Another chapter under 9,000 words! It's so beautiful! (At least it's under 9,000 according to Archive of Our Own, and Fanfic weirdly takes contractions and makes them into separate words so its word count is hardly to be trusted).

Of course these last three chapters are short to make up for the fact that the next chapter is 15,000 words, hehehehe…

:)

When Finnegan and Selina returned, Dearil was now in Selina's arms. She was wearing a flowing dress with a gradient color pattern that went from a dark red to a purple that went well with her current hair color. It was short and simple, with a bateau neckline and a drop-waist that fell to Dearil's hips rather than her actual waist. The end of the skirt flowed loosely down to about knee-length, with black legging shorts peeking out from beneath. Draped around her shoulders was one of the black Centurion cloaks that shimmered a dark blue like Kieran's hair at the right angles, pinned up at the shoulder with a ruby gem rather than a Centurion pin.

"Fits like charm," Selina announced proudly. "And the Centurion cloak should help ward off dirt and blood. I've cloaked the garb as best I can to be faerie-friendly."

"Our first task is to get to Val and see if she can get F - Dearil's memories back," Finn said. "To recap, Dearil has had her memories wiped a previous occasion, along with the memories of every other person who ever knew her during that time."

"Correct. This Dearil here is the original - right up until the point where she made a demon deal to become Fionn. You could say she is the crossroads between Fionn and Lorcan Dearil - the lost Dearil we must restore."

"Kieran." The dark faerie looked up at Finnegan. Finnegan could hardly stand to look at the sorrow in Kieran's eyes, because he knew that they were reflecting his own. But stare at them, he did. Unwavering. "Will you stay with us? At least until we figure out what to do with Dearil and how to get Fionn back."

Kieran hesitated. He had a carefully balanced respect for Finnegan, and at the same time he still saw within him the arrogance of Shadowhunters - no matter how rebellious he was to their Law.

On top of that, Kieran still wasn't sure how he felt about Dearil. This girl was not responsible for killing his mother, and yet the sting of blame still pulsed within him. He wanted someone to hate, though he knew that hate would do nothing for him. Mark had not forgiven him, but at the very least he knew that Mark left open the possibility of them meeting again.

Even so, he was alone. He still clung to the threads of family left in the wake of the blanket of security that had once surrounded him, but he had to accept that he was alone and he needed to deal with that. He had to be self-sufficient - more than that, he was now responsible for taking care of Dearil.

Dearil's eyes were ruby red, not a trace of even the black eye that Fionn had shared with Kieran before they had joined the Hunt. Dearil was not under the service of Gwyn ap Nudd, but Malcolm had transformed her into this to deliver her to the Unseelie Court, meaning that Kieran would be wise not to finish Malcolm's job for him. And yet, would she be any safer in the hands of the Nephilim? Though Finnegan and Selina were not supporters of the Cold Peace, they were still under the Clave's jurisdiction, and any aiding of Dearil would be met with punishment.

"If she is willing, I will bring her to Gwyn," Kieran said. "She is not of the Hunt, and Gwyn would likely not accept her as one of his warriors. But he can aid in finding her safety within Faerieland, perhaps in the Seelie Court."

"And…Fionn?"

"If there are memories to be returned to Dearil, then you may proceed. Others are involved in this memory wipe, many others who once knew her during this period now absent in history. It is not my place to deny them the right to know of this missing past. I will aid in the recovery of Fionn Flann's memories only should your warlock gather the proper plans to do so. There must not be 'we shall see' or 'we can only hope.' Regardless, I must return to the Wild Hunt soon, else Gwyn will begin the search for a deserter in both me and Mark."

"Then we get Dearil to Val, restore the memories, and then…you take her to the Hunt," Selina said.

"What? Selina-"

"She's safer in Faerie than here with us. We can't just hide her in the Institute, Finn. We'll tell PR about her and have their branch in Faerie look after her."

"But-"

"I will use our means of communication to call upon you," Kieran said. "When Dearil has found her place, I will be the first to inform you of her current situation. You may visit her as you please, though she will likely know not of your person."

"Meaning you're going to have to build your relationship anew," Selina agreed. "Friendship, anything more than that, it doesn't matter. Regardless, she doesn't know you. If we get Fionn back, then all will be restored, but until then, you need to face the idea that you might need to treat Dearil like a stranger."

Finnegan took a deep breath and held down his urge to scream at the world. At least they had a plan and they had mostly comprehended the situation. "Then let's head over to Veon's place and check if there are updates. If we haven't found a plan by dusk, you can return to the Hunt and explain things to Gwyn."

Kieran nodded. At least Kieran wasn't actively against working with them after everything that happened, but Finn still felt like he was walking on pins and needles with the faerie. He was hard to read and also bared his soul on full display as if daring anyone watching to comment on it so that he'd have an excuse to punch them.

"Then let's go before something else blows up in California," Selina said. "Lord knows what can happen just when you think you've got a reprieve."

"You're going searching for Malcolm's body?" Merida asked.

"And the Black Volume," Jem agreed.

He and Tessa had shown up at Johnny Rook's place just in time to save his son, Kit Rook, from being eaten by Mantids. Once Malcolm had died, the wards around Johnny's place had gone down and the demons had come. Kit had managed to be saved by texting Emma with his dad's phone - thankfully Johnny hadn't deleted Emma's number out of spite after their last…dodgy encounter. Johnny Rook had been torn apart and eaten by the demons in front of his son.

