Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ashton took a deep, shaking breath; trying to force their shoulders to relax and allowing their lids to shut. Even with their eyes now closed, they were intensely aware of a few things: the powerful heat and arcane presence of the shard nearby; Allura’s incoming hands and Orym’s presence, his gaze baring into the side of their head. Ashton could still picture the encouraging yet cautious gaze and alert posture, ready to intervene should Allura progress with too much intent.

Thoughts lingering on Orym, Ashton suddenly felt their world pulled from beneath them, like they were flying… falling. They considered pulling away from this unfamiliar touch. Their mind raced and they began to see flashes; memories? Possibilities? They weren’t sure, but they were darn sure they were projecting some pretty colours on the wall right about now.
Falling from the tower but looking up and seeing De Rolo, The Arsehole in the Castle staring back at them wearing a sick grin. Looking down on themselves strewn, broken on Milo’s workbench, but soft, half-even, blood slicked dark curls framing their copper face. Fighting back to back with Orym, but he’s tall, too tall and towers over Ashton. Their father in a robe and mask, they think. The flashes get faster, with no apparent storyline or order, Allura stood before them, Xandis pointing a pepperbox at their head, Fearne in flames, a blackened Sun Tree. Ashton could feel their consciousness slipping as they felt Allura’s arcane influence prodding their brain, they felt angry, hopeful, laughing, crying… scared.

That was when they realised that the quivering breath they took when Allura first touched their head had been their last for a long time. They hadn’t been breathing and their vertigo had been dialed up to a hundred. When did this happen, how long had it been? Did it hurt? Ashton couldn’t tell, all they could feel was the ten fingers of Allura’s hands, touching. No, burning, into their skull and the tilting of the world beneath close eyes.

“Ash…” A soft, enquiring voice. Orym, Ashton’s brain supplied, “Focus on my voice, you're drifting. It’s over, she’s done.”

Ashton pushed through the fog, focused on the voice and as they felt their consciousness return to themselves, their body made itself known immediately. It began in their head; a deep throbbing, which quickly branched into a crackling pain across their left side. Immediately feeling their shoulders, neck and hip tense, Ashton grit their teeth and scrunched their eyes shut, begging that any remaining light did not find its way into their brain.
They fell to their knees. It wasn’t graceful and the fall was clearly not broken by anything as a sharp, shattering pain radiated from their knees. Ashton allowed themselves to tilt sideways, giving in to the disorientation and dizziness; this, however, didn’t hurt as they had expected, they felt their right should connect to a small, yet firm pair of hands, then the unmistakable texture of leather. The fall was being slowed and they felt the clawing of multiple hands lowering them onto the ground, each touch, each helping hand radiating intense pain.

“Off... Get off.” They pleaded through gritted teeth. The hands immediately retracted, leaving dull throbbing in their wake, the leather pillow remained.
“Ashton, can ya hear us?” Another voice, metallic, chirpy: Letters. Ashton could only respond with a pained grunt, writhing on the cold, dusty floor. They felt the familiar pinprick of arcane healing, flood throughout their body, it felt nice, warming: for a second. Then it was back: the seizing muscles, pressurised skull, grinding joints and uncontrollable tremors. Ashton’s hearing, albeit poor, could identify the muffled noise of voices calling and arguing, they couldn’t pick out any individual voice, but the soft vibration of the leather under their head, told them that Orym was one of those voices.

“Ashton… Can ya open ya eyes? No-one’s leaving ya, how can we help?” Ashton felt their mind open to the drawl of Imogen’s mental enquiry. They attempted to reply, to beg for the others to leave, they didn’t want people to see them like this.

Imogen immediately pulled away, “They’re freaking out, FCG do something.”

“I can Calm Emotions.”

“No.”, “Yes.” a plethora of voices gave their mixed opinions. “No,” Imogen demanded, eyes flashing dangerously, the room silenced, “not after last time.”

“What's happening to him?” Imahara Joe creeped forward crouching next to FCG.

“I promise, I only went as far as necessary.” Allura chipped in, her voice laced with concern.

“He has pain.” Orym quietly explained, sprouting a bunch of lavender flowers into his hand and hovering them underneath Ashton’s nose, it was bleeding. Again. “The cracks, their head. We don’t know why or how but it’s not…” Orym faltered, gaze resting on Ashton’s restless face.

