"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
The curse would always find a host so long as the bloodline carried on. Ghaul’s insanity and inevitable death were only ever an inconvenience. Now, while the veil between worlds is still so paper thin, it flexes. It moves like a fog through the Tephran jungle, mingling with the humidity here and drifting ever further between the trees. That reptilian curse drifts over Sabbath and considers her for a while as wisps like fingers caress her face. But she is hellbent on her own mission - an unsuitable breeding ground for the chaos it wants to foster.
Slowly, inch by inch, it coils around her infant child. Crowns is eager. More importantly, he is hungry and without direction. He would devour whatever he is given. The darkness seeps down between his gently parted lips and gathers in the pit of his stomach. The sapphire and bay colt wakes with hacking coughs that draw his mother to his side despite the shroud of exhaustion clouding her vision.
“Crowns? Are you alright?” she asks as she gently noses at his cheek. He nods and continues his coughing.
“I’m okay. I just,” he pauses, wheezing, “I just need some.. water.”
He fights to breathe around the burning sensation in his throat. The boy stumbles up onto his small hooves and wanders from the warm den. There is a stream just past a few trees, he knows, and so he slinks toward the sound of running water. Crowns drinks and drinks but he seems unsatisfied despite how cool the water feels over his parched tongue.
Another cough escapes him as he lifts his small head. Perhaps he’s running a fever? He whimpers feebly at his discomfort and gingerly eases himself into the waters now. A little hiss slips from between his teeth when the cold water splashes up onto his thighs and belly. Steam sizzles and bubbles where the stream meets his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too preoccupied with keeping his balance against the gentle current.
yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green
Isilya’s often wondered whether having her flower-birds dance and weave through the canopy of Tephra is considered spying, and if that’s rude of her. There aren’t many of them - it’s hardly a network - and they don’t listen or store memories of what they might come across. But they do help her keep an eye on the general wellbeing of the families that live here.
They do have a magical waterfall that can help, of course - she just likes to be helpful if she can!
And, every so often, it pays off.
Isilya is standing in the water, daydreaming, doing her favourite activity of opening her magic and letting tendrils of it seep into the stream, the dirt, the trees, just to root herself into the natural wonders that make this place happen.
The same time she feels sickness carried from farther up the stream, a bird woven of bright hibiscus and the deepest green grasses alerts her that there is a sick foal further upstream. Isilya’s magic snaps back into her body as her gold and green eyes open and she teleports without a moment’s hesitation.
She appears in the stream again with a soft splash, but upstream now from the colt - concern removing her usual smile. There’s something… not off, but new about the colt. It feels similar to when she first met Leliana - and though Isilya wonders whether this is his body rejecting whatever is trying to settle in his skin, she is currently less worried about the cause and more focused on just making him feel better before he collapses into the water.
Isilya focuses on the boy, rather than his mother - a fact that she'll feel a little guilty about later.
“Oh you poor dear. We'll have you feeling better in no time.” Comes the first words, gentle, and she touches her golden muzzle to the stream - causing the water to shimmer with healing properties, more soothing than just natural water to hopefully ease away the unnatural heat so evident from the steam rolling off of him. Vines creep into the water and weave together to create a pool, calming the current and allowing the magic to eddy around the colt - and giving him one less thing to fight against.
’twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill oh! no, it was something more exquisite still
Her magic is born from light, a nurturing sort of strength that serves as a balm against the darkness of this world. The curse feels her draw near and recoils from the blinding light of her. It has not fully bonded itself to the boy’s soul and she could pluck it from his core if she tried. But she only seems interested in caring for the side effects, for now, and so it quiets for the time being.
Crowns, meanwhile, wonders why he feels his temperature spike for a fleeting second when Isilya arrives. He whimpers at the scorching warmth and sways once it subsides again. But the Tephran queen is already working to soothe his fever, threading her magic into the stream and slowing its course to him. A tired grin forms on his face as the water laps gently against him. Gradually, the steam grows thin, though it lingers still.
“That does feel better,” he agrees. “What’s your name? I’m Crowns.”
