Eliot and Margo decided to return to Fillory immediately after the funeral, only to find it in complete social and political chaos. Both Fen and Josh had been overthrown, and apparently killed by an angry mob, compounding grief upon grief.
Margo's new lover and Eliot's wife, a dear friend to them both, gone so close on the heels of Quentin's death? It was almost too much to bear. Only the need to fix Fillory held them to their better senses. It was a clear and immediate mission.
Every citizen was either in a panic, or grabbing for unearned power. Magic was intermittent and unpredictable, and Tick found himself unable to properly cope or reign as 'interim ruler' amid the growing turmoil. In stark contrast to times previous, when he'd actively plotted to take the throne, he literally fell to the ground weeping with gratitude at the sight of Margo and Eliot entering the gates of Whitespire.
Poor Tick had long since processed the bitter reality that High King Margo was a far more capable, not to mention popular, leader than he would ever be. Even setting aside the issue of his personal exhaustion, allowing the stronger monarch to reclaim her crown was the more dignified option compared to watching himself sink ever lower in public opinion.
The transition went smoothly. As in, Tick tossed her the crown like it was a frisbee, declared "It's all yours. Best of luck," and returned to his role as professional sidekick without missing a beat.
Margo, always capable of stowing her shit, took the reigns of power and got down to business. Meanwhile Eliot promised to do the same . . . after he finished processing the worst of his grief.
"I loved him so much, Bambi. And you can rule without me for a while," he assured his best friend. "I know you can. You've got a whole council of advisors, and I need . . . I need time. I . . . I don't know how much, but . . ."
"But when you're ready . . .?" Margo let the question hover in the air between them.
He held her face gently in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears that matched his own. "I will be by your side, right where I belong, and we'll fix this shitshow together, okay? I promise." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and that was that.
With Fillory being in such urgent need of Margo's fullattention, the detail Eliot kept to himself was that the threads holding him together were weak, thin, and snapping one by one.
His silence was borne somewhat out of pride. I can hold it together myself. But there also hid in his mind the persistent, familiar seduction of a darker motive. . .
Deep down he wanted those tethers to break. Every fucking one. So he'd be free to embrace the many beautiful, shining shortcuts out of pain.
Reckless debauchery.
Sex.
Apathy.
Numbness.
The final struggling thread of willpower surrendered in under a week, letting loose all of his worst instincts. From that point on Eliot spent his days and nights living as though he'd joined a radical ministry dedicated to the gospel of self-destruction.
Brother Eliot Waugh, born again convert to the Holy Church of Slow Death.
It was all about crawling through pubs and opium dens, ingesting whatever substance might cloud his mind, and fucking nearly anyone who made eye contact.
It took a minute for King Margo to notice the situation, as ruling did occupy the bulk of her time and focus. But when she did, after a long and mostly circular argument, a deal was struck.
Margo would allow him to stay at Whitespire on two conditions: that he slept in the castle at least three nights a week, and he remain in Fillory. No going back to earth, and no crossing borders into neighboring Kingdoms. At all. For any reason.
A hazy-minded Eliot went along with the deal for the sake of simplicity. It ended an annoying argument, and having a guaranteed place to crash made his life easier.
None of Margo's advisors understood their King's willingness to let such a dear friend destroy himself, but all were certain that she had a plan.
You're not wrong, thought Margo as the council voiced their unanimous support for her decision. But right now it's a waiting game.
Meanwhile, about two months after she and Eliot agreed to the terms of their informal contract, both Josh and Fen came charging into the Castle out of nowhere within minutes of each other. Back from death. From the Underworld. Neither of them could recall specific details of their time there, or how they managed to return. Only that the loss of those memories had been a known and accepted pre-condition of their release. So it was more of a negotiation than a jailbreak.
"I came back at the bottom of a rocky cavern several miles east of here. It took me days and days to get out, but I did it," said Fen with a tired but radiant smile, clearly proud of herself.
"Badass!" Josh said with an impressed nod. " As for me? I blipped back to earth, like a million miles beneath the ocean. No clue how long it took me to swim to the surface, time got . . . kinda mushy."
"How did-" Margo began to ask.
"How'd I breath? Gills." Josh preemptively replied. "I mean they turned into, like . . . tattoos of gills as soon as I hit dry land, but underwater they were real. Oh, and another cool detail? I could communicate with sea creatures, even though I was on earth. Turns out octopi have a great sense of humor, jellyfish are generally shy, most whales give no fucks at all about anything not whale-related, and dolphins and seals literally call us their 'land pets.'"
