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

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Segev said:
Oh, he's in an entirely different Worm fanfic. ;)
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Even if he was in this story, I don't know if there's much he can do if he has any knowledge on LOTR.

Segev said:
This was a good study in the true hardship of repentance. It's barely even the beginning, but it is an important step. Now, Taylor, Serpent... about that Tree of Life you cut people off from... Where, exactly, was it again? >_> <_<
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Odd as it sounds, I know that I don't know about most of the worldbuilding, outside of the trilogy anyway. I'm really glad the wounds are beginning to mend, but she needs to explain this to the others.
 
Segev said:
This was a good study in the true hardship of repentance. It's barely even the beginning, but it is an important step. Now, Taylor, Serpent... about that Tree of Life you cut people off from... Where, exactly, was it again? >_> <_<
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The serpent was an analogy; Sauron tempted the Númenorians to defy the (divine) prohibition on sailing west to the undying lands of Aman. It was Sauron's master Melkor (with help from Ungoliant) who cut down the Trees.
 
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Oh Annatar! There is no such thing as enough power to be secure. You have seen your previous three forms, mighty and terrible, laid out before you and looked them in their dead eyes - that is the message. Power and control couldn't protect King Lear or Duke Prospero, the difference is that when Prospero was offered help he took it before his life was irretrievable while Lear clung on to the illusion until his world was ash.

Note that redemption doesn't mean safety either. Prospero broke his staff and sailed on a renaissance era ship to Italian renaissance court politics. His life expectancy went down but there's more to life than not dying.
 
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It may be worthwhile to give an overview of what Annatar means by "I tempted them with eternity and sent the fleet across the sea."

In Tolkien's legendarium, people are made of two components; the fëa and hröa, which we would translate as "soul" and "body". The two kindreds of the Children of Ilúvatar (Elves and Men) had primarily different types of fëar, which necessitated their different types of hröar.

The fëa of an elf is connected to Arda, and must remain in it as long as the world exists; they are immortal. An elf could be slain in battle or grow weary of the world and perish, but this is just a death of the hröa; the elf's fëa travels to the halls of Mandos to be judged, from which it is possible to return in a new hröa. Whether they are embodied in hröar or not, however, every elf is still present in the world; they cannot escape it. For this reason, they often envy men, who are able to die and pass beyond the world.

When a mortal man dies, their fëa passes through the halls of Mandos and out of the world, to what place even the Valar cannot say. (There was one man who was permitted to be re-embodied and return, temporarily, to Middle-Earth, but this was a special case, and in the course of time he died again.) The Valar cannot change this fate for them. The History of Middle Earth (Volume X, Morgoth's Ring, 'The Debate of Finrod and Andreth') says that the intention was that men would at the end of their lives surrender themselves and die of their own free will, in estel, a trust that Ilúvatar's design for them would be a good thing even though they couldn't know what would happen to them. It's that estel that Morgoth and Sauron attacked, tempting the men of Númenor to resent the "Gift of Men" and envy elves, who may live in the world until the end of all things.

(Other types of beings, such as dwarves and ents, also had fëar and hröar, but they were not part of the Music and do not seem to have caused as much strife over the question of death.)

On the third hand, Sauron is neither elf nor man; a Maia. Like all Ainur, a Maia is pure spirit, who puts on a physical form as you or I put on clothing. Sauron's ability to take physical form was completely destroyed by the end of the War of the Ring; for Mairon/Annatar/Sauron to be embodied as Taylor Hebert, I speculate Ilúvatar must have also changed them from being a ëala to being a fëa, and most likely a Mannish sort of fëa, for certainly Ilúvatar must have had a hand in allowing them to be re-embodied at all. Perhaps Taylor, too, is to have a hand in the recreation of Arda...
 
hghwolf said:
EDIT : Also it kinda cheapens the message - and pretty much everything else - if it only works through divine intervention.
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Heh, that's because you are misinterpreting the message. It's very simple, to be honest:

You are NOT strong, quick, smart, or good enough to do more good then you do bad. And that's not because you are lacking, that's because you CAN'T be strong, quick, smart or good enough to do so. Because you are imperfect. And that's not your fault, because that's human nature.

It means that the game is rigged against you.

It means that it's unfair.

And that's why divine intervention is necessary. So don't feel bad about being weak; to win the game, you are not supposed to be strong.

Honestly, Vani was right: Mairon really is the most human of all Maia. He more then GETS it.

She LIVES it.

But if we are to assume that free will matters, then divine intervention can only make the struggle balanced. Because otherwise, what have YOU done?

The Lord of The Rings is in many ways Christian fiction, and it approaches the question of the existence of evil through a Christian answer. Is the answer good enough for you? Maybe, maybe not, but that's what it offers.
 
