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salmonthestoryteller · 3 years

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Shannara Chronicles

So I finished both seasons of the Shannara Chronicles. Love season 1, mixed feelings on season 2. Spoilers ahead!

I did grow up reading the books, but it’s been forever since I read them. So overall that didn’t affect most of my opinions on the show. My one exception is I love Flick, and was unhappy about his lack of screen time or mention in season 1. I was super salty about Eventine not being the one to tell Wil that Flick fought in the war.

I was watching the episode going: “Wow, Eventine, you hear the name Ohmsford and don’t even ask about the man who went behind enemy lines to save your sorry ass during the war?? Wth, dude. Not cool.”

So I actually did appreciate getting more Flick in season 2, and Wil finally learning his uncle had fought in the war. The scenes between Bandon and Flick were well done, and even his death worked for me. Because Flick fought a war to stop the Warlock Lord, watched his beloved brother lose his mind after that war, and there was no way he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to prevent his return.

I will also say, I do feel that Bandon should have said “Flick was right”, not “Allanon was right” in his final scene. Not just because I’m a Flick fangirl, either. Flick was the last person to try to reach out to Bandon emotionally. I also would have accepted “Wil was right.” Because Wil was his friend in season one, so if he’s going to think about who he should have listened to in the end, it should have been the people who did try their best to help him and show they cared. And the facts are, Allanon never showed Bandon he truly cared. He admitted himself that this situation existed because he pushed Bandon too hard and didn’t think of what was best for him. Because he treated him like a tool to use and not a person. So I’m not fond of them giving Allanon that moment. It’s understandable Bandon wouldn’t want to listen to Allanon. But he should have listened to Wil and/or Flick. And that’s what he should have said when facing the truth.

I actually ended up liking Eretia/Wil/Amberle in season one. It starts out and you're like - oh, god another love triangle. And by the time they’re reaching Safehold, you're like - holy shit. Not a love triangle. This is totally poly, and I’m down for it. Of course, then Amberle becomes a tree, so… But I felt like it was still addressed in season 2. Wil is jealous that Amberle talked to Eretia and didn’t talk to him, Eretia calls out Mareth on her feelings for Wil while admitting she knows what it’s like to love him. The year apart has led Wil and Eretia on different paths and to different people, but they don’t write off their history, or their shared love of Amberle.

Okay, just insert all the squeeing about the Eretria/Lyria romance in season 2 here. Because it’s gorgeous. Their fights are understandable, but not for a moment do you not think they aren’t in love through every moment of it. I just wish they’d let Eretia keep Lyria’s ring. It’s made more than obvious she will return to her, so why have her return the ring? I am so disappointed in that choice.

On the flipside, what the heck was with the Ander/Catania romance in season 2? It made no sense. It did nothing for the plot. Let’s be serious here. Given that Catania was with Bandon in season 1 - is the very reason he is on the loose - and is probably a little traumatized over her boyfriend turning evil, and the love of Ander’s life - Diane, the woman he pined over for ten years, remember her? - just died last year, the idea that they suddenly fell so madly in love Ander would consider giving up a marriage of alliance for Catania is ridiculous.

Not to mention that Catania is killed so quickly it barely matters that they’re together anyway. On that note, why did we have to kill Catania exactly? It felt so pointless to murder her. I really hate deaths that are just for drama and not for plot. And before anyone says “they had to stop her from giving Eretia’s message to Ander”: So Edian had the chance to kidnap the woman the King of the Elves is supposed to be in love with to use as a hostage against him - which would make way more tactical sense - but chose to just kill her and offer a lame excuse even Ander didn’t believe? With geniuses like this as spies and leaders, it’s a wonder The Crimson is succeeding at anything.

Sorry, but the whole Ander/Catania thing felt like it was there because

“Women and Men can’t be friends”

“We can’t have the only couple kissing in season 2 be w/w”

And nobody is ever gonna convince me those aren’t the backwards opinions that made the writers put them together in season 2, as opposed to just having her be a friend and advisor. Ander could have hesitated over the marriage cuz he still isn’t over Diane’s death and Catania could have been like, “She’d understand. She’d want you to put our people first.” And they could have kidnapped her instead of killing her and then that would explain her presence in the Crimson stronghold when Bandon took over, rather than having the Warlock Lord raise her from the dead. Edian could still have given the excuse, “Catania left cuz she disapproved of the marriage.” And Ander could still have frozen and been like, “Wait, what? She encouraged me to accept the marriage.” Almost nothing would have changed by them not being a romance and not killing Catania. (Twice at that.)

(They could also have also just… not killed Diane in season one. Just saying…)

On the note of deaths that make no sense. Let’s talk about having Ander survive the battle against Dagda Mor, witness the death of pretty much his entire family and the woman he loved, only to have him killed in season two by an antagonist who dies an episode later. Purely for drama and audience pain. Not because it makes one spit of sense for the story.

Remember how Slanter only agrees to the alliance in season one because of Ander? Because Ander was willing to let him out of the prison he’d been kept in. To make the choice as a king that, despite Slanter killing the brother he loved so much, if he wanted this alliance - then he needed Slanter. He also was willing to respect Slanter’s culture when they found the dead gnomes. If Eventine had still been in charge, Slanter would have told him to go eff himself for asking for their help, but Ander had shown Slanter he had more depth and understanding and Slanter was willing to risk his people on him being the man he hoped he was. The evolution of their alliance and tentative friendship was a great story. And then they threw it away for what?

If they killed Ander so Eretia and Lyria could be together, first Ander already knew Lyria loved Eretia and this was strictly a political marriage so he wasn’t in the way in the first place. Second, they still didn’t end the season with them together, so what was the point?

The elven-gnome alliance exists for exactly two reasons and their names are Slanter and Ander. It is not going to hold with Ander dead. For that matter, the alliance with Leah will probably not hold with him dead either. Lyria is the daughter of the woman responsible for the death of the last known (Cuz nobody knows about Mareth) member of the elven royal family. (Queen Tamlin is a fascinating and complex character, but the truth remains Ander is dead because of her machinations). In a world that has been set up as misogynistic from episode one (Amberle wasn’t supposed to run the Gauntlet because she was a girl ringing any bells?) there is no way Lyria would be able to keep the peace under these circumstances. Not because she wouldn’t be a good queen, but because she was just handed a political nightmare.

