Long Rest

The work was done.

Blades forged, plans made, judgments rendered, all hands put to purpose.

Only one thing left to do.

Cool rain fell softly over Great Crag--tears of loss and sorrow, but also nourishment for new life, and new beginnings. It began with but a dream, a whisper between sisters, and so did this chapter end. No great masses, no acclaiming hordes, no photo ops.

Nana and mother were outfitted for their journey. The elder wasn't compelled, of course--as if such a thing would hold any meaning--but she chose to go along, for this leg at least. The witches would travel as they used to, without a host, without any pageantry or banners. Well, of course, I'm sure they've both done plenty of that in an unofficial capacity, but still.

There'd been time enough to explain the reality, though not enough to make everyone understand, especially the young. Callista had sworn not to attend, nor ever to forgive, but she was here, her feathers dull in the rain, her colorful hair matted, her face paints smeared. She could go as she pleased, there was no need to be alone, but still, it was the end of an era, an abrupt end to childhood. Selina hurt for that, and endured the wound without excuses, or second thoughts.

Rekhan was stoic, but he was hardly practiced at truly hiding his feelings. He'd already sworn to shepherd them on their journey--as if they needed the help--but he needed it more than they. He was most at home on the wing in any case, and without the war, he yearned to fly. But this time he wasn't going on the Warchief's behest. Still, she knew he was loyal, and could be called on when needed. As for the rest--there would be time.

Jericho had done much soul-searching these last few days. He'd had to rebuild his entire world view, perhaps multiple times, and seemed at last to have come to terms. He'd made offers, sincere ones, to help Selina with her plans and dreams. She wanted him here, with Maenya, chief builder and visionary of Droaam's future. Perhaps he could be her general, and have his own path to Warchief. Some day, she thought at him, and if thoughts could wink, hers did.

Elise kept to herself, as ever, skulking in shadows where she could hide her heart. If she disagreed with Selina, she'd not said. She'd been quite free with offers to help see to matters in Karrnath, though whether it was to ply the rich opportunities of intrigue, or to be as far away as possible, it was hard to say. It may have had something to do with Melora, who she was clinging to more and more. Not a bad call, she agreed. Can't go wrong there.

In the distance, keeping his own company, Jean-Baptiste gave silent witness to the proceedings. What his future held, she couldn't say. He was never one to toe the line, but so much of his world was defined by his relationship to his mother. How would it evolve? She and he hadn't had much of a foundation before, and now what she'd built--it was humiliating, and the ruin of his dreams and plans. He was hardly a villain, nor did she question his honor, but she dare not make too many assumptions. She owed him an outstretched hand, but she'd take care not to have it chomped off.

And Melora...oh, Melora. The others were a mess in the rain, humbled by nature, either looking like wet dogs, or cloaked and hooded to protect their finery. Melora was a rose bush, a blossom of red, orange, and yellow, impossible color in the dreary grey wash. Her autumn had begun, and her feelings couldn't be more plain. She was an unshakably loyal sister, and was herself about to depart on the most important matters Selina had entrusted to anyone, but she was a loving daughter as well. She shared her tears, her well wishes, and her embrace with the two.

And so came the end. She owed them both the bitterness of this next pill. She'd seen the need and the path, and had already made the choice to commit. Now came the true reckoning, the acceptance of its reality.

"Katra, of the clan Sora Kell, you go with all honours earned, all battles won and all you merit. But by the order of your Warlord, and by the word of the Warchief, for your actions against your own clan...I thee exile."

Her mother nodded silently.

Selina's heart froze, terrified to beat, for the next beat would be the first in a world without her mother, in a world where she stood alone against the darkness, the fire, the grand and small, Eternity and Oblivion. Alone at the top, where she'd be been meant to be.

Alone.

The witch's elder sister, her adoptive mother, went with her, by choice and by her own sovereignty. And she took her tower with her. It just sprouted legs, shrunk down, and followed her, just like that.

The home in which she was born, where she and her younger siblings were raised, was no longer part of Great Crag.

She'd earned that, she supposed. The others didn't, but...well, she'd earned that too. It's all part of the process. The hammer of the forge.

She felt the hilt of her sword in her hand. At a thought, it was there, a thing of cold, and pure force, ready to manifest. It was built of byeshk steel, but resided in threads of magic bound to her, invisible as her last athame had been, but ready to serve at a moment's notice. For now, it wasn't needed.