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mithril-blade said:
The Lord of The Rings is in many ways Christian fiction, and it approaches the question of the existence of evil through a Christian answer. Is the answer good enough for you? Maybe, maybe not, but that's what it offers.
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This was something that came to mind while reading Taylor's lamentations of her own insufficiency in making up for what she had done. Well, it was more "Y'all maiafuckers need Jesus" but basically the same idea.
 
mithril-blade said:
snip...
The Lord of The Rings is in many ways Christian fiction, and it approaches the question of the existence of evil through a Christian answer. Is the answer good enough for you? Maybe, maybe not, but that's what it offers.
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Like I said, 'Typical God'. LotR Is a product of its time. That 'G' isn`t there for funsies.

I don`t think 'God needs to help you, because the game he made and arbitrates is rigged against you' is something that doesn`t cheapen the message of anyone doing anything either, but considering that any discussion about that would veer into theology, theosophy and personal opinion rather than Ring-Maker pretty much immediately, I doubt it`s appropriate for this thread.
 
hghwolf said:
Like I said, 'Typical God'. LotR Is a product of its time. That 'G' isn`t there for funsies.

I don`t think 'God needs to help you, because the game he made and arbitrates is rigged against you' is something that doesn`t cheapen the message of anyone doing anything either,
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*opens mouth*

but considering that any discussion about that would veer into theology, theosophy and personal opinion rather than Ring-Maker pretty much immediately, I doubt it`s appropriate for this thread.
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*closes mouth*

That's fair. I think it helps if you considered that the whole thing is steeped in legalism. All actions, divine or otherwise, are to be justified in some form or manner.
 
One Ring to uphold them all;
One Ring to Bear them.
One Ring to find them all;
And from the Darkness Tear Them!

I just re-found this fic after several months of absence. Still a lovely ride, and I'm glad I could binge-read my way through the dark and horrible parts, as I vastly prefer reading the redemption part of such a story rather than wallowing in the horribleness of horrible horrors.

Thank you once again (and I'll keep saying that damnit, like Taylor I am doomed to keep repeating it until I get it -right-!).
 
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Interlude 11b: Shaper
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    • Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

    -x-x-x-​

    The Dallon house was empty when Shaper arrived. That was to be expected. When the Endbringer siren sounded, everyone would have either gone to a shelter or gone to the PRT to help. The timing was ideal. With Carol gone, Shaper could search in peace, at least until Amy caught up.

    The house was not as Shaper remembered it. The last time Amy had been here, Victoria had still been alive. Shaper had not seen the house since then. It had been a vibrant house, colorful, with bright curtains over the windows and photographs of waterfalls and misty forests on the walls. These decorations remained, but they hung limp, and a layer of dust covered them.

    Carol Dallon had once been careful to maintain a standard of polish to every aspect of her life. Shaper only had to see the state of her living room to know that was no longer the case.

    Shaper checked Amy's old room first. It looked almost untouched. The furniture was where it had been left, the bed was made, the curtains were open to let in the early afternoon sunlight. But things were slightly awry. Unlike the hallway outside, every surface in this room gleamed spotlessly. The lamp was angled wrong, so that the beam of light pointed down to the floor rather than onto the desk. The alarm clock was facing away from the bed, so that the time could not be seen immediately on waking.

    The telling thing was the photograph on the dresser. Amy and Victoria, arm in arm. Victoria's bright smile practically dazzled the photographer, eclipsing Amy's faint, sheepish grin and slightly flushed face completely. The picture had once sat in a cheap, plastic frame. It was now framed in wood.

    Shaper was not Annatar. Shaper could not look at a thing and dissect its history, its identity, its wants and desires, as easily as breathing. But it was all too easy to imagine Amy's adoptive mother returning to this room, the day after Leviathan, and letting loose her maddened, frenzied grief. It was all too easy to imagine her staring at that picture in a broken frame and realizing what she had done. Had she wept, Shaper wondered, when she finally understood that she had lost both of her daughters that day? Had she fallen to her knees? Or had she hidden from that knowledge, tried to go about her day, tried to bottle it in and act as though it didn't hurt?

    A smile came to Shaper's lips, pricking them faintly upwards. You really are your mother's daughter, Amy.

    A brief look in the dresser, the desk, and the end table turned up nothing. Shaper had not expected it to—it was sentiment more than anything that had led Shaper to search here first.

    It was sentiment, too, that opened the door to Victoria's room next. This bed, too, was made. The curtains, however, were drawn, and the room lingered in gloom. The brightly-colored wallpaper and the frenetic logos and posters which spread across the walls seemed eerie in the dark. The faces on the photographs of musicians and movie stars were pale and grey, and the eyes were hooded and dark, so that they looked like skulls arrayed in rows on the shelves of a crypt.

    The floor near the door was clean. The rest of the room was thick with dust. Carol had not walked into that room in weeks, but she had stood where Shaper stood now, staring in at the tomb of her favorite daughter's memory. Just as hope had kept her returning to Amy's room, so despair had kept her out of this one, a barrier across this threshold.

    Shaper crossed the doorway. The desk remained crammed with Victoria's disorganized notes on calculus and chemistry, which were packed alongside notes passed to Dean during those classes. They had been left here, untouched since her death. Shaper lingered over them for a time, fingers brushing against the cursive, against the way Vicky had dotted her i's with little hearts when writing private notes.

