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abutterflyscribbles · 2 years

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Changing of the Seasons Chapter 19: Reality

How long since I updated this? Well:

Previous chapters on Ao3

thanks to @whimsicalitywheee and @danaknowsitall for beta’ing

In the short time allowed her, Marianne had set to filling her tired head with all that she cared about, trying to fill up every last inch and leave no space for falsehood to take hold.

First she thought of her kingdom, her beloved Summer. It was easier to think of, for it was not the same as the complicated love she had for individual people. It was somehow easier to love. Not that it was easy, for a kingdom is full of complexities, but it was expected of her, it was approved of by the noble and common alike. The crowds of fairies and elves under the clear blue skies were hers to love and no one could deny her that. From the crowds making merry during a festival to the grumbling lines of petitioners who came to lay their complaints before the throne, they were all hers to cherish.

Once she had let the heat of Summer settle into her she turned her mind to her family, considering them in no particular order, and impressing specific memories clearer in her mind. Moments of intimacy, tight hugs, secrets shared, trust given. The cozy playroom. Her father's study. The faded touch of her mother. All of these and more she stacked up in her mind, one on top of the other, each memory a brick, and the emotions tied up in them the mortar.

There was one little hollow in Marianne's mind that was harder to fill. It was a black little place, burned down to cold ashes. There she had allowed nothing to grow, sowing salt into the ashes, and the creeping twists of thorns around the edges of that hole, those should not have been. It seemed that love, after all, was not something you could simply allow or forbid at will.

The thorns were sharp. They would hurt her if she held them too tightly. But there was no time for hesitation. She had not wanted these feelings, but they were true and she needed all the truth she could gather. For the kingdom, for her family, she gripped the thorns and bore the sting. She let them take root in the aching hollow she had burned into herself after the betrayals at the Summer ball.

It was going to hurt so much worse when, after everything was over, she would have to rip them out and leave a bleeding wound instead of a twisted scar of dead, numb tissue. Marianne knew that this love could only be allowed to live so long. Even if Autumn and Summer were united in perfect harmony there was little possibility of a king and a crown princess being able to pursue anything more than friendship. She could not let the roots of her feelings run deeper than was necessary for them to hold firm against this one trial.

All they had to do was fill this tiny place for one night. It only had to be real for one night. It only could be real for one night. In only minutes the Autumn King might be dead and Marianne enslaved. And no matter how the events of the night turned out, morning would see the end of their love. She could only hope that the feelings were not rooted so deeply as to resist being ripped back out. She could not even consider what it would be to live with these feelings hidden, never allowed to bloom in the open. Only one night, it could only be one night.

That was just how it had to be.

The night had been a twisted labyrinth that Marianne stumbled through in the dark. Nothing was right. Nothing fit like it should have. The Autumn King refused to remain in his assigned role as the villain of shadows. Roland would not restrict himself to the vain, empty-headed fool that Marianne preferred to see him as.

It had not been long since everything had been so simple. Marianne, newly turned eighteen years of age, danced at the Summer Ball with a charming soldier with a pleasing face and exemplary prospects. Now and then Marianne missed that young man. The man she had thought Roland was. The man she imagined at her side when she took the throne.

The Autumn King was not anything like that man. There was no way in which he was an appropriate suitor for the Summer Heir. There should not have even been a pathway between them that love could pass through. Somehow it had crept unbidden through her defenses and and taken root. Just deep enough to hurt when it was ripped out and no further, she hoped.

Marianne would go home and find another suitable young man with a pleasing face, suitable lineage, suitable temperament. There would be no obstacles. Maybe he would even be another soldier. Maybe he would be the man Roland was supposed to have been. Marianne's father would be happy and relieved. The kingdom would rejoice that their wild princess was showing signs of settling down.

The night would end soon and she would cut out the feelings that had served their purpose. She would find someone else. Someone like Roland. The idea was not as distasteful as it had once been. It was straightforward enough, truly. Roland had been by all appearances her perfect match, if he had not just been playing a part. It would be easy to let new feelings grow over her scars, hold the soft hand of a fairy, embrace someone whose body did not snag and prickle her skin. Walk through the endless days of Summer in that easy, warm love that would not hurt. It would not be so hard to give up this painful attachment to the Autumn King, formed in the suffocating dark and festering inside her like a neglected wound.

Yes. Someone like Roland.

Even, maybe . . . Roland himself.

What he had been to her before, couldn't he be again? She could look at his perfect smile and feel that warm glow of affection again. He had always looked just like the hero from a storybook. Gleaming and shining all over with nobility and charm. Perhaps he had made a few missteps, but he had made such valiant efforts to right his wrongs and never gave up his pursuit of Marianne, the woman he loved. This unwavering loyalty touched Marianne's heart and wrapped her in rosy warmth. Like the sun through her eyelids, all she had to do was open her eyes and it would be there, burning in the sky. Her feelings for the Autumn King were just an illusion in the dim light of her closed eyes. It would vanish in a blink. Then she could let the light fill that black hole inside her.

