#serahlin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scurvgirl · 2 years

Text

Can’t Fight the Moonlight

House Witch AU? In 2021? More likely than you think.

This is a plot point I was REALLY looking forward to getting to, but with the state of things, this may just be on its own.

Warnings for violence, discrimination, and mentions of past spousal abuse.

Selene and Felasel belong to @anyulavellan

Thenvunin belongs to @feynites

Rated: M

The first full moon following Ileth’s sixth birthday arrives in full force with a moon-restless six year old and familiar. Selene is busy with the twins and their…blessings, which leaves Serahlin on her own to manage her moon-blessed child’s energy. In the afternoon, Ileth becomes a whirling dervish of energy, running from room to room with his familiar, little motes of crackling magical energy emanating off of him. He eschews the stairs, instead opting for his gift to levitate up them instead. As the moon begins its ascent, Ileth grows worse. He cries to be outside with the moon, practically clawing at the window to be let out.

“Not tonight,” Serahlin tries to explain, “they’re watching us, da’len.” The Templars. Damned witch hunters have infested the town after Serahlin’s not so subtle performance at the police station (after they went to Ileth’s school and interviewed him without her permission, Serahlin tore into the department, her own magic cackling as she wore enchanted lipstick to make them obey her). She feels their eyes watching her house, and while they remain safe within its walls due to her wards, outside is another story. Ileth wants to dance and bask in the glow of the moon, which would only invite the hunters.

They can’t go outside, but they can't stay inside either.

A quick online search later and Serahlin has her solution.

“Get dressed, da’len, nice and warm,” she tells Ileth and he beams, relief clear on his little face. Ten minutes later, they are all in the car, including the familiars. Serahlin opens the sunroof, allowing the moonlight to fill the car. Ileth gasps and reaches up, mismatched eyes wide with happiness.

It’s a thirty minute drive, but for once, Ileth doesn’t complain. He hums a song Serahlin cannot place and stares at the moon. The cool night air fills the car and Serahlin feels some of the tension in her shoulders release as they speed down the roads, alone and quiet. It’s the nicest car ride they’ve had in a while.

Eventually, Serahlin makes a turn onto a dirt path, following signs for Bright Lights Drive-In Movies! Five minutes down the road and the light from the drive-in beckons them forward. Ileth shifts in his seat but doesn’t say anything, still watching the moon.

Serahlin pulls up to the box office and smiles at the teen working inside.

“One adult and one child for-

“Price is per car, ma’am. That’d be fifteen for one show, thirty for the night pass.” Serahlin hands over thirty in cash, fully aware they were not going home anytime soon. The gravel crunches under the wheels as she pulls into the drive-in theatre. The path angles down, following the gentle contour of a hill, leading to the flat open space before the towering screen. The open space allows for an unobstructed view of the moon, making Ileth gasp and strain against his seatbelt.

She glances in the rearview and worries her lip, “Wait just a little longer and I’ll unbuckle you.” Serahlin pulls into a space a little farther back and closer to the forest edge. Not an ideal spot for movie watching, but a better one for allowing her son some enjoyment of the moonlight.

She turns the radio to the station for the movie, some older black-and-white film that was rated to be child appropriate by the internet, then undoes her seatbelt. Ileth follows suit and immediately reaches up into the moon-roof.

“It’s so pretty, Memae.”

“It is, isn’t?” Serahlin answers as she directs her attention to drawing wards on the car’s dashboard.

“Ileth, come here, please. Good, now place your hand on top of mine. I want you to pay attention to my words and the magic in them - feel them deep inside you and make them heavy with importance.

Guard within from harm,

Locked and stocked,

Against those with arms.”

The wards flare to life under their hands and Ileth gasps as he feels the spill of magic from both of their hands. By lending his energized magic to the spell, it is stronger and will recognize him as a caster, thereby neutralizing any effect the ward would have against him.

“I liked that!” Ileth giggles and runs his hand across the ward, feeling the residual prickles of the casting.

Serahlin smiles. Despite Darris, despite the Templars, despite the shit that seems to pile up at their door, Ileth is coming into his own. The magic is part of him, within him, wanting to be used and embodied. He feels the moon in his soul and the magic in his heart. She is raising a witch and it brings her joy.

They spend over an hour in the car, moving every now and then to compensate for the restlessness. Ileth hops around and they play short games of I Spy and sing songs together. Serahlin tells him an old Dalish tale and despite the threat that lurks back home and the creeping exhaustion, she finds herself having a good time. When was the last time she got to just enjoy being a mother? To just be Ileth’s mom and to see him in his element? She isn’t sure, but she knows that her son will make a fine man some day.

Around midnight, Ileth sighs, “I’m hungry, Memae.”

Serahlin rummages throughout the car but alas, she forgot to bring snacks. She glances out a side window and sees a small concession stand at the base of the hill. Ileth’s stomach rumbles.

“I will go get snacks, you are to stay in the car no matter what, you understand?” Ileth nods at her instruction. She takes a deep breath and grabs her purse before leaving the car. Her familiar, Risin, jumps out to follow her but she shakes her head at him.

Stay with the car, alert me if anyone comes close to it.

Risin nods at her commands and slinks under the car.

The walk to the concession stand is not long, but the distance feels interminable. Each step ratchets up Serahlin’s anxiety, and she continually glances back to the car. She reaches the stand and picks out several snacks she and Ileth enjoy, as well as a couple of waters. They will have to figure out the bathroom situation, but that is a bridge they will cross when necessary.

She finishes paying the cashier when a tall, human man approaches the counter. He puts down a few bags of chips and looks at her from the corner of his eye.

“Can I get one of those ice-creams from the back?” He asks and the cashier nods before heading to the back. The man turns to Serahlin as she packs up her food and drinks.

“Better watch yourself. Your kind ain’t welcome here, this is a decent town.”

Serahlin freezes, her lips thinning into a staunch line as everything in her tenses. She wants to feel out with her magic if this man means her elven blood is not welcome or if he is truly a witch hunter, but she doesn’t dare. A witch hunter would feel her probe and potentially incite an incident. She can’t take the risk.

Instead, Serahlin finishes packing her things and heads out of the stand without a word. She is halfway to the car when a sapping feeling hits her. She stumbles as the magic inside of her feels temporarily drained. Her heart begins to race, she turns around trying to see who could be responsible for the attack. It’s useless, any of the cars here could be holding a Templar who could have sapped her magic. The man from the stand could have followed her, but she doesn’t see him. With her magic feeling low and the car still half a soccer field away, Serahlin braces grinds her teeth and straightens her shoulders.

She will make it. She has to.

Serahlin resumes her trek, walking straight to her car. She doesn’t make it two yards before a searing pain flares across her nerves where her magic ought to be.

“Ah!” She cries, tripping to the gravel. She looks up quickly and sees them this time, four burly looking men walking towards her, menacing in their gait and eyes.

Risin, to me, NOW. She mentally commands to her familiar before slowly rising. The men increase their pace. She turns and bolts for the woods. Her magic is distant, reminding her entirely too much of when Darris had kept her powerless all those years.

But she has Risin, she has her book, she has her coven.

Sorry Selene, she thinks before reaching through the bond that connects them. She yanks moon blessed magic into her, and it burns dark and deep into her soul. It is totally unlike her and Ileth’s magicks. It is heavy and fiery, and it knows it is not in its rightful host. She reaches the edge of the woods and lets the magic out:

“Silent steps unfollowable,

Form unsighted, unknowable.” She casts upon her person, Selene’s magic coursing over her in a fiery shadow turning her as silent and invisible as long as she draws no attention to herself. She disappears into the shadows of the woods, tucking herself against the closeness of the trees.

The men crash into the brush, “Find the witch!” They take out flashlights and she could very well let them pass by and return to her car. But that would leave them out there to hunt her and her own. She’s had enough of just hiding, just getting by. The hunters have threatened her child, her coven.

These men will die.

She watches them closely as they pass by her hiding spot. The man from the concession stand is there, taller than the rest, now wearing an obvious toolbelt with the old insignia. A sword’s scabbard rests on the belt, aside a pistol holster. He came prepared. The second man wears a similar toolbelt, but he has a dagger in his and a pump-action shotgun in hands. The third doesn’t wear a toolbelt, but gloves that send a chill down Serahlin’s spine. Those gloves are designed to hold a witch, somehow enchanted to neutralize any magic it touches. He could get into the car. He dies first. The fourth man isn’t really a man so much as a tall, gangly youth with a flashlight in his hand and sweat on his brow.

Creators, he’s just a kid. A kid who hunts witches.

Serahlin allows them to get slightly ahead of her before following. Risin finally catches up to her, silently stalking alongside her.

I need that man’s shotgun, she thinks.

I will distract them, Risin answers before disappearing into the brush. Serahlin quietly positions herself to be walking at the second man’s pace.

A branch breaks, the men freeze and turn away from Serahlin.

Now or never.

She runs forward and before they can react, she reaches up to the second man’s head and gives a hard twist.

Snap. Neck broken, the man falls to the ground and she grabs his shotgun. The first man shouts as she turns and fires a shot at the third man, but the shot goes wide.

The first man utters a quick chant and searing pain fills her again. She yells in pain and the gun drops from her hands.

Shit.

Her mind is a mess of pain and anger, her body doesn’t obey her. The man with the gloves grabs her and a wretched sob escapes her. These bastards will not see her cry, not matter how much it hurts. Her book is in her purse, strapped against her body, and there is enough magic in her to send out a message to Selene if needed.

“Your kind brings evil and disease to our communities, the Maker will cleanse our community of this filth,” First Man says. Serahlin glares at him but does not give him the satisfaction of a response. Her right to exist isn’t a debate, it is a fact that none of the men here will acknowledge.

Instead, she juts out her chin in defiance.

Another branch breaks. Risin, go, protect Ileth. It’s a useless command, her familiar dies with her.

That was not me.

She barely has time to register the information before a low growl rumbles through the night air. The first man turns around, pistol raised.

“What foul demon have you summoned, witch?” Gloved Man asks. She says nothing, only raises an eyebrow.

The first man takes a step forward. He flashes his light to the dark to see two large, golden eyes peering back at him. He fires a shot just as the creature’s mouth opens, revealing sharp, canine teeth.

Someone screams as the creature lunges forward, long claws and sharp teeth tearing into the first man. The gloved man lets go of Serahlin and reaches for the shotgun. He lifts it just in time for the creature to leap upon him with bloody jaws and claws.

Serahlin, still on her knees and dazed from the pain of having all of her magic stripped from her, watches in a daze as the creature, no, werewolf eviscerates the men who would have killed her. She turns from the gruesome sight, looking for the younger one - but all that is left is a fourth flashlight, abandoned in his flight.

She turns her gaze to the werewolf once more, astonished. Such rare creatures, werewolves are, and not native to this part of Orlais. Yet, here one is.

The werewolf, apparently satisfied with the deadness of the gloves man, lifts their head and looks straight at Serahlin. Their snout is long like a wolf’s, full of wonderful teeth that just saved her. Their eyes are a golden yellow, glowing brightly in the moon-light dark. Long arms and legs still in its humanoid - no, elfish shape but covered in brown fur. Long ears speaking of their elven heritage still curve back from their head.

Serahlin swallows, “Thank you.”

The werewolf tilts their head and takes a step forward, using all four limbs to slowly maneuver towards her. Their movements are smooth and purposeful, eyes fixed on her but there is no snarl or growl. Instead, they are incredibly quiet as they approach.

Serahlin leans instinctually back, her eyes taking in their form before catching on the red staining the fur at their shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” she breathes. The wolf sniffs but does not change course.

“This is the police!”

The wolf’s head snaps up at attention at the call before looking at her.

“Go,” they snarl before leaping away and taking off into the night.

Not one to wait, Serahlin rises and runs through the woods to wind around to her car. She hears the police exclaim at finding a body just as she reaches the parking lot. She slows her steps to a walk so as to not attract attention to herself.

At long last, Serahlin reaches her car.

“Memae, are you okay?” Ileth asks as she settles into the driver’s seat.

“Yes, baby, I’m okay.”

“Okay…did you get snacks?”

The next morning brings with it aches and what feels like the worst hangover ever. Serahlin’s phone is full of texts and voice messages from Selene and Thenvunin.

You okay??

What happened?

I’m coming over!!

Felasel says you’re ok a wolf helped?? What?

Right. After leaving the drive-in, she locked herself and Ileth in his room before passing out from exhaustion without thinking to call her coven to tell them what happened. She doesn’t know how Felasel knows what happened - those twins have far too many blessings to fully understand.

Still not entirely able to hold a conversation, Serahlin sends a group text.

We’re ok. Went to the drive-in theatre last night, encountered some hunters but am ok. Will explain more later.

She doesn’t read the follow up texts and instead focuses on getting Ileth ready for school.

She is looking raggedy when she pulls through the drop-off line. A teacher she does not recognize opens the door and she frowns.

“Where is Mr. Adannar?” Ileth asks and the teacher smiles.

“He wasn’t feeling well this morning, so he is staying home. It will just be Ms. Fleur today.”

“Oh, okay. I hope he feels better soon.” Ileth hops out of the car and Serahlin waves goodbye.

As she drives home, Serahlin’s tired brain comes to an odd realization that may not be accurate. But it is a feeling, and she has learned to not ignore those.

First, she heads home and puts all the ingredients needed for making chicken noodle soup into a pot. She uncorks a small healing tincture and pours it in as well, giving it a good stir to incorporate it. Then, she heads upstairs and gets ready properly with a quick shower and dressing in a warm dress.

When the soup is ready and Serahlin is looking like her regular self, she puts the soup into a safe container and heads back out to her car. A simple scrying spell later, and she has the address she needs. Thirty minutes following that, she arrives at a small, but charming home on the outskirts of town. A picket fence surrounds the front yard, while tall trees and hedges bracket the sides, obscuring the view of the backyard.

Serahlin turns off the car, grabs the tupperware full of soup, then walks down the stone path to the front door. She knocks. No answer. She knocks again. No answer.

“Mr. Adannar, I brought you soup to help you feel better,” she calls. A long pause stretches before her before she hears the telltale sound of locks releasing.

The door cracks open, “I appreciate the gesture, but I am really in no shape to see anyone. Good day.” He moves to close the door, but she wedges her foot between it and the jam.

“Mr. Adannar, I came all this way to give you soup. Please, at least take it.” Another long pause stretches between them before the door opens to reveal a rumpled, tired looking Adannar with a a bandage clearly wrapped around his shoulder - exactly where the bullet hit the werewolf from last night.

“As I said, I am in no state to-

“Thank you,” she breathes, meeting his lovely yellow eyes. He swallows.

“I…you’re welcome.”

Serahlin takes a step inside but he doesn’t protest. After she sets the soup down on a table next to the door, she reaches up to his bandaged shoulder. He winces but does not move away.

“Broken flesh and bone mend,

Be as you were before blood was shed.”

The magic slips past her fingers and sinks into his skin. His grimace of pain soon eases into one of relief. He takes the hand she had rested upon him into his own, much larger hand.

“I believe it is my turn to thank you.” He maintains eye contact as he leans down and brushes his lips against the back of her hand.

“There is no need, this was me thanking you.”

“So the soup was…?”

“An excuse, though it does have a healing tincture in it, just in case you wouldn’t open the door for me. You saved not only my life, but my son’s, last night. That…there is not enough thanks in the world that will ever be enough.”

“I could never let them harm you or Ileth,” he whispers.

“No?” She says quietly. He takes a step forward, leaning down.

“No.” He presses his lips gently against hers and she has just enough mind to close the door.

#house witch au #fic #serahlin #ileth #adannar #serannar #selene #writing tag

6 notes · View notes

scurvgirl · 4 years

Photo

I commissioned @justanartsysideblog for some fun House Witch AU pin-ups of Serahlin and Selene and I could not be happier! Look at them!!! Look at seeexxyy they are! From what I hear, Cinn is gonna have more commissions available and y’all, I cannot recommend her enough. She’s a joy to work with and makes little art dreams come true!

Selene is @selenelavellan‘s!

#cinnart #cinn art #art #serahlin #selene #selene lavellan #house witch au #it's gonna get flagged i know #i love how complementary selene and serahlin are in these #light where it's dark and dark where it's light

127 notes · View notes

scurvgirl · 4 years

Text

Sleeplessness

I think it’s been four years since Frat AU? I’m writing this anyways? I miss them.

__________________________________

Adannar has never been a heavy sleeper, and fatherhood has only increased his sensitivity. Serahlin sleeps like the dead, which is good, she does so much work during the day, she needs the rest. Adannar needs it too, but he’s happy to let her sleep while he goes and tends to any night needs his kids have.

It was apparent early on that Ileth took after his mother in terms of sleeping habits. He was sleeping through the night by his third month and he could be counted on to nap reliably.

Tonlen was a different story. Due to his prematurity and breathing difficulties, the first year of Tonlen’s life was a hectic cycle of stress and worry broken up with bouts of joy at his little son’s progress. That first year was very much sleepless as Adannar hovered around his baby’s crib, just watching him breathe. Serahlin wasn’t much better. They spent more nights in Tonlen’s nursery than in their own bedroom that first year and even now, he’ll wake to find Serahlin has slipped into Tonlen’s room to watch him sleep.

Maker, just thinking about that year sparks anxiety and worry. His baby was so small, so weak, needed so much and there was more than one night where Adannar wasn’t...he didn’t... well, it doesn’t do to think about it now. He has a happy, healthy four-year-old who sometimes needs an inhaler and that’s the important piece. Tonlen laughs, he runs, he plays, he’s perfect.

Due to that first year, Adannar has become exceptionally attune to the sounds in the house. When his eyes open to darkness and he feels like he’s needed, he doesn’t question it - just gets up and goes and checks on his kids. He makes a beeline for Tonlen’s room and before he can reach for the handle, the door opens and Tonlen stands at the door - his stuffed lion clutched in one arm, eyes red from crying.

“Oh baby, what happened?” He doesn’t wait, just bends down and scoops up his son. Tonlen slumps against him and sniffles.

“I had bad dream,” he murmurs before resuming crying. His small body shakes and Adannar’s heart breaks. He steps into the bedroom and takes a seat on the bed, still holding Tonlen, rubbing his back, just letting him cry. One of the few memories he still has of his father is of him coming into Adannar’s room when he was little and holding him when he too had a bad dream. He didn’t say much, just held Adannar and let him be upset. He wants to provide that for his own kids.

“I’m here, I’m always here,” he whispers, leaning his cheek against Tonlen’s head. Tonlen clutches at Adannar’s bare chest, and bit by bit, he calms enough to fall back to sleep, still in Adannar’s arms. After he’s sufficiently convinced that Tonlen is down for the count, he shifts and tucks Tonlen back into bed.

He’s finishing closing Tonlen’s door when his ear twitches. He turns to see Ileth standing in the hall, his mismatched eyes bright in glow of a nearby nightlight.

