middaeg | (open) & i may not see the future,

Entry tags:

(open) & i may not see the future,

Who: Aymeric and Francel and Solas in closed prompts; whoever wants an elf goodboy who likes ethics discussions and long walks on the beach in the open prompt!
When: mid to late May.
Where: the Coven, the Haven.
What: magic, ruminating on politics, rich boys probably putting mattresses on the floor, etc.
Warnings: gore, actually, but it's fine, everything's fine,

♞ practical magic. (the coven, open.)

[ Every day, without fail, Aymeric can be found at the Coven, diligently working on his magic. He's progressing slowly, in part because he's chosen no straightforward discipline: often he has an object in front of him on which he'll cast a spell; then he'll wait a little and touch it lightly with his fingertips. Many times he'll only purse his lips or frown, but other times, he'll yank his hand back as if burned (and he might be).

He also practices shielding magic, as best he can — he may turn, sometimes, and ask the nearest obvious newcomer if they wouldn't mind throwing something at him, yes really, harmless or otherwise. He's wearing armor; it's fine. ]

♞ walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut. (moving in, for francel.)

[ The house, the witches assured them, is perfectly safe. Yes, it did once belong to a family who succumbed to the Cwyld, but that's no reason for alarm, of course, they said; get a tea table and some chairs; get a fire started in the hearth, and it'll feel just like home.

It feels nothing like home, though, even after he and Francel have dusted all the rooms and carried in a few pieces of inexpensive but solidly-built furniture. Aefenglom is much too warm, for one thing.

By the time night falls, and there's nothing else to bring in or to clean, Aymeric has shed his armor in the house somewhere, poured two glasses of water, and coaxed Francel out to the covered front steps with them as a remedy for the house's stale air.

No one, at this hour, will see Francel's emerging scales.

The twin moons are bright overhead. Aymeric settles on the top step, allowing Francel space, and stretches out his dusty legs, looking pensively up at the sky. He takes a long, cool sip before he speaks. ]

I've wondered, I must confess, how much they truly know of that lesser moon. Folly, I suppose.

♞ a strategy discussion. (tea, for francel & solas.)

[ It still hasn't occurred to Aymeric to use his watch more often — or almost ever — so he's delighted when he runs into Solas by pure chance a day after they've moved into the Haven. They can't offer much in the way of hospitality, but they do have tea, and a table, and chairs, just as the witches suggested, and Aymeric extends a prompt invitation.

The house is too large for two people, though not as luxurious as some of those nearer the center of the city. The yard is a tangled mess of weeds, and thick ivy has smothered all but the windows on one side of the house. Part of the quaint carved wood detail above the covered porch has a sizable splintered hole in it, as if it was struck by something heavy, and a massive scrape mars the faded paint on the front door. The towering pale wall that separates the inner city from the outer is starkly visible, here, through the other homes.

Aymeric slows as they approach the door. ]

Francel has been reclusive, of late. I've no doubt he'll be glad of your company, but if he appears reluctant, pray forgive him.

[ He pushes it open, stepping into a clean but empty narrow foyer split by a staircase, and raises his voice: ]

Francel?

(note/the wildcard option: prose is always okay. for any other ideas/whatever, feel free to pm me or hmu on plurk at elegiae ♡

unrelated note that a reference to the parliamentary records building is now undermael college because I didn't see a question on the faq until right now,,,)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The sound drew Cain't attention, like a hound trained to hunt. ]

Building collapsing. Not big, one floor, no more. I didn't think there were places out this far... and in the woods...

[ He shifted away from Aymeric to lead, being shorter and better able to press through brambles and low branches and the overgrown weeds. He kept pulling up the flowerheads as he passed them, stuffing his pockets while he thought. ]

But... uh.

See, that's a great idea to be honest, and we need to kick your medieval society into gear and jumpstart the whole republic thing, but you're still... it's still in the context of your work, you know? Not just... what you want, what you feel. It's stuff like that that makes someone into you feel like second-best, right? Like there's no romance. Especially for somebody sensitive like your man.

[ He realized Aymeric would make a great robot. With some of that really slick humanised AI. Blinked over his shoulder at the other man. ]

But, I guess... what do you imagine for yourself, huh? Ten years from now, twenty? How long do your people live, anyway?

