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late-to-the-fandom · 2 years ago

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Prince Renathal struggles to come to terms with his time in the Maw and his relationship with his Maw Walker during the Venthyr's covenant assault on the Tremaculum. Rated T for implied sexual scenarios. Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags.

Takes place several months after the imprisonment of Denathrius.

The Maw. It was as dark and harrowing as Renathal remembered. And standing on the ramparts of the Tremaculum, gazing out over the endless expanse of screaming black lurking on every side of the fortress, even the Dark Prince could not suppress a shudder.

Convincing himself to return here had been no small task. All those hazy, horrid memories of his imprisonment - the helplessness, powerlessness; stewing in his own misery and madness, convinced he would never escape - he was able to keep them at bay in Revendreth where he had no end of distractions and little time for dark reminiscences. But now... being back here, where it all happened.... it no longer felt like a distant fever-dream, but an all-consuming nightmare.

Renathal hurled another bolt of vermillion anima magic at the Mawsworn in the fortress below him in an effort to thwart his growing despair. He had hoped the presence of so many friends and allies would make a difference. Just down the ramparts was Theotar's indomitable tea party, an oasis of peace in this stronghold of misery; in the other direction, the Curator, whose determination to join the fight in spite of her own torture in Torghast had bolstered Renathal's resolve to come as well. And everywhere he looked, the Ardenweald defenders' sparkling lights and high battle cries brought pockets of laughter to the bleak desolation. He paused in his spell casting and gazed wistfully around, trying to let the sights cheer him, strengthen his courage, anchor him to existence outside the Maw.

But, as he watched his friends, old and new, being slowly smothered by the Tremaculum’s miserable air, Renathal feared he had made a mistake in bringing them here. He had led them into a hell from which there was no escape. The Mawsworn simply kept coming, no matter what power he threw at them. However many he destroyed, more waited in their wake - a vicious, unending sea of blades and chains and cruel magic. His small band of defenders would never be enough to push them back. And even if by some miracle they did -

Another distant roar echoed from across the battlements, a reminder of the guardian of the Tremaculum, merely biding its time before it chose to descend upon them in fury and demonic flame. The familiar tendrils of despair Renathal thought he had cast off when he escaped the Maw crept across his chest once more.

This damned darkness would swallow them whole.

Then Burly Hurly's rumbling basso echoed up from behind him, followed by a clatter on the ramparts and a light oof, and Renathal's mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile. The Maw Walker's voice always conjured that expression from him, like one of her many little useful spells. He turned, watching her right herself and smooth down her robes, a small self-deprecating smile gracing her features at her less than elegant entrance. She caught him staring and winked.

"You started without me?"

It was no real reproof. Her voice sparkled with humour, and the tension in Renathal's shoulders eased a fraction at the sound.

"I am afraid our friends from Ardenweald simply could not wait. But rest assured, there is still plenty for you to do."

Something of his earlier dark mood seeped into his voice, and the Maw Walker's face shifted into its usual expression - smoothly impassive; what Renathal once read as lack of interest and now recognised as focus, her pale eyes drinking in every detail. She stood beside him, surveying the carnage taking place in the fortress below.

"How goes it?"

"Our enemies currently surround us on all sides. Their forces are seemingly endless."

"Nothing is endless."

She said it with such quiet confidence even the Prince could not bring himself to argue. The Maw Walker turned her head at his uncharacteristic silence, inspecting him with the same laser focus she had the battlefield, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve.

"What do you need from me?"

Renathal's amber eyes glowed briefly. There were so many ways to answer that question - many of them sufficiently distracting from his current downcast mood, but only a few of them appropriate to the setting. He knew what he needed from her, but he could not ask her for it. Not here. Not now. His true needs would have to wait. He took a steadying breath and returned his thoughts to the situation at hand.

"Assist the others.” Renathal gestured around at his compatriots on the ramparts. "They will all have specific tasks for you, I am certain. We must push more of these Mawsworn back before we can move on the beast above."

They both glanced up automatically at the platform in the distance where the shadow of the Tremaculum's fiery guardian crouched. The Mawsworn called it Gothra, the Trembler. Renathal had assured his forces when they had first arrived - when he had more of his usual optimistic fatalism about him- that it would be his and Lady Moonberry's task to take on this evil. But now, seeing it loom so large even from so far away, he worried whether their power would suffice.

"Excellent!" The Maw Walker clapped her hands together lightly, derailing his anxious train of thought. "I'll make the rounds then."

She spoke as if she faced a somewhat challenging assortment of guests at the Ember Court rather than an army of merciless fiends. Renathal usually adored her casual approach to danger, but ... the Maw still weighed heavy on him, a burden he could not shed.

