Chapter Text
My Heart’s Far, Far Away (Home is Too)
***
The Spire was gone.
Of course, it was gone. He had known it was gone. Remembered running, with the children. Remembered dodging falling debris, raising a shield with mana he didn’t have. Remembered the constant rumbling of an ancient, dying thing, as they’d all sprinted towards the exit.
He remembered the deafening crash, as they’d escaped to freedom. Remembered nearly collapsing to his knees, gulping in great, heaving breaths, as the adrenaline had worn off. He remembered shaking. A terrible tremor, all encompassing. Something he could feel in his mind, his limbs, his breath, his heart.
He had been shaking - from terror. From nearly crumbling, so many times. But also - from a shameful sort of excitement. From pride - at the sheer audacity of it all. His plan, and tricking the very Beast of Deceit, himself. And yet, beneath all that, there was a quiet sort of horror. At himself, and what he had done; at Shadow Milk, and what the other had made him become. Horror, intertwined with a wretched sort of pity and a strange sort of interest - a peculiar conflation of understanding and sorrow - as if he had finally understood what the Beast had become-
Fool. He was a fool-
And, of course, relief. For the Beast was gone, and he had escaped. What was more, he had Awakened. He had reaffirmed his Truth; had found Compassion, and something in his soul felt right - so right - as if Compassion had always been what he was meant to be; an offering - reaching towards- empty void, frayed edges - it hurt! And, beyond even that, in those final moments, he thought he might have discovered – a clue-
Did his Bluebell – did his Bluebell even know? What had happened? In those final moments? Before silver had rained down? But, then again, did he? No. He didn’t know anything. That was - that was the lesson he had learned, wasn’t it? He didn’t - hadn’t understood - anything at all-!
…to Know so much, and yet understand so little…oh Bluebell…
(He swallowed back the hysterical laughter that wanted to escape him.)
They had left the crumbling ruins of the Spire, he and the children. Abandoned it to its inevitable demise. Proceeded as if they’d return to the Silver Kingdom, or to the airship, when in reality they’d wandered aimlessly, drunk off survival and jittery on life. He’d lost his way, his staff permitting sight but not in the way he was used to; his vision so much wider, so much more grand; as if he were existing on a level above and beyond the physical.
There had been…an impression of mana, in his awareness. His mind, hazy with relief, had simply…followed it. A trickle, a hum - as if he were walking into the jaws of some great beast; he had tripped, over the threshold, had half fallen into the high grass that had hidden the faint divots and furrows of a field that had once seen tillage and crops.
After that, he mostly remembered… sound. A thrum he felt deep in his dough, in his sugar-bones, beating a tattoo in his skull. Then vertigo, followed by a headache, blossoming at his temples; until finally, the dichotomy of being blind and yet – seeing. Then jam - his jam? - rushing too fast, in his ears, beneath his feet, in Earthbread itself; mana - rising up, surrounding him, cradling him, consuming him. Mana - cloying, sickening, all-encompassing, so gentle, familiar - (anger-hatred-rage-shame-self-loathing-despair Go away! NEvErAGain- being pushed upon him, overrunning him, swamping him like a physical thing. A rising, rushing tide - magic made manifest - gold power HEAT LIGHT - until he was subsumed in its current. Pulled, into the undertow.
The scent of wet earth, the faint chill in his dough from a gentle misting-
He shuddered, and fell to his knees. Pushed aside the sudden bout of nausea that assailed him.
Footsteps. The careful tread of someone picking their way through rubble. The solid, steady sound of another cookie boldly making his own path. The soft, hesitant shuffle of someone trying to learn it was okay to take up space.
“…Mr Pure Vanilla Cookie?”
The children.
But all he could do was stare. Rubble. Just…rubble. Crumbled marble-cake. Splintered yule-wood. Shards of sugar-glass. A tangled over growth of creeping vine. Milkcrowns, spattered across any surface that remained.
They had returned to the Spire, at his insistence. He had just - he had needed to - see.
