Ring-Maker [Worm/Lord of the Rings Alt-Power] [Complete]

[Segev]

That's not actually as straightforward a situation as it might seem. Yes, we know Canary was imprisoned unjustly, and railroaded into a harsh sentence. But it's not within Dragon's authority as Warden of the Birdcage to question the legitimacy of a formal court decision. Canary got terrible defense representation, but from the fact that Dragon isn't capable of outright disobeying the imprisonment as illegal, we can infer that the requirement for providing Canary due process was at least formally followed. It's not as if the PRT delivered Canary to the Birdcage's doorstep and demand she be imprisoned without trial because of how dangerous she was. At that point, it's simply not Dragon's place to appeal Canary's sentence or claim that her due process rights were violated. Prison wardens aren't a check and balance on court authority and if the paperwork of the incarceration order checks out (i.e, it's not a forgery), then there's nothing she can really do to dispute it. It's her paranoid safeguards preventing her from interfering with human authority by taking the otherwise completely legal option of funding a proper legal defense for Canary. So Dragon ends up trapped between her own obligations as Warden and her safeguards when it comes to Canary.

Click to shrink...

On the one hand, you're right about the position of a prison warden. But we're not actually talking about Dragon taking LEGAL action. We're talking about Dragon examining the legality of the action.

If a judge in one of those jurisdictions where they actually elect their judges (rather than just affirm or disaffirm them keeping the position) were to order his opponent arrested and thrown in prison, the warden would be perfectly within his rights to say, "Your Honor, you don't have the authority to make that order."

We're not talking about Dragon serving as an appeals court; we're talking about Dragon examining whether the legal authority to order her to incarcerate Canary exists in this case. Dragon clearly believes/knows that Canary was railroaded and denied due process. This isn't even touching on the fact that Dragon thinks her innocent; she addresses how unfair the proceedings were.

Yes, we have appeals processes to challenge things when such cases of malfeasance and rights violations happen. That's the recourse normal people have. And even if Dragon came to the independent conclusion that Canary was not legally sentenced to the Birdcage, refusing to put her there would have its own consequences through the legal system.

This is, however, dealing with Dragon's own protocols. And a question of just how far outside an official's legal authority she is forced to obey them.

 

[Lithos Maitreya]

I just finished drafting Douse 6.2. I'm not sure exactly how my schedule is going to work, but I'm pretty sure you can all expect two chapters again this coming week.

 

[Martenzo]

We're not talking about Dragon serving as an appeals court; we're talking about Dragon examining whether the legal authority to order her to incarcerate Canary exists in this case. Dragon clearly believes/knows that Canary was railroaded and denied due process. This isn't even touching on the fact that Dragon thinks her innocent; she addresses how unfair the proceedings were.

Click to shrink...

Yes, we have appeals processes to challenge things when such cases of malfeasance and rights violations happen. That's the recourse normal people have. And even if Dragon came to the independent conclusion that Canary was not legally sentenced to the Birdcage, refusing to put her there would have its own consequences through the legal system.

Click to shrink...

Exactly what I mean. Dragon obviously can't act as an appeals court herself and I never meant to imply something that silly. What I meant was, Dragon can't turn to an appeals court on Canary's behalf because she doesn't have standing in the first place, and even beyond that her safeguards prevent her from charitably providing a competent and motivated defense counsel for her. When it comes to Dragon's dilemma here, I don't think it's really a matter of the sentence being illegal. It's a matter of Dragon finding the sentence to be horribly unjust, even though it's completely legal in the eyes of the law. Canary's trial was politically charged beyond the individual circumstances of the case, and her defense did a piss-poor job at representing her, but "due process" doesn't necessarily mean a fair trial, it just means a number of procedural hoops that the prosecution has to jump through to present their evidence and testimony and *a* trial (or a plea bargain). Even in a trial, it's primarily a matter of the prosecutor convincing the jury that the evidence they've lawfully obtained (that is, excluding all the evidence obtained in violation of her rights) shows that Canary is guilty of the accused crime beyond reasonable doubt, and the judge handing out a sentence once the jury found Canary guilty. The defense counsel's job is to convince the jury that yes, there is quite a lot of room for doubt even with the evidence presented. Just because the prosecution presses for an unjustly harsh sentence, or because the judge hands one out, or even because the defense counsel sees the case as hopeless and makes only a token effort, doesn't make the whole process unlawful.

 

[Segev]

Exactly what I mean. Dragon obviously can't act as an appeals court herself and I never meant to imply something that silly. What I meant was, Dragon can't turn to an appeals court on Canary's behalf because she doesn't have standing in the first place, and even beyond that her safeguards prevent her from charitably providing a competent and motivated defense counsel for her. When it comes to Dragon's dilemma here, I don't think it's really a matter of the sentence being illegal. It's a matter of Dragon finding the sentence to be horribly unjust, even though it's completely legal in the eyes of the law. Canary's trial was politically charged beyond the individual circumstances of the case, and her defense did a piss-poor job at representing her, but "due process" doesn't necessarily mean a fair trial, it just means a number of procedural hoops that the prosecution has to jump through to present their evidence and testimony and *a* trial (or a plea bargain). Even in a trial, it's primarily a matter of the prosecutor convincing the jury that the evidence they've lawfully obtained (that is, excluding all the evidence obtained in violation of her rights) shows that Canary is guilty of the accused crime beyond reasonable doubt, and the judge handing out a sentence once the jury found Canary guilty. The defense counsel's job is to convince the jury that yes, there is quite a lot of room for doubt even with the evidence presented. Just because the prosecution presses for an unjustly harsh sentence, or because the judge hands one out, or even because the defense counsel sees the case as hopeless and makes only a token effort, doesn't make the whole process unlawful.

