" Amelia turned, scanning their unearthly surrounding. The sky was gray-green, unremarkable but for a swirling bright vortex in the distance. "There." She pointed toward it, the mark on her hand crackling with the same shade of Fade-light for a brief moment. "Let's go."

Her eyes fell on Cole once more, moving to gently urge the boy up onto his feet. He stumbled as he rose, his eyes wild as he looked around at the familiar unfamiliarity of the Fade that had once been his home. She wasn't expecting it when he suddenly whirled back to her, pressing into her arms to hide his face against her shoulder.

"Wrong. Wrong, wrong," he gasped, clinging to her as she stroked his hair. "Wringing me out, wrought right and rigid. Can't relax. Can't release ..."

"Shh ..." Amelia held him gently, berating herself for ever bringing him along in the first place. This was just cruel. "It's all right, Cole," she murmured to him. "We'll get you out of here soon."

"Thank you," he whispered back to her, slowly standing free of her embrace. "It should be like home; it's not. This ... isn't me, not this part."

"We won't be here long," she promised him faithfully, hoping she could keep that promise. "We're getting out of here, all of us."

"I don't like it here." Cole rubbed at his watery eyes.

"You stick by me, kid," Varric told him, catching Amelia's somewhat helpless look in his direction. "I'll keep you safe."

That decided, Amelia watched as Cole moved to stand beside the dwarf, aware that the entire party was looking to her for guidance. To walk physically in the Fade ... it had only been done twice before. Once by herself, though she remembered nothing of it; more disturbingly, once by Corypheus and his fellow Tevinter priest-mages - that fateful journey that had cursed the world with darkspawn and Blights. Maker prevent such a horror being unleashed this time.

She hefted her staff, turning toward the distant vortex. "Let's move."

Together, Inquisitor, Champion, and Warden lead the way, following the tug of the Anchor on her hand across what seemed to be a narrow, rocky plain, dotted with pools of dark water and free-standing rock formation that had no natural place. But that was the nature of the Fade - it was shaped by the dreams of those who visited here, or by the will of whatever demon had claimed some small corner of this seemingly infinite realm. Amelia did not want to dwell on that thought, but one thing seemed clear - this part of the Fade had been claimed by the massive demon they had glimpsed through the rift from Adamant. They would likely have to face it before they could escape.

Climbing rough-hewn steps, she stopped suddenly, shocked by the sight of a familiar silhouette emerging from the shadows before her. She felt Hawke and Stroud come to a halt at her back, staring in disbelief.

"By the Maker ..." Stroud breathed. "Could that be ...?"

An achingly familiar voice answered him. "I greet you, Warden, and you, Champion."

Cassandra's gasp was both hopeful and disbelieving. "Divine Justinia?" she said, shock buffeting her usual composure. "Most Holy?"

The woman before them, who did indeed appear to be the deceased Divine Justinia, bestowed a kindly smile on the Seeker who had been her Right Hand in life. "Cassandra."

"You knew the Divine," Amelia said quietly to her friend, too used to the tricks of the Fade to accept what her eyes were telling her. "Is this really her?"

"I-I ... I don't know," Cassandra answered in confusion. "It is said the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but ... we know the spirits lie." Her voice hardened, no doubt bracing herself for disappointment. "Be wary, Amelia."

"I fear the Divine is, indeed, dead," Stroud warned. "It is likely we face a spirit ... or a demon."

"You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand, alive in the Fade yourselves," the Divine reminded them. "In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have."

"Sure you can understand our concerns," Hawke pointed out. "Explain what you are."

"I am here to help you." The Divine's eyes turned to Amelia. "You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor."

She wanted to believe, so badly, that this was Justinia before them, but Amelia was a mage. She knew the Fade held more than just demons. "The real Divine would have no way of knowing that I'd been made Inquisitor," she said reluctantly.

"I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus," the Divine told her. "This demon is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes was its work."

Despite her reservations, Amelia found she trusted this being. It had not attacked nor offered a deal, therefore it was not a demon; a spirit, then, at best. "So it isn't Corypheus manipulating the Blight?" she asked.

"Corypheus is a powerful being, but he does not have that power," the Divine assured her. "Only the Nightmare can spread such horror."

"I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare has dealt my brethren," Stroud declared, angry at having been manipulated at all.

The Divine smiled her benevolent smile. "You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair."

"Wonderful." Amelia sighed. Not only were they near a terrifying-sounding demon, literally, but they were in the part of the Fade it claimed as its own. "Corypheus seems to have a lot of demons at his disposal. How does he command so many?"

The Divine - or whatever she was - shook her head. "I know not how he commands his army of demons," she admitted with reluctance. "His power may come from the Blight itself. But the Nightmare serves willingly, for Corypheus has brought much terror to this world. He was one of the magisters who unleashed the Blights upon the world, was he not? Every child's cry as the archdemon circles, every dwarf's whimper in the Deep Roads ... the Nightmare has fed well."

"Tell me more about the Nightmare," Amelia requested. "The more we know, the stronger we are against it."

"Knowledge defeats fear," Hawke agreed with her.

"It is not simply fear," the Divine told them. "It is the terror you cannot remember, the horror your mind erases to protect you. When old memories no longer make the veteran soldier's hand tremble, it is because the Nightmare has taken them. Most people avoid their fears. It is simple for the demon to steal the darkest fragments. They forget, and it feeds. Corypheus has helped it grow monstrous."

"It makes people forget the worst part of their fears?" Amelia's frown was curious, suddenly wishing for Solas to make all this easier to understand. "It almost sounds like the Nightmare is helping people."

