Work Text:
“Marci!”
God’s mercy, it felt good to say her name again, even yelling it at the top of her lungs—and Mirana yelled it a lot. Her daughter was named after her best friend, but she was every bit her father’s daughter as she jumped on the dais steps with a reckless lack of thought and an unhealthy dose of courage.
“I’ve told you not to play on the steps. You might fall.”
Marci pouted scornfully: this face she got from her mother. Mirana countered it with a raised brow.
“I’m not playing. I’m practicing,” Marci said.
“Practicing what?” She compounded her raised brow with crossed arms.
“Flying.”
Mirana pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know, I don’t care. Just don’t do it again.”
“Then what can I do?”
“I don’t know.” She waved her hand in the air. “Something not dangerous.”
“That’s nothing.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is so.” Marci put a hand on her hip and pointed her finger in the most insulting impression of her mother Mirana had ever seen, except for Bram’s impression of her when he told his stories. He’d make a fine bard now that he was no longer a squire or knight or whatever he was.
Imitating her voice. “Don’t go into the throne room, don’t sit on the throne, don’t play on the steps, don’t hang off the balcony, don’t climb the columns, and don’t bother Asar and the guards. That’s everything.”
Mirana took a calming breath. When she was her age, she played with dolls until her mother thought she was too old. Her mother had been frustrated with her attachment to her rabbit and mouse dolls, especially when she imitated the grownups. Now in her mother’s place, she did not share her disdain for childish things. Princess of the Sun or not, she’d give anything for Marci to play a safe, quiet game like dolls. When asked, Mirana had handed her dolls over without a fuss and just the slightest hint of sorrow, but Marci refused to relinquish any of her games. She didn’t budge an inch. She had her father’s stubbornness afterall. Like him, she never ran from a fight. Of course, she didn’t have to start so many either.
Davion ... she missed him. He didn’t even know he was a father, but she liked to use the title, even just in her thoughts. What kind of father would he have been? Perhaps he would have grown a real beard—to make him look more fatherly. That seemed likely. She smiled. His face would still be charmingly boyish. But what sort of a father would he be in mannerisms? He had been brave and strong—fine traits for a father, but above all, he’d been gentle and kind. It was these last traits that would have made him a great father. It was these last traits she wanted her daughter to possess more than any.
“Where is your handmaid?” Mirana muttered more to herself.
Instead of the handmaid, Bram entered. Finally, an ally.
“Bram, I need ...”
“Say no more,” he said, stifling a laugh.”I have experience with people like her.” He cracked his knuckles.
“Don’t encourage her.”
“I’m not.”
Gods, he took nothing seriously.
“What are you doing?” Bram's smile betrayed his serious tone.
“Just playing,” she said innocently.
Balls, Mirana thought. “She said she was trying to fly.”
“Oh, well, you see. No harm done.”
“Bram.”
“I mean she can’t …" He scratched the back of his head, mumbling something.
“She’ll fall,” Mirana said more to Marci.
“I’ve fallen dozens of times …" The nonchalant way she said it reminded her of Davion.
“I need you to do something quiet—quiet and safe while I’m in meetings.” While she was rebuilding the bloody world more like. It wasn't going to rebuild itself, and here she was arguing with a child whose daily battles were very unsympathetic to her mother's schedule, her duty, and her nerves. “Bram do you think you can help me with that?”
“Yes,” he said. The lack of confidence made it sound more like a no.
“I’ve got it,” he said and mumbled something else. Mirana headed towards the door but paused to make sure Bram could handle her beautiful, reckless daughter.
“What game are we going to play?” Marci asked.
“I was thinking … I don’t know—I don’t know many games—but I know a lot of stories.”
Mirana grinned. Marci loved his stories, especially the way Bram told them. His nervous energy and impassioned gestures and speech made them more exciting. Yes, he’d make a fine bard.
“Did I tell you about time we battled an earth dragon and discovered an Eldwurm.” Bram asked, excited.
“What’s an old worm?”
“Eldwurm. Anyway, It struck Davion so hard with its tail, he went spiraling in the air. Knocked his helmet off. Almost took his head off with it.” His voice reached a ridiculous crescendo that echoed off the high beams of the domed ceiling.
