Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the city of Zuurith, on the sands of the arena, two men fought to the raucous sounds of a roaring crowd. The smaller of the men, a Ferin with chinchilla ancestry, was losing badly. He was lightly clad in leather armor and clutched a spear. His opponent was nearly twice his height, wielding only his stone-armored fists and horns as weapons. 

The Ferin rushed the troll, trying to duck under the enormous fists. But he was injured, face and arm bleeding and a livid bruise on his thigh slowing his movements. A powerful blow caught him in his chest and sent him flying onto his back. His vision swam as the crowd screamed in pleasure. A vague form towered above him, something large crashed down towards him, and he thrust the spear still clutched in his hands upwards. 

The Ferin’s eyes were squeezed shut and roaring filled his ears. Someone was announcing the end of the fight and hands grasped him by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet. He lashed out, kicking and scratching and biting at those grabbing him. More hands took him, pinned him down, and a voice penetrated his panic.

“It’s okay, Champion! You did it! You won!”

The Champion’s eyes snapped open. He was stomach down in the Arena’s sands, his chin jammed painfully against the ground. The bulk of his opponent lay before him. His spear stuck out of one eye and blood was starting to drain into the sands. The Ferin squeezed his eyes shut again and let the hands pull him upright.

“I give you, your Champion.... Tribbin, of Zuurith!”

As Tribbin shut the door behind him, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his hair. His tail was curled tightly against his back, safe from the feet of careless pedestrians. With a quick glance to make sure none of his neighbors were around, he set off towards the market. 

Tribbin lived in a large, empty house on a quiet, empty road in the wealthier part of the city. The Zuurith Citadel stretched above the roofs just a few streets away from Tribbin’s house, shining in all its marble glory. He cast his eyes down to the cobblestones and kept moving. 

Dawn always came late to the city, nestled in a valley as it was. Although the sun was up, the streets of Zuurith were deep in shadow and most of its citizens were still in their beds. Tribbin passed a few people whom he greeted with a casual nod, as well as guards whose eyes he avoided. 

Vendors were still setting up their stalls when Tribbin arrived at the market. He wandered through, nodding at a few familiar faces as he passed by. Tribbin settled on a bench tucked beneath a balcony, selected a book from his bag, and began to read. The text was a dry history of the tensions between Zuurith and Vash, another city-state, but he read it with intense focus. The only times his eyes left the page were to track the movements of the guards that occasionally passed him.

The sun was truly up, illuminating the valley, by the time Tribbin replaced his book in his bag and stood up. He stretched, relaxing his tail enough to let it fall below the cloak’s hem, and made his way towards a particular stall selling fresh produce.

“Tribbin! How are you doing, son?” The stall owner, a human with slicked-back dark hair, waved in greeting.

“I’m fine, Tris. What have you got for me today?” 

“Oh, you’re lucky you came early. I just got in two bushels of sunspot apples. Very popular with the rodent strains, you know.” Tris gestured to the cart on his left, which was piled high with round, gold-specked fruit. Tribbin eyed the apples hungrily. 

“My dad brought these home once when I was a kid...”

“Try ‘em!” Tris urged. “They’re sure to be gone by tomorrow. I had them imported specially and I know for a fact there’s this mouse shifter family who’re sure to grab whatever’s left.”

“Alright, alright,” Tribbin half-laughed. “I’ll take a dozen.”

“You haggling or paying in silver?”

“Silver. Deunn knows I have enough of it.” 

Tris winked. “Deunn knows you’ve earned it.” 

Tribbin didn’t respond, just held out a small handful of silver coins. “Keep the change.”

Hours later, Tribbin left the market with a bag full of supplies. The apples were tucked safely between two fresh sets of clothing. He chewed absentmindedly on one of the apple wood sticks a shopkeeper had pressed on him “free of charge for the Champion.” 

His favorite park was quiet at this time of day. Nestled against a cliffside, trees grew out of the rock to spread their shade over the grass. Tribbin waited under the largest, oldest tree until he was sure nobody was looking. His powerful back legs made the leap up easy. He grabbed a branch with one free hand and swung himself up to sit comfortably with his back against the place where the trunk curved to the sky. His book in one hand and a sunspot apple in the other, he let himself get lost once again in the political machinations.

The sun had just touched the western range when a high voice interrupted Tribbin's reverie. 

"Excuse me? Do you know the way to the Paladin Archive?" 

Tribbin startled, knocked his head on a branch, and nearly slid sideways out of the tree. That high voice spoke again. 

"Lady's kindness, are you okay?!" 

