Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"We should use this love potion on one of the men," declared Elini.

"Good idea, uplander," replied Te'ijal. "Galahad, my duckling, come here. I have something for you."

"Stay away from me creature of the night!"

Elini scoffed. "Who says you get to use the potion?"

"Don't push it, human. Now give me the potion and I will not bite you."

"Come now ladies, let's be reasonable..." Pirate John backed away from the two women. Despite years of experience as a swashbuckling pirate, this was one fight he didn't want to get involved in.

"You already have his soul, what do you need a love potion for?" Elini shoved Te'ijal away as she reached for the potion.

"YOU already have three husbands." Te'ijal grabbed the potion back.

"You have many years ahead of you to find husbands. If I don't snatch this one up now, he may escape forever."

"Hey!" Pirate John snapped. "It's obvious you two ladies aren't rational enough to handle this yourselves. Why don't you give the potion to me for safekeeping?"

"Of course," grinned Elini.

"See? Women aren't so unreasonable. All they need is a man to-"

Elini uncorked the bottle, intending to pour the potion over John's head, when suddenly a very indignant vampress grabbed it out of her hand.

"Don't think I'm naive enough to fall for your tricks. I see what you're about to do!"

The two women fought fiercely over the potion, each trying to wrestle it out of the other's hand. Then the bottle cracked, causing the concoction inside to explode onto both of them. Awkwardly, they stepped away from each other and the pieces of broken glass on the ground.

"At least I don't have to worry about THAT anymore." Pirate John breathed a sigh of relief. "This is why I avoid women. They're all crazy, the lot of them!"

Meanwhile, Elini nonchalantly picked shards of glass out of her hair. "You know, John, I've been thinking. A husband with that attitude is more trouble than he's worth. I want to search for a new prospect, something a little more high-class."

In the background, Lars bristled, ready to defend his bachelorhood.

"And what might that be, uplander?" Te'ijal inquired.

"I already have three husbands. Maybe it's time to add a wife to the mix."

Mad Marge's jaw dropped.

Pirate John blinked.

Te'ijal burst into a fit of cackles.

"A union of two women? That is almost unheard of in humankind." She bared her fangs in amusement. "Lucky for you, I have no interest in conforming to silly human customs."

Elini returned her new love interest's grin. "Good! We shall be wed as soon as this quest is finished. I'm sure my husbands will welcome you, as you are just as strong as they are. Perhaps even stronger."

Te'ijal sidled up to her fiancée, ruby eyes sparkling with amusement and...affection? "Why wait? I hear there's a lovely wedding chapel in Thais..." She sweetly nibbled at Elini's ear, making sure to mind her fangs. Wouldn't want to upset her wife-to-be on the eve of their wedding night. That could wait till later.

Elini nodded and turned to face Rhen. "We'll only be gone a day, sword singer. Maybe two. I'm sure you won't miss us." With another glance back at the party, she chuckled and whispered something into Te'ijal's ear, to which the other woman laughed at and nodded. The two of them then strolled off to be married, arms lovingly locked around each other's waists.

A few moments too late, Galahad reached the conclusion that he was left without his soul. "Wait! Come back! What about my soul?" He attempted to run after them, but they were long gone. "Curse you, demon spawn!"

After giving Galahad a halfhearted consolation pat on the back, Pirate John decided to voice what everyone else was probably thinking. "They're strangely perfect for one another, in a twisted, nonsensical sort of way."

"But two women? I thought multiple husbands was strange enough, and now this?" Lars rolled his eyes.

"I don't know, Lars. Are you sure you're not just jealous? You did seem pretty offended when Elini said she didn't want to marry you." Rhen added.

"Hey, she may not think I'm good enough for her, but I don't want to be her husband anyway! Hmph!"

"Whatever, Lars."

A certain surly barmaid who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the unfolding of events then cleared her throat. "Now that that Veldtian minx is gone, you can forget about her and focus on me, right John?" Mad Marge planted her hands on her hips and glared expectantly. In retrospect, Pirate John was starting to think that he should've taken Elini up on her offer when he had the chance.

"...I think I need a drink."

Chapter Text

Outside their mother’s bedroom, two twin girls peered through the crack of an open door. One had hair as black as the sky of the Demon Realm and a troublemaking spirit to match. The other had a complexion befitting an angel, complete with a halo of cloudy white hair. Both had luminous blue eyes sparkling with all the mischief and intelligence of their mother, who happened to be the current subject of the twins’ attention.

“Uma, move your fat head, I can't see!” Nox, the dark-haired twin, grumbled as she shoved her sister out of the way to get a better view.

“Shh! Do you want Mother to hear us?” Uma wrestled with Nox until they finally settled on the uncomfortable position of Nox crouching on Uma’s shoulders, both of their heads peeking into the room.

"Lars and I are traveling to Shaelnir to visit his ill mother, but it’s too dangerous to take the girls. The northern kingdom is harsh any time of year, but it's even worse during the winter,” Mel explained. “We’ll only be gone a week at most. Promise me you won't let them get into trouble this time.”

“Who’s Mother talking to?” Uma whispered.

“I don't know,” Nox replied. “She's standing in front of the door, I can't see.”

“I won't let you down, Mistress! I promise!” answered a cheerful voice that causes both girls to break out in grins.

“It's Auntie Yemite!” a surprised Nox exclaimed, slipping off Uma’s shoulders. They both tumbled into the room and landed in a jumble of black and white at their mother’s feet.

“Girls! What are you doing?” Mel glared at her daughters with the obligatory annoyance of a scornful mother, although her smile betrayed her amusement at their antics.

Nox grinned guiltily from the floor. “Nothing, Mother.” Uma hastily fixed the disheveled bow that Nox had pulled off. “We were just, um, about to knock.”

Before their mother could reprimand the girls, their “aunt” rushed forward and scooped them into her arms. They had admittedly grown too big for an average person to casually lift them, but Yemite’s arms were still strong from her days of battling beside Mel. “Uma, Nox! How are my favorite children of darkness...er, I mean nieces?”

Mel eyed the three of them suspiciously. Yes, she knew perfectly well that leaving the three of them alone was a possible - no, probable - recipe for disaster. But what choice did she have? Edward and Stella were too busy ruling their kingdom in Thais to babysit. Ulf would’ve been an ideal choice, but he lived on another continent. And she certainly wasn’t about to ask Te’ijal and Galahad. But still …

“Maybe this isn't such a good idea.”

“No!” Uma and Nox protested in unison. They each grabbed one of Yemite’s horns, while Yemite protectively tightened her arms around them.

“Let them stay, Mistress. It’s only for a few days. I'll take care of them, I promise.”

“Yeah, let us stay with Yemite!”

“We’ll be good. Please?”

Mel knew when she was fighting a losing battle. Saving the world was no problem, but winning an argument against both of her daughters was an impossible task. With a long suffering sigh, she accepted defeat. “Fine, you can stay. But you're to be in bed by nightfall; no going into the weapons chest in the basement, and absolutely NO chocolate covered eyeballs for them, Yemite.”

Nox gasped. “But Auntie Yemite makes the best chocolate eyeballs!”

“I said none! Or you'll have me and your father to deal with.” As petulant as they were, even the twins recognized that Mel Darkthrop and Lars Tenobor VIII are a force to be reckoned with.

“Fine,” Nox grumbled, privately resolving to settle for caramel lizard tails instead.

“Be safe, okay? Father and I will be back soon.” Mel kissed each of her daughters on the cheek and playfully mussed their hair. “I love you both.” Mel donned her traveling cloak as she exited the room, sending Yemite one last meaningful glance.

“Well,” Yemite said with a grin as soon as Mel and Lars had left the premises, “Who wants chocolate covered eyeballs?”

~

“Auntie Yemite, we’re bored,” a disgruntled Nox whined as she tugged on Yemite’s tail. It had been three days, and she couldn’t stand to be cooped up in this house for one more hour. Even Uma, by far the more laid-back of the two, had begun to thrum with restless energy.

Yemite, as much as she’d like to oblige the little ones and have a little fun, was trying in earnest to be a responsible babysitter. Aside from the “forbidden” darkling delicacies and that one accident with the fire in the kitchen, she thought she'd done a fair job of it. Mel trusted her with the task of caring for her daughters, and Yemite didn’t want to let her Mistress down. But she had been quashing her own boredom for the past few days. Surely little excursion wouldn't hurt.

“How would you like to go to a party?” Yemite asked. Uma and Nox nodded fervently.

“That would be so much fun!” Uma gasped, and ran upstairs to get changed. Mel didn't host parties very often, as she found them tiring and boring. But Uma loved the enchantment of it all; she couldn't wait to dig up the party dress that had been collecting dust in her closet since last year. Nox was less excited to get dressed up, but she nevertheless enjoyed the excitement of the few parties she’d been to.

A few moments later, the twins emerged from their rooms in their partygoing outfits. Uma was a miniature snow princess in her white dress trimmed in sky blue. By contrast, Nox wore a knee-length black dress that looked more like an oversized shirt than anything. Still, Yemite fawned over both of them. “You look so adorable!” she squealed. “If only Mistress could see you. Oh, my friends don't usually like humans, but how could they not love you two?”

The twins gave each other quizzical looks. “Yemite, where exactly is this party?” Nox questioned.

Yemite’s only reply was an enigmatic “You’ll see”.

~

“Welcome to Underfall,” Yemite announced as she, Uma, and Nox stepped out of the mirror express.

Uma and Nox gaped at the exotic sight of the dark city. A sprinkling of white dusted the walkways and surrounding fields. On some of the buildings hung green garlands adorned with multicolored translucent baubles. Slate gray clouds hung above and below them, heavy with the promise of more snow.

“We darklings and other demonfolk have a tradition of celebrating the winter solstice with a week of celebration,” Yemite explained as they walked to their destination. “There are decorations, and feasts, and parties that last until sunrise. And on the last day of festivities, friends and family give exchange gifts to give each other joy through the cold and dark winter.”