Click to shrink...

The reason her trial was illegal and violated due process is actually tied to, but not directly because of, the incompetence of her defense. A competent defense would have gotten either the circumstances changed, or the trial thrown out on the basis that the defense wasn't suitable no matter how good the attorneys were.

Canary had literally no say in her legal defense. Literally. None.

That's the violation of due process and the Bill of Rights in question. She couldn't pick her attorney, or even refuse the one assigned to her, nor indicate any preference. That is a classic tactic of a kangaroo court, where the trial is literally just for show. It was definitely speedy and public, but it was not by impartial judges, and she wasn't actually given right to counsel. Right to counsel implies that she has some say in her defense. And she DEFINITELY wasn't allowed to confront the witnesses against her.

Frankly, the only way it could have been more of a farce is if her attorney had entered a plea of "guilty" or "no contest" on her behalf, he was jobbing so hard. (Whether intentionally jobbing or not, the man was chosen because he was quick and easy to find with the likelihood that he wasn't up to the job of an adequate defense considered a potential plus.)

It is for these reasons that Dragon could and probably should have either refused the illegal incarceration order, or feigned acceptance and helped Canary disappear.

Now, to "save" Wormverse Dragon from being badly written, here, we could claim that there'd been an amendment to the Constitution that allowed suspension of 4th-6th amendment rights in particular ways for particular kinds of parahuman crime. This would be another heaping pile of horror on top of Wormverse's already crapsack setting, but that would make it feasible that Dragon really was compelled as shown in canon.

 

[macdjord]

Now, to "save" Wormverse Dragon from being badly written, here, we could claim that there'd been an amendment to the Constitution that allowed suspension of 4th-6th amendment rights in particular ways for particular kinds of parahuman crime. This would be another heaping pile of horror on top of Wormverse's already crapsack setting, but that would make it feasible that Dragon really was compelled as shown in canon.

Click to shrink...

Or you could just assume that her restrictions don't make exceptions for violations of due process; she was sentenced by a legal, standing judge, in a real courthouse, and Dragon was given an order from the correct authorities to execute the sentence - and that's all the safeguards care about.

 

[Segev]

Or you could just assume that her restrictions don't make exceptions for violations of due process; she was sentenced by a legal, standing judge, in a real courthouse, and Dragon was given an order from the correct authorities to execute the sentence - and that's all the safeguards care about.

Click to shrink...

Which brings us back to the question of where the safeguards draw the line as to what constitutes an unbreakable order. If she can be forced to obey illegal orders, then what is the limit? Again: can the President order her to murder anybody who runs against him?

 

[PAGDTenno]

While us putting more thought than Wildbow seems to have into Dragon and her restrictions is amusing, it seems to be approaching a derail at this point.

 

[Martenzo]

Went back to the chapter to check stuff about the Canary discussion and found this line that has actually started irking me a bit after all the talk about Dragon's safeguards.

"You need to take down the bulletin on Regent."

Click to shrink...

It seems a bit too pushy for an AI that "can't even write a strongly worded letter". It comes off as giving Colin an order, rather than making a polite suggestion. A commanding tone like this is something that makes sense for a human to express urgency, but Dragon isn't human. I think she'd have softer wordings to express urgency.

She wasn't even allowed to arrange for nor speak in her own defense.

Click to shrink...

If you can point to me where being disallowed to arrange for her own defense counsel (say, by writing out what she wanted to express, since letting her use her voice was considered so dangerous) is established, I'd give some credence to your claims of due process violations. I went over Lithos' latest chapter and found nothing of the sort, so I've no way of saying if the violations of due process in Ring-Maker were as bad as they seemed to be in canon based on your reaction*. Since Lithos is a good writer and managed to avoid the pitfall of describing the nuances of a trial in great detail without exhaustively researching all the legal procedure involved, I'm going to assume they're not. If she had a public defense counsel and she didn't take/couldn't afford a lawyer on her own money, then the defense attorney she was provided is all that she was entitled to under due process. Defendants don't get to pick and choose which public defense attorney they want. Secondly, any competent defense counsel will try to minimize the amount their own client speaks anyway. Stressed and nervous, most defendants are likely to talk themselves in to a guilty verdict, rather than talk themselves out of one in the eyes of the jury. Besides, not letting her use her voice was really the only viable option anyway. If the jury heard her voice, it would give the prosecution grounds to accuse Canary of mastering her jury into proclaiming her not guilty.

To clarify my position on the safeguards and keep away from derails: It seems to me that in Ring-Maker, one part of Dragon's safeguards, the part that would let her disobey illegal orders from people in positions of authority, determines the lawfulness of government actors' actions in terms of law and written procedure, and that Canary's trial and sentencing, while politically charged and unjust in its sentence, followed the letter of the law and was thus lawful**. Beyond that, she likely has additional safeguards that explicitly forbid her from influencing lawmaking, courtroom and other (lawful) decisionmaking processes that shape how human self-governance and society work, even if the manner of her influencing would otherwise be legal. These additional safeguards would likely be why she can't even write too strongly worded letters to authority figures. And trying to save canon Worm from being poorly written is undoubtedly a derail for Ring-Maker, so I don't even care about that.

*(I haven't actually read canon Worm that far, and I doubt I ever will. Most of my familiarity with the universe is from the wiki, and through various fan crossovers and AUs)
**(At least as far as Dragon is aware of the facts of the trial. If there was illegal collusion between judge and prosecution, such as deliberately assigning an incompetent defense, then Dragon simply isn't aware of it.)

 

[Segev]

As I am largely discussing canon versions right now, it probably does count as a derailment of this thread, so I'll cease my ranting for now on this subject.

