[SWE] Festival of Lights

they say that love is forever, your forever is all i need

please stay as long as you need

She had definitely made a lantern this year. Now that she knew what the festival was about, what it signified. It had also marked an entire year of her arrival, and with it, the pain of remembering everything that had happened – those that had come and gone, seen and unseen, gone to return again. But she knew one thing for certain, she had changed in more ways than one and had decided with it to move forward, to leave the past in the past (minus one thing).

And so she had worked hard with some of the paints left over from Bastien’s set, while he was away, silent and quiet to herself, remembering her favorite things in that cell in the dungeon (what little things she could find to be favorited), and she had used it for inspiration. The way the sun lightly peeked through the tiny flares in stone, leaving beautiful rays of sunlight that streaked across the bars. And so she had created a little, small lantern, adorned in golds and blacks, a trail of dark feathers dipped in gold and bronze that she had gathered, that swung from the base of the lantern.

Then, the Penumbra, with a heavy heart and open mind, slipped into the Festival. But she had found Bastien first, beelining toward him with a soft smile on her face. She reaches him, lifting up to press a kiss to his cheek before she looks to the lantern with a somewhat raised brow, setting hers in on hand while she inspected the hues and colors, about to open her mouth and make some sort of comment about last Longnight, before she paused and he told her.

“For your child, the one you told me of before.” She hears, and her eyes immediately snap up to meet his, a fluid filled tears begin to brim in her eyes, her heart already heavy before but she had never exactly expected this between all the preparation she had planned. She uses her free hand to grab onto his arm and pull him into a kiss before looking back down to inspect the lantern. “It’s beautiful, Bastien.” She says, biting onto her lip to keep the tears from falling, but when she looks up to his face she finds all the care and love she needs within him. “Do you want to hang them together?” She asks, breaking away briefly to wipe at her eyes with a slightly shaking hand, before giving him a small smile.

Should he go with her, she makes her way to the edge where an opening lies, and she looks to the others around it before angling her head slightly toward Bastien, to tell him, to inform him of a name that had only touched her tongue once. “His name was Tiberius…” She trails off, explaining quietly and withdrawn, reaching up to hang her lantern and watch the feathers blow in the wind, arms wrapping around herself as she does so.

REXANNA

dont know where the lights are taking us
but something in the night is dangerous

She'd come to say hello to Ronin and Remi, but instead, stands behind them in semi-shock. “So it’s true, then,” Wessex says with the barest of hitches in her voice, suddenly very aware that the three lanterns in her hand aren’t enough. Four. She needs four now. The native looks at the makeshift creations with a vaguely bewildered expression, inhales unnecessarily, and closes her eyes.

This. Fucking. Sucks.

And what sucks even more than the loss of her friend-cum-fuck-buddy is that Ronin hadn’t told her yet. And while this is neither the time nor place to demand some goddamn equality and responsibility from her counterpart,  and you know, go after the man for not having the decency to tell her, the impulse to do so visibly rises in her. However, after a moment the older woma swallows it, grief welling up and she sure as hell doesn’t want any of them to see that side of her.

Another one lost.

The Ascended Queen - no, the only Queen - turns from Ronin and his family, searching for Rory. Last year they’d come together at the Festival. Last year they became a team. Now she needs him here, she needs him because she can’t have Amalia, and Rexanna is still an Outlander, and this is a rare moment of emotional neediness that her systems aren’t programmed to deal with.

In a slight daze, or robotically perhaps, Wessex walks to over to the trees to hang her homemade lanterns: bone and antler, tooth and hide and an assortment of deep red and bright yellow leaves, coated in a shiny layer of animation fluid. Beautifully barbaric in their own way, but paling in comparison to the masterful creations of those with magic or crafting ability. She would be utterly shocked if Ludo chose to honor her - and let’s be honest, he’s never honored an Ascended before. One for her mother. One for Margrethe. One for 108, Aedion, and Kristopher.

