Chapter Text
The sky was beautiful that night, not that it did much to improve Weiss’s situation, but laying on the ground like she was, watching the night sky was the only thing she could really do. Of course she had rid herself of the roots and vines already, but she simply lacked a reason to rise from the ground anymore.
Perhaps in the morning Lady Blake would return and find her still laying there, unmoving, then the knight would ask her what had happened, and Weiss would have to explain everything to her. Weiss...did not look forward to that. Maybe she should have let the roots drag her down.
No, if she did that then people would start searching for her, and if they found out what happened to her then they’d hunt down Lady Ilia.
Oh, Weiss, you fool.
Even after everything you still want to protect her.
Of course she does. Of course she wants to protect Ilia, she meant the world to Weiss, and she had picked this night to tell her so. But once again things did not go the way she planned. The worst part was that Ilia loved her back, she truly did, but that only made her resent and hate Weiss, as if she had somehow manipulated Ilia into loving her.
Weiss wanted to be angry, wanted to hate Ilia back, but she couldn’t. For all the years that her father spent trying to teach her to be as hateful as he was, all it took was a few days among people who truly cared for her, for her to learn how to love instead. Now she wished she didn’t, because no one told her that love could ruin her.
No, this was unlike her, she shouldn’t be letting something like this drive her to inaction. She picked up the broken pieces of herself and put them together long enough for her to at least have dinner and then collapse in her tent.
It took some effort to achieve this, a great part of it used simply to keep herself from thinking about how this meal was made for two, but eventually she managed to put enough food in her body that she would not starve, and began the long drag towards her tent. She did not expect to sleep much tonight, but it wouldn’t do to stay outside and become sick from the exposure.
“Weiss.”
She didn’t know when her eyes had closed or when sleep had taken her. She knew only that it was still dark outside and that someone had called her name. Or perhaps not, perhaps that had been just part of some half forgotten dream. It had felt real enough to wake her up, but now that she was awake she questioned that it even happened.
“Weiss.”
That got her to stand. She stepped out of the tent and began looking around. It still felt strange, as if she had imagined it, but it was still louder and more real than before. Was this also a dream? It was infuriating that she couldn’t quite put a finger on what was happening.
“Weiss!”
Now that was real. A terrified wail, a helpless cry. Someone needed her help. No, not someone, it was Ilia. That was her voice, calling her from within the forest. Weiss didn’t question it, she didn’t stop to think, she had to help her now. She grabbed her sword and quickly dashed for the woods without a second thought.
“Weiss! Weiss!”
Her voice continued to cry, the wind carrying it an impossible distance as Weiss followed its call. It was Ilia’s magic, she thought, she was calling the winds to carry her cries for help.
She didn’t know of the other fae in these woods.
She didn’t know they had played this trick before.
Even then would she really stop to question it? Would she really risk it when the woman she loved called for her help? No, she wouldn’t. So she ran through hidden trails, and down non-existent paths. She leaped from shadow to shadow, through roots and branches, until she reached a place humanity had never touched.
And then the sound stopped.
All sound stopped. It was as if the forest had been put under a spell, or perhaps as if Weiss had left the forest altogether, and this clearing was its own world, displaced from her own. She, unfortunately, wasn’t afforded time to question those things any further.
“Lady Weiss Schnee,” a voice greeted her from among the trees.
“It is so nice of you to grace us with your presence,” another followed.
Her hand reached for the hilt of her sword instinctively, though she did not draw it yet. Cautiously she studied the woods around her, trying to find the origin of their voices.
“You wouldn’t draw iron upon your hosts, now would you?” The first voice taunted.
“And our little sister spoke so highly of you,” added the second.
“Ilia!?” She exclaimed without thinking, “where is she? What have you done to her?”
The voices cackled, their laughs melding into each other, into a single discordant sound that echoed through the once silent woods.
“Ilia?” The first voice mocked, “I don’t recognize that name, brother.”
“Do you know who that is, sister Amitola?” The other asked.
“That’s me,” came a weak response from behind her.
Weiss quickly turned around, finding that where once was a tree, now sat the bound form of Ilia’s true self. Her arms and legs were tied, her wings had been charred and burned, and her skin glowed a depressive blue.
