In the aftermath of Magyk, Silas brings his youngest son on a trip to the Ramblings to see the Heaps' old home, where Septimus stumbles upon a little present from his eldest brother he never thought he would receive. One-shot.
Where We Called Home
"Here we are, home sweet home," Silas declared.
They were standing face-to-face with a big red door which had probably seen better days. Silas rapped his knuckles against wood almost fondly, before jiggling a key into the keyhole with rusty expertise. The lock resisted for a moment before clicking open.
Immediately a wave of mustiness rose to greet them.
The first thing that struck Septimus was the emptiness of the place. Often when he'd asked Jenna and Nicko how their 'old home' had been, they'd fill him in on lively descriptions – warm colours of red cedar constructing the walls, furniture fashioned out of wavy-grained sugar maple. Tottering piles of books and scattered throughout the little room, almost carpeting the floors.
"They were books everywhere," Jenna had laughed, "We sat on them, played on them and napped on them, because they were all over the place."
But where he stood, there was nothing of that sort. Broken furniture were piled carelessly in a teetering pile of sharp-edged splinters; and the books – ancient tomes, old or new, Magykal or otherwise were nowhere to be seen.
There were little beds though, that remained intact despite the ransacking of the Custodian Guards years ago. With a little jolt Septimus noted the little planks at the head of their beds, inscribing each and every one of their names. Simon's was first, carved in a steady professional hand, followed by Sam, Erik, Edd… Jo-jo's was a little messy, but Nicko's script was noticeably different. There was a strange flourish at the end of the 'o' just like the squiggle that always followed Septimus' own signature. Marcia never approved, even though he thought it looked well… cool.
"You actually made all these?" Septimus asked, almost in wonder.
Silas looked proud. "Every nail and plank," he beamed.
"Even the carvings?" Septimus pointed at the names of the six Heaps at the head of their beds.
Silas' smile grew a little distracted. "Oh yes, every one of them – until Jo-jo came along, Simon decided he wanted to try his hand." He indicated the sloppy script that held signs of hasty repair. There was a slight silence in the air, before Silas continued with an assuming air, "You can see Nicko's is much better. Ah yes – and Jenna's."
Jenna's was a small box placed at the end of the room beside the window, overlooking the river. Septimus frowned at the more familiar, steady writing. "Simon made hers' too?"
Silas shook his head. "No it's my writing. He didn't make any more after Nicko's… said he had much better things to do – like sticking his nose in one Magyk book or other, I suppose."
"Oh," Septimus said, feeling oddly disappointed.
"Of course, this isn't all," Silas said, clearing his throat. "There's much more – ah, private stuff in the attic. All hush-hush. Books, photographs, toys and all."
Septimus felt a hope in him light up. "There's an attic?"
"I risked a lot moving all those up there mind," Silas retorted, crossing the room to reach a traitorous looking ladder. He tapped on it, frowned, then decided it would do. "Hold it still for me would you, Septimus? I don't quite trust it not to age. Tis is sycamore."
Obediently Septimus grabbed the ladder, and Silas made his unsteady way into his trusty attic. Twice a rung broke, causing the ladder to sway and both of them to yell, but finally Silas managed to clamber the remaining steps up.
"Aha!" came a delighted cry from above. "There they are!"
Septimus tilted his head to look, only to wince when he was promptly showered with dust. He choked and spluttered into an uncontrollable fit of coughing. " -Dad!"
"Oops, sorry," Silas said. "It's safe enough I suppose, the floorboards aren't so much as creaking. You can come up now."
Septimus looked at the ladder at the same time Silas looked down and seemed to realize his mistake. There was no one to hold the ladder down for Septimus.
"It's okay Dad," Septimus replied, "I'll just be extra careful. You've already broken all the traitorous rungs anyway."
Some careful maneuvering later found Septimus standing in the same attic squashed against a pile of books.
If he had felt a little crestfallen at the seemingly decrepit living room, the attic more than made up for it. It was exactly like Nicko had promised; the homely smell of wood and scent of parchment and musty books. Looking at the collection of Heap clutter scattered in a disorganized jumble all over the floor, he thought he could imagine how the Heaps had lived. His family had lived.
Silas was excitedly digging through a pile of books, and for an instant Septimus was reminded strongly of Maxie. When he finally emerged though (accompanied by another rain of dust) his expression held such giddy delight that Septimus couldn't help but get excited at once.
"I found them! Look, Septimus, moving pictures!"
