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mxgicthot · 3 years

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Second Chances | Erden & Muriel

After getting promoted as Lucio's righthand, Erden goes to confront The Scourge to resolve things. They needed to talk things over, and it's not going to be pleasant.

Cw: Language, Violence, mentions of blood

Word count : 1.5 k

He was going to confront him. It's been years since they saw each other, face to face. Of course Muriel wasn't ready to be friends again, not so soon after everything that had happened. Erden sought to resolve things, to find some way to make himself and Muriel close again, or at the very least allies. They had to talk things over, and that wasn't going to be pleasant.

A door opens on the right side of the gate, and a guard steps out, " Be careful with this one, he's in a bad mood tonight" he warned

"I know what I'm doing," Erden replied, and continued to walk into the gloomy hallway.

The windowless dark and damp place, with iron bars that closed the only way out. There was no source of light other than the torch lit outside of the bars, and so was the key slot. He peeked from outside the metal bars of the cell The Scourge was in as he pushed his torch inside the bars to get a better look at its occupant. The hulking shadowy figure in the far corner of the cell. He was laying on his bed, back turned, his hands were stretched out behind him and he was looking upwards, whether his eyes were closed or opened, Erden could not tell.

He took a step back and squinted as he stared at the door's keyhole. Plucking the key ring from his belt, he looked at his keys one by one until he found the right key and pushed it in, turning it with a slight flick of his hand.

"Muriel" he swallowed

The man before him wasn't the boy he remembered. Muriel's once silky hair hung lank and unkempt around his face. His green eyes were tired and expressionless. He knew Muriel had always been big, even when they were boys. This man, however, seemed even larger.

He heard a low grumble come from the corner of the sell "You finally decided to show your face"

"I tried before, but they wouldn’t let me" Erden sighed

"Why are you here Erden?"

"I needed to see you Muri... I wanted to say that -"

"Then speak" he snapped

"I never intended to hurt you Muriel, I did what I did to survive. It seemed like the only choice …" Erden paused for a moment trying to think of the right words to say. "I am truly sorry."

"You're sorry?! You abandoned me when we were kids and I never even knew you were alive until I heard you joined the coliseum! And now you tell me you're sorry?! I pitied you at first, but the more I think about everything, the more I resent you!"

Erden didn't try to hide the hurt that he currently felt. Just as he'd thought, nothing was resolved. Muriel hated him. This was going to be a long conversation.

"Would you like to know what happened after I left? "

"I don't care what your reasons were, but tell me if you must." he grumbled

Erden closed his eyes sorrowfully, preparing to tell the story. He looked at his friend intensely.

" I stayed with the orphans for a while, things were good for us. We always had plenty of food, eventually the gang split up. I was on my own for a while, hustling, trying to find new ways to make fast money and then well… let's just say things didn't work out as I planned, so here I am."

"And now you live in the palace, alive and well. Playing Lucio's guard dog" Muriel said dryly

"It comes with its perks" he shrugged "When you find an opportunity you take it… you don't run and hide like a coward"

Erden turned to face Muriel, who punched him square in the face. Erden stumbled back, and gave him a lopsided grin.

"I thought you might do that. I suppose I deserved it - "

Muriel kicked him in the stomach before throwing a second punch. "You were like my brother! And you abandoned me"

A trickle of blood escaped his nose, and Erden doubled over; he wiped it with his hand, smearing it on his cheek rather than wiping it away.

"I never abandoned you! I asked you to come with me, and you made your choice," Erden said quietly. The Scourge neatly moved away from Erden's sloppy attempt at a hit back.

"Fuck you. Those kids were complete assholes to me. " he said, and smashed his elbow over Erden's head as he tried to get back up.

"I did what I did to survive" Erden said, picking his head up to look at Muriel "and so did you! "

"You choose to be with them over ME!" Muriel spat. He knocked him off balance, Erden fell and landed flat on the ground. The Scourge stopped and let him get up.

When Erden charged at him, Muriel simply stepped to the side, and twisted around in time to grab his fist before he could deliver a blow onto his face, and twisted his hand, Erden's grunted in pain.

He released Erden's hand only after using his knee to jab him in the stomach. Erden staggered backwards, and Muriel kicked him in the shins, and he fell again.

"Get up and fight me, you fucking coward" The Scourge said, in a dangerously icy tone.

