#like the magic and the dragons i can take but curling iron? who directed this

[eliounora]

I can't believe they already have a break-up scene with sad swelling music and everything in the second episode. how often is this going to happen

[mythicandco]

I have 1% Battery Left And I’m Wasting it on This

A.K.A. Philip B. Wittebane (in which the “B” stands for “Belos”)

Warning: More than 90% of this is pure headcanoning and theorizing, based on the evidence that’s arisen and the ideas of many other members of the fandom. This theory has been circling the Owl House fandom for months, I DID NOT ORIGINALLY CREATE IT. Brooke and North are from this and so is some of the story, but the majority of the details are the work of my own convoluted brain. This was kinda disproved by Yesterday’s Lie but I want to post it before my computer dies. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this summarized monstrosity… 

Everything is once again below the cut

Philip stumbles into the Boiling Isles by complete accident while on a hike through the woods, tripping into a rift in the fabric of space-time created by Titan’s blood interacting with other various magical substances. He doesn’t realize he’s in another realm until he actually stops to look around, and is startled to come face-to-face with a trio of witches. 

The first witch, Brooke, is taller than their companions, with a big ol’ witchy hat and a pair of grey, tasseled earrings. North, only slightly shorter than Brooke, has a similar hat along with a matching cloak and blonde, curled hair. Her face is covered in scars. The last witch is Kirani, who ends up being a minor character but eh.

The trio is here to collect Titan’s blood for Brooke’s experiments with magic. They believe that by using their knowledge of potions, they can create an elixir of some form to allow witches to perform magic without the use of glyphs. The exact recipe is a work in progress, but they know that Titan’s blood will be a key ingredient. 

When the group first encounters Philip, they are startled by his small, round ears. The bemused human assures them he means no harm and eventually they decide that even if he does want to hurt them, he doesn’t have access to the magical knowledge to do so. This is further proven when a dragon nearly eats Philip (more on that later). They take him to their village to help him find a way home and survive until then. 

Over the next five or so years the group spends a lot of time together, Philip begins writing a journal, and North, Brooke and Philip form a friendship, often going on adventures together with the help of their palismans. North even trusts Philip enough to let him use her staff for transportation until he eventually gets the chance to carve his own. During this time Philip also learns a lot about glyph magic and the creatures of the Boiling Isles, and is surprised at how naturally it comes for him to draw the glyphs from memory and get them right. 

At one point Philip and the others travel to the Knee to retrieve some Titan’s blood from Eclipse Lake. Brooke stays behind to start collecting the other, more local ingredients to their spell, and North is forced to stay behind due to injuries sustained after fighting off a swarm of small, dragon-like creatures.

The expedition is a disaster, and after mistaking fool’s blood for Titan’s blood, Philip is the only one who makes it out alive following the cave-in. Philip is horrified at this turn of events but simultaneously relieved that Brooke and North didn’t accompany him on this particular mission. He comes back with the Titan’s blood, but not the rest of the group, and has to explain what happened. 

The village begins spreading rumors that he killed them to take the blood for himself, or that he is too incompetent to continue leading these expeditions. Brooke and North also get a share of the blame, being the ones who brought the human to their village in the first place. Brooke retreats to their study for a few weeks, taking the Titan’s blood with them. 

Things get even worse after the Titan’s blood excursion and the neighboring witch tribes hear about the dangerous human who supposedly kills witches and other creatures in cold blood for his own gain. (Rumors are nasty things, slightly more terrifying the longer they’re out there.) Philip finds it almost ironic that in this world of freaks and monsters, he’s the target of the torches and pitchforks. 

While out trading at a small market shared by a couple of the tribes, North is confronted by the leader of another clan and accused of betraying her kind. Things escalate quickly and she barely gets out without things coming to blows. 

Philip starts worrying that he is becoming a burden and a danger to the others, not because he actually wants to hurt them, but because they will get in trouble for sheltering him. He offers to help out Brooke with the portal, which is nearly finished. While they are distracted, he pockets some of the Titan’s blood and some other magical supplies from when Brooke was experimenting with improving a witch’s ability to perform magic. 

Philip uses the potion on himself, but because he is human, not a witch or demon, and isn’t connected to the Titan, he can only use magic by taking it from another source. He starts off using various plants and the horns and tusks of the creatures the village usually uses for jewelry or tosses aside after, I dunno, making a pie with it or something, and practices using spell circles in secret, making sure he can defend himself and the others should the need arise. 

Soon he discovers that he needs more and more magic to stay powerful - to stay stable - and slips up in front of Brooke, losing control for less than a moment before using a spare flower he’d been keeping in his back pocket as a gift for North.

Brooke, understandably, is freaked out by what the fuck just happened and Philip begs for them to keep it a secret. He admits that he stole some of Brooke’s concoctions so that he could protect himself from the witches of the other tribes, and that he needs a reliable source of energy to continue using magic. Brooke argues that what he’s doing is dangerous and unnatural, and that a human shouldn’t be able to use magic the way he does. 

Philip is furious, yelling at Brooke for hogging all of the magic for themselves. He says that where he comes from, witches were supposed to be burned at the stake or drowned. Brooke, horrified, backs away. Philip realizes he’s gone too far and flees back to the home he and the witches constructed when he first arrived in the Boiling Isles. 

His state continues to worsen, and eventually he is driven to snap his own palisman in order to consume its essence. With horrified awe, Philip discovers palismen hold far more magical energy than the little table scraps he’d been collecting before. He is able to briefly rejoin the rest of the tribe, but Brooke doesn’t speak to him and he keeps thinking about his broken palisman.

A few days later Brooke finally finishes the portal and gives Philip the key. The human doesn’t get the chance to test out the door before one of the rival tribes attacks the village out of nowhere and Philip joins in defending the people he’s spent years with. North is stunned that he can weave magic without the use of glyphs, but she doesn’t have the time to consult Brooke on where the human gained this new ability. 

At some point Philip corners the leader of the rival clan and nearly kills her, running out of magic just before the final blow is dealt. He reaches for the nearest source of power - North’s palisman - and snaps it in half. 

For a few moments, North and Brooke process what just happened amidst the chaos. Then the fighting stops and everyone watches as Philip finishes consuming the palisman’s essence. 

Philip looks up with glowing eyes and pauses, confused at everyone’s expressions. The fighting picks back up, this time directed at him, and someone throws a spear straight through his chest. It goes in one side and comes out the other, but the human(?) remains unharmed. The witches and demons start freaking the fuck out, because wouldn’t you in this situation? 

Finally registering what he’s done, a horrified Philip backs away and makes a break for the trees. He never sees Brooke or North again. 

In a clearing in the woods, Philip summons the door to the Human Realm but doesn’t have the courage to step through. He realizes that he is no better than the other monsters of the Demon Realm. He’d probably be shunned if he went home. Would anyone even recognize what he’d become? He once again briefly loses control of himself before giving up and throwing the key to the portal into the trees as hard as he can, before disappearing into the foliage himself.

North burns everything Philip touched, his books, home, everything in her fit of anger over the loss of her palisman and one of her best friends (or maybe something more). She is furious with Brooke for not telling her about him sooner and the two witches engage in an argument. Afterwards, Brooke discovers the journal Philip was going to donate to the market library, the one with all of his recorded notes and diagrams about the fantastical horror of the Demon Realm, and instead of burning it, donates it in their lost friend’s name.

A few centuries go by and Philip Wittebane’s name is practically lost to time, save for the journal that still resides in the almost-constantly growing library in what is now Bonesborough. 

A powerful, controlling figure arises, claiming he alone can communicate with the Titan, and that the wild magic used by witches is wrong. Emperor Belos unites the witches of the Boiling Isles under the Coven system, ascending the throne and becoming the most powerful being (both physically and politically) on the Boiling Isles. 

The rest, as they say, is history.

[pixs-pinings]

The Moths

In my awakening insert’s... theoretical fic, Pix actually doesn’t get too close to the main story until the time... around the timeskip. She actually joins up with a group called the Shadow Moths (otherwise known as Alicia’s Moths), and just kinda. recruits all the future kids to it.

Anyway here’s how they started off <3

When Alicia looked back, her brother and mother were gone.

She can still hear shouting. She can still feel the way the magic rumbles in her soul whenever their pursuers try to summon Risen; even if she was an unsuccessful attempt at holding Grima, her brother was the successful attempt, so she could still feel that dark magic. She grit her teeth and looked back forward, watching her surroundings as she continued to run.

Her mother was likely dead.

She stumbled. She didn't feel any magic in the air around her. She kept running anyway. Her pink hair whipped rapidly behind her.

Her brother... they'd want to keep him alive. He was the result of a long line of cult breeding, a mark on his hand showing him perfect to house the soul of a demonic dragon.

She hoped he escaped. She hoped that their pursuers only claimed their mother. Alicia couldn't go back to check. She just had to hope. Hope was the best way to combat the despair that being Grimleal caused, her mother had always told her.

She stumbled through some town gates, and realized that she no longer had pursuers. Her hair was a mess, her outfit— the only thing she had left from her time as a Grimleal— was torn to shreds, and she probably didn't look the prettiest. 

She pulled out her money purse, checking what she had in it. Alicia frowned as she counted her gold. This was enough to get one night at the Inn, maybe enough to get another set of clothes... Where could she go from here?

-

"Young Siban..." August's face twisted, and the merchant— Josh— put his hands up in the air and waved it back and forth. "I-I mean, August! Young August! Are you quite sure about this?"

August held the bow in one hand, and held the quiver in the other. It was intricately designed, both matched each other perfectly, it was easy to pull back on the bowstring... Just like she had wanted.

August stared at him, slinging the quiver over her shoulder. "I've spent a lot of gold on this, Josh." She ran a hand through her hair. "If I wasn't sure, I would've backed out at the price."

Josh stared at his hands. "... Are you sure you must go?"

August scoffed, turning around. "My parents decided that for me."

She would miss him. But she wouldn't say that. She had learned better. Keep her heart under lock and key, and she wouldn't be hurt like that again.

August remembered seeing a lone mercenary wandering around, doing tasks that nobody else wished to do. Her parents had recruited her once, for the honor of fighting for their honor or something August didn't pay much attention to at the time. August thought that mercenary would be the perfect one.

August never learned how to fight. That was how she was raised. That lone mercenary, though? She knew how to use her sword to terrifying effect. August had a feeling that she could learn how to use a bow from that mercenary.

Now she would begin her search. 

-

"There we go!"

Rosa backed away from her horse, who lifted up his head and snorted. She slid the horse brush off of her hand, giggling at his attitude. "Don't be like that, Sain! You know I need to do it!" The white-haired girl dropped her brush into a bucket that she had labeled the horse care bucket. She picked it up off the floor and slid it onto the shelf, then made her way back to Sain. 

Rosa brushed her hand down his side, her smile growing wistful. "You and I are similar, you know." Her fingers traced the start of one of his front legs, feeling the natural power behind it. "You're not meant to be a noble steed. You're meant to be out there—" She tossed her free hand in the direction of the exit of the stables, where beams of sunlight were starting to emerge, "—running around, feeling air through your mane..." She brushed her hand over his dark brown mane, twisting it between her fingers. "...But you're stuck in here, just used to deliver messages."

Sain huffed again, and Rosa laughed to herself. "Oh, right, I shouldn't mess up your noble mane, not after I just brushed it." She moved her pale hand back to his body, rubbing her fingers in a circle.

Her face returned to melancholy. "... I want to be outside, too. I wish I could run around out there, I wish that my skin and eyes didn't draw so much attention..." Rosa pressed her face against Sain's neck, and he lowered his head on her shoulder. Her smile lifted. "My parents care so much for how I'll be perceived. If only I could just..."

Her hand stopped on Sain's side, and Rosa drew away from her horse. Sain lifted his head, staring at her in confusion.

Sain could take her anywhere. The only worry she had was that she drew attention when outside, and if she just covered that up... Sain could run free. She could get him saddled up, cover herself, and... go. Sain wasn't meant to be a messenger horse, he was meant to carry soldiers for long battles.

She could do that.

Rosa ran her hand down his neck again, then stepped away. "Hold on for a second." She grinned, heading for the door of Sain's enclosure. "I think I know how to solve both of our problems."

-

How long had it been since she slept?

Ninu curled her flame red wings around her shoulders, disguising it as a cloak like her mother had told her to so long ago. Her long, pale blue dress trailed at her feet, snagging on bushes and branches as she pushed onward.

The trees were different. Their branches and leaves were different from how she had remembered them, before her slumber. Above the trees, she could see the tops of buildings from a city that didn't exist before.

Her dress snagged on another branch. Ninu continued to walk, not minding the holes being torn into the bottom of her dress.

It seemed like the anger that had been building up inside of her had been quelled after her nap, like her mother had said it would.

Waking up and not seeing her face had stung. Not seeing her siblings or father had stung, as well. Were her siblings still alive? Her parents weren't, not if a large time had passed, but her siblings were only barely older than her. Where had they gone?

Her steps slowed when she heard the sound of people talking. It seemed that the language changed, but not enough that she could not understand their conversation.

"That's the reason we have arm guards." A light, yet scolding voice rung out from the clearing ahead. "Go and put it on. Now..." There was a sigh, and the sound of boots turning on dirt. "...Rosa. You have your armor?"

"Yep!" A perky voice responded. 

Ninu thought she could hear the slight grumbling of another voice. Was that who got scolded by the first voice? She couldn't identify the words of that one. She drifted closer, blue eyes gazing over the clearing she had stumbled upon.

Three humans were on one side of the clearing, and three training dummies were set up on the other. A human with light pink hair tied up in a low ponytail was walking around the deep black horse the unnaturally pale human with white hair was sitting on, tracing her hands on... whatever was hanging off of the horse's backside. The third human was digging through a bag with dark brown hands, curly black hair pulled tight into a high bun.

The human with light pink hair nodded, patting the pale human on the leg. "You're ready." She stepped away from the human on the horse, lips curled to a frown. "... You're sure about this?"

"Y-Yeah!" The pale human clutched onto the wooden lance in her hands. "Mercenaries travel, right? And if you train me, even better!"

Ninu was not sure what the pale human was wearing counted as armor. Even disregarding the strangely patterned cloak she wore over her head, the armor seemed too close to the skin to be armor. Ninu remembered bulky iron chainmail, not... whatever she was wearing.

"Okay." The pink-haired human nodded, crossing her arms. "Show me what you got down."

The dark-skinned human pulled on a glove, turning from the bag she had been digging through. The human's hazel eyes met Ninu's, and, judging by the sudden tensing of her shoulders, Ninu had been seen.

"Alicia," The dark-skinned human hissed towards the other two, sharply pointing in Ninu's direction, "we're being watched."

The human on the horse tensed, and the horse neighed with irritation as it turned around. The pink-haired human's reaction was to sharply turn in Ninu's direction, pulling out— that was an actual iron sword.

Sure, it looked different from what Ninu remembered, but the sharpness and general shape echoed in her mind from when her mother showed Ninu her backup weapon.

"Show yourself," The pink-haired human barked, "Before I make you face my blade."

Ninu pulled herself out of the shadows of the trees, stretching out her dragon wings. The anger and tension lessened considerably, in exchange for confused glances being swapped between the three humans.

"Pardon my intrusion." Ninu spoke, bowing. Her wings stretched out to their full length as she bowed, returning to their spot on her shoulders as she returned to standing upright. Surprisingly, the dark-skinned human was a little bit taller than Ninu. "I have awakened from my lengthy slumber, and your gathering caught my eye." Ninu's ears twitched. "My name is Ninu. Might I ask what your business is here?"

The dark-skinned human and the unnaturally pale human both looked at the pink-haired human. The pink-haired human looked over to the two of them, sighed, then stepped forward, looking up to meet eyes with Ninu.

"I'm Alicia," The pink-haired human placed a hand on her chest, "that's August," Alicia pointed to the dark-skinned human, "and that's Rosa." Alicia pointed to the unnaturally pale human on a horse. August and Rosa both waved. "We're... well." Alicia looked back up to Ninu. "We're a new mercenary group, the Shadow Moths."

"We came up with that name, like... five minutes ago." August sighed.

Ninu nodded. Mercenaries, huh? Some things changed, some things stayed the same.

Alicia hummed, and Ninu refocused to her. "... You wouldn't mind if I asked you to join us, right?"

-

A mage stood in front of them. She clutched a tome close to her body, green eyes unable to stay focused on just one person. Her robes were a mix of pink, purple, and blue, covering her body. It was not a typical mage uniform, but it seemed she was used to it, if her performance in that battle was any indication.

Alicia stepped forward. "You said your name was Pix, yes?"

Pix nodded, smiling nervously. "Yeah."

"Pix..." Alicia looked down to the magic tome in Pix's arms, and her mind was pulled back to when she still traveled on the road with Robin and her mother. Their magical skill being at her back was a comfort, and it was something she had missed on the few missions the Moths had been on so far. "Are you open for working with a mercenary group?"

Pix's eyes widened, and her grip on her book tightened. "You..." She struggled for words for a moment. "You want to recruit me?"

"The Moths... we're lacking in mage power." Alicia explained, watching as Pix failed to fully suppress the glee on her face. "You seem to know how to use magic, and if you jumped into a fight you were not initially a part of, you might not have much to do except wander."

Alicia had found Rosa like that, after all.

"Will you accept?"

Pix flattened her face again, though the edges of her lips were still curving upwards. "Yes!" Pix blinked, then coughed into her palm, going slightly red. "Yes, I'll join."

"Good!" Alicia chirped, her own smile widening. "Follow me. The other three are back at our camp, I'll introduce you there."

(August watched Pix's laughter at one of Alicia's jokes get suppressed by herself, and August wondered why their newest member felt the same need to suppress showing emotions like August did.)

(Rosa watched Pix walk into camp at Alicia's side, and couldn't help her smile at someone new.)

(Ninu's gaze followed Pix as the mage got set up for the night of rest, and wondered why her magical aura felt so achingly similar to that of her mother.)

[path-of-fire]

can we get the f!RO’s reaction to the MC being blatantly hit on in front of them (in a relationship)

(I'm going to go with the worst cast scenario here, and say that the MC has made their discomfort clear to the person flirting. As well as their relationship status, but the person still doesn't heed their words.)

Loreena: Hazel eyes narrow as she stares across the market square. She had left your side only for a moment so she could get a gift for Cedric, but the moment she turned back she could see you. Normally the sight of you would bring butterflies to her stomach, but the butterflies immediately shrivel up and die. Not because of you but because of the man standing before you. His dark gaze clearly showing his hunger for you. She could clearly see how uncomfortable you were too.

Every time the man stepped forward you would step back. Bringing up your hands to ward him off from approaching even further. It was a sight that caused anger to curl in pit of her stomach. Eyes flashing with an intent that is only ever seen on the battlefield. A look that only her enemies ever see.

And, that man was one of them.

Moving with the grace of a panther Loreena makes her way back to your side. Her voice reaching you before she does. "Dear, I'm so sorry but I couldn't find the ingredients you were searching for." Adding an almost apologetic tone certainly helps as she stops to stand beside you.

Your gaze automatically searching hers, but she only smiles gently. Though the smile soon falls away the moment she levels her gaze with that of the man. Her entire being hardening even more when she recognized him.

"Charles what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you today?" She asks with a barely there smile. Trying her best to stay cordial for you, but she couldn't stop herself from wrapping an arm around your waist. Making sure that he knew exactly what he had done.

And by the look of sheer panic he had, she could tell she did a good job. "Ca-captain," he says, his voice stuttering out. Choked in his throat because of how much he was trying to breathe. "I wasn't aware you would be out at the market today."

Tilting her head Loreena surveys him. Clearly seeing the way he flinches underneath her cool glare. "Now why wouldn't I be here Charles? After all my dearest and I were out shopping. That is until you decided to make untoward advances towards them."

Floundering like a fish Charles tries to defend himself. Trying desperately to defend his honor in the face of his Knight Commander. Not wanting to here his petty excuses, however, Loreena simply holds up her hand. Stopping any words from coming out. "I suggest you don't speak, soldier, I also suggest that you leave right now before I actually get pissed off." A dark smile flits across a normally joyous face. "But I hope you know that you're going to be the palaces stable boy for the foreseeable future."

Puffing up Charles once again tries to speak, but Loreena wants none of it. "Go."

Not needing to be told another time Charles scampers away. His bulky frame disappearing into the crowd of people. Smiling to herself Loreena turns back to you. Eyes turning softer as she gazes upon your form. Offering her arm she speaks with all the warmth of the sun. "Shall we, my love?"

Robyn: Golden brown darken to a burning whiskey as they gaze upon the sight standing before them. Your form being pressed slightly into the bar of the tavern. Your arms crossed in front of your chest in a defensive position. Brow crinkled in the way that clearly showed your distress.

Standing from her seat Robyn could feel her normally jovial smile fall. Her face starting to burn with her anger at the events transpiring. She could feel Edmund standing to join her, which on any other circumstance would have caused her to make a quip about his loyalty.

But she couldn't even bring her gaze to meet his, let alone open her mouth to do so. No, all of her attention was completely on you. And the woman standing before you. Her slight frame pressing into all the parts that you couldn't move. Causing you to be wedged against the bar and her.

Moving through the sea of drunken bodies she makes her way towards you. Her gaze locking on yours over the woman's shoulder. Clear relief becoming apparent on your face the moment you notice her. It was a sight that both warmed Robyn's heart, and made her even more pissed. No one made you afraid.

No one.

Stopping behind the woman, Robyn simply taps her shoulder. A fake smile plastered on her face as she turns around. Sparkling eyes glowing with anger. Robyn watches as the woman recoils slightly away from her. Blue eyes widening at the sudden sight of her. Robyn doesn't even give her a chance to open her mouth before she's punching her. The woman's body slamming into the ground of the tavern.

A common sight so no one paid it any mind. Especially if it was Robyn Hood getting into said fight.

Turning her head Robyn focuses her gaze on Edmund's. "Take her out of here. I think she needs to be alone for a little while," she says, a smirk forming on her lips. "To clear her head and all."

Edmund follows her instructions without a second thought. Grabbing hold of the woman and disappearing out the front door of the tavern. Some other merry men in tow.

Robyn brings her gaze backs to yours and smiles. Offering her hand to you she pulls you along back to the table she and her men were occupying. "How about I get the drinks for the rest of the night, dove."

Esmé: Sharp iron eyes stare across the room at you. Well, to be more honest, she was staring at the man that was in front of you. Well, to be even more honest, she was glaring at him. Her full lips pressing themselves into a thin line. Her displeasure clearly showing by the stiffness of her frame.

"Jezebel, dear, who is that with my angel?" Esmé asks, bringing her gaze to her assistants. The question coming out with all the innocence she could muster. Even though in her mind she was plotting murder. A crime that she knew she could get away with.

"That's Duke Leopold of House Jermaine. He was one of the last to accept the invitation to this soiree." Her dear assistant says, but she doesn't say anything more than that. Knowing that by the dark look in her bosses eyes that she wouldn't listen to anything else.

"A late bloomer? How quaint for him to actually show up," she says, a sharp smile spreading across her face. Steel slowly turning silver with the intensity of her glaring. Turning her head she meets her assistants slightly frightened gaze. "Jezebel be a dear and invite Leopold and my dear angel over here. I would love to meet the man that has gotten their attention."

Not needing to be told twice her assistance quickly scampers across the room. Her movements quick as she spoke. Gesturing towards where Esmé was standing. The Duke's eyes meeting hers with barely contained desire. It was a look that she had seen from countless others, and it causes her lips to thin even more. If it was possible it was even worse that he was looking at any perceived eligible person at the party. It was like he didn't see you as the special creature you were.

Good, she thought, because you'll only ever be for me.

Esmé watches as the Duke and her angel move towards her. Her gaze never leaving yours because she could now see the clear relief you had on your face. Which made this whole conversation shift completely. Not only had he been flirting with you, but he had also made you uncomfortable too? No, that would not do. That would not do at all.

Moving Esmé meets you and simply pulls you into her embrace. Her wings coming out to gently wrap around. Blocking the Duke from seeing you. Shifting slightly Esmé pulls you tighter to her body and glares at the Duke. Relishing when he cowers under her stare.

"You'll listen to me and you'll listen to me now. If I ever see you speaking to my angel again when they do not wish you to, I will personally make sure that you never see the light of day again," Esmé hisses, her eyes flashing with clear intent. "Do I make myself clear?"

The Duke simply nods as he stumbles away. His eyes growing large at the threat standing before him. Smiling to herself Esmé gestures for her men to take the Duke out of her party. No need to mix bad fruit with the good.

Ayleth: Fire caresses the palms of Ayleth's hands as she makes her way towards you. Her eyes glowing with her magic. She could feel the way it thrumed within her. Beating just like her pulse did. It was as alive as she was.

And just as pissed too.

Brown eyes flashing as she comes to a stop beside you. Flame covered hands coming out as a shield. Staring at the woman that dare try to take you away from her. Take away the only thing that mattered in her menial existence. Ayleth could feel the way the ground was starting to shake underneath her feet. It was a clear sign of her agitation, but she wouldn't let anything happen.

Yet.

"You dare try to force yourself upon someone that was unwilling?" She snarls, the flames in her palms growing that much larger. She could feel the way the heat was caressing her palms. She knows exactly how excruciating it would be if it was directed towards someone else.

"I didn't know, I swear," the woman pleads, her eyes growing large at the sight of Ayleth's anger. Her rage starting to streak across the night sky in rumbling waves.

"Then leave," is the only thing she can get out through her gritted teeth. Eyes flaring even more when the woman hesitated, but a lightning bolt hitting the ground near them is enough motivation.

Turning back towards you Ayleth takes your face in her hands. "Are you all right, my dragon?" At your nod of confirmation Ayleth brings her arms around you in a tight hug. Her face nuzzling into your neck.

"Good."

Revian: Teeth bare at the sight in front of her. Her wolf begging to be let out the moment she sees the man put his hands on her mate. The lowly god should know by now that you were off limits. That no one should be touching you in that manner.

Moving through the shadows Revian could clearly see what was happening the closer she got. The god had you trapped between him and one of the tables. You were clearly tipsy but coherent enough to know that something was wrong, and the sight of you inebriated brought a whole new feeling of rage to course through her.

How dare he try to take advantage of you? Silver eyes turn molten as Revian strides from the shadows. She could see the man's friends trying to pull him away from you. Clearly knowing who you were and the wrath that was about to put onto them. Only to see her approaching, and Revian relishes the fear that immediately appears in the gaze. Automatically letting go of their friend to leave him to his fate.

Because it was common knowledge among the gods to never mess with another's mate. Let alone Revian or Phenir's.

Stepping behind the man Revian doesn't hesitate to grab him by the scruff of his neck and slam him into the nearest wall. Flipping him around so her hand comes to his throat. Applying enough pressure so he has no choice but to stop floundering like an imbecile.

She watches with amusement as the man tries to blubber his way through an excuse. But, Revian hears none of it instead she bares her teeth. Her elongated canines glinting underneath the light of the tavern. A growl rumbling from deep within her chest that would cause any being to submit. Or piss their pants as Revian found.

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she decides to make this quick. Because being in his presence was making her lose brian cells. With an almost kind smile, completley fake of course, she begins to speak. Her tone holding the promise of death. "Now listen to me and listen to me now. Because this is the only time I will tell you this. If I ever see you speaking to my mate again, I will personally hunt you down and kill you. And trust me it will not be a quick death. Do you understand me?"

The man simply nods his fear tangible in the air. With a satisfied Revian let's the man go. Causing him to crash against the floor, but he immediately crawls away from her. Shaking like a leaf the entire time.

Bringing her gaze back to her mate she couldn't help but feel it soften. Caressing her loves cheek she lowers her head to gently nuzzle their head. Calming herself and her wolf down with the simple action. Her mates scent calming her down more than anything else ever could.

"Let's get you home, my love."

[hpdabbles]

Wayward Healer

Remus gasps in pain while dragging his trembling body into a sitting position. He felt the burning of his own claws all across his body, but the worst was one running from his left hip upwards towards his chest. It burns so badly it felt almost ice-cold and he just knows his wolf had thrown itself onto it more than once.

His head thumped as if though he bashed it against the walls all night, and he barely had the strength to reach towards some potions so he wouldn’t die to blood loss.

He had the right idea to put the potions bottles in an inforced safe with various defensive wards which had earned his Os in all his Defense Aginst The Dark Arts classes. 

Tugging the door open, he grunts as a fresh wave of pain rushed all over his body. He leans heavily against the safe, reaching a hand in to grasp the potions. He sighs as the liquid goes down his throat, stopping the bleeding and getting to work on closing his wounds but the soreness, the pain, and the scars will remain.  

Suddenly fatigue, one he can almost never remember living without, washing over him. A side effect of the potions.

Remus hazy eyes glanced at the door and windows happy to see the bricks had held, and he hadn’t been able to breakthrough. There were dents and blood splatters against them, some of his wards were shattered in a few spots but the web he weaved over them had held. 