Septimus stumbled over to look at the stack of dog-eared cardboards in Silas' hands. For a moment he stared at the yellow, faded colours in breathless amazement. The figures were actually moving, each of them huddling close to the two precious bundles held in Sarah's arms. The family looked considerably smaller, and with a jolt Septimus recognized little Simon, standing at the edge of the cot curiously, and another toddler curled up in the cot looking as though he failed to understand what the fuss was all about.
"Edd and Erik!" Silas chuckled. "Alther gave me the Charm that day. Too bad I've lost it… it must be in here somewhere."
The next picture and the next varied only slightly, with one additional young curious face peeking out from the cot, and the eldest son of the Heap family held up each hand-carved sign writing their next member's name. Simon and Sam grew noticeably taller, and when Nicko was born it was Simon who carried his younger brother, a proud grin on his face.
Septimus turned the page, wondering what else was left to see. The picture looked the same, toddlers and children smiling and craning to look at the their newborn brother, Silas grinning madly and Sarah tired-looking but joyful all the same. Septimus' heartbeat followed his count of the figures in the picture, one, two, three, four, five… until he found six boys.
Which meant, the bundle in Simon's arms was the seventh son –
It was him.
He felt like he couldn't breathe. He was there. The only picture, the one evidence that he had been in the Heap household; that precious moment before he was stolen from his home had been captured, and was now held in his hands.
Something bitter nicked at his heart when his eyes found the tiny version of himself, held proudly in the crook of his eldest brother's arms. His heart skipped a beat when he noted Simon gazing down at his youngest brother with different grin, a mixture of pride and amazement and something else. Nicko looked excited, standing on tip-toe to see his new brother, and the others looked just as delighted. Septimus studied each of their faces, noting the similarities and the differences that remained since more than ten whole years ago.
Then he noticed the wooden sign with his name, held up by Silas – Septimusxxx. With a jolt he recognized the strange flourish at the end of the 'S', exactly like how he signed his name, and the familiar squiggle seemed to wave up at him in a friendly gesture. The wood was a different colour though – it was dark and held a silvery tint to it.
"Dad," Septimus began, "where is mine?"
He indicated the wooden sign, and Silas frowned. "Well now, I don't even remember it existed."
Septimus felt a touch of exasperation. "But you were holding it!"
Silas frowned and scratched his head. "It's Silverwood isn't it?" he peered closer. "Hmm… let me see… quite a precious type of wood. I only ever had one plank. That would explain why it went missing. I remember I was going to use it for Jenna's sign, but I couldn't find it."
Septimus waited for a while as Silas continued to frown and ponder, but he soon knew a lost case when he saw one. "Doesn't matter anyway," he said.
There was one more page after his. This time it was unmistakably Jenna, her bright violet eyes staring back at Sarah's as she held the baby Princess. Simon stood beside his mother, smiling slightly. There was a slight flutter in his stomach when he noted that Simon had held him, but he didn't hold his new adopted sister.
They spent another hour in the attic, salvaging some useful Magyk books and sorting through decades' worth of accumulated clutter. In the end the air grew so thick that they agreed to step down back into the open space of their living room. Silas carefully pocketed the pictures, but he allowed Septimus to keep the only one that contained him, for which Septimus was more than a little touched. He knew his mother would treasure them.
When they were finally about to leave, Septimus gave the place a last look, his gaze lingering over worn wood and unmade beds. He imagined the six boys gathered around the fire, Maxie lying atop the hearthrug, Sarah bustling in the kitchen. The strange assortment of pencils upstairs, the broken clock on the mantelpiece… each item lying forgotten in the attic seemed to fit into the picture somehow, especially the books. He could see it in his mind's eye, parchment and paper strewn all across the wooden floorboards, Simon poring over them, Jenna looking out from her little box by the window.
He felt a strange sense of nostalgia for his old home, even if he had never belonged. If he'd grown up with them, that sign hanging over Jenna's box would be his name, a flourish added to the 's' at the back. Maybe he would have tried alongside his other brothers to beat Jo-jo in that Shifting Puzzle game upstairs. They would have fought, would have laughed, would have been brothers instead of familiar strangers.
Suddenly Septimus' gaze was drawn to the wooden sign on Simon's bed – he had seen the one made by Silas, nailed at the headboard, but there was another one at the foot. This time it was clearly Simon's font carving out his own name – an elaborated flourish of the 'S' and at the last 'n'. And the colour of the wood - it was exactly the same as the one Septimus had seen in the picture Silas found upstairs – the wood was dark, yet whispered a silvery sheen.
