Work Text:
Gem
Gem was used to blood-soaked rooms.
She was used to swords that gleamed and gold that glittered. Midnight moments of pleads for mercy, cries for at least a swift end.
Over a hundred of them. Well over, by this point. Gem couldn’t recall exactly, it was like trying to cup water in her hands.
Blood-soaked, fairy-lit hands.
She was used to that.
“Scar, sit down!”
She wasn’t used to this.
Mumbo was wrestling Scar back into a chair at the table. He was regaining some strength bit by bit, and had interpreted that as meaning he was allowed to just fling himself out of his seat and see what happened.
Pearl and Grian were up on the railing overlooking the main room, perched with their talons wrapped around the rails, watching with large, dark eyes.
Large dark eyes that matched, pale brown hair that matched, and when Mumbo began wrestling Scar, Grian made a tiny little twitter of laughter. Pearl’s lips tugged upward into a smile, her eyes darting toward him.
And then there was Gem, sitting here watching. Her sword was propped against the back of her chair and she was relaxing with her legs crossed under her long green skirt with it’s puff of petticoat. Surrounded by people, by voices, by sounds, all of which would’ve once put her on edge.
Yet in the past few days, as they’d trundled their way toward Silversvale, she’d had to unwind piece by piece.
Let those bloodied fingers unwind from the edge of the table, and a smile also tug up her lips.
“I’m not giving you anymore magical strength, so you better keep yourself together unless you wanna be laid up in your nest for the rest of the trip to the Spirit Well.”
Scar pouted as he let Mumbo push him down into the chair. Even though he’d made a show of parading toward the kitchen to whip up some cookies, he didn’t land in the chair with steady balance and Mumbo had to stop him from toppling over.
“Well, I guess you’re not gonna get any of my faaaaaaaa-mous coco-chip delights!”
“But we can’t eat those, Scar.” Grian’s voice, high and reedy, piped from above, and Pearl made an agreeing krilling sort of sound in her throat. Scar threw an arm up.
“I’ll make you the cinnamon ones, Birdie!’
“After y’rest.”
“Fiiiiiiine…”
Gem shook her head faintly, the flowers on her flower crown still blooming bright. She wasn’t exactly overflowing with magical strength, but she had enough reserved considering she fought for the most part with her sword.
Fought. Felled others for a shimmer of gold.
Breathe.
The elf took a look around and let it all go just for the moment.
She might have been a killer with a snapped kill streak, as well as a woman with a mystery assassin after he head…but just for right now, she’d be grateful she wasn’t all alone.