Luther had been trying to calm down, unable to get the smell of gunpowder or motorcycle exhaust fumes out of his nose, or the sound of a gunshot out of his ears. It had been like he was back there again, having just shot Evan, knowing what he'd done and having to leave him there. Coldly. But he was cold, wasn't he? He was a killer. He'd always be one. No amount of trying to fool himself would change that.
He'd gotten out of bed and gone to the bathroom, hoping that the bright light would chase away the darkness of that night. Luther jumped a little when he heard Wanda's voice and felt her touch his arm. By then he was panicking, having broken out into a cold sweat, the flashback leaving him with a heavy, oppressive sense of guilt, remorse, and sorrow, as well as self-hatred.
"I'm sorry, baby..." he whispered with a shaky voice. "It was like I was back there again, like I'd just killed him. I could see everything, smell it, hear it..." Tears trickled down his cheeks. "I just wish I could take it all back... undo it somehow..."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), Batgirl (Comics)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Characters: Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, mention of, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth
Additional Tags: Good Older Sibling Stephanie Brown, Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne are Siblings, Zoo, Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Flashbacks, Dissociation, Angst, Fluff, Plushies, Hugs, Dick Grayson is Batman, Damian Wayne is Robin, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, Earth-197
Series: Part 17 of Comfortember 2020
Summary:
"She looked around to determine what would push the boy to go away before finishing his drawing; Damian had been looking forward to this new trip to the zoo with her and the opportunity to draw more wildlife than he was able to before. He had been talking non-stop about the lions yesterday at dinner, and Steph had been sure they would stay here at least one hour if it wasn't more. She even took books and Damian's console to play with and occupy herself."
OR: Stephanie and Damian goes on a trip to Gotham's zoo. It doesn't end as expected.
Written for Comfortember 2020, also added to the @damian-rarepairs collection <3
At the time, going to see “Toy Story 4″ seemed like a good idea. Normally Pixar wasn’t a problem for him, and while the third one had definitely made him a bit uncomfortable from time to time, it was no where near the reaction he had to the fourth. The main antagonist had left him with a similar feeling to Lotso, and he should’ve taken the warning signs when one of the dolls tried to rip Woody’s voicebox out. He should’ve left at that point, decided to watch it at home where he could turn it off immediately if he felt the need. But he didn’t. That had to be the worst of it, right? Grayson tried to push past the moment... And then it felt like someone had yanked a memory straight from his brain. Lights blared in his eyes.
And he was back there.
His heart thudded rapidly beneath his ribs, and a cold sweat broke out over his skin as he trembled. Voices and lights, and- stop stop stop stop- The memories- the thoughts kept replaying over and over in his mind, in a record of shattered glass.
Feet thudded down the stairs, and the dark hall illuminated with the frantic shove of theatre doors. Grayson couldn’t breathe. His chest hurt. He wanted to go home. He needed to go home. Tears welled in the teen’s distant eyes, a shuddering sob, stuck in his throat.
The boy hardly processed the movement as he slid down the wall, next to a vending machine.
CW: PTSD flashback and panic attack, includes some references to Danny’s captivities (both of them). Lev and Graham belong to @evermetnotforgotten and are used with permission.
Timeline: Post-Bad Arc, pre-Dad Fluff
I had a prompt for “panic attack” for Danny and owe Dotty something for the Fucked Up Support Group (it’s not owe, really, this is a fucking joy and I love writing them together)
Everything is dark and quiet and Danny can’t breathe.
He got lost somewhere between the bathroom and his bedroom and he can’t find his way back, because he doesn’t know exactly where he is. The hallway was long, it felt so long, like it would never end. Somehow he’s staring towards a living room but he’s not in the cabin and he doesn’t know where he is.
Wake up, puppy, wake up
But he’s already awake. Isn’t he?
Is he?
All of this is the dream. I’m not really here. I’m going to wake up on the mat and it never ended and it was never better and I’m still there, still there, still there-
Danny’s gasping now, breathing in wheezes through the pinhole his throat has become. Somewhere Nate is sleeping but he can’t remember where or how to find him, because this is a dream and when he wakes up he’ll be in the bed with Abraham and tears are on his face but he can’t remember crying at all.
Maybe he’s crying for real, wherever he really is.
Maybe he’s not in Abraham’s bed, but in the cellar, closed up in the kennel, all alone inside his head in the dark and they’re reaching out for him, the things that move in the shadows, they want him and all the things inside him and-
“Help.”
Danny can’t speak above a whisper.
No one can hear him.
“He... help...”
His whisper is shaking, it’s not even human - and he tries to get up but his back twinges, a sudden flash of agony. The knife is still there, the knife, they never took the blade out of his back and he whimpers, dragging himself along the floor by his hands until he finds a couch, curling up on the floor next to it even though the mat is gone, there isn’t a mat. This isn’t a place where there’s a mat, but there will be, when he wakes up.
He misses his mat, misses the way it stuck to him when he slept and crinkled whenever he moved. He misses the simple certainty of it, because when he wakes up there’ll be a knife in his back and maybe he’s dying or dead and this is what hell feels like and he deserves to be in hell after everything Abraham Denner has done to him-
Danny sees a flat rectangle lying on a coffee table and his eyes catch.
A cell phone.
His cell phone.
He’d agreed to get one just to make Nate and Ryan feel better, and that feels like a real thing, a thing that actually happened. He owns a cell phone now. He texts people. He found some of his old gaming buddies, right?
Did that happen or is he imagining-
His breath catches again. Don’t think about it don’t think just get the phone. He has to get the phone and he doesn’t know why. His heart is pounding inside his chest, trying to break out, and there’s a pain that keeps coming and going alongside the pain in his back. Knives, blades everywhere, sharp flashing bits that will slice him apart for his sins, for what he’s done.
He has to drag himself along the floor, just like in the second house, with his fingernails digging into grooves in a hardwood floor to pull himself forward, blood pouring from his back. Nate will find the trail of blood, Nate will know to follow the blood and it’s okay, it’s okay, he’s already ruined but this way Ryan won’t be- it’s okay to be the one to take the knife- this way Ryan can get back up, even if he can’t... it’s okay...
It’s okay. The words rattle around inside his head. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
He doesn’t have to be the one who walks away. He knew that from the second Abraham Denner was inside him again. He won’t be the one who lives, Ryan will, and that’s okay.
His fingers scrabble along the edge of the phone case, and he manages to drag it just far enough for it to fall with a soft clatter onto the ground. Danny’s back is an agony of pain, he can feel the blood running out of him, staining the floors so deeply they’ll demolish the house because the blood won’t come out, it won’t come out, he’s been scrubbing for days and the blood won’t out.
The phone lights up, briefly, when it hits the ground.
3:42 AM.
There’s a Skype notification, and Danny lets out a hoarse, half-broken sob when he sees the message preview from Lev.
Okay fine you win, Fabulous Killjoys is actually amazing
His heart burns, beats harder. He won’t get to meet Lev because this isn’t real, Lev isn’t real or if he is, he’s still trapped with his monster a whole world away. They’re both trapped with monsters who will get bored and kill them one day and he’ll never get to meet him, and he-
And he-
Danny whimpers, unlocking his phone, opening Skype up, all of it with shaking hands, fingers that miss his target again and again. He has to talk to Lev, has to tell him he’s so sorry they won’t get to meet each other in real life, that this is just a dream he’s having and it was such a good one, too, to come home and get married and meet Lev in person and the drunk kissing and all the other stuff was so good-
He makes the call, letting his sweaty forehead rest on the cool floor.
There’s blood soaking into the floor, and he can’t scrub it out. He can’t move to scrub it out because it’s his own blood and he’s the body, now, he’s the think that has to die.
“I’m a body,” Danny whispers. “A-A body, my body is, belongs to Abraham-”
“Hullo? Danny?” Lev’s voice comes tinny through the phone’s speaker. “It’s got to be the middle of the night there, what’s up?”
“He... help me,” Danny whispers, and tears run to pool with the blood he can’t see, but he knows is there, on the floor beneath his body. “Help, please, help, I’m s-sorry, I’m so sorry-”
There’s a pause.
“Danny? Are you safe?” Lev’s voice is slightly tight, questions he’s not asking, and Danny whines in his throat at the pain as he reaches his arm up, the agony races along the nerves from his wounded back-
How is it still like this, I went home, I was in the hospital forever it felt like, there were surgeries, they took the knife out - was none of that real, was none of it- am I will in the cabin- was there ever a second house at all Ryan please don’t stop looking we’re in the woods you have to look in the woods-
He manages to push the speaker button, just as Lev speaks again.
“Danny, please answer me now, please.” Lev’s voice is shaking, too, and Danny closes his eyes tightly. He’s having a dream and he’s worrying his friend in his dream, and he can tell Lev to talk to Ryan, to tell him to look in the woods. He takes a deep breath, shaking, trying to breathe around the pain in his chest that won’t quit, a vice grip around his heart.
“Help me,” He manages. “I don’t think I’m, I don’t know where I am-... I don’t think I’m real, I think-”
“Okay.” There’s a rush of something like relief in his friend’s voice, his accent a little thicker, less strained. There’s a shuffle of sound and Lev saying, muffled, I think he’s having a moment.
Can he wake up Nate?
I think he’s a bit too deep in it for that. Graham, you call Nate, I’ m going to talk Danny through this until he’s up, okay?
Yeah, love. I’m on it. The one night I leave my fuckin’ phone in the other room...
Then silence, and it stretches too long, and Danny sobs again. He made it up. He made it all up. He made everything up and nothing is real and he belongs to Abraham Denner-
“Danny, I’m right here.” Lev’s voice is low, but firm. “I’m right here with you, all right? I’m going to talk to you, yeah? Can you answer me?”
