Chapter Text
The first time Raven came to Earth, she was overwhelmed by the emotions everyone felt.
They were all so loud, some of them so unfamiliar from what she experienced on Azarath. Hate. Anger. Envy. She fell to the ground, in agony, until blissful unconsciousness took her.
That experience on Earth was heaven compared to what awaits her here.
Trigon's world. The locus of his power for his lifespan. He's ruled here as long as anyone can remember, ruled with an iron fist, with absolute power.
Hopelessness, desperation, terror, hang in the air like a fog. It clings to her. She can't get it off.
Every single person in the crowd that welcomes them as they set foot on Trigon's world is in agony.
They arrive on a raised platform. Beneath them, the crowd whose misery raven felt before she could make out any faces – most human looking, some not. People of all ages, from the babies carried in their mothers' arms to the elderly who seem to grapple with merely standing upright. Soldiers, men dressed in metal chest pieces and helmets and … brown loincloths? Underpants? She would expect them to feel proud from the way they behave with the crowd. Giving them orders, telling them to greet their master as he deserves. But they, too, are terrified.
This is his power. Trigon's power paralyzes an entire dimension in fear.
Trigon explains as they walk: “Those prattling dolts below us are my chattel. They exist only to obey my slightest whim.”
Raven cannot imagine thinking of others that way. It goes against every single thing she learned on Azarath.
“Should they annoy you, should their very presence perturb you, I will destroy them where they stand,” Trigon says.
Azar.
He thinks he's doing her a favor with this, doesn't he?
Raven can feel, more acute than everyone else, a little girl looking up at Trigon. She's uncontrolled, she's going to say something, an icy grip seizes her mother's heart as her mother holds her –
And Raven can't let whatever the mother fears will happen happen.
She reaches out into the crowd with her powers. She draws the girl's fear out, makes it her own, almost recoils from Trigon as she sees him with new eyes, sees him as more powerful than she already did, as straight up evil , as if there can be no spark of decency within him –
(There must be, if he didn't kill her, mustn't there?)
– but she does not react. She tries to do as Azar taught her, tries to expel the fear, even though she is not sure she has succeeded.
Raven follows Trigon through the crowd.
She is sure he does not know what she did. She is not sure she can do it again without him noticing.
Or... without driving herself mad.
If she tried to alleviate the pain of everyone on this world, there would be nothing left of her.
She makes it through the crowd. Every time Trigon gets far enough away from a new group of people, there is relief . Relief that he passed by without doing anything? That he didn't kill them? That he's gone?
She cannot imagine living in a world like this, demanding obedience and fear like this.
But she will have to imagine it. If she is to spare the Earth and the dimension of her mother's birth.
“You fail to speak, daughter,” Trigon says as they walk. “What do you think of Trigon's world?”
Raven answers with tentative honesty: “There is no joy here, Father. No love. The people here are your slaves. They fear you.” And, in case there is even the slightest spark of decency, she adds to influence his decision: “They should be set free.”
Trigon almost laughs. He doesn't, but she can feel his amusement.
“To do what?” Trigon asks. “They serve no purpose other than serving me.”
Raven feels sick to her stomach. As much as she wishes it were otherwise, he seems steadfast in his belief. They truly aren't anything beyond tools for him.
… For her, as well, if he has his way.
Raven won't let him. She can stay her with the conditions to keep Earth safe. She will try not to make things worse for the people living here, and that may wind up allowing herself to behave as if Trigon is her father, even after the way he tortured and humiliated her mother, tortured her with nightmares as a child, tortured his subjects with fear –
But she won't become him. Even as she obediently follows him to his palace.
When they finally arrive –
Everyone here is even more defeated.
Even as they approach the palace, Raven feels the dull background of resignation turn to hyper-vigilance. Handmaidens come out to attend Trigon and her, taking her cloak, and Raven allows them to because she doesn't want to admit she'd rather not part with it, not after Trigon offered to murder anyone who perturbed her in the slightest way.
“You are my daughter,” Trigon explains calmly, as if he's Azar giving her a lesson rather than a demon, “And therefore a god like myself, and far above the rabble whom we command.”