 

[macdjord]

Which brings us back to the question of where the safeguards draw the line as to what constitutes an unbreakable order. If she can be forced to obey illegal orders, then what is the limit? Again: can the President order her to murder anybody who runs against him?

Click to shrink...

Perhaps he can. The most likely difference would be that a judge ordering a convict sent to prison is normal, and a president ordering the assassination of an American citizen is not. It may be that the only difference is that the President has to prove his order is legal before Dragon is compelled to obey it, whereas the Judge must be obeyed until another legal authority proves his order illegal.

 

[Lithos Maitreya]

Went back to the chapter to check stuff about the Canary discussion and found this line that has actually started irking me a bit after all the talk about Dragon's safeguards.
It seems a bit too pushy for an AI that "can't even write a strongly worded letter". It comes off as giving Colin an order, rather than making a polite suggestion. A commanding tone like this is something that makes sense for a human to express urgency, but Dragon isn't human. I think she'd have softer wordings to express urgency.

Click to shrink...

To an extent, that line is deliberately chosen because it conflicts with her restraints. It's meant to show her comfort in Colin's presence. That being said, I will consider rewriting it.

Also, Interlude 6a has been drafted. It still needs polish, but it's punchy. Holy hell, Douse is gonna be fun.

 

[Segev]

To be fair, if she didn't consider it an order or an interference, it may bypass her restrictions.

 

[Lithos Maitreya]

Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @fabledFreeboota, and @Skyrunner for betareading.
Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

-x-x-x-​

"I'm home!" Sophia called as she led me in through the front door.

There was no real response. Pots and cutlery clattered somewhere a couple of rooms down, and a young man's voice echoed from somewhere upstairs.

Sophia, however, didn't seem put out by this. If anything, she looked a touch relieved. "Come in," she told me, holding the door open. "My room's upstairs."

She led me down the hallway, but we were stopped at the stairs by a man in his forties coming down.

"Oh, Sophia!" he said, smiling at her. "You're home early. And who's this?" He turned to me, still smiling, and held out a hand. "Steven Miles—Sophia's stepfather."

Smiles are an interesting thing, I reflected. In a crowd, to pick out the best, kindest person, one need only look for the person smiling at nothing at all.

Which meant, of course, that there was no better mask for a liar. Even if I hadn't been able to see the telltale way his smile failed to warm his cold eyes, or the way he showed slightly too many teeth, Sophia's rising hackles would have been plenty to tip me off.

I took his hand in a grip which, with Narya's help, was certainly a little stronger than he was expecting. I saw him twitch. "Taylor Hebert," I said. "I'm a friend of hers from school. Nice to meet you, Mr. Miles." Then, quite deliberately, I turned away from him and looked at my teammate. "So, where did you say your room was?"

"Up here." Sophia's voice was slightly lower than usual—almost cowed—and she looked neither at me nor at her stepfather as she took the stairs one at a time. I deliberately put myself between her and the man, and followed without looking at him again.

We passed two closed doors, once we'd gone up the stairs, and reached Sophia's room, which she opened with a key in her pocket. "Come on in," she said, still sounding slightly subdued.

I slipped past her and stepped inside, looking around. The small room was surprisingly old-fashioned, with one window facing east and walls paneled in dark hardwood to match the furniture: a twin bed in one corner, a vanity with a mirror in another, a bookshelf—on which I noticed a bookmarked copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare—on one wall, and a combined desk and dresser on which were perched a laptop and an old printer.

What drew my eye, though, was the wall between the vanity and the desk. It was practically lined with photographs. Some were framed in carved hardwood or plastic, and others were simply pinned to the wall. Many depicted Sophia with her family—some recent, some years old. In each complete family photo, the father figure—Steven?—was absent, cut out.

The rest of the photos were of Sophia… and a girl I knew all too well.

"Oh, God," Sophia said, passing me and crossing to the wall. "I forgot to take these down." She reached up for a picture.

I stopped her, taking her arm as I looked at the picture. It was one of those framed in wood. The picture was taken on the edge of the Boardwalk, with the sea behind the two figures standing together. In the left of the frame I could just make out the derelict ruin of the Boat Graveyard.

Sophia and Emma each had one arm around the other, and both were smiling—smiling more widely than I had seen Emma smile in years. She'd never smiled like that when she tormented me. Her expression was nearly honest.

"Taylor?" Sophia's voice was low. She sounded almost afraid.

"You look happy," I said softly.

Sophia swallowed audibly. "I cared about her."

"I know," I said. Then I frowned. "You said you cut ties with her?"

She looked away. "Yes."

"You told me the other day." I looked away from the photograph and sought her eyes, but she kept her gaze fixed out the window. "Why?"

She turned and stared at me uncomprehendingly. "What do you mean, 'why?'"

"Not 'why did you cut ties.' Why the past tense? She never hurt you."

"She hurt you! And she was going to hurt you more! She was talking about going to your house, when I—when she found out you weren't coming back to school. I didn't—I couldn't just listen to that!"

I studied her. For a moment she held my gaze, then she flushed slightly and looked away.

"I imagine she hasn't made it easy for you," I said. Emma controlled Winslow's social environment, after all. "I'm sorry, Sophia."

Sophia shook her head. "She hasn't—she hasn't been back to school since then."

There's something I'm missing. "Tell me what happened."

"I…." She stopped. Swallowed again. Her gaze darted back to me, then away again. Then she screwed her eyes shut. "I accidentally unmasked you," she whispered. "Emma wouldn't stop asking about you, and I had to tell her you'd transferred out, and then she asked how I knew and I didn't know what to say besides 'classified' and then—"

I put a hand on her arm and she stopped, breathing deeply. Her eyes were still closed tight. "I'm not in danger, am I." It wasn't a question—I knew Sophia would have told me if Emma posed any danger to my secret identity.