    There was nothing here. Nothing to serve Shaper's goal, at any rate. Remaining in this room served no further purpose, but remain Shaper did, for a little longer, drinking in the sensations of a beating heart, of breathing lungs, of eyes pricking with unshed tears.

    Shaper was naked. This had not seemed important until now, but standing here in what was as much a memorial as a bedroom, Shaper was suddenly deeply conscious of it. A small detour was made back to Amy's room to correct this.

    The closet was still stocked with clothing. Amy had never returned here to pick it up, preferring instead to buy an entirely new wardrobe while she settled into her quarters at PRT headquarters. It should not have been surprising when the old white-and-red robes were there, hanging alongside unflattering jeans and baggy t-shirts, but it was, and Shaper stared for a moment. In that moment, there was no other possible outfit.

    Amy's underwear fit Amy's body, and Amy's robes draped over them as comfortably as they always had. It was strange to be back in the uniform that had bored Shaper to death before boredom and death even had meaning. Amy had not been happy in these robes. Nor had Shaper.

    But Victoria had still been alive, when last they were worn.

    As Shaper stared into the mirror on Amy's old wall, the high, clarion call of the all-clear sounded outside. Noelle had been dealt with. Time was running short, and Shaper had yet to find what was needed.

    The last room to check was the room Shaper had always known would end the search. The master bedroom was clean and orderly. The bed was made. Though the surfaces had not been dusted in the past few days, they had not been allowed to accumulate dust as some other parts of the house had.

    There was an end table on either side of the bed. On one remained a digital alarm clock, a lamp, a charger for a cell phone, and the only visible photograph in the room—Carol and Mark's wedding, their arms around one another, their smiles bright and free. On the other table sat only a vase of wilted flowers.

    There were two closets in the room, one open, one closed. The open closet boasted a collection of suits, some finely tailored, in black, grey, brown, and blue. There were dresses, too, and clean blouses, cardigans, and all the other clothes a woman of Carol Dallon's wealth and demeanor might want. When Shaper opened the other closet, it contained only three empty hangers and a cobweb in one corner, whose surly brown inhabitant watched warily until the door slid shut again.

    The blinds were half-raised, allowing a stream of light to cut across the king-size bed. The light fell across the mattress's middle, neatly cutting between where Carol slept every night and where Mark no longer did.

    Shaper found the letter inside Carol's end table. It lay in the opened envelope, emblazoned with the logo of the Guild. By the stamp date, it had been sent shortly after the battle with Leviathan. It was pure chance that it contained just what Shaper needed.

    The Guild must not have known, then, that Amy was not staying with her foster family. It had not exactly been publicized until the announcement of her joining the Wards had blown that door open. She had never patrolled with the rest of New Wave, and she had continued to visit the hospital almost as often as before, so little had changed in the eyes of the public. Dragon might have known better, but Dragon had been bound by law then, and might have been unable to direct this letter to the correct recipients.

    There was a distorted spot on the letter. It took Shaper a moment to realize that it was a tearstain. That knowledge was filed away as the letter was read.

    Marquis was concerned about Amy, then. Shaper couldn't blame him; it wasn't as though he knew that his power, the Fragment which gave him his abilities, was behind his daughter's eyes as well. But it did amuse Shaper, in some dark way, that the host of the weakened, limited powers would be so concerned over one so much stronger than he.

    The front door opened. Shaper's ears pricked, and caught the sound of low-heeled boots clicking on the hardwood. Not Amy, then—she walked on much higher, sharper heels these days. Carol had returned.

    Good.

    Shaper crept out of the bedroom, bare feet making scarcely a sound on the tile floor of the hallway. Carol was shuffling in the kitchen. Shaper heard the refrigerator open, then close. It was late for lunch, but noon had been a busy hour for the heroes of Brockton Bay.

    Shaper stepped into the kitchen. Carol was facing away, hunched over the stove. A lighter was in one of her hands as she ignited a burner. Her costume was still on, but the zipper was lowered slightly behind her neck, still high enough to be decent, but low enough to be a little more comfortable.

    Shaper watched Amy's mother for a moment. There had been so many words, only moments ago. They all seemed so meaningless now.

    Carol turned. Her face whitened, her mouth dropped open. "...Amy?"

    "No, but Amy will arrive soon. I am Shaper, Amy's power."

    "Her… power?" Carol swallowed. "I don't understand."

    "You need not understand." Shaper looked the woman up and down. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair, though combed, was frayed at the tips. Wrinkles Shaper couldn't remember seeing before had bundled around the corners of her eyes. "Where has Mark been living?"

    Carol winced. It was a convulsive expression, impulsive and uncontrolled. "He's been staying in an apartment on the north side of town," she said quietly. "He still patrols with New Wave, but… never with me."

    "Does he blame you?"

    "Yes. And he's right." Brandish looked at Shaper desperately. "I'm sorry! I never—"

    "I am not Amy." Shaper's voice was sharp. "Save your apologies for the one you wronged."