"Oh I'm a coward? You chose to run away with your new little friend" 'Erden threw a punch in Muriel's direction, hitting him on the jaw. Muriel managed to punch him back, cracking Erden's nose. Muriel hit him again, this time in the chest, he staggered backwards, and Muriel lent over to punch him in the jaw, twice.

Erden fell again, this time his cry was in pain. The Scourge drove his foot into his ribs twice, before stopping.

"Get up." he growled at Erden, who groaned on the floor.

"I didn't come here to fight you'' He said, as Muriel stared menacingly at him.

"I told you to get up."

Erden looked at the Scourge with desperate eyes. Muriel stared back at him, then drove his foot into Erden's stomach. "What part of 'get up' don't you understand?" He shouted, grabbing Erden by the back of the shirt and dragging him up to look him in the face. "You are still the same selfish bastard. You'll never change!" He shouted, before throwing him aside

Erden, by some miracle managed to get to his feet, only for the Scourge to punch him in the face and send him sprawling back to the ground, grazing his cheek on the cold stone. Muriel rubbed his fist with his other hand.

"Get up." He said

Erden groans "I told you I don't want to fight you."

Muriel stomps on Erden's hand, and Erden hears his fingers cracking. "Get up!" he yelled, as Erden struggled to his feet. He doesn't even try to stop The Scourge knocking him to the ground with a knee to the genitals. After waiting almost a whole minute, The Scourge started again.

He grabbed Erden by the shirt front and punched him in the face, one more time. He threw him to the ground and stood up. "Get up." He said, again. Erden physically couldn't and Muriel knew this.

The Scourge grabbed him by the shirt front and pulled him up so they were face to face. "Did you care about me? About my feelings?'' he shouted

"If I didn't care then I wouldn't be here, idiot!" Erden spat

"I swear if I ever see you again, I will ruin you. Do you understand me?" Muriel said, clenching his fists as a few tears formed in his eyes.

"You could never hate me, even if you wanted to… and you know that" Erden said quietly

Muriel dropped him on the ground with a thud. Erden was right, he could neve hate him, no matter how much he wanted to. They came from the same place, or at least that's what he was told. Whether he liked it or not Erden was the closest thing he had to home. Both men stood there in silence, trying to catch their breath. It seemed like ages until Muriel finally spoke.

"I still don't understand why. You were a kind, decent kid who always had my back. And somehow... you took to the cruelty of that gang so easily while I couldn't stand it, then you became so different. So different that you were willing to leave me. I'll never know why you welcomed that change."

I'll tell you why..." Erden whispered standing up slowly, dusting himself off and spitting out the blood that collected in his mouth. "I did it so I could SAVE us!"

Muriel was taken aback by the burst of emotion.

"You may not agree with my beliefs," Erden said softly. "But I hope you realise that everything I did was for a very good reason. Do you believe me now, when I say I'm sorry?" Erden hesitated

"Yes..." Muriel replied plainly " I know what you mean… "

Erden gave him a small nod. This was certainly a start. "I'll be back later, to check on you...I won't give up on you that easily… not again"

Erden turned away, slowly shutting the Scourge's cell door closed.

#Argh this took me forever to write. I'm so indecisive #This has so much feels I'm so sorry #I just wanted Erden to get beat up a little #oc : erden #muriel of the kokhuri

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rufousnmacska · 6 years

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Goodbye and Hello - 5

Manon and Dorian said goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is only a matter of time.

fanfic master list (includes the link to my fics on AO3)

Previous chapters:

Part One: I Wish…

Part Two: Another Day

Part Three: Those Two Words

Part Four: Breakfast in Bed

Part Five: Waiting

Squeezed up against the wall, Dorian tried to get out of the way as the rukhin poured from the dining hall. Breakfast was the one meal he and Manon did not join them for, and it was the one meal for which they filled the hall, eating as a single, enormous group.

Some of the larger wyverns were going to attempt the crossing today and the air was thick with excitement. The chosen riders came out last, beaming with pride as they strode by him. Each one gave him a solemn nod in greeting.

After the hall emptied, Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying not to think about how little time they had left here. He would be leaving the day after tomorrow. Manon as well, depending on how things went today.

