#idk what else to say other than sorry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetomorrowshow · 1 year

Text

the gambler, he broke even

cw: major character death, grief, heavy amounts of grief, talk of death, references to dead bodies

"I don't want to," Scott says, turning back to his work.

Ilphas sighs. "My lord, I understand that this is a difficult moment for you. However—"

"Don't give me that 'difficult moment' bit," Scott says, a little more venom in his voice than intended. "We don't know that—"

"The facts of—"

"There aren't any facts, it's all speculation—"

"The facts of the matter are," Ilphas says over him, "that you need new mourning robes. Whether or not the Codfather has passed."

"But he has not passed," Scott insists. "If he had, our enemies would boast of the victory! I am certain that he—"

"My lord, the Ocean Queen requested the body this morning."

Scott's breath freezes in his lungs.

He can't make his voice work. He can't ask the questions that are suddenly barreling through his mind.

What does Lizzie know?

What did the enemy tell her?

Will he truly have to face the body of his betrothed?

"Did—" he manages, before his voice gives out.

Ilphas, somehow, knows exactly what he's trying to ask. They shake their head just slightly. "No response yet. But sire, the Ocean Queen is already in mourning, despite your lack of conviction. You must think of how your people see you."

Scott honestly couldn't care less about how his people see him. He opens his mouth to say something of the sort, but Ilphas cuts him off.

"If you are not in mourning, they will believe that you care not for your own betrothed, sire. How do you think they will perceive your care for them?"

Ilphas is right, of course. They're rarely wrong.

It just already hurts so much. Scott doesn't want to acknowledge that Jimmy might be—that—

He can't think on it or he'll cry again, as he already did this morning.

And he knows that fitting for the dark robes will be even worse.

"Can I not just wear the clothing from my parents' death?" he asks, his voice thin and unfortunately pitiful.

Ilphas shakes their head. "The death of a betrothed is entirely different from the death of a parent," they say patiently. "The clothing will be different. Besides, I recall hearing that you . . . burned that set."

True. He forgot he did that.

He's not going to get out of this, is he? His advisors have been pushing for him to recognize Jimmy's . . . to recognize it for the past three days. He's thus far been able to redirect the conversation to more urgent matters, what with there being a war and whatnot, but Ilphas cornering him in his office wasn't a move he expected.

He doesn't have time to argue about this. He has a war to fight.

"Fine," he says after a moment. "When should I call for the tailor?"

"I, of course, know not your schedule," Ilphas says dryly. "But the tailor is already at the palace, waiting for you to see zem. Would you like to send a messenger with a time for today?"

He might as well, Scott thinks dully. After all, if Lizzie has requested a body, then she expects to meet with Mythland within the next week. He'll probably need to accompany her.

"Send a messenger, tell zem I'm available at any time," he waves off.

He thinks the conversation is over. It really ought to be, with the way he picks his pen back up and stares down at whatever this supply plan is that he's meant to be reviewing and signing off.

But Ilphas lingers, half-turned away. "I am . . . truly sorry, my lord. Your rule is too young for wars and pains such as these. If there is anything we might do to ease your burden. . . ."

"I'm not a charity case," Scott mutters. "I'm the king."

"With all due respect, you are a person," Ilphas says gently, "just as any other person. And you have lost more than many persons."

Scott doesn't respond, and after another moment, Ilphas bows and shows themself out.

They're right. Scott's the youngest ruler Rivendell has ever had, forced into the rule by the early deaths of his parents and the banishment of his brother. Their deaths, his frequent 'illnesses' and 'accidents' (read: assassination attempts by his brother) when younger, and now this war and its consequences.

He has to practice thinking it, at least.

Jimmy is—

Jimmy—

No. It—

He swallows back the lump in his throat, angrily dashing a hand across his face when a tear spills from his eye. He's fine. Everything is fine. He just has to get fitted for mourning robes for his fiance, is all. He's fine.

Who is he kidding?

Scott slumps over his desk, doing his very best not to cry all over these official papers. He's not the first person to lose someone. And he's not the first person to fight a war. He certainly isn't the first to do both at once. He's nothing special.

As much as he tells himself that, it doesn't make it hurt any less.

He allows himself a single, tearless sob before sitting back up, straightening the papers before him. He needs to sign off on this supply plan. He sequestered himself in his office to do precisely this and nothing else, because it was technically due before he returned from his tour of the country, and it's several days overdue now.

Unfortunately, the plan is about seventy pages long, and he's only halfway through, and he can't just skip to the end because there are random pages throughout that need his signature and seal.

So Scott turns the next page, even as his heart crumbles a tiny bit more.

Before he can finish, he's summoned away for fittings, and he leaves his office feeling much too young to be in such a position, and much too old to feel such sharp pain.

Two days later, Scott and Ilphas and his small guard sail (accompanied by Ocean Kingdom dolphins, for speed) to the Crystal Cliffs, to meet with King Sausage of Mythland.

The Crystal Cliffs had been the decided-upon meeting place by Lizzie and Sausage, after Gem had offered it up as a temporarily neutral ground. The meeting is officially occurring to discuss 'eventualites and possibilities for the future of the Codlands', but everyone knows that it's really just an inquiry after the fate of the Codfather.

Scott arrives at midday (he's greeted in the hall of the school of magic by Gem, who hugs him and whispers "you are so strong" in his ear) and barely has time to change into his newly-made mourning clothing (a soft, black robe with a high collar, puffy sleeves that gather at the wrists, a black leather waistcoat and a matching open-front surcoat—and there would usually be a veil, too, with his specific situation, but the court still hasn't ruled as to whether or not he and Jimmy were still betrothed) before he's whisked away to the meeting room.