“They talk and talk, I can’t...” Ileth tries and Adannar again doesn’t wait. He moves to Ileth and gently pulls him into a hug, lifting him off the ground and into his arms. At ten years old, he’s much bigger than Tonlen, but still small in Adannar’s arms. Ileth shivers and a prickle of energy makes all of the hairs on Adannar’s arms (and on his chest and neck) stand up.

He wishes there was something he could do for the mage nightmares - but he isn’t a mage. Selene and Dirthamen and Uthvir basically all said the same things - some mages are just more sensitive, more prone to the dreams.

Adannar could take Ileth back to his room, but...no, not tonight. He walks back into the master bedroom and sets Ileth between himself and Serahlin. His wife is curled up on her right side, the blankets half-kicked off of her, a long body pillow curved around her front to support her pregnant belly. She doesn’t stir as Ileth settles in, pressed against both his parents. Soon his breathing evens out and Adannar lets himself relax.

He doesn’t know how much later it is, but Tonlen eventually slips into the room, sniffling. Adannar sighs and brings him into the bed, snuggling him in between Ileth and himself. As he balances on the edge of the bed, clicking the remote to the ceiling fan to increase its speed, he thinks he needs to invest in a bigger bed. And about how he wouldn’t change a thing about his little family.

#frat au #it's been 80 years but uh #here?#adannar being a good dad #in time for father's day i think?#adannar #serahlin #serannar #ileth #tonlen #unedited because i just...needed to write SOMETHING #i miss my characters so much #serahlin is pregnant with asarla #had to remind myself of the age differences i gave the kids

3 notes · View notes

scurvgirl · 5 years

Text

Superstition

More House Witch AU!

Selene, Felasel, Darevas, and Des belong to @selenelavellan

Thenvunin belongs to @feynites

______________________________________________________________

It takes a few days for everything to settle down after Stalking. Thenvunin is put into a guest room in Serahlin’s room and she assists him with changing the decor to his tastes. The flowering wallpaper wilts down the wall, replaced by motifs of songbirds and holly. The bed remakes itself into a purple cloud and the curtains turn a pale gold. It is only since he is recuperating from such a trying time with Stalking that Serahlin makes no comment. Comforts do not take style into consideration...obviously so in Thenvunin’s case.

The weekend passes and Thenvunin is still adjusting to his new home. Without the constant abuse and draining, it must be quite the change. Good change, of course, but change nonetheless, and that takes time to adjust.

In the days following Stalking’s demise, Serahlin and Selene struggle with the debilitating effects of magical exhaustion. It is all they can do to ensure the boys are fed and given proper explanations about Thenvunin.

“This is Thenvunin, he is going to be staying with us for awhile,” Serahlin said softly to Ileth while he stared at the new man standing awkwardly in the foyer. Ileth cocked his head, bright, dual colored eyes watching Thenvunin stand perhaps where Darris once stood.

“Why?” Ileth asked.

“He needs help and a home - and he’s a witch without a coven. When that happens, and we are in a position to have another person in our coven, we help. Thenvunin needs a coven, and we can help.”

Her little boy looked at her and then at Thenvunin. And then he smiled, a top and bottom tooth both missing, “What’s your familiar? I don’t have one ye’.”

Darevas was similarly excited about the new addition, though Felasel was much more wary. Even so, Selene chose wisely to spend the weekend at Serahlin’s. With the moon waning into a new moon and her magical exhaustion, it was safest for everyone to remain close.

The boys thankfully largely entertained themselves with their games in the backyard. Thenvunin even played with them every now and then, keeping a rousing game of Hide and Seek going. He spoke to them, read to them, did yoga with them of all things!

Serahlin is immensely grateful she can trust Thenvunin with the boys while her and Selene sleep through the worst of the exhaustion. Monday comes and they drop the boys off at school to return home for more sleep. Selene curls up on a fainting couch in the library while Serahlin retires to the conservatory to let the warmth of the sun and the inherent magicks of the plants infuse her sleep with regenerative auras.

The house is so still like this, with three slumbering witches. Thenvunin has his own recuperating to do, even if he still hates having to sleep so much after sleeping for days at a time while Stalking fed from him.

They all rouse for lunch, then lounge some more. They would look quite lazy to the outsider, but really - magical exhaustion is not to be over exaggerated. Serahlin feels...cut off, numb, yet overly sensitive to every little thing around. She feels helpless in a way that reminds her entirely too much when Darris had her book.

Not long after lunch, they have to fetch the children. Serahlin volunteers to pick the boys up since Selene is considerably more exhausted given her immense power expenditure. It’s a bit shocking, even, that Felasel and Darevas aren’t exhausted even a little. Selene tapped into both of their magicks, honed them so that she could obliterate Stalking. While the boys don’t have their magic yet, they’re still connected to it, can feel it when it’s been expended.

But when the boys bound into her car, excitedly talking about their days, she knows they’re not feeling any negative effects of their mama’s fight with a vicious warlock. For which she thanks the gods.

“Memae! Memae!” Ileth chatters, leaning as forward as possible in his booster seat.

“Yes, da’len?”

“Mr. Paenir said to uh, to uh, to tell you about the fair!”

“There’s a fair?” A pit forms in her stomach at the mention of the school function. It sounds oddly familiar -

“It’s tomorrow!”

Somehow, Serahlin prevents the groan that threatens to come out of her. The boys will want to go and worse, Serahlin and Selene will be expected to attend this function. And worst of all, she thinks she may even signed up to prepare a dish for the fair. She probably signed up to make a traditional Orlesian Dalish meal, which really translates into a staple of her home coven’s.

They reach her home, the boys pile out of the car and into the house, dropping their bags in the mudroom before dashing to the kitchen. Ileth’s appetite has been on an upswing with only a month to go before his birthday. Like mortal children in the middle of a growth spurt, Ileth’s body is preparing itself to receive his magic by having him gain weight to handle the transition. It’s a lot to handle and he’ll need the extra energy to process it all.

Darevas and Felasel are farther from their transitions but it seems like their appetites are taking on a premature upswing - that or they are following Ileth. They collectively raid the pantry, pulling out snacks and juice boxes.

“Mama!” Darevas yells before Serahlin shushes him.

“Sweetie, your mama is very tired, remember? Let’s go into the play room,” where it’s nice and warded against sound if she wills it. Quickly and as quietly as possible, Serahlin ushers the boys into the room off of the kitchen, on the opposite end from the conservatory. She clicks the door closed and pricks her finger, bringing a drop of blood to the surface before pressing her finger to a symbol next to the light switch. The magic tugs at her and her ears ring at the idiocy of using magic so close to being drained so thoroughly. But the enchantment zings to life, warding the sound from escaping the room.

The boys romp around, eating their snacks, talking in fast, child speech that is difficult for her to follow with the splitting headache that is now throbbing between her ears.

While the boys keep themselves occupied, Serahlin goes through her phone, searching for any mention of a fair -

There! The International Fair, and she did indeed sign up to make a traditional dish. If only she was blessed with foresight! How else was she supposed to know this would be at a time where the last thing she wants to be doing is slaving away in a kitchen for a bunch of elementary schoolers and their parents? With the PTA the way it is, she can’t back out either, she’ll be labeled as a flake and Ileth will bear the consequences when he’s not invited to birthday parties or sleepovers or what have you. Really, the mortal mothers in this town can be quite the exclusive and vindictive lot. That’s a lot coming from a witch.

She will...make bread, she thinks. An easy flatbread her mamae used to make. The bread machine can take care of making the dough, which just leaves the kneading and baking. Cut it up into little squares with some store-bought dip on the side, and she should be good to go.

“Ileth, baby,” she calls.

“Huh?”

“Do you want to help me bake tonight?” She asks, smiling as a great grin spread across his face. His fascination with baking started very young - she was making brownies when he was coming up on two and he sat with her the entire time. She let him taste the batter and they would check up on the brownies, looking through the little window on the oven. The process delighted him almost as much as eating them later. Ever since, whenever she bakes, she has him help.

Her son’s face lights up and he nods with great enthusiasm, “Yeah! What’re we making?”

“Dalish bread, da’len.”

She’ll need to dig up the recipe from one of the old books in the attic. A finding spell should help, if she can harness enough focus and energy for it. Instead, Serahlin clicks her tongue, calling Risin to her.

Moments later, the cat slinks through the cracked door.

“Yes?”

“I need a book from the attic, older, it has a floral pattern on it - one of the scrapbooks I brought with me from Orlais. You know, the one where I put all the recipes?” She smiles at her familiar who, if he were humanoid, would lift a single brow in either amusement or annoyance. Perhaps both.

“Ah, the one where you wrote in the margins about that girl - what was her name?”

“Risin, I just need -

“Lara! I will find you the Lara Book.” And with that, the cat disappears into the shadows, using her old infatuation to locate the book. She rolls her eyes then rubs at her temples, trying fruitlessly to will away her headache. These events are always at the worst times. Once, there was a recital the day after the full moon. Her poor baby had been so exhausted he forgot his steps.

This time around, Serahlin is the one exhausted as she eventually leaves the kids to the playroom while she makes dinner. Making dinner for six people when she is used to cooking for only three is a task even when she isn’t magically exhausted. She could order something, but they did that yesterday and the day before that. The babies at least deserve better than meal after meal of overly processed and salted food. A chicken tortellini bake is easy enough to make anyways. The hassle comes in when she goes to set the table and can’t just float the plates out of the cabinet and onto the table. Ugh.

Serahlin sets the table as the mortals do and by the time she pulls the bake out of the oven, Selene and Thenvunin both come slinking into the dining room.

“Fetch the boys, would you?” Serahlin asks as she sets the bake on the table and begins to dish. Selene rises with a yawn and five minutes later she returns with three eager, hungry five-year-olds.

Even though cooking for so many more people is more taxing than what she has become accustomed to, it feels right. Growing up in a coven, group meals are expected and a time honored tradition. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this part of being part of a coven. Another thing Darris took from her, and took from Ileth as well.

“Mama, the international fair is tomorrow! Can you come? Pleeeeaase??” Darevas asks halfway through dinner, cheeks still stuffed with tortellini.

Shock and realization flashes across Selene’s face, “That is tomorrow, isn’t it.” Her voice trails off and Serahlin can see the dark shadow of exhaustion cross her features. “I can...make...halla sugar cookies.”

“Mamaaa!”

“Those are cultural, dear, every clan makes halla cookies. I have the cookie cutter mold in the kitchen. We should have all of the ingredients in the pantry.” By the end of tomorrow, Serahlin will surely collapse. They all will. The children will be fine, of course, that’s how it goes - the parents collapse while the children run about, unaffected and unknowing of the great their parents go through to ensure they can continue to run around unaffected.

Selene rubs her face and nods. Thenvunin looks around and takes a deep breath.

“I will help. Should I watch the boys or would you rather me cook?” He asks and Serahlin smiles at him, so grateful.

“The boys needs baths and then they are to be put to bed. They should all know by now how to bathe themselves, you just need to act a traffic director. They each get one story,” Serahlin says, staring at each boy. They’re grinning like they’ve won the lottery with a new person putting them to bed.

Thenvunin accepts his task and works about getting the boys upstairs. There’s giggling and running, and while Selene and Serahlin are making their respective dishes, a naked, soapy Darevas runs through the kitchen. He laughs as if it’s the grandest thing in the world to be naked and escaping from bed time. A moment later, Thenvunin comes running after him, a giggling Ileth under one arm.

“Darevas! It’s time for PJ’s!”

“I’m naked!” He laughs, speeding through the downstairs while a frantic Thenvunin chases after him with his Finding Nemo pajamas. Selene stops over her dough that she is just now cutting into halla shapes. She leans over the counter, biting her lip as her shoulders begin to shake. Distorted laughter makes it past her lips and it’s as if the damn breaks. Laughter bubbles up and she laughs and laughs, so much that she turns and slides to the ground.

“Oh you…” giggles escape Serahlin as Selene’s laughter catches, “stop that!” She says but she’s lost to the laughter, her chest heaving as she finds her legs unable to completely support her. She staggers to the floor next to Selene and her sides ache.

“Mama? What are you laughing at?” Darevas asks and that just makes Selene laugh harder. She gestures for him and he comes to her, naked and wet from his bath but she takes him in her arms and promptly tickles him, his laughter joining theirs.

What a sight they must be, Serahlin thinks. Two grown women laughing so hard they are near tears, one of them holding a laughing child, his wet hair whipping around, getting everything wet.

What a wonderful sight, she thinks. As absurd and terrible things have been...they’re here, and they can laugh. Yes, the laughter is the kind induced by exhaustion so strong everything seems absurd and funny. The laughter hurts, but the kind of hurt that means they’re still alive and able to laugh.

Thenvunin rushes in and he ends up taking Darevas back upstairs for bedtime, which he is unfortunately entirely too riled for now. Thenvunin looks at Serahlin and Selene curiously, but they wave him off to tend to the children while they attempt to gather themselves.

Several minutes pass before laughter dies down to heavy breathing. Selene’s white hair is plastered to her forehead and she looks over at Serahlin, green eyes bright with laughter and lined with exhausiton.

“We killed our husbands,” she whispers, “and a fucking warlock.”

“We killed our husbands and a fucking warlock,” Serahlin repeats.

Selene runs a hand down her face, shaking her head, “What have we become? Is this what our life is now?”

“What a life that would be.”

“All I ever wanted was to be free of it, free of him, free of…expectation, I guess. Now look at me, I killed my husband and a warlock and I have two kids,” she says, gaze lifting up to the ceiling before coming down to Serahlin’s again, “I don’t think I’d change it. Well, the horrible years with Haelir, yes.”

“But then you wouldn’t have the boys,” Serahlin whispers, but she gets it. Would she be able to take back her time with Darris and not have Ileth? It’s...as bad as Darris was, what he did to her and to Ileth in turn, he did make Ileth happen. And she loves her son so much. She can see herself without Darris, but also without Ileth, and it’s so hard to say if she prefers it. It’s useless to think about, really. She has Ileth, she had Darris - life takes and it gives, it’s all in the balance.

Selene pauses, her lips thinning, “Right,” she whispers.

“If it helps, I do not anticipate killing anyone else.”

“Good.”

They sit there for several more minutes, listening to the noises of the house and the night creatures beginning their night songs of croaking and cricketting. They hear the slight murmur of Thenvunin reading to the boys and Darevas every now and then hopping up on the bed.

Eventually they rise and finish tending to their task of making bread and cookies. Over an hour later, the cookies and the small pieces of flatbread are finished cooling. They’re shuffled into large tins they will take to the fair tomorrow. They both have a batch to do tomorrow as well before they’re called in to help set up.

They crawl into their beds close to midnight, collapsing into a dead sleep.

The next day comes early. The boys’ school for some reason mandates the children be at school by 7:45am which means parents must be up and about with small children at a horrendous hour.

Serahlin doesn’t bother to do more for herself than pile her hair into a messy bun atop her head and don some athleisure wear. She leaves her room and heads to Ileth’s room to begin the process of rousing them and coaxing them to dress. She turns and sees a tired Thenvunin, dressed in a robe and fluffy slippers, hair still up in curlers, padding down the hall.

“Did my alarm wake you?” She asks and he nods while yawning.

“It’s fine, I can help.” He gestures to the door and Serahlin nods before heading downstairs to make some quick lunches. She whips up three PB&J sandwiches, puts apple slices in each pack, as well as a juice box and some carrot sticks, and finally a cookie. She’d like to be able to write a note for each of them, but they come downstairs before she had enough time. Felasel looks mopey and stern to be awakened so early, so she hands him the first muffin.

“Good morning, darlings,” she says, bending down to give them each a kiss and a muffin.

“G’morning, memae.”

“Goo’morning, auntie Serahlin.”

Thenvunin passes her and in a moment of auto-pilot, she too kisses his cheek and hands him a muffin. They both stop for a second before moving forward. They’re tired, they’re adults. It’s not like she stuck her hand down his pants.

They all pile into her car then drive over to the school.

Selene watches the car pull out of the driveway and head down the road. She has approximately forty-five minutes to do what she needs to do. She has to get to the bottom of this.

A pit has settled itself in her stomach and voices whisper in the back of her head. The shadows in the house seem darker, the books call to her even more strongly and a deep hunger that cannot be alleviated has taken root in her gut. Some may say she’s possessed, but she knows that is not the case.

Channeling her sons’ power did not exhaust like it should have. She is tired, yes, and her magic feels distant, but she can still feel their power. There are no bare hints or mere suggestions of what it is, but a regular pulsation of power that is more than concerning - it’s frightening. What will her children be inheriting? Because she knows this dark mass of power is not from her, which only leaves one reason.

The creature with whom she struck the bargain.

With Des’s help, she shutters the house, douses all of the candles Serahlin keeps lit. She takes to the attic with some of her own candles and a piece of chalk and an offering. She draws the large circular symbol on the floor, lies in the center and takes a breath.

This time she follows the dark threads she feels in her soul, a tether that connects to her to her children and to their sire. She doesn’t wait in the Fade, but walks along a path that she can now see - dark and winding, but also so intensely beautiful. Pages from untold books swirl around her, buoyed by eddies of purple currents of power. Eyes open and blink, watching her as she traverses this eerily beautiful landscape. Impossible black and blue trees wind into a sky of ocean, light filtering down in white gold bands. The path bends and her feet lift off the ground until she is floating in the air, white hair a cloud around her head.

The thread ends here. He’s here, she can feel him.

“Show yourself!” She demands, her voice stronger than the trembling in her heart. The world vibrates and a pair of brilliant blue eyes snap open in front of her.

“You sought me?” He asks and she swallows.

“Yes.”

“You wish to ask a question,” it’s a statement and question both. She nods but he speaks once more, “you fear you know the answer. What is your question?”

“Who, or what, are you?” She blurts, staring into the eyes, not sure if it’s better to hope or to suspect the worst.

He’s a demon. Or worse. What’s worse than a demon?

“I am...not unlike you.” He says.

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“I am not a demon. That should be sufficient.”

“Except it’s not. I killed a warlock the other day - I stopped time. I feel you - you’re...what are you?” She demands again and she feels rather hears his sigh.

“You wish my name.”

“I wish for your nature to know what to expect for my children.”

“Our children,” he corrects quickly, “I watch over them as well as I can. They are...amazing.”

“No argument there, will you answer me?”

“Will you love our children any less if I am...not what you desire?”

“No,” the answer is immediate, “I...couldn’t.”

“Truth. It’s been so long since I spoke my name.” The world shudders with him, his bright eyes closing only to open slowly as he speaks a single, life-altering word.

“Dirthamen.”

#my writing #house witch au #fic #serahlin #selene lavellan #thenvunin #ileth #darevas #felasel

17 notes · View notes

scurvgirl · 5 years

Text

The Dragon and the Castle

Fairy Tale AU!