The winged ones took off first, Rekhan to follow his mother for as long as they cared to humor him, Callista in what was assuredly a random direction to drum up havoc. Elise had already vanished, and the Maw had become one with the gloom, as was his wont. Jericho lingered a while, giving silent vigil, watching them exit the city gates for the last time as queens, as rulers, as immovable foundations of his reality. At last, he took his leave without a word.

Melora waited with her. She held her hand, made sure she felt her warmth. A warmth that would never abandon her, that would never mean her harm. In this moment, she wasn't entirely sure she deserved it. But that was right, too. As soon as she started rewriting history, whitewashing her every move, that's when she would be truly on the path to hellfire.

She took a silent moment of thanks for that particular voice being silent for a few days. A kindness she may yet have to pay for, and in any case, she wasn't counting on it to last. It was her burden now, her birthright, and she had a lifetime of catching up on that responsibility.

Her sister was ready now, if ever she would be. "We're going to Karrnath first," she began, her tears becoming rain, and rain become tears. "For obvious reasons. Someone's got to break the news. I'm not sure even Nana's tomfoolery is still in effect there."

No, quite possibly not. She's given me a good rapping across the hand for all this, no doubt half as much as I deserve. That would be a fun icing on the cake.

"I'm sure they'll take the word of a couple of sworn knight," she offered, "but if they give you trouble, I'll be happy to give them a more personal touch." Her sister smiled. Neither doubted her fitness for the task. Karrnath would be in chaos, and warlords would be banging drums. And, for all that, Selina had not yet made up her mind. If she bore his heir, it would not be for their convenience, nor even to spare her dear sister an ordeal. It would be for herself, for Kaius, and for the child, above all.

"Winter has come," she said, logically referring to Karrnath, but the double meaning was clear. "It will tie them up until spring. Surely then...?" she hinted, and Selina demured with no answer. Melora reassured her, "I'm not rushing you. Although I cannot WAIT to be an auntie--gods, I have so many plans!"

"Well, not so fast, sissie. I'm sure you'd make a wonderful mother all on your own. Maybe that new girlfriend of yours?" she gave her a ribbing. Siobhan's hedonism was a fine fit for Melora's general vivaciousness, but it was hardly a soulmate situation. Perhaps, with their travels, working together, who knew? Had that factored into Selina's decision? In some vain attempt to salvage some thread of love and romance in all this? I'd never be that melodramatic, she assured herself, as visions of her many film posters flashed through her mind.

"Believe it or not," she laughed, "I don't know that spell. So I'd have to ask you." A small thing, and light of heart, but also the very first of what well may be the new normal. Selina was now considered by many the foremost witch in Great Crag. She wasn't sure it fit, on many levels, but that wasn't the matter--she had to be. People believed in her, and upon that belief, they would build Droaam higher.

"I would be happy to teach you. And maybe you can teach me how to turn into a bird!" they laughed, and embraced. And when they separated, she sent out a silent prayer to the Goddess, that it would not be their last.

Now truly alone, she headed home, feeling the streets of Great Crag beneath her feet, breathing its air, seeing its people about their business. "I'm home," she whispered to herself, not sure if was a happy thought, or sad. Maybe both.

Ironically, she had no home. The tower had always been open to her, but that was no longer an option. Maenya had always maintained her own little fortress, and that was open to her, but she'd declined, with gratitude and respect. She'd wanted something else.

With a bit of help from a clever artificer, she'd begun her work. The foundation of the city was magic, and that magic was hers to command. She'd called upon the mountains to roust their slumber, and to recede, just a bit. She'd created new land, just for her, and claimed it for her clan.

And on that land, there were trees, which she felled, and stones, which she broke and stacked. The work was hard, and not something well-practiced. But when the people saw her working, they joined. Nothing was asked, nor accepted. It was a community taking care of its own, a people ensuring that all of their kin have shelter and safety in this place. Because that was its purpose.

With the help of a village, and a cool magic hammer, she'd made herself a home. A humble thing of wood and stone, with little more than a hearth and a bed. But it was a start. A foundation. A home she'd built with her own hands, with the help of her people, which she would repay.

And she lay upon that bed, a humble thing of straw.

And she rested at last.