Thegoodfellow - The Goodfellow

title: the hunt continues when: post the tinkerer where: rome, Audelë, more trigger warnings: usual stuff

Agony.

Tamlen’s death had been painful, the drainage that followed a rip on their plan. But Tamlen had come back to them against all odds, and the relief had been overwhelming.

Inan hadn’t.

His death feels like being unraveled, like losing a part of herself that she assumed would always be there. The second heartbeat behind her chest is gone, the thread of devotion and steely determination rotting away as death came to take her warder’s hand. Somewhere, a drow is being born. In Rome, Robin’s warder dies, an unfinished melody, a hunt cut short. 

She hadn’t even been able to convince him to call her by her name. 

Lain’s death had hurt, the growing care she had felt for the lycan, a sharp stab to her chest, but she had not loved the wolf. Not quite, not yet, and now never for he is gone, and she knows that even if Death was the one to collect what was due, she had played a part in that game. It is a tragedy, a story unfinished. 

It was not love. 

Inan was her warder, she had welcomed him in and invited him into her soul. Loving him was not unlike loving a part of herself. She had kept that emotion at bay, well aware that she had done nothing to earn anything from him but his loyalty, suppressing it to prevent any more awkwardness between the two. Inan’s story with Fen’harel is well known, and she would not push through his boundaries after that betrayal. 

Would not have. 

But in the end, it did not matter.

Her warder is dead, decay spreading through Rome as Thanatos collects his due, and all Robin can do within the Titan is sink her thoughts with her fellow Chancellors and fall upon the song of destruction they are weaving until they cannot do so any longer. 

The Titan falls, and with the fall, their end is marked. 

There is no opportunity to fight, no magic to summon, no song capable of stopping the Great Old Ones as they fall upon them like predators upon their prey.  

The next fifteen years are spent in the ground, all thought lost beneath the agony of the song of decay and rot, of the end and the beginning. 

The darkness is a familiar call, the pain an old comfort, akin to the ritual that had seen her confirmed into her role as Fall Chancellor. A legacy of the Dusk Elves that they once were, the ritual recalled costumes of old, and it is now the only reason Robin does not lose her mind to the slow movement of rot, slowly spreading through her body but keeping her alive to keep their nutrients. It’s a song of fungi, beautiful on its ugliness, on its destruction. She doesn’t lose herself to it, doesn’t break down and lose hope, but it comes close. Were it not for the familiarity of the torture, she might have.

She doesn’t. 

She awakens to the astral bombs falling and to freedom that tastes as sickly sweet as the rot that had settled on the back of her throat over the last decade. There is no hesitation when she joins the other Chancellors into a song and they come together to become the Titan once more. 

For one last time in this timeline. 

Robin dies in the battlefield, only to awaken in a Rome that has not yet been Forsaken. 

The battle is set aside, more pressing matters coming into the forefront as they find themselves changed. The Chancellors’ retreat, the war pushed back and with it their destruction of Rome, far more important things to do than to deal with the mortals that destroyed them and saved them alike. The world changed one more time, and Robin changed with it, working with the four other chancellors to create Audelë, a new home, alike the Courts that sheltered them for so long, but something new altogether in the same breath.  As the dust settles, she finds Inan, brings him forth into a hug despite his arguments against it and laughs before letting go, polite distance that he is so fond of falling upon the two once more. 

Peace fell upon their kind once more, a deal with the dark elves set in place. And the Courts? The Courts protected once more.

It’s not enough. 

It will never be enough, but her people deserve the rest. Dusk has fallen upon them, and with it comes a new world they need to learn for themselves. Ignoring it all in reckless rage would be foolish, and the tricksters that hide in the shade are anything but that. 

They will wait, they will watch, and they will be ready.