After her first inspection of the young wyverns and meetings with the squad leaders selected by Orghana, Manon planned the week out in detail: training runs through the mountains, flight formations, lessons in hand-to-hand aerial combat. Until today, those flights had been easy, incremental steps to strengthen not just the mounts, but their new riders. No one expected that a handful of wyverns would be advanced enough to go up against the deadly currents of the Ferian Gap.

Privately, Manon had confessed her doubts to him. She’d known the rukhin were disciplined and excellent flyers. What she didn’t know was just how quickly wyverns could develop. Abraxos came to her as a full grown adult. In some regards, she was as inexperienced with this as the rukhin.

Though she shared the aerie’s excitement, he felt the tang of nerves emanating from her while they ate this morning. The crossing was dangerous, even with the precautions they were putting in place. Sentinels on ruks and the smaller wyverns would be positioned at intervals along the descent and near the valley floor, ready to assist if anyone needed help. Prudent planning, but no guarantee it would prevent tragedy.

He was just about to go back and check on Manon when she came around the corner.

“You take forever getting ready,” he teased as she stopped to fasten a few straps on her flight leathers.

She smirked. “If I’d taken a bath with you in the room, we’d both still be there.”

He took her fur-lined cloak, draping it over his arm while she adjusted her sword. “That’s probably true,” he admitted with a grin. “You know me so well.”

“I assume you will be joining us then?”

During the days, while she worked with Orghana and the riders, Dorian spent his time meeting with various small groups. Not everyone who moved here from the Tavan Mountains wanted to be part of the aerial legion. Along with the riders came their spouses and families, including, to everyone’s enjoyment, a clan storyteller who’d accompanied her daughter.

There were caretakers to look after the ruks and wyverns, as well as the people. Yisu, an engineer who'd relocated with her young family, was working to improve the water system inside the Omega while her wife Naran tended some of the livestock. Several teachers had made the trip, ensuring the children would continue their studies.

Then there was Qara, the head cook. After proclaiming “The witch needs more meat on her bones,” the tiny, old woman helped Dorian prepare breakfast each morning. The hot, spiced chocolate drink she made for them was currently Manon’s most favorite thing in the world. When she had told Qara that - not necessarily in those words - the woman grinned from ear to ear, shoved a few pastries into their hands, and turned back to her giant stove.

Dorian met one family of weavers who ventured north in search of new sources of wool for their rugs, as well as new buyers. “No middleman this way,” they’d reasoned. With other craftspeople making their homes here - a blacksmith, tanner, potter - the place was practically self-sufficient.

But he never got the impression that they wanted to be closed off in any way. When he’d brought up the possibility of opening the ranks up to Adarlanians, the rukhin were welcoming.

Despite his daily activities, he was surprised by Manon’s question. Everyone would be out for at least part of the event. It was odd that she didn’t expect it of him.

“I am. In fact, I thought I’d help out. You can use another full grown wyvern in the air, in case anything goes wrong.”

Manon looked up at him. Fear lined her eyes and she opened her mouth to say something, but a deep voice echoed down the hallway.

“Wing leader. May I have a moment?”

Dorian turned to see one of the older riders jogging towards them. Erden wasn’t old exactly. No gray salted his hair, but he had a ruggedly handsome face that only came with age. When he reached them, he stared with open admiration at Manon, completely oblivious to Dorian’s presence.

“Is there something you need?” Dorian asked, not masking his annoyance at the interruption.

Erden looked over, his dark eyebrows raised in what could only be surprise. The man truly hadn’t seen him. Dorian almost laughed.

Addressing Manon, Erden said, “Yes, well, I have some questions about the crossing.”

With a clear expression of dismissal, Manon said, “I’ll be right there.”

Erden didn’t need to be told twice. He gave her a sharp bow, ignored Dorian, and returned the way he had come.

Dorian watched him go, not noticing when Manon took her cloak back and swung it over her shoulders.

“Jealous, princeling?”

Turning back, he found her smirking again, all the tension of a moment ago gone. “How can I not be? Half of them are in love with you. And the other half are in love with you.”

The riders all seemed to worship her, looking at Manon as if she was a warrior goddess sent from above. Which, she was, he happily admitted. Beautiful, clever, lethal, immortal. He really couldn’t blame them.

Manon shook her head and started down the hall. When he caught up to her, she said, “You should stay above, on the platform. Orghana will be below with me, so we’ll have plenty of help along the descent.”