That’s before considering that part of Ander’s story both in season one and the struggle with the Crimson in season 2 is because he had spent the last ten years avoiding his duties. He wasn’t taken seriously as king because of that. Um… Lyria has the same issue. She literally was “missing” for the last year and has a history of running away. She’s going to have the same struggles Ander had in getting her people to put their faith in her, let alone other kingdom’s people. Realistically, someone would rise up, seize the throne in Arborlon - probably go for Leah first before attacking the gnomes. Or possibly vice versa. Even if Ander had lived, he and Lyria would have still had a giant mess on their hands - killing him only makes this “Yay, party, everyone’s going to stick to the alliance this time” ending feel super unrealistic. Sigh.

In a lot of ways it would have made more sense to have the Crimson’s defeat be the end of season 2 and Bandon resurrect the Warlock Lord in the finale. Not bring the Warlock Lord back for - what? 2 episodes and defeat him? It made him look really weak by comparison to Dagda Mor, and that was a bit of a disappointment for me. He’s the Warlock Lord. His defeat should have taken a whole season. I guess considering we won’t get a season 3, I get why they made sure to wrap it up in season 2. At the same time though it feels rushed after the build up.

All and all, I still enjoyed the show a lot. And I would have come back for a third season if we’d gotten one.

#meta #salmon rants #the shannara chronicles

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aldoodles · 1 year

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I heard it was Mareth appreciation hours!

#the underland chronicles #can’t get enough of this guy #Of course I love the dude who gives people hugs who do you think I am #you may ask yourself: al? Mareth is in an outfit like gregors. does that mean they dressed gregor like a soldier? the answer is yes.#i have also decreed that Mareth is a trans man. ty for coming to my ted talk #tuc Mareth #Mareth tuc #tuc #the underland chronicles fanart #gregor the overlander #mareth the human #gregor tuc #tuc gregor #al chatters #sketchy sketchy #my art #fanart #digital #tuc fanart

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cutter-kirby · 3 years

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hey guys this is my announcement that you should go read the underland chronicles it is very good and I keep forgetting how much I love mareth

#he and hamnet were in love you can’t convince me otherwise <3 #the underland chronicles #tuc #gregor the overlander #mareth. my man #howard good too he’s just a pleasant fellow

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oneunexpected · 4 years

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I love Free Day because it means I can do Whatever I Want and I get to rb it to tucweek along with the incredible art pieces and insightful analysis other people have made and mine’s just, like, TUC as vines.

Anyway. Here’s the definitive power ranking of all minor characters* in the Underland Chronicles. It's quite long, because I tried to use every character.

Icarus -this DUUUUDE. This GUYYYYY. SUCKS! -“uh-oh looks like I’m infected with the plague better fly directly into a social gathering” -would be an anti-masker probably 0/10

Reekwell and Gushgore -Fangor and Shed part two, but unfunny this time. 1/10 y’all suck give me Fangor and Shed back

Purvox -Purvox is apparently a beautiful red spider who teaches Hazard how to “speak” Spinner. That’s cool. -that’s it. Why did Suzanne even feel the need to name her? I’m grateful for the extra details but 2/10

Ajax -mean. -nobody likes him -this is probably why he gets on so well with Solovet -some sort of flier general, it seems, which is pretty cool 2/10

Hero & Kent -twins, I guess that’s fun -they’re only like eight but they still Smirk Evilly. Good for them 2/10 just because there’s 2 of them

Anchel & Daphne -some randos Keeda mentions as dead. They probably had some sort of significance to be mentioned by name but We’ll Never Know. 2/10 RIP though. I’m sure you’re worth higher than this but I don’t even know who you are

Horatio -crony #1 -has a crush on Dulcet. Didn’t we all 3.5/10. Boosted solely by association with Dulcet

Marcus -crony #2 3/10

Wevox -thought her name was Weavox until I began writing this post -sort of “Was Margaret Thatcher a Girlboss?” vibes -“As it is, Vikus, we will not drink. Web them” is a RAW line and it bounces around my head sometimes -the spiders are clearly very crafty about their political relations but she was not going to hesitate for a MOMENT to consider the ramifications of killing the monarch of Regalia and we gotta respect that -docking points for the girlboss thing, though. 4/10

Stellovet -queen of insults you gotta be honest -had an INCREDIBLE amount of impact for only having like three lines. I remember being like 11 and reading so many fics on Fan Fiction Dot Net where she was a scheming villain -funny how Luxa thinks her endgame is just becoming a princess. She doesn’t care beyond that she just wants to be royalty 4/10

Chim -baby -ok she’s 5 -doesn’t do anything but look confused and help provide a gateway for Howard to look like a good person 5/10, for years of life. What’s even your name? Chimney?

Andromeda -she’s good. She is an Absolute Beast when she crosses the Waterway with Howard and Mareth, definitely saved Mareth’s life -loves Mareth very much :) -shuns Ares at first but comes around, we still gotta knock her for this though 5/10

Clawsin & Bloodlet & Ratriff -Some folks who go to Ripred’s side, Clawsin gets blinded from the Bane, Ratriff gets his arm ripped off by the Bane, it is what it is 5/10 collectively

Reflex -man’s got jokes -very helpful with the code -shoots streamers of silk around the room when they break it -came to Regalia secretly... secretly to whom? The spinners? The gnawers? Whatever, he’s a rebel either way -I had to look up his name though, so apparently not a lot of impact. Sorry Reflex 5/10

Treflex -announced he was joining the quest, then IMMEDIATELY died. Yes king give us nothing -made a good snack? Gross. 5/10

Cevian -the scene where they find her body is beautifully written and so heartbreaking. She’s the catalyst for the entire fourth book -gives Aurora the opportunity to make her first ever big impassioned speech. It’s what Aurora deserved -still, she doesn’t get any dialogue so I can’t vote her super high 5/10

Euripides -seems nice -always described as “Vikus’ big grey bat,” never just big bat, never just grey bat -tells Luxa to teach Gregor how to ride a bat because his neck is getting bruised lol -nice of him not to embarrass Gregor though 6/10 speak up for yourself, king

Pend -takes Boots back to Regalia after the moth brings her to the crawlers’ land -Vikus recognizes him by name which is really impressive since crawlers look pretty homogenous, although we are told Vikus is better than most at picking them out. Still, Pend is probably a high rolling crawler. 6/10

The scorpions -I know I’m supposed to be doing named characters but they’re pretty cool. The passage they’re in is a really fun read. Mad respect 6/10 I’ll see y’all in Scorpio szn, baby

Razor -showed SHAME and GUILT in the first book when he got called out by Ripred -raised Pearlpelt as if he was his own. In payment, Pearlpelt knocked him off a cliff and then tried to eat him to hide the evidence 6/10

Fangor and Shed -funny dudes. -apparently constantly drunk 6/10

Gox -Gox got shit DONE, okay? Gox got shit DONE. -would eat your carcass without a moment of hesitation. It’s fine. 6/10