Mirana grew rigid at the mention of Davion’s name. She could imagine him as Bram described him: running into a fight and almost getting killed by a dragon. Brave and stupid. She cringed.
“Wow.” Marci said. “Could the dragon fly?”
“Well, no, it was an earth dragon.” Bram explained. “You see, there are several types of dragons.”
Now it was Mirana’s turn to interrupt. She stepped back into the throne room, the echo of her voice reaching them first. “Why the sudden interest in flying?”
“I want to fly like a dragon.” Marci explained.
“Oh,” Bran thought for a moment. “Well, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this but.” He looked to Mirana. “You tell her. I don’t have the heart to.”
She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t a dragon, so you can’t.”
“Well actually …" Bram began, and she shot him a look, but he kept going. Good ol’ Bram.
“You can, see. Not on your own, of course. But you can fly on a dragon. I’ve ridden one before.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Her name was Arauth.” He smiled with memory and sadness. Mirana’s heart warmed for him. She knew that feeling all too well.
“I want to hear that story.”
Well, this fixed her problem. Should entertain her for an hour or so. A nagging feeling in the back of her mind reminded her she was late, but she couldn’t pull herself away.
“Oh, well, I was, you see—Davion and I—are you sure you don’t want to hear more about your father, the Dragon Knight?”
She pursed her lips in another Mirana face. “He killed dragons, but dragons are good, aren’t they?”
“Weighted question.” Bram admitted. “They’re like people. They aren’t all good or all bad. He had a special bond with a dragon. Slyrak. Slyrak was kind of a bastard--”
“--language, Bram. This isn’t a pub.” Mirana said, arching a warning brow.
“Right. Well, Davion, your father … he was my best friend.” Bram’s voice broke with emotion before he swallowed and continued. “He was a great man. He saved the world. None of us would be here if it wasn’t for him.”
Mirana felt a lump forming in her own throat.
“What did he do?”
“Well,” Bram began. “It’s … kind of hard to explain. Something to do with a maige in a tower, a demon, and the end of the world. They both needed the dragons to reshape the world with a magical time forge or something. We needed Davion, er rather the dragons. He had a dragon inside him, or he was a dragon. I wasn’t there…"
Mirana placed her hand on his shoulder, silencing him gently.
“I was.” She sat in front of her daughter. “The maige, the Invoker, made a deal with a terrible demon. He wanted to bring back someone he lost.” She paused. His quest to bring back his daughter had cost her those she loved. Cost her everything. She’d gone on a journey to bring back what she’d lost only to have to lose them all again … to lose him. She closed her eyes and in the blackness behind her lids she saw the vast void of space and time and Davion. Saw him vanish. She opened her eyes like waking from a startling dream. Marci was waiting expectantly.
“We fought the demon in Foulfell where …" She exchanged a brief look with Bram at the shared memory. “Your father, with the help of the dragon souls, defeated the demon.”
“He was a dragon?”
“Eight dragons actually.” Bram interjected. “Something like that.”
“Your father, was brave.” Mirana said. “He died saving us all, but the Invoker used the dragon souls to power a time forge to create a new universe.”
She began her story. She didn’t use wild gestures or elevated speech like Bram, but Marci listened, quietly, intently while she recounted her journey, discovering the truth from the oracle and meeting Davion again for the first time. She left out the parts with the … charming woman and where he acted like a bull-headed ass. She told her about the strange stones and their powers and the Hell bear, rewarding her patience and attentiveness with a little extra flare.
“You were amazing.” said Marci. “You shot it right in the eye.”
“I guess, I was a little amazing.” Mirana said, trying to keep the ego out of her voice. This was the greatest accolades her daughter had ever given her. “Anyway, after that your father and I … went our separate ways for a bit.” She thought she’d leave out the part where they fought and he left. “Marci and I made our way to the Dragon’s lair.” she said leaning in and lowering her voice for suspense. She’d listened to Bram enough times to know how this story-telling thing was done.
“I found Slyrak, but someone had found him first.”
“Was it father?”
“No,” She rolled her eyes. “Your father was ... busy at the moment.” She smiled. He was busy getting his ass beat by Marci. “A dragon knight named Kaden came to slay Slyrak. I had to stop him, so I woke the beast. But it was too late. The dragon was slain.”