And one imaginary, fire-wreathed one for Edy.

Amalia

only lonely hid the morning from the stars

✩

For years, Amalia has hung five lanterns:

One for Mort, whose love protects;
One for Vi, whose life defends;
One for Rae, whose grace renews;
One for Caido, who watches all;
And one for her family, lost to the dark.

It is a ritual carried back as far as she can recall, Chandrakant to Chandrakant since the barrier fell. For three hundred years they set out lights for their wayward gods, ardently wishing to draw them back home, to light a path that they might be found and delivered at last from isolation.

This year, they have come.

The baker agonized over her lantern lights, wondering what to do in a changed situation. Should she still hang lanterns for the gods? It seems inappropriate with them returned, yet there is comfort in ritual, in finding familiarity amidst an unfamiliar world. Should she hang them for the countless lost, Palmer and Valair, outlanders and friends? She is used to making five lanterns, and it seems wrong to do otherwise. Everything feels wrong, sometimes.

In the end she makes five lanterns again, though this time none are for the gods. Clothed in black and a green wool cloak, the Shield walks through the woods alone, for this is a lonely task. At the edge of the gathering she finds a space, setting up her stakes and twine and hanging the lights one at a time:

One for the Tulmhainar, too big for the world;
One for the Outlanders, too new for the world;
One for the Naturals, too brave for the world;
One for Emmett, too good for the world;
And one for her family, lost to the dark.

She has crafter her lanterns carefully, working alongside Kiada and Deimos, sculpting with hands and prayer. The first is green with hints of brown, a globe to mean the world; the second is shades of purple and yellow, colors that should not work together but somehow meld to make something new. The third is blue and black, colored to resemble a sky at twilight, box-shaped with scattered stars; the fourth bears signs of family and plants upon a backdrop of red

The last is the smallest, but the loveliest as well, delicately wrought in glass and bronze with flecks of gold upon its walls, two candles within, one white, one black, their lengths coiled together in unity.

Standing at last, Amalia sighs, her eyes downcast upon her work. "Your time with Vi has come to an end, but you will never be forgotten. May Ludo guide you all into Mort's love."