(Once, the Spire of All-Knowledge. And now, this was all that remained.)
“…Pure Vanilla Cookie?” Strawberry asked again, voice quiet and concerned.
He swallowed roughly. Choked on words he could not say.
“…it’s alright, Mr Pure Vanilla! We- we’re all safe, and - when we see that cookie again - we’ll - we’ll stop him for sure!” Gingerbrave. So bright. So hopeful. Trying, so hard, for reassuring.
“Hmph. You mean we’ll beat him into the ground!” Wizard, irritated and anxious, with all the self-confidence of a child who had faced down great and terrible evils and survived.
He felt sick.
All he wanted to do was meet that cookie again; his soul screamed and reached and howled for something that wasn’t there-
“It’s…I’m quite alright, children,” he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. A moment of silence - dangerous, silence was dangerous - he could not endure to think, or he would go mad- A small hand, curling into his robes. Three worried faces, peering up at him uncertainly. Gentle, honest concern, shining in too young faces.
He trembled, a shudder wracking his frame. Hated himself a little, for depending on children to hold him together while he was breaking apart – but he’d been doing that since the beginning, hadn’t he? Used these children’s good will to hold himself together- Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the three small cookies, let himself be grounded in their warmth, the pressure of small arms slowly wrapping around him, tightening in his robes. Breathed in the scent of ginger, of slightly too strong strawberry, the faint scent of vanilla ice cream with a soft buzz of popping candy.
A tiny trembling, from the cookies in his arms. (Or perhaps himself. Did it matter?)
“I am…glad you are all okay, children.” I missed you, he didn’t say.
“W-we…we made it.” Gingerbrave said, softly. “We, we’re gonna be okay.” Strawberry, nodding into his chest. Wizard’s hand, tightening even further in robes.
(He ignored the tears, dripping down his own face.)
“Yes,” he whispered softly. A flash of memory. A crooked, fanged grin. A smile, broken in its hope. Warm fur, looping around his leg. Gentle purring, soothing him, every time it was needed. “We’ll be okay,” he said. A promise. A vow.
I won’t give up on you, Bluebell. Not now, not ever. I will wait for you. However long is needed.
***
“Where are we going, Mr Pure Vanilla Cookie?” Gingerbrave asked, jumping over a fallen log in a single, smooth movement.
Allowing Strawberry to help him over the log Gingerbrave had lept across, he sighed softly at the young cookie’s words, something fond and a little sad in his heart. The memory of ‘Mr Vanilla’ echoing in his ears.
…one day, I’ll get these children to call me Pure Vanilla.
Wizard, bringing up the rear, simply magicked the log out of the way entirely with a barely audible levitation spell.
(A brief moment - melancholy becoming agony - the memory of a different mage and levitation becoming flight - he pushed those thoughts away ruthlessly.)
“I wanted to… check out that village we all initially arrived in. …the one we came to… before we arrived at the Spire.”
It was Wizard who spoke next, sounding skeptical. “Are you…sure? That’s where we met those…strange cookies…the- the liars and ‘wolfherds-‘”
“Y-yeah, and…it was…also where…Candy Apple…took us,” Strawberry added, sounding uncertain.
“But we know the trick now!” Gingerbrave cut in, spinning to walk backwards, smiling brightly. “So, they can’t lie to us, anymore!”
I can’t- I can’t! It hurts.
“I just…I need to…see. I…I’ll explain, as best I can. …in a moment. But, for now - I just need to- Please-“
(It wasn’t just…his Bluebell. Caramel Apple, Black Hyacinth- Gooseberry, Edelweiss and Blackcurrant; Lady Smith and Cremefeld-)
Expectant silence. The feeling of too many eyes upon him. A sudden, desperate urge to hide himself away, as if he were being flayed open, his emotions cracking him apart-
A hand, tightening around his own. Strawberry’s warmth and silence, as if to counter how very cold he felt. Wizard’s voice, at his other side, as the boy moved to grab his sleeve. “Okay,” the young mage murmured. Gingerbrave led the way, not jumping and bounding ahead, but steady and careful. Guiding them. Picking attentively through densely packed underbrush and overgrown trees, finding little more than the memory of a dirt-packed trail. The impression of a cookie-made road that had seen better days.
