Chapter Text
He saw her in his peripheral vision: streaks flashing white, guns flashing grey. Matched with one of the Sentinels’ human lackeys – she’d do just fine. His own combatant was dumb but tough, so he pulled his concentration back to slash-gouge-slash, and kept going until the Sentinel fell. Wolverine couldn’t resist a smirk. Dumb but tougher, ya lousy heap of tin.
Rogue – check. Human disposed off, marshalling the troops. Some leader, that girl. Shadowcat, OK. Looked shaken though. Iceman, still icy. Colossus. Looked dented. Obviously had duked it out with his own Sentinel. Storm, her eyes fading to mocha after creating one hell of a tempest. Jubilee, ripped suit, but whatever got her hadn’t dulled her spirits. Gambit, still here. Wolverine spat into the dirt and tried not wish the younger man dead.
Clambering over the metal mountain in front of him, he felt the age in his bones and the weariness a healing mutation could not quell. He – the Wolverine – was sick of this. The endless battles. The neverending lineup of enemies. The quest that never seemed to move any closer to fruition. Xavier’s noble words - harmony, peace, co-existence – left a bitter taste in his mouth. Harmony, my ass. They try to wipe us out, and we try to stop them from wiping us out while we protect them from those of us who want to wipe them out, Logan thought darkly.
He wondered why he stuck around. Scratch that. He didn’t dare wonder, really. The answer was too obvious for his taste, and too fucking frustrating. Better to ignore it, take what he could get, enjoy the ride while it lasted. He could think of a thousand other clichés for their little drama, but refused to give in to the big one. Because lusting after a girl he couldn’t have? That was just stupid.
Vision blurred. Someone must have kicked up a clot of mud into his face, because no way would that be tears. He frowned, hard, and swiped at his eyes, surprised when his hands came away clean. If you didn’t count the blood. And oil. Same thing, really, if you were a Sentinel. Staring at his hands, he never saw it happen. Never saw the light change, the veil thin. The flash reminiscent of Storm, or Jubilee when she was really pissed off. Electricity, moving across his skin and making everything prickle. A pull, not Rogue’s psychic drain, but a physical pull. Taking him somewhere? Where the fuck was there to go? And black wave that told him there were no answers to that question. Not to think. Not to question.
*
Logan drifted up, consciousness breaking over him like a gentle wave. With a not so gentle poke and – FUCK – that was sharp. He forced his eyes open to see what had caused the pain, and came face to face with a tiny man that seemed to be sticking him with a miniscule sword. A sword? Yeah right, bub. He was still scoffing at that thought when he realised the man was REALLY tiny. The size of a dragonfly. Maybe he was dead. Or hallucinating. That had to be it.
Oh. Of course. It was flying now. Throwing a rope over him, drawing the knots tight. Knots? Rope? Logan resisted the urge to chuckle, and sprang his claws. Only to find his elbows and wrists immobilised, and 12 inches of adamantium posing a threat only to the tender skin of his own neck. He sighed, and received another sharp jab for his efforts.
“FUCK! Stop pricking me with that needle, you little fuckwit.” The tiny creature – a fairy? – jumped at that and flew off to perch on a nearby bush. And bowed at him.
“You are awake! Good, good, very good. Faljean thinks this is good, good, good. Only to help you see, only to help.”
Logan noticed the little fucker wavering on his perch. Great. A drunken fairy. I get all the great fairytales, he thought. Who picked this fucking afterlife?
“Afterlife? This is no afterlife, hairy man.” Another voice, to his left. Logan shifted, to find he wasn’t the fairies only captive. There were two of them, in fact. Little men. Very little men – not as small as the fairy, but still a good few feet shy of being able to be called short. Dwarves? At least they were real, he shrugged. The original mutants, even.
“And who the fuck are you?” He tried not to snarl. Information was probably a good thing when you woke up trussed like a pig, with a fairy poking you with a sword.
“I am Willow Ufgood,” the little guy said, voice surprisingly even for someone nearly drowning in rope. “This,” he pointed a finger to his left in the absence of being able to wave, “is my friend, Meegosh.”
“Nice to meetcha.” Enough civilities, damn it. “How did we get here? Where are we? And what the fuck are they,” Logan snapped.
Willow frowned, perplexed. “We were taken prisoner by the brownies as we made our way through the forest. Didn’t the same thing happen to you?”
“Yeah, right.” Logan snorted at the thought of the insect-men being able to pin him down. “I woke up like this.”
“Release them!” The woman’s voice sang through the clearing, its crystal tones echoing among the trees. From nowhere, a phosphorescence gathered, then spread, then moved into a familiar pattern – eyes, a mouth, a nose. A beautiful, beautiful face, Logan thought, unable to process anything further in his awe.
A name hung in the air, a million tiny sprites chanting with glee. “Cherlindrea! Cherlindrea!”
She smiled, and Logan felt his own lips quirk in response. Beside him, the two dwarves grinned like idiots.
“Welcome. It is good to meet you at last, Willow Ufgood.” She inclined her head to the small man beside him. “Elora Dannan wanted you to know she has chosen you as her guardian.”
“Me? Why me? You need a warrior for something like that. I’m just a nelwyn! I’m short!” Logan could smell the shame and doubt rolling off the small body beside him, and his heart panged for the dwarf. The goddess – no other word seemed to fit – seemed undaunted by his protests, however.
“Elora Dannan likes you, Willow. She believes in you. She has chosen you to take her to Tir Asleen, where you will find a good king and queen to raise her. The whole world depends on it.”
The little man shook his head, sunk in despair. “Her life depends on it. Without you, she will die. Without you, Bavmorda will take over the whole world. Your village, your children. There will be no one to stop Bavmorda.”
Logan felt his hackles rise. Bavmorda? Who was that? Why did he feel like retching at the sound of the name?
Cherlindrea took her cobalt eyes from Willow, and directed them at him. “You feel it, don’t you my brave warrior? You feel the evil, the threat.” She returned her gaze to the nelwyn.
“This man has no name here, no life. But he knows Bavmorda must be stopped. And he is ready to fight with you, to guard Elora Dannan with sword and tooth and claw. Are you not, wild man?”
The question put, she waited for his answer. Logan felt a compulsion to please her, to scrape and grovel, but he knew the decision was his to make freely. But, still, it was already made. He had no idea why, but there it was.
“Bavmorda will die. Elora Dannan will live.” He wondered, for a moment, if he was drugged. Or brainwashed. Surely, it was unnatural for right and wrong to be so clear?
“That will be my gift to you, wild man. Clarity. And there will be others.” This time, Cherlindrea’s smile was teasing, a promise not yet ready to be spoken. She gazed at him a moment longer, and then the connection was cut, her warmth dragged away.
She was already fading into a million dancing lights when she spoke to Willow one final time.
“Take this wand to the sorceress Fin Raziel. She will join your quest. My brownies will guide you. Go now.” The night darkened again, the forest sounds resumed, and when Logan’s eyes refocused to the firelight, the nelwyn sat grasping a twisted piece of wood that shone with a little of that unnatural radiance.
They were alone – two nelwyns, a man from somewhere else, a miraculous baby, and two cranky brownies. One of which was gibbering about leaving the sacred ground to set up camp, and was already prodding them into action. Logan followed the two nelwyns – Willow carrying Elora with the care of a doting parent – and thought about his situation. A quest. He was on the archetypal sacred quest, he realised, shaking his head. “Goddamn.” Up ahead, the kid laughed, and seemed to wink at him over Willow’s shoulder.