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The first time Scott is left with a dead body he is only twelve, and he is at his oldest brother’s funeral. Everyone else has left the room, to give the soul time to fly to the heavens, but Scott is frozen, staring at his brother’s body, trying to force it to breathe, to sit up in the coffin, to open his eyes and say Gotcha! You should have seen your face!
But he doesn’t. His brother doesn’t move doesn’t blink doesn’t breathe, and Scott can feel himself stiffening with him. He still can’t believe that death is real, really real, still can’t believe that his brother is dead. Scott stands there until his parents come in again, take him by the shoulders, and usher him out.
The next time Scott is with a dead body, it is a friend he’s had for years, and she has just been killed by her charge. This time, he clutches the body tight, keeping her limbs warm and her eyes open, and he runs. He takes False’s body to a place where he knows the soul never quite leaves, to a place where life and death dance their terrible song.
Scott takes False to the Crypt, where Pix is seeing off his last charge, a young witch wearing purple and green and a too-big hat for her spindly frame who flies off shakily on her broom in the direction of the Crystal Cliffs.
“Pix,” Scott gasps out. He’s used all his energy on getting to the Crypt. Pix turns, and rushes to catch both False and Scott as Scott’s knees crumple beneath the weight of all he’s carrying.
“What’s going on?” Pix asks, voice level as ever. “Oh, dear. Is she… dead?” Scott nods, feeling as though he might vomit if he says anything more. “What happened?”
They go inside the house above the Crypt, lay False down on the small, messy pallet of blankets along the wall. “Gem,” Scott whispers. “And the war.” He told Pix about it before it started, of course, but there wasn’t much that someone not in a designated country could do.
“The war…” Pix traces a spiral carved into a plank in the wall. “Right. Well, how long has it been?”
“Only two days. I kept her… I kept her as warm as I could. Her soul hasn’t left yet.”
It hasn’t had a chance to. Scott made sure, early this morning when he was busy helping with negotiations, that one of Helianthia’s wounded soldiers sat with False, so that she was never alone. Her soul couldn’t leave if it wasn’t alone.
“We still have time, then. Scott,” Pix looks up at him, face more serious than Scott has ever seen him, “do you think you’re up for it right now? A resurrection?” He definitely doesn’t, having teleported all the way to the Crypt, but Scott nods all the same. He has to be up for it. “Right. You get ready, and I’ll prepare the circle.”
A resurrection is something Scott has only done once since he got his magic. It’s something that feels so taboo, so out of reach, that he has never really wanted to do it. The first time he did it, it took so much out of him he barely remembers what happened, who he resurrected. Still, he sits, clutches False’s hands in his to keep them warm, and breathes. In, out. In, out. In, out. Something gets set down next to him. In, out. In, out. There’s a rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig. In, out, in, out, in out in out inoutinoutinoutinoutinout—Scott’s eyes fly open when he feels a hand on his shoulder.
“Friend,” Pix says. “You’re safe here.” He holds an urn loosely with one hand, the other reaching inside to get a handful of whatever is in it.
“I know,” Scott says once he’s caught his breath. “I’m ready.”
Ready proves to be a bit of an overstatement. No one, not even the most powerful sorcerer, is ready for the power vacuum that comes from attempting to heal a body so much it restarts the heart, forces the soul back into place.
Scott is not sure how long it takes to bring warmth and life to False’s body again, but when he opens his eyes again, vision tinted magenta, the moon has risen high into the sky, drowning out the stars that surround it.
But he can feel a pulse, if faint and slow, and after a few minutes she gasps for breath as if being pulled from the water. Scott collapses backwards, feeling Pix’s hands catch him and lay him down on a pillow.
When he wakes up, head pounding and eyes bleary, still tinged with the purple from the night before, Pix is sitting by False’s bedside, reading a book. False is not awake. She looks pale, as if all the color and life that was so synonymous with her has been drained out, washed away with a too-rough scrub brush.
They both knew it would happen. No one who has touched the veil of death ever comes back the same, in mind or body, but the small part of Scott’s brain that is still that twelve-year-old boy, all those years ago, had quietly hoped that nothing would change, had hoped that they could go right back to the way things were before.
Pix looks over at the sound of movement and smiles, although it is tense and wan. “Good to see you awake,” he says. “How d’you feel?” Scott coughs, throat sandy.
