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pitterpatterpot · 5 years

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A Lion’s Pride - Chapter Six

Gavriel knows what’s approaching. It’s as if a somber cloud has fallen across the entire kingdom, its shadow overtaking everything in sight until barely the smallest hint of joy shines through. It’s been tens years, yet still they mourn. Yet they still remember.

And the actual date itself is still a week away. Seven full days of waiting, of preparing. Of people slowly preparing to mourn the death that never received the proper farewell thanks to the invasion of the kingdom ten years ago.

Lorcan is worried (though he’ll never admit it) by the quietness Elide has taken to and is trying to offer as much support as he can, Manon also visiting to scare off all whom try to pressure the young lady of the land. Aelin is scarcely seen without Rowan by her side and is never without Fenrys worryingly blinking their little messages at her, helping bring forth small smiles with his actions and words. Aedion himself has Lysandra by his side almost constantly, either in her human form or in the body of some other creature, Kyllian also returning from the Bane to simply talk with his general. Evangeline has taken to dropping little flowers and gifts of crafts around for everyone, her brave face and colourful creations helping to draw out smiles from the others as they find her surprises sitting at desks or chairs, little rays of sunshine that pierce through the clouds.

It doesn’t help that it’s been raining for a solid week.

Gavriel sighs, turning away from the window. The rain itself is light, yet the pitch-black clouds surrounding the city suggests more down pours. Walking down the hallways has become a somber act, the staff of the palace themselves becoming scarce and scant. Most training has been cut off thanks to the gruesome weather, yet Gavriel has no doubt in his mind where he’ll find Aedion.

As soon as he walks into the room he’s met with the vision of his son and queen beating each other bloody and bruised, Lysandra monitoring from the side of the indoor training ring. Without hesitation Gavriel goes to stand by Lysandra, wincing at a particularly sharp kick to the ribs that Aedion delivers, only for Aelin to bring a knee to his gut in retaliation.

He’s not sure if they’re deliberately allowing each other to land their hits, taking turns in swinging and being beaten instead of actually fighting.

“How long have they been at this?” Gavriel asks, tilting a little towards the shifter.

“An hour,” Lysandra replies flatly. “In all honestly I don’t think they’ll stop until they’ve both collapsed. Rowan took Aelin’s place in a meeting so she could have some time off to relax. I don’t think he counted this as relaxing.”

Turning back to the fight Gavriel assesses their movement. Gods, they really do look alike. From their skin, to their hair, to their eyes and the pure rage that they both contain. Something picked up by Rhoe, the prince of fire, but also something that was mangled into a twisting, buckling beast thanks to being raised in war. It’s easy to see those buckling beasts of rage as the cousins try to beat the shit out of each other. Bruises already speckle their skin, little bits of blood tickling from lips and noses. Yet it’s not even each other they’re seeing, their eyes glazed over with grief and rage to the point where their movements may just be automatic at this point, to hit and be hurt back.

“We should stop this,” Lysandra mutters, and Gavriel realises just how deeply her nails are gripping her arms. “They’ve just been exhausting themselves like this for days.”

“It’s a distraction,” Gavriel watches as they tumble and toss and fight.

So different to how so many other siblings in the world play fight. This is brutality in one of its grandest forms. In flying fists and choked roars nearly mirroring sobs. Both Lysandra and Gavriel

“We should put a stop to this,” Gavriel says. “If we can get them to stop fighting each other they may calm down a little. They don’t enjoy hurting other’s.” “They don’t enjoy hurting each other, but here they are,” Lysandra points out.

“You take Aedion, I’ll take Aelin,” Gavriel suggests. “They’ll be less likely to hurt us to a certain extent.”

“That could work,” Lysandra nods. “Can I break them up?”

“By all means.”

Holding her fingers to her lips Lysandra unleashes a piercing whistle, the sound cutting through the air and causing both cousins to freeze. They look over to her, at once stepping away from each other.

“Aedion,” Lysandra smiles at him, “come train with me.”

“I-“

“It’ll be fun,” she gives him to room to argue, grabbing his hand and leading him to another ring. “There’s still much I need to learn-“

“Your Majesty,” Gavriel dips his head at Aelin, “would you perhaps want to spar with me?”

Snorting, Aelin wipes at the blood under her nose. “You can drop the ‘Your Majesty’ you know. It’s not as if anyone else is going to walk in here.”

No, there’s little need to be proper when the queen herself is covered in bruises and blood, her clothes as torn and ruffled as her cousins. Gavriel easily winds bindings around his hands, stepping in front of his queen and raising them to be hit. “What?” Aelin raises a brow, still breathing heavily. “No actual training?”

“To centre yourself is training,” Gavriel gestures with his hands. “You’d be surprised how effective this is. Besides, you look like you’ve blown off the worst of it already.”

The worse of the rage, the sorrow.

Raising her fists, Aelin starts striking her palms. She falls into an easy rhythm, keeping her stance strong while twisting her torso to deliver a pattern of hits to Gavriel’s hands, one straight after the other. Standing solid Gavriel takes each blowing force without complaint, distantly aware of Aedion and Lysandra sparring behind him. It’s easy to see the damage Aelin and Aedion did to each other when both have to stop, heaving in breaths, after only five minutes.

“Water,” Lysandra rolls her eyes, pointing to the pitcher on the other side of the room. “You both need it.”

They watch the two cousins limp to the pitcher, talking to each other as they do.

“It’s been horrible,” Lysandra sighs, running her hands through her dark hair. “How have you been holding up?”

“I should ask you that,” Gavriel takes in her pale appearance. “You look as worn out as everyone else.”

She sends him a bemused glance. “It’s hard not to be.”

Indeed, it’s as if a little piece of everyone’s soul has been dragged through the mud, torn down the middle then sewed back onto the spirit with a gap in the defences. It’s becoming harder to ignore the oncoming date, especially for the two golden-haired royals chugging down water.

“How do we keep them from tearing each other apart?” Lysandra queries. “They’re just wearing themselves out.”

“They’re coping.”

“They’re self-destructing.”

“That seems to be their shared preferred method,” Gavriel shrugs. “I doubt there’s much we can do. Both have made it clear that they’d rather be distracted then talk.”

“But they need to talk,” Lysandra’s brows furrow. “Nothing else is helping them.”

“We’ll get there,” Gavriel places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all will.”

“Right,” Lysandra drags her eyes to his. “But there’s still seven days left.”

~~~

Gavriel watches as Fenrys blinks to his queen, Aelin doing so back in order. He turns away to allow them their privacy, long since knowing that the random actions hold deep meaning for the two. A form of communication where words all fail. But turning his sights to his son isn’t much better. Aedion sits next to Aelin, Kyllian and Lysandra to his side, chuckling quietly at a story his commander tells, the sound small and weak in comparison to his usual booming laughter and brash bellows. That in itself is enough to know that the mood is taking its toll.

Dinner has been a quiet affair, just the closest members of the court attending. Even then a silence hangs over them all, filling the spaces where no one can find easy conversation to fill in the gaps.

~~~

“We could display the sword and shield.”

Everyone looks over to his son, and from behind Aedion Gavriel can see the way his son’s fingers tighten on both the shield and sword, his swallow nearly inaudible.

“They belonged to Rhoe,” Ren quietly suggests. “We already have the water wall set up for Evalin; we could hang up the sword and shield in the middle of it. It would only be for a few days since the fire flowers symbolise him enough but it could be a good gesture for the week of mourning.”

Indeed, in the grand centre of the palace, in the open, public circle, now stands a tall wall made from smooth bricks.

Soon, metal shall be attached to the wall. Four joints, right in the centre of the colossal structure, in the shape of small fire flowers. One for the sword, and one for the shield. The weapons of Rhoe shall rest in the centre of the wall, the sword above the shield. A wall of water and weapons of fire. To represent the kingdoms lost rulers-to-be.

“Or not,” Ren amends, taking in Aedion’s stiff form. “We could use a Terrasen symbol or heirloom-“

“We should do it,” Aedion cuts in, voice firm despite his hand grabbing for Aelin’s. “Rhoe and Evalin, together, just like they were always meant to be.”