Loren not afraid to use every trick in the book Loren had let himself disappear from the world. It hadn’t been one thing, really, but all of them together. His lost love. His alienation from his family. This new land, so foreign and alien and dangerous. His own failures, both in this world and the last. Most of all, though, it had been his own nagging thought that he’d never really allowed himself to live as he wanted. Instead, he’d always lived as he thought others might want to see him. And it had destroyed him time and time again. At first it had been his family: Loren had gotten so caught up in trying to please them, especially in trying to be the perfect Launceleyn that he’d never figured out who he was, beyond a dutiful son, brother, twin, family member. They’d laughed in his face at his efforts, and then tortured him for his inadequacies. Unfortunately, instead of learning that they’d never accept him unless he fundamentally changed who he was, he’d simply redoubled his efforts to fit himself into the only mold they understood. But it hadn’t been him, just what they wanted him to be. Next he’d tried to find himself by finding love in all the wrong places. First, with Ronin; they’d been friends first, then Loren had to go and fuck it all up by reading too much into it and wanting far more than the librarian deserved and the other man could give. Then the Launceleyn had tried to find it with Remi. That had been a mistake in a different way. Oh sure, they’d been good for one another—again, as friends first, although they’d never really progressed to the full lovers phase try as they might—but Loren had hoped that simply by being in a healthy relationship he could be happy. Again, he’d sought salvation outside of himself, and it hadn’t been him. Then he’d come to this new place, and thought maybe, just maybe, that in a new world (as mysterious and dangerous as it proved to be), that he could be a new man. But he’d quickly found himself drawn into the petty politics, into the familial squabbles, into the conflicts between the people from outside this world and the people within it, into the fight against monsters and to escape the dome, and it had overwhelmed him. Every attempt to evade it had failed. So he’d tried to throw himself into the books and scrolls he’d discovered in the ruins of this land, like he had once upon a time in his old life in his nearly nonexistent childhood. But again, escaping to another world wasn’t a real escape from his woes. Though he’d thought being a scholar and a bookworm was a core part of his identity, the one thing he knew to be true about himself, it turned out that it had not been him after all. Then Remi’s love had been taken away, and Loren found himself all alone, with no idea who he was, or what he wanted from the world. It had been terrifying and he couldn’t deal with it, any of it. He’d retreated, not able to face it anymore, completely crumbling under the weight of expectations and his own fear. As his people, his friends, his family had conquered the Spire, he’d simply scavenged, doing whatever he had to survive. Seasons had passed, and he drifted along, shying away from contact with anyone else beyond what was absolutely necessary. He couldn’t say exactly what he’d done, or what he thought, during that lost time. He’d hidden from himself as much as anyone else, not willing to confront the ugly truths and reality of his life. As Leafchange turned to Deepfrost, Loren had been frozen more in his mind than his body; Flowerbirth rolled around, but unlike everything else, he hadn’t been reborn; even Longheat couldn’t rouse him from the deep and dark hole he’d found himself in. But then Leafchange rolled around again, and he realized he’d been gone for a full year. Too long, even for someone who wanted to get away from it all: in all the time he’d meant to find himself, but had just become more and more lost. But as he spotted people making lanterns, he finally felt something stir deep within himself. It had felt almost a little something like hope, or at least a close cousin. Enough. He’d wallowed long enough in self-pity. Too long. The world had passed him by, and he’d let it. Although he couldn’t say what exactly he’d been hoping to accomplish, it certainly hadn’t come to pass. And he now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that sequestering himself from the world was the worst possible thing he could have done. It was past time for him to rejoin everything he’d tried to leave behind that had ended up leaving him instead. That didn’t mean coming back from his half-life was easy. Indeed, it was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done, harder than losing love, harder than any punishment he’d ever suffered at the hands of his family. Simply stepping up to someone to talk—even a stranger—filled him with a mind-numbing terror and a bone-deep ache of loss. But Loren had always been stronger than he knew. So he crept out from the outskirts and into the land where people dwelled. They were strangers, now, even the few he vaguely recognized. It was strange, how natural it all felt once he got past his initial terror, as if his previous existence had been a dream—or rather a nightmare—that he managed to emerge from. Unfortunately, while he hadn’t changed, he couldn’t say the same for the world around him. Once he’d managed to get out of his own head, he’d been shocked, appalled, dismayed and saddened to hear of all the changes. First and foremost they’d gotten into the Spire and out of the barrier. Next, the Zariah had somehow become Queen, before disappearing, followed by Edrei, who’d been killed. Loren had wept at that news. They’d butted heads, but he’d loved her in his own way and she him. And he hadn’t been there when she needed him. He hadn’t been there for anyone, including himself. And no doubt this was only the tip of the iceberg. As he walked out towards the woods he’d never bothered to explore, even once freed from their cage, he felt himself drawn towards the festival like a moth to the flame. He was almost literally emerging from the shadows into the light. Strange as it was to admit it, especially to himself, it felt good. It felt right. A hood covered his face, since he didn’t want to chance anyone recognizing him. However, it might have been an unnecessary precaution: his pale skin was even whiter than usual, and his frame and his features, which had always been thin and sharp, were now positively gaunt. His clothes were worn and ratty looking, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t here to be seen, and he didn’t much care what people thought. Besides, he figured his presence would be shocking enoguh if he was actually spotted. There’d be enough time for reintroductions later. First he needed to signal a new beginning. In his hands he carried a single paper lantern, the bottom a charcoal grey, which transitioned into yellow, red, and orange streaks, each one carefully folded, a candle placed carefully within. He’d made it himself; the former librarian had repaired enough books to know how to fold paper and make it do what he wanted. His hands shook at first, and he’d had many false starts, but he’d finished it eventually. Making his way around the outside of the crowd—he didn’t want to risk a conversation yet, and thankfully no one gave him a second glance—he found a bare tree. He very carefully didn’t look too closely at the crowd, for fear of making eye contact and being distracted from his simple goal of hanging his lantern. Thankfully he wasn’t bothered, for now. Only vaguely remembering the rules (and not really caring one way or another, since this was for him more than anyone else) he hung it up, making sure it was stable. Although he knew it was only supposed to represent one person, Loren felt that it needed to be more than that. He stood there a long while before he finally spoke. His voice came out in a raspy croak, nearly unrecognizable even to him, almost a year’s worth of disuse not quite gone yet. “For Edrei. For all lost souls waiting to be found. For rebirth.” Then he lit the lantern, bowed his head and stepped back, revealing his creation. It was a phoenix springing from the ashes, candle nestled within its outstretched wings, feathers carefully painted and creased, glowing from the candlelight almost as if it were real.