Lizzie's already there, sitting at the head of the table, a green-skinned woman whom Scott assumes is one of her counselors sitting beside her. She holds her head high, face stern and hair pulled back in a tight bun under her coral crown, her dress made of layered shades of grey.

Scott nods to her, self-consciously adjusts his signet earring (all other jewelry having been discarded as part of his mourning vestments), and takes a seat at her open left hand (a chair made specifically for him, missing its back to make room for his wings), Ilphas sitting beside him.

Nobody speaks, even when Gem slides into the room alone and sits across from Ilphas. Scott stares straight down at the dark oak table to avoid looking in anyone's eyes. He doesn't want to see pity in Gem's eyes, nor see Jimmy in Lizzie's.

He swallows.

He wishes, harder than he's ever wished for anything, that he didn't have to be here.

And then the doors open, and two guards of the Crystal Cliffs escort King Sausage of Mythland (followed by two Mythland knights in full armor) into the room.

He's dressed in black and red, accents of gold thrown in here and here. His tunic is black, a gold belt cinching it around his waist, a red surcoat laced up over it. A red cape hangs from his shoulders, chunky pieces of gold clasping it around his chest. His crown, golden and polished, sits purposefully a little crooked on his greased-back hair.

Nobody rises to greet him. They sit and stare as the man nods to each of them, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

Scott has never wanted to kill anyone more.

And that's saying a lot, because he saw fWhip push Jimmy off the edge of the world, and he wanted to kill that man pretty badly then.

Scott forces his hand—resting flat on the table—to stay still. If his fist clenches, it'll only give Sausage the satisfaction of knowing that Scott is angry but can't do anything. He isn't going to give up that power.

Sausage takes his seat at the opposite end of the table from Lizzie, leaning back as if he owns the place. Gem rolls her eyes.

"How's it going, guys?" Sausage says cheerfully.

Scott could dive across the table and throttle him right now. He could stab him through his stupid red surcoat, knock the shining crown off his head, slit his throat and watch him choke on his own blood.

They're nice things to imagine. Scott rather thinks those images keep him calm better than any other self-discipline.

"Thank you for joining us, Sau—Lord Sausage," Gem says stiffly, turning to face the man. "I believe Aundrea of the Crystal Cliffs Academy will be taking notes on the meeting, is that acceptable for all involved?"

Lizzie nods primly. Scott purses his lips, gives a short nod. Sausage shoots a thumbs-up.

One of the Crystal Cliffs guards steps forward and takes a seat, setting down some paper and a pen in front of herself.

"All right," Gem says. "Present at this meeting is me, the Wizard Gem, and two knights-slash-students of the Crystal Cliffs Academy, Aundrea and Matteo; her majesty Queen Lizzie of the Ocean Kingdom and a member of her council, Kilisaltana; his majesty King Scott Smajor of Rivendell and a member of his council, Ilphas; and his majesty King Sausage of Mythland accompanied by two Mythland guards, Ephraim and Levi. Are all present ready to begin?"

More nods around the table.

Gem nods as well. "All right," she says again. "Remember that I am a neutral party in this discussion, and I am only here to mediate. Lizzie, if you—"

"We're meeting about the future of . . . the Codlands, right?" Sausage interrupts, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes," Lizzie says, speaking for the first time. Her voice is cold, controlled. "I am inquiring—"

"Right," says Sausage. "I figured. You want the Codlands, don't you? Since it's basically a part of the Ocean Kingdom, anyway?"

Scott stares at the fingers of his left hand, still relaxed on the table. The Codlands, of course, is not a part of the Ocean Kingdom. Sausage knows exactly what he's doing. It's petty and ultimately will achieve nothing to snub the Codlands, but such is politics.

Lizzie, of course, keeps her cool. "Oh, of course—as one from Mythland, I wouldn't expect you to know much of the developed lands beyond your borders. The Cod Empire is its own kingdom, ruled by the Codfather."

Scott's eyes flick up to watch Sausage. Sausage's lip curls just the slightest bit.

"I don't know about any Codfather right now," he says, tone airy. "It looks like I'm the one ruling the Cod Empire."

"It appears so," Lizzie says, with a brief inclination her head. "And what," she says carefully, face stoic, "has happened to the Codfather?"

Scott takes a slow, silent breath at the way his heart jumps. Here's the confirmation. This is the question that all his hopes and fears rest upon.

He doesn't want to hear the answer. He doesn't want to know, he doesn't want confirmation, he wants to live in this horrible purgatory forever where he never knows if Jimmy's alive but at least there's still a possibility that he isn't dead.

Sausage stares Lizzie in the eyes, gaze piercing and dark. "He's dead," he says simply, obviously forcing away a grin. "My armies killed him and vanquished his people."

Scott's stomach drops out of his body.

No.

No no no no no—

Lizzie clears her throat. "As his next of kin, I request the body of the Codfather."

Gem blinks.

Sausage gasps, then giggles. "Wait, you guys were related? That makes so much sense!"

Lizzie doesn't move. She waits, eyes hard, until Sausage gets over his surprise. Scott isn't really sure why he's surprised. He's fairly sure Jimmy mentioned their relationship at the wedding. Of course, it's just like Sausage to not listen.

Jimmy's never going to make a speech again.

No. This can't be true, this has to be one of those horrible nightmares—

"I don't have it," shrugs Sausage.

He doesn't have—he doesn't have the body? How can he not—

"I know for a fact that he's dead—saw the body myself—but we made a mass grave and threw all those Cod savages into it. If you want to go digging around until you find a maggoty Jimmy, be my guest!"