Emma and Tessa had described Kit as being a Shadowhunter, though the boy tried to deny it. He had reflexes and strength akin to one with angel blood, and when Kit had tried to open the door of the Institute in an effort to prove he wasn't a Shadowhunter, it had popped open easily.

Kit had run and locked himself in one of the rooms threatening to kill anyone who tried to get inside. It was understandable. He'd just lost his father, after all. Johnny Rook was a stubborn man, but in the end he did care for Kit, and Kit lost his only parental figure - the one who had taught him all about the world, no matter how cynical his advice was. Kit was defensive against Shadowhunters because of his father's teachings, even if he was supposedly a Shadowhunter himself and was coming to terms with it, slowly but surely.

Jem had explained the story. Years ago, Tobias Herondale was convicted of desertion. He was sentenced to death, but he could not be found, so the sentence was carried out on his wife instead. She was pregnant. A warlock, Catarina Loss, smuggled the baby to safety in the New World. Tessa used to be Tessa Herondale - she knew of Tobias; his story was a legend of horror. But only a few years ago she was she told by Catarina of the survival of the child. Jem and Tessa decided to find out what had become of the Herondale line. Much searching led them to Johnny Rook - or rather, Jonathan Herondale - and subsequently his son: Christopher Jonathan Herondale, also known as Kit Rook.

"Even leagues underwater, a book like that can still cause us trouble," Jem went on.

Merida nodded. "I'll have to tell the Scholomance about this, you know. They'll want that Black Volume in the Clave's hands. And I can't just order the Centurions not to act if we're given orders from the Clave."

Jem nodded gravely. "I know they'll be getting involved in this soon enough. Tessa and I aren't Shadowhunters, despite the technicalities in play. In the end, it really is better that the Clave be the ones to look into something so dangerous."

"I'm sorry about Malcolm, by the way. I know he was your friend."

"People are more than one thing. Warlocks, no less. I would not even hesitate to say that Malcolm once did much good, before he did evil. It is one of the great lessons of growing up, learning that people can do both."

"The Clave despises love because love is something human beings feel. That's why they make all those Laws, about people not falling in love with Downworlders, or with their parabatai."

"The Clave can be awful. Hidebound and cruel. But some of the things they do are rooted in history. The parabatai Law, for instance. I'm not sure about the access you get in the Scholomance. Do you know about it?"

Merida nodded. "I'm in the First Company." The very best of the graduating class from the Scholomance. "Only a few know, not even the parabatai themselves. Getting my hands on the information wasn't…ideal. But I have my ways. The Silent Brothers, the Consul…I understand the reason why this is so classified, but it still seems risky not to at least tell parabatai after they've already made their oaths."

"The ritual of the parabatai was created so that two Shadowhunters could be stronger together than they were apart. It has always been one of our most powerful weapons. Not everyone has a parabatai, but the fact that they exist is part of what makes Nephilim what they are. Without them, we would be infinitely weaker, in ways it is forbidden for me even to explain. Ideally, the ceremony increases each parabatai's power - runes given to each other are stronger - and the closer the personal bond, the greater the power."

Merida nodded and continued. "Not long after the ritual had been in use for some generations, it was discovered that if the bond was too close, if it tipped into romantic love - then it would begin to warp and change the kind of power that was generated by the spell. One-sided love, a crush even, all that seems to pass by the rule - but real, requited, romantic love? It has a terrible cost."

Jem nodded, his voice low. "Their power would grow. The runes they created would be unlike any others. They would begin to wield magic as warlocks do. But Nephilim are not meant to be magicians for a reason. Eventually, the power would make them mad, until they became as monsters. They would destroy their families, the others they loved. Death would surround them until eventually they died themselves."

"It was meant to be weaponized, you know." Jem glanced at Merida. She was staring out the window of the Institute as the sun rose and dawn swallowed the land. "Long ago, power like that was in the hands of any Nephilim that thought they could survive the process - and not a lot did. Back when demons roamed the world freely during the initial invasion, Shadowhunters needed that kind of power to stand a chance. Parabatai had a higher chance of success of surviving, and love was a bond that spurred the connection to be more potent. Then, when the demons were defeated - the big ones that required the dangerous Nephilim to fight them - and there was no more need for such power. Nephilim only caused more destruction than they did peace, trying to contain destructive power meant to fight a losing battle. The practice of wielding that power died out as peace began to spread."

"Only parabatai risk awakening it unintentionally, and only through romantic love strong enough to rip them apart. And so the Clave passed the Law against parabatai falling in love, with only the ominous 'parabatai curse' as an explanation."

"Like children," Merida muttered. "Too afraid to admit the truth, putting up phantoms to scare their people into submission."

"It's power. Some would have wisely avoided the bond, but many others would have rushed to take advantage of it for the wrong reasons. Power will always attract the greedy and the weak. And there is also human nature to take into account. Being told that love is forbidden does not kill love. It strengthens it."

Merida sighed. "Reverse psychology is a bitch."

