Set some time after the third book…. wherever it fits into the story I guess.

Terrifying Times

–––Night; Lyric–––

I'm about to scream, but I can't. If I do, he'll see me and I don't want that. It's very dark, but I can still see clearly. All I really see is the blood that's welling up from the throne and that half distorted shadow person that I can see so well. That dark fist rises, slowly, then suddenly clenches.

I wake with my hands over my mouth, that's the second time tonight. I'm not going to sleep like this. I'm too frightened.

I slide out of my bed and grab my slippers, then I double check that they match my nightclothes and the dressing gown that I'm about sliding on. I ease out of my room and into the hallway and then to the next door over from mine.

Companion fic to my picture "The Problem with 6 Kids..."
Sy' was just having a really bad day.....

The Trouble With Six Kids

Sy' groaned as he rocked... Lyric? He looked down, darkish-yellow tint to the hair? Yes, Lyric, as he tried to get the sobbing baby to fall asleep.

Two trials in one day was exhausting, and he just wanted to lie down somewhere, maybe have some wine at his piano first. It was especially tiring with out Katherine to help him with the paperwork that went with such things. Even with the correct mind for the task, two-year-old hands did not make for accurate reports. Lui' did not seem to understand the ordeal it was to Judge such things... telling him to 'Cheer up, you like this stuff don't you?' with that irritating little smirk on his face.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

I don't particularly want anyone to share what is almost my greatest failure, so of course Lady Tia allows 'Sy and Katherine into the chamber in the next moment. I get the feeling of someone waiting for Regeneration - not Elete, though. Gerald. Ah, he fell into some ill luck during the mission? He's not visually present - which means Lady Tia is waiting for something else before she allows 'Sy to bring him back.

Probably rubbing my nose in my shame--

My thoughts break off abruptly as I realize who else is in the chamber with us. Ebrelle is... not very recognizable without his makeup and with his hair gone white. He's also shaking and leaning on Katherine and 'Sy just to stand. He has an odd determination in his eyes, though.

I just don't understand why he's here.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I blink my eyes open and behold the green hues of the canopy of Faun’s forest with my own eyes. It’s a beautiful, fresh green, yellowed with the rays of the sun. I’d love to marvel at the leaves and branches spiraling upwards, perhaps spy a crevice of blue sky, but my vision is blurred beyond that sort of comprehension, and I don’t know if it’ll ever improve beyond that.

I don’t know if I have that long.

I miss the part of me that had the missing parts of my name, but I am too tired to miss it much. I am too tired to account for all of what is there. My thoughts feel as if they’re about to shatter even before I make them, and everything in my head is tender... everything that can even be felt at all. I shouldn’t be awake - there’s a crisp burning sensation around the edges of my thoughts, senses, and sight, and it only grows worse with each moment. I’ve only one reason to be conscious.

* * *
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.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I can't tell whose panic that is, leaping up in my chest. Is it mine, or Ebrellin-i's? Whose despair is plunging down through me? Whose tears are these? In the moment after I hear Edward's words, I can't tell. It's so hard to recover - it's so hard to even believe. My grip on Ebrellin-i's hand is the thing that pulls me out of it - he's clutching at me, another spasm.

I'm here. It's all I can say to comfort him.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no-- Ebrellin-i doesn't hear me. There's only despair in his head, and agony all through his heart. I was protecting him all this time, that can't be true--

I see a flash of Ebrelle hunching himself over something, cradling it, protecting it. Was that the Poet King? Was he spending all of his remaining energy protecting his brother instead of fighting off Nul?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no--

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I've got a bad feeling about this whole operation. I'm not too sure we're gonna make it.

Maybe it's the way the Peacock King looks right now, and the weird moans that are coming out of him. All I know is that I felt a weird sinking feeling just a minute ago that I almost mistook for the bird falling. Almost on top of that was a weird sense of satisfaction from my Arms that they won't explain and I don't have the time to pry out of them. I just don't feel like all is right with the world - and if I weren't soaring so far above the ground that I can see Audiva Rocale from here, I'd look into it. Now, though, I have the feeling that focusing on my job is best.

Focusing on my job is, for now, holding onto this damn bird and keeping an eye on the King in case he finally decides to kill my brother. That time may have just come. The Peacock King's eyes have been staring wide open for a minute now, and that bodes ill. I draw Wagner.