Dorian wanted to protest, but he didn’t, telling himself this was her area of expertise. Even though it was a bullshit excuse. And she wouldn’t look at him. Neither said anything more as they made their way outside.

On the platform, Manon stopped to speak to the riders who’d be undertaking the crossing, giving last minute warnings and answering questions. While everyone else would fly across the valley, they would go on foot, taking the narrow bridge that linked the Omega and the Northern Fang. Someone had suggested it to make things more ceremonial, as if the crossing needed more drama.

When everyone dispersed, Manon hopped onto Abraxos and twisted around, an expectant look on her face. For some reason he couldn’t explain, part of him thought she’d just leave him here. But instead, she waited to fly him over to the Northern Fang.

Settling in behind her, Dorian pulled her to his chest. Where his hands rested against her waist, she laced her fingers into them with a vise-like grip. The fear was back. But, he couldn’t see it this time. He felt it. As if his magic was constantly reaching towards her, reading her emotions.

Her reticence to let him take part had nothing to do with his lack of knowledge or flying experience. It had everything to do with the fact that people could die today. It wouldn’t matter that the riders were pulled from a group of volunteers. If things went badly today, she would hold herself responsible. Just as she did with her coven.

“I’ll stay above. Safe and out of the way,” he said.

Her body relaxed at his words. “Thank you.”

And with that, Abraxos leapt into the air.

***

Cheers echoed between the peaks of the gap as the final wyvern swooped up sharply and flew high into the sky. Every crossing had been a success. As the sentinels took off to join their fellow riders for the celebration awaiting them, Manon stayed behind, guiding Abraxos to land on a rocky slope nearby. Her celebration was letting herself breathe normally for the first time all day.

With her eyes closed, she sat and listened to the wind coursing through the pass, concentrating on the rise and fall of Abraxos’s chest.

As nervous as she had been today, he’d been distant, lifeless. Her wyvern had his own memories of this place to overcome, something she’d considered before leaving the Wastes. Their arrival had been so happy and he’d been so well taken care of, she thought he was fine.

But today was different. Abraxos had conquered the crossing to the sound of her Thirteen and others cheering him on, to the beating wings of his fellow chained wyverns. None of them were here anymore. Narene wasn’t here.

Before her mind could replay memories she didn’t want to see, and before anyone came looking for her, she tugged on the reins. Two flaps of his spider silk wings had them rising into the chilly air.

As he flew up to the Omega, Manon leaned forward and ran her hand over his neck. The wounds he’d received in Orynth had healed to silvery stripes, brighter than the old scars that criss-crossed his body. Now, they shined red in the sunset, rippling with the movement of his muscles, a sickening reminder of how close she’d come to losing him.

Abraxos landed on the edge of the platform, jolting her back to the present. The raucous laughter and smiling faces pierced through her dark mood like a beacon. As she dismounted, she was pulled into the mass of people, and to her surprise, she didn’t flinch away from the contact.

Manon thought back to when she and Abraxos had survived that first flight across the gap. Despite the cheers that sent them over the ledge, despite her undiluted joy at his victory, their post-crossing celebration had been... nothing. Brief applause, most of it mocking, then another dinner of bland mush in the dining hall. Another emotionless performance in the hopes of not attracting her grandmother’s attention.

This, though. The excitement and camaraderie of these humans was infectious. It became clear to her in that moment just how lacking the lives of the Ironteeth were. How lacking her life had been.

Witches were not and never would be human. But as she watched the rukhin laugh and tease each other, embrace and kiss, she thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if witches adopted a few human traits.

A sudden wish to have her Thirteen by her side and watch their reactions to this happy chaos hit her like a crushing weight. She staggered backwards, away from the crowd as they began to move into the entrance hall.

A warm presence steadied her with a hand on her back. “Are you okay?” Dorian dipped his head to look into her eyes.

Manon didn’t know what he saw there, but she could see the worry in his. With a quick shake of her head, she said, “It’s been a stressful day.” Not a lie but not the whole truth. He knew it, she could tell, but he didn’t prod for more.

Dorian waited for her to say something and she looked backwards to Abraxos. Her wyvern was waiting too, staring off into the distance.

Another memory came to her, unbidden, but more welcome than most.