Darklings certainly are strange. But it would be nice to celebrate a holiday like that, Uma mused. She trailed behind Yemite slightly, scanning the area for something she could turn into a gift for Aunt Yemite.

I wish we had a holiday like that, I would so love to get free stuff in the wintertime, thought Nox, in total contrast to her sister’s thinking.

“We’re here,” Yemite announced in a singsong voice. They had arrived at a building called Darkling Hall, as indicated by the moss-covered sign. “They’re with me,” she added when the zombie guarding the door gave them a funny look. He stepped aside and the trio entered.

They were immediately greeted by a wall of overwhelming sights and sounds. A quartet played in the center of the hall, the music just a bit too gurgly to be coming from human instruments. Multicolored light bathed the room, emanating from a blob on the ceiling that looked suspiciously like it had eyes. “Yo, Yemite!” shouted a stout blue darkling, who rushed forth out of the crowd and embraced his friend. “Rotwart! It's been years! I haven't seen you since the slug-eating contest for who would get to be the chosen one’s servant.” Rotwart handed Yemite a glass of some slimy drink and they disappeared into the din to reminisce about the good old days, leaving Uma and Nox unattended.

“Well, where do we go now?” asked Nox.

“I was thinking we could get gifts for Auntie Yemite and Mother. She did say presents were part of the tradition.”

“Yeah, a darkling tradition. And why should we, when she didn't get us gifts?”

Uma huffed at her sister’s selfishness. “Nox, do you only ever think of yourself? Besides, Yemite said the gifts were given on the last day of celebration. She’s probably waiting to give us our gifts.”

Nox considered for a moment. It could be fun to look around for a gift. “Okay,” she conceded, “But we should each only look for one present. One for Auntie Yemite, one for Mother; each from both of us.”

Uma smiled, alight with the energy the two of them shared when they were on a mission. “I'll go outside to find a present for Mother.”

“And I'll stay in here and get something for Yemite.”

“Meet back here in twenty minutes?”

“You got it, sis.”

Nox ventured into the crowd of monsters, careful to avoid anything with tentacles or large feet. She wandered around the edge of the room, scouting for anything that Yemite would like. Unfortunately, the only remotely giftable objects were dust bunnies.

She came to a stairwell that appeared to lead into a basement. Feeling adventurous, she crept down. A trio of monsters sat around a table playing a game of cards.

“I raise you 500 gold pennies,” said a small green demon.

“I’m out,” huffed a hooded figure.

“Are you kidding me? You know I can't cover that!” shouted a brutish orc as he slammed his drink on the table in anger.

The green guy shrugged. “That stone in your pocket is worth 500.”

The orc pulled out the stone and held it in defensively in his hand. The air around it shimmered with intangible dark energy. Somehow, Nox intuitively sensed that it was cursed. This was perfect - Yemite loved curses! She didn't understand how, but apparently they were delicious to darklings. “I ain't betting this!” The orc demonstratively slammed his fist again, shoving the stone back in his pocket. This orc sure was quick to anger. Wheels began to turn in Nox’s head, and a wicked smile spread across her face as she formulated a wonderfully awful idea.

She meandered into the room. “Excuse me, gentleman. Sorry to interrupt your game, but I’m looking for a suspect - green, a little bit slimy, about yea tall,” Nox gestured a few inches above her head. “Wanted for accounts of thievery, and uh, cheating at cards.”

The orc glared daggers at the demon across from him. “Eh Greedo, that sounds like you. And ya know something? I always knew you were a cheater.”

“It ain't me, I swear it!” the monster apparently called Greedo protested.

“Hey kid, aren't you a little young to be playing detective?” The hooded figure raised a spindly finger at her.

“For your information, I'm actually, er, a gnome. We retain our youthful faces even at hundred of years of age.” Nox didn't know if that was true, but she figured these dumb brutes would believe it. “And yes, Greedo. That was his name. I’ll be back with my friends, and they won't let you get away this time!”

“You'll never catch me alive, kid!” Greedo made a mad dash for the exit, but the orc caught him by the collar of his jacket.

“Trying to cheat me out of my money?! You're not going anywhere, punk, until I introduce you to my fist!” he bellowed. Nox wrinkled her nose in disgust at the visible spray of spit.

While Greedo pleaded for mercy, Nox nonchalantly strolled past and lifted the stone from his pocket. The orc was too absorbed in making violent threats to notice. Nox emerged from the basement, smugly tossing the cursed stone up in the air and catching it. Her pickpocketing skills were truly a thing to be admired. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter.

~

Meanwhile, Uma skipped out the door into the crisp winter air. The hulking zombie was still looming in front of the entrance, but he didn't notice Uma as she crawled away, blending in with the snow. Now, where would she find a present for Mother? She wandered up and down the streets, but they were empty of everything except snow. Maybe she could get a flower from the fields, but they was so far away, she’d never make it back in time.

Suddenly, Uma’s thoughts were interrupted by the clamor of a couple on the midst of a heated argument. They emerged from the mirror express in the center of town and immediately started walking in her direction. The woman, a pale redhead in a slinky dress, was pulling her companion along, who seemed intent on refusing to move.

“Come on, husband, it's only a party. You need to go out more - the only time you leave the house is when you're trying to escape.”

“I will not socialize with creatures of the night!”

“Galahad, you're being ridiculous! I already promised them I’d bring a bottle of blood, it would be rude not to-”

Wait… Galahad? Uma recognized these two, although it'd been years since she'd seen them. “Te’ijal!”

The couple paused their bickering at the sight of Uma waving. Te’ijal ran toward her, and even the typically stoic Galahad’s face lit up upon seeing one of his best friend’s daughters.

“How’s Mel’s little crumpet? The last time I saw you, you were no bigger than a dragon’s egg!”

“Uma, what are you doing here?” Galahad asked. Leave it to him to ask the rational questions.

“Mother and Father are away, so Auntie Yemite brought us here for the celebration. But I have a big problem. I need to find a gift for Mother, but I don't know what to get.” Uma looked up at them with wide, helpless eyes she knew grown-ups were unable to resist.

“That's quite the dilemma, young one.” Te’ijal surveyed the area, her catlike eyes eventually landing on a perfect gift. “Over there, in the greenery on the edge of that building, you see those orbs? I think your mother would appreciate one of those. Mel has … a thing for orbs.” The vampress giggled at how fitting the present really was.

Galahad reached to retrieve one for her. “What color?”

“Ooh, get the dark blue one! It’s the same shade as Mother’s eyes.”

The precious trinket was placed in Uma’s hands. She’d found a gift after all! Now all she had to do was meet up with Nox. She accompanied the two vampires back to the party, idly wondering what her sister had found for Yemite.

~

The party lasted until sundown. They danced to the strange darkling music, which Nox found thrilling and Uma, in spite of herself, eventually got around to enjoying. Te’ijal’s bottle of blood was a big hit, and she even let Uma and Nox try some, although they didn't find the taste very pleasant. When it was time for singing, Yemite and Te’ijal sang an old Underworld folk song together, and even Galahad couldn't resist a laugh.

As soon as they got home, all three of them collapsed in a heap back on their sofa. Their eyes were already drooping with the thorough exhaustion of a day of festivities.

“Auntie Yemite, can we just sleep here?” mumbled Nox.

“I suppose it won't hurt.” In truth, Yemite didn't want to get up herself. She used her tail to snag the blanket that was draped over the side and spread it over them. Curling her legs up onto the couch, she lazily wrapped a wing around each of the girls as they drifted off into the Dreamworld.

~

“Girls, we’re home!” Mel announced.

Uma and Nox pried open their eyes to the morning light filtering in through the windows and the sight of Mel and Lars standing in the doorway. They tore off the blanket and stumbled to hug their parents, who enveloped them in a crushing group hug. Yemite snuck up behind Mel and threw her arms around her neck. She wanted to hug Mel too, of course. “Did you miss us, Mistress?” she asked. Mel laughed in agreement and let go of Uma and Nox to show them the bag in her hands. “Grandma recovered quickly, so we were able to to come home early. And we brought special treats.” Mel opened the bag, revealing a dozen fragrant pastries with assorted fillings.

“I almost forgot! We got you presents too,” said Uma. She pulled out the ornament from the pocket of her dress. “It's an orb, for you and Father. Tei- I mean, Yemite said you liked them.”

Mel took the orb in hand, marveling at the glasswork and rich blue hue. “It's lovely, but why the gifts all of the sudden?”

“It's a darkling tradition,” Yemite interjected. “We exchange gifts in the wintertime. I … er, educated the girls about it while you were away.”

Nox held out her gift next. “This one is for you, Auntie Yemite.”

Yemite let out an involuntary eep of excitement. “A curse? For me? Where did you find it? Oh, you shouldn’t have! So many delicious treats to eat, I can't wait until dessert!”

Lars quirked his eyebrow at his daughters. “Yes, where did you get them?”

Uma and Nox exchanged a glance, the sort that scheming partners gave each other when they were knew someone was onto them. “Nevermind, I don't want to know,” said Mel before either one of them came up with something satisfactory to tell their parents. One day, Mel would get the full story, but right now she didn't want to spoil this moment with her family.

“I’ll admit, I didn't get gifts for all of you yet, but I think I can improvise.” Yemite motioned for them to follow her outside. She flew up into the air and perched on the roof of their house. “Everyone watch closely! And you might want to stand back a little.” The darkling raised a hand into the sky, drawing on magic she hadn't used in years but that still thrummed solidly through her veins. Suddenly, the sky was alight with dazzling firebursts and explosions of all colors.

The twins and even their parents were mesmerized by the display. “I've always wanted to see fireworks,” whispered Nox to her equally dazzled sister.

Mel’s heart swelled with love as she watched her daughters’ awestruck expressions. It turns out Yemite wasn't such a bad babysitter after all. Maybe they should celebrate darkling holidays more often.