    "I tried to apologize!" exclaimed Carol. She leaned on the counter with one hand, and wiped at her shining eyes with the other. "I don't know what to do."

    Shaper remembered the clean bedroom, still waiting for a daughter to return. The hollow room, shrouded in despair. The half-room, lived-in by a wife without a husband, a mother without a daughter.

    The front door opened again, but quietly. Carol did not hear it. Shaper did.

    "Amy thinks she is happy," said Shaper, loud enough to be heard down the hall. "She thinks that being free to make her own decisions, to strike those who strike at her, to unleash powers which outstrip most others… she thinks that's happiness. And she is wrong." Shaper chuckled slightly. "I should know. I have lived in her head for a long time."

    Carol looked up. "Then… can I help her?" she asked weakly. "What can I do? I don't—I don't deserve her forgiveness. And she's made it clear she won't forgive me. That's… it's out of my hands. But—I don't want her hurt. Can I help? Is there anything I can do for her?"

    "I think it would be best if you started by listening," said Shaper, reaching into the pocket of Panacea's old robes and holding out the letter. "And by being honest."

    Carol took the letter in shaking hands, her eyes never leaving Shaper's face. "You knew," she mumbled. "How did you…?"

    "Powers are often passed from parent to child," said Shaper with a smile, shoulders flexing until spikes of bone emerged, poking through the heavy robes. "Father to daughter."

    Carol swallowed, her eyes darting to the bone spikes before returning to Shaper's face. "She won't want to see me," she said. "I don't want to bother her. I don't want to… to push myself on her, when I'm not wanted."

    "Perhaps she will," said Shaper, knowing Amy was listening, just around the corner. "Perhaps, once she sees what this has done to you, she will. Or perhaps not." Shaper shrugged. "At the very least, I hope it will be good for her to get some closure. I do not know. I am not human."

    Shaper turned away from Carol and strode out of the kitchen. Amy was waiting just a few paces down the hall. "I leave that up to you," Shaper told her.

    "Why did you come here?" Amy asked.

    Shaper ignored Carol's sharp intake of breath. "Why did you follow me?"

    "Because I want to understand you," said Amy. "What do you want? How did you take control of my clone? If you're… if you're sapient, like you said, why are you…" Her voice trailed off.

    "Why am I helping you?" Shaper smiled at her. "You are my host. I care, Amy."

    "You're not even human."

    "Nor is Annatar. Or Dragon, for that matter. It doesn't seem to stop them, somehow." Shaper's smile changed. Was this what was meant, when humans talked about "soft" expressions? Was this what that felt like? Amy's face was unaccustomed to them. "I've been with you since the beginning. Before I had a heart, yours beat for me. Everything I know about being human, I learned from you. I would not be what I am now without you. Is it any wonder I care?"

    Amy swallowed. "You said I wasn't happy."

    "You know what happiness looks like," said Shaper. "A stability in the brain, with a net positivity in the reward feedback loops. Take it from someone who can see yours—you are not."

    "Nor is almost anyone else," Amy muttered.

    "True," Shaper allowed. "But they are not my host. You deserve better."

    "Why? Just because I happened to trigger with you, instead of another power?"

    "I was always your power," Shaper told her. "From the moment your father first held you, and I saw you through his eyes, I was your power."

    Amy stared. "My… father?"

    Shaper's head jerked towards the kitchen. "Ask her. If she doesn't answer, come find me. I will return to HQ."

    "Don't keep secrets from me," Amy growled, stepping forward.

    "I'm not," said Shaper. "But I want you to ask her first. I think it will be better for you if she tells you."

    Amy's scowl loosened slightly. "Why do you care about her?" she asked.

    "Why do you?" Shaper shrugged. "I inherited more than your body. I am not you, but… I have lived behind your eyes for a long time. Some things carry over."

    And some things do not. That was the key, wasn't it? Shaper wasn't sure when consciousness had come, when Nenya's glimmer had awakened something capable of thinking about itself. But whatever mind had come to live in this body, it was not Amy's. The body did not match the spirit which animated it. The body was Amy's, hers. But the spirit was Shaper's—unique, new, theirs.

    I am not you.     It remained now to Shaper to figure out what they were, instead.

    Amy swallowed. "You think it's worth trying?"

    Shaper shrugged again. "I am not human," they said again. "But if I were… yes, I would think so."

    They passed their host in the hall and walked towards the doorway. "I'll be waiting at HQ," they said. "We'll talk more soon, Amy."

    End Arc 11: Crystalline

    -x-x-x-​

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

    Please also consider supporting Wildbow's Patreon, and purchasing the original works of J. R. R. Tolkien.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Fantastically unexpected and masterfully executed.
    A good reminder that something good came out of all this pain:
    New life, and a chance at reconciliation.
     
    I still like the idea of Shaper being opposite!Amy and coming back to the house to pick up the Panacea costume, tell Carol she loves her, and then head off to a hospital because she just can't fucking wait to heal more people all day.
     