Raven sees the handmaidens.
None of them look her in the eyes.
The woman who took her cloak backs away and hangs it up on a hook.
Raven grabs one of Azar's rings. As she does, Trigon turns to stare at it.
A flash of anger nearly doubles Raven over. It came on so strong. She can feel it from him. Anger... mixed with fear.
She knows why he fears Azar. The same reason she begged those on Azarath to help her stop Trigon, even as they stubbornly ignored the world – the universe – for the sake of their ideology. Those on Azarath are the only ones with the power to unmake him, as they were the ones who inadvertently made him.
“You keep those trinkets?” Trigon asks.
This is perhaps the first time he's looked at her like this in person. Like he may wish to kill her. It had only happened earlier when she was pleading in the intradimensional space, when he threw lightning bolts at her.
What is she getting into?
“They are all I have left of Azar,” Raven says.
Trigon walks up to her.
He smirks. He reaches a hand up and touches underneath her chin with one clawed finger, tilting her head up so that she looks at him.
Raven doesn't resist. She is completely passive.
(Are you happy now, Coman?)
“I will allow you to keep these meaningless trinkets from a decrepit old woman,” Trigon says.
Raven won't grovel, she won't say that's kind or thank you, so she just nods without speaking.
Trigon steps back.
Raven notices that all but one of the handmaidens have left. The remaining woman is standing close to the door, against the wall, trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. Raven can detect some curiosity from her, albeit curiosity greatly kept in check by fear.
Trigon continues his path through the palace, and Raven can tell he wishes her to follow, so she does. A man dressed in a green sleeveless robe approaches them, hands out, and waits for Trigon to acknowledge him. As Trigon does, the man says, “Sire, your dark hordes have returned from Xynthia... they report unrest.”
Raven inhales sharply.
She could tell the handmaiden in the room tensed at this as well, there's someone nearby, also fearful, defeated, already mourning.
Raven doesn't know how much more of this she can take.
Trigon merely asks, “And the proper preparations have been made?”
Of course there are already preparations for if a world has reported unrest.
The man in the green robe walks over to the place Raven senses the mourner. He pulls back a curtain, revealing a soldier behind a woman who's in chains. The woman won't look anyone in the eye. She's staring at the ground.
“Indeed,” the man says. “This is Xynthia's queen. Will she serve you?”
He's going to hurt her. Rape her. There's no point in Raven lying to herself or stepping around it. And Raven – she doesn't know if she can do anything without risking the woman be further hurt.
Trigon touches the woman's face. The woman's eyes are shut and Trigon says, “A comely wench, soon to be the last of her race. Yes, prepare her for tonight. She will do.”
Trigon immediately turns away to deal with another man, this one wearing purple. He expects Raven to follow him again, Raven knows this, but she can't help but stare after the queen as the soldiers take her away.
Trigon notices.
Of course he does.
He ignores the man in purple to ask Raven, “Does she please you, daughter?”
Raven doesn't know what answer would be the safest. So she merely says, “Why do you ask, Father?”
“She could be yours, if you wish.”
Raven tries not to react. She doesn't want to risk the woman's life. Does that mean she should pretend – she should pretend she's going to take her father up on his offer? To have a person?
Surprise from the men around Trigon let raven know this is not typical for him. But he's never brought her here before. Someone he perceives as... a god like himself.
“... I may wish,” Raven says eventually.
“I shall have my servants take her to your chambers, then,” Trigon says. “She is yours. Do with her as you like.”
… Raven should probably acknowledge this, if she wants to continue having the ability to influence her father's actions. So she says, “That's very... kind of you, Father.”
It doesn't feel kind. Trading around a person can't be kind. No matter what. Even if Raven doesn't touch her at all. Violence is present simply in the act of her being captive like this. A slave.
The man in purple whom Trigon spoke with earlier is growing increasingly impatient, but Raven notices he does not express such impatience to Trigon. Trigon does finally turn to acknowledge him and says, “Now, what seems to be the problem, Grool?”