Later, when some strength returns, he would get up, take his wand-hidden in the safe as well-  and remove the barricades. On the other side to the door, rested the few clothes he had left. Experience taught him that changing while clothed just ended in shreds of cloth and a bill to replace what he lost so he always stripped a few hours before the full moon took the sky.

It was humiliating but it wasn’t like anyone was around to see it. It’s been years since he last did, back when he trusted Black. When he thought he might even love Black, who had him captured in his own web- one built with lies instead of wards. 

How had he not have noticed? Was he too busy with the secret smiles, the fumbling getaways in the dark, the silver eyes that linger like a physical touch to see that the words, the actions, were all empty?

Remus had given Black every first- his first friend, first rebellious act, first crush, first kiss, first lovemaking, and most painful of all, first “I love you”- but none of that had mattered. Black had played him, betrayed him and now James, Lily, and Petter was six feet under.

There were all gone, and yet Remus, the only real monster, was still here. Laying there naked, utterly exhausted to the soul, Remus felt hollowing alone wondering why he bothered to still be here.

Tears roll down his face, sorrow still so fresh, even though it’s been three years already. Harry would be four in only a month and Remus had no idea where he was, who he was with because Dumbledore had hidden so well for the boy’s protection. His old headmaster had made him realize that trying to be close to Harry would only attract the attention of the werewolves he used to spy on.

Just the idea of one of them turning Harry made him puke, he couldn’t risk actually leaving a trail for someone to follow. He owed James that much. 

It aches to know he couldn’t even see Harry, and it was another thing Black took from him. The man who was in Azkaban rotting away in a cell as he should, who was undoubtedly facing one of his worst fears just by the sight of the bars- if his fear of being locked up due to his childhood ever was real.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he worried about him. The werewolf worried how his once love handled the prison. 

Remus, curl into himself, a sob wrenching from deep within him holding ever ounce of his misery, his pain, the knowledge that even now after everything Black did, he still loved the monster-

“What are you- No stop! Remus might be on the other side- are you mad!? Don’t-!” The voice of the very man he was thinking about shouted. Remus had only two seconds to process the impossibility of that before the door was blasted open, his wards folding like wet paper against the strength of magic.

Standing on the other side was a man in a royal blue trench coat, hang open to show faded muggle jeans and an old black shirt. He held his wand in a loose casual held as if though breaking wards strong enough to withstand a werewolf were nothing. 

He looked exactly like James though a few years older.  The same age as Prongs....if he had lived to his mid-twenties, grown his hair and had changed his hazel eyes to jewel green.

He offered Remus a smile who could only gape back at him momently stun from his angst.

“Remus Lupin I presume?” The man asked stepping into the room. His magic washed over the area, wrapping Remus in a cacoon of warmth that works wonders on the soreness of his body. 

He’s crossing the room with a disarming smile while tying his long hair into a bun. “I’m a healer. I like to exam you and make sure nothing too damaging happened to your body from the transformation. Have you taken any potions yet or-”

“You could have killed him with that blast! What is the matter with you!?” A second man shouts. Remus cuts his eyes to the doorway as the healer lets out a frustrated sigh and- no. No. No. No. Stepping through is Black, who looks a bit worse for wear, far too skinny with bags under his eyes but free.

Free, and holding a giggling child with a lighting scar against his chest. Harry.

A feral growl ripped from his chest before he could think to grab his wand, he launches his body forward, reaching to rip the man apart, wanting nothing more than saving the little boy. Black stumbles back looking shocked at the lunge, hands quickly pressing the back of the child’s head into his chest and shifting his body as if though he’s trying to shield Harry from Remus.

Suddenly, a spell hits his back and Remus finds himself slamming into the ground. He thrashes around but it’s as if though something is pressing him down. 

“Remus!” Black shouts as if he is worried. As if he cares. “What are you doing to him?!”

“Relax. I’m just holding him down. Can’t have him moving around so much after a transformation without wolfsbane.” The unknown male answers flippantly. “ Now, Mr. Lupin, please stop struggling. The faster I finish my examination, the fast the pain will end.”

Remus struggles harder, knowing that if this man is with Black then he’s just as dangerous. Maybe more. 

There is a loud put upon sigh. Then magic wraps around his limbs, pulling them in four different directions and the click-clacking of shackles fill the room.  Magical Chains. Used on dragons, and other XXX-level magical creatures. 

Remus is not powerful enough to break them, and he slumps as pain overtakes his body again the burst of strength leaving him as quickly as it came. He is now entirely restrained unable to move his body below his neck. At their mercy. Tears prickle his eyes again, as he’s flipped over and he stares up into the James-imposter bored expression and Black’s conflicted eyes.

Harry is the only one who is smiling in the room, he tugs on Black’s long hair with a giggle pointing down.  “He’s not wearing any clothes Padfoot.” 

Black immediately put a hand over the boy’s green eyes his face turning red. The boy whines, trying to tug the hand away and the unknown male chuckles. “He already saw him naked Mr.Black”

“That doesn’t mean he needs to keep- ugh! Just shut up, I protect my godson’s innocence as I please!” Black grumbles then he narrows his eyes at the...healer.  “You stop staring at Remus.”

“I’ve seen plenty of people naked before, Mr. Black,” The healer says smoothly “I assure you I’m a professional who respects his patients.”

“You didn’t when you came for me!” Black counters.

“You refuse to leave your cell due to your guilt. What was I supposed to do? You could have died with that bacteria in your lungs and then where would Harry be? He still be under those stairs in the cramped cupboard” The other says, kneeling down. Remus’ face flinches when the other runs his hands on his ribs, gently pushing on them with a hum. Black releases a growl that sounds close to his inner dog “Your ribs are out of place, most likely due to the dramatic change between your forms. Not surprising but a bit worrying. Tell Mr. Lupin do you experience chest pains often?”

“Don’t touch him!” Black bites at the same time Remus screams “Don’t touch me!”. 

The healer chuckles again. “You two are cute.” 

“What’s going on?” Harry whines still squirming in Black’s hold and attempting to remove the iron clad palm covering his sight. “I want to see!”

Black kicks his legs out aiming for the healer whose hands are now running over Remus’ neck and stumble against a shield that appears. The force of the impact pushes Black back and the man falls right on his ass with a surprised shout. Harry goes with him, but he able to push his eyes out from behind long fingers and stares at Remus with sparkling joy.  

“That was rude Mr. Black”  The Healer didn’t even look in the other man’s direction when addressing him instead probing Remus’ jaw. He clicks his tongue “Seems you dislocated this too. You have quite the pain tolerance.”

Remus spits in his face. The saliva stops before it makes contact with the stranger, slamming against a new shield and the stranger smiles amusedly at him. Then the man’s wand is aimed at his chest and Remus thinks he’s about to pay for his little rebellious action. 

Instead of pain, however, a healing spell lands over his skin, sinking into his ribs and pushing them into the right place. That should have hurt, but somehow the man’s magic was making it an easy change and suddenly Remus's torso stop thumping as his ribs popped loudly. 

He can breathe easier now too, better then he felt in years. Remus’ eyes widen in wonder staring at the, suddenly kind looking green eyes of the James-Imposter.

“What was that? What did you do!?” Black demands. 

“Fixed his ribs.” The stranger answers wand now aimed at his jaw. Another loud pop and Remus actually release a sigh of relief much to his shame.“Relax Mr. Black.”

Quick as a snake, the healer slashes his wand over Remus and his whole body lights up, as the pain from last night slips away, the magic sealing wounds the potions couldn’t, gently massaging areas and cleaning him. Black falls silent at the sight, jaw dropped. 

Remus can’t really blame him. He’s never seen healing quite like this nor felt healing this efficient. No matter how hard his parents and other healers have tried, werewolf damage was darn near impossible to fully fix, only control the aches for a few days. 

But apparently, this man was erasing the pain as easy as one could erase with a muggle pencil. Just who was he?

 As the glowing continues the stranger reaches into his pocket to pull out...a rat in tiny Magical Chains. The rat squealed when the healer thrust it into Remus's face. 

“Smell familiar Mr. Lupin?” The man asks just as the scent hits the werewolf's nostrils and he...no....Petter? But how? That was undeniably him, Remus would never forget his friends' scents but the implications....oh merlin.

The healer gives him a grim smile, one that speaks of a person on the verge of vengeance. “Mr. Black was frame by a mutual acquaintance of your Mr. Lupin.”

Remus swings his eyes to Black- and sees the man who he always loves stare at him with such heartbreaking hope, desperation, and pleading. Pleading Remus to believe him, to trust him or to at least listen.

“Remus....I didn’t do it. You know me. You know...” Sirius voice breaks. “Please,”

Closing his eyes the werewolf shakes his head glancing back that the healer, needing to focus on something, anything else.  “Who are you?”

The stranger grins in a way that would make James proud and Lily weary. “A wayward healer.”

“Remus?” Sirius calls once more and Remus does it again.

 He falls.  

“Let me up so we can figure this out. We need to clear your name, Sirius.” he chokes saying so much more in those two sentences. I’m sorry, I missed you, I still love you.

Hopefully, Sirius can still understand him like he used to, hopefully he can hear what he means. 

The healer snaps his fingers, releasing him from his hold and Padfoot slams into his arms with a sob.

 Little Harry had gotten out of the man’s hold at one point pulling the Healer’s coat. He makes a distressed expression at the two men who are pressing themselves close together as if though one thinks the other will disappear. “Why are they crying?”

The healer reaches down to pat his the boy's head voice taking a strange tone which would make Remus think he was hearing a seer foretelling a future war. “Because love can be painful sometimes. But don’t worry. I’m a healer. I can fix it.” 

“Like when you came and took me away?” The boy asks faithfully. His green eyes take just the edge of hero-worship in them.

The healer smiles with all his teeth. “Exactly like that.”

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [930]

“Oh, no,” Cassandra whispers during one of her checks of Ellana’s house.

Ever since Bull’s…disappearance, as they’re now calling it with as much gentle calmness as they can, they’ve been taking turns sleeping in Ellana’s guest room. They had all decided, without much in the way of verbal discussion so much as they had all looked at Ellana’s narrow shoulders and then at each other, that it would be best if she were not alone at the moment.

There is, of course, the possibility that the Iron Bull could come back. That he could fight his way out of whatever took him, whatever door he was pulled through, whatever world he was sucked into now. There’s also a chance that whatever door opened to take him will open to take Ellana as well.

It could be Solas, coming now that Bull is gone and Ellana is alone.

But when a door opens, and then closes, the chances of it reopening in the same place, or even close to the same place, are slim to none.

Everyone of this world knows that.

(How many of them turn into ghosts, haunting the places they first stumbled through? How many of them waste away on nothing but fruitless hope and unrewarded breath staring at empty spaces where their entire world used to be?

Whenever Cassandra walks by that alleyway between the barber shop and bodega on the corner of fourth it feels like her entire body is being slowed by tar, by molasses, by some sticky and unshakeable feeling of longing and desire. She wants to stand there at the back of that alley and run her hands obsessively over the brickwork for some sort of hidden seam, some sort of invisible mechanism that if she just touched it the right way at the right time in the correct pattern would sigh open for her. Just for her, just once more for her —

And on the other side would be home. It would be her world, the world she was born in, the world where she rode dragons and welded a sword against monsters that don’t have names or histories in this world. This limbo of a world where all of them have found themselves dumped like used up wrappers and discarded toys. This landfill of a world.

But Cassandra doesn’t do that. Cassandra grinds her teeth and walks past that alleyway without looking. Because if she looks or slows or even concedes a single conceivable measure of ground to that feeling, to that alleyway where she remembers being a twenty something in full plate armor stumbling out and screaming in confusion and horror as the way behind her closed, then she will spend the rest of her days in that alleyway until she is nothing but memory like the feeling of dragon’s wings beating alongside her.

There are people here who need her. They don’t need her the way she was needed on her home-planet. But they still need her.

And she needs them, too.)

No one wants to risk Ellana being caught when vulnerable. As unlikely as it would be.

And more than that — no one wants Ellana to be alone with this. This grief. This…emptiness.

This is a house that Ellana and the Iron Bull both made together, to be filled, to be full. It is a home they have made after their own home worlds churned them out.

So it is more to keep Ellana company in her loss, than for actual protection.

And yet?

Cassandra opened the door to Ellana’s basement. And there it was.

A gleaming portal.

With her lingering magic, the smallest dredges of it that have yet to wither away, Cassandra can sense it. This magic is similar to that in Ellana’s kitchen, where the Iron Bull disappeared. It is similar to Solas’, but not the same.

Cassandra slams the door on it, pulling her phone out and hitting speed dial for Dorian as she yells out, “Mahanon. Ellana.”

The twins come bounding down the stairs from Ellana’s room, hands clinging tightly to each other. Mahanon holds a sword in his hand and Ellana holds a knife. Some habits from some worlds will never leave you.

Cassandra gestures towards the door.

“There’s a portal in your basement.”

“Same as the kitchen?” Mahanon asks.

“Possibly. I can’t see through it,” Cassandra replies. “But most likely it is the same sort that took the Iron Bull.”

Ellana closes her eyes, entire body straining in different directions. To go, to stay, to wait, to run.

“Who are you calling?” Mahanon asks.

“Dorian,” Cassandra says, switching the phon to speaker when she hears the man pick up. “Contact everyone. There’s a portal in Ellana’s basement. Same sort. I don’t know how long it will be here.”

Dorian hangs up without a word and Cassandra’s phone immediately starts buzzing as he sends out a text alert to one of their group chat.

Cassandra turns towards Mahanon, reaching into her pocket and tossing him her keys. “My sword is in the trunk.”

“Fat lot of good that does,” Mahanon replies. He turns towards his sister. “Are you going to be here if I turn my back?”

Ellana’s hand grips the knife so hard it shakes but she nods. Mahanon slowly releases her hand and turns to walk towards the front door. Cassandra stands in front of the basement door, braced for Ellana to try and tackle her out of the way.

But Ellana stands there as she promised her brother.

“Do you think if I go through — would I find him?”

“I don’t know, Ellana. The portals aren’t kind,” Cassandra replies. “You could go anywhere.” Cassandra pauses, thinking her next words over carefully as Ellana struggles to keep herself together. “Knowing that, would you still go? Without us?”

Ellana lets out all of the breath in her lungs like she’s been hit, a soft pained noise that causes her to visibly deflate and curl in on herself.

“Is it wrong if I say no? I wouldn’t? Am I — am I doing him a disservice by not going after him?”

“I don’t think the Iron Bull would have wanted you to throw yourself into the unknown, by yourself and without anything useful, for him,” Cassandra replies. “He loves you.”

Ellana covers her face with her hand. “An entire world made out of heroes and chosen ones and saviors of planets, and not a single one of us capable of holding onto something happy. What a miserable life we live.”

[jawsandbones]

The Evening Red - Chapter Four

Rating: E

Summary: The blighted plague at your feet, and ghosts at your bedside. Those things that go bump in the night? They follow behind you. If only you had someone to protect you. A late-Victorian era re-imagining of Dragon Age Origins.

Pairing: Zevran x Female Warden

AO3 Link: Click Here

Chapter Four: Interception

“It behaves abnormally. It is most inhuman, unlike anything I have seen before,” Morrigan says, her legs curled up beside her as she sits on the armchair. She turns the glass in her hands, the amber liquid slowly rotating within. Logs in the fireplace crack, and she takes a drink. Opposite her, in the other armchair, with elbows on her knees and hands clenched together, Noya watches the flicker of flame.

“Did we truly expect it to be normal? Human? We were hoping for this,” she says.

“Now we must attempt to bend it to our wishes,” Wynne says, sitting on the couch beside Leliana, “unfortunately, you are alone in this Morrigan.”

“Our poor lonely hematologist,” Leliana says with a smile. Morrigan sits up a little straighter, settling her drink on the table.

“I wish I could offer insight, but it’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you. It acts in a manner similar to the blight, except instead of control, it seeks rebirth. It destroys every bit of living tissue it comes into contact with. I do not understand it. From the way his blood acts, Zevran should be dead, and yet he is clearly not,” Morrigan says. “It looks less like a potential cure and more like a monstrosity.” Leliana looks over at the others – frowning Noya, leaning back in her chair. Contemplative Wynne, taking a sip of wine. Resigned Morrigan, using the back of her hand to cover a yawn. With her index finger, Leliana circles the rim of her own glass.

Noya leans forward in her chair, hand out, shifting her gaze between Wynne and Morrigan. “We’re looking at this as a wholly scientific issue. As you said, it’s inhuman. Perhaps we should be as well,” she says.

“You’re suggesting we use our magic,” Morrigan says.

“Is that wise – considering the risk?” Leliana asks. There’s a moment of silence. The pendulum of the grandfather clock beside the fireplace sways without interruption, counting down the seconds. The lights in the hallway buzz with subtle electricity. Morrigan reaches for her drink, fingernails tapping gently against the glass. She swirls the alcohol about, watching the whirlpool that forms.

“As the blight spreads, it will continue to draw public attention. A visit from the King was only the beginning. Heaven forbid the blight takes someone of nobility. There will be an intense amount of scrutiny upon those searching for a cure. Us. If we do successfully find a cure, there will be attempts to replicate and mass produce it. Perhaps even a step into inoculation. If there is something… odd, about this cure, it will be quickly noticed and investigated,” Wynne says.

“I’ve no interest in being burned at a stake,” Morrigan says, downing the rest of her liqueur. “We’re already stepping into uncharted territory by using the blood of a vampire. Are we to expect that no one will raise questions about the base of our cure?”

“You said it acts similar to the blight. Can’t we say we manipulated the blight into working for us? The rest of it could be covered under that. The blight is new and strange, is it so suspicious that the cure would be as well?”

“Dear. I understand why you want this cure so badly. I want it so badly as well. The suffering of the blight – we all have people we want to protect. We must also think of ourselves. This is dangerous, and that danger will only grow. We must be discreet, or else we will expose the nature of not only ourselves, but Alistair, Zevran, others currently in hiding and those sheltering us. We have a responsibility to tread carefully,” Wynne says softly, but firmly, clearly.

At first, there’s something like an argument forming in her. Noya presses her fists against her knees, her shoulders square and back straight. Then her hands flatten, and she sinks into the chair with a heavy sigh. “I know. I appreciate the danger you’ve put yourselves in,” she says, “but we’re running out of time.” There’s a small frown perched on her brow, and she rubs her mouth with her hand, elbow on the armrest. Her gaze has moved back to the fire, the logs which snap and break, causing sparks to gently fly.

“I’m sure that together we can figure something out,” Leliana says, ever optimistic. Her forced cheer doesn’t reach the others. Morrigan and Wynne exchange a worried glance, before attention turns. A creak, weight upon wood floors, footsteps clear. Morrigan sets her glass down, cocks her head and looks towards the empty doorway behind the couch.

“Were we expecting anyone else?”

“No,” Noya says, slowly rising from her chair, “we weren’t.” The buzz of the lights in the hallway seem to grow louder, and louder still. A cacophony of cicadas, and the light intensifies, blinding almost. All of them out of their seats now, standing together. Leliana steps back, against Morrigan, who takes her hand. An explosion of glass, lightbulbs shattering in their places. All four involuntarily flinch. The fireplace behind them stretches their shadows out long, disappearing in the darkness of the hallway.

The pendulum sways.

Noya reaches into her pocket, finds the hilt of the small sheathed dagger there. Her blood seems to quicken, cold at the nape of her neck. She clenches her jaw shut, watching the nothing intently.

The pendulum sways.

Leliana’s hand squeezes around Morrigan’s, and she forces herself to take small breaths. She closes her mouth, holds her breath. Morrigan has her other hand raised, ready, and waiting. Wynne, beside Noya, is doing much the same.

The pendulum sways.

The fire behind them dims, cooled unnaturally. Not even a gesture from a witch can re-light it, and Morrigan voices her frustration with a simple, “tsk”. Slowly, the cage closes around them.

The pendulum sways.

     The blighted scream into the room, their hands outstretched, reaching towards them. Their teeth chomp together, over and over, an unintelligible hunger spilling from their lips. Noya plants her foot at the edge of the couch and roughly kicks it forward, at them, while Leliana takes a step back. She replaces Morrigan’s hand with the cold metal of the fire poker. “What do we do?” Morrigan shouts, holding a small amount of fire in her hands.

“I don’t think we have a choice in the matter,” Noya shouts back as she pulls the dagger from its sheath. The blighted are recovering from the couch shoved in their way. They crawl over it, stagger around it, reaching for them. One for each. They claw, spit and scream, eyes bloodshot and moving back and forth faster than any pendulum. Wynne picks up her skirts and races for the nearby desk, pulling a drawer so quickly that the whole thing comes out entirely. From it, she plucks up the gun.

“Don’t burn down my house,” she bellows, as Morrigan keeps the blighted away with small puffs of flame. Leliana is holding the iron in her white knuckled hands. One of them has his hands biting into Noya’s shoulders. A hand on his chest, keeping his snapping teeth away. She raises the dagger, sinks it deep into his neck. Blackened blood drools from the wound, and the blighted only pushes her harder. Flame doesn’t catch upon their skin, their clothes, and Leliana raises the iron above her head, brings it down in a mighty swing.

It knocks the blighted down, groaning, nails scratching against the floor. Another blow, to the skull. It caves it in something awful, blood and bile spewing. It moves to rise and Leliana strikes it again, and again, and again, until it is naught but a twitching bloody mess upon the floor. The one approaching her screams, and Wynne is carefully aiming. It is one body, among many. The hardest thing is to pull the trigger. Three in the chest, knocking it back, tripping it over the fallen couch. One in the skull to finish it. Noya buries the dagger into the eye of the one on her. Morrigan takes a nearby lamp, smashes it over the last one. Leliana finishes it.

Leliana is breathing heavy, the iron still clutched in trembling hands. Blood is sprayed across her dress, her face. The same goes for Noya, wrenching the dagger free. Her dress is torn, hair pulled loose from the blighted’s pawing. “I believe we have a much larger problem than we initially thought,” Wynne says, putting the gun down on the desk, rubbing her forehead.

“This was purposeful,” Noya says, “directed.”

“Not only do we need to find a cure, we also need to be on the lookout for a puppet master who could turn the blighted on us at any moment. Wonderful!” Morrigan says, taking the iron from Leliana.

“We need the police,” Leliana says mechanically.

“We need to find out if anyone else’s home was targeted. If they were, we’ll need to find other places to stay,” Noya says.

“That’s for the morning. Leliana is right. We need the police,” Wynne says.

 There are questions all night. Endless discussions in the morning. Waiting, in the afternoon. Duncan finds them at the station. His jacket is slung over one arm, and he’s turning his hat in his hands. “The labs were destroyed. Every bit of research is gone, burned down. It was like a swarm descended upon the university,” he tells them quietly. “They tell me that only Wynne’s estate was attacked, but that doesn’t mean the rest of you are safe.”

“The blighted did this on purpose, Duncan. The disease turns them into unthinking monsters, and yet they were capable of this,” Noya says, sitting on the bench beside Morrigan.

“We’ll discuss this later, in private,” he says in a low voice, looking over his shoulder for any who might be listening. “For now, I’ve ordered a taxi to take you all home. Wynne, I’ve booked a room at a hotel for you and had some students bring over a few of your things. Clean up, get changed, and get some rest.” He looks at the watch on his wrist. “Don’t go to the university. Classes have been cancelled for now and research has been halted. Two days from now, we’re going to have dinner at my estate.” He gives them all a small nod, before turning on his heel.

The carriage ride is done in silence. Wynne is the first to go, the hotel not far. Leliana leaves with Morrigan. “Can you drop me off at a different address?” Noya asks through the slit of the carriage.

“Yes ma’am.”

The hospital is its usual self. Noya affixes the mask around her face as she descends down into the basement. “Good evening,” she says to the guard, “has anyone other than me visited recently?” There are no other signatures in the log book, and he shakes his head.

“Not beside the usual doctors and nurses, Miss Mahariel. Something wrong?” Noya smiles as she puts down her pen.

“No, nothing,” she says, even as his eyes travel over the ripped fabric at her shoulders, the blood flecked stains on her dress. He opens the door for her, and as she steps inside, the reaction is immediate. All the blighted contained within resume their writhing ten-fold, screeching through the bits in their mouths. Their eyes seemed to be fixed on her as she travels through the room, to that single bed. Tamlen, still strapped down, still blighted, still wild.

“At least it wasn’t you,” she says to herself as she stands beside his bed. Tamlen’s eyes are fixed on her, as much as the rest. Eyes wide, bloodshot. All she can think about is how softly and easily the dagger had sunk into the blighted’s eye. As if slicing through butter, until the tip had reached bone. She doesn’t walk back. She waits for a taxi.

At home, she locks the door behind her. She takes one of the kitchen chairs, shoves it underneath the hilt and against the door. She undresses quietly, all the lights on and bright, folding the ruined dress into a small bundle. Standing in front of the mirror, she runs hands over tender flesh, the bruises that have only just begun to form. Her nightgown is a simple white shift, loose over her body, down to her feet.

She moves to her knees beside her bed, as if to pray. Instead, she braces herself, and reaches underneath. She pulls out a small box, holds it in her lap. She opens the clasp, and the revolver sits neatly inside. She places it, and its bullets on her bed. One by one, she loads it, and presses the cylinder back inside. She turns it, waits until the cylinder latch locks into position with a click, and then pulls the hammer. This time, she’ll be ready.

Noya’s head whirls at the knock. She stands slowly, the gun clenched in her hand. The hardwood is cold against the pads of her bare feet. Another knock, more urgently this time. Noya very carefully pulls the chair away from the door. She undoes the lock as another knock lands. She opens the door only a sliver, enough to peer through, the gun at the ready.

“Aren’t we very suspicious. I assume you do not get many guests? Alas, the hour is late, but I can do nothing for it. You know my circumstances. Surely you have not forgotten our arrangement, Miss Mahariel?” Zevran smiles. “Are you going to invite me in or should I knock again?”

[theoneandonlyameliajones]

Be Careful What You Wish For

Summary: When Gray wishes that Juvia had never joined Fairy Tail, he is met with the consequences.  Suddenly he finds himself in a world without Juvia. Will he he realize his feelings in time or will it be too late?

The Fairy Tale guild was unusually quiet today and Gray sat alone, taking slow sips of his drink, paying close attention to the door. This was his way of avoiding Juvia, as soon as she came through that door, he was planning on booking it out of there. She had been more suffocating than usual lately and frankly he just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. Still, the guild seemed a little too quiet for his taste. Natsu, Lucy and Happy went off an a mission together and Erza was probably back at fairy hills doing some cleaning on her day off. Juvia wasn’t there either, so he didn’t even have anything to run away from. Gray would never admit it, but he was a little bored without her and the rest of them.

“You doing okay, Gray?” questioned Mirajane who was hauling in a large pot of soup to the counter. 

“Yeah, I’m doing fine, it’s just a little quiet around here. What's with that pot Mira?” Gray eyed it once more, it really was quite large, something you’d find in a cafeteria.

“Oh, Meredy and Ultear came in this morning and dropped off some soup. They apparently made too much and thought it would be better to give to us rather than waste it.” explained Mira.

“Makes sense,” nodded Gray, “I'm kind of hungry anyway.”

“Coming right up,” Mira served him some soup, “ Gray you sure you’re alright? You seem a little dull. Oh that reminds me, Juvia wanted me to let you know that she took a mission with Gajeel and that she’ll be back tomorrow.

“Why does she have to let me know her schedule. God she has been so annoying lately.” Gray commented while drinking his soup. It had a flavor that he was a little unfamiliar with, but he paid no attention to it.

“Don’t be like that Gray, she is just really fond of you,” Mira smiled, “Besides, you can’t tell me that you aren’t at least a little bit fond of her, right?”

“Well I appreciate her as a nakama, but she is just so…” he paused, “Frankly, I wish she had never joined her guild. It would have made life a lot easier.” Gray finished up his soup and began to gather his belongings. “Anyway, thanks for the soup Mira,” he gave the older mage one last smile and headed out.

“Good grief, when is that boy going to realize that he is lucky to have someone who loves him so much” the former S class mage uttered to Makarov, who just sat across from her. 

“Well, he is still young. Why don't you pour me some of that soup Mira,” asked Makarov. He took a sip and spit it out almost immediately. “Mirajane this soup has wishing powder in it, do you know how much damage this could cause out guild?”

“Wishing powder?” questioned Mira.

“Well yes, it is a rare magical ingredient, but it has a very specific taste. Whoever eats this will have their wish granted the next day. We need to get rid of this immediately. In a soup form like this, the wish shouldn’t last more than two days. Still, our guild has seen more damage in less time,” exclaimed Makraov.

“Oh right, I’ll get rid of it right away,” Mira responded. She remembered Meredy said something about doing Juvia a favor, perhaps she meant more than just giving her soup. Her thoughts then shifted back to the ice mage who made a wish he was sure to regret.

Gray woke up the next morning feeling a little strange. However, he ignored whatever it was and made his way over to the guild. When he walked in, he found that it was a lot more lively than the previous day. Natsu and Lucy had returned from their mission and it appeared the former was picking a fight with Erza. Naturally, he lost quite quickly against her. His eyes glanced over the guild once again, no sign of Juvia. Her mission must be taking longer than expected. Gray breathed a sigh of relief, he didn’t need to avoid her advances this morning. He made it over to the work bored and decided it would be a good idea for him to take a mission of his own. He spotted one that would take a little over a day to finish and proceeded to head out of the guild, flyer in hand.