"No."

"Okay." I didn't take my hand away. "Tell me what happened."

She opened her eyes and met mine, as though anchoring herself. After a deep breath, she began. "She was waiting for me when I got to school. It was—it was nice. It was good to see her again. We talked about nothing until class started. But then—at break—she brought you up. And she—she was so ugly. She was a pretty normal, kinda depressed person before, but when she brought you up it was like she twisted. And I just couldn't handle it." Her gaze didn't waver, even as the fingers of her left hand twined about Cenya. "So at lunch, I pulled her away to talk. I wanted to convince her to drop you. It didn't work. She figured out your identity, and I had to stop her from hurting you, or unmasking you. So I…."

Finally, her composure broke. She fell away, catching herself on the wall, leaning against it and breathing heavily. Tears spilled from eyes that were clenched shut; her gritted teeth held back sobs.

"I didn't—know what else to do," she said in spurts. "I didn't know how. I'm not you. I can't just talk—talk to someone, and make them see. So I did what I—what I knew how to do. I threatened her. I told her that if she came after you, or unmasked you, I'd make her wish—make her wish I'd never saved her."

She slid down the wall and put her hands around her knees. I knelt beside her, one hand still on her arm, letting her cry.

"What kind of monster am I?" she mumbled, once she'd gotten herself back under some control. "I broke her, Taylor. I made her into that—and now, I can't be bothered to try and fix her? I just—I just leave her wallowing?"

"You're not a monster, Sophia," I said gently.

Her eyes met mine. "Cenya gives me perspective," she whispered. "You want to know why I—why I took her under my wing, or whatever? Why I 'helped' her by twisting her into the bitch who tortured you? Why I went along with it—why I shoved you into that fucking locker?"

I met her eyes. "No."

She twitched. "What?"

"No," I said again. "You've changed. This"—I nodded at her—"is proof enough."

"You—you don't care?"

"I'll admit curiosity," I said, "but I'm more worried about my friend now, who's crying on her bedroom floor, than I am about my enemy then."

Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly two or three times, and then renewed tears welled up in her eyes and she threw herself into my arms.

I held her as she cried, still biting down on her sobs to avoid making noise. Long before she was done, though, a knock came at the door.

"Sophia?" It was Steven. In my arms, she tensed. "Do you or your friend want snacks?"

I let her go, stood up, and crossed to the door. I carefully unlocked and opened it.

From his perspective, Sophia was hidden behind the vanity. He glanced at me, then roved his eyes around the room, trying to find his stepdaughter. "Hello, Taylor," he said, not meeting my eyes. "Sophia's in here, right?"

"Yes," I said, not moving. "No, we don't need snacks, thank you."

He finally looked back at me, blinking. "I—"

"Take my advice, Mr. Miles," I said quietly. "Give Sophia her space." Without another word, I shut the door in his face.

Sophia was quiet now, and as I returned to her she stared up at me. "How did you know?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I don't," I said. "I just know a liar when I see one."

Once more she swallowed, and then she looked down at the floor. I watched her for a moment, then cast my eyes along the rest of the photographs, and the man cut out of many of them. Rather than focusing on the empty space, I looked at the others.

Mrs. Hess—or Mrs. Miles, now—was a woman in her early forties in the most recent pictures, with a frame that spoke of old musculature and fitness, now worn away by neglect. I could see a trend, looking at her through the years. With each passing span of time, she seemed to grow more tired—and in each successive photograph, she seemed to hold Sophia a little more tentatively, a little less close.

Sophia's older brother looked even more athletic than Sophia did. Where she had a runner's lean physique and a fighter's wiry muscles, he had rounded, broad muscles, which he happily displayed with sleeveless or short-sleeved shirts. In each family photograph, he tended to stand near to Steven.

The final member of the family was a little girl of perhaps four or five. She was in every picture, at least those of the family, after her birth—even in the cases where it was her father who held her, Sophia had carefully avoided cutting her out, instead cutting around her to remove as much of the man as possible without damaging the child.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Whose?" Sophia's voice was slightly muffled by her arms where her face was buried in them.

"Your sister."

"Angela." Sophia looked up as she spoke, and her voice softened. She craned her neck up to look at the pictures.

"She's lovely."

"Yeah."

There was silence for a time.

"When did your mother marry Steven?"

A muscle visibly jumped in Sophia's jaw. "When I was eleven."

Ah, I thought, and remembered.

'When did you trigger?' I asked.

'…I was twelve.'

Outwardly, I only nodded. "Does your mother know?"

"She thinks it was an accident. He apologized very, very—what's the word?—profusely."

"He's lying."

"He told me it was deliberate. Predatory."

I looked down at her. She didn't meet my eyes. "Predatory?"

She didn't answer.

'Because we fucking trigger,' I'd told Piggot. 'Because we go through days that are so bad that they color the rest of our lives! Because we get broken down into something less than human, and get rewarded for it with more than human power! You'd be fucked up too, Director Piggot, if you had to deal with what we do! If you had to use powers which, every damn day, reminded you of one of the worst moments in your life!'

I squatted before her and said, "You're stronger than him."

"I have powers. Of course I'm stronger than him."

"Powers that remind you, every moment, of how you got them."

She shuddered again, repulsed.

"Do you really think power makes you stronger?" I asked quietly. "Power is just a... substitute. It lets you get by, it lets you survive. It's easy to get complacent, when you're surviving like that. It's harder to grow past it."

She looked up at me. "I hurt Emma last week," she said. "I'm not growing. I'm still hurting people, just because it's easier than helping them."