[ Aymeric shifted just as easily to follow, attentive to all of it. Cain's hearing was sharp, for his kind, not unlike his unexpected strength — strange things that would take too long to explain, he'd said. ]

The eldest of us live perhaps ten or twenty years beyond a hundred.

[ He paused, ducking under a branch Cain couldn't have reached. ]

For myself, I would...not presume to imagine aught at all. Much can change in ten years, and my position is by no means secure. I hope, naturally, that I will live, and that my people will go on allowing me to serve them.

[ But that was incidental here, a backdrop. ]

I suppose I shall be alone. Not because I prefer it, but because I agree with you. There are few who would accept the sort of life I am bound to lead. My people are accustomed to war; it has been our birthright, a part of our faith, for a thousand years. Now and again, we must have an enemy. For the nonce, it is the enemy of our sister nations, an empire that has long sought to grow its dominion — but we marched long to reach the front, a march that seemed interminable, and I would not be a fit commander if I lacked the courage to ride with the vanguard.

Edited 2019-07-07 19:54 (UTC)

A thousand years...

[ Shit, that was a fucking long time. Not, he guessed, that humans had ever really stopped warring on their own, so... it felt probable. When his pockets were full, he popped the last flower he'd gotten into his mouth, chewing it as he thought, and skirted to one side of a thicket of brambles through which he could see flashes of red and curls of smoke. ]

And, c'mon. So what if the chance is slim? Odds were probably slim as fuck you'd survive this long. If you prefer to be alone, that's one thing, but...

If fucking light can travel a million years to fall into your eye when you look up at the night sky, right...

If a tiny shaft of light can survive that long, in all that cold darkness... anything's possible. Miracles, even. And that's... kinda the fucking awesome thing about hope, right. No matter how shit things get, nothing can ever take it from you, unless you let it. Maybe you'll meet your star out in the wars, somebody who loves quiet talks and good wine and strategy and overworking themselves to death.

[ He covered his mouth and nose with the crook of his arm. The smoke was starting to make his eyes sting and water. Coughed, once. ]

I can see the shape of the... it looks like three buildings, two already collapsed, last one wanting to go! And something behind them, like a path or maybe a road?

Cover your face and try your magic!

[ Cain had been right. The thought pushed down the pleasant conversation (and it was pleasant, discussing these things that might never come to pass, laying out his least significant thoughts for someone as though they mattered in the face of all that had happened), as much as the heat and the oppressive smoke and the way the sight of a massive fire invariably made him think of sieges.

Aymeric laid a hand on his shoulder to pull him back, a little behind him, and lifted his other hand—

The air in front of them flickered. Smoke blew back, away from them, curling around an unseen shield tall enough for Aymeric and broad enough for three men. It began to extend, on either side and over their heads, slowly, pushing out the smoke, but leaving the dry crackling heat.

He didn't bother covering his face, though he broke into coughing, for a moment, while the shield grew. His gauntlets were dragonskin; they would do nothing for him.

He raised his voice to be heard over the fire. ]

I can shield us if we move closer, and I will try to cast another barrier, but I'll not compromise our own.

[ And it might, he felt viscerally: he'd never raised two of them at once. ]

Try yours.

[ Cain strained against the hand on his shoulder for just a second, instinctively, like a dog against a leash wanting to follow some darting prey animal. And then, tight-lipped, let himself be pulled back, ignoring how stinging tears wet his cheeks.

The pain eased as the strange barrier formed, and he huffed a raspy, ]

Cool,

[ Cain followed in Aymeric's shadow, swiping at his eyes, and pulled a knife up from his boot to quickly nick his thumb. He dragged the blood from the cut down his forehead, the bridge of his nose, bisected his lips to his chin. Replaced the knife, sticking close behind the elf. He whispered the song of his spell in a fast rush. ]

I have seen our generals
They drink and eat our death
Their children going crazy
Still starving, nothing left...

[ Fire bloomed in his sockets, so red-hot the small, guttering tongues of flame almost hid his eyes, and licked up his brow toward his hairline, unburning. The great, spreading fire roared higher in the same second, like something had breathed unnatural life into it... and began, slowly, to creep backwards, and swirl in on itself.

