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

[ 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?

[ Aymeric let out a heavy uneven breath. The tension left him in a rush, and he dropped his head to rest against Cain's shoulder — and started to laugh, a breathless, disbelieving chuckle. ]

I thought you were — I don't know what I thought, and look at you!

[ He lifted his head, brought his unbloodied hand to Cain's cheek. His own had acquired a smudge of soot, somewhere, and he looked like a man accustomed to cold who'd been fighting a firebird in warm weather, but he was smiling. ]

You're a mage! A far better mage than I can claim to be, even now. Not long ago you could hardly make sparks, and you were perfect!

[ Aymeric went slack, and Cain's hands, still shaking but at least a little steadier, threaded together behind his neck. Splayed fingers carded up through the elf's dark hair, smooth, trying to be soothing, while he exhaled a shaky laugh and tucked their faces together, his cheek pressed for a second to the other soldier's temple. Laughing, breathless, before he leaned back a little, grinning, still drawing his hands through Aymeric's hair, trying to pull it back a little from his flushed and heated face. ]

H-hah, are you kidding? I'd be fucking birdfood if you hadn't done that trick, the magic wall, the barrier! And I thought you were gone, just like that, I...

I... thought I'd done the wrong fuckin' thing, meant to go to you and not... not...

[ He forgot what he was even saying, he was grinning so hard, and with a grunt just pulled Aymeric in to embrace him again. ]

[ He didn't resist it, fell with his arms propped around Cain to collapse against him. Even the singed grass was pleasant on his face, and Cain was alive beneath him, the rhythm of his breath different, but steady and real.

The moment stretched on for too long. Aymeric could have let it to go on longer, could have stayed that way for an hour — but he lifted his head again, rolling his suddenly-stiff shoulders. ]

I suppose we ought to return to the city.

[ Cain let Aymeric go, but didn't move to follow him, sunk prone into the singed grass with his eyes closed, just feeling himself breathe.

And thn he began pushing himself up, tight lipped. Slowly, stiffly, began to gain his feet. ]

No.

I've never... I need to look at it.

And it's... I could feel it, in the fire. Its magic. Its... it was... just an animal.

[ He moved past Aymeric, reaching his hands out for a feathered wing. Followed along the shape of it, walking around without stepping on half-ruined feathers. Jogged over to its crested head. His expression of joy had faded fast into something tight, almost miserable. ]

It's... beautiful....

[ Aymeric said nothing, watching him, still and impassive from the other side of the carcass. It was a curious sentimentality for a soldier — had been unknown to him even when he'd first become a knight, shot his first small wyvern out of the sky — but he'd seen it in other men. Men, mainly, who had taken up swords and lances and bows for the cause, but would have been better suited to any other life.

He began to walk around the bird's feathers, slowly moving to meet Cain. ]

So it is.

[ It was, objectively. The thought brought him no sadness, with the frames of smoldering huts behind them. ]

Does it trouble you?

[ He ran the scarred fingers of one hand up the black-and-gold beak of the creature, feeling dazed. His fingers, still with fresh cuts, prickled with pain and heat. It was still warm. And he didn't look up as Aymeric joined him.

He wet his lips, which were chapped from the heat. ]

I'm from a world with no animals. Especially nothing like this.

[ He drew his hand cautiously along the feathers framing the brow ridge of a great eye, closed now. ]

I dunno. The first thing I thought was... 'kill it'. When I felt the bodies burning. Didn't even stop to... think. But maybe there's something else we could have done? Driven it off, or something? Scared it, some how.

So... maybe I am troubled, I guess. That that was the first thing I thought. And now it's dead, and maybe didn't need to be. And... y'know, what does that say?

About me?

Let me heal your hand.

[ He held out his own to take Cain's while he measured his words carefully, discarding what seemed too hard, to dismissive. ]

I am from a place with many such creatures. Few birds as large as this, but dragons, wolves, efts, great bears, all sorts. Many are magnificent, from afar — but men are prey to them. Should you manage to frighten away a bear who plagues a merchant road, what will he do? He must eat. You've saved yourself by condemning something or someone else. That is life in the wilderness.

[ He paused. ]

Nor do I mean to reproach you for your good heart, and I would not like to see it hurt. There are fell creatures in this forest; you may have little choice but to defend yourself against them. You might, perhaps, do best to stay away.

That's not just life in the wilderness, but... life kinda in general.

[ He added a mental 'before the twenty-second century. ]

Everything eats. Things die so you can live, vice versa, everythings a big web of interconnected life and death and balance and shit. But I've never been in the web before, never been a part of a... of an ecosystem.

It's a big responsibility, you know?

[ He gave over his hand a little hesitantly, obviously now sure what to expect. ]

True enough.

[ For how shaken he'd seemed, it was a more measured response than Aymeric expected. He relaxed a little, almost intangibly; allowed his hand over Cain's to settle lightly on it. Even after casting two good barriers in quick succession, the healing spell came stronger and more easily than ever, seamlessly diffusing across the clean edges of the cuts Cain had made, knitting his damaged skin. ]

Yet that web is much like public life, I think — like statecraft: the moment you question your right to be a part of it, and do as you must, you risk some hungrier thing taking your place.

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