Chapter Text

Before she embarked on her world-saving adventure, seventeen-year-old Rhen Darzon Pendragon of Clearwater never expected to travel farther from the meadow at the outskirts of her village to collect marigolds for her mother, much less save the world from Ahriman. But everything changed when this small-town girl was thrown out of her small-town world, kidnapped by a slave trader, and sold to a wealthy buyer in the Eastern city of Galarah.

After six months a slave, Rhen's life turned around one fateful day when two Shadwood Academy ambassadors witnessed a powerful feat of magic from the now-famous Sword Singer, officially freeing her due to the law forbidding enslavement of magic wielders.

"I needed a slave to help me take care of the house and my eldest boy, after the last one ran away. Insolent girl. I'm thankful I was able to rid myself of her," says Rona Tenobor, Rhen's former mistress. Yeah right - she's just jealous!

She was admitted into the prestigious academy along with her owner's son, Lars Tenobor. Both Rhen and Lars declined to comment on their interactions during this time, but our sources say that Lars frequently teased and bullied Rhen, even giving her the nickname "Peta". Thankfully, their relationship has since improved, growing from animosity to friendship to...something else? (Pro tip, boys: if you want to get the girl, DO NOT torment her unless you are prepared to accompany her on a year-long quest to save the world.)

Rhen and Lars quickly became the most talented Sword Singer and Sorcerer in their class. (Our Shadwood alumni writers proclaim them #goals.) They reunited with the mysterious priestess/Dream Druid Talia shortly before graduation, who told them they must rescue all the druids across Aia, or else the world would literally end. And most of us couldn't even handle the pressure of a part-time job when we were in school!

The pair picked up an unlikely band of adventurers while on their druid-saving quest. Among them were sexy demon summoner Elini, rugged Pirate John, playful (and possibly insane) vampress Te'ijal, and the (half) bald Sun Priest known as Dameon. The healer was Druid Talia's son, who had been estranged from his mother ever since she killed his father after he turned to the dark side. He quickly charmed his way into the group with his silver tongue and golden looks. He also captured Rhen's attention - much to Lars' annoyance, reported a certain white-haired Veldtian summoner. But was this mere jealousy at play, or was there something deeper going on with the enigmatic Sun Priest?

Alas, all journeys must come to an end, as did Rhen and co.'s after slaying seven daevas and rescuing six druids. What was the point of all that, you may ask? All of the druids were required to open the doors the vault containing the legendary Sword of Shadows, the only weapon with the power to defeat Ahriman. Don't try wielding it at home, kids - the sword holds the souls of hundreds of demons, and shattering it would set them all free.

The chosen one was finally ready to face off against the demon lord, but of course, a certain someone had to go and ruin her moment. Looks like Lars was onto something - Dameon was actually a double agent working for Ahriman all along (sorry, Rhen, but some guys are just too good to be true). Luckily, Rhen happened to have some fairy dust on her, which she threw into Dameon's eyes. We're not really sure how this works - although we suspect it's some combination of light magic, the power of love, and hallucinogens - but this was enough to make Dameon realize that he had gone looking for a father figure in the wrong guy. He joined forces with Rhen and the others to defeat his former master, and Ahriman really didn't stand a chance.

Now that the prophecy has been fulfilled, Aia has been saved, etc., what is Rhen going to do now? She's currently pondering that question herself while temporarily lodging at the temple in Aveyond, along with the Oracle and the eight druids.

"I think she should go back to Thais," says Eithera, Druid of Strength. "She's actually their rightful queen, you know. It's a long story. They're in need of a strong ruler and it's her responsibility to fulfill that role."

Daena, Druid of Wisdom, has a different perspective. "Rhen should follow her heart, take the path that feels most right to her. That boy Lars wants her to go back to Veldarah with him and work at Shadwood Academy. I think she could make real progress there."

What do you think - should Rhen go to Thais and become the queen we all know she is, head back to Veldarah and work to abolish slavery, or return to her hometown of Clearwater until she figures things out? No matter what she chooses, we'll make sure to keep an eye out for Aia's bravest rising hero.

Chapter Text

When Ingrid walked into her house after a long day of potion-making, the last thing she expected to see was a room full of bees.

Boyle seemed to be trying to coax them back into the empty beehive on their bed, but all he was doing was swatting around and flinching whenever a bee flew too close. Ingrid cleared her throat, and her husband leapt back several feet, knocking over a cabinet full of potion ingredients and miscellaneous relics from Boyle's villain days.

"Need any help?" Ingrid deadpanned. She considered casting a spell on the bees to make them attack Boyle, but she wasn't in the mood to take him a healer tonight. Besides, there was always a chance the spell would backfire, and she wasn't in the mood to have Boyle painstakingly pluck bee stingers out of her skin either.

"Bees," was Boyle's only reply. Perhaps he was too scared to say anymore lest a bee fly into his mouth.

A crackling ball of energy formed in Ingrid's left hand. With a flick of her manicured index finger, she directed the energy into the hive, and the swarm of bees followed suit.

Ingrid folded her arms, shifted her weight onto one foot, and aimed an annoyed glare in Boyle's general direction while she waited for her husband to right his clothes and regain his dignity. He would need it in order to explain what in all of Aia he was thinking when he let a hive of bees loose in their house.

"Sit down, Boyle," Ingrid began in her best don't-mess-with-me-or-I-will-hex-you voice. "Not there, sit on the bed, next to the bees. Now, would you mind telling me who or what put a berserk curse on you, because I can think of no other explanation for why you would bring home a hive of bees!"

"I was thinking, since I'm 'retired' now, apparently, that I'd need a hobby. And what better hobby than beekeeping? I met this wonderful traveling bee salesman in the market today, and he told me all about the health benefits of honey, and how the bees are endangered. If bees go extinct the entire world supply of food could-"

"You fool, that's just a marketing ploy to sell more bees!"

"Don't be so cynical, Ingrid. He also gave me this beekeeping manual - free with the purchase of one beehive, I might add - and it's all right here." Boyle rummaged around in the folds of his villain costume and pulled out a small white booklet, which Ingrid promptly snatched out of his hands.

"'Bee Movie Script'," she read. "What's a movie? Or a script?"

"I don't know, but he said it fell through from a portal to another dimension." He took the booklet and flipped it open to the first page. "'According to all known laws of aviation, a bee should not be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway, because bees do not care what humans think is impossible.' Isn't that the greatest opening of any literary masterpiece you've ever read?"

Ingrid kicked off her boots and sat down next to Boyle on the bed. She rested her chin on his shoulder as she angled the book so she could better read this so-called 'script'. "Let me see that...'Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow, let's shake it up a little.' Boyle, what kind of drivel is this?"

"You have no taste in art. The main character - Barry, he's called - is a talking bee. He's trying to choose his outfit, but they're all black and yellow. Because he's a bee."

"A talking insect, eh? That's not that funny." Ingrid's face suddenly split into a wicked grin. "Unless we're talking about the time I turned you into a bug. Now THAT was hilarious."

Boyle began to pout in the way he does when one of his evil schemes goes awry and he tries to hide it behind a facade of villainous anger, but just ends up looking adorable. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you? All these months, I support this house, and all you can do is-"

"I'm the one who works. You're retired, remember?" Ingrid interjected.

"But the name. MY name. The great evil legacy of Wolfbane has carried us-"

"Your name is Pendragon, and I'm pretty sure the royal family officially disowned you."

"Well. I just. You. You're married to me, so technically they disowned you too!" Boyle threw his hands up in exasperation, looking over at the hive of bees as if he expected it to agree with him.

Ingrid sighed again. She would never run out of sighs as long as she was married to this ridiculous man, who kept evil thrones in his living room and brought home hives full of bees and scripts from parallel universes. But he was cursed to spend the rest of this life with her, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Ingrid suspected that it would be a good idea to invest in a bee-proof veil to attach to her hat.

"Hey Boyle, want to read some more of that Bee Movie Script?"

"Okay." He shifted so his head was in Ingrid's lap before continuing. "'Barry, breakfast is ready...'"

Chapter Text

Afternoon sunlight dappled through the windows of the old Sedona mansion. On the threshold stood a couple - a lady in red and a knight in tarnished armor. The woman swung open the doors, turning the ornate handles with a moonlight-pale hand adorned with polished ruby fingernails. She briefly considered asking her husband to carry her over the threshold, as she once did many years ago, but she already knew what her answer would be. Instead, she sashayed grandly into the house, leading her partner by the hand.

"Here it is. The house we shared with Rhen Pendragon over a century ago. Don’t you like it?"

Galahad remained a pillar in the center of the grand foyer, ignoring Te'ijal's attempts to lead him around as if they were in a ballroom. "So this is what you were doing when you went to the Overworld," he observed.

"Yes, and it was quite a bit of trouble, too. This estate has been the summer home of the Pendragons for centuries. A man named Uthar Pendragon was willing to sell, though. With a bit of bribery, of course." Te'ijal grinned, showing off fangs that sparkled in the sunlight.

"Uthar is a respectable man. I hope you haven't slighted his family."

"It was harmless, my dear. I paid him a respectable sum, not that he needs it anyway." Te'ijal ran along the perimeter of the room, opening curtains to flood the room with light that reflected off the gilded banisters and light fixtures. "Look at how bright it is!" She reached up to remove the broad-rimmed sun hat she used to hide her preternatural features from mortals. Stray locks of ruby red hair sprang loose from their updo, glinting in the sunlight as they fell. Te'ijal smiled, a genuine smile of joy that was so different from her usual mischievous smirk.

"It certainly is beautiful," he mused. "Thank you, wife."

"I'll get our bags from the carriage," said Te'ijal, and she flitted out the door. When she returned after unpacking, she found Galahad in the dining room, tracing the corner of the table that was much too large for two people.