The man – Grool – holds up a piece of paper. “This proclamation, Master,” he explains. “The Xynthians demand that your dark hordes leave their planet immediately. They further demand that you pay for damages your hordes have already inflicted.”
Trigon doesn't even seem to be making sure that Raven is following as he and Grool walk. But Raven is following, seeing where they go, seeing how Trigon deals with this situation even though she can guess. He already has their queen, has that not demoralized them enough?
Trigon says, “Very well, Grool. We will order my darklings to depart.”
“What?” Grool says, raising his arms. “You're going to allow the Xynthians to make demands?”
Trigon looks down at Grool. The man shrinks under his gaze.
But Trigon doesn't hurt him. He just says, “Of course not, Grool. But I do not want my armies to die with Xynthia's scum.”
… he's not going to destroy the whole planet, is he?
He and Grool have paused in front of some giant cannon. Raven can tell it's powerful, tell it's somehow hooked into some of Trigon's own power –
“Father, what are you doing?” Raven asks.
Trigon looks down at her, just as he did at Grool. But Raven is no sycophantic advisor. She does not crumble under his gaze.
“Xynthia would have rebelled,” Trigon says, completely sure of himself.
And maybe he's right. Maybe they did rebel. So what?
Raven would rebel, if she lived here.
“So they will be destroyed,” Trigon continues. He looks at a man up on the top of the cannon and asks, “Is the cosmic cannon primed?”
Whatever is going to happen, Raven can't allow it.
“Father, this isn't necessary,” Raven says.
Trigon looks down at her.
He wasn't inhumanely tall. She doesn't know why she feels so tiny in comparison to him.
His top set of eyes seem almost to glow.
“You are so much stronger than anyone on Xynthia,” Raven explains desperately.
As she does, Grool quickly retreats to the corner of the room. He does not leave; Trigon did not dismiss him. But he is making himself scarce, unobtrusive.
“A person does not have to crush an ant to prove they are stronger than the ant,” Raven says.
Trigon smiles, but not a real smile. It's full of condescension and malice and he says, “You will learn the way things work here, my daughter.”
And then he fires the cannon.
Raven expects to feel something.
But Xynthia must be so far from her that she can't tell anyone was injured at all. Or maybe their deaths were too instantaneous and painless for it to register. Or maybe, she's not naive enough to believe it, but she wants to believe it, maybe Trigon was lying about destroying the planet.
But she can feel Trigon's emotions.
And he just feels... vindictive. Satisfied. Pleased with himself.
What did she get herself into?
Trigon looks at Grool. “Continue with the news of how the outer worlds are fairing,” he says. And to Raven: “You will be escorted to your quarters. I hope you enjoy your prize.”
Raven nods. Her throat is dry. She can't even say anything.
Trigon snaps his fingers, and from behind the door, one of the handmaidens appears. She was just waiting there, waiting for him to command her. It sounds – and empathically feels – exhausting.
The handmaiden lowers her eyes when Raven makes eye contact with her. Which wouldn't be bad, if Raven didn't know that she was lowering her eyes in submission.
She wonders if submission fits under the passivity preached in the Temple Azarath.
Raven follows the handmaiden. She attempts to distract herself from the collective emotional misery around her by taking in the surroundings, paying attention to her non-empathic senses. The click of her one-inch heels on the stone floor is practically the only sound. The brick walls and layout of the place seem to somewhat mimic the drawings she's seen of medieval castles in the books in Azar's library, but the technology is obviously more advanced. More advanced than even what's on Azarath, if you could call a device as horrendous as the cosmic cannon 'advanced'.
The handmaiden pauses outside a door. It must be Raven's room, because Raven can already sense the defeated emotions of the queen of Xynthia behind the door. Trigon wasn't lying about... 'giving' her to Raven. And Raven really doesn't want to open the door and figure out what she should do. Feel the woman's emotions even more strongly than she already does.
Raven realizes she really doesn't want to call her 'handmaiden', so she asks, “What's your name?”
The woman's eyes widen slightly at Raven's question. She pauses a moment before saying, “Leya.”
Raven smiles slightly, to try to encourage her.