Tribbin mumbled a quick "I'm fine" as he swung down from the tree. He landed in front of a tall pale blue elf with shockingly purple hair, dressed in the distinctive silver armor of the Paladin Order. Their knuckles were practically white against the helmet they clutched in both hands. 

"I'm so sorry - are you sure you're okay - I have a healing kit-" 

Tribbin waved his hand dismissively. "I'm fine. I'm hardy. You said you were looking for the Paladin Archive?" 

They looked embarrassed. "Uh - yeah. I'm guarding tonight, but I've never been to Zuurith before. I didn't know cities could be so..." 

He snorted. "Yeah. I'll show you how to get there. It's on my way home anyway." 

The Paladin was still thanking him effusively as the two started to make their way through the winding streets of the city. They kept up a stream of chatter as they walked, making sure to keep to the right of and slightly behind Tribbin. 

"...more people in the market than my entire village, it was a shock for sure. And so many different people! We're all wind elves where I'm from, I never even met a human til the Paladins came..." 

Tribbin nodded and hummed whenever they paused for breath, which didn't seem to happen as often as it should. His eyes swept back and forth across the streets as they walked. This evening, the people of Zuurith clogged the city streets, some content to lean against a convenient wall and chat, some conducting business, but many seemed to have the same destination in mind. 

The crowd grew thicker as Tribbin and the Paladin approached Citadel District. It suddenly struck Tribbin where this large crowd was headed. Shit. Why wouldn’t his legs stop moving? They turned a corner and the Arena loomed in front of him. Tribbin’s lungs no longer worked, but he still could not make himself stop walking. His neck muscles were frozen in place, staring up at the enormous dark stone wall. He could not blink or breathe or even turn his head, and yet he kept walking.

Just turn your head. Just do it. Count of three. 1...2...3!

He jerked his head to the left. His eyes fell on a dark, empty alleyway a few paces ahead. The air suddenly flowed back into his lungs and he grabbed the Paladin’s elbow, muttering, “We should go around the Arena. It’ll be faster.”

“Why, what’s in the Arena?”

Tribbin didn’t answer immediately. He ducked into the alley, checked his position against his mental map of the city, and kept going. Just walk, just get away. “Bloodsport. It’s not pretty. I’m surprised the Order didn’t tell you about it.”

“I’d heard there were fights...”

“Yeah. To the death.” He glanced back. The Paladin’s face was pale, their violet eyebrows pulled together.

“But who would...”

“Come on. We’re almost there,” Tribbin interrupted. He turned left down a short alley and emerged into the square that was dominated by the enormous white facade of the Paladin Archives. A pair of guards in shiny silver armor stood at either side of the door. His companion gasped, a high squeak in his ear.

“Ohladysbreath thank you so much! I’m not even late!” Tribbin suddenly found himself being squeezed and lifted off the ground. He grunted and wiggled, trying to break free of the Paladin’s hug. 

“Ooooops. Sorry. Here!” They deposited Tribbin back on the ground and fished around in their pockets. After a moment, they held out a small, silver token with the emblem of a globe sprouting a draconic wing engraved on it. “Here. If you ever need help, you can call on the Paladin Order. Just show this and say Fayne gave it to you.”

He took the token. “Thank you...Fayne.”

They beamed and sprinted across the square, then suddenly stopped halfway through and turned back around.

“What’s your name?”

He cupped his hands around his mouth, his whiskers tickling his fingers. “Tribbin!”

Fayne waved. “Bye, Tribbin! May the Lady’s light shine on you!”

Chapter Text

The night had started poorly and was getting worse by the minute. Tribbin sat alone in his empty house, curled up in the chair closest to the fire, glaring into the flames. His long, fluffy tail was wrapped around him like a blanket. He didn’t even have the energy to read tonight. Not that it was their fault, of course. But the words from the message-bird still stung a little.

“Emergency at the Archives - I’ll have to cancel. See you tomorrow, Tribb!”

No, it wasn’t their fault, but Tribbin couldn’t help the little core of resentment burning in his chest. Wasn’t Fayne needed here, too? Weren’t there enough- 

He shut down that thought. No point in stewing over it; it wasn’t what Fayne would want. Instead, he sighed and reached for the copy of Commentaries on the Lady of Light Fayne had lent him. 

He’d scarcely gotten through the first chapter when the sirens went off. Great wind lacrimae placed at strategic points around the city, all engraved with a complex spell Tribbin had not bothered to understand, were now blaring an unearthly sound across the city. Then the noise cut off and was replaced by a magically amplified voice that he vaguely recognized as the defense emissary.