Roland, her Roland, would be restored. Everything would be right again.

All she had to do was cut the Autumn King out of her heart. She'd have to do that eventually anyway. Open her eyes and everything would be gone.

The Autumn King would be gone.

One blink.

Marianne wasn't sure how long that pair of gorgeous green eyes had been in front of her, but it made her realize her eyes were open and someone was embracing her. She was being held tight, the edges of armor pressing into her skin. She felt so incredibly loved. She almost relaxed into the embrace. Except it was cold. The armor was cold. The armor should have been warm.

No. That wasn't important. She'd given all that up. She'd found her way back to Roland and a love that was allowed and would last.

Oh, why couldn't it last? Those feelings that were covered with sharp edges but so solid and warm. Love that had been beaten back, cut, burned, only to survive it all and remain true. Marianne was so weary of trying to destroy it. She wanted to let it run riot in her heart. Even if she could never even hold Bog's hand again she wanted to keep that love. That love that she knew Bog had too. Oh, she wanted it to last!

The pink shimmer in front of those green eyes thinned. Marianne felt a soft smile fade from her face as she felt the crushing grip Roland held her in, forcing her to look into his eyes. Sound crashed around her. Roderick was still crying Adeline's name. The disgusting pink thoughts of Roland fell away in tatters, burning up in a flash of rage.

No more spun-sugar illusions. She wanted reality.

Roland's hold slackened when Marianne slammed her forehead into his face.

________________________________

Bog did not have the leisure to watch if the Summer Heir escaped the love potion's spell. First his eyes were drawn to the fairy nurse crumpling to the floor. Red painted her neck before she fell and her eyes were wide with shock. Not surprise, though. She had known what would happen when she revealed the conspirator's scheme. Her declaration that Winter sided with Autumn had sent a frisson of hope through Bog, but it was extinguished with the death of the courageous fairy.

Of Adeline.

Princess Dawn was straining to free herself, the unnatural fever momentarily cleared from her by the gravity of the situation, yelling, “Help her! Someone help her! Let me! I'll help her! Please, please!” The last 'please' was a heartbroken cry that the enemy paid no heed.

All pretense of civility had crumbled when the dark flow of blood poured down Adeline's neck. Roderick’s sister, who had carried out the execution, carelessly let Adeline drop to the floor, a tool discarded after its purpose was fulfilled. The crowd in the throne room was raging, a roiling mass of outrage riled up to a fevered pitch. Roderick's screams were so desperate and raw that it hurt to listen to them. It took five goblins to keep him from making another suicidal charge at the group around the shielded throne for the sake of avenging his companion.

Bog himself was little better. Staying on his knees in a pose of surrender made him feel as if they really had lost and all their planning would come to nothing. All they had was this incredible gamble. Every single element was a risk. The goblins siding with Autumn might turn against their king after they had seen him so meekly surrender and allow Adeline’s death to pass without loud outrage. It was a display of weakness that they might never forgive.

Head lowered, Bog could see Spruce's feet on the steps and her hand hovering above the scepter. The reaction to Adeline's declaration and death was obviously greater than she had anticipated and her surprise stilled her hand as it reached to grasp the symbol of her victory, the key to the entire network of amber, complete power over Autumn.

Bog ground his teeth together, restraining his rage, saving it for a more opportune moment, allowing only a hissed accusation. “None of my people were to be harmed. My surrender was supposed to buy their protection.” He needed to stop talking and let events play out, but the fairy was dead. The harmless little fairy who probably couldn't even have held a sword but was in a way as valiant as the Summer Heir.

“She was a fairy,” Spruce snorted.

Bog swallowed a comment about the company Spruce was keeping. He lowered his head until he could only barely see the movement of Spruce's hand. He twitched at the sparkle of pink that fell over the dais but he refused to look up. His forehead was nearly resting on the floor when he smelled burning.

The air was too full of noise for him to pick out any new ones, so when he looked up a great deal had already taken place. For what could only have been a few seconds, but felt like hours, Bog stared into Spruce's eyes. Smoke from her burning hand threaded around her face.

A sneering smile twisted Bog's face. “There are consequences for taking the scepter of Autumn. All but the wielder will suffer from the touch.”

“B-but the fairy--! The Summer fairy held it! You relinquished—you surrendered!” Spruce said in a dry, cracked voice, still grasping her burning victory. There was no fire but now the burning had spread up to Spruce's wrist, eagerly eating up the velveteen that covered her armor and making a choking stench.

“I surrendered,” Bog began to rise, “just not to you.”

Spruce gasped in a rattling breath. Her hand was twisted around the scepter, which still lay on the floor, her body bent over it. “T-the fairy?”