“Ilia!” She called, rushing to her side and releasing her as fast as she could.
“Weiss,” she replied, her white eyes now full of hurt, “please go away.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Weiss insisted.
“This is a trap, you idiot!”
As soon as her arms were freed she grabbed a hold of her savior and pulled her down, both of them rolling out of the way of a jet of flames. When Weiss managed to regain her composure she was greeted by the sight of the most terrifying creature she ever laid eyes on.
It towered over the both of them, a mass of orange and white fur, with a maw that still let out smoke. Its four eyes scanned the clearing, each pair of them moving separately from the other, before they all focused on Weiss and Ilia on the ground.
It opened its mouth and the first voice spoke, “I thought you wished to help us, sister Amitola.”
Ilia flinched at that name.
“All you had to do,” the second voice spoke through that same mouth, “was lay down and let you both die.”
Flames spilled out of the fae’s mouth and Weiss barely had time to draw her blade. Iron struck against fire, and the magic that sustained it was ripped apart, killing the flames before they could do them any harm.
“I will not let you hurt Lady Ilia any further,” Weiss declared, sword pointed at that fire breathing monstrosity.
“Look at you, so eager to die for her,” laughed the second voice.
Weiss took the offensive, jumping forward with a stab of her blade. The fae dodged aside and swiped at her, but she had already retreated to Ilia’s side. They had range on her, but she had speed and iron on her side.
“She tricked you,” taunted the first voice as they sidestepped another attack.
Stab.
“Lied to you.”
Slash.
“Betrayed you.”
She split another fireball in half, anger rising in her with every word of her assailants.
“Why risk death in her name? A name that isn’t even her own,” the voices taunted together.
“Because I love her!” She shouted, slicing forward. It was as if her own words had spurred fate to her aid as her sword finally connected, burning an arc across the fae’s arm. “And I will defend her with my life if I have to!”
She heard a gasp coming from behind her, but she could not turn to see what Ilia’s reaction had been, she could only hope it wasn’t more hurt. Meanwhile the gestalt being scurried back and growled in anger. The sound was horrifying, two voices joined together, only growing more unsettling as it morphed into laughter.
“You love her?” The voices laughed and mocked, “and you think love will save you? You think this is some sweet story of knights and princesses? You think yourself some galant hero?”
Though they cackled, Weiss stayed resolute, sword firm in her hand and gaze locked on her foe. This was, perhaps, her biggest mistake, as it left her blinded to the spell the fae had weaved around her.
“We know what you are, Weiss Schnee,” they spoke, that name sounding like poison in their tongue, “you’re no hero. You’re just a pathetic little princess, playing pretend.”
Now that made her snap. She launched forward with wild abandon, swinging and stabbing without a hint of caution. The fae, for their part, only cackled louder and louder as they evaded every blow, their amusement only feeding into Weiss’s anger. Her reckless assault only came to a stop as she felt something snag under her and tripped her.
She cursed as her body hit the ground with force, her sword escaping her grip. She turned back to see what had caught her, and for a moment she worried she might have hit her head too hard. Her boots had been turned into heels, her pants and shirt had disappeared, replaced instead with an elaborate blue and white dress, and her vest had given way to a light shawl bearing her family’s crest.
Unnerving couldn’t begin to describe the feeling of seeing herself like this.
After being allowed to live her dream for weeks, to have herself forcefully dragged back to that gilded cage, it unsettled something deep within her. She felt panic rise as her breathing grew more uneven. She had to calm herself, she had to control herself or her and Ilia would be dead.
It was unfortunate then, that her foe planned to grant her no such reprieve.
“What is wrong, princess?” The voices mocked, a massive paw landing between her and her sword.
No no no, this wasn’t happening. She--She was a knight, she had trained her whole life for this, she was meant to fight people like them. She wasn’t weak, she wasn’t helpless, she wasn’t a princess!
Fire spewed from the creature’s maw, bathing the ground in it. Weiss barely had the time or awareness to roll away, her mind still caught in a spiral of ever growing panic. And those accursed fae could only laugh as they watched her suffer.