“ATTENTION CITIZENS OF ZUURITH. DUE TO HAZARDOUS WEATHER CONDITIONS, WE ARE EVACUATING THE CITY. PLEASE HEAD TO YOUR DESIGNATED EVACUATION ZONE...”

The message continued, but the words were muffled to incoherence as Tribbin balled up his large fluffy ears in his fists. He screwed his eyes shut and let the sounds wash over him in darkness. Fayne’s advice came back to him. List the sounds...

There was the emissary’s voice. The sound of the rain. Tribbin jumped in his seat and added the crack of lightning to the list. The fire was hissing and popping. The chair creaked a little under his legs. And faintly, his own racing heartbeat.

Tribbin opened his eyes. 

The lacrima message was repeating, but it seemed further away now. Maybe it had never been so loud, or maybe the closest lacrima had been damaged. Tribbin decided not to consider how powerful the storm would have to be for that and instead dragged himself out of the chair to find a cloak. 

Outside, the rain was pouring down in rippling sheets. Tribbin yanked his hood further down his face and ran a hand over his tail, which was safely tucked under the thick green fabric. A few people were streaming out of houses, neighbors he vaguely recognized. Since he didn’t know where his designated evacuation zone was, he trailed along in one elf family’s wake.

An enormous crack split the sky above Zuurith as lightning arced over Tribbin’s head. He glanced up involuntarily and watched the energy stream from the Arena to somewhere behind the city. Tribbin shuddered. He’d never seen a god before, but it seemed like this storm had brought an angry one down on their heads. 

Tribb’s eyes dazzled with the afterimage of the lightning and he paused to rub his face, afraid of hitting something blindly. When his vision cleared, the family had gone. He could see crowds further off, moving towards the slopes, but then he caught sight of the large white Paladin Archives in the corner of his eye and remembered Fayne’s message. Emergency at the Archives. Surely they were evacuating? He began moving towards the Archives.

The closer he got to the city center, the more crowded the streets grew. The stream of bodies kept pushing him further down the street, away from the archives and his Fayne. When Tribbin had ducked out of the way of one too many jostling elbows, grinding his teeth in frustration, he came to a decision. He gathered himself for a moment before leaping straight over the heads of the crowd at a nearby one-story building. Tribb caught the gutter with one hand and, ignoring the shouts of “hey!” and “get down from there!”, hauled himself up onto the roof. 

Then he was off, bounding across the rooftops, his cape and tail flying behind him. His hood slipped down around his shoulders while the knifing rain instantly soaked his cloud of hair into heavy sheets that clung to his face and neck, but he didn’t pause to brush it away or draw the hood back up. He was going to find his Fayne. He was nearly at the Archives, just a few more-

WHUD.

Something hard slammed into Tribbin’s chest, causing him to fall back against the roof. His feet scrabbled against the slippery shingles as he slid uncontrollably downwards. With a painful crunch in his toes, he hit the gutter and flipped over, landing on the wet cobblestone facedown. He couldn’t breathe: hands were touching him, grabbing him, pulling him upright and forcing his arms behind his back.

“Get him cuffed, Oren. We have to get out of here before this whole place floods,” a voice said behind him. “And you should be ashamed of yourself, Ferin. This is no time to be jumping about on-” Tribbin jerked his elbow back and out of his captor’s grip, apparently straight into their stomach. 

More hands descended on him, but he thrashed and ducked and struck out at anything he could. Spears slammed into his body, forcing him to the ground, but he struggled back to his feet and kept fighting. He had to get away. His Fayne needed him. He didn’t have time for this. He was back in the Arena, hands all over him and blood in his fur. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Then the hands were gone, backing away, though suspicious eyes remained on him. He was on his knees, clutching a spear he didn’t remember taking. Someone was kneeling before him, a vague grey figure speaking to him in a low, gravelly tone. He shook his head. His words were trapped behind his teeth. The figure turned away and spoke to someone else.

“Go help with the evacuation,” she said. “He’s my patient and my responsibility now. I’ll take it from here.”

Tribbin heard the sound of metal boots shuffling away as the street cleared of guards. Then the healer was back and speaking to him again. “Are you alright, son?”

Tribbin drew a rattling breath. “M...my chest. Hurts,” he managed. He gestured weakly with one hand, still leaning on the spear with the other. The healer’s right hand glowed bright green as she passed it in front of Tribbin’s chest. Then she made a tch sound. “You’re banged up, but you’ll live. I can put it right if that’s alright with you.” 