“Everyone out,” the commanding voice of Lord De Rolo started, “they need privacy.” Most people shuffled out quickly, leaving the Hells and Percival himself.

“What can we do?” Percival asked, leaning heavily on his cane and lowering himself to Orym’s height, his voice taking a rarely seen softness.

“Honestly, sir, I don’t know.” Orym sounded pitiful, even to his own ears.

“I have a potion,” Percival raised himself stiffly, “Ms Trickfoot came up with the concoction a few years ago for…” He gestured slowly to his knee. Orym gave a silent nod and returned his focus to Ashton.

“We’ll find them a room,” Imogen spoke quietly, hand resting softly on Orym’s shoulder, the touch almost bringing tears to his eyes. Bells Hells quietly exited, but Orym was aware of the lingering, concerned presence of Fearne.
“This is my fault.” She said sternly.

“No Fearnie,” Orym looked up to her, “why would you think that?”

“If I just take the shard, we could just leave them be,” she faltered, “but I’m scared.”

“Of-course you are scared Fearne, you didn’t force Ashton to do this, they want to know what is going on. They’re a risk taker.”

“So are you.” Fearne mumbled druid crafting a few small buds and adding them to Orym’s clasped fist, “for the pain.”

“Thanks Fearnie.”

Ashton shifted slightly and opened their mouth into a tight grimace, “where am I?” They croaked.

“We are in Whitestone, you’re safe. No-one’s left you. Fearne is here too.”

“Hi.” Fearne smiled brightly.

“Hey…” Ashton replied, the ghost of a smile gracing their face, “hurts.”

“Yeah, we guessed. Lord De Rolo is fetching a potion, he says it’ll help.”

“Asshole.” Ashton took a shaky breath and lowered their forearms to the cold floor, in a feeble attempt to push themselves up.

“No, Ash,” Orym begged abruptly, “stay still, there’s no rush.” Ashton immediately dropped the effort, a small tear forming on their better eye. They cautiously cracked open their eyes, the room was dark. Thank the Gods. Orym locked eyes with the glazed and distant gaze, “Hey, there you are.”

“Here I am.”

Just when Orym thought Ashton was going to make a second attempt to sit up, the door reopened and Percival appeared, holding a vial of deep purple liquid, “I can’t say it tastes nice, but it works.”

“I’m not taking any of his shit.” Ashton grumbled, their dry throat replicating grinding stones.

“You are a stubborn one.” De Rolo, leant against the central table, taking the weight off of his leg, “You don’t know me, you don’t fully trust, that’s fair, healthy even and I don’t know you. But something I do know is pain and believe me, when you ignore it, push it down, refuse to treat it properly, it comes back to… how can I say it? Bite you in the arse. Take the potion or don’t, it’s your choice. But your friends upstairs, and they are your friends, are worried about you, so I’d rather you walk out here on your own two feet than us having to carry you out.” Percival took a long, maintained breath, “Your choice.”
Ashton did their best to hold the Lord’s gaze, it was driven, but honest and Ashton gave a jerky nod.

“Good” De Rolo nodded.

“Ok Ash, you got this? Or do you want my help.”

The look on their face would tell the world that Ashton Greymoore was mortified, “help… Please.” Orym clasped the small vial, uncorking it and holding it close to their lips. The liquid was thick, dark and blended sinisterly into the thick droplets of blood rolling down onto their lips. Ashton swallowed audibly, “tastes worse than Letter’s fish.”

“That bad!” Orym mocked, laughing lightly, handing the empty bottle to Fearne with a smile. Ashton stilled and took another deep breath, eye’s slipping closed again, “Ash? Come back!” Orym exclaimed.

“Give them a second,” Percival advised knowingly, “it disconnects the brain from the worst of the pain. They’ll be disorientated, tired.”

They sat in relative silence for a while until there was a quiet knock at the door, “Percival darling.” The strikingly beautiful head of Lady De Rolo appeared, dark braid over her shoulder. Percival brought a finger to his lips, nodding slowly toward the Genasi and Halfling crashed onto the floor.
“Oh,” Vex’ahlia’s mouth opened in surprise, “are they…”

“They’ll be ok,” Percival supplied, he rose to full height, “we’ll leave you to it then, take all the time you need.”