“Y-Yes.” His voice is whimper. “M-my... my back hurts, Lev, none of it’s real, I don't know where I am...”
“You’re in your apartment. All right? Take a deep breath and look, what’s closest to you right now?”
“The, um, the-the coffee table is right there...”
“Okay. Reach out and touch it. I want you to feel that it’s real. Touch it and count to five.”
Danny nods, even though Lev can’t see him through the phone, and stretches out his arm. “H-hurts, there’s, there’s a knife in my back-”
“I know,” Lev soothes. His voice is soft, gentle, his accent singsong-sweet, and Danny takes the first deep breath he’s taken since he got lost in the hallway. His fingers touch cool wood and he runs them down the coffee table’s leg, feeling its hardness under his fingertips. “D’you have it?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“Okay. Let’s count to five together.”
“Okay, okay... c’n, I can do that, I can do it...”
They count in unison, Danny’s voice a trembling, terrified whisper and Lev’s a calm, collected monotone. The coffee table doesn’t fade away or dissolve under his fingers. It stays solid.
He takes another deep breath.
“There we go, I heard that,” Lev says, encouraging. His voice is like a hand on Danny’s forehead through the phone. “I heard you breathe, that’s good, that was a good breath. Okay. Let’s pick something else. What else is nearby?”
“Th-there’s a, a book, on the coffee table... Nate’s book, he bought it... oh god, Lev, I’m so sorry, I’m-... I made you up and I m-made you suffer just so I’d have someone like me-”
“No you didn’t. Honestly it’d be a relief if the world had some kind of order like that.” Lev’s voice is slightly dry, cutting through the white noise of panic that Danny can’t escape on his own. Behind him, he hears a phone ringing, distantly. Nate’s ringtone for everyone is an old rock song, and there are tinny, barely-audible guitar-sounds from down the hall. “Grab the book, Danny. Get it in your hands.”
He has to grab onto the coffee table and pull himself up onto his knees, groaning at the pain in his back, muscles seized up tight around the knife, the invasion. He grabs at it, pulling it close, then collapses back onto the floor. “H-hurts,” He whispers. “My back, it hurts, the knife-”
“I know, Danny. I know. I know it does. Tell me about the book.”
“It’s, um, it’s...” He lays his head on the floor, holding the book to his chest. The rough-edged cover feels more like fabric than cardboard, and he lets his fingers run back and forth, back and forth. “It’s a, uh, a book on... on something t’do with... literature, I don’t know, someone he went to college with published... it...”
“Good, good. Right, yeah, we’re gettin’ somewhere now. Okay. Keep talking to me, Danny, keep talking. Graham’s got your man on the phone, you’re going to be okay, yeah? You’re going to be okay. Keep talking.”
“I-I don’t know where I am,” Danny whispers. “I can’t remember what really happened and what didn’t. Did I make you up, Lev? Did I make you up to make it hurt less to be me?”
“No, Danny. No, I’m real as anything. Remember? Coming to visit me?”
“What if I didn’t?” Danny whispers.
“Then who the hell left his pants jammed in a ball under my bed? and left wearing my pants and with his t-shirt on backwards the next day?”
Danny lets out a breathy laugh.
“There it is. There you are, there’s Danny. Okay, there you go… there it is-”
A door opens and closes somewhere behind him. Hurried footsteps in the hall, the familiar scent of Nate’s cologne - and the man himself. A warm hand on his back.
“N-Nate, the blood-”
There isn’t any blood.
“Nate? You’re with him?” Lev’s voice sounds like he’s breathing out all at once, pure relief.
“I’m h-here,” Nate says, gently, whether it’s to Danny or Lev or to them both he can’t tell. “I’m here. Graham c-c-called me.”
“Right. He’s having a flashback, I think.”
“I don’t know where I am,” Danny says, trying to help, to be helpful. Nate’s hand on his face is warm, and Nate bundles him up in his arms, pulling him tightly. The pain in his back is immense but it fades, a little, at the warmth of Nate’s hand slipping around to settle there, a gentle pressure against sparking nerves. “My body belongs to-”
“Your body belongs to you,” Nate murmurs. “We f-f-fought for that. Your b-body is yours. I can handle him from here, Lev. Th-thank you for t-t-talking him through this.”
“Anytime, Nate. You know that.” Lev’s voice goes soft, and sincere. “You’ve talked me through more’n one of these yourselves. You call me later, yeah? I want to talk to Danny later.”
“He’ll c-call,” Nate says. “Bye, L-Lev.” There’s a warm, deep affection in his voice, and Danny smiles at a vague memory of a drunken conversation and tangled limbs and Lev’s voice soft in his ear and Graham’s hands on his, Nate’s low laughter. “He’s s-s-smiling. We’re, I’ll c-call you. He’ll c-call you. Bye.”
Lev’s voice murmurs a farewell and Nate hangs up the call, getting his feet under himself and picking Danny up like he weighs nothing at all.
Danny’s head lolls onto Nate’s shoulder - suddenly he’s exhausted, so weighed down he can barely think. His eyes slip shut, and his heart is still pounding but slower, slower.
Finally, slower.
“I’m bleeding-”
“You’re n-not.”
“I don’t know wh-where I am-”
“You’re home.”
“What’s... what’s home?”
“California. We bought the house but it’s not ready yet, we can’t m-m-move for three months.”
He’s quiet, and then asks, in a small voice, “What’s my name?”
“Y-your name is Daniel Michaelson.”
“Who... who do I belong to?”
“Yourself.”
Nate carries him back to the bedroom, answering every question he asks along the way.
The evening before moving day, Rebecca joined Sean and Dennis for a quiet take-out dinner at home, which they were currently lingering over as conversation flowed. Sean had felt jittery the whole meal, and he hoped neither she nor his father could see how tense he was. He wrestled with his thoughts, unable to put them to rest, utterly distracted until he realized the conversation around him had suddenly come to a stop. He looked up, seeing his dad looking at him expectantly. "I’m sorry, what?" he asked.
Dennis began to repeat the question, but instead amended, "Are you all right, Son? Your mind seems elsewhere."
Sean struggled to put his thoughts into words, his mouth opening and closing. "It’s this move," he started, then stalled out. His dad asked, "What about it?" Sean hesitated, then finally he blurted, "I can’t help but feeling as if we’re making a big mistake—this feels all wrong. We can’t just leave all this behind." That sure didn’t come out right, he thought with a wince.
"What? What do you mean?" his dad looked at him with his brows furrowed.
Sean stood from the table in a rush and splayed his hands in front of him. "I just don’t feel comfortable with it, okay? I know it's totally crazy to feel this way, but I can't help myself." his jaw clenched in frustration.
"What are you saying? We’ve been talking about this for a few months now. You’re just getting cold feet. Don’t worry, it’ll work out fine," Dennis remarked, rising to face his son and patting him on the shoulder.
Sean didn't feel reassured at all. "Dad, I— is there any other alternative to going through with all this? Please tell me there is another option," he pleaded, feeling irrationally desperate as sweat broke out on his forehead. Rebecca rose to stand beside Dennis, beginning to look concerned. "Sean," she began softly, then subsided.
"The movers are coming tomorrow morning, Sean—we can’t back out now," his dad interjected, sounding tired and irritated. "The house is already sold! What do you expect me to do?"
"I don’t know! I just—I can’t do this, it’s too much! I can’t handle it!" Sean’s voice rose as he strove to be understood. Rebecca stretched a hand out to touch his arm, but he stepped back, hands clenched to stop them from shaking. Her hand fell to her side, concern plainly written on her face.
"Hey, I know this is hard for you. But we’ve got to move forward with this. You’re going to be okay!" Dennis said forcefully, trying to convince and appease simultaneously.
Barely-contained emotion quivered underneath the taught muscles of Sean's shoulders and jaw. Rebecca stepped towards him again, but he didn’t want to be placated. Eyes burning, his voice cracked as it rose in anguish and frustration. "No! I’m NOT okay! NONE of this is okay! I didn’t ask for ANY of this!!" he exploded. He turned and fled the room, but not before he caught a glimpse of the shock frozen on the faces of his father and girlfriend.
He snatched his jacket from the hook and ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him. But he couldn’t outrun the guilt and shame peaking to a crescendo, and the wave of emotion crashed down as the tears finally broke free and coursed down his face. Grabbing his bike from the garage with a jerk, he hopped on and sped down the street, wishing the coming darkness would swallow him whole. Stifling his sobs with one arm, he coasted down the hill away from his childhood home. Whispers of old memories rose up in his mind, and he felt powerless to keep them away.
Hardly even seeing where he went, he sped down a quiet side road and pedaled furiously, finally stopping when he saw an empty field between two lots. He tossed his bike to the side and sought shelter under the low branches of an evergreen tree near the roadside. Flashbacks of his abduction began to assault his mind in earnest, leaving him shaking, his head on his knees.
The knife.
The darkness.
The pain.
*********************
*********************
Rebecca stood rooted to the spot momentarily as the front door slammed, rattling the front window in its pane. She had a sinking feeling this had been a long time coming, and she had missed the signs. She’d thought Sean was coping well. Suddenly her mind snapped to the present, and she dashed out the front door, Dennis on her heels. They both saw Sean hop on his bike and start down the street in the semi-darkness. Rebecca panicked for a second, then called in a rush as she ran to the garage, "Can I borrow your bike?" Dennis called out in agreement, as he headed to the car. Rebecca admonished quickly, "Why don’t you start it, but wait here? I might be able to talk him down, but I’ll call you if I need you!" she shouted the last of her words as she'd already jumped on the bike and shot down the street after Sean. Dennis stood staring after her, open-mouthed, then considered what she had said. He watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore, cell phone in hand, praying she would find his son. As the minutes ticked by, he started to put the vehicle in gear a half-dozen times, but stopped in indecision. Maybe Rebecca will have better luck if I stay out of it. She always seems to know how to help when he’s upset, he thought, feeling confused and guilty for his part in the argument.