He returned back to the guild the next afternoon and it seemed just as busy as the previous morning. Still, there was no Juvia. Exhausted from his mission, he took a seat at the counter across from Mirajane once again. He ordered a drink and against his better judgement decided to ask about the water mage. “So Mira, are Gajeel and Juvia still away on their mission?”

The white haired mage gave him a look of confusion. “ I don’t know who you are talking about?” she said bluntly.

It was Gray’s turn to be confused, maybe Mira misheard him. “ You know Juvia, the water mage who is in love with me and Gajeel the iron dragon slayer,” explained Gray but he was met with the same response. Natsu suddenly came up and took a seat by him.

“You talking about that guy from Phantom Lord that I totally beat up,” bragged Natsu.

“Yeah, where is he?” Gray asked, more sternly than how he had asked Mira. 

“How should I know?” shrugged Natsu, “we haven’t seen any of those phantom lord freaks since we beat them up. Who was the other one you were wondering about?” asked Natsu.

“He says there is a water mage who is in love with him,” responded Mira. This initiated a burst of laughter from Natsu, which got Lucy’s attention.

“Like anyone would ever fall in love with you. Dude are you delusional?” Natsu continued to laugh.

“Shut up you damn dragon spawn,” responded Gray angrily.

“Wait Gray, you’re talking about that girl from element four right?” Gay nodded to Lucy’s question. “I heard she joined a guild a few years back when we were still on Tenroujima.” added Lucy. Gray grew more confused by the minute, what the hell were Natsu and Lucy talking about.

“Hey Mira!” Makarov exclaimed as he walked in, “Did you get rid of the soup from yesterday, the one with the wishing powder in it?” Mira nodded and smiled back at him. Gray wondered if wishing powder was what made the soup taste weird yesterday. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. He remembered that he has wished that Juvia had never joined Fairy Tail after he drank the soup, was that what was going on? He began to worry, a deep pit forming within his stomach. He needed to find out where she was and fast.

“Wait Lucy, you said she joined a guild right. Do you know which one?” asked Gray a little too eagerly. It struck Gray that he really didn’t have an obligation to bring her back. It wasn’t like it mattered right, he had finally gotten rid of her and if she was happy at another guild, so be it right. Though for some reason Gray felt uneasy, he was worried for Juvia. It made sense, she was his nakama after all. 

“Hmm… I’m not sure, let me call Levy-chan. I think she has a magic directory where we can look her up,” Lucy left quickly to get her. Gray thought of stopping her and ignoring the issue for a minute. Still, something in him really wanted to know where she was. 

Lucy returned with Levy, who appeared a little less lively than usual. She wore a smile like always, but behind it Gray noticed that something was off. Oh right, he remembered that Juvia was the reason Gajeel joined the guild. It was no secret that the small mage had a thing for the iron dragon slayer. Gray’s heart began to swell with guilt, his wish affected more than just him and Juvia. The script mage opened up the magic directory and looked up at Gray, “What did you say her name was?” 

“Oh Juvia, Juvia Lockser,” Gray for a brief second wondered how Juvia Fullbuster sounded, but suppressed the thought as soon as it came up. 

“Gray you must be really smitten with this girl huh?” chuckled Lucy. 

“That’s not what this is!” he snapped back in response.

“Oh I found her,” exclaimed Levy, “looks like she is a part of Lamia scale. That’s Lyon’s guild right?” Maybe it was just the thought of Lyon, but for some reason Gray’s blood began to boil. 

“Everything alright Gray?” Lucy questioned. He began to calm down a bit. He knew he should have been content with the information he had received, but for some reason he wasn’t. His legs started working before his head and he started heading in the direction of Lamia Scale. After a few hours he arrived in front of the guild. Gray felt his stomach sink again, what was he doing here. He could have just left everything the way it was, it was what he wished for after all. He entered the guild hall and was immediately greeted by Lyon. 

“Gray, funny to see you here. Are you looking for advice on how to use your ice magic?” scoffed Lyon. Gray really didn’t have any time for this. He had to see Juvia. Why? Well he didn’t quite know, he reasoned that she was once his fellow nakama and he had to make sure she was happy in this new life.

“I’m here to see a water mage, Juvia Lockser.” he asked. It felt weird to call Juvia just some water mage. Ever since she had joined the guild, she had a strong presence Gray’s life. 

“Juvia? Why do you want to see her. Let me guess, you want to steal her away from me before the wedding?” Gray’s eyes grew wide. What wedding? w|Why the hell was Juvia marrying Lyon? These thoughts span around in Gray’s head and his fingers curled into a fist on instinct.

“Wedding?” Gray questioned through his clenched teeth. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot Gray, I invited you last week. My Juvia and I are getting married next month. You are invited, of course, the best of Ur’s pupils is finally settling down after all,” Lyon smiled slyly. Against his better judgement, Gray pulled out his clenched fist and punched Lyon square in the face. Gray had no idea where that came from, why couldn’t he control his damn body. Lyon after living the initial shock, punched him back. Pretty soon, an all out brawl began between the two of them. Suddenly, a tall, pale water mage walked into the guild. Gray stopped fighting with Lyon just in time to spot her. She looked older, her wavy blue hair cut short and she was wearing a low-cut dress along with one of her signature hats. Gray reasoned that the difference in her appearance was due to not being frozen on Tenroujima for 7 years. The ice mage couldn’t help but blush, she was just so damn beautiful. Not that his Juvia wasn’t beautiful, what was he thinking his Juvia? beautiful?

The water mage started heading in his direction with arms wide, like she had a hundred times before. However this time, it was Lyon who she embraced. “Lyon-sama!” she exclaimed as she embraced Lyon and pulled him into a kiss. Gray cringed at the name, it felt wrong hearing Juvia call Lyon that in such a loving voice. “Gray?” she uttered softly as she turned to look at him. His ears perked up immediately at the sound of his name from her lips, but when he looked up at her, there was no love in her eyes. She looked at him with pure indifference, the way any of his other nakama would look at him.

“You’ve met?” questioned Lyon.

“Yeah,” she responded softly, “we fought once, back when I was a part of Phantom Lord.”

“We trained with the same teacher Ur, when were younger. Although, my magic is still a lot more advanced than his.” Lyon commented. Juvia smiled at her fiance and he pulled her in for another kiss.

“Hey Gray, you’ll be at the wedding right?” she asked eagerly. Gray took a good look at her and his heart began to swell with some weird feeling that he couldn’t quite place. 

“Yeah, I'll be there,” he managed to get out, though his body did not react well to his response. His heart hurt, he had never felt this emotion before. Juvia seemed to perk up at his response though and her smile made him feel a little happier. God she looked so happy here. She had Lyon, someone who actually returned her affection and she was getting married. He was happy for her, but why did he feel so horrible?

“Well, I’ll head out know,” he said as he made his way out of the guild hall. He had done what he wanted to do, see Juvia. There was nothing more he could do at this point, nothing more he should do. She was happier this way, he was happier this way too, right? As he started to walk back to Fairy Tale he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Wait up Gray,” Juvia caught up to him. She took a moment to catch her breath and proceeded to speak, “Sorry for chasing after you like this. Lyon mentioned you were looking for me. Is there something you need to ask me about?” she asked.

“Uh no, sorry about that.” he smiled softly at her. She smiled back, but was not entirely convinced by the ice mage’s response.

“Well, while your here I guess I should thank you. If it wasn’t for you and Fairy Tail disbanding Phantom Lord, I don’t think I’d be as happy as I am now. I’m part of an amazing guild and have such a loving fiance now and it’s all thanks to you,” she came closer bringing him into a friendly hug. Gray hated this hug, it didn’t have the same warmth Juvia’s normal hugs had and he hated himself for thinking this. He looked at her once more and once again his body acted before his brain and he pulled her in for a kiss. Her lips were soft and Gray wondered why he hadn’t done this a million times before. However, after a few seconds of initial shock, Juvia pulled away from the kiss. There was a look of pity in her eyes, as expected, this Juvia didn’t love him.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically and headed back home. On his way back, he kept thinking of her. Not the Juvia he just saw, but his Juvia. Her smile, the heart eyes she gave him and her comforting hugs. God he regretted that dumb wish he made, he kept beating himself over it. Eventually, he arrived back to his bed and fell asleep immediately from exhaustion, his heart heavy with regret.

The next morning he headed back to the guild hall as usual. He took a seat at the bar counter and looked to see the madness that lay before him. Levy was reading a rough draft of Lucy's novel, Erza found a piece of cake to indulge in and Natsu was fighting with Gajeel. Everything seemed like it always had. Wait, what the hell was Gajeel doing here. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not after the wish he made. Gray’s mind shifted straight to the water mage.

“Where’s Juvia?” he yelled a little too loudly.

“Huh? She’ll be here soon. She must have slept in, our mission took a little longer than expected,” responded Gajeel. Gray’s heart was filled with a happy confusion. 

“Wait, Mira the wishing powder in the soup. My wish, what happened to it?” 

“Oh, Master said the wishes made with wishing powder only last about two days, What exactly did you wish for?’” she questioned even though she knew the answer. 

Gray began to bury his head in his hands. “ I made a really dumb wish and I regret it. I wished that Juvia had never joined Fairy Tail and --”

“Gray-sama wished that Juvia have never joined Fairy Tail?” the water mage interrupted her eyes filling with tears. Those eyes, Gray thought. He loved those eyes and never wanted to see her cry again. She ran out of the guild, but Gray caught up and grabbed her arm, pulling her in for an embrace. 

“That was the worst wish I ever made. I regret it Juvia, I really really regret it Juvia.” his voice began to quiver.

“Juvia is sorry for always bothering Gray-sama,” responded the water mage. Grays body took over again and he pulled her in for a kiss. This kiss was different, her lips were just as soft, but she felt so warm. This was the warmth that Gray always needed, his heart had been cold for a little too long. She was the one to pull back from the kiss first. “ Wait, Gray-sama, is Juvia dreaming again. Juvia -.” 

“Shh-” he shut her up with another kiss, and this time neither pulled away. Instead they took their time exploring each others mouth until they were finally out of breath.

“Juvia is so happy. Juvia loves Gray-sama,” she put her arms around him once more. 

“And I love you Juvia. Please, don’t ever leave me,” Gray admitted pulling her in closer.

“Never, Juvia is Gray-sama’s.” she nuzzled herself into his chest, and they stood there just enjoying each other’s warmth. Little did they know that people in the guild hall were watching there little moment on a surveillance lacrima placed there by Makarov. Lucy felt relieved, as she was no longer a love-rival, Gajeel felt his heart warm for the mage who he considered his sister and Natsu reluctantly gave Erza 50 jewel because she quote on quote ‘called it’.

[castcommune]

title: amazing, maybe. or bewildering. word count: 1,501 ship(s): N/A warning(s): major character death implied, but not described a/n: thought i would clean this up and post it! you can also read it on AO3 here.

 When death finally comes, it is a gentle release, an out-breath ( dispelling fear and extinguishing mystery ). Here, she says, come to me, and he does, graceful footfalls padding across a scattered field dotted with wildflowers and dandelion sprouts.

    When death finally comes, it is a gentle release, an out-breath ( dispelling fear and extinguishing mystery ). Here, she says, come to me, and he does, graceful footfalls padding across a scattered field dotted with wildflowers and dandelion sprouts. There is no gravity here, soft breeze washing over pale skin and cool respite. There are no chains to bind him to a world he no longer inhabits, no engagements awaiting reconciliation. Here, she waits, arms outstretched ( as if to say, look at what you have earned. This is all for you, my child ), and never has he felt so selfish, so startled by the sudden vastness of death --- it was forever reaching, an endless sea of poppies and lilies, tulips and roses. Beautiful, he felt, was a poor descriptor, feeling dull and lifeless on his tongue; no, he would need a better word for this absent finality, these blurred edges that extend well past the setting sun. Amazing, maybe. Or bewildering. Puzzled by this lack of perfect explanation --- troubled, not for once, by his own inability to comprehend higher language --- he stops where he stands. Flowers wrap around ankles, bare feet pressed gently against moss-covered ground. He turns to glance behind him ( as if expecting some magical portal, some mysterious entry way that dreams so often conjure ). Instead, he is greeted by his home --- his original home, a quaint house large enough for a family, yet always seeming just a bit too small. There is a light inside, the warm glow of candle lit familiarity striking an oft forgotten chord within him. They are home, she says, and without turning his attention towards her, he feels her gentle smile ( warming his skin, leaving his heart gasping for release ). He sees shadows past glazed windows, figures dancing and laughing. Tears come, and they come calmly, tracing creeks down cheeks and spreading their wetness ‘til it’s mixed in with every other emotion ( like excitement, he thinks, or wonder ). Still, he does not approach; he realizes, too, that one could not be both living and dead; those who walk the line would always need to make a choice --- one way or another, death would prevail. It is a bittersweet realization; oh, how he missed them --- his parents, his brothers and sisters. He can imagine his father’s laugh, and his mother’s all-encompassing hugs. He thinks he hears Clarabelle’s voice, rough and sharp as always against the muted countryside; then, he feels a hand on his shoulder, pressing almost cautiously against it. Go, she says, they are waiting for you ( and gods, does he want to give in --- the Wildmother encourages, and he feels a twinge of sorrow, of guilt ).

         “Are they dead?” he asks, can’t help but ask, and he bites back an apology ( a silenced confession --- ignorance would not be bliss, he decided, this being the sole decision he would allow himself to make ). Her hand remains on his shoulder, fingers minutely outstretched, palm unmoving. When she speaks, her voice remains gentle, an unwavering peace amidst this tumultuous unknown; to some, yes. To you, she pauses, perhaps considering her next words; perhaps, too, adjusting to how hesitant he appears to be. Here, with you, they are full of life, and finally, he takes in a breath. The air is crisp, chilling in a way he always seemed to overlook, and it is in this moment that he sees the front door begin to creak open, hears the worn wood ache against its hinges. Stepping from within is a tall woman, brown curls pulled up in a loose bun. Recognizable as his sister even despite this foreign wear and tear of life, she hovers in the doorway, her eyes deep and searching; he straightens his stance, lowers his shoulders ( deflating against her ever-scrutinous gaze, he awaits her judgement ). The hand on his shoulder releases, and the woman before him finally allows their eyes to meet; suddenly, he realizes he is seen. He is seen, and present, even within this outstanding emptiness, this vastness that death so clearly is; finally, her stoic, steady expression begins to falter. It erupts first into a smile, then into a grin --- the brightest star in the night sky couldn’t compare to the sight, and he thinks he will tell her that soon. After this is all over; when everything is settled.

         “Caduceus?” she asks, cautious tone betraying obvious exuberance. Tears stream down his face with little regard, and soon enough his own expression is mirroring that before him, smile spreading widely, openly ( like death, he thinks, or life ). Without words, he simply nods, the gesture slow and steady --- as if to say yes, I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting for so long . She senses this, or at least he believes such, because she quickly begins to rush over to him, sprinting through the poppies and the tulips, the dandelions and the roses. Strong arms wrap around his middle, squeezing and squeezing as she buries her face in his chest; he has a good bit of height on her --- something she would once tease him relentlessly about --- but he doesn’t mind it, allowing one hand to wrap around her, the other coming to rest timidly at the back of her head. He knows that she is crying now --- can feel the vibrations of sobs held in, of cries slipping through the cracks --- and this provides an odd solace. He is dead --- as is she, as is the rest of their family --- but still, they allow life to take hold. Still, emotions strangle them, like nooses with rough edges, rope burning into tender skin; they remain like this for a long while, simply holding one another, allowing feeling to release naturally ( the understood ebb and flow of reaction would lead them down the correct path, just as life had led them to this very moment ). Finally, once bodies have calmed and the out-pours have slowed, he places distance between them, looking her over. She is not quite what he remembers her as; once a sharp-witted girl with a penchant for pranks and a tendency towards the chaotic, she appears to be calmer now, all tired eyes and exhausted face. Toned muscles trace her arms, and he notes this with a mild curiosity. It explains her tightened grip --- it explains, too, her hesitance upon his arrival. He could only imagine the horrors she’d experienced in his absence; he supposes he can ask about that later, too. Maybe, if she’s feeling up to it.

          “We missed you,” she says, and the weight of the plural drags heavy heart to the pit of his chest; they have been waiting --- for how long, he isn’t sure he wants to know --- and this means they have been dead for quite some time. While they were fighting for their lives, he was off adventuring with his own motley crew of friends; helplessness stung sharp, tasting like iron in the back of his throat, and he reminds himself then that he need not apologize. There was no place for regret here; he releases a sigh, chest rising and falling with the out-breath. He looks past her shoulder, nodding vaguely in the direction of their family too large, their house never outfitted for such a large occupancy. He sees others standing near the doorway now --- brothers and sisters, his mother and father in the foreground --- and he looks between them, back and forth, back and forth ( as if to ask, am I dreaming? Will this go away if I blink? Or, to ask, do I really deserve all of this? ). His sister reaches out, hand made of lead in this place so heavy with longing, so tied down by faith's tender binds; he takes it cautiously, tightened grasp following as she walks him slowly towards the door, towards this family he has never really given time to mourning for. Perhaps it was hope that kept this fire alive, burning into the never-ending night and the cool, unforgiving nature of the world, or perhaps he has always known it would end this way: winter gives way to spring, and with it, absence gives way to reunion. Life was but a series of goodbyes; death, it seemed, was the birthplace of hello. The greetings come steadily, a string of stories sewn together to create a tapestry of every apology he has ever swallowed, and by the end of it all, the sun is still high in the sky, shining its gentle warmth upon this little grove of paradise, this blooming garden of forgiveness, and all the while, he feels the Wildmother's presence. She keeps a loyal watch; he feels her eyes, peering upon him as he laughs despite the tears, as he tells tales of dragons, and uprisings, and a group that accomplished many incredible, unbelievable things. He wonders, distantly, how that group is doing --- is Jester alright? What about Caleb, or Fjord? --- but he decides to not ask Her for any information. He can later, maybe. If he's feeling up to it.

[sinsbymanka]

Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 34!

Chapter 34: The Rebirth

Full Story at AO3

(Remarkably little angst. Mostly fluff and existential crisis. You’ve all earned it after the last few chapters.) 

Finding her had been a miracle. Maria’s small, crumpled form had barely been visible underneath the snow clinging to her hair, her clothes. When Varric spotted crimson in the beam of his phone’s weak flashlight, he raced toward it without thought, wishing, hoping, wanting… praying they weren’t too late. Her form felt stiff as ice beneath his fingers, worse, she didn’t respond to her name in his mouth, didn’t move until he tightened his hold on her. 

The instant his fingers curled into her shoulder, she made a small, broken sound. Not quite a whimper, but not a scream either. She shuddered under his hands and bucked against his grip weakly. Her eyes gazed ahead, unseeing, into the darkness while she struggled helplessly against him like a bird beating her wings against a cage. His stomach dropped, his fingers gently circling her delicate wrists while she tried to push him away. A quiet sob escaped Maria’s lips and… 

It broke him. Just a little. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. 

“Maria, stop.” He pleaded into her freezing ear. She shivered, but some of the fight seemed to bleed out of her. “It’s just me. It’s just me, we’re gonna take care of you, baby.” 

Her faint struggles began to cease so he released her wrists and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, cradled her to his chest. “I won’t hurt you.” He promised to the shivering, half-conscious miracle in his arms. “I won’t ever hurt you, Maria.” 

Somewhere above them, Nyx cawed loudly, repetitively, sounding the alarm for the entire rescue party. Maria collapsed against his chest with a broken, weary sigh that could have been his name, but he couldn’t tell. There were other voices calling to each other in the darkness, growing awareness that someone had found something, although who or what was still unknown. They could only hope.

But hope had gotten them this far.

“Varric!” Dorian’s voice cried out from the slope somewhere above him. “Varric, where in the blighted hell are you?” 

“Here!” He pulled his face away from Maria’s chilled skin to yell up over his shoulder. “I’ve got her!” 

He pressed his lips against her temple, one hand gently pushing back the stiff, frozen hair framing her face. He could taste the iron of blood on his lips, her skin frigid underneath his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He whispered softly. 

Cassandra sent up a prayer of weary gratitude. Dorian appeared beside him like he’d emerged from the shadows themselves, his gleaming dark eyes exhausted and panic stricken while he examined the shuddering woman in Varric’s arms. 

“Venhedis.” Dorian cursed. “Where is Blackwall?” 

“I can carry her.” Bull rumbled. 

“Perhaps. However, we did remove five bullets from your body. I am uncertain if you should even have joined us.” Solas reached past Varric and laid a gentle hand over Maria’s shoulder. The elf’s frown said everything Varric didn’t want to know. “We need to get her back. I cannot treat these injuries, I lack the skill…” 

“Don’t die, you.” Sera blurted, half command, half plea. “Fix her up, right? Elfy shite magic can…” 

“Here.” Blackwall leaned down low, arms extended. 

“Wait.” Solas ordered. His eyes were glowing, a soft green light flickering. “I can dull the pain, put her to sleep, and remove the blood from her lungs so she doesn’t drown in it. It will make travel easier, the rest…” 

Varric could feel the magic working, Maria’s form melting against his, boneless, finally giving into exhaustion and unconsciousness. Solas pulled his hand back and nodded briskly to Blackwall. “Now.” 

Varric didn’t want to let her go. The last time he let her go she… he bit back the recrimination, reminded himself that the snow was only up to Blackwall’s knees instead of his ass, and the most important thing was to get Maria back to camp before she finished dying on them. He shifted and she slipped out of his arms like water until the human lifted her, gentle as a sleeping child, into the air. Bull peered down into her face, rumbled something Varric couldn’t quite make out. 

“She will be fine.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Andraste is with her.” 

Nobody could ignore the triumphant certainty in the Seeker’s voice. Varric almost bemoaned that Cassandra could come through this with renewed faith in her Maker, in some sort of crazy plan. But Maria Cadash survived the vortex, time travel, a demon, a dragon, and an avalanche. Varric… wasn’t quite sure what to even chalk that up to beyond divine intervention. 

“What would be more helpful than Andraste at this moment would be modern medicine, a healer, and removing these clothes before she succumbs to frostbite.” Solas remarked dryly. 

“Cold. Bitter. Biting.” Cole murmured. “Endless. Alone at the edge of the abyss. Falling. Frightened.” 

“We’ve got her now, kid.” Varric reassured him as their search party began the perilous trek back. “We’ve got her.” 

“Yes.” Cole agreed fervently. “They tried to burn her. Bury her. But the ashes were warm and the stone belongs to her family’s hearth. He didn’t know she’d rise.” 

--

“Get her down.” The doctor ordered tersely. “This damn woman. If she’s not falling out of the bleeding sky, she’s stumbling back with hypothermia and Maker knows how many broken ribs.” 

Blackwall lowered Maria onto the cot with great, tender care. For a perfect moment of stillness, it was just Maria alone on the thin bed like a sacrifice left unattended on an altar. Then both the doctor and healer swarmed over her, checking her pulse, listening to her labored breathing. 

“You’re not going to believe this.” Bea trembled beside Varric, his hand on her arm the only thing restraining her from elbowing both healer and doctor out of the way. She had one fist at her lips, white knuckles pressed to paler lips. “This isn’t her idea of a good time either.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” The doctor huffed, pulling the zipper on the sodden, blood spattered jacket. “I’m gonna need a knife to get these clothes off her. They’re soaking wet.” 

Maria’s head lolled to the side and Cole produced his switchblade nearly immediately. The Elven healer snatched it with a reproachful, wary gaze in the kid’s direction before she began sawing through the thin cotton t-shirt. 

“I do not believe we need an audience for this.” The Seeker said sternly. Varric deigned to ignore her even though he knew the statement was meant for him. “A few of us should stay, but surely…” 

“Ria isn’t modest. Or shy.” Bea muttered, eyes fixed on the pale skin slowly exposed under the tattered shirt, more blue and purple than cream. Varric’s stomach rolled at the mess of bruises and scrapes. 

“Varric.” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “I will not risk your…” 

If she accused him of leering one more time he’d…

“But he’s seen her bare.” Cole interrupted, confused. “Warm. Wanting. Willing and wicked and…” 

Well, he could always count on Cole. Bea rolled her eyes and shot Varric a rather reproachful glare, but honestly it was almost worth it to hear the sharp click of Cassandra’s jaw slamming shut. 

“Do hold that thought. I’ll be rather interested in it if she doesn’t choke to death on her own blood.” Dorian shoved past, holding a sturdy pile of fleece blankets. 

“She’s not… she can’t...” Bea’s voice cracked on the words, swinging helplessly around the triage scene unspooling in front of them.

“Not on my watch at any rate. Not after getting us out of that Tevinter shitstorm.” The elf muttered, peeling away the stiff fabric. Her hand glowed as she pressed it to Maria’s skin and paused, seeming to listen to her injuries. “Five fractured ribs of varying severity. At least one punctured her lung.” 

“Sparkler is being unnecessarily dramatic.” Varric soothed with a stern, warning glance leveled at the Tevinter witch’s back. “She’s going to wake up spitting fire, you watch.” 

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Bea or himself. Maria looked just as small as she had the first time he saw her, unconscious again, although at least she didn’t appear to be flickering in and out of reality itself this time. Back then, he’d felt bad for the poor woman who had been pulled off the mountain and he certainly hadn’t wanted anything to happen to her, but now…

Varric couldn’t bear watching her lay so still as the doctor shouted about lacerations on her head, the healer’s hands glowing blue to stitch up bone and lung. His stomach twisted into anxious knots, thoughts spiraling, conjuring scenarios where she never woke. Where he never held her again, never… 

“Lacerations are minor. Burn on her palm.” The doctor rattled off to the healer. “If you can fix her ribs, it’ll be the hypothermia to worry about next.” 

“Can’t help there.” The Healer muttered as she worked. “Not trained to do anything about that. I could try raising her blood temperature but I’m as likely to cook her…” 

Bea shuddered and the doctor took the switchblade, hacking at the waistband of Maria’s jeans. “I need a warm compress. One of you bleedin’ witches need to heat up some water and shove it in a damn bottle.” 

“No need to be rude.” Dorian huffed. “Vivienne…” 

“I will search for a container, since you are full of hot air darling. See if you can heat those blankets up a bit, hm?” 

“All these clothes need to come off. They’re soaked through.” The doctor pulled the ruined denim away from Maria’s hips, a cruel parody of the way Varric once peeled them off. He shut his eyes for a steadying moment and swallowed against the rising tide of complex, terrifying emotions. 

“There.” The healer said gently. “She’ll be sore for a few days, at least, but she’ll live. Come here, feel.” 

Bea tugged against his iron grip and Varric relaxed his hold enough to let her slip through his fingers. He opened bleary eyes and watched Bea press her palm over her sister’s gently rising and falling abdomen. The terrible rattle had ceased, vanished into the ether. Bea’s shook her head, voice small. “She’s so cold.” 

“Not for long.” The doctor muttered, pulling one of the gently steaming blankets from Dorian’s arms and pinning Varric with his piercing, slightly insane gaze. “You’ll do. Come here.” 

Varric hesitated. Just long enough for a rather large, he’d bet solid money Qunari, arm to shove him forward. Varric scowled back at Bull, but the doctor kept talking, “Body heat to insulate. You’re rather sturdy and you’re not too tall for the cot. Up you get.” 

Oh. Oh shit. “What?” He asked, the question semi-strangled, the thought of curling up next to Maria’s solid, albeit frozen, form enough to render him temporarily, and possibly for the first time, speechless. 

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra scowled, flushing pink to the very roots of her hair. “It is inappropriate and scandalous. The Herald…” 

“Right then. She’ll just freeze solid while we argue about propriety.” The doctor declared waspishly. “We can hope holy Andraste thaws her out.” 

“I certainly don’t want to end up on the wrong side of Cassandra’s ire…” Dorian looked entirely too smug for Varric’s comfort level. “But this seems like an excellent idea. Finish unbuttoning that shirt, Varric. Better shuck the pants too, you’ve got snow all over them.” 

“Ugh.” Sera sniffed, turning her face pointedly away. “Not watchin’ this show.”  

“I cannot…” Cassandra’s voice raised, the start of a rather fine shouting match nobody had time for. 

“I’m sorry.” Bea’s voice didn’t rise at all. It stayed perfectly, completely level. The hair on Varric’s neck stood up regardless and he spared a glance for the woman staring Cassandra down with abject fury. “I thought my mother was dead. Please. Continue arguing about the fucking scandal while my sister loses her toes.”  

Cassandra’s mouth moved, but nothing intelligible came out. Satisfied, Bea turned her sharp as knives gaze to him. “Pants off.” 

She’d given a steely command, one that left no room for negotiation. When Varric didn’t quite move fast enough, Bea’s voice dropped even further, to what he suspected was an even more dangerous octave. “I’m not asking again.” 

