Work Text:
Just some scenes that were stuck in my head. Some time in the future, AU because Ceelia lives! Because seriously, who else is better equipped to mediate between idiot Fairborn and Blood leaders?
‘CHRIST! Why was he here?’ Nathan wondered for the umpteenth time as yet another argument erupted between a grumpy old Fairborn man and a weathered Blood witch matriarch as they all bloody faffed about waiting for the meeting to come back to order. He must have sighed too loudly because one of Ceelia’s great clodhoppers nailed him in the shin with vicious accuracy under the table. A raised eyebrow was her only rebuttal to his glare in turn.
Nathan pondered the cruelty of those he loved. Marcus and Ceelia had both insisted that his triad must be represented in the talks, as their connections and reputations in both communities were surprisingly good.
Witch communities were actually small and they loved to gossip. They cared a lot about bloodlines and heritage; family defined traditionalists’ identity. Annalise and Nathan’s clans had been long respected on their respective sides for centuries. And while the communities did not know Gabriel’s pedigree, his talents, resume, and networking carried plenty of weight with their craftsmen who did business with him. Breaking free and coming out on top against the formidable Mercury only heightened their reputation. That they didn’t immediately murder those opposed to them helped others’ consider believing they might be impartial.
Nathan felt ill-suited to these word games though. The silent, honest one in their triad, he usually didn’t lead negotiations or confrontations. Gabriel charmed and negotiated; Annalise confronted and called people on their bullshit... Nathan backed them up, often without saying a word. Those that weren’t convinced by him risked facing The Undoing as their final blow.
Like his father, Nathan felt most articulate and effective through actions. Like his mother, he felt most comfortable choosing compassion and light. He tried to convince Gabriel and Annalise that they were the obvious candidates to represent them. ‘Gabriel won’t be able to resist mocking them and will offend them by lighting up a joint’ Annalise rebutted. ‘La petite ruineur will lose her temper and pluoof!’ Gabriel gestured, mimicking an explosion. ‘You have the patience and sincerity of a saint.’ Nathan wasn’t so sure about that.
‘Besides, the Bloods would only accept you as a stand-in for your father.’ Wolfhagen ensured that most traditionalist Fairborn would never tolerate Marcus Edge in person again, so his half-breed, Fairborn-raised son was easier to stomach. They probably still held out hope he’d knock off his father, Nathan mused bitterly. Marcus agreed that he trusted Nathan to be a voice of reason. Ceelia just bluntly said, in her gruff brogue, ‘We are in dire need of fuckin’ decent people. That’s you to a fault, Nathan.’ A stellar recommendation from her.
And here I am, still getting bruised by a Scottish she-giant. At least Frodo got to fuck off to his home in the Shire permanently.
Ceelia cleared her throat pointedly. Oh, right. Shit.
~~~~~~~~~|~~~~~~~~~~|~~~~~~~~~~~|~~~~~
Cream feathers defied gravity and allowed the albatross to float on great air currents effortlessly across miles of continental Old World forest. Despite this magic of avian design, the journey had taken several days, and he occasionally had to rest and eat. He always varied his mode of travel to confuse enemies. Never use the Cuts every time, never fly the whole way… mixing it up was essential. Now long accustomed to the Gift, he had perfected rapid transformations. Soar as high as this form would allow, where the air became thin and brittle, only to drop earthbound, shifting into a diving hawk. He’d hunt up a hare to sustain himself, and sleep a while in a tall tree. Then he’d transform back into the crane, never touching ground. Fairborns and Bloods might have their territories… but people rarely looked up. And their wards usually were always rooted in ground and bone. His father had taught him that little loophole. The Fairborn Council would have had strokes if they had known how often Marcus Edge just simply rode the air over their heads.
Nathan’s home wards were understandably more thorough, and overanalyzed by childhood PTSD. Behind that careless and nonchalant facade, their Gabriel was nothing, if not as meticulous and analytical as an exceptional alchemist should be. So rings of wards and monitoring spells, multiple one-way short cuts to the nearest cut, weapons caches, emergency travel orb caches, muster point plans were scattered throughout their place… and Gabriel had drilled their little family relentlessly on every aspect. Passwords from proverbs and nursery rhymes assigned to some, blood wards on others.
Nathan felt the two ward and surveillance spell lines, anchored to the top of the mountains, hum as he dropped into the airspace of the little valley they called home. Cleverly disguised amongst the boulders, it had taken a year for the alchemist
to prepare and repeatedly apply those blood wards alone, and Gabriel refreshed them every equinox. Showing his hidden hard-earned caution, Gabriel had also marked hundreds of other stones and trees with ward runes and even flimsy wards as decoys. They served as territory markers and warnings to warn off witches and creep out fains alike.
Landing in a sunny glade, Nathan transformed quickly to belt out the first verse of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody to dissipate the building pressure on his chest. Many of the pass phrases only meant something to them. For example, the song refrain from Annalise and Gabriel’s first dance guarded Gabriel’s ingredient pantry, so each morning the alchemist crooned Holly Walker and Maribou State. He’d deny it to death, but they all knew Gabriel was a closeted romantic. Approaching a low stone wall, Nathan skirted around its edge and walked between the wall and an ancient oak, disappearing from view. He emerged from the shortcut through an arbor to step onto the gravel lane leading to the house. Bluish smoke curled out of the laboratory’s chimney. He could hear excited shouts in the distance to see little figures scurrying across the field, Annalise’s long hair blowing as she brought up the rear.
Seeing her immediately began to ease the knot in his chest that had been there since he had last left for the Alliance’s meeting. Always three steps forward, and then one to two steps back, with witchkind and politicians. They were making slow progress compared to what three young people had accomplished in two weeks, years ago and continued since.
Nathan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, focusing his mind on those heartbeats so precious to him. Their music cracked his face into a wide grin. Finally, he was home again.