Scott's going to kill him he's going to vomit he's going to break down right here—

"Use his proper title," Lizzie snaps. "He is the Codfather, the ruler of the Cod Empire, and will be respected."

Sausage raises an eyebrow. "Right," he says, voice dripping with doubt. "We all know his claim to the throne was . . . less than legitimate. And I have the Codfather Head, so that makes me ruler, right?"

Nobody responds. Scott swallows, trying to calm his rebellious stomach, trying to hold back tears.

He flexes his fingers, just slightly, just enough that his hand doesn't curl into a fist and sock Sausage in the jaw.

Sausage has conquered the Cod Empire. He is, technically, the ruler, as much as Scott hates to admit it.

"So," Gem says, after the silence grows too long. "Queen Lizzie, what is your suggested plan for the future of the Codlands?"

Lizzie steeples her fingers, leaning on the table. "My suggested plan," she says, voice once again calm and careful, "is the release of the Codlands into my stewardship, with the promise that those people will not take up arms against Mythland for the remainder of the war. In exchange, I will release those of Mythland that the Ocean Kingdom has claimed as captives."

Sausage clicks his tongue. "Hm. How about you surrender to the Great Ruler Xornoth, and then we'll give you minor reign over both the Ocean Kingdom and the Codlands, reporting directly to Xornoth?"

It's Lizzie's turn to raise a brow. "In your dreams, respectfully," she says, precisely and politely.

"In Scott's dreams, more like," mutters Sausage. Scott just swallows again, stares hard at a point above Lizzie's shoulder. He'd known that those had been more than dreams.

Xornoth has the power to invade his dreams, fight him without even crossing the border. How are they meant to win?

"Well, if you won't accept that, how about you give up all captives of Mythland, the Grimlands, and the Lost Empire?" suggests Sausage.

Lizzie frowns. "Neither Count fWhip nor Emperor Joey are present at this meeting, and I will not bargain with them."

Beside her, Kilisaltana nods approvingly. She leans over to Lizzie, whispers something in her ear.

"Lord Sausage of Mythland," Gem addresses, "are there any other conditions that you will accept under this compromise?"

"Nope!"

Kilisaltana leans back; Lizzie nods and shifts her attention back to Sausage. "A different compromise, then," she says. "Mythland maintains a presence in the Codlands, but the empire is technically under my government and the people of the Ocean Kingdom and of the Codlands may move freely between the two empires. Additionally, the return of my Mythland prisoners."

Sausage's lazy smile doesn't drop. "I don't think so," he says. "Y'know, I kinda like ruling those swamps! We're going to turn the people into respectable, educated folks—we don't need the Ocean messing that up. How about this, though—I'm in charge of the Cod Empire, but trades remain open between the Ocean Kingdom and the Codlands, and you return my loyal Mythlanders to me!"

Again, Lizzie confers with her advisor—and surprisingly, Ilphas pushes back their chair and quickly steps over to join the quick little council. Scott leans in as well.

"He needs the trades," Ilphas whispers. "Mythland alone cannot support a war-ravaged country."

Kilisaltana nods. "We can bargain him down to just the trades, then?"

"I believe so. Perhaps more."

"Counter-proposal," Lizzie declares to the table. "The trades remain open, and a prisoner exchange commences—you return to me my subjects, and I return yours. Would that be sufficient?"

Sausage's lips twist down a little, clearly displeased, but he actually pauses to think.

It's a good compromise, even if it's not what they want. It benefits the both of them, while opening up a route for escape for the Cod.

Sausage nods shortly. "I have the Codlands, you have trades, we both have our soldiers back. It sounds . . . acceptable."

"Perfect," Gem says, clapping her hands together. "For the remainder of the meeting, we will work out some of the simpler matters of the trade arrangement, then adjourn. We can hold more meetings over the next week to get the details down, and then commence the arrangement once that is complete. Is that possible for both involved parties?"

Both nod.

"Why is Scott here, then?" Sausage asks innocently. "Here to surrender?"

Scott doesn't allow his fingers to curl into a fist. He forces his hands and shoulders to stay as relaxed as possible.

Thankfully, Ilphas speaks up. "His majesty Lord Smajor has the right to assist the Ocean Queen in the rites and stewardship of the Codfather and his possessions, and as such is present."

Sausage rolls his eyes, looks to Scott.

When Scott speaks, his voice doesn't shake. He doesn't stumble over his words. He doesn't lose his composure.

"I am here, Lord Sausage, to confirm the fate of my betrothed," he says, colder than Rivendell on a winter morning. "The Empire of Rivendell declares its loyalty to the Ocean Kingdom and the Cod Empire—and their successive, rightful leaders, as Queen Lizzie is and Codfather Jimmy was—forever. And," he continues, and he has no idea where these words are coming from, from some power beyond him— "by burying the body of the Codfather in an unmarked grave, you are in violation of section 4 subsection D under the heading 'Respect' in the House Blossom Peace Accords, where it states that, dead or alive, in war or peace, the rulers of the twelve empires must be granted full respect. That is all I wish to say at this time."

Sausage harrumphs. Gem, not quite smiling, gives Scott a subtle thumbs-up.

"Thank you for your comments, Lord Smajor," she says. "And I will be following up on that law with Lady Katherine of House Blossom personally. Shall we move on?"

The meeting wraps up after nearly half an hour of Sausage arguing against every one of Lizzie's suggestions, with barely any progress made. But they both agree on a day for the meeting this week, and Sausage is escorted out by his two guards and Gem's two knights, waggling his fingers at them over his shoulder.