Previous | Masterpost

I am super excited (nervous) about this one!

Selene and Des belong to @selenelavellan

Ana belongs to @lycheemilkart

Vena, Dirthamen, Andruil, and Uthvir belong to @feynites

Anaris belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Aili belongs to @lillotte17

“I hate this plan,” Selene says, frowning deeply at everyone.

“It’s for the best, we can’t both be on the field,” Des argues. He’s right, it’s too dangerous for them to be the battlefield at the same time, it’s why this plan was proposed in the first place. If one of them were to be killed or incapacitated, it has a high chance of doing the same to the other.

The scowl does not lessen, however.

“Des is better at illusions and we will need a massive one to distract all of the soldiers in the castle,” Adannar says softly. It feels bad to tell her this, even though it is true. Selene can create illusions, but her gifts lie in quick battle strikes and healing. In an actual battle, she would be the better choice, but this is a mock battle. Des will be creating a horde of attacking mercenaries with the added strength of the fairy dust Vitality gifted him. They need a show and that is what Des does.

“I like this plan,” Dirthamen says, “it keeps you safe.” She gives him a long adoring look before shaking her head.

“It puts those I love in jeopardy and they expect me to sit back -

“We expect you to keep the home base safe!” Des scoffs. He gestures to Dirthamen. “Falon’din could come looking for his brother at any point.”

Selene crosses her arms, clearly not liking Des’s reasoning. Adannar understands, he wouldn’t want to sit back either, but the risk is too high. Any number of things could go wrong. While he wants as much firepower as possible to go get Serahlin, they all need to be practical - sending everyone in just risks more than what they could potentially achieve. Selene is a terrifying opponent on the battlefield, and he has no doubt that she will return to it one day, but today is not that day.

It takes a bit more convincing, but Selene eventually, grudgingly, accepts that she needs to remain at the Tower. Dirthamen is pleased and even moves to hold her hand.

After they convince Selene to remain with Dirthamen and the ravens, they return to hashing out the details of the assault. The plan is fairly simple, but there are plenty of places where things could go awry.

“Ana will create a thorny vine barrier around the perimeter of the castle,” Vena clarifies, drawing a finger around the castle diagram they have on the table. She nods then frowns.

“That is a lot...it will take some time,” she murmurs, and by the look on her face, ‘some time’ may be more significant than what it suggests.

“What if you took one of the fairy dust pouches? I doubt Des needs both for weaving his illusion,” Adannar points out.

“That would certainly make things easier,” Ana says. Des tosses her one of the pouches, then clearly ties the other one tighter to his belt.

“Des will create an illusion of attacking mercenaries, no banners, to draw the castle soldiers out into the open. They will have to be very convincing, Des,” Vena points to a spot close to the vine barrier that is directly in front of the castle’s main gate. He drags his fingers to demonstrate the “assault” Des will lead.

“Once the soldiers are drawn out, Ana will close off their return with another vine wall. How long would it take to make one that would span...just under two hundred yards?”

“Ten minutes. Des will need to keep them engaged for that long.”

Everyone frowns at that. An illusion is great and all, but it’s hard to keep an entire force of soldiers occupied once they realize their attacking force is well, not real.

“What if I corralled them with fire? I wouldn’t need the dust, fire is second nature to me,” Des offers, drawing his own finger across the diagram. Smoke rises up as he singes the papers.

Vena shrugs, “However it gets done. Who is sabotaging the ranged weapons?”

“I am,” Anaris says, rubbing the heel of his boot where the trebuchets and whatever other ranged weapons the elves have conceived.

“Good. The drain to get into the castle is over here,” he points to a spot on the opposite end of the castle from the gate, “there is a small brook we will need to cross. If we can’t escape through the drain, Adannar will need to fly us out from the courtyard here.” There are technically two courtyards, but the one in question is the larger of the two and is central to the entire keep. There is enough room in this secondary courtyard that Adannar will be able to unfurl his wings and fly into the sky. At least, that’s what Vena believes. Adannar is holding onto that hope. If there isn’t enough room...he could always jump the courtyard walls and take off from there.

“Do we have any idea where Serahlin is being kept?” Des asks.

“Aren’t prisoners held in dungeons?” That’s what Adannar’s always thought. It’s what the elves have always mentioned when they’ve worried about being taken captive. Of course that was hundreds of years ago. Judging by Vena’s grim expression, Adannar isn’t correct.

“Not always,” is all Vena says, however.

“I could cast a tracking spell. But I will need something of Serahlin’s to complete it,” Anaris offers.

“I can pick something up from the cottage she stayed in,” Adannar replies, ignoring the way his heart clenches at the idea of returning to the cottage. It’s only been a couple of weeks since she ran from him and yet their time together seems so far. He longs for her now, but he holds no illusions that she will return that affection.

They nail down a few more details before agreeing to move forward with the plan. Adannar leaves to fetch an item of Serahlin’s for the spell. When he returns hours later, Vena has passed out in a bed with his head in Ana’s lap. She’s stroking his hair and humming an old dryad folk tune and every so often, Vena’s ear twitches, making Ana smile.

Selene and Des are also asleep, twined around each other in a cute sleepy dragon pile. He rumbles happily before lying down next to them.

Tomorrow, he will rescue Serahlin, perhaps just for her to leave him again. But for now, he can sleep and enjoy the comfort of his friends.

The illusion of mercenaries begins with Adannar rolling in very real fog to blanket the countryside. Visibility is reduced until he feels like it is safe to begin the trek to Tavathan. Neither him nor Des take their true forms to assail the tower, but rather remain in their elven shapes. Anaris remains perched on Adannar’s shoulder, reserving his energy for facing any issues they may face once they make it into the keep.

Adannar, Des, and Vena all sit upon constructed metal stags, with Anaris perched on Adannar’s shoulder. The stags are large beasts, once crafted to help carry the naturally bipedal magical creatures during the resistance. They have been in the forest, wandering as they please, only returning when Adannar beckoned them home for maintenance. In the time they have been away, their metal has changed from shining coppers and brass to soft green and dark hues. Hanging moss drips down from their antlers. Unlike Huirin and the other smaller deer, these creatures are silent as they move save for the plod of their hooves.

He imagines it’s quite the eerie sight to see three men riding on these large harts through an imposing fog that one seems to be commanding. But it also feels amazing to be using his magic again like this. After hiding for so long, Adannar has grown accustomed to feeling stifled and unable to flex any of his magic - and now here he is, able to roll the fog in still at his command.

Vena wipes at his forehead, “Didn’t realize fog could be hot.”

“It is when the fog is being cast by a dragon who breathes steam,” Des clarifies. Adannar’s a bit preoccupied focusing on keeping the fog dense to explain himself. “See, normal fog is just a cloud on the ground, but Adannar is heating the hair and commanding the water to coalesce with said hot air. This fog is kept together by magical steam. Feels lovely.”

“You’re a dragon, you breathe fire, this is...hard to breathe,” Vena says, breath clearly laboring. Adannar turns his gaze towards the man and waves a hand, allowing a pocket to form around Vena so he can breathe.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Adannar nods, still too focused to speak.

It is a slow crawl through the countryside of Tavathan. The sun is hanging low in the sky when they reach the village. They stop since Des must go complete his task for Vitality before using the powder. There will likely not be time afterwards to complete the task since they will be on the run from Andruil and her lackeys. The dragon turned elf hops off his hart and shrinks into the form of a fluffy cat before disappearing into the fog.

Twenty minutes later, Des returns looking no worse for wear. There is a peculiar look on his face as he retakes his elven form and mounts his hart once more.

“Anything of note?” Vena asks and Des shakes his head.

“Even if there was, I cannot say.” Another fairy promise then. Very well, Adannar can accept that though he does not know if the elf is so capable. This world of the forest and its creatures is still so new to him.

“Time to rescue the princess, hmm?” Des asks.

Finally, Adannar thinks before urging his hart forward.

Tavathan is a large settlement geographically, but population wise it’s sparse. The village is sprawling due to the sheep fields and the hills that seem to belong to specific families. On the far eastern side, sitting atop several hills is a gigantic keep. There is a tower that rises above everything and on a cloudy day, the tip of the spire is shrouded by the clouds. Not as tall as the Glass Tower, but certainly impressive if no magic was used in its construction.

A brook separate the heart of the town and the keep. They cross it easily and Adannar commands the fog to creep into the castle’s grounds.

“Very good. Is Ana finished setting up that barrier?” Des asks referring to how Ana is tasked with creating a barrier of bramble thorns around the keep.

“I do not know, I do not see the brambles yet,” Vena says.

“I will check,” Adannar whispers, finally able to detach himself from the fog enough to tilt his head to the side to listen. Ana took a small mechanical blue bird with her that is temporarily mystically connected to him. It chirps that she still needs time just as he feels the earth begin to rumble.

The normally quiet harts make a whir of concern then move forward. The ground erupts behind them, tall vines reach toward the sky then curl down, sealing them all in the trap.

“Well, that certainly makes things complicated,” Des says. Once more, Adannar lifts his finger and connects to the bird.

Tell her to open it for a minute where we are. He asks. A moment later, the brambles part, allowing Des to slip out.

“Wonderful. I’m off, boys. One hundred distracting, assailing mercenaries coming right up.” He rides off into the fog, his hart once more silent.

Adannar tries to remain confident as he watches Des go, but it is difficult. Somewhere in this castle is Serahlin, but it also houses Andruil. He is not as powerful in combat as many of the dragons she has slain - what hope does he have if he is forced to face her? If he had any hope of defeating her, he would have to turn to strong magicks and vicious fighting styles that would make him appear as bestial as Serahlin fears he is. How could he to convince her to leave then? He pushes it from his mind and concentrates at the task at hand. These are hypothetical fears, giving them substance will only harm everyone.

“Anaris, please go sabotage any of the large long-range siege weapons,” he requests. The fairy salutes then disappears with a flit of magic. Vena stares at the spot where Anaris was standing and tries not to look overwhelmed.

“Magic can be a bit much for those unaccustomed,” Adannar says.

“Uh-huh, that’s one way of putting it. Can your birdie sense if Ana is doing alright?”

Adannar tilts his head again and listens, “She seems fine. A little tired from the magical expenditure, but fine. You seem fond of her.”

Vena shrugs, “She saved my life, I think that would instill fondness in anyone.” Adannar hopes Vena is right and perhaps Serahlin still holds some fondness for him inside her heart. He knows her trust is gone, but he hopes for fondness.

“I hear Princess Serahlin is quite beautiful,” Vena says after a long moment. Adannar nods and finds himself smiling wistfully.

“Beautiful is too common a description for her. She is radiant, lovelier beyond words,” he says, recalling her ink black hair, her soft pink eyes, the softness of her skin...

“There was a rumor that Princess Serahlin declined a hundred proposals before agreeing to marry Dirthamen.” The comment makes Adannar frown. He is not one for gossip, particularly the sort having to do with Serahlin. He rather doubts the authenticity of such rumors, especially if they were espoused at court. He may be a forest dwelling dragon, but he knows enough to know that there are more lies than truths murmured at court, more betrayals than friendships. It hurts his heart to think of Serahlin growing up in that environment. He knows it’s the reason for the walls around her heart, her natural guardedness. But even with growing up in such a place, she is kind and capable of such softness and love.

“I hope she never has to subject herself to court again,” Adannar says in a grave tone.

“From what I hear, Princess Serahlin was lauded at court. But can’t blame her for no wanting anything to do with it.” Vena shrugs but Adannar can’t shake the discomfort at the idea. Serahlin at court, excelling at the various machinations and plots. It’s not what he knows of her, but then again, she didn’t know a lot about him either.

They have much to discuss when this is all done.

Anaris reappears on Adannar’s shoulder, smelling of smoke.

“It is done. The lines in the trebuchets are snapped and Des is beginning to weave his illusion,” the fairy reports.

“Good, we wait for the signal then,” Adannar replies, shaking off the more negative emotions from his talk with Vena.

“What signal is that?” Asks the elf.

At once, shouts and cries of dismay echo from the castle. Anaris grins and Adannar feels a sick trepidation beat with his heart. May I not have to kill anyone today.

“That signal, of course!” Anaris claps. Adannar tries not to sigh as he dismounts the hart. Vena follows suit as they begin their approach.

With the guards suitably distracted by Des’s illusion of assaulting mercenaries and Ana’s vine magic, the trio will be able to slip in, assume the identity of guards themselves, and then ferry Serahlin out. They have two, maybe three, hours to get in, find her, and get her out before alerting anyone.

Adannar has never been one for stealth, but now is a good a time as any to be silent.

Only minutes later do they come upon the drain Vena spoke of. It is large and circular, but there is an equally large metal grate guarding it from any would-be trespassers.

“You said it was unguarded, but I suppose that did not include a metal grate,” Adannar comments.

“You’re a dragon, can’t you just...yank it off?” Vena asks.

“It’s not that simple,” Adannar whispers, “I will have to semi-shift myself to harness the strength to do this. Stand back.” Anaris hops off his shoulder and onto Vena’s instead while Adannar grasps the grate and allows his true form to bleed through his current one.

It is not a comfortable process. In between states feel stuffy, all at once too big and too small, his limbs are not the correct size and his mind is simply screaming to just pick a size and stick with it. But his dragon form is too big and too conspicuous while his elven form is not capable of the strength necessary to pull the grate free. Skin turns into scales and nail lengthen into claws as he wraps his hands around the grate. He can feel his skull pound with magic as his horns extend back from his forehead. His back ripples and he wonders if his wings will make an unwelcome appearance.

Thankfully, his wings remained furled, keeping his robe in tact. His breeches are not so lucky as his tail rips through the back and falls heavily to the floor. Quickly, Adannar yanks on the grate, pulling it free from the stonework. As soon as he sees they are free to proceed, Adannar starts stuffing his true form back under his elven shape. He shudders and feels his draconic features recede until he looks just as elven as Vena.

“Let’s go,” Adannar says, or at least he means to say, it comes out more of a growl than anything. He clears his throat to make the dragon-y voice clear up.

“Let’s go,” he reiterates.

“That was incredible,” Vena states, still staring at Adannar.

“Thank you, Selene is better at it. You’ll see her with horns or scales, even a tail, while in an elven body - but it’s always felt...difficult for me.” He shrugs, the magic works in different ways for different dragons. His talent has never been in shifting his shape but rather creating his creatures. Selene is better at commanding her shape, but the best shape-shifting dragon Adannar had met was a former spirit of Mischief. They were a smaller dragon, not that much bigger than a moose, but they could shift into anything that had a heartbeat. Word of their talent reached Mythal and she had Falon’din hunt and kill them. When Glory saw the myriad of iridescent scales adorning Falon’din’s armor on the battlefield, they flew into a rage.

Now is not the time, he reminds himself as he climbs into the drain -

“Sweet mercy!” He cries, hand slapping over his face. The smell.

“You brought us into a sewer drain?” Anaris drawls.

“As opposed to a nice unguarded entry point that doesn’t exist?” Vena snorts then winces as he draws more of the foul stench into his nostrils.

Even with the stench, it’s a good access point, and with Adannar’s connection to water, he’s able to keep the disgusting sewage away from them as they make their way through the drain. So much for hoping Serahlin would hug him when she sees him, he’ll stink too badly for that.

The drain is thankfully large enough that Vena and Adannar only have to bend at the hip to walk through. It’s far from comfortable, but it’s better than having to crawl. It’s the little things, really. They move through the sewer system for twenty minutes before they find an exit point.

“I’ll check,” Anaris volunteers. Adannar would argue but Anaris’s small size makes him the ideal one to scout ahead to make sure they’re safe. He leaps up the drain past the grate into whatever is above.

“We’re in the castle proper, I think,” Vena whispers, “probably near the kitchens, maybe the washroom.” Adannar sniffs the air. It doesn’t smell like food, but then again, he can hardly smell anything over the stench of the sewage.

A few minutes later, Anaris hops back down.

“Washroom up there, there are a couple of guards posted not far from it. They’ll make good marks.”

“Is there any way to remove the grate without having to yank it?” Adannar murmurs. Anaris reaches up and waves a hand over it.

“Yes, I will remove it.” with some fine tuned quick telekinesis, the grate pops open.

“Why didn’t we do that before?” Vena asks.

“That grate was fused shut - this one is designed to be able to open,” Anaris answers as they begin to climb up. Adannar tries not to think about what his hand is touching as he hoists himself up out of the drain and into the washroom. It’s a spacious room, filled with large basins and racks. It is open to a small courtyard that are filled with clotheslines, sheets and things waving with the wind.

Vena grunts as he heaves himself out of the sewer, nose wrinkled in disgust at the stench still permeating the room. They replace the grate once he’s out, then set to stalking the nearby guards. Anaris directs them out of the washroom and down the hall to the left. Around the corner is a door with two guards at the ready. Their weapons are drawn and Adannar wonders why they are here guarding a door while the rest of the castle is in a tizzy over the “attack.”

Adannar can hear the bustling soldiers running throughout the castle, their heavy footfalls surprisingly quick as they run out to the front to fortify the keep.

“I’ll put them to sleep but then you must be quick to get them, people are coming,” Anaris whispers before darting off. When the guards collapse, Vena and Adannar rush ahead and drag their bodies back to the washroom. They’re quickly stripped them locked into a closet full of cleaning supplies. Someone will hear them after this is all over and let them out. But for now, the risk is too great that they will wake and alert everyone to Adannar and Vena’s presence.

Swiftly, they don the uniform over their light underclothes. They came dressed for this, not wearing heavy over-clothes, the only exception being Adannar’s robe. With a quick murmured spell, the robe disappears back to his lair. It’s been spelled with him for so long, it doesn’t take much to command where it ought to be now.

Vena was right though, they are good sizes for guard uniforms. With the helmets on, no one can tell the truth. Now, to find the princess.

“What are you doing?! Unhand me!” Serahlin shouts, shoving a guard off of her. She doesn’t know what’s going on, but the castle is suddenly full of activity. Three guards came down to the dungeon and are now wrenching her from the dungeon. Ordinarily, she would love to leave such a horrid place. But Uthvir is here, and she is loathe to leave them, especially since Aili clearly won’t be able to escape from her room now.

“Castle’s under attack. Princess ordered us to get you to a more secure location,” the guard says before seizing her again. She tries to fight him but he hoists her up and carrie sher up the stairs. She could use her telekinesis on him, but it would spend precious energy. After working for days to build up her strength, she’s found she can’t keep it up indefinitely. Her power will feel weak and drained if she works it too much. And if the castle is under attack...she may just need it in a more dire situation.

Serahlin lets the guard carry her out of the dungeon. He sets her on her feet and this time she follows willingly. She doesn’t fancy being another prisoner to whoever is attacking the castle. But she has to wonder if this assailant is an ally or would be preferable company to the Princesses Andruil and Sylaise.