He panted with effort, and groped to reach Aymeric's back as if he were blind. ]

Wait... wait, something's... something's wrong...

Edited 2019-07-08 02:05 (UTC)

[ Aymeric glanced back at the spell, catching the words (not Coven words; they were Cain's own, which was curious) — and his steps faltered when he saw the stripe of blood. He opened his mouth to say something foolish, you're bleeding, before he realized what Cain had done.

And then Cain's eyes burned, and Aymeric started so badly he felt the barrier flicker and weaken. He turned back swiftly, stretched out a hand and murmured the words of a sermon — with four-and-twenty dragons' eyes did our forefathers build the wards, to shield Her people with the power of Her enemies — and laid a steadying hand on Cain's arm, his own fingers subtly tense. ]

What do you feel? Do not endanger yourself for anything in this damnable forest, Cain.

[ Cain's body was distant to himself, like the buzzing of a gnat in his own ear. He could feel, in a dim way, almost like a memory, Aymeric's fingers on his shoulder, and a dull, throbbing pain radiating through his skull, traveling down his bones.

At the forefront was exertion and hunger, a greater sense of self that crawled over the burnt wood and thickets and bodies and dry grass, feeding a mouthless body that hungered with maddening persistency, roared and groaned for more in an alien tongue.

And he could... sense it. How easy it would be to leap across the distance in defiance of wind and nature, to feed on his own flesh and live longer, live on, flow over the forest, to eat and eat and eat...

With will going shaky, he reeled himself in, like a cat coming back from a coiled crouch. Made himself small, and smaller, trying to bank himself, even while the thought of growing made his mouth water and his stomach cramp. Under Aymeric's hand, his flesh was sheeting sweat, and he panted raggedly, fighting to remember how to speak.

Something else tugged and pulled and warred with him, something beyond the fire. Some other magic, some other mind, even stranger, with a control both more complete and more refined. He bared his teeth and fought it, rambled madly between panting breaths. He looked around like a blind man startled by a noise he couldn't place, and his hands tugged urgently at the knight. ]

Four-and-twenty dragons' eyes... I can't see it, I can't...

Started the fire, started it, something... something else, it sees us...

[ His heartbeat flickered like the barrier. Had he said those words aloud? Had Cain been listening, as distracted as he'd been? Sharp hearing, he reminded himself firmly, and looked back at the black shapes in the fire.

He could draw his sword, challenge whatever it was to fight, if it wanted to fight — but only the deadliest knights were also hunters, and Aymeric was realistic. He could close small gashes and block smoke, and Cain was weakened by something unseen, and this forest was alien to him.

The fire snapped and rumbled and gave no sign of what Cain seemed to know, like seers knew. It made him uneasy in a way he never felt outside of dreams — a creeping certainty, like he'd made a terrible error he'd forgotten about, something that cried out for him—

The forest had looked safe, he realized, but perhaps they were far closer to the Cwyld than he'd guessed. ]

Back to the city. [ He circled a firm arm around Cain's waist and started to tug him away. ] I mislike this. We two are not enough.

[ If they'd brought a monster... but he didn't trust the way Cain seemed to be crumbling under some intangible pressure. ]

[ Back to the city.

It rubbed like a command, clear and precise, and Cain fled the flames for his own meagre body. The fires in his eyes went out in curls of smoke, and the blood across his face darkened and went white, became a smear of ash as his magic consumed the offering and more.

His body felt like rubber, he wanted desperately to collapse and focus only on breath. Tried to urge Aymeric not back, but under the cover of trees. He'd gone sallow and pale, beneath his bronzey tan, looking up, and not at the fire. ]

Meric, we're fucking idiots, fucking... fucking dumbass idiots, it's not on the ground and we don't have a bow, it's...

[ The hunting cry of a firebird split the smoke-thick sky. ]

[ Meric struck him with distraction, and he glanced at Cain speculatively. The man looked like he could barely hold himself up, and the smear of ash gave him the air of a devotee of strange gods, a supplicant whose petition was failing. That spell had been foolish without a Bond, Aymeric decided, following Cain's gaze. He shouldn't have suggested it.