"Land Pets?" Margo giggled, glad to have something whimsical to focus on. A distraction, no matter how brief, from the constant worrying over Eliot. When was the last time I laughed? She wondered.
"Yeah. Land Pets," Josh continued. "Seriously, anytime a few of them saw me I got stuck playing fetch or hide-and-seek for like hours. And last but not least: any small fish that travels in schools? Great little guys on their own, but when they're migrating? They will fuck you up if you try to slow 'em down."
"What about you, Fen?" Margo asked. "Anything interesting happen on your way outta that cavern?"
"Um . . ." Fen shifted back and forth as though embarrassed by her comparatively dull story. "I um . . . I sharpened two rocks enough to help me climb. And uh . . . for a little while a nice caterpillar crawled onto my shoulder and cheered me on. She sang me little . . . little songs and things."
"Awww," Margo and Josh cooed in unison, both smiling at her.
"That's really sweet," the High King assured her. Okay, so much for fun and sweet. Time to bring them up to speed on the Eliot situation.
Josh seemed to understand her logic, but Fen was horrified. "Why are you enabling him, Margo?!" She shrieked, her eyes welling with tears. "How could you allow this to continue under your own roof? You're his best friend, if anyone can pull him back from a cliff, it's you! And all this time you've-you've been-"
"Look sweetie," Margo interrupted, hands on her hips. "No one can pull Eliot away from cliff until he's holding onto an anvil with one foot over the edge. Not even me. So when he does get to that point-and he fucking will eventually-I'm gonna lock his ass in the dungeon, force him to detox, and we'll go from there."
Fen scoffed in disgust, still baffled by Margo's strategy. "But if he's off and about on his own so often, what if you don't know in time?!"
"Y'got eyes on him?" Asked Josh, already certain of the answer.
"Undercover spies every fuckin' place he goes." said Margo with a proud, Kingly nod. "I've the got animals helping out, too. Insects, even. Trust me, the bitch is monitored 24/7, and as soon as shit gets down to the wire? It's Dungeon Time, baby."
Fen crossed her arms and mulled over the uncomfortably risky plan. "Well . . . it's not ideal. But I guess . . . I guess you know him better. Has my room been kept in order?"
"Your stuff is gone, but the furniture's all there." Margo replied. "Dresser, mirror, bed."
The other woman slumped, resigned and in need of privacy. "Then if you'll excuse me, I need a nap."
Two days later Margo got a Bunny with the message that Eliot was on his way back to the Castle. So she summoned both Josh and Fen to the Throne Room, hoping a few familiar faces in the mix, especially ones back from the dead, might cheer him up. Particularly seeing Fen. She knew he wasn't in love with her in the traditional sense, of course, but she'd witnessed enough of their relationship to know that it was one of respect, loyalty, and partnership. Which did amount to a kind of love.
But when Eliot did finally shuffle into the room? Disheveled and reeking of . . . you name the substance, he smelled like it, his response was underwhelming.
"Heeeeey Margo," He lilted with a small wobbly smile, eyes bloodshot and pupils pinned. Then his gaze wandered between Fen and Josh. "Weren't you two dead?"
"Yeah buddy," Josh nodded. "We-"
Eliot held up a hand. "Tell me later. I'm sleepy." He gave Fen a tiny nod and wobbled down the hall toward his room.
Margo and Josh each held onto Fen while she cried, and cried, and cried.
El's gonna feel like dogshit about this once we sober him up, Margo thought angrily. He better feel like dogshit!
Not long after Fen finally calmed down and Josh excused himself to brew a nice soothing pot of tea for them all, a large spider came charging around the corner, scrambling to a halt and bowing at Margo's feet as he spoke with hurried, breathless words:
"Needle! Vial of something, and a needle!"
"FUCK!" Margo cried out, leaping to her feet.
"Does this count as foot-off-the-cliff?" Fen yelled as they both raced toward Eliot's bedroom.
"YES!"
Margo had the guards take a battering ram to the locked door, and entered to see Eliot in exactly the condition she'd expected. Slung crosswise on his bed, mumbling to himself, semi-lucid. It was awful to see, but Margo felt an odd sort of relief, certain that her best friend had now hit a low enough point to see reason. With help. After some ugliness.
Let's do this shit, she thought, I'm ready. Oh . . . but Fen . . . she stepped close to the stunned woman and spoke in a quiet, steady tone:
"It's okay if seeing him like this is too much for you," she assured. "I got it handled from here."
Fen set her jaw and squared her shoulders. "He's my husband. I'm staying."
The King shrugged with a deep sigh as a pair of guards lifted her incoherent friend by his arms and legs. "Then pull up a chair, honey, 'cause it'll be a while before his brain comes back to town."