Aelin squeezes his hand back.

Five days left.

~~~

Two days later the blacksmiths have finished, presenting to Aelin the beautiful golden flowers that will be attached to the wall to act as support for two of the countries oldest weapons.

They kneel in front of Aelin’s throne, the closest members of Aelin’s court stand by her throne, watching as the four joints, are held up. No pillow for them, the joints still resting on the metal tray they had cooled against. By the bob in Aelin’s throat, the tears in her eyes, it’s clear that it’s of little bother to her. Aedion himself has to look away, Lysandra quietly slipping her hand in his, Gavriel gravitating in a little closer.

“Thank you,” Aelin clears her throat. “You can assemble them to the wall immediately.

They bow again, leaving the room.

As soon as the door is shut Aelin places her head in her hands, shoulders shaking. Aedion quickly walks towards her, no one stopping him as he wraps his arms around her and holds on tight. Everyone else gathers around the throne to stand close and offer their support, Gavriel’s heart aching at the way tears stream down Aedion’s own face before he buries it in Aelin’s hair.

Three days left.

~~~

Gavriel knows that his son has not been eating, much like Aelin. That much is obvious, with the way he hasn’t shared a meal with his son in days, with the way he can see the energy leaking out of Aedion with no real way to refuel. His sword arm dips during training, caused by both his discomfort at his substitute sword and the way he’s been running off air. The dark smudges underneath his eyes are prominent, as dark and blurred as a mascara mark caused by the tears of a broken-heart.

Not that Aedion wears mascara.

Well, except for that one time, on Fenrys’ dare. That one, single day. What a nightmare that had been…

But now is no time for reminiscing.

“Let’s stop here for today,” Gavriel suggests, gently taking the sword from his son’s hand, Aedion simply hanging loose and allowing his father to do as he pleases as he stares at the ground.

“Right,” Aedion’s lips trembly slightly, a fact that Gavriel ignores for his son’s sake.

His footsteps ring out through the room, Gavriel sorting through the weapons once he places the word back. As soon as he turns around he notices that Aedion’s turned away and is quickly wiping at his eyes. Breath hitching in his chest, Gavriel takes in the way that Aedion’s entire frame appears to be nearly collapsing in on itself, so similar to the way he held Aelin as she folded the other day.

Gavriel places the sword away, and returns back to Aedion’s side. He softly takes his son into his arms, Aedion simply allowing himself to be held as he quietly sobs, his body limp and shaking in Gavriel’s arms.

Two days left.

~~~

“You can stay, if you want.”

Aedion sits on the bed next to Aelin, eyes smudged and hair ruffled, still wearing the same sleepwear as her. “Where’s Rowan?”

“Doing his kingly duties,” Aelin waves her hands and gives a weak smile. “I ordered him to. Someone has to keep the country running.”

“Right,” Aedion reclines back against the pillows, staring at her bedroom roof.

For a moment neither of them say anything, just staring at the ceiling with the same kind of devouring silence. Aelin herself is just as ruffled as Aedion, her hair in a long, messy plait and still in her own sleepwear. No nightgowns, though. No point, and no joy in them, currently exists.

“We never got to have a proper funeral,” Aedion strangles out, his voice wobbling and thick.

Pressing her face into her cousin’s shoulder Aelin allows tears to fall. “Do you- do you remember when you went to the winter cabin with us, and we went sledding?”

“Rhoe though we were going to die,” Aedion laughs hoarsely, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Evalin just kept cheering us on as we flew. According to Gavriel my mother and her used to pull dangerous stunts together all the time, so it’s no surprise she was a supporter of our antics.”

“Fitting that their children do the same,” Aelin flashes the first real grin she’s held in days, Aedion copying the motion.

“And remember when you beat up that stable boy for making fun of how close we were?” Aelin prods his side. “You were always so touchy about that.”

Aedion raises a brow slowly, turning to stare down at her. “Like when you set a boy on fire for making fun of how I like both boys and girls? And for saying that I was weird for being so, and this is your word here, ‘pretty’?”

“He just smouldered a little bit!” Aelin chokes out a laugh. “It’s not like he didn’t deserve it. And you were pretty.”

“You ruined my reputation.”

“You were skinnier then and looked sweeter, even if you were actually a devil. You looked like me and I thought I was pretty so that made you pretty.”

“I’m not saying I don’t understand your logic,” Aedion rolls his eyes. “It’s just that when you kept saying how ‘pretty’ I was it wasn’t exactly helping my relationship with the other young males. Being your favourite already put enough of a target on my back.”

“Ech,” Aelin waves a hand in dismissal. “Half the boys were in love with you, that’s why they hated you. And being my favourite came with nothing but good benefits.”

“It destroyed a years-long relationship between Ren and I,” Aedion can’t help but smile. “The rivalry started. We beat ech other in the hallways.”

“Well, Father was always rooting for you,” Aelin says simply, before her face collapses into sorrow at the word she hasn’t spoken in years.

The two cousins sit close, falling into silence once again as they contemplate the past.

“Aedion? I miss them.”

“I know, so do I.”

~~~

Neither Aelin or Aedion have left Aelin’s room.

It’s of no surprise to anyone with what will happen, with what they will all need to do at sunrise.

Both Rowan and Lysandra leave them be out of respect, only occasionally going in to offer food and to comfort their mates when Aedion and Aelin either ask for or seem to need it. Fenrys himself lounged on the bed in wolf form, occasionally resting his head on Aelin’s legs and nosing at Aedion, turning back into his fae form halfway through to chat before giving them their privacy once again.

No one needs to guess what they’re talking about.

The tear track that spread through their laughter, their sobs, are enough of a sign. No one dares to interrupt during these moments, to ask for elaboration on the stories they tell or to jab in with their own.

Gavriel visits late at night, when light is still shining from underneath the door. Lysandra and Rowan both found somewhere else to sleep, not wanting to seperate the cousins, no, the siblings during their mourning. That’s what they are, what they have been, during these last few days. They’ve always acted like siblings, yes, Chaol himself once pointing it out, but now no one can deny the bond that the two share. No one can deny that Aedion is like a brother to Aelin, or Aelin a sister to Aedion. To do so at this point in time would be an act of both cruelty and idiocy.

Slowly opening the door, Gavriel peeks into the room. A single light illuminates the room, showing the two people sprawled across the bed, blankets cast aside as Aedion rests on his back with Aelin half-sprawled across him. Gavriel inches into the room, his feet silent as he wills all sounds to flee.

Grabbing one of the discarded sheets he drapes it over them, noticing that both are shoe-less and have appeared to have worn the same clothes they least slept in all day. They’re curled around each other, faces tear soaked.

It warms his heart as well as cracks it.