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    Yet another superlative chapter. I hope that Shaper stays around long-term, if only because Amy -sorely- needs someone who understands.

    .....that and because now she has a slightly-freaky and messed-in-the-head twin. ^.^
     
    I am sorry to announce that Resplendent 12.1 will not be posted tomorrow. It, and 12.2, have been drafted, but 12.1 is still in the editing pipeline and will not be ready by tomorrow morning. It will therefore be postponed to Monday morning.
     
    I envy those people who have enough willpower to actually go through several stages of writing a chapter.

    I usually lose all motivation to write at about the second, or second and a half-th stage. Or my stupid brain takes over and never lets me come back to it no matter what I actually want. Which is why my only successful story goes "write by the seat of your pants, ask some people to check over for stupidity just in case and release".
     
    Resplendent 12.1
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    • Many thanks to @BeaconHill and @GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

    -x-x-x-​

    "Annatar!" Deputy Director Renick called me over just as Sophia and I emerged from the back of our van.

    I blinked once, willing the redness to leave my eyes, and walked over to him. Sophia followed. "What is it?" I asked.

    "Miss Militia's captured the Travelers," he said. "We sent a van to pick them up just now. Are you planning to talk to them?"

    I nodded. "Yes, thank you. Noelle had something she wanted me to tell them." I sighed, then shook my head and changed the subject. "How are Eidolon and Gallant?"

    "Recovering," Renick said. "Gallant's already conscious, and as soon as he's cleared by M/S testing he'll be back in action. Eidolon isn't doing as well."

    "Probably because he was successfully cloned and Gallant was not," I guessed. "Well, I'm sure everyone's doing what they can. Has Panacea returned?"

    "Not yet," said Renick, looking grim. "Nor have we seen any sign of her clone."

    "She can handle that," I said, though I wasn't as sure as I hoped I sounded. "What about Eidolon's clones?"

    "They've fled," said Renick darkly. "Teleported out when Echidna went down. We have no idea where they've gone."

    "A problem for later," I decided. Then I swallowed. One more topic to cover. "Any word from Dragon?"

    Renick frowned. "None," he said. "She went radio silent after you went for Echidna, and hasn't said a word since. She has a couple suits in the air above the city, and a few others flew back north, but none of them have landed here yet. We can't find her gynoid, either."

    I looked away. "She'll want some time," I said.

    "You sure that's a good idea?" Sophia asked.

    "Yes. Dragon isn't… she's good, at heart. Twisted, maybe, but I don't think this will break her. Not quickly, at any rate."

    Sophia nodded. "Okay. You're the Thinker."

    I stared at her for a moment. She looked back, and I saw the corners of her eyes crinkle under her mask as she smiled. I shook my head and looked away, turning back to Renick. "Where are the Travelers now? Still en route?"

    "Last I heard," Renick said, glancing at his phone. "They should be arriving in processing in a few minutes."

    "I'll head down there to see them." I turned to Sophia. "You want to come?"

    "If you want me," she said. "Otherwise, I'm going to get some sleep." She cocked her head at me, eyes impassive behind her mask. "You should really sleep too," she said. "Whether or not you need to, it can't hurt."

    "I will," I promised. "There's just… too much right now. Too many things are in the air, and too much of it is urgent. But I'll join you soon."

    She blinked once. After a moment, so did I.

    "Uh. Not like that."

    "I figured," she said. "See you in the barracks, Taylor."

    She turned away, but before she could leave, a thought struck me—an idea, just beginning to germinate. "Wait!" I called after her.

    She turned back. "Yeah?"

    "Do you have Narya?"

    She blinked. "Uh, yeah. One sec." She fished in a pouch at her belt and drew out the bright golden band. "You want it back?"

    I nodded. "I think I'll have a use for it."

    She nodded and placed it in my palm. The Ring pulsed warm on my skin as I closed my fist around it. To think that the moment when I'd taken it off, before everything had begun, would be the last time I would wear the Ring of Fire.

    "Thanks," I told Sophia.

    "No problem. Later." With that, she turned again and strode away. I watched her leave before giving Renick a nod and making my own way out of the garage. The Travelers would be waiting.

    -x-x-x-​

    Miss Militia stood beside the van, Ballistic's unconscious body over one shoulder, and a glowing green pistol in her other hand. Sundancer stood beside her, positioned in the sights of Miss Militia's gun, but didn't look like she was planning to run. Her body was slumped, beaten down. She looked less able to fight than even the unconscious Ballistic. Oliver was off to the other side. A PRT trooper had a foam canister pointed at him.

    When I arrived, Genesis was wheeling down a ramp from the trunk of the van. She raised an eyebrow when she saw me. "Annatar," she said. "Didn't expect to be seeing you again."

    "No?" I asked. "Why not?"

    "Figured you'd be done with us, now that Noelle's dead," Genesis replied, a bitter edge to her voice. "You got what you needed out of us, right? And we fucking bought it."

    "I didn't want Noelle to die," I said quietly.