Abraxos’s first day outside. Unchained, free to walk wherever he chose, free to roll around in a field of wildflowers. He’d never seen the sky before that day. Never felt the wind against his wings. And while she’d railed against his decidedly unbeastly behavior, cursing and looking around to make sure no one witnessed it, inside, her heart had been breaking for the pain he’d endured. For the pleasure he found in peacefully smelling flowers that he’d never known existed.

Facing Dorian again, she said, “I need to see to Abraxos.”

As she turned away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?” He spoke low so no one else overheard, but there was a hard edge to his voice, a quickening of his pulse. “I care about you, Manon. I...” He trailed off and shook his head. “I’m worried about you.”

“Today has been difficult for him,” she said, still not answering his question. “I want to be the one to stable him tonight. I’ll be back soon.”

Dorian examined the wyvern, his eyes softening in recognition of whatever emotion he saw in Abraxos’s face. She waited for another round of questions, but none came. He kissed her forehead, lingering for a long moment before he released her hand and walked away.

Once he disappeared into the crowd, she returned to Abraxos and led him into a smaller cave entrance set apart from the main hall. The other wyverns were kept in the Northern Fang, their cages large, clean, and warm. The ruks, used to being exposed to all sorts of weather, preferred their nests perched high on the cliffs above the Omega’s platform.

This little cavern, while not made exclusively for Abraxos, was refitted to accommodate him. It seemed his reputation as an alpha warrior had preceded him here, so he was treated accordingly.

Torches lit the entry and lined the curving passage that led back to his quarters. Abraxos lumbered past a freshly butchered goat and curled up on the hay bedding piled high against the back wall of the cave.

Manon knew exactly how he felt, but she refused to leave without trying to get him to eat. Not bothering with her knife, she sliced through the goat with her nails, separating a leg.

“You can sleep as soon as you eat something,” she said, putting the meat right in front of his face. Big, black eyes shone in the torch light, staring back at her without emotion. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” she coaxed. Still no reply, no desire to eat. Sighing, she sat down and leaned against him.

Although she had her own rooms in the keep back home, she often spent part of her nights with him. His aerie was in a nearby tower that was half falling over. It was stable, but just barely. He’d refused to be put with the other wyverns, and the tower overlooked her windows. So even on the nights she didn’t visit him, they could still see each other.

Muffled footsteps sounded from the passage and Manon was surprised to see Orghana walk into the chamber.

“Everyone is asking for you at the aerie.”

The aerie. When she’d lived here, they just referred to it as the entrance hall. It still was the entrance hall in her mind, even after a week. She made a mental note to change that.

“Did the king send you?”

Orghana stroked Abraxos’s snout, eliciting a deep sigh, then sat down next to her. “No. But he did tell me where to find you.”

They sat for a while in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft popping of the flames and Abraxos’s steady breathing. His eyes were closed, but Manon knew by the pattern of his breaths that he was only dozing.

“Why did you come here?” Manon asked. It was something she’d been wondering but never had the nerve to ask. With her impending departure, she let her curiosity got the better of her.

“The riders wanted me to bring you back.” With a hint of exasperation, she added, “I think Erden has it in his head to ask you to dance.”

Manon choked back a laugh.

Orghana sighed. “He is a very good flyer, but sometimes his eyesight is... lacking."

“I think it’s worse than lacking. He might be blind,” Manon said. They both burst out laughing.

Abraxos jerked awake and twisted his head around to glare at them.

“Sorry,” Orghana said. Seeing the uneaten meat, the captain pulled out her knife and sliced a piece from the bone. When she offered it to Abraxos, he took it without hesitation.

It was Manon’s turn to glare at him. “Spoiled worm,” she muttered, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto her face. Orghana fed him the meat, chunk by chunk, until it was gone. When he settled back down, Manon said, “Actually, I meant why did you come to Adarlan?”

The woman stiffened and Manon thought she might not answer. But Orghana said, “I came because Prince Sartaq asked me to.” After a long pause, she added, “And because my husband died two years ago and I wanted to start over somewhere new.

“He was a healer. Not like those at the Torre. He had no magic, just the usual gifts. Compassion. Intelligence. Because of his skill, he was often called to other aeries when they were in need. So when sickness spread through the Berlad aerie, he went immediately that morning.” Orghana smiled faintly. “He told me he’d be home by dinner, but we both knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It was a rare illness and the sick were already being isolated.”