They are rushing by a long set of stairs when another cadre of guards rush down them. A short figure with long glowing hair is shrouded behind them. Aili! They must be moving her to this secure location as well! The guards merge into one group with Serahlin and Aili in the middle. They take each other’s hands as they run together. They are ushered down a long hallway and then into a room with a large tapestry. One of the guards pulls the tapestry to the side to reveal a peculiar looking metal door. It’s taller and narrower than the other doors, and even in the dark, it seems to radiate light. Markings are carved in circular patterns all over the door that begin to glow when a guard pulls it open.

Aili and Serahlin are unceremoniously shoved into the room. No guards enter with them.

“What is this?!” Serahlin demands. She can feel the glow in her eyes intensify as she glares at the guards.

“A room to keep you safe.” It is all he says before he shuts the door, leaving Aili and Serahlin alone. Under normal circumstances, Serahlin would be fascinated by the door and this room. It’s a beautiful, filled with plush furniture and tapestries. But today is no ordinary day.

“Who could be attacking?” Serahlin asks as she presses up against the door.

“I saw a large force from my tower - no banner. I heard a guard shout something about mercenaries,” Aili whispers. Mercenaries? Hm. Of all the people Serahlin had worried about, mercenaries were not one of them. They could be after her, but that is only if her mother had discovered her location. Since Andruil seems rather invested in keeping Serahlin around for her own gain, she doesn’t think her or any of her staff informed one of Serahlin’s mother’s allies of Serahlin’s location. Not to mention she has only been her a few days - that is hardly enough time to get word all the way to Eletharan.

That means the mercenaries are here for some other reason, and what are two things all mercenaries have in common? A love for gold and fear for things they cannot kill.

“Our situation has changed, lady Aili,” Serahlin says, hardly able to keep her grin to herself, “we’re escaping this place, today.”

Aili’s eyes widen but it quickly gives way to a steely determination, “We’re not leaving Uthvir.”

“Oh no, they’re going to help us. What mercenary would brave a dragon?” Serahlin quips making Aili grin mischievously. Serahlin backs away from the door and takes a deep breath. Calming herself before using her telekinesis is critical for there to be any success. She extends her hand and focuses on the act of the door opening.

A loud CLANG! Explodes from the door sending Serahlin flying across the room. She screams as her body is flung onto a couch. Fiery pain lances its way through her body, radiating from spine and down.

“Serahlin!” Aili cries.

Serahlin coughs and curls on herself. Before she knows what’s happening, something heavy is flung over her. When Aili begins to sing, Serahlin realizes what’s happening. Warmth and relief sinks into from Aili’s hair and soon she is sitting back up, moving the long hair off of her.

Serahlin rights her clothing and tries to keep the faith. The door is magically warded against anything opening it. They’ll just need to figure out something else.

Aili doesn’t seem as calm, however. She begins to pace, tugging at her hair. “I’m sick of this! I’m sick of being stuck in this stupid place! Why does my power have to be healing things?! You can move stuff with your mind and what do I get? Silly, glowing hair!”

“Aili, healing is a wonderful gift,” Serahlin argues but the princess is having none of it. She shakes her head, immense frustration and anger rising within her like an unstoppable wave.

“All it’s done is get me imprisoned. I can’t fight. I can’t do anything! I’m tired of sitting back while my friends get hurt!” Aili throws her hands down in a gesture of frustration, but in that movement, an inexplicable spark flies from her hands.

And promptly takes root in one of the tapestries on the wall. Aili gasps, eyes wide as the golden flame begins to grow and consume the fabric.

“Fire!” She exclaims, leaping from her seat with a pillow. She pats the fire and the fire dissipates, but the tapestry comes crashing down.

“I did that?” Aili whispers in equal measures amazement and horror.

“Congratulations, you are not quite as helpless as you thought - wait is that a door?” Serahlin was still making sure the fire is out when a dark spot on the newly revealed wall caught her eyes. She looks up and sure enough, there is a door - smaller and less fancy than the magical one they entered from, but a door still.

“Can we get that one open?” Aili asks but Serahlin is already working on it. Focusing herself once more, she gathers her power inside of her, picturing the door opening. The wood heaves then stops, remaining closed.

“It’s locked - maybe if you unlock it, we can get it open.”

“I don’t know how locking mechanisms work…” but there are hinges she can see. She imagines the screws in the hinges rising and falling out. The door groans and leans awkwardly as its support is taken away. With the hinges out of the way, Serahlin imagines the door bending itself until it snaps open. Wood cracks and snaps until there is an opening large enough for them to crawl through.

“Let’s go,” Serahlin declares before stepping over the broken door and into a dark lit hallway.

“I had no idea I could do that,” Aili whispers, giddy but nervous.

“It makes sense, my telekinesis was activated by fear - your fire was activated by frustration and anger.” Serahlin shrugs as they creep down the dark, narrow hall. It turns at odd angles and after the second or third turn, Serahlin realizes they’re curving around rooms. How interesting.

“We’re going to break Uthvir out of the dungeon and then we’ll get far, far from this place,” Aili declares with resounding determination.

“I know a place we can go,” Serahlin says softly. She hopes said place will still welcome her, or specifically, the person who resides there. Adannar surely would accept Uthvir and Aili at least, they haven’t wronged him like Serahlin has.

Once more she kicks herself internally for running away so soon. She didn’t hear him out. Yes, he explained himself, but she didn’t listen. For her entire life, she believed what was said about the dragons. That they’re greedy monsters who kill indiscriminately and it is only thanks to the dragon hunters that elven society still stands. Now she realizes how blind she was. Adannar was kinder to her than most elves have ever been. He made her feel things she never thought she could feel. And how did she repay his kindness and love? By calling him a liar when all he was doing was protecting himself from someone who could cause him irreparable harm then running away.

After escaping this place, Serahlin wants more than anything to apologize to him. She wants to hold his face and kiss him and tell him how wrong she was about his kind. How wrong she was about him.

Serahlin starts feeling along the walls for doors or windows. They find stairs first and quickly descend those. Finally, at the bottom of the stairs is a door. It too is locked, but Serahlin handles it the same way she did with the other door.

They step through the doorway into the castle proper. “Finally,” she whispers, taking Aili’s hand once more, “which way?”

Aili points to the right, “I think the dungeon is that way.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.” How they’re going to bust Uthvir out, Serahlin doesn’t know, but she figures that Andruil had to get Uthvir into the dungeon somehow and she rather doubts they willingly turned into an elf then walked into the cell. There has to be a gate or something that opens up to the surface. If they get that open, they can get Uthvir out and leave while the soldiers are preoccupied with the mercenaries. No one expects a dragon to randomly fly out from under you.

“Have you ever seen something that looks like a gate but in the ground? Probably in the courtyard, maybe even from the dungeon side?” Serahlin asks.

Aili nods, “Yes, but it hasn’t been used in hundreds of years, not since...you know.”

“That’s fine, I’ll blast it open and Uthvir will fly us out,” she whispers, lest a nearby soldier hears her.

“What?” Aili whispers back, “Uthvir can’t fly.”

Serahlin stops and turns to frown at Aili, “What do you mean, Uthvir can’t fly?” Dragons fly, that’s what they do. And she knows Uthvir has wings, so - oh. Oh no.

The rage in Aili’s face confirms Serahlin’s thoughts, “It was one of the first things Andruil did. She wanted them to know there was no escape. I do as much as I can to heal them, but it just helps with the pain.” Her fists clench and Serahlin knows that she is fighting that wave of feeling useless again. Quickly, Serahlin cups Aili’s face.

“This is a hitch, one we will overcome. A downed dragon is still a formidable opponent. They can run, or they can shift and we can steal horses and run away. We will figure this out, we will escape.” The fury cools in Aili’s eyes and she takes a steadying breath. Good, they don’t need another accidental fire.

“The chains. We need to figure out a way past the chains -

Serahlin is about to propose finding the guard who holds the keys when she sees a tiny…person? He’s perched on a slight outcrop of stone wearing a devious smile. But his eyes are those of a cat and the two tails swishing behind him only confirm the strangeness of his appearance.

She swallows back a scream but cannot stop her eyes widening into saucers and pointing wordlessly.

“Wha-AH!” Aili starts to screech and Serahlin is quick to slap her hand over her mouth.

“Excuse me, but who, what, are you?” Serahlin does her best to keep her voice from wavering, but there is a tremble at the end that doesn’t quite sell it, so she raises her chin and turns on her imposing regal expression. The...person’s grin just widens.

“Hello, Princess. My name is Anaris and I am what your people call a fairy.”

“A -ai-y?” Aili asks throw Serahlin’s hand, incredulous. Serahlin can’t say she doesn’t share Aili’s sentiment. A fairy? Really? In this place?

“Yes. And I bring you a gift. Now stay right here.” And just like that, the fairy vanishes. Into thin air! Leaving Serahlin and Aili stunned into silence in a small alcove in the hallway.

“I found her! Down the hall there, keep to the left,” Anaris says, reappearing on Adannar’s shoulder. A thrill runs through Adannar. She’s found! He runs down the hall Anaris indicated, needing to confirm with his own eyes that she is alright.

He keeps to the left, Anaris murmurs she’s in an alcove, he turns -

Serahlin.

She is as beautiful as the day she ran. Her hair is pulled up into a bun that is slowly coming undone and her dress is low and revealing in the Elvhenan style rather than her Elethari dress.

Her expression hardens and she steps in front of the elven woman she had been holding onto, “Step back! I won’t warn you again!” She hisses.

Oh right! He yanks his helmet off, golden hair slipping down his back and around his face. Serahlin stops, a wondrous expression replacing all hostility.

“Adannar?” She whispers in shock.

He cannot hold back the loving smile he has for her. He had been so worried and here she is, relatively unharmed.

“I’m here to get you out,” he says quickly because if he doesn’t say anything he fears he’ll take her into his arms and kiss her. And he cannot kiss her, that time has passed for them.

She chuckles low in her throat, “You’re behind the attack?”

“Actually my friend is, I hear you met him. Des? And it’s not real, just an illusion. But we have to get moving now.” He takes her hand and once more he resists the temptation to pull her into a hug.

“Not to interrupt - but what is going on?” The elven woman asks and Serahlin turns to her, still beaming as joyous relief flows through her.

“Aili, this is Adannar. Adannar, this is Aili - she is Sylaise’s adopted daughter slash captive. She’s coming with us.” Aili, she’s small and cute, but the magic inside of her is barely held back flame, curling within her. It shows in her hair. Something about it is so familiar but he can’t think about that now.

“Very well. She can come as long as we leave now.” He takes Serahlin’s hand again attempting to guide her back to the drain when Aili grows visibly upset.

“We can’t leave without Uthvir! Serahlin, remember? Uthvir, trapped down there? If we leave, they will have no one! I’m not leaving without them!” For such a small woman, Aili stands firm in place. Adannar’s heart goes out to her but -

“Adannar, she’s right. Uthvir’s a dragon, we can’t just leave them here,” Serahlin says and his attention quickly snaps to that.

“A dragon?” He asks, tone turning grave. A dragon is being held captive here? How - nevermind, he doesn’t want to know how this dragon was captured or...kept. The thought is so horrifying to him that it’s best not to dwell.

Serahlin nods slowly, “I wouldn’t believe it myself, but I met them when Andruil threw me in with them to scare me. Their magic is being kept suppressed. They’re chained in the dungeon. We can’t leave them here.”

Uncommon fury blasts through Adannar and he feels his eyes flash to their natural state. Aili gasps.

“You’re...you’re one too?” She breathes.

“Yes. Anaris -

“Ah, this was not part of the original agreement,” the fairy replies. Some part of Adannar, the primitive, draconic part that holds flesh memories and instincts wants to bite him. For a fairy, that would be fatal and would defeat his purpose. He takes a long steadying breath.

“For each person you help me rescue you may have one piece from my hoard with the previous aforementioned conditions. Deal?” He offers.

“No. It will apply to Aili, but this Uthvir...rescuing a dragon is no small task.” Do not kill him, do not.

Adannar grinds his teeth, “Then what do you want?”

“I want something built,” he answers immediately, likely sensing the razor edge Adannar is teetering on. He is not a violent dragon, he abhors violence, but there are few things that enrage him like the abuse and subjugation of his fellow dragons. It also did not escape his notice that Andruil threw Serahlin into the dungeon.

There are moments when he can understand the violence his fellows have been driven to.

“Excuse me, selfish creature, but your demands are foul,” Serahlin hisses, “you have absolutely no regard for life. Do you not realize the implications of Andruil having a dragon, hm? What power she has enslaved? How easily could she turn this dragon’s power against you and your people? And how long do think it is before she attempts to capture fairies? You need nothing built, what you need is to show to these people is that they cannot continue to capture and subjugate the magical people of this world. You will help Adannar, not because you are getting some ridiculous item out of it, but because it is the right thing to do, or so help you, you will suffer the consequences.”

He falls in love with her a bit more with those words, and his heart swells with incredible pride.

Anaris sneers at her, “You will regret those words, princess. You do not understand the fey.”

“And you do not understand me when I say that Andruil needs to be checked lest you all die. That is your payment - your life.” He cannot kiss her right now for that, it would completely undermine her and her ground, but oh does he want to kiss her. Standing up to a fairy even though knowing nothing about them and why they strike bargains. And to threaten him - yes, it’s not advisable, but her bravery is stunning and wonderful, even if it is rash.

“She is right, Anaris. How long would it be until Andruil sets her eyes upon the fair folk?” Adannar asks, which serves to only deepen his scowl.

“They’re looking for power - you have magic, right? That’s why we’re here,” Aili says suddenly, “they’re looking for magical power that they don’t have to break curses or something. Uthvir’s magic couldn’t break them, ours couldn’t either...she’ll come looking for you and your people next.”

“I don’t have people,” Anaris glowers, “but I see your point. Those of us who wander would be...susceptible, if she learned how to capture us.”

“She captured a dragon,” Serahlin deadpans, “I think the odds of her figuring out how to capture a fairy are pretty good. Do this and you put her focus back on the dragons rather than the fairies.”

He realizes that this is how she was at court and that what Vena said was true. She was good at it. She is fierce and stalwart with her words and position. Even while in a position that makes her reliant upon him and Anaris, she stands tall and demands concessions in the best interest for someone who cannot advocate for themselves.

Anaris curses, “Very well. I will aid in the release of Uthvir - but I still get three pieces from the hoard with the pre-existing caveat.”

“Deal,” Adannar says, and holds his finger out for Anaris to clasp it. With the magical deal struck, Adannar turns to Vena.

“Take the ladies to the drain and get them out of here. I will take care of this Uthvir with Anaris.” Vena nods and strides forward.

“Alright, ladies -

“Vena?! How did you get involved in this?” Aili exclaims only to quickly wave her hands, “nevermind, you’ll explain later. And wait, wait - I’m going with you. Uthvir is my friend.”

Adannar shakes his head, “I can’t be worrying about you if I’m going to do this. Rescuing one of my kind is tricky. Please, go with Vena, get to the forest.”

“We can trust him, Aili,” Serahlin says and his heart soars. She...trusts him? Even after everything?

Aili gives Adannar a hard look, “Fine. But you better get them out.”

He smiles, “I will.”

“We have to cut this short, I hear guards,” Vena says.

“There is a door that opens up in the courtyard. Andruil first used it to get Uthvir into the dungeon. One of the guards has the key. Uthvir is also chained in chains that suppress their magic,” Serahlin explains quickly as she is pulled along with Vena down the hall.

“Go! I will see you in the forest!” Adannar says as Vena ushers the ladies down the hall to the washroom. Serahlin gives Adannar a backward glance full of emotion. Soon, they’ll talk again soon. But right now, he has a fellow dragon to save.

A sewer. They came in through a sewer. That explained their stench, at least. Vena helps her and Aili through the drain, somehow trudging through the disgusting sewage for what feels like forever until finally they reach the end of the drain.

The water and...other things on her dress weigh it down. Not to be slowed, Serahlin takes the outer layer off, leaving her in the shift and corset. She throws the dress into a pile of sewage, glad to be rid of it.

Just past the drain are two large mechanical harts. She smiles, his creatures now welcome reminders of the safety of the wood.

Aili yelps and keeps behind Vena, “What are those?”

“They’re mechanical harts. Adannar built them. It’s what he does - create life from the lifeless,” Serahlin explains softly, walking to one of the harts. She reaches a hand out and the hart leans its head down for her to pet it. What a marvelous creature. It’s a bit amazing to think that not so long ago she’d be terrified of it, but now she runs her hand along its smooth snout, marveling at its movements and size.

“We’re riding them to safety,” Vena states and Aili scowls.

“We’re going to help, if we ride around that way, we’ll be at the courtyard,” Aili argues.

“Precisely,” Serahlin replies, “we’ll clear the courtyard out for them. Adannar will need space to take flight.”

Vena sighs, “You’ve spent how long imprisoned here? Don’t you want to get away? Adannar can take of himself - he’s a dragon.”

“I’m perfectly aware of what he is, but I also know what is here, and I’m not going to allow it to prevent him and Uthvir from escaping. You can run if you want, but I’m going to fight.” Serahlin swings a leg over over the hart, “After all, I was one of the best riders in Eletharan. Coming Aili?”

“Yeah!” She rushes over to Serahlin’s hart, hopping on behind Serahlin. Aili pulls her hair forward and wraps it a couple of times around herself, still keeping her arms free. Vena gives a long suffering sigh but doesn’t argue as he mounts his hart.

“The courtyard is this way, we’ll need to wait for the right moment to ambush the guards.” Serahlin can’t help but grin as Vena starts to lead them around the castle.

“This is a bad idea, you don’t even have weapons,” Vana mumbles.

“Oh? I can move things with my mind.”

“And I can apparently start fires!” Aili announces proudly.

Vena’s shoulders slump, “Of course you have magic. Everyone has magic now.”

Anaris is furious, Adannar can tell. He’ll make it up to the fairy later, but right now there are bigger things to take care of. This Uthvir needs to be rescued. They must be young to have been captured and held against their will. Really young. He can only think of one time in a dragon’s life where they would be so susceptible to this - right after first formation. When the body is young and the former spirit is still growing accustomed to the constraints of a body. Normally, other dragons would guard the newly formed to ensure something like this wouldn’t happen, but this is no longer possible. Any gathering of dragons is seen as suspicious and likely to garner more attention. Now it’s safer to simply let the dragon form and hope it doesn’t garner dangerous attention.

Moreover, Adannar has not heard of an Uthvir. He hasn’t made contact with many of his former friends in quite some time, but he thought he would at least know when a new dragon formed. No matter, he will get Uthvir out and somewhere safe so they can fully come into their draconic glory.