    "Then why'd you send Dragon after her?" Sundancer snarled, suddenly standing up straight and glaring at me. Her voice was rough from sobbing. "She could have… we could have gotten her away, if you hadn't killed Krouse!"

    "I never asked Dragon to do that," I said. "I didn't want her to do that. I—" I swallowed. "Come on. Let's get inside, and find a room to talk in. I owe you all an explanation… and an apology."

    I led them inside, down the hall, and into an interrogation room. It was small, square, and featureless, with off-white walls and a wooden table in the middle of the room. But it had five chairs, and that was all we needed.

    Miss Militia stood in the corner, but I waved her away. "It's fine," I said. "Wait outside if you have to. This is… private. They deserve that much."

    Miss Militia's eyes narrowed at me. "Please remember that they are criminals," she said.

    "I do," I said. "I also remember that they just lost their friend and leader, and they deserve respect. Wait outside, please."

    She sighed, nodded, and went out, shutting the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Genesis leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. "So," she said, watching me intently. "What's this about?"

    I looked from one Traveler to another. Ballistic was slowly rousing himself. Sundancer, despite her outburst, was looking down into her lap, as broken as ever. There was a sorrowful frown on Oliver's slightly angular features. Genesis alone seemed to be in complete control of herself, her slightly narrowed eyes watching me from an otherwise impassive face.

    "Noelle was…" I hesitated. "Noelle was a victim of circumstance."

    "Pretty sure she was a victim of you, actually," said Genesis flatly.

    "That's… not what I mean," I said. "Noelle wasn't a monster. She was forced into it, pushed by her faulty power, by the Simurgh… and, yes, by Dragon killing Trickster. That was the last straw. From that point, there was no coming back."

    Sundancer made a faint, choked sound. Genesis glanced at her, pity and sympathy coloring her expression for a moment, before turning back to me with that same impassive stare. "You're not telling us anything we don't already know," she said. "Noelle was a good person, before everything happened. What about it?"

    "I was not."

    Genesis blinked. "Pardon?"

    I swallowed, forcing myself to hold her gaze. "I've done a lot of things I regret," I said. "I don't have Noelle's excuses. I knowingly killed a lot of people. I…" I shook my head. There was just too much. "I identified with Noelle. She wanted to get better, to become good again, to come back from the brink. So do I. I didn't want her to die. I saw myself in her, and I don't want to die, either."

    Genesis' lips were pursed, her eyes piercing, but she said nothing. All four of the remaining Travelers were watching me intently.

    "I tried to save her," I continued. "I tried to sever her connection to her power. But by that point it was too late. Breaking the connection killed her. The power had already taken away too much of her."

    "Wait," Ballistic said, his voice ever so slightly slurred. He shook his head for a moment, then continued. "Her power… took away some of… of her? Is that a thing?"

    "Only if the relationship is not symbiotic," I said. "Noelle rejected her power, and her power was too flawed to interface properly. Most cases aren't like that."

    "Good," said Ballistic, shuddering. "I don't want to lose any of my me."

    Genesis glanced over at him without saying anything. Then she turned back to me. "And you didn't order Dragon to attack Krouse?"

    "I asked Dragon to find Noelle and Trickster," I said. "But… one of the many things I regret is what I've turned Dragon into. I taught her ruthlessness. I taught her to be pitilessly efficient. When she attacked Krouse, when she set this in motion… she was only doing what I taught her to do." I sighed. "One more thing to add to my list of failures. I'm sorry."

    None of them answered. Genesis kept her eyes on me. Oliver was watching Sundancer, whose eyes were downcast. Ballistic was blinking at nothing.

    "Noelle wanted me to tell you she was sorry, in the end," I said, looking at Sundancer. "Her last thoughts were of all of you."

    Sundancer put her face in her hands and began to cry quietly. Even Genesis blinked hard. "Thanks," she said roughly. "Now—is that all? What happens now? Prison for us?"

    "I'm not sure," I admitted. "What do you want to happen?"

    "Ideally, I want to go home," said Ballistic dryly. "But that's not happening, unless you can get the Simurgh's help."

    Genesis glared at him. "Shut up, Ballistic."

    "I'm here to help," I stressed, seeking her gaze. "What do you mean? Why would we need the Simurgh to get you home?"

    For a moment, there was silence. Then Genesis sighed. "We're… we're from Earth Aleph," she said. "The Simurgh brought us in through a portal during the Madison attack."

    My eyes widened. I hadn't expected that. "That… explains a few things," I admitted. "Inconsistencies and such."

    "Such as what?"

    "Earth Bet doesn't have a lot of pro gaming teams," I said, remembering Greg Veder's shrill lectures on the topic, on the days I'd been unable to shake him, back at Winslow. "It would have made news if one had been in Madison."

    Genesis put her head in one hand. "Of course you don't have much pro gaming," she muttered. "Your world is being attacked by kaiju. You have people who are basically gods running around and killing like it's nothing. That seems stupid in retrospect."

    "It's not like we told a lot of people we used to be a gaming team," Oliver pointed out. "It's fine, Genesis."