Hermes -this guy is great! -brings Luxa her crown -gets seriously injured while protecting Lizzie on their way to Regalia -might be dead tbh no one ever says 7/10

Keeda -okay listen. Keeda’s great. Keeda is that warrior at the Battle of Marathon who ran all the way back to Athens to report their victory and immediately die, except Keeda was reporting that the gnawers were about to invade -listen I know she was dealing with some other stuff, but Vikus asks, “how many rats?” And she says “many. Many rats” ??? No estimate? “An army?” Whatever. We give her a pass. 7/10 RIP

Pandora -FUCK -her death was possibly the MOST disturbing passage I’ve ever read. I could see it so, so vividly in my head. Man I remember the horror -she just wanted to explore 7/10 but also 2/10 for emotional trauma

Queen Athena -ICONIC one-liner in Curse of the Warmbloods, absolutely demolishes the gnawers over their treatment of the nibblers -I’m really biased towards her because Athena is my favorite goddess -probably could’ve done more for Ares, especially as seeing she’s supposed to be perceptive and a really good judge of character and whatnot 7/10

Daedalus -flinches in fear when Boots says she’s gonna sing a for him, specifically -basically pledges his life to Lizzie in the event the Code Room is attacked so that’s very nice 7/10

Heronian -she’s in a full body cast, but that will not stop her. 8/10

Susannah -can we talk about how she lost both of her siblings and she just keeps trucking along? -REALLY wish we knew more about her -clearly Very Kind. Can you please ask your daughter to be nicer -takes really good care of everyone she comes across :) 8/10

Min -creaky old cockroach dance 9/10

Frill -was cool -taught everyone the marks of secret -taught Hamnet about pacifism and stuff too -I get the feeling she was wayyyyy more important to Hazard and Hamnet and their survival than Gregor’s narrative really dives into 9/10

Mr. Cormaci -nice man. Gave Gregor quarters. 10/10

Gregor’s grandma -cool lady, you can’t deny! -tells Gregor he can’t outrun his issues -has a super cool quilt -who IS Simon??? 10/10

Scalene, Euclidian, Root, Cube, and Newton -felt obligated to include all these kiddos because they are, in fact, named, even though none of them get any dialogue or anything else for that matter, really -Scalene was a little nibbler pup that found her mom in the Arena, Euclidian and Root are two more that the mom was looking for, Newton was one that no one claimed but some other guy was like “any of us will take him” which is :’) but also, so, so sad. -Cube was the pup Luxa named that ended up in the pit in the Firelands -Scalene and Newton survived a genocide and Euclidian which is baller any way you swing it 10/10

Tick -:( :( :( -the selflessness. -I shipped her with Temp when I was 8? I can’t answer for that 10/10

York -LMAOOOO this guy’s a LEGEND -7 ft tall. -fights with a zweihander. -says fuck, canonically. -hosts hundreds of nibbler refugees -very loving uncle to Luxa, helps her learn how to rule - his exasperated affection towards Howard when he finds out Howard stayed in the Firelands even after he got sick was very cute 10/10

Honorable mentions: Perdita and Dulcet Their roles are too big in the last book to be included in this list, but these ladies both get a 10/10.

#ucfw

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mardi-nah · 4 years

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Tricks

Circus worker narrator, trickster, fae, circus setting, unrequited love, pining, enemies to lovers, a pinch of angst, vulgar language, otherwise sfw

“I am in love with you.”

My reflection glowered back at me. I grimaced at it. “I love you.”

The reflection looked pained. This wouldn’t do at all. “I have fallen in love with you.” No. “I have loved you for—no. I love you. I love you. I am in love with you. Quinn, I am in love with you. I love ya, babe.”

The glass was cool against my skin as I slumped forward, forehead to forehead with my mirror twin. I had watched so many movies, so many shows with dramatic and simpering love confessions, but it wouldn’t do. I looked like I was constipated. Or ready to murder. Mama should have bore someone cuter, curse her in her grave.

“Quinn, I—“

Someone threw the sliding door open so hard it bounced against the wall with a foreboding boom! A voice that could try a priest called out, “Oh Gwen! Gwenny, honey! Gwenster! Gwen-dah-lee!”

I didn’t fucking twitch. “What.”

“It is the strangest thing, Gwenny-poo!” A sigh, and then the unmistakable screech of bed springs as someone fell on top of my cot. “All of the stage lights have gone out! Just like—“ a snap of fingers, “—that! Can you believe it?”

Oh, hell no. “What did you do?”

Mareth gasped. “Me? I haven’t done anything! Or I’ve done a lot of things, depending on how you look at it. None of them have involved lights.”

I spun myself away from the glass to glare at him.

Mareth was grinning, green eyes glittering and black hair wildly eschew. His little black tail was curling in the air behind him, tangling with my blankets just to piss me off. “Gwendy, you’re so scary looking today!”

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“Weeeeeell …”

“Mareth!”

“It isn’t my fault it started raining indoors! How could I have known?”

“You little shit!” I screamed, charging at him to fucking throttle his horrible little neck, but he only laughed gaily and disappeared the moment I fell on the bed.

“So violent! I said I didn’t do anything!” His voice chirped from behind me.

I twisted around, hands knotting in my sheets. “You are so full of shit! Come here so I can strangle you!”

Mareth tsked at me, strolling forward but staying just out of reach of my legs and fists. “Ah-ah. If you keep that up, I won’t tell you where the control panel went.”

“What?”

“Oops.” He giggled. “Didn’t mean to tell you that part. Guess it just slipped!”

“Why you—!” I staggered to my feet, ready to tackle him and wail on him until he cried, but he was already fading out.

“Well, would you look at the time! It’s time to dash! Au revoir!” His voice echoed around my room, his laughter chasing the last remaining shreds of my sanity.

I sank back onto my bed and put my head in my hands. Guess there’d be no time to talk to Quinn about my feelings or anything else tonight.

Mareth had been a pain in the ass my entire career working with the circus. Had been a pain in everyone’s ass, just about, but he seemed to get a special pleasure seeing me screech. Lately, I’d swear he was worse than ever, and it wasn’t just me, either. Poor Quinn came into the back one night dripping molasses, his expression icier than usual. Mareth had been found in storage, tied and bound with a growing black eye. Somehow, that hadn’t stopped him from emptying Quinn’s underwear into the river later that evening.

“Is he off in the head? What the hell,” I growled as I scrambled to reassemble the control room with Joan.

“It seems our dear boy is having a tantrum,” an amused voice came from the doorway.

I looked up to see Mr. Bailey leaning against the entryway, watching us with dark eyes that had an uncalled for amount of sparkle.