He doesn’t realize that she already knows his grandmother and perhaps his mother as well. The boy lacks both the strength and the discipline to skim through the echoes of time to discern who she is or what she knows of him. In fact, it will probably never occur to him to just snatch these sorts of facts from thin air.
His dark blue gaze drifts to the hibiscus birds flittering above them. They draw a smile across his face, coupled with a gentle fit of laughter as he stares in wonder at them. “Are those yours? Do they have names too?” he asks without lowering his head to look back at her once more.
yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green
The whimper that escapes from the young colt squeezes Isilya’s heart and she is so, so glad to see it soothed away into a tired grin. The steam lessens, though there is still some, but she keeps the magical bath going all the same, giving as much relief as she can while they both stand in the stream. If it returns once they get out, well, she’ll have to think of another solution that can last a little longer but she hopes that the essence of her magic will at least keep the worst of it at bay as it lingers on his skin.
Her concern smooths away into her usual sunny smile when he introduces himself and asks for her name. “I’m Isilya, it’s very nice to meet you Crowns. I love your name!” It is truly a wonderful one too!
Isilya also doesn’t realize she’s talking with Leliana and Vulgaris’ grandson - it never occurs to her to take any information that is not offered to her.
Besides, when he laughs with delight at her flower-birds she forgets most other things and her grin brightens even further. “They are mine.” A pair of the birds swoop down to dance around Crowns and one decorated with a vibrant magenta hibiscus will, if he’ll let it, land on his head - it’s grass tail curling around one ear while it's soft beak gently nibbles at the other. Since meeting Leonora, and mindful of the presence of a volcano in her home, all of her birds are magically protected from heat and tear so the fever and steam coming off of the blue boy should not hurt them.
“They don’t have names though, not yet! These ones I just made this morning. Would you like to name them?”
’twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill oh! no, it was something more exquisite still
He finds it easier to think as Isilya’s waters run over him. Slowly, his body stops swaying as it tries to balance, and he finds himself distracted by the flittering birds until she introduces herself. Isilya. Had Sabbath told him about her? His little face scrunches up in thought as he tries to remember all the names he’d been told during her boring lessons. The name doesn’t quite ring a bell but he settles for knowing that she is somebody important. At least he knows he should be polite.
“Thank you!” he chirps, already showing off those good manners. “I like yours too.”
He grins as his gaze drifts to the birds once more. When they come to land on his head, he laughs softly and tries to remain very still so as not to disturb them. His small ear twitches as her pet’s beak lightly tickles at his ear. A laugh threatens to come bubbling up but he bites it back once his dark blue eyes settle on Isilya once more. Oh! She made them?
“How did you make them? Does that make you their mom?” he asks in wide-eyed wonder. “I guess I’d name them Blossom and Bloom. I’m not good at names like my mom is. She’s the one who named me.”
It does not occur to Crowns that mothers are, typically, the ones who bestow a name upon their children. He begins to wonder if he should practice naming things in case he ever becomes a mother some day.
yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green
It continues to be a source of delight to hear his soft laughter and see the laughter he is trying to bite back, all the more so because it was her flower-birds that caused it. The warm smile that shines in her eyes is sweet and genuine, just like everything she says.
“Well your mom did a pretty great job with your name but I think Blossom and Bloom are awesome names.” These two will forever have those names too - and she’s definitely not going to be able to un-weave them now that they have names. But she doesn’t think about that now and instead answers his question about how she made them. “And I use my magic! It’s channelled through plantlife and is strongest when I’m surrounded by it.”
Her head tilts up to gesture to the lush green canopy over their heads before she looks back down to the blue-eyed boy. “So you can imagine this is a good place for me to live. I just sort of… think about what I want to happen and it does!” Isilya’s never really questioned her abilities before - she was born with them, it had not been something to come to her later. First her tricks started off as accidents, manifestations of her wishes. And now they were deliberate manifestations of her wishes. “I guess it does kind of make me their mom! I’ve never thought of it like that before.” She watches the colt with her flower-bird perched on her head and feels a warmth in her heart. “But I like the idea.”
’twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill oh! no, it was something more exquisite still
His small ears perk up straight when she compliments his choice of names. Crowns can’t help but grin with his chest puffed up as he begins to learn that he, too, could pick out excellent names for babies - even if these are little birds woven from vines and flowers. He will work his way up to bigger things and maybe name children of his own someday. The idea thrills him and he momentarily forgets his fever altogether.
The boy tilts his head when she explains her magic. He’s heard the word, certainly, but he didn’t know the magicians drew their strength from things. Crowns has only ver heard his grandfathers speak of how the mages cannot be trusted, though he couldn’t quite discern why they each felt this way - especially since his grandmother was a mage herself. But Sabbath only kissed his head and told him that sometimes men are stupid creatures, and that’s why mothers were made. Isilya seems to prove this fact as she teaches him.
“Do you have a favorite plant, then? Can you talk to them?” he asks as he edges a little closer with wide eyes. A hundred other new questions spring to his mind but he reserves them for later, asking only the most dire ones for now. Crowns tries his best to lift his gaze to the bird perched on his head now as he reconsiders it.
“If this bird is like your baby, then the jungle is sort of your family?” he thinks aloud, trying his best to map out what the jungle may mean to her then. He had always felt drawn to the strange eyes that reflected the moon’s light in them at night. They seemed to call him, and he wonders if she feels the same when the breeze rustles the trees on a nice day or when she spots a sapling springing to life in the undergrowth.
yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green
The flowers on the vines that lace Isilya’s spine shift and change into plump, drooping wisteria clumps that fall down her neck and back. She turns briefly to smile fondly at the soft-purple blooms, enjoying the familiar brush of their petals against her skin. “These are my favourites, because they’re what I’m born with.” Her gaze turns back to Crowns, delighted by his curiosity. “I can talk to them, but it’s not a language like what we’re speaking. It’s a little more like reading their minds - I can tell if they’re happy, and if they aren’t then what they need to become happy. Whether it’s more sunlight, more water, or comforting them after a deer has eaten most of their leaves.” Isilya knows that animals must eat - she eats plants as well after all - but she always replenishes that which she has taken and sometimes with a wink she’ll do the same for any such grazer-touched plants she sees.
“I even lived as a tree for a few years too. They talk with their roots.” One of the vines that is damming the river reaches out to tickle at Crowns’ leg as she says this and the gold-touched mare laughs gently.
There are more questions and Isilya does not mind one bit. It feels as though he is sorting out her thoughts with them - forcing her to put words to the emotions she has felt over the last several years of calling Tephra home. “I like to think of it as my family, yes. I’ve never felt more at home and at peace somewhere than I do this jungle, it’s so alive. Sometimes it feels like my heart beats along side all those that live here.” Isilya’s grin turns a little sheepish, thinking those words sound silly when spoken aloud. But it’s what she feels. Tephra is a part of her now, and she a part of it, so she knows her fate is tied with this jungle’s, one way or another.
’twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill oh! no, it was something more exquisite still
Crowns stares in awe, craning his neck to watch the flowers along her back become flowers he doesn’t think he’s seen before. He likes the way they hang down her sides rather than stare upward at the sun or any source of light. She explains that she was born with these flowers and he supposes she loves them the way he loves his wings. They change in shape a little more each day, but they always drip across his back to remind him that they’re there. He turns his navy head to consider them now and he’s surprised at how pointed the elbow joint looks today. He says nothing of this, though, choosing instead to bring his attention to her once more.
A shrill laugh escapes him as the root surprises him with its wiggling against his leg. He dances away, still trying to balance the little bird on his head. Crowns has made up his mind that he rather likes this flower woman.
“I think living as a tree would be relaxing,” he says as his giggling dies down. He watches her then as she says the jungle is alive, and this he understands quite easily - the glowing eyes of the night, the birdsong lullaby that grows to morning calls that wake him. Crowns can’t imagine living anywhere else if they don’t have the same sounds and liveliness.
“The jungle has a pulse of its own, too,” he says with an absent-minded nod. He isn’t sure how he knows it, but he can feel it separate from his own heartbeat. The flow of the lava far beneath them moves in gentle time with the blood in his veins. Every day, its siren’s call has grown stronger, and someday he will explore its smoldering depths. But today he is here with Isilya, and that is more than enough for now.