"Do stay safe, my Maw Walker."

She gave him a mock-formal nod, though Renathal thought her eyes lingered on his face longer than strictly necessary.

"As you command, your Highness."

And she disappeared.

Renathal cast a subtle glance in each direction, waiting to see where she would blink back into existence. There she was - halfway down the ramparts, where Theotar and his coterie sat. The Duke rose to greet her warmly, immediately offering her a cup which she accepted with a gracious smile. She stood at her ease for several minutes, listening attentively to the Mad Duke's chatter, sipping politely, nothing to indicate she had arrived for any reason other than to enjoy his company.

Something of the fondness Renathal felt for her trickled into his face, his lips curling in as true a smile as they could muster in this place. No matter the situation, the Maw Walker always stopped everything for her friends, always acted as though their needs, however small, were the most important part of her existence. It was a quality he greatly admired.

He continued to watch from the corner of his eye as the Maw Walker made her way across the ramparts to the various generals of the assault; asking questions, taking orders, assessing where her power would be best used. Finally, she hopped lightly onto the balustrade and, without preamble, stepped off into space. She floated gently to the ground below and was immediately accosted by two Mawsworn guards. A purple flash of light burst into being around her, flinging the soldiers back and knocking them to the ground. More purple lights, and the Mawsworn stayed down.

Renathal released the breath he had not known he was holding as the Maw Walker flitted further across the Tremaculum until all that could be seen of her was her signature purple glow. It was a colour he had come to associate with hope, with beauty, with strength - and the sight of it inspired strength in him, as well.

It was time to do his part. Renathal called on his own magic and rose gracefully into the air.

"Lady Moonberry," he called, pleased to hear his voice come out confident. "Might you kindly cover our advance into the fortress?"

"A simple trick," chirped the ever-cheerful winged Night Fae, engulfing them both in blue light. "Now no one can see us unless we want them to!"

They drifted down into the midst of the battle, swathed in the lightly shimmering blue mist. Renathal gazed around him as they descended, trying to catch a glimpse of the Maw Walker, but her flashing lights had disappeared around a dark corner. He did his best to keep apprehension at bay as he and Draven cut a path through their own swarm of enemies to reach the Tremaculum's stairs. After all, this was the Maw Walker's area of expertise. She was powerful and competent, had defeated the deadliest enemies on any numbers of worlds, Renathal knew this well. He rarely felt any fear sending her on dangerous missions throughout Revendreth or the other realms of the Shadowlands. But this was different.

This place...

He shuddered again, disguising it as an adjustment of his coat as he and Draven took stock of themselves under the Tremaculum's stairs behind Lady Moonberry's invisibility spell.

Renathal had never experienced true suffering before the Maw. He was the firstborn of Denathrius, the favoured son. The Prince. He had his pick of everything, succeeded at anything to which he set his hand. Perhaps that was what had given him the confidence to believe he could take down his own Sire; what convinced him that he, in the right, must win out over corruption no matter who was behind it. Instead, he had been cast down, tortured, and finally caged and forgotten, left to waste away in this unending nightmare.

Until the Maw Walker came. The shadows broken by her soft purple glow, her eyes peering at him through the bars, her gentle voice saying his name. Renathal closed his eyes, picturing her, as he often did when stressed: the image of the Maw Walker's hand, held out to him after releasing him from his prison against all odds, offering him freedom and hope. She had changed him. She had changed everything. Even this wretched place.

It took Renathal a few seconds to realize the purple glow was no longer merely in his memory but glinting between the cracks in his closed eyelids. He opened them to find the object of his thoughts peering around the corner at him. Her typically inscrutable eyes held unmistakable concern. He fixed his face into a mask of nonchalance.

“How goes the fight?”

“Smooth as glass. I'm just returning Lady Moonberry's wand.”

The Maw Walker held out the long wooden rod to the winged Night Fae who took it with a giggle.

"I could see the little tormenters scampering from here! That will teach them to be such bullies!"

The Maw Walker's smile widened to match the winged Night Fae's tinkling laugh, and even Renathal could feel humour blossom in his chest like a widowbloom, choking the weeds of anxiety.

“Let it not be said that it was ever boring while Lady Moonberry was present,” he declared with a hint of his customary wry humour.

He caught the Maw Walker's eye, and she glowed at him, an expression that took his breath away. He was so accustomed to looks of respect, even awe, from penitent souls and other Venthyr, he hardly noticed them anymore. But to be the source of such naked admiration... and on such a beautiful face. It was like a draught of strong anima wine. It left Renathal dizzy and uninhibited. He felt a sudden urge to rejoin the fight.