BEATRIX I'll clean my room in exchange for your immortal soul Beatrix might be young, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew what this festival was. She had heard about it, and she came prepared. Jace held her one hand, toddling at her side, quiet and wide eyed, observing the crowd. In her other hand was a…well it was supposed to be a lantern. It was a small jar she had found, and using her disintegration magic made little flame sized holes in the sides, as well as one that looked like a cat. It was supposed to be Bobbi, who much to her dismay had disappeared when Edrei died. She still held out hope she would find the bobcat somewhere. The two children looked worse for wear as they approached the trees, their clothes and cheeks dirt stained. Finding food was more important than bathing. After Edrei had passed, Beatrix had taken to the streets, keeping her kid brother as safe as she could, taking what she needed, and apologizing for none of it. Peter was somewhere but…could she really trust him? She hung up the little, crude lantern, lighting it carefully on her own – because you bet your britches she wasn’t going to ask for help. She watched the way the candlelight flickered through the holes, and her lip pursed out in a pout. Then hot tears welled up in her eyes. ”Why’d you have to go and die and leave me all alone Aunt Edy? That was really stupid.” she whispered, sniffling loudly as she rubbed her tears and snotty nose on her sleeve. ”Well…bye then I guess.” she mumbled, a few breaths in quick succession the only sign left that she had almost cried. Bea looked at her brother and shook his arm a bit. ”Say bye to Aunt Edy Jace.” The little toddler looked at the lantern, eyes wide and full of confusion, not really understanding the gravity of the situation. But he lifted a hand and waggled his little fingers at the lantern. ”Bye-bye AnnDeddy.” he said softly, before following his sister to go find food to steal off unattended trays.

my darkness won't scare me,

my eyes are adjusting.

   That it had been over a year since Ashe had arrived in Caido was surreal. It felt like an eternity - it felt like yesterday. She had been broken and punishing herself and unintentionally punishing the people that loved her. She had hidden and cowered in the shadows, watching lanterns hang... until one little girl and her crystal-eyed father drew her out. Walking through the beautifully lit Greatwood now, the assassin-turned-messenger looked down to the tiny hand held in hers, to the dark haired little girl with bouncing steps and wide, pale eyes, and a sack in her other hand. "..do you see that one! Look, look, look, look--!" Ashe grinned and nodded at one of the larger lanterns hanging from a tree. "Have you found a favorite?" she asked, squeezing Theea's hand. "Show me."

   The girl pointed to one, then another, and then another, giggling and bouncing until Ashe scooped her up into her arms with a heavy groan. Theea protested with laughter, but soon was pointing, leaning up and reaching to brush her fingers through low hanging branches. She never took her eyes from Theea for a moment. She had been so sure that she would be making a lantern for her tonight. For Kalt. But they were home now. She had her family back. Kalt stayed home, and it was no surprise with their experience last year, but she felt him on the other side of that bond, a comforting and sure presence.