Ten minutes later, he was beginning to rethink driving after them. His mind scrambled for ideas, wondering if the cell phone company could track Sean’s whereabouts. Anxiety mounted higher and higher as time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Fifteen minutes later, Dennis was buckling up while backing down the driveway when Rebecca texted him three short words— I found him. In relief he sagged against the seat, head in his hands, blowing out the breath he’d been holding.
Rebecca pedaled for all she was worth towards the receding form of her boyfriend in the distance. Breathing fast, her heart beating, she squinted to keep his dim shape in her line of sight, barely catching him turning down a side street, briefly illuminated in the circle of light from a street lamp. She was grateful that the neighborhood was quiet this time of night, the few cars on the road giving her a wide berth as she raced past parked vehicles. Rounding the corner, she caught sight again of Sean up ahead and felt intense relief. Pedaling as fast as a she could, she kept pace with him, but was unable to overtake him until at last, he pulled off to an abrupt stop up ahead. She saw him practically fall off of his bike in his hurry to get off, and then he disappeared into a field. Hurry, hurry, her mind pulsed with each breath, closing the distance and hopping off her borrowed bike in a rush.
It was already almost completely dark, and Rebecca’s head swiveled left and right, searching for some sign of Sean. She started forward, calling his name. In a few moments she stopped abruptly, straining to listen, certain she’d heard something. The sound of stifled sobs drifted towards her, and she surged forward towards the noise. “Sean!!” she cried out in mingled relief and worry as she spotted him, huddled beneath a tree. She sprinted towards him, quickly pulling her cell phone from her pocket and dictating a hurried text to Dennis: I found him. Falling to her knees next to Sean in a rush of breath, she brushed her hair out of her face and softly called his name. He didn’t move or acknowledge her presence, and her breath hitched in her chest. She tried reaching out to touch his shoulder, calling his name a little louder.
Sean gasped loudly as he shot backwards away from her like a singed cat, one shaking arm flung outward to keep her at bay. Rebecca paled at his reaction, then softly, gently, called out to him. "Sean, it’s me, Rebecca. Please, love, I’m here to help. Nothing’s going to hurt you." Her breath quivered in her throat. His breathing stopped altogether for a few beats, and then he slowly raised his head and opened his eyes. "Rebecca?" he breathed in disbelief. "What are you doing here?" She could hear how much his voice shook. She slowly began to creep towards him, and said softly, gently, "I followed you here, love. I just want to help you." She eased up next to his side as he blinked and looked up at her. His eyes seemed slightly unfocused as he panted, searching her face. She slowly brought one hand up to touch his cheek, making sure he could see it coming. He still flinched when she made contact, and she winced at the way he gasped, face twisting in remorse.
"You must hate me now," he said with a shudder, seeming to come back to himself. He turned his face away from Rebecca, but she didn't remove her hand. She scooted even closer to him and drew him towards her. "No way," she said, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pressing him close. "I'm just so glad I found you." He turned and pressed his face into her shoulder, and broke down sobbing. Rebecca held him close, rocking back and forth slightly, murmuring words of comfort, one hand making slow circles on his back. Her own tears made silent tracks down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away. She felt deeply disturbed by what had happened, but knew she would need to wait to ask questions until later. Right now Sean needed her.
Some time later, as he slowly subsided on her shoulder, Rebecca told him, "I've never hated you for one moment. I love you, Sean. I'll always love you, no matter what happens." He remained silent, shuddering sighs into her shoulder, spent of tears but still shaking slightly. "How about you come spend the night with me tonight? Put moving out of your mind for now. Just be with me, as long as you like. What do you think?" Sean didn't answer, but he nodded mutely against her shoulder. She released a breath in relief. "I'm going to need your dad to pick us up and drive us over, okay?"
Sean's head snapped up. "Oh no. Dad." His face paled. Rebecca smoothed his hair away from his face. "What's wrong?" she asked gently. "He's going to be so mad." his voice shook. "No, I can promise you, he won't be," Rebecca reassured resolutely. "He'll just be glad you're okay." Sean lowered his head back to her shoulder, sighing deeply. He made no attempt to respond.
Rebecca pulled her phone out with one hand, and reached both arms behind Sean's back so she could text Dennis while still keeping Sean in her embrace. She glanced up at a street sign by the road, squinting to make out the name, and asked Dennis to pick them up, telling him Sean would be spending the night with her. She asked if he could bring a change of clothes, and asked him not to say too much to Sean when he arrived--she felt he wasn't ready to face conversation just yet.
A reply appeared little more than a minute later: I'm on my way. Rebecca sighed in relief and put her phone away, holding Sean a little tighter. He sagged against her, keeping his face hidden. "Love, I need to stand up with you, so your Dad will be able to see us," she gently murmured near his ear. He sighed and sat up, keeping his eyes averted, and shakily stood to his feet with her support. She put one arm around his waist and draped his arm across her shoulders, determined to support him as much as she could. Together they walked slowly back towards the roadside, at the same time as headlights appeared heading quickly towards them on the road. Dennis rolled up in his vehicle and came to a fast stop, hopping out of the door and leaving it ajar in his haste. "Is he all right?" he asked Rebecca breathlessly. "I think so, for the most part," she answered quietly, sending a look of compassion towards Sean's father. He looked distraught, his hair wild and his clothes disheveled. He reached for Sean's arm, gently giving it a squeeze. "I'm so glad we found you, Son. I thought I'd lost you for a bit there." Sean met his gaze with an agonizing look on his face, then ducked his head and mumbled an apology.
Rebecca ushered him into the backseat and helped him buckle in, sitting as close to his side as she could and keeping an arm around him. She heard Dennis loading the bikes up in the back one by one, and then he got back into the driver's seat and turned the car around, heading for Rebecca's house. Rebecca again pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to her mom, asking if they could give Sean and her some privacy and quiet when they arrived.
She put her phone away and tugged Sean closer to her as Dennis navigated what little traffic was on the road. His eyes kept seeking out Sean's in the rearview mirror, but his son kept his gaze averted. As they waited at a stop light, Rebecca met Dennis's searching gaze next, sending him an understanding look. I'll call you, she mouthed silently, and Dennis nodded minutely.
“Paralyzed” Master List
Arriving at the Summers' residence, Dennis hopped out and opened the back door for them. Sean seemed reluctant to move from Rebecca's side, so she whispered, "It's all right, I'll be right here with you the whole time." He shuddered and climbed out from the vehicle, again avoiding his dad's scrutiny by keeping his head down. But Dennis pulled Sean into a crushing hug, whispering to him, "I love you so much, I hope you know that, Son." Sean choked on a breath, his face twisted in dismay. Rebecca stood from the car and put a hand on Sean's back. Dennis released Sean and said in a rough voice, "Call me when you feel up to it, Bud," then gave Rebecca a meaningful glance and got back in the car. Rebecca nodded once and put her arm around Sean again, drawing him towards the front door. Finding it unlocked, she stepped inside with him still leaning on her slightly. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she saw that none of her family were around, and she shut the front door behind them and led Sean towards her room, passing her brother's closed door in the hallway. Shutting her door behind them, she propelled him gently towards her bed. "Wait," he squeaked softly, and she stopped, looking up at him expectantly. He shrank back a bit, but still said in a whisper, "The bathroom, please." Rebecca nodded in understanding and strode down the hall with him, disengaging her arms from him at the bathroom doorway.
Sean's face looked momentarily panicked. "Don't go anywhere?" he pleaded in a low voice. "Don't worry, I'll be right here, I promise," she soothed, and he nodded in relief as she shut the door.
She waited in the hallway until she heard the door open again, and put a steadying arm back around Sean's waist as they headed back into her bedroom. She eased him down onto the bed, pulling his shoes off for him, and took his face in her hands. "Are you hungry at all? Thirsty?" she searched his face. When he shook his head, she nodded and curled into his side as he laid down. Pulling the blankets up over them, she put both arms around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want, love," she whispered. "You don't have to go anywhere, do anything you're not ready for yet." Sean's body shivered slightly as he released a deep sigh, and his eyes drifted closed. She gently carded her fingers through his hair, over and over, for long moments as the shivering subsided and she could hear his breathing get slower and deeper. Once she was absolutely positive he was sleeping deeply, she rolled slightly away and spent quite awhile texting Dennis back and forth, answering his questions and making plans to have Sean meet up at the new place when he was ready for it. She told Dennis she would take good care of him, and that she hoped Dennis would be all right after all that had happened. Dennis assured her he would, and wished her a good night, after thanking her multiple times.
Rebecca gave an involuntary sigh of relief knowing everything pressing was handled. A huge yawn overtook her and she stretched languidly, careful not to disturb Sean as he slept. She debated whether to leave him for a few moments, deciding to leave her door ajar in case he woke. She rose and took her own shoes off, leaving them next to Sean's, and replaced them with her favorite slippers before padding down the hall to the restroom. Then she stepped quietly out into the living room, still not seeing anyone about, not even the family dog. Wow, they really took what I said to heart, she thought. Ascending the stairs softly, she knocked quietly on her parents' door, unsure whether they were even home. Her mother opened the door quickly, questions obviously written on her face, but remaining silent as Rebecca fell into her embrace with a soul-weary sigh. Her father came up next to them and put his arms around both of them.