When he heard the cry, a velvety sardonic note entered his voice. ]

Ah. That changes things.

[ This was familiar. Not familiar enough for certainty, and the edge of a forest was not an ideal place to lure even a dragon, but Cain was right: they were idiots, and they had no bow. He drew his sword smoothly. ]

Unless you've another plan, I shall draw it out, and pray that it is foolish enough to come close. You will stay here, under cover.

Edited 2019-07-08 19:02 (UTC)

[ Cain swiped dripping sweat from his brow and the bridge of his nose, smearing the ash badly across half his face. ]

You kidding me? That's like telling me to hide under a fuckin' stack of firewood. I bet the people who ran into their homes thought that shit was safe too.

After this, god fucking damnit, we're gonna... [ He slipped forward, steadied by adrenaline and little else to the side opposite Aymeric's sword, and a little behind the taller man. He pulled his knife up into his hand, twirled it over his fingers in a brawler's antsy fidget, looking up. ]

... Gonna invent... rifles or something, remind me later. Rifles.

There!

[ He pointed it out, the depressingly-massive shape of the burning creature, circling lazily, half-hidden in the pillars of smoke, the clouds. It cried again, wings flaring, rising higher. Cain shielded his eyes with his hands, calculating. ]

I've got a better plan. A way better plan. But you gotta kill it in one stroke, or I'm dead. You think you can do that?

[ Dryly: ]

Possibly. Tell me first what your plan is.

[ He cast a glance at the knife — mildly disapproving, though he understood — and dug into his tabard, beyond where he'd stowed a few crushed blue flowers. ]

From my tower sometimes, I get to watch little hawks catch mice and rats in the gardens. You know, the back gardens of the town houses. And nothing makes a hawk dive, right, like seeing a rat run.

[ He cut again, made a quick slash across the pads of the fingers of his left hand. Hastily, he unbuckled the sword-belt and let it drop to the dust, used the blood to make an unfamiliar symbol on the palm of his other hand. He was talking fast, nerves sparking. Excited, almost. ]

And it can't be you, that armor will make you slower over a long distance, and you won't have any force in your stroke if you're racing forward then suddenly having to slash behind you. If the point is to kill the thing fast, you need all the momentum you can get behind the edge of that... what is your sword even made of, anyway? So, it won't just be your sword moving forward, but the bird diving into it. That amount of force would be like... firing your sword from a four-man ballista.

And uh, between us both, I'm way more likely to survive some fire, and even with those long legs of yours I'd slay you in a mile sprint. So I'm gonna teleport across the field, and be the rat. The bait.

You've just gotta be fast enough to meet me in the middle at the right time.

[ He didn't argue that he was very likely to survive fire; that his armor had been made for the purpose — it didn't matter; Cain was right, again. He'd never been the fastest knight he knew, not even close. Didn't ask whether Cain was confident that he could use teleportation magic when he'd only been able, to the best of Aymeric's knowledge, to make sparks before today. ]

I shall shield you as you run, then, to the best of my capabilities.

[ He leaned his sword against an armored leg; the point sank into pine needles and leaves. With one hand he tugged at the clasps of his pauldrons, releasing them one at a time to fall to the forest floor.

With the other, he held out a vial of silvery liquid, carefully, between his fingertips, and gave Cain a solemn look.

It was temporary, but Cain had stronger feelings about Bonds than he did. He wouldn't ask, and he wouldn't push for it. ]

Edited 2019-07-08 20:16 (UTC)

Aymeric, what...

[ He stared up, for a second, all his forward momentum fluttering away, as he realized what was being offered. He didn't reach for it. Stunned, at first, and then... pained. Almost ashamed.

He shifted the hand which held the knife, offered his hand for the vial to be dropped into. ]

.... I... can do more with this. A lot more. With less risk. If you're sure.

You were.... fucking right. About everything. I'll explain later, but...

I need you to know it.

You were right.

[ Aymeric set the vial in his palm, and laid that hand, fingers warm and the leather deceptively cool, over the back of Cain's neck. ]

Survive, first.

[ The corner of his mouth hitched up as he let go and ducked down, nimbly unbuckling his greaves. He didn't need to see Cain drink; the soft shifting expression on his face had been enough. ]

But I shall hold you to it.