"Nephilim society is what it is thanks to the power that parabatai provide. If the Clave revealed the dangers of it, good people might not become parabatai, while bad people would jump at the opportunity. It's unfortunate, but that's just now it is."

"Isn't that basically the story of everything in life? Not the least of which being the Law."

Jem smiled glancing over at Tessa who was busying herself speaking to the Blackthorns. "Sometimes things don't always go as planned. Sometimes things can't be perfect. Life throws a lot of curveballs your way, and it's up to you to make the best of it all." He didn't see Merida's glum expression.

"If only I could have your optimism."

Merida said her goodbyes and turned away. One of her eyes faded to a shade of lavender, the iris cracking like glass and glowing dimly. In her hand under her cloak, she gripped what appeared to be a golden pocketwatch.

"Yeah, sure, I can get you some underwater potions," Andraeus said into the phone. "Are you sure you wanna pursue this all on your own though, Tessa?"

"I'm not on my own - I have Jem. And we don't expect to find anything. The Clave will probably be sending out an official search party once they learn about what happened. We just need to scout the area quickly. We'll be in and out."

Andy sighed. "Fine. I'm sending over some potions now. Just be careful, Tess."

"Always."

Andy tossed his phone on the couch and gathered a few bundles of potions into a carrying package for portals. He set the destination on the portal and then tossed it through.

"You busy?" Laura asked. She poked her head in at the doorway.

"No. Is Veon doing better?"

"He stomached the soup. I explained the story on my end, but he's still having trouble recalling what happened on his end - though we really know enough. We left him to look after Val and the two of them were summoned to Malcolm's aid before we could even realize what was happening."

"Val and Max back yet?"

"They're finishing up. Val got what she needed, and they're just putting up extra wards on Malcolm's place so that no one else can get in and raid it - especially the demons. It's only temporary - they'll let theplace be ransacked by demons or Nephilim, whichever comes first, once they've gotten a proper search."

Andy couldn't help heaving another sigh. He had been doing that a lot, ever since he'd woken up. When dating and subsequently marrying a memory-demon's daughter, you had to expect there would be secrets and one-sided trust at times. But Val had been honest with him over the years. The night at the convergence wasn't the first time he'd been sucked into a memory sphere, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He and his Helian were used to Val's methods, and it was thanks to his former training and his Helian powers that he was able to bring Val back to herself at all.

He hated thinking about the sorrow he felt from her while she had been using his memory sphere to pull herself together. He hated thinking that he'd allowed that to happen, and he was also scared. Val was indeed a powerful warlock. She'd been around longer than the Covenant (the AEGIS Covenant, far older than the Accords) and was more demon than she let on. Memories were the key to even subduing deities - though Val probably would've been less successful if Andy had used his Helian's true form. But his Helian wouldn't have gotten involved in the first place, considering the limitations placed around deities by both the Covenant and fate itself.

Andy heaved another sigh, reorganizing Veon's apartment even more than he already had. Veon was tidy and kept things labeled, but Andy's anxiety was forcing his OCD to the max as he straightened things, stacked things, and propped up things-

"Ooo, they're back! Portal room!" Laura called.

He hurried over to the side room dedicated to Portals as Val and Max hopped through with a couple canvas bags of items.

"As promised." Val reached into one of the bags and pulled out a hefty wooden box. "It was hexed against intruders the last time I tried to get it, but now it's all ours. We also found some other items that might be related to Dearil."

She pulled out a plastic baggie with a few gems, a feather quill, an old worn journal, and a pony-tail of red hair sparkling with magic.

"Useful items, to be sure. But for now, do you have a plan to get Dearil back her memories?"

Val frowned. "Well it's a bit more complicated than that. In order to give Dearil back her memories, I also need to give back the memories of everyone who ever knew her. This sphere is an all or nothing effect. And since it's been so long since these memories were taken, the backlash on all of us - this is a worldwide spell, remember - might be catastrophic if done wrong. Even when it's done right, we risk getting some unwanted attention."

"Can we use some Astral magic or something to…I dunno, dampen the blow?" Maxine asked hopefully.

"I can diminish the effects within the building, perhaps, but we'd need someone stronger to keep the effects from lashing out across the world," Laura muttered. "Maybe we could get Ace to, or-"

"Actually that might just be enough," Val said. "This building will be the epicenter of the spell, so nullifying its effects will be the most important. Everyone else who played a significant part in Dearil's life will maybe have a small headache upon her memories returning, but nothing as explosive as this building might become. If you can mitigate the damage here, then everything else should be fine."

"You've got a plan for reversing the memory spell?"

"Of course."

"Well that's great!" Laura exclaimed. "Because guess who just arrived?"

-TTOT-

"It's not a very fey-like outfit," Veon said. "But she does look beautiful."

"Your standards of unconscious women do concern me," Selina quipped.

"Hey, I'm just speaking a universal truth. Besides, I've got…light memories of Dearil from the madness Malcolm instilled upon me."

Selina had been ready to quip to Veon about his wording, but her face fell at Veon's ending statement. She moved to sit on the side of his bed, reaching out her hand to his forehead. "You should get more rest. Val still needs a little more time for her spell."

"I've had three days of mostly sleeping, Selina. I'm fine."