Spruce jerked her head around at the sudden sharp crack behind her.

Everything happened at once.

Marianne was standing free inside the barrier. Roland was on the ground, clutching his face. Roderick broke free from the goblins holding him back from a futile charge and he slammed into the side of the barrier with savage energy. The goblin holding Aura's cage suddenly toppled. In fact, several goblins were staggering and falling around the throne, inside the shield, and Bog had no idea why and no time to find out, his attention recaptured by Spruce who hissed, “Disgusting trickery!”

The edges of laughter that had plagued Bog at inopportune moments that night burst forth and Bog surrendered to the dry amusement, surprised to find he sounded very much like his father. For a moment it was as if his father was right there with him and the feeling heartened him greatly. “It only disgusts you because you could not see through it.”

___________________________________

There was so much screaming going on that Roland's shrieks of pain didn't really make much difference and Marianne disregarded them as soon as she was sure that he was not going to get in her way.

During Marianne's rosy interlude the guards holding Dawn and Sand had been knocked down and completely out. Needle-like slivers of metal were rammed into the necks of fallen guards, where the scales thinned under their ears and helmets left gaps. Not large enough and not set in deep enough to kill. In the midst of this heap of fallen enemies Sand was kneeling on the floor, hands on Adeline’s throat to try and stem the flow of blood.

“Sedatives,” Dawn held up a little pouch of leather with a few of the silver needles slotted into a folded ripple in the leather. “She slipped us all sedated needles she had in her bag. Marianne, she’s--”

“Hush!” Marianne crouched down and adjusted Sand’s hands the press the right places on Adeline’s throat. “Stay like that! Are you all unhurt?”

Roderick had thrown Adeline her medical bag just before the half-hour pause was declared. Marianne was surprised again at how clever Roderick could be when he wanted to. Rather, he was always clever and hid it cleverly. A quick search for weapons and the medical bag had been deemed harmless.

There was still screaming, too much screaming. Marianne cast around the room, looking desperately for something to grasp upon amidst the madness.

Spruce was writhing on the steps, her hand grasping the staff of Autumn. The staff glowed, bright and yellow, eating its way up to Spruce’s shoulder, but she could not—or would not—let it out of her grasp after it was finally hers.

Aura's prison was in the hands of Spruce's third daughter who was standing frozen, transfixed by the scene of chaos unfolding before her. Marianne left Dawn and Sand to do what they could for Adeline, brushing a hand across their shoulders and base of their wings as she dashed past them.

“I'll take that!” Marianne snatched at the ball of ice and spider-webs.

The goblin had just enough awareness to pull Aura away and swipe at Marianne.

Red tore in lines across the back of Marianne's hand and arm, but she just tucked her arms in and rammed her shoulder into the goblin. Something moved in her shoulder that shouldn't move and briefly she joined in with the screaming. It was worth the pain, because the prison was knocked free, the iron stick it was mounted on ringing on the floor.

“Pick me up! Pick me up, somebody!” Aura shrieked, glittering as she frantically darted around inside the trap. One of Spruce's people darted forward to grab the trap and Aura groaned in dismay, “No, not one of you!”

Bloody hands grabbed the iron stick and pulled Aura away from the goblin.

“This belongs to Boggy!” Dawn said, pulling it closer, “Not you!”

“Thank you, princess!” Bog called, taking his staff from Spruce's charred hand. Dawn giggled in delight at the object of her affections praising her. Bog caught up the scepter and thrust it into the air. A disorganized cheer from the goblins of Autumn mixed with the screams and shrieks of battle.

“I'll take that, sweetheart!” Roland made his own grab for Aura’s trap. He would have tripped over Adeline if Sand, from where he was kneeling on the floor, hadn’t shoved Roland’s knees, making him side-step. Face gory and furious, Roland reached out for Dawn.

____________________________________

Bog's staff banged on the floor and through the layers of dirt a circle of yellow light cut itself into the stone of the dais. A pulse of light and Roland was no longer inside the barrier facing Dawn, but was suddenly substituted with Roderick. Somewhere across the room Marianne could hear Roland shouting in confusion.

The throne room was etched with portals that everyone knew about and no one thought of. There were markings around the throne itself, put there for the binding ceremony, to bind Aura once more to the will of Autumn with the ascension of each new king. All of these were compromised like the rest but being forgotten in plain sight they held an advantage of surprise to the first to remember them. Maneuvering the enemy to letting him and the scepter close enough to access the etched portals while trying to remove the hostages from danger was a monumental risk. But Bog had looked at the Summer Heir and thought, she would do this. She would take this risk. Every person was important to her. He would be like her, if he could. He would be like the prince who set Aura free. They had called that prince weak but how could he have been weak when it was so hard and cost him so dearly? When it was something the strong heir of Summer would do.