Varric wasn’t certain she’d actually asked the first time. “Andraste’s ass.” He grumbled, reaching up to begin unbuttoning his shirt, hastily discarding it on a stack of crates. “Can I keep my damn boxers on or are we…” 

Bea promptly made up her mind to ignore him. “Roll her onto her side.” The doctor advised the healer. “Gently. No use jarring that head.” 

“Varric.” Vivienne’s voice trilled from behind him and Varric swore under his breath. “I take it since you’re undressing that means you’ve finally come to your senses about this outfit.” 

“Everyone’s a damn comedian as soon as the dwarf gets naked.” Varric huffed, unbuttoning his pants. “Let me know if any ladies see something they like.” 

In front of him, they shifted Maria’s nearly nude form onto her side, covering her with the first steaming blanket, lifting the barest corner for him to slither in beside her. Somehow, this seemed far more intimate than the fact that his mouth had been slanted over hers, their tongues twisted together, his face between her legs and his hands cupping her gorgeous breasts. Perhaps it was simply the aching vulnerability, the mottled fresh bruises covering all the skin he’d traced and kissed. 

Maybe it was the blissfully empty expression on her face making her look so much younger, the fresh faced girl in her old photos. The one whose life still may have worked out the way she wanted in a better world, a kinder one. 

If she was brave enough to face down a fucking dragon, he could lay beside her, keep her warm. That had to be the easier job. He definitely shouldn’t be envying her the heroic showdown with the demon that nearly snatched her away.

As calmly and smoothly as he could, with false confidence born of years hiding inner turmoil, he slipped onto the stiff cot and curled against her while they draped a blanket over them. She was icy, freezing to the touch against his skin. His hissed at the initial contact, but he ignored the discomfort and gently, careful of the newly mended ribs and all the terrifying bruises lining her skin, draped his arm over the dip of her waist. He shifted his hips until they fit snug against hers and slipped one arm slowly under her neck. 

The sharp bite of something ever colder than her skin sent him swearing. He shifted, gingerly withdrawing a tarnished silver chain from the space between them, the glimmering pendants nothing more than bits of ice against his fingers. 

His eyes focused on them with a start, at first in stunned disbelief, then in bewilderment. They weren’t pendants or charms, they were rings, a full damn set of wedding rings. There was a diamond large enough to make any debutante swoon and two plain, serviceable bands, a man’s and a woman’s. 

Bea made a choked gasp, hands freezing in the motion of smoothing the blanket over Maria’s shoulder. “Sodding Ancestors. I thought they’d be gone for sure, I thought…” 

Varric gently slid his fingers along the chain, trying to ignore the sharp burst of curiosity. There was zero chance that Fynn Dunhark legally married Maria Cadash, that information would have been in the court records and media coverage for sure. But… he could see how legalities didn’t matter. Not when you were young, not when the woman you loved agreed to take off from everything she knew and make a new life somewhere else. 

Fynn Dunhark may only have had Maria Cadash for a short period of time before his untimely demise. But, he’d fully had his woman, no half-baked life full of lies and secrets. Varric would have sacrificed a lot for that same certainty. 

He’d have taken a bullet too. 

Varric unclasped the necklace with a deft twist of his fingers and deposited the cold chain in Bea’s extended palm. She closed her fingers over them and brought her tight fist to her lips. “I didn’t realize she was wearing them. She’d have been… she’d have been fucking devastated to lose them.” 

The tremor in Bea’s usually nonchalant voice told him that Maria wouldn’t have been the only one distraught. 

“It’s alright Mittens.” Varric angled his form around Maria’s, tipped his forehead against her hair, and closed his eyes. The scent of smoke and iron clung to her, a heady perfume of desperation and sheer, impossible survival. He fought the urge to press his palm more tightly over her abdomen, to drop his lips to her freckled shoulder and kiss each spot with silent, worshipful gratitude. 

To drop even lower and gently press his lips to the interlocking triangles of the carta branded on her shoulder. To make a silent, desperate promise that this time, that part of her life was over. There’d be no going back, no matter the cost. Not after… 

But this wasn’t the time, this wasn’t the place. Dorian balanced his warm bottle of water on the opposite side of Maria’s neck and very gently brushed his tanned fingers over her cheek. Varric smoothed away the scowl that twisted his features and the matching possessive lurch in his thoughts. Hopefully before anyone noticed. 

Instead, he splayed his fingers gently over the soft curve of her stomach. He focused on the gentle rise and fall, the ease of her breathing, so unlike the way she’d labored and gasped in his arms. Without much thought, and certainly without attempting to examine his motives, Varric brushed his thumb lightly, repetitively, in a small arc over her cold skin. 

Solas layered another blanket over top of them and looked to the doctor. “You said there was a burn in her palm?” 

“Odd one. Don’t see how she could've done it, but I guess I’ve got to get used to her doing weird shit, don’t I?” 

Bea snorted in abbreviated, but clear, agreement. 

“May I?” Solas asked cautiously. 

“Be my guest.” The doctor muttered. “Not much I can do for it with our general lack of supplies and I’d rather the damn healer deal with her brain than burns.” 

“Just swelling.” The Elven healer’s fingers lingered over Maria’s head, eyes continuing to monitor Bea’s barely concealed anxiety. “Nasty bump, that’s all. She’ll be right as rain, you’ll see.” 

With a mumbled apology, Solas’s hand lifted the blanket. Varric stilled his thumb, watching as Solas gently turned Maria’s palm in his. Varric could see the burn even through the halo of Maria’s hair, perfect and pristine, a spiraling pattern like a rising sun. 

Varric fought back his own shudder. “Chuckles, that’s not an accident.” 

Nothing so beautiful ever was. Solas ran his own fingers over it and frowned tightly. “Unfortunately,” He confessed, “I suspect you are correct.” 

“What is it?” Cassandra asked, peering suspiciously over Solas’s shoulder.

“The mark of the magic she survived in the vortex.” Solas ran his own thumb over her palm. The second he did, the burn illuminated with a dull, gentle flicker. Varric swore he saw flakes of golden light dancing under Maria’s skin through her veins. “That demon pulled it to the surface, perhaps in an attempt to wrench it from her.”

“It looks almost like the symbol of the Chantry.” Cassandra supplied with a rather firm amount of conviction lacing her voice.

She was right, to a point. It was certainly a sun, Varric would give her that, but beyond that Maria's brand bore little resemblance to the great glowing suns of the Chantry. Her’s had delicate, intricate knots laced within it. A pattern within a pattern, looking more like something Daisy would doodle than anything else. 

“A coincidence, nothing more.” Solas curled Maria’s small fingers over the mark like she clasped something precious within it. “It must have caused her great pain to have it brought to the surface like this.” 

He knew. He’d heard her screaming. Unable to help himself, he brushed his thumb over her skin again, an unsaid apology for leaving her at a monster’s mercy. 

“She’s tough.” Bea tightened her grip on the rings on her hand and lifted burning eyes to Solas. “Ria is tougher than anyone I know.” 

Solas smiled, both kind and sad. “Of that, I have little doubt. We would not be here otherwise.” 

xx

She awoke in pieces, not all at once. The first thing she noticed was the searing heat surrounding her, warmth bleeding through every inch of skin except the tip of her nose, which felt frozen solid. The blankets covering her were heavy weights keeping the sweltering heat in. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so warm, so cozy. She considered opening her eyes, but that seemed… too hard. Her head throbbed in warning so she kept them shut, shifting slightly off an aching hip to…

It was that tiny movement that revealed the second, more important thing. Maria Cadash was not alone in this horribly uncomfortable bed. Someone’s heavy arm rested over her bare skin, her wiggling pressed her firmly against a broad, immovable chest, rough hair prickling her skin. She froze, keeping her eyes shut resolutely, trying to make sense of what had happened. 

Her first thought, one that nearly had her leaping from the bed, was that she’d fallen asleep in Dwyka’s bed, fallen into this pantomime of intimacy while she’d been asleep. It happened before, and somehow that was always worse than laying perfectly still until dawn, waiting for the sun to rise to make her escape. 

But the hand on her stomach was different than Dwyka’s. Undoubtedly Dwarven given the size, but less weather roughened, the callouses in the wrong place, and draped gently over her waist. There was nothing possessive about it, only warm reassurance. 

Fynn, her gut clenched as his name rattled in her head, but that wasn’t right either. Fynn’s hands had been strong, ages practicing the piano at his mother’s insistence after all, but they’d never grown rough with any kind of manual labor or…

Writing. 

Those were callouses from pen and pencil, she’d developed some of her own during her school days, before she’d decided that fighting and crime left better paying marks instead. 

With that thought, bits and pieces began to drift back. Their desperate kiss in the kitchen. His broad arms effortlessly lifting her off her feet, his mouth…

His amazingly talented mouth. The very thought sent a spike of heat right through her in spite of her aching head and stiff limbs. Somebody must have spiked her drink, because clearly she’d been drunk, she couldn’t even remember the main event. Out of all the terrible things that happened to her, that seemed most unfair. If she’d made the critical error of falling into this horribly uncomfortable bed with Varric Tethras, she wanted to at least have the good bits to cling to. 

Why was her bed so uncomfortable? Sodding hell, she felt like she was sleeping on a prison cot. She shifted again, as gingerly as she could, brain trying to fire off what exactly to do next. She needed to open her eyes, needed to break this spell, send him packing, and yet…

And yet. 

She was so tired. Her eyelids felt heavy, her limbs leaden. His breath was warm on her shoulder, his forehead tucked against her hair. She was pressed tightly against him and he felt solid against her, a bulwark against the darkness nibbling at the edges of her mind. She’d been so afraid, so alone, and he…

Emotions she didn’t quite understand bubbled to the surface, fear squeezing her throat. It had been so dark and it hurt. She was so confused, her addled mind trying to keep up, and she didn’t… 

“I’ve got you.” Varric whispered against her temple. “I’ve got you.” 

Everything else returned like a punch in the gut. Haven. The templars, the dragon, Corypheus. Her march through the snow to her doom. Her eyes flew open, startled, taking in the cold dark night surrounding them. In her line of sight, Bea curled up in a tiny ball, her head resting against Bull’s solid chest. He slept too, leaning on the pole holding this makeshift shelter up, eye closed. One arm wrapped around Bea’s shoulders, the other around Sera’s while she snored lightly. 

Alive. Alive, they were alive and so was she. She closed her eyes again, dizzy with relief. If they were alive, then it would be okay. It had to be. 

She could go back to sleep. It would be so damn easy to. 

Behind her, Varric shifted near imperceptibly and Maria’s breath hitched. Sweet Ancestors, his bare legs were tangled up against hers too and…

Maker. He couldn’t be completely naked, could he? Her mind struggled to process the feel of him, but she was still wearing her damn underwear, the underwire of the bra poking against her uncomfortably to remind her of that fact. He had to be wearing his. 

How in the void had this even happened? How had Bea allowed this to happen? Her little sister could hardly be called part of the Varric Tethras fan club. 

Boxers or briefs? Maria’s inner voice questioned, off on it’s own little tangent while she struggled to make sense of the crazy series of events that ended up with her snuggled up quite cozily to Varric fucking Tethras. 

She shifted again, pressing back gently. Boxer briefs, she thought. Had to be. She twisted her hips again, just to be sure…

“Princess.” Varric huffed gently in her ear, voice sleep roughened and deliciously husky. He pressed gently on her stomach and stifled a low laugh in her shoulder. “You keep moving like that, I can’t be held liable for what happens next.”

She fought back a delighted shiver without much success. She felt Varric’s response in the loose sweep of his fingers up her abdomen and the slight pull of his hips away from hers. She felt more loss at that than she wanted to admit. And a brief, electric jolt that was only barely smothered by fatigue. 

“Are we safe?” Her own voice came out hoarse. 

“Seems that way. Been a whole twenty four hours since we ran out of Haven, beautiful. No sign of anything chasing our ass. They probably figured we’d starve or freeze to death without them having to lift a finger.” 

Maybe everyone should have to sleep next to Varric, then, because the man was a furnace. She twisted to sit up and winced immediately, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. Her chest ached, her stomach ached, her arms and legs and…

The world tilted, spun, fuzzed a bit at the edges. 

Varric sat up far more successfully than she had, but she still managed to curl to face him. His amber eyes were dark in the weak light flickering around them in the darkness, lanterns and firelight, his glorious chest completely bare. 

Touch. A part of her commanded greedily. Her hand responded without her permission, lifting into the fraught, tense space between them. This all felt so surreal, part of a dream, and perhaps she hadn’t quite woken… 

“Careful with that one.” Varric’s eyes flicked to the palm of her hand and back to her eyes. “You’ve got some magic stuck in it.” 

Her fingers curled closed, protectively, and she pulled back. Yes. She remembered the sun caught in her palm, her flashlight in the darkness. With her fingers against it, she could feel it there, one more ache among all the others.

He’d burned it into her skin. Seared it to her flesh. Her heartbeat spiked, fear prickled through the exhaustion. “He put it there, he did something to me, he was...” 

There weren't any words. Varric could probably find them, but they escaped her. He’d been like a solid black hole in the universe, like a wound oozing pus and infection, like every nightmare she’d ever had all rolled into one. 

“I know.” Varric whispered, gently placing one of his hands on her shoulder and lightly guiding her back down. “We know. We know who it was. What he is.” 

“What?” She rasped. Varric sighed and made to tuck her smoothly back under the blankets. He was going to get up, going to leave her in the darkness and the cold with nothing but her thoughts and fears, oblivion circling the edges of her vision. The next word fell from her lips before she considered it fully. “Stay.” 

For a split second her words landed into the silence with all the elegance of a ticking time bomb. He stared at her, taken aback by the request she assumed. Certainly unsure how to handle a sick, broken creature clinging to him so selfishly. But she swallowed the tension, quirked her lips into the best smle she could manage. “Keep me warm and tell me a story.” 

Please. The unsaid word echoed in her chest. 

“It’s a shitty story, Princess.” Varric sighed, but he slipped back beneath the blanket, careful to leave a scant inch of sizzling air between their skin. “But I’ll try. It started with Hawke…” 

Varric spun Reyna Hawke into being as smoothly as if he’d done it a thousand times, conjuring the witch out of the freezing night air so vividly, Maria could see her the way he did. This wasn’t a woman lighting her own pyre in the ashes of Redcliffe, crazed and wounded with a manic gleam in her eye. This was a heroine. A champion. Varric’s champion. 

He told the story from where he’d entered it. Pulled out of bed by a panicked three in the morning phone call, shambling up to the ritziest areas of Kirkwall. The shattered glass from the broken window, the light from the silent alarm still blinking steadily. The first Hawke sister, bruised and shaken but otherwise unharmed, the second smelling of smoke and charred dwarf while an elf calmly stitched up his own wound. 

Following the Carta to, of all places, an ancient temple hidden in the Vinmarks. A temple that locked them inside and forced them into the Deep Roads before they could escape. Their desperate fight through the things of nightmares, and Hawke’s blood being the only thing that could open the door. 

It unlocked more than that. Much more.

And in spite of herself, as he spun the tale, she ended up closing that distance between their bodies. She wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, it seemed to be a magic of it’s own, magnetism or perhaps gravity. She didn’t press against him, not like she desperately wanted to, but she couldn’t ignore the soft heat leaching from him to her. 

Couldn’t ignore the way his voice lulled her back to sleep. 

“I swear.” Varric murmured softly into her hair. “We killed him, Princess.” 

No they didn’t. But she was too tired to argue. 

“I’m sorry.” She thought he whispered. But it could have been a dream, one she slipped back into effortlessly. 

The next time she woke up, it was to bitter shouts. There was a weight at the end of the cot, but nobody under the blankets beside her. She was completely, utterly, alone. Clearly, she’d hallucinated Varric Tethras’s gentle arms curling around her, his searing warmth, his muscles and…

She raised her hand to her head, rubbing her face briskly. 

“Ria?” Bea’s voice asked cautiously, breathless with hope. 

“Bea.” She answered groggily, opening her eyes. It wasn’t Bea’s face she met with, but the lined and weary one of Mother Gisele. She swallowed, swinging her eyes down to the bottom of the cot where Bea sat, still as a statue, looking more a mess than she’d ever seen her. Eyeliner smudged, hair askew, lips pale. 

“Are you awake this time?” Bea asked, frozen in place. “Really awake? Varric said you were before but you were out of it still and…” 

“Varric?” Her tongue nearly tripped on the word, a surge of heat rising up her face. “He was here?” 

“They all were.” Gisele soothed. “You are dear to many people, Herald. You’ve had a steady stream of them wishing you well.” 

“What would you have me tell them?!” Cullen’s voice roared. Maria fought back the flinch and pushed herself up, trying to stare into the darkness past Bea. 

“We must find a way!” Cassandra snapped back, a pale figure in the dim firelight. 

“Please!” Jospehine cried out. “We must use reason!”

“Don’t mind them.” Bea dismissed the humans with a wave over her shoulder. “They’ve been at it for hours. How are you feeling? How’s your head? Still remarkably thick?” 

“Shut up.” Maria replied automatically, the banter familiar even as her throat scratched out the words like she hadn’t spoken in ages. “Where are my clothes?” 

“Ruined.” Bea supplied unhelpfully. “But Harding said she had a spare outfit of her own in her camera bag. It’s probably the closest we’ll get to anything fitting you. Hold on, I’ll go find them.” 

As if she’d simply been waiting for something, anything, to do, Bea jumped into motion. She fled into the darkness before Maria had time to ask where exactly her little sister had gotten the coat she was wearing. The thick, buttery leather was far more familiar than Maria wanted to admit. 

“You need to rest.” Giselle said gently. “There is no need to get up quite yet. After all…”

Giselle tipped her head almost playfully to the heated argument happening just outside between Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. “It does not appear we’re going anywhere quickly.” 

“We have time to waste?” Maria asked, pushing herself impatiently into a fully seated position despite Gisele’s tutting disapproval. She clutched the blankets tightly around her shoulders and breathed through the ache in her muscles. Bad, yes, but not the worst she’d ever pushed through.  

“Thanks to you, they have the luxury of arguing. You prevented our enemies from following, but with time to doubt… well, it is easy to blame.” 

Bea reappeared, tossing a bundle of clothes on the cot. “Right. So, I’m gonna warn you that you look like a bannana someone’s kicked around, that’s how fucking bruised up you are.” 

“I’m sure I’ve looked worse.” Maria muttered, dropping the blanket and reaching for the sweater. Even in the flickering lantern light, she could see the marks covering her pale flesh. Deep bits of purple and blue, shadows deepening them into black in places. 

“I’m not.” Bea admitted, folding her arms around herself and watching Maria as she struggled to manage the fabric with her stiff limbs. Finally, impatiently, Bea stepped forward and grabbed it, thrusting it over Maria’s head. “Here, before you strangle yourself.” 

“We don’t have that!” Cullen yelled. 

“She is not saying we do!” Leliana snarled back. 

“In-fighting may be as great a danger to us as Corypheus.” Giselle sighed. 

“I don’t know.” Bea sniped under her breath while she gently tugged the sweater over Maria’s battered torso, taking extra care to straighten it and meeting her eyes with a weak grin. “To my knowledge, our humans have zero dragons and the demon has one.” 

“Where is it?” Panic clawed at Maria’s throat again. “The dragon and Corypheus, the red templars, where…” 

“Nobody has figured out where the fuck we are.” Bea answered. “Varric can’t get his network up and running for more than ten minutes at a time, although to be fair he’s been snuggling you and trying to work for most of the night. For as good as he claims to be at multitasking…” 

There was his name again. And her chance to ask. She plucked the material over Bea’s shoulders pointedly. “What’s this?” 

“It’s mine now.” Bea declared, wicked eyes dancing with relief and mirth. “Jealous, Ria?” 

Gisele cut in with practiced diplomacy. “There has been no sign of Corypheus, his dragon, or the templars. Perhaps he believes you are dead, and thus is satisfied. Or he believes we are helpless and lost.” 

Gisele sighed. “It could even be that he plans another attack as we speak. We do not know the demon’s mind, only our own fears.” 

Maria swung her feet off the cot and pulled the leggings on over her aching limbs as quickly as she could. Jumping from the cot to finish the job was a mistake, the rush of blood to her head making her stumble into Bea. Her sister’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Easy.” Bea whispered. “This was… this was bad, Ria. You really should lay back down.” 

“I’m not gonna sodding sit here and listen to them arguing.” Maria spat between her gritted teeth, fighting the dizziness back where it came from and finishing the job of putting her damn pants on. “This isn’t helping anything.” 

“Another heated voice won’t help.” Gisele advised, a gentle voice laced with steel. “Even yours. Perhaps especially yours.” 

“I agree. The last thing we need is one of your infamous tantrums, Ria.”

She was going to kill Bea. She glared into her sister’s face, holding onto her and pulling on one of her soggy boots, the only clothing left from her misadventure, it seemed. Gisele picked up where Bea left off. “They are struggling to lead because of what we survivors witnessed.” 

“Well, it can’t be worse than what I saw.” Maria snapped, pulling on the last boot. 

“Don’t you dare.” Bea shoved Maria, hard, back onto the cot. Caught off guard, Maria stumbled back onto the thing. It creaked precariously, but before she could turn her temper on Bea, Maria realized her sister’s face was flushed and splotchy, tears threatening in her eyes. “Don’t you dare.” Bea hissed, diving into Varric’s coat pocket and pulling out something glimmering, shining in the dull light. Instead of handing it to her, Bea threw it. The necklace and her rings landed in Maria’s lap. 

Maria blocked out the human’s arguing and focused on Bea, preparing to argue with her instead. She opened her mouth, but Bea stopped her cold. “I saw you die, Ria. I thought I buried you just like I buried Nanna, Dad, and Fynn.”

The well of grief under those two sentences stretched endlessly. Bea ripped her eyes away from Maria’s and stared up at the tarp above them, blinking rapidly. Guilt thudded hollowly in Maria’s chest and she curled her fist around the necklace. 

“Bea…” 

“Shut up.” Bea seethed. “Shut up. I thought I lost you, I thought… fuck.”

Bea whirled away and Maria stood, intent on following her. “I need a fucking minute.” Bea shouted back, voice thick with unshed tears. “Stay fucking put for once in your damn life and give me a second to breathe.” 

Wretched, Maria watched Bea stumble back out into the night. Gisele sighed, watching the slender form vanish. “It is difficult. For all of us, although for her I fear it was far worse. We left our defender behind to save us all… and we lost her.” 

Maria hadn’t been defending anyone. She’d just been trying to survive, blindly acting on gut and instinct. It had been a desperate last stand, nothing more, nothing heroic or courageous. “I wasn’t…” 

Gisele overrode her voice patiently. “And after all hope had fled… she returns. This is miraculous by any standard, and your actions appear more divine intervention than standard heroics. The longer we examine the darkness behind us, the more our trials seem ordained.” 

“That’s crazy.” Maria folded her arms around her aching torso, trying not to shiver. “Nothing about this has anything to do with faith or…” 

“It does seem insane, yes?” Gisele asked sweetly, piercing Maria with her dark eyes. “What ‘we’ have been called to ensure? What ‘we’, perhaps, must come to believe?” 

That ‘we’ of Gisele’s was very pointed and Maria wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t believe in their Maker, their Andraste, their Herald. Maria never heard the Stone sing or heard whispered guidance from her Ancestors' tombs. The Elven creators apparently abandoned the world long ago, and Maria wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else hadn’t followed suit. They were alone, carving out their destinies with nothing but switchblades and shaking fingers. 

“What ‘we’ believe doesn’t matter.” Maria glared, standing from the cot and steadying herself for just a moment. “What we’re about to do is freeze to death if someone can’t get their head out of their ass. I’m not waiting for the Maker to intervene.” 

She turned her back on the infuriating woman and took careful, measured steps to the edge of the tent. Outside her meager shelter, she saw the Inquisition’s leaders surrounding a campfire, all wearing various expressions of distress, their silence simmering with resentment. 

Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck were they supposed to… 

“Shadows fall…” Gisele’s throaty voice carried from somewhere behind her, loud and clear as a chantry bell on Sunday as she moved to stand beside Maria. “And hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come…” 

“What are you doing?” Maria hissed under her breath, piercing Gisele with a reproving glare, flinching as the four humans turned to stare. Gisele smiled, mysterious and sly, sailing past Maria without a word of explanation. She continued to sing an old song, a song Maria swore she’d heard in bits and pieces, a Chantry hymn floating out of pretty wooden chapels in Ostwick. “The night is long, and the path is dark… Look to the sky, for one day soon… the dawn will come.” 

Maria gambled semi-professionally and knew she was rather good at it. Still, she’d have never placed money on what happened next in a million years.

It started with Leliana’s clear, bright soprano joining the chorus. Then, Maker’s balls, Cullen. Soldiers. Refugees. Chantry sisters. Children and witches and templars, all of them. The sound roared louder than the ocean, enough to drown the dragon’s screech still echoing in her head, and they were staring at her like she had an answer, like she could do something, anything.

Some of them dropped to their knees like she really was an idol carved of stone, an altar to worship at. Her panicked thoughts insisted she should have fled after Bea, but when she looked behind her to see if that escape route was still open, she saw her sister had returned in silence. The slouched form in the darkness, arms crossed, looked torn between amusement and grave concern. 

She could almost hear Bea scoffing about humans being outrageous. Maria tightened her grip helplessly on the rings in her fist, wishing for all the world she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

The song ended, the night sky hanging onto the last piercing note. Gisele turned her dark eyes back down towards Maria, triumph sparking in them as people cheered. “An army needs more than an enemy.” She declared softly. “It needs a cause.” 

Gisele lifted her hands, prepared to preach a sermon to the masses. “My fellow children of the Maker…” She began fervently. “We have survived the trials put in front of us, endured the terror of…” 

She stared, agog, until she felt the light press of a hand against the small of her back. She looked up to pin Solas with her bewildered gaze.

“A word?” He asked politely.

“Only if it has four letters.” She protested weakly, staring back out in stunned disbelief at the crowd.

“Come.” Solas said gently, guiding her into the shadows. “We have much to discuss.”

--

“She’s a wise woman. Worth heeding, at the very least. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause… or fracture it.” Solas muttered, almost to himself, although Maria understood he was attempting to instruct her.

Maria shivered, although if it was from the cold or existential dread, she couldn’t tell. Solas noticed and extended his palm. A smooth, elegant flick of his wrist summoned a ball of flames, blue and beautiful, in the space between them. Maria stepped closer to the warmth, grateful for it. 

“Can you help me escape her?” Maria asked, only semi-joking. Solas’s fond smile was the only answer before he shook his head.

“The magic Corypheus used against you. The spell that embedded that mark in your hand… It is Elven.” 

Maria lifted her right palm up, still clutching the rings within it. She unfolded her fingers and stared down at the intricate, beautiful sun burned into it. “It looks Elven, I guess.” She muttered, shifting the sparkling rings to reveal the elegant loops. “Not that I’m an expert.” 

“It is the magic that has been inside you since the start, pulled to the surface.” Solas explained clinically. “I assume it is also the magic that created the vortex, the same spell that caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave.” 

And now… now it was inside her. “Fantastic.” She muttered. 

“Do not begrudge it so much.” Solas advised. “I suspect without that magic in your veins, you would have perished then as well. As to how Corypheus survived… that is a mystery.”

Solas sighed and hunched his shoulders, staring down at the snow consideringly. “The only thing that is not a mystery is how people will react when they discover the origin of this magic. Perhaps people will not look past the fact that it is the symbol of the chantry, but there must have been a tool, one he used to harness it, and if it is found…”

“Riots.” Maria sighed. “The elves have it shit enough in all the cities of Thedas.” 

Nanna used to say it could always be worse when they complained about not having enough money to buy nice clothes or go to the movies. They, at least, could afford food and their bills even if they had to work to the bone to do it. The elves… well, there was a reason they were shoved into the alienage projects. Nobody wanted to look at starving children. 

“This is a fucking mess and elves are an easy target.” Maria murmured.

“I agree.” Solas’s voice was laced with approval. He placed a gentle hand on her aching shoulder. “But we can control this narrative. We can tell the story we wish to tell.” 

“Solas.” Maria jerked her chin over her shoulder. “There’s a woman back there preaching a sermon about a dwarven criminal with elven magic in her hand at the head of a human religious movement. I can’t control any of my own story.” 

She hadn’t been able to in years. 

“Corypheus attacking the Inquisition changed it. Changed you.” Solas insisted. Maria shivered again, but this time it certainly wasn’t from the cold. “You are their guide. You are their savior.” 

“I’m not.” Maria protested, wrenching away. “I’m not, don’t you dare go human on me, Solas, or I swear…” 

“There is a place in the North. I have seen it in the fade, a place hidden by magic that waits for a force to hold it…” 

“Is there anything useful in the fade?” Maria asked skeptically. “Maybe a way to get the network up and running so we can call for help?” 