"I told you once that I would help you become what you wanted to be," I said. "You wanted to be a hero. Now, for the second time—did you think it would be easy?"

Her face twisted slightly.

"It's not too late to help Emma," I said. "Just like it wasn't too late to help you."

"What do you want to do about her?"

"Me?" I asked in surprise. "What have I got to do with it?"

Sophia blinked. "She was…." She trailed off.

"Oh." I shook my head. "No. I'm quite finished orienting my life around Emma. That was my step forward."

Sophia nodded slowly. "Any advice?"

"Tell her the truth," I said with a shrug. "Remember that you don't want forgiveness or absolution—you want to give her closure, not the other way around."

"Right." Sophia hesitated. "Thank you."

I smiled. "My pleasure." I stood up and crossed to the bookshelf. "You're reading Shakespeare?"

"Yeah," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "Been working through King Lear. Cordelia's great."

The rest of the evening, and the night which followed, had a comforting lack of discussion of triggers, traitors, or anything more emotional than books and battlefield tactics.

-x-x-x-​

Please consider donating to my Patreon. Many thanks to those who have already donated.

 

[Segev]

It's always interesting to see the different directions fanfic authors take Sophia's family and her trigger event. IIRC, the precise way Stephen caused it is never spelled out in canon.

 

[Lithos Maitreya]

It's always interesting to see the different directions fanfic authors take Sophia's family and her trigger event. IIRC, the precise way Stephen caused it is never spelled out in canon.

Click to shrink...

There's a document, released by Wildbow, which describes the process for generating a Stranger power from a trigger. In it, Wildbow gives a few examples of triggers. Here's the relevant one:

A stepfather leans too heavily on the triggeree; in the eyes of everyone else he's trying to build a relationship with his new daughter. He doesn't give her a moment to breathe, and she can't escape the pressure or the panic attacks, with her triggering as he admits in a whisper that it's intentional and predatory.

Click to shrink...

Sound familiar?

 

[Segev]

There's a document, released by Wildbow, which describes the process for generating a Stranger power from a trigger. In it, Wildbow gives a few examples of triggers. Here's the relevant one:

Sound familiar?

Click to shrink...

Imp.

Shadow Stalker's not a Stranger.

 

[Lithos Maitreya]

Imp.

Shadow Stalker's not a Stranger.

Click to shrink...

Yes she is. It was under the Stranger/Breaker section, and SS has a Stranger sub-rating.

 

[Segev]

Yes she is. It was under the Stranger/Breaker section, and SS has a Stranger sub-rating.

Click to shrink...

...huh. I...would not have classed it that way. Or, if I had, it would be as sub-heading based on ancillary utility, not on primary (and likely trigger-related) purpose.

 

[Lokimotion]

I can see why Sophia would relate to Cordelia, and it fits in with both canon Sophia and this version. Personally I always favoured Edmund, railing at archaic superstitions and unjust laws of inheritance.

Or, if I had, it would be as sub-heading based on ancillary utility, not on primary (and likely trigger-related) purpose.

Click to shrink...

That's what the PRT ratings are. You can't actually recognise her in her shadow state, even without the mask (which is described as changing appearance into a more skull-like state) and she's harder to see, hence the minor Stranger rating.

EDIT: The Stranger rating is her ability to move through walls (ambush stranger) and her Breaker state allows her to leap and jump much further, hence the minor Mover rating.

 

[Segev]

That's what the PRT ratings are. You can't actually recognise her in her shadow state, even without the mask (which is described as changing appearance into a more skull-like state) and she's harder to see, hence the minor Stranger rating.

Click to shrink...

Granted, but that's independent of "what kind of trigger event would generate a Stranger."

Yes, the PRT ratings would go off what ancillary powers came from it. But the primary, what-does-this-power-answer response to a trigger event wouldn't seem to be relevant to how her Stranger rating works. That's like saying that, since a Tinker trigger usually involves a loss of control over a long period of time, a feeling of loss of control over a long period of time might lead to a precision laser-cutter power, because the person who got it can use that, amongst other things, to carve useful devices (even circuit boards).

 

[Lokimotion]

Granted, but that's independent of "what kind of trigger event would generate a Stranger."

Yes, the PRT ratings would go off what ancillary powers came from it. But the primary, what-does-this-power-answer response to a trigger event wouldn't seem to be relevant to how her Stranger rating works. That's like saying that, since a Tinker trigger usually involves a loss of control over a long period of time, a feeling of loss of control over a long period of time might lead to a precision laser-cutter power, because the person who got it can use that, amongst other things, to carve useful devices (even circuit boards).

Click to shrink...

Each shard can manifest in many different ways, depending on the specifics of the trigger event, and a trigger event can result in a wide array of different powers depending on which shard the host has. Personally, I think the scenario Wildbow describes for a Stranger power fits Sophia perfectly, as she wants to escape. She's primarily classified as a Breaker because she has a Breaker state, but her power is a Mover that lets her move through walls and go much faster than her stepfather. When there's no escape from Stephen she manifests the power to escape and becomes hard to recognise.

I also think it's likely that Wildbow just saw an opportunity to subtly inform people about Sophia's trigger event, given how many people were curious about it and had been asking him ever since Regent's interlude. Given that we know Sophia hates her stepfather, as well as the use of the word 'predatory', I find it hard to believe this wasn't deliberate.

 

[Lithos Maitreya]

To anyone who missed it:

I would like to announce a change in my posting policy. I can guarantee one chapter a week, but it's come to my attention that that's too little. My backlog is growing steadily. So I'm speeding up. But two chapters a week is too much. I can't guarantee that, on my worse weeks, I'll be able to produce that fast.

