"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Beyza knows she is extraordinary, knows how much she has to offer - how much she would give - but hearing those words from Jamie in her mind overshadow even her most confident thoughts. Her crystalline eyes shine with pleasure - from his touch on her forehead, to the words he whispers into her mind, and even his ability to speak into her mind at all. She is thrilled by it all and by a future where his mastery over his power will only grow.
And her certainty that she is going to be there by his side for all of what is to come.
The pale magician wonders if this is dangerous, the magnitude with which every action and every word from Jamie affects her. Is this normal? Is this love or is it something else entirely? Something as different from love as they are from everyone else.
But in this moment, she cannot say she minds - whatever is causing the churning feeling in her stomach or the tingling sensation down her spine - she’s enjoying it far too much to dissect it. A small smile appears at his question about her voice and she pairs her response with a piece of the memory of Pangea burning and a vision of herself and how she had been so angry electricity had arced across her coat in miniature flashes of lightning. “A witch burned Pangea, tried to turn it into something else. I think it came back with my rage.”
He sees her body spit lightning, he tastes her rage, the white, violent thrill of it.
Where had he been while his home had burned? Had he been away on the battlefield, fighting to protect it in other ways? It burns him now just to think it, though he cannot tell if he is burning or if she is. He cannot tell if there is any difference.
He studies her a long moment, though he does not recognize the witch in her memory. He does not know where she came from or what made her think she could turn Pangea into something it was not. He exhales a rattling breath and shakes his head.
He is glad that she carved out her voice again, certainly. It is a voice deserving of being heard, though she has the power to make herself heard regardless, he knows.
A thought occurs to him then, though he does not know where it comes from, only where it takes root. Somewhere near his brainstem and then in the great cavern of his chest. An idea that expands with a startling ferocity until he is consumed by it.
“Beyza,” he says, the name a wheezing rasp. Eerie. So much like the fog that twists around their legs. He casts a curious glance into the darkness that surrounds them. “We are powerful separately,” he muses, (though, currently, she is far more powerful than he is), “but I think there could be a way for us to combine our power.”
Where had the idea come from?
The glorious thing that had crawled out of her womb and sprung forth to wreak havoc on the earth?
“Children,” he sighs, quite plainly, “daughters.”
He tilts his peculiar head then, smiles his shark-tooth smile. “Fates.”
( FROM THE DESTRUCTION, OUT OF THE FLAME
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
She’d say yes to anything he asked of her, especially with the memory of his touch so fresh on her skin, but this particular request does not require much thought at all. How far they’ve come, from the colt who could not even look at her to the Reaper standing with her, presenting the idea of children. Their children. Daughters that could break and shape the world.
It was not a dream she had ever allowed herself to have but now it takes root in her heart quickly and without mercy, utterly consuming every piece of it.
Perhaps a small part of her wishes he wanted this for reasons other than her magic, but such wishes are hard to focus on when it is his power, his potential, that draws her to him. Does there need to be anything else?
The smile that rises on her features to meet his shark-toothed grin is dazzling and bright, something Beyza is sure she can feel shine in every part of her. She cannot find the words to explain what this idea of their future means to her or even find the breath to say yes.
But Jamie had not actually asked a question - so she thinks he must already know she’d give him anything. Whatever she had at her possession was his as well and she would offer it all freely if he would continue to smile at her and speak of a shared future.
Her body changes to make her a creature of mist in the same way he is one of shadow - her white eyes dancing in quiet amusement and delight. Opposites and equals, a near-perfect match. Tendrils of the sweet white mist curl towards him as her muzzle does the same, brushing a ghost-soft touch against his cheek so their shadows and mist blend into grey fog (this touch still so tentative, perhaps all the old wounds have not closed as much as she liked to think).
jamie