Rebecca led them both downstairs as she desperately needed something to drink, and a snack, and they both listened as she spoke to them in a hushed voice about the evening's events. Both Bonnie and Robert agreed that Sean could stay as long as he wanted to, and Rebecca felt grateful for that. Rebecca asked about Danny's whereabouts, and they told her that her brother was having an impromptu sleepover with a friend. "This sounded serious, so we thought it would be for the best," Robert said quietly. "Thanks, Dad," Rebecca murmured as she munched on some crackers.
She excused herself not long after, saying she should get back to her room. Both of her parents wrapped her in a bear hug and wished her a good night. With a small smile, she slipped down the hall and back into her room, closing the door softly behind her. Sean still slumbered on, a frown creasing his features as he slept. Rebecca changed into pajamas and crawled in next to him, careful not to disturb him as she got comfortable for the night.
Thariel shrank down as low as she could against the wall. Her eyes were wide, fingers curled into tight fists as panic stabbed through her. Fingers dug into her shoulders, keeping her from tucking herself into a ball, the human above her clenching her teeth in clear, unquestionable rage.
For a moment, a sharp, horrible moment that felt like claws racking along the inside of her chest, Thariel saw now more than ever the family resemblance between May and Marnie.
“There’s no business here for you to take care of,” Marnie snapped, her voice raised to a booming level as she looked over her shoulder, staring down the angels that stood there. “I know very well what I’m doing. Now leave.”
Thariel quaked, not from the creatures that intended her death, but from Marnie. Her breath caught, her limbs stiffened. The human mother stood above her, pinning her in place with all the fury of a thunderstorm, and Thariel was afraid.
Chains and darkness, isolation, burning, silence, cold. Cold, freezing, and the knowledge that this was her fault, that she’d done this to herself, and now there were tears. Hot, burning paths against her cheeks. Her hands were curled in Mother’s shirt. The world around her was entirely too close, she was trapped, her legs quaking under her weight.
“...I think we’re okay,” Marnie said. The harshness faded from her tone, again the soothing murmur, but this, too, was what May sounded like.
Thariel gave a helpless sob. “I-I’m sorry, I’m...I didn’t mean to, I’m s-sorry, please, I...”
She didn’t see if Marnie’s expression changed. So blinded by tears, she couldn’t see their effect, could only feel it as Marnie pulled her into a hug, her voice softening further. “Oh, no. No, no no, sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay, you’re okay.”
And the worst of it was that Thariel knew this. She knew Marnie wasn’t May. It wasn’t Marnie’s fault that she looked like her sister, sounded like her sister, felt like her sister.
But still, every fiber in Thariel’s being screamed at her to keep begging for mercy.
I wrote up a little drabble post - Hindsight. I don’t know if this will make it into the actual sequel but I couldn’t get this scene/idea out of my head - it just kept playing over and over, so I had to write it down. It also serves as a little THANK YOU for being so patient with me.
Enjoy
“Sir, Mr Parker is in distress, his heart rate is abnormally high, temperature has risen..”
The voice rattles off, but Tony’s already moving. He knew Peter was still getting nightmares... some worse than others. Most not requiring Tony’s assistance.
Peter had made himself clear. He didn’t want to be babied, he wanted to heal on his own. Which usually left Tony with his back pressed to the wall beside Peters door, listening to Peters sobs and muffling his own.
He takes solace in knowing Peter can probably hear his heart. Maybe it offers some reassurance to the distressed kid.
They have an agreement. Peter was to call out if he wanted Tony to come in, to help him through the episode. So when Tony reaches the door he waits for that signal.
Only, tonight feels different. Wrong.
He doesn’t know how he knows that, but everything in him screams to go inside this time. To not wait for the call, or the sobs or the pleas.
Riding on the instinct, he slowly opens the door, expecting the usual : Peter to be curled in on himself, shaking from his fear.
Which is why he is surprised to find the opposite.
Peter lying on the bed, as stiff and flat as a board. Hands pressed to his sides, entire body rigid.
For a moment he reminds Tony of a corpse. Reminds him of the bodies of his parents in their coffins. He shudders the thought away, slowly approaching the bed.
He smells if first, and after switching on the bedside light, he sees it too.
Peter has wet the bed, which is ... new, but not unexpected. The doctors and the books and the late night searches had all implied that bed wetting from traumatic nightmares and flashbacks and episodes was all common. Especially among young teens like Peter.
“Hey kiddo, I’m here. You’re safe” he murmurs, unsure if Peter was still distressed.
But the boy remained stiff. At closer inspection, Tony sees that his eyes are open and blank. As if seeing nothing at all.
What had the books said?
‘Treat with caution but respect. Make sure the child doesn’t feel you are going to humiliate or reprimand the accident. Support and clean quickly.’
Tony pulls back the covers gently. “Common Pete, I bet you’d kill for a shower right now” he smiles sadly.
Peter stays still, eyes glazed and unfocused. Tony’s never seen him like this before.
It fucking terrifies him.
Maybe Peter was still in the nightmare? He places a gentle hand on the boys frozen cheek, startling at the cold temperature. “Peter? You with me?” He whispers, worried to not scare the already catatonic child.
Peter rolls his head slightly, eyes blind.
“Do you want me to carry you to the bathroom?” Tony asks, feeling unsure of himself. Of everything.
Peters head rolls back, jaw tight and eyebrows creased.
Tony, at a loss, takes it as a strange affirmative. He slots an arm under the teens neck and one under his knees, pulling him up to his chest.
He can feel the soaked pyjama bottoms seeping into his own clothes, making a mental note to not forget his own shower after handling Peter.
He eyes the shower and looks back down to the limp boy, deciding against it. Not wanting to add to the nightmare, Tony keeps talking, hoping his words were registering.
“I’m gonna take your shirt off Pete, but you can keep your pants on okay? You can take them off when we are done” he smiles reassuringly, despite feeling anything but reassured himself.
He sits Peter down gingerly on the toilet seat, seeing that he was holding himself up (loosely), and turning on the taps to the bath.
He brewed over the behaviour, shooting worried glances to the disassociated teen. He knew what to do for disassociation, he knew what to do for bed wetting.
But when it was a disassociation and a bed-wet, he had no fucking clue.
The bath was half full, enough to clean but no where near enough to submerge. He didn’t need a drowning right now.
“Do you think you can get in the tub Pete? I’m sure you’re starting to feel a little uncomfortable yeah?” Peters eyes flicker but remain stoic. Distant and black.
Tony clenches his jaw in anxiety, wishing more than anything they were surrounded by professionals right now. He knows to stay calm, but he had never seen the kid like this, he had never felt as though the anxiety in his chest was tearing him brutally apart as he watched this nightmare unfold.
Tony couldn’t even begin to comprehend what must Peter being going through in his head.
He scoops the boy up again, noting to memory the lack of resistance. He lowers his arms down into the tub as carefully as his old bones can manage, watching as Peters face scrunches, eyes darting for a second before relaxing again into nothing.
He slinks to his knees on the tile beside the tub, unsure of what to do.
“Pete buddy you’re okay, you’re in the tower, I’ve put you in the bath to clean up. I’m not mad at you, Grant isn’t here” he repeats the script he had memorised. All the words that might bring a catatonic traumatised teen back.
But there’s nothing.
“I’m so proud of you Pete, come back to me okay? So I can say it to your face. This is once in a lifetime opportunity that you won’t want to miss”
Still nothing.
He drops his head to the edge of the tub, trying to control his own tears. What was he supposed to do?
When Peter does move, Tony almost wishes he were still catatonic.
Peter gasps, eyes wild, yet unseeing. He slams his hands to the sides of the tub, feet stretching to feel for the end. “No no no no!” He whispers brokenly.
Tony can see his face showing absolute indescribable fear. His stomach drops. Peter was back, and obviously embarrassed.
“It’s okay Pete, it was an accident, we are just going to clean up and then go back to bed okay? No harm done”
For some reason he doesn’t think Peter heard.
Peter keeps whining a string of no’s. He shakes his head, slipping back in the water until he’s straight, hair swimming like a halo.
He slams his head so fast into the side of the tub Tony doesn’t even see it.
The other side he does.
“Peter! Jesus kid! “ he yelps, trying to help the boy back up. Peter doesn’t hear him again, slamming is head into the ceramic, bouncing it back purposefully to hit the other side just as hard.
“No no please no, I can’t, no more, please let me out” he cries pitifully.
Tony panics.
He goddamn panics.
“You want out Pete ? Is that it ?” But he has no idea. What was Peter reliving ? What was Peter so afraid of?
“Let me out, please let me out! God please don’t let me die in here, PLEASE”
The utter terror in Peter voice has Tony scrambling to pull him out too fast.
The both tumble to the cold floor, Peter soaked to the bone, jerking and begging.
Tony holds Peter to his chest, pushing his feet on the wet floor and dragging them both backwards until he feels the cold tile on his back as he hits a wall. Bringing Peter up into bridal in his lap, he blindly reaches for a towel, wrapping it around Peter and cradling him closer.
“Shhh, you’re okay, you’re not there.” He breathes into Peters hair. His own hands shaking.
This was the worst he had ever seen a flashback. The worst.
“Come back to me Pete, please come back” He shuddered, rocking the still whispering begging teen. “Come back to me.”
Then let's try our very best to fake it [A Throne of Glass Fanfic]
The first night they had spent together after the defeat of Erawan all they had done was collapse onto Dorian’s narrow cot in the tiny room his was sharing with Fenrys, clutch at each other and sob. Or Dorian and Manon post Kingdom of Ash.