Gavriel quietly leaves the room, shutting it behind him. But not before nodding to the two green eyes birds sitting on the window sill, dutifully watching over their mates.

~~~

The ceremony was beautiful.

The entire court stood to the front as the people gathered around the monument dedicated to Aelin’s parent, all the lords and ladies and everyone else in their family. The queen stood to the front, speaking of her parents bravery and dedication to the country. Of their generosity and kindness, of their love for the people, both human and fae. Of they wild joy for freedom and, most of all, their deep devotion to each other. She speaks of how her father set time aside for her, every week, never forgetting his daughter even when he had a kingdom calling for him. How her mother had gifted her with protection, both with her arms and words. How both of them stood by her when others marked her a monster in need of controlling. She speaks of how they loved fiercely and bravely, and fought for those that were devoted to until the very last breaths they breathed. By the end of it Aelin turns to Aedion, already crying, like so many people in both the crowd and her court. Elide keeps her head high, yet rivulets of tears run down her own cheeks as she rests her back against Lorcan’s front, allowing herself to be held. Her own parents memorials are only a few weeks away. So many more will follow. Lysandra holds Aedion’s hand until he steps up to speak to the people, holding on until the very last minute.

Aedion gives his own speech, his voice steady in such a way that his sureness and stability becomes one of his greatest lies. A speech detailing how generous they were to him, to accept him into the castle when he was nothing but a foreign prince that held no land, no title and no clear parentage. How Evalin had loved her cousin fiercely, taking in her son and protecting him without hesitation. He can’t call them his parents in the speech. Because they weren’t. Because he really is a bastard prince, a foreigner, that was granted access to the country he now stands in and to call the heirs to the throne his parents could be seen as a challenge to Aelin and a disgrace.

But Aelin knows. Gavriel knows. They and everyone else watching him speak knows.

Everyone watches the gleaming wall in anticipation, the grey stones impossibly polished and smooth to the touch, almost as if coated in glass. The four fire flowers shine brightly in the sun, almost as if they are four embers glowing in the centre of the sea. Water and fire. Rhoe and Evalin. An eternal mark of their presence on the country.

But for their funeral, for their days of remembrance, more shall be added to the display.

Throat bobbing, Aelin stands in front of the wall, golden jewellery gleaming and elegant dress shinning in the sunlight as the sun rises, bathing everything in its watery glow.

Raising her hands over her head she still, urging the water to come up, up, up.

And it does. A flow of water begins to run down the wall, the small veil of liquid giving the appearance that the grand structure is a waterfall standing in the middle of the open space. Lowering her hands, Aelin allows the plumping to do the rest of the work, eyes watering at the way water cascades down the smooth surface in an elegant form. Aedion steps up next to her, Rhoe’s sword and shield in each hand. Throat bobbing, tears shinning on his cheeks, he places the shield on the lower flower joints, then the sword above it. He steps back, the flowers gleaming proudly as they brandish the weapons. As the water falls the fire flowers gleam, both proud reminders of the two people who once stood for everything Terrasen now represents.

Evalin and Rhoe, as they always were and always should have been.

~~~

Aedion feels his footsteps lag as he walks through the hallways, the sun finally beginning to set on what had been a long day of speeches and condolences, meeting with different lords and people of Terrasen who wished to give their thanks. It was kind, very kind, but at the same time there was an urge to yell. To scream. To try to leave as fast as they all could to avoid the condolences, half of them being too real from citizens that also lost loved ones and the other half entirely too fake from some of the lords of Terrasen.

He stops as he turns the corner, freezing at the way Aelin is kneeling, leaning against a doorframe, arms wrapped around herself as she stares through the open door into the room beyond.

“Hey,” Aedion kneels next to her, looking into the room.

From where they kneel they can’t see the bed, but they can see the dresser against the wall and one of the rooms windows. Like Ren’s sisters room this one had been untouched, unravelled, left in it’s pristine position.

“I still haven’t been in here,” Aelin’s voice is worn out, hoarse, destroyed and wrecked. “I know, I know it’s not the bedroom I found them in, but…”

“I’ve never been in here,” Aedion admits.

Aelin jerks her head around to look at him. “Never? What about when you had nightmares-“

“I didn’t want to bother them,” Aedion can’t keep his voice from shaking, remembering the times he curled up in his own bed, terrified of stepping out of bounds. “I just stayed in my room. I thought that if I annoyed them, that if I bothered them too much…”

“They never would have given you up,” Aelin links his hand with hers. “Never. I don’t know why I can’t go in.”

“It’s their room,” Aedion tugs on her hand. “Their possession, their memories. Remembering can be painful.”

Steadily, Aelin stands. Aedion follows her movement, and, too his surprise, is pulled into the room with her.

It’s large, three windows adorning a wall with a large bed near the one at the end. Animal pelts, pelts hunted by Rhoe himself, layer the bed along with a thick coating of dust. A carpet, just as covered in dust, layers the floor underneath the bed to help feet escape the chill early in the morning. Jewellery litters the dressers, Evalin’s, while weapons hang off joints next to it on the wall, Rhoe’s. So many different pieces of the room connect to them, bring back memories of them. All the book and bows and arrows and clothes.

Strangely enough, the tears don’t come.

Not for an empty room so layered in dust it may as well be a tomb. There’s nothing left of the two in the room, all of their presence aged away. Days of crying, weeks, and yet this room so close to the passed away couple now feels as though it belonged to strangers.

“Let’s go,” Aelin tugs on Aedion’s hand, voice a quiet, devastated whisper. “There’s nothing left here for us.”

Something cracks in Aedion’s chest at that, at the fact that he missed out on something alive and joyful. But the look on Aelin’s face, the pale colouring of her skin with the devastation in her eyes, brings guilt crumbling down. At least he didn’t loose it like she did.

They step outside of the doorway, and Aedion’s breath catches in his throat when they spot Gavriel, just walking past. He freezes at the sight of the two of them, and, without hesitation, wraps his arms around the two of them and holds them close.

Both Aelin and Aedion at first stiffen in his hold before relaxing, touched by his lack of hesitation and doubt when it came to comforting the two of them. Both of them refuse to sob, but do nothing to halt the tears springing and flowing down their cheeks. Aedion wraps an arm around his father, the other around Aelin, and closes his eyes. Aelin huddles into the hold in a way that’s unlike her it nearly brings the sons forward.