Damn her nosiness. Manon wished she could go back in time and not ask the question. Glancing sideways at Orghana, she thought about offering her condolences and then changing the subject. It would be rude as hell, and she’d hate herself for it, but she didn’t think she had it in her to listen to more. Clenching her fists to keep her hands from shaking, Manon willed Orghana not to continue.

But continue she did. “I received messages from him each day, full of reassurances. He was always so positive. It made him a good healer. The problem was that to a cynic like me, it could sometimes be annoying.” A small laugh escaped the woman’s lips. “He always said... “ She cleared her throat. With a deeper voice to imitate her husband, she went on speaking in Halha. For Manon, she translated: “You are the cloud to my sun. We are lucky the world needs both in order to have balance.”

As quickly as it had come, the levity in Orghana’s face faded. “When two days went by without a message, I knew.”

Silence returned and Manon didn’t know what to say.

“There were stories that came back to our mountains from the war. I heard of the sacrifice made by your hearth-sisters,” Orghana said quietly, then shook her head in frustration. “No, that’s not the right word. Your coven?”

The world dropped out from under her and Manon felt like she was floating and falling at the same time. Squeezing her eyes shut tight in the hopes of steadying herself, all she saw was white. That white light of their yielding.

Whenever the scene played in her mind, there was always a kernel of awe in her heart. There had never been a witch who yielded anything other than darkness. For that was the source of the power, the Darkness.

Somehow though, the Darkness, or perhaps their Three-Faced Goddess, had gifted her coven with light. Not only a power used to kill, but to save. The light from their twelve souls had saved the city, their armies, the world.

What had Orghana called them? Hearth-sisters?

In some ways, that was a better word than coven. Witches often referred to each other as sister or cousin, regardless of any actual familial connection. But the words were meant to declare their clan allegiance, their common origins and otherness from humans and fae.

The bond she shared with the Thirteen was that of true sisters. A bond woven into their very souls. From now until the Darkness claims us.

Orghana reached over and grasped Manon’s hand. “My heart cries for your loss.”

With those words and that touch, Manon felt a release in her chest and heard herself begin to speak. “I’m always looking for them, waiting for them. As if they will return at any moment, coming back from scouting or training. Every day I wait. And they never come.” A tear slid down her cheek but she didn’t bother to wipe it away. “All of my life, I had them with me. Even when we were sent off on different missions, it was never long before we’d be together.” Looking at Orghana, Manon said, “I have no one left who shared my life. No one who shares my memories.”

The woman squeezed her hand but said nothing. Manon blinked, then brushed her face on her cloak. “I must sound mad,” she offered in apology.

With a sad smile, Orghana said, “You are not mad. It took months for me to stop looking for Oktai to walk through our door. You lost an entire family, Manon. I cannot imagine your pain.”

“Does it ever change?”

Everyone kept telling her it would get better, that time would heal her broken heart. She’d seen it happen to some of the witches who lost loved ones in the war. They mourned, but eventually, moved on.

Objectively, she understood it was possible. Even she’d had moments when the grief no longer felt all consuming. More often than not, she felt stuck, mired in this heavy sorrow that she could only break free of for short bursts of time.

This week, with Dorian and Orghana and all the rukhin, with the wyverns and the routine… It had felt like she could see more clearly, breathe more deeply, move more freely. But today had flooded her with reminders of the things she’d been able to temporarily forget, and she was being dragged back under.

“It has changed for me,” Orghana said. “Things that started as distractions became more real, more meaningful. They became things that I looked forward to. New people entered my life. Not to replace, but to… expand.” She waved a hand. “I’m not sure of the words. I should teach you Halha. We have better words.”

Manon sniffed, the edge of her mouth turning up into a hint of a smile. “Your words are fine. But you’re right. I should learn your language.”

In full captain mode, Orghana nodded in approval, looking like she was already planning the lessons in her head. After a pause, she asked, “Do witches have an afterlife?”

"Yes.”

“And do you believe you will see them there one day?”

“Yes.”

“Even after two years, I still have hard days. They are fewer now. But on those hard days, I remind myself that Oktai is waiting for me.” Orghana smiled and let go of Manon’s hand with a soft, reassuring pat. “He loved listening to peoples’ stories. So I made a vow to bring as many with me as I could. I suppose that is the real reason I came here. Not to run from the past. But to make a future that I can one day share with him.”

