* * *
Gerald
* * *
We don't land in front of the forest. We crash into it in an upwards shower of snapping branches. I'm on the ground by the time I register the ghost-impressions of hundreds of leaves slapping against my face. I'm scratched up, with a pretty good cut on one cheek. Lyric seems untouched - the King's face and arms are scratched. They're both breathing, thank the winds.
Patrick's still sitting straight up, holding the reins. He's oddly quiet, and when I wonder why, I realize that the bird is dead.
I don't know quite what to say or do, because he seems sad about it. I am, too - she was a nice bird, and I liked her. Patrick, though, is broken up. And maybe this is hard on him. Maybe he hasn't gotten attached to a lot of things before. But there's no time to talk about it - the commotion coming from not too far away signals that our assailants haven't given up the chase.
I shake Patrick's shoulder. He snaps to awareness, back into whatever normal is for him now, and seems just... fine. Maybe he was just having a moment. Can't blame him - this hasn't been the best of days.
It's certainly not gotten any better now. I have a brother and an eight foot tall man that I have no idea what to do with who are both unconscious. Patrick is also assessing this situation, and coming up with the same conclusion that I am - none of us are getting out of here.
* * *
Lyric
* * *
It's almost peaceful here as I lie my head against the King. I can almost pretend that we're just resting together, but even if I could ignore where we are and how I got here, everything else that's come between Ebrellin-i and I would be enough of a distraction. We'll never be normal again - if either of us could ever be 'normal'. It's strange holding his hand, nestling against him like the lover I once was. That's over, now. For me, at least.
I'm sorry. The thought is as soft as a spring breeze, and it rustles past my thoughts just as gently. I blink.
I didn't know you could hear me thinking about that. I almost feel sorry. Almost, but I can't take it back. As sweet as being with him was sometimes, in the end, he treated me horribly.
I used you as a tool, just as I did with everyone else in my Court. Even my sweet daughter Rocsui-ehellenae. His tone is matter-of-fact, deliberate. I wondered why you even came here for me, Lyric. I'm not worth you.
I smile, even though it stings just a little. I can still care for you. I can still wish for you not to die.
I can do the same for you, can I not? His voice is strengthening, growing... angry? I can have that little bit of satisfaction, even here, where everything is dead or worse.
I frown. We'll be okay, Ebrellin-i--
No, Lyric. His grip tightens around my hand. You will be okay. I have decided this.
Edward straightens up as he sees some difference in Ebrellin-i's expression. My King!
I hear something that I'm sure the Jherent Nul says in response. Maybe it's Nultongue, and that explains why i don't understand it. It's nothing like words at all, nothing like what language ought to be - just the sense of nonexistent air being twisted and warped. I have a hunch that it was a curse.
This stubborn waste of a wretch is unable to even die properly. The Jherent Nul wrinkles his upper lip - an expression that seems so wholly Xaillyndesse.
I don't understand, My King. Why not merely order him to die? He is your servant, after all.
The Jherent Nul casts a withering look upon Edward. Edward shrinks under the glare, his expression pleading and confused at the same time. I'd feel sorry for him if I didn't hate him.
If Ebre-schtullin'eh was any good at obeying orders, he wouldn't need to die. Do remember that, for your own protection. His nostrils flare. He looks up across the chamber - the dragon that was once another part of Ebrellin-i looks up in turn.
The Jherent Nul extends one metal-clawed hand and beckons.
There's plenty of him here that will obey me, however. Pity it isn't the part that keeps him alive. Pity it won't be able to kill him here and now.
Edward's shaking, unable to stop himself from asking the question. What will you do with him, then?
The dragon rears up to the stone block that Ebrellin-i rests on. It's so close that its fur grazes my cheek. I summon my control, holding stock-still. The Jherent Nul and Edward may not realize that I'm here, but the dragon was what brought me here in the first place - and it obeys Nul, not Ebrellin-i.
The Jherent Nul smirks. I will send him out where he can do his job. Ebre-schtullin'eh will die, one way or another.
Ebrellin-i's hand twitches in my grasp. You will survive and be free of this place.
I have decided this.
I can't tell who spoke the last sentence, but it fills me with a sense of the inevitable and the terrible. I clutch at Ebrellin-i, but all I really see is the dragon, looming over us both, its lips pulling back to expose long rows of sharp teeth.
A whimper escapes my throat right before the dragon lunges at Ebrellin-i, its jaws encompassing my entire world before it swallows us both.
* * *
Patrick
* * *
Is it normal to be this afraid? With enemies converging on us from so close, and with me so trapped here with nowhere to go, it's feeling... familiar. No, I don't want things to feel familiar at all! I don't want to remember those days when I had to run for my life every day. I need to get out, need to get out--
I will admit, my vision clouds over for a bit, and rational thought sort of gives up in my head for awhile. I can't quite remember what happened up until when I'm untying the ropes that snare down the Peacock King and his former consort. I remember what happens afterward, though. I'm flung back from the dead windbird and against the trunk of a very sturdy tree by a force that isn't from our enemies.