“Do you require any other knowledge of me?” Leya asks.
Raven shakes her head.
Leya opens the door to Raven's room and Raven follows her inside.
It is... extravagant. There is, in the middle of the room, a canopied queen bed, upon which the queen sits. On one side of the room is a dresser with a mirror above it, an armoire, a desk and chair, and a shelf with various pieces of jewelry, gold, and gems. On the other side of the room is a weapons-rack with melee weapons, such as swords, daggers, and some club thing Raven doesn't know the name for, along with various large guns.
Raven imagines that in Trigon's mind, her room has everything she could need.
“Do you require anything at all, my lord?” Leya asks.
“No,” Raven says. But she realizes that it is possible that the queen does, so she asks, “Do you require anything – ”
How does one refer to queens? Sir? Ma'am?
Raven settles on: “Your majesty?”
Hate flares across the queen so fast that Raven nearly recoils. She wants to kill Raven, possibly more than she ever has wanted to kill anyone in her life.
She refuses to speak, so Raven says to Leya, “Nothing is required, thank you.”
Leya bows and quickly leaves.
The queen watches as Raven walks over to the desk and sits in the chair. Hate and fear war in her heart. Even being in the same room with her is overwhelming; Raven's head is spinning.
“Do it,” the queen says.
“Do what?”
Resignation overtakes the queen as she lays down in the bed. “Kill me,” she says. “Or have your way with me. But don't make me wonder.”
Raven... can recognize that the anticipation is probably unpleasant. She has to convince the queen she doesn't intend on hurting her, but even if she doesn't, she can't make any promises about her father. He destroyed the queen's planet, and he'll destroy Raven's if she doesn't go along with this.
“I don't wish you any harm,” Raven says. “I won't kill you. Or … 'have my way' with you.”
The queen looks up. She doesn't believe Raven even a little. In Trigon's world, Raven cannot blame her.
“I am Trigon's daughter,” Raven explains. “That's why he has allowed me so much freedom. But I was not raised in this dimension.”
Confusion wars with hatred in the queen. Eventually, she says, “What do you mean 'in this dimension'?”
Raven seizes the opportunity to talk about something besides whatever evil act she should be doing. “There are many dimensions, but I only know personally of three. One is this world – this dimension – and all the planets in it. That is Trigon's world.”
The queen's nostrils flare as she hears Trigon's name.
“There is Azarath. That is the dimension in which I was born.”
“How is that different?” the queen asks. “What's it like? Where is it?”
Raven thinks the best way to explain it. “Azarath is much smaller than this world,” she says. “I don't think it's even a planet. I just think it's... a place. A place between 'real' dimensions or 'real' worlds.”
The queen sits up. “How did the daughter of a creature as powerful as Trigon wind up in such a small dimension?” she asks.
Raven can't tell if there's a sarcastic edge to her words, but she answers anyway: “My mother was given refuge. She was... distraught after her encounter with Trigon.”
It feels wrong, weak, to minimize it to an encounter. But she doesn't know what else to say.
The queen nods. Something's building inside her. Raven can feel it. But she can't tell what. Maybe some dawning horror, some dawning sadness, somehow different from what she felt earlier.
“The other dimension is the dimension that has Earth,” Raven says. “But there are many planets in that dimension, just like this one. Trigon wishes to invade that world.”
Something snaps.
Raven can feel it.
Tears start pouring down the queen's face, she's realized something, she's more hopeless than she was before.
Raven doesn't understand.
Raven walks up to her. She stays a little bit away, not getting too close, and says, “I can heal your pain – ”
“There is no healing my pain,” the queen says quickly, voice thick with phlegm and tears, aura of misery more condensed than it is around anyone else in this dimension.
And since Raven is a coward, she allows herself to accept this answer. She wants to heal her pain, but just being in this dimension is exhausting, she can feel the fog of misery cling to her, trying to rip her open, and she'll save what willpower she can.
“You're telling me,” the queen starts, but immediately stops.
She shakes her head, then tries again: “You're telling me – ”
And she stops for a second time.
There's something inside her she wants to get out. Emotionally.