Dorian jerked awake in the darkness of his newly rebuilt tower, gasping for breath. The screams of his own guards echoed through his head along with the suffocating coldness of the Valg prince’s influence. He patted at his neck feeling the smooth skin there in an attempt to reassure himself that the collar was gone. He was safe. He had nothing to fear. His mind was his own.
Manon lay in the bed next to him her moon-colored hair spread out across the pillows. Slowly, Dorian eased himself back down onto the bed, eyes never leaving her. He walked his hand across the space between them and ran his fingertips across hers. He felt the places where her iron claws would snap out to cover her regular nails and thought about how easily they could slice through his flesh and end his life. She could kill you. He reminded himself. It was the mantra he repeated every time he’d woken in a panic next to her. If you were possessed she could kill you before you hurt anyone. It’s safe. You can relax.
Manon’s eyes opened, the luminous gold shining in the darkness. They just stared at each other for several stretching seconds.
“I’m okay,” Dorian said after a minute answering the question he knew she was thinking.
Manon raised an eyebrow skeptically. She knew he wasn’t alright just as clearly as he knew she wasn't alright. The first night they had spent together after the defeat of Erawan all they had done was collapse onto Dorian’s narrow cot in the tiny room his was sharing with Fenrys, clutch at each other and sob. They had eventually cried themselves to sleep and woken in the morning with aching heads and Fenrys still conspicuously missing. They hadn’t talked about it but then again they hadn’t really needed to, they were both able to fathom the depths of the other’s pain without needing to use words.
Manon didn’t push Dorian for more details, she knew that he would talk if he wanted to; it was a courtesy he also granted to her. Eventually, however, she reached out with the hand that wasn’t touching his and brushed his hair back into place. The gesture was a little awkward and hesitant—Manon was still getting the hang of gestures of affection—but still comforting. “You should go back to sleep,” she said. “I’ll watch over you.”
Dorian knew she didn’t mean she’d kill him if he showed any signs of being possessed again, in fact he was pretty sure she didn’t even know about that, but it was still comforting. He curled deeper into the blankets and tried to catch a little more sleep.
~~~~
Getting back into the palace at Rifthold turned out to be the easiest part of retaking his throne. The Valg were all dead or comatose and the witches had left to fight in Terrasen, so they basically walked right in. The trouble was reinstating control over the panicking population. Dorian, Chaol and Yrene had the khaganate armies with them which allowed them to establish order but that was only a temporary fix. Dorian immediately began reforming Adarlan’s army. The people couldn’t be allowed to view the khaganate’s presence as a foreign occupation and Adarlan needed to be able to defend itself again before the other countries rebuilt enough to wonder if they should be allowed to.
With Manon flying back to the Wastes with her people and Chaol and Yrene occupied with their coming child, Dorian was remarkably alone for those first few weeks. All the advisors he’d appointed after his father’s death had either fled or been killed by the witches and the court had never reformed after the destruction of the glass palace. Dorian was king of an empty, echoing palace with far too many ghosts and empty rooms.
Still he tried to make the best of it. He could not begrudge Manon her queendom or Chaol and Yrene their happiness. He hadn’t even expected to live to see the end of the war; that should have been enough of him.
So he worked and tried to rebuild his kingdom. He appointed new advisors, he appointed a new Captain of the Guard, he encouraged the sycophants who had made up the court for all his life to return. He was a good king. The only thing he did which raised eyebrows was order that his tower be rebuilt as quickly as possible and sleep in a guest room until it was. He hadn’t been able to set foot in his father’s chambers after his coronation and the fact that the man had saved his life from the Lock did nothing to change that.
He worked hard and fell exhausted into bed every night only to wake a few hours later panting with panic and wondering if his mind was his own. Sometimes he could get to sleep again sometimes he wouldn’t but he always got up the next morning and continued on like nothing had happened. It was nothing new. He’d been having nightmares since Aelin had freed him from Valg control. At first he’d screamed so loud that the guards had come running thinking he was being assassinated but eventually he’d learned to panic silently and he was pretty sure he had most people fooled.
Two days before the night he woke panting next to Manon, he had returned to his newly refurbished tower to find her sitting on his bed, grinning at him. For a few minutes all he did was stare at her.
“What’s the matter, princeling?” She asked.
“You’re here,” He said. Then cursed himself for not coming up with something more eloquent to say.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t come to visit?” She asked. Her smile didn’t falter but her eyes looked a little hurt.
“I’d hoped you would,” Dorian said. A year before he might have managed to make that sound confident or flirty, now he just sounded like he was going to cry from shear relief. “I’m glad you did.”
~~~~
“I’m going to write my mother and tell her that it’s safe for her and Hollin to return to Rifthold,” Dorian announced breakfast the morning after he’d woken Manon while panicking.
“You don’t have to associate with them if you don’t want to,” Manon said. “You’re the king.” She popped another sausage into her mouth and chewed loudly. In the time Dorian had spent traveling with the Thirteen and Manon he’d seen them eat food both raw and cooked and never had been able to tell which they preferred. She was, however, eating with her hands which Dorian suspected was meant to annoy Chaol who was sitting across the table with his mouth puckered in displeasure.
Chaol has not actually pulled Dorian aside for the “I think we need to talk about your choice of lovers” talk that Dorian knew his best friend was dying to have. Chaol had wisely let it go when there was a war going on, but now there was nothing to stop him, especially now that he knew Manon intended to keep visiting. Dorian was dreading that conversation because he didn’t know how to explain to his best friend what was going on between him and Manon.
“I know I don’t have to,” Dorian said. “But my mother deserves better than to be locked up in the mountains and Hollin is my heir. It’s in my best interest if he doesn’t have reason to hate me.” He didn’t mention that Hollin was likely to be the only heir he’d ever have. After all, he couldn’t see himself ever marrying another woman even if it was just for an heir and any child of his and Manon’s would be an immortal witch and therefore heir to her mother’s throne.
He pushed the thought of a child with Manon away before it completely formed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of being a parent when he barely managed to hold himself together half the time, and he had no idea how Manon felt about such things. Not to mention, witchlings were even rarer than Fae children were; the chances that he and Manon would be able to conceive together even if they tried were not good. It was not even worth considering.
Even if he also wasn’t convinced he didn’t want to have a baby with Manon.
Chaol ripped his eyes away from Manon. “That makes sense,” he said. “You should do that.”
I don’t need your permission. Dorian thought, then quickly crushed the thought. Chaol did not deserve his frustration. He did not have to come back here with him when he would have been perfectly welcome either in Terrasen or Antica. Dorian should be happy with that. He couldn’t ruin it.
~~~~
Dorian’s mother and brother had spent the war in a castle in the mountains. Dorian’s father had sent them there before his death and Dorian had never invited them back.
All in all, that mountain keep was probably the safest place in Adarlan, which was different from saying that the war had not touched them. Rifthold’s fall had cut off supply lines and Erawan had sent a small battalion of soldiers and a few witches to blockade the keep. None of Morath’s forces had ever tried all that hard to invade that keep which begged the question of what exactly Erawan had been doing. Dorian would have put money on the whole point being to keep tabs on Hollin until Dorian himself could be confirmed dead and Erawan could put Hollin on the throne of Adarlan with a Valg collar around his neck.
No matter what the plan had been, Georgina and Hollin Havilliard had had a much tamer run of the war than Dorian had, but they still had experienced it at least in part. The keep had begun to run out of food in the last months of the war and had gone into pretty heavy rationing. Dorian only knew this from the reports sent by the lord of the keep; his mother’s letters were nothing but endless prattling about how much she was looking forward to returning to Rifthold. He hadn’t heard anything from Hollin, but that was not exactly unsurprising.
Georgina and Hollin arrived as the sun was setting one morning early in the spring once the snow had melted enough to travel. Dorian, Chaol and Yrene met them on the front steps of the palace. Manon was back in the Wastes, something Dorian was more than a little thankful for; he was not ready to introduce his Irontooth witch lover to his mother yet.
As long as Dorian had been alive, his mother had remained basically unchanged. Her clothes changed with the fashions, but she never seemed to age. Her skin had remained smooth and perfect and her auburn hair remained vibrant as ever. When he’d been a child, Dorian had sometimes wondered if she was secretly Fae and that was how she remained youthful.
Nothing could have prepared him for his mother with lines on her face and gray in her hair. She’d lost weight and the traveling gown she was wearing hung strangely on her. She looked tired and old. Six months in an out-of-the-way keep had aged her more than twenty years in the glass palace of Rifthold had. He barely recognized her.
He could tell from the way her faltered when she saw him, that she barely recognized him either. He supposed that was unsurprising. In the recent months he’d had most of his wardrobe remade. The fashionable things he’d once worn now seemed frivolous, and he’d put on enough muscle since being freed from Valg possession that most of the clothes that had been designed to hug his soft, unhoned prince’s body didn’t fit him anymore. He still favored the same blue color scheme as he had for most of his life, but the style of his clothes was now decidedly military. Not to mention that there was the pale band of skin from the Valg collar which he couldn’t decide whether to hide or to display proudly like a battlescar.
Dorian gave his mother a smile, trying to set her at ease. “Hello, Mother,” he said. “How was your trip?” He consciously tried to sound like his old self. Nesryn had told him that his intonation had changed slightly since he’d been freed. Not much, but it was noticeable. “You sound like you’ve constantly got something really heavy and all-consuming on your mind,” she’d told him. He assumed Chaol and Aelin had noticed as well and just decided not to mention it.
Georgina tried to give him the same sunny smile she’d used hundreds of times a day in court, but it came out a little cracked and tired. “It’s good to see you,” she said. Even her voice sounded older. “The trip was fine, thank you very much.”
