The Julius Deception

Or, "A Factual Description of What on Earth Happened to the Commander"

"The wings are built into this suit. A completely retractable whisper deisgn, a brand new concept in wing construction."

-Foaly, The Opal Deception, p. 71


Julius Root did not enjoy waking to the cold sprinkles of rain upon him and Lili Frond's perky voice. It reminded him that he was not, as he had been trying to convince himself, at his own house back in Haven and only dreaming the strange scenario up. As those who have been following the story thus far know, this was sadly not true. One beneficial effect of the rain was that it dulled the hurt of his burns, making quite a good natural anesthesia. There were no beneficial effects of Lili Frond.

"You have minor burns on your hands, arms, legs, chest,…"

And then the voice went on and on, describing the other not-so-tasteful places, and then the major burns and their appropriate treatment. It had been like this ever since he woke up. His best guess was that Foaly had rigged the helmet only to spurt out information when the brain waves of the wearer indicated consciousness; yet, as he was a heavy sleeper, they could have easily continued unnoticed while he dozed. Burnt or not, though, he knew that he eventually had to wake up and put his plan into action.

Following another inspection of his surroundings, he came to note that the ground was quite soft from the recent rain that had fallen and was still falling. This kind of soil would be ideal for planting, if he could just get to an ancient oak in time…He rationalized that he was somewhere near Paris, but offhand was not aware of any sites that would serve his purpose. In an inventive move, he attempted to call the Plaza using all the new (and no doubt hideously expensive) communications equipment that Foaly had installed in his suit. No response, which undoubtedly meant that the communication circuitry was fried. He sighed. Not that he'd been expecting that to work anyway. The pony's technology could only be counted on for so long, he reasoned. After all, just look at what was going on with Frond:

"The tissue near your lungs…"

It really did just come down to a fairy, his wits, and his magic. Unluckily for Root, his wits were at their end with Corporal Frond in his ears and magic was something that he did not have too much to boast about.

To keep his rapidly dwindling morale up, he reassessed the situation: he was a very tired fairy with no magic to speak of, the suit he wore was malfunctioning from the heat in E37, he could talk to no one but Corporal Frond chattered incessantly to him, the entire fairy world would probably believe him dead, and he had six ribs broken. Well, he'd been through worse. At least there weren't any gripper clamps involved this time. As much as he respected Captain Short as an officer, he wished she had chosen to rescue him from the flare somewhat less crushingly. Though, he conceded, she always did manage to take his breath away- sometimes literally, but that was beyond the point.

Frivolity aside, matters did look grim. He was badly injured and having trouble standing, with a dire need to perform the Ritual. Even if he did overcome the odds and found an ancient oak, what were the chances that it would be a full moon? Should there be one out, an emergency healing would be plausible, provided that no human saw him. With no way to reach Foaly, the LEP, or any other fairy, there was not much hope that he would be able to cover up for any mistakes. His brain dutifully cautioned him that he could no longer shield, and, being near one of the most populated Mud Men cities, he was sure to attract attention to himself.

"You are reminded that you are in the proximity of a densely populated Mud Man area. Move with caution and shield at all times."

Root snorted.

But Foaly's suits struck again- cam foil would conceal him well enough without any need for him to shield. The wings might cause problems, as he was mostly certain that he had ridden out the explosion on them. If they had gotten him this far, though…

Activating the helmet commands verbally, he ran a scan for magical hotspots in the vicinity. Corporal Frond's voice abandoned telling him about the dreadful state of his heart, and listed off several sites. Oddly enough, the nearest and most dangerous one was in the heart of Paris. The commander sighed. It was about 15 klicks away, and at night he could make it without risking sun exposure. In rain, the journey wouldn't be exactly optimal, but he needed his magic as quickly as possible and this was the only way he saw to get it back.

Knowing that the midnight venture would be murder on his ribcage, he set the wings on autopilot in the event that he passed out. Definitely not a bright idea to go zooming about in the sky without some sort of backup. After a brief examination, the wings proved to be in mediocre shape: some slight puncture from flying débris down in the chute, but still workable. He took off.

The cam foil blended him in neatly to the night sky, and though Julius Root was certain that deep purple was not his colour, he kept a straight course and headed for Paris.

Somewhere over one lake or another, Root fell asleep. He didn't care much for watching dolphins frolic- even though there were no dolphins in the waters anyway- and at first occupied himself on how he had gotten out of the octo-bonds. That particular quest for knowledge was futile, though, at least until he could concentrate without being interrupted by nasty stabs from his torso. Nodding off did not solve the mystery either, but it granted him a reprieve, which was better than nothing.