Te'ijal placed a hand on the shoulder of Galahad's armor. "I remember when we were first married, and I would chase you around this table for hours," she laughed. "But we don't have to eat here anymore, if you wish. Is something the matter?"

Galahad turned to face her. "Look at the table." Te'ijal looked, seeing the gold-plated edges, the polished wooden surface, and the plates and silverware set up for a meal, probably by the servants that used to wait on the Pendragons. "I can barely even see my reflection in it," Galahad noted bitterly. "And you're not even there at all."

"I'm right here, Galahad. Why does it matter if we can't see our reflections? I thought this is what you wanted - to live under the sun again."

He suddenly slammed his fist on the table, causing the dinnerware to clatter. Te'ijal flinched, but only slightly - she was a warrior hundreds of years old, and her husband's habit of making empty noise when he was angry was nothing new to her. "Look at me!" He thrust his hand in front of his face. "My skin is already starting to burn. I can never truly live in the light after what you did to me."

Galahad stalked off to one of the bedrooms - the bedroom they had shared after they were married. Te'ijal knew how to battle, but comforting others was something foreign to her. She thought she had finally done something right by him. Through years of ranting about his moral code, Galahad had taught her that marriage was about sacrifice. Leaving her home in Ghed'ahre wasn't easy, but she did it for him. But she couldn't sacrifice her very nature. Was that what he wanted her to do? After so many centuries, her humanity was nothing more than a distant memory, and not a pleasant one. Still, it was the flawed humanity in Galahad that enamoured her. She wanted to run after Galahad, to apologize, to tell him off for being so irrational, to show him that he had hurt her too. But all she did was wait for night to fall, staring at the moon until she found her answer.

*****

The next morning, Galahad woke to birds chirping and sunlight filtering through the windows. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced for a hundred years. The sunlight warmed his soul for a blissful, ignorant moment before he remembered he didn't have a soul anymore and that the sun would burn him if he didn't apply his morning sunblock. He turned over to wake his wife, and then he remembered last night's argument came back too. The memory was immediately followed with a pang of guilt for having acted so ungrateful.

"Wife?" he called. The shout echoed through the empty house. Galahad got out of bed to check the other rooms, tamping down his growing anxiety after each one turned up vacant. During his third pass through the dining room, he discovered a note left on the dining room table.

Galahad-

The house is yours. I've gone to the Underworld to think some things over. I'll be back soon.

Te'ijal

****

The humid night air soothed Te'ijal's skin as she crossed into the Underworld. As much as she loved her adventures in the land above, the realm of darkness was her true home. It was a shame Galahad didn’t share her appreciation of the darkness, the everlasting night and shadowy corners full of twisted and wonderful things.

She enjoyed the long walk to Ghed'ahre, pausing by her old house near the front of the city. But that wasn't why she was here today. The library loomed large at the edge of town, with several floors dedicated to preserving centuries' worth of books. It was a common misconception among the living that the undead were also brain-dead, but since most of them were hundreds of years old and didn't concern themselves with the time-consuming chore of maintaining a body, it was only natural that they often developed academic interests. The Ghed'ahre library was the largest in all of Aia, second only to the Elvish library in Delamere.

The main lobby was milling with undead creatures of all sorts. Ghosts visiting from Casket Hill rifled through books, possibly hoping to find information about a lost loved one. A group of darklings was hovering near the highest shelf on the bookcase, poring over an arcane volume and whispering about a prophecy (word on the street was that the prophecy wouldn't come to pass for hundreds of years, but it was never too early to start preparing). Te'ijal approached the vampire at the front desk, a stout, bald man who was one of the oldest in Ghed'ahre. "Could I speak with Gyendal Ravenfoot, please?"

"Professor Ravenfoot is currently occupied with his research. Please come back later."

"He can't make an exception for his own sister?"

"Te'ijal? You're back so soon! In that case, you'll find him on the third floor."

Te'ijal wasted no time in racing up the stairs. The third floor was nearly empty, save for one cloaked figure tucked away between two bookshelves. "Gyendal."

The vampire looked up from his reading. "Te'ijal!" Gyendal threw down his book and enveloped his sister in a crushing embrace.

"Sister, how long has it been?"

"Too long. Almost fifty years."

"I’m sorry we haven’t been able to see more of each other. I've been traveling in the Overworld."

"You know, I live there now. Just picked the Pendragon's old place in Sedona,” she explained with pride.

"The Arishta Isles? I prefer the Mainland myself." Gyendal pulled out two chairs and sat down. "So, what brings you here? Besides wanting to catch up with your little brother."

Te'ijal joined her brother at the table. "I have a situation which requires magic. And no one I know is more skilled at magic than you. Galahad-"

Gyendal rolled his eyes, not even trying to mask his reaction. "That human again? You've been obsessed with him for a century. Humans aren't pets, Tei. They're vicious creatures that would like nothing more than to murder the lot of us."

"Coming from someone who spent the last half-century in the Overworld," Te'ijal scowled. "Besides, this one's my husband. Will you help me or not?" Gyendal sighed. She recognized his lack of protest as agreement. "Thank you, brother. I need to know if there's any way of turning a vampire back into a human."

Gyendal stood up suddenly. "You can't turn back into a human, Te'ijal!"

Te'ijal followed suit, slamming her hands on the table. "Not me, you idiot! I did think of it at first, but I could never give up this - immortality, inhuman strength, Ghed'ahre. It's entirely too much fun. But Galahad," Te'ijal lowered her voice and sat down, pushing her white-streaked bangs out of her face. "Galahad will never be happy as one of us. He doesn't love me, so nothing I give him will ever be enough."

Gyendal pondered for a moment. "There might be something I can do." He led Te'ijal to a bookcase full of texts on dark magic. "During my travels, I learned of a recently deceased human sorcerer named Mordred Darkthrop," he began, pointing to a diagram of an orb in a textbook. "He's creating a set of orbs, one of darkness and one of light. But there is a rumor that he created another orb, one which can make the undead live again. I've begun researching more about these orbs, but I haven't found their location. When I return to the Overworld, I'll make every effort to find the Orb of Life for you."

"Thank you, brother." Te'ijal turned to leave, and paused. "I still don't know what to do about Galahad."

Gyendal scoffed, lost in a passage about the Orb of Darkness. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

*****

Guilt weighed on Galahad like a second suit of armor as he traipsed through the forest surrounding Ghed'ahre. He had driven his own wife to the Underworld with his petulant temper. Contrary to her infernal nature, his wife had been...kind. Galahad would never have thought a demon could show virtue, but maybe he was wrong. No, demons were wretched by definition. This was irrefutable. Perhaps his wife was not a demon.

"Te'ijal?" He called. The woods didn't even give an echo in response.

A scream pierced the night.

Galahad's sword was drawn in an instant. He through the forest toward the source of the scream until he found the victim.

His wife lay on the ground, blood staining her pale skin, a stake jammed through her ribcage.

"Galahad..."

He rushed to her and knelt by her side. "Te'ijal." It was the first time he'd called her by her name in...actually, he couldn't remember a single instance of doing so. His hand moved to the stake in her chest, but he was no healer. It settled behind her head instead, lifting it so she could prop herself up against his knee. "I'm...sorry,” he started, not knowing what to do with his hands or his words. His paladin career had been spent guarding the king, not on the battlefield. For all his time spent in the Underworld, he’d never truly encountered death. ”This is my fault. I’m so sorry."

Te’ijal’s lips had faded to the color of dried blood. They twisted into a serene smile, one Galahad had never seen on her before. The thought that she was beautiful struck him suddenly. Not because she was classically attractive - although that was true - but because she reminded him of the Goddess statues he so revered. Their expressions were fearsome and handsome, just like his wife’s. Te’ijal’s skin tone was even alabaster-white now, having been drained of its purple undertones. Galahad wanted to ask who did this to her - chase after them, make them pay with his sword - but he would not waste her final moments.

“Husband, you’re crying,” said Te’ijal. Galahad blinked the tear away in surprise, but another one only fell in its place. He’d said before that vampires couldn't cry, but it was just an excuse. All these years feeling wallowing in self-pity and he’d never cried for himself. He didn’t think he deserved it. Did Te’ijal deserve his tears more than himself? He pushed the thought aside.

"Galahad?"

The voice came from several feet away.

"Galahad, I heard your voice. Stop hiding."

"Te'ijal?!"

Galahad had lived twice as long as most humans, but the sight of the woman who was currently dying in his arms running up to him was both the most relieving and the strangest. "Husband, what are you-“ Te’ijal scowled, but it wasn’t directed at them.

She reached for her bow and arrow and fired a shot into her own chest. The imposter Te’ijal morphed into a small blue darkling, who snickered and jumped away before Galahad could stick it with his sword.

"I overheard you in the library, Tei. Just wait til I tell the Professor about this!" The darkling cackled and skittered away into the night.

Te'ijal reached a hand out to her husband, who, too shaken to stand up on his own, gladly accepted it. "Galahad, are you alright? Did that pest hurt you?"

"No, it didn't do anything," Galahad shook his head. "Actually, yes. I thought you were dead. You nearly gave me a heart attack with your running off!” Galahad was seized with the uncharacteristic desire reach out to his wife, wanting to affirm her presence to himself. He briefly considered kissing her, or perhaps gripping her shoulders and telling her to never frighten him like that again, but neither option seemed appropriate. So he instead enveloped her in a hug.

Te'ijal didn't know how to respond. Galahad was not the kind of man who displayed emotions other than indignation and frustration. She’d waited decades for this moment, and now it had been by chance handed to her by on a silver platter by some imp. She should be elated, but she felt more concerned than anything. It took a moment to realize that he wanted him to hug her back.

"Foolish husband, you know vampires don't have hearts."

As they stood there holding each other, each of their faces tucked into the other's necks so neither could see the tears running down their faces, both decided to ignore the inaccuracy of that statement.

