"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
09-19-2019, 08:51 PM (This post was last modified: 09-19-2019, 08:51 PM by Maleficar.)
{maleficar}
My corrupt nature is empty of grace.
Summoning the wrath of the volcano had exhausted him so thoroughly that slumbering beneath the magma had felt like his only option. He had known that Leliana would keep both the Tephrans and the Loessians safe from harm and so he plunged into the fiery depths much as her husband did. But Death has never lusted for his soul nor has it felt any inclination to even tease him with the promise of ink black eternity.
When he wakes, he feels a stale sigh slip from his lungs as he knows this depthless dark is not his demise. The towering witch kicks at the rock and rises from his coffin, shaking soot and ash from his midnight colored body. A cough sends a puff of smog from his lips and he finds himself laughing at the sight of it. But his eyes are quickly brought to the kingdom in which he wakes – he had expected it to still be ravaged by the fire and laid to waste. Instead, it blooms to life and he finds himself furrowing his brow in confusion.
“How long have I slept..?” he finds himself wondering aloud as he carefully steps from the rubble. His legs wobble a bit from their disuse but it only takes a few long strides until he finds his strength once more. Maleficar’s joy seeps into the roots of the flowers and turns them all a little more vibrant as he wades through the bright green stalks of fresh spring grass. They crane toward him like the sun but his eyes are wandering too quickly to take notice. Some branches still bear their scorch marks or remain snapped by dragon’s lumbering bodies, but new vines twist and curl around the tropical trees and bear fat fruit in spite of it.
The witch lightly touches his nose to a bunch of berries before gingerly taking one between his teeth and plucking it. Mal is pleased at how it bursts easily over his tongue and tastes sweeter than he imagined it would. Tephra seems to have thrived while he hibernated but he wonders if the planet has really rotated so may times around the sun or if the magicians he fought alongside dabbled in its growth.
I've never loved a darker blue than the darkness I have known in you
She has wondered about the man who sleeps beneath the volcano.
A man who had been there to help in the war. Perhaps in a more destructive way than she would have in a normal circumstance, but she was in no place to judge or point fingers. After all, she had seen the way that magic could get away from you—the dangerous way it can feel so controlled and yet slip under your tongue. So she knows that his heart was in the right place. She knows that he only wanted to help.
Still, it doesn’t overly matter because he slumbers.
Weeks, months, years pass, and he remains.
Until, suddenly, that magic that she every so often sends pinging in that direction, comes back empty. She raises her head, angling it to the side—curious. Flaring her wings, she lifts into the sky and, frowning, begins to make her way in lazy circles up ahead. Her magic comes off of her like a sonar detector and she continues flying until she feels it come back to her, suddenly finding the source and growing taut.
Quickly, she angles her body down, swooping to the ground and landing gracefully by his side. Her hazel eyes are sharp as they study him, but her body is relaxed. “I see you’ve finally woken up,” her lips spread into a warm smile as she nods her head. “I was wondering for a while if you would ever come back.”
Reaching out, she grabs a berry between her teeth, joining him in the snack.
She chews it contemplatively for a moment before swallowing and continuing.
“How are you feeling now, Maleficar?”
like fire weeping from a cedar tree, know that my love would burn with me
He vaguely remembers her, in that place the plague was born. Her tender heart beat to a different melody than most and he had found it so odd at the time but never managed to pick apart why. Somewhere between the fire and the rain, he had the same thought again even as her magic tried to engulf her during the war. Now with nothing but gentle peace in the air, he finds that it beats to the same rhythm as his younger sister. Malefica was the gentlest of the three and she often preferred to keep her magic tucked up in her ribs while song birds sang her name. He smiles now, as Leliana’s heart brings the memory back to the forefront of his mind.
Perhaps he could read her thoughts if he felt so inclined but he prefers to keep much of life a mystery to himself. Otherwise, he would feel immensely guilty and shameful for having coated her home in lava flows. But he only gives a simple nod when she notes that his slumber has finally come to an end after all this time.