“Like I’ve been hit by a bull. How long have I been asleep?”
“Only about a day. There hasn’t—”
“Has False woken up?”
“Not yet, but her breathing’s gotten stronger. I’ve just been working on healing up the wound on her side.” Pix swings around and looks Scott in the eye, usually soft eyes piercing into him. “You said the war killed her. What happened out there?”
Scott gulps, stomach roiling with even the thought of it. “I’m not sure. I—well, there was a battle, the last battle, and it was going in the favor of Helianthia. It always was. And then they sent in… they sent in Gem’s battalion, and the tides started to turn a little. Gem was—she was unstoppable. Unstoppable until she and False went head to head, and then… well, you know who won that one. That was when I found them—” He can’t keep talking about it and stands up to rush to the door, retching.
“You say Gem won,” Pix says. “But I reckon she didn’t. You know as well as I do that there’s no true victor in war.”
Scott retches, feeling bile and spit rush over his teeth, and remembers Gem’s face when he found them. She looked so hurt, so sad, desperately grabbing at her neck like she would find something there. She’s so young, compared to him and Pix and False. She’s just a kid. “She’s just a kid,” he whispers.
“Gem?” Pix asks, suddenly by his side. “Yes, she is. All those we watch over are, aren’t they? They haven’t seen all we have yet.”
“She’s so young, and she had to kill someone who protected her,” Scott coughs out, feeling more bile rise up his throat. “She had to, for her country.” He feels a hand on his shoulder, the cool touch of Pix’s palm contrasting the burning of his body. It doesn’t stop him from retching one more time as if dispelling a poison from the Evermoore.
False doesn’t wake up for another two weeks. When she does, wide-eyed and frightened, she doesn’t speak for two more. She can, Scott knows she can, hears her muttering to herself late at night, but False seems too scared to do it in front of them. When she finally gets the courage to, one night when the plains of the Unnamed lands are bitterly cold, forcing everyone inside, it takes Scott by surprise.
“Where am I?” False asks, voice quiet but not faltering. “What are we doing here?”
“How much do you remember?” Scott asks, probably more urgently than he meant to. False’s eyes go wide and she goes silent, scared. “Sorry. Do you remember who I am?”
She shakes her head once, quickly. “No. You aren’t going to… kill me, are you?”
“No. That’s not the sort of thing I deal with. I… I found you, injured, out in the Unnamed Lands. Pix was kind enough to lend us his house while you recovered. I’m Scott, by the way.”
He’s not sure what makes him lie to her, tell her a fabricated story of their meeting, but he does. False smiles, wan and tight, nothing like it used to be. “I think my name is False. That’s all I remember, anyways.” Oh. That’s not great. Better than Scott was expecting, but not great.
Pix looks over from where he is tending the fire. “How is your wound feeling?”
It’s the question that he’s been asking her for the last two weeks, ever since False woke up, usually with no response. Today, however, False gingerly lifts the tunic they dressed her in to feel the wound. There’s still a nasty purple color around it, something about the resurrection has made the bruising stick around much longer than normal, and she has other scars left from past injuries that her fingers just barely brush over before finding the most recent one.
“It still hurts a little,” False says nervously, as if she’s trying to sound grateful. “But it’s fine. It’s healed very well.” It’s not.
Pix laughs. “I did my best. Life and healing are not my specialty, but I still have some knowledge in the area.” They sit in awkward silence for a while after that, False nervously playing with the hem of the tunic.
It’s only a week later that Scott and False leave Pix again. Scott has to return to Chromia, as he’s sure that things have probably gone south since he’s been gone (Owen most likely made sure of that), and False is clearly getting restless.
They travel together for a while, heading northeast from the Crypt towards the southern border of Chromia. It’s then when they stop to split up.
“There are mountains if you continue east from here,” Scott says. “They’re in the Unnamed lands and there’s plenty of space to make a home. I’ll stop by every once in a while to see how you’re doing, if you’d like.”
False smiles. It’s still that tight, wan grimace that’s merely an echo of her former self. “That might be nice.”
Then they go their separate ways. Scott returns to Farbe to find that Owen has attempted to paint over all the color in the town with solid orange, as well as replacing all of the flags and banners with orange cloth. Things have gone just as well as he expected. It takes a long, long time to get that mess figured out, even longer for Scott to have the time to even consider leaving Chromia again. He scries for both False and Gem, just to make sure that they’re both okay. False seems to have found the mountains and built herself a small cottage within one of them, which gives him a little peace. Gem seems like she’s doing alright, taking more control of the council and doing it well. Scott’s proud of her. He knows it must be hard.