   Ashe found them a place not far from where Remi sprouted his spectacular tree, Theea gasping and speechless for the first time that night. It took her a few moments to situate the girl, instructions not to take her hand off of Ashe's cloak, or to move too far for even a moment as she dug into the sack they brought.

   One lantern for her father. Simple, round, and painted with the sweeping colors of a sunrise with a forgotten skyline of a capital worlds away, a large black horse galloping across the sky. Ashe smiled tightly as she hung it, lighting it with the fire from her own hand. "For grandpapa?" Theea asked from Ashe's side. She smiled down at her and smoothed her hand through her hair, swallowing roughly. "Yea," was all she managed, making herself remember her fathers smile instead of the way that arrow looked in his eye.

   "This is for...?" She looked down to take ahold of the next lantern, and Ashe smiled sadly as she crouched beside her. "Your mother," she reminded, taking a hold of the plain white lantern with Theea's handprints stamped all over in bright colors, suns and moons and unicorns sloppily painted by a five year old. She furrowed her brow and glanced at it again. "But you--" Ashe shook her head, her heart wrenching. "The woman that is the reason Papa and I get to love you." She still looked confused, but nodded. Ashe never learned the prostitute's name, but still she stood and burned the lantern for the woman who loved Theea so much that she gave her her only chance at survival.

   "Ashe?" She looked down at the tug on her cloak. Theea held up another lantern, and her throat tightened. "Who's this one for?" It was tall and thin, framed with black iron, deep, royal blue paper stretched across. Her heart stumbled, and she picked it up gingerly, like something fragile and precious. "This one is for a lot of people, Theea," she said quietly. Ashe took a shakey breath as she hung it on a lonely branch, throat constricting as she lit it.

   Pin pricks of golden light shined through like stars, the blue paper flickering with deep purples with the flame. Each little dot of light rose up into the less illuminated, dark top of the lantern. Like stars. Like souls. Like each light snuffed out because of her. Deaths she had never honored before. "Ludo guide you, and Mort embrace you," she said hoarsely as she dropped her hand back down to her side and stepped back.

   A tiny hand slipped into hers, and her fingers closed around it. She gave a soft squeeze and looked down at Theea, but she was gazing at all the lights, eyes full of wonder.

ASHETTA

base by sky!! <3

Are

Tales of warriors from Miklagård reverberated in his mind as the not-dead man donned the black that had come to symbolize his yoke. Stories of great men covering their faces as to show no fear, no remorse, and no weakness. Black linen, hung over a pale visage left hollow by yet another issue left festering. A warrior hiding the face of his weakness to pay proper respects to gods and mortals alike.

A black ship with black sails set out on a seemingly perilous journey, not because of the seas, but the state of the limping vessel that traveled them. An imposing figure left shuffling out of his self-imposed prison as the nights drew ever colder. Wading through projects left half-finished and a yard in as haggard a state as their supposed caretaker. Not a single straight stitch in weeks, and not a single good product in months. What little goodwill had been earned in trickles here and there had been paid in full. At first the visitors had been many. Neighbors, customers, even a few surly farmers left wondering why the cobbler hadn't been coming around like he ought to.

Each question left with an answer most disappointing, if left with any answer at all.

Still, the man had managed a meager offering for where he stumbled. Handiwork a mere shadow of what hi knew he was capable of, yet it had taken every ounce of perseverance to see it through. It was this silly little excuse of a lantern he held in shaking, gloved hands. Silent as a ghost, a shell of a man, he passed the people gathered. A festival by all means, and one he so wished could bring a little closure.

"Closure." Are whispered as he dragged himself over to the tree, stopping just short to for one last time try to find words to color what the crooked lantern represented.