“I’m beginning to think I may never die. That sort of thing tends to run in the family,” he says with a shrug of his broad shoulders and the laugh of a younger, sheepish boy. He forgets how ancient his blood is and assumes instead that he is only as young as he feels. The witch pulls another berry from the vine and shifts his weight as he considers her question for a time before replying.
“I suppose I’m back to full strength. I probably have been for a while but I’ve always liked sleeping in,” he explains after swallowing his fruit. “What about you? Have you recovered well enough?”
He recalls her lover plunging headfirst into the fire but he errs on he side of caution when approaching the subject. Maleficar remembers how his eldest sister had grinded rose petals with a bit of honeysuckle and mother of pearl to soothe an aching heart for a grieving widow once. She still wept, after, but she could remember her fondest memories and found room to smile between the tears. Perhaps too many people could use a remedy like that in this day and age, he thinks.
I've never loved a darker blue than the darkness I have known in you
Leliana knows all about what it means to love a sister. She knows all about what it is to find comfort when you see someone with the same patterns and rhythms; when you feel that familiar thunder and know that it is the pulse of a loved one. She, of course, has no idea that is what he feels now (she, like him, finds it intrusive to read someone’s thoughts simply because you could) and instead is content to simply share the space with him, casually plucking at a vine that never seems to empty, the sea breeze cool.
“Death once seemed inevitable,” she muses, a flower blooming more full behind one ear. “Growing up, it was not terrifying, but it was certainly looming. It is strange to think I may never know it.” She had not been entirely without gifts throughout her life, with her wings and her gift of healing, but she had never known immortality or anything of the like. Now, she nows it is hers so long as she wants it.
Her smile blooms like the flower. “I was even able to thwart death for my husband and daughter,” her face growing slightly more somber. “Although all things have a price. I am sure it will come eventually.”
Just not today.
Not for now.
“I have recovered just fine. It has taken time, but I finally feel as though perhaps I control my magic instead of it controlling me.” She rolls a shoulder in thought. “Or perhaps it is a partnership.” A sweet laugh, like silver bells. “Either way, it is more peaceful now than when I first came across it.”
There is a stretch of silence that winds between them—not tense, simply there.
“Do you know where you will go, now that you’ve woken?”
like fire weeping from a cedar tree, know that my love would burn with me
He listens quietly as she explains that she used to think death would come knocking for her eventually. Had he ever felt that way? The tall boy thinks for a moment but the thought had never even occurred to him, even before he knew how to bend his craft according to his will. Something in his heart always knew it would be eternal, or at least until the end of time came for the magicians and the witches alike. But who knows how long that will be? He’s pulled from these thoughts when she says she managed to tear two souls from the afterlife. To tangle herself with such a messy sort of magic seems too dangerous to him.
“Perhaps. But maybe it wasn’t their time, and you acted on behalf of Fate? She seems to keep the interesting ones around a little longer than most,” he says with another shrug. He would have to collect little bird and rat bones to divine any sort of answer, but even that would be murky at best.
He watches her when she explains how time has healed her wounds and taught her to control her own magic. Maleficar doesn’t wield the same kind of strength she does but he imagines how hard hers can be without spells or potions to channel her might. How does she even begin to conjure anything at all, he wonders? The witch blinks, eyes a little wider at her question, as he realizes he has no earthly idea. His heart has always been nomadic and eager to explore the world but perhaps it could find a place to lay its roots for once.
“This is actually the first land I’ve ever stayed in for more than a night, I think,” he explains, laughing gently at his embarrassment. “If you all wouldn’t mind, I think I’d like to stay here for a while. I would be happy to complete any work that needs done.”
His amber eyes watch her hopefully, the corners of his lips turned up in a faint smile.
I've never loved a darker blue than the darkness I have known in you
She finds that with some magicians—or those, like him, who know magic in their own way—there is something like an easy camaraderie. Something about knowing that they each know the ebb and flow of magic and all the different things that can mean. Before she had felt magic plant inside of her like a seed, she had certainly not known what it meant to harness magic. She would never have guessed.
But it twists and writhes within her now, and she couldn’t dispel it even if she wanted to.
Anymore than this stallion before her could.