*****

"Husband, I have a gift for you," Te'ijal said as she joined Galahad at the table for breakfast. Neither of them needed to eat, but nonetheless they started their mornings with a light snack and drinks. Te’ijal enjoyed the novelty, Galahad enjoyed the nostalgia, and it helped pass the time in their new home. Galahad set out a glass of cow's blood for Te'ijal, coffee for himself, and toast with star peaches for them both.

"Is it another house?" Galahad joked. The words came out flat, but he figured an attempt at levity was better than a bitter response that ended the conversation. Their morning talks often sputtered to a stop over Galahad’s curt replies, but day by day he was improving.

Te'ijal presented him with a small box. "Open it," she encouraged. Galahad complied.

Inside was a necklace with a glowing pendant. It was the same one that his wife had worn around her neck since before they'd been married. His fingers were pulled to it, almost magnetically.

Te’ijal had given him his soul back.

"Do you like it?" Te'ijal asked, feigning nonchalance. "I got it from a lovely Necromancer's shop. I was thinking of keeping it for myself, but I thought it matched so well with your lovely eyes, and-"

"Te'ijal," he cut her off with a hand over hers. "Thank you."

Galahad turned the pendant over in his hands. Their contract had been voided when Galahad had become a vampire. Giving the empty soul pendant back to him was a gesture. It was only fitting to return it with one of his own.

He leaned over and fastened it around her neck. "I think you wear it better."

Chapter Text

Yemite teleported into the church basement with a shower of sparks, striking the prisoner out of his slumber.

Gyendal emitted a shriek. Damn human vocal chords.

"Quiet, a queen needs her beauty sleep," Lydia mumbled from an adjacent cell. Yemite shut her up with a silence spell. She was here to deal with one insufferable mage, but she was not prepared to handle two of them.

"Oh, you," Gyendal mumbled, still cloaked in the grogginess of sleep. "What is it you want, darkling?"

"I'm here to talk with you about my Mistress, vampire," Yemite said. She grinned mischievously. "Or can I not call you that anymore?"

Gyendal scoffed and lay back down, deliberately turning away from Yemite. "If you're here to insult me, I'm going to go back to sleep."

Yemite leapt over the walls enclosing the cell, landing nearly on top of Gyendal. She pointed her scythe against his throat, laughing as he realized he was effectively trapped. "Now that I've got your attention, I'd like to discuss Mel."

"Hey, I never wanted to kill the girl! All I wanted was to help her realize her destiny as the ruler of a dark empire, same as you!"

Yemite pressed her scythe more firmly against Gyendal's throat. "Don't play coy! I know what you're after, even if my Mistress herself seems to be oblivious. Chasing her across Aia, obsessing over her for three years, all but asking her to rule the world with you-"

"What are you getting at?!"

"You're clearly in love with the Queen!"

Gyendal choked, and it wasn't just because of Yemite's blade threatening to decapitate him. "Mel?! Don't be ridiculous. She's a foolish, stubborn whelp of a girl incapable of realizing her own power without my help!" He paused as Yemite's expression darkened. "And my interest in her was purely villainous, nothing more!"

"As her eternal servant in darkness, it is my job to protect my Mistress from unwanted romantic advances. Edward I can tolerate on good days, but you are...substandard," Yemite sniffed.

Gyendal wrested Yemite's scythe from her grip, hopping out of bed to face her standing up. He may have lost his magic, and his immortality, but he still had some dignity left. "What part of 'I'm not in love with the Darkthrop girl' do you not understand?! Besides, you're one to talk. Waiting on her day and night, falling over her every word, calling her 'Mistress'...if anyone's in love with her, it's you!"

Yemite flinched as if Gyendal had struck her. "How dare you make this about me?! I am her servant. What you are suggesting is so...so...unprofessional!"

Gyendal shook his head. "Capturing the Darkthrop heir to plunge the world into darkness...it's a full time job. If I were in love with Mel, I would be just as unprofessional as you. Are you sure you're not projecting, little darkling?"

Yemite stammered, knowing the ex-vampire was undeniably wrong, but unable to prove it. She settled for trying to get her scythe back, but Gyendal was a foot and a half taller, and easily held it over her head.

"Give...that...back!" She fluttered her wings in frustration, but the cell was too cramped for her to simply fly up and retrieve it. Gyendal twirled the scythe above her head, chuckling at this amusing turn of events in his favor.

Yemite was suddenly struck with a wonderfully wicked idea. Making a mental note to thank Heptitus for the inspiration later, she curled her tail around Gyendal's leg and pulled, causing him to fall flat in his back. The scythe would've staked him straight through the heart, had Yemite not pounced on top of him and caught it mid-air. She twirled the scythe as he had just moments ago, glaring down at him with a predatory smirk.

Gyendal cleared his throat. "You can, um, get off me anytime, you know."

"And let you roam free to pursue my Queen? I think not."

"I'm not sure I'm the one she needs protection from. Her devious 'servant', on the other hand..." Gyendal poked Yemite in the chest, for which he earned a smack on the hand from Yemite's tail. She swatted him playfully a few more times before he grabbed the point. Gotcha, darkling, his smirk seemed to say.

Yemite matched his smirk. "Y'know what...forget Mel. I think I've found a better target," she hummed, running her claw down Gyendal's cheek.

Gyendal propped himself up on one elbow, letting his other hand release Yemite's tail so he could grab one of her horns. "Agreed."

Their lips clashed together an instant later, almost giving both of them a concussion with the force of it. The scythe clattered to the ground as Yemite devoted both her hands (and wings) to wrapping around Gyendal, all thoughts of Mel momentarily pushed aside.

Well, at least until the next morning, when she went to check on the prisoners and found Yemite and Gyendal curled up on the floor together.

She'd grilled them both, but neither had let slip even a single word. The rest of the prisoners were at a loss too.

Mel hadn't even thought to ask Lydia, who had been awake for the whole thing. If only Yemite had used Sleep instead of Silence.

Chapter Text

"Hey Ishtar, remember that time you almost caused an apocalypse because you had a crush on the world's first heroic figure?"

"Shut up, Heptitus. That was millennia ago."

Heptitus cackled. "Well, you also almost caused an apocalypse just the other day. Two near-apocalypses. And they say I'm the troublemaker."

"The second one was your fault." Ishtar began summoning ice crystals to hurtle at her sister, but the skies roiled angrily before she could form a proper snowball. "Alright mom, I get it," she huffed, and let the snow dissipate.

The two nymphs had been grounded to Aveyond by the Goddess until they learned to get along. So far it had been a year, and they hadn't killed each other.

If Heptitus kept this up, that fact was about to change.

"Nymph of compassion? More like nymph of overreacting. You really don't handle rejection well, do you sis?"

"Heptitus, I'm warning you-"

"Oh daddy, Gilgamesh didn't marry me, how shall I live?" Heptitus mocked in a high falsetto that sounded nothing like Ishtar's voice but infuriated her anyway, causing a blush to spread across her face. "Oh, I know, better send down a raging bull and cause a famine for my 'beloved' people."

"And I suppose stealing your sister's spirit so she'll turn evil and almost plunge the world into eternal winter is soooo much better," Ishtar snapped.

"I'm the nymph of wickedness, what do you expect? It's kind of in the job description," Heptitus shrugged as if to say, 'I'm evil, what are you gonna do about it?'

"You're just jealous I upstaged you before you were even born," the former Snow Queen sniffed.

"You wish," Heptitus growled. "That wasn't wickedness, that was just anger issues and hormones. I have half a mind to tell the Mountain King when we get out of here," she added.

"Don't you dare...!"

Heptitus laughed up until a bolt of lightning struck just inches away from her, setting the tip of her witch's hat on fire. Now it was Ishtar's turn to laugh.

She doused the flame on her head with a grumble. "Hey Ishtar, what do you say we have a little fun?"

Ishtar considered this for a moment. "Every shred of common sense is telling me to decline that offer, but since there's nothing to do here except visit that stupid cat village and watch bunnies hop around, I'll say yes."

Heptitus jumped around Ishtar in manic glee. "This is gonna be so much fun," she squealed.

"...I'm afraid to ask, but what are you planning?"

The wicked witch held out her hands to create a portal. "I'm going to summon an old flame of yours."

"You don't mean...?!"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"No no no. Bad idea. BAD IDEA. Oh Goddess, is that him? He looks amazing for a dead man...I mean, close the portal, quickly!" Ishtar frantically searched for somewhere to hide, but the open plains of Aveyond didn't offer much.

"Who dares summon the King of Heroes?"

At the sound of that voice, Ishtar nearly leapt out of her skin. She tried to disappear into her dress, flipping the hood halfway over her face.

Heptitus bowed to the golden man who had materialized in front of her. "Oh great Gilgamesh, king of kings...or heroes, whatever...your humble subject believes there is someone you'd like to meet." Her tone was cloyingly sweet and dripping with sarcasm, but Gilgamesh seemed not to notice the insincerity.

"You may rise, mongrel," Gilgamesh ordered. "Be grateful I have deigned to grace you with my presence. Now, who is this worthy prospect?"

Hepatitis turned to Ishtar, who hesitantly lifted the hood of her dress. "Hey, remember me?"

The man's regal and arrogant posture deflated instantly. He turned around and dove for the portal, ignoring Ishtar's shouts of "I promise I won't get your best friend killed this time I've been to therapy won't you reconsider the marriage proposal Gil please-"

Ishtar punched Heptitus in the arm. "That jerk! He wouldn't even speak to me! Me, a goddess! If he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him!"

"Calm down, sis. Compassion, remember?" Heptitus pat her sister reassuringly on the back and tried to hold back the cackles threatening to burst forth.

Chapter Text

When Mel slept, sometimes she dreamed of her quest. Memories of years spent traveling under an unfamiliar sky each day and sleeping at a different inn each night would play beneath flickering eyelids. Sometimes she would sleep with a faint smile on her lips, and sometimes she would wake in a cold sweat, her whole body tensing under the weight of old fears made fresh again. Edward was always there to hold her through it, kissing the top of her head where her bow usually rested until she returned to the Dreamworld.