Closure, death of what was. A world left behind, a man dead in all but body, but that was soon to come if his aching bones where to be trusted. Pale greenwood coaxed into a frame upon which taught hide was nailed. A square of nearly opaque, thin hide covering the flickering light inside. Crooked runes painted with care adorning the whole pitiful creation, every stroke of the brush placed with intent so lost in the misty depths of an addled mind left mute for just a moment too long.

"For Are, may he dine with the gods."

LILY

oh, cover your crystal eyes
and let your colors bleed and blend with mine

There’s no one she cares about enough to hang a lantern. For a long time, it’s been all for one and one for one, and that one is Lily. That can happen when your parents sell you and then you (in the interest of being honest) sell yourself. But she’s been cooped up in her house for far too long, and it seems fairly evident that this thing that’s plaguing her won’t go away any time soon. So, paler than usual, her hands trembling until she can ball them into fists, Lily follows the crowd to the Greatwood, one of the few not carrying a lantern in memoriam.

She wanders around, somewhat listlessly - gazing at magnificent and poor creations alike, saucer-eyes caught up in the dancing flames and solemnity of the tradition. The redhead feels like a ghost, slipping away to nothing, with no one to see her fade away and the knowledge that that is entirely of her own doing. Withdrawing was always her way of coping.

Could be worse, though. She could die in poverty or the workhouse. At least here, her bed is warm.

ludo

It has never honoured an Ascended before.

Why it does so now is uncertain - it is a small blessing, perhaps? Or a mockery? Or something else entirely? Is it to mourn the soul that Wessex once was? Or is it to remind her that there was another course, one that she opted out of? One that means she will never be with those for whom she hangs her lanterns.

Not with most of them, anyway.

A gentle breeze whispers through the Wildwood, like gentle voices pressed against the shell of an ear, wishing love and health to all. Yes, even to Wessex.

The Ascended will feel the one for whom she has not hung a lantern - a cheeky cock pressed against her back, maybe, or a hand grazing across her breasts. Oh you, Edrei. And whilst her fellow Ascended, whilst 108 and Aedion and Kristopher do not appear, her mother and her younger sister...

Yes, they are there for all to see. They stand with the queen who stands alone. They stand with her, and they choose her, and they watch the lantern lights together.

dont know where the lights are taking us
but something in the night is dangerous

A light breeze lifts the more dainty lanterns in the branches and they sway back and forth, bobbing on short tethers in a motion that seems to say the spirits are here. The Wraith closes her eyes and brings images of the fallen to mind - all of them - even as a kindness seems to crawl into her head, whispering of good things and happier thoughts. Remembrance should be of the better parts of their lives: of nights by the hearth and playing, of orgasms and teasing nips, of a certain solidarity that could only be found in a joint cause.

It should be… it should be.

Wessex smiles ever so slightly, eyes still closed and nods, resigned to never seeing them again, even going so far as to imagine the feeling of Edy’s fingertips trailing across her breasts, lingering to pinch and pull -

No.

It’s too real for that. Her eyes fly open, a whispered name on her lips. “Edy…?”

If she’s gone already, the Ascended doesn’t know, because before her eyes she can see her mother and Magrethe taking shape. One hand flies to her mouth, the other reaches out for the smaller blonde, the pretty, dainty little thing that was so unlike her elder sister. And the sound that comes out of her mouth, despite the covering, is no less than a strangled sob, a sound of pure happiness and grief mingled together, the sound of thanks and awe for a miracle that she didn’t know she needed. It’s all she can do to keep herself standing as more love than anyone’s ever seen from the hard-edged Queen pours out of her, into silent tears as she ugly cries sparkling streams down her face.

Yes, you read that correctly. The Queen is crying. She has emotions, and misses people and loved as fiercely as any of them. She cries until she can cry no more, letting all that pent up frustration seep into the ground. Letting the past year escape. Letting herself be all but human for a night; she is not alone. The tthree of them eventually sit in ghostly silence, one on each side of her, until the sun comes up and they, too, her family, are gone.

But Wessex knows she's not alone.