“Finally!” Roderick roared, dropping to his knees next to Sand and pushing the prince aside, “Took that sad excuse for a king long enough to open the portals. Addy? Still awake, Addy?”

“G-Gwill--” Adeline gasped out, before her injury silenced her once more.

“I swear, Addy,” Roderick growled, placing his hand over her throat, “don't you dare ask me to take care of him like you're dying or something. As if you would even have to ask, I’m offended. And you're not going anywhere yet, my cute little fairy.”

Roderick's hand pressed against the wound on Adeline's throat, blood bubbling up between his fingers. “Just let me fix it, Addy, just let me fix it.” Blue light danced between his fingers. Adeline stared up at him with dull eyes and did not move. Roderick leaned closer and whispered, “Gwill is waiting for his mother.”

Roderick took a deep breath after he saw Addy give the weakest of nods, her eyes starting to glaze over. Roderick's left wings split with a noise like ripping fabric, blue light resting in sparks along the tears. Tears of pain dripped from his eyes but he didn't blink, focused on Adeline and her wound.

Adeline gasped and choked, sitting up and bending over, coughing up splatters of blood onto the dark floor, Roderick's hand dragging a bloody path around her neck as he held back her hair. The cut on her neck was gone, only a thin red line left in its place.

Roderick sighed. “I’m gonna need some stitches, Addy. Oh, hi, Bog.”

Bog had appeared in a pulse of light inside the barrier, blood splattered over his arms and chest. He stared at Adeline's healed throat and Roderick's mangled wing.

“What?” Roderick smirked, “Maybe I studied magic harder than I let on.”

Bog stared a moment longer. “That’s a relief,” he said.

More flashes of light were pulsing around the room and a disorganized battle was raging. At some point the number of invading fairies and goblins appeared to have tripled, and both sides were diving through portals to evade and attack, disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye.

“The circles of binding and unbinding,” Aura remarked, “Nicely done. Somebody managed to remember their lessons about them. Now one of you use them, quick, before--”

Spruce appeared and hooked her claws in the shoulder of Dawn's dress, pulling the princess and Aura out of the safety of the circle of shield of light around the dais, “Your network is compromised, don't you remember, boy? Your tricks are merely a delay, not a victory.”

“Let go of her!” the Summer Heir roared, stepping forward. The young Summer prince grabbed her hand to hold her back until she regained her senses and pulled herself back before Spruce was provoked into hurting her sister. Bog knew he ought to have done the same but he was barely holding himself back and he barely knew the younger princess. The Summer Heir must have been white-hot with fury behind eyes that had gone wide and dark.

“I'm getting so sick of being handed around like a bad penny!” Aura complained, “Somebody do something!”

“Give me my bag,” Adeline spat out another glob of red, looking up at the Summer Heir and prince with a blood-streaked face. Red coated her smooth throat and had soaked down the front of her dress, her hands bright with it. She looked, Bog thought, like a warrior.

“You might want to wash--” Sand said hesitantly, a little stupid in his confusion and shock as he handed her her medical bag.

“I don't really care about hygiene right now!” Adeline said roughly.

Adeline dug in her pack, pulling out another slick, waterproof pouch. From it she pulled a large needle, as long as her index finger. Picking it up gingerly with finger and thumb, she tossed back her blood-matted hair and turned her gaze to Spruce, towering behind the captive Dawn.

Adeline staggered but the silver needle flew true, flickering gold in the light of the portals as it left her hand. Roderick caught her before she could fall and held her close, murmuring indistinct words of praise.

The needle stabbed into Spruce's neck and she flinched at the sting, though she did not let go of Dawn. One burnt hand curled uselessly at her side, her other holding Dawn, she couldn't pull out the dart, only twist her head back and forth in the hopes of loosening the needle.

She wavered on her feet.

The waver released Bog and Marianne from their self-imposed restraints and they jumped at the opening. Marianne went low, grabbing her sister, while Bog slashed his staff at Spruce’s head and shoulders. Spruce made a sketchy movement to defend herself, but was far too slow and when Bog struck her a blow she was knocked to the floor and could not regain her footing as the two Summer princesses slipped out of reach.

“Tricks,” Spruce slurred, “The fairy held the staff . . . protections were gone . . .”

“I had permission,” the Summer Heir held her hands palm up, showing the delicate pattern of leaves Bog had painted on her skin in ink. The magic marks of authorization had become smeared sometime during the chaos and she would not dare touch the staff of Autumn now, but they had lasted long enough to do the job. It seemed a shame to see the patterns ruined, Bog thought, remembering with what care he had smoothed lines of ink over her callouses and how she wiggled when the leaves he painted onto her palms tickled her.

“Doesn't . . . matter,” Spruce shook her head, fingers clawing at her neck to locate and remove the needle, “You are . . . overrun. Spring is against you. Summer will be here soon looking for their royal brats and in no mood for explanations.”