Gently Septimus eased the sign off its place on the wood. The nailing job was not expertly done, and it came off pretty easily.
And on the other side, at the back of 'Simon', he found it at last - 'Septimusxxx'.
X
" – so… how was it?" Nicko asked.
They were sitting at the banks of the moat, feet dangling tantalizingly near the cold water that ran around Jannit Maarten's boatyard. Nicko would have followed Septimus on their little visit, but an emergency repair of a damaged paddleboat cropped up suddenly, and Nicko felt reluctant to leave it to Rupert alone. It seemed rather unfair, especially while he was the junior Apprentice by many years.
"Brilliant," Septimus grinned back. "It just seemed very – " he struggled for words.
"Homey?" Nicko supplied, almost smugly.
Septimus laughed. "Exactly."
"Anything interesting you picked up?"
"Some pictures and a few handy Magyk books" Septimus said. "Oh yeah – and this." He fished out the wooden sign from his backpack and handed it over to Nicko.
"Blimey I'd almost forgotten these existed!" Nicko exclaimed, sounding almost as excited as Septimus was to receive his first 'moving picture'. He rapped hard on the dark surface and traced Septimus' name on it. His expression changed slightly.
"He spent ages on this," he said with an air of nonchalance that seemed rather out of place in the atmosphere. Nicko paused. "Was mighty snobby about it too, when he finished," he added.
Septimus swallowed. "Dad said he wanted to use it to make Jenna's."
"Ah," Nicko grinned. "That. Dad was going to even out the surface of Simon's pretty carvings, of course he couldn't have that! They threw quite a row over this plank of wood. Mum thought they were being mighty ridiculous." Nicko chortled. "Frankly we all thought Simon was nuts."
But Septimus grinned back. "No, I'm glad he did. I – "
He didn't know how to explain it. Like it was another clue, another token that meant he did belong to the Heap household once upon a time, before he was torn from them into the Young Army. That he had been a part of them, had been their brother once even if he didn't remember it, neither, it seemed - did the others.
"I don't think Simon really hates you," Nicko said abruptly, mistaking the silence as a brooding one, but which Septimus did not feel like correcting him. "I mean – I dunno, he was really excited when you were born 'cause you were – well – special or something. He kept coming up with weird spells and Charms and said he would have you try them as soon as you could speak and see if you could do them. And he ranted all about the Magyk stuff he would teach you when you grew up – which got all of us rather annoyed. Even I remember that."
His gaze drifted to his younger brother, who was fingering the Dragon Master's ring, a shadow across his face. "Of course," Nicko said, a slight change in his tone, "that was before he took the crazy pills and became a complete nutter. Obviously."
There was a brief companionable silence as they mulled over their thoughts, before the elder of the pair broke it with a question.
"But where did you find this?" Nicko asked, holding up the wooden sign with Septimus' name on it. "I don't remember seeing it anywhere since – well, I dunno when. We all thought it was lost."
Septimus thought back to the nail hammered rather unsuccessfully into the centre of the wood and the sloppy workmanship. He felt a bitter sweetness tug at the corners of his lips.
"Just somewhere at home," he answered finally.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
In late evening Septimus returned to his room in the Wizard Tower, blew out the candles and prepared for bed. There was a long day ahead tomorrow; he would be officially starting his role as the Extra-Ordinary's Apprentice after one week of adjusting to his new life. It also meant he wouldn't have much time on his own anymore.
The room felt too large and foreign to what he was used to; he'd never had one to himself, neither did any of the Heaps. He was already used to sleeping on soft earth and cold floorboards. Still, it looked nice and cozier particularly after Marcia had allowed him to choose his theme colour for the walls and carpets, a rich dark forest green.
He reached for the sign with his name, then fished for the Stick Charm he'd picked out that afternoon from the Heaps' attic. He stuck the sign to the headboard.
There. It was exactly how it would have looked like.
His finger traced the letters.
Nicko wasn't entirely right either, he thought. He said Simon didn't really hate him, but he knew better. He remembered cold, furious eyes burning into his, and there was something more than jealousy or dislike when his eldest brother stared down at him. It was dark, it was bitter, it was merciless and Septimus remembered the chill of undivided hatred directed at him.
"Simon! He is your brother!"
"He is no brother of mine."