And sometimes she would dream of what could've been.

The memories - if that's what they were - came in random flashes, like shards of a mirror, except every piece reflected a different scene. One night she dreamed of that fateful day in Harburg before everything had changed, of turning away at Darkthrop Keep and running with the hundred pennies she'd been paid in advance. Mel wondered how her life would've turned out if she'd taken that path and never learned of the Darkthrop prophecy, of the orbs, of the world beyond the back alleys of Harburg - but she never dreamed of that timeline again.

Some nights gave her glimpses of a green-haired nobleman with a mischievous smile that belied his kindness. Others featured two sets of luminous eyes from Mel's past but in different people - children, her children, nestled protectively against her own breast. She wondered about those the most.

And sometimes, Mel dreamed of Edward. Edward buying a star for her in Naylith and guiding her hand with his to point to it in the night sky, Edward being Stella's husband and her visiting the castle every week for dinner, Edward and her laughing and bickering and loving each other in a hundred different ways.

Mel would wake the next morning with a strange look in her eyes when she turned to her husband. He asked her what she was thinking on one such morning. "About you," she replied, to which Edward responded with a cocky grin that always made Mel roll her eyes, if only to mask the small smile hidden in the corner of her mouth.

"Shut up," Mel mumbled, although Edward hadn't said anything. She leaned in for a kiss to prevent a response, missing her mark and planting her lips on the tip of Edward's nose.

"So what did you dream about," he asked, curling a hand through his wife's hair as she readjusted her head to lie beside him.

Mel burrowed her face back into her pillow, unconsciously moving her body closer to Edward's. "I'll tell you later, 'm tired," she murmured.

That morning, Mel didn't dream, content to be grounded to the present by the sound of her husband's steady breathing beside her.

Chapter Text

“Sorry Boyle. I like my skin. But if you break the curse, come find me.”

Those were the last words the mayor spoke to him. That was three months ago. Boyle had sat around Wyrmwood for a week, rearranging his hall of stuff to accommodate spare Kobold stones and the various prizes they’d won from the tournament, before realizing that being a retired hero was even more boring than being a retired villain.

Besides, if the Raven Lord called him ‘Boyle the Oracle’s Pet’ one more time he was going to barbeque enough ravens to feed Wyrmwood for a week.

Now he stood on the mayor’s doorstep, deciding whether to knock or barge in and risk the displeasure of her bodyguard. He chose the latter.

The door hinges complained audibly as the mayor swung open the door. She stood with her hands on her hips, ridiculous bell sleeves hanging down to her thighs, as she waited for her solicitor to explain his presence. “I’ve, er, come to rule Tor,” Boyle stammered. He mimicked her pose, trying to look less pathetic and more like a – what did they even call a mayor’s spouse? A mayor-in-law?

“I’ve been expecting you. Come in.”

Boyle followed the trails of her dress as she sashayed into the room, shutting the door behind him. She took her place in the expensive-looking chair behind the desk she used to greet visitors. Her posture reminded Boyle of how he comported himself on his throne. The space behind the desk was probably big enough to fit the chair and his throne, although that would probably lead to uncomfortable elbow-bumping. But the shelves behind did have plenty of room for all the things from his hall of stuff…

“Boyle.”

The mayor’s voice scolded the wandering thoughts out of his mind. Right. He was there for a purpose, and the mayor wasn’t the kind of woman to be kept waiting.

“As you may have heard, I recently defeated the demon Hercules and saving the world. That leaves me with a lot of free time – time that would ideally be spent pursuing my life’s passion. Not heroism, not even villainy. I just want to rule Tor! And I distinctly remember you making an offer that we could perhaps…rule together?”

Silence. The mayor’s manicured fingernails (not as long as Ingrid’s, but still sharp enough to do some damage) tapping against her chin. Then, “What of the witch?”

Oh, that. “She ended up finding a new victim. It turns out the curse wasn’t real, and neither of our skins will fall off if we get married. Witches, am I right? What can you do…”

“Of course the curse wasn’t real. Any half-wit could see she was bluffing. I just assumed you were playing along.” The mayor cocked her head at Boyle, her keen blue eyes mocking him.

“I…was waiting until the end of our quest to call her on it. As the leader of the party, I couldn’t risk disturbing the group dynamics.”

“I see. You have a knack for leadership, exactly what a ruler of Tor would need.”

Boyle couldn’t help the enthusiasm creeping into his voice. “So your offer still stands?”

The mayor folder her hands. “Why don’t you propose to me and find out?”

So that’s how she was going to play. Boyle lowered himself to one knee, awkwardly lifting his robes up as if performing a curtsy. From this position, Boyle could rest his chin on the edge of her desk, and he was granted a direct view of the low-cut neckline of the mayor’s dress.

Boyle rummaged around in his robes before holding his empty hands out apologetically. “I don’t have a ring.”

The mayor sighed, her chest heaving theatrically. Boyle scratched his nose. “Just get on with it.”

“Right. So, mayor-“

“If we’re going to get married, the least you can do is use my name.”

“…Teylin. I really want to rule Tor. And since you won’t play two-card flip for it, I figure the best way to accomplish that goal is to rule by your side. Not that I’d win if we did two-card flip for it, because we did that before and we both know how that turned out. You’ll need to swear that you won’t try to settle our domestic squabbles by challenging me to two card flip. If you agree to marry me, that is. Which is what I’m asking you now. So will you? Marry me, that is.”

As proposals went, Boyle figured that fell somewhere between kidnapping your potential spouse and pretending to curse them so they’d think they had no choice but to marry you. It was times like this he really wished he carried around spare engagement rings.

Teylin lifted her chin from her hand and extended a single finger. She pushed Boyle’s head left, then right, and hummed in consideration. Then she smiled, smirking but seemingly genuine. At least, Boyle assumed it was genuine. He’d never seen Teylin authentically smile before.

He assumed this meant that he’d have the chance to see it more often.

“You’ll do,” she said, offering a hand to help him up. She opened a drawer from the bottom of her desk and procured a stack of papers. “Sign these and we’ll officially be married. Don’t worry about waiting for a license. Being the mayor has its perks.”

Boyle picked up a fountain pen, amazed that it was over that quickly. He signed his first name, then paused. Should he use ‘Wolfbane’ or ‘Pendragon’?

“You seem surprised. Were you expecting a wedding? We don’t do weddings here in Tor. You’ll have to get used to our customs if you’re to rule it.” ‘Pendragon’ it was, then, scrawled messily enough that he hoped Teylin or whoever else saw these documents wouldn’t ask questions. “That’s not it. Weddings are overrated, sentimental nonsense. Besides, Ingrid would find out and crash.”

“We could take a honeymoon, though.”

Boyle grinned. “The Arishta Isles?”

“We’ll take a cheese tour of Sedona,” Teylin grinned back. “I’ll send Leopold to Wyrmwood to fetch ‘Wolfy’. He and my daughter have practice taking care of him, of course.”

“His name is Fang and he’s coming with us. This is nonnegotiable.” Boyle would need to have a talk with the mayor’s – well, his daughter about how to treat Fang. There would be no cages this time. He should probably also tell her that her pet frog was a former prince and probably wasn’t too happy living in a cage either, but that could wait.

“Have it your way, but he’s not sleeping in the bed with us.”

Chapter Text

Rhen was nestled halfway beneath the covers of her bed, her sword singer uniform hanging off one shoulder. Her hand traced the imprints the armor had left on her skin, cataloguing her bruises and scrapes as she did every night, and once again stuttering over the mark that had begun to bloom on her right thigh. The pads of her fingers rubbed over it as if to smudge it away, but that only caused the mark to stand out more as the skin around it grew red with irritation. She let out a small groan of frustration as she continued to pick at the spot. 

"Old wound bothering you?" Rhen hadn’t noticed Elini slip into the room. She shared this corner of the mansion with the demon summoner and the barmaid (who was currently out drinking Goddess knows where); Te'ijal and Galahad had their own bedroom, and the rest of the men shared the other.  

Rhen slipped her outfit off and donned her nightgown. "It's nothing," she said, smoothing the fabric over her thigh as she began to untangle her braid.  

"Scars are nothing to be ashamed of." Elini punctuated her statement with a swish of her bone-white hair, showing off the marks that peppered her back and shoulders.  

"It's not that," Rhen sighed. She hesitated to reveal such personal information to anybody, but she trusted the older woman, and she'd been itching to tell someone about her situation. "It's just...my soul mark. It's starting to come in." Rhen's gaze instinctively slipped away from Elini to the now covered place on her body.  

Elini turned toward Rhen, a knowing smile already present on her face. "How exciting, and at such a young age too. Do you have any idea...?" 

"No," Rhen answered, almost defensively. "The mark starts to form at the same time as the bond between the two...soulmates," —she paused at the word, which caused an uncomfortable feeling to radiate throughout her chest, even though she must've uttered it hundreds of times before— "but I've created bonds with so many people since I started this quest. It could be any one of a number of people." 

"Hm. If it makes you feel any better, I've recently gained a soul mark as well." 

Rhen paused. "Wait, you don't think..." 

Elini held out her wrist, where a pale outline was barely visible against her tan skin. "Yours look anything like this?" 

Rhen couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips. "No, thank the gods. No offense of course, but that would just be...weird." She allowed herself to laugh when the other woman was clearly amused at her flustered reaction, the anxiety she had felt at discussing such a taboo topic melting away. 

"Well then, who could it be?" Elini pondered, tapping at her chin in mock confusion. "It's not John, that much I know for sure. He has a mark on his back the same as mine, although the poor fool doesn't know it yet." 

"And how do you know? Forget it actually; you can keep that information to yourself." 

"What about the sun priest?" 