“I can fix the network, I can fix it if you let me out!” Aura bounced off the inside of the trap, pounding her fists on the sphere that caged her, “I just need to be let out!”

Bog took the trap from the younger princess, patting her hand so she would not try to cling to him. Dawn beamed and Marianne chuckled.

“You swear, Aura? You’ve no reason to help and every reason to resent,” Bog demanded, knowing he sounded harsh but really feeling more concerned than anything else.

“You set me free, Autumn Prince, I owe you more than just this!” Aura said with great firmness.

A cold lump that had sat on his heart since he had seen Aura imprisoned again shifted to let him breathe a little easier. If Aura thought his gesture had not been in vain then it didn’t matter if all four kingdoms thought it was the futile action of a foolish boy king. He had freed her for grand reasons and he had freed her for small homely reasons. He had freed her, this bizarre little sprite, pixie, half-mad little creature, because she kept a lonely blue-eyed prince company and told him stories.

The sphere smelt of fresh leaves and flowers, for all it looked to be a thing of chilling frost. Jamming the metal spike into the floor, he reached to tease a strand of frost free of the net. The Summer Heir and Roderick turned to watch his back while the three fairies huddled behind the throne. A wave of goblins crashed upon the steps and a guard was formed without orders from the king, but from Stuff, who seemed to have been organizing when Bog wasn’t paying attention.

The ice burned the Autumn King’s fingertips. Something, some hex, had been woven in alongside the magic of imprisonment and binding. Something he could unravel, but only given enough time, and in the midst of a battle there was precious little time to be spared. He tried again, to work past the pain of the hex, but a head-on assault only increased the defenses and he knocked the prison aside when his numb hands dropped away from it.

Roderick turned and caught it.

In his right hand.

Roderick’s prosthesis dangled loosely on the stump of his right arm, the mechanisms broken in the fighting and his attack on the barrier Spruce had raised around the throne. Nevertheless a hand, not of metal but not of flesh either, held onto the trap. It was just that the hand was ghostly, transparently blue, and while the correct distance from Roderick’s body as it would be if it were on the end of an arm held out, it was not attached to a wrist and floated in the air independently. “Oh, nice.” Roderick said, looking almost as surprised as everyone else. “I can lend you a hand.”

“Oooh!” Aura was all appreciative giggles, “Can’t burn phantoms! Very nice.”

A wrist formed from the hand, then a forearm, connecting with the stump of Roderick’s solid arm, passing effortlessly through the broken prosthesis that should have been in the way. He gripped the trap’s stick and tore into the sphere with ghostly claws. “Usually this hurts,” he remarked, shaking strands off, “Having a hand, I mean. Hanging in there, Addy?”

Behind the throne Dawn was tying up Adeline’s matted hair while the fairy nurse, weak from blood loss, fought to keep from nodding off. “Gwill?” she mumbled.

“With Griselda,” Roderick reminded her. “Ah!”

The final strands of icy blue fell away and the iron stick fell too, Roderick’s hand vanishing as the webbed prison dissolved. Aura, larger but still not quite the length of Bog’s forearm, hung sparkling blue where the prison had just been, her face full of uncertainty.

The Autumn King offered a crooked a finger to Aura . “You’re free. I hope this time it remains so.” Aura touched Bog’s knuckle and let herself be pulled away from where she had been confined. Her face split into a delighted grin and she shrieked with laughter the joyful sound out of place amidst the roar of battle, snaps of blue light exploding around her like fireworks. “You’re a special one, Sky Eyes! I can’t even count the number of generations it took for Autumn royalty to produce someone like you.”

“Who’s she?” princess Dawn grabbed Bog by the arm, shooting a dagger-sharp look of jealously at Aura.

“My, my, hasn’t she got it bad!” Aura tittered, “She’s all over with impish magic, what a delight! What perfection! There’s barely two thoughts in her fluffy little head, lovely dear.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bog growled. The feeling of irritation was perfunctory, his attention was already pulled in too many directions for him to invest any in the minor annoyance of a bespelled fairy. Though he had certainly counted it of larger importance earlier in the night, but now at least ten other issues had pushed it down to nearly nothing for the time being.

“Mine!” Aura admitted blithely.

“I don’t think the barrier is going to hold much longer, so it’d be great if you, uh, got on that, please?” Roderick had retaken his position besides the Summer Heir, watching the rebels and fairies encircling their shelter.

“I can’t!” Aura said.

“You . . . can’t? Then what was the point of freeing you?!” Bog gaped, stunned.

“Don’t be so dense, boy, I’m holding this all together even without a contract and that’s a remarkable feat, I’ll have you know! I’m not able to exercise true control over the network of amber paths if I’m not bound to it, by agreement or force. You need to bind me.”