They hugged then, but a little awkwardly. Neither of them had much practice in physical affection with the other. When they pulled apart, Dorian motioned Chaol and Yrene forward. “Mother, you remember Chaol, don’t you?” he asked. “He’s my Hand now.”
She nodded to Chaol and he gave her a galant little bow. “Nice to see you again, your majesty.”
“And this is his wife, Lady Yrene Towers Westfall of the Torre Cesme,” Dorian continued.
Yrene curtseyed. “Your majesty.”
Georgina nodded, looking like she was barely paying attention. After a moment, she reached behind her and called, “Hollin, are you going to say hello?”
Footsteps sounded behind her and Dorian looked up to see his little brother standing quietly on the steps behind her.
Hollin had changed as much as Georgina had. His hair had grown long enough that it could be tied back with a ribbon. Like his mother, he’d lost weight and that made him and Dorian look more alike than they ever had before.
The biggest change, however was in mannerisms. The Hollin Dorian had known before would never had stood quietly and waited to be addressed. Hollin surveyed them all with a pinched look of someone who had learned something fundamentally nasty about the world. He didn’t look like someone who had just been freed from being possessed by a Valg prince all his life, but he did look different.
Hollin stared up into Dorian’s face for a long while before he spoke, “Is this you, Dorian?” he asked. “Is this really you?”
“Of course it is,” Dorian said. “Who else would it be?” He ignored the obvious, “A Valg prince masquerading as you” because there was no way that was what Hollin meant. He didn’t know what exactly his brother did mean, but he knew it wasn’t that; no one in the court had noticed that.
Hollin studied Dorian for so long it began to get uncomfortable, then he said, “I’m tired. Do I have a room to sleep in?”
“Yes,” Dorian said, caught wrongfooted. “Since your old room was in the glass palace, I had a room made up for you for tonight and then tomorrow you can choose another room.”
“Okay,” Hollin said. “That sounds good.”
Dorian had never heard Hollin say the words “okay” or “good” before. He was starting to wonder if it was possible the boy had been possessed.
“I’ll take you to your room,” Yrene said, bending down so she was more on Hollin’s level and holding out her hand. “Would you like that?”
Hollin eyed Yrene’s hand like he wasn’t sure what to do with it, then reached out slowly and took it. “I would like that,” he said. A pause. “Thank you.”
Yrene grinned and straightened up. “Come along, then,” she said leading him into the stone palace.
“I assume my chambers remain as they were before?” Georgina asked.
“Of course, Mother,” Dorian said shoving aside his shock at Hollin’s halfway human behavior. “I had them cleaned for you.”
“Thank you,” she said and headed into the palace after Hollin and Yrene.
Dorian shot a look at Chaol who just shrugged.
~~~~
The weeks passed. Georgina’s presence drew the courtiers back to the palace and within a week they were having parties just as they once had. Dorian avoided them like the plague, locking himself in his tower or shape-shifting into a crow and flying to the house Chaol was building for himself and Yrene or to the beach to watch the waves. Some nights he stood on his balcony, stared at the horizon and wondered how long it would take him to get to the Wastes if he shifted into a wyvern and made the wind blow at his back as he flew. He always managed to talk himself out of it. His magic was not boundless anymore and he needed to be careful of his limits. Someday, however, he promised himself, he would find an excuse to go the Wastes and see Manon’s queendom just as she had seen his kingdom.
There were a number of strange things going on, though. Hollin had been remarkably subdued. He hadn’t thrown any tantrums and hadn’t even chosen a new room. When Dorian had asked about it, Hollin had simply said the room he was currently in was “fine” and hadn’t elaborated when Dorian had pushed.
“Was he possessed before we defeated Erawan?” Dorian asked Yrene in an undertone one morning, after Hollin had been accidently served burnt porridge and had simply eaten it without comment until Georgina had swooped in and demanded something better for him.
“I checked the first day they arrived,” Yrene replied, her hand resting on her growing belly. “There’s no sign of Valg possession past or present.”
“But he’s acting so different,” Dorian said. “What other explanation in there?”
Yrene shrugged. “He’s had a hard few months, people change.”
Dorian glanced across the room and saw that Hollin was watching him with an intense expression. “He keeps doing that,” he said.
“Doing what?” Yrene asked, following his gaze.
“Watching me,” Dorian said. “Every time I turn around he’s staring at me. It’s freaking me out. I’m starting to think he’s plotting my murder.”
“I don’t think it’s anything that drastic,” Yrene said after a moment. “I’ll see what I can find out, but it might not be much; I don’t want to lose his trust.”
“Thank you,” Dorian said. “I’ll sleep a lot better at night if I know what exactly’s going on with him.”
~~~~
One night several weeks after Georgina and Hollin had returned to the palace, Dorian returned to his tower after a long day of politicking. When he finally got back to his tower, he had a headache and was exhausted from far too many nights of broken, nightmare-filled sleep. He was thinking of little more than collapsing face down onto his bed and trying to sleep for a few hours before the nightmares woke him again when he realized there was someone sitting on his bed. His first thought was that someone had broken in to kill him, then he recognized the moon-colored hair.
“Manon.”
She lifted her head to look at him and he realized her face was streaked with tears. He started across the room towards her and she threw herself into his arms. Dorian wrapped his arms around her and said nothing. She would speak when she was ready.
Manon only allowed herself about five minutes of tears before she pulled away and pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, tightly. “I just-”
“It’s fine,” Dorian said. “You’re allowed to cry. I won’t judge you for it and no one else should either.”
Manon collapsed down onto the bed and hugged herself. Dorian sat down next to her, close enough that she could lean against him if she wanted but not close enough that they were touching in case she didn’t want that. “I don’t even know what’s--why--” she sighed. “I can’t figure out what is different than any other week. Nothing unusual happened. I just can’t stop thinking about them and it hurts and I just needed to get away so I came-”
“So I came here.” Dorian was flattered that he was person she thought to come to when she was upset, but that was something to feel proud about at another time. “That happens sometimes,” he said once he’d had enough time to gather his thoughts and work out something intelligent to say. “I’m glad you came here instead of suffering alone.”
Manon nodded, her lips pressed tight together like she was trying not to cry again. She ran her hands into her hair and gripped tight. She didn’t have her iron nails out so Dorian took that as a victory, though she could pull her hair out by the roots without her nails.
“Can I hold you?” he asked. “Would that help?”
After a moment she nodded and Dorian carefully threaded his arms around her, holding her gently against him. Eventually they fell backwards onto the bed together and drew their legs up, not caring that they were both still wearing boots. Manon turned towards Dorian and wrapped her arms around him as well.
They lay together, listening to the sounds of their own breathing for a long, long time.
~~~~
When Dorian next woke the room was dark and chilly now that the fire had gone out. Manon was still curled up against him, fast asleep. At first he thought the cold had been what had woken him, but then he heard a tentative knocking on the door. He closed his eyes and hoped whoever was would just go away, but the knocking came again and again.
He opened his eyes again to find Manon awake, her golden eyes glowing. “Do people often knock on your door in the middle of the night?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then it's probably important,” she said. “You should answer it. Who knows, maybe it’s news that another demon king had broken into the world and has gone on a murderous rampage.”
Dorian’s stomach lurched at the thought. “That,” he said. “Is not funny,” but it got up and headed for the door.
When he opened the door, he was expecting news about anything from another country declaring war on Adarlan to Yrene going into early labor. What was actually waiting on the other side of the door was the exact last thing he ever would have expected.
“Hollin?”
His little brother looked up at him with serious eyes. He was dressed in sleep clothes and looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. “I need to talk to you,” he said.
“Hollin, it’s the middle of the night,” Dorian said, positioning his body so Hollin couldn’t see into the room and catch a glimpse of Manon. “You woke me up. Go back to bed; we can talk in the morning.”
“You’re still dressed,” Hollin pointed out, eyebrows raised. “You even have your boots on.”
He had a point. Dorian searched his mind for a better excuse but couldn’t find one. “It’s still late. You should be asleep and I need to get to bed if I’m going to be good for anything tomorrow. We can talk after breakfast.” He started to close the door, but Hollin’s hand shot out and stopped it.
“I know it wasn’t you,” Hollin said.
Dorian froze. “What are you talking about?” he asked, feeling ice crystals beginning to form on his teeth and tongue.
“At your birthday party. And around the palace before Mother and I were sent away,” Hollin said. “It looked like you, it sounded like you, but it wasn’t you. No one else seemed to notice, but I did and at first I thought I was crazy. Then we got trapped in the mountains and people were talking about how the enemy could invade someone and turn them into some else entirely, and I knew.”
Dorian didn’t know what it do. His ears rang and he felt like he was about to pass out. No one outside of those directly involved with Erawan’s defeat were supposed to know about Dorian’s possession. It was almost a bigger secret than the fact that Dorian had been the one to destroy the glass palace. Hollin couldn’t know. He just couldn’t.
“I think you better let him in, princeling,” Manon said coming up behind him. “This is not a conversation that should take place in a hallway.”
Hollin’s jaw dropped, his eyes got huge and his face turned beet red. “I-I-I-”
Manon pushed Dorian gently aside and motioned for Hollin to come in. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she crooned. “Nothing untoward is happening. Come in.”
Hollin stepped cautiously into the room, eyeing Manon carefully. He wasn’t stupid; he could tell Manon wasn’t human.
Dorian closed the door softly and leaned against it as Manon motioned for Hollin to sit down on the bed. “You should sit down too, princeling,” she said without looking at Dorian, “before you pass out.”
