Chapter Text
The next day finds you awakening within the well you'd carved for yourself, now thoroughly lined with soft things, all sorts of pillows and blankets and various fabrics competing for space against the walls.
The Queen had done her best to make it comfortable, but with the small amount of space, it bordered more on suffocating. You'd definitely need more time to experiment there. Just how to balance your Wyrm instincts, your ADHD, and your human sensibilities...?
With a quiet, buzzing hum, you stretch as best as you can in the tight space. Today would be your first 'official' meeting with the Dreamers. It's a thought that you'd been hoping to avoid for a bit longer. Lurien had proven himself trustworthy, but the others?
You sigh and pull your way out of the hollow, following the White Lady's glowing roots. She seems delighted to see you awaken, making a happy-sounding chirp as she pulls you up, out, and briefly into her arms.
"Ah… good morning, my Queen. I meet with the Dreamers today to discuss what we'll do going forward, correct?"
"It is. That won't happen until later today, however. For now, it is time for a wash and then breakfast." Oh. It seems as though being immortal doesn't free you from the constant upkeep of organic existence. Your stomach turns at the thought and you merely nod, choosing instead to focus on the way your wings shimmer in your combined lights.
"Ah, I suppose you wouldn't remember how to fly, then?" The Queen asks, and you nod, too thoroughly distracted by the refraction of the light to actually think over your answer. "Alright, I'll tell a retainer to schedule you some time in the training grounds with Dryya, then."
"Dryya and Ze'mer pulled me out of the Abyss, right? I'll need to thank them. How are the others?" Mentally, you make a note to talk to Ze'mer about the Traitor Lord's daughter. You should write down a to-do list at some point… "Have they been informed of my… condition?"
"Yes, and no. They did pull you out of the Abyss, but we'll need to determine how to announce this during today's meeting, so they've merely been told that the visit took a toll upon your health." Smart move. You'd definitely need to… oh dear. You become dimly aware of a pain in your midsection, informing you that you need to eat.
"Goddamnit," you swear in English, "we should probably go and eat, then."
You ignore the way your heart twists when she lights up at your admission.
After what might possibly the most awkward meal you've ever had, it's washing time. Your stomach still slightly aches, but you ignore it, happy to escape the uncomfortable tension in the air.
A small group of retainers leads you down a maze of twisting hallways that hurt your head to see, much less remember, leading you into a room. A shallow pit filled with faintly glowing, steamy water sits in the middle of the room, and holy shit. While their bedroom may be bare bones, the bathroom is certainly not.
Bottles filled with all sorts of liquids and concoctions, salts and herbs, are lined neatly around the edge of the pool. The pool itself is lined in luscious silver, tracing some sort of delicate hatched pattern with the Hallownest Seal engraved at each cardinal direction. Lumafly lamps of all shapes and sizes drape from the ceiling, bathing the room in more than enough bright light as Soul-steam rises lazily from the water within.
The retainers deposit you into the room, and then they… don't leave. Oh god, White Lady didn't explain this to you! Why aren't they leaving? One shuts the door, and you barely manage to hold in a whimper as they advance on you like some shitty horror movie.
This is gonna suck!
You emerge from the washroom, thoroughly scrubbed and shaking all over. One hand clamps down fiercely on your neck as the other tugs at your robes. That… sucked!
You make a mental note to talk to the White Lady and kick them out of anywhere you might possibly be naked. Especially not anywhere they could be poking and prodding, cleaning and touching with such careful reverence…
You shake your head. Now's not the time.
"Please take me to my Root," you direct a retainer. They nod and skitter off, forcing you to run a lot faster than you're comfortable with in this body to keep up. Fuck! Today just isn't your day, is it?
By the time you catch up to the retainer, you're already halfway across the palace. At least, you think you are. You've never had the best sense of direction, after all. Especially not in these unchanging corridors.
Eventually, the endless hallways open up to one much larger, covered floor to ceiling in windows that illuminate a garden, blooming in all shades of blue, green, and pale. After so long spent seeing only slight variations in the same white, the sprawling colour of the garden nearly brings tears to your eyes.
"Is she here?"
The retainer shakes their head and you hum. Odd.
"May I go out there?"
At this, the retainer slows to a stop, blinking at you with eyes blinded by your own light. "My King," they bow, "you need not ask permission. This is your palace, you may go wherever you like."
Oh. That makes sense. You thank him and nod, looking for a way out there that doesn't involve breaking the windows, before they walk over to one and reveal that it is, in fact, a door. Oops.
"Ah… thank you again, dear retainer," you praise. They flutter at the casual acknowledgement in a way that flatters you and yet makes you so.very deeply uncomfortable. Uncertain how to react to this, you flee.
The garden is a welcome contrast from the stifling airs of the palace. It smells of dirt and growing things, framed with a comfortable sort of humidity. This place… you like this place. It feels like home, like safety. Without hesitation, you run in, getting joyfully lost amongst the flowers.
"My Wyrm?" Calls the White Lady from the other side of the garden. You answer with a sound that vaguely resembles a chirp, currently arms deep in a berry bush of an unknown variety with plant scraps of all sorts surrounding you.
"M'lady Root! This place is wonderful!" She appears from around a corner to see your best approximation of a wide smile, currently too distracted by the simple joys of plant life to think of your earlier fear.
Or, at least, until you think of the fact that she's a plant and likely grew all of these, and tearing them up is probably incredibly rude. You begin to shrink into yourself and stutter out apologies, only for the Queen to scoop you up into a hug with a soft squeal. (...What?)
"Ah… Lady Root?" She sets you down with an adoring smile, the likes of which make you vaguely uncomfortable. "...when will the meeting with the Dreamers begin?"
"Oh, yes! That's what I came for, my young Wyrm. Come along, now! It is soon to begin," she smiles, taking your hand and leading you out of the garden.
Had it been anyone else, the childish treatment would have you feeling safe, warm and protected. Loved. But with the White Lady, all you feel is patronized. It is an unpleasant feeling, and you make a silent apology to anyone you might have treated that way in the past.
Soon enough, however, all things end. The door to the meeting room looms above you.
The Dreamers await.