Aedion can’t help but feel as though something inside of him is made of glass, being broken and refused by the warmth created by his family again and again.

~~~

After a few minutes of being held by Gavriel, Aelin detached herself, Rowan quickly finding them and leading his mate away. Aedion and Aelin are reluctant to let each other go, yet as soon as she tilts into Rowan’s grip she allows him to lead him back to their room, and Aedion releases her, knowing that she’s safe with her mate.

Gavriel keeps an arm wrapped around Aedion, leading him to a small, abandoned stairwell. They sit on a step, gavriel finally releasing his son and passing him a cloth to stop Aedion from wiping his nose with his hand.

“Thanks,” Aedion mumbles, wiping at his face.

“Are you alright?” Gavriel asks quietly, lifting his hand to place it on his son’s back.

To his surprise Aedion places his head in his hands, sobbing openly. Startled at the change, Gavriel, having never seen his son openly cry in such a way unless ill or incredibly intoxicated, wraps his arm fully around his son and holds him. It’s terrifying, to see someone who faced off against a valg prince and has been knee-deep in bloodshed since he was a child cry so easily.

“I’m selfish,” Aedion mumbles. “I’m so- so fucking selfish.”

“What?” Gavriel leans down to look his in the eyes, brows drawn together worriedly. “You’re not selfish.”

“I am,” Aedion gasps through his sobs, horrified. “I’m so selfish. So selfish. I always looked at Aelin, Evalin and Rhoe and felt like I was an outsider looking in but she lost them, she lost them and I have you as my father but she lost them and I’m so selfish for wishing I had more-“

It’s horrible, really, how instead of keeping up Gavriel’s mind pauses at the words ‘I have you as my father.’ Father. He tries to focus back on what Aedion is saying, panicked words and breathing becoming out of control as his son continuously runs his hands through his hair.

“I just,” Aedion’s voice is still wobbled thanks to the tears, “I just wanted to be a part of their family even though I knew I couldn’t be, not really, but Aelin lost them and I got you and I’m so selfish for looking back and still wanting more-“

“Aedion, breathe,” Gavriel commands, rubbing his back. “Just take a moment and breath.”

His son does just that, sucking in great hitching breaths as he scrubs furiously at his face. It makes Gavriel almost feel like weeping himself at the way his son has become so undone, grief consuming his very being.

“I’m here,” Gavriel murmurs, pulling his son close.

There’s nothing else he can say. He won’t utter ‘it’s alright’ when he knows that it isn’t. When he knows that at the moment nothing can really compensate for the sorrow his son feels. So he holds his son until Aedion’s breathing begins to even out, the tears not slowing but the sobs reining in.

“I’m so selfish,” Aedion closes his eyes, resting against Gavriel, his voice weak and shaking. “Just… so selfish.”

Contemplating, Gavriel keeps both arms wrapped around his son. “Would you like to talk about it? About them? I still have to learn about your childhood.”

Sucking in another breath, Aedion relaxes against his father. “Aelin and I always stuck together. The amount of people she burnt and I beat up thanks to them insulting either me or her was ridiculous.”

Gavriel resists rolling his eyes at that. “So they just allowed you to go around brawling with everyone?”

“Gods, no,” Aedion chokes out, almost a small laugh resting in the sound. “Anything like that would get me an extra hour or two on training. I didn’t care, I just wanted to beat the bastards that were shitty enough to actually be afraid of Aelin. She was eight, for gods sakes.”

“Right,” Gavriel slowly starts running his hand up and down Aedion’s back, a small smile playing out at his son’s protectiveness. “What did your training include?”

“Usually a full day’s worth of training with breaks for meals in-between,” it had been gruelling, some days, but now that he knows who his birth-father is it makes sense.

“A full day?” Gavriel tilts his head in confusion. “All physical training?”

“No. Lesson’s on warfare as well. Also some history and tactical lessons.”

“Right,” Gavriel mutters, beginning to see a pattern. “And friends?”

“Ren and I were close before it became apparent I was the preferred option for the blood oath,” Aedion shrugs, looking down. “After that, thanks to pressure from his father, our friendship turned more into a rivalry. We’d beat each other in the hallways; no one ever stopped them but Aelin told me that Rhoe was apparently rooting for me,” he smiles a little at the end, as if pleased by the secret fact.

“No one ever stopped the fights?” Gavriel frowns, yet still brings his hand up to smooth and run through Aedion’s hair, an action that always seems to sooth him.

He’s just honestly grateful his son is so open to him comforting him like this. The last time he did was when those Adarlan officials visited. He must be tormented if he’s allowing such close affection.

“No one did,” Aedion shrugs slightly in his grip. “As long as I kept up my training a little bit of competition didn’t hurt.”

“No one cared that you lost a friend?” Gavriel asks softly.

That question shocks Aedion into blinking and looking away. “It wasn’t about that. It was about making me as prepared for war as possible. It’s what kept me alive.”

Gavriel nods. He knows, he knows that it was necessary in order for his Aedion to live, but he can’t help but feel anger at the childhood his son missed out on. What if he had been here? Would he had been able to soothe Aedion’s anger as soon as it began? Convinced him to value his friend and not allow a rivalry to stand between them? Would Aedion have been broken-hearted when he died during the Adarlan siege? No. Now’s not the time to question the people who raised his son. Not on the anniversary of their death.

Tightening his arms around his son, Gavriel focuses on Aedion, his cub, instead. “Tell me more about your training.”

“Rhoe would,” Aedion releases a weak laugh, “Rhoe would set aside a time once a week to train with me one on one himself, just like he did with Aelin. Aside from that multiple lords and the captain of the guard would train me. Even when he wasn’t there Rhoe was aware of everything I was being trained in. I’d train with multiple weapons each with. A few days for sword, a few for staff, and I think archery near the end of the week, but different weapons would be rotated into the week so we covered everything. Sometimes Rhoe would take me on trips with him and his men and they’d all teach me how to hunt. Stories about you and the rest of the cadre were their favourite to tell me.”

“Right,” Gavriel laughs, remembering how Rowan had bragged. “I heard about that. So you did spend time with Rhoe.”

“Yes,” Aedion closes his eyes, relaxed by his father’s hand continuing to run through his hair. “And Evalin would sometimes ask me how I was, or spend time with Aelin and I when we snuck around together.”

“They sound fantastic,” Gavriel bends down to press his lips against the top of Aedion’s head for a moment before pulling back. “You must have had fond memories about them. Why did you feel like a guest looking in?”

The silence that follows worries Gavriel, and he thinks of another question to ask to break the tension.

“Once, I found Evalin in the library, drunk.”

Pausing, Gavriel looks at his son before starting again with his motions, hoping that it’s enough of an encouragement to continue.

“I asked if she was alright, and she said she was,” Aedion’s voice begins to tremble again. “I helped her stand up, and was trying to help get her back to her room. Halfway there she stopped and looked at me,” Aedion rubs his face against his father’s shoulder. “She said ‘you look so much like her.’ It wasn’t the first time she said that but she just sounded so sad. And she said ‘I wish she hadn’t died, I wish she was still here. I miss her so much. I wish she had never,’ and then she looked at me and said ‘I wish you you had never.’ And I just, I just started crying. She wished I had never, the female I viewed as an aunt at the very least, if not mother. And I took her back to the room, told Rhoe what she said, and he just… he just took her, and couldn’t even look at me.”

Breath hitching, Gavriel clutches Aedion tight.

“It was because she died that they took me,” Aedion sobs quietly into his arms. “And I just, I just don’t know if I was anything but a weapon to them.”

“You would have been so much more,” Gavriel whispers against Aedion’s hair, tucking his son close. “You’re so much to so many people, Aedion. I’m sure that no matter what had happened that they loved you. What they did for you was proof of that.”

There is anger there. Anger at the childhood his child missed out on, anger at the words a drunk female let slip, anger at a male that may have trained his son so brutally that he questioned whether or not he was a weapon or child. But at the same time Gavriel knows that Evalin loved her cousin fiercely, and would have done anything to protect Aedion if necessary. That Evalin would have loved the boy she would have seen as her sisters child. That she would have looked at Aedion, much like Gavriel does, and seen the beautiful legacy of a wondrous woman.

“Your mother and Evalin were so close,” Gavriel continues to murmur. “She would have seen you as a nephew. And there’s no doubt that Aelin sees you as somewhat her brother. You’re loved by so many, Aedion. I’m sure that they loved you, and that’s why they tried their best to prepare you. Evalin was mostly likely missing her mother.”

And most likely wishing that Aedion wasn’t Gavriel’s son. That her cousin didn’t have to die just to avoid Aedion falling into Meave’s hands.

“Thank you,” Aedion sucks in small, shaky breaths. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“I love you,” Gavriel says simply, cupping the back of Aedion’s head with his hand. “It’s my job to help and comfort you when you need it.”

“No,” Aedion mumbles, significantly quieter. “Thank you for being my father.”

Gavriel feels his heart stutter.

“I know I didn’t make it easy for you,” Aedion continues, “and I’m still not. I know that. But thank you for taking care of and parenting me. Thank you for being my father.”

Throwing away his willpower Gavriel allows a few tears to slide through. Tears of pure relief, sorrow and joy.

“Thank the gods,” Gavriel laughs hoarsely, closing his eyes and smiling. “Thank the gods.”

“Sorry for being a bit of an asshole,” Aedion laughs a little as well.

“It’s alright,” Gavriel laughs, keeping Aedion close. “It’s all going to be alright.”

In a way, some things will be.

~~~

“Hands off,” Aedion glares, snatching chocolate away from Fenrys.

All of them are in the room they celebrated the holidays in, Aelin and Aedion curled up together in the couch, sharing the same blanket with a box of chocolates between them. It’s fair to say that the court may be spoiling the two a bit. It’s hard not to, with the wrecked state the two are in. Their mates along have been going crazy with their protective instincts on high. Lysandra even nearly at Fenrys an hour ago when he made a small joke to Aedion about finding a new shield and swords for the next few days as an attempt to gain a smile. It worked, slightly, but it didn’t stop Lysandra from showing him her teeth in warning, even if her mates smile did soothe her. It’s fair to says she’s been protective. And Rowan, who shattered a table over an issue he refuses to discuss. Fenrys turns to Aelin for support, who simply frowns and holds the box closer.

“Can’t get a single piece of chocolate,” Fenrys sighs, reclining back against the couch.

“No, you can’t,” Lysandra leans over, picking at one to pop it in her mouth. “But I can.”

Rolling at Fenrys’ gasp of betrayal and pleading eyes Aelin holds out the box. “Fine. Take one.”

He jumps forward at the chance, snatching his chocolate before collapsing back into his chair. Aedion takes three from the box, throwing them up in the air and catching one after another.

“You’ll choke,” Gavriel idly comments, admiring a picture book with Evangeline.“I won’t,” Aedion rolls his eyes, throwing the third chocolate into his mouth. “See?”

Almost everyone rolls their eyes at that, Aelin just grinning and throwing a chocolate up into her own mouth.

For Rowan to snatch it out of the air and eat it instead.