The hunt is eternal, and so are they.

wadecalhoun​:

          Wade typically doesn’t have a penchant for silence but he finds himself at a loss for words in face of Robin’s rallying confessions. There’s a fragment of anger at feeling obsolete when it comes to aiding her in her peril and another sliver of guilt which jabs at the tender under carriage of his ribcage when he sees the anxiety that consumes her. She’d gotten past the dagger he’d placed to her throat when he once figured her to be a demon and she had taken a sense of pity on Wade to teach him how to better hone his pitifully human senses when it came to his own mission. Now, as she laid herself out for the wolves to metaphorically feast on her flesh he was left feeling useless once more; a typical pattern when it came to their dizzying back and forth. “Y’never told me about drows,” Wade conceals his concern with a vexed carapace as if annoyed by such a perilous detail that she’d left out. He understood is was likely for his own good in face of how overwhelming it all seemed, swallowing hard as his gaze averted down to her hands, watching as they jump from one distraction to the next, toying with her drink, her own hands; he was so utterly useless. “It’s not like you’ve got a gun to my head, I’m helping,” he sits up straighter, brows contorted as he sets his own demand to aid her through such troubles knowing Robin would refuse. “These drows… wearing loved ones faces,” his mind flashes back to his father and the empty shell he’d become as an abomination rattled inside his corpse and Wade became nauseous. “Sounds mighty familiar to me,” his jaw clenched, hand curled into a fist, and he couldn’t bear to look at Robin, he’d likely crack under the pressure, staring off behind her instead, “I’m helping.”

“I never told you because we were supposed to be safe from them,” Robin states, words bitten off with frustration as a hand raises to rub her face. She can’t get a good read of his answers, can’t get a confirmation of her worries and it is slowly killing her. She needs to know, needs to know if the man she considers a dear friend has joined hands with the people that massacred the Senate’s prison, needs to know if he has a hand on the growing disappearances. Robin cannot get the answer from her little birds, cannot gain the names of the members of the organizations and while her clairvoyance all but confirms her suspicions, she needs Wade to confirm them. She needs this, needs to know the truth from his lips, needs to know if she had armed the Eye by a moment of kindness. Needs to plan and prepare and ensure that the affection she has for her dear hunter will not cause harm to her people, because she doesn’t think she can forgive herself if harms them. She cannot forgive herself if Wade harms them. “I don’t want to put this on you, not when you have a mission you need to fulfill, not when you have mentioned your rising responsibilities,” she comments, a desperate attempt to get him to tell her the truth. But even in her desperation for the truth, she is kind, and she knows what Wade is thinking about. A sad smile is on her lips as she looks at Wade, an understanding one. Carefully, she reaches out and places a hand over his fist to squeeze reassuringly. “Yeah, I guess it would, but it’s a bit different than possession. And complicated. A lot more complicated really.”

MARIENNE BELLAMY, Season Three, Episode Seven

chancellorxlaer​:

-

“Fortunately he’s apparently less skilled at hunting fey than he is demons, one would assume anyways.” Came Laer’s simple offer, he was glad that Robin was still alive, they didn’t have much in the way of a personal connection but she was a chancellor and any loss of fey life was a tragedy. That a single, simply human had gotten the best of her was worrying, “You should keep this encounter to yourself, I won’t tell anyone else.” He could only imagine how people would talk, how opinions of her place among the chancellorship might change. Zahrya, Aurora, and himself would have returned with the human’s head or a newly-minted changeling had they been placed in Robin’s position. Weakness of youth, mortals deserved little consideration as far as the Summer chancellor was concerned - particularly those that had affiliated themselves with the Eye. “That alpha was adamant that we should focus our efforts on the Eye, maybe you can bend your vengeance towards his. I can only imagine that there are copious amounts of our own kind in their cells.” 

....

“I had enough foresight to at least keep it that way,” she offers, a grim smile on her lips as she avoids the entire truth of the encounter. There is no other survivor but Wade, after all, and bringing further vengeance upon him will make her plans useless. She needs to get to the Eye through him, meaning he is only useful to her as long as he is alive. And when he stops being useful? Well, Robin had seen how conflicted he had been at hurting her, she had taught him that not all supernatural creatures were evil, knows that he believes so. What better way to get revenge but to show him that he is the same sort of monster that had killed his family? When she sees the despair on his eyes, when she sees that he realizes how far he has fallen, that is when he will deny, tortured by the reality of his actions, rather than alleviated by the salvation that fulfilling his self-assigned mission would bring him. “I will keep it to myself, yes,” she nods in agreement. ‘And I have heard the alpha’s argument. I am thinking on reaching out to one of the members of the pack to begin the planning in a few days.”