Dameon. The suggestion that he could be her soulmate caused a blush to inflame her cheeks, much like the times Dameon would flirt with her and cause all rational thought to evaporate from her brain. It was possible there was a mark identical to hers somewhere beneath the robes that seemed to cover every inch of his body. If that was true, had he seen it, and wondered the same things about her? Did she want it to be true? Rhen didn't know. "I'm not sure. Maybe." 

"You're blushing, sword singer."  

"Let's just...move on." 

"How about that boy we rescued in the vampire city?" 

"Danny? He's one of my best friends. I used to have a crush on him when I was like, nine, but he's practically my brother. Besides, if he was my soulmate, my mark would've shown up years ago." 

"What about Lars?" 

The relative calm the conversation had lulled her into fell away in an instant. "Lars?! How could you even suggest such a thing? He's arrogant, he's a total jerk, and he's the son of my former mistress and treated me just as badly, if not worse." Rhen collapsed against the bed, unbraided lilac hair fanning out around her. "It can't be him. If he and I are soulmates, then Ceri clearly has clearly lost her mind. Except she hasn't, because we're not." 

"It's okay, you know. If you are soulmates," Elini offered. "My first husband and I didn't get along at first either. He was a pompous foreigner who had come to Vedlt to trade. He thought our people were brutish and our custom of women marrying multiple men was backwards. He was quite the pill, really." 

"What changed his mind?" 

"Me." Satisfaction was evident in Elini's honeyed voice. "He caught my eye in the bazaar one day, ranting and raving like a madman. We got into a fight of course, and that's what we would do every time we met since. Usually with words, sometimes with swords, one time with coconuts...but our fighting eventually grew into something better. And so did he." 

"And you two are soulmates?" 

Elini nodded. "All my husbands are my soulmates. Except for my third, who is my second husband's soulmate. But I love him all the same," she added, growing quiet as her thoughts drifted toward her home while the woman in the adjacent bed processed the information. 

"It's just that this is such a bad time," Rhen added after several minutes. "I always thought I'd meet my soulmate in Clearwater, and my parents would give us their blessing. Now my parents aren't even my real parents anymore, and I don't know if I'll be alive to go home to Clearwater again." 

"It sounds like you, Rhen Darzon Pendragon, have a case of cosmically bad timing." 

"Tell me about it." 

"If anything, I'd think this could be an asset when you face Ahriman. You'll have something worth fighting for." 

"Maybe Ahriman is my soulmate," Rhen turned off the lamp on their nightstand and slipped beneath the plush duvet. After her time as a slave and several months spent sleeping in dingy inns, she'd never again take a bed for granted. "He has been appearing in my dreams. It's possible." 

"Go to sleep, sword singer." 

"Mm."

The Sword of Shadows felt pulled on every fiber of her being. Her freckled shoulders ached with the weight of it, yet she held the sword and her head high.  

Elini squeezed her arm in support, her other hand ready to lash out with her whip. Galahad stood protectively behind her, Te’ijal at his side, and for once she didn’t mind him playing bodyguard. Dameon was lost in his emotions. Rhen didn’t know what to say to take away his pain.  

“This is your chance to be better than your father,” she finally said, because she knew something about that too. She thought about Devin, and the burden he carried, then about Pa. She gripped her sword tighter. 

Dameon mumbled something back but couldn’t meet her eyes. She wanted to embrace him, but she couldn’t hold both Dameon and the Sword, and she knew which one she had to choose. 

Finally, he spoke. “Are you ready, Rhen?” 

She was ready to face Ahriman. She was ready to face herself. 

She wasn’t ready for betrayal.  

Tears streamed down her face as she implored Dameon to see reason, see Ahriman for what he was, see her. She threw the dust in his eyes, but his gaze slid away from hers. Instead, he faced Ahriman, every muscle in his body poised for revenge. 

Rhen looked toward Lars. Their bodies automatically shifted into the partner stance they learned when they first fought together in the Wildwoods so long ago. His body heat radiated through the cold space of the cavern and through her armor, and it made her stand up straighter. On her thigh, her soul mark burned. 

“Are you ready, Rhen?” 

“Yes.”

The cold floor of the Sun Temple was remarkably uncomfortable, but Rhen needed to sit down as much as she needed the blood flowing through her veins. Vata would probably forgive her for lazing around the room that housed his sacred gifts, but she figured she’d earned it.  

The sunlight streaming into the temple and even the marble beneath her feet felt immaterial, as if Rhen was floating above it all and her real self was still in Ahriman’s lair, reliving the moments before the final battle over and over in a hellish loop. 

Rhen removed her boots, massaging her feet and sighing in relief as she pressed out months of tension. She worked her way up to her ankles, then to her calves, pausing at her thighs as the emotions she’d been refusing to confront threatened to spill over. It was better she did this quickly. Breathe in, breathe out. Check the mark.  

There were a few scratches, the stretch marks she’d always had, and...nothing. Just a faint scar where the mark should have been. Dyonna’s lecture echoed in her mind: “The severance of the connection between soulmates will cause the soul marks on all parties to disappear.” Rhen thought of Dameon’s guilty silence on the journey back and the way he turned away when she tried to talk to him, and she knew.  

When Lars walked in, Rhen was lying on the floor. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, continuing to stare at the ceiling, her focus unmoved even when he sat down beside her.  

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” he finally asked. 

“Try it yourself.”

Lars scoffed and rolled his eyes, but when Rhen made no attempt to continue the conversation, he awkwardly laid out his robe in front of him before stretching out to lie parallel to Rhen. “About as comfortable as the Dirkon inn,” he said, which earned a snort from Rhen. 

“See the planets there?” Rhen pointed to the intricately carved dome above them. “It’s supposed to be an astronomical chart, but the stars and planets are off. They’re squashed in the center, but they’re supposed to be more...” she made vague gestures in Lars’ general direction. “Over there, that way.” 

Lars was mildly taken aback that Rhen seemed to know so much about astronomy. He knew the Naylithians kept close track of the stars, but he wouldn’t have expected as much from the citizens of Clearwater. Before he met Rhen, he only knew the place as a tiny Western village that was popular with slave traders. The thought made him want to curl up on the floor in shame. “The sculptor sacrificed accuracy for aesthetics,” he added. “The planets are out of alignment, but the way they’re arranged is nearly radially symmetric. It looks a lot like the architecture in the Empress’ palace in Veldarah.” 

“But the Druid of Time, having an inaccurate map of the sky just because it looks pretty? It’s preposterous. In Clearwater, we would never disrespect the beauty of nature like that. Our architecture is simple and to the point.” 

“Just like the people in Clearwater, I presume?” 

“Exactly. Ma never took any nonsense from me. Neither did Pa. Sometimes it felt like me and Danny and Peter were going to give our sensible parents heart attacks by being so daring as to chase sheep.” 

They both laughed at that, wistful and a little sad at first, then for real as Rhen hiccupped and Lars hit his head so hard on the stone that it echoed. They sat in comfortable silence as the laughter died down. It still amazed Lars that they could have quiet, easy moments. It had crept up on them at some point during the quest, although exactly when Lars couldn’t say. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before. Really laugh, I mean.” 

“I never met anyone with such a ridiculous hiccupping sound before,” Lars deflected. Now it was Rhen’s turn to roll her eyes. Lars blamed the post-battle high for his uncharacteristic urge to be honest. “I guess I never had anyone to laugh with before. My friends and I in Ghalarah usually laughed at people more than anything.”  

“At me, you mean.” Rhen’s voice held no malice, but she spoke with a tightness that felt like a punch to Lars’ solar plexus. 

“I’m sorry,” Lars said. The words felt foreign on his lips. He wished he had more practice saying them. 

“Thank you, Lars.” Not ‘it’s okay’, but ‘thank you’. That was fine. More than fine, actually. Lars inhaled a deep, relieved breath, which Rhen matched. “Dameon was my soulmate, you know.” 

For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. “Was?” 

“Past tense, yeah. You know how soul marks work, I assume?” Lars gave a noise of assent, and Rhen took a moment to steady her voice before continuing. “I just wonder if he had seen his mark before it disappeared. Or if it was somewhere he couldn’t see and I was supposed to find it for him.” 

“You don’t need him anyway. He’s unstable and his nose is too long. Besides, soulmates are a scam.” 

Rhen gave him a rueful little smile. “My parents are soulmates.” 

“So were mine, and we both know how that worked out. You’re one of the most powerful people in Aia. You have better things to worry about than some silly matchmaking system. And if you really want a partner, go out and find one yourself.” 

“I’m the chosen one, remember? I don’t exactly get to choose my own fate.” 

“So? Ahriman’s dead. You can choose to be different now.” Like I did , he didn’t say, but the implication hung in the air between them. 

Rhen turned on her side. It seemed her moment of self-pity was over. “Where are you going to go now?”  

Where was he going? Ghalarah wasn’t home anymore, but neither was anyplace else. Graduating early to save the world had the daunting consequence of Lars needing to find a job now. That left only one choice. “Back to Veldarah. I’m young, but more experienced than half the Shadwood professors. I’ll find work there. You?” 

“I was thinking of going back to the Eastern Isle to end slavery. I have a promise to keep.” The way Rhen spoke made it sound like that promise was almost more important than saving the world from Ahriman. “If you’re going there too, maybe we could work together?” 

Lars held out his hand. “Partners?” 

They locked eyes for a moment. For once there was no power exchange, no challenge from either side – just a question, and hope neither of them dared to express. Then she clasped his hand and shook. “Partners.” 

And if their hands stayed clasped together for slightly longer than necessary, well, that didn’t mean anything. 

Rhen did not marry her soulmate.  

Or maybe she did.  

Chapter Text

The Land of Man had a pervasive, musky odor. Ean missed the smell of home. He was no stranger to the smell of the outdoors, and it wasn’t unpleasant, but somehow the fact that the smell had begun to seep into his clothes and hair felt like a betrayal.

Besides, he and Rye had been wandering through the Shadow Woods for hours, and he really needed a shower.