If Adannar goes off of the assumption they were newly formed when they were captured, then they will not have many abilities to help themselves through this rescue. They’ve likely never shifted into elven form and he will need to get them to do exactly that if they have any hope of making it out. They will be too much of a target in their dragon form, and while Adannar has abilities to keep himself safe, not to mention an older and thickened hide that can absorb many blows from typical weapons, Uthvir does not. As an elf, Uthvir will be easier to protect, he can just stand over them like a mother hen standing over her chicks.

Anaris pouts on his shoulder as they make their way through the castle. Who knew finding a dungeon would actually be difficult? It’s been so long since he’s been in an elven castle, and the last time he was in one, he never even thought about the dungeon. He was in the banquet hall, laughing and drinking ale as a guest of honor.

“I’ve had enough of running around,” Anaris says, voice clipped. He leaps off Adannar’s shoulder and disappears for several moments.

“Anaris?” Adannar whispers after the moments stretch into minutes. “Anaris!”

“I’m here,” he states, reappearing on Adannar’s shoulder, “with the location of the dungeon. Turn right.” Adannar follows Anaris’s directions until they look around a corner to see two guards stationed outside a large wooden door. Anaris murmurs something in the fairy language and guards promptly collapse. Adannar rushes forward and searches them for a key to the dungeon. Found, he opens the door and sets down the stairs.

Darkness envelops them, but Adannar and Anaris’s eyes quickly adjust to the lowlight. Everything turns to a grey as their pupils dilate, and their noses wrinkle at the nearly overwhelming stench of the dungeon. Has his fellow dragon had to suffer for long in this horrid place? Disgust and fury flow through Adannar unlike they have before, even during the war.

The dungeon is thankfully larger than what he feared. The ceilings are tall, though not as tall as he would like. In his dragon form, he would have to keep his head low to fit, and even then his horns would likely scrape against the ceiling.

Finding the cell with Uthvir is not difficult. The entire dungeon is built around the large, central cell where an immense shadowed figure is lurking. The figure does not move even when Adannar runs up to the bars.

“Are you Uthvir?” He calls.

A growl emanates from the shadow and chains rattle as they move. Red eyes turn to Adannar as they approach the bars, sniffing the air.

“What are you?” They ask, no pretense. His heart breaks for them to not recognize him as one of their own.

“I’m a dragon like you,” he tells them softly, “and I am here to help. First, you must stand back.” Uthvir growls but does as he requests, stepping back from the bars as Adannar allows his magic to spill from him. He controls it just enough to ensure that when he assumes his true form he does not smash himself into the ceiling or any other supports.

The guard’s uniform he’s wearing shatters under the magic as he swells with his magic. Wings and tail and horns spring from him and soon he is on all fours, ramming his well horned head into the bars. As magically reinforced they are, they are not even comparable to the might of a nearly thousand year old dragon.

Uthvir steps away from him though and he can smell the twinges of their fear. And it is then that he sees them more clearly. They are small for a dragon, much smaller than Adannar, and nearly covered in feathers save for the scales of their forearms, belly, and neck. Said feathers ruffles as they shift back and he catches sight of their wings -

It takes all the effort in him to not roar with consuming rage that sets through him at the sight of the mangled flesh of their wings. Their shoulders are lashed, largely plucked to reveal the horrendous abuse that has been heaped upon them.

He can be furious later, right now, he needs them to trust him. That won’t happen if he continues to project anger at them. So Adannar reigns it in as quickly as he can. Uthvir deserves kindness and compassion right now, not righteous fury. The fury can come later.

“No need to worry,” he reassures, “Aili sent me. She is your friend, yes? I can take you to her and away from this place.”

They regard him carefully before shifting and giving a curt nod, “I will accept your help.”

“Excellent! Let’s start on these chains, hmm?” He lays a front claw on the chains, sensing the mystical enforcement. With a surge of righteous magic, fueled in no small part by offense and fury, he snaps the chain with its enchantment. Except it does more than just snap - it disintegrates.

His magic must have...grown since the last time he used it like this.

Uthvir gasps and their magic, smaller and newer bubbles out from them.

That magic - oh. Oh.

“Sympathy?” He whispers and their heads whips around.

“Where do you know that name?” They hiss even as he is close to weeping, he cannot believe -

“Sympathy, it’s me, Adannar. I was a friend of Glory’s before...when you were still a spirit. We thought you died when - you became a dragon?” His voice is whisper soft, even like this, laced with awe and horror.

It’s been two hundred forty years since Glory was slain in battle, and the last time Adannar saw Sympathy was around that time and they had still been a spirit.

“I...do not…” they stammer, clearly struggling to find the memories.

“Sh, it’s alright. We’ll get you out. There will be time to discuss all of this. You go by Uthvir now?”

“I do not remember not being who I am,” they reply. Adannar resists growling. The enchantments meant to suppress magic all over this place must have created a block on their memories somehow since they were so heavily connected to magic.

“We need to get you out of here. You will need to turn into an elf, here let me help.” He shifts back into his elven form, naked, but uncaring. “Look at me, study my form and think about becoming like me. Let go of all the magic you have and let it fill you, then think about being an elf.” He has to coach them through it for several minutes, their form wavering more and more until shadows envelop them and their form shrinks down to that of a small elf, not that much bigger than Aili. Their hair is long and dark and their eyes even change from a bright red to a warm brown.

For a moment, he thinks it is like looking at a darker version of Glory. Their features share a fine beauty that few others have. But there are clear differences. Uthvir’s eyebrows are more arched, their chin more pointed, and their shoulders do not carry the same bold confidence Glory was known for.

They look down at themselves and quickly frown at their lack of clothes. Adannar summons his robe and wraps them up in it. It is far too long for them, but it will do for now.

“Not to ruin the moment, but we need to leave, now,” Anaris declares from his spot by the ruined bars to the cell. Adannar, now naked as a newborn babe, turns toward the rest of the dungeon just as three guards come into view.

Adannar is not cruel and he normally detests violence. He does not wish to kill these guards, so he draws upon his knowledge of metal and casts a spell he normally saves for his creations when they need to be still. Except the magic reacts differently here with the dungeon’s enchantments. The magic ricochets and instead of rooting them to the ground, the metal is magnetized. The guards yell as they suddenly collide into each other until they are stuck in an odd jumbled mess.

Well, it worked.

“Do any of you have a key to the gate?” He asks and they curse him for his “curse.” Fine. He’ll figure it out. He beckons Anaris and Uthvir to him then quickly makes his way through the dungeon.

Uthvir stumbles frequently, unaccustomed to their legs. They curse, stubbing and scraping their feet repeatedly until it slows them too much. Adannar turns, picks them up, much to their protests, and continues through the dungeon.

It’s huge. There are dozens cells and judging by all the scents, Andruil had certainly been busy, capturing all manner of beasts. The cells are empty now, but they have not been so for long. Finally they come to what looks to be a control room. Anaris dispatches the guards inside and a quick search of the bodies reveals that none of them have keys to the large gate above their heads.

Time to do this the obvious way, Adannar is done wasting time. He sets Uthvir down and has Anaris perch himself on their shoulder. Once his friends are at a safe distance, he transforms once more into his true form. Gathering as much strength as he can, Adannar launches himself up at the gate. He rams his body into the metal, willing it to open. On the fourth ram, the gate bursts open and he follows suit, launching himself upward with a powerful kick.

Adannars roars into the sky, steam spilling from his mouth as he directs it to the largest grouping of guards. They scream as their skin burn, cooking inside those metal suits of armor. He turns and swipes out at the guards closest to him. A few seem to rally, however as they charge at him .They go for his face, stupidly enough. He snaps his jaws and catches them in his teeth before he throws them across the courtyard.

“Climb up my tail,” he calls to Uthvir, who follows his direction and grabs hold of the spines in his tail. He hears them gasp and feels their fear when he hears a familiar sound -

“Behind you!” Serahlin calls as she runs her hart around him. Magic zings in the air and he hears several guards scream.

She’s telekinetic, he thinks for a split second before a guard with a very pokey pitchfork attempts to pierce his hide. Adannar flicks his arm, sending the guard sailing through the air. Uthvir resumes their ascent until they are nestled safely between his wings.

“Get out of here!” Adannar cries, worry bleeding from him as he leaps up to start fighting fully. As worried as he is, no guard comes close to Serahlin. She throws them, or their heads turn in sickening directions, and sometimes they even catch fire. When Adannar turns to handle another guard, Vena is there, lopping the heads off several as he rides ‘round Adannar.

“Fly! Go!” Serahlin yells back at him.

“Where is Uthvir?” Aili yells.

“I have them!” He decries before he feels them tense.

“Men! Form up!” A commanding woman’s voice echoes and he knows it’s Andruil. He can hear horse’s thunderous hoof-falls as she barrels for him. The fog parts enough for him to see her running straight at him, spear at the ready.

The obvious thing would be to breathe his steam at her - but she knows that and it would give her a second to throw the spear directly down his throat. It couldn’t kill him right away, but it would incapacitate him long enough for her to kill him. Or worse. So Adannar doesn’t do the obvious thing. Instead, he leaps up over Andruil, faster than a dragon his size would suggest.

The horse whinnies in alarm as Adannar lands on a courtyard wall. His claws dig into the stone and he hefts himself up the wall. The fear rolling off Uthvir is alarming as is his own heart rate, but he can’t think of that right now. He has to get away. As quick as he can be, take off will take effort. He has expended much magic already today, so he will need to run to get himself airborne.

He clears the courtyard wall and begins to run. It is not a pretty run and it takes all his willpower not to look behind him to make sure Serahlin and Aili leave the courtyard safely. Vena will get them out, he will, Adannar has to trust that, just as Aili is trusting him to get Uthvir out.

He forces his legs to move faster when he hears Andruil once more. She urges her horse to go faster just as he unfurls his wings and attempts to take flight. One beat, two. No go. Faster. He has to go faster.

“Any day now, Adannar!” Anaris calls. He’d answer if his lungs didn’t burn with the effort. There is a hill coming up, if he can just make it to that hill -

Andruil gains ground, enough that he knows that if she throws a spear, she could land it. There is a moment where he thinks perhaps she will wait until it will be a finishing blow, but then he hears the leather on her wrist snap with the effort.

Magic explodes around Adannar as the trickiest of magic emanates from Anaris. Luck. It’s power that cannot be expended frequently, luck strong enough to defy physics and intent.

The spear goes wide and misses Adannar by the tiniest of margins.

Andruil screams in anger and he hears her draw her sword instead. But it’s too late, he’s upon the hill. He spreads his wings and beats them when the earth dips, propelling himself into the air. Magic surrounds him and sends him higher, higher still -

“Dispel that which shrouds, bring what is mine down!” Andruil shouts and magic shoots out of her so accurate that no amount of luck can deter it. Uthvir screams as the spells sinks its claws into them, rending their elven form from them.

“Adannar! She’s turning them!” Anaris shouts as he tries to counter the magic - but he can’t. Once the transformation starts, it cannot be stopped. He is high enough that a fall could potentially kill or permanently cripple Uthvir. But their weight expands, dragging him down, down -

No. The sentiment rises in him so strongly, the Dreaming wavers around him.

He is not losing another dragon to Andruil. He is not losing Uthvir. Not again. He thought them lost after Glory, certain that Glory’s twin-spirit had died with them. He is not losing them when they are so close to being free from Andruil. She will not take this again. And he is not abandoning Serahlin.

“Hold on,” he growls. Uthvir digs their talons into Adannar’s hide but he hardly notices the pain as he forces the Dreaming to bend to him, to buoy him up, up, wings beating harder and faster. They strain with the extra effort, but they move and the Dreaming dare not disobey his will now.

His wings burn with the effort to keep them propped up in the air, but he will not waver. He refuses. Andruil has taken too much and she cannot have them! Not one more!

He calls the Dreaming to him with all that he was and is. With his nearly thousand years of draconic life compounded the six hundred years as a spirit before that. He expands his magic to pull on all the joys felt in the lands beneath him. That is his power, that is who he is. Joy. It is what will carry them.

A roar tears from him. The magic snaps and flows like a dam just broken. It sends him up into the clouds and out of Andruil’s sight. Distantly, he hears Anaris laugh and Uthvir rumble in astonishment.

“You did it! You actually did it!”

Some part of him is aware of the blood loss from Uthvir’s talons, but he cannot be distracted now as he sails over the western lands of Elvhenan. He knows he has crossed into the forest when a swirling mass of magic surrounds them. It tickles his scales and brushes along Uthvir’s feathers. He could land, but he isn’t far enough, it’s not home. He needs safety, he needs - he knows what he needs.

He adjusts his wings to catch a magical thermal then banks to the left.

“Where is he taking us?!” Uthvir shouts.

“His home!” Anaris replies.

Home indeed.

The thermal boosts his speed so that instead of hours, it is only a single hour before they are flying over the mountain range. He lowers himself in preparation to land. How he will land well, he has no idea. Uthvir is throwing his weight off and he can feel his muscles protesting even as he forces them to carry the weight.

It takes another hour to cross the mountains, and then almost another entire hour before they make it to the waterfall. He feels its pull, calling him home.

Reluctantly, Adannar released the thermal and begins his descent proper. Trees bend and snap as he careens toward the pool of healing waters. So close, almost there, almost -

His wings give out just as he makes it to the pool. Him and Uthvir drop into the depths, sending a great geyser of water up in the air. The magic keeps it so that the water returns to the pool. It surrounds him and Uthvir, warming them, plugging wounds, stopping bleeding - soothing scars that almost send Adannar back into a rage when he catches sight of them.

The rage quickly dissipates when he realizes that they’re safe now and they can heal. They kick until their head breaches the surface of the water, but they make no move to get out of the pool. Adannar climbs out, dimly aware that he means to go back for Serahlin.

“Adannar, stop, it’s time to sleep,” Anaris chides.

“Serahlin?” He asks, collapsing on the ground, unable to move. All magic and strength has left him. He couldn’t go even if he had to.

“I saw her - Vena got her out with the help of the dryad. The wall of vines opened up and they escaped. It’s done, they’re all rescued.”

Oh. They did it. They really did.

“Thank you,” he says, or at least he thinks he says it.

Relief courses through him and the last of his energy finally sputters out. Adannar collapses, consciousness fading to black.

14 notes · View notes

scurvgirl · 5 years

Text

Goodbye Earl

Technically not a song in the Sabrina soundtrack, but it fits too well.

House Witch AU!

Selene, Des, Darevas, and Felasel belong to @selenelavellan

Thenvunin and Screecher belong to @feynites

Warnings for: Mentions of abuse, blood, violence, and death

“Selene, I don’t think it’s that bad,” Serahlin says into the phone as she assembles tomorrow’s dinner.

“There was one raven this morning, and I thought it was a coincidence. Now that the boys are home, there are three. They’re just...watching the house, with their black, beady eyes.” She can just picture Selene eyeing the ravens from the living room, pulling back the curtain to see a large black bird birched on the porch railing.

Serahlin sighs, “They are blessed, Selene, I am sure that comes with oddities such as flocking ravens. Perhaps this is a reward for freeing them of Haleir! You already have your magic, a blessing couldn’t take root in you, but your boys….” As much as Serahlin knows the boys are better off without their fathers, there are still bits and pieces of guilt that rack her. Ileth won’t receive closure with his father, but then again, she doesn’t think ever would have. And while it was certainly justified for both men to die, she still worries that they have done more harm than good.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Selene whispers so faint that Serahlin almost doesn’t hear it. Her brow furrows and she is about to ask what Selene means when Selene quickly excuses herself, “I have to go, their parent-teacher conference is in twenty and I still need to find suitable pants.”

“Good luck!” Serahlin says before the line clicks off. Really, she worries too much. She worries about the detectives (Templars), she worries about the blessings. Serahlin gets the paranoia in a way, Darris certainly instilled in her a level of constant observation that left her exhausted and immensely resentful, but she worries about Selene. The only place she lets the boys be without her is school. When the boys have a sleepover at Serahlin’s house, Selene comes too, which is not an issue at all with Serahlin - but what if the boys make mortal friends? She can’t just sleep over at some random mortal’s house.

Selene will heal and process things in her own time, Serahlin supposes. In the meanwhile, they’ll look after the boys and make their small coven as resilient as possible. Ideally covens range between eight and ten adult people, covens much bigger tend to run into issues. Being a coven with two can be risky since other covens could war, or other magical beings could prey on them. Still, it’s better than being a solitary witch.

Serahlin finishes prepping the casserole and pops it into the refrigerator. With that done, she starts making a new batch of candles. Selene could use some that are enchanted for both warding and serenity.

She is finishing up the incantation over the beeswax when -

CRASH! Glass shatters in the conservatory - only one room over from the playroom where Ileth is coloring!

Serahlin runs out of the kitchen, grabbing a knife and readying a spell in hand to cast out the intruder. It could be a witch or a Templar, or a malicious spirit -

It is the world’s ugliest bird, flapping and squawking about. No, not a bird - a familiar. She shifts the energy in her hand to an immobilization spell. Crossing her fingers she recites -

“Flap and caw no more, you are still, rooted to the floor.” She casts the energy to the familiar and all at once it ceases movement. After a moment it makes a bird noise that she can only guess is frustration.

“Risin!” She calls. Familiars can communicate with each other even if witches can’t exactly communicate directly with familiars that are not their own. Her familiar trots into the conservatory and jumps up next to the bird and begin to speak. Risin’s ears go back and he hisses before leaping back over to Serahlin.

“His name is Screecher. His witch is being held by The Dark One on the edge of town. Dark magicks are preventing him from reuniting with the witch.”

“And what is this witch’s name?” It’s not surprising by any stretch of the imagination that there are more witches in the area. But it is surprising that the familiar would come here for help - question is, did the familiar come on his own or did his witch send it?

“Who is this Dark One?” Familiars tend to have their own code for these sorts of things but the code isn’t readily translatable to witches much of the time. Risin growls and the bird, if that’s even what it is, makes a distressed warbling noise.

Ileth of course chooses that moment to walk in, “What’s going on, Memae?”

“I will explain later, right now you need to go to your room and light the special candle - can you do that?” To light the candle, he just needs to swipe his thumb over a little rune at the base of the candle. He nods and dashes out of the room and up the back staircase.

“The Dark One steals power and is hurting that one’s witch. He wants help.”

Stealing power? Serahlin hisses in a breath. A warlock, but so close to home? That is...that is not good.

“That is a very serious accusation, Risin.”

“The Dark One is serious.” A glow overtakes Risin’s eyes, turning a bright blue that sends a chill down Serahlin’s spine.

Warlocks are rare for good reason. One, it’s difficult to become one. Where a witch gains power through familiar, book, and coven, a warlock sublimates the need for a coven by acquiring the power from other witches. To be a fully realized warlock is to have at least one book dedicated to each of the gods, nine in total. The witches’ entirety of power is cast into the book, caging the witch, and then binding the witch and their power to the warlock.

When Darris had first trapped Serahlin in this marriage, she had worried she was his first victim, but he had only wanted her.