Tribbin nodded tightly and looked properly at the stranger. Her skin was dark grey, glinting in the dim light. Her hair, a bright coppery orange, looked to be made of delicately thin wires fused into a tight, waist-length braid. Her eyes were golden and featureless, except for a hint of green reflected from the runic circle she was building. A metal-caste, then, and a Life mage, too. No, Life and Stone, Tribbin thought, as he noted the tattoos engraved on the backs of her hands. She looked to be in her fifth or sixth decade, judging by the creases in her face. She was concentrating hard, ignoring the snow drifting onto her hair and shoulders. 

Snow?

Tribbin blinked and looked up. It was unmistakably snowing, although none of it was sticking to the drenched streets. Then he stopped puzzling over that as the healer activated her spell and soothing energy poured into him. The tightness in his chest eased and he drew a deep, cleansing breath.

“Better?” the healer asked.

“Y-yeah. Much better.” Tribbin straightened up and winced. His arms were covered in cuts and bruises that he hadn’t even noticed. “Could-”

“Here, I already have a lacrima for that,” the healer said as she reached into a satchel hanging off her shoulder. Tribbin caught her muttering something about “taking all the energy in the area” and “damn tree”. 

“You ever used a lacrima, son?” she asked as she handed him a green crystal.

“Once.”

Tribbin concentrated on the lacrima until it released its energy, flowing up over his arms with green tendrils that stitched his wounds shut. When it had finished its work, its glow had faded somewhat. He returned it to the healer, who stowed it in her bag.

“It’s looking like the storm is getting worse. It’s time to go. If we move, we can get up the mountain with the others and maybe do something helpful. Can you stand? Here,” she said, stooping down with an outstretched hand, careful not to touch him. Tribb hesitated, then grabbed her hand and pulled himself up.

“I can’t go up the mountain yet - my Fayne - the Archives-” The words tumbled out of Tribbin, disorderly and tangling up his mouth. He glanced desperately towards the Paladin Archives to emphasize his point. 

“The Archives?” she asked gently. Tribbin nodded. 

“They’ll be fine. Come look.” Still holding his hand, she pulled him along the alley to the main street, where there was a clear view of the Archives. A bright white dome of shimmering energy encased the whole building. Tribbin stared. Had Fayne always been able to do that? What sort of powers did they even have ?

“If they’re in there, then that’s the safest place they can be. Now, let’s get you to safety, too.”

Tribbin nodded vaguely and let himself be pulled along. Somehow, they made it up the mountain and joined the rest of the crowd streaming upwards to safety. Something big was happening in the valley, but Tribbin was too busy navigating the crowd and the healer seemed focused on something else entirely. They only stopped when they reached a rocky outcropping near the peak. People were gathering there, laying down their few belongings and flopping to the ground, exhausted. The healer stuck her hands on her hips and glared around.

“Right,” she said, turning to Tribbin, then paused. “You know, I never asked your name. I’m Doctor Elora.”

“Tribbin.”

“Alright, Tribbin,” Doctor Elora continued, “you’re going to be my extra pair of hands tonight. There’s a lot of injured folks and not nearly enough Life energy to heal them all-” she glared over Tribbin’s head at something- “so we’ll do things by hand where we can. Got that?”

“I...I don’t know how-”

“Ya’ve got a pair of hands and you can listen well enough, and that’s all I need,” she interrupted. She looked like she was about to add something for a moment, but then she closed her mouth. Tribbin just nodded and accepted the satchel that Elora handed to him.

The following hours passed in a blur. Tribbin glanced a few times down at the valley, where a scene out of legends was unfolding before him. Gods, monsters, and heroes revealed themselves in turn. But he had a task in front of him, something real and solid. Elora directed his hands, healing naturally where she could and applying economical use of Life magic when necessary. Tribbin lost track of how many bandages he wrapped, wounds he held shut for stitching, and hands he held to soothe patients as Elora wove a spell of healing.

It was only when Elora put a hand on his shoulder and directed him to sit down that he noticed the storm had dissipated. Tribbin flopped onto the ground, suddenly realizing how exhausted he was. He stared up at the now clear sky, drinking in the stars and moons hanging so heavily over Zuurith. After a few minutes, Elora sat down beside him.

“The emissaries are giving people clearance to return to the city now. Seems like the threat’s passed and pieces need to be picked up.” She paused, sweeping a critical eye over him. Tribbin pretended not to notice. Elora continued, “Once you’ve rested a bit, we can go back down and look for your Fayne.”

“No, I’ve rested already. I want to go now. They’ve got to still be down there,” he said, standing back up. In fact, there hadn’t been any Paladins among the refugees, save one young woman he vaguely recognized. Elora sighed.

“Alright. I’ll come with you. You’re still my patient, son.”

For the first time that night, Tribbin smiled. “Thanks, Doc. Let’s go.”