Morbid amusement is not something she doesn’t feel often, merely because she rather not waste time in something of the sort. Robin has to admit, however, as dramatically idiotic she is finding the Spring Chancellor’s actions, they are sort of amusing. Only as far as she doesn’t interpret them for a call for help, which she unfortunately does. It’s odd, truly, how five months wandering through the Otherworld after graduating had caused her to miss so many developments, how many of her birds had flocked to her doors with secrets about the Eye once she had stepped in Rome for the first time in six years. To hear that Titania is imprisoned is disheartening, to hear of the antics of the Spring Chancellor? Disappointing. And yet, she is a mere youngling, noble but not a Chancellor. She doubts Zahrya would listen to her if she were to talk to him, so instead, she chooses to default to humor in situations like this.

“You know,” she says, voice crossing the distance with a touch of her magic. “I am beginning to think you need to get boned, Chancellor.”

Getting fucked might not fix whatever the hell is going on his head, but at least it should call him down.

where: the ballroom who: open to all | @senatusstarters​

✿*ﾟ ‘ﾟ･

Tonight, Zahrya needn’t entertain any suggestion that his changelings are somehow an affront. It matters not what the party goers think or what “bad memories” the sight of a changeling might conjure. He is there simply to ensure no one left this party ignorant to the truth: this paltry affair was nothing compared to the masquerade hosted by himself and the other chancellors. From the second he wove his being into the changeling’s, he felt a sense of liberation he’s come to long for thanks his new fey security policy. With liberation comes inhibition. He’s roared in the faces of countless guests, “accidentally” knocked partygoers off their feet, and even disrupted a couple of the entertainment displays. Zahrya has never participated in Halloween before this night, but the way his cackles contort from the changeling’s mouth on his behalf prove he is indeed enjoying himself. 

Tati Gabrielle as Prudence Blackwood

"The slow decay never stops, but with it comes the birth of new life," she whispers, more to herself than to her fellow Chancellor, a fond smile of her own as she keeps her gaze on the golden splendor before her. One must die and die and die, before they can live, just as she had been told on her confirmation ritual. She had learned that lesson intimately as nature consumed her and reshaped her over and over again, and learned it once more when buried along the roots, but it was easy to forget, when face with the enormity of their losses, of their grief. So many had died, sacrificed themselves for a better future for the courts, and that future has yet to arrive, for they are the ones that will be building it up from nothing. There is a reason that for as much as she does not understand Zahrya, she respects him. He is doing his part, building the future they deserve, and she can only thank him for that. "It will be hard work, reaching that future, but I look forward for that toil," she admits, even as a bemused smile spreads and she sends him an arched look. "I am beyond delighted to receive your invitation, I will not miss such a high honor."

For just a moment Laer thought about his father, the storyteller of only some renown. He thought about his sister who hadn't lived long enough to see what would become of this world. He thought about Liandrin, the mother who was chancellor before him who'd been chased into the Otherworld alongside Titania. "I was a child then." His gaze lingered on the tree, thinking still on the warder that he'd held dying in his arms, and the immense grief that had sent him wandering in search of himself. Laer had found a great deal in the many, many years he had spent in the Otherworld. A thousand for the mortal realm, many more elsewhere. He'd wrongfully assumed that there was no more lessons for him to learn, yet here he was, seeing old things made new once more. "Bittersweet isn't how I'd describe it, that's the interesting thing about time: when it's gone we lose it forever. Not just years, but moments. Someday in the distant future there will be no elves left who remember the garden of Eden, immortal as we are, nothing is eternal. I hope when that day comes this Laurelin still stands. That an age will come when our people know more of this blessed life than they do of hardship." Laer touched Robin's shoulder briefly, sentiment done, "This year you'll be welcome to partake in Summer's orgy."

wadecalhoun​:

          A low whistle leaves Wade, drumming his hands on the table as if it would aid him in formulating any response or retort of comfort. He’s at a loss, he’s not entirely familiar with fey business, never really had to concern himself with them before. Robin had dished out all he needed to know, how they were capricious but relatively harmless at the end of the day and merely, much like everyone, solely out for their own kinds survival. From what Wade had gathered, it seemed the fey simply wanted to be left to their own devices, but he knew such sentiment could not encompass the entirety of the species and that was where betrayal and shit became a dark and slippery slope. “Robin, you ain’t gonna have some target on your back for bein’ forced to take some chick’s job, are you?” Well, a larger target then the one she inherently created considering her own age and ability to meddle. “And how come you didn’t come to me about all that?” Being hunted, it allows him to recall the moment they first met when he’d almost jabbed her with his fucking iron switchblade under the false pretense that she was a demon. How far they’d come since then and though this was no time to condemn her when she appeared so emotionally wounded and fragile, Wade had felt almost offended at the idea that she would have rather faced such problem by herself. He can be a bit thick headed and even through his concern for Robin and his mild offense he still can’t rouse the obvious fact that she was trying to poke at the elephant in the room, his affiliations with a certain group that hunted all supernaturals.