“He should be whipped,” I hissed, “He’s going to destroy the show.”

“Yes, probably. At ease, girls. I’ll talk to him.”

At that point, there was nothing to do but focus on the show. If anyone could straighten Mareth out, it was Bailey.

Quinn was beautiful tonight.

He dripped a milky fog as he shouldered his way through the back, glittering wings fluttering softly behind him. His act was particularly flawless tonight—it was as if he and Odessa were of one mind, one move sinking into the next, their limbs synched beatifically.

It was such a shame he would never consider someone like me.

Of all the people to find me on that night, Mareth should not have been the one.

The cart was dark in the night, the moonlight dying it dark. Its roof was cold against my ass, but I only pressed my bare toes firmer to it. I heard the ladder scream as someone climbed it, but I didn’t turn to look.

“Well, this isn’t the most depressing place you could have chosen,” a teeth-grittingly familiar voice chirped. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, she still has teeth!” The cart groaned as he moved towards me, and next thing I knew, a pair of dark pants had their legs slung over the side of the cart beside me.

“I’m not in the mood, Mareth,” I snarled, burying my face in my arms.

“Come here to cry like a little girl in private, hmm?” He hummed, kicking his feet out. “Now I’m very disappointed. I thought you had more to you than that.”

“Are you just here to mock me? I will knock you off the fucking cart. Go. Away.”

“What is it about Quinn, I wonder? It’s definitely not his personality, given that he’s q giant asshole. It’s not his money, since he’s as broke as the rest of us. What does that leave? Hmm …”

I snapped upright, eyes burning with the old tears, with anger, with frustration and hatred and this fucking guy. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Just because he doesn’t like you doesn’t mean he’s like that with the rest of us.”

“Really? What’s he like with you, then?” Mareth was smiling that damn shit-eating smile he had, though there was something a little off about it. Must have been my more than usual desire to punch it.

“He might be moody and quiet, but he’s just as intelligent and focused.” I turned away from him, scowling into the vast dark. “He’s prosaic and graceful. His manners are impeccable. And he practices like a damn mad man.”

“So? Many of our performers are like that.”

“Like hell they are. I don’t think anyone hates their job, but Quinn is—“ my voice broke, which would have been humiliating in any situation, but more so in front of Mareth of all people. I swallowed with difficulty. “He’s admirable.”

There was a brief silence, and I thought that maybe Mareth had mercifully run out of things to say, but then he quietly continued. “Doesn’t seem that great to me.”

“What do you know of greatness? You sabotage the show every chance you get.” I rubbed my wet nose against the back of my arm and grimaced at the feeling.

“Not the show! Just you. And Quinn. Mostly.”

“Can’t you just go?” I asked miserably, sinking myself into the ball of my limbs. Fresh tears were hard at work behind my eyes, and I could feel the worrying beginnings of a sob climbing my throat. “Leave me alone for once.”

At that point, Mareth looked at me, green eyes glittering—with anger, I realized. “I would never leave you alone, Gwen.”

I stared at him, but he only stared angrily back.

When I managed to speak, it was a croak. “Why?”

“Quinn isn’t worth breaking down like a child. Stop acting so weak.”

I huffed. “What right do you have to say that? You’ve never had your heart broken.”

“Oh, please. You break my heart all the time.”

My body stiffened involuntarily; blood was drumming in my ears. His words didn’t make sense. Another prank, probably. “Cut the bullshit. I’m not in the mood for pranks.”

I started when hands grabbed my head and forced me to turn to look at him again. If anything, he looked more furious than before. I almost shrank back from the rage in his gaze, but I swallowed it down. Mareth didn’t scare me.

“You never look at me unless I make you.” His voice was unsteady, steaming in the cold night air. “The only person you can see is Quinn, but he doesn’t see anyone but himself. Don’t you get that?”

“Trust me, I get it,” I peeled his hands away, avoided his stare.

“Then why? Why him?” His real meaning went unsaid.

“I told you why. Dammit, Mareth, I thought you hated the show. Hell, I had half a mind that you hated me even more than I hated you. Why are you doing this now?” I scrubbed angrily at my eyes, mad that I was crying and even more mad that he was there to see it.

Quiet again, but only for a few beats. Mareth took a deep, shaky breath. “I hate that you love him. I can’t get you to notice me at all, and he doesn’t even care that he has it. It could have been anyone else. I don’t know why you picked him.”

“Jealous?” I sniped.

“Horribly.” He agreed.

I hadn’t expected him to say that; the surprise made me wordless for a few minutes, but I recovered. “Should I fuck you out of it? I have the strangest suspicion that your feelings will magically disappear come morning.”

“I would whole-heartedly love for you to try.”

I grabbed the sides of his head and mashed my face against his before he could react. He was surprisingly soft—his hair and his mouth and even his cheeks, lips warm and pliant under mine. I didn’t want to admit how hot I went when he moaned against me, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell him how good he felt. He was eager and compliant, letting me move and dominate him, allowing me to conquer his lap and his trousers and later, his dick.

The next morning found Mareth still in my room, for whatever reason.

He was naked, sprawled lazily over my cot, watching me put on my makeup with those smug-ass cat eyes of his. His tail was swishing slowly in the air behind him. He looked entirely too satisfied.

“Do you have what you want now, dumbass?” I asked, penciling in my eyebrows.

“Dunno. Are you going to come over tonight?”

I scoffed. “Why would I?”

In the mirror, I saw him frown, his tail stilling. “Then no, I don’t.”

We watched each other for a minute, and then I went back to putting my face on for the day, intent to avoid any further conversation.

Mareth was having none of it. “Won’t you consider it?”

“Consider what?”

“Being with me? You seemed—it was good last night, wasn’t it?” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, the tip of his tail twitching.

I eyed him in the mirror, and then smirked internally. “Give me your true name, and we can try to have a relation.”

His tail twitched again. “Oh?”

“I’m still not convinced you aren’t tricking me. Give me your name so I’ll know.” There. The matter was over.

Mareth sat up. “Is that all?”

“All”?

I blinked, and he was standing in the center of my tent, his clothes suddenly on again. “Consider it done! You may know me as—“ a gust of wind, and he was at my ear now, his mouth brushing my lobe. “Merit.”

“Your name is—?” He slapped a hand over my mouth before I could finish, wiggling his eyebrows at me in the mirror.

“Ah, ah. No spilling my secret now. I’ve just given you my soul, sweetie.”

I choked. “Your—?”

He actually did it. He gave me his—no, it must be fake. I could call his bluff.

I smiled sweetly up at him, murmuring, “Merit, why don’t you be a dear and get on your knees?”

