Chapter Text
Bandon could feel the cold, jagged blade sink into him. “Allanon was right about you.”
Words he'd hoped he would never have to say. ‘Allanon was right’.
The moment kept looping, over and over. The pain, the jarring realization, his feet lifting off the ground. He thought dying men were meant to see their whole lives pass before them in a flash, but instead he kept re-living his death. It was just like the visions he used to see of others’ final moments the instant his body made contact with theirs. Before he learned the true meaning of power. Before he met Allanon.
***
“We don’t have much time,” Mareth warned as she helped Allanon lower Bandon’s body onto the healing bed.
“I know. We need to protect Lyria from what’s coming. They will do what they can for him, but…”
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” noted one of the Stors, pulling on his surgical gloves. “We need to get to work on him immediately.”
Allanon nodded gravely, and departed the chamber along with Mareth.
“I honestly didn’t think we’d be back here so soon,” she commented, glancing at the spot where their execution pyre had been ablaze, the surrounding ground still blackened. She looked up at her father, who was silent as they walked back to their horses. His eyes were cloudy and distant. She remembered the intensity of regret and pain on his face when they'd found Bandon at Graymark. “Why are you trying to save him? I saw how he treated you at Paranor. He wanted you dead.”
Allanon halted, but didn’t turn to face her. “He was poisoned by the darkness; I have seen much stronger men succumb to less. I failed him.”
“Well, let’s hope we won’t regret giving him a second chance. If he makes it.”
1 month later.
Amberle is Queen of Arborlon. Eretria is her Captain of the Black Watch. Wil is a healer and hero. Jax is Queen Lyria's General. Mareth is training to become the next Druid. Allanon is trying to make amends before it's too late. Bandon has just woken up.
"Took you long enough." Wil Ohmsford, in the white garb of the Stor healers, looked almost angel-like, with golden light behind him and that cherubic smile beaming. "How do you feel?"
Bandon groaned, feeling stiff all over. "How long have I…" His tongue felt like sandpaper. He shut his eyes again.
"A while. But it's okay, your body needed the time. You were in pretty bad shape when Allanon and Mareth brought you here."
Bandon opened his eyes again. "What?" he croaked.
"Yeah, you're not the only one who was surprised. But he doesn't give up on people. Hey, drink this."
Wil supported Bandon’s head as he tried to sit up a little, and he handed him a glass of fizzing water. Bandon took a sip and scowled. "What is this?"
"It's good for you," Wil said authoritatively. "You better finish that glass by the time I get back." He picked up a writing pad and left, leaving Bandon alone. He immediately dropped the glass onto the bedside stand and slumped back onto the pillow. His head ached from all the light.
Who knew the Shannara was such a mother hen. The fact that Wil was still alive could mean only one thing - the Warlock-Lord had failed. A tear slipped out of the corner of Bandon's eye. Had everything he had worked towards for the past year truly come to nothing? And how could Wil stand the sight of him - after what happened to Flick Ohmsford?
Bandon squeezed his eyes shut tighter, feeling the headache in his nosebridge. They should have just let me die.
***
"He's awake," Wil said quietly. Allanon immediately stood, broken out of his meditation.
Wil stepped forward and held his arm out in front of the Druid's chest. "He's not quite ready for visitors just yet. I just thought you should know."
Hesitantly, Allanon sat back down. Wil watched his face, studying him. "How is he?" he finally asked, his voice gravelly and low.
"He'll recover. He's weak and tired, but he seems like himself again."
The Druid nodded slowly. "Good. I'd like to speak to him as soon as possible."
***
Mareth lunged forward in attack, her Druid sword slicing through the air. She still couldn't get the image of the Warlock-Lord, reborn as a twisted form of her father, out of her head. It was a hard thing to forget - and a hard thing to forgive. She knew Bandon was awake. She knew Allanon would try to make amends with him. As if there was any point in that, other than trying to ease his own guilty conscience. She swung her sword with a frustrated cry, impaling her straw bale opponent.
"Those are some pretty good moves you got there," a silky smooth voice spoke behind her. She immediately spun around and held her sword to Garet Jax's neck. He reflexively brought a knife to hers.
The ferocity in her eyes quickly dissipated. "Thanks." She lowered her sword and turned back to the straw bale, setting her weapon down and taking off her training gloves. She flashed him a grin over her shoulder. "I picked up a thing or two from my old man."
"Maybe you'll turn out to be a match for me one of these days," he teased. "I like the new look, by the way."
Mareth brought a hand to her short hair self-consciously. "Thanks. I figured it was time for a change. So what are you doing here, General Jax?"
He scoffed. " Please just call me Garet. I've had enough of the 'General' thing lately."