"We are ready to take the brute upstairs at your command," he told the Maw Walker, finally feeling as confident as he sounded.

She glanced away across the Tremaculum, searching for something he could not see, then back at him again.

"Just one last task to complete. Then I'm all yours. Lady Moonberry?" She released Renathal's eyes to address the Night Fae emissary. "Do look after my prince for me, will you?"

And she was gone again.

Did she know what her words did to him, Renathal wondered, or was it merely coincidence? Could she have any idea what an electric thrill it sent down his spine to hear her call him her prince? And there were so many other things of hers he wanted to be...

A sudden burst of whoops and applause from the Night Fae contingent interrupted Renathal's heady musing. He stepped past Lady Moonberry's spell into the unprotected space beside the stairs to see the source of the commotion. An enormous, sparkling gorm was lumbering across the fortress, knocking back an oncoming band of Mawsworm and squashing them under its squirming weight. Atop it sat the Maw Walker -his Maw Walker - and she was laughing.

No matter what the Maw Walker was doing, she was almost always smiling. A small, inscrutable quirk of the mouth was her face's natural expression, as much her signature as her sparkling purple magic. But laughter - true, unfettered happiness - that was harder to draw from her. Making the Maw Walker laugh was a favorite past time of Renathal's - he found he had rather a talent for it as they shared the same dry humour. Now, watching her meet her enemies, face aglow with laughter, he felt his heart truly lighten for the first time since he had returned to this forsaken place.

As the Maw Walker reined her wriggling steed around, doubling back towards Renathal again, she found his eyes and laughed still harder. And Renathal realised he was smiling, really smiling, something he did not know he could manage in this soul-sucking realm. But the Maw Walker's joy was infectious that way.

Had there been joy in Revendreth before her? If there had, Renathal could not remember it. There was pleasure, certainly, and revelry - courts and balls and endless extravagances - anything to distract from eternity with the worst of the damned. But joy? It was such a different feeling, what she inspired in him, like torch light growing brighter and brighter in his chest, burning but never searing. Renathal had never known pleasant associations with light and fire before the Maw Walker. Never known how wonderful it felt to be truly warm. And now… now, he could not imagine a world without it.

The growing fear of what existence would be like when this was all over, if the Maw Walker left, prickled at Renathal again, as it often did. But he did not have time to indulge it.

"Ready when you are."

The Maw Walker had dismounted at the stairs, leaving her Gorm to be corralled and led off by several merry Sylvar. She shook drops of glowing slime from her robes and reached up to straighten her hair. Her face still shone with the memory of her laughter.

And Renathal found he was ready. That thrill of excitement he felt in battle, no matter its likely outcome, had finally overtaken him, outshining the oppressive dark. He threw off the weight of the Maw like a sodden cloak, reveling in the feeling of freedom and hope once more, and, with a surge of anima, he glided forward up the stairs, his allies and his Maw Walker falling into step behind him.

"With the power of Revendreth and Ardenweald united, even the most dreaded of the Jailer's beasts will fall with ease!"

Renathal's voice was triumphant, loud enough to be heard over the continued sounds of battle. But not loud enough to drown out the furious roar of the charred behemoth that met them at the top of the stairs.

Gothra, the Trembler. It lumbered slowly around to face them. It had clearly not expected anyone to charge it. But the creature recovered quickly, lurching toward them with another bellow as it drew itself to full height, its wicked fire blotting out the sight of their allies far below.

"However, I did not expect it to be quite so large!"

Renathal's attempt at humour was punctuated by a short cry as he swerved to dodge a jet of angry flame.

"Now it's easier to hit!" called Lady Moonberry, ever a source of practical optimism.

She sent a sparkling blue perabola of light hurtling toward the beast, and Renathal, hovering out of its reach, raised his hands to add his own magic to the assault. He watched another beam of red anima meet his own: Draven's magic; then a stream of purple sparks ascending from the ground which was the Maw Walker's. The combined effect of magic meeting flame lit the eternal blackness of the Maw as brightly as any corner of the Ember Ward.

Gothra simply roared. An explosion of demonic flame from within its core sent fel heat across the platform, extinguishing the defender's spells and sending them staggering back.

Renathal’s stomach dropped all in an instant; just as it had when he had fallen to his knees before Denathrius, realizing too late what a miscalculation he had made. The beast before them cut through anima like a gentle breeze. The power on which they relied would be no use here at all. He wracked his brain for an alternative plan, thinking vainly of Vorpalia whom he had left behind in spite of her protests, assuring her she would not be needed. Well, at least she would be able to say she told him so if he managed to return, which seemed less and less likely.