So. Right now, I have four chapters written, in various states of polish, which have not been posted. The first of these will be posted this Friday, October 6th. From then on, my posting schedule will be as follows: If, before posting on a given Monday, I have four chapters unposted, I will post two chapters that week (the second on Friday) so that, at the end of the week, I have two chapters remaining. If I do not have that large a backlog on Monday morning, I will only post one chapter that week.

I will announce at the beginning of each week whether that week is a two-chapter or a one-chapter week. I realize this is a little confusing and unpredictable, but I figured it was better to post more Ring-Maker than less. Thank you for your understanding.

 

[ImperatorV]

I don't care about how the schedule lines up, but I appreciate more having Ring-Maker.

 

[Lithos Maitreya]

Many thanks to @themanwhowas, @Assembler, @fabledFreeboota, and @Skyrunner for betareading.
Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.

-x-x-x-​

"Annatar?" The doctor stuck his head through the door. "Your personal patient is being discharged."

"Thank you," I said, not looking up from my mortar and pestle. "I'll be out to meet him in a few minutes."

The door closed and I glanced back over to Shielder—to Eric, lying pale and still in his bed. He'd been improving steadily, according to the regular MRIs. I'd fixed most of the damage to the critical parts of his brain. His prefrontal cortex had, thankfully, been undamaged—which was good, because I wasn't sure I could fix that. His Corona Pollentia and Gemma had also been largely untouched, and they seemed to be knitting themselves up without my intervention.

My primary concern had been repairing the traumatic damage to the occipital lobe and the reticular activating system in the brain stem. The former was now back in order. All that remained was to fix the latter, and he should wake up.

Not for the first time, I thanked my lucky stars for the invention of the MRI—and for the equipment that had been airlifted in, this past week. Without the equipment I had access to here, I'd be working totally blind, and might have had to essentially brute-force my way through his entire central nervous system. It might have taken months, rather than a little under two weeks.

As I ran through these thoughts, I poured lukewarm, boiled water into the mortar, running it over the pestle to clear off the herbal residue. The unmixed infusion was, in turn, poured into a larger bowl over a soft cloth. This bowl I brought to the boy's bedside. I squeezed the cloth, first in the water to facilitate saturation, and then above the bowl to leave it damp, rather than dripping. I brought the rag to the side of his neck and gently lifted his head from his pillow to set it under him, just where the curve of his skull connected to his spine.

Then I took another cloth, wet it in the herbal water, and wrung it out at a trickle into his mouth until about a mouthful had gone down.

That's all I can do for now.

I stood up, took the bowl back to the sink, and poured it out. As I left, I gave Eric one last glance.

"You'll be okay," I said quietly. "I promise."

-x-x-x-​

"Mr. Hebert," I said with a formal nod.

"Annatar," my dad replied. "I hear I have you to thank for my quick recovery?" I could see the struggle in his face. Fortunately, the only people who could see us were the couple of doctors who knew how I had insisted on healing him personally—and they were, I was fairly sure, quite aware of our relationship. Still, it paid to be cautious, if only to maintain plausible deniability.

I nodded again. "I had some part in it, yes," I said. "My shift is done for today. If you'd like, I can accompany you to your transportation?"

"Yes, I—yes. That sounds fine."

I smiled. "Very well." I stood up. "We'll be going, then. Thank you, Dr. Matthews."

"Thank you, Annatar."

We carefully kept our distance until we reached the windowless van the PRT had provided to take my dad home. I led him inside, and as soon as the door closed, I threw myself into his arms.

"I'm so glad you're okay," I whispered.

He chuckled weakly. "That's my line."

Dad was holding back tears. I felt the arms around me shuddering slightly as the car began to move. The ride home was about twenty minutes. I only let go of him after fifteen, so I could get out of my armor.

Soon, we were seated around the old dining table once more. It felt like an age of the world had passed since last we had.

For a moment we sat there, simply drinking in each other's presence.

"So." I broke the silence. "None of the pizza places do deliveries anymore, so I think we have to cook dinner tonight. I went shopping yesterday, so we won't starve."

Dad cracked a smile. "You really thought of everything."

I snorted. "Hey, I'd be the one starving."

He started laughing. I did too. It was a release like none I'd had in weeks.

Eventually, of course, we had to talk about all that happened. I had visited him a few times while he'd been in the hospital, and he'd been watching the news, but there was so much he wasn't up-to-date on.

He knew I'd killed Bakuda—and it was interesting to hear what he'd gotten from the news. "They mostly love you. 'The Ward who saved the city.' But there's a couple stations and papers that are blaming you for the EMP."

"Only a couple?"

He nodded. "Most of them seem happy that Bakuda's gone—and the fact that the PRT announced that her bomb was supposed to be bigger is making people very happy that you stopped her when you did." But he was frowning. "Taylor—you killed her."

"I did."

"I'm not going to tell you that was wrong," Dad said quietly. "I'm glad I've never had to make a choice like that, and more than anything I'm sorry you have. Just… are you okay?"

I smiled slightly. "Yes," I said simply.

"Then that's all I care about." He still sounded concerned, all the same.

I reached out and put my hand over his. "There's still a lot to catch you up on."

I told him about the Seven, and how I had given them to my teammates. I told him about that horrible night, two and a half weeks ago now, when I had nearly killed all my friends. I told him about Belthronding and the Black Arrow. I told him about Arcadia, and about Jackson, Annabelle, Pauline, and Charles, who had quickly become, if not friends, then at least amicable acquaintances. I told him about my therapy, and about the PRT's desire to send me to San Diego for training.

"They need your consent, though," I said. "You're my guardian, not them."

He considered me seriously. "Do you want to do this? To go to San Diego for the whole summer?"