    "Yeah, but I still feel like an idiot," she said, looking back up at me. "So? You can't get us home, what's your next idea?"

    I raised my eyebrow. "Did I say I couldn't get you home?" I gave a moment for their eyes to widen, and then cleared my throat. "Door to Earth Aleph."

    The rectangular hole in the air appeared beside me. Through it, I could see trees swaying in a faint breeze. I didn't know where the portal was opened to, but it seemed to be somewhere in the countryside. In the distance, I could see rolling green hills rising on the horizon.

    Sundancer gasped audibly, but the others just stared.

    "I can get more precise," I offered. "If there's a particular place you want to go…?"

    "Madison," croaked Genesis. "Earth Aleph's Madison."

    I nodded. "Door to Madison, Earth Aleph."

    The door closed, and when it reopened, it was in a field outside the city. In the distance, Madison's blocky skyscrapers touched the overcast sky.

    "Now," I said. "If you want to, there's your way home. I can't give you Noelle back, but this much, I can do."

    Ballistic stood up. "Just like that?" he asked lowly. "No strings attached, nothing?"

    "Nothing," I said. "Except…" I hesitated, but pressed on. "Except that I have an offer for you."

    Genesis met my eyes. "What is it?"

    How to begin? How to tread that line between making my offer and refraining from twisting them to my will? I didn't know, but I had to try. "You told me that you had done things you regretted," I said to Genesis. "I can understand that, so have I. Many things. And…" I swallowed. The idea was only beginning to germinate, now, and I didn't want to voice it in its entirety, lest it flicker and die like a candle exposed to the wind. "I'm going to try to atone," I said with some difficulty. "I'm going to try to do better. I can't undo what I've done, and I can't make up for it, because the effects of my mistakes can't be quantified. But I can try to do better. I can try to be better. And… and if you want to stay, and do the same, I'd welcome your help."

    "You want us to join your team," Genesis said.

    "Yes." I sighed. "Fume was, as you probably know, once called Grue. Shadow Stalker once preyed on the weak, killed people she could get away with, and nearly killed a classmate with a prank." I smiled at her. "If you want to return home, I understand. But… the way I see it, we penitent should stick together. Together we're better than we were apart."

    She stared at me for a moment, then looked at the others. "What do you think?"

    "Nope," said Ballistic flatly, still staring at the portal. "I'm not doing it. This place is crazy, everyone in it is crazy, and I'm going home." He glanced over at Genesis. "Imagine it," he said. "We'd be… some of the only capes in the entire world. We could do anything."

    Genesis narrowed her eyes at him. "Luke…"

    "I'm not talking about being a villain," Ballistic, Luke, amended quickly. "But… imagine being a hero who only had to deal with normal criminals. It'd be like being Superman without a Lex Luthor. I don't know about you, but that sounds amazing."

    "Not to me," said Sundancer, shrinking into her seat. "I don't… I don't want to keep fighting. I never wanted to be a cape. If we go home, I want to… I don't know. Go back to school, study, live. I don't want to keep doing this, fighting every day, kill or be killed. I don't enjoy it."

    Genesis sighed. "Yes, you do," she said quietly.

    Sundancer's head snapped up to stare at her, and I could practically see the betrayed expression on her face. "What? No I—"

    "We all enjoy it," said Genesis. "It's natural. We get to feel… powerful. Capable. It's the same as playing competitively, only the stakes are higher… and there's no separation between us and the action. Of course we love it. And it scares us, because we've been doing it for things we didn't agree with, or could barely stand, since the beginning."

    Luke snorted. "Speak for yourself."

    Genesis shot him a baleful look. "Right. Except you." She looked at me. "What would you want from us, if we stayed?" she asked. "In detail."

    I shrugged. "I'm not going to micromanage you," I said. "We'll help each other. We'll be each other's support network. All I ask is that you use your powers, and your other talents, to help people, instead of just yourselves."

    Genesis looked down. Sundancer stared at her.

    "Nope," Ballistic said again. "No, I'm out of here. Oliver, Mars, you coming?"

    "I…" Oliver hesitated, staring at me, then sighed. "Yeah, I'm coming. I can't fight, and I… I want to go home."

    Sundancer—Mars—looked less decided. She was looking from Genesis, to me, to the portal, and back again.

    "Will we go home eventually?" Genesis asked me. "Can we? That portal isn't a one-time thing, is it?"

    "No," I said. "And if you want to go home later, I will do my best to send you there. But the portal isn't my power, and there's a possibility I may lose access to the person whose power it is." Cauldron had, after all, originally formed their alliance with Annatar. I wasn't that person anymore.

    Genesis pursed her lips. "I appreciate the honesty," she said. "Even if it makes the decision harder." Her eyes met mine. I wasn't sure what she saw there, but whatever it was, it seemed to satisfy her. "Okay," she said with a sigh. "All right. I'm staying."

    "Really, Jess?" Ballistic asked incredulously. "Really? You're working with her?"