“Varric Tethras will never get our communications up and running without additional technology.” Solas insisted smoothly. “The witches alone, our power, interfered too much. Perhaps, if we had not found you he could have rigged something together, but the stronger you become, the more you recover…” 

Solas reached for her palm, covered it with his own. “The technology we have with us cannot override your magic. Not any longer. I suspect he is beginning to identify the problem as well. If anyone could fix it, I suspect it is Varric, but he cannot do so here.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Maria blurted out. It would have been better, apparently, if she froze to death or simply died in the avalanche. 

“But your magic is, perhaps, the only key to finding our path. Go north, lead them forward. Your magic can unlock our safety, I know it.” Solas pressed. “Only you can do this.” 

“I can’t.” Maria’s voice broke and she shook her head. “Solas, I can’t.” 

“You must.” Solas’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But you will not do it alone. We are by your side.” 

“They won’t listen to me.” 

“On the contrary.” Solas smiled, soft and proud. “I believe you are the only one they will listen to.” 

xx

Three days. They followed Maria through the mountains for three fucking days. Varric thought he’d never forgive her for their forced march through miles of snow, directly into the bitter, biting wind of the north. There was, after all, only so much a man would do for a pair of beguiling eyes no matter how sensuous her curves. Varric Tethras had nearly reached his damn limit. 

In fact, he’d had it with Maker damned everything. The network that wouldn’t connect them to the satellite, no matter what he tried. He couldn’t feel his toes. And he was simply sick of the endless, bleak, whiteness of it all. 

One more day, he thought darkly, trudging after Maria’s crimson hair. One more blighted day, then he was refusing to go one more step. 

Which, of course, was exactly what he’d said to himself yesterday. 

“Can you all honestly not feel that?” Maria asked over her shoulder, perplexed.

“There are lots of things I can’t feel, Princess.” Varric growled. “Would you like an enumerated list?” 

She sent him a withering look. Varric glared back, unimpressed. 

“Darling, all I can feel is that energy coming out of your hand. It’s like standing in the middle of an orchestra.” Vivienne, somehow, still looked elegant in her snug fitted peacoat. The splashes of red templar blood almost formed a chic pattern. She’d be a perfect villain for one of his stories. If he didn’t freeze to death first. 

Maria cautiously approached a cliff. Varric watched, warily, as she danced rather too close to the edge for his taste. If she fell to her death one more time, he wasn’t rescuing her, right hand to Andraste. 

“Please do not fall off that precipice.” Dorian snapped, in tune with his thoughts. “I, for one, do not wish to be the person informing Cullen we allowed you to plummet to your doom.” 

Maria ignored him, reaching out to brush snow from a large stone pillar overlooking the abyss. A matching one, almost like they were man made instead of natural, sat some distance away. Her ineffective swiping revealed something carved into the surface.

“Runes.” Solas smiled down at her, proud as only an old teacher could be. “Well done.” 

But Maria seemed to be entranced by the shapes in the rock. She tipped her head to the side, examining them curiously. She brought her gloved right hand to her mouth and used her teeth to rip off the fleece fabric. Varric caught the slightest flicker of light in her palm before she pressed it to the stone. 

The runes lit up gold, glowing gently, flickering with power. A gust of wind surged past them all, so fierce he temporarily grew concerned it would topple Maria right into the yawning abyss. Instead, it lifted her hair around her face, whipped past them into the chasm, bright lights dancing within it. 

Varric’s breath caught in his throat. The lights seemed to sketch out a bridge, one that turned corporeal before their very eyes. It was made of stone and marble, hanging above the abyss implausibly. The magic picked up speed, circling in clouds in the air, puffs of glitter exploding to reveal walls, towers, trees, gates, all pulled from nothing but thin air. 

“Andraste’s blushing buttcheeks.” Dorian whispered. “Who hid this?”

Who wouldn’t? It was something from another age, from a fairy tale, a fortress fit for a queen, pristine and intact, waiting for someone to unveil it, someone to call it back to life. 

Not a queen, a part of him supplied. A princess. His princess. 

“Skyhold.”  Solas supplied quietly. “Welcome home, Herald.”

[masked-mallards]

Masked Mallards, The Multiverse, and Everything else

Chapter 6 The Yellow Champion

Sergei J. Starling was an ambitious duck, who sought nothing more than power, and do what he has to get it. He was also a quadworth, with the ability to maintain portals to the Void between worlds and to form portals himself, but only to parts of the Sanitatemian Negaverse and as long as he can see where he’s going. Though St. Canard was in the hands of its civilians, he ran the show from the shadows. He founded an intelligence network, that would become S.H.U.S.H, and ruled the underground of St. Canard.

So, when Nega-Scrooge McDuck offered a position as his spymaster, he leaped at the opportunity. However, he still had a family in St. Canard and his duty as its quadworth. Starling hated loose ends, if he was going to work for McDuck, he would have to leave his family and home. He wasn't going to let that stop him, he planned to kill two birds with one stone. His son had just turned 7 and started showing signs of being quadworth, and it was time to see if he was the real thing.

 43 years ago

Sanitatemverse.

Nega-St. Canard

 “Sergei J. Starling, don’t you dare!” a frantic woman shouted. Her cries fell upon deaf ears, as Sergei dragged their son Jim behind him into the empty alleyway, where a warp hole had formed. Jim tried to wiggle free of his father’s iron grip as they approached the warp hole. Sergei heaved the squirming child to his feet and directed him to the blue electrical nightmare. "This warp hole leads to the Void." He explained disdain. "It is the family business to monitor them. However, I have a plane to catch, so I do not have the time to train you to be a quadworth.”

Jim’s mother tried and pleaded for his father to release him, but he ignored her. When she physically tried to defend her son, Sergei struck her down. “Do not interfere Ziptonia,” he growled. “I am going to do this whether you like or not!” He grabbed Jim by the scuff of his shirt and lifted the duckling of the ground and forced him to look at him. “Normally,” Sergei started. "It falls to the older generation to teach the next, on how to use quadworth magic. So, I intend to do just that.”

He put his son back on the ground but didn’t let go. He faced Jim to direct his attention to the unstable warp hole. “If used correctly, the warp hole will take you the Void and lead you to the Posiverse......I think." He said with a shrug. "However, one miss-step and you will end up who knows where, and your brains might get scrabbled in the process as well." He turned his Jim around to face him again. “Experience is a better teacher than Ill ever be.” The boy’s face went white, it became clear to him what Starling planned to do.

” No...” Jim said with a croak. “No, please..... PLEASE DON’T!" he pleaded. "If you are worth anything as a quadworth, you will be able to find your way back once inside," Sergei said as if he were talking to one of his agents. Ziptonia drew a knife from her purse and charged her former husband. She had kept it since her divorce, knowing that it was going to take more than a restraining order to stop Sergei Starling. However, she was no warrior.

Sergei let go of his son and went after his ex-wife. In a flurry of speed, he grasped her wrist holding the knife in hand. He jabbed Ziptonia in the stomach, knocking her back and relieving her of her knife. Sergei nabbed his horrified child, and pulled him in close and whispered in his ear. “If you fail to return, I will kill the bitch for trying to gut me." The evil father said to motive his child. With that, he tossed him into the warp hole. The last thing Jim Starling heard before entering the Void, was the screams of his mother.

Jim's senses went ablaze. The Void between Worlds was a whirl of bright colors, an assault to the eye. The sound of thunder and explosions filled the emptiness and rang in his ears as if they were close by. His body was dragged around like a ragdoll, it felt like the vacuum was trying to squeeze him into the size of a pebble. On top of that, random objects and doors littered the void. The helpless young duck, crashed into them, adding to his trouble.

“How could anyone navigate this?” Jim thought to himself. He remembered his father’s words. Sergei said he kill his mother if he never made it back and if he wasn’t careful, and he’d lose his sanity. His father never made threats; he made promises. Jim latched on to the nearest door. During the few times Sergei had bothered to teach him anything about the Multiverse, he had explained that each door led to another universe. The doors were distinct, like fingerprints. However, Stellar didn’t tell him which door led back to Nega-Sanitatem. He didn’t have time to figure it out. He opened the door. “Trial by Fire," he said aloud.

He swung the door open and stuck his head in. On the other side, a vast valley of vegetation made of cubes. Jim pushed the door closed; it wasn’t home. As the Void dragged him around, he positioned himself to crash into another door and pulled it open. It revealed the inside of a cave filled with ruins, a red dragon, and the gold he’d made his nest in. The dragon’s eyes locked on the duck, and his mouth began to glow red and orange. Jim slammed the door shut before the dragon’s fire could reach.

Door after door, he tried. None of which went where he needed to go. Jim began to panic after two hours of failed attempts to get home and became more and more desperate. “I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!!” he cried in tears. The void around him stopped and everything came to a halt. The doors were stationary in the air, objects floated around knocking into each other. Jim floated in disbelieve as he tapped an hourglass and it floated away.

A door appeared in front of him. It was gold around the rim with symbols that he could not understand, and a waterfall that ran upside down. Jim approached the door and touched its silver handle. He opened the door, having an unexplainable feeling that it was the right one. Jim was back in the alleyway and the warp hole closed behind him. Though he was gone for two hours, barely 5 minutes have passed since he left home.

However, Sergei didn't wait around to see if he'd make it back, he was gone, nor did he keep his end of the deal. Ziptonia lay dead curled into a ball, blood leaked out of her body, forming a puddle. The duckling knelt by his mother in a state of shock. It was all his fault, he failed her. If only he was faster or had been brave enough to fight off Sergei. Tears began to form in his eyes, and he cried out in despair and angst. He held his mother’s head in his arms, his tears of sorrow soon turned to anger.

He was going to make him pay for this. Jim wiped his face clean and gently laid Ziptonia’s down. He ran across the street and sat at a park bench across the street as soon as he heard sirens. The only his father did right was to teach him how to be a sleuth and use the environment to his advantage. Sure enough, a crowd began to form around him as curious pedestrians gathered when the police arrived. The boy was well hidden, and could move around freely, and could listen in on nearby cops.

Someone had called 911 after hearing Ziptonia scream. They had eventually I.D her as Ziptonia Starling. The police started to shoo people away from the sight, some of Sergei’s S.H.U.S.H agents had infiltrated the police force and abused the power they had to make their leader’s problems disappear. Jim slipped away unnoticed and made his trek home. He didn’t want to linger and watch them haul his mother away in a hearse.

  Sometime later

 It was evening by the time Jim had made it back to the suburban home. He opened the entrance to the house; the lights were off and it was empty. He was alone. Jim made his way to the backyard, it was an empty plot of grass, except for the ruins of a rabbit pen in the back corner of the yard. Sergei had a certain love for the creatures and bred them to sell. When he wasn't working on building S.H.U.S.H., he tended to his warren and ignored his wife and child. Jim had always been expected to take care of the white beasts when Sergei wasn’t around and hated it.

Though his mother dismantled the enclosure and got rid of most of the rabbits after their divorce, some of the lagomorphs came back and nested there. No matter how many times Jim chased them off, they came back. He hated the reminder that Sergei was still out there. He hated the man who took his mother from him and left him alone in the world. Jim’s eyes flickered; he hated the fact he was named after him. Jim clenched his hand into a fist and glowered at the carefree rabbits.

“I am going to make you wish I’d died in the Void." he thought to himself. Jim was going to do everything in his power to make Starling pay. It might take years to do so, but it'd be worth it. His attention was still on the vile man's rabbits. His blood began to boil at the sight of them. Jim wanted revenge on his father, and he knew just how to start. He retreated into the house and grabbed a camera and burlap sack, and made his way to the rabbit enclosure.

The unsuspecting creatures, greeted Jim, expecting the boy who once brought them food, and sometimes sneaked treats inside their bowls. However, that boy was gone and they realized it too late. Jim snatched up the trusting animals and stuffed them the sack. They kicked and scratched trying to find a way out as Jim tied the bag shut. Jim left the home, it was filled with too many memories, there was nothing left for him here.

The young duck traveled up the road to a creek nearby. He had played there in the past. This time of year, the low trench was filled with water. The boy set up the camera on a timer and walked away. Jim stood on the edge of the creek on top of a rocky ledge and held the sack of rabbit above the water. He hesitated for a moment, then let go of the burlap sack. It hit the cold water with a splash and sunk to the bottom. Jim watched and waited until the last of the bubbles formed on the water’s surface disappeared, then turned off the camera.

A car pulled up and a large goose stepped out of the driver’s seat, followed by a gosling that was half his size. “The Muddlefoots," Jim thought to himself. Douglass Muddlefoot had been a friend of Jim's mother and hated Sergei just as much Jim did. His son Herb poked his head around him, looking worried. He and Jim had been friends since they could talk and considered him as a brother. Jim took note of Herb’s red eyes and he had been crying.

"The police came to our door earlier today," Douglass said in a somber tone. "They were looking for you. If you came home, we were to call the police immediately. They want to question you on Ziptonia's murder." Douglass grew silent and scoff. "We both know that is not the case. Sergei is guilty, and is using his resources to cover his tracks." The Muddlefoots made there way down to the creek. Herb made it to Jim first. “When you didn’t come home, we looked all over town. We thought that jerk killed you to.” He said. “I’m glad we were wrong, brother.” For the first time today, Jim felt safe and even smiled. “How did you know to find me?”

"Because I led them to you. "said a composed feminine voice. The air grew cold and the air began to blow the nearby leaves around them. The leaves formed a vortex then dispersed; a woman stood in their place. She was a medium-sized duck, dressed in an old black dress from the 1700s. She had long black hair, an oak staff where a raven perched itself. Her expression was that of a tired old woman, yet she didn't look a day over 30. “Greetings quadworth, I am Magica De Spell of Nega-Sanitatem.

"De Spell is an ancient sorceress that has watched over Anasia for centuries," Douglass explained. "Scrooge McDuck stole a magical artifact that was under her protection. A golden chain that grants its wearer with wealth and protection from magic, if combined with an object that they value. Which happened to be a dime of all things. She has made a prophecy, where McDuck was king and brought upon the end of the world. De Spell can't lay a hand on him to stop it, because of the chain's effects."

“However,” Magica chimed in. "You have a skill set other than magic, that can be sharpened into a blade. In my vision, I see Scrooge asking for your assistance on matters beyond his control." She paused. "You must accept his proposal, and use it as an opportunity to get his #1 Dime." Jim looked at the witch. He didn't want his life laid before him, he wanted revenge not to be a hero. The sorceress spoke up as if she could read his mind. "Do not think of it as destiny. It is a beneficial partnership." She stared. "Sergei Starling is McDuck's left hand duck, so our paths a line in the long run.”

“St. Canard still needs a quadworth protector, and I will train you in quadworth magic.” Magica stomped her staff on the ground to make sure the young quadworth was paying attention. “If I am to help you, you must become the protector of St. Canard and its people. Do this, and you will get your revenge!” Jim gazed a Magica, she was offering him power in exchange for a dime. How could he refuse? Magic de Spell reached out her hand. Jim shook it gladly. “For the time being, you will stay with clan Muddlefoot, and your training will begin in the morning.” De Spell said in instructors’ tone.

Magic gripped Jim by the sleeve of his shirt, her expression had turned serious.” You were not the only one I saw in my vision to bring down Nega-Sanitatem Scrooge McDuck." She said coolly. "I saw three possible champions who had a hand in McDuck's end." She paused for a moment. "I saw a future where it was you clad in yellow, another clad in purple, and a third will born when both were gone.” Jim gave her a puzzled look “What can you tell me about the third? If I fail and the world was destroyed, would they be nonexisting?" Jim asked. The witch answered. “If I had a single doubt that you would fail, I’d be putting all my effort into the Purple Champion in Posi- Sanitatem. Your counterpart.”

Before Jim could ask anything else, Magica threw down a bag of dust that hit the ground with a bang. Blue smoke rose from the ground and dissipated. Magic De Spell was gone. Jim wondered why she didn't tell him about the third champion, was she hiding something? He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, it was Douglass. "It is time to go, son," he said. "We had been preparing for the end for quite some time, and now that we know that McDuck is planning a hostile takeover, we are ready to fight to. I'd die first before I ever submit to him."

He looked to into the starless night as he followed the Muddlefoots to the car. If he's going to have his revenge on Sergei Jim Starling, he wasn't going to do so carrying his name. The duckling was no longer a child, he had a taste for blood from killing the rabbits, was driven by the urge to kill his father and hate. Jim had what he needed, his father had taught him his trade and had a way to harness his quadworth capabilities. He had the Muddlefoots as allies. He wasn’t Jim Starling anymore....... He was Negaduck!

 2 Months later

Sanitatemverse

Nega-Duckburg

 Sergei Starling disappeared from St. Canard that day and wasn't heard from for several weeks. He resurfaced months later, at the side of the Sanitatem Nega- Scrooge McDuck. The old billionaire had his sights on world domination. He had already made moves toward his goal. He had made Duckworth, a mercenary who had been loyal for many years, a general. Duckworth had many men at his disposal, including a young duckling by the name Fenton Crackshell- Cabrera. The orphan was taken under Duckworth's wing when he showed promise as a soldier.

Aside from mercenaries, Nega- McDuck had the best team of scientists money can buy. Dr. Ludwig Von Drake, a distant relative and renowned in multiple fields of study, and Dr. Waddlemeyer, a robotics and weapons inventor. Both However threw scientific ethics out the window and often destroyed lives on their way to "progress". Scrooge didn't mind though, as long as the results were in his favor. The only voice against it was Nega-Gyro Gearloose, an unwilling assistant of Waddlemeyer since his son had left him.  

More of McDuck’s family had also joined his cause. Merely because Scrooge gave them something in return. Donald Duck was his naval commander due to harsh, but effective, tactics as a pirate who terrorized the seas. As long as Scrooge paid, he was loyal. Fethry was put in charge of information and propaganda, being a journalist and all. The reporter didn’t care if information that he fed the public was valid or not, he just wanted recognition to feed his ego. Gladstone Gander, however, is not among them, due to him being a jinx, and has been disowned by his family.

Donald’s sister Della, was made chief of Scrooge’s air force. She was a new, overprotective mother of 3. She only agreed to take the position, if her great uncle left her children out of it. Her men were composed of another mercenary group under McDuck, The Flying McQuacks. Their leader Ripcord McQuack had little patience for anything and often fought with his son Launchpad. The boy had shown a talent for flying, despite only being 8 years old. However, he had complete disregard for any rules or flight regulations. The boy felt like he was in a box that he couldn’t get out, he just wanted the thrill of the flight. Eventually, Ripcord had enough and sent the boy to study in Cape Suzette, where the best flyers in the world resided, in hope that they would have better luck with him. This was against his wife’s wishes.

His newly acquired spymaster, Sergei Starling, had a complex network called S.H.U.S.H., Starling's agents had already infiltrated most government buildings in Calisota and the Anasian Peninsula. He also had a family of his own. The only remaining relative was his son in St. Canard. According to Starling, the child wouldn’t amount to anything. However, that changed when he got a disturbing home video addressed to him.

Though Sergei called it a petty attempt of revenge, the young duck’s message was heard loud and clear. Scrooge McDuck didn’t like the idea of the young quadworth becoming a potential threat, in the long run, knowing just how capable family can be if motivated. However, his spymaster convinced him that the child would not be able to fully utilize his abilities without help and that he would send agents to dispose of him if he showed any signs of being dangerous.

Now with Starling's arrival, McDuck began to put his plan into action. He had abused the magic of his #1 dime to make his wealth, and cheat his way to the top. Money wasn't enough for him; he wanted the world. For years, he had schemed and manipulated his family and others to reach his goal. It was the time to act, and he set his sights on Anasia. Scrooge’s golden curtain began to drape over the continent.

 Two years later.

Sanitatem-verse

The new country of New Duckburg

 The war for Anasia was swift and brutal, Starling’s agents had major hand in crippling the government’s hold and stability, and forced Nega- F.O.W.L., an international organization formed to protect against people like McDuck, underground The only other resistance against Scrooge was Flintheart Glomgold, a close rival being the second richest duck in the world, his wife Ma Beagle and her Beagle Boy Militia. Scrooge had stolen the deed to Duckburg from Beagle's grandfather and treated her family like outcasts.

Up till recently, the country of Usland, a close ally, and trade partner of Anasia supplied F.O.W.L and the B.B.M. with weapons and supply out of Cape Suzette, in hope of restoring the Anasian government. Unfortunately, once Anasia had fallen and any resistance had been driven underground, the newly form country of New Duckburg declared Usland an enemy. To avoid war, President Khan was forced to back off. However, it became clear that to Khan that McDuck planned to spread his golden curtain. Anasia was gone and New Duckburg rose in its place, with Scrooge McDuck as its king.

Launchpad stayed in Cape Suzette to complete his training, against his parent’s wishes. Khan found out and agreed to have the duckling returned to his to them when he turned 18. Scrooge hated making deals with Khan, who was a rival in the market. None the less, if he wanted The Flying Mcquack’s to remain involved, he would have to honor it. Launchpad became a hostage to ensure peace. Khan treated Launchpad like a son and gave him every opportunity to grow as an aviator, and the young duckling grew to respect the tiger.

The democratic city of St. Canard, was the last to fall. Its people still fought hard even after Anasia had disbanded and longer since it shared their border with Duckburg. Once the city was captured, Starling searched for his son in hope of finishing what he had started two years ago. McDuck insisted that he take care of it before the quadworth before he became a real threat. The spymaster had no luck and assumed the duckling had died during the war. While on another assignment, he gathered intel from his agents on gangs that had formed in the area when the city fell.

Scrooge had sent him there do deal with the “leeches” that stole from him. Starling was in St. Canard to set up defenses against the rising gangs. One of the gangs that caught Sergei’s attention was the Muddlefoot Syndicate. The Muddlefoots had been his neighbors when he had lived with his family in St. Canard. The family had a military history and were the sort that would prepare for doomsday and take every gun with them. Douglas Muddlefoot was the family's head and had been arrested on possession of illegal arms and drugs. His son Herb, had been good friends with Jim.

However, according to the S.H.U.S.H agents, there was no sign of Jim amongst the gang’s numbers. Though Sergei had his suspicions that the Syndicate had hidden the child, and used him for his rogue-like skills. Just in case, he had his spies watch the Muddlefoot house, and instructed his men to monitor the Muddlefoot Syndicate not destroy it. He returned to McDuck Manor in Duckburg, a temporary capital building until Castle McDuck was finished being built. Sergei laughed at the notion of calling Scrooge his "King", but not in front of the man himself. He had to stay on King Scrooge's good side if he wanted to continue to work for him, and to stay alive.

 Somewhere in Nega-St. Canard.

 The once thriving metropolis of St. Canard, was now a mound of rubble. Its people pick up the pieces as King McDuck’s men move in and establish order. For the time being, St. Canardians gather scrap metal, scattered weapons, and anything of value to hand off to soldiers for a small amount of cash.  However, gangs had risen from the ashes, and took advantage of it. They pooled in their earnings, hid some of the weapons they found and grew in strength and numbers. One such gang was the Muddlefoot Syndicate.

Herb and Negaduck climbed through the rubble of the St. Canard Arboretum, in search of anything of worth. The once beautiful glass building was nothing more than dust and dead plants. “Find anything Ji- I mean Negaduck?” Herb asked his friend, trying to remember his new name. Jim had insisted that he be called Negaduck from now on. Herb thought it was a silly name, but he honored it. Besides, it was probably better if the world forgot about Jim Starling, it would make it easier to evade the eyes of S.H.U.S.H. He’s changed, just like his name. All he ever talks about is revenge.

The quadworth wore a torn black shirt, yellow hoodie, a pair of faded black jeans, and a black mask over his eyes. Douglass Muddlefoot insisted that Negaduck wear the hood and mask when out and about, though he didn’t like his choice of yellow color. It was like a beacon for attention. Negaduck had grown quite fond of the color, for the mere fact that is was used to warn of dangerous animals and places. Magica De Spell had predicted this when she stated that Negaduck would become the yellow champion. The boy continued to refuse the idea of destiny and marked it up as a coincidence.  

Negaduck would stay up all hours of the night training in hand to hand combat. Sometimes he would disappear, and not return until he had a dead rabbit in his hands. They always looked like they had been hit by a bludgeoned weapon, yet nobody questioned it. Food was hard to come by, and roadkill was often on the menu. Herb knew better though, Negaduck always hated rabbits. They used to share everything. Over the last two years, Negaduck started targeting bigger prey. He'd bring back cats, dogs, and at one point a deer.

Recently, rival gang members began to disappear to, they show up dead. Usually when Negaduck was gone for days. When Douglass asked him about it, Negaduck didn’t deny it, he had killed them. He believed it was worth the risk of discovery if he reduced to the competition. Douglass however, wholeheartedly disagreed. Negaduck was destined to bring down the king he had to for fill, and couldn't do it if he was dead. The boy hated his life being laid out for him. This often led to screaming matches between the pair.

When he wasn’t with the Syndicate, he was with Magica De Spell. According to her, he excelled at quadworth magic. He could maintain portals and summon the ones he wanted in the Void, yet he can't find warp holes outside the Void. De Spell gave him a red talisman with a gold border that allowed him to find warp holes outside the Void. Negaduck often made trips through the portals on his own and brought back items of value, which was used to further the Syndicate’s success. He kept a little on the side, it was for a side project that he kept a secret, the only one who knew about it was Herb.

Though he would admit it, Negaduck had inherited his father's roguelike talents. He could sneak in a high-security convoy, steal what he wanted and leave unnoticed. Negaduck and Herb learned kickboxing from a fellow gang member. While Herb learned the practice as a to defend himself and those, he held close. Negaduck used as a weapon to break bones in the ring, making money off it. He gained a reputation and was nicknamed The Yellow Devil. He might have been a kickboxer, but he was at his best with melee weapons. The boy could take on 10 people with a broom. Negaduck However was a terrible shot and didn't bother with any guns or bows. He said it took the trill out of it.

Negaduck could fool most of the Muddlefoot Syndicate, by saying he killed for food, or he fought for money. He had a witty tongue like Sergei and his mother's tenacity. However, he could fool Herb or Douglass. He was no longer a child. He was a monster that relished the kill and was driven by loathing. The only reason Douglass Muddlefoot kept him around at this point is that Negaduck was key in saving Sanitatem. Herb still saw him as his friend, and a would-be leader if he put effort into it. Sure, he was different now, but he was the still the charismatic friend he had grown up with. For that Herb was loyal.

“Brother?” Herb called. Negaduck had been lost in thought. “Sorry, Herb what?” he asked. “Have you found anything yet?” he asked again. “No, not yet, here help me move this" Negaduck instructed, as he made his way to the large garden shed blocked by a large stone. The two ducklings heaved the rock out of the way, revealing the inside of an old shed. As expected, it was full of gardener's tools, bags of soil, and more withered plants. Something growled as they entered.

In the corner under a table was a female Doberman. She had a large gash on her side, must have escaped scavengers from the outside. From the looks of it, the dog had made her home here. There was a hole in the floor she could crawl in and out of. The feral beast bore its fangs growled again. Negaduck studied her wound. She had lost too much blood and wasn’t going to make it, even with Sanitatem Trance. In Sanitatem, anything that lived had a unique ability to heal themselves. Magica De Spell had called it the Healing factor, or Sanitatem Trance the healing sleep.  

Simply put, those born in the Sanitatem-verse can heal during a state of unconsciousness. It doesn’t matter how badly your hurt or how sick you are, a good night’s sleep is all you need. There had even been cases where limbs regrew, and infections disappeared. Negaduck often abused this ability while fighting for profit. He healed up and go at it again. Douglass tried to discourage this behavior by denying him morphing when he got beaten pretty badly. That didn’t last long though when the young Negaduck found where he kept the heroin. Negaduck became addicted to the stuff, which led to the other reason he took advantage of the healing factor. It was to avoid the negative side effects of the drugs.

However, the Sanitatem Trance isn't perfect and had some drawbacks. The trance can only restore to the state you were born in if you were born sick or missing a limb, you stayed that way for the rest of your natural life. Those with S.T are not immortal; they still will grow old and die. It only works when you are in a comatose state, and will not allow you to wake for anything for at least 3 hours, more depending on how badly your hurt. If something were to happen to you when sleeping, you have no way to defend yourself.

During the Anasian War, soldiers and rebels alike would take turns guarding their comrades as they slept. It was common for the enemy to attack based on sleep patterns. In years past, it was against the International law of war to attack anyone if they were asleep. It was a rule about honor, but Scrooge McDuck came in and changed all that. He had no sense of honor, no remorse for the lives he has destroyed. The kind of duck Sergei Starling would be willing to follow. Magic De Spell said if he worked to take down King McDuck, he would get his revenge on Starling. It couldn’t have worked out better.

The Doberman began to creep forward, intending on attacking them since they ignored her warning. Negaduck grabbed a nearby chainsaw and started it roader. She leaped into the air in a pounce, targeting Herb because he was larger and more threating in her eyes. However, the true danger came from something smaller. Negaduck jumped in front of his friend and sliced the dog in half before she could land. She lay dead on the ground. It was then they heard soft whimpering from under the desk she had been guarding. Upon closer exception, they found newborn pups. Negaduck turned pale.