Manon heard Asterin’s last words to her. Live, Manon.

She hadn’t done it, not really. She’d survived. So many days were devoted to just that one thing - survival. And most of the time she’d only barely managed it. Shame welled up inside as she admitted to herself just how badly she’d failed at that final request. Failed not just Asterin and the rest of the Thirteen, but her people. And herself.

“One of my sisters” - Manon tried the word with its new meaning - “liked collecting stories. Her room was always filled with books.” She smiled, thinking of how testy Ghislaine got when anyone interrupted her reading.

Orghana spoke a word in Halha, then said, “Your first lesson. That means story keeper. They preserve our histories and tales and are respected across all the clans.” With a nod in the direction of the aerie, she added, “I’m sure Jullian will be performing tonight. Do witches have such a thing?”

Manon was embarrassed to say no. Ghislaine was truly unique among the Ironteeth. Crochans, however, did have elders who were renowned for their storytelling, though they weren’t given official titles.

As with Orghana’s empathetic touch, her question triggered something in Manon. She began telling this women she’d only known for a few days some of her stories. Terrible stories of battle, mundane stories of everyday life as a witch, even a couple that were humorous. Her early, messy attempts to hunt goats for Abraxos received quite the laugh.

Most weren’t her stories so much as they were the Thirteen’s.

Vesta’s ability to make anyone feel at ease. Sorrel’s quiet, steady wisdom that was always offered at just the right time. The demon twins’ trouble-making that first earned them their nickname. Lin and Imogen’s protectiveness of everyone in the coven. Ghislaine’s lectures on everything from history to wyvern care.

She spoke about how she’d never learned the secret of the shadows’ ability to sneak up on her undetected. And how she’d always watched Thea and Kaya, curious to know what made them look at each other the way they did.

In speaking it, she thought of Dorian, and realized that was no longer something she wondered about.

Manon saved Asterin for last. She didn’t tell Orghana all of her second’s story, just enough to convey what Asterin meant to her. How much she loved and missed her. And how Asterin had changed her life. For the better.

When Manon was done talking, Orghana said, “Thank you for telling me about them. For the rukhin, sharing stories like that is a way to honor your loved ones. It keeps them alive and with you.”

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Manon said. “I’d like to hear more about him sometime.”

Stretching her arms high over her head, Orghana groaned as her back cracked. “I would like that too. But I am hungry. And the others will be looking for us.” She stood and offered a hand. Manon took it and was pulled up.

Abraxos slept soundly, but Manon still went over to say goodnight to him, rubbing the spot between his eyes. There would be plenty of difficult days waiting for them. Borrowing Orghana’s outlook, if she stayed on her current path, she would end up face to face with a pissed off Asterin in the afterlife. Manon truly didn’t want to let that happen.

Leaning down to Abraxos, she whispered a promise to him, to her sisters, and to herself. “From now until the Darkness claims us, we are going to live.”

They started out of the cave. With perfect innocence, Orghana said, “Perhaps it would be nice to also tell your stories to the king. Then you will have more people who share your memories.”

Manon stopped and shook her head. “You’re not as subtle as you think, Captain.”

The woman shrugged. “I’m not familiar with that word. Sut-tell?” Continuing on her way, she called back, “Let’s go, Your Majesty. I’ll distract Erden so you can find your king.”

***

Altai slapped Dorian on the back as the small group surrounding him laughed. Although he’d had lessons in Halha and spoke it rather well, he wasn’t fluent. And he certainly wasn’t fluent in the more colloquial aspects of the language.

He’d learned that the hard way, when Altai had taught him an expression he unwittingly repeated to Qara. To his relief, she immediately turned to Altai, her grandson, and cuffed him on the side of the head instead of Dorian. The young man was now regaling his friends with the tale.

He was smiling and laughing with the rest, but Dorian wasn’t really paying attention. Manon still hadn’t returned.

Where this anxiety was coming from, he didn’t know. He just wanted to see her, to know she was alright. When Orghana had asked after her and then left, something in the woman’s eyes had calmed him enough to keep him from following.

As it became clear that Altai wasn’t going to give them the real ending, Dorian took the opportunity to go into great detail about the phrases Qara unleashed upon her grandson for fooling the king. With the group now focused on teasing Altai, Dorian stepped back and found a quiet spot away from the crowd.