Whipping around Aelin unleashes a snarl, so feral and loud that Aedion widens his eyes and grins in pure joy at the worry that flickers across Rowan’s face. It takes no time for Aelin to yank the box of chocolates further away from her mate and move closer to Aedion, both of them enjoying the delights together.

#tog #aelin #aedion #cadre #rowan whitethorn #evangeline #gavriel #christmas #family

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jrazillashadowworks · 6 years

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Victubia Theme of the Month: June- Flower Language

I’m soo damn late with this but better than not finishing it at all! @,,@ Warnings: Dark themes with mention of violation.

I do hope you enjoy this. Been forever since I posted anything! Bonus at the end. ^,,^

Through the forest frosted and covered in white from the winter season, a massive being as pale as the snow trudged along, his form only noticeable from the void black hooded cloak. A colossal dadao blade was strapped to his broad back, accentuating his dangerous form, sheening in the grey light of the surroundings. However, cradled tenderly as if a baby in his muscular arms was a black lace bouquet of various species of decidedly out of season flowers, tied with a black ribbon. Each blossom was completely flawless and radiant as if preserved and protected by some form of magic, which indeed they were and a mesh veil. Just as special was the meaning behind each of them, some sweet and others somber.

It was with the expert assistance of the eccentric and theatrical entrepreneur from the special floral shop in the capital that he was able to collect such a meaningful arrangement. The short transwoman with the tri-colored ringlet hair had flit him about the shop, expressing the significance of each and every one. Though she was respectful to his purpose, she was rather apprehensive to let him leave with the flowers, learning he intended to leave them on a grave in the dead of winter. In the end, though his expression had been guarded, she saw the tragic sadness in his black eyes and she could not deny him. In the end, he walked out with a couple of pink carnations, dark crimson and tea roses, zinnias, anemones, and the best wishes of the businesswoman Adela.

Kain’s arms cuddled more around the bouquet and his heart sank as he broke through the trees to the small, secluded bluff overlooking the opaque ocean moving calmly under the desolate sky, drizzling with flakes. He had thought he had prepared himself enough, it had been a year since that day after all but, already he felt his innards constrict and tangle, tears already threatening to sting his eyes. Though he was struggling, he finally lowered his gaze on the three graves, only indicated by a trio of nondescript, dark grey stones. A thick layer of snow had nearly buried the stones, blanketing the mounds. This would not do.

Sitting his flowers under one of the spindly boned trees, he turned back and lifted his arms to the frigid wind, feeling the power resonate within him. Brows furrowing and with a single tear sliding down his cheek, he thrust his hands forward. Harnessing his inner turmoil, he surged a blast of magically concentrated air to dust the graves free of the white, fanning it over the bluff in an avalanche. The deafening, whirling howl of the wind gave voice to Kain’s deepest feelings, the cold clawing up his arms and fingers.

Dropping his hands, shoulders slumping, he exhaled softly, the graves visible with a glossy sheen of ice over the black dirt. Muscles tensing, he could not halt the faces of the two brothers from entering his mind, Arui, and…Ovis. The third grave belonged to their mother though Kain had never met her but, he held her in great esteem for she was the figurehead of their family. Ovis took center stage of his mind as he recalled the time they spent together as friends and comrades under the way of the assassin.

These memories, more powerful here, continued to bombard him as he retrieved the bouquet, brushing away the clinging snowflakes. When he turned back around, his feet became as if encased in cement blocks dropped in quicksand. It took all of his strength to trudge over to the grave of Ovis, each step heavier than the last. He could hear Ovis’ smooth voice in his head, the passing conversations and snarky comments playing out on repeat.

Reaching the foot of the mound, the voice was cut off by the ringing of the wire that decapitated him. The scent of his blood was as fresh in his nose as the day he died. Kain’s knees buckled, the weight of his emotions, amplified by the images of Ovis’ demise, crumbling him to the ground. Hunched over, tears flowed freely now, sprinkling the petals, instantly crystalizing into frozen blossoms of their own.

Kain cried silently for a few minutes before he was finally able to lay the bouquet onto the grave, whispering yet another final goodbye. Midway through his sentence, however, another voice intruded, one horribly and impossibly familiar. The sound was gravelly, yet smooth, like the burble of a creek over jagged stones.

“Ni hao, my western wind.” The tone was dripping with longing and elation, a strange combo that made Kain notice for the first time just how cold it was.

Wondering whether he had lost his mind, the pale man turned his head slightly, squinting at the ostentatious form, emanating warm color. The very sight made his skin crawl and the sadness evaporated, replaced by a cold emptiness. Standing not ten feet away was a man of average stature, but a powerfully athletic build, draped in the most ornate and embellished ceremonial, silk robe Kain had ever seen.

A rose gold embroidered fierce serpent of Chinese myth, known as the Bashe, wrapped around his body multiple times, jaws unhinged and fangs threatening, in a sea of glittering lotus flowers of warm colors. Over the robe, he wore an open, large sleeved, cloth overcoat, tied at the chest by a felt chord, one arm occupied and the other vacant. A head and face wrap obscured ninety-five percent of his features save for a single eye, his mouth and a very long tuft of silver hair that sprung out in a downward curve. Although the sheathed Jian blade, hardly veiled by the coat was cause for concern, it was more what was behind him that snatched Kain’s attention.

Haphazardly hidden around his back was a colossal bouquet. The impossibly slight movement of Kain’s notice did not escape this new arrival, causing him to hide it better. “So living a normal life didn’t suit you huh?” He spoke matter of fact, clearly posing it as a question out of some mock sense of propriety. “And now you seem to have been accepted by THEM fully.”

Kain felt the sting of the phantom needle on the nape of his neck again where a tattoo of a wraith now resided, marking the creation of a new bloodline in the growing web of assassins. He gave no implication of responding, though his hand incessantly itched to reach for his blade.

“It’s pleasant to see one of you stuck to it, especially after all the work I put into creating such masterpieces. Shame my Eastern Wind actually succeeded in the normal life.”

White hot memories flashed before Kain’s eyes of a past friend the exact age as himself, raised in the life of murder. It was this friendship that changed everything and lead to the betrayal and fire that supposedly freed them from this life. Although a twinge of relief found Kain at the knowledge of his friend’s positive turn, he was crestfallen to find that their biggest problem apparently survived.

“What do you want?” Kain finally asked with a hard edge to his voice. “You’re desecrating hallowed ground.”

The man let out puffs of breaths that turned into a full-on cackle that shook his entire body, extremely entertained by the notion of an assassin respecting the dead. After a full minute of this, he finally calmed, still chuckling through frantic, broken breathes and apologies. Once again composed, he continued as if it did not happen.

“A peace offering…” He finally pulled out the bouquet he had hidden behind his back that easily put Kain’s to shame in both size and color. Though it would appear to be a simple collection of extravagant and beautiful flowers, Kain remembered once again the voice of the flower shop owner. Among the rainbow bouquet were flowers such as jonquils and red camellias with positive meanings behind them. However, there was also an abundance of flowers that expressed disappointment and anger, along with some that were downright warnings such as begonias and monkshoods. This bundle was a complete expression of the man’s deepest thoughts and wishes towards Kain.

“I enjoyed your idea so much I had to imitate it. Now, I’m willing to forgive you for taking my arm and nearly having me burned to death if you would but come back to me…” A vehement lust resounded from within the man now, his form quivering with a sickening longing. “I desire to have what we once had. Join me again and we can go start over, right before all those horrible mistakes you made. Forget about these silly bloodlines and dead people who were simply substitutions for your broken friendship with the Eastern wind.”

Kain reached for the hilt of his sword now. A maelstrom of excruciating emotions whirled inside him like a ravaging tornado, aided by the appalling thoughts of the countless times this man had molested, violated, and beat him, along with the accusation that everything he had with Arui and Ovis was fake. “Leave…”

“You even kept the sword I gave you. It’s clearly destiny!!!”

At those words, the smothering pain inside Kain became a coalescence of gusty magical energy that in that precise moment released in a single attack, impossible to catch. With a single spin, Kain let loose his dadao in a sideswipe that blasted forth a terrible white cyclone that tore up everything in its destructive path towards the man, including the iced stone ground.