He killed animals with easy in the past, but he never felt bad about it. Negaduck looked at the pups. They were blind and helpless, and he had just killed their only protector. The duckling picked up the puppies and thought back to his own mother who, like the Doberman, gave her life to protect her child. Even in a fight, she could not win. Negaduck handed one of the pups to Herb. "Let's see if your dad will let us keep them, it will be good to have dogs around.” He said. Herb studied the small puppy in his hands, it was not enough to eat, besides he didn’t think he could stomach eating something so cute. “What if Dad says no and wants them for food and skins?” Herb asked. Douglass left nothing to waste.

“If that is the case, then we’ll keep them here and take care of them until they are old enough to do it themselves.” He responded. “I refuse to kill something that can’t run or defend itself.” Herb looked to his friend, despite Negaduck’s bloodlust, he followed a code. That part of him never changed. Negaduck looked around. ‘Let’s gather the tools, we can give them to Douglass” Negaduck asserted.” He picked up the bloody chainsaw and examined it." I'll be keeping this." He said somewhat interested. "Are you going to sell it on the side?" Herb asked. "No," Negaduck replied. "It's just my kind of weapon." Herb looked at the saw then to Negaduck. "You have some serious issues, brother," Herb said, though they both knew that Negaduck would take it as a compliment.

 Later

Khan’s Market

 The market was full of people and was known as Khan’s Market, even though the tiger had nothing to do with it. It was meant to be an insult to the King, whose company was the sole provider and charged obscenely high prices. Most of the business owners that stayed operational after Scrooge’s take over disappeared, including St. Canard’s own Budd Flood, who owned a couple of water bottling companies. Flood aid the people after the fall of St. Canard and started just giving water for free. Lookouts were posted outside the wall, in case any of McDuck’s men showed up. Khan’s Market was designed to be taken down quickly if they did. St. Canardians still actively defied Scrooge McDuck's rule any way they could and treated the gangs like heroes.

Negaduck and Herb wandered through the market, Herb had said he was running errands for Douglass. However, Negaduck knew the real reason he came. They reached the baker's booth; a girl was taking fresh bread on the counter next to the money they earned that day. The canary wore heavy black makeup, dark clothes, and unkempt hair. Herb stared at her from a distance. Day after day he dragged Negaduck to see Binky, and frankly, Negaduck was getting tired of his friend’s lack of confidence. "Just go up and talk to her," the duckling said. "It not like she's gonna bit." Herb looked at Negaduck slightly red. "Easy for you to say, you have a way with people.” He rebuttal. Negaduck thought for a moment, "Your right." He said handing his puppy to Herb and made his way to Binky.

"What are you doing, come back!" Herb tried to shout, but it barely came out above a whisper. Negaduck leaned on Binky's booth and his hand disappeared. Not that the canary would notice, her attention was on Negaduck's blabbing mouth. Herb couldn’t hear what he was saying from where he was standing, but he knew what Negaduck was up to just how he was moving his hands. Herb felt a sudden ping of rage and marched up to the booth in a huff. He grabbed Negaduck by the scuff of his sleeve and shook it, and bread fell out. Herb shoved Negaduck away from the booth. “How dare you steal from the best baker in St. Canard, and in Khan’s Market no less!” Herb bellowed.

“Best Baker!?” Negaduck exclaimed. “I am not paying for stale bread!" Herb wanted to wring Negaduck's neck, but Binky beat him to it. She picked up a rolling pin off the table and began to whack Negaduck with it. "Do not come to my family's booth again you thief!" she roared. Negaduck caught the pin mid-swing and yanked out her hand. He tossed to the ground then tackled Herb, took back his pup, and disappeared into the crowd. Binky crossed her arms and turned to Herb. "Friend of yours?" she asked in a salty tone. "Not after I’m done with him,” Herb responded. He and Negaduck had disagreements before, usually over things bigger than stealing bread.

What Herb didn’t understand is why Negaduck got caught in the first place. Negaduck was a good thief, and could have easily taken out Binky, but why didn’t he? Negaduck knew that he admired any form of rebellion against the King. Herb thought for a moment then felt silently dumbfounded. Negaduck got pinched on purpose and used Herb's beliefs against him. It was to give him a chance to impress Binky. Binky eyed the pup in Herb's hands. "Is that a puppy?" she asked excitedly. "I haven't seen one in ages! Does she have a name?” she asked.

Herb thought for a moment.” Her name is Ginger.”  He answered. Binky looked at him inquisitively. “Like the character from Pelican’s Island?” the canary inquired. "Yes!" Herb said excitedly, having found someone who knew the old show. Binky smiled amused. "Since Mcduck took over, we watched the program as a past time, kind of nice to meet someone else who I can talk to about it," Binky said before she started blabbering about it. Herb gave a mental sigh of relief. He was going to have to thank Negaduck for this, he might be a monster, but he cared in his own way. Herb took notice that the money on the bread counter was gone. Negaduck must have swiped it when he was talking to Binky. The gosling should have known the duckling had an ulterior motive. The young birds talked at Khan’s Market for the remainder of the day and forgot about Negaduck.

  Somewhere else in St. Canard.

  Negaduck took the back streets of the city as he made his way to Magica's hut outside of town. McDuck had armed soldiers on every block. Since St. Canard was the last stand of the Anasian rebellion, Scrooge wanted to make an example of it. His army was not there to defend it, they were there to shot anyone they thought was a gang member or a rebel in hiding. They bullied the people as a past time. McDuck provided no aid to the city if the guards didn't get you, the lack of medical treatment will. At times like this, The Sanitatem Trance was a real blessing. However, the massive number of soldiers were not just there to oppress civilians. They were on a duck hunt for McDuck’s oldest enemy, Magica de Spell.

A soldier wandered on to Negaduck's route and saw the duckling with a small pouch of cash. Though the quantity was small, it was enough to make the guard act on it. “Hey, kid,” the guard called out. “where did you get that?”. Negaduck looked in the soldier’s direction and tried to be on his best behavior. “I earned it sir," He said. "How?" The soldier asked. "You didn't get by working. The King has closed the factories and docks temporally." Negaduck had completely forgotten about that. Since McDuck took over, St. Canard became a fishing and factory district for McDuck industries.

“So, if you didn’t earn by honest labor, how did you come across the doe?” The soldier said pulling out his rifle. “Do you know the penalty for stealing is, boy?” The people around them stopped to watch the scene unfold. Negaduck wanted to, and could of, kill the guard and make a run for it. However, the last thing he needed, was Sterling to come and investigate the death of a soldier. Not to mention soldiers’ comrades would take it out on the people, he was supposed to protect, as his deal with De Spell states. Negaduck did the next best thing and gripped the puppy tightly. He untied the pouch, dumped its content on the ground and ran.

A crowd gathered around the spilled coins, everyone wanting a piece. The soldier's eyes locked one to Negaduck as he ran down an ally. He followed suit. Negaduck knew he could outrun the older warrior and make his getaway. Unexpectedly a warp hole formed with a crack, causing Negaduck to come to a halt. The portal, from what he could tell, didn’t go to the Void, it led straight to Posi-Sanitatem. De Spell had told him not to go there without her. The guard tackled the duckling and both fell through the warp hole. It closed behind them.

Chapter 7

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190919389774/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

Chapter 5

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190704477979/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

Chapter1

https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190578269234/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything

[mrneighbourlove]

Burnt Heart: Ch 8. What Comes Around...

Zannah deeply harmed Zizi. Her actions against her and her husband cut her deep into the Lorliedian. Revenge was ironed in Zizi’s mind, and she spent nights imagining ways to make Zannah suffer in her own personal way. However, as fate would have it, sometimes Karma lent a hand out into the universe.

One sunny morning, it was peaceful at Hyrule Castle. Suddenly, casting a shadow over the Queen, the long serpent body of the great Dragon Fel’lath appeared before her. “Queen Zarazu. I come before you in time of a sudden crisis upon the Empire.”

Covarog and Zarazu were outside in the courtyard playing a quiet game of checkers. Ba'puu and Umbra'lee were there, semi-circled around the couple. Over the years, Covarog had gotten used to the dragon constantly being around. There were a few changes, of course, when Ba'puu and Umbra'lee became a mated pair. Hatchlings arrived, grew, then moved out of the nest. There was hardly ever any peace outside the castle because of it. Not to mention, all of the hatchlings had a horrible habit of stealing chess or checker pieces for fun. Yet now, there was finally some silence and all was right within the world... So the king thought.

Ba'puu raised his gargantuan head to acknowledge Fel'lath. As time passed, Ba'puu was growing larger and larger, just like his sire before him. Now, Ba'puu was ever bigger than the palace itself, yet still insisted upon seeing his human 'mother'. Trilling, the water dragon looked at Fel'lath from snout to tail. "What happened to you?" Ba'puu asked. "You look like shit."

"Ba'puu..." Zarazu's voice held a chiding tone. "Fel'lath... what happened?"

Fel’lath had indeed looked better. His claws had dirt crusted on him, and his beard was covered in crusty earth. “Nature has not been kind. Over an hour ago, a massive earthquake struck the secondary island of El Tahu. Many are dead, but more concerning to the Emperor, is that her children are trapped alive almost half a kilometre under ground after the earth swallowed their tower whole. She requests a powerful earth dragon or Zemalji to assist her. Assistance from Danjur would be too late.”

Zarazu was trying to brush some of the dirt away from Fel'lath's snout when he relayed the news.

"An earthquake... oh, spirits, usually a tsunami follows right behind." Zarazu was no stranger to this type of disaster. She had experienced it with the Zoras. Luckily, there was minimal damage and only a few injuries due to the Zorans living underwater, but there were many homes that were affected. "My sister is the Earth Sage... but... I..." She exchanged a glance with her husband. "I'll mention it to her. For now, I can send a few earth dragons and Zemljas, but even they cannot dig so deep without necessary risk. Too much pressure. Please ensure that Zannah understands this."

“Ah. So Zizi is the only one who can safely master the Earth?”

"... that deep into the ground? Yes." Zarazu explained to Fel'lath, using an analogy. "I may be able to control water at my beck and call, but even I cannot swim so deeply into the abyss without the pressure crushing me. You have the gift of flight, but can only fly so high until you can no longer breathe. Do you understand what I'm saying, Fel'lath?"

“Then I will waste no time on pride. Or waste time the living have left. Always good to see you Ba’puu.”

"Please inform Zannah that I will send what help I can, but as far as my sister?" Zarazu clasped her hands together, sighing. "That may take some convincing, Fel'lath. I can only ask... I cannot force."

"I will inform Admiral Corsaire to ready some supply relief ships." Covarog told Fel'lath. "Inform Zannah for me."

“I am aware of all your concerns. Thank you, and goodbye.” With no wings, Fel’lath gracefully levitated into the air, snaking his way through the sky. When he quickly found his way to Kahli’s residence, it seemed he accidentally scared a couple of tailed young adults intertwined and kissing on the deck chair. The girl appeared to be a cross between a Dal and Waku. The boy was from Uskar if his smell was correct. The girl stood, a quickened voice breaking from her. “F-father!”

Fel’lath simply smiled, curling on the lawn. “Do not mind me. Lovers should be allowed to mind their business.” It seemed his deep, fatherly voice at least calmed some of the younger children watching afar with awe.

Stigr, no matter how long Hyrule and Uskar had been allies, was still not able to get used to dragons. It was programmed into his head that there was immediate danger. He nearly bolted out of his skin when Fel'lath landed in front of the house, plastering himself and Grievous up against the wall, tail straight up.

"Fucking son of a two faced warlock, how the FUCK does something so big sneak up so quietly?" Stigr cursed in Uskarian.

"Oh fuck an Abyssian, it's you." Urboro heard the commotion from her baby sister's interrupted smooching time. She knew the dragon. Knew who the dragon belonged to. And was sorely tempted to tell him to piss off. "What do you want?"

“Hello, Urboro. My, how you’ve grown.”

Grievous was terrified. Was this dragon after her? Did Zannah grow spiteful towards her father? All she could do was watch in paralysis and silence as the dragon’s whiskers floated up and down in the air magically.

Fel’lath once more, only radiated calm and kind energy. “I know what Zannah did to your mother Urboro. I know what she did to you. However, I would not be here if it did not concern innocent lives. The Empire needs Zizi’s magic to once again save its citizens. More specifically, I ask Zizi would save Athena and Griffith from certain death.”

Inside the house, Fel’lath picked up that Kahli and Zizi were arguing. It seemed the man was insistent Zizi stay inside and that he would handle this new development outside.

"Kahli, I told you once before, and I'll tell you again, I will open upon the earth and swallow that dragon to the bowels of fucking hell if he even so much as puts a whisker on you!!!" Zizi was having a hard time trying to get past her husband to tromp outside. He had her around the waist and was holding her back. If she really wanted to get free, she probably could, yet she did not want to hurt her husband. Ever again. "You let go of me this instant!"

Urboro heard the commotion inside and quirked an eyebrow. "I agree with Mom about you trying to harm my Dad, but my question is this," She took a sip of her lemonade. "Has Zannah finally gone senile? Of all people, she's asking my mom? Has she forgotten what she did?" She then turned to her sister, assuring her. "Not you, Grivy, you're a sweetie, unlike this fuck here." Urboro then snorted. "Stigr, calm your tail, Fel'lath doesn't eat horny monkeys."

"Does he eat non-horny monkeys?"

"Same difference."

“I’m a vegetarian little children. What’s more, this is for the sake of innocents I come, not Zannah’s ego. She would prefer someone else. I see no reason to deny.”

Kahli stomped out, pulling both Grievous and Stigr by the tails to get in the house. “Zizi, look after Grievous and her monkey boy.” The Waku stood his ground against Fel’lath. “Great Fel’lath. I have nothing but respect for you, but I must have respect for myself. I do not wish the Empire to come here.”

“True. I am not Empire. But I come on the Empire’s behalf. No, I come on the Hasai’s behalf. Lives are in peril Kahli.”

"My name is Stigr---" The door was promptly shut in the Uskarian's face. He had an inkling that Kahli did not like him as a suitable choice for Grivy. Either that, or it was one of those alpha-male ego things. He couldn't quite place it. "... I still don't think your father likes me."

Meanwhile, Zizi was cursing in five different languages and demanding that she be let outside, despite Urboro trying to calm down her mother.

"Mom, seriously, Dad's got this shit."

"If that dragon hurts him, I'm going to be making a purse out of his skin!!!!"

“I’ve come here today to speak to your wife.”

“What?” Kahli immediately took a battle stance, fire shimmering between his fingers. “No. You don’t get to take her from me.”

“Your fire no longer has a chance of hurting me. Besides. I never said I would. I will simply stay here until she hears my plea.”

The biggest mockery to Kahli’s ego was watching Fel’lath yawn, and start to sleep on his lawn.

"DAAAAAAD!" Urboro shouted from inside the house. "Mom is---"

Zizi busted through the front door, almost knocking it off the hinges with a face of rage. At her feet, on the left side, Urboro was holding onto an ankle, and on the right side, Grivy was holding the other ankle. Despite Zizi's age, she still managed to drag her legs forward. She had raised fifteen kids, all of whom had clutched at her legs at some point. Stigr stayed out of the mess, at least wanting Zizi on his side if Kahli was not.

"YOU!!!" She growled at Fel'lath.

"... she got loose."

Fel’lath opened one eye to her, still relaxing on the ground. “By Vatra. Such fire.”

Grievous was terrified to see her step mother be so primal. Kahli turned, forcing a gulp from rising. “Zizi. Get back in the house.”

"The hell I will, this is that stinking pet of Zannah's and I want it off my land immediately!!!" Zizi tugged on her right leg, glaring down at Grivy. "Sweetie... let. Go."

"Don't let go." Urboro told her sister.

"Urboro, Grivy, you listen here, I'm the mother, you will respect me, I said let go!"

"Mom, please calm down, Fel'lath isn't here to hurt Dad---"

"I don't give an Abyssian's ass why he's here, I want him gone!"

“I never knew that Dragons were the pets of others. Did you?” Fel’lath looked in the direction of Zizi’s companion dragons. “You have the fury of Vatra in your heart right now Zizi, instead of the calm serenity of Zemalji. Trust me, I’ve met them both. And that is the key phrasing. Trust me. I am not here to bring you pain of any kind.”

"You're a pet, they're companions, you blindly follow Zannah's every whim, they don't follow mine! I have every right to be furious!" Zizi snapped at Fel'lath. "Trust you? Trust you?! Let me tell you where trust got me with Zannah, Fel'lath! Nothing but humiliation, grief, and a fight that nearly tore my family apart! Why should I believe one fucking word you say?!"

“Because I came to you against Zannah’s word. Her children are about to die. More Hasai are going to die. It seems karma struck against Zannah, if you believe such things. Not to long ago an earthquake hit the island home of her children’s residence. I’m sure if you concentrate, you can feel them trapped terribly far, deep within the earth. I came to you to save Hasai lives. Not improve the quality of the Empire.” His whiskers brushed up and down the earth. Zizi could feel by the rumble of his belly against the earth that not only was Fel’lath conveying the truth, but he was sad.

"..." Zizi quieted for a moment. There was dirt covering the dragon and he was always particular about his appearance. She stepped onto the ground and listened for time. A disturbance in the earth settled around one of the Empire's islands. Innocents were hurt. Homes were destroyed. And there... she stopped. There was a wave coming, a tsunami. It followed natural disasters like this. "I feel it." She told the dragon, curling her hands into fists. "... I swore I'd never go back to the Empire. I didn't want anything else to do with Zannah. But you are right... her people are innocent. They had no part her actions." Zizi sighed, furrowing her brow. By the spirits, she did not want to do this. Was this a test? Was this what Zemlja meant when he told her think carefully upon her actions? Maybe not an act of revenge but... an act of grace?

“Then you will accompany me to the island?”

“No. Zizi, let them suffer in isolation.” Kahli grasped her shoulders, Grievous and Urboro still holding on. “I won’t let you be taken from me. I won’t let the Empire hurt you.”

"... what if... some of your other children are there?" Zizi spoke very softly.

That got both Kahli and Grievous to let go of Zizi. Kahli frowned, his golden eyes staring down at her. “... You aren’t going without me.”

"Someone needs to stay to watch the little ones." Zizi looked at Urboro and Grivy. "Can you look after your little brothers and sisters?"

“Of course.” Grievous gave Zizi a squeeze of her hands. “You’ll be careful, won’t you? I don’t want to lose someone so amazing after barely getting to know them.”

"I'll be all right, we'll both be all right." Zizi assured Grievous with a smile. "We'll look after each other. We always have." She then leaned forward and whispered into Grivy's ear. "Don't let Urboro near my stove."

“She’s a terrible cook. Got ya.” Grievous got the meaning.

"I heard that!"

"We'll be back as soon as we can." Zizi promised the girls and then took a slow breath. "Ari'phompha and my other dragons of the plantations will join us. I think they too can sense something is amiss."

“Climb on my main and we’ll be off.”

Kahli was the first to climb aboard, reaching a hand out to his wife. He felt grateful that she took it. With her by his side, Kahli held her around the hip as Fel’lath took off into the air. “Zizi... I’m sorry for being a terrible husband to you.”

"We're past this now, Kahli," Zizi held around her husband's waist as Fel'lath took off into the air. "You were cornered. There was nothing you could have done. I reacted badly. We both hurt each other. The important thing is that we moved past this and we'll be stronger because of it. I'm not going anywhere."

“I should never have hurt you.”

"The same goes for me." Zizi admitted to Kahli. "I shouldn't have hurt you either. We both have done things we regret. But dwelling on them will only bring more grief. Let's focus on what we have."

On the island, the Emperor was in panic. Her clothing was dirty, her hands bloody from clawing at crumbled brick to reach her children in vain. She was ordering medics to aid the wounded, and franticly pushing workers to clear the debris.

“Move faster! If more die it will be on your heads!”

Standing at the beach house, she saw Fel’lath and a group of Earth Dragons fly in.

“You’re back! Good. We mustn’t waste any more time.”

The Emperor would suddenly falter when she saw Zizi and Kahli step off the dragon’s main. “What? You two? What are you doing here?”

"... I won't kill her." Zizi had promised her husband before landing on the ground. "I won't attack. I won't do anything to start a war between her and my sister. I'll be okay. I swear."

Though as soon as the pair were on the ground, Zizi was highly tempted to beat the snot out of Zannah. Yet, she had to focus on the bigger picture. There were innocents here that needed her help. The earth was still unstable and another aftershock could occur at any given moment.

“Fel’lath. Why did you bring her here?”

“Zannah. She can save your children.”

The Emperor paused, planting her feet into the sand beneath her. “Zizi... you aren’t going to just let more innocents die, are you? It’s not in your nature. Of course you’ll help, won’t you?”

"I won't let innocents die. Though, I will say the same thing to you that you told my husband all those years ago when he asked for mercy." For all her rage, Zizi kept an eerily calm face. No even a slight twitch of a cheek muscle. She uttered one single word. "Beg."

It was if a bullet had traveled through heart with that single word. It took a moment to register if it was even real to the Emperor. “What?”

"Perhaps you've gotten hard of hearing with age, so I'll gladly repeat myself." Zizi once again said. "Beg."

Zannah looked out to the ocean stealing the water, then back to Zizi. “Are you trying to blackmail me? My children are going to die if you don’t hurry on your end.”

"For that, you can apologize too. Not only to me, but to my husband." Zizi held up her hands, stabilizing several structures on the surface. She had the citizens' attention now. Good. She wanted an audience. "Like I said. I won't let innocents die. Though my skills may or may not reach your children. I wonder..." She paused choosing her words carefully, not mentioning death, neither denying or confirming Zannah's statement. "What kind of pain would it cause you? Like that black hand of yours? Or perhaps worse? Can the self-proclaimed 'god' of the Hasai not even save her own children? If you're a deity, then go ahead. Save your children. Let's see that accumulation of power help you now."

“Stop this. You think you can speak that way to me? Do you feel I cucked your husband? I have the power to save everyone here except my children. I’m a master of fire, not earth. I bring war against the very forces of nature, but I can’t heal or rescue my children. Zizi, please, you’re the only one who can save my children. You have the power here to do that, not me. You have their lives in your hands. If that tsunami even comes close it could shift the earth further. Please, you have to save them. They’re the only blood I have left!”

"... I did not hear begging neither did I hear an apology." Zizi then glanced at the horizon, not even batting an eye. "And that wave is getting closer."

Zannah’s sanity dwindled, and for once, this wasn’t a situation she could blast apart. Zannah dropped to her knees, looking up at her only hope. “Zizi. I’m sorry I hurt you and your husband’s feelings in my act against you. I’m sorry I sacrificed our friendship for the sake of my people. I’m on my knees here. I can’t lose my children! I can’t lose more family!”

Kahli shrugged, looking at the growing wave. “Least you already bury them. We should go Zizi.”

“No! You can’t! You have to save my children! Now! I can’t do it!”

"... I want you to remember this moment. I want you to recall how utterly helpless you feel." Zizi squatted down to look Zannah in the eye. She still betrayed no emotion on her visage. There was just a sparkle, a flicker of... absolute loathing in her eyes. "I want you to recall feeling of despair. That's how I felt then. I thought I had lost my husband. I knew I had lost who I considered a friend. All because of this lust for power, for control." She upturned one palm. "I warned you once long ago that your blasphemy, calling yourself a god, would come back to haunt you. I think this is a fair warning from the deities, don't you agree?" She then upturned the other. "Remember how one Zemlja who you thought was insignificant and who you dared to hurt still came to your rescue... for a second time. You owe me two debts, Zannah. One for rejuvenating your island all those years ago. One for saving your children now. I will collect on those debts. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow... but soon. And then, you will be the one who will not be able to defy me." The Earth Sage stated bitterly. "You're a horrible friend, you're a leader who uses her people as pawns, and you're not a deity, you're far from it. You're nothing but a power-hungry brat. Just like your brother before you. You'll never be the kind of leader you want to be."

With her peace said, Zizi brought her palms together, closing her eyes and concentrating. The children were deep in the earth. What kept them trapped? Mining equipment? No. A secret passageway? No. Was it... simply the earth crushing them? Perhaps. No time to explore with her magic. Roots started to swirl up and cover both Athena and Griffith to protect them during their journey to the surface. The wall of water, on the other hand, was threatening to tower over the island.

Being deemed Earth Sage had its perks. She worked hard for that title.

Slamming one hand on the ground, the earth rumbled, shaking and cracking open. There was a giant chasm lining the beach to consume some of the water. However, that would not be enough to stop it. Glowing green from head to toe with magical energy, Zizi summoned forth an interlocking wall of dirt, roots, vines, and foliage. It sprouted forth from the land, higher than any of the buildings, the height of the wall of water... and held true when the immense wave smacked into it.

Kahli crossed his heart, watching Zizi channel the power of her spirits magic through her. She truly was Zemlja incarnate.

Zannah said nothing in return, her pride in tatters, no words or witty comeback to give. However, when she saw the state of her children as they raised up from the earth, her panic came back to her. She pushed past Zizi to get to them. “My babies!”

Athena and Griffith were not unscathed from the quake swallowing them. Her son’s legs had been crushed, everything below his kneecaps turned into a red paste. Her daughter’s face was... dear god, it was unrecognizable, but she was alive upon feeling her pulse. Neither was conscious as the Emperor started to heavily cry. She carefully held her daughters head close to her chest, Zannah’s eyes expanded wildly in a sense of madness. The last time she held someone like this was her deceased twin. “Oh god. Oh my sweet little angels.”

Kahli turned to see what had Zannah so riled, his attention on Zizi’s magic stopping the wave. “Zizi, are you feeling all—! Oh gods…”

Zizi was gritting her teeth. And sweating. The weight of the water was more than she expected. It felt like she was trying to hold the whole ocean back. The wave was not draining into the split in the earth as quickly as she thought it would. She was shaking, her feet sliding as if she was being pushed back by an invisible force.

"I... I can't..." She managed to speak, almost sounding guttural with the magic influencing her body. A small whimper escaped between her lips, her fingers starting to bend out of place from the unseen weight. "I-It's... so h-heavy..."

Zannah turned to the wave crashing outside. It seemed that she would need to step up to protect her nation after all. Placing both her children down, she raised both her hands in the air. The clouds in the sky turned black, suddenly swirling around and blocking out the sun, except one beam that shined on the Emperor. Her eyes glowed with the intensity of rubies. The ground beneath her feet sizzled.  With her voice speaking to the sky, she released a quiet chant for the gods to hear. “Hell from below. Heaven from above. I call upon all my power. War, war, war, war. This horseman will leave its wake. Nothing will be spared from the roar of this chosen god’s final stake.”

From above in the sky, kilometres of lightning shot down into the tsunami. From deep in the sea, the water boiled as a wall of tremendous fire burst above, flames burning off the top of the magic barrier. Zizi’s wall of earth allowed Zannah to successfully decimate the crashing water, evaporating the wave down to a safe level. Kahli was terrified by the power that radiated outside, and he couldn’t even see most of it, just feel it. Nature was at war with each other in all its elements. With her magic sizzled, Zannah crashed to the beach, exhausted. “You might be the master of the earth, perhaps a goddess... but I am the God of Fire that walks this plane.”

Exhausted, her attention returned turned to her children, too tired to cry. Her rational mind was weakening after unleashing such power on the ocean’s attack. “My sweet, sweet twins...”

Zizi felt some of the weight be removed and nearly stumbled with her steps, yet still stood pushing back. The earth was swirling violently under the water. The ground was shaking once more, rumbling with aftershocks.

"That's... not the wave I'm worried about! The first wave... isn't the worst!" She panted, reaching out to touch Zannah on the shoulder. Her magic allowed the empress to see the impeding doom. "See what I see!"

How long would she be tested? The Emperor truly hoped that it wouldn’t have to come to sacrificing her humanity, but she would take that step if need be. “Then I’ll burn the entire ocean to cinders.” Zannah meant it. She would do it if she needed to. Her rage and fury built, ready to break the limits of her body, mind and soul.

Kahli was visibly worried, looking to his wife. She was a Sage. She was supposed to know what to do. “I don’t doubt you two could do something like that, but is there any other options?”

"You can't burn away the entire ocean, you egomaniac!" Zizi snapped at Zannah, the pressure getting to her. Focus, focus, she had to focus. Her sister was not here to redirect the water... wait. That was it! It could work. Whistling loudly, she obtained the attention of the other earth dragons and Zemljas that had arrived to help. "Help me form a split!!!"

"Split?" Ari'phompha was the first to approach. "You think that will work?"

"It's got to, I can't hold up the entire ocean." Zizi told the old dragon. "The second wave is always the worst. More power, and more speed."

"Like a needle into a thread."

"Exactly." She instructed. "Go tell the others. We only get one shot at this." Holding out her awkward fingers to husband, she left no room for argument. "Wrap them back into place with my belt."

“You can do this Zizi.”

Zannah charged her magical energy to its current maximum limit, a sinister energy cackling from her. All it would take is one snap of energy, like cutting a ribbon with scissors, for her to break her limits if she had the desire. “If you fail, I won’t. Take your shot Slatki.”

Zizi ignored Zannah and was praying under her breath.