“Never!” the Autumn King gasped at the idea of enslaving Aura again.

“I like your answer, but you’ve got to do it and I’ll hope my luck holds out a third time when this is all settled!” She grabbed Bog’s finger and shook it with an urgency that was no part of her manic energy, her demands sincere. “You’ve shown me you’re worth trusting so I’m trusting you like I would never trust anyone else.”

“How? How did Spruce do it?” Bog asked.

“With Spring magic and by force. Wrong magic, no contract, only force. Even with Autumn it was once a contract of equal terms.” Aura shuddered, “I need a connection, I need a back way in, I need this little darling as a focus.” Aura flitted around Dawn’s head.

The Summer Heir swung around from where she had been keeping watch, her face full of challenge and murder. “Pardon me?”

“I’ll also need a lute, a flute, a—no, no, that’s my shopping list, sorry. I need the Autumn King, I need an untouched piece of amber, I need a medium with a nice squishy brain to ease me back into the amber paths, a master mentally similar enough for me to align with. All the traditional rituals take so much time and preparations, we’ll have to make fire by drilling a stick into a log.”

“I can help Boggy?” Dawn asked eagerly.

“No--!” Marianne began.

“I can help stop all this?” Dawn pointed out at the battlefield that had been a throne room. Marianne thought she saw the uncanny brightness of Dawn’s bewitched eyes dim and kept her planned remarks to herself. The Autumn King looked at Summer Heir, as if for permission to consider the idea. She rubbed the bruises and scars on her face and asked, “What do you mean by ‘untouched’ amber? We can’t use the scepter?”

Bog’s hand made an abortive little motion toward Marianne, and Marianne’s fingers twitched in response, longing to join hands, to reassure, to be reassured.

Aura flicked her fingers, “Overused, like a blade with too many nicks. One good whack in the wrong place and it’s shattered and the amber paths are flickering in and out at random forever after. We need new, we need fresh.”

“Why,” Roderick asked, “Would any of us be carrying a chunk of plain amber around with us? No paranoid idiot would be thinking that it might even possibly be necessary, I mean—”

“The pommel unscrews,” Bog said to Marianne, pointing at the hilt of her sword, the one he had gifted her as replacement for her own blade.

After a pause Roderick said, “Never mind me, then.”

Eyes blurry and fingers clumsy with fatigue, Marianne unscrewed the pommel and the round piece of metal fell into her hand in two halves along with a piece of amber that was nearly perfectly round. It was darker, a familiar shade, but she couldn’t place it, only observe that it was perfectly clear of imperfection. Her face glowed with heat when she glanced back at Bog with a question in her eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck, comically fidgety beneath the splatters of blood over his armor. “I didn’t have time to cast permissions on it.” He said. Aura crowed with laughter, utterly pleased.

“Oh.” Roderick said, “That’s nice. I don’t get it, but that’s nice.”

“What now?” Marianne screwed the pommel back onto her sword and tested the balance. She found the weight had changed but it remained balanced, whether by excellent craftsmanship or by spellcraft she didn’t have the concentration to ponder and hazard a guess as to which.

Aura tossed her head and patted down her fluttering hair, “Now, we make a contract.”

“How?”

“With the fruits of my fishing! What all my silly little imps of spells gathered up for me so nicely.”

Tired as she was Marianne could connect two dots. “You love potioned my sister on purpose?”

“Oh, I didn’t know what would happen. I just set a little chaos rolling before they got me. Impish magic is the best way to poke your way through straightforward enchantments, you know. To think in odd ways, in ways the spellcaster never thought to guard again, allow you to find thin spots and loose weaving where the ordinary mind wouldn’t. An ordinary mind will not and cannot account for the possibility of outright mad chaos throwing useless tactics along with the useful along with the pointless and so when one area is defended another is left vulnerable to the incessant attacks.

“And it worked! It brought me this little darling!” Aura concluded and gave Dawn a pat on the nose. “Her head all overworked with trying to think seriously when all she can think of is her sweetheart. A complete mess! Absolute chaos!”

“Which isn’t going to do her any lasting harm, yes?” Marianne said, her words so pointed she might as well have been armed with a second sword.

“Hm, well, she was hit with a very finely aged dose of love potion, very strong stuff, so it’s might be an eensy weensy difficult to snap her out of it.”

“Aura, this is not the time.” the Autumn King hissed, seeing that Marianne was about to twist the pixie’s tiny head off, “There is no time.”

_______________________________

The barrier was failing.

Aura had shifted the burden of holding the amber paths stable to Bog. Not a typically heavy task, but that was when the paths were stable by default and properly overseen. Now Bog had to hold the barrier around the throne in place while keeping any new portals from opening inside of it without his permission. The weight of the effort to maintain and forestall made Bog feel like his carapace was creaking beneath it. He had planted his staff and leaned on it, both hands gripping it and bowed head brushing it.