"Oh, I thought you liked being the guy in charge?" Mareth smirked.
Jax shrugged. "I guess I got used to working alone."
"Okay…so you're just here to make a little social call, then - I get it, no business. Why don't I go make you some tea, Garet?"
"How about something a little stronger? I'm not against mixing business with pleasure."
Now he was speaking her language.
***
The Storlock tavern was quiet this time of day. After sunset, more gnomes would start pouring in after a long day of work. Mareth raised her glass to Jax's. "Cheers."
They each took a long sip of their drinks. "What is this?" Jax asked in bewonderment.
"Cinnamon tea spiked with rye whiskey. Amazing, right?"
"I take back anything I ever said against tea."
She chuckled, sitting back. Her eyes flicked back to the table where she'd first sat with Wil. It felt like that was ages ago now. She took another big gulp of her spiked tea. "So, what's going on, Jax? I'm assuming you've got some pressing business to discuss. Or you must've just really missed me."
Jax smirked, casting his gaze down to the table. "Who says I didn't? But - there is something going on that you should know about. You and your father."
She rested her elbows on the table, leaning in. "I'm listening."
Jax heaved a sigh. "We ended The Crimson, but their mission took pretty deep roots. Villagers and townspeople have started taking it upon themselves to push magic users out of their communities, by any means necessary."
Mareth raised a wary eyebrow. "Any means?"
Jax didn't look up. "Me and my men managed to interrupt a few executions, but there were times where we were too late."
The silence grew heavy as Mareth thought of all the people, people like her, who were being punished and killed for their gifts. "What can we do?"
"I was hoping you and your father might be able to answer that question. This isn't just happening in Leah, either. Apparently anti-magic sentiment’s rampant in Arborlon too."
"Maybe if Queen Amberle and Queen Lyria showed public support for people with magic, some minds might be changed," Mareth mused.
"Well, you're the next Druid. You could be the ambassador of Magic itself. And Allanon's clearly not much of a people person, but you? If anyone can charm the people, my money's on you."
She smiled a little. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Jax rose, draining the last of his glass. "The sooner we leave for the palace to talk this over with Lyria, the better."
Mareth jumped to her feet. "Woah – I can't just leave here, not right now. That Bandon guy, the one who literally brought back the freaking Warlock-Lord , is awake and I don't trust him for a second . My father made a mistake keeping him alive, and I'm not gonna let him pay the price."
Jax came closer and rested his hands on her shoulders, looking firmly into her worried eyes. "Listen. Your father can take care of himself. And he's got Wil and Wil's got those Elfstones. Right now, Allanon's putting the future of magic ahead of his own life, and you should too. You know this is important."
She looked down. She knew he was right. "Just let me talk to him about it. He knows way more about dealing with royalty than I do. Maybe he can help me come up with a plan."
Jax nodded. "Meet me back here tonight."
***
Memories swam in Bandon’s mind as he drifted in and out of wakefulness. Memories that seemed so distant now, and yet so immediate in their potency.
Ashen skin, cold to the touch. A mouth that tasted of rusted metal. Eyes like pools of black, mirroring Bandon’s own desire. A void and a hunger. A sharp fingernail tracing its way down his neck, his shoulder, his back. All past convictions, allegiances, loves abandoned.
And yet being by the Warlock-Lord’s side was still not enough.
A rustling of the door curtains and the sense of a familiar presence alerted Bandon that he was no longer alone. He didn’t need to open his eyes. He wasn't ready to.
***
Night after night, for weeks, Allanon had stood by Bandon’s bedside, watching over him as he healed. In some ways, Bandon looked starkly different from the Elf-boy they’d found in that cellar. Longer hair, a dark beard. In other ways he looked unchanged. The same deep dark rings under his eyes. He’d gone from one form of imprisonment to another.
Guilt was an emotion Allanon had learned to keep at bay. There is no time for regrets when there are lives at stake. But now, there was something eerie about a peacetime that he long hadn't had to face – the quiet. A month is plenty of time and space for reflection and rumination, when unhurried by mortal perils and dangers. He had been trying to use the time wisely, training Mareth in the ways he himself was once taught by Bremen. But passing on all his Druid knowledge to her required dredging up old memories. Allanon had to confront many difficult truths - the truth that he abandoned his love to raise a child he didn't know existed, the truth that he failed to protect Bandon from darkness, and the truth that he was going to die.
He wondered what Bandon had done to incur the Warlock-Lord's wrath. Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps to the Warlock-Lord, Bandon was nothing more than an instrument to fulfil his own purposes. Allanon wished he could say that he had treated Bandon better than that.
"Hey." Wil rested a hand on Allanon's shoulder. "He'll wake up again when he's ready. We need to let him rest."