Gem gathers up the papers that Aundrea had left behind. Lizzie stares at the closed door.

Scott looks down at his relaxed hand, cold and pale on the table.

He's not sure if he's looking for comfort or to give it, but after a long moment of silence, he reaches forward and takes Lizzie's limp hand in his own.

He squeezes tightly, even as Lizzie doesn't move, trying to send every thought that he's thinking her way—an endless stream of I know I'm here it hurts I'm here please help we have to go on I know.

Lizzie sits motionless, expression stony, and as Scott watches, a single tear rolls down her cheek.

Jimmy's gone. He's really, truly, gone.

Buried indistinguishably among the bodies of his people, in one grave together.

And really, Scott thinks, while he would've wanted to honor his fiance, he thinks that Jimmy would prefer it like this. He'd never been one to raise himself above his people. He'd never seen his own worth as greater than anyone else's.

Scott wonders, suddenly, if Jimmy had any sort of funeral arrangements made. Surely the Cod Empire has traditions for their rulers, but was there anything specific that Jimmy wanted during the memorial service? A particular song sung, or speech given?

Where will such a service be held, in the middle of a war, when the land of the deceased has been conquered?

He's crying, Scott realizes vaguely, nose burning and face wet.

He just grips Lizzie's hand tighter and lets his heart shatter.

And Lizzie, after a moment, squeezes back.

"When are you leaving?"

Scott tugs at the itchy high collar of his mourning robe. "Tonight, if possible. Tomorrow morning if the seas are rough."

He doesn't mention why the seas might be rough. Gem, tactfully, doesn't either.

"Do you think you have time to check out something I found?" she asks, finishing up the braid in his hair before starting on another. "I was going to call Katherine down to look at it with me, but I could definitely use your help."

"Check out what?" Scott says suspiciously. He adjusts his position a bit, trying to keep his legs from falling asleep.

He and Gem are in her room, Gem on the bed, Scott kneeling on the floor beside her, while she braids his hair. Ilphas had initially refused to let Scott out of their sight, but it had only taken one glance at Scott's tired, teary eyes for them to sigh and nod.

"I found . . . a library," Gem says eventually, combing her fingers through his hair to pull out the braid she'd been working on, then starting anew. "Crystal Cliffs has always been a place of knowledge, you know? We collect history and magic from all over the world. And this library looks old. Like, centuries old. And you're looking for an old book, right? To defeat Xornoth?"

Scott nods, then freezes when it tugs on his braid. Gem tsks and starts over again.

"Yes," he says. "I've searched every library in Rivendell, however, and all of those would be about that same age. I can take a look before leaving, though, if you like."

Gem hums in affirmation. "We can go before supper. You can bring a guard if you need, it isn't a secret. Knowledge should never be a secret."

Some knowledge ought to be a secret, Scott thinks to himself, remembering the revelation he'd had while traveling.

He's Aeor's Champion, probably.

Best to not think about that when he knows Xornoth has direct access to his brain, is it?

So, something else. Something else to think about.

Right. There's really only one other thing to think about.

"Jimmy braided my hair, once," Scott says quietly.

Gem's hands stutter, but she doesn't say anything. She just keeps working, fingers gentle in his hair.

"It was when we were betrothed," Scott continues. "It had been a long day, and I told him I was tired, and he had me sit on the bed and he stood behind me and . . . he just braided. Really intricate braids, too. They were beautiful. I left them in for three days."

He kind of wants to cry.

"I didn't know he could braid," Gem murmurs.

Scott shrugs. "Me neither," he says. "He told me it was Cod tradition, and that there are people who actually work as just . . . braiders. There's different kinds of braids for different occasions. He said he only knew how to do a couple kinds. He was . . . he was embarrassed. Because—because he did birthday celebration braids in my hair."

He doesn't know why he's saying all this. A tear drips down his nose, and he leaves it there.

Gem giggles a little. "So you walked around for three days with the Cod equivalent of a birthday hat on your head?"

"Well, nobody saw it," Scott defends himself. "I was wearing my betrothal veil. But—" and now he's really starting to cry, chest shaking with the effort of repressing it— "but he said that he would learn the marriage braids. So that—so that when we got married, we—we wouldn't have to go to a—a braider. Because of—of the veils. So that no one—no one would see us before the wedding."

"Oh, Scott. . . ."

"Sorry," he manages, wiping a hand across his face. "I'm fine, I-I promise, it's only. . . ."

"It's hard," Gem says, tying off the braid. "It's okay. I can't even imagine what you're going through right now."

Scott takes in a shuddering breath, trying not to make any embarrassing sounds. "Do you—do you think," he asks after a moment, "do you think he's . . . in a better place? Do you think he's—he's h-happy?"

"I think so. I think he's right here watching over you, telling you that it'll be all right, that he'll see you again one day. What do you think?"

Scott sniffles. "I—I hope he's not hurting anymore. He was—he was always hurting. I hope—I hope his scars are gone, and, and his scales are back, and he's happy."

Gem cards her hands through his hair, soft and careful. "Me too," she says, her voice shaking just the slightest bit. "He deserves it."

Scott nods vigorously, the lump in his throat suddenly too large to speak. If anyone deserves it, Jimmy does.

He really hopes he's happy.

He just wishes that would be enough.

It's elvish belief that there are different levels of an afterlife, with the most restful and happiest being only open to elvish royalty and legendary heroes—the stars of whom make up the Crystal of Rivendell constellation in the skies.

Even if Jimmy is happy, Scott will never see him again. Not unless an exception is made, and one never has.