"Perhaps it was, once." The Divine had no better answer than that. "But now, it helps no one but Corypheus. By his hand, it creates more fear and grows even stronger. In any case, robbing people of their fears is never a kindness. At best, it is a mistake born of compassion. Without fear, and pain, and failure, we cannot learn; we cannot grow. As you cannot grow until you recover all that was taken from you."

"And how do I do that?" she asked, not particularly happy about having to prolong their stay in the Fade.

"When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you," the Divine told her. "Before you do anything else, you must recover it. These are your memories, Inquisitor." She gestured, and Amelia turned to see wraiths forming around them.

"Oh, trust you to have memories that fight back, " Varric drawled, dropping Bianca from his back to take aim as Hawke, Stroud, and Cassandra charged.

It was a short fight, the wraiths so taken aback by the experienced enemy that not one of Amelia's spells found a living target. As the last wraith fell, the air around them seemed to thicken, holding them all in place as a scene played out before their eyes. Divine Justinia - the real Divine Justinia - alive and in peril, held in magical restraints by ... by Grey Wardens. And Corypheus, the orb Solas had spoken of in his hand, advancing on his captive.

"Keep the sacrifice still." Corypheus raised the orb, bright light flaring from his stolen elvhen artifact.

Panic rose in Justinia's eyes. "Someone!" she screamed in true terror. "Help me!"

And in answer to that cry for help, the door beyond her opened to reveal a mage, peering in curiously. Amelia stared - that was her.

"What's going on here?" she heard herself of two years before ask, polite and timid. She could feel Hawke and Stroud looking at her askance; they had never experienced the shy woman she had been before Corypheus' attack on Haven.

As they watched, Justinia took that opportunity to break free of her restraints, one arm flailing wildly toward the orb in Corypheus' outstretched hand. It was knocked from his grasp, crashing down to roll over the stone floor toward the mage Amelia had been. The shy woman picked it up, and the orb flared once more. She screamed in pain, her whole hand engulfed in that light as the Anchor was burned into her flesh, into her soul. The twisted form that was Corypheus snarled, rushing forward to intervene, and the magic ignited, setting off the explosion that had killed so many.

The vision faded. Amelia found herself leaning back against the unearthly stone, her mind whirling. The Anchor, the explosion ... it had all been her fault. Her mark wasn't a gift from Andraste, but a result of her own stupid curiosity. The explosion that destroyed the Temple and all those people within it ... her fault. The people of Haven had been right in the first place; she was no Herald. She really was nothing but a thief and an incidental murderer, raised to this position because of what she had done with her stolen mark.

"No." Cole's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Not a murderer, not a thief. You are the gentle hand that guides, the smile that saves. Herald and home, leader and loved. Nothing is not what you are."

"I'd say you were the bravest person at the Conclave," Varric agreed, quicker on the uptake where Cole was concerned than any of the others. He guessed only too quickly that Cole was refuting Amelia's thoughts. "How many were there? How many of the Knights Vigilant, who are supposed to be her bodyguard? But you're the only one who went looking when the Divine called for help."

"And I set off a chain reaction that killed everyone," she argued hopelessly.

"They were dead the moment Corypheus arrived, Duchess," the dwarf told her firmly. "He knew what he was doing. I'd say we got lucky you interrupted."

"More of my awful luck?" Despite her dark thoughts, Amelia felt herself smile.

"Providence," Cassandra interjected, catching up with what was going on. The Seeker did not want to see her friend blaming herself for so much death and destruction when it was plain that the world would be a darker place without her timid curiosity. "You did what had to be done, what you did not know had to be done. If you had not been there, Corypheus would even now be in the Black City."

"I wanted to believe it was Andraste," Amelia mourned, looking down at the eerie glow on her palm. "But I'm just an accident. It could have been anyone."

"But it was you," Varric said, gripping her wrists to make her meet his eyes. "Accident or not, I can see the hand of Andraste in all this. Hell, maybe even the Maker Himself."

"Chose, not chosen," Cole added helpfully. "Help and hope and peace, not pieces."

"But this tells us nothing!" Amelia burst out, embarrassed by their faith in her. "All it tells me is that I should break that damned orb next time it starts glowing!"

"Yet even that information may one day help you," the spirit of the Divine said, her calm tone soothing to Amelia's bruised heart. "You have recovered some of yourself, but now the Nightmare knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead."

Another breath, and she was gone, disappeared from view in this place that was no place. Cole took Amelia's hand, raising her onto her feet with an encouraging smile. Shaken by what she had seen, nonetheless she managed a smile in return, surprised to see Varric and Cassandra relax a little as they saw the expression. They were worried about her, about how she would react to the memories they had yet to recover; not because they feared the truth, but because they cared for her.

"All right," she said as heartily as she could. "Let's get moving. Are you two coming?"

This, she directed toward Hawke and Stroud, who had both been silent since the vision of her memories ended. The Warden raised his head, meeting her eyes with a brief nod, but Hawke didn't move. The Champion was frowning, deep in thoughts that marred her face with pain.

"Something troubles you, Hawke," Stroud said, touching her shoulder to bring her out of those thoughts.

She looked up, a bleak anger glinting in her eyes. "Those were Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision," she said, that anger turned upon the only Warden in their midst. "Their actions lead to her death."

"I assumed he had taken their minds, as we have seen him do before," Stroud answered, taken aback by the accusation in her eyes. "Come. We can argue after we escape this dark place."

"Oh, I intend to," Hawke promised darkly.

Amelia sighed, turning her face away from them as they began their long trek through the Fade. The last thing she needed right now was her two strongest allies at each other's throats. Not now, not here. Here, where the normal rules did not apply and their every step was dogged by demons, she needed them to be strong and capable ... because she was not. She was afraid, and the Nightmare was hunting her. Andraste preserve us, she prayed as they forged on, unable to escape the dark premonition in her mind.

 I'm going to die here.