"Ready for tomorrow, Septimus?" a warm friendly voice drifted in through the window.
Septimus started slightly. "Alther?"
The ghost smiled and settled down at the edge of his bed comfortably. His green eyes still seemed to sparkle with life despite it being ten years since he had been in the land of the Living.
"Troubled minds lead to troubled sleep," he said lightly. "Best get it off your mind."
Septimus leaned back against his bed, bumping against the new sign stuck on the headboard. "Ouch!"
Alther chuckled. "I see something very familiar."
Septimus sighed and snuggled under his covers for warmth; Alther had left the window open. "I feel so unprepared," he began, obliging. "And I dunno – a little unworthy I suppose. I mean – " he paused when the ghost gave him a knowing look. "Other people have been studying Magyk all their lives hoping to become the Extra-Ordinary's Apprentice, and I'm just a nobody walking in from the Young Army, of all places." Even the other Ordinary Wizards thought it too, he realized. Whispers followed him wherever he went, most of them in awe of his being a seventh son of a seventh son, but most of them were skeptical too.
He didn't quite believe it himself. How was it so coincidentally, he'd been brought on the run with his biological family? That he was Magykal? His old unit members from the Young Army were still spread around the Castle, some still searching for their families, most having given up a long time ago. He knew it was real, but at the same time it was hypnagogic; it felt like he would wake up the next morning and discover it had all been a desperate dream.
And there were all the rumours, the whispers and points that followed him. He supposed it was completely understandable, seeing as he had – for all the others had known – simply cropped out of nowhere, but Simon's words had stung. Even more than the others.
He didn't know what he had been expecting. Something like Nicko, he supposed – but a little more serious, bossy, but his brother all the same. Days had passed, but the chill hadn't quite left him.
Alther was still waiting for him to speak.
"I feel like I've cheated," Septimus confessed. "I was chosen as Marcia's Apprentice because I was born like this. I robbed everyone else of their chance when they've worked so hard for their goals."
"Like Simon," Alther supplied helpfully.
"Yes, like Simon," Septimus said, a touch of frustration to his voice, before it ebbed out of him as quickly as it had come. "He was right. I don't really deserve this, not really. I don't blame him for – hating me."
"Some people are just born to be, Septimus," Alther said patiently. "You were born as someone special, and it is up to you to use your gifts to help others. You've been given the opportunity to be in a position in which you can make a better change for others, why is that a bad thing?"
Septimus looked stubbornly unconvinced, but the ex-Extraordinary Wizard did not relent.
"You may not be the Extra-Ordinary yet, but look at Marcia. She has a great responsibility on her shoulders. Being the Extra-Ordinary Wizard, you are expected to run the Wizard Tower, protect the Castle and help the people in any possible way; you serve the Castle inhabitants just as much as they serve you. They look to you for support, for aid, for strength just as they look to the Queen as their ruler." Alther looked at Septimus' doubt-filled eyes and gave him a kind smile. "For now, you can help Marcia. And who knows, one day it may be your turn. Let the people say what they will, Septimus. Words cannot harm you unless you let them."
But he wasn't just someone out of those 'people', Septimus wanted to say, an odd heavy feeling lingering over his heart as he looked at the sign hanging from his headboard in the darkness. Simon was a Heap after all, and once upon a time they had been brothers too.
"If it is about Simon," Alther continued, as if reading his thoughts. He paused. "I can't say for certain whether he hates you as you put it, but you can be certain that you are not the reason all this stemmed from. It is his own jealousy and superiority complex that has blinded him." Alther frowned, looking quite disturbed, before sighing. "If any, I believe I am quite at fault for encouraging him in his younger days."
"So what he said was true then?" Septimus asked cautiously, the truth nibbling uncomfortably at the edges of his mind. "If it hadn't been for me – "
"No Septimus… it was never the whole truth, but it was not entirely false either," Alther replied. Septimus remained looking discomfited. Alther sighed. "You see, Marcia had been looking for an Apprentice for a long time – and I, who visited your family often, knew just what Simon was capable of… and his interests. The other little Heaps always pestered me for jokes and pranks, but Simon was different – he wanted to know more, learn more. He'd always have a question to ask me about some Magykal theory or other, and seeing as I was the only mentor available to him then I tried to help him the best way I could.
"In a way he reminded me of Marcia. He had an insatiable curiousity for everything Magyk related and he delved and read into any material available at all. In all honesty I thought he would make a fine Apprentice, but I discovered he had a certain fascination with the Darke."