Allanon's heart warmed a little at the sympathy in Wil's eyes. Kindness inherited from both his parents. "Do you believe there's hope for him?"
Wil smiled. "Maybe." They walked out together. Bandon turned his head and opened his eyes, but they were already gone.
***
“Hey, Dad.”
Allanon looked up as his daughter came and sat down opposite to him, grateful for the company. “What’s on your mind, Mareth?”
“I was just talking to General Jax.” She took a deep breath. “He came to let us know that we need to do something about all the hate towards people with magic. The Crimson were just fanning the flames that were already burning to begin with; I’ve had to deal with a lot of it myself.”
“Changing the minds of fearful people can be difficult,” Allanon responded.
“I know. I thought maybe if we could talk to the Queens, they could make some sort of show of support for us, and crack down on the violence.”
Allanon smiled. “I admire your optimism. Their kingdoms are large, and there is much that happens in the villages and towns that they neither know of nor are able to control. But, I agree that you should arrange for Lyria to visit with Amberle, and present this issue to them both. And I am sure your cousin would be glad to see you.”
“Okay…” Mareth raised an eyebrow. “So you want me to go by myself? Without you? I mean, I’m not even a real Druid yet–”
“You are a Druid, Mareth. I trust you with this mission. And I have other matters I need to attend to here.”
Mareth was speechless with surprise. “I’ll…try not to let you down.”
“Don’t let us down. Everything I am doing here is to ensure the future of Magic. This is the Druids’ sacred responsibility. One that is passed on to you.”
His daughter nodded firmly, standing taller. “I’ll head to Leah at first light.”
***
Mareth walked back into the tavern after dark, scanning the dim and crowded room for Garet Jax. She finally spied him sitting up at the bar, alone. He seemed deep in thought, but somehow must've noticed that someone was watching him. As soon as he caught her eye, he smiled. Mareth had to admit it wasn't an unpleasant sight.
"Can I buy you a drink this time?" he queried as she sidled up next to him.
"I don't see why not," she said with an air of nonchalance. Jax slid a couple of coins to the barkeep, and a moment later two tall foaming glasses of ale were in front of them. Jax handed one to Mareth, and she took it in both hands with a roguish smile.
"So?" Jax inquired with an eyebrow raised, waiting.
"I'm in." She took a big sip of ale, licking the foam off her upper lip.
Jax grinned. "What'd the old man say?"
There was a sparkle in her eyes. "He actually trusts me to do this. It's kind of crazy…I remember when he refused to even train me."
Jax chuckled. "Yeah, he was a real friendly guy, wasn't he?"
Mareth rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah. Like a total ball of sunshine. Y'know, sometimes he actually smiles now."
Jax sipped his ale and shook his head in mock disbelief. Somebody with a fiddle was playing a jaunty tune in the back of the tavern and people were dancing and clapping along.
"So, anyone missing you back home?" Mareth asked.
Jax shook his head. "I've always been kind of a lone wolf."
"Hmm." That made Mareth smile. "Relatable."
"How about you?"
Mareth laughed a little. "Men tend to get scared off by the whole magic thing."
"I don't see what's so scary about it," he mused. "So you can do a few tricks."
"I don't know, you seemed pretty freaked out when you saw the kind of tricks I can do."
Jax laughed, a little embarrassed at the memory. "Yeah, yeah. That was pretty cool. In retrospect."
She grinned. It was cute, the way her eyes lit up. The pixie cut and shoulder tattoos made her look like the badass she was, but the tiny freckles on her nose? Adorable. Jax wouldn't dare tell her, though. He wanted to stay on the Druidess's good side.
She crossed her legs and his eyes flitted down to her thigh-high leather boots. Everything about this girl was unusual. Jax wasn't usually much for backstories, but he wanted to know as much about Mareth as she was willing to reveal.
"So you must have been pretty relieved when you heard about Amberle coming back, huh?"
"Oh, yeah. I am definitely not Queen material," Mareth chuckled.
"Did you know her growing up?"
She shook her head. "My mom had a falling-out with Evantine, so she left Arborlon. I don't think any of them even knew I existed." She drained the last of her glass.
"That's a shame."
She gestured to the barkeep for another glass of ale. "Yeah, well. Wil told me that Amberle and my mom sent each other letters. I wonder if she mentioned me."
Jax tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together in perplexion. "Why wouldn't she tell her about her own daughter?"
"We had a…complicated relationship. She wasn't exactly thrilled about my magic. She wanted to hide me away …" Bitterness crept into her voice as she took another drink.
" 'Had'? What happened to her?"
Mareth looked stonily ahead into nothing. "Demon attack. Allanon told me. I never got to say goodbye."
"Hmm." Jax hung his head. "I'm sorry she never got to see who you've become."