Dorian sunk down onto the bed leaving a good amount of space between himself and Hollin. Manon kicked off her boots and hitched herself up on the end of the bed so she was sitting on the frame with her feet on the mattress. For several minutes none of them spoke then Dorian finally managed to figure out what to say, “You said you knew it wasn’t me,” He said “How could you tell? You barely know me.”
“You didn’t find excuses to leave the room whenever I entered it,” Hollin said, matter-of-factly. “And Father actually seemed pleased with you most of the time.”
Dorian bit his lip. He hadn’t realized Hollin had noticed that he had avoided him, he’d thought the child to self-centered for that. The shame of it gutted him. Manon put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed cautiously like she wasn’t quite sure if she was doing it right.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Hollin said. “That’s where that came from, isn’t it?” He pointed at the band of pale skin around Dorian’s neck.
Dorian couldn’t stop from reaching up to touch the bare skin of his neck. “Yes,” He said after a minute. “That’s exactly where this came from.”
Hollin said nothing, chewing on his lip for a long time. “But…” he said. “You’re you now, right?” The words held more feeling than Dorian had ever heard from his little brother before. He realized this was what Hollin had meant when he’d asked if it was really Dorian on his first day back in Rifthold. He’d known that the last time he had seen Dorian it had been a demon and not his brother, and he’d been trying to figure out if that was still the case.
“It’s me now,” Dorian assured him. “I was rescued.”
Hollin nodded very slowly as he worked it over. “Can it take over again?”
Dorian whole being tensed to hear someone state the very thing that haunted his nightmares. Manon squeezed his shoulder again. “No,” he said after a moment, because that was what Hollin needed to hear. “Now that Erawan has been defeated, it can’t.”
Hollin pursed his lips and thought. Dorian waited for his reaction. “The soldiers in the keep talked about how the enemy could possess our own people,” he said after a while. “Mother said that was a folktale, but it wasn’t. That was how Erawan got his army.” Dorian nodded and Hollin went on, “Did anyone else get possessed? Or was it just you?”
Dorian opened his mouth, then stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t just tell Hollin about their father. Hollin was a child, and even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t like there was any real reason he needed know now.
As if she could tell what he was thinking, Manon leaned forward. “You should tell him,” she said into his ear, soft enough that Hollin couldn’t hear but Dorian’s magic still picked up on it.
“I can’t tell him,” Dorian hissed back, knowing that Manon’s immortal hearing was better than a human’s. “He’s a child.”
“It’s his father too,” Manon said. “He deserves to know.”
“What are you talking about?” Hollin asked, sounding suspicious for the first time in the conversation.
Dorian sighed and Manon pulled away, though her hand still remained tentatively on his shoulder. “Hollin,” he said, trying to force the words out before he thought to much about what he was saying, “About our father…”
~~~~
Dorian tried to keep it simple, but Hollin still looked shell-shocked by the time he was done. He wasn’t surprised, after all, he’d destroyed a glass palace when he’d figured out his father had been possessed by a demon for most of his life. He felt like a terrible person for telling his little brother.
“Does Mother know?” Hollin finally got out.
“No,” Dorian admitted. “I haven’t been able to figure out how to tell her. Perhaps it’s better for her if she doesn’t know.”
“If we both know she needs to,” Hollin said. “Neither of us were married to him.”
Dorian just stared at him. “When did you learn how to-” he cut himself off when he realized that whatever he was about to say would definitely been insulting.
Unfortunately, Hollin seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. “Things were bad at the keep,” he said. “I suppose it could have been worse, but it still wasn’t good. The officers and soldiers didn’t take any shit, even from a prince.”
Manon chuckled. Dorian turned to ask what she thought was so funny, but Hollin said, “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
Too late Dorian realized that he’d never introduced them. “Oh,” he said, twenty years of court training the only thing keeping him from stammering. “Hollin, this is Manon. Manon, this is my brother, Hollin.”
“I gathered as much,” Manon said dryly. “A pleasure.”
Hollin looked from Dorian to Manon and back again. “Are you lovers?” he asked.
Manon choked.
Dorian burst out laughing. “Why are you so surprised, witchling?” he asked. “Ironteeth witches don’t marry!”
“I’m sorry,” Manon snarled, though when he turned his head he could see that she was smiling. “I was under the impression that humans were more prudish than witches.”
“He did grow up in the court of Adarlan,” Dorian pointed out.
Hollin cleared his throat. “Am I correct in assuming that the fact that Mother hasn’t been ranting about this means that this is another thing you haven’t told her about this either?”
“Yeah,” Dorian admitted. “She doesn’t know about this either.”
“Okay,” Hollin said after a moment. “I’m just going to stay out of this then.”
“That’s probably wise,” Manon said with a wicked smile that made Hollin cringe back in fear.
“Don’t worry, she’s harmless,” Dorian said with a grin. “Her wyvern likes flowers.”
Hollin chuckled cautiously, but Manon growled, “Thanks, princeling.”
“It’s true, you can’t deny it,” Dorian patted her hand comfortingly. “Don’t worry, we all love Abraxos anyway.”
She snarled, but Dorian just grinned at her.
~~~~
Dorian was woken yet again by someone knocking on his door. He opened his eyes and squinted at the morning sunlight that was filling the room. He and Manon were curled up together on at the foot of the bed while Hollin was sleeping at the head. None of them had actually decided that was how they were going to spend the night, that was just what had happened after they’d stayed up until just before the sun rose. After a moment of wishing people would just let him sleep, Dorian disentangled himself from Manon and went to the door.
His mother was standing outside.
“Mother?” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“Tomorrow night I’m throwing a banquet,” she said. “I have taken the liberty of announcing that you will attend and speak.”
“Mother!” the word burst out of Dorian before he had a chance to think. “Mother, you can’t just-”
“You have not attended a party of banquet since you became king,” Georgina said. “You will attend this one.”
“Mother, I am king,” he said. “You cannot force me to do this.”
“You are a young king with very little political support,” Georgina said through her teeth. “You need to make the right impression and convince everyone that you’re not insane and leading Adarlan to ruin.”
“Why would I be leading Adarlan to ruin, Mother?” Dorian snapped. “Because I’m not leading this country on a path of bloody conquering under the orders of a demon?”
Georgina sucked in a breath. There was a flush high on her cheeks. Dorian didn’t think he’d ever seen her so angry. “I’m not asking you to get down on your knees and worship a demon, Dorian!” she snapped. “I’m asking you to go to a party and speak to your people. I’m asking you to flirt with women. You’d think that you’d jump at the chance to do that.”
Dorian tried not to scream. His mother didn’t know what had happened to him, so it was unfair of him to expect her to understand. He wanted to tell her that there was no way that he would be going to the banquet, but if she had really told people he would be there he would have to attend or risk offending people. That was not something he could risk; Georgina was right about him needing political support.
“Fine,” he snarled. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” she said. “Wear something fashionable. Like you used to.” Then she turned and stalked away.
It took all Dorian’s self control not to slam the door. Instead he closed it quietly. Manon and Hollin were watching him, but neither of them said anything. Dorian leaned back against the door and stared up at the ceiling.
None of them said anything for a long time.
~~~~
The night of the banquet, Dorian ignored Georgina’s request to wear something like he used to. He did dress for the occasion, but it was something that he could fight in if he needed to.
He left Manon in his chambers, paging idly through one of his favorite books. He wasn’t sure why she hadn’t gone back to Wastes yet, and he wasn’t planning to ask for fear of causing her to leave. He knew that didn’t make any sense, but that didn’t stop him from worrying about it.
He was fashionably late for the banquet just like he’d learned to be as a younger man. Twenty years of life as a prince had trained him to be used to people staring at him, but he was not prepared for the way the entire ballroom froze when he was announced. It was as if everyone had been ordered to stare at the king and do nothing else. He faltered for a split second then his upbringing took over. He smiled easily and headed across the room towards Chaol and Yrene, the only non-threatening people in the room.
Even though this banquet was being held in a ballroom in the stone castle and not the glorious one in the glass palace, Dorian was shocked by how much it felt just the same. The room was decorated with unnecessary extravagance and the people looked the same and sounded the same. It even smelled the same.
Dorian felt his stomach clench and his heartbeat start to speed up. He tried to ignore it. This was just a party. He’d been in hundreds before. There was nothing to be nervous about, even if he had been possessed the last time he’d been at a party of Adarlan’s court.
When he reached Chaol and Yrene, he told himself to calm down. Chaol and Yrene would protect him. A second later he realized how ridiculous that was and cursed himself for thinking it.
“Well it seems that losing the glass palace did not change the court’s parties in any substantial way,” Chaol said, studying the decorations and the people. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”
“Yeah,” Dorian said blankly, still trying to get his nerves under control.
Yrene was watching him with a penetrating sort of knowing that only healers seemed to possess. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly.
“I’m fine,” he said. There was nothing else to say. He had to be here so he had no choice but to be fine.
Chaol looked more closely at Dorian, eyes narrowed as he looked for whatever had worried his wife. Before he could make his own inquiries about how Dorian was doing, someone swooped in and grabbed Dorian by the arm.
Dorian couldn’t help it. He flinched. It wasn’t a small flinch either. It was a big, obvious, impossible to hide flinch. His magic flared, coating his mouth with ice.
“I’m sorry for startling you, your majesty,” the woman who was hanging off his arm said. Albertine. They’d been something once several years ago, before she’d run off with a soldier. Dorian didn’t know the details and didn’t want to, but she hadn’t spoken to him since.
“Hello, Albertine,” Dorian said. His words came out on a cloud of his breath even though the air around him was warm. He made a conscious effort to calm down.
“It’s so nice to see you again after so long!” Albertine said like she hadn’t been the one to call off their whatever-it-was. “I’ve missed you so and I know you must have missed me too!”