The deafening cyclone made for the trees, collapsing a few before dissipating in a gust that blew the snow away in all directions. What was left was not the man but a scattering of shredded petals, raining a kaleidoscope of color. Brows knit so tight they were almost connected, Kain hissed through his closed lips, scanning everywhere for the individual only to find nothing.

Once the sound died down, a voice filtered from nowhere in particular. “Such a terrible shame. The west wind seems to have weakened. Don’t worry. I haven’t given up on you. But…I’m thinking I’m going to have to pay a visit to our old friend institutionalized by the false contentment of a normal life and…persuade him. Until we meet again my Western Wind.”

Kain’s powerful arms went limp as rubber, hanging down. With all his power escaped, he was left but a husk of a man staring dead-eyed into the tree line, shivering cold.

Bonus: Flower language

Flowers in Kain’s bouquet:

• CARNATION Pink - I'll Never Forget You CARNATION, Purple – Capriciousness

• ROSE Dark Crimson - Mourning

• ROSE Tea - I'll Remember; Always

• ZINNIA Mixed - Thinking (or in Memory) of an Absent Friend

• ANEMONE -Forsaken or forgotten love and affection, the death of a loved one or the loss of them to someone else, the arrival of the first spring winds, Bad luck or ill omens

• DAFFODIL - Regard; Unrequited Love; you’re the Only One; the Sun is Always Shining When I'm with you

• HYACINTH Purple - I Am Sorry; Please Forgive Me: Sorrow

Flowers in the arrivals bouquet:

• GERANIUM -"Stupidity; Folly for Kain’s actions.

• HYDRANGEA - Thank You for Understanding; Frigidity; Heartlessness

• JONQUIL - Love Me; Affection Returned; Desire; Sympathy; Desire for Affection Returned

• MONKSHOOD - Beware; A Deadly Foe is near

• STOCK - Bonds of Affection; Promptness; You'll Always Be Beautiful to Me

• CAMELLIA Pink - Longing for You

• BEGONIA – Beware

• CAMELLIA Red - You're a Flame in My Heart

• CARNATION Yellow - You Have Disappointed Me; Rejection

• HEATHER White - Protection; Wishes will Come True

• MARIGOLD - Cruelty: Grief Jealousy

• NASTURTIUM - Conquest; Victory in Battle

• PETUNIA - Resentment; Anger; Your Presence Soothes me

#Victubia #vtotm #my writing #finally finished something #fan fiction

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whiskeyworen · 6 years

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Name: Vaela Race: Sylvari Gender: Female Time: “Of the Dawn” Class: Revenant. Allies: ???? Relationships: Slane (former….?) Weapons: Auric Sword and Chak Axe, Pumpkin Smasher Hammer

What happens when you take a charming young woman, someone who brings out the smile in the most somber of people, makes lethargic people active, or the reticent to become chatty...and you amp that up to 11 and give it a psychotic twist? You have what Vaela became. (’Read more’ on the actual page doesn’t want to show up. More below)

Vaela and Slane were podmates. That is to say, they were grown in the same dual pod that the Pale Tree uses to create her Children. Vaela formed first, a sixteen hours ahead of Slane, emerging from the Dream just after dawn. She already knew she was going to wait for a friend to arrive, so she merely sat with a smile on her face, for when Slane emerged from the other half of the pod at the end of the day. They were inseperable after that; her bouncy, positive personality working at odds with, and complimentary with his quietness and introspectiveness. Between the two of them, they gave each other the opposing viewpoints they needed to be 'normal'. She was by far the larger of the two of them, stepping in at a whopping 6'2", while Slane was a much more petite 5'6". She always enjoyed a good laugh when a Norn, fresh from Hoelbrak, caught a glimpse of her and always, ALWAYS made a joke about being 'half Norn'.

When they were both just fresh 'born', Vaela and Slane had taken a day trip to Lion's Arch (now in the post-Scarlet era known as Old Lion's Arch, ironically), to take in the sights. While browsing the markets, Slane had gotten her a backpack plushie in the shape of a spotted charr, which she adored. The day had gone well, until the accident. They were to go to Divinity's Reach next, so they went to use the Asura gates to get there. Vaela walked through first, always the one at the front, always pulling Slane along. But something glitched. That day, every gate out of Lion's Arch failed simultaneously. Not just every gate; the exit gates at the destinations also failed. Some glitch in a program, or a solar flare...something. The normally safe gates, which upon failure would have spit a person in transit back out at their entry point, didn't do that. Nor did they spit them out at the exit. Slane didn't know it till the gates were reset and he walked through to Divinity's Reach...alone. Vaela was nowhere to be found. Neither were the hundreds who had disappearred as well. Hundreds of people just...disappeared. It was a debacle for the Asura, and cost them a fair bit of money and time to make sure there were redundancies, but for Slane, it all but destroyed the happy life he'd had.

For Vaela, things were arguably worse. She didn't die... neither did the others that were lost. Instead, they had been dropped into the Mists. Randomly, across the entire breadth of the Mists, in their infinity, these poor lost souls were sent wandering across space and time, through warped dimensions of both. No one knows what happened there, but Vaela finally made her way back to the normal world, during the Maguuma assaults against Mordremoth. Her time in the Mists had twisted her normally upbeat personality, given it a psychotic, almost insane edge to it. Never one to have used a weapon in her prior life, she was now a master of sword and axe, which she used to carve a path of destruction through the Maguuma. Her Sword, originally of the Exalted, she found in one of the twisted sub-areas of the Mists. What it was doing there, she didn't know and didn't care. The Axe... the axe was a living thing. A twisted Chak creation she found that appealled to her. It clicks curiously when she wields it, as if it can't understand the entity holding it. Her Hammer is a thing of nightmares. Figuratively and literally. Somewhere in her trials, Vaela had stumbled into the Mad King's realm, and out of desperation, had wrenched a lamp post out of the grave-riddled grounds. Placing a pumpkin on it infused in Mist energies so it would never rot or break, she began to use it as a bludgeon, a massive warhammer of fear. The last thing opponents would see is the flaming, grinning face of the pumpkin as she hurled it at them, or brought it down on their heads with grim finality. She won't stop because someone got in her way. Why? Because she could sense Slane out there somewhere. Amidst the voices of the damned, bellowing of demons, whispers of the tricksters echoing in her mind, a small part of her remembered her past life and wanted to rekindle that. But that same part held a deep-seated rage and hate. She wanted to see Slane, to be with him again...but she also wanted to kill him, to make him suffer like she had, to feel an inkling of the agony her untold time in the Mists had inflicted on her. The voices goad her. They chide her. They try to convince her in both directions. She doesn't care. She doesn't even know what she'll truly do when she finds him again. Will she fall into a screaming berzerker rage and assault him with everthing she has? Will she be so overcome with happiness that she'll drop her defenses and weapons, regardless of the outcome?

She continually draws back from him as much as she draws towards him. The part of her that still loves playing games and having fun still does so...but with a deadly glint. She leaves traps, trophies, hints, warnings for him. A message to be sent, but by one who has almost forgotten what writing is. She still has the backpack though. It's the one thing that physically ties her to the past. To let it go would be to succumb totally to the madness of the Mists. Vaela has made it SO far. Nothing will stop her. Not a Dragon, not a God, not the Mists themselves. She WILL be happy again, inside and out, like she was back then. She just doesn't know how she'll do it. (Notes from Me: I made Vaela after noticing Sylvari tend to come in pairs. Her personality and shape and size I made a parallel flip of Slane’s. Even her name, when I wrote it out, was supposed to be a jumbled, inverted, slightly adjusted version of his name. They are literally, two peas from the same pod, though she left the pod first. I keep thinking of her in terms of Warhammer 40k, as someone who was lost in the Warp, alone and afraid, and had to do anything to survive till she could make it back. It cost her most of her sanity, and gave her a whole host of mental disorders in the form of voices in her head, real and imagined. The best I can give for a description of her is a blend between the Joker and Harley; always causing mayhem, causing issues, but with a SMILE on her face. Whether it’s a cheerful smile or a rictus grin is up for debate. I can totally see her humming a cheerful tune while leaping back and forth between opponents, blades singing. She’s probably one of the most dangerous characters I’ve made, both for her personality being so lightswitch-easy to change, and for the sheer raw power she can put out to back up whatever her mood is.) Additional Note: I finally found a character in another medium that presents the image I have of Vaela the best (at least when she’s not talking to the voices in her head). That is Mari Makinami Illustrious, of the Neon Genesis Evangelion You Can (Not) series rebuild. If you’ve ever seen Mari in You Can (Not) Advance, then you’ve kinda seen what Vaela is like when she’s in the throws of battle. Somewhere between singing and humming pleasant songs, to outright screaming bloodlust. No inbetween for her.

