Moonflowers

It has been three months, one week, and six days since the war ended and Casimir slipped through her fingers. Two months and ten days since they found out where he had been taken, and two months and six days since she had begun her lonely journey to the Dragon Mother's lair—by the Fort's count.

Saoirse strikes a match and holds it to the campfire, dropping it in once the logs catch fire. This close to the Mountain, there is no need for stealth—Lamashtu knows she's on her way and there's nothing that can be done to stop her. No creature can be sent to deter her—not when she's this close to reaching Casimir.

She doesn't look out into the forest as she burns her wards into the dirt and settles in for the night, sword held tightly in her hand.

—

Lethe looks up from the map, twilight eyes creased with worry. "It's going to be a long journey."

"I know."

"Time moves differently there. It's three months by our count, but it could take—"

"Longer. I know, Lethe." Saoirse exhales softly. "I can't just let him rot there."

Her eyes trace the path from Fort Tsunami to the Mountain, hands flexing at the edge of the table. Lethe sighs and crosses to her side. The tiefling opens her arms, and Saoirse leans into the hug automatically.

She misses Casimir's hugs. The ones that enveloped her completely, like a shield against everything else going on outside, where resting her head in the crook of his shoulder felt like coming home.

"I'm going to get him back," she whispers, and she feels Lethe's arms tighten.

"I know. And you'll both come back home, safe and sound."

—

Saoirse wakes from her trance four hours later to the sound of paws. She opens her eyes to slits, and sees a wolf sniffing at one of her wards. It looks ordinary, but as it gets closer, she sees its eyes gleaming with red.

The underside of her arm opens with a quiet hiss, and her wand slides into her fingers. Saoirse hums the first three notes to the Fire Dance quietly—the wolf looks up, ears twitching, and is met with a bolt of white-blue fire straight to the snout. It collapses in the dirt, smoking faintly.

Saoirse slides her wand back into its compartment and snaps her arm shut. She stands, sword in her flesh hand now, and kicks dirt over the campfire to put it out.

Four days to the Mountain.

—

By the time Saoirse makes it to the base of the mountain and its looming, iron-wrought gates, she is on the brink of using one of Casimir's favorite spells to turn the whole thing to rubble. But she faces the Black Gates with her chin held high, and approaches the dragonborn guards.

"Halt, traveler," one calls, smirking. "State—"

"My name is Saoirse Ròs, daughter of Chiara and Gregor Ròs. I have come to take back my lover, Casimir Apolos, and you will let me pass," she snaps, imbuing her last words with a Command.

The red in the guards' eyes is overtaken by blue, and the gates swing open without a sound. Saoirse lets out a soft breath, and descends into the darkness.

There are other creatures under Lamashtu's command, but most seem content to watch. Saoirse meets the red eyes of a wood elf and points her sword at them.

"Take me to Lamashtu," she Commands.

Blue mixes with the red—and then the other elf bows to her, and starts walking.

I'm on my way, Casimir.

—

She's standing up after tending a student when she feels eyes on her.

She knows who it is. She casts a cursory glance over the rest of the medical wing, then ducks into her office, leaving the door open in invitation.

It clicks shut a minute later, and her ears pick up on slightly ragged breathing.

Neither of them says anything for a long time. But Saoirse has never been able to handle silence very well, and she's the first one to break it.

"Are you yourself again?"

A brittle laugh. "I'm reasonably certain I won't go berserk against the students again."

"Do you need healing?"

"…No."

She swallows.

"Cas, I—I'm sorry."

—

The first thing Saoirse notices is the size of the hall. All of Fort Tsunami feels like it could fit with room to spare—and then her eyes land on Lamashtu, and her mouth goes dry. Curled around a golden throne the size of the Great Hall… one talon is nearly three times Saoirse's height. Her breath catches in her throat, and her grip tightens around her sword.

"Welcome to the Mountain, Saoirse Ròs," the Dragon Mother says, with a voice like bloody velvet.

Saoirse swallows. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you," she says steadily, "but it really isn't, and you have someone I want back."

Lamashtu lets out a hissing laugh. "You mean my General, of course." Slowly, she raises one massive, black wing, and Saoirse's eyes fall on Casimir. Her breath hitches, and she meets his shocked stare. His eyes are still green.

"Cas," she whispers.

"I'm afraid he won't be leaving," Lamashtu purrs. "You gave him up, after all… you traded him for your world, and so he has returned to me. I fear you've traveled all this way for nothing, Lady of Roses. Casimir stays here… with the rest of my generals."

Six draconic shapes slip out of the shadows, malice and danger in every line of their bodies. Saoirse holds Casimir's gaze and lifts her chin.

"I'm not going back alone," she says firmly. "I came to take him home."

"Oh, but he is home. Isn't that right, General?"

Casimir says nothing, still staring at Saoirse like she's a ghost.

"I don't care that he's one of your generals. He's mine, and he's been mine since the day we fell in love."

"That isn't what you said when you slipped your knife between his ribs."

"In his stomach, thank you, and I avoided all the major organs. And I said he was mine then, too. Just that the world he was helping bring to ruin was also mine." She takes a daring step forward, only looking at Casimir. "You said it. You're mine and I'm yours, body and soul. You promised me we'd get until the end of all time, Cas. Time might move quicker here, but we haven't reached the end."

Casimir twitches, and Lamashtu hisses out a warning. Saoirse takes another step forward, then two more.

"I have a lot to make up for. I know I do. But I can't make up for it when you're here, instead of home." She holds out her flesh hand. "Come home with me, love."