Jimmy wasn't a legendary hero.

He wasn't elvish royalty.

He was just Jimmy.

Scott lets himself cry, feeling as if his heart is being torn out of his chest, for several minutes there on the floor of Gem's bedroom. He lets it hurt. He lets it wash him away, lets himself sink into it, until nothing exists but the pain.

It's cathartic, or something like that. Jimmy deserves the tears.

"You did amazing, earlier," Gem tells him when his sobs devolve into hiccups, when he starts to pull himself back, his head barely above the sea of pain again. "During the meeting. If I know Sausage, he was hoping for a big reaction. You and Lizzie were incredible in there."

Scott manages a wet chuckle. "I just imagined killing him," he admits. "It helped quite a bit."

"Oh, I used to do that all time in Wither Rose Alliance meetings. Super therapeutic."

Scott wipes his eyes on the stiff fabric of his sleeve cuff. He's not done crying, by any means. He probably could cry all day and not run out of tears.

But he has responsibilities to take care of.

"So," he says, after a profoundly teary sigh, pulling himself up to sit beside Gem on the bed. "Where's this library?"

They meet Katherine there, an hour later, halfway up one of the cliffs that the empire is built around. She squeals when she sees Scott, gives him a hug.

Scott has never hugged Katherine before in his life. He'd laid down the ground rule early on that he wasn't okay with hugs, and she'd accepted that immediately (unlike Gem, who had never seemed to learn).

But he's gotten more accustomed to physical touch over the past months, and he barely even freezes up before returning the hug, squeezing her tightly.

"I didn't think you'd still be here!" Katherine says excitedly when she pulls back. "Is Lizzie still here?"

"No, she left already," Gem cuts in. "Scott's leaving after supper, I just wanted him to see the library."

"Oh, right," Katherine says. "Scott, I've been looking through all of the libraries in my empire, and I haven't found anything."

"That's all right," Scott tells her. He'd asked her, months ago now (as well as every other empire he was allied with), to search for anything that could destroy the demon. "I haven't found anything, either."

"Well I found this library!" Gem says proudly. "I've already started looking through it, but I felt like three heads would be better than one."

And with that, Gem goes behind a boulder. "This way!" they hear her call faintly.

Scott looks at Katherine, then the two guards who had accompanied them, then back at Katherine. She shrugs, gossamer wings fluttering behind her.

Nothing left to do but go in, Scott supposes. He moves past Katherine, ready to squish through the tiny entrance that Gem had gone through, but Katherine catches his shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, Scott," she says, and to his surprise, there are already tears gathering in her violet eyes. "We weren't very close, but I was one of Jimmy's first allies. Do you know when the funeral will be?"

Scott bites his lip and shakes his head. "There's . . . there isn't a body," he says after a moment. "So Lizzie may put it off for some time. Thank you."

Before she can say anything else, Scott turns away and starts moving through the strict passage between the boulder and the cliff face.

It's tight, and his feathers get pushed all the wrong ways, but Scott scrapes through, heaving and pushing against the boulder until he finally manages to come out the other side.

On the other side is a dark tunnel through the cliff, a little patch of light visible at the end.

Scott reaches out blindly for a wall, fingers landing on roughly-hewn stone.

He follows it along, twenty, thirty, forty strides, as the light looms larger and larger, and then he's stepping through the other end of the tunnel—

Whoa.

This—this is a library.

This is an old library.

It's a dimly-lit, dusty, high-ceilinged area, shelves going up twice as tall as Scott, books crammed into every space available. He maneuvers his way between stacks of books and curling parchment paper, through a tiny footpath that leads deeper into the library.

It gets more claustrophobic the deeper he goes, wings held tightly to his back to avoid accidentally knocking something over, like one of the lamps hanging from the sides of the bookshelves. That would be bad. Or one of the precarious piles of books next to the lamps. That would possibly be worse.

He passes by hundreds of books, the titles on the spines in languages that he doesn't speak and several he doesn't recognize, and the titles he can read are old and rubbed-off—Great Tales of Haddenbur, one reads, yet on another he can only make out F l di a r or el.

He can't figure out a system. One book looks like a collection of adventures, and the next one like a cookbook. It's not alphabetical, either—he sees a Z title right next to a D, next to an H.

It's confusing, and strikingly mazelike, and Scott mentally marks a couple of notable-looking books (overly large, or brightly colored, or hanging dangerously off of the shelf) as landmarks, a way to get back to the entrance.

He finds Gem fairly deep in, between two rows of shelves that form a little alcove against a wall. She's flipping through a book, and when she sees Scott, she holds it out.

"Can you read this?"

Scott inches sideways past a stack of parchment rolls and straightens out in the alcove, gingerly taking the book from her.

It's a form of elvish, but not exactly like Rivendell's. The words on this page make some sort of sense if he stares at them long enough—that one surely says 'herb' and the one beside it looks kind of like 'medicine', so maybe some kind of healer's guide—but the characters aren't quite right. To his surprise, it's recognizable as Old Elvish.

He's run into a couple of books like this in his searches, most of which are sorted into their own sections, with Old Elvish scholars from the university available upon appointment to read them aloud to library patrons when necessary.

He'd gone through every Old Elvish book that he could find in the City, having the titles and chapter headings read to him, and occasionally passages. None of them had proved fruitful, despite them being the most likely place to find any instructions on how to defeat Exor and his champion. The older the book, the better the chances.

Scott wishes he'd paid more attention in his youth. He had taken Old Elvish classes as part of his childhood tutoring, but he hardly remembers any of it.