“The rest of your party have requested a nearby room. I see why now.” Vex said softly, “we have started a fire, darkened the chamber and we can bring another potion if you need it.”

“Thank you Lady De Rolo,” Orym smiled genuinely, “not right now, but they’ll probably need one later, or in the morning.”

“No problem and it’s Vex, third door on the right.” She gestured for Percival to follow and they left quietly.

“Ashton,” Fearne knelt next to the Genasi, their body twisted in Orym’s lap, “shall we help you up?”

Ashton hummed.

“Words Ash,” Orym asked gently, “you’re not quite with it right now, we don’t want to cross boundaries.”

“Please.” Ashton breathed. “Help would be… great.”

Chapter Text

Getting up took a while. Orym was silently grateful for Fearne’s presence and strength as they slowly assisted Ashton to their feet. They stood, chest heaving, swaying slightly, gaze downcast and blinking slowly, “Thanks.” They grumbled.

“Never a problem Ash,” Orym stepped back, testing Aston’s balance, “you good?”

Ashton gave a gruff laugh, “Oh ya, this shit, is… fuck, its good.” They smiled to themselves, this was hands down the best shit they’d tried.

“And it didn’t cost us a penny.” Fearne mused, dusting the soot and dust from her dress.

“There’s a room just down the hall for you,” Orym explained, opening the door a little further, giving Ashton cautious space. They nodded shortly, wincing as a flash of pain shot down their neck. A muted, frustrated hum escaped their lips and they took an experimental step towards the door. The step hurt, sending a wave of throbbing up their calf and enclosing their hip in a suffocating grip, but hey, what's new, just one foot in front of the other.

Fearne led the way, following Lady De Rolo’s directions and glancing back periodically to ensure Ashton and Orym were keeping up. They were, but Ashton was unsteady, lumbering and pale; if they could be, they just looked completely drained, she could tell that they were hurting but trying not to show it on their face, she was more insightful than she let on. She came to the door that she presumed to be the room for Ashton, it was shut, but not locked and Fearne swung the door open nonchalantly. “Fearne, knocking remember.” Orym chided lightheartedly.

“It was open, don’t get on my ass about it!” Fearne sounded genuinely offended. Ashton gave a short chuckle and followed her in leaving Orym shaking his head in the doorway.

The room was clean and modest, a small fireplace on the back wall was flickering away and sheets had been thrown over the window to block the midday sunlight. The room looked cosy and Fearne immediately began her rounds, looking for trinkets that could suspiciously go missing. With a tut, Orym ushered Ashton toward the bed, it looked soft, Orym noted, good, he didn’t think a hard bed would do Ashton any good. Elegance was not Ashton’s forte at the best of times but they practically fell onto the best face first then rolled onto their right side with a relieved sigh.

Fearne gave a little squeak from the fireplace, where she was pawing at a small vase, “That was Imogen, there’s a meeting happening, they need us there.”

“Ah,” Orym scratched his head, hands running, stressed through his hair, “you go Fearnie, I’ll stay with Ash.”

“Nah, they need you,” Ashton spoke slowly into the pillow, “I’m fine here.”

“They’re right, you practically know everyone,” Fearne commented, deciding the vase was worth pocketing.

“And you’re like the group leader now, so.”

“Ash, I’m not…” Orym started clearly torn, “you’ll be ok here.”

“Not going anywhere else, am I?” Orym smiled slightly, if Ashton was getting snarky, they were feeling better.

“As long as you're sure.”

“Yep, get out of here short stuff.”

Fearne headed toward the door and Orym gave the bedpost one last pat, then they both left quietly. Ashton was plunged into blissful silence, true stillness like they’d not felt in a long time, they dared to release a long help sigh and allowed their body to melt into the bed. It was easier than it should be, for once Ashton felt their muscles loosen slightly and they bitterly thanked the Gods for whatever was in that potion. Now, finally alone and drugged to the Hells, Ashton allowed their consciousness to slip; allowed the last grabbing claws of tension to release from their hips, allowed themselves to fall into a long needed sleep.