And then her and Davion went their own separate ways again, only this time by her choosing. She gritted her teeth. As the story went on, drawing closer the end, it became harder to tell. Some things were hard to say, even after so many years, and she was afraid of frightening Marci with tales of the end of the world and fire falling from the sky. But she believed in honesty and integrity.
“Then what did you do?”
This question gave her pause. She’d given up finding answers. The entire reason she’d went on that journey was for Davion. He’d died saving the world. She couldn’t let it be the end of his story. Couldn't let him die for nothing. She tried to make a better world and to make a life, but then Davion returned and told her about the destruction of the moon and the impending end of all things.
“With Slyrak dead, we needed help from the Invoker.”
“You helped the man who caused it all?” Marci asked, incredulous.
Mirana looked down, wringing her hands in her lap.
“I hoped he would help me restore what was lost.” She closed her eyes. Marci … Davion.
She hadn’t wanted to help him. She’d wanted him dead. Her hands balled into fists. He’d taken everything from her. Her daughter’s voice pulled her back from thoughts.
“Did he help you?”
“Not at first. He was not ready to see the truth.” She had not been either. She touched her daughter’s face. “He loved his daughter. Fixing his mistakes meant losing her.” Mirana looked into her eyes, her father’s eyes.
Tears blurred the vision of her daughter, her beautiful daughter. “I wasn’t so different from Terrorblade or the Invoker. I wanted to shape the world to suit me. I had to face the truth. I had to save what I love by allowing what I loved to die.”
She saw him, the ember flame, the pillar of … whatever. He was just Davion, her Davion, fading with their last kiss as she imagined the old world, releasing the new one, until he was no more than a small light like a dying ember. She let everything go, let him go … but not entirely.
“I lost everything … again. But I have you.”
Bram wiped a tear from his cheek and sniffed. Dear, sweet Bram.
Marci stood and stared at the solar throne.
“You’re not thinking about climbing on it again, are you?”
She shook her head. “It isn’t exciting sitting on that throne, is it?”
Mirana agreed. She’d listened to countless complaints about land disputes and frivolous quarles. Mindless politics. “But it’s necessary.”
Her daughter looked determined. Somehow her face had combined both her mother's and father’s look of determination: a knitted brow and slight grin. “It will be my throne one day, and I promise to sit still. I’ll help you build your world, mother. I’ll be more careful. Not like father.”
Mirana grasped her shoulder’s gently but firmly. “I know I’m always scolding you. I want you to be careful, but I’m not asking you to change. I would not ask you to give up the parts of you that remind me of him—even the parts that irritate me. Davion seemed impulsive, reckless, like he didn’t appreciate what was at stake, but he did. He saw what had to be done; how to win. He fought, especially when the fight looked hopeless.”
Bram’s mouth slackened with stunned amusement. “Well spoken. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Actually, you did say it. Those were your words.”
Bram grinned softly, and then his eyes widened with their usual spark of anxious energy. “Aren’t you late for … something.”
“I am.” She said, knowing she had a room full of irritated advisors. “But a lesson was in order. Or rather, a story.” Revisiting her earlier thought, she mused the world would not rebuild itself. It took many people like herself, and she would not do it alone. She was never alone. Making the world better was also not a finite task that could be completed. It required constant, continual effort. The task would one day pass on to her daughter. Building a better world meant teaching her by example. Mirana was no perfect example by any means, but they weren't building a perfect world. Only a better one. She lifted her daughter’s chin while leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. “Go play dragon knight with Bram—or dragon. Whatever it is you were playing, but God’s mercy, don’t jump on the steps.”
Marci smiled her father’s smile and flapped her arms while running around Bram. Mirana stood and watched a little longer, remembering that all the Invoker’s schemes had been for more time with his daughter. All that loss, all that chaos and destruction … for a little more time. The anger toward him cooled. Would she have done anything differently in his place for her own daughter? Davion’s daughter and Marci’s namesake. She sighed. In a perfect world, she would have Marci and Davion. But if her life and countless realities had taught her anything, it was that it wasn’t about making a perfect world but living in the world as it is.