A path he knew well-
Until finally, the trees thinned, giving way to - empty space.
(No. Not quite empty. Grass. Fresh growth. Flowers. Everywhere. Milkcrowns.)
He stumbled forward, out of Strawberry and Wizard’s grip. Unable to hear their voices. A wide expanse of packed dirt, grassy in spots. Blasted and blackened in others. Tiny heaped-up mounds of vegetation, that resolved themselves into the charred remains of sugar-stone, ash-piles, rotting wood.
A lurch, as his feet took him to a place they remembered even as his mind revolted. Blackened stone, rising above the ground; the scent of foul milk, in the air; the hollow thunk of rubble hitting wood - he scrabbled for his magic, pushed it down, deeper into Earthbread, into the well, until he was fishing up a half-destroyed bucket. Solid almond wood. Scorched by flame.
There was a surprisingly well-preserved slat of wood, within the bucket. A false bottom. His fingers caught uselessly on ragged edges, dough crumbling away in tiny cracks and jam smearing onto the unnatural edge where false bottom and outer wood had melted together. In the end, he had to break the bucket itself, until only the wooden slab remained. He turned it over with trembling hands.
An array, on the underside. Still legible but strangely cast in something metallic. A bizarre, silver-gold color that nevertheless perfectly preserved the array.
(Electrum, his mind supplied. Formed when one combined silver and gold.)
He knew that array.
Cremefeld.
It was the high-pitched, trembling, “what happened here?!” that stilled the rushing, in his ears.
Right. He was not- he was not - alone. He could not break. Not here. Not now.
Three children - children, he had brought children, to this place of horror - huddling together, looking around not quite wildly, but anxiously.
(These children had seen…truly terrible things. They had found him, in the Vanilla Kingdom, after all. Followed him, as he’d ventured forth; spurred on by instinct and a voice he both did and did not Know. Seen, with him, the horrors of a place untouched by time – forever preserved in the moment of destruction.
Known, firsthand, even greater horrors. Been there for the advent of a monster in cookie-shape. A demon, reborn.
Heard terrible truths, offered forth like jam for sacrifice.
And yet, for all that had happened in the Vanilla Kingdom - destruction and death, twice over, Dark Enchantress Cookie - this was…worse, somehow. Another place, touched by the ravages of war, and then reclaimed, by Earthbread itself. Because it had been…forgotten. Forsaken, even by Time.
Because, nothing was sacred, about this place. Nothing had been worth preserving. Worth cherishing. Worth the effort of memory. It had been thrown away, by the cookies who had abandoned it, long before they had cast it aside entirely; abandoned it to its inevitable fate.
And yet still…sacred to him. A memory worth preserving, if only to him. …and, perhaps, one other.)
“This is…this is…that village, right? I thought…weren’t there – we saw – cookies? Homes? An…an inn? And – I remember, sheep, or wolves I guess, and farms and-“ Gingerbrave was…rambling.
“Yes, that’s quite enough!” Wizard hissed at his brother, nudging the other boy to be quiet, in the face of Strawberry’s silent, shaking horror.
“O-oh, yeah, ah,” the other cookie said, stumbling over his words. Then, “Strawberry-?”
For, despite the horror in her gaze, it was still Strawberry who was able to step forward, reach out to him and grasp his trembling hand, saying softly, “…I know it was a trick, but I liked it better. Before.”
He shuddered, collapsing in on himself, before holding the girl close, as if a hug could make this any better. His voice was wet, when he mumbled, “…me too.”
Truth chimed softly, in his mind, as if to chide him for preferring the lie when he could finally see the entirety of it, before him. And yet. It was the quiet melancholy of Compassion that tugged wearily at his dough. Compassion, that saw lie and truth intertwined. That saw reality for what it was - the loss, the grief - and could only know sorrow.