"Mighty Zemlja, creator of the roots which run deep, the vines which spiral freely, the trees which grow strong, the flowers in ever beautiful bloom, I pray to you, give me the strength to protect the innocents here, I ask of you to give me your hand, your unrelenting command over the earth..."

Upward the split started to form from the oceanic plate. It was simply a wall of earth from mixed rock, melding together. With the help of her other follow Zemljas, and the earth dragons, the wall was rising... steadily... steadily. Grunting, Zizi held it together with brute force. This had to work, there was no other option. Yet when it seemed the wall would not be tall enough, just before the wave struck, it shot upwards, exponentially.

There stood no longer Zizi. But Zemlja himself.

Zannah felt a small sense of relief fill her. She wouldn’t have to become like her brother to save her people. There was a sense of serenity as the wall simply... stopped the wave. There was a crash outside, but then there was a peaceful calm.

Fel’lath eyed Zemlja carefully. Been a very long time since he seen the spirit. Least in this realm.

Zemlja was a quiet spirit. Impossibly large, the size of an oak tree, with leaves for hair and bark for skin. Even his feet resembled tree trunks. Usually, he had nothing too much to say except words of wisdom. However, this time... he looked sad at the destruction. The land was in tatters. Homes were demolished. Crops were uprooted. Yet, all this could be salvaged, but lives were still lost.

"Magic incarnate..." Zemlja spoke to Kahli and to Zannah, his voice very deep. "This was our gift to the Lorleidians. My follower has used her talents well. Despite her apparent hatred of you," His pupil-less eyes glanced in Zannah's direction. "She hates to witness suffering. To her husband, her mate," The spirit of the earth blinked slowly, looking over Kahli. "You care for her, as she does for you. Long together, will be your years. Yet, I carry word of warning for the future," He foretold, "Balance and Chaos will meet, as will Maker and Destroyer... you will have to choose which side you wish to be on. However, grudges and strife will have no place in this final battle. Green empress," He forewarned, "If you declare yourself a deity, you will have a target upon you, your loved ones, and your homes. Loose this quest for power and be content with what you have lest risk losing everything. Young Waku of fire," He added, "You left behind a life of battle, yet when the day comes, you have two paths, yet which will you take? Will you fight once again or stay behind to watch over what is yours? Beware the Black Dragon and old faces..."

Then he vanished from Zizi's body.

Zannah looked on, flabbergasted. What the hell was it even talking about? Fuck it. Fuck all of them. Her energy sizzled out her finger tips, needing to find a drain out into the world from how much gathered in her. Once down sizzling, she dragged herself to reach her children. “You can leave now Zizi.”

Being a host for Zemlja, even for a short amount of time, felt like Zizi was walking on clouds. To Zemlja it was a few minutes, to her, it felt like an eternity. She sat above the world, watching the stars pass by... and listened. She listened to what fate had left to unfold for them. Once her body was returned to her, Zizi actually felt... rejuvenated. Perhaps it was a gift from her earth spirit as thanks.

"... I will ensure the structures are stable before leaving." Zizi looked to her husband, brushing some dirt off of him. "Let's go make sure there is no one underneath rubble. Then I will leave you to whatever whims you have left, Zannah."

“Citizens! Stop gawking at the sorceress and help your fellow neighbour! The Prince and Princess need immediate medical attention! NOW!!!”

Her fury snapped the people back into action.

"Maybe you should beg for a Dusa next." Zizi muttered under her breath, walking along the rumbled pathways to sense if there were any others who needed help. She gently lifted pieces of houses, trying to undo any dangerous and unsteady pieces. So far, there were only a few people who needed help. Moving a few beams or trees was nothing.

Zannah furiously struck Zizi across the face with the back of her hand. Her children were becoming her breaking point. “Fuck you bitch!”

Kahli saw a full-on lioness fight would take place if he didn’t step in. “We’ll leave Zannah. We’ll leave. I’m certain the Queen of Danjur isn’t too far behind, and the Earth Dragons can assist, but we’ll go.”

Zizi didn't move when she was struck. Matter of fact, she had promised Kahli she would not fight. And she would hold true to that promise. Though, she didn't promise against one of her age one tricks. Zarazu and Zolori always warned others not to get Zizi mad.

"You messed with my family, Zannah." The Zemlja then actually... laughed. "But look at you now. Zemlja was right. Claim to be a deity when you're nothing but a brat and there will be a target on your back. And now your people can view you as you are. You're not their savior anymore..." Her green eyes flickered upward at the Empress. "I am."

A few of the Hasai looked their way, seeing the Emperor shouting at the Zemlja who had helped them. Murmurs started across the survivors of the disaster. This wasn't right...

“I’ll burn your entire country to ground if they die. I wouldn’t hesitate to wag war just to see your little family burn to ash. You probably organized this disaster didn’t you.”

One of Zannah’s royal guards saw knew his Emperor was being... careless, to put it lightly. “My Emperor. If I may, I think this catastrophe has weighed heavily on all of us. The royal princess and prince aren’t in stable condition yet. We should go accompany them to a hospital.”

Zannah looked down at Zizi, her golden eyes filled with madness and fury. It was honestly a coin flip if she’d attack with greater force. She didn’t turn away from Zizi when she answered her guard. “Yes. We should all be so grateful to have as much time as we can with our children.”

Finally, the Emperor turned, her heart plummeting when she laid eyes once more on her twins.

The Hasai people were shaken by today’s events. Zizi was indeed correct about being a saviour. But they also saw Zannah’s power. And truth be told, it scared them dearly. No one would dare speak such a thing now, but with the condition of the royal twins as they were currently, perhaps a regime change would be possible.

Kahli, finally, turned to his wife, placing a hand on her shoulder and examining her cheek. “You going to be alright?”

"Huh. Didn't know that stupidity was added to the mixture. You might claim to be able to win against me, or my husband, but I do have a good memory." Zizi did nothing but smile. "If you attack us... oh my, that's right." She pretended to be surprised. "If you attack my kingdom... you loose Annuciata. Your fuck buddy. Your mate. For good. She will not wage war against us. Seems like you're not only a brat, but stupid and forgetful too." She knew her not snapping and lashing out at the empress was weighing on Zannah's last nerve. She would not be the one to give in this time. When Zannah turned her attention to her children, Zizi flinched when Kahli touched her cheek. It was a little tender, but she would be all right. "Oh, I'll be fine, Kahli." Zizi assured him. "It's just a bruise, nothing more. Come... you are right, we shall leave. Let's go home and leave these ruins to Zannah."

“We can take one of the Earth Dragons back.” Once out of ear shot, Kahli ran a hand down his face. “That was very, very risky of you. She’s not mentally all together.”

"I know she's not," Zizi climbed on top of Ari'phompha and then offered Kahli her hand. "I wanted to see her break."

“If she didn’t lead an army that was fanatically driven to her, I might agree with you.”

"It's of no matter now, Kahli. I got what I wanted... and the people are safe."

Kahli nodded, giving his wife a close hug. With this, they could truly put the Empire behind them now. “Let’s go home Zizi.”

Zannah stayed by her children’s side, lamenting her failure. Why? Why did this happen to her? The strong were supposed to lead others into prosperity. The strong didn’t need to beg.

It took almost twelve hours, but suddenly, there were Sky Gliders filling the sky across the Empire. All of the floating ships were dropping supplies. Food, fresh water, medicine, and blankets... all of it was dispersed. From the largest of the Sky Gliders, Annuciata looked for Zannah. She could see that Hyrule and other nations had sent assistance, but she desperately wanted to see if the Emperor herself was alright.

Zannah, even as her people were being helped, stayed by her children. It took a direct message from T0-D to let Annuciata know the Emperor could be found at a hospital center.

Annuciata, for the first time in her life, actually looked disheveled. Her hair was frizzy, and she was wearing pants and a blouse and boots. She fit all the taboos for a Danjuran, royal woman to commit for a diplomatic visit. Then again, this was not the usual of visits so she supposed this slight curtness could be overlooked. When the robot appeared on her ship, Annuciata almost hit him with her fan she was so startled. Though, she did thank him for the message and had her ship land.

Climbing down the ladders from the ship, Annuciata started to call out for the Empress.

"Zannah?! Where are you?!"

“I’m here.”

Griffith’s legs had to be sawed off from the kneecaps to get rid of the damaged handicap. Athena had white, bloodied bandages wrapped completely around her face. Both the twins were put into forced comas at the moment. Zannah had scribbled maps of island for updates, but it looked she hadn’t moved much in her time since being beside them, if at all from her chair.

"I came as fast as the Sky Gliders would fly!" Annuciata hurried up to Zannah, huffing for air. "And... oh dear goddesses..." Her eyes fell upon Athena and Griffith and it was only she could do not to retch. Breath in. Breath out. "What... what happened?"

“A category 6 level earthquake hit the island. The earth itself swallowed their shared tower home. As they become swallowed 500 meters downwards, Griffith’s legs became crushed by the crust of the earth. Athena had sharp gravel scalp her entire face. They’re on deaths door Annuciata.” Zannah’s voice was cold, tired, and defeated.

"I... I can begin a search for healers... the best healers!" Annuciata had known the twins since they were smaller. She wouldn't let them suffer like this. There had to be a solution! "Where's Tod? I can get him to send a message to Queen Zarazu. She knows some of the best healers! There's one in Uskar, where Kanisa lives, she delivered Kanisa's baby, oh what was her name? Neera? Nana? No... Naira! That's it! We could get her and I could get a few surgeons from Danjur and maybe Labrynna would send us some of their top-notch healing potions..." The queen was rambling.

“It’s not fixable, even by regular magicians of the healing arts. I asked Hylian mages that came to assist my people. They said the damage took too much away. They can’t create the necessary matter to grow my son’s legs back. Or give my daughter her smile once more. A god appeared to save my people due to Zizi’s interference. But they did nothing to save my children.” Silent, angry tears were coming down her face as she kept her focus on her children. “They called me a brat. They made me feel I deserve this as my personal punishment. But who deserves this kind of hell? WHO!?!” Zannah screamed as she threw the maps of the table in an act of frustration. Raising her arm, she brought it down, snapping the wooden table in half.

Annuciata jumped at Zannah's outburst. Listening to her words, she did not know what to say to comfort Zannah. This was a situation where she had no experience. She lost her mother to illness. Her father died of a heart attack. But thinking the heavens above were against her? Looking at Athena and Griffith, the Queen of Danjur was at a loss for words, but something had to do.

Gently, Annuciata put her arms around Zannah's shoulders.

"I... don't know what to say to make you feel better. I don't have much experience with the supernatural." The queen spoke very quietly as to not agitate Zannah further. "I was always told that the deities are a mystery to us. There are things we do to please them, and things we do that displease them. I don't know what you believe, but... this could be a test. This could be a joke. This could simply be a natural disaster. Take your pick, but if it comes to it..." She took a slow breath. "I can always make Griffith a pair of legs, and... and I'm sure Eleonora would know something about growing artificial skin for Athena."

Zannah sobbed as the Queen spoke to her and held her. Annuciata was the only one she’d let her emotions down around. Taking deep breaths, she tried to breath more. “Zizi said I was nothing but your ‘fuck buddy’. That I’m nothing. Is that true?”

"... wait, Zizi was here?" Annuciata sounded shocked. "She actually came here?" The brief thought of why crossed her mind. What would Zizi be able to gain by coming here? ... unless it was karma really being a bitch. "I'm... I am quite surprised that she did come, love. Especially with... your history." She tried to put it lightly. "And as far as her comment, I'm sure she was just goading you. I'm here, aren't I?"

“She humiliated me and castrated my people’s belief in me is what she did.” Finally, Zannah turned to look at Annuciata. Her eyes were pink and puffy from all the crying she did. “What are we? I’ve never been your girlfriend; we’ve never been able to wed... is she right? Is that my title? A brat who’s found herself becoming a glorified concubine?”

"Love, I hate to be the logical person, though I'm sure she felt humiliated when she found out what you did to her husband." The Queen of Danjur was trying her best to remain... somewhat neutral. "Yet it doesn't excuse her behavior if she did influence your people somehow. Besides, if you were a glorified concubine, then wouldn't we be having sex all the time instead of running our countries?" Annuciata placed her forehead against Zannah's, stroking her hair to calm her. She tried to keep a bit of humor in the situation. Maybe it would help ease Zannah's worries. "I can't say that title sounds too bad if it means I get to retire. More time with you." She chuckled lightly, "And yes, you can be a brat when you don't get your way. But I still love you."

“I... this ruins everything. I thought I could step down as Emperor soon and give the throne to...” The Emperor couldn’t even finish that sentence. “They’ll never be in the condition for it.”

Zannah rested her head against Annuciata’s warm bussom. “I almost lost control today. I was so close to becoming a monster. I threatened to invade Hyrule just to kill Zizi if my children died. I was so angry...”

"You have a right to be angry. It's okay to be angry. It's not okay to lash out at someone who had nothing to do with this. She's the Earth Sage, not a killer of innocents." Annuciata held Zannah tightly, sighing. "At least... at least Zizi came. She may have done so for whatever reason, but at least she came to help. Imagine how much worse it would have been if she didn't. I love you but I can't stop an earthquake with my machines." The Queen of Danjur then told Zannah, "Let's... let's just focus right now on the twins. I'll start sketching some prototypes for Griffith and get a message to Eleonora. It won't hurt to try, will it?"

“No, it won’t ... can you stay for a while and hold me? I’m scared.”

"... it's okay to be scared too. Everyone gets scared." Annuciata kissed Zannah's forehead. "I'm not a goddess or spirit or deity of any kind, but I'll do my best by you and the twins because I love you. Regardless of whether we're wed or not, people who love each other do their best by them. I'm not going anywhere."

“I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Zannah was worried that by scorching Zizi, she was the one left with a burnt heart.

"I love you too, Zannah. Our situation is unique, for sure, but we're stronger for it." The Queen of Danjur then took a look at her lover with a quirked eyebrow "... maybe next time you'll listen when I tell you that a bad idea is a bad idea?" Annuciata jested lightly, "And don't worry too much. We'll figure out a solution for our babies."

Our. That meant the world to Zannah coming from Annuciata. “Will they be alright here without us?”

"Love, they're simply sleeping. Let Tod watch over them while you get some rest." Annuciata assured Zannah. "I'll make sure everything runs properly. You'll trust your people in my hands for a few hours, won't you?"

It was almost midnight by this point. The Emperor nodded, taking Annuciata’s hand. “It should have been me... I’m so tired.”

"How about we move you and the twins to my Sky Glider? It's no palace, but has a bed for each of you." Annuciata suggested. "I could have my soldiers move a bed into the twin’s room. That way, you'd feel better keeping an eye on them when you wake."

If they woke. Zannah slowly kissed Annuciata gently, her lips tender and light. “Once I feel safer knowing they’ll be stable, I’m going to spoil your kind soul so much. I owe you too much my love.”

"Make love, not war, Zannah." Annuciata obtained the attention of a few guards. "Please escort the empress and her children to my personal Sky Glider. Make sure they have what is needed and then return to help distribute supplies."

"Yes, my queen."

“It’s Emperor- never mind. Let’s go to bed…” Zannah almost laughed. Nothing would be same for her going forward, she felt that in the air. Perhaps fate would have been better for her if she simply had left Kahli and Zizi alone.

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Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/612606875698085888/burnt-heart-ch-7-burning-bridges-repairing Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse Shared world with @s-kinnaly

[xantchaslegacy]

MTG Month of the Ship Day 7 - Embrace

(I’m dipping into the pre-canon novels for day 7 (Shattered Chains, specifically). I loved the Whispering Woods trilogy, but they killed off one of their best characters…

…or so they would have us believe ;). Sorry if this one takes a little while to get to the embrace itself. Also, if anyone knows the actual names of Ordando’s wives, feel free to call me out. I don’t remember the novel actually naming them~)

 Ordando thought she had died in that alleyway.

How could it have happened any other way? Every blasted knight in Benalia had been there, trying to stop their escape. She’d broken about half of their faces, and taken almost as many cuts and stabs in the process. In the end she’d been buried under the weight of them, and passed out from the sheer number of her wounds.

That had been the fun part.

The year of imprisonment that followed? Less so. The Benalish pigs had at least had the decency to put their best healers toward patching her up, if only to put her through all nine spheres of torment afterwards. That ugly son of a slug with the broken nose had even come around once, spitting furious. Ordando didn’t mind any of that. Their anger was proof that her sacrifice had meant something. That Gull and Lily had managed to escape with Commander Rakel.

The threats and the blows she could weather. What truly pained her was the sitting. The waiting. The thinking that had come with it. It had seemed obvious and easy to throw herself at a small army to protect her commander, and she would have done it again in a heartbeat, but to know that Raine and Tyria would think her dead…

“Prisoner 456!”

Ordando’s head snapped up. She didn’t recognize the knight standing outside the cell.

“Where’s the warden?”

“You’re looking at him.” The knight’s gaze swept the inside of the cell, full of disgust. “New year, new caste. Get up.” He turned to one of the guards Get her in irons. We’re taking her up.”

Up. That meant execution. Ordando stood immediately, and the knight backed up a step. From Ordando’s spot on the floor, he clearly hadn’t realized she had almost two heads in height on him.

She reached up around her neck and grasped the only thing they had left her with – a thin strap of leather stung through two small brass rings. She ripped the strap off and clenched the rings in her fist. One ring from Tyria, another from Raine. She wondered if her wives still had hers. She hoped they were happy. That Gull and Greensleeves had kept them safe.

“Well? Let’s go then.” She glared down at the knight. She would go, but they would not see her cower or beg.

***

“Prisoner 456, name not given…charged with assault of over four dozen knights of Benalia, and at least seven additional deaths.” The woman in white robes pursed her lips. “Very embarrassing for the ruling caste at the time…almost as embarrassing as Sabriam’s face.” There was barely-suppressed laughter from the knights along the walls of the council chamber; a room Ordando had never thought she’d see again, and not one she particularly cared to visit a second time.

“In any case,” the woman continued, “You are now pardoned and given full release.”

Ordando cocked her head. “What?”

“You are released, with our full apologies. I think it’s clear to everyone present-” and here the woman raised an eyebrow at all the other councilmembers, “-that the buffoonery of past ruling castes can hardly be a proper reason for enforcing a life sentence.You will be transferred to the college of Lat-Nam by a delegation of knights representing Benalish interests, and there be released.”

“Lat-Nam? The magic academy from fairy tales?”

The benalish behind the bench exchanged looks. One of them leaned in toward the woman in white and muttered something.

“Hm, of course, you wouldn’t know.” The woman folded her hands on top of the paper-strewn desk. “The wizard Greensleeves has established a new community of magic-practitioners on the recently, ah…uncovered ruins of Lat-Nam. You will accompany them as part of our goodwill outreach. We hope you will be able to speak highly to the care you received during your stay, given the violent nature of your…”

She kept prattling on, but Ordando wasn’t listening. She looked down and uncurled her hand, where the rings had pressed two distinct circles of red into her palm.

***

Lat-Nam certainly looked like something out of a fairy-tale…beaches of obsidian sand glittered before deep forests of palm trees. A makeshift harbor was set atop it, with boardwalks leading further inland, and ships of all sorts at dock. A massive ogre and a man with a flaming eagle swooping about his head were directing boats and cargo.

Ordando gripped the ship’s railing tight, trying to settle her nerves.

The knights had kept her belowdeck for most of the voyage, not that Ordando much minded. She had spent the days trying to calm her stomach, a task complicated by her suddenly much more generous diet, the unfamiliar toss of the waves after over a year of pitch-black stillness, and the renewed fear for the well-being of her wives.

It had meant the world to her to know that, no matter what dangers her mercenary work had exposed her to, Raine and Tyria had each other to rely on if she couldn’t return. But the stories the benalish had been telling all voyage…armies of wizards descending on Gull’s army with lightning and swamp-monsters and all manner of nightmares…dragon machines bursting from the ground and setting fire to the camps…

“You better have kept them safe, Gull…” Ordando growled.

As the ship docked, Ordando felt her stomach drop further and further. She didn’t recognize anyone here. They’d said that thousands had flocked to join Greensleeves, but she hadn’t considered having to pick through so many strangers just to find someone who could tell her if her wives were even-

“ ‘Dando!”

Her heart leapt. The cry had come from the other side of the deck, and she sprang across the ship, bowling aside every knight to slow to move out of the way.

Tyria. Raine. Her wonderful, clever, beautiful wives. They’d avoided the crowded docks altogether and found a small rowing-boat to take out from the beach. Raine caught sight of her first, and looked well like she might have fainted there and then. Tyria gave a loud holler, and nearly leapt up out of the boat.

“Ho! Move away there!” One of the benalish hefted a crossbow and reached for a bolt. “Keep your distance or-”

Ordando took the crossbow and smashed it against the railing. Then, not waiting for the knights to respond, she vaulted over the side of the ship and into the water.

The boat was even smaller than she’d realized, and she nearly flipped it over into the water as she seized the edge to pull herself up. Raine and Tyria each took one of her hands, and Ordando flopped gracelessly into their arms, rocking the boat roughly from side to side.

She didn’t care. Two sets of arms engulfed her, wrapping around her waist and neck. Raine was sobbing, tears mingling with the saltwater, her long hair plastered against Ordando’s neck. Tyria was shouting her name, over and over again. Ordando wrapped an arm around each of them, pulling them close to her chest.

“They said you were dead…” Raine choked the words out, her face buried in Ordando’s shoulder. “I thought…we never thought…”

“Shhh…” Ordando lifted Raine’s face to her own and planted a kiss on her cheek. She did the same for Tyria, running a hand through her dark curls. “It’s fine. I’m back, and I’m never leaving you two ever-”

The ship turned on a wave and deposited all three of them into the water. Ordando lost them both briefly in the surf, but they’d washed up in the shallows, and she breached easily. Tyria came up next to her, cursing and spitting water, while Raine struggled with her now-waterlogged dress. Laughing, Ordando scooped them up in each arm and carried them up onto the black sands. Her legs, still weak from malnourishment, gave out a few steps in and they collapsed in a head together.

“My poor, brave, Ordando,” Raine sniffed, cupping her face. “They must have starved you.” Her brow suddenly furrowed, and she stared daggers up at the benalish ship. “I’ve half a mind to-”

Tyria and Ordando both pulled her back down onto the sands, and she fell with an angry pout into Ordando’s arms. Ordando planted small kisses into her wife’s brine-soaked hair while Tyria draped herself over Ordando’s shoulders.

“Never mind that, my loves.” Ordando sighed; wet, covered in sand, but content for the first time in years. “I’ll be eating my fill soon enough, as a returning hero deserves.” She took Tyria’s hand and swung her into her lap as well, where she could hug them both at once. “Gull owes me a feast after all this, I figure.”

 The above is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Peacock Prince pt 2

genre: fantasy, fairytale, mlm

words: 3k

Summary: A young man is banished to a vast garden to spend the rest of his days, cursed to grow peacock feathers from his skin and walk the grounds.

A wandering soldier is charged by the neighboring town to fetch three feathers: one for health, two for luck, and three for wealth. Unfortunately, plucking the feathers off a reluctant peacock-boy is not as easy as it sounds.

A love story of avian dimensions in 4 parts

PART 1 ~ PART 2 ~ PART 3 ~ PART 4

PART 2

Two for Luck

Daven looked into the sallow face of a woman well into her 80s, deep worry lines and valleys painted across her face, wrinkles that stretched in all directions and mapped her face like a geographic print of the past and future.

She smiles up with a guileless toothless grin, “but you got the other one so easily.” Daven’s shoulder slump and he has a bad feeling about this, “I fought several wild animals… And it was mostly luck I found the boy in the first place.” She shook her withered head, “I have a good feeling about you.” Then why is your town blackmailing me? He doesn’t bring that up.

“The one feather was very long,” he tries to say with his hands stuffed into his pockets. A young woman in an apron and long dark blue dress nodded. She had honey curls and a face that was round and sharp in all the right angles.

“And we ground it up and fed it to the sick,” she smiled prettily, “It was a heroic deed. A good one, all five were up and walking today.”

Daven opened and closed his mouth uselessly, “don’t mention it?” He tries instead with a slight wince.

“But now,” her face falls, “the fields are thirsty. Dry. You’ve seen them young soldier, they grow sick as well.” Daven felt like he was being backed into a corner, “it was a rough harvest, sure.”

Her eyes get large, like puppy dog eyes or black holes, old mother Henri makes a deep rumbling sound in her throat. “Two,” she says with a rough rasp, “for luck.” Daven frowns decidedly, “why… two?” Both the women tut at him, “two is the second most powerful number.” Mary Lee informs him with her hip jutted out. “It will be enough.” Daven gives a deep heaving sigh, “I can’t keep ripping feathers out of this guy. He’s got some dark magic on him, who knows what will happen if I piss him off again…” He trails off as he realizes he wasn’t making any headway.

The woman just smiles placidly again, “two for luck.”

Her daughter nods, “we can grind them up and sprinkle them over the soil.” Her eyes go soft again, “it would be another hero's deed.” Daven’s shoulders fall and he accepts the inevitable, “isn’t there…?” He takes a deep breath, “I mean, someone else must be able,” he struggles for the words.

“It’s you,” the old woman nods, “you were brought to us for a reason.” Was that reason a directionless horse?

He pushes his hair back and sighs, “Okay,” he looks between the village representatives, “I mean… I did it once, right?” He laughs weakly and watches the women share a small smile.

He grimaces slightly, Mary Lee reaches over and wraps something up for him. “Here,” she passes it to him, “for your troubles.” He holds a loaf of bread and feels suddenly more like an errand boy than any sort of soldier. But they were still looking at him Like That, so he has nothing else to but turn around and start walking.

The Garden was said to spread from the lakes of Dev all the way to the outer coast. Daven feels like he’s looking for trouble and eventually going to fall smack dab in the middle of it.

-----------------------------------

“Here birdie, birdie, birdie,” Daven throws some bread on the ground, “I have some good news for you.”

He throws the bread crumbs again, not without a sense of irony of course. “It’s only a little exchange.” He says loudly and wanders into the seven cherubs square (as he was calling it). He goes up to the great oak tree and rustles some of the branches with his sword before coming up empty.

“Here birdie!” He sings and tosses the breadcrumbs in the air again, some of them land in a puddle and start dissolving. He whistles and makes a kissy face at the trees. “I’ve got a treat for you.”

It’s quiet with the exception of distant sound of bird calls and the wind whipping through the numerous corridors of the garden. His skin crawls as it always did in this place, Daven had looked for the Hunter he found the first time just outside the walls, but hadn’t had any luck this time.

“Ellis!” He tries again, “I have both shoes and a better attitude for you!”

He hears nothing, keeping his eyes on the nearest wall to make sure it doesn’t grow spikes, “and more money, and hey, I finally thought of something you can do with it!”

He takes a left turn back into the endless open-air halls and starts whistling again, “here birdie, birdie.”

Daven is internally groaning and considering his chances of leaving the province of Tefle and running as far away as he possibly can. He hears a rustling behind him instead.

He reaches for his sword.

“Do you have a death wish?” Daven pauses as he recognizes the snide voice.

“Ah,” he stands up straight and places his own self-assured smile on, “knew you couldn’t stay away.”

A boy with large ornate feathers fanned out around him was standing on the wall above him, “one step closer and I’ll jump off the other side and you’ll never find me again.” He says coolly as he stands with his hands folded over his chest and stance wide on the wall ledge.

Daven lifts his chin and studies the boy’s sharp, curious features, they were small and crafted, like there was something purposeful or thought-out about them. A small nose with a pointed mouth that curved up or down on a whim it seemed, mapping and connecting all of his features.

Ellis narrows his green eyes, “well?” Daven stood up straight, “I’m not trying the magic words this time.” “Well thank god,” he says slowly, “I would have let you keep walking around here like an idiot you know.”

Daven frowns slightly, “what changed?” Ellis hums and looms over him as he stood on the wall, “bad decision making.” His shadow falls over his face, “and curiosity. You finally thought of something I can do with the money?” He gives an easy grin, “I’m intrigued.” Daven cleared his throat, “yes.” He grins back, “the question is, of course, if gold coins agree with your stomach.” Ellis rolls his eyes spectacularly, “I’m not a dragon.”

“I have bread then.” “Wow, of course,” he tuts, “you’re lucky I’m a forgiving man after that ‘birdie’ nonsense.”

Daven bounces his eyebrows up and down, “I thought you might like that.” He makes a face at him, “ah, am I that easy to read?” He puts a hand out, “if you gave me your feathers readily, for a good cause that is, it’d be a lot less easy.”

He blows a stray strand of white-blonde hair out of his face, “why's that?” Daven puts on a somber expression, “good people don’t get cursed.”

Ellis’s expression pinches, “you’re really winning yourself over with this one,” he seems to go to turn around, “I really don’t know why I bother.” “Wait,” Daven fumbles for his pack, “all in good fun, all in good fun. I have something for you.” “I don’t eat gold coins for God’s sake,” he waves his hand in the air, “but I am considering soldiers and their poor social graces right now.” He bares his shiny white teeth and Daven shakes his head.