...

“Wade, dearest, I have had a target on my back for years, my new role has merely increased other parties’ interest,” she begins, voice slow and deliberate as she reaches for the warmth of her drink and raises it to her lips to take a long and silent sip. There is an eternity of legends and stories behind her worries, the fear of the dark that her kind carries woven into her very essence with the knowledge of the drows that will never stop hunting them. Worry circles her chest, weights her tongue as she speaks, even as fondness shines through. Even as she wants to reach and bring him closer, even as she wants to reach out and hope. He is worried, before all, he is concerned. And yet,  Robin knows Wade. Has known him since he attempted to kill her, believing her a demon and nothing else. Dearest as he is to her, she knows him enough of his faults to know that he had not caught her indirect. The desire to reach out, the hope, does not fade, but her loyalty to her people prevails and tentative thoughts turn into tentative words. It’s like walking up to the precipice, the knowledge that if she pushes she might not get an answer that she wants. Robin doesn’t know if she can handle the truth for herself, doesn’t know if she can handle another betrayal. If it were for her and her alone, she would not continue. But the truth is not for her satisfaction, not for her peace of mind: the truth is to protect those she has sworn to defend. “If it’s not the Eye, it’s the drows, shadow creatures wearing the faces of those we once loved. My kind’s very existence is in danger, and I do not know who to trust. I cannot bring anyone I care for into this, I cannot bring you into this Wade, not when my kinds protection is not your cross to bear.”

wintersaurora​:

Sympathy and pity came to Aurora in droves, and if she’d had even half of the arrogant pride that she’d possessed only months before, it would have made her sick. Now she was too tired to care, too knowledgable of how easily it was to lose all of it - all of them. The last time something similar to this had happened to her, Aurora had spent so long cold and dead to then all but explode with vengeance towards Titania, spurred in that direction by Fen’harel and her own bubbling resentment and overwhelming grief. But she wouldn’t allow herself to make that mistake again. When her time to explode came, it would be in a rage directed rightfully to Ayi’ig. She could save it until then, let it fester in her chest as she went absently through the motions of surviving each day.

Robin’s appearance was reminiscent to her of Fen’harel, the other Autumn Chancellor that had come to her in concern for her well-being. How so much had changed. Aurora had been looking out at the Winter fey working on bringing down that ridiculous statue that Laer had encouraged them to put up. She’d probably have them store it in some cave. But now she turned her attention to Robin as she came up the steps and spoke. “Sure,” she replied softly. No joy but no annoyance either. It was inevitable that they spoke. “… Though I know you’re sorry for what happened and I appreciate any concern you might have, I would prefer not to dwell on my state right now. I promise you enough other people are caring.” 

...

Aurora’s permission is all she needs to walk to the other’s side and set the basket delicately by her side, occupying her hands on opening the cork. The movement pulls slightly at the new scar that occupies her stomach, but not enough for her to show any sign of pain. It has been long enough that the scar is almost fully healed, long enough that it will soon enough be nothing but a reminder of humanity’s worst. A reminder that trusting humans is a foolish endeavor and to believe on her instincts rather than on her whims. A reminder that as a Chancellor, her own desires do not matter, she must destroy anyone who wants to harm her people before they can attempt to do so.

“You have no idea how much I wish I could use sarcasm the human way right now,” Robin offers flatly as she uncorks the cider and hums a melody to create two glasses, filling them up with it and offering one to Aurora. “Are we not friends? Are we not fellow Chancellors? Do I not have the right to be concerned? Or do you not consider my concern as truthful as you would want because you only see me as Fen’harel’s failure of a replacement, Aurora?” The last question is asked flatly. All she had wanted was to ensure that her friend was alright, and yes, she understands the distress Aurora has suffered is unspeakable, but she has always been confrontational and the sense of betrayal is too fresh, the thought of her weakness too heavy, for her not to default into her old instincts. She regrets the words as soon as they leave her lips, though, and she sighs, a hand raising to rub her eyes tiredly. “Apologies, everyone is on edge right now, including me, but I should not have said that.”