Mareth gasped, and it wasn’t so much a sink to his knees as it was an inglorious fall. His knees hit the floor with a sharp crack and I couldn’t help but wince guiltily.

Holy fuck. He actually gave me his name.

I stood from my vanity, towering above him, staring. His eyes were gleaming madly, smile twisted into something familiar and devious. “Oh my, what ever will you do with me, Gwenny-poo?”

“You and I might be together for a long time, dear.” I brushed my hands through his hair; he tilted his head into my touch, and I fisted my fingers in his hair, making his breath hitch. “I guess I’ll have to train you.”

“Oh, please do,” he purred.

We had made a deal to try, at least. And if nothing else, I was a woman of my word.

Mareth was a very bothersome lover. I hadn’t decided if he was more or less so than before.

He whined if we didn’t have at least one meal a day together; he whined if he had to sleep alone; he whined if he couldn’t see me in the morning; he whined if I left him without a kiss goodbye; he whined if I wore something pretty and he wouldn’t be around to see it. He hated Quinn, and hated if I spent time with him, but I was a loyal partner, and he seemed to know this.

Besides, I wasn’t one to give my heart to someone who already broke it once. Mareth seemed to know this, too.

Lately Mareth had been pressing me to wear his favorite sweater—a dark green turtleneck that brought out the color of his eyes neatly. Not only was the idea of sharing clothes already ridiculous enough, but the fact that Mareth was a hell of a lot more petite than me didn’t seem to factor into his head.

“Mareth,” I said through my teeth, “This would stick to me like a second skin. I doubt it would even cover my stomach.”

“I know,” he purred.

I knocked him upside the head for that one, but he kept insisting that I “borrow” some of his clothes. I eventually caved and stuffed myself into one of his bigger jackets, and I pretended not to notice him watching me in it, or how he kept subtly trying to sniff at it after I returned it.

He also kept little useless items I gave him, which was so bizarre I couldn’t even bring it up to him. The number seemed to grow a little every time I was in his tent—a packet of toothpaste I lent him so he’d stop trying to use mine when he slept over; a pencil; a crumbled napkin I threw at him with a crude drawing of my foot on his ass; a glittery hair clip I had used to help Alice do his makeup before a show.

He was ridiculous. Absolutely bonkers.

If I obliged him in these things, it was no fault of mine. I was his girlfriend, after all, it was only natural to let your boyfriend have his needs and help meet them.

And if anyone claimed I enjoyed the little happy smile Mareth gave me when I used a pet name, or made him lunch, or wore his stupid sweater, or invited him to join me in the showers, I’d kick their ass too. And if they had the balls to claim I liked Mareth and his clingy affection and dumb tricks and loud laugh and short stature and ridiculousness, well, they might be right, but I’d still fucking end them.

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bleedingout4you · 5 years

Text

Through Time and Fading Memory - Part 2

Gif Credit

This is a the second chapter to a h/c fic for Allanon. You can also read it here on AO3.

Fandom: Shannara (TV show), Pairing: Allanon x Pyria, Rating: Mature

Chapter 1

Summary: Allanon faces off with his long time enemy, the Warlock Lord, knowing in his heart that he won’t survive this stand off. Memories of his past come unbidden into his mind. He can’t help but remember the many times that he’s stood against evil, but he also remembers the times he spent with the woman that he loved.

In This Chapter: Pyria and Eventine race to find Allanon and warn him that the Warlock Lord has returned, before he discovers Allanon’s location and destroys the last Druid......

Present Time

Steel sparked against steel as the Warlock Lord and Allanon battled for the four lands. Allanon could feel the power behind the other man’s sword and he knew that it wasn’t because the Warlock Lord was stronger, it was because he was weaker. He blocked the sword and was dealt with a blow across the face, dropping him to his knees.

“Get up.” The Warlock Lord hissed. The dark Druid always liked a good fight, and especially loved to see his victim struggling to survive. It was a sick delight that Allanon had become accustomed to experiencing when it came to the fallen Druid.

Allanon wasn’t about to give him exactly what he wanted. If he wanted a fight he would get it, but he would not be so easily defeated. He got to his feet and continued on. The Warlock Lord might be stronger, but his technique with a sword wasn’t as good as his. He tried to avoid prolonged contact, but soon their blades crossed and he was being forced down again. He refused to give up this easily and pushed back, struggling under the strength of the Warlock Lord.

He saw a glint in the other man’s eye and knew what was coming only a few moments before the dark magic connected with the center of his chest. He was flung backwards across the ground, trying to catch his breath from the impact. He could see Cogline move forward to engage the foe, and took this moment to attempt to recuperate.

He summoned what magic he could spare to heal himself just enough to fight again. He winced as another bright flash of red light lit up the space. Cogline was flung back from the fight and lay in a crumpled heap. The time for resting was over.

Allanon looked away from Cogline. He’d been injured by the Warlock Lord’s dark magic, but luckily he was still alive. He watched as the dark man stepped from the smoke. It looked like Cogline had managed to injure him, but not nearly enough. He braced himself to fight when he heard his name called.

“Father!” Mareth appeared at the foot of the stairs, her eyes widened in fear at the sight of the man across from him.

Allanon looked at his daughter. She was afraid, but like her mother she refused to let that fear control her. She didn’t turn and run, and he wished that she would. “Get out of here!” He shouted to her. He’d lost so much in his life, that he couldn't watch her be destroyed. He was destined to die here, but that did not mean she had to sacrifice herself here as well.

He heard the sound of metal scrapping against concrete and turned just in time to see the Warlock Lord send an old car directly at him. The box of old twisted steel struck him, slamming him back against the wall. The back of his head struck the wall and the world swirled into familiar blackness. This wasn’t the first time the Warlock Lord had tossed him against a wall……

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Many Years Ago

Pyria sat next to Ashala on the top step of the throne room. “I don’t see a reason to be stressed about it, Eventine.” She smiled up at her brother who was wringing his hands. “It’s just another gathering.”

She laughed at the way Eventine got so flustered over celebration planning. He was strict and organized, perfect qualities for a leader, but not perfect for celebration planning. “We do this every time we get a new batch of the chosen, just do as we did last time.”

Eventine looked down from his throne at the two women. “I really should just put you in charge of all of these things.” He sighed. “You have a much better taste when it comes to having fun and decorating.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me.” Pyria shook her head with a laugh, looking up as two young children raced into the room. Crispin and Ander seemed to be playing some sort of game that involved Ander chasing the other boy with a stick.

“Ander!” Eventine frowned at his youngest. “What did we say about running inside the throne room?”

Ander and Crispin skidded to a halt and glanced at each other. “Sorry, father.” The little curly haired boy mumbled.