#GW2 #Guild Wars 2 #Sylvari #Sylvari Revenant #Revenant #My Characters #Vaela Toma

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poetic-fragments · 6 years

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You’ve turned self destruction into an art, my friend, Your knife like a paintbrush spreading crimson designs across a pale canvas, Your broken body a sculpture posing melancholically on its pedestal. The artist and the critic bound to a singular form, you judge yourself mercilessly, While I can only admire the beauty before me, captivated, And despair that someone could find fault in something so raw and real and perfect. I watch as the scarlet embodiment of your pain is transformed into a grotesque kind of art, And the hair that falls around your tired face frames you like a portrait. I watch for the somber beauty that can be be found in your thin, frail body, And I watch helplessly as you relinquish your creation to the conflagration, turning yourself into fuel for this bonfire of vanities that you lit so long ago. With one match, everything I love goes up in smoke. You’ve spent your whole life playing with fire, always on the edge of burning to ashes in the flames of yourself, But when the fire finally catches it is neither art nor beauty. It is pain embodied, doubled by the knowledge that the tears I weep for you could never put out the flames you ignited with your own self hatred. But still, I let them fall as if they might save you. I look for beauty where there is none in a last attempt to shield my eyes from what I could not prevent. I wonder how deep into the inferno you can tread before it swallows you whole.

E.E., “The Inferno”

#poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #fragments #fire #love #self-hate #spilled ink #spilled poetry

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monochromerose · 7 years

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hey i wrote for about 4-5 hours straight and now i have this hunk of junk writing that’s almost 3k words

@doveofnorway @heyoitskris @crystxllar

They never should have played the game in the first place. Homestuck had known what it would be like, and Ib could guess from his disposition about the whole thing. Of course, something going wrong seemed inevitable, if manageable. This particular problem… who knew what it’d require to fix? The rest of what went wrong had all been simple: an interpersonal problem, someone’s quest had grinded to a halt, or someone unable to ascend. Nothing thus far matched the problem they faced.

They couldn’t even tell exactly what went wrong. It seemed like a quest thing at first, consorts being swallowed up by an entity, a hunger, and disappearing from existence. No one’s planets had indicated such a quest, but this was SBURB. Of course it’s unpredictable, what would one expect? When it moved beyond the planets, that became cause for alarm. Prospit came first, enveloped by the void, all the Prospit dreamers with it. Instead of moving back to the planets, the void went for Derse. There wasn’t any knowledge of what the moons’ destruction would do to the game.

With the moons gone and a planet destroyed, something had to be done. What would stop the void? A Void player, yet none had joined in their session. Nor did their opposite, a Light player. With no obvious solution, the more drastic way had to fall into play. Even with its dangers, they found it their only option. Their Space player had to fix this. Homestuck had to set right the universe’s colossal wrong. If he succeeded, then their session would. Should he fail, the Scratch fell upon the Time player’s shoulders. If he failed, their universe ceased to be.

The inheritor of Space and one made of Heart joined together as one, in hopes that the universal glitch could be unmade. One who held the universe in his hand, and one who transformed herself into any other self. The true Time player must initiate the Scratch if they failed, so the Heir of Space needed a substitute of Time. An imitation, or so she claimed.

In truth? She refused to let him die on his own. He couldn’t sacrifice himself. She, as simply Maid of Heart, was worthless to the session and the game. Whether or not she died, it had no negative effect on the session. As a Space player, as the Space player, his existence took priority. He couldn’t sacrifice himself alone. Besides, they needed some kind of Time, even a fake. That could have her go out with a bang, as the only useful thing she ever did.

In pursuit of Void, the pair found a Vortex. Beams of white and blue separated the pitch outline inside, stars adorning the edges. It had no “bottom” to be seen, only a barely-opaque galaxy emitting a bright light and leading further downward. The closer the pair moved, a force pulling them towards it steadily grew more forceful. If one made any sort of contact, there could only be speculation of the consequences. Should the two of them enter the Vortex outside Time and Space, they found it likely they would never return. Leaving the realms of the universe had no clear answer.

Heavy air enveloped the two, only meaning one thing. Void had found them. Void had found the Vortex, the seeming spring of life. The corruption of life through the Vortex would fall into place. Clasping grey hand in pale, Heir and Maid plunged into the Vortex, and Void followed soon after.

Tumbling head over heels, their ascensions became meaningless in the Vortex. The flight they became dependent on ceased to be, descending at speeds they couldn’t understand for the lack of Time. Above them, were it not for the lack of direction, lack of Breath, Void plummeted as well. With the inaudible screech of the wind that couldn’t exist whistling in their ears, Heart and Space broke through the barrier.

Again, it continued. The stars and black faded into a blue reminiscent of their old homes on Earth, as far off as the memories seemed. Galaxies swirled around them, blues and pinks of varying hues surrounding the fallen pair. Muttered worries vanished in thin air, the grip of pale on grey and grey on pale tightening. Vision tinted red, clasped hands became intertwined emotion in the embrace of a friend. Another exit through the boundaries of the Lifespring, the Lifeforce, in Space incarnate.

The fall seemed to go on forever. Eternity, forever, is a long time. To sacrifice yourself to it in hopes of containing the ultimate evil, a worthy sacrifice. The forms of Creation and Change warped, glitched, but only for a moment. One last border separated their forms, and darkness, Void, enveloped the two.

“Homestuck?” Upon opening her eyes from impact, Ib could see nothing but pitch, and feel only the weight on her shoulders. “Homestuck?”

“Where is- Please say it isn’t just me! Oh god, ‘Stuck, where are you?!” Glitches and ripples in her form broke her voice, censoring the aspects of whatever “Ib” still existed.

“Ib? ‘Bee, can you hear me?” Closing in on himself, the half-hearted reach for anyone only formed tears in the fabric of his body to reveal blank white, greying out his form in destruction of his entire existence.

The Archiver had been confined within the realm of Sburb for longer than she could remember. The concepts of Time, of Space… barely even existed to her anymore. There had to be some sort of reason for her role, her irrelevance in void between sessions. Yet, she could not tell what it was. Something about it all seemed off, as if she belonged elsewhere, as if she was not of this “world”.

Without a purpose, she drifted in the eternity of the Furthest Ring, alone and empty. A guide with no students played no role of importance. Until she reached the edge. A pale hand pulled her partially inside the Space of a session, the utter existence of it all disorienting her. The veil obscuring her face prevented her from ever seeing herself, but her savior seemed… familiar.

Two newly-ascended gods of names unknown to her, Ib and Homestuck, Maid of Heart and Heir of Space, had taken her partially from the Furthest Ring to serve as their guide. She found it fitting- finally, she had a purpose. The pair of young gods seemed close and well-intentioned, spreading wisdom, if not also discord, through the Medium.

Yet, the Archiver had seen bits of their future from her old home, through shrouded visions and cryptic scenes. Knowing of the dark forces lurking in their session from the shadows, unable to forewarn then, she could only remember. A presence of light and darkness with nothing sustained, the being in green raging at even the slightest connection, and a shadow that would consume anything it contacted. Without her wordless help, they would be powerless to do anything against these monstrosities.