He knows enough to slowly decipher titles, though—enough to, at least, know whether or not it would be relevant to his search—and with time he could sort through all of these books and decide which ones might be useful.

And he wants to, as well.

Something feels different, here.

"Do all of them look like this?" he asks, flipping open the book.

"Look like what?" asks Katherine, coming up behind him.

"All the ones in this section," Gem answers. "It's some kind of elvish, I can't read it."

"It's Old Elvish," murmurs Scott, closing the book and tucking it under his arm. "I can kind of read it. I'll need time."

Gem grimaces. "You have to get back to Rivendell. Maybe—"

"I can stay three days," Scott decides on the spot. "I think . . . I have a good feeling about this."

He can't describe it further than that. He just feels . . . a pull to these books, a spiritual connection that he can't explain. There's something here that he needs to find, something too important to hand off to someone else.

Aeor wants him here.

"That's—that's great!" says Gem. "Should we go get supper, then, and start on it tomorrow? Do you need to call your council?"

He doesn't want to leave. Not with this pulling at his soul. Not with this invisible string tying him to something here.

But he does need to call his council, quickly tell them his visit has extended, and then hang up before they can complain. And he's pretty sure his communicator doesn't have any connection out here.

"Supper, then return tonight," Scott says decisively. "Can we do that?"

So, that evening, after messaging his council to tell them of the extension and then turning off his communicator before getting a response, Scott and Gem and Katherine head up to the secret library to begin the search, accompanied by four guards assigned to sit in the dark passage and wait.

Scott quickly sequesters himself in the Old Elvish section (or, the section that seems to be majorly Old Elvish, with random other books thrown in where there's extra space), handing a book in Old Elvish each to the girls so they can search the rest of the library for matching letters.

Then begins the long and laborious task of reading what he can of the titles and chapter headings of every single book in the section, in addition to the occasional one that Gem or Katherine carries over.

It's exhausting, and his eyes burn, and he feels too warm in all these layers, but he leafs through page after page and forces himself to focus.

Scott makes it through maybe twenty useless books that evening before the other two drag him away from his work to go to bed.

He does kind of need it. Maybe he can attack the books with a renewed vigor in the morning.

He hadn't brought a change of clothes, so Scott wears his travel clothes to bed that night and puts his mourning things back on when the dawning sun wakes him, too bright in his still-burning eyes.

He eats breakfast alone, Gem and Katherine in some official meeting that hadn't pertained to him. They join him when it's time to head to the library, bright and early, both hopeful and smiling beside Scott's dark presence.

It feels strange.

It feels sad.

Scott spends hours alone that day, skimming through books upon books upon books, interrupted every once in a while by Katherine having him get up and walk around for a minute, or Gem telling him it's time to go eat. The three of them usually fly down for meals, leaving the library guard to change out while they eat. Then they fly back up, eliminating the fifty or sixty minutes it would take to climb back up. They don't have much time, after all. Every minute saved is priceless.

And those priceless minutes find Scott sitting on the hard stone floor, staring at books about every possible subject except the one that he so desperately needs.

And his soul still itches. There's something here. Buried among these thousands of books is something useful.

So he keeps looking.

It's getting to be late that evening when Scott, setting a book into his pile of discards (there's only two books that he's set aside to take home, neither of which look very promising), stands to get the next book and pulls a tome off the shelf that doesn't look at all right.

It's old, certainly. Scott's no scholar, but he'd probably date it back around a thousand years. It isn't bound with leather, but with something grey and oil-stained, the pages stiff and a pale green. The writing on one of those old pages (so old that Scott has to take extra care so as not to break the page, as brittle as it is) is blue, hard to see.

And Scott doesn't recognize the letters at all.

"Hey, Gem?" he calls (his voice breaks a little on her name, but he swallows and pushes through), after staring blankly at it for several moments. "Can you come look at this?"

He hears shuffling of piles and a book fall over, which means she's on her way. Scott closes the book, turns it over in his hands.

No title on the cover—he's found that only about fifty percent of the books he looks at have anything on the cover. Unlike anything he's seen so far, though, hanging from the spine by a cord is a drawstring pouch about the size of Scott's palm, made of the same material as the book.

"What do you need?"

He looks up, sees Gem smiling tiredly, Katherine standing behind her. He hands her the book.

"Do you know these letters?"

Gem opens it up, frowns. Looks closer. Turns the book upside down.

Scott waits patiently.

"It kind of looks . . . Oceanic," she says after a minute. "Just from how big it is, and how strong the lines are. And this kind of looks like glow squid ink, and maybe a seal cover. Should we give it to—oh!"

As she turns it back upright, a thin book falls out of the back and tumbles to the floor. Scott picks it up, carefully flips it open—yep, same make and script, but clearly a different author, and maybe a bit more recent.

"Right," Gem says, and Scott realizes she's peering down at the smaller book as well. "Should we give these to Lizzie?"

Scott puts them both in his satchel with a nod, then goes to grab the next book—but Gem catches him by the arm.

"Let's go to bed, how about," she suggests. "You have two more days to find it. Maybe it would be best to come back in the morning with a fresh, well-rested mind."

She's probably right.

Scott just feels that if he doesn't totally exhaust himself, he'll lie up all night, trying hard not to think about why his bed feels so lonely.

But he packs up the two Old Elvish books he'd found, and then puts away his discard pile (after marking with a slip of paper stuffed between books where in the shelves he'd left off). Then he follows the other two out, taking a moment to stretch his stiff wings before taking flight and returning to his suite of rooms.

And just as he assumed he would, he lies awake in bed for hours, until he finally cries himself to sleep.