And then, as in every one of Renathal's darkest moments, the Maw Walker's voice broke through.

"Hold on! I have an idea!"

Her words were saturated in staid assurance, and Renathal knew hope still existed.

He glanced to the side of the platform where the Maw Walker stood and noticed she had conjured - a mirror? One of the mirrors of Revendreth's transport network, or very like it. Renathal knew she had a fascination with their mirrors. Conjuring them was a piece of magic she had picked up from the Venthyr and used frequently. It always delighted him to see her use his magic, the power he had given her and knew so well.

The mirror's glass finished crystalizing into existence, red mist swirling within. And the Maw Walker disappeared through it.

The thought that she was abandoning them here in the Maw flicked briefly across Renathal's mind like the swing of a sudden blade. He parried the strike at once. Never. She would never abandon them. He conjured up the memory of their first failed charge on Denathrius, a fight she had known they would lose. But she had stood beside him regardless, smiled in the face of certain defeat, and assured him if Denathrius cast them into the Maw once more that she would find him and his allies and get them out.

Denathrius' betrayal had shaken Renathal's faith in many things, but his faith in the Maw Walker held strong. He let it soar through his anima, bolstering the magic thwarting Gothra's attempts to reach him, Draven, and Lady Moonberry. The Maw Walker would never leave her friends here. She would never leave him here.

Though, Renathal did wonder what her plan was, exactly.

Light began to seep through the red mirror; first a trickle, then a steady, golden ray, quickly followed by the Maw Walker herself. The Light hit the beast's legs, burning them, causing it to howl and stamp in rage - but there was not enough Light to hold it. Not nearly.

Renathal was wondering how best to thank the Maw Walker while also acknowledging her plan had failed when she disappeared in that shimmer of purple and blinked back into being on the other side of the platform. She spread her arms wide, conjured another ornate mirror into existence, and leaped into its swirling depths.

And Renathal understood. He could not stop the triumphant laughter bursting from him, unbidden. His body shook with it, his head thrown back as he gave himself over to pure, exuberant joy. He was sure he looked less than dignified. Joy often had that effect, he had discovered, but the feeling it left was well worth it.

When the Maw Walker next reappeared, she met his eyes and gave him a quick nod as she sprinted to his corner of the platform, already conjuring her third mirror.

"Allies, brace yourselves!" Renathal called. "Our Maw Walker is nearly ready!"

The creature was now writhing in the presence of the Light. Three beams succeeded in hemming it in, cracking its armored casing and blistering it unmercifully, but they were not enough to destroy it entirely. Renathal focused on his stream of glowing anima, eyes flicking between the rampaging beast and the fourth mirror the Maw Walker had now conjured and disappeared through.

One minute passed. Then another. Renathal waited, arms beginning to tremble with the effort of holding the beast in place.

More minutes slid by, as long and slow as ages. The Maw Walker did not reappear.

A flicker of worry wormed its way into Renathal's confidence. What had she met with? What was happening in Revendreth without him there? All his many suppressed fears struggled to loose themselves on him at once. Had Denathrius made a bid for escape? Had the remnants of the Sire's supporters attacked Sinfall? There were so many things that could go wrong, and no way for him to know or stop them from here....

And then brilliant, victorious Light burst through the fourth mirror. It connected with its sister beams in the middle of the platform, engulfing Gothra in a furious golden swathe. The guardian of the Tremaculum sank to its knees, its howls of agony deafened by the Light's song, like the ringing of a thousand bells. It was not a sound to typically thrill the soul of the Dark Prince, but the sight of the purple light emerging from the final mirror was.

"Burn in the light of the Ember Ward, wretched beast!" cried Renathal, and whether anyone could hear him over the noise and chaos, he neither knew nor cared. His words were for the Maw itself.

Gothra's death throes shook the fortress's foundations until, at last, it disintegrated, leaving behind only smoking, sulfurous ash. Renathal lifted his arm to shield his face from the Light burning into his own form, but he knew better than to worry. The red mirrors were already fading from existence at a spoken word from the Maw Walker below, and the Light evaporated with it.

Renathal slowly descended to the platform, eyes adjusting to the abrupt lack of light, blinking past the spots in his vision as he searched for the Maw Walker. His heart skipped a beat when he could not immediately place her, but - there she was, waiting at the other end of the platform next to an ecstatically fluttering Lady Moonberry.

The Maw Walker's chest rose and fell heavily. There was a long gash in the side of her robes and her hair was in disarray. But she caught Renathal's eye as he approached and straightened, as dignified as she could manage in her disheveled state. She folded her hands in front of her and dipped her head in a deep nod, her formality belied slightly by the wry grin on her face.