“You're telling me there's some world Trigon doesn't rule?!” the queen says. Her voice is loud, almost a yell, and Raven can't help but wince as she wonders if anyone will come upon hearing the noise.
The queen continues: “There is someplace where people do not live in fear of that damn cosmic canon? Where one rebel cell won't get your planet destroyed?”
Oh.
Raven feels her cheeks heat.
Anger, not hate, just outrage, righteous anger at an unjust situation, fills the room. Definitely the queen's, possibly Raven's own.
“And we couldn't live in that dimension?!” the queen asks.
It does seem unfair. No, not seem.
It is unfair.
It's unfair that anyone has to live in Trigon's dimension. That he treats anyone like this.
“The rebel cell – ” Raven starts.
Before she can even formulate a question, the queen explodes with the answer: “Selfish idiots! They what? Found some thousand-year-old text explaining the good days of the past?! Want to recapture our independence and glory? That's worth all of our lives, isn't it?”
“Trigon wasn't hurting you earlier?” Raven asks.
The queen recoils, but then says, “We had tribute, he was in charge. But he never came by. Why would he? We were so small and weak compared to him. If everything was working, if we acknowledged his supremacy, he left us to our own devices.”
Raven knows that that would be... unpalatable to many people. That it's still wrong.
But given what happened, she can't blame anyone for wanting that arrangement. She wonders how it feels – felt. If it felt the same way this world does, if the misery and hopelessness of the inhabitants hung in the air like smoke, or if it was... lessened. Lessened by distance that prevented Raven from being able to feel when the planet was destroyed, when people died, much less however they felt on a day-to-day basis.
“He used the cosmic cannon,” the queen says. “Didn't he?”
Raven nods slowly.
The queen's hands ball into fists and her shoulders shake.
She's crying.
Raven doesn't know how to help her. To heal someone, she removes the pain. But the pain would still be here, even after Raven healed her. She would still be the last of her race, still a captive of Trigon, in his dimension, on his world. The only way Raven can save her would be by risking he invade the Earth, and she cannot do that.
Raven walks over to the bed and sits down. The queen scoots away from her.
She's still crying.
“I am truly sorry,” Raven says.
The queen shakes her head and wipes her face.
Raven waits.
“If you're sorry,” the queen starts, “do something about it.”
What can Raven do?
She's here, isn't she? That's saving the Earth. But it's not saving anyone who lives here; to them, Earth is just a reminder of what life could be like.
“You're his daughter,” the queen says. “Don't you have his power?”
Raven looks down at her hands in her lap and rotates Azar's ring one half circle.
What can she say? That he's still more powerful than her, that if she could stand up to him in a straight fight she would, that risking using more of her – or his – power would risk her losing control?
Is this how Coman and Arella and the others at the Temple Azarath felt when Raven came to them for help? Like useless, hypocritical cowards?
“I do not,” Raven says, because that's true enough for the moment.
The queen glowers at Raven, and for a moment, she's shaking in anger, before she just... implodes. Emotionally. Back to to the defeat, the mourning, she felt earlier. She lays back on the bed and stares at the canopy.
“Just kill me, then,” the queen says.
Raven thought they went over this. “I do not wish you harm – ”
“I know,” the queen says. “Or I don't know if I believe you.”
(She does, though, Raven can feel that.)
“But my people are dead. There is no saving them. Or me. Allow me to join them among the stars.”
And Raven –
Raven can feel the earnestness of her plea.
She can feel that breathing air for one more minute in Trigon's world is objectionable to this woman.
But.
She can't kill her.
“I'm sorry,” Raven says.
The queen rolls over on her side. She doesn't even feel anger, or hatred, or relief, at Raven's refusal. She's just tired and defeated.
This is what the rest of Raven's life will be like, Raven realizes.
Staying with Trigon. Staying in his world. She won't be able to do anything except apologize to the very people her father is oppressing and torturing and killing. And obviously it will mean nothing, coming from her. It will incur hatred and anger and fear because why wouldn't it? If she is truly Trigon's daughter, why doesn't she do something?
And Raven feels defeated, too.