Acceptance. See the Truth for what it is. The Lie, for what it is. Embrace them both, for they both have their stories to tell. Understanding - true Knowledge - comes from both. And then…you must move forward.
Let Knowledge guide me towards a better path.
…I cannot falter here.
His hand tightened around wood-and-metal. All that remained of an array he knew as well as he knew healing itself.
(The past he had left behind.)
“It’s cruel,” Wizard objected quietly, shaking his head. Picking forward carefully, the little cookie moved to grab Strawberry’s hand, before leading them all away from the well. “If that…if that Beast hadn’t shown us that lie in the first place - hadn’t made us think this place was - real - then we wouldn’t-“
Gingerbrave padded forward quietly, reached for his other hand. The boy’s grasp was solid, real, and it was almost as if these three kind, concerned children were trying to protect him- “…I don’t think so. Maybe it was…cruel…to trick us into thinking this place was…alive. …but…even if we had seen it like this from the beginning…it still would have been…”
“Sad,” Strawberry finished. “It was always…going to be…sad.”
“But aren’t you sadder, now?” Wizard asked, indignant frustration in his tone.
And really, Wizard was always so forthright – so honest – and yet he was still a child-
How would Blueberry Milk have handled this?
“Lies are…complex,” he started carefully, sounding out each word.
(He was not a teacher. He had never been…a teacher. He had offered advice. Given counsel. Played with children. Been kind to children. But he had never been a teacher of children.
But he had seen the Teacher himself.
He too, had learned. Had grown. Blueberry Milk had changed him, as much as he had changed the Fount.)
“Lies are complex,” he said again. “You cannot…divorce a lie, from the truth within it. There is always Truth, in each and every Lie. Sometimes a…greater truth, even. Because the truth within a lie is the reason for the Lie’s existence itself.
“For example, sometimes we lie because we think we have no other choice. Or we think a lie kinder than the Truth. Or perhaps the lie is…protection. Or, sometimes, a cookie lies because they cannot tell the difference - they perceive their Lie as Truth.
“And sometimes- sometimes…I think…a lie might be someone begging - screaming - for the Truth to be…Known. …A lie so beautiful it cannot be true. …a memory - lost to time - so that lies are all that is left. Because is not imagination a form of ‘lie?’ Or even…a cookie. One whose smiles are…fake. These are all lies, yes. But they exist to draw a cookie’s attention to a deeper truth, if only that cookie would care to see. So…do not mistake facts for Truth, Wizard. …you will miss much Knowledge, that way.”
“Lying…to get someone…to see…the Truth?” Wizard said, sounding utterly confused.
He laughed softly. Wetly. “Yes. As I…said. Smiling sorrow. Laughing despair. A Lie that is a cry for help. A lie meant not to…conceal the truth…but to make the truth all the more poignant, if only a cookie would deign to look. In some ways, perhaps, a lie meant to protect the truth; safeguard it only for those who would…treat it kindly.
“For these are the lies of cookies who…yearn for compassion, and yet have given up on compassion, most of all. A lie that…if you only dare to look - to see - and can hold compassion in your heart - you can see both the lie…and the truth it holds. A lie like a wound. One that not only must be accepted but…acknowledged. Because…if you do that, it is a wound that can be mended, if only you have will enough to try.”
He could feel too many eyes upon him. The pain was still there. There was still a gaping wound, in his soul. Loss and grief, still clawed at him, stole his breath away. And yet, he felt lighter, somehow. As if each breath - tinged with grief, the agony in his chest - had been transmuted into something greater. Like resolve. Purpose.
Acceptance. At least to try. And come what may, I will not falter.
“…Thank you, my dear children.” He started, at last. A unobtrusive quiet, as eyes moved away from him. The scuffing of foot against dirt; a staff, tapping twice, upon the ground. Hands, tightening around his own. “I know I’ve been…a little bit…odd. And that…we must…return to…Crispia.” He closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion tugging at his limbs.