Even as he said that, his human skin was still pale and even his patches of scales had lost their shimmer. Not to mention the fact that his scales took up most of his skin at that point. Val had explained that Malcolm had made her unleash a half-feral form of Veon's. He had a full transformation, completely scaled and unrecognizable, Val said.

She'd seen how bad Veon could get in that form, and even Malcolm knew that having Val push him into that state would make him uncontrollable even by her - he would lose his mind and basically become all instinct; there'd be nothing for Val to even control. There was a reason that reptiles can't actually be trained; their brains don't have any higher functioning parts beyond the basic survival instincts of wait, attack, eat. But while regular reptiles just kinda lounge around and eat food they can get, only moving when they wanted a temperature change, Veon's feral form would attack everything that came near. He'd been raised in a tunnel system when he'd been a child in feral form, only attacking and eating. As an adult, only Val knew the kind of damage he'd wreak.

"Do you want something else to eat or drink?"

"I'm fine, Selina."

"Okay. It's just when I'm anxious I need to do something. Missions, cleaning, you name it. And I tend to talk a lot about stuff sometimes. It just feels awkward doing nothing."

He released a breathy chuckle. He sounded exhausted. "It's fine. That's how most of us are at times. Andraeus doesn't move things around, but he obsessively straightens everything."

"I'd wager Finn's juggling knives in the other room," Selina realized. "I should check on him."

Dearil was in one of the other guest bedrooms (Veon's apartment had three guest bedrooms, and Selina once again wondered why Veon didn't just live in a mansion like Malcolm had).

Selina noticed that in the living room, Andraeus had lined up a collection of coins on the fireplace mantel and was currently straightening some candles so that they were perfectly symmetrical and the beads wrapped around them were straight. So Andy became a cleaner when he was stressed, eh?

She headed down the hall and to Dearil's room, where Finn and Kieran were watching over her. Kieran was clearly out of place, looking anxious like he wanted nothing more than to get out of here. There was a constant question in his eyes, as though he was asking 'Why am I still here? Why did I even come here in the first place?' Then he spared a glance at Dearil in the bed and his shoulders slumped in defeat, submitting to his fate that he'd be here a while longer. At least until she woke up. At least until then.

"She's woken up a couple times, but she's hardly been lucid," Finn explained.

"Getting the memories ripped out of her so forcefully probably hurt her," Selina said.

Dearil's eyes were half open as she lay on the guest bed, wrapped in her Centurion cloak. "Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi."

"She's counting?"

"In my youth, Fionn would count to me in order to aid in my focus and tame my emotions," Kieran explained. "Our mother did such for him as a child in turn."

"Naoi. Ochd. Seachd. Sia. Còig. Ceithir. Trì. Dhà. Aon."

"Val's almost ready to perform the spell."

"Max says that Dearil's in a state of limbo at the moment. Kinda like her mind has been paused and it just needs a small jolt to start her up again. Like a defibrillator, but for her mental state. Like you said, Malcolm ripped away her memories so forcefully that she's kinda just…frozen from the shock."

"But she'll be fine. She'll be up by tomorrow, or so Val says. Well, the spell will be done. How well she'll be will depend."

He nodded. He glanced down at her. Her head was exposed, as well as her lower calves and below - which were bare of any shoes or socks. She had wrapped her long Centurion cloak around her tightly in her sleep. "She's so small…" he muttered.

"Well she transformed into Fionn, what? Twenty years ago? When Kieran was a baby?"

Kieran nodded in confirmation, but he seemed too tired to speak up.

"Maybe she's just younger."

"Maybe," Finn agreed.

He didn't know how to describe it, but he had this weird urge to wrap her in his arms and hug her. It was like staring at a cute stuffed animal that you just wanted to squeeze impulsively. But that would be really weird. And possibly pedophilic if she were now underage.

Selina seemed to recognize what he was feeling (stupid parabatai) and raised an eyebrow at him, but she didn't say a word.

"Okay!" Val called from the hall. "We're ready to go!"

Finn cleared his throat and stood. "Let's go help get set up."

"Right."

-TTOT-

"It looks like water."

"It basically is. But with a little more kick to it. Don't drink it, by the way - you might dissolve your…everything."

Val set the large memory sphere, swirling with silver-white iridescent energy, at the center of a large bowl of what appeared to be water. The moment the sphere touched it, Val ran her hand along the rim and muttered some Latin words, and the 'water' became opaque like some kind of liquid metal.

"Okay, not water," Finn confirmed.

They were all gathered in Dearil's guest room, even Veon. It was a spacious room, so there was plenty of room, and yet the attention felt oppressive. No eyes were on him, but Finn felt claustrophobic.

"Andy?" Val prompted.

She and her husband stood on either side of the bowl and hovered their hands above it. The liquid metal within began to tremble as their hands started to glow. The energy sphere began to react, pulsing with colorful light as the wisps of energy within started swirling around violently.

"Laura? Max?"

Max held her hands up and the air within the room seemed to freeze. Laura took a deep breath and began to sing a hymn that rippled through the air like waves. It was a calming melody, and the light within the sphere began to glow brighter. The metallic water began to swirl around it, forming a mini-water spout. Pulling their hands in, Val and Andy forced the metallic water to surround and descend, condensing around the memory sphere and then absorbing into it. The sphere rippled like a living creature - or many living creatures - were trying to escape.