Mareth turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. "You're asking a lot of questions tonight, 'weapons master'. What's with the sudden curiosity? Thought you're not into backstories."
He smiled – a sincere one. "I'm not. I'm interested in you ."
She quirked an eyebrow, but a blush crept up on the tips of her half-Elf ears.
"You know, in–in what kind of person you are," he quickly explained, a little flustered. "I can honestly say I've never met anyone like you."
Mareth smirked and leaned in conspiratorially. “That's because there isn't anyone else like me,” she whispered. His breaths came in shallow, and he wondered if she felt the same energy alive in the air between them.
Mareth saw his brown eyes soften. They were kind of pretty. She found herself wanting him to lean in to her, but he still held back. “What's it take for a guy like you to let the tough act go?”
“Someone who's not afraid to show me who they really are.”
“Well, you're in luck, Garet Jax. I think you're about to find out.”
She reached to gently take his chin in her hand, guiding him towards herself. He rested an arm on her bare shoulder, casual and cool as always, though his speeding pulse threatened to betray how nervous he really felt as their lips melded together.
Mareth spoke sharp, all wit and snark, but she kissed sweet as honey.
Jax had a few long-standing, tried-and-true rules when it came to women. The first one was that the only ones worth his time are the ones who know exactly what they want. And his second, to let his lady lead. He could tell Mareth knew she wanted him, and he was perfectly content to follow her lead.
***
Standing outside the tavern in the warm night air, Mareth planted a final little goodnight kiss on Jax's lips.
"Somehow, I think I'm really going to enjoy the trip back to Leah."
Mareth smirked and smacked him on the elbow playfully. "I'll see you first thing. We need an early start."
Jax nodded with a wink, and sauntered off. Mareth watched him leave with a little smile, before finally going back to the living quarters to pack for the journey.
She flitted back and forth between the common room and her tiny bedroom, trying to think of everything she would need if she was going to be meeting two queens in succession. Wil appeared after a little while, looking exhausted after caring for patients all day. Judging by the gloves in his hands, he'd just gotten out of surgery.
"Where're you going?" he inquired sleepily.
"Leah. And after that, hopefully, Arborlon."
"Oh." He headed to his room, stopping before opening his door. "If you see her, will you say hi to–"
"Amberle? You bet."
Wil smiled. "And Eretria, too."
Mareth smiled back, and Wil disappeared behind the closed door.
A couple of weeks ago this kind of little interaction with Wil would've sent painful pangs through Mareth's heart. But she was still riding the day's high, and tonight she felt nothing but warmth towards Wil, for once. It was good. Peaceful.
And that is when Allanon walked in. "You look happy," he commented, taking a seat.
"I am," she responded, folding up a shawl and stuffing it in her satchel.
A moment of quiet passed before he spoke. "I saw you. With General Jax, by the tavern."
She froze. "So, you're spying on me now? Really?"
"No. Well, not intentionally," he digressed. "I was taking an evening walk to clear my head, and I just happened to notice how close the two of you seem to have become."
" That's none of your business." She hastily grabbed a few day's provisions.
"You should be careful, Mareth. A man like him is used to walking through life alone. His intention may not be to make a commitment to you."
Mareth rolled her eyes as she firmly secured her satchel closed and headed for her room. "Maybe I'm not looking for 'commitment', Dad . Maybe I'm just looking for some fun ."
Allanon shifted uncomfortably, staring at the floor. This was strange, him trying to advise her on her personal life. They both knew that. It's not like he was exactly an expert on healthy relationships, either.
Mareth paused in the doorway, not sure if she should ask the question that had just made its way back up to her mind's surface. "Were you ever with anyone after my mother?"
Allanon didn't look up. "I left your mother to enter the Druid Sleep. I awoke to come to the aid of the Ellcrys. I have been more preoccupied with other matters since."
Mareth heard the sad weariness in his voice again. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, forcing tears away. "I get it, Dad."
"I know I was wrong to believe that a Druid's path must be one of solitude. I do not expect that from you. I just do not want to see you hurt again."
She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "You don't have to worry about me. I know how to take care of myself."
Allanon nodded somberly. "I know."
"I'll try to get back as soon as I can." She slung her bag over her shoulder and turned away - then paused once more. "I know you're gonna try to make things right with Bandon. Just...be careful, okay?"
A rare teasing smile appeared on Allanon's face. "What, you don't think I can take care of myself?"
She rolled her eyes with a chuckle. "Bye, Dad." The smile lingered on his face after she left. It was in moments like this that Allanon sometimes wondered what could've been if he was able to stay. To be her father when she needed one, and watch her grow up. She was right – she'd learned how to take care of herself. She'd had to.