She tastes the sweetness of the berries on her tongue as she considers his counter to her concerns. There is a piece of her that is relieved by his perspective and she smiles a little freer, tipping her head back and drinking in the cooling Tephra air (although, even in winter, it could hardly be classified as cool).
“Perhaps,” she says simply. “I would like to think the gods are on my side.”
But wouldn’t they all?
Still, the conversation moves forward easily and she finds she has no trouble staying abreast of it. She navigates the rivers and channels, watching him grow slightly embarrassed under the realization.
“A nomad then,” her voice is gentle as she touches his shoulder. “We would be honored if you wanted to stay.” Her hazel eyes search his for a second and she grows quiet as she slips into the back of her mind. It is easy to find the connection to Vulgaris there. Easy to quietly ask his thoughts on the matter, to converse and get his approval before slipping back into the present, her eyes refocusing just slightly.
“There is no need for you to do anything, of course, but we have need of warriors.” She laughs light and gentle. “We have attracted all kinds of characters here in our growing family—and some even of considerable gifts—but the political climate is tense.” She thinks to her conversation with Heartfire, to her own concerns in the growing quiet since the war. “And my husband, although a skilled warrior, is but one man. I trust you, Maleficar, and I saw you try to help us when Loess attacked.”
A pause, as she thinks.
“Would you be willing to serve as our Champion?”
like fire weeping from a cedar tree, know that my love would burn with me
The gods are, at best, bored children who simply observe the world like a play thing the majority of the time. They have their favorites but the choice is as fickle as the weather of a coastal city. He always preferred to keep quiet, shuffling the sidelines while he contented himself with simple tricks to pass the time. If Fate did not notice him lurking there then it would not thrust responsibility or any kind of cumbersome greatness upon him. His bright eyes begin to watch the leaves as they sway in the crisp breeze that tangles the long forelock of his wavy mane. But he does not disagree with her hopes. Everyone needs some nice thought to get them through the day.
He notices the pause in her words when she welcomes him then as a member of Tephra. Still, he only swivels an ear in her direction and says nothing to draw her back to this moment. Leliana is polite as can be and she resumes their conversation easily.
Maleficar doesn’t view himself as a warrior but he turns his head to look at her anyway. He is tall, built from stone and sculpted into the shape of a soldier, but his heart has always preferred peace instead. Maybe the world would be a better place with minds like his on a battlefield? The gardener’s words regarding the tense atmosphere between kingdoms causes him to furrow his brow in concern. Times of trouble always did summon him from his dreams, it seemed. Perhaps Fate had finally noticed him trying to avoid its gaze.
“I always try to help those in need. I think it’s the duty of the strong to protect the weak and the goals of the kind-hearted,” he says, his face growing serious for the first time now. “You’ve always fought with love in your heart. If anyone else asked, I would decline, but you remind me too much of my sisters to say no.”
Slowly, his smile finds its place back on his expression. He still hopes the three come together once again but she makes a good substitute for now.
I've never loved a darker blue than the darkness I have known in you
Leliana has never been one to thirst for war.
Even when her mind had been flooded by magic, warped by the power of it, she had never actively sought it out. She had breathed war across Beqanna, but it had been a mistake—a misstep in her attempt to right the wrongs that appeared to vivid to her. She had never wanted anything but the peace.
So perhaps that is why this man, a hunger for peace so clear in his gaze, feels so right.
Suddenly, she could not imagine anyone else protecting them as Champion.
There is relief in the way she exhales, the air suddenly sweeter as her wings fold across her back. “Then you and I are of one mind,” there is a moment when she looks to the horizon, contemplative, before bringing her gaze back to him. “We have no desire to stir war. To incite violence. But these people, and this land, are family. We will not stand by should war come knocking on our door once more.”
She feels a rare steel in the way her words do not bend.
She has never thought herself weak, but she knows in this moment, that she would fight to the last breath if it meant protecting her home, her people, and her family.
It is a relief to know that she would not have to fight alone.
“But I hope such things never come to pass. I would much rather pass the time in more pleasant ways.” She reaches over to grab a berry, biting and letting the juice fill her mouth.
“Tell me of your sisters. What are they like?”
like fire weeping from a cedar tree, know that my love would burn with me
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