"Okay, brace yourselves!"

Val and Andy threw their arms up and outwards and the sphere exploded. The metallic water illuminated with a blinding light and began expanding in all directions. Finn put his hands up instinctively and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the wave of water ripple past him. He sucked in a deep breath - like one of those dreams where he was underwater but he realized he could still breathe properly.

Finn peeked his head through the Sanctuary doors and saw his mother and the Head speaking to someone. It was a warlock and a Seelie. Finn had never seen them before in real life. He could hardly tell which is which. Both were beautiful, one with sparkling scales lining his skin and the other with shimmering dark maroon hair that seemed to flow like a waterfall of lava. He could only tell that the scaled one was a man by his height and assertive, formal stance, but the other one was more ambiguous and almost hiding behind the man.

Finn slipped into the Sanctuary and met with the fiery-haired girl alone. She sat on the tile floor, barefoot with only a matching red dress that swept down to her knees. Her eyes were bright like rubies as she scanned him curiously. She had never seen a human child before, she said, and this was her first time meeting Nephilim.

Finn snuck into the Sanctuary, night after night, bringing a sandwich for her sometimes. They spent hours talking. Friends. Yes, she was a good friend. He'd never had a friend that was a Downworlder. She'd never had a friend before, period.

He snuck her into the Institute, giving her permission to pass onto the protected grounds. She needed to speak to his mom or she'd never be able to leave the Sanctuary. She took a vow, she said. He didn't want her to go, but he wanted to help his friend.

What happened?

Yes, he had helped her, she said. He was glad. Will you still be my friend? Will you come back? Sure. If I can, she said.

Finn sucked in a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been deprived of. He opened his eyes and looked around frantically, trying to remember where he was.

A room. A bedroom? Veon's place. They'd tried to restore her memories. Did it work?

"Did it work?" Selina asked, reading his mind.

Kieran shrugged. He was sitting on the chair he had been before at the bedside, completely unmoved and staring down at his sister. "I've no memories to restore of Dearil."

Laura was kneeling on the carpet by what Finn realized was Veon. "He has a lot of memories from Dearil, and with Malcolm interfering, his gears have kinda been jolted back into position. He's fine, just processing it all."

Veon held his head, but he didn't seem unconscious. Selina helped him lay on a loveseat to rest while Max and Andy cleaned up the tray of ingredients and the bowl of the weird liquid metal and left the room to dispose of it safely.

"Andy adjusted quickly because one, he's a Helian, and two, he's married to me," Val explained. "He has his own memories of Dearil."

Finn went to the bed and studied Dearil. She had stopped muttering in her sleep, and she had closed her eyes, relaxed.

"She'll be up soon," Val assured him. "Try not to scare her, all right? Remember, she doesn't know you two."

Veon shook his head. "But she knows me. In fact, she was my ward - I was responsible for her for years." He smiled fondly. "She's a fiery one, that's for sure. But she bloomed into a beautiful woman." His face fell, slowly. "Then…then she left. And I lost even my memories of her…"

Selina gripped his hand with hers. "I'm sorry. I know it was painful."

Veon's eyes were unfocused. He seemed to be gazing somewhere far beyond - out to the sea, down into the depths where Malcolm Fade had been killed and sucked to the bottom. "A part of me understands Malcolm, having his loved one ripped away so terribly. The other part of me…" Two layers of eyelids blinked across his gaze, the first horizontal, and the second the normal vertical. "The other part of me wants to dive into that ocean, revive him just so that I can kill him again for taking her away from me."

Selina scooted beside him on the loveseat. "You really cared about her, didn't you?"

"I loved her like family. I wanted to stay with her forever…"

"Mmm…" Dearil grunted. Her brow pinched and her eyelids fluttered, as though she was straining to wake up.

"Dearil?"

-TTOT-

Dearil was standing in a ring of fire.

The dark fire crackled around her. Before her stood a child who was definitely not a child. Its smile was so sinister, full of mirth at Dearil's desperation.

"Is that your wish?"

The fire swirled around her. Dearil had never been afraid of fire, and yet still she cowered in fear.

"What are you willing to give?"

Dearil couldn't hear her own voice, but she knew she was shouting. She knew she was crying. She knew she was desperate and she had so little to bargain with and also that she couldn't go back now even if she wanted to. She'd gone into this knowing how futile it could be, but she didn't care. She was begging and no longer worried about her words and how regal or confident she spoke. She would give whatever it took, if only she was given the chance. For her mother's smile, for her brother's life.

"Then we have a deal."

The fire closed in, and Dearil was wracked with pain. Her entire body was consumed, and she thought to herself that this was what it meant to burn. She felt like all the bones in her body were breaking, that her very skin was being ripped apart and sewn back on, that her muscles were tearing and rebuilding.

'I'm going to die,' she thought to herself.

Dearil's eyes snapped open and she was blinded by light.

Her body was throbbing, but it was quickly fading with her drowsiness. It was just phantom pains. Just a dream. A really painful dream. A really realistic, painful dream.

She felt warmth surrounding her - not heal like fire, but a warm blanket. No, a cloak. Her feet were exposed, but that's mostly because she was bunching up the cloak in her arms. Her vision was blurry as she tried to blink away the sleep.