Spring and summer come and go, and as fall arrives Scott receives an invitation to Gem’s coronation. He ignores it, although he would have liked to go. Things are still a mess in Chromia, and he is still busy making sure that False is adjusting well to returning to life (she is. It seems that even though she is nervous and uncertain, people make the unintentional decision to be led by her). Nevertheless, it takes several months, long enough for spring to come again, before Scott gets the time and courage to return to Dawn.
When he does he brings False, using the excuse of showing her other countries. Gem does not greet them with the warmth that used to be there, although Scott wasn’t really expecting that. He was honestly expecting worse, an explosive fight, but Gem stays cool, restrained, queenly (although Scott is very aware she’s just a princess). She’s grown up, and he knows it was the war that did it.
False hovers in the background, cold and quiet, uncomfortable in a place she doesn’t remember knowing, and when they leave—after a tense conversation—False glances over at him.
“Did I do something to offend the princess, before I lost my memories? She didn’t seem to like me very much.”
Scott shakes his head. “No, in fact, the opposite. You were like a mentor to her in some ways. But there was a war, as I’m sure you’ve heard,” the majority of the citizens of False’s small empire came from razed towns of Helianthia, “and she had to fight. That changes people.”
False nods, just once, face stony. She was difficult to read before death, and in some ways it’s easier now. But when she gets like this, lost in thought, Scott will never know what’s going on in her head.
“I’d like to go home now,” she says eventually. Scott nods.
“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go home.”
Home, of course, means different things to different people, and he’s not sure if she really means her small village in the mountains, but Scott takes her there anyways. The people milling about look up when they approach, but don’t seem too terribly worried. They recognize False, some even giving her a smile as they pass. False doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in her thoughts.
“I’m not sure if I’ll return for a while,” Scott says once they have finally stopped. “You seem busy, and I have my own things to attend to. I’ll-um-stay in touch, okay?”
False nods, not looking at him, hands twisting together nervously as she takes in everything around her, and Scott leaves the small mountain town of Cogsmeade. Instead of going west, back home to Chromia, however, he continues east, to Helianthia. He hasn’t returned, not since the war, but there has been word that a new heir has been named, and Scott intends to make a good impression with them, especially since the Duke has been said to be on his deathbed.
There are still burns that scar the land, as he nears Gilded. The wheat and sunflower fields have overcome most of it, now shining gold in the sun, but there is still the evidence of war. It’s been only a little over a year, after all.
Scott enters Gilded as the sun sets behind him, tying his horse outside an inn and purchasing a room for the night. If the person who owns it recognizes him as a king, they don’t make it known.
The next morning he finds his way to the Grand Hall of Gilded, an impressive building gilded with golden vines and sunflowers, the towering steeples shining in the sun. He thinks that the Duke and his heir, whoever that may be, will be there and not the simple farmhouse that the family used to vacation to in the summertime, seeing as a frost has already begun to sweep across the land. Or, at least, Scott hopes they will.
The inside of the Grand Hall is just as opulent as the outside, something that has always surprised Scott. The Helianthian nobility are not like those of Rivendell, or even Dawn, preferring to live in modest quarters much like Scott himself. That was not always the case, however, and the Grand Hall was built long before the nobility had any humility.
“Hello,” Scott tells the attendant in the front entryway. “My name is—”
“King Scott of Chromia,” The attendant says, bowing. “And your business here?”
“I merely came to give my support to the Duke in this time,” he says. “I hear he has an heir now, and would like to provide any help that I can.”
The attendant nods again and takes Scott deeper into the Hall. The tall columns and sweeping archways paired with the simple furniture and decoration, the lack of uniform of all the attendants, tell a story of opulence from long ago, of a revolution that came and went.
The attendant, a young man with golden hair that almost resembles feathers, leads him up a massive, winding, gilded staircase and through corridors that just seem to get smaller and smaller and more and more plain until they reach a room that must be the quarters of the noblilty. The attendant knocks quietly, and after a moment the door opens.