The barrier sounded like breaking glass when a crack zig-zagged across it.

The Summer Heir stood across from Bog and put her hands over his.

“Is this our second dance?” Bog asked, his thoughts out of order, remembering their one dance with him clutching his staff like a sprout would cling to a favorite toy for security.

“Not yet,” she said, “we’ll have that later.”

“Is that a threat? I haven’t danced since then, you know.”

“Not even to practice?”

“I, um,” Bog gripped the scepter tighter and clenched his teeth. It was so heavy and getting heavier with every passing second. “I actually . . . up until . . .”

“Everything went wrong?”

“That’s putting it in the mildest possible terms.”

“Same here.”

“Hm?”

“I haven’t danced either since things went wrong.”

Bog slumped a little more, too heavy to even shift his feet to brace himself better. Marianne held his hands tighter and that eased the weight somehow. Possibly it was only imagination on his part but he’d take help real or perceived regardless.

Another crack opened in the barrier.

“Aura!” Bog said from behind gritted teeth.

“This is really going rather well! Good on you for having that old ball of string!” Aura sounded chipper and it grated on Bog’s worn nerves. He had to admit that he was glad too that he’d saved the trap he’d found and unraveled in the room where they discovered Dawn drenched in the love potion. It was easier to bind things when you had ‘string’.

The string was now wrapped around the unblemished piece of amber, which hovered between Aura’s outstretched hands, shimmering with yellow and blue magic. Two strands stretched to Dawn, wound around her wrists while she held her hands over Aura’s. The princess flashed smiles at Bog which he did his best to return. It was the least he could do for her.

A final strand of blue magic was attached to the ring finger of Bog’s right hand, completing all the necessary connections. Dawn would be a focus and conduit for both Aura and Bog, bridging the gap between the order of Bog and the network and the chaos of Aura’s mind and magic.

It was hard to see through the craze of cracks all over the barrier and more were screeching their way across all the time.

Something was pounding through the network. Through the rifts Spruce had forced into it, crumbling the walls. Spruce was still unconscious inside the barrier, but someone on her side was still trying to take control. They were not strong but they were persistent and their persistence was wearing Bog down.

Bog dropped to one knee, gasping.

“Bog!” Marianne tried to help him up. It was useless, he was too heavy.

“If it all comes falling down . . .” Bog felt his limbs trembling from the effort of staying half-way upright, “Marianne, you all need to run.”

Marianne took his hands again and didn’t bother to say anything like, “You too!” or “We’re not leaving you behind!”, because she knew they didn’t have that luxury. They each had their own responsibilities to see through.

His other leg folded.

He hoped it was the floor and not his knee that crunched so unpleasantly.

“I’ll do what I have to do.” The Summer Heir whispered.

“I know you will.” said the Autumn King.

“Even though I don’t want to,” Marianne said in an even softer whisper.

“Thank you,” said Bog, looking up into eyes the same color as the amber Aura was enchanting.

#strange magic #spread the lofe #butterfly bog #gwill and fam #changing of the seasons #fanfic #my fanfic #chapter #fiery warrior princess #the bog king #aura #the sugar plum fairy #sparkle princess

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darkkitty1208 · 2 years

Text

Of Magic and Love

Before we start, I just want to give a *huge* thank you to the wonderful, lovely, and talented @artylu, who made an amazing illustration of Stephen in this AU.

Chapter 4: There Was No Other Way

The following morning proceeded similarly to the last. Chattering outside his chamber, hot bath, same robes and ridiculous belts, and then a walk to the throne room. Stephen loathed every second of it.

Ever since yesterday, a lingering headache had made itself present on Stephen’s head, not disappearing no matter how many times he tried to massage it away. A heavy feeling of dread had also decided to settle in his throat, growing into some sort of lump that made it hard for him to gulp down. The very thought of meeting those people again made him sick to the stomach, and he sighed, trying to get his jumble of anxiety in control.

As he was walking down the hallways, the double doors of the throne room's entrance just out of reach, a swipe of green entered his sight, and it took him a moment to realise it was Prince Mordo.

"Your royal highness," Mordo bowed, which Stephen acknowledged with a nod.

Great, what now?

Stephen tried not to show his irritation at the sudden appearance of the man, but he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes in suspicion. What does he want?

As the man straightened up, a smile, one that felt different than yesterday's, appeared on his lips. Stephen raised his brow at that, then saw the man grab something from inside his pocket. Mordo fumbled for a moment, digging and searching for something that took long enough to make Stephen feel tempted to just walk away and ignore the man, before he revealed the item, holding it up before Stephen’s eyes.

And the sight made Stephen nearly choke.

It was a silk veil, his silk veil, from the night at the lake with Tony. Stephen stared, wide-eyed, heart beating louder in his chest as his mind swirled in panic.