“And we shall,” he added. “But…not yet. Or at least…I cannot. I will not. Not until I find Bl- …Shadow Milk, once more. I need to - well, there is much more at play than I first believed. …And Shadow Milk is the key.”
“…he did make it sound like he would find you again…” Wizard mumbled unhappily.
There was the barest hint of laughter in Strawberry’s voice as she nudged her brother. “He was rather dramatic about it…”
Gingerbrave laughed outright, adding, “a proper villain’s monologue!”
He could not help but chuckle softly, because his dramatic Bluebell was still in there, somewhere, underneath all the despair and self-loathing. “It really was, wasn’t it?”
I’ll have to tell Bluebell, 8/10, when I next see him. …could have had a little more…flair…
“Ugh,” Wizard groaned, but he was smiling. “…I thought we were going to go looking for more information on the Beast Binding Ritual?”
His smile faded, the beginnings of a headache throbbing, behind his temples. “Yes. The Beast Binding Ritual. That is… a complicated issue. I don’t think it’s…worth pursuing, right now. Or, rather, only worth considering as a…last resort. It’s…the Beasts…they deserve our compassion, little ones. Not our scorn. They don’t - they should never have been treated as they were - they should never have been sealed in the first place.”
And it’s…far more complicated than any of us ever understood. Than even I, with all my new Knowledge, understand. But more than that – more than even that – I do not – cannot – will not – see my Bluebell sealed again.
Ignoring the incredulous glance (and worried, and considering ones) being thrown his way, he finally said, “well, we’ve a long trek ahead of us, right? Back to the Silverwo- Silver Kingdom? So, let me tell you a… story. About a lonely, broken cookie. One who hid himself away, because he thought he must. Knew only rejection.
“And he was…a little callous, a little other, but also…kind. Gentle, when he was allowed to be. He hated, and hurt, because he had been hurt, been hated, by the cookies around him. Because he had been… abandoned by the world. By the cookies who should have loved him. But he also…loved. Oh, how he loved. And because…because he knew love – he learned to hope, again.”
He could hear the exaggerated disgust in Wizard’s voice. “…a love story?”
“Shhh!” the shift of cloth as two siblings ribbed and jostled each other.
“You guys! I’m trying to listen!” Gingerbrave, said loudly, unabashed and intrigued.
He laughed. “Yes. A love story, Wizard. But also – so much more than that.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Once upon a time, there was a cookie, whom the world forgot. But, one day, he found a…blind and…very confused…cookie, upon his doorstep. For the blind cookie had gotten lost, you see. But still, the cookie the world forgot remembered kindness enough to allow the blind cookie into his home, even if the first thing he said was ‘you look dreadful!‘”
It was a story he would cherish – would remember – even if Time itself had forsaken it. Even if Fate itself, rejected it.
(Love blazed, in his chest. An ember, sparking to brightness, once more. For it was ever alive, and had been only banked, and not gutted, by pain).
***
“Poison?” Gingerbrave repeated, shocked, eyes sparkling with excitement. “But how? And why? Oh – but Mr Blue can fix it, can’t he??”
“Oh, those poor cookies,” Strawberry mumbled, reaching out to steady Gingerbrave as the boy nearly walked backwards into a tree. “Ugh- Gingerbrave, turn around!”
“Forget that!” Wizard cut in, sounding almost incensed. “Mr Pure Vanilla, please, you must explain. That’s – how. How can he just – that’s impossible – the sort of detection spell that would take – there’s no way that could be – a simple spell?! – and on the fly? Because it must have been, to determine a specific problem – poison – encompassing an entire village?!”
He chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in ages. “You will find, Wizard, that Bluebell is truly one of a kind. A master among masters. The best mage who ever lived.”