[ Cain closed his eyes when he felt that newly-familiar hand settle over the back of his neck. He closed his fingers around the vial, took in a slow and steadying breath. Traded all the frenetic pre-battle energy for something clearer, calmer.

He nodded, uncapped the vial, and tossed back a swallow of the mercurial liquid without another thought. Held it out, offering the last half to Aymeric. ]

Is your sword holy? Something I shouldn't, um. Touch?

[ There was a strange fluttering around the edges of his mind, the suffusing warmth of the magic. He tried not to think about it. ]

The only other spell I've practiced is... like an enchantment, for weapons and touch. Mirrors a made wound a couple times.

No holier than yours.

[ He took the vial and didn't wait, also closing his eyes as he finished off what remained.

It was different, he could feel instantly, from his Bond with Francel. It washed over him the same way, though weaker, but Cain felt different, in the quiet whispering way his existence seemed new and intangible and significant, humming next to Aymeric's.

Fire suited him.

Aymeric shoved the vial back into his pocket with the flowers, pushing the moment away, and lifted his sword, holding the flat of it across his palms as if to have it blessed. ]

[ Outside of the dreams, the magic of the world made their language the same... when it was spoken. But when he focused, he could write in his mother tongue still, and make the letters what they were meant to be on the flat of the strange metal. In streaks of blood from his fingers, some of the strokes half-vanished he made them so fast.

страдание

He hardly dared to breathe as he focused on it. On the meaning and the word and the magic, while he lipped the words of the terrible lullabye it belonged to, this old word for suffering of the heart as much as the body. Of crawling back into his cot in his dark room on the Sleipnir, so bruised there was no hope of finding a comfortable way to lay, blood still seeping through the gauze on his hands.

His hands wavered, didn't yet fall away, and he bent toward the sword, mouthing words he didn't dare speak. Zashchitit' yego, he prayed, and sealed the hope with a small gift of blood for the keen edge itself. His hands were so scarred that the effort was worth more than his skin. And his attention was so intense and intent; it crackled like lightning on the edges of a plain through the thin bond they shared.

He turned away when it was done, walking out from under the scant protection of overhanging branches, shielding his eyes with his hand as he looked up, scanned the sky for their quarry. It glinted past the thin columns of black smoke, higher now. He set his mouth stubbornly. ]

Ready?

[ Aymeric's pale gaze flicked from the sword to Cain as he set his enchantment. His own end of the bond was muted, shifting indefinably.

When the spell was done he followed a short way, allowing the barrier around him to crumble. Casting one on Cain now would provide no guarantee that it'd survive teleportation; he'd need to remake it quickly, to be sure. The Bond would help — but for caution's sake, he raised his sword, inspected his left hand, and sliced the pad of his thumb along the edge. ]

Aye. And when next we decide to go wandering in the forest, we find beasts' blood first. Cast your spell; I am with you.

[ And he started to weave the barrier again, slowly, pushing the smoke and the forest and the circling bird and everything but Cain from his mind. ]

I'm not gonna bleed anything but me for my magic, Meric, so shove that idea right back where it came from. That'd be fuckin' vile.

But we'll compromise or something, later, huh? I'll learn how to use a bow instead, cut out the magic crap.

[ He'd decided for himself there would be a next time, and he mimed a two-fingered salute, with a lingering look over his shoulder at the elf. And then turned away, murmured something incomprehensible, and vanished in a twisting tongue of flame.

Only to reappear again not far, beneath the still-smouldering eave of a smoking outbuilding, and clearly winded with the effort. Cain's hands braced over his knees so that he could suck in a few breaths, and lifted a thumbs-up without looking. Overhead, the creature cried out again... and as if plucked up again by a thread of magic, the fires which had begun burning low roared up again, lept across blackened beams of the collapsed roof of the larger building toward the branches of nearby trees, and ran down the trunk with the speed and grace of a snake gliding over water. It began to arc in a loose thread, curving along the back of the thicket near which Aymeric still stood.

Beginning to pen off escape, while Cain settled into a slow walk away from the protection of the building and its eaves, covering his eyes again as he looked up, trying to gauge the right moment to really run.