Ashala cleared her throat and looked pointedly at her own son. “Crispin.”

“Sorry, King Elessedil” The other boy stuttered over the words.

Eventine couldn’t hold back his own smile regardless of how stern he attempted to look. “I accept your apology. Now don’t do it again.”

Pyria looked up as the doors swung open again and General Edensong walked in. “Papa!” the boy playing with her nephew raced into the arms of his father. She felt a warm feeling of happiness spreading in her chest as the general lifted his son into his arms.

She glanced at Ashala as she too got up to greet her husband. The General had been out at the border checking in with the guards for a few weeks and now the family celebrated being together again. It was almost bitter sweet witnessing the reunion. The years had gone by and everyone around her changed, but she felt trapped in the same place.

When Allanon had disappeared Ashala had assured her that she’d find someone new, but she hadn’t met anyone that made her feel the same way. She didn’t think she was still hung up on the mysterious man that had disappeared with almost no goodbye, but she’d never been interested in finding someone else. She almost felt guilty watching Ashala with her family, feeling a sense of envy. It must be nice to have someone to share a bed with, and to raise a family with. She forced a smile so that Eventine didn’t notice. The last thing she needed was another conversation with her brother about her lack of a spouse.

“What is the word from the border, General?” Eventine asked him, clearly pleased to be off the subject of the celebration.

General Edensong pulled himself away from his family handing his son back to his wife. “It’s strange tidings, my King.” He approached the throne with a look of grave concern on his face.

Eventine frowned. “How so?”

“There are creatures of smoke and shadow moving about.” The General noted his king’s brow furrow. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen one myself, they have been harassing the guards and random citizens.”

By harassing, Pyria assumed that he meant they’d left bodies in their wake. She’d spent enough time with her brother to read between the lines when they spoke in code to avoid any sense of panic leaking out to the people.

Eventine rubbed his beard slowly. “Why now? Do we know what they are, or why they are... harassing people?”

“I heard they are hosting interrogations. They are able to speak apparently.” The General seemed to be rather shaken, which was surprising and troubling. “They are asking for the whereabouts of the Druid.”

Pyria felt her breath turn to ice in her throat. Shadow creatures that were looking for Allanon and leaving bodies in their wake, this was worse than simply strange. She slowly glanced at her brother and she could tell he was just as concerned.

“We need to warn the Druid.” Eventine was on his feet. “He should know that some dark force is searching for him, and perhaps he can explain exactly what it is.”

“Easier said than done.” General Edensong pointed out. “No one has heard from the Druid in years.”

“I know where he is.” Pyria announced. The room grew silent as the two elves turned to her. “A year after the Druid left us, I was curious as to why he didn’t return.” She saw the look in her brother’s eyes. He knew that she’d fancied the man when she was younger. She rose to her feet deliberately looking away from her brother. “He taught me how to read some of the Druid text, and I believe I know where he is.”

She could pretend that his running off the way he did didn’t hurt her, but it wasn’t true. He knew that if he cast the spell that he’d have to go into a Druid Sleep to recover, but he hadn’t told her. She had considered him her friend and thought that he had at least owed her the truth when it came to that, but clearly he hadn’t felt the same way.

“Alright.” Eventine slowly sighed. “Let me know the location. I’ll ride out with the General personally and warn him.”

“It may not be that simple.” Pyria carefully crossed her arms watching her brother. He knew nothing about the ways of the Druids. Allanon would not be awake, and waking him up could be impossible. “We might need to protect him, not warn him.”

She could see the skepticism on his face. “Allanon had to go into a hibernative state to recover from the spell he used to protect Paranor.” She could see more confusion on her brother’s face, and knew explaining this to him would take too long. “Time is wasting. I know more about the situation than you do. I’ll ride with you.”

“Pyria….” Her brother attempted to protest, but she held her hand up to him.

“Don’t argue. I have decided.” She told him firmly. “You know that you need me on this quest, don’t be foolish.”

Eventine looked as if he wanted to protest, but it was clear that he was thinking it over. “You’re right, Pyria. We leave in within the hour.”

Pyria smiled pleasantly at her brother, glad that he’d come to his senses. She made her way to her room to get ready feeling a strange sense of nervousness tickling about in her chest. What would it be like to see Allanon again? She wondered if it would feel the same as before, but she doubted it. He would be asleep, and as much as she wanted to wake him she knew that she probably wouldn’t be able to.

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It was the same nightmare. He was standing in the middle of a hall overflowing with celebration and festivities. People from every race moved around him, bowing to him as they passed. He was in control of every last one of them. His slim fingers brushed over the steel crown that he wore. He was king of all the Four Lands and there was no one left to defy him. The great doors at the end of the hall blew open with enough force to break the wood into pieces. He felt the chill of fear plunge into his heart like a cold blade. He wanted to flee or defend himself, but he could never change the course of the dream. The shadow appeared. The Druid.

He pulled his sword free of its sheath and heard the all too familiar answering sound of the druid blade unfolding. The metal clicking together was something that haunted him even when he was awake.

He created a shield of magic to defend himself, but the Druid simply walked through the barrier as if it were made of dust. "Curse you!" He screamed as the blade arched up slicing down through his shoulder and into his chest.

"I am the last of the Druids, and I will destroy you." The voice thundered in his ears as the blade turned to fire in his chest. He could feel his body being slowly torn apart.

Brona, the Warlock Lord, bolted awake. He pulled himself into a sitting position feeling the shortness of breath and cold sweat racing down his back that he’d become accustomed to. It was always the same dream that pulled him from his sleep, instilling a deep sense of fear. He didn’t like the feeling. It was a weakness, and it left a bitter taste at the back of his tongue.

He rubbed the palm of his hand across his forehead, brushing away the sweat that had collected there. He knew better than to consider this a dream. It was a vision. A vision of his destruction. This remaining Druid was the last thing on this earth that could destroy him. Others had tried before, they had destroyed his body, but he had survived. He’d spent years upon years recovering in a tiny shack at the edge of the Wilderun, and he refused to have it be for naught.

He pulled himself off the bed and made his way across the rickety little building. It was one room and he could smell the mold on the walls. He refused to live this way much longer, but he also refused to accept death. He pushed the door open and stepped into the sunlight. He could feel the heat of the sun on his bare skin and for a moment he just enjoyed the feeling. It had taken years for him to even get close enough to a point where he could walk, let alone feel the sun on his face. It was a feeling he didn’t take for granted.

He opened his eyes and scanned the horizon. When the visions had first started coming to him he’d been unable to speak, but once his tongue was loosed he’d sent his Skull Bearers out to find the Druid. They had been searching for some months now, but none had returned for a report. Wisdom bade him to remain hidden from the world, but impatience demanded action.