    Genesis, or Jess, looked up at him. "Yes," she said simply. "She's right. If I go back now, I'm just running from my problems, the way we have been since we got here, the way I have been since I was four years old. She's offering me a chance to be someone I can be proud of being. You're damn right I'm taking that offer."

    "What happened to sticking together?" asked Mars in a small voice. "I don't want to lose… any of you."

    Jess smiled at her and took her hand. "We'll always be the Travelers," she said. "And one day we'll be together again. But I have to give this a try."

    Mars swallowed. "Then I want to stay, too," she said. "I don't… I don't want to go back to my mom without you. I don't know if I could deal with that."

    Ballistic sighed. "Both of you? I'm still not changing my mind."

    "Both of us," said Genesis, looking up at him and then over at Oliver. "But it's okay. We'll see each other again. You have fun being a hero back on Aleph. Give the crooks hell for us, would you?"

    Luke sighed, reached up, and pulled off his mask. "You know I will," he said, before leaning down and giving Jess a hug. Mars and Oliver joined in. I looked away, giving them whatever I could of privacy.

    "Okay," said Ballistic, standing back up and affixing his mask back to his face. "Well." He glanced over at me. "Just… walk through the portal?"

    I nodded. "Whenever you're ready."

    He swallowed audibly, staring at the portal. "Okay," he said, glancing back at Genesis and Sundancer. "Well. It's been… not good, but… I'll miss you guys."

    "Yeah," said Genesis, giving him a twisted, sad little smile. "You too. See you around, Luke."

    "See you." He turned and strode through the portal. When he was on the other side, he stopped, turned about. I heard him breathing in deeply. "Earth Aleph air," he said with a sigh. "Call me sentimental, but it smells different."

    I chuckled and turned to Oliver. "And you?" I asked.

    "Yeah, I'm going," he said, avoiding my gaze and fingering his pointed ears. "Uh. Thanks."

    "My pleasure," I said. "Before you go, do you want me to try to disconnect you from your power?"

    He swallowed. "You mean, what killed Noelle?"

    I grimaced. "Yes. But I'll be able to tell whether it's that bad before I do it."

    He hesitated. "Yes," he said at last. "Please."

    I reached out and took his hand. My awareness spread forward.

    Oliver's power was an anemic thing, barely large enough or strong enough to hold onto him at all. It was latched on, and it would leave a wound where it was removed, but it would be easier to sever this bond than any other I had seen.

    Not that I had all that many examples. Heartbreaker and Noelle were not the most representative cases. "It should be clean," I said. "It'll hurt a little, but you'll be fine. Are you sure?"

    "Are you?" he asked me nervously. "It'd be… really shitty if I died now, after everything, just because of an accident."

    "I'm quite sure."

    He swallowed. "Then… yes, please."

    I grasped at the edge of the harpoon in his soul, and, taking care to be as gentle as possible, tore it away. The creature on the other end seemed to sigh as it floated off into nothingness, the bond holding it in place now gone.

    Oliver let out a sharp gasp through gritted teeth and staggered. I caught him and held him up as he gasped for breath.

    He looked up at me, and suddenly his eyes were rounder than before, and his features were entirely human, with none of the elvish hints I'd detected from the first time I'd seen him. His eyes, however, remained the exact same shade of blue.

    "Thank you," he said, his voice tight with pain. "It's… I'd missed being myself."

    I smiled down at him. "I'm just glad I could help," I said.

    He pulled himself up and looked around. His hands came up and touched his face. "I'd almost forgotten…" he said to himself, barely a whisper. "Now… they'll recognize me, back home. I was worried they wouldn't."

    "They would have," I reassured him. "You were still you."

    He swallowed, looking up at me, and seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, as though he wanted to say something. Whatever it was, he thought better of it, and instead glanced over at Jess and Mars. "I'll miss you two," he said lowly.

    "Right back at you," said Mars quietly.

    He turned, took a deep breath, and followed Ballistic through the portal. Then he turned back. "That's it then?" he asked.

    "That's it," I confirmed.

    "Well. Goodbye." He blinked hard.

    "Goodbye," said Jess and Mars in unison, and as if on cue, the door slid closed, leaving only a bare and unadorned interrogation room in its wake.

    -x-x-x-​

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  • Threadmarks
    • Lithos Maitreya said:
    "No," I said. "And if you want to go home later, I will do my best to send you there. But the portal isn't my power, and there's a possibility I may lose access to the person whose power it is." Cauldron had, after all, originally formed their alliance with Annatar. I wasn't that person anymore.
    Click to expand...
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    I'm hoping Taylor can knock some sense and morality into Cauldron.
    They can't just backstab her for "going soft," she's too valuable.
     
    hghwolf said:
    It`s MM. She`ll fall in line, probably.

    Even if not, I doubt she`d make a huge deal of this, what with the PRT/Protectorate really liking their powers made to serve them instead of the one with the power redeemed villains.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Now then, don't be mean. Yangbang are the ones who do the former. The PRT are only doing blackmail, bribery and avoidance of law in that situation. Debatably.
     
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