“You are a gracious and good Peacock lord, I’m sure.” “Watch it,” the boy says carefully, “180s like that can make one dizzy.” He takes a deep breath in, “alright, so I’m not good at this,” he lifts something out of his pack, “but I do have these.” He unwraps a neat pair of shiny black buckled shoes as he held them up to the light, “they’re flexible so they’ll fit a lot of sizes.”

The boy examines him carefully before clearing his throat, “you really think I need shoes?” Daven frowns slightly, “there’s poison puddles everywhere.” He pauses, “So, yes?” Ellis shakes his head, “you are as sharp as a blunt sword I see,” the boy kicks the top of the wall lightly, “And I don’t want your bribery.”

“It’s for a good cause!” He hears himself almost whine, “the village people’s crops are dying.”

“Oh no,” Ellis places his hands on his cheeks, “not the village people’s crops.” Daven’s narrows his eyes, the sun frames the feathers of the strange boy, “spoken like a true peacock prince.” “Look,” Ellis dances his hand through the air, “there’s always going to be villages whose crops don’t come in right. And little old ladies who need wishes and young lads who steal your feathers for lasses they want to bang.” He takes a deep breath, “I’ve been here a long time little soldier. And there’s always more people who need things.” Daven almost went to clap sardonically, “Look, I’m not trying to appeal to your… humanity,” he says the word carefully, rolling it around and feeling out the syllables. “But there must be something you want.” Ellis looks him up and down, “you’re pretty cocky for a common soldier.” Daven opens his mouth with a stubborn jut of his jaw, “I’m not entirely common.” And I’m no longer entirely a soldier.

“Good then,” Ellis sprouts a rough smile that prickled across Daven’s skin like sandpaper, a manic energy bursting from it like a flood over a levy system. “Take your sword off.”

Daven hesitates for a long second, he holds his iron green gaze for a long moment, “and you’ll give me a feather? Or… I, uh,” he hesitates, “I need two this time.” Ellis gives a deep sigh, “I know.”

Daven reaches for his sword, holding it tentatively before lifting it carefully out of it’s hilt and holding it up. “Where do you want it?” Ellis cocks his head to the side, “place it at my feet.”

Daven scoffs slightly, “of course.” He approaches carefully, slowly, gently, placing the beat-up, aged thing just below his bare feet.

“Was it your father’s or anything?” Ellis asks slowly and Daven hums for a second.

“Yes,” he says, keeping hard eye contact with him.

Ellis’s face spreads wide open again, “liar.” He shrugs, “alright, it’s standard military issue. But does that really matter?” “It doesn’t,” Ellis leans forward, posing like a tense house cat on the brink of springing. He drops down to the ground and deftly picks the sword up, “I just wanted to know more about you.” “My name is Daven Porter,” he says carefully, “I’m 22, I have two sisters and a mum. I like pears and have never seen the ocean. And,” he pauses gently for a moment, “I would like two feathers. Please.”

Ellis was still observing him, balancing the sword in his hand and whooshing it just above his head, he gives him a cool look. “The rest of it.” Daven screws up his face, “the rest of what? That’s my only sword mate.”

Ellis pouts slightly, “the rest of it. I’ll take your belt first.” Daven’s eyes go wide and his cheeks flare up, “I beg your pardon?” “Your clothes.” He says the words slowly, mouthing around them and putting his hands on his hips, “honestly, it’s like I’m squawking up here instead of speaking.”

Daven might have smiled at that if his face wasn’t falling apart like cloth scraps a off a beggar, “you can’t be serious.” Ellis shrugs, “it’s only fair. You want to make me bare, it’s only fair you do the same first.” Daven makes a face at him and takes a step backward, “And then what?” He scowls, “you put on my trousers? Yours look fine.” “No,” he says slowly, “then I make a nice little fire and you walk home.”

Daven put his hands on his hips, “I’m not walking home naked. Who are you?” He laughs, “no feathers then!”

Daven takes a deep huffy breath, he turns around and takes a few angry steps, and then he turns back around again. He knew what would happen if he didn’t return with the feathers.

He groans and buries his face in his hands, “this is mad.” Ellis chuckles and sings, “An eye for an eye sir.” He scowls up between his fingers, “It’s not the same.” Ellis shrugs, “Well, looks like you’re going home empty h-”

“Alright, alright,” He takes one heavy breath that weighed him down like stones in a river bed, he hunches over slightly, “at least turn around.” He hears a sharp laugh, he imagined his white-blonde curls bouncing. “You watch my feathers fall out and stand there and gawk. It’s only fair.” “Ugh,” he reaches for his pants, “this is why you’re trapped here.” He says as starts unbuckling, “good people don’t get cursed.” Ellis waves a hand through the air, “but they do get naked, chop chop.” “You’re enjoying this,” He fumbles slightly with his belt loop and the end of his shirt for a long moment.

“It’s like drinking nectar,” he says with a smile, “I may even give you the feathers.” Daven scowls at him, “I will burn this place down if-” “It’s just a little embarrassment,” he tuts, “and feel free to try. I’d gladly watch this place go up in flames too.” He says the last part with hints of bright yellow bitterness around the edges.

Daven refuses to look away as he yanks his shirt over his head and then both of his socks off one by one. “Are you even going to wear these shoes?” He says as he puts the two pairs next to each other.

“Absolutely not,” the boy winks, “birdie.” “You’re the bird,” he grumbles, “and the bastard.” “I’ll take it,” he wags a finger in the air, “and feel free to put on a show for the last bit. A had a lass do the same for me in a tavern and it honestly almost got three feathers out of me.” Daven makes a face at him, “you go to taverns?” He squints, “Like that?” Ellis’s features become somehow more edged and perplexing, “No. Before I was like this. But I would still have given her anything if she asked, feathers included.” Daven rolled his eyes, “you’re impossible.” “And you’re not naked!” He lears over him, “What upsetting evident facts.” He makes a face at him, “You’re going to die alone.” “Or in a poison puddle, either one, I won’t complain.” Daven doesn’t know how to respond to that so he reaches for his pants, he takes a deep breath in and tries not to show the stiffness in his movements and tension building in his shoulders. Make it natural. Normal.

He can’t help it, he looks down at his feet as he wrenches his trousers down. Ellis at least has the decency not to laugh or jeer or some other bastardly behavior, he just nods. Daven feels the cool breeze whisk between his thighs and thinks a series of uncharitable thoughts toward this garden, all birds, and all bird boys.

He crosses his arms over his chest and widens his stance, “happy?” Ellis just shrugs and looks at his nails, “not really?” “Ugh,” he takes a series of deep breaths in through his nose, he thrusts his hand out, “I did what you asked.”

Ellis gives him a cool look, “sure.” Daven takes a dangerous step forward, “Look, I’d be unsurprised if you’re not a man of your word, but this whole village’s crop is dying and they expect me to-”

“Yes, yes,” Ellis clapped his hands, “give me a second.” He says the last part under his breath, Daven just opens and closes his mouth like an angry snapping turtle.

“I’ll give you ten.” He put his fingers up and started to count, “Ten seconds.” He says loudly, “One… two…” Ellis rolled his eyes, “I’m not as scared of a man with his trousers down as you might think… but.” He reaches behind him and seems to search around for something on his shoulder blade. He started to pull, “Uh,” he grunts, “There.”

Daven’s eyes go a little wide, Ellis flinched, brow furrowing and expression pinching, body bunching up as he yanks at something. The boy takes a deep breath and holds a single peacock feather out.

Daven just begrudgingly holds up two fingers, “alright. Thank you.” He clears his throat, “for two that is.” He says pointedly, Ellis just shakes his head. “Tell them not to plant these,” Ellis grumbles, eyes still strained and colored with something metallic and heated. He pinches something on his back and yanks. “And to sow the fields earlier in the season for God’s sake.” Daven cocks his head to the side, “Is that your official message?” Ellis gives a crooked smile as he slowly lifts a second feather in his hand, “no. My official message: ooh, look at this strange man’s willy. Please laugh and cheer at your own discretion.”

Daven huffs and continues to not deliberately think about the cool breeze against his backside. “You make this so much harder than it needs to be.” Ellis pushes his curled bangs back and examines him, a placid look on his face, “If only I willingly ripped out my own plumage for anyone that asked.” He tilts his head to the side, “it’s such a shame.” “Okay, okay,” Daven put his hands up, “I get it,” he grits his teeth and puts his hand out, “thank you.”

Ellis considers Daven’s hand for a long moment, a frown line consuming him like a mushroom cloud, ricocheting off taut muscles and frozen joints. He takes one step forward and neatly, tightly lets go of the two long feathers.

If Daven didn’t know any better he would have thought the boy’s hands were shaking. But then he retracts his hands, wipes them off and lifts his chin up. “They also work as aphrodisiacs, burn salves, table centerpieces, and a cure for blindness.” Daven lifts his eyebrows, quickly taking a step back and clutching the feathers to his body, “good to know.” Ellis’s eyes were flicking over him, “so yes, you could also skip town and sell them if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Daven’s shoulders rise, “I wasn’t thinking that.” Or, at least, not right at that second. He scowls and turns around, “if you’d excuse me, I have to go save a village.” He can feel Ellis’s sunburn of a smile blaze across as his back as he turns, “you are easy to read too little soldier.” He waves behind him, “enjoy my sweaty shirt and pants,” He keeps his back completely straight as he looks behind him, “they’re covered in grime. It’ll suit you.” Ellis scoffs, “if you come back I will take more than just your clothes next time Mr. Daven.” “‘Mr’?” He doesn’t turn around as he laughs, “come on now, you’ve seen me naked. No need for the formality.” He swears he hears a full golden laugh after that, just as he turns around the next corner and tries to disappear. He finally gives in and covers himself as he faces the next stretch of garden and the inevitable mess of walking home like this.

He takes steadying breathes and keeps his eyes off the light, soft plumage in his hands. They were warm, warm and thrumming like something was alive in them.

He doesn’t look back as he leaves the garden for the second time.

<====== PART 1   ~~~~~ PART 3=======>

[cha0ticmimzy]

Here Lies the Abyss, II

Author’s Notes: The Battle is well underway when Sylthana arrives, but just what happens when she enters the fray? Word Count: 1930 Characters: Sylthana Lavellan, Cullen Rutherford, Garrett Hawke, Alistair Theirin Warnings: I don’t know what actually needs to be warned here so lets just  there be some blood?

The battle was already well underway by the time she arrived on the field, The Iron Bull, Solas, and Cassandra behind her. Hawke and Alistair had arrived well before she did.

And what a battle it was.

Her gaze swept across the fortress, taking note of how the Inquisition seemed to be winning thus far. But she knew far too well how quickly the tides could change. Cullen was easy to spot, with that blond hair and fur cloak. She made her way through the battle, paying no mind to the carnage that covered the ground, ignoring the blood that soaked the souls the of her boots.

So many souls, lost.

“Pull back, they’re through!” The panicked shout echoed through the night. A grim, gleeful smile curled her lips before another voice made her pause.

“Alright, Inquisitor. You have your way in. Best make use of it!” Cullen called out, voice rough from yelling commands. “We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.” Grim determination.

“There’s a worrying lack of specificity there, Commander,” she teased, smirking despite the worry that coursed through her. Seeing Cullen here- it made her fears come through. She couldn’t bare to think on if she l o s t him.

“There are more of them than I was hoping, Inquisitor.” A breath of a laugh left him.

“You don’t say?”

An amused smirk curled his lips as he shook his head. “Warden Alistair will guard your back. Hawke is with the soldiers on the battlements; he���s assisting them until you arrive.” He paused, gaze directing upwards. She turned, following his gaze. A demon appeared, snarling and hissing into the night. “There’s too much resistance on the walls. Our men on the ladders can’t get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we’ll cover your advance!”

“Don’t get yourself killed, Rutherford. I happen to like that face of yours!” Sylthana called over her shoulder as she took off in a sprint, dodging arrows and blades alike. At one point, she’d used a mound- a literal mound- of dead bodies as a platform, leaping from it onto a staircase. By the time she reached the battlements, she was covered in blood that was not her own.

The sight that greeted her was grim. 

The Wardens were fighting tooth and nail with the Inquisition. But it seemed that Hawke had managed to get them to stand down- at least, sort of. Enough that they could talk before swinging their blades.

“We could save you!” Alistair exclaimed, brows furrowing as the Warden backed away, fearful.

“Why should I trust you, Alistair? You’re a traitor to the wardens!” Sylthana was surprised at the amount of fear in his voice, causing his words to tremble. “Clarell called for your death!” Ouch.

“The Inquisition is here to stop Clarell, not to kill Wardens!” She yelled back, nose scrunching up in anger and annoyance. “If you f a l l back, you won’t be h a r m e d!”

Clarity seemed to break through. “Alright,” the warden agreed. “My men will stay back. We don’t want no part in this. Deal with Clarell as you must.”

“Wardens! We are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect!” Clarell called out across the battlefield, rallying her men once more.

“The Inquisition is inside, Clarell!” Erimond exclaimed, scowling. “We’ve no time to stand upon ceremony!”

Clarell’s eyes narrowed at the Tevinter mage, lip curling. “These men and women are giving their lives, Magister! That might mean little in Tevinter,” she took pride in the way he flinched back, “but in the Wardens, it is a sacred duty.” She didn’t back down, raising her chin to meet his gaze. Finally, he looked away, causing a smirk to curl her lips. Turning, she faced an old, familiar face. “It has been many long years, my friend.”

“Too many, Clarell,” he replied, dropping down to take a knee. “If my sword arm can no longer serve the Wardens, then my blood will have to do.” He rose, slowly, drawing his last few breaths. Battle raged on around him, the night filled with the shrieks and screams of human and demon alike. And yet- he found himself at peace, even as Clarell came behind him, arms wrapping around him, holding him tight against her body.

“It will,” Clarell reassured, voice a mixture of sorrow and promise. She wasted no time, knife slicing across his throat, spilling life’s essence upon the platform. His body fell limp, sliding to the ground.

Sylthana felt bile rise in her throat at the display she witnessed.

“Stop them! We must complete the ritual!” Erimond commanded, having taken notice of Sylthana and her merry band.

She held up a hand, causing her companions to fall still. Slowly, she walked forward, gaze tracking over each face in the courtyard. So young, so scared. “It’s done, Clarell!” She yelled, anger ripping through her words. “There’ll be no ritual and no demon army!”

“Then the Blight rises with no Wardens left to stop it, and the world dies! Is that what you want?!” Erimond called out. “And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must! But do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!”

“We make the sacrifices no one else will!” Clarell spoke up, and Sylthana found herself nor angry- no, she felt pity. They had no idea they were all just toy soldiers. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!”

“And then he binds your mages to Corypheus!” Alistair counters, eyes narrowing.

Clarell felt a horrible, sinking feeling settle in her gut as her blood turned to ice in her veins. “Corypheus?” She asked softly, shock settling in. “But he’s dead…?”

“These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarell!” Erimond attempted.

Clarell ran a hand over her face, rubbing at her eyes. Sylthana watched grimly as the Warden Commander had this new realization dumped upon her like ice water. She almost felt bad for her.

Almost.

Erimond watched her closely, panic clutching at the edges of his mind. Would she not go through with it?

“Bring it through!” Clarell finally ordered, causing Erimond to smile smugly. He watched, full of pride, as the mages all began to work the Fade, attempting to draw through the Nightmare demon.

Sylthana scowled, marching forward, Hawke keeping step with her. Alistair hesitated before joining, a few steps behind. The Wardens shifted nervously, taking hesitant steps forward. No doubt a few had seen the carnage she’d left in her wake.

“Please, I’ve seen more than my share of blood magic. It is never worth the cost.” Hawke pleaded.

“I have fought against the archdemon in Fereldan. Could you at least consider listening to me?” Alistair tried, resorting to pleading and begging.

They won’t listen, Sylthana thought to herself. None of them will. The horrid sound of the demon screeching filled the air.

“Be ready with the ritual, Clarell,” Erimond warned, glancing to the woman beside him. “This demon is truly worthy of your strength!”

“Listen to me!” She tried once more, throat straining with the force of her voice. “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!” Pleading, begging; anything to end the bloodshed. “Some of you know it, don’t you?”

“The mages who’ve done the ritual! They’re not right,” one Warden spoke up, fear written across his face. “They were my friends, but now they’re like puppets on a string!”

“You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!” Clarell cut in, shaking her head.

“He’s not afraid- you are!” Hawke yelled. “You’re afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing!”

“If this were a fight against a future Blight, I would be at your side! But it’s a lie!” Alistair scowled. The Wardens all turned, slowly, to Clarell for guidance.

Clarell stood still, the words Alistair spoke echoing in her mind. He would be… He would be here, at their side. He had been beside the Hero of Fereldan. He was THE Warden.

“Clarell, we have come so far! You’re the only one who could do this!” Erimond hissed, pleading.

“Perhaps we could… Test the truth of these charges? To prevent more bloodshed?” Clarell attempted in vain.

“Or perhaps,” Erimond all but growled, “I should bring in a more reliable ally!” Turning to face the Inquisitor, he scowled. “My Master thought you would come here, Inquisitor!” He called out as he banged his staff upon the stone beneath him. “He sent me this to welcome you!” The sound of a familiar screeching growl echoed through the night.

Sylthana felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. “No,” she whispered, taking a half step back. “No.” But the sound of wings beating in the wind sounded, and then came the scream of the dragon.

“Run!” She screamed, just before jumping for cover as the dragon swept low, a blast of that lyrium-tainted fire coming from it’s gaping maw. It circled around the fortress, ready to attack.

Clarell stumbled back a few steps, staring at Erimond in horror. That beast- he’d called forth such a terror. The truth of the situation began to settle into her bones. She had been used. She had been played a fool. Anger, disgust, both filled her system as she let loose a bolt of lightning, zapping Erimond in the back, causing him to fall to the ground with a surprised yelp. She stared down at the Magister, nose scrunching up in disgust at this… This snake of a man.

“Clarell,” Erimond tried, voice nervous as he watched her raise her staff, lighting zapping about it, “wait-” but it was too late, for she’d already let loose a bolt towards the dragon.

Sylthana felt panic rise in her.

The dragon let out a bellow before releasing a stream of lyrium-tianted fire.

Sylthana wanted to run as she watched it fly overhead.

“Help the Inquisitor!” Clarell ordered, making the elf turn in surprise. She didn’t stick around, taking off in a sprint with her companions falling in behind her, albeit they were slower than she was. Chaos had ensued around her- demons, chasing. Men and women crying out for help, releasing a final yell before their death. She nearly found herself in the midst of dragon fire had she not stopped in time.

She managed to make it to a platform, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Erimond, lying upon the ground. Clarell stood above his body, anger practically radiating off of her. The dragon came back, grabbing Clarell and taking flight for a moment, before flinging her down upon the stone. Sylthana felt herself trembling in fear as the beast surged forward.

“In war, victory,” Clarell murmured as she crawled forward, “in peace, vigilance.” She let loose a bolt of lightning, shocking the dragon, causing the dragon to fly upwards, only to not quite land upon the edge of the ledge. It fell, causing the stone pathway to begin to crumble with it. Try as she might, Sylthana couldn’t get her footing, wobbling about. And yet, she managed to dive, grabbing hold of Alistair’s hand and pulling him up to safety.

But that safety didn’t last- no, for the pathway beneath her crumbled, and then she was falling.

[balancedpluto]

All arcana asks ;)

I hate u so much Hayden. Putting it under a read more cuz HECK this is a lot. Also u can clearly tell Rose is my most fleshed out apprentice lmao. U can also tell when I started to burn out lol. THIS TOOK ME ALL DAY HECK

1. Name? Surname?Rose LaFontaineAaron (???)Lyra (???)

2. Any Family?Rose: she has a sister who’s 10 years older than her named Yvette, she’s a pirate. And her mother still lives in Fantasy France.Aaron: SO MANYLyra:….she doesn’t like to talk about it

3.Any Familiar?Rose: A bull mastiff named Mika who can change in size (so she can fit in a pocket or be the size of a horse, at her will)Aaron: A bearded dragon named Sir Slappy Skiddaddly the Third Lyra: A cute little rat named Pixie

4.Asra, Nadia, or Julian?Rose: JulianAaron: AsraLyra: Nadia

5. Best strength in magic?Rose: IllusionsAaron: Fire magic. Anyone who follows Eereree saw this coming.Lyra: the creation and manipulation of light

6. Favorite color?Rose: Maroon or light pink Aaron: Red. Surprise surprise Lyra: Purple

7. Favorite number?Rose: 69Aaron: 420Lyra: HOW DID YOU TWO ANSWER THAT SO FAST??? Uhh, 7?

8. Sexuality?Rose: BiAaron: PanLyra: Lesbian

9. Weird hobby?Rose: not really weird so much as unexpected for her, but she likes to sew and knit.Aaron: Weed lmaoLyra: Buying books but never actually getting around to reading them.

10. Favorite season?Rose: SpringAaron: FallLyra: Spring as well

11. Favorite weather?Rose: Sunny, but not hot.Aaron: Thunderstorms Lyra: Drizzly

12. Favorite place in Vesuvia?Rose: The Raven, or Mazelinka’s place. She loves that lady like she was her own grandmother.Aaron: The market. That pumpkin bread thoLyra: The palace library

13. How does their laughter sound like?Rose: Sober, its a soft almost teasing giggle. Drunk, loud cackling. Both are very charming in their own way.Aaron: LOUDLyra: giggling and soft snorting

14. How do they look like when they cry?Rose: She doesn’t cry often so when she does its…a lot. Loud gross sobbing often accompanied by yelling. Its not pretty.Aaron: Ghibli tears. You can’t convince me otherwise.Lyra: A lot of sniffling

15. What do they like to wear?Rose: Long dresses/skirts with low cut tops. Her brests are her best asset and she’s gonna show em whether you like it or not.Aaron: Tits out. That’s all u need to know.Lyra: Long, modest cut dresses with a corset. Very simple, but she always looke nice.

16. What are their fears?Rose: Fears? Don’t know her. (Actually death, which is…ironic considering the circumstances)Aaron: Abandonment. And cockroaches.Lyra: Rejection. The dark.

17. What do they like to do Friday night?Rose: put on fancy lingerie, get wasted, and play card games.Aaron: Blaze it lmaoLyra: (cuddling with Nadia) Reading

18. Do they use makeup?Yes. All 3 of them.

19. Favorite food?Rose: Mama LaFontaine’s crepesAaron: Spicy Vegetarian ChiliLyra: Cookies (technically not FOOD, but sweets are her big weakness)

20. Favorite drink?Rose: Rosé wine. Sounds redundant considering her name, but thats why she likes it. Growing up she thought it was named after her.Aaron: Just water, surprisingly.Lyra: Green tea

21. Zodiac sign?Rose: CancerAaron: Cancer Lyra: Aquarius(I dont care i have two apprentices that are the same sign leave me alone)

22. Day of birth?Honestly haven’t even thought if that lmao

23. Favorite movie?Rose: Heathers. She loves a bad bitch movie.Aaron: Shrek. Lyra: Not really a movie person tbh. She likes Disney stuff tho.

24. Favorite music genre?Rose: Classic rock or indie. Also has an interest in things involving old or obscure instruments.Aaron: Pop PunkLyra: Soft indie or video game soundtracks

25. Favorite song?Rose: Over the Hills and Far Away- Patty GurdyAaron: It’s Never Sunny in South Philadelphia-The Wonder YearsLyra: Youth- Daughter

26. Favorite TV show?Rose: Likes to watch cooking shows cuz its usually the only thing good onAaron: Doesn’t really do TVLyra: Also not really into TV, will put on like, QVC or something for background noise tho (im guilty of this)

27. What is their style?Rose: Like i said before. Long skirt, tits OUT.Aaron: Lazy but somehow manages to look hot? How does he do that???Lyra: Simple and modest, but always in pretty colors.

28. Any mental health issues?Rose: She has some anger issues, along with a tendency to bottle everything upAaron: hrrhgghh i haven’t gotten that deep with him WHOOPSLyra: Really bad anxiety

29. Any health issues in general?Not really?

30. Are they human?Yeah….or are they dancer?

31. Favorite book?Rose: She honestly can’t remember the last time she had time to read for fun.Aaron: Wtf is a book lolLyra: Don’t make her choose for the love of god

32. Favorite book genre?The person writing these questions assumes I know books lmao

33. Favorite time of the day?Rose: SunsetAaron: Early afternoonLyra: Like, really early morning. My sweet child why are you awake this early

34. If they weren’t a magician, who would they be?Rose: A pirate like her sister. Unless this is meant as like a modern AU then she’d probably sew and knit cute things and sell them online.Aaron: Probably a video game youtuber tbhLyra: Not much different, only she’d run a little mom and pop knick knack/ book store instead of a magic shop

35. Do they believe in ghosts?Yeah

36. Do they believe in aliens?Kind of?

37. Do they like sports?What is this…sport you speak of?

38. How do they look like?Sexy

Rose: 

Aaron:

Lyra:

(art by @willowwish64 )

39. What is their biggest motivation to solve the Lucio’s killer mystery?Rose: To clear Julian’s name Aaron: To make sure it wasn’t him and he just doesn’t remember. I mean…fire is kinda his thing, so…Lyra: To put Nadia’s mind at ease

40. What do they think of Lucio so far?Rose: “He’s an asshole.”Aaron: “Goatman! Fuck you, goatman!”Lyra: “I can never look at a goat again without feeling terrified”

41. What do they think of Nadia so far?Rose: “She’s the kind of woman I strive to be. I have so much respect for her.”Aaron: “A smart, capable woman. Also really hot like wowie.”Lyra: “She’s so amazing and so beautiful and i don’t know why she likes me so much, I’m so dull compared to her and-” (this can go on for hours)

42. What do they think of Asra so far?Rose: “A great friend and mentor. I’d do anything for him.”Aaron: “He’s like…a human sheep…but really skinny…imagine hugging cotton candy filled with bones…its amazing. Also dat ass.” (He loves him but he’s bad at serious answers)Lyra: “A close friend to whom i owe my life”

43. What do they think of Julian so far?Rose: “Oh, Julian. How do i begin to describe how i feel about him? I’ve never met someone who’s so smart and witty yet so dumb? And he’d do anything for you but doesn’t think he deserves the same, even though he does. And, well, i could go on but the long and the short of it is, I love that idiot.”

Aaron: “He’s like a taller, hotter version of me AND IM SO PISSED”Lyra: “he sure is…something”

44. What do they think of Portia so far?Rose: “My future sister in law???? I love her so much! ”Aaron: “She’s…so small…my god im surrounded by small people”Lyra: “She’s so lovely!! She’s like my best friend!”

45. What do they think of Muriel so far?Rose: “He…doesn’t like to talk much does he? And he’s so…TALL. Makes you wonder about…things.”Aaron: “Him big. ”Lyra: “He…kind of scares me a bit? ”

46. Do they like animals?OF COURSE

47. Are they allergic to anything?Nope

48. Do they have any talents (except magic)?Rose: Again, she’s really good at sewing/knittingAaron: He can lick his elbow. And he shows off his “skill” to everyone. Charming i know.Lyra: She’s really good with animals

49. Do they get drunk easily?Rose: No, she can hold her liquor pretty well. She usually just gets tipsyAaron and Lyra: YES

50 .What is their personality type?*fart noises*

51. What is their worst negative quality?Rose: She tends to dodge any question that’ll make her show any negative emotion. Being with Julian is kind of helping her with that, since he needs her support and she feels okay talking about this stuff with him. Also she tends to be kind of overly sexual. She doesn’t really mean to, it just happens.Aaron: He tends to take serious things as a joke sometimes.Lyra: She likes to just, avoid people. She’d rather just be alone by her own choice than face rejection.

52. What is their best positive quality?Rose: She’s like a mom? You wouldn’t think that on the surface, but she’s actually really warm and motherly.Aaron: So fucking funny.Lyra: She has a heart of gold

53. What is their position to fall asleep?Rose: She likes to fall alseep with Julian resting his head on her chest and petting his hair. Motherly instincts, i guess. Also it’s the only surefire way of making sure he sleeps. If she’s alone, on her stomach or side with her arms under the pillow.Aaron: Starfish. Asra just has to deal with it, i guess.Lyra: Curled up with Nadia. It’s where she feels safest.

54. The most uncomfortable moment they ever experienced?Rose: (spoilers) Finding out she died. Considering death is her greatest fear, it was especially hard for her to swallowAaron: When his brother found out him and Asra were fuckin…and he found out his brother and Nadia were fuckinLyra:…..

55. Their happiest memory?Rose: When she first came to Vesuvia. It was kinda scary, but there’s SO MUCH TO SEE!!Aaron: Getting Slappy. Lyra: Finding out Nadia likes her back. She nearly fainted.

56. Do they blush?Rose: Not really, if she does its hard to tellAaron: SometimesLyra: YES

57. Are they clumsy?Nah

58. Do they like jokes? Of course, they’re people, arent they?

59. How do they flirt?Rose: VERY direct. She’s not afraid to let people know what she wants.Aaron: “Hey cookin’, what’s lookin’?”Lyra: oh god she’s so bad at it help her

60. Favorite fruit?Rose: StrawberryAaron: Orange Lyra: Kiwi