Second, witches who suspect other witches of becoming a warlock, or are leaning towards that path, said witch is often removed from society one way or another.

If a warlock has truly taken up residence in the town, he must be dealt with, and quickly. He is a threat to her, Selene, and their boys. She will need to confirm this information, though. To ready for a warlock on the assurance of a familiar she does not know is poor planning.

Serahlin steps to the bird and looks down at him, “We will go to this house tomorrow while my son is in school, and I will be back home in time for the parent teacher conference - I absolutely cannot miss that. If your witch is truly in trouble, I will do what I can to help. Agreed?” She looks over at Risin who watches the bird for a long moment.

“He is agreed.”

Serahlin waves off the paralysis spell and the bird promptly falls to the floor with an indignant squawk.

“If so much as squawk at my son, I will show you how good I am with the rotisserie,” she threatens. Screecher squawks but then makes a cooing noise.

“He gets it. He’s...a bit odd, I don’t understand much of his thoughts.” Risin follows Serahlin out of the conservatory and back into the kitchen. She has to restart with the candles, which is fine. If she’s going to fight a warlock, she is going to need very specific spelled candles to deal with him.

Screecher tries to preen Ileth before he heads to school. Risin says something about Screeching calling Ileth a hatchling, which she supposes makes sense. Risin referred to Ileth as kitten for awhile. Ileth laughs and pats Screecher on the head, calling him a good bird before she ushers him into the car. After dropping Ileth off at school, she calls Selene over and explains the situation.

“A warlock. Shit,” Selene says.

“My exact sentiments. But we need to confirm that he’s a warlock and not just a nefarious witch.” Hence why Serahlin had changed into a pink tweed suit to pose as an AVON saleswoman. She adjusts the pillbox hat on her head as Selene simmers the concealing potion on the stove. She adds a single lyrium salt crystal to the mixture, causing it to POOF into the air. Selene waves at the air, switches the heat off with the snap of her fingers and transfer the potion into an emptied hairspray bottle. She screws the top back onto the bottle and shakes it thoroughly.

“Twirl.” Serahlin does as she instructs and spins slowly while Selene sprays the potion all over her. It’s scentless and invisible and will completely disguise her magic to any other witch that she doesn’t have a blood pact with.

“How do I look?” Serahlin asks, striking a pose with her hands on her hips with her best sales smile. She is a vision of pink upscale stay-at-home mom who sells AVON while her husband is at The Office. Her stilettos are sharp and she’s got a couple of hidden knives on her, plus a recorder in her little cap.

The bird familiar informed Risin that his witch, a man by the name of Thenvunin, is a fan of nice lotions and perfumes. Serahlin raided her stash of samples from the salespeople who still liked to stop by because she bought a few lipsticks once. Each sample was then infused with magical nourishing serums Selene had the kindness to brew. Warlock or not, there is clearly something bad happening and it sounds like Thenvunin could use all the help he can get to break away.

“Perfect, like one of those snowballs you can buy at the store.” Just the look she was going for. She grabs a matching purse as they go through the plan.

“I’ll go in while you wait in the car, you should hear everything in the pin,” Serahlin flashes the small pin they enchanted to funnel all audio to Selene’s cuff earring. “I’ll set the case down and activate the spell to sense all types of magicks in the house. That should be enough.”

“What if he doesn’t let you in?” Selene asks and Serahlin purses her lips.

“Then I’ll have to somehow sneak in as a cat and place the spell to sense the magicks. It just needs to be planted and then six hours later - we have a full report of what kind of magic is in the house.” They could just break in like this, but it’s rude to break into a fellow witch’s home, even with a warlock on the loose. She also wants to speak with Thenvunin, see what the damage is and help him in any way she can.

They have spent most of the day preparing, and they only have an hour and half before she has to get over to the school for Ileth’s parent teacher conference. She can do this, in and out.

Selene takes a seat on the passenger side of Serahlin’s car. Screecher, Risin, and Des sit in the backseat and direct Serahlin to a neighborhood thirty minutes away. It’s a neighborhood full of those new construction houses with the beige colored brick and tacky front-facing garages. It’s devoid of character and the only prestige that comes with the houses are the gargantuan sizes. Serahlin’s home may be a spacious six bedroom, but at least it has some personality to it. These homes are just...plain.

She’s surprised that a witch chose to hole up in an area like this. They’re naturally drawn to more historical places that have character and time to attract spirits and other energies. For a moment, she worries that it is not a warlock or even a nefarious witch “imprisoning” Thenvunin, but a mortal with their mortal expectations.

Thenvunin’s house is one of the smaller builds, a more modest one-story with a long driveway and a stone path leading to the white front door. There is a bird house and bird bath out front and a wind chime hanging from another tree by the front door, but other than that, there isn’t much personality. Serahlin parks the car.

“What a stifling place to live,” Serahlin comments as she rights her cap and grabs her case.

“Remember, in and out. Set the absorber, and get out!” Selene reminds her as Serahlin steps out of the car.

“Screecher does not feel the Dark One’s presence. His car is absent - a rare event,” Risin mews from the backseat. Excellent, she would just bop in, place the absorber and speak a little with Thenvunin then bop right back out.

She heads up the stone walkway and rings the doorbell. A few moments later, the door cracks open.

“Hello?” A tall man asks. She can see the faint wisps of magic floating around him, dimmer and fewer in number than they ought to be. His hair is long and fair blonde, his eyes a lovely shade of green. He is a beautiful man, turned gaunt and weak.

“Hello! My name is Serah and I wanted to give you a few Avon samples!” She gives him a bright smile and tilts her head somewhat as the small enchantment spell she’d cast over her clothes begins to take effect.

“What sort of samples?” He asks and she displays the case.

“We just got new rejuvenating and hydrating lotions as well as some truly lovely perfumes.”

He hesitates for a moment before opening the door, “Come in, it’s been awhile since I purchased new products.” She follows him into the house, the door clicking shut behind her.

“Sometimes it is just so difficult to get to the store,” she says, keeping the bubbly personality charade, “I have a son and getting to the store with all of his activities and my life - well, it just doesn’t happen much. Oh what a lovely living room!” It is in fact, not a lovely living room. The drapes are dull, the couch is brown, and the carpet is a beige color trying to be white. This is not the home of a witch, this is a mortal’s home.

“Yes...I haven’t managed to get to a store in awhile. My name is Thenvunin by the way.”

“What a pleasure, Thenvunin,” she says, shaking his hand. His magic has been nearly drained, and what remains is the barest amount tied to Screecher. It certainly feels like the work of a warlock, but the house says mortal.

Serahlin sets the case down on the coffee table and pops it open. She takes out the lotion sample with the strongest concentration of serum.

“This is our best seller. It is super hydrating, rejuvenating, and smells wonderful.” She hands the bottle over to him and “knocks over” another sample bottle. “Oops!” She ducks under to grab the bottle with the small absorber bag. She attaches it to the underside of the coffee table and rises back up with the fallen bottle.

Thenvunin rubs a little of the lotion onto his hands and he sighs, “This feels heavenly.”

“That is wonderful to hear! Here is a catalogue to order it from at your own time. And now this is good for someone special in your life. Are you married, Mr. Thenvunin?” She asks, her voice saccharine sweet. Thenvunin’s eyes grow shadowed and his lips thin.

“I...was. I live with someone else now, and he’ll be back soon. I don’t think he would care for someone being here. Thank you for the catalogue, Miss Serah, but I must ask you to leave.” He ushers her out the door and locks it behind her.

Well then. She did what she could and ultimately fulfilled the mission. Still, she cannot help but feel there is something decidedly wrong happening here. He was married? Yet he lives with someone else. It’s all very curious.Witches have long mourning periods as is custom, and remarried witches are seldom heard of, except in cases like Serhlin's or Selene's.

Serahlin gets back into the car and pulls away from the curb.

“Well? What did you find?” Selene asks.

Serahlin purses her lips, “There could be a warlock. There is definitely something going on in that house.” Thenvunin's aura had definitely been dimmed similarly to Selene's when Haleir had her book. It stands to reason then that Thenvunin's book is definitely not in his rightful possession and control.

“The absorber should be finished by the time we get the boys to bed. Why don't I bring Ileth over after the conference and we can brainstorm.”

“Sounds good. I really hope it's not a warlock. The boys…” Selene trails off but Serahlin knows her worry. With the twins being so young and to apparently be blessed, they are exceptionally encticing targets, and with each day that that brings them close to their sixth birthday, the more enticing they become. As much as the sixth birthday is beloved and celebrated, it is also when a young witch is most vulnerable to the attacks of other witches. It is forbidden by common witch law to prey upon children, but warlocks have already forsaken witch law - there is no telling what they will or won't do.

“Whatever comes, we will handle. Our boys will be kept safe.” Serahlin tries to reassure Selene, but it's difficult when she holds similar worries for Illeth. He is only three weeks away from his birthday. Can they dispatch a warlock before then? If there is one...they will have to.

But now that she has fulfilled this part of the day, it is time to put on her mom hat and head over to the school for the parent-teacher conference. There is no time to change so she heads directly to the school. Selene thankfully understands and agrees to simply wait with the twins on the playground while Serahlin sits in with Mr. Paenir.

There is scarcely any time left when she pulls into the school’s parking lot. She barely has the mind to take off the pillbox hat before dashing into the school. Her hair is still pulled into a formal bun and her face is painted to sell makeup, so it is...more than she normally wears. For once, she feels the slightest bit self conscious as she walks through the halls as other wealthy mothers waiting for their own conferences to begin watch her.

She can feel the whispers as they take in her pink tweed glory. It’s too soon, they say, to be wearing such a bright color after her husband’s death. She should still be shrouded in black and it should be clear she is sad, but not so clear that her face is puffy.

Sometimes she quite loathes the rich’s social expectations and constraints.

The kindergarten hallway is bright and the walls are decorated with art and projects each of the classes have done. Ileth and the twins’ class is the last door on the right, surrounded by a large caterpillar created by construction paper and little stripes that have barely legible facts about caterpillars and butterflies on them. Ileth is sitting outside of the room with a few of the other students, coloring what looks to be a scene of playing puppies.

“Memae!” Ileth shouts when he sees her, scrambling to his feet to run over to her. She cannot help the smile that spreads across her face as she dips down and wraps her arms around him in a hug.

“There’s my baby! How was your day?” She kisses the top of his head before he begins to wriggle, eager to tell her everything.

“We went on a bug hunt!” He announces, “And I found the grasshopper!”

“You did? That’s wonderful! Okay, I’m going to go talk to Mr. P now, and then we’re going over to Darevas and Felasel’s house.”

“Is it a sleepover?” Ileth asks excitedly. Serahlin nods and he pumps his fist in the air.

“Yes!”

She laughs, any discomfort over the other mothers forgotten as she steps into the classroom.

She knocks on the door jam, making the young teacher jolt in his seat before lifting his head to her.

A wide smile lights up his face and he bustles out of his seat, “Mrs. Elethari! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Oh, I couldn’t miss this. Ileth’s education is a big priority.” She takes a seat in one of the small chairs at an equally small table. Mr. Paenir plops into the seat next to hers after grabbing a file off his desk.

He’s a tall man, handsome with his golden hair pulled into a loose bun and his button-up shirt’s sleeves folded up to his elbows, revealing shapely forearms.

She may be a widow, but she’s not dead. Besides, it wasn’t like her sex life was exactly active for the last few years. Darris may have been an ass, but she also had her ways of making sure he never turned into that. Such ways included being exceptionally good with knives, guns, and self-defense.

“That is great to hear! Ileth is doing well overall. He has made some really pretty things in art - and he’s getting better about coloring inside the lines.” He hands over several lovely pictures her son has made, along with little projects that have lots of cutouts and glitter sprinkled over everything. Her heart warms at them all and a proud smile spreads across her face as she flips through them. Mr. Paenir also shows her his work with writing, practicing letters and putting them together to form sight words.

“He’s doing great with the technical aspects of school - the projects and listening and reading - but I’ve noticed he has been a bit...down lately. He said his father recently passed away?” His voice turns soft and concerned. While he doesn’t know that Darris was horrendous person and she’s glad to be rid of him, the sympathy is appreciated, particularly as it applies to her son.

Serahlin plays the part, allowing her face to fall slightly and to perhaps feel a little sadness at the lack of a father figure in Ileth’s life.

“Thank you. It happened so suddenly. I’m doing the best I can to help ileth adjust, but...he’s just a baby still, really.” Her poor baby, feeling so down and sad about the loss. She supposes she hasn’t paid enough attention to it recently with everything that happened with Selene and the twins.

“Of course. I’ve brought him to the school counselor a few times. Have you thought about taking him to see a therapist? Just to help him work through all the emotions he must be feeling right now.” The man certainly is sweet, keeping his voice low and understanding even as he tells her thing she does not want to hear.

“I hadn’t but that is a good thought. I want to do everything I can to make sure he’s okay.”

“Of course!” He says, “and I am not saying you’re not, by no means - Ileth is a good kid and very bright. This is just something where a professional may help.” She agrees with him. It is something she will need to investigate. She can’t stand the thought that Ileth is hurting or confused or needs help and isn’t getting the support he needs. Perhaps she should suggest it to Selene as well. The boys may be better off, but that doesn’t mean they’re not confused or missing someone who has always been there.

Serahlin leaves the conference feeling concerned but also so proud of her young son. He is smart and clever and truly has been incredible in adapting to everything that has been thrown at him. Losing a parent is not easy, least of all for the young, even if the parent was awful. Perhaps it’s even more difficult, the guilt at feeling relieved that they’re gone.

Ileth skips over to her after she leaves the room, smiling brightly up at her. The light catches his multi-colored eyes and his hair has a shine to it that makes him look shrouded in moonlight.

“What did he say?”

“He said you are doing great! You are one smart kid.” She takes his hand and they start to walk down the hall to where Selene and the twins are playing.

The rest of the evening is spent in domestic bliss with the kids. Except for the part on getting the boys to eat their vegetables. For some reason, green beans are suddenly the most intolerable things in the world. Towards the end of the stand-off, Serahlin wonders if it is unethical to ensorcel your kids to eat their damn veggies. They eventually negotiate that each boy is to eat three green beans each, which is at least something.

Selene and Serahlin put the boys to bed in one room then return to the parlor to review whatever the absorber has revealed. Serahlin empties the bag connected to the absorber onto a small tray. The small bundles of herbs fall, sizzle, then catch fire - except the flames are black.

“Shit,” Selene says at the site of the black flames. Serahlin’s heart falls and a more intense worry blooms in its place.

There is definitely a warlock in Thenvunin’s home, and judging by Thenvunin’s low energy and demeanor - he’s not the warlock, but the victim, just as Screecher said.

“Now what do we do?” She asks, staring at the black smoke in despair. She wants to help Thenvunin, she does, but her and Selene have kids. But they can’t just stand by and do nothing, the longer the warlock drains Thenvunin, the powerful they become, and the greater threat they’ll pose to Serahlin, Selene, and the boys. It leaves them with one course of action.

They have to fight.

Serahlin and Selene stay up later into the wee hours of the morning, pouring over their Books of Spells as well as the libraries both Haleir and Darris had locked away. By the time they need to take the boys to school, they’ve formulated a plan.

They nap for a couple hours after dropping the boys off at school, then set to work. Serahlin grabs the shotgun out of Darris’s study and rolls the shells in a spell-bath of dispel and destroy. Selene made the mixture.

“Where did you learn to shoot a gun?” Selene asks while Serahlin cleans and loads the shotgun. She smiles and shrugs slightly.

“Memae always believed in knowing how to defend yourself in all manners of ways, not just magically.” She slides the shells into the barrel and closes it. With a little murmured spell over the barrel for accuracy, she feels like this not-so-little weapon is ready.

After setting the gun aside, Serahlin starts working on the silencer barrier. It’s an herb pack that will seal off any noises encircled within it.

The boys have an after-school program today, so they don’t need to worry about them until five. Around one, they’re finally prepared to go see Thenvunin and his warlock.

The SUV gets loaded with all sorts of magical equipment and they suit up themselves. Serahlin opts for some hefty work-out leggings, the new kind with the mesh pockets, and some good sneakers that give her arch support. Her hair goes up into a tight bun with lots of hairspray to prevent any of that unfortunate slippage always seen in movies. Sure, it looks good, but long hair can reduce visibility and she is taking no chances with a warlock.

Selene is dressed similarly, though there is a bigger sense of unease around her. On the way to Thenvunin’s, Serahlin takes Selene’s hand.

“It’s going to be okay.” She has to believe that.

Before long, they’re parked a block away. Des and Risin hop out with the noise barrier pouches. They’re to carry the herbs around the house so no unsuspecting mortal hears the goings on in that house. That horrible, horrible house.

Really, how did Thenvunin end up in this house anyways? Warlocks were once witches, their tastes veer towards closer to witches. But this house has mortal written all over it.

Perhaps...perhaps Thenvunin’s husband was mortal? It would certainly potentially weaken him, making him an excellent target for a warlock. Not all mortal partners are bad, Serahlin has heard of a few who were able to adapt to the life. But there is a danger to being with one - they can have expectations, inflexibilities that are incompatible with magical practices. When a witch stops practicing, they make themselves vulnerable, their magic slowly becoming more distant.

“Alright, I get him with the shotgun, which has enough magic poured into it to stun him, hopefully drain some magic from him. While I shoot him, you get out the potions to strip him further of magic. After the third bomb, we recite the banishing spell.” Serahlin reviews and Selene nods. It’s a guns blazing approach, which she’s torn on. They could try and sneak into the house, but that risks getting caught and split apart. They can’t afford that risk.

“Warlock black magic here, purify purify magic instill, so warlock may wither, warlock we kill. Three times should do, right?” Selene asks, going over the bombs in her pack. Serahlin nods, checking to make sure the shotgun is loaded properly. The pump-action has five shells before needing to be reloaded, so she will just need to be as accurate as she can. The tight confines of the house will help with that.

Just have to remember all the shooting practice Memae had me do.

They send the familiars off to create the sound barrier and to find the warlock’s familiar. That creature, whatever it may be needs to be waylaid to not interfere.

Everything in place, they leave the car and head over to Thenvunin’s house.

The shotgun’s glamored to look like she’s simply carrying a large scroll case and it lets her walk right up to Thenvunin’s door with Selene. Serahlin knocks on the door and waits.

It is not Thenvunin who opens the door, but a tall man with cruel eyes.

“Why, what do we have here?” He asks.

Serahlin does not hesitate to raise her hand, “Get thee away from me!” She flicks her wrist and he goes flying into the house, crashing into the coffee table.

“Quickly now!” She says, following him into the room, shifting the shotgun into her grip. Selene tosses a weakening bomb at the Warlock. Purple smoke explodes all over him even as he gathers energies to himself.

“Stalking?!” Thenvunin calls from somewhere else in the house.

“We are being attacked! Come to me!” The man calls.