"The Tremaculum is yours, Prince Renathal."

The sound of his name on her lips was the moment's crowning glory. Perhaps it was the thrill of battle still coursing through him, but Renathal's red eyes darkened at the rush of unbidden fantasies of all the other ways he wanted to hear her say his name. Only there was no time just now to explore that exciting avenue of thought. The crowd of Ardenweald and Revendreth defenders had gathered below the platform, waiting on tenterhooks for victory to be confirmed.

"The Tremaculum is ours!" Renathal let his voice carry across the forbidding air of the Maw, careless of who or what beyond the Tremamculum could hear him. Hopeful even. Let them all come. "This victory is not just for Ardenweald and Revendreth, but for the Shadowlands!"

The fortress below him exploded in cheers and whoops of approval, applause and elated laughter. The Night Fae's many-colored sparks shot into the dark air, lighting the oppressive sky with a bold and beautiful glow. Renathal let the sound of their celebratory revels wash over him like a wave of cleansing anima, then turned to find his Maw Walker again.

She was sitting on the platform's filthy, ashen floor, legs dangling over the side, arms propped behind her for support. Her eyes were closed and for a moment all the wear and war she had endured showed on her face.

The Maw Walker was tired.

People forgot she could be anything so mortal as tired as they piled task after task upon her, knowing she would never say no, certain she would succeed at whatever was asked. Renathal himself included. He winced at the thought.

He lowered himself to the ashen ground beside her, close enough for his armored shoulder to brush hers. The Maw Walker's eyes flicked open, found his, and she smiled - of course, she always did - though this was not her customary, supercilious smile. It was a warm, living thing that grew as she drank in the sight of him. The idea that the Maw Walker could draw as much strength from his presence as he did from hers was a point of pride in Renathal from which he could never repent.

"Well," he said casually, surveying the unending dark landscape in front of them, "in spite of the danger, I believe this has been a good bit of fun." The Maw Walker laughed softly, and his chest swelled. "Although, you did have me worried on that last mirror."

"Valeri was there," she said. Renathal raised an eyebrow, but the Maw Walker shrugged a weary shoulder. "I took care of her, and her acolytes. One more thing to cross off our to-do list."

"So, all in all, quite a productive afternoon."

"Indeed."

They sat in amicable silence for a moment, watching the Night Fae and the Venthyr below venting their high spirits on the last remaining dregs of the Mawsworn. Maybe it was the lack of Gothra's hellish flame casting the place into shadow, or perhaps it was the gorms still racing about in shimmery streaks, but Renathal thought the Tremaculum seemed less dark than it had earlier.

"Are you alright?" the Maw Walker asked, her gaze fixed on him again.

A simple question, but laden with meaning. She knew, and he knew she knew. Knew exactly how hard it had been for him to return here, what it had taken from him to do so, and what had given him the strength to do it.

Renathal shifted slightly to face her, his lips parted in a soft smile.

"Entirely."

He tucked a strand of loose hair back behind her long ear and leaned down to meet her lips.

It was an innocent sort of kiss, unlike most they had shared in the last year: the stolen kisses in the halls of Sinfall in between her many missions; those long, heated kisses broken by the moans he drew from her during their nights together; the passionate, lingering kiss she had left him with that morning before he readied his forces to enter the Maw, infusing Renathal with the energy he needed to do what he had set his mind to.

But this - this was really more confirmation than kiss. A physical sign that he was truly fine, and more than fine. With the Maw Walker beside him, Renathal was perfect.

"Awww... I love it!"

Lady Moonberry's high squeal broke them gently apart.

The Maw Walker glanced up. The sight of the Faerie's delighted clapping and Draven's stoic approval drew violet pinpricks on her high cheekbones. Being caught in an affectionate moment made the usually implacable Maw Walker flustered, and her blush was so delightful to Renathal he made a note to kiss her in front of others more often.

"Oh, just wait until Star Lake performs this play! Action and monsters, and romance? It's an instant classic! We'll call it, 'Taking the Tremaculum'! Niya's already been practicing her Maw Walker impression, we'll just need to find someone dashing to play the Prince...."

Renathal, chuckling through Lady Moonberry's excited chatter, rose to his feet and offered the Maw Walker his hand.

"I do hope you will invite us to opening night. That sounds like a performance we would love to see, does it not?"

He brushed long fingers against the Maw Walker's warm cheek, tracing the line of her face fondly. She leaned into his touch, her smile back in its proper place as she admitted, "Well, I do love a happy ending."

Read Part 2: The Harvester of Dominion| Visit the Masterpost

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