For a reason she could not understand, she felt the urge to help them. The pair… drew her to them, it seemed. She felt a pull, a connection towards them she hadn’t felt in a span of time she couldn’t name. It didn’t seem as though she’d ever felt it, this… compassion towards another being. Thus, she became their sword and shield.

The two designated her their protector, trusting her actions even without always understanding them. After a brief time, they even grew attached to her. In a world completely different from their expectations, even gods will latch onto someone who knows what’s going on. Their spread of self and existence brought about the attention of the being in green, who they called the Overseer.

The Overseer deceived the Ascended into believing he was another part of this session to aid, to unintentionally rip apart. When they approached, he would twist reality until almost destroying the section of the Medium they found him in. To protect them, the ascended allowed the Archiver to work her “magic”. Without even her own understanding of her actions, she would protect them and buy more time for them to subdue him. Despite the rage and hatred radiating from the Overseer, she kept up whatever fraction of “herself” she had left to protect the gods. They hadn’t even seen the worst of this Medium.

In a startlingly short time, whatever Time still even meant to her, she became almost “friends” with them. Even though she didn’t know exactly what the word meant, something about them… made her feel better! She hadn’t felt much of anything when fully in the Furthest Ring, nor in the glimpses of their future she saw in her visions. Once allowed to make connections, she became willing to throw her life away for the first two people who ever showed her kindness. Dwelling on the fact brought her some sort of joy, yet also sorrow.

Even once the Ascended subdued the Overseer, they fought for her the same way she had fought for them. The last time they pulled her from the Furthest Ring, the color and life, the vigor she had seen in their lands and Medium had disappeared. The world became a monochrome, the ones she had grown so attached to grim and somber in their dispositions where the only “emotion” left that she could find was melancholy.

The auras of green and black surrounding the Heir matched the world around as the Space surrounding her place in the Furthest Ring began to give way. Breaking the walls between the Medium and the Furthest Ring for only a second, she slipped through the cracks and back into her old home. As her body left the Medium entirely, the Archiver let go for the first and last time of her life, and the holes between Life and Doom sealed.

Around her, visions of not the future, but the past sprung up in her memory. All that she had done for the Ascended, all her protection… they didn’t need anymore. They had hope, they had the strength to never give up their eternal fight. Her memories with them would stay, and they would move on. She had touched lives, but now found herself alone again. The Ascended had each other.

Shards of grief and despair pierced the heart the Archiver didn’t even know existed-- and she broke into fitful sobbing. Curling in on herself, her veil caught all the tears flowing from eyes she’d never seen before. Why did that simple fact cause her such despair? The visions repeating in her head, she drifted alone in the Furthest Ring for the feeling of forever. However long it may have been, she couldn’t say. Without a Medium to define Time, she only had the fading feelings of days, weeks, years, to go off of.

Yet, for a moment, the memories began to fade. Without a warning, they left in their torment with a rushing sound past her. A green shape of squares and triangles she realized was called a ‘house’ shone in front of her, drawing her in closer to it. Her visions formed a path in the emptiness, and as she travelled faster than she could understand towards the shape, the darkness she’d become so used to settled. The burst of light that followed startled her, illuminating both her and the house shape.

Once her approach ceased, she sensed an aura, a presence that she hadn’t in so long, she almost couldn’t place it to a name. Drifting in the light, unable to do anything, she simply watched while a being she barely recognized appeared in front of the shape. The blinding green light of the Overseer’s form overtook the unsourced light, and he outstretched his arms in an almost welcoming manner.

A pang of fear rippled through the Archiver, causing her to curl slightly inwards. Unable to ‘defeat’ him on his own, and knowing his capabilities, she found it unlikely she’d survive this encounter. She stared into the blank face of her apparent worst nightmare, despite the unusual feelings sprouting within her. He wasn’t approaching her, and the gesture she believed mocking almost seemed truly sincere.

In her shock, the other’s form began to warp and twist. Instinctively, she shrank back as the shards of the Overseer started to envelop the space, as she had seen happen countless times. The hum of static interspersed with sharp tones that almost seemed like pleads for help overtook her senses, and she froze. Even if she died alone in the Furthest Ring, at least she had protected the Ascended. She had performed her duty.

The green and white beams rapidly retreated back into the Overseer’s form, and looking beyond the veil, the Archiver caught sight of a face that horrified her. In the realization of just what had happened in the Medium, she felt tears leak out of her eyes once again. Everything had changed, and yet… hadn’t.

With shaky hands pulling off the veil she’d always worn, memories-- true memories, not visions of the future or a misguided past-- engulfed her heart and her mind. Ib met eyes with a face, the face of the moirail she hadn’t seen in an eternity.

Neither said anything. To Ib, it didn’t seem as though there was anything to say. She’d been the one who convinced him to let her play the game with him, and then go looking for a way to destroy Void. Homestuck… he’d been alone in the eternity since they were separated. In the Vortex, she feared that she had left him behind, that he had died from her inability to let go. Even through Void, he had survived, still the same audacious, if anomic, fandom through the wrath of a monster. She could still see the Rage in his eyes and his disposition, the self of the Overseer through Homestuck’s true appearance. It frightened her, in a way, but Ib didn’t know what to say to apologize for what he’d gone through because of her.

Without a word spoken, effortlessly travelling through empty air, the pair met in an embrace they hadn’t felt for eternity. One feeling hissing static and barely contained venom under her touch, the other cloud-like wisps somehow hardened from millennia in the Furthest Ring under his, she wept into his arms.

“I missed you, ‘Stuck. How can you even stand to see me after what I did?” Voice breaking between sobs and gasps for air, she hit his back in her own disorientation. “I made you let me play the game, I pulled you with me into the Vortex, I… I made- I messed u- I didn’t even know what would happen and I brought you in anyway!” The resent of herself colored with exasperation only worsened her tears, to the point that she would have suffocated if she still needed air to survive. “I didn’t even have anyone other than you to lose, but you had your family! You had ‘Doc, and your daughter, and I couldn’- I didn’t even let you say ‘I love you’ one last time!”

As she finished speaking, the static under her hands buzzed and shone in a discordant tone, causing her to shrink back despite being held tightly still in his arms. When Homestuck’s sigh and shaky laughter broke through the noise, it faded back to its former, familiar level. “We’ve been through a lot. I know that, ‘Bee. This was our game, wasn’t it?” Another pause, and laughter seemingly more genuine cut through the low resonance in the background. “But, hey, we’re here. Maybe we already won?”

“I saw what happened. In the Furthest Ring, when I was there, I… I didn’t get- I mean, I didn’t underst- I didn’t know why you were doing what you did, I didn’t even know it was you. But you wanted to kill our past selves! And honestly, I don’t even think I can blame you. With what we- I- they did to you, what I did to you, I can’t blame you.”

“I hated you for what you did for a while. I didn’t know that you were, you know, you, or your own protector I guess, for a while. I thought I was going to kill you if you came here, and then you were here. But we’re still moirails, I couldn’t do that. Even if you have to me.

“Hey!” Playfully shoving him and pushing herself out of his arms, Ib couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not like I ever meant it! Besides it was for your ow-” Covering her mouth with a hand to stifle even more chuckling, she realized that here, after losing almost everyone she ever knew, she finally found something like that funny. If it were anyone else, after anything else, she’d have lost her head over it. Now, though…? It didn’t seem to matter much. “It was for your own good.” Even calming down, she couldn’t keep a straight face to say it.

“I still died, ‘Bee.”

“What about the countless times you embarrassed yourself in front of ‘Doc before you two finally got together?”

That certainly got a reaction out of him. Putting her hands over her ears to stifle the static, she simply held in a laugh as a bright green blush spread over his face.

“I thought we agreed not to talk about that.”

“Yeah, we agreed. But the we who agreed don’t exist anymore, remember?”

“Okay, fine. Let’s just… start over? Not like we can get back to Earth, or our old lands, so this is the best we’ve got.”

“I’d love to.”

Clasping grey hand in pale, Maid and Heir tumble head over heels into the same void they know, but with each other. Solitary, isolated, but now, together.

#cool friend mention #long post #why did i spend 5 hours on this #it's not even all that good #writing talk #fandomstuck #my writing

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