“Stay away, Thenvunin!” Serahlin says before firing a round into the warlock’s arm.

“AH!” He screams but the shot doesn’t seem to otherwise phase him as he leaps from the smoke. Serahlin fires off another shot before he tackles her to the ground, snatching her gun away. Long, gnarled fingers closer around her neck as his facade falls away to reveal his new bestial nature.

Long, yellowed fangs bared from hissing mouth, cracked lips and saliva drip down. Serahlin struggles against his hold, remembering her self-defense. Aim for the eyes! Knee up to groin! But this creature does not respond like a man.

“Get off her!” Selene screams, “Go far, off of her!” Serahlin feels the tickle of magic but he counters it, sending Selene careening into the foyer.

“Selene!”

“Ah, Sylaise, I feel it on you,” he hisses, dragging claws down her throat, drawing blood. She screams, thrashing at the pain. Her magic! She can feel it being pulled! Even Ileth’s!

“NO!” She shoves at him, pulling at her magic to throw him, dispel him, weaken him - something! He forces her down, fingers encircling her throat.

“Stalking!” Thenvunin shouts again. She thinks he’s at the foot of the stairs? “What are you doing?!”

“They attacked our home!” He wails.

“He’s a warlock, Thenvunin! He’s been draining you!”

“SHUT UP!” The warlock, Stalking apparently, sends a bolt of magical pain through her body. A scream wrenches itself from her throat and she flails against it, against him.

“No…”

This was a bad idea. Selene knew it was bad idea to come here and challenge a warlock in his territory, but she also knew it was a worse idea to let him drain this Thenvunin and then come for her newly formed coven. Her babies.

When he countered her spell, throwing her back, she thinks she landed poorly on the console table. Her legs tingle and her head feels light. Her magic feels different too - while it used to lurk deep inside her, ready for her to harness, it feels like it is just underneath her skin, moving like her blood. Now, her magic seems to run along her skin. But it doesn’t quite feel like her own either.

She can feel the air - that warlock is trying to quickly drain Serahlin, he hasn’t harvested a witch dedicated to Sylaise. Or maybe he has and just likes the taste.

She blinks and everything seems to slow down -

There is Serahlin on the floor with the warlock on top of her. To Selene’s left is who she presumes is Thenvunin, white-blonde hair flying around him as he runs. There are dark circles under his eyes and he is skinny for his form, his clothes seeming to hang on him more than they should.

This warlock has taken much.

Her magic, now coursing so fast and strong, surrounds her back, sinking deep to the bones and nerves. The tingling disappears and she rises from her prone position. Why is everything so slow? There is so much magic in the air, it begins to color the actual room. Pink and white surround Serahlin, slowly being swallowed up by the festering mustard yellow of the warlock. It’s sickening.

But what can she do? She can’t throw an alchemical bomb without catching Serahlinin in the blast. And what will Thenvunin do? Will he come to the warlock’s aid? Does he even have enough strength to do anything?

Selene blinks and turns her head just enough to catch herself in a mirror across the room. Shock, and no small amount of horror, takes hold of her. Her hair is glowing white, the strands from her pony-tail waving with fictitious wind. But it’s her eyes that are the most startling - once green now glow bright blue.

“What is this?” She whispers.

Her magic swells as if in answer. Two other fonts are at the fore, moreso than her own magic and she knows - these magicks are her sons’. And she can use them.

The dark being she made a deal with comes back to mind as she pulls deep within herself, at the magic swirling around her now. The warlock dies now.

When she speaks, it is in a tongue older than even the old tongue they know. It is ancient and powerful and it sinks claws deep into the warlock’s form. She moves her hand back and he moves with the gesture.

Feeling the magic, his attention snaps to her.

“Dirthamen?”

“Shut up,” she says. Not the most eloquent, no, but she’s had enough of all this talk of Dirthamen and her babies. She has power enough to kill this asshole. So that’s what she does.

She commands the magic to sink deep inside of him, to loose all the magic he has stolen. He screams, writhing as she flails him from the inside out.

Loose all of your secrets,

Tell no more lies,

Return what you stole,

Then die.

The words fill her mind, power exploding from her as if shot through a cannon. The magic rips the warlock apart from the inside out, unraveling stolen magic, and tearing him into pieces in the process.

The warlock explodes in a flurry of light and magic, filling the room with a riot of colors that move in every which way. Time reverts to normal as do her eyes and hair. All the magic in her body seems to give way.

One moment it’s there, the next, gone. With her magic, go her legs, collapsing to the floor in a huff.

What. The. Fuck. Was that.

She is almost too scared or too pissed to dwell too much on it. The boys are blessed, the dark pact she made - it’s too much to think about and yet it seems imperative that she has to now.

Well, shit.

She can just hear Des’s I told you so.

“Wha - Selene!” Serahlin cries, crawling over to Selene. There are claw marks all over her neck, blood staining her shirt, but still she crawls to Selene to see how she is.

“Serahlin, you’re hurt.” Selene reaches into her fanny pack - an exceptionally convenient invention for witches everywhere - and pulls out an elfroot poultice. She pulls Serahlin down to sit, who is quick to go.

“What’s going on, I-I, what happened to Stalking?!” Thenvunin sputters, stumbling into the room. He gapes in horror at the dark mark covering the wall in a way that can only be described as an oversized splat. Selene glances over at him as she opens the poultice.

“Long story short, the man living with you was a warlock. Your familiar brought us to you to help. He was stealing your power, your very soul. We had to kill him.” She turns back to Serahlin and begins to apply generous amounts of the poultice to the slash marks. Serahlin hisses at the contact, even as Selene whispers little soothing spells. The wounds are mostly superficial, and the warlock thankfully missed the jugular.

“You’re wrong! He was helping me! Making me strong so I could - well that’s none of your business!” He shouts and Selene winces at the noise.

“Think, Thenvunin, did he ever actually make you feel stronger? Or did he just seem stronger?” Serahlin asks softly, wincing still..

He shakes his head, “You don’t know what was happening. You - you’re the Avon saleswoman!” He shouts, “You lied! You infiltrated my home!”

“He was a warlock. Here, I’ll show you.” Serahlin reaches under the now broken coffee table and reveals the small absorber she placed yesterday. She squeezes the bag and black smoke rises. “Did you not see how he turned into his true form when he attacked me? Witches do not do that. But you know that.”

He stares at the smoke for a long moment before a broken, warbling sound escapes him. He falls back against the wall, hand rising to his lips in horror.

“No,” he protests even as he begins to accept the truth. Selene’s heart hurts for him. She and Serahlin always knew their husbands were horrible, abusive monsters. But realizing the abuses heaped upon you suddenly like this?

“You’re free now. We will ask nothing of you,” Serahlin says, turning from Selene and the poultice to crawl over to Thenvunin.

“Why would anyone do this?” He whispers as Serahlin reaches him.

“Some people are just evil and awful, only interested in power,” Selene says as Serahlin takes his hand. He swallows and begins to cry.

“He...he said Seth died because I wasn’t strong enough and that he would make me stronger,” he whispers. Rage fills Selene and she almost wishes she could kill the warlock all over again.

“Was Seth your husband?” Serahlin asks softly. He nods and cries harder, burying his face into his hands.

“Oh, sweet Thenvunin, it wasn’t your fault!” Serahlin insists even though she does not know what caused this Seth to die. Serahlin had been convinced there was a mortal involved with Thenvunin somehow and this just may be it. The house is certainly an indicator with its monotonous look and lack of history.

“I could have warded his car or something, but he...he didn’t like magic,” Thenvunin continues, “I should have done it anyway.”

“That would have violated his desires. You did nothing wrong, you are not responsible for other people’s actions.”

And despite the turmoil now with him, Thenvunin looks better. Less sallow. The motes of light and magic around him are brighter, his aura is shifting from a pale, sickly yellow back to what she suspects is his normal purple.

“Warlocks are nearly impossible to defend against without a coven. I don’t sense any other witches, are you alone?” Selene asks softly and he nods,

“Seth wanted a normal life.”

Selene catches Serahlin’s frown, but it’s replaced with concern quickly enough. The more she hears about this Seth, the less Selene likes him. Everyone is taught the dangers of shacking up with the wrong mortal. There will always be more of them than witches and it does not take much to get a mortal to remember pitchforks and Templars after all. The thought makes her worry for the boys at the school, surrounded by mortals.

“Do you still have your book, or…?” Serahlin trails off but they can all finish the sentence - or did Stalking take that too?

Thenvunin shakes his head and curls away from them in embarrassment.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll find it. That’s what we do you know, we find books. My husband, may he rot, stole my book to force me to marry him. I had a baby with him, and after many years I found my book again.”

“And then she helped me find mine. My father bartered it away to my now dead husband as some sort of debt repayment,” Selene continues and Thenvunin peaks through his fingers.

“Really? You...lost your books too?”

“Yes. And it wasn’t our faults, just like it wasn’t yours. Abusers know how to take things and make it seem like you did it, but it was all them. It was always all them.” Serahlin smooths his hair down and Selene thinks that perhaps some tension in him has eased.

“I don’t know where he kept it,” he whispers.

“That’s okay. Screecher can help us too.”

“Screecher’s here?” He asks, interest piquing.

“Yes, we had him accompany our own familiars to keep Stalking’s at bay.” Selene waves her hand and summons Des. Serahlin follows suit for Risin. Soon enough the two cats accompanied by a bird of unknown origin arrive in the house. Screecher makes a loud noise and swoops down to Thenvunin.

“Screecher!” He exclaims while the bird preens and covers Thenvunin with his wings. Des mrows, running quickly to Selene himself. He rubs against her and begins to purr loudly - his own spell in a way. Familiars can calm their witches, one of the perks of being connected to so much of their magic.

“What happened? There was something, I felt it.”

“I’ll explain later, Des,” she whispers, running her hand through his soft fur.

Serahlin has no idea how Stalking suddenly just died, but she isn’t arguing with it either. One moment he was clawing at her neck, the next he was wrenched off her, exploding in a flurry of light and shadows. A foul stench now fills the space, and she feels filthy, and not just from being covered in blood. All she wants is to go home and take a long, hot shower.

She looks over at Thenvunin, who is being greeted by his very enthusiastic familiar. The poor thing needs more help than she could have predicted. He was harmed by both a mortal and by a warlock. The mortal must have weakened him by expectation of the “normal life” giving no thought that a normal life for a witch involves magic and ritual. It primed him for the warlock to come in. Isolated and vulnerable, he never stood a chance.

“We need to find your book, he likely has others’ books too,” she says wondering what happens to the witches who has already drained. It’s not ever something she thought she had to worry about before, warlocks were little more than stories told to children to warn them of the dangers of being alone in this world.

Thenvunin nods and slowly rises to his feet.

“He spent a lot of time in the shed,” he says and so they follow him outside to a small shed in the horribly overgrown unattended garden. Serahlin frowns at the amount of concrete off the back of the house. She is getting this man out of this depressing place as soon as she can. Either she’ll convince him to go home to his birth coven or...or maybe he’ll join Serahlin and Selene’s. They could use another member, and it’s not like they don’t have room in either of the houses for him. Serahlin would even be happy to help him find an appropriate house full of color and history with a proper garden.

The shed is locked when they reach it, the lingering effects of a locking spell. It opens easily with an unlocking charm, the locks sputters then gives out. The door swings open revealing more magicks. They cross the threshold to feel a sudden vertigo, the inside of the shed lightens and stretches before them to morph into a decadent hall with large stone pillars wrapped in ivy. The floor is marble and between the pillars are pedestals, nine in total, four of whom have books sitting atop them.

Thenvunin gasps at the reveal, turning around in disbelief.

“He was capable of creating a portal?” He whispers. Portals are higher level spells that typically require the focus and ability of a coven - but he was a warlock, and there are four books. Stalking was packing the power of four witches, plenty of power to create a long-standing portal if he wished.

They walk through the hall slowly, wary of any traps. But if there were, they’ve all died with his life force. If they’re all disabled, how did the portal still work? Perhaps the portal was tied more to the books themselves than to Stalking’s life force.

Thenvunin moves to a pedestal with a small book that resembles a popular romance novel from about ten years ago. He reaches for it -

“Thenvunin, wait!”

- he touches it. All around them the room begins to shake. The pillars begin to crack and large stone chunks fall from the ceiling.

“What?!” Thenvunin shouts.

“This entire place was tied to the books! Now that it’s reunited with you, it can’t sustain itself!” Serahlin shouts in turn, “we have to get out of here!”

“What about the other books?!” Selene yells and dammit. She’s right. They can’t just leave the books. Serahlin runs and grabs the one closest to her just as Selene grabs the one closest to her. The entire structure shudders and heaves. The pillars do not merely crack, but they begin to give way.

Thenvunin grabs the last book they all run towards the portal, only to find that it too has collapsed without the support of the books.

“Oh shit!” Selene yells.

Thinking fast, Serahlin places her hand on the mysterious book dedicated to June and pulls at the magic inside.

“Help me! Visualize Thenvunin’s foyer!” She calls as the floor begins to crack and groan as well. Selene curses but grabs hold of Serahlin’s arm. Thenvunin takes hold of the other and Serahlin inhales deeply.

“Portal open here to there,

Here we stand,

There we go,

We command,

From crumbling tomb

To Thenvunin’s front room!”

They scream as the magic burns from within them all, wrenching them from the collapsing hall through space to Thenvunin’s home. The magic claws into them and for a few confusing moment, Serahlin feels them both - the strengths, the weaknesses, the drugging weight of power, their power, bending to her spell.

Is this what Stalking felt all the time? Is this what it’s like to be a warlock? Addictive. But also horrifically overwhelming and terrifying.

All at once, the swirling mass of energies ceases. The world snaps into place as they arrive in Thenvunin’s foyer.

Serahlin drops the book, turns, and promptly vomits. Her head pounds with the sudden influx and subsequent lack of power. Dizzying, maddening, not right. Knees give out and she is vaguely aware of Selene calling her name.

She doesn’t know how long she stays on the floor, waiting for her hearing to return to normal, for her magic to make sense to her once more. She thinks Risin comes and curls up next to her, vibrating with warmth and focus. Yes, focus.

Bit by bit, her vision clears, her hearing returns, and her stomach ceases to roil.

Serahlin realizes that Selene’s hand is upon her back and she is whispering small healing spells all over her.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, still not quite able to sit up.

“Oh thank the gods,” Thenvunin says.

“Yes, thank the gods. Serahlin, how did you know you could do that?” Selene asks.

“I didn’t. I just knew I had to. Ileth can’t lose both of his parents.” Selene makes a noise of agreement as she takes in just how close they came to orphaning their boys.

When she sits back up, Thenvunin hands her a glass of water and offers her an aspirin. She snorts at the idea. Aspirin! For a witch! He blushes in embarrassment and fusses that it has benefits even to witches. He’s learned a lot from living a magic-less existence these last few years, after all. There are ways to cure ailments that do not involve magic or herbalism.

But he forgets that they’re not mortal. Their systems work differently, they’re meant to connect with magic in all ways - particularly for healing. She doesn’t remind him of this, though. Today has had enough in it without adding in an argument about such things. Instead, Selen takes away the aspirin, mentioning something about potential interactions between the elfroot and the aspirin.

When Serahlin can stand, she looks to the door, eager to get home to her son. Coming close to death makes her eager to be reassured that her baby is okay. Selene seems to be in agreement and they both move to leave, but Thenvunin remains in the foyer, staring at the ruined interior of his house.

“Come home with us, Thenvunin,” Serahlin says, “I have plenty of room and it looks like you could use some...distance from all this.” And to get him away from this awful house. She can still feel the oppression and the bad history.

Despite what they all just collectively went through, Thenvunin looks surprised,”You don’t even know me.”

She smiles and stifles a chuckle, “We know you well enough to brave a warlock for you.” He opens his mouth as if to argue then shuts it again.

“I suppose you’re right. Who knows what kind of maleficence Stalking put in the home.” Still, he looks sad enough that it makes Serahlin sigh.

“We’ll come back after we’re rested. This place needs a good exorcist style cleaning,” as evidence, the dark splotch where Stalking was starts to give off a slight stench that has everyone wrinkling their nose.

Thenvunin nods and heads upstairs to gather his things while Serahlin and Selene get the car.

“Are you sure about this?” Selene asks.

“We can’t just leave him out here. If it were me, or worse, if it was Ileth, I would want someone to help. Two people preyed upon him, first that mortal husband and then Stalking. What if it were Darevas or Felasel?” She asks in turn. Selene falls against the passenger seat, hand against her forehead.

“Shit. You’re right.”

“He can stay with me, there’s plenty of room to spare.” He can have the guest room that Selene has not claimed as her own when she’s over. And it’ll be good to have another man around for Ileth and the twins that isn’t an abusive asshole.

Back at the house, they help Thenvunin load his things, of which there are surprisingly few. They lock up and ward the house as an extra precaution. Thenvunin slides into the backseat and Screecher follows suit. Des and Risin sit in Selene’s lap, purring loudly.

All set, Serahlin pulls out of the driveway and sets the course for home.

If she were a betting person, she would bet their coven just gained a new partner.

#my writing #i got it done! yaaay!#i kept getting interrupted #house witch au #serahlin #selene lavellan #thenvunin #stalking #ileth #darevas #felasel #risin #des #screecher #fic #adannar #mr. paenir issss adannar yep

17 notes · View notes

scurvgirl · 5 years

Text

Bad Moon Rising

House Witch AU!

Black Magic Woman | Devil Woman | Wild Woman

Selene, Darevas, and Felasel belong to @selenelavellan

Thenvunin, Screecher, Sethtaren, and Stalking belong to @feynites

Warning: Emotional and psychological abuse mentions, nothing in too much details but general warning for some really shitty people.

Also, yes, all the titles of these are songs in the Sabrina playlist. :D

There is a formal ceremony that brings Selene and Serahlin’s households into a coven. It is not a long ceremony, just an exchanging of blood and words. They drink spiced wine - symbolic of the blood, and then they break bread together. Ileth, Darevas, and Felasel all join in, swearing to love and protect each other as coven bound brothers do. Ileth smiles and hugs, exclaiming that he’s never had brothers before.

The dinner is held in Serahlin’s backyard, not too far from Darris’s tree. The moon is a waning gibbous, but it still seems to have an effect on the moon-blessed. Selene sings a small song that tells of the beauty of coven-hood.

Darevas falls asleep in his chair under the moon. Felasel suggests letting him sleep outside among nature all night, so he can be close to it. If the suggestion had come from a mortal boy, one would think he wanted to play a cruel joke on his brother. But Felasel is a witch so his suggestion is sincere and kind - he wants his brother to experience the night as he does.