With that, she turned to another group of guards, standing in wait for orders. "Look, we all know Eliot is a stealthy motherfucker, and if he managed to get ahold of whatever shit he's got in his veins right now without any of my spies noticing? I don't trust there isn't more of it hidden around here. Toss the whole Castle. Every goddamn inch, every crack in every wall. All of it. Go!"
With the grunt work handled, Margo and Fen sat outside Eliot's straw-matted cell with a fine chalice, pitcher of water, and loaf of bread on the table between them.
The sun was setting and torches lit by the time El had sense enough to realize his circumstances, and react with expected fury.
"LET ME OUT OF HERE!" He raged, kicking and beating the bars. "Let me THE FUCK out of here!"
"Nope," Margo responded calmly, smoothing down her dress.
"This wasn't part of our deal your majesty," he growled, glaring like she was his worst enemy in the world. "I stayed in Fillory, I didn't go to New York, I-"
"Tough shit, Captain Junkie. Your ass is stayin' behind those bars 'til we've got you nice and sober." She paused, pretending to mull it over. "And maybe a week after that too, just for good measure."
Provoking his anger like this was also part of her plan. Get him worked up right away, let him wear himself out, then he'd be easier to deal with. More malleable. Maybe even a bit reasonable, if they were lucky.
And she was braced for the storm before the calm. All his rage, his ranting. Every cutting insult he'd hurl their way, every horrible name he'd call them. Margo was prepared.
Fen, however, began to break the moment his insults turned toward the details of their marriage. 'The most boring lay ever,' 'too stupid to even train,' and so on.
"He doesn't mean any of this," Margo quietly assured her.
"Have you tried fucking her?" Eliot scoffed. "It's like sleeping pills and a mannequin had a baby!"
Margo knew Fen was unraveling. Fast. And she didn't want this fucked-up version of Eliot to have the satisfaction of actually breaking someone. "Seriously Fen, this is one show you can miss. It's only gonna get more pathetic from here on out." Margo locked the other woman in a stern gaze and nodded, hoping Fen would catch her drift.
Drift caught.
Fen clenched her fists, rose from her chair, and turned up her nose in Eliot's general direction before sweeping out of the room without a word.
After another fifteen minutes or so of yelling, El finally ran out of energy. At which point he marched to the far corner of his cell and sat down to sulk, arms crossed. "I'll never trust you again," he assured the King in a low, menacing tone. "You do know that, right?"
"Grand," said Margo with as much fake nonchalance as she could muster. "At least you'll be alive to not trust me."
They sat in silence for a long time before Eliot caved, finally asking for water and a piece of bread.
While he drained the chalice in several large gulps Margo brought over the pitcher, the rest of the bread, and sat down across from him, curling up against the bars. "Finish the whole pitcher, and I'll consider letting you go back to your room." She smiled softly. "I know how much you love those silk sheets."
Eliot gazed at her, and while the seething rage had vanished, there wasn't a single hint of warmth or friendship in his eyes. "You're lying," he whispered.
"Of course I am," Margo warbled in response, finally allowing a stream of tears to fall. "But I'd still really appreciate it if you finished the water, El." She tried again to smile, and nudged the pitcher within his reach.
He took ahold of the handle, and spoke calmly as he poured. "By the way, don't think I didn't know you had everyone spying on me, Bambi. A million babysitters aren't hard to spot. The insects though?" He held up his chalice as if giving a toast. "Now that was impressive. High marks for ingenuity."
The moment-the fucking moment he said those words a single bright, encouraging detail came screaming to forefront of Margo's attention.
"Why did we find you on top of the covers?" She asked.
"Pardon?"
"If you knew I had even the insects spying on you? You coulda hid under the covers to shoot up, right? But you were on top. Where aaaaaaaallllllll the spiders and moths could see and come tattling on your ass."
His gaze slid to the floor while Margo leaned in as close to his face as the bars between them would allow.
"You let us catch you, El." She watched her best friend's features shudder, and listened as his breath grew shallow. "You let us. Guess what that means, bitch . . ?" She paused, silently daring him to meet her eyes again.
"What?" Eliot rasped, accepting her unspoken dare. "What the fuck does it mean, Margo?"
She replied, every firm, resolute muscle beneath her skin shaking with the rush of victory: "It means you wanna live."
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
[UP NEXT: Old Eliot starts to come back, and with so much time to do nothing but think, herealizes that there might, maybe, possibly be a long shot way of bringing Quentin back. Ergo, a reason to cooperate with his forced detox, be set free, and get to work.]