As it turns out, he doesn't have two more days.

His council contacts Gem, and tells her in no uncertain terms that Scott had better be on a ship to return the next morning or they'll crown a new king.

Scott's pretty sure they can't do that, but it's best to play it safe.

So he puts on his mourning robes again (they smell fresh and are folded when he picks them up, which means that Gem had found a way to have his laundry done overnight, which might just be the kindest thing ever and no Scott isn't crying—) and skips breakfast to go to the library early, Katherine and Gem reluctantly grabbing food for the road.

He's been working all day—he also skipped lunch to keep it going, brain absolutely melting as he stares at another page of a language he doesn't really understand—when he hears his name in the girls' quiet conversation that's become background noise.

He freezes, cross-legged on the floor with a book in his lap, and strains his sensitive ears to listen.

"—is he doing?" Katherine's saying.

Gem sighs. "He's not doing great," she says. "I don't think I've ever seen Scott cry, you know?"

"Me neither. That just sounds . . . wrong."

"Mhm. He didn't cry at all for that . . . that stupid meeting, though. He and Lizzie both. They just sat there, all . . . cold, and imposing. Have you ever seen Lizzie angry?"

"I don't—wait, yes, at the End. She was scary."

A little chuckle from Gem. "Yep. She was like that—worse, maybe. But after Sausage left, she and Scott just kind of . . . held hands and cried. It was bad."

"Wait, so what's this about there not being a body? Scott said something about it, about how the funeral might be delayed?"

"Yeah, because Sausage is an idiot," Gem says heatedly, then quieter, "I don't know why he did it—he should be smarter than that—but he just—he just threw Jimmy's body in a mass grave. Like he wasn't even an emperor. Like he wasn't anything."

"Wait, that violates the House Blossom Accords," Katherine says instantly. "Under 'Respect', section—"

"Yep, Scott brought that up. But Sausage was just—ugh, he was being so weird and racist! He basically said because the Cod people are 'savages' and 'uneducated', they didn't deserve better than a mass grave."

"Gross. Jimmy's been—or, Jimmy was a ruler almost as long as he's been one, he should know that they're not any different from other people."

"Right? Sausage never used to act like that. I don't know what happened to him." She huffs, and Scott hears a book get set down. "Anyway, I'm not going to ask Lizzie or Scott to dig through a literal pile of bodies to find Jimmy, you know? Especially since it's been at least a week, and bodies start to decay pretty quickly. . . ."

"Totally. It's going to be hard without a body, though."

"That's what I was thinking. I think—not that Scott has to move on right away or anything, but I think it'll be really tough to do it without a body to bury."

"He needs that closure."

"Mm."

They fall silent, and Scott looks down at the book again to see a tear fall on the decrepit page. He whispers a curse, presses his cuff to the splash of water.

He would feel offended that they were talking about him behind his back, but he mostly feels embarrassed. And sad.

They're right. Scott hadn't even thought about it, but he thinks that if he had Jimmy's body, he wouldn't feel quite so large a hole in his heart. At least then he could say goodbye. At least then, he could maybe fix his hair so it isn't sticking up like it always is, grip his lifeless fingers one last time—

Scott swallows back the sob, letting out a little shuddering gasp in its place. He can't—he can't cry here, when Katherine and Gem are right over there and he has very limited time to find a very important book—

"Let's give him some space," he hears one of the girls whisper, then some shuffling and shifting of papers and footsteps.

"Scott, we're going to go get some fresh air," Gem calls from somewhere. "You should take a break at some point, okay?"

Scott doesn't respond, and after a moment, he hears their footsteps recede down the passageway.

He closes the book and sets it in the discard pile (it had been about grammar or something, probably something he needs but not at all what he's looking for), then clears a space on the floor and just lies there on his side, wings pulled tight against his body. He doesn't want to accidentally knock over any books or damage them by leaning on them or something, and he feels so tired, and he just wants to lay there and cry, and he doesn't have time for any of this—

A sob tears from his throat, and Scott covers his face with his hands, trying to stifle the sounds.

He shouldn't be this emotional, especially not in public. If he lets himself break down every time someone so much as mentions Jimmy, he'll be nothing but a weak wreck who isn't worthy of his rule.

And maybe it's a sign of his weakness that Scott lets himself cry a minute longer.

And maybe it's a sign of his unworthiness when he almost immediately slips into sleep.

Blood drips down his fingers and onto the shining white coat of the stag that he loosely clutches to. The stag walks on, carefully stepping around knobby tree roots and over lumps in the earth that might make the journey even more painful for his many wounds.

Scott's entire body hurts, pulsing from head to toe. He can feel a missing tooth, a broken rib. His left arm hangs uselessly to the side. His right arm is covered in blood.

The stag walks, undeterred, even as Scott's head slumps against its neck, even as his body becomes more like deadweight than anything else.

It's peaceful in his pain. Grass is pressed down into the ground with every footstep the stag takes, springing up behind it. There's the light tune of a chickadee singing somewhere in the woods, the rustling of a small animal in some brush they pass.

It's gentle, almost, and Scott sighs and just exists at the most basic level possible.

The ground becomes softer, the stag's hooves leaving imprints in the earth. Then there's a puddle of water, here and there, then mud squishing underneath each step. A bullfrog croaks off to the left, singing to the gentle song of flowing water and dripdrops from leaves.

And then the stag stops.

Scott really ought to look up, see why it's stopped. What it's trying to show him. But his head is too heavy, his body too pained.

He can't even begin to muster the strength.