There stands a young woman, probably around the same age as Gem, with long brown hair with streaks of sunbleached blonde. She’s not wearing anything fancy, just a plain tunic and baggy pants, but she holds herself like noblilty. She smiles when she opens the door.
“Idti!” She says. “Hello! To what do I owe the pleasure?” She notices Scott then, eyes flickering briefly with a moment of confusion, of who are you and why are you here?
“King Scott, of Chromia, miss,” Idti says. “He has come to pay you and your father a visit.”
“Oh!” The young woman says. “Well, then, please come in...uh, your majesty.” She ushers Scott in, leaving Idti in the hallway. As the door closes he bows slightly, turns, and walks away.
“Please, call me Scott…”
“Pearl.” Pearl smiles.
“Pearl. It really is truly lovely to meet you. I’m sure you’ve learned that Chromia has been an ally to Helianthia in the past few years, and I came to offer any insights you might need as an extension of that.”
“An incredibly kind gesture,” a voice from an adjacent room says, one that although wavering and gravelly still holds power. The Duke of Helianthia stumps in, supporting himself with a simple, goose-headed wooden cane. “Scott. Many thanks for your support in the war.”
He extends a hand to shake and Scott steps forward to take it. “Anything for a friend in need,” he says.
During his visit, Scott does not learn how Pearl came to be named an heir. He barely learns how the Duke is faring, in his tenuous health. But he gives Pearl advice, reminiscing with her father about their families’ long history with each other—because although Scott has not been home in many years he still remembers when the Duke was young and healthy and Helianthia and Rivendell were close friends—and treading carefully around the war.
He leaves, escorted again by Idti, insisting that he will return if needed, after a few hours of conversation. Chromia is a country that can function without a ruler present, if needed, it had for ages before Scott came in and began to rule, however it is Scott’s home, now, and he would like to know what occurs there. Owen still runs the tavern, if he hasn’t left yet, and Stratos knows he makes a mess of things.
Sure enough, the tavern lies empty when Scott arrives back in Farbe, a note written on the back of a used napkin the only thing left to tell him where his bartender has gone.
Colorfull man, I hav left too mak my own contry. Owen.
Scott sighs and rubs his forehead, cursing his wayward magic and propensity for turning llamas into people. In some ways it is better now, than it was when he was a child, when the only magic he was able to muster was the most dangerous, freezing everything in his path. It was that reason that he left home in the first place, searching out a way to control it. It was that reason that he is no longer the heir of Rivendell.
And thus the tavern no longer has a barkeep. It’s fine, Scott does most of his business dealings there anyways, and no ordinary citizen of Farbe uses it. Owen’s reputation as a poor bartender had a tendency to drive people away.
Very little happens in the way of politics as winter rolls around, and when spring comes Scott spends a considerable amount of time replanting flowers and preparing dyes for the summer. As summer arrives, the sun beating down on the Chromian fields, he receives an invitation he was not expecting.
You are cordially invited to the 250th annual Rivendellian Ball, the invitation reads, and at first Scott has to read it a few times over to truly realize what it’s saying. It happens every year, that his family hosts a massive ball, inviting rulers from all over the Unnamed Lands to celebrate another summer passing, but Scott has not been invited since he left. This is not an olive branch, he knows, instead something to keep up appearances. It is the 250th ball, after all, a monumental year, and it would look bad if a country was ignored.
So Scott goes, accompanied by False, who also seems to have been invited. She does not seem to have dressed up for the occasion, although Scott has traded his patchwork clothes for a more traditional, still colorful, suit.
“Nervous?” He asks as they arrive. False looks at him, absentmindedly wringing her hands together.
“N-no,” she says quietly. “Why would I be? It’s only…”
“The biggest event of the year?” Scott laughs. “It’s okay. I’m nervous too. I haven’t been here in years.”
The ballroom is covered with the summer flowers of Rivendell, blues and purples and silvers shining on every table, hanging from the ceiling. Scott has a feeling that his sister was the one behind most of it, not his parents or younger brother, considering how enthused his mother looks at the streams of people entering.
They are not introduced when they enter, something considerably less traditional that must have been his sister’s work as well. Scott likes it. He has never enjoyed everyone’s eyes on him, and he and False take advantage of not being the center of attention and find a quiet corner of the ballroom.
This, of course, can only last for so long before his mother and father require his presence for a conversation. They do not tell Scott this directly, of course, instead sending a footman the whole fifty feet to pass on the message.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispers to False. “You’ll be okay?”