Rye smelled like the Land of Man. Ean had never met a man like Rye. He’d never met any man before, period.

Everyone in Ravenwood was tired. The omnipresent humidity induced an soporific effect that reminded Ean of fairy spells he’d read about. The people carried themselves with an air of resigned weariness, like time had stopped by one dreary afternoon and never left.

And yet, there was something beautiful about it.

Rye startled Ean out of his reverie by throwing a bundle of clothes at him. “Here’s your stuff. You coming?” Rye was currently holding his own clothes, shirt off and a towel slung over his shoulder. He looked for all the world like he was ready for a swim on a hot summer day. Ean couldn’t help but laugh at how out of place he looked.

“Yeah, I’ll be right down. I need to eat first,” Ean replied. He poured out the contents of their knapsack - half a loaf of moldy bread and a few strips of jerked meat. “On second thought, I’ll go to the general store and pick up some food.”

Rye stopped Ean with a hand on his arm. “Go to the store like that? They’ll throw you out for disturbing the peace, or something like that. Look, you’ve got mud on your shirt!” He flicked a clod of dirt off Ean’s ear.

Ean shrugged. Sensing his mood, Rye gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before digging through his pockets. “Besides, who needs musty Ravenwood food when we’ve got these?” In his hand were two plump oranges. “Fresh from Ryva. Picked in their prime. I’ve been saving these guys for a special occasion, and I think we could both use a pick-me-up right now.”

The scent of the oranges made Ean wince, and not just in hunger. When they were kids, he and Iya used to decorate each other’s hair with orange blossoms until they reeked of the stuff. He reached for the fruit, but Rye snatched his hand away.

“Not yet, my elven friend. We are going to eat these downstairs.”

“After we shower?”

“While we shower.”

Was this some strange human custom? “But…why?”

“Why not?” Rye raised his eyebrows, secure in the knowledge that Ean wouldn’t produce any logical argument against the idea. “We’ll save time, and it’ll be fun.”

Ten minutes later, Ean found himself in the inn’s communal shower with an orange in hand. He was grateful for the lack of mold, but not so much for the lack of privacy. There were three shower heads, each stall separated by a moth-eaten curtain. Rye chose the middle stall, the cleanest of the three, and Ean shuffled into the one on the right. Rye’s pants, underwear, socks and shoes landed one by one with a thud on the floor behind them, and Ean had no more than a “think fast” to prepare for the orange thrown at him over the shower rod.

“What is it I’m supposed to do with this again?”

“You peel it.” Rye’s answer was muffled by the sound of water hitting his skin and drumming on the tiles. Ean hadn’t even undressed yet. “And then you eat it.”

Ean disrobed and turned on the water. He grumbled and scraped vigorously, but the skin of the orange refused to yield to his close-cropped fingernails. Apparently Rye heard him, because a second later his hand thrust through one of the larger holes in the curtain, scaring Ean halfway to the Underworld.

“Need a hand there?” Rye’s eye blinked through one of the smaller holes, causing Ean to stumble back a little and yelp. He felt blood rush to the tips of his ears. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking at anything. I’m also not trying to steal your orange, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Rye moved his head back and retracted his hand. A moment later, it reappeared with an orange slice pinched between its fingers. “Here, have one of mine.”

Ean took it and popped it into his mouth. It was slightly different than the variety he was used to, but refreshing in its own right, not unlike a meal under the spring showers in the Vale.

“Thanks,” he said, and passed his orange through to Rye. “Just don’t throw it this time, you nearly knocked me out before.”

This time, Ean didn’t see the projectile until it was too late. “Hey! Shouldn’t you save these for your slingshot?” He picked the piece orange peel out of his hair and threw it in the general direction of Rye’s clothes.

“You’re one to talk. You use a claw in battle, but can’t even claw your way through a citrus! Here’s your orange.”

There was a moment of truce while the fruit exchanged hands. Then the battle began. Orange peels flew in every direction, Rye’s landing all over the room and Ean’s mostly landing in his own stall. Rye was the first to pull back the curtain to pelt Ean directly, but he regretted it once Ean proved to be better at the strategy than he was. There wasn’t much to do in the Vale if one wasn’t studying to be a Singer, so Ean had spent countless hours sniping the hive bees with rocks. His mother encouraged the habit because it made collecting honey easier, but Ean felt like he was training for some grand adventure. It seemed silly now that he’d been in real fights (and long range combat was definitely not his forte), but this felt like as good a use of his skills as any.

After the floor was thoroughly littered with the skins of fallen oranges, they agreed to call it even. Both Rye and Ean were short of breath, more from laughter than exertion. The scent of citrus oil permeated the air, and the room was a mess. Rye chuckled softly, separated from Ean only by the flimsy curtain that was now pushed half aside. Ean hadn’t felt this relaxed in days. The tension he hadn’t even realized was coiled inside him had unwound itself in the form of little orange curls.

They ate their fruits in companionable silence, Rye noisily slurping his and Ean silent save for when he’d spit out a seed and ping it against the wall. Once they turned off the water, they each wrapped towels around themselves and slid down the wall, content to let the moment linger before they opened the doors and let the dreamlike fog dissipate.

“So, how was your first time? Eating shower oranges, that is.”

Ean wondered if the suggestiveness was intentional before realizing that, given who Rye was as a person, it probably was. “You humans have strange customs,” he replied after a moment of thought. “Not bad, just…odd.”

“You’re one to talk, elf boy from a magic island in the sky.”

“You make it sound so silly, but I’m not the one who lives in a world with beast-men and evil snow queens.” The sentiment felt harsher in his head, but it came out sounding more awed than critical.

“It’s not all like that. My whole world is Ryva. Ryva, my books, and the waterfall in the woods if I’m feeling adventurous.”

“But you offered to take me to Thais. Surely you’ve been there before?”

Rye glanced down, rubbing the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic display of apprehension. “I’ve seen maps.” Ean didn’t look upset, but he didn’t reassure him either, and Rye didn’t want the conversation to end on the topic of his inexperience. “Do you think I could ever travel to your home?”

Had a human ever visited the Vale? Ean didn’t think so, but he also didn’t think any elf had left the Vale and returned. “If I’m ever able to find a way back, I don’t see why not.” His voice tightened at the thought. Ean had never had so much to lose - Iya, his home, and now Rye. He envisioned bringing Rye to the Vale, watching him shoot arrows off the edge of the island, exploring the woods together without having to worry about monsters. The only part that felt wrong was the fact that Rye would have to leave - or was it the fact that Ean wouldn’t be leaving with him?

While Ean was lost in introspection, Rye laid his head on Ean’s shoulder. Ean couldn’t breathe for a moment – his heart was near bursting with feelings, and the sensation of Rye’s damp hair against his collarbone was almost too much – but then the flutter in his chest subsided, and he let himself take solace in the gesture. The air chilled his damp skin, but Ean didn’t feel cold.

“Hey Ean?”

“Yeah?”

“I lied. I do have another orange. Wanna split it?”

“We should probably get up,” said Ean. But neither of them did. The oranges in the Vale were certainly frozen in the snow, but in that moment, Ean could pretend that he was home.

Chapter Text

“You know, Te’ijal has awfully short arms for an archer,” observed Mel through a mouthful of smoked weed rat.

Edward looked pensively into the campfire as he continued to char the rat Mel had caught him. “I...never noticed it before.”

“It’s a side effect of vampirism,” Ulf said sagely. “A blood diet causes the bones to produce less marrow, so they shrink.”

“Wait, really?” Mel raised her eyebrows.

“No. That would just be stupid.”

The group burst into laughter, even Lydia, which drew the attention of Te’ijal and Galahad.

“What has caught your amusement, rabbits?” asked Te’ijal.

“We were just-“

“The street rat thinks your arms are short,” interjected Lydia, earning herself a glare that could vaporize a weed rat from Mel, a disappointed sigh from Edward and Stella, and a loud, Orcish snort from Ulf.

Galahad grumbled something about kids these days and tried to pull Te’ijal back to their corner of the camp, but she shook her head. “It’s about time I told them, they’d find out sooner or later anyway.” She raised her (stubby) arms to the top button on her cloak and began to unfasten it.

“Te’ijal, what are you-“

“Oh my Goddess, she’s going to show us her-“

“-don’t mean to be rude, but should she not save that for Galahad?”

“Maybe she has wings underneath there, like you, Stella.”

“Ulf, you idiot, don’t mention that!”

The five held their breath and prepared to cover their eyes as the last button was unclasped. Galahad held his head in his hands as Te’ijal threw open her coat.

Edward dropped his rat into the fire.

Lydia and Ulf clutched each other in fright.

Stella threw a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry of shock.

Mel just stared forward in abject horror. In all her years living in the streets, she’d witnessed many sights that would curdle the blood of the most iron-stomached warriors. But nothing in her eighteen years of life had prepared her for the sight before her now.

Te’ijal - hero of Aia, attempted seductress of paladins, savior of Mel’s life on more than one occasion - was actually two gnomes in a trench coat.

The bottom gnome looked delighted to finally see the light of day. “Goddess, I thought I’d never get to meet you guys. Hi, I’m Ne’ijal, Te’ijal’s lesser known twin sister. I haul the weight around here. She’s just a talking head, pretty much,” said Ne’ijal, looking up at Te’ijal.

“Shut it, who’s the one who does all the fighting?”

“And that’s enough excitement for tonight,” said Galahad, pulling Te’ijal’s coat closed.

Ne’ijal poked her head out and stuck her tongue at Galahad before kicking him in the shin, causing both Te’ijal and Galahad to cry out indignantly. Ne’ijal/Te’ijal ran off in the opposite direction, leaving the remaining six party members to stare at each other in silence.

Mel blinked. “Well, that must’ve been an awkward wedding night.”

“There was no wedding night,” Galahad said with a glare, before trudging off to find his wives.