Predictably, it didn’t last. Ashton’s sleep was never absolute, their mind never fully switched off; whether it was the pain, the dunamis shit or the titan blood coursing through their veins, Ashton didn’t know, but dreams, nightmares were a frighteningly common occurrence.

Just as it had when Allura had began to reach into their mind, Ashtons brain began to reel off possibilities: a grand meeting happening downstairs, the nobility and heroes of Exandria planning to leave them behind; Imogen’s father flying above the Solstice site, lightening crackling from his fingers and eyes; a human Fearne racing a crawler with her parents; Betrand fighting with them in the lava chamber. Ashton couldn’t keep tracking, they couldn’t decipher what was real. Laudna vibrant and young running around the Sun Tree; FCG with wings perched on a less haggard looking Dancer’s shoulder; Orym joining the party accompanied by a half-elven warrior. Skyships, demons, Bassarus in flames, temples, Yios, professors, fae, castles, werewolves, dragons and them. Ashton caught their own gasp in their throat and started awake with a suffocating breath, wincing at the sudden movement upright.

They sat there in the silence, unsure of how long it had been, just breathing, or trying to breathe. They felt the gnawing wave of a panic attack wash over them, their mind too overwhelmed to process any more, their body shaking violently. Just when they thought they would lose themselves into the depths of the panic, there was a small voice, “Are you ok?”
Ashton’s head shot up and it took a second for the dark spots to fade from their vision, there was a short figure at the door, they stopped breathing again and felt their hand tremor uncontrollably.
“Get outta here kid.” They gasped between breaths, hoping to give off just enough spite tho scare the child off.
“You’re having a panic attack,” The child said matter of factly, “my parent’s have them sometimes too, they think I don’t see.”

“Welcome to the real world.” Ashton slammed their head into their hands, pressing the heels of their palms into their eye sockets. “Now scram”

“Sometimes, adults say they don’t want help or they want to be alone, when that isn’t true. You are stubborn” The child stuttered over the last word slightly, maybe regretting what she had said.

“Your are the second fucking De Rolo to say that to me today.” Ashton chuckled deeply, not looking up, “shit sorry, you’re a kid, don’t use words like that.”

“I won’t” Ashton heard the tell tale noise of light footsteps approaching the bed, then without warning the end of the bed directly in front of their hunched form dipped slightly. “Would you like a hug?”

“No,” Ashton said, probably too harshly, “No, sorry, I just can't really hug people right now.”

“Is it because your hair is so sharp?” The child sounded genuinely interested.

“No, I,” Ashton decided then to look up at the child, before them: sat cross-legged on the bed, knees a few inches from his feet was a small, red skinned Tiefling, with dark horns and eyes and an inquisitive expression, “it’s complicated.”

“That's ok.” She looked up at them, Ashton thought to start with that she was looking at his scars then it became apparent that she was looking behind them at the pulsating lights they were currently projecting on the wall, “Pretty.” She mused absentmindedly.

Ashton cringed, they suppose it was pretty, but it was a shame it came with all this shit. Ashton softened slightly, taking a deeper breath.

“You can touch,” They offered with a small smile, “I normally charge, but for you I think I’ll make an exception.”

“Can I?” The Tiefling beamed, her eyes glimmering.

“Go ahead, just not the gold bits.” Ashton lowered their head slightly in invitation. The child gazed with wonder and slowly raised a hand to their glassy skull, “it's cold.” She said quietly, slightly upset, “doesn’t it feel cold for you?”

“Nah, can’t really feel it.” The child pulled her hand away and gave them a small smile, Ashton gave the softest smile they could muster.

“You’re ok now.” She states, pride radiating across her face. And before Ashton answered they realised they were ok, their heart rate had lowered, breathing relaxed and brain had settled into organised thoughts once more.
“Yeah, think I am”

“You’re welcome, I have to go now,” the little red girl hopped off their bed lightly and made for the door.

“Thank you, um…” Ashton started.

“I am Gwendolyn De Rolo, queen of Whitestone!” She announced grandly.

“Thank you Queen Gwendolyn.” Ashton scoffed lightly watching the child dash out of the door. They settled back down, hoping to get in at least some restful sleep before the Hells returned.