He made his way back into the shack and pulled on his old clothes. They were slightly tattered, but appearances didn’t mean a thing to him. They would serve to protect him on his journey. The Skull Bearers were decent helpers, but their ability to reason was limited. They were searching for the man in the flesh, but for some reason the Druid wasn’t at Paranor, so they spiraled outwards.

Moving away from Paranor was a mistake. Brona knew the Druid would be drawn there and at the very least there would be a hint that his Bearers hadn’t seen. He made his way out of the shack again and turned to the horse they’d brought him. It wasn’t much of a creature, but it was enough to take him to the keep.

The ride was long, but Brona had been lying in rest for many years. It was almost refreshing to travel such a distance. As he crossed over the desert that had once been something greater he could see Paranor rising in the distance. A lesser man might attempt to run from his fate, but not the Warlock Lord. He understood fate. You couldn’t run from it, but you could meet with it head on and change it.

He could feel shivers of fear racing up and down his spine threatening to invade his mind, but he swallowed it back. As he neared the keep he felt a tingle in the back of his mind suggesting that he’d wasted his time and that there was nothing to be found here. “Clever.” He whispered beneath his breath. It was why the Skull Bearers hadn’t found anything, this place was cloaked with a spell. He dismounted several yards away from the door to the keep and scanned the place with his well-trained eyes. Yes, he could detect a barrier shielding the old keep. He smirked as he stepped up to the barrier. He could see Paranor on the other side, but it was not the safehold that it used to be. No, this Paranor was covered in dust and death. The Druid Order had been torn apart and their blood had painted those walls. The Druids had gotten what they deserved, and he had seen to it. He closed his eyes still being able to hear the cries of the dying. This wasn't a safehold, it was a crypt.

He reached his hand up and tapped on the barrier with his finger. He hissed as the flesh sheared off almost to bone. He turned his hand over looking at the charred flesh. Many people would react in anger, but that wasn’t something that he was feeling. He was feeling a sense of delight. He looked up from his hand and spotted a book lying on the ground just inside the barrier. The elements had mostly destroyed it, but the cover made of durable leather remained jutting out of the sand.

The Druid had cast a spell to keep the forces of evil out of the keep. It was almost poetic, because now Paranor was the one place that the Druid could be safe from him and yet he wouldn’t be there. A spell this powerful would have dreadful repercussions. No doubt the Druid would be called into the Sleep, and he would not be in any condition to go far.

Brona turned and sprang back unto his horse, knowing exactly where to go. The time to strike was now, the Druid was vulnerable. He didn’t believe in luck, but he believed those who challenged fate were rewarded. He drove the horse at a furious pace toward the closest Druid cave. The horse was worn from the journey, but he didn’t care if it dropped dead once they arrived. Today, he would kill that last Druid.

He reigned the horse to a halt at the edge of the cave entrance. He could feel the sense of victory welling up inside of him. Unless he had terribly miscalculated, the Druid would be here, completely defenseless. He slipped off the horse and drew his sword. The dark magic in the blade raced into his hand and up his arm as he stepped into the darkness in front of him.

He could see the man lying on the stone table in front of him. He looked younger than he thought he’d be. He tried to recall his face in his memory, but he wasn’t sure if he could. Most of the Druids were faceless in his memory. There were those that he hated, and then there were simply the ones he’d murdered.

Walking up to the table, he kicked a dusty pile of clothes out of his way. He rested his hand on the edge of the table and leaned over the unconscious man. “How did you escape?” He mused to himself. “Bremen was more powerful than you, but I cut him to pieces. Where did he hide you?” He laughed to himself, his eyes flitted over the body of the Druid. He noted the lines running over his arms and his fingers. The spell had taken its toll on him and he’d probably be riddled with more scars, but the Druid wouldn’t have to be worried about scars if he was dead.

It was almost disappointing that the Druid was so defenseless. There would be no fight here, but he did hope that he would wake up when the sword pierced his heart. He wanted to see the life vanish from his eyes with the knowledge that Brona had succeeded in his quest to destroy the Druid order. “Time to die, Druid.” He hissed, channeling his magic back into the sword. He raised the sword above his head prepared to bring the blade down through the other man’s heart.

The runes etched into the walls around them began to glow like embers settled in a fire pit. Brona, consumed with blood lust, didn’t notice the telltale warning signs, all he could see was the man lying in front of him. He plunged his sword down, tip first, toward the Druid’s heart.

He heard the sound of metal clicking together. Steel building upon itself. The noise that echoed in his nightmares. The Druid’s hand moved quickly, his blade slipping in front of the tip of Brona’s blade. The dark blade slipped off the Druid sword and missed the intended target, instead it sliced down through the top of the man’s shoulder.

The Druid released a muffled cry as he rolled off the table. Brona stumbled back a step at the unexpected movement. He’d wanted a fight, but there was something about the Druid foiling his quick kill that made him annoyed. He reached forward with his free hand and summoned dark magic. Death by a sword was a better way to go than being ripped apart by dark magic. The Druid had brought this fate on himself by resisting.

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Allanon was walking down the shores of the sea. He looked across the waters and could see the strange outline of Paranor in the distance. It wasn’t the Paranor he’d left behind, this one was the resting place of the spirits of the Druid order. He could sometimes speak with the others in his dreams, but only when they chose to appear to him.

He turned away from the sea and suddenly found himself inside Paranor. He inhaled a quick breath in surprise, the smell of death filled his lungs. He froze, barely daring to breathe or move. Glancing around him, he could see blood over the walls, bodies lying broken and bleeding on the floor. There was no sound, not even the sound of wind. It was silent. He could feel his blood turning to ice as he slowly started walking down the hall.

A hand reached up and grabbed his ankle. He spun around, ripping his foot clear of the man on the floor. To his horror, he was looking down at a bleeding Bremen. His master’s eyes were clouded white in death, but still his mouth moved. He couldn’t hear the words, but they echoed in his mind.

“He is coming."

Allanon stumbled back, feeling a sudden urge to flee the keep. "You....you're not supposed to be here." He stumbled over another body lying on the floor, but he couldn't take his eyes off the sight of his master. "You didn't die here, this is a mistake."

"Wake up!”

Allanon’s eyes flew open and instinctively activated his sword, drawing it up to protect himself. A blade glanced off his shoulder, the pain shocking him into full alertness as it sliced through his skin. He gasped in surprise, rolling off the table just as a powerful blast of magic struck the very place he once was.