His eyes dart to her hand, then back up to her face.

He stands. Lamashtu growls, and the other generals begin to advance—

"Don't touch her," Casimir hisses, and they stop. He focuses back on Saoirse. "Do you mean it?"

"I do."

"Everything you said."

"Yes." She wets her lips, anxious. "I looked for you for a month. And it took me almost three to get here. I'm not going home without you, unless that—unless that's what you really want."

His expression firms, and he takes two steps forward. "Then take me home with you."

"No!" Lamashtu snarls. "You are my General—"

"And your war has ended!" Saoirse shouts. The hall goes silent, and Saoirse glares at the Dragon Mother. "Let him go, Lamashtu."

The hall shudders as Lamashtu uncurls herself from the throne, staring Saoirse down. Her head comes closer and closer, until Saoirse is looking up into one scarlet eye three feet away from her face.

Her eye is as tall as I am, she thinks, somewhat hysterically. But she doesn't let it show on her face—just lifts her chin and locks her jaw.

She counts the seconds until Lamashtu snarls wordlessly and whips away. "So be it. Take your love." Her eyes flash in the torchlight as she curls herself back around the throne. "On one condition."

Saoirse locks her eyes with Casimir's. "Name it," they say.

Lamashtu lets out another one of her hissing laughs as the other generals slink back into the shadows.

"So fearless," she murmurs. "I will let you make your journey back. But if you are so sure that he will follow you… prove that your faith in him is as strong as your love for him. You may walk, but not together. You will lead, and he will follow—but if you turn to make sure he's there, then he's returned to me, and there will be nothing more that you can do." Saoirse's breath leaves her abruptly. "Walk, ride, sail—he'll be returned to you in full if you make it over the threshold of your fortress without looking back, in the light of the sun."

Saoirse meets Casimir's wide, green eyes, fear curling around her ribs like a noose.

"I trust you," he says.

And that's that, isn't it? she thinks.

—

"He looks back?" Saoirse demands.

"He does," her sister confirms, strumming another chord.

"But—they were almost there! They almost made it!"

"It's an old song," Charlotte says. "An old tale, from way before either of us were born. That's how it goes."

"That's ridiculous! Charlotte, that can't be how it goes!"

"It's a tragedy, songbird. Orpheus always looks back."

"I wouldn't," Saoirse says, frowning. "If I were Orpheus, I wouldn't. Not until I was certain Eurydice was out."

Her sister smiles softly. "Then you wouldn't be an Orpheus."

"What do you mean?"

"An Orpheus who doesn't look back is an Orpheus who never went down to the Underworld in the first place. That's the nature of the story—he'll always look back. Maybe he loses faith that anyone is there, or maybe he hears Eurydice stumble and turns back to help her—but he always looks back."

Saoirse's frown deepens.

"Then I wouldn't be an Orpheus," she decides.

"No?" Charlotte asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Saoirse says firmly, eleven years old and absolutely certain in her conviction. "I'd be better. I wouldn't look back."

Charlotte smiles, and puts down the lyre. "No," she agrees, "I don't believe you would."

—

It has been one month, two weeks, and five days since Saoirse set out from the Mountain. Four months, three weeks, and one day since she had left Fort Tsunami.

All sorts of creatures have attacked her since she left the Mountain—still, she has seen no sign of Casimir, be it his magic or his blades. She hopes it means that they aren't attacking him—maybe because he's still Lamashtu's, until they make it back to the island.

She doesn't let herself take it to mean that there is just nobody else to attack—doesn't let herself think that they aren't attacking him because he isn't there.

Not at first.

But the doubt creeps in, relentless and pervasive.

What if Casimir decided to stay? He'd trusted her once, and she'd rewarded that trust with a knife in the stomach. Why would he choose to follow her again?

Night after night, she lights a fire and burns her wards into the dirt. She doesn't look behind her.

What if Lamashtu never let him go? What if the Dragon Mother was watching her, laughing at her foolishness, Casimir still trapped under the Mountain?

She sits on a stump, binding her arm after a cockatrice had caught her off guard. For a second, she thinks she hears Casimir's familiar gait approaching—and then nothing. She pauses, squeezing her eyes shut, and ties off the bandage.

She picks up her sword, stands, and keeps walking.

—

The display on the inside of Saoirse's arm tells her it has been five months, four weeks, and two days since she left Fort Tsunami. It feels as though it has been a year—and maybe it has been. Time moves faster in Lamashtu's lands.

She had left just after Litha, at the turn of the seasons. As the island comes back into view, she sees bare tree branches and snow dusting roofs, and her heart twinges. She didn't move quickly enough for Casimir to be able to see the autumn.

Her ears prick at the faint sound of footsteps—the first since she's heard besides her own since she left the Mountain—and her right ear shivers at the soft ghosting of breath along its shell. She closes her eyes, just briefly, so she doesn't look back. She can't look back.

"Almost there," she whispers, nudging the helm. "Almost home."

It is thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds until they dock, and one minute and sixteen seconds before Saoirse can convince herself to let go of the helm. She keeps her eyes on the horizon as she lowers the gangway—keeps her eyes on the barest sliver of sun, turning the sky into a myriad of pinks and oranges as she steps onto the docks.

Her footsteps ring out on the wood, then the cobblestones. The gates of the fortress open for her automatically.

Still, she only hears her own steps.

She stops before the doors, and exhales shakily.

Make it over the threshold.