It's the King. He rises, ropes sliding from his towering height, his eyes glaring white, full of fury. A whip trails from his hand, crackling with black, malicious energy. I remember the shenanigans that I once pulled while pretending to be under his service. I remember the cruelty I've seen him suffer under, that I laughed at while listening to him scream. I remember it all with a sort of detached grin. I have no idea what to do. This man is likely twice my height and seems to be filled with a force that blots out everything else under the sun. I don't know if he remembers me or if I'm just the first thing he saw to attack - all I know is that he hasn't stopped watching me since that attack.
"Patrick? You okay?" Gerald? He got knocked to the other side of the bird, he doesn't see yet-- "Oh shit!" There. He's hauled himself up to look. Now he can decide for himself how okay I'm about to be.
The King raises his arm, readying the whip. It brings to mind all those times I watched him whipped -- or Cade watched. I remind myself of who I am, and how that's different than who was steering my mind around for however many years. I remind myself so that I'll know who I am when I die and my soul gets pitched into the mouth of the Beast.
There's some part of myself that's mocking me for standing here like a coward. I wonder if that's the lingering remnants of Cade... and then I stop getting to wonder, because then the whip comes down, and I'm in a world without thought, but full of pain. That whip is all the malice and agony that Cade accepted as a necessary and normal part of day-to-day life, that he just wore like a comfortable coat instead of even feeling it. It kept him warm. To me, it burns.
As terrible as it all is, it doesn't last as long as I expect. Maybe it takes less for a man to die than I remember. There's just this odd report, like a very calculated explosion - then the pain ceases.
My vision takes a few moments to uncloud, which is as long as it takes for me to realize that I can see, and that means I'm probably not dead.
The Peacock King clutches his hand - it's bleeding as if it's been bitten. One of Gerald's guns is smoking. The other is aimed at the King, ready to take him down should he make another move.
He saved me.
It's something I have more trouble believing than the fact that I'm alive.
* * *
Lyric
* * *
My head is throbbing. I hear things as if through a thick wall - some sort of crackling, and then screams... and then what might be gunfire. The latter is what startles me into full awareness.
I blink, staring upwards. Someone's towering over me - a dark figure, full of malice. Terror stabs through me - at first I mistake him for the Jherent Nul. But no... it's Ebrellin-i. Somehow, he has made it out of Nul alive.
Somehow, I have too. I feel the rustle of feathers next to me, confirming that we really are in the waking world. Wait, what happened to the bird?
Wait... Ebrellin-i is standing up?
I slide backwards then, as yet again I'm dragged through a forest with no idea of where I'm going. This time I'm just tugged back slowly, though, and by the look of the slender arms that are doing the tugging, this job isn't being done by a dragon. Ebrellin-i looks back at me and away from... my brother? Gerald looks at me, eyes wide. Then he looks back behind him as something comes up from within the brush. Several somethings that sound very dangerous.
"Just stay still," Faun growls into my ear. "And when I tell you to, run." He stops dragging me, his breath a bit heavy. I look up at him. He scowls down at me, a shenanigan perched on each shoulder.
Something growls. I look back up at Ebrellin-i. He's snarling at Faun.
Faun hisses in reply. "Do you want to take me, Ebrellin-i? Come at me, then! I am in my own forest!"
The King lunges forward, his lips pulled back from his teeth in an eerie imitation of the dragon within him.
"Run, Lyric. For your life, and for his!"
There's nothing to do but to listen to Faun, and to follow him. Ebrellin-i follows on our heels, energy crackling around him once again. Far behind us, I can hear a battle begin - I can only hope that Gerald fares better than I think I'm going to.
* * *
Gerald
* * *
This is pretty bad, all told. When it comes to standoffs, this is about the worst position you can be in - your only cover a carcass, your only brother-in-arms a unarmed man.
I pass Bruce to Patrick. There's oddly no ill will from the revolver over this, but then, Bruce already got to shoot Patrick once before. Patrick, now... his eyes are pretty wide.
"You'll know how to use him." It's all I get a chance to say.
There are a lot of Avians. More than I thought could be possible. This land is part of their territory, though - making us the invaders. That might explain why it's so damn hard to hit them. They're closing in.
"We've got to run." Of course, there's nowhere to run to.
Patrick curses, then braces himself as Bruce fires off another rapport. That one nails the Avian right in the shoulder, knocking him down. It probably won't die. It's a good solid shot, though. Patrick's a good shot. I wonder if he'll end up with guns or--
Something hits me in the chest. A good, solid shot. The wound is bleeding - gushing. All over. Patrick curses again, but turns away to fire a few more times.
"I can survive this. I've survived worse." What the hell hit me? They're throwing rocks, right? What is this, a dart? Shit, it's a crossbow bolt. Nasty. Maybe I've got time to plug the wound--
No. No I don't. Something flashes over me, bright and clear. A sort of realization. "You'll find my body. Promise me that."
"What?"
I don't wait for a real reply. I know he'll find it. It'll be okay, just like it always is. Just like every time I pull heroics. "Once they're distracted, you can hide. Good luck." I run.
I don't get very far, but I run.
Patrick has to live, is what I realized. I don't quite understand it, but it's something I knew just like I knew he's an Armed trainee, just like I knew he'd be okay with Bruce. Patrick can't die here, but I can. I'm good at dying, in fact.
And then it happens, and it's just like every other time - a little pain, a lot of fading, and the heavy weight comes down on me - the assurance of a long rest.