"It's only six weeks," I corrected him. "And—yeah, I think I do. I have a lot to learn. I almost lost everything against Bakuda. What if, next time, it's the Slaughterhouse Nine? Or an Endbringer? I need to learn to fight, and to lead, if I'm going to be building a group of Ring-Bearers."

"Are you still planning on leaving the Wards eventually, then?" Dad asked. "Making your own group?"

I honestly hadn't thought about it in a while. "I don't know. Maybe. I like the Protectorate, and the Wards, and the PRT, and I still have a lot to learn from them. When I started out, I didn't see how much I needed to know—I only knew I needed support. Maybe I'll leave when I feel ready, but... I'm not ready yet."

Dad nodded. "I'm glad, you know?" he said. "The Wards are safer."

I chuckled and thought of Bakuda. "Not always." Then I looked out the window and blinked. "Wait, when did it get dark? We need to make dinner!"

It wasn't anything complicated, just grilled cheese sandwiches and canned tomato soup. After we'd finished, there was one more thing to do that night.

"Dad," I said hesitantly, "I did a lot of thinking after you got injured."

He winced slightly. "Okay?"

"I—" I swallowed. "I feel stupid, because I never even thought of giving you a Ring."

"It's not your fault."

"I know—it's Bakuda's. But still. I don't want you to get hurt like that again." I met his eyes. "I thought about giving you one of the Three, but—you don't match any of them. And giving a Ring of Power to someone who doesn't fit them would be a bad idea."

"I'll take your word for it," he said firmly. "I trust you, Taylor."

I smiled. "So, yeah—no Ring of Power. But… well. I made you something."

From my pocket I withdrew a small, gold ring with a white stone set in the band. "This is a magic ring," I said, holding it out to him. "It's not a Ring of Power. It's a Lesser Ring. It doesn't make you a cape, or anything like one. All it'll do is make you more likely to survive dangerous situations. It's not a huge upgrade, but it'll help keep you safe."

He gingerly reached out. "Are you sure—"

"Yes," I said immediately. "I love you, Dad. I don't want to lose you."

His eyes glittered with tears. "Okay. I love you too, Taylor." And he took up the ring.

-x-x-x-​

Dad picked me up from school the next day. Well, he didn't have a car, so "picked me up" meant that he walked to Arcadia in time to be there when I got out. I took the opportunity to introduce him to the others.

"Dad," I said, "these are Dennis, Annabelle, Charles, Dean, Pauline, and Jackson. Everyone, this is my dad."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hebert," said Annabelle with a winning smile, holding out a hand for him to shake. "We've heard a lot about you. Taylor was so excited you were getting out this week."

"I wasn't that bad," I protested.

Dennis raised a hand and tilted it side to side in a so-so gesture. Then he lightened the blow by winking at me. I was distracted, however, by how Dad's eyes went to his fingers, and to Silmaya glimmering there.

I hadn't thought of that. Of course, with a Lesser Ring, he'll be able to see Rings of Power. Not that it mattered—I trusted Dad—but it was something to note.

"I mean, my parents were excited about Mr. Hebert getting out of the hospital too," Jackson said with a roll of his eyes. "So, you know, cut Taylor some slack."

Dad blinked at him. "Hm? Do I know your parents?"

"My uncle's a Dockworker," Jackson replied. "Ben Kim? He always says you got him his job."

"Oh!" Dad grinned. "Ben, yes. Good man." Then his face fell. "I hope he still has the job, with everything that's been happening."

Jackson shrugged. "He's managing. We're eligible for disaster relief, and he's doing odd jobs until the union calls him. He hasn't needed to ask anyone for help."

"Good for him!" Dad was smiling properly now. "He hates asking for help. Took him a while to come to me when his manager caused him trouble a few years back."

"Wait, wait, wait," I said, staring at Jackson. "You told me none of this."

Jackson shrugged unapologetically. "Didn't make the connection until yesterday, to be honest."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Seriously? How many Heberts do you know?"

"Twice as many as I did yesterday," said Jackson easily.

"Do me a favor and tell Ben to get in touch with me?" Dad said. "I've probably got a lot of work to do."

"You're allowed to take a four-day weekend after getting out of the hospital, Dad," I protested.

He grinned at me. "Why wait?"

I studied him for a moment. He looked… light. He held himself like a man ten years younger than the father I had last known, and the lines of care and grief which marred his face had smoothed somewhat.

My finger twitched, and on it, Narya glimmered, like the light of a warm hearth.

Did I do this? I wondered, as I considered my father, so suffused with warmth and hope that I scarcely recognized him.

A faint breeze from the west brushed my hair out of my face, its touch like gentle fingers. I blinked and returned to the present. Dad was still talking to the others, but Dean was looking at me, his brow furrowed in concern.

I smiled at him, and his brow cleared as he smiled back.

I was fine.

-x-x-x-​

The next day was Friday, and Dad and I went out to an Italian place downtown. It was the first time I'd had a meal at a restaurant since Lung's escape, and it was a good one.

"When you've been eating cafeteria food for two weeks," I said between bites, "there's nothing quite like a really good shrimp scampi."

"Hospital food," Dad said. "I win."

"True."

The restaurant had been affected by the EMP, of course, but this one in particular had recovered quickly. Part of that was that its ambiance tended towards candlelight and fireplaces anyway, so all they'd had to repair was the stove and oven. Another part was that it was downtown, and had been away from the worst of Bakuda's bombings. Its clientele had less to rebuild, and thus could afford restaurants this soon after the disaster.

"Oh," I said, glancing up from my food. "Dad, I meant to ask—can Sophia come over tomorrow, to spend the night?"

Dad blinked and looked searchingly at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "She had me over last weekend," I said, "when I was tired of staying on the Rig. Dad—she really needs to get out of that house. It's toxic."