She nods, looking a bit unsure. “Yeah. I’ll-I’ll be fine.”
Scott lets the footman take him across the ballroom to where his mother and father are standing, neither looking particularly happy. He tries to put a placating smile on his face, knowing it probably looks very fake.
“Mother,” he says as he walks up, bowing his head. “Father. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Scott,” his mother says, not uncoldly. “You can thank your sister for that, she insisted on inviting all the rulers this year.”
“You’re still… ruling Chromia, was it?” Scott’s father says with distaste. “You seem to be doing… well.” He can feel their eyes roaming all over his hair, his clothes, his glass eye.
“Quite well, yes,” Scott says, holding his head up high. “Dyes are a hot commodity, we trade with countries all over the world.”
They wouldn’t know that, of course. They barely know Chromia exists. It’s a miracle that his parents know that anything outside the castle exists, with how much they interact with the people of Rivendell.
“Yes, well,” his mother says, every word Scott just said obviously going over her head. “Enjoy your night.”
A little stung by his parents’ cold exterior, Scott turns on his heel and returns to False’s side. By now Katherine has arrived and seems to be talking her ear off, False quietly nodding along about something or other. She gasps when Scott walks up.
“Scott!” Katherine says. “It’s so good to see you!!” She is clearly excited to be here, smile enormous and contagious, and Scott smiles back.
“You too! Oh, I love your dress, it’s so cute!” It’s a lavender ensemble with layers and layers of petticoats and ruffles. It’s not bejeweled, like some gowns he expects to see, instead embroidered with lilacs and tiny mushrooms.
“Thank you!” She squeals. “Oh, I was just catching up with False, I was telling her that she should dance some! Gem just got here…” she says, nudging False teasingly. “I know she’d appreciate a familiar face.”
False pales, an impressive feat considering how pale she already is. “Oh, I don’t think she wants to see me…” She says, trailing off nervously.
“You should!” Scott says, hoping he won’t regret this. “Have some fun.”
False nervously makes her way across the ballroom to where Gem is standing, and Scott and Katherine watch her go.
“Does Gem know about the… resurrection?” Katherine whispers as soon as False has left. Scott nods. “Oh… how did that go?”
“She was mad at me,” Scott says. “And she had every right to be.”
Katherine places a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll forgive you eventually. You know she will.”
He smiles, and they go back to watching the dancing. Gem gets passed from False, after a dance, to a man that Scott doesn’t recognize but seems to be from the Rivendellian court, to a merperson, and then finally to someone he does.
“Ooh,” Katherine says, leaning over in interest. “Who’s that?”
“Her name’s Pearl,” he says. They’re all watching the pair now, Scott and Katherine and False, who has returned from dancing with tiny red spots on her cheeks. “She’s the heir to Helianthia.”
“The heir!” Katherine squawks. “Oh. My. Stratos. I didn’t know they had found one!”
“Apparently they had,” Scott says absentmindedly. “She’s nice… and it seems like Gem likes her too.”
They’ve danced for a while now, at least four dances, and Pearl seems to be leading Gem outside to get some air. Scott is happy for them.
He walks over to Lizzie, just to say hello—they were childhood friends before she became the Ocean Empress, and it’s been a while since Scott’s had the chance to catch up—interrupting her dance with her husband, who really seems to dislike him. She’s sweet, as always, a little more scaly than he remembers her, but that is to be expected for a mer.
Then, before Scott can find his way through the clumps of mingling nobles back to Katherine and False, who are chatting with someone he’s not familiar with, he’s pulled to the side by his sister.
“Scott!” She exclaims. “I’m so glad you could make it!”
Scott smiles and embraces her, leaving his hands resting on her shoulders. “It’s good to see you, Elara,” he says. “You’ve done well, with the ball.”
Elara smiles back. She’s so much older than the last time he saw her, nearly ten years ago. She’s not the little girl running through the winding halls of the castle towers, pulling pranks with her older brothers. Scott is proud of her.
“Well,” Scott says. “I should leave soon. Thank you for inviting me to this. It means… you know what it means.”
She nods and Scott waves to Katherine and False as a means of saying goodbye. False waves back. Then he leaves, walking out into a brisk Rivendell summer night. He needs to leave now, more than ever. This place is only bringing back memories.