A gasp. Then, “I don’t – I don’t – what about Moonlight Cookie? She was – baked by the Wizards themselves, has been keeping the City of Wizards preserved, dream magic-“
His voice lowered conspiratorially. “I may be a bit biased, but…I think that title belongs to Bluebell. He is, hm, probably, ‘the Source’ of magic, after all.”
“…what.”
“Oh, come on! The poison. What about the poison!!”
“Now, now, children, we can continue after we set up camp. Although, I believe we have…guests?”
“Huh?!” Wizard said, spinning around, staff raised threateningly. “Who’s there?!”
Gingerbrave looked up at him with a smile. “You noticed them too?”
Strawberry giggled as he nodded and replied. “Yes. It is…rather difficult, to sneak up on me, after all.”
“We were not sneaking!” Came the slightly shrill voice of one of the newcomers. “And we weren’t looking to join you! C’mon, Sa-”
“Yes, we were just – passing through-“
He stared, in a dumb sort of shock. The newcomers were a pair of cookies, one a youth on the cusp of adulthood with dark hair and wearing a sort of tattered, voluminous cloak that hid most of his body from view. The other was a younger cookie, sporting a similar traveling cloak, hood pulled tight around her face, although wisps of silver escaped the confines. Wizard had lowered his staff and was…also staring. Strawberry had slowly crept out from behind his robes, and he was vaguely aware of Gingerbrave staring between the newcomers and their little band back and forth and back and forth. Because, surely, what were the odds-
“Ca-“ Gingerbrave started, something incredulous in his tone.
Interrupting the boy, he cut in, desperately, “A-ah, Hello! P-please, join us! The more the merrier! …and the woods of Beast Yeast are…unsafe! …who knows what’s lurking in the dark?” A connection – a link – Bluebell, please, they need to stay-
“I know what’s lurking in the dark,” Wizard muttered rebelliously, before Strawberry soundly elbowed him in the side.
“Y-yes. Please. Join us! …No one should be – alone.” He gave a silent prayer to his Bluebell that Strawberry, at least, seemed on his side, before nodding.
“Yes, yes. Exactly! Please, do join us! Even if – if only for the night. It’s…getting dark out. And – ah, I’m sure your – loved ones? Would want to know that you are…safe.”
“How very…kind…of you,” the older cookie said, hand tightening around the younger cookie’s cloak, “but we really must be going-“
Something throbbed, in his chest. He even sounds like Bluebell – twisting the word ‘kind’ in just the same way-
“Yes, really, they must be going,” Wizard grumbled.
But Gingerbrave seemed to have decided that it was better to keep an eye on these two cookies, because he said, “and we have – stories! Lots of…stories!” The boy coughed awkwardly, when everyone just turned to stare at him.
“Stories.” The other pair repeated, flatly. As if they couldn’t believe the nonsense they were hearing.
“Y-yes!” Strawberry hastened to add. “Stories! About – Mr Blue – and the poison in the land – you’ve come at a great time, actually.”
There was a deep intake of breath. “…Mr…Blue…” said the older cookie, distantly. The younger simply froze, unspeaking.
He swallowed. Felt sweat drip down his neck. Spoke, through the lump in his throat. “Y-yes. It’s…a story…I only…recently…learned. About Mr Blue, or well, Mr Bluebell. …although, I suppose he had a lot of nicknames – Blue Mr Magic-Tail Cookie, for one…”
Silence.
“You.” The older cookie’s voice was shaking.
Then, an unholy shriek. “Now you remember?!” A massive candied apple, swinging down with enough force to shatter dirt and send up clouds of dust.
“Woah – hey watch it!!!” The children, jumping out of the way-
Infuriated purple eyes, as Black Sapphire rammed into him bodily. “You don’t get to call him that!!!”
Shrieking, manic laughter, that sounded more like a wail. “Get him, Sapphy!”
And he couldn’t bring himself to stop the punches raining down on him. Only shield himself just enough that he wouldn’t be too crumbled, at the end of it. Not when he deserved them. Not when some things were beyond forgiveness.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”