The sickening sound of stone breaking echoed inside the cave. He could hear the table cracking apart, and feel it in his soul. The man that had entered the cave was powerful enough to destroy a Druid table. Shards of broken rock flew around him. He reached up to shield his eyes as a piece cut into the skin just above his right eyebrow.

The shock wave, released as the magic within the table was destroyed, hit him next. His body was lifted from the ground and slammed into the back of the cave wall as if he was nothing but a simple doll. He could hear the sound of his ribs give way as he hit, feeling a wave of blistering heat wash over his exposed side. He could tell that his entire right side from his ankle, up his leg, back, and arm were covered in severe burns. The shock of what was happening numbed his body to the pain briefly, and stole his breath. He tried to breathe in, but all he could do was pull in a weak shaky gasp of air.

The cloaked figure moved forward, his hand lighting up with another flame of red magic. Allanon’s ears were ringing from impacting with the wall, but through the fog he could hear the cold laughter. He also heard something else. It sounded like someone was calling his name. He heard it again and forced himself to his feet. He stared back at the shadow that approached him.

The man cloaked in shadows lifted his arm, preparing to throw another blast of magic. Allanon knew that the person he was dealing with was powerful, and he hoped that his own magic was powerful enough to at least hold him back. Lifting his arm, Allanon summoned all the strength inside of him, channeling it into a deflection spell. The blue light shimmered to life in his hand. The colors of blue and red lit up the cave in a blinding flash of light.

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Pyria could feel the nervous energy eating away at her as they made for the Druid cave. She was nervous about seeing Allanon again, but she was even more concerned that they wouldn’t make it in time. If she could discern which cave he’d gone to, someone else could as well. She rested her hand on her sword hilt. She didn’t usually carry a sword, but she’d been trained in the art of battle for her own defense.

“Do you know what we are facing, Princess?” General Edensong asked her. Her brother had insisted that they bring a small army if needed. So the general had rounded up a troop of his most skilled fighters.

“I think it might be the Warlock Lord.” Pyria spoke hesitantly. “I don’t know much, but from looking over historic texts the creatures you described have only appeared when he is around.”

“That name seems familiar.” Eventine frowned. “Didn’t this man destroy the Druids?”

Pyria nodded, attempting to hide her fear. If he’d destroyed the entire Druid order, what was protecting Allanon from sharing the same fate?

“We need to be careful.” General Edensong grew tenser than before. “We can’t risk engaging with someone that has magic that powerful.”

She knew that he was right. Their fighters were skilled, but in the face of magic they were nearly powerless. They reached the rim of the knoll and looked down at the sloping hillside that led into the dessert region. “There.” She pointed to a ridge below them that wound just up the next hill and disappeared into a dark cavern.

Eventine urged his horse forward, but the general reached out his hand and caught his king’s shoulder. “Wait. Look.”

Pyria followed the point of his finger and saw a dark hooded figure riding up to the cave. “We’re too late. He’s here!” She kicked her heels against her horse’s side, but two of the guards seized her reins. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t let you go to him.” The general told her, a voice that was far too calm. “It could mean your death.”

She looked to her brother in surprise. They couldn’t have ridden this far to stand by and do nothing.

“I’m sorry, Pyria.” Eventine sighed bitterly. “I won’t risk losing you.” He looked back toward the figure that had dismounted his horse and was entering the cave. “Allanon is my friend, but we can’t run in blind. Dying won’t help him.”

“Doing nothing won’t help him either.” Pyria didn’t mean for her voice to be so cutting, but she couldn’t help it. She would not leave Allanon to die. “I’m sorry too, brother.” She slammed her elbow into the first guards face and kicked the other guard’s horse in the side causing it to buck. She urged her own horse forward once they were forced to release her reins.

She could hear her brother calling out for her, but she didn’t listen to him. The only thing that mattered right now was helping a defenseless man. She would not stand idly by and let the last Druid be killed in is sleep, solely on the grounds that she might be hurt in the process. She reined the horse to halt next to the horse the rider rode in on.

Pyria looked over the other horse, noting the blood dripping from its nostrils and sweat soaked body. She dismounted quickly. “Anyone who treats an animal this way doesn’t deserve to draw breath.” She whispered to herself.

She turned to enter the cave when a powerful blast rocked the ground, a gale force wind exploding from the cave entrance. Stumbling back, she fell on her backside, her eyes opening wide in surprise. Had she been too late?

“Allanon!” Pyria called out at the top of her lungs, scrambling to her feet. He couldn’t be dead. She refused to believe it. She made her way into the cave and saw the cloaked man in front of her. She could barely make out Allanon, hunched over towards the back of the cave. She fumbled with the sword in her belt, barely managing to free it from its sheath. “Allanon!” She shouted to him again, and then the whole world exploded into a blinding light and the explosion that followed was deafening.

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Eventine attempted to go after his sister, but General Edensong held fast to his reins. “Your Highness, you can’t.” His voice was stern. “We can’t afford to lose you.” He gestured to his guards. “They will bring her back. You need to think of your children and kingdom.”

He hated to admit that the general had a point, but he couldn’t stand the idea of his sister running into harm’s way. He watched the guards riding down the hill when the first explosion rocked the countryside. The horses by the entrance bolted and the guards were tossed from their mounts. It took Eventine everything he had to keep from getting tossed from his own horse.

“I’ve had enough of waiting.” Eventine fought his horse, trying to force it go forward, but it refused his commands. He looked up and saw his sister vanish into the cave. “Pyria!” He dismounted from his horse and took off on foot.

“Your Highness, no!” General Edensong gave chase behind him, but didn’t make an attempt to stop him, instead he fell in step beside him. “This is foolish!”

“This is about my sister!” He shouted, as they raced toward the entrance of the cave. The next blast knocked them both onto the ground in front of them. Eventine’s ears were ringing from the sound of the explosion just ahead of him. He shook his head trying to clear his hearing. If he was affected by the blast this much, he could only image what happened to his sister.

“Are you alright.” He felt the general’s hand on his shoulder and brushed him off. This wasn’t about him. He got back to his feet and stumbled up to the entrance of the cave. He was surprised it was still standing. He drew his sword and cautiously stepped inside.

The cave had suffered damages, the back of it had caved in and the stone table that stood in the center of the room was cracked in half. The strangest part was that there was no one inside the cave. He looked around in confusion, but it was as if no one had ever entered the cave. It was truly, completely empty.

“Your Grace.” General Edensong’s voice echoed in the stillness. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know.” Eventine felt a sense of dread flood his soul. “They’re just……… gone.” He turned to his general with a blank expression. People didn’t just disappear into thin air.

#Allanon #shannara chronicles #shannara #Pyria Elessedil #whump fic #eventine elessedil #my works

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