Dorian hadn’t missed her and she knew she probably hadn’t missed him either. Their relationship had been nothing more than teenagers fooling around and they’d both known that. The only reason Albertine was pretending otherwise was because Dorian was king now and that meant he needed a queen.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Dorian said mostly to be polite. He tried to extract his arm from Albertine’s but her grip was too tight.
“It certainly is,” She stood on her toes and leaned in close enough that Dorian could feel her warm, very human breath against his cheek. She was probably saying something flirty, but Dorian couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t hear anything anymore, not over the ringing in his ears.
Albertine had brown hair, but other than that, she didn’t look like Sorscha at all. That didn’t matter. The hair and the fragile humanness of her was enough. The ballroom and the banquet vanished and he was kneeling in the throne room of the glass palace, soaked in Sorscha’s blood, screaming and screaming and screaming.
Someone ripped Albertine away from him and at the same time ripped him back into reality. Dorian blinked, breathless and off-balance as he tried to figure out where he was and what was going on. Sorscha’s blood and the sound of his own screaming still echoed in his head.
“Hello, I’m Lady Yrene Westfall,” Yrene was saying, her body placed defensively between Dorian and Albertine. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m so new to court and completely lost. Can you please show me around?”
“Dorian,” Chaol said from Dorian’s side. “Come with me.”
Dorian nodded blankly and began to walk with his friend through the throngs of laughing people. He felt like he was looking at everything through a couple layers of separation. There had been so much blood…
“Can I touch you?” Chaol asked under his breath. That must have been something he’d learned from Yrene because pre-Yrene Chaol would never have realized that maybe he should ask first.
Dorian shook his head vigorously. He didn’t want to risk Chaol’s touch setting him off again.
“Alright,” Chaol guided Dorian out of the ballroom and out into the gardens without touching him or letting anyone else touch him.
They walked through the gardens until Dorian couldn’t anymore. “Stop,” he said, stumbling up against a fountain, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other clutching at his neck, fingers scraping against bare skin of his neck looking for a collar that wasn’t there. “Stop.”
“What’s wrong?” Chaol asked, he was hovering nearby but not to close. “Dorian, what’s going on?”
“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Dorian got out through clenched teeth, his breaths distinct puffs in the far-from-freezing air. He swallowed heavily, trying to keep his stomach where it belonged.
He slid down the ground and curled up, forehead pressing against his knees. He stayed like that for a while without moving until his stomach began to settle and he was able to admit that the he probably wasn’t going to puke if only because he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He lifted his head and Chaol was kneeling next to him looking like he had no idea what to do.
“What was that?” Chaol asked.
“Flashback,” Dorian said roughly.
“Are you…” Chaol began then trailed off like he wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’m alright now,” Dorian forced himself to uncurl. There was blood under the nails of the hand that had been clawing at his throat. He’d broken skin. He sat on that hand in an effort to hide it, though he figured Chaol had probably already noticed.
They sat in silence for a long time, then Chaol said, “Does this happen often?”
Dorian shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said. “There’s a lot of different factors. It’s happening a lot more now that the war is over, which doesn’t make any sense.”
Chaol thought for a long time. Dorian could see him trying to come up with the right thing to say and failing. Time and silence stretched on until Dorian heard giggling voices of a couple heading into the gardens. Chaol began to get to his feet, presumably to tell the couple to the return to the palace because the king was in the gardens, but Dorian was already and his feet and fleeing back to the palace.
He ignored Chaol calling after him.
~~~~
As humiliating as it was, Dorian was on the verge of tears by the time he got back to his tower room. Manon was still sitting on his bed, bent over the book and looking considerably more engaged than she had been when he’d left. When she looked up she was smiling slightly, but when she saw him the expression froze and melted away into something unfamiliar.
“What happened?” she was on her feet and at Dorian’s side in seconds. “Who hurt you? Tell me.”
It took Dorian a minute to remember how to speak. “It’s-It’s nothing.”
Manon snorted. “If you’re going to lie to me, princeling, I’d appreciate more effort than that.”
“Nothing happened,” Dorian said. He made more of an effort to speak levelly and calmly this time and sort of managed it.
“I still don’t believe you,” Manon said, her golden eyes bored into him, seeming to see everything. “You’re shaking like a leaf and you have blood under your fingernails. What happened? Where you attacked?”
“I-” Dorian tried, then looked away. He wasn’t sure where to start. “No,” he said. “I wasn’t attacked. I-” he managed to look up at her again. “Do you have any idea how much blood there is when someone is beheaded?”
Understanding dawned on Manon’s face. “Oh,” she said.
Dorian turned away. “I don’t even know why it happened. It should have been fine. And now Chaol probably thinks I’m insane and any number of the people could have seen. This is a disaster. I need to fix it. I don’t know how to fix it. I-”
“Dorian,” Manon said, when he didn’t respond she said again, “Dorian,” Then she lunged to the bed, picked something up and set it in his hands. It was the book she’d been reading. “You told me that this is one of your favorite books,” she said. “Tell me what you like about it.”
“But-” Dorian stared blankly down at the book. “But Chaol saw-”
“Dorian,” Manon said, not necessarily sharply, but in a tone that allowed for no argument. “Tell me what you like about this book. Please.”
Dorian took a deep shaky breath and tried to think. “Well, for one,” he said tremulously. “It’s got a really unique magic system...”
~~~~
Dorian lost track of time as he and Manon sat on his bed. Dorian held the book in his lap and talked, describing why it was one of his favorites in a depth he’d never attempted before. Manon sat next to him nodding encouragingly and sometimes asking questions. She was undeniably deeply engaged and didn’t complain even when he ended forgetting that she hadn’t finished it and spoiling things.
When he finally reached the end, he sighed. “I need to go back to the party,” he said. “I have a speech I need to give. It’s been publicized. I can’t just skip it.”
“I’ll come with you,” Manon said. When Dorian just blinked at her in surprise she said, “Technically I’m a visiting foreign dignitary. No one will be able to question it if I show up and we’ll have an excuse to stay close to each other.”
She had a point and Dorian did not want to go and face that party again alone.
“Alright,” he said. “Do you have something to wear?”
~~~~
Manon had a clean set of riding leathers in her pack as well as her crown. Dorian almost asked why she felt the need to have that with her at all times, but she gave him a look that said not to.
Dorian changed because there were dirt and grass stains on the knees of his pants and because he just wanted to put his previous experience at the party behind him. His magic had healed the scratches he’s gouged into his own throat while crawling at a nonexistent collar, but he still had to wash blood out from under his fingernails.
When he was finished with these preparations, Manon was ready as well. She was wearing a red cloak that Dorian recognized as one of his own from when he was much younger. She held another cloak out to him, this one a dark blue which matched with the clothes he was wearing. “Here,” she said. “Put this on. We can match.”
Dorian took the cloak with a smile and swung it over his shoulders. Though he owned cloaks, he had never been much for them as a fashion statement. He’d worn heavy black oilskin cloaks while traveling with the Thirteen to stay dry, but wearing one to a party was something that he normally wouldn’t do. Granted, he did lots of things he normally wouldn’t do now so it didn’t matter that much.
Manon looked him up and down. “You look like you won’t take anyone’s shit,” she said. “It’s a good look for you.”
“Thanks,” He said. “So do you.”
Manon grinned wickedly. “That’s the point, princeling. That’s the point.”
~~~~
Dorian found himself walking down the hall leading to the banquet hall again. He was still a little anxious but Manson’s presence at his side calmed him.
Manon was studying the walls and ceiling and floor. Dorian could see her noticing the places where the stone castle was scarred from the broken shards of glass from the glass palace hurtling through the corridors. When most people noticed those things they looked horrified, but Manon looked impressed like she approved of the fact Dorian had been able to wreak this much havoc. Dorian was bizarrely comforted.
The guards were anything but comforted. Manon was unarmed, unless she had a knife down her down one of her boots like Dorian did, but she still radiated the aura of someone who could and would kill anyone who got in her way. The guards shifted worriedly and reached for their weapons. They all seemed to be contemplating whether or not they needed to swoop in and save their king. Dorian gave a couple of them an easy grin in an attempt to show that everything was fine.
The man whose job is was to announce anyone entering the the ballroom room banked at Dorian’s reappearance and outright flinched at sight of Manon beside him.
“Sorry to bother you again,” Dorian said politely. “But can you please announce us?”
The man ripped this terrified gaze away from Manon and stammered, “Yes, your Highness. How should I announce the lady?”
“Manon Blackbeak-Crochan,” Manon said coolly. “Queen of the Witches.”
Somehow the man managed to become even paler and more terrified. “Yes, right. A pleasure to meet you, you Highness,” he gave a quavering little bow and hurried off to take his position.
Dorian stood before the doors and took a moment to put himself together and prepare for the returning the party. He straightened his cloak and sleeves and reminded himself that he could be as uncomfortable as he wanted when all this was over.
“Are you going to take my arm?” Manon asked.
Dorian blinked. “Do you want me to?”
She grinned. “Think of it. We’d probably give Lord Westfall and your mother aneurysms.”
Dorian smiled at the thought and held out her arm. She slid her arm through his and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll just hang out and scare your mother and best friend until you need to give your speech,” Manon said, matter-of-factly. “Then we’ll return to your tower. I know you haven’t been sleeping any better than I have; we both need to rest.”
Under other circumstances, Dorian might have argued, but the idea of the party having a definite end was comforting. “Okay,” he agreed.
“Good,” she said as the doors to the ballroom opened. They both turned to face forward and lifted their heads high.
They walked into the ballroom arm in arm, and somehow the stunned faces of the guests seemed more manageable.