The first thing she saw was a beautiful shade of orange. She'd never seen it before, not on a living being. As her vision focused, she saw shimmering afterimages of shapes she had studied before. A black mark peeked out from beneath the collar. Where had she seen it before? The word was just on the top of her tongue.

"Angel…"

She reached up to touch it. She had probably died, hadn't she? As her eyes cleared, she saw little dots covering pale skin. It was foreign, it was beautiful.

Warm. Living. Her fingers touched living flesh, though it was rougher than smooth faerie skin that she was used to. Rough, calloused hands touched hers as she cupped their face. She'd never felt someone with calloused hands before.

He was talking to her. His voice was rough, like the rest of him. It was definitely a he. His voice was so beautiful. Could she hear him? Yes…? Could she understand? No…no it was just syllables. Another language? She wasn't conscious enough to see if she could translate. She could just barely make out her name on his tongue, and it was so nice. She hated that name normally, but she'd never heard it in such a…different voice, rough but trying to be so gentle.

"Dearil…?"

She saw something else.

Blue. Calming waves. Dearil exhaled. Her mother's scent, mixed with the wildness of freedom.

Her mother?

No…if Dearil was dead, her mother…!

She flinched and forced herself to move. Arms, legs, head, torso. She still had her body.

She sat up quickly and began to pat herself down. Her vision was clearing, and she wiped her eyes just for good measure. Her hands were the same, so were her feet. She held her hand to her chest, which remained feminine as ever - though her chest was bound by something underneath her garments.

Speaking of her garments, she was wearing a dress, but it didn't feel like anything she'd ever worn before. The cloak around her was smooth and warm yet durable, and though it worked well as a sleeping blanket, it clearly wasn't designed to be that way.

"Where…?"

Her throat was scratchy and dry and it pained her as she choked out a single word.

The angel at her side turned away and when he returned he held a clear container of water. Dearil took it without pausing and drank. Though water could burn her if it were too cold, her mouth could usually tolerate water - which was good because she needed to drink it in order to survive. By the time it reached her throat, her internal body temperature had usually risen enough to prevent it from bothering her.

Her body cried out in relief at the fluid, but she quickly felt sick from swallowing too quickly. Not wanting to spit it out, she held it in her mouth and swallowed it bit by bit.

The angel was talking to her again, and this time she started to make out words. She knew his language, she was sure, and she tried to translate a few words.

'Ideal.'
'Water.'
'Food?'

The last one was definitely a question.

Her stomach was growling in protest. She was clearly so hungry that no food sounded like it would stay down.

How long had she been unconscious? Where was she? Who was this angel?

"Where hast thine clan upon this domain hath taken mine?"

Based on the confused reactions, she had probably said that wrong.

"You're safe," the same Shadowhunter from before said. "Do you know who I am?"

"Nary a glance."

The disappointment in his eyes was blatantly on display, though he didn't seem surprised.

"Dearil, you are safe. You crave sustenance, yes? Do you feel any pain?"

Blue. The voice was definitely smoother, smooth as a fey's voice - and in her native tongue, no less. The faerie had bi-colored eyes that she had only seen very few times: the eyes of a faerie under Gwyn ap Nudd of the Wild Hunt. Upon closer inspection, she saw it was a male. Not her mother.

She sighed with relief, but then she remembered what had happened before she had passed out.

Her father's ultimatum, her desperation, her flight, the warlock, the fiery circle, the demon deal.

"How long hast mine sleep been upon me?!" she demanded.

"Easy." The angel took her wrists and held them together, easing them into her lap. He had a heavy accent, akin to his language.

She tried to recall the human language he used. She could speak it, she could. Just calm down and focus. Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi. Naoi. Ochd. Seachd. Sia. Còig. Ceithir. Trì. Dhà. Aon. She focused on the proper dialect and took a deep breath before she spoke again.

"How long? What time has passed as I slept?"

"You've been out for a few days."

Out? Ugh, dialects! Humans had so many odd vernaculars.

Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi.

He says the word 'days.' Days. Definitely plural. That was too long!

Dearil pushed away the angel (his skin was so different than hers; she felt an urge to run her hand along the rough surface just to feel it in full) and moved her feet underneath her. She was in a bed. Good, she knew what a bed was. She swung her legs over the edge and then pushed herself to her feet.

She was surprised to know her legs seemed to be rebelling against her as she collapsed to soft grass below. Human grass? Inside a building. It was so odd!

"Hey, hey! Woah, okay, slow down. You haven't eaten or drank anything in a while and your muscles might be atrophied!" She was hauled up by strong arms and plopped back onto the soft human bed. Did she mention that the human bed was soft?

There was a part of Dearil that wanted to lie back down and fall asleep, but she let adrenaline push her onwards. "You must let me depart! I have dallied too long! My father must not know I fled the kingdom! My family will suffer reprisal for my actions! Please you must let me depart!"

Dearil fought to pass the angel, but he was too strong. She recognized words about muscles (strength) and atrophy (decay). She admittedly felt extremely weak - not to mention her stomach was crying out in protest.

"Hyuck!"

She clapped a hand over her mouth as her stomach contracted suddenly, forcing a noise out of her mouth.