A large claw swiped at her, though it barely scraped against Weiss’s skin as she jumped away, the wound it left still bled and the force still sent her face first against a nearby tree. A second strike soon came to finish what the first started, but it was stopped short by a cloud of glowing butterflies.
Dozens of the magical insects swarmed over them, forcing them back as the fae swiped uselessly at them. Before they could even begin to deal with the swarm, a smaller fae had tackled them to the ground with all her might. Ilia had freed herself and had come to Weiss’s rescue.
She slammed her hands to the combined entity’s chest and urged the earth to take them back, calling upon the roots to bring them down with them. For a moment it had worked, but then the twins opened their mouth and fire engulfed both insect and root alike. Ilia had been lucky to escape this uncinged.
“After everything you still choose this human?” The voices growled as they stood back up, “the Schnee girl who saw you as nothing more than a tool for her redemption? Is this who you choose to die for, Amitola?”
“Yes!” She shouted back, “now be quiet!”
She had nowhere near their physical strength or destructive power, but this fae still had claws, and she wasn’t gonna let them hurt Weiss any longer. She jumped at them, climbing onto their back and clawing at them with a rabbid fury.
The twins growled as they were sent stumbling back. Though she caused them both severe pain, Ilia was still much smaller, her claws weren’t made for taking down something that size. A hand that was easily bigger than her whole head, grabbed at what remained of her mangled wings and slammed her forcefully to the ground.
Their mouth opened again, ready to reduce the smaller fae to ash, but were brought to a stop by a large branch striking the side of their face with enough force to crack it in half. They howled as they backed away, rage was clear in their eyes, but the gaze they made was unflinchingly resolute.
Weiss stood tall, even in that stupid dress, her shawl had been ripped appart and wrapped around her hands, and she held what remained of that branch as if it was the noblest of blades. Even in the guise of a princess, she stood like a knight.
“You may insult me, humiliate me, you may even question my honor,” she declared, gaze unwavering as she approached the hulking creature, “but you’re a fool if you think you can harm Lady Ilia in my presence.”
The fae cackled, insults ready to spew out like their flames, but Weiss was quicker and she had no more patience for their trickery. The branch sliced at their eyes before the first word could escape their mouth.
“My lady was right,” she added, “you two should stay quiet.”
Were there any bards to witness this battle then they would have certainly sung of Weiss’s bravery, of her resolve, and of her devotion to both her love and her cause. They would sing of how she bested the fae with unmatched skill and unparalleled wits. Though the first part is certainly accurate, in truth Weiss’s skills hardly applied to this situation, and there was only so much anyone could do to something that big when armed with nothing more than a particularly sharp stick.
Still Weiss was set on besting Ilia’s assailants or dying to buy her time to escape, and that seemed more than enough to keep her fighting on.
She plunged the branch into one of the fae’s four eyes, causing it to howl in terrible pain. Though a victorious thrill ran through the knight’s body, she was promptly reminded of her foe’s sheer might and size as a large claw slammed against the side of her body, launching her against a nearby tree with terrifying force.
Once again fire began to spew, ready to engulf Weiss whole, and once again it was Ilia who saved her.
“Catch!” She shouted as she tossed Weiss her sword, and the magical inferno was unmade under the touch of iron.
Her blade sang and her feet drove her forward, iron met flesh with a deadly puncture, but the fae still stirred. They grabbed hold of her side, claws digging into skin as they tried to force her back. But Weiss was undeterred, she took one last step forward, driving Myrtenaster into their heart, like a nail into a coffin.
And so they slumped to the ground, black smoke escaping their wounds.
Weiss fell to her knees not long after.
“Weiss!” Ilia cried, as she rushed to her side, holding her before she could hit the ground.
“Ilia,” she muttered, weakness taking over her body as the adrenaline left her, “are you hurt?”
“Am I hurt?” Ilia asked with a nervous laughter, “Weiss, you’re bleeding.”
“But are you well?” She insisted.
“Yes, you absolute fool,” she answered, worry and exasperation in her voice, “I’m well.”
“Good.”
Ilia was safe, that was all that mattered. Not her wounds, not her blurring vision, and certainly not her blood loss. What mattered was that her love was safe, and nothing else.
She closed her eyes and, with a smile on her face, was taken away to the land of dreams.