His major stroke of luck had been that the wings hadn't also chosen to malfunction. They were of a considerably higher quality than the Double Dex, as Foaly had spent a great deal of his time trying to outdo Koboi's wing design. Root felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that this ambition would have also cost Foaly quite a chunk of his budget to implement in the suits. He almost felt sorry for the centaur, then recollected that Foaly being fooled by Koboi's sensors had resulted in the possible demise of Holly. He'd have to get on the centaur's back about security again. If he got back, that was…

If Holly got back…

And for that second in time, Commander Julius Root wondered whether or not he could handle returning to the LEPrecon if Holly hadn't made it. She had seeped into every part of his life, causing him to fight to keep her in Recon in front of the Council, and protect her…though he hadn't done the greatest job of that, had he? He had no idea where she was, if she was alright, what had happened…He collected himself. For the time being, he had to concentrate on the matter at hand.

So many things could still go wrong. And as it happened, many of them did.

Root knew that he was taking a big gamble with the moon business. If there wasn't a full moon out, then he would need shelter and a whole slew of other necessities that he did not want to plan for. He would, under no circumstances, allow himself to go below ground unless he was running hot. Basic tactics (and past experiences with Mud Men) had taught him that, without magic, any fairy could be snatched and seized by the opposition to be used as a bargaining chip. He did not wish to place himself, or Haven, at jeopardy by being so careless and returning in haste.

A more infuriating and immediate problem was that he could not read his moonometer without becoming decidedly nauseous. As Paris and Mud Men civilization were soon approaching, he needed to be inconspicuous, and regurgitation mid-flight did not seem like the best option for stealth. Giving up on the moonometer, he continued towards the signal his helmet provided.

The ancient oak was right on the median of a fashionable street, surrounded by many other trees, which formed an elegant line. The commander, however, was not as interested in the ascetics of the trees compared to what lay beneath them, and swooped down for a smooth landing.

In the end, the ending was no where as near as smooth as he would have liked it. Thanks to a passing onslaught of vehicles whipping by, Root was rolled over mid-air by the resulting rebellious gusts, and sailed into the tree, further damaging the wings and doing his ribs absolutely no good. At this rate, better technology though they were, the wings were not going to be lasting very long. He disentangled himself from the clutches of the oak and flopped onto the ground with a muffled "oof". Then he began his quest for an acorn.

Working under cloudy skies was not easy. For one thing, it made finding anything, let alone an acorn, extremely difficult, especially since the acorn would be on the ground. The task was complicated by the Mud Men, as the lights shinning from the Parisian shop fronts cask dark shadows under the oak tree- precisely where the commander was looking. Due to a combination of these factors, he accidentally cut his gloved hand on a sharp shard of glass lying hidden in the darkened earth. After a few moments of feverish swearing, in which some previously unknown elfin expletives were said, he resumed searching. The helmet piously interjected that swearing in the field was most unprofessional.

This had better be the right tree, he thought venomously. Heads would roll when he got back to Recon, make no mistake.

Finally, his fingers closed around the familiar shape of the acorn, and he was able to release a sigh of relief (albeit a silent one). With a broken suit, he knew better than to take the chance that he might be overheard. He grudgingly glanced back at his wings.

No question about it, they were not going to see him through many more flights. After the crash landing he'd endured a bit more had been torn, and now he could clearly see some spots where they had melted back in the chutes. Wonderful, just wonderful. Now, not only would he be flying again and hazarding unconsciousness, but he'd also have to take care to stay aloft on faulty wings. Walking through crowded streets of Mud People just to get to a spare square of earth was not appealing, and not good for his cover. Though, if the helmet kept up like this, he might as well throw cover out the window.

"You are cautioned against flying, as your ribcage will incur serious damage should you do so."

No kidding, Root thought, prepping for flight.

"A lockdown on your wings will now be initiated-"

He nearly yelled. Foaly wouldn't really lock down his wings, would he?

Root considered the situation. Foaly, the paranoid centaur, always wearing a tinfoil hat, protecting his computers jealously, always wanting to secure things…D'Arvit.

"Override lockdown!" Root whispered feverishly. He was so close to regaining his magic; he did not need the centaur botching it up.

"Lockdown will commence…"

"Override, D'Arvit!" Now not so quietly.

"Requested override requires a password to continue. Give the password please."

A password? Why hadn't he been told? Did it count for nothing that he was the youngest-ever commander of the LEPrecon and one of Recon's most successful officers? His mind was raging, and had any other LEP officer been there, they would have remarked that Root turned one of his most brilliant shades of red.