The hunting-cry came again, and this time, the smoke thinned out enough, the great shadow of the circling bird rippled over him. Gargantuan, stretching across the whole of the scorched clearing. The smaller man would be nothing, like a lizard to an eagle.

He seemed to realize it, froze just a beat as the outline of shadow flowed over him, a ghost of coolness where before there'd been only heat. Overhead, the bird had already folded its wings, was falling like a comet, and he jolted into a sprint that by comparison was slow, miles too slow to be survived across the hundred yards he'd need to cross. He shouted something, too indistinct against the noise of the fire to be made out. ]

[ It was familiar, suddenly: panic and regret shot through Aymeric like lightning. The bird dove like a wyvern, a streak out of the sky, and he could too easily see it snatching up Cain's small vulnerable body, catching his limbs in its talons.

He charged out of the trees, too slow, and he knew it. Cain could turn, draw his sword and use the bird's speed against it, but he lacked the skill, and his sword was hardly more than a sharpened trinket, and Aymeric knew what happened to fresh knights with slipshod arms facing down wyverns alone.

Not like this, he thought desperately, this needless endeavor that meant nothing—

He cut across his left hand again to draw a line of fresh blood. The line of ash smeared across Cain's face had been a promise that something was listening, accepting the sacrifice. It wouldn't affect his grip so long as he kept his right hand on the outside.

The air around Cain began to shimmer as he sprinted, forming the barrier. Aymeric flung all his faith into the words he mouthed, too in need of all his breath to say them, sweat dripping down his brow. He prayed to the Fury, unimaginably far away, and to the gods of this land, any god who might be listening, that the shield would be without flaw, like Ishgard's wards had once been, so powerful and impenetrable that even a dragon would grasp at nothing and be forced to turn away.

He shouted back at Cain, hoarse with the effort: ]

Cast again! Come to me!

[ It didn't matter if he collapsed from the effort; he could be carried home, or to the Coven, so long as he survived. ]

[ Aymeric called out. Too far, too far, the knowledge was in their eyes, felt and shared between them, a truth as cold and solid as iron. For a moment, the Bond felt... not new, but old, impossibly old and familiar, anchored in that moment of crystal-clear distress, the ache and exertion of their bodies, pushed suddenly to all limits.

For the dizzying span of a moment, Cain wasn't sure which man he was. Which home he'd been from. Whether he was running toward danger, or away. Had he been the one to breathe in the ozone scent of rifle-fire, after practice? The one who had felt the edges of the magic of dragon's breath? All that was certain that he needed the other, that each half needed the whole to survive.

Fingers of flame licked up the blood they'd smeared on the blade, and then curled in harmless tongues around Aymeric. The shadow of the firebird was dark as a thunderhead over him now, and he pulled the other man to him while its long tailfeathers fanned, and the first of its claws shattered like dropped glass aggainst the shimmering barrier which protected them.

There was only a split second, where they all shared the same space. The heat of the bird's mantle of flames covered them with a roar, and the shining red feathers of its breast swooped over their heads. There was not even a moment to shout 'NOW!' to Aymeric.

Only, just barely, to think it. And trust in his arm, and skid and slide around his body, suddenly occupying a space it had not only a moment before. ]

[ The split second wasn't enough for Aymeric to comprehend what had happened, or which one of them had been responsible — but he'd seen enough battles and driven his sword through enough massive bodies that his own acted for him.

His sword hit home, sank deep through the firebird's ribs, and he tore it hard to the right. The bird faltered with a shrill, ringing scream, one leg striking the ground, then the other, tumbling, knocking them both to the ground before it skidded past them in a fiery heap, pouring smoke.

Aymeric left it where it lay twitching and convulsing, for the moment, and scrambled to his knees to hover over Cain. ]

Are you—?

[ Cain dizzily pushed up to an elbow from beneath the smouldering tailfeathers, as the bird's heartfires died and left it only brilliantly red and gold, no longer aflame. He reached for Aymeric with a similar panic, as if he could trust only his hands to tell him whether Aymeric was well, still had a head and two arms and two legs.

His hands shook hard, fluttered at Aymeric's shoulders while he sucked in gasps. ]

Y-you're okay? You're alright?

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