The angel placed his hand over his mouth, but there didn't seem to be horror in his eyes as if Dearil had shown evidence of something terrible…

"By the Angel, that was adorable," he muttered quickly and quietly so that Dearil had to take extra time to translate.

"Finn! Don't laugh at her hiccups!" Another angel, this time a woman with pale hair descended on Dearil. "Okay, little one, please calm yourself." She spoke slowly, allowing Dearil to translate her words. "You are in no danger. You need food before you will go anywhere. You drank water very quickly, so you will hiccup for some time. It's not dangerous. You must relax."

"Hyuck!" Dearil tried to hold it down. She did. But her stomach clench was more powerful than her determination, it seemed.

The first fiery angel with the dots on his skin began to laugh. And not in a menacing way, enjoying her suffering. He seemed genuinely pleased. The second angel frowned and pushed the first one over off the bed and to the floor with a thud. Good for him! He deserved it!

"I'm sorry about my parabatai." Dearil had heard that word before, in her studies of Nephilim and Shadowhunters. That was a bonded Nephilim, yes? She was right to call them angels. "Call me Selina. You may call him Finnegan or Finn. We wish to help. What is it that you are so panicked about?"

Dearil took a deep breath (which was promptly interrupted by another hiccup). Her entire body was trembling from fatigue. Her rush of adrenaline wouldn't be able to keep her going much longer. "I must return to the Unseelie Court. My excursion was not granted permission, and should my father learn of my departure he will have my mother executed! Please, you must let me depart!"

The second angel took her wrists as she tried to move, just like the first one had. "You are in no condition to be traveling."

Dearil squirmed to get free, but the female angel's grip was as tight as the others' had been. "Please, my mother is with child! Not one but two lives may perish should I fail to return!"

"Your mother is dead." The faerie of the Wild Hunt. A creature who could speak no untruths. Dearil felt her entire body seize at his words.

No…no, after all Dearil had been through, her mother couldn't be gone just like that! But Dearil had grown up in a world where there was no such thing as untruths. Even if she was surrounded by outsider angels, angels who could lie, it was a faerie who spoke the words. What had she last said to her mother? Her mother didn't even know she had left the Court! Her smile…her laughter…her love…Dearil had let it fade. It was her fault. She came out here, defied her father, took that risk…and now her mother was dead.

While her mind told her it was true, her body resisted. Pain flared in her core, her muscles tightened, her breath hitched (or maybe that was just the hiccups). She couldn't breathe. Why wouldn't her lungs work? She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but her voice wouldn't escape. Her entire body hurt. It hurt. 'Help me,' she wanted to say. 'Make the nightmare stop.'

"Dearil? Dearil, hey, stay with me!"

His hands were gripping hers, the angel's. He pulled her trembling body close to his, and Dearil felt warmth. Her skin felt cold against his - odd, considering her body temperature was always far beyond her peers. She felt him hold her tight as her body trembled and seized, pressed against his chest.

"Kieran! You can't just say that while she's in such a delicate state!"

Kieran, the faerie of bi-colored eyes, did not look chastised. "It is a truth she must confront. She seemed eager to flee to her demise had she not been informed." Even so, there was guilt hidden deep within his mismatched eyes.

She couldn't close her eyes, but she could see the little dots on his arm among the faded runes of the Angel. Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi. He had so many. Dearil tried to focus on counting them all.

"Aon. Dhà. Trì. Ceithir. Còig. Sia. Seachd. Ochd. Naoi." Finn hoped he'd pronounced the words right. He could sing random notes, but pronouncing Faerie language wasn't easy. Fionn had given him mini-lessons on some basic words, but the syllables were difficult to stick in his brain, let alone pronounce. He just didn't have enough experience.

But he felt Dearil tighten her grip around him, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Her hiccups merged with the shaking of her entire body, and like the tremors, she was doing her best to suppress them forcefully.

He held her and sung like her mother had. She did not have the time to question where he had learned to sing to her like that, how he knew it would help. He had a pretty voice - for an angel.

Finn gently stroked her hair and gave her plenty of time to slowly compose herself. He knew that it wasn't easy, that it was both mentally and physically exhausting to pull back from a panic attack. He'd had his own fair share of them when he was little, and it was his mother who had helped him manage it as a child. Once she was gone, it had been Merida and Selina, and then his Downworlder friends. It had been a long time with a large group of support that helped him over the years. Finn wondered how many people Dearil had ever had in her life to help her.

It took a great deal of time for her trembling to stop. She seemed more upset with herself than anyone else was. She tried speaking, but nothing came out but a whimper.

"Shh, don't speak if it hurts to. Take all the time you need."

Veon and Val were giving frantic hand signs in the background, and though Finn didn't know mundane sign language, he was pretty sure the sarcastic eye roll meant their erratic waving wasn't any official language and they were having a few miscommunications. The two warlocks gave a 'Be right back' and they rushed away.

By the time Dearil finally seemed stable (and Finn didn't think that she was, but she persisted), Veon had returned with some food on a tray and a stuffed bear about a foot tall with a rainbow scarf wrapped around its neck and hanging the full height of the bear.

"I brought comfort things~!" he announced.

Selina gave him a face and he shrugged, setting the tray down on the nightstand and the bear on the bed behind Dearil.

"The child," Dearil urged. "What of her newborn? What of my brother?!"