From his seat along the cavern wall, he watched the flames of the bonfire rise high above the edge of the pit.

Until this morning, he thought he’d been making progress in helping Manon. It took some time, but he’d gotten her to talk about her life in the Wastes - Glennis and the other witches, their struggles this past winter, their plans for the coming year.

One topic never came up.

More like twelve, he thought with a sharp punch of his own grief. The twelve witches he’d considered friends were part of his daily thoughts, and not always in relation to Manon.

They hadn’t been mentioned this week and he never asked, choosing to wait and let her decide when she was ready to talk.

Her expression from that first morning sprang into his mind. After finding her afraid and shaken, Dorian had made sure to wake her each morning before he left to get their breakfast. It hadn’t happened again, and he’d convinced himself it was nothing more than a nightmare. Waking from a bad dream in a new place would cause anyone to react that way. Deep down, he knew there was more to it. But beyond mourning the Thirteen, he had no idea what it even was.

Music began to play and several women stepped down into the pit, drawing everyone’s attention as they started to sing. People gathered closer to the fire, some sitting on the floor and benches, others beginning to dance. Dorian stayed where he was, staring at the dark, cloudless sky outside the aerie. Waiting.

Looking back on this week, back to their goodbye in Orynth, and even further back to that last night together in their tent, he began to see something taking shape. Each puzzle piece was a mistake made. Some were obvious, things he should have noticed at the time. Others were harder to make out, only visible with hindsight, after the puzzle was half done.

Dropping his head into his hands, Dorian scrubbed his fingers through his hair. When he sat back up, Manon was standing in front of him.

“Hello princeling.”

He jumped up, standing so close he had to bend a little to see into her eyes. “Hello witchling.”

The red lining her eyes told him she’d been crying. Seconds ago, he convinced himself that they could no longer ignore whatever walls were standing between them. Her tear-streaked cheeks were the push he needed to say something.

But she was smiling at him. And it was so easy to ignore the walls and the puzzles. What with the music sounding through the aerie, and the light of the fire dancing across her hair, and her smile…

Manon reached up and ran her fingers lightly through his hair, rearranging what he’d just messed up. “I believe our official duties here are done. So, I propose that we spend tomorrow together. Just us. And Abraxos. There’s a meadow on the other side of the gap that I think he’d enjoy seeing again.”

Before he could reply, and, as if she’d just been reading his mind, Manon added, “I think I’m ready to talk. About them. If you’re willing to listen,”

“Of course,” he said, trying to hide his relief. “Anything you want.”

“In that case…” She bit her lip and glanced behind them. In a shy voice he’d never heard from her, she asked, “Would you dance with me?”

It was the absolute last thing he expected her to say, and he had no way to stop the grin that spread across his face. A grin she mirrored, if to a lesser degree.

“I was just about to ask you that,” he said.

Turning back to the gathering once more, Manon confessed, “I don’t know how. I’ve never danced before.”

The tempo of the music had quickened and the women who’d been singing were now part of small circles of dancers. Everyone joined in, belting out lyrics here and there.

“I’m not familiar with this style of dancing actually,” Dorian said, leaning down to speak into her ear over the loud chorus and clapping. She arched an eyebrow in teasing disbelief. Once, he’d mentioned the dance lessons he suffered through as a boy, overly harsh punishments for very minor rule-breaking. “Sadly, my instructor never strayed from traditional Erilean dances.”

They were already apart from the crowd, but Dorian took her hand and gently led her back into the shadows. Positioning her arm around his waist, he pulled her in close against his chest and cradled her hand between them. They began to move, swaying back and forth.

“How about this, witchling? We’ll start off slow and work our way up to the more advanced steps over time.”

Her reply was the soft, faint smile he loved most. The one she never realized she was making.

As Manon melted against him, Dorian rested his chin on her shoulder and began to turn them in a slow circle. They were hopelessly out of sync with the music, but they ignored it, keeping time with their heartbeats instead.

To be continued...

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#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #kingdom of ash #throne of glass #manorian fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfiction #goodbye and hello #my writing #I know that ending is cheesy as hell but I don't care #the other ending involved Erden giving Dorian dirty looks because he finally saw what everyone else already knew #but even he couldn't deny how cute they were slow dancing in the corner #manorian trash

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