He was exhausted and frustrated now. Knowing that a password was beyond him at this stage, Root sulked.

"Damn centaur. You're not getting any more birthday carrots fr-"

"Password accepted. Override achieved."

At once the wings speed into action on his back. Root had not been expecting so sudden a take-off, which jarred his innards unhealthily. Lili picked up from where she had left off about his overworked nervous system and the commander took to the skies once again, plotting a course for a small thicket not too far away.

Once there, he nearly dropped the acorn out of apprehension. Recovering quickly, he took a few precautions before attempting the Ritual, including tightening the neck brace on his suit to ensure his head was facing in the correct direction when his collarbone healed, and relaxing himself as much as he could. Then, with slightly quivering fingers, he dropped the acorn into a small hole in the earth and waited.

For a tense instant, nothing happened, and Root feared for the worst. As a cool wind blew through the tall grasses around him, the clouds parted, revealing a full moon.

The magic hit him completely off-guard, knocking him clear off his feet and rendering him unconsciousness to perform the healing. In a shower of blue sparks and raindrops, he fell into the field.

Lili Frond was at it again when he woke up, reminding him that he was near Paris and to take caution, but suddenly a most miraculous event occurred: she ceased speaking.

Root yelled joyfully (which the typical fairy did not catch him doing). And the excellent part about this was that he could actually yell, as his ribs and lungs were now precisely in the shape they were supposed to be in. There would be no more from Frond. That thought alone was enough to make any sane fairy cry out ecstatically. Now that priority one was completed, he could move onto finding Holly, and reaping just revenge on one Opal Koboi should he be unable to locate Captain Short…

Just as he brushed off the remnants of dirt from his suit and was about to fire up his wings again, something whooshed through the air, coming straight towards him. Before he had time to react, a sickening sound of something snapping greeted his ears. Root did not need to look down to know what had happened.

Broken ribs…oh Frond, not again…

And Lili was back, too: "You have seven broken ribs. How do you people do these things?"

Had the world not started to swim before him, Julius Root might have sworn or at least resisted. He might have even guessed who was behind this new scheme. All that registered with his slowly fading vision was the identity of the object causing him pain, magnetically attracted to the metal on his chest and his insignia. The blue sparks started to do their job, traveling everywhere along the wound. Root hissed as he was pulled forcibly off his feet.

He doubted he'd ever hated anything now so much as he hated those gripper clamps.


Author's Notes:

Alright, here's chapter two! Yes, there's a cliffhanger, but I bet people already know who's behind the clamps.

And my replies:

anon-anon-anon: We can always hope, can't we? I mean, Colfer's going to have a riot on his hands pretty soon. If all the Root-lovers out there could just form an alligance and campaign...Anyway, I completely agree with you. I'm definitely changing some stuff over here. (cackles evilly) Thanks so much for the fav! (It made my day) I hope you'll like the next chapters too!

slime frog: Wow! -fan moment- I love your story 'The Seven Deadly Sins of Holly Short' so much. (I feel so honoured that you reviewed my story. Thanks!) -end fan rant- Me too! As soon as I read about Root dying, I went all shakey and started to have a nervous breakdown. To prevent going into emotional distress, I kept reading over and over the suit description (Trypt is such a nerd) about the fireproof, shock proof, bullet proof parts, etc and then kept saying 'oh, Root'll be back soon, don't worry.' That's how I read OD. So that's also the inspiration for this fic- all my weird scenarios of what was going on with him. There's got to be hope still. Five's my lucky number! (shakes fist at Colfer) But, yes, I agree: Stalking him is the only option (mwahaha). Let's get to it!

marshall: True, very true. For the moment, the commander's on top of the world (ha ha) but he will go back under and then I guess I'll have to change that. (lol)

em: You're very welcome! Root/Holly stuff is much too rare these days. I've got 2 other ideas for RH fics that I might do when I finish this one. Y'know, you ought to come on FFN and try your hand at Root/Holly too. We need all the shippers we can get!

The Dark Empress of Eternity: I'm very glad. I hope you like this chapter, too!

siapa nama saya: I wish he would! XD But you never know- he brought back Mulch, Madam Fowl, Fowl the First, and Koboi all from seemingly permanent conditons (death, insanity, death again, coma just for a few examples) so there is still hope. Thanks for reviewing!

Thanks everyone! I'll start work on Chapter 3 soon-- the idea's in my head and I've been laughing at it far too long by myself. Even the campers are starting to think that Trypt has gone nuts. (It's dangerous to one's sanity, working at a summer camp) And as usual, review!