When a cloud begins to cover the moon, Ileth and Felasel both yawn and rub their eyes. Even a minor block in the moon’s light has a strong effect in their energy. Seeing it is time to retire, Selene and Serahlin take the boys inside to sleep. The boys insist in piling into the same room, or rather into the enormous pillow and blanket fort they made in Ileth’s room earlier. Serahlin chuckles as she kisses Ileth’s head.

“Good night, darling.”

Selene stays the night in a guest room.

Morning dawns rudely with a knock on the door.

It is all Serahlin can do to pull on a robe and head downstairs before the boys rouse from all the knocking. She cracks the door open to see two men in long trench coats and scowls.

“It’s awfully early for such calls, gentlemen,” Serahlin says, voice still husky from sleep.

“Are you Serahlin Elethari? I am Detective Stalton and this is Detective Crawford, can we come in? We have a few questions.”

Serahlin manages to maintain her smile even while panic begins to coil in her. Detectives, likely about Darris and perhaps even Haleir. She weighs her options. It is early, the children and Selene are asleep upstairs, she could reasonably send them away but that would only mean they would come back later. Or they may even bring her out of the house for questioning. Her power is here, and it would not be wise to separate from it.

“Detectives, well come on in, let me show you to the breakfast nook. I have a delightful batch of scones and my own brand of tea.” She opens the door wider and gestures them in. They take off their hats, but not their coats as they follow her into the kitchen.

Feigning warmth, she invites them to sit while she starts working on the tea. She makes sure to putter almost aimlessly so as to disguise the ingredients she is grabbing.

“Please let us keep our voices low, little children are sleeping.”

“Of course. This shouldn’t take long,” Detective Stalton says as Crawford takes out a notepad and pen.

“We got a call from one of your husband’s coworkers. Seems that he hasn’t shown up to work in over a month. In fact, your husband hasn’t been seen at all for a month,” Stalton continues. Serahlin’s frown wanes and she allows her expression to turn haunted and sad, pitiable even.

Serahlin pours tea into two cups while dropping into some suggestion elixir. Selene suspected that someone may show up asking questions, so she had stocked both her and Serahlin’s cupboards with a few potions to help with these situations. Serahlin stirs in some sugar to disguise the taste and brings the tea to the table.

“Officers, this is quite a painful subject, I…”

“We understand, Miss, but we need to investigate,” Crawford says. Stalton takes a sip of the tea.

Serahlin sighs and sinks dejectedly into the seat across from them, “Darris passed away. He had a heart attack after dinner about a month ago and he died.” The best lies are based in truth, and the elixir of suggestion works best when there is truth to work with. Serahlin can play the grieving widow if need be.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I had him buried as is tradition with my clan.” In the backyard, enchanted to become a tree.

Stalton looks like he isn’t believing it, even with the elixir, while Crawford seems happy to leave now. He closes the notepad and looks rather pleased with himself.

“He died, and you didn’t notify anyone? You didn’t take him to a hospital?”

“A hospital?” She asks softly, “when I came back in from the kitchen, he was just...there on the floor, dead. There was no heartbeat, no pulse, no breath. When that happens to someone, they are gone. There was nothing to be done.” She starts working up some tears for effect.

“No one knew -

“I informed our clan, his family, the bank - do I need to put it in the paper? For all to see?” She starts crying harder. “Some pain is private, Detective.”

Stalton looks conflicted and he sips more of the tea, good. “Miss, I do not mean to -

“Then what do you mean?” She asks, putting just the right amount of accusation to it.

Stalton sighs, “We are following up on a missing person. Do you have any concrete proof that he has passed?”

She briefly wonders if he asks the humans the same questions. No matter, “I have the death certificate. I will just get it for you.” She rises and goes into the office. In addition to the death certificate, she pulls out a small candle. Selene is good with potions, Serahlin is good with candles. The candle she procures is a candle of persuasion. She lights it and carries it in with her.

“Don’t mind me, I made fish two nights ago and I am still smelling it,” she says as she slips back into the kitchen. She plays at batting at the smoke when she is actually wafting it towards the men.

Listen to my words,

They speak truth,

It is all you heard.

She chants the spell three times in her head before setting the candle down and handing over the certificate.

“It’s notarized and everything.”

Stalton inspects the certificate, frowning, “This looks legitimate.”

“C’mon, Wylles, let the poor lady be. Her husband’s dead. You know how much my ma cried when my da died?” Crawford kindly beseeches, placing a hand on Stalton’s arm. Out of everything, that seems to affect Stalton the most.

“You are a kind soul, Monsieur Crawford,” Serahlin coos.

“Very well. Darris Elethari is deceased, we will notify his place of business. I suppose the bank is already taken care of… I hope you find peace, Miss Elethari.” Stalton rises from his seat and Serahlin escorts him back through the house to the front door.

“Thank you for understanding, Detective Stalton,” she says, holding the door open, “and please, call me Serahlin. Madame Serahlin.” She closes the door before he can say anything else. Her facade falls into a frown.

Stalton was entirely too resistant towards the elixir and the candle. Crawford was an ideal reaction to the magic, but Stalton…. Serahlin heads back into the kitchen and mixes up a powder between a few herbs. She pricks her finger and murmurs a few words over the mortar and pestle before grinding once more. Once finished, she sprinkles the dust over Stalton’s tea cup.

Where he drank turns pitch black.

She hisses and shrinks from the cup. Templar. Or at least, the descendant of one. He would of course be naturally resistant to her magic and suspicious of her. Dammit. This may be more complicated than she anticipated.

But it is no matter. It is handled for now. She has no regret in disposing of Darris and she is not going to start just because an unwitting Templar descendant came knocking on her door. She should warn Selene, however. Gods only know what sort of threat Stalton could pose to the boys.

“Who wants blueberries in their pancakes?” Serahlin asks and all three boys raise their hands high.

“I do! I do! I do!”

She chuckles and tosses the berries into the batter. When she went upstairs to speak to Selene about the potential trouble, she found the boys awake and already up to some mischief. She brought them downstairs instead, letting Selene sleep in for what may be the first time in a very long while.

Serahlin keeps the boys entertained for the morning with a mini-magic lesson. Since they’re all approaching the age of six, it is time they began to learn some rules about the power they will be receiving. They congregate in the sitting room with Serahlin’s book in the center of their circle.

“Magic, dear little ones, is all around us,” Serahlin begins, waving her hand so that all the candles light simultaneously.

“We know, Memae, we’re witches,” Ileth says and Serahlin nods.

“Yes, you are. And it is time to start understanding what that means, what is entails. You will be coming into your powers soon, and you need to be prepared.” Serahlin opens her book to the first page. The first section of each book is dedicated to the essential elements of witchcraft. Mortals would call them rules, but it’s not quite so simple. The elements are ever present, it’s not like they can broken like rules can be broken.

What most mortals fail to comprehend is that witchcraft is not inherently anything - the individual witch is what makes the craft beneficial or malevolent. And sometimes witches are neutral.

“The first element of witchcraft is freedom - freedom of choice, freedom to practice the type of magic that calls to you, freedom to be yourself, freedom from the black and white concepts of good and evil.” She tosses some pre-mixed Story Dust over the book to play out the story for freedom.

“Once, there was a witch. She was adopted into a mortal family that did not understand witchcraft. On her sixth birthday, her familiar arrived - a beautiful hare, the goddess Andruil’s blessed animal. With her familiar, came her powers, and with her powers came the ability to create. Potions, spells, and incredible spectres of beasts that did not even exist! For years, the witch hid in secret, knowing that should she be discovered, she would surely be killed. Because she was a wise witch and saw the blessing her familiar was, she dedicated all of her beastly spectres to her patron goddess Andruil. But eventually, she was discovered.

“On her eighteenth birthday, only twelve years after receiving her familiar, she was tied to a stake to be burned alive. Furious that her blessed witch was to be burned at the stake, Andruil bade all the beasts the witch had made to attack the mortals. The spectres tore through the mortals as the witch’s familiar freed the witch. Andruil had granted her freedom, and so the witch, Ghilan’nain dedicated herself to freedom - and to Andruil herself, but as an equal partner, and not a servant.” The boys look up at her with wide eyes as she tells the story with the little figures of spoke over the book. Ghilan’nain, the youngest of the gods, raised to be a goddess for her dedication and creativity and love for Andruil. It’s a good story, though Serahlin knows it is greatly simplified for the sake of teaching the children a small lesson.

Only witch scholars of the old lore know the true stories of Ghilan’nain and Andruil. Knowing what she knows of Andruil’s preferred practices and Ghilan’nain’s desires, she would rather not know the story herself, or for the impressionable young boys to know either.

“I didn’t know Ghilan’nain was a witch first!” Ileth says at last.

Serahlin nods, “She was, and she chose to become a goddess to be with her love, Andruil. With freedom comes choice. Witches must be free to choose their paths and destinies.” She could tell them that is why she killed Darris and helped kill Haleir, but it is not yet time for that. The boys will know when they’re older and they understand better.

She flips to a different page and pulls the book to her to hide what it says from the boys.

“Now, to complete the lesson, each one of you will complete a path of questions. Who would like to go first?”

Darevas shoots his hand up first, “I would!” Felasel and Ileth both seem content to let Darevas go first, so Serahlin turns to him.

“Place your hand on the book,” he does as he is told and the first question appears on the page. “Ah. Darevas Lavellan, you are walking along a path in the woods. Describe the woods you see in your head.”

Darevas hums for a second, “They’re nice woods! With big trees and lots of leaf piles to jump into!” Around them the room appears to shift. The smoke from the candles coalesce into presenting the woods that Darevas describes. He gapes at them as Serahlin continues.

“Very good,” Serahlin replies as the words on the page shift, “as you walk, you come across a small lake. A great stag, a boy deer with large antlers, is drinking from the lake. He lifts his head when he hears your footsteps. He opens his mouth and tells you something. What does he say?”

“He says...he says, um, he says ‘Jump in! The water’s great!’ so I run and jump into the lake!” The smoke around them shifts to a sudden blue. Felasel and Ileth shift with unease but Darevas laughs, his hair beginning to rise as if he is actually in the water. Serahlin swallows as the words on the page shift.

“Very good, Darevas. You chose a path of trustworthiness and optimism. This means you have a very pure heart.” The boy beams with happiness and continues to laugh as he moves his head, hair still acting as though he is under water. Well, at least they know which element he will favor when he comes into his own.

“Can I go next, Memae?” Ileth asks and she nods.

“Alright, touch the book, darling.” Ileth reaches forward and presses his hand to the book. The smoke clears and Darevas’s hair falls much to his disappointment. The words swirl on the page until it comes to a scenario for Ileth.

“You are walking through a forest. What time is it?” She begins.

“Um, midnight! And there’s a full moon.” The smoke around them turns dark except for the coil ahead, which turns a bright white to simulate the moonlight.

“Nicely done, Ileth. It is midnight with a full moon. You hear several creatures in the woods - what creatures do you hear?”

“Umm, I hear wolves, but nice wolves! They’re singing to the moon. And owls because owls are nocturnal too. And bats too because they eat at night too.” Creatures leap and bound from the smoke around them - bats, owls, and wolves.

“How do you feel?” Serahlin asks and Ileth smiles.

“A little scared, but that’s okay, the moon will protect me.” The smoke turns bright and Ileth’s hair glows for a moment. He giggles at the sensation and the words on the book shift.

“Well done, Ileth. You chose a path of passion and reason. This means you have a rare and beautiful heart of dual nature - just like your eyes.” She smiles at her truly wonderful and unique son. His eyes shines and his hair glows and she doesn’t see a single ounce of his father in him. It heartens her greatly, even as Felasel scoots forward.

“Excuse me? Is it my turn now?” He asks and she nods.

“Yes, of course, Felasel. Touch the book.” He does so and the smoke clears. Ileth’s hair ceases to glow and the words begin to appear across the page.

“You are in a library, Felasel. Who else is in the library?”

“No one else,” Felasel says. The smoke churns so that it coils more densely around Felasel specifically, obscuring his view of everyone else, including Serahlin.

“You walk along an aisle and pull out a book. What is the book about?”

“Magic! Secret spells!” Felasel says excitedly, eyes darting through the smoke.

Serahlin almost frowns. Most five year olds, mortal and witch alike, typically choose fantastic stories rather than books about spells. But perhaps he is simply excited to learn about magic.

“You are reading the book when you hear a noise. Someone has entered the library. Who is it?”

“It’s Mama.” Serahlin keeps a sigh of relief to herself, something about this line of questioning has her on edge, but his answer is reassuring.

“What do you do with the book?” She asks the final question and Felasel smiles.

“I check it out with Mama! I bring it home and read it.”

The smoke surrounds Felasel, imitating a book in his hands.

“Lovely, Felasel. You chose a path of quiet and knowledge. You have a studious spirit, a curious heart.” She closes the book and waves for the smoke to dissipate. Instead, the smoke turns black and swirls purposefully around Felasel.

Serahlin gasps in horror and starts chanting her dissolution spell to clear the air. She pushes the other boys away and attempts to bat the smoke away, reaching for Felasel.

“MAMA!” Darevas shouts as Serahlin manages to get ahold of Felasel.

“FOUL SPIRITS BE, FROM THIS PLACE FLEE!” Serahlin cries.

Pop!

The smoke expands then suddenly retracts; Felasel makes a startle cry even as the smoke disappears in a rush. In its place, a book rests in Felasel’s hands.

Heart thundering against her rib cage, Serahlin reaches over to the book. Felase’s eyes are wide but he is reluctant to hand it over.

Just then, Selene bounds down the stairs, eyes wild and hair loose.

“What happened?”

“Auntie Serahlin was telling us stories and the smoke!” Darevas says, running to her. She picks him up quickly, holding him to her, even as Felasel stares transfixed by the book.

“I was walking them through the first element of witchcraft, of freedom. I went through the choice exercise. After Felasel completed his, the smoke acted as if it had its own mind. It only just left, but it left this book in its place.” Serahlin explains as Felasel squirms in her hold. She lets go of him only when Selene takes a seat next to him.

“Can you show Mama, please?” She asks, holding a free hand out while Darevas watches from the safety over her other arm. Felasel seems reluctant to hand it over, but he does. Carefully, Selene sets Darevas down and opens the book.

It is the size of a child’s book, square and thing with a firm, iridescent black cover with what appears to be a white raven on the front. The front page is white with neat print that reads -

Before I Turn Six: A Little Witch’s Hand Guide

No author is listed, but on the next page, Selene hisses in a breath. In perfect, flowing script -

To Felasel and Darevas

A single black feather rests below their names. Selene picks it up and stares.

“It...can’t be,” Serahlin whispers.

“No,” Selene echoes.

“What? What?” Ileth asks.

“It’s...a blessing,” Serahlin says, even as Selene begins to despair, “from the god Dirthamen himself.”

When Thenvunin is nineteen, he meets Sethtaren. A beautiful, courageous, well-to-do mortal man who makes Thenvunin’s heart flutter. He is suave and powerful in ways Thenvunin was unused to. His mamae is a powerful witch in her own right and he himself is the heir to a powerful lineage of witches, but Sethtaren is mortal and his power is so different.

They marry before Thenvunin is twenty. Eloping to a far off town in between the Free Marches, Orlais, and Nevara. When they arrive in their new house, purchased with money Thenvunin had conjured for them, he tells Sethtaren the truth of what he is.

“A witch!” Sethtaren screams, grabbing a knife from the kitchen.

“I’m not bad! I just have magic, please Sethtaren!” Thenvunin pleads.

“How can I trust you?! You... you bewitched me!” Sethtaren accuses and Thenvunin quickly shakes his head.

“I’m not good at enchantment like that, please Seth, I love you and would never hurt you.”

“How do I know that?” He demands. Thenvunin can think of only one thing. He pulls his book of spells out from the built-ins in the dining room.

“This is my book of spells, as long as you hold it, I cannot harm you. I...am beholden to you, but I want to be. I love you, Seth, that’s why I married you.”

Sethtaren takes the book and Thenvunin does not see it for years. He lives his life as if mortal, practicing no magic. Seth travels and he works, and he comes home to make sure his husband is adhering to no magical practices. He saw Thenvunin lit a candle for Mythal one night and had nearly kicked him out on the street.

He is twenty-two when Sethtaren dies in a car accident. His love was so young, it doesn’t seem fair at all.

He is about to sell the house and return to his coven, heart broken and weary, when he meets Stalking. He’s also lost people and says it’s because he wasn’t a strong enough witch at the time and that he has since become stronger to prevent such things from happening.

Stalking tells Thenvunin he can help, that he can teach Thenvunin to become stronger so he doesn’t lose anyone else. And surely if he went home now, he won’t be strong enough for the coven to take back. He’d be a liability.

He hasn’t practiced in years, hasn’t observed. Stalking is...right.

At twenty-two and a half, Stalking moves in with Thenvunin, taking over the master bedroom for Thenvunin’s sake of course. Too many bad memories. He needs Thenvunin’s book too, because how else is he going to help Thenvunin become stronger without knowing him as intimately as his book does?

At twenty-four, Thenvunin rarely leaves the house. He mostly stays in his room and tries not to cry too much. The weepiness and tiredness has gotten worse lately and Stalking tsks his tongue over it.

“You won’t return to your coven at this rate, Thenvunin, try another spell,” he urges. So Thenvunin tries to light a candle with his mind. It flickers, sputters...and fails to light.

“I’m so tired,” he says, leaning against his headboard, almost feeling feverish.

“Try again, this time, truly focus on the candle.” Thenvunin does Stalking says but only manages to keep the candle lit for three seconds before it peters out.

He does not remember it being this difficult to cast. He was not the greatest at being a witch but he was not completely without his abilities. He was good with small charms, illusions, and incantations. The more difficult spells or complicated rituals were lost on him, but he was not by far an incompetent witch. At least, he didn’t think he was until Stalking arrived and asked him to do the bare minimum of tasks.

Stalking’s own magic is so great it is hard to grasp. Thenvunin is lucky, he knows, to have such a powerful witch taking him under his wing. Even if it is difficult at times.

An hour later, he is covered in sweat from exertions. Stalking is right, at this rate, Thenvunin will never be strong enough to return to his coven, if he even has a coven left to return to.

Screecher cannot get to Husband.

Dark One has Husband and has barricaded the Nest! Screecher cannot get to Husband! This is wrong. He does the squawkings and the flappings and even castings of a spell. But barricade holds and Screecher still cannot get to Husband.

But Screecher hears things. Other Familiars tells him things. They whisper of other witches who know what to do with people like Dark One. The Familiars whisper of death and wickedness. They also whisper of hatchlings. Husband loves hatchlings.

So Screecher flies! He flies fast to where the Familiars say to go! He will free Husband!

#house witch au #fic #my writing #serahlin #selene lavellan #felasel #darevas #ileth #thenvunin #stalking #screecher #sethtaren #things getting interesting now #fey when i read about stalking i wanted to stab him so bad #and you were right #about the increasingly worse abusers thing #stalking is a baddie

20 notes · View notes