Had he left it behind? Had the man seen him with Anthony? Does he know about their relationship?

A thousand thoughts piled in his mind, each one adding to his anxiety and making his panic rise. He could hear his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears, his breathing picking up even as he tried to calm himself down. But through the piles of thoughts currently running in his head, one in particular stood out the most.

It was all his fault. He shouldn't have taken his veil off in the first place. He was too reckless.

But none of it mattered then, not anymore anyway.

As Mordo lowered his hands, he said, "Yes, I saw it all."

He let Stephen take his veil back.

"I should say I'm surprised, I wouldn't have thought the… grand and respectable prince of Kamar Taj would fall for… a lowly peasant." Stephen nudged the cloak to stop it from straddling the man and causing a scene, even if he wanted to punch him straight on the face.

"Say, what would the Sorceress Supreme think of this?" He asked, and Stephen was really beginning to consider that punch. He settled for balling his hands into fists instead, giving him a glare. The man smirked at his response.

"But well, of course, if… today ended well," he shrugged, or looked like it, "I wouldn't be doing such a thing." Stephen's jaw clicked, his fists tightening in anger.

"The choice is all yours, Prince Strange." And then he walked away.

The implications of his words made Stephen nearly gag in disgust. He shouldn't be afraid, shouldn't fall for such a thing, but the very thought of all the discrimination Anthony would receive when their relationship was revealed to the Ancient One, and then, predictably, to the public, wasn't a thought he could bear. He couldn't possibly be selfish enough to risk that just to preserve his sense of dignity.

What choice did he have?

As he went to the throne room, gulping, he scanned towards the crowd, palms sweating, taking deep breaths.

I'm doing this to protect you, Anthony, was the last thought he had before he announced that he had made his decision to take Mordo as his companion to everyone present in the room. The crowd looked at each other in confusion, not expecting the prince to already have a choice in mind. Mordo, though, stood proud and tall amongst the people around him, and Stephen felt that urge to punch him come right back at full force. The cloak, sensing his irritation, tried to comfort him by tightening one of its lapels over his wrist.

Looking to the side, he realised The Ancient One was giving him a look. The look. The same look from their conversation that night, one that made him shiver down to the bone, one he still couldn't decipher nor understand, one that intimidated him to the point where he had to take a moment to breathe. Instead, he paid it no mind, and swept his eyes back to meet Mordo's.

As the crowd left, earlier this time, – much to their annoyance, – muttering their complaints as they left the gate of the palace, the three of them were left in the room.

A moment passed as they took minute-glances at each other.

"Prince Mordo," the Ancient One said, looking at the man, "you've… chosen well, my prince." She said to Stephen.

"It is an honour, my royal highness. I am grateful you have seen the potential in me to help you lead this kingdom," Mordo said, feigning gratitude, "together."

Stephen didn't reply.

"When do you plan to have the wedding, then?" The Ancient One asked, still eyeing Stephen.

Mordo looked him in the eye, and Stephen wanted to slap away that look on his face. "The choice of our marriage will be all in your hands, my prince."

Stephen's lip twitched in disgust, but he scowled his face back and tried to look unaffected. He was suddenly glad it was mandatory for him to wear veils.

"Our marriage," he spat the word like it was poison, pausing for a moment in contemplation, "shall be within a fortnight." He decided.

Then he turned on his heels, not saying a word as he walked briskly away, ignoring the calls behind him. Slamming open the double doors of the throne room entrance, walking quickly through the hallways, up the stairs of his tower, and finally, finally, safe and alone in his chambers.

He locked himself there, not bothering to change into his sleep robes as he plopped down immediately on the mattress of his bed. Anthony was surely coming this evening, and his mind kept trying to come up with a way to explain what was happening. The voices in his head were swirling together into an incomprehensible jumble of sentences, one overlapping the other as every thought piled up, slowly tumbling down into near-whispers, frantic, loud, almost static.

Anthony, he found out about our relationship, we should end it.

Anthony, our relationship should stop because I don't want to get into trouble.

Anthony, I need us to stop hiding away our relationship.

Anthony, this is for the best.

Anthony, someone found out about us.

Anthony, I'm going to get married.

Anthony, I really had no choice.

Anthony, I don't want to let you go.

Anthony, I'm trying.

Anthony, please forgive me.

Anthony.

I'm doing this to protect you.

The voices stopped right then.

I'm doing this to protect you, it echoed again.

I will protect you.

He threw the blankets over his head, tucking himself into the pillows and trying to fall into slumber.

He ended up ignoring the knocks on the balcony that night, choosing instead to fall into uneasy sleep.

There was no other way.

Tag list: @tommarixo @janora00 @bekah1218

(if you want to be removed or added to the list, feel free to tell me!)

Also on AO3

#of magic and love #ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #my fic #fanfic #prompt fill #royalty au #my writing

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