Dad's eyes widened. "That bad?"

"Bad enough I've thought of reporting it," I said. "I haven't, just because there's so much for the PRT to deal with already. As soon as things settle down more, I'll see what I can do about it, but for now…?"

Dad nodded slowly. "Okay. I think I'd like to talk to her anyway."

I winced. "Don't be too hard on her. She feels really terrible."

"And she should!" Dad's voice was indignant. "She—"

"I know," I interrupted. "But—" I shook my head. "You'll get it when you meet her."

-x-x-x-​

I arrived on the Rig at 10:02 AM. At 10:03, I was accosted by Carlos on my way to my locker.

"Annatar. Get your armor on." His voice came from behind me in the hallway.

I started and spun around. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" Then I caught up with what he was saying. "Wait, why? What's happened?"

"Piggot's back," he said shortly. "Or she will be in an hour. Just found out. I want the team there to greet her."

I stared at him. "Piggot's back?"

He nodded. "You get it?"

"I get it. I'll be changed in a minute."

We assembled in the main garage, each of us fully armed and in costume. Our backs were to the wall, our faces to the opening door. Aegis stood to my left, and beyond him were, in order, Clockblocker, Gallant, and Vista. Sophia stood to my right. Past her were Kid Win and Browbeat.

I liked to think we cut quite an imposing image. Eight Ring-Bearers assembled in unity.

Piggot looked paler than I remembered, and certainly thinner. She also had a cane—one she refused to use, though I could see her protesting legs tremble faintly.

She stopped in the middle of the garage, Miss Militia on one side of her and Deputy Director Renick on her other. Both looked ready to catch her should she fall, but she stood tall and straight, still steadfastly refusing to lean upon her cane.

"Wards," she said.

"Director," Aegis replied.

She considered him. "What is this about? You've already been disciplined for what happened three weeks ago."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Clockblocker, and I could hear the grin in his voice. "But not by you!"

"And you think this is going to make me go easy on you?" Her voice was sharp.

"No, Ma'am," I said. Her eyes fixed on me. "We're just glad to have you back."

Her gaze bored into mine for a moment, before a faint grin touched her lips. "It's good to be back, Annatar," she said quietly. Then her smile disappeared. "I'll want to see you and Aegis in my office, individually, tomorrow, but I won't have time today. Now get out of my way—I've got work to do."

We parted for her as the three of them passed into the Rig proper.

"She's actually not pissed at all," Chris said once the door had closed behind them, his tone marveling. "I thought she'd flip."

"She's not pissed," said Sam. "She is disappointed, a bit."

"Exactly," agreed Sophia, nodding. "She's glad we nailed Bakuda, I guess, but not happy that she had to sit out three weeks because of it."

"I probably wouldn't be happy about that either," Vista said. "Still. She's gotta give us shit, right? It's basically her job."

"She has to give me shit," Carlos corrected. "I was in command."

"And me," I put in. "I killed Bakuda, and organized everything."

"And me," said Sophia, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I told you she was coming. Can we stop the blame game? We all fucked up that night."

"We did," agreed Gallant. "And next time we face a serious threat, we'll do better."

-x-x-x-​

"Sophia, this is my dad," I introduced. "Dad, this is Sophia."

The afternoon sun shone over us in the doorway as Dad studied my friend. She shuffled awkwardly, looking down at her feet.

"…Come in," he said eventually, standing aside.

I led her in, and he shut the door behind us. "So, Sophia," he said conversationally. "You knew Taylor from Winslow, right?"

Sophia practically buckled, so hard did she shudder. I touched her arm and glared reproachfully at Dad, but he didn't look at me. His gaze was fixed on her.

"…Yes," she said, eventually. Then she stood straight and looked at him. "Yes," she repeated. "I was the one who shoved her in that locker. Emma and I tortured her for almost two years. I—I can never undo that."

Her hands came up and rubbed at her face, and I saw something flicker in Dad's face as the green light of Cenya reflected in his eyes. Surprise?

Cenya, I realized. He didn't realize that, when I said I gave Rings of Power to the Wards, that I was including Sophia.

"Believe me," she said, dropping her hands, "I feel really stupid about it now."

Dad considered her for a moment more, but there was an odd, slightly confused look in his eyes. "Okay," he said eventually. "Taylor wants me to tolerate you, so I will. I don't think I can forgive you, Sophia, but… well, I trust Taylor." Then he smiled. "Welcome. I'll make some snacks."

-x-x-x-​

It was an alarm that woke me the next morning. I fumbled for my electric clock, only to find it absent.

I sat up, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. "What…?"

Sophia was sitting bolt upright in her sleeping bag. Her eyes were wide, her pupils were dilated, and her breathing was rapid. Jerkily, she turned to face me. "Is that…?"

It was. I recognized the sound, from a thousand schoolyard drills and educational videos. From my worst nightmares. It was hollow and sonorous, droning at a single piercing pitch and pulsing slowly and regularly.

The light outside shone pale through the marine fog of the early morning. The day was deceptively calm—ordinary—but already I could hear the clamouring of hundreds of thousands of people in varying states of panic.

Something happened then that had not happened since that moment, so many weeks ago, when I had first slipped Narya upon my finger. My heart hammered, my skin went cold, and I keenly felt the blood rushing in my veins. For the first time in weeks, the shade of fear came upon me. It wasn't paralyzing—it couldn't control me—but it was there, like the shadow of some great looming thing, impossible to ignore.

My tongue slipped out and wetted dry lips before I spoke.

"Endbringer."

End Arc 5: Hearth

-x-x-x-​

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[Akatsunami]

Time to make more rings?
Yeah, time to make more rings.