"How old was Simon then?" Septimus asked, a slight chill running down his spine at the mention of the reverse side.
"Back then he was a teenager around 15 I would imagine," Alther replied. "You see, Simon always strives to the best, no matter what he attempts. Quite unfortunately he picked up – and realized that the Darke held a certain power over Magyk. It seemed to him that the Darke was more powerful. To him it was freedom to explore the realms of everything supernatural – which in a sense he is right - but simply because the Darke has no constraints that is conscience."
"There were Darke books in the Ramblings?" Septimus said, finding it hard to imagine Sarah tolerating any of her sons reading anything of that sort.
"No, not exactly, but there were many references and slight notes that Simon seemed to mark down," Alther said wearily. "He knew I didn't approve – I myself had battled the line between Magyk and Darke when I was still a clueless Apprentice to DomDaniel. I knew how destructive and dangerous it could be, and I tried to advise him against it. It didn't work out. So I thought it would be a good idea to warn Silas – which set your dear father on a book clearance spree."
Septimus was torn between laughing and cringing at Silas' simple approach to the problem.
Alther smiled a bit before it faded. "You can imagine, Simon was furious. Angry at his family too, for supposedly preventing his brilliance to be recognized – things of that sort. He felt as if he were tied down from living his dream. To be honest, Simon had been high on the list of Marcia's Hopefuls, but one of the reasons she was cautious, as so was I – was because by then Simon already knew too much. He'd already delved into the Darke, and I suspect he'd had his small share of practice too. He had a high chance of straying, and that is the one fear all Masters have for their Apprentices above all else. Well, save DomDaniel, he would have probably encouraged it." Alther looked down at Septimus, whose small figure was almost swamped in soft blankets he wasn't quite used to yet. "This is hardly relevant, but if it makes you feel better - even if you hadn't come along, Simon was never offered the Apprenticeship anyway."
There was a comfortable silence in which they settled into, the faded ghost caught up in fond memories when he was Living, the younger boy trying his best to envision the family he never got to be a part of ten years ago. When Alther finally got up to leave, the former Extra-Ordinary wizard was surprised to see Septimus still wide awake. He wanted to tell the young boy to rest early, he had a long day before him, but the sudden plea in the form of a tentative request made him pause.
"Alther?" Septimus asked. "Can you tell me what Simon was like?"
.
.
.
.
For a moment Alther is stunned by the request, and frantically scrabbles through his mind for memories buried more than a decade ago. He wonders what story he should tell, wonders what the littlest Heap would like to know. He questions why Septimus has picked for stories of the eldest Heap, but a part of him guesses the reason – the boy fears he will never get to know his eldest brother himself.
And quite suddenly, Alther knows what he should tell after all; and the words come easily to him.
.
.
.
Ten years ago from that very day, Simon had been the little boy that had run a week's worth of errands for Figg the Woodcrafter, who had been ecstatic to find that precious plank of Silverwood had been sent home as a gift in thanks for his help; and had later carved each and every detail of his youngest brother's name carefully into the plank. In the days before Septimus' birth he seemed more ecstatic than the rest, and he told everyone he knew of the soon arrival of his 'special' baby brother.
But the much awaited day was not one of celebration, but one of pain and loss. When the seventh of the seventh son was announced dead, and the Midwife had fled – Alther looked around the room despairingly, prepared to console the little Heaps as father and mother huddled brokenly in shock and grief. The little Heaps stared wide-eyed, the younger ones confused, Sam solemn. For a moment all they could do was reel from the unexpected turn of events, but then Simon gathered his brothers and put the young ones into their beds.
Alther thought the blow would not be half as harsh as it was to their parents; Edd and Erik looked like they barely comprehended what had happened, but when the Ramblings was finally thrown into darkness, and Sarah had fallen into an exhausted sleep with tear tracks down her cheeks, Alther noticed that Simon's eyes were still wide open. For a moment Alther debated whether to reveal himself to the boy, yet he thought the boy had fallen into a trance. Brilliant green eyes open as they were, they seemed to be blind, unseeing. It was then when Alther noticed Simon was not dreaming; he was staring at the window where Septimus' sign hung forlornly, unused. Even if Alther knew that Simon understood everything that had transpired, that he had lost his youngest brother, he was still taken aback by the bitter sadness reflected the eldest son's eyes.
Weeks later Simon was the only one that saw Sarah crying silently in the kitchen, and he tried to hold her like Silas did but ended up crying all the same.