"Your brother lives, Dearil," the second angel - the one named after the moon goddess - assured her. "I promise you, I speak the truth. Your mother's son is safe from the Unseelie King at present. You needn't rush away from here to be at his side. Now, you must rest further. He will live as you eat, and he will still live when you wake."

"It is as she says," Kieran affirmed. "Eat if you are able."

She glanced down and noticed Kieran's battered white gauntlets. She dropped her head, letting her hair fall into her face. "Yes sir," she said lightly.

Selina helped Dearil sit back, adjusting the pillows to help her sit up, and then Veon eased the tray (built for breakfast-in-bed situations, it seemed) onto her lap.

"Hello, little gem," he said carefully.

Ruby eyes rose up Veon's scaled arm and to his face. "Warlock," she realized, calling him by his old code name that seemed so far in the past now.

"A lot has happened, young Faerie. I will explain, but first you must try to eat. For now, you are safe - as is your brother."

Dearil nodded. Her hand was shaky as she reached for the spoon. Veon reached out and wrapped his hand around hers, his scales flickering at the touch of her skin. He took the utensil from her and dipped it into the thick stew he made.

"I brewed this up specifically to help with your condition. Tell me if it tastes bad or doesn't wanna go down."

She nodded and allowed him to feed her. She looked strained as she swallowed, but she accepted another spoonful, and then another. Slowly, the color started to return to her face and the unconscious shaking in her tense muscles began to relax.

"Please tell me what has happened," Dearil urged.

"First tell me what you remember."

"I ran from the Unseelie Court in light of my father's ultimatum. I asked of you, Warlock, to do what I cannot - give me a body that would be stronger, strong enough to tame an Astral."

"An Astral?" Selina repeated.

Dearil nodded lightly. "A steed of the sky. Powerful enough to frighten even my father; for me to tame it would be the proof I need of my worth. But my father's ultimatum stipulated that should I attempt to flee, my mother would suffer in my place. He may yet interpret my coming to you, Warlock, as my choice to escape."

"You mean Zoltan, don't you? Your plan was to tame him, but you needed a male body?"

She nodded. "I…I've been helpless as I am. Of all the children of my father's court, I am one of very few daughters allowed to live. I do not know the reason, even with my father's open displeasure. His sons are strong, and I am not. His sons are accepted and respected, and I am not. I am trapped within a form I cannot accept any longer. Not when I must be the one to protect my mother's youngest child. The Astral raged against the Court, but I was drawn to it. With one of my brothers at my side, I confronted it." She held up her hand, her tremor slowly receding. She clenched it into a steady fist. "I could tame it, I realized. I can tame a god, maybe even more. If my father cannot find worth in that, then let him kill me, let me perish. Let that steed raze his lands and take from him the sons he values so greatly."

Lightning struck and thunder boomed outside; rain began pouring down, as if reacting to Dearil's words. Zoltan had gone to Dearil when she was in distress. No matter how prissy and rude the horse was, he cared enough about her to break the rules and aid her.

"You could tame him even as you are now," Veon promised. "Did you even try?"

"My father sent his forces to confront the beast. I could not get close enough - I could hardly leave my own room without confrontation. Though I managed to make my way to this world, find a warlock such as yourself, I was in no position to join the battlefield."

"So do you remember the demon deal?"

Dearil tangled her fingers together, feeling fidgety. Her head hurt just thinking about it, but she remembered the fire, her fear, her desperation, and then the exploding pain, believing she was going to die. She carefully explained, trying not to focus too hard and relapse. The last thing she needed was to embarrass herself further.

"And that's it?" Veon asked.

Dearil nodded. "I've awoken with no change upon my person. I have failed. Yet I wake in the presence of angels, demons, and even one of my father's Court. May I ask how long I have been asleep and what has transpired in the meantime?"

"A lot has happened, little gem. It is a very long story."

"Then I pray you speak with haste. My mother has perished in my time of slumber; I wish to know what other tragedies that might have befallen me. I wish to return to the Court for my younger brother and hope to evade my father's ire."

"Your brother's not in the Unseelie Court," the angel Finnegan told her.

"So my father's mercy extends the life of his youngest son, but not his presence. Banished was he? A mere child-?"

"He's not a child, anymore, Dearil," Warlock told her. "As I said, it's a long story. He's grown up; he was sent to the Wild Hunt…"

Dearil glanced over at Kieran. She knew the signs of those who were under Gwyn ap Nudd's protection and served in his Hunt. Bi-colored eyes, split by Gwyn's very blood. Donning gauntlets as a prince of the Unseelie Court and yet Dearil had no idea who he was. She knew the faces of all her brothers. There was a possibility he had stolen them, but…

The dark-haired faerie stood from his position across the room. Selina moved to let him sit opposite of the warlock on her bed. One eye was black as night, the other a shimmering silver. His hair held a sheen of blue-green among the black, which seemed to sway like the waters of the ocean. Dearil reached out and gently cupped his chin, running her fingers along his jawline. She could see her mother in him, the gentle calm that always comforted her in her darkest hours.

"Hello, Dearil Kingsdöttær. I am Kieran Kingson of the Wild Hunt."

"Hello, my little dark one. Though I suppose you are not so little anymore."

Chapter title: 'Bad Dream' by Ruelle