Chapter Text
“Maybe, uh.” Erik eyes the newly finished building. “Maybe not specifically, ah. That kind of art. Over the front door. Or on the house, anywhere? Maybe we could cut out that panel and keep it at home?”
Mia crosses her arms and glares up at her artwork. She’d thought her stylized sabrecats looked pretty awesome. A perfect mix of cute and fearsome. “You could at least wait and see if anyone wants it the way it is before you get rid of it.”
“I don’t think anyone in Dundrasil is gonna want images of monsters above their front door, Mia.”
“Sabrecats are barely even monsters. And I think people here could stand to learn that monsters aren’t all bad. You sure didn’t think so, when you made me go to the Academie for a year. Half of the students are monsters.”
“Not half of — look, that’s not the point. The point is, you’re helping rebuild a kingdom that was destroyed by monsters. Which means trying to make things that people here actually want, and that means nothing monster-related.”
“Right. And nobody here actually wants what I make,” Mia snaps.
“That’s not true, Mia.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I have at least fifty things you’ve made.”
“Uh huh. In your ‘treasure room,’” she says, wiggling her fingers in air quotes as she makes a reference to the roughly finished shed out behind the castle.
The little building itself was one of the first structures Mia had helped build. She’d still been young enough at the time that she hadn’t realized part of the reason Erik had claimed it as his own, in spite of the lack of living quarters in the early days, was that nobody else wanted it.
Now it’s the place where Erik shuts away all Mia’s little experiments with art and building that don’t turn out quite right.
Sometimes, it feels like there aren’t very many pieces he’s ended up displaying publicly, or even keeping in the living quarters he shares with El.
“I like my treasure room,” Erik says defensively.
But Mia’s not in the mood to hear it any longer. “Whatever. Do what you want with the house. I’m gonna go take a break.”
“Mia…” Erik’s voice trails after her as she stomps away.
It’s not that Mia resents having to help rebuild. In spite of the fuss she’d put up about the idea of spending a whole second year stuck half a world away from Erik at the Academie, any of the coursework there that had to do with buildings or art had been deeply intriguing to her.
The abandoned house she’d shared with Erik as a child had seemed like a miraculous find at the time, their own personal place to hide away from the world. The newer idea that they could have made it better, so the roof never coughed snow down on them and the walls held in the heat, or the notion they could have made the structure itself beautiful and valuable, is still incredible to her now.
Erik gifted her a huge blank book that first year, after she learned how to read properly, and she’d spent hours taking notes on architecture, and things she’d discovered by building little miniature models of castles from pebbles and paste, and even lessons learned from the holiday gingerbread house she’d somehow managed not to devour as soon as she put it together.
Sculptures had been almost as fascinating a discovery. The idea that you could just make new art that people would value, big enough to be difficult for anyone to steal, and become famous for doing it, kept her awake at night, doodling ideas into her book.
She started missing the view of Yggdrasil looming large in the northern sky more than she thought she would, so she sketched out ideas of a huge statue of the Tree, which she thought ought to go over well with these sentimental saps rebuilding Dundrasil.
But when she tentatively floated that idea past Erik, after she spent her first couple months trying to prove herself in simple rebuilding work, he’d hemmed and hawed and said they didn’t have the resources to spare, and besides, he thought it might be offensive to some people to have somebody making a replica of their sacred World Tree.
Erik.
Every time Mia thinks of something really amazing to build, Erik always shuts her down.
She knows he doesn’t mean to, or at least, she’s sure of it when she’s feeling charitable enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. She knows he sees it as brotherly guidance, trying to steer her in the right direction, trying to help her avoid the little social blunders he talked about making during his first years down south.
But she’s lost count of the number of times she’s gotten lost in a creative frenzy, feeling a growing sense of joy as she makes something fun and fantastic, only to have Erik come along and punch a hole in her euphoria.
She needs to leave.
It’s not the first time she’s had the thought. After all, she’s an adult now, by any measure. Dundrasil’s past the early wild rush of rebuilding, and they aren’t so short on manpower that they’ll miss one fledgling builder’s help.
But she’s more sure than she’s ever been. She needs to leave. She needs to find another place in the world that has room for a little creativity, a little vision. No big brother hovering nearby to tell her she was doing it wrong.
Sure, her work is still a little rough around the edges, but she’s good enough to make a living at it. Even the expert carpenters who have settled in Dundrasil tell her she’s more than ready to call herself a journeyman, and that she could easily earn a roof over her head and food to eat with her current skills.
She could try Heliodor. Princess Jade’s mentioned that her downtown area is starting to dabble in more quality building and a little bit of flair, now that the residents have begun to trust that there will be no sudden and unexpected taxes demanding every spare drop of their income.
And Sniflheim always has maintenance work to be done after the worst of the winter weather clears up. Sometimes they even change up the stained glass artwork after a window breaks.
Really, she could try anywhere in the world.
Of course Erik’s a big baby when Mia says goodbye, protesting and even getting a little weepy. But in the end, he says that even though he will miss her, he’s proud of her, too.
Maybe she tears up just a little, herself.
But once she gets on the ship, Mia only feels the euphoria of her newfound freedom. The wind tugs at her braid and tosses salt spray into her mouth when she laughs.
She’s not even bothered when an unseasonal storm kicks in. She’s working for her passage, but it’s a good ship, and the crew is competent enough that she’s sure they’ll make it through together.
Even if they are a superstitious lot. They cast their eyes at the dark sky and mutter about evil magic and Dark Stars, though there’s nothing to see but rain.
Still, it’s not the worst storm Mia has ever weathered. She isn’t worried.
Well, she’s not worried until one of the children of the paying passengers comes up on deck to look at the storm.
“Hey!” Mia shouts as the kid slips in the water sheeting across the deck. “Get back below!” She dashes over to catch the child before they slide any farther toward the edge of the deck. She lifts them by both hands and swings them over into the arms of the next worried crewman, who’s staggering over to catch them.
Or maybe that isn’t the reason he was moving past Mia. He catches the child, but he looks at Mia and shouts something that’s hard to hear over the pounding rain as he scurries backwards.
Mia barely has time to turn and see the unsecured oversized barrel rolling towards her. She tries her best to jump out of the way, but even as she begins the motion, she knows she’s too late, too slow; she’s only set herself up to be knocked overboard.
She manages an instant of hope that at least someone might fish her out of the ocean, and then she blacks out as the barrel hits her.