He had been the only one among his brothers that remembered their lost brother the best; he was the eldest after all. When Jenna arrived, he feared that Septimus would be replaced by this adopted sister, that the memory of his special youngest brother would be lost in the arrival of their sudden new family addition. So he had stolen the Silverwood that Silas thought had been given to him, carved his own name on the other side of the plank and nailed it to his bed, where his brother's name would never be erased.
He always remembered Jenna's birthday the best, because it was his brother's too.
He tried teaching Jenna the Magyk spells he wanted to share with Septimus, but she just wasn't interested. None of them were. He suspected she didn't have magic either. His father was content to practicing semi-successful minor household spells, and the others weren't thrilled at learning.
At first he kept wondering what could have been if he'd had his youngest brother to share Magyk with. He was always considered the odd one out of the Heap family; and sometimes, like when Silas had automatically assumed he would refuse to join and had brought all the other boys out fishing, or when for all their similarities in looks, none of his family shared his interests when the rest had so much in common - he did wonder if he would feel half as alone as he did if Septimus was around.
It did not take him long to give up that fantasy, though. He was the best among them all, and he was content to be so. Indeed as the years grew by, a selfish part of him was took pride that he was more powerful than any of them, knew more than anyone his age did. And as he sought for more power in the form of knowledge and Magyk, he tread the thin line between the Reverse and the latter more and more often, until that side of him grew and manifested.
Perhaps a part of that young Simon Heap still lingers, Alther says. After all, that day when they arrived at the Marram Marshes, Simon had spared a one-armed hug for his younger brother Nicko despite everything. That was - before the Apprentice Supper began, and the jealousy and anger overrode the last fragment of his old personality.
.
.
.
Months passed.
Simon never returned.
He never 'got over it' as Sarah said he would, and they never reconciled. They never went to the Forest to visit Sam and the rest of his brothers and they never had the big family reunion Silas promised. Quite a few of the photographs were quickly lost in the tide of books that was quickly piling up in living room of the Palace, but the precious one Septimus held onto remained. So did the sign writing his name that hung on the headboard of his bed.
Sometimes Septimus took care to sign the last 'S' at the end of his name in a thinner upward flourish to make it seem more similar to the one he'd seen, and each similarity brought a small warmth somehow, like when the moving pictures of his family waved up at him from all those forgotten years ago.
As for their old house… even though Silas had made a thousand and one grand plans to do so someday, they never moved back into the Ramblings. And as time passed and more houses were constructed, the old Ramblings inhabitants quickly emptied. Some moved out, others replaced them; but despite the many offers Silas received, mostly from Traders, it was never put on sale nor rent, and the Big Red Door still stood there proudly in the slowly emptying Corridor 223.
After all, it still was a special place to them – for till this day, it was the only place where they all had, once, called home.
-X-X-X-X-X-End-X-X-X-X-X-X-
A/N: I am beginning to think of Simon Heap as my favorite character in the series. In any case, only he and Septimus showed any positive character development; Simon changed for the better, and Septimus became more confident than when he was in Magyk. Hence why my fics always revolve around the pair. :D In my opinion the other characters either remained static, changed for a more bratty personality or have a 180 degree turn from their original characterization. Case example Queen Cerys. To me she was portrayed as a great Queen and loving mother in the first four books – like when she constantly watched over her daughter when she could, protected the Way from Etheldredda and longed to join Milo and Jenna when the pair first met. And then towards the end of the series when she finally meets the daughter she wanted to see badly, she becomes 'cold and indifferent' as opposed to her mother Queen Mathilda.
Jenna became more and more 'princessy' towards the end, and Beetle went from a bumbling, warm-hearted friend to acting cool while harbouring some jealousy against his best friend. It's understandable if it happens sometimes, but in my opinion it happened a time too many. Nicko became more depressing ever since Snorri and he rarely provided any laughs in the later books. Alther became less active in the series ever since Alice Nettles died too. I'm glad Marcia's steadfast attitude never changed though. Of course, this is just what I think. I have had it on my mind for a long time ever since I finished Fyre, so I just had to find a place to vent. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! I know it involves minimal action compared to What Could Have Been, but I just liked the homey idea of the Ramblings too much. Hope it was okay...
If I'm feeling inspired there should be more Septimus Heap stories coming up :D. Do aid my inspiration by dropping a review? Thank you so much!
Merry Christmas!