The stag, then, tips its head down—down, down, until Scott's hand slips free of its tenuous grasp and his bleeding body starts to slide. He tumbles slowly, between the antlers, and falls, almost silently, into a dark pool of water.

Red billows up in clouds around him as Scott falls deeper, the cool water washing away so many aches and injuries. It feels nice, clean despite the murkiness. It's healing, and relaxing, and he can just release any breath in his chest and let the water take him.

He sinks in slow-motion, allowing the pond to carry him deeper, until his toes hit the sandy bottom and he hangs there, almost suspended.

Something swims up to him—a cod, he realizes after a moment. It pokes playfully at his nose, then swims above his head.

Scott's eyes follow it, then turn past it as he can see, standing on the distant surface of the pool, the white stag.

As soon as Scott is looking, the stag prances across the water, and he watches even as his eyes grow heavy and begin to close.

Still it prances, a tiny beast traveling across the inside of his eyelids—and when he opens his eyes, across an old, stone floor, up a pile of books and across a shelf, cantering along until it stops beside an unassuming brown leather-bound book.

It looks at the book, then back at Scott.

CRASH!

Scott starts awake, sitting up, frantically reaching out to catch whatever had fallen.

"Sorry!" Katherine whisper-shouts. "I knocked over some books, sorry. You can go back to sleep."

Scott rubs his eyes, blinking around at the dimly-lit library, Katherine and Gem standing frozen a couple of feet away from him.

"How long was I asleep?" he mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest.

Gem exchanges a look with Katherine before shrugging. "Maybe twenty minutes? We were going to give you twenty more before waking you up, sorry."

"No, no—I need to be up," he says. "You should've woken me."

Another look exchanged. "Look, Scott," Katherine says gently, "we think you should maybe take a break? We could go eat something, come back for a few more hours before setting the library aside? Gem can keep looking, and you can come back in a couple of weeks—"

Scott stops paying attention, remembering the stag . . . across the floor, up the stack of books over there, across the shelf. . . .

Scott stands, trips over a book he'd left on the floor, catches his balance against a bookshelf before Katherine can rush forward.

"Scott, you need to rest," says Gem firmly. "I'll find an Old Elvish translation dictionary or something and go through these myself, okay? I want you to go home and take care of yourself."

Scott continues to ignore her, pushing past both of the girls, shifting aside a stack of books to find the shelf that he'd seen in his dream—

There's the book. Exactly as it appeared in his dream.

Scott grabs it, tugs it off the shelf, even as Katherine and Gem both voice their protests.

On the leather cover is a simple, golden stag.

Scott flips it open, barely registering as the other two fall silent. The title page is instantly familiar, one of few that Scott has actually seen in Old Elvish before.

The Tale of the Two Stags.

He pages through it quickly—it's long, far longer than the story usually is, and it's been annotated. There are handwritten notes in the margins, in a form of Elvish more recent than everything else here, close enough to the current form that Scott can mostly read it.

The mountaine in the este?, one note reads, underlining a sentence. How did Conal finte it? Will the same mountaine suffise?

These are notes from Alinar himself, Scott realizes, as he reads a few more, sudden chills encompassing his entire body.

Alinar held this book.

Alinar wrote in this book.

He flips to the final pages, those that would be blank, to find that they are covered with precise notes written by Alinar. He catches the word daemone several times, something about a cristyl, what appears to be some kind of a plan, complete with a diagram. . . .

"This is it," he says quietly. He looks up; Katherine and Gem are staring at him, mouths slightly ajar. He snaps the book shut, holds it up. "This is the book."

He knows it, too. Not just because Alinar had handwritten notes in it, not just because he was led to it. But he feels that pull, that spiritual connection. It's strong, unfathomably strong, binding him to this book in his hands.

"Scott, how . . . how did you know where that was?" Gem asks slowly.

"It was behind other books," adds Katherine. "In a section that you haven't even started on."

Scott shrugs. He really isn't sure how to answer without telling them that he thinks he might be Aeor's Champion, which isn't exactly something that he wants to be advertised. What if word got around, and then he utterly lost against Xornoth? He doesn't want to give false hope.

And maybe, perhaps more relevantly, saying it out loud comes with more revelations that he doesn't want to face.

"I had a good feeling, I suppose," he says.

Gem gives him a dubious look. "That's not a 'good feeling'," she says. "That's magic. Is that what elves' magic is like? Really good intuition? I've been trying to get an elven teacher for the Academy so that I can learn more about—"

"It's not really something we can teach, or learn," Scott interrupts. Maybe best to let her believe that it had been his inherent magic (which really isn't that impressive, seeing as all it really is is the ability to make some powerful suggestions or commands, and their promises are a bit more binding than others, the magic diluted as the generations pass from Alinar's rule, the last generation of great favor in Aeor's eyes) that led him to the book.

"Oh, so it's more instinctive! So is it a conscious—"

"Gem, how about we go eat now, and you can quiz me all about fae magic when you take me back to the Overgrown," Katherine suggests. "That way, Scott can get home before his advisors send assassins after us."

Right, he does need to get back home.

"And maybe he can get a change of clothes," adds Katherine.

Scott's stomach drops a little bit. There'll be another set of mourning clothes waiting for him, more likely than not.

And then there'll be other, harder things. He'll have to release some sort of statement of mourning, and if the court decides that he and Jimmy were still betrothed, he may have to declare a day of mourning for the entire country. He'll have to work with Lizzie to pull together some sort of memorial service, if possible. He'll have to sit through all sorts of official people giving their condolences. He'll have to run a war.

Maybe, if he asks nicely, Gem will let him stay a little longer.

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