Chapter 23

(Ryan)

Reckless. Stupid. Selfish— telling Hope Mikaelson that he loved her was all of these things and then some.

And yet, he had done it anyway.

Ryan didn't think he would ever forget the look of surprise on her face— the way she froze, scarcely breathing as the confession tumbled from his lips.

Her wide eyes and trembling bottom lip caused him to panic—he feared his words had frightened her.

"It's okay," he said. "I don't expect my feelings to be returned. But I wanted you to know. I need you to know… Hope—I'm someone you can trust."

She had chosen him—for whatever reason, his safety meant something to her and he would be damned if he was ever loyal to another being on this earth.

She watched him carefully, searching his face.

"I don't know how, but somewhere along the way, I stopped looking out for just myself. Maybe it was subconscious at first, but I know it now— you are what I'm fighting for."

"Ryan," she whispered, "I—"

His heart squeezed in his chest, as it did every time she spoke his given name…

"It's okay," he said quickly. "You don't have to say anything. I know I have to earn your trust."

She gave him a smile, small but genuine—he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

In an uncharacteristic moment of spontaneity, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek, savoring the feeling of warmth it brought.

"Let's go get Landon," he said as he stood. "Let's make things right."

He held out a hand, marveling at how despite her red-rimmed eyes and weary expression, the young woman before him still radiated strength.

She accepted his hand, rising to stand beside him.

"We're finally going to face him," she said, glancing up at him. "Are you really going to help me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"You said I can trust you, but you were working with Huan— why?" she asked. Her expression was guarded but he could detect a flicker of hurt.

"It wasn't by choice," he said carefully. "I was being…manipulated."

"How?" she asked skeptically.

Ryan closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Talking about his creation was never a pleasant topic and revealing information about his token went against his every survival instinct.

"Do you know how a golem is created?" he asked reluctantly.

"Not really," she admitted.

"My fath—" he paused, correcting himself. "Malivore was created by an alliance of witches, vampires, and werewolves— but he wasn't the first golem. A golem is created using clay or another natural material combined with a ritual."

"Landon mentioned some of that," she said with a nod of understanding.

"Well, what I didn't tell Landon, or anyone, for that matter," he said pointedly. "Is that when a golem is created, a part of the original material used to create them is kept by the creator."

Hope nodded again, a look of careful consideration in her eyes.

"This material is made into a figure, a token, that is kept by the golem's creator. It can be used as a means of control by inflicting pain. It can also be used to destroy the golem—the only way to truly destroy them," he said.

The admission made him feel vulnerable as hell. Immortality was the only thing he had, the only thing his father had ever seen as a success. And now he had admitted his greatest weakness.

"Oh!" Hope exclaimed, taking him by surprise.

"That little figure you took from your apartment—it was your token. That's why you wouldn't leave without getting it out of that chest."

Ryan felt a jolt of shock course through him.

How could she possibly know about that?

"How did you know about that?" he asked, perhaps more sharply than he intended.

"You don't remember?" she asked, causing him to feel a distinct sense of disappointment. He still wasn't accustomed to feeling emotions that were not his own.

"Remember?" he asked, still confused. "When were you ever in my apartment?" he asked.

But then, he felt it—a nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

"Handcuffs?" she asked, with a smirk.

Suddenly, a memory washed over him—

Are you kidding me?" she asked in disbelief. "Triad actually equips their thugs with handcuffs?"

He ignored her.

"Or maybe you're just a cop wannabe?" she asked, mocking him.

He unclipped the handcuffs from his belt.

"No?" she asked. "So you're just a kinky bastard then?" she spat.

"If that were the case," he said, pausing as he closed the space between them, "I certainly wouldn't be wasting them on a little snoop like you," he whispered in her ear.

The strange dream from the cave came rushing back to him, it had been real.

There was his apartment, and his father, and…a ribbon?

"Clarke?" Hope asked, looking at him with concern.

"The dream in the cave…it was real?" he asked.

"You remember?" she asked, biting her bottom lip.

"Yes," he said.

"Everything?" she asked, rubbing her wrist.

"The ribbon…" he said, putting the pieces together. "I thought you were a dream," he admitted, feeling a flush creep up his neck at the memory.

"Anyway," she said with a nervous laugh. "What does the token have to do with Huan? He doesn't—" Ryan watched as recognition dawned on her face. "He has it doesn't he?" she asked.

"Yes," he said tightly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked irritably, shoving his shoulder— the contact only intensified his perception of her frustration.

"I never had a chance!" he snapped back. "Plus, I've never told anyone about my token!"

"I could have helped you!" she shot back. "I thought you betrayed me!"

"Why?" he asked. "You found Landon. You could have found Malivore and left with him."

She paused, presumably taken aback by his question.

"We help each other," she said finally. "It's just…what we do."

Ryan sighed, running an unsteady hand through his hair.

"Hope, I don't trust people easily," he said carefully, articulating each word.

"I don't either, but— I trusted you," she said quietly, tears shining in her eyes once more.

"Do you still?" he asked, heart hammering in his chest.

But before she could answer, a gust of wind came sweeping up behind them, nearly knocking them off their feet.

"What the hell?" he yelled, barely audible over the wind.

A strange fog began to settle around them, carried by the strange wind.

"Gwyllion," Hope said.

"Gwyllion?" he asked, turning to find that her statement was actually a greeting. The old hag stood before them, cloaked in rags.

"Greetings," she croaked.

(Hope)

Hope would like to say that she was surprised by the hag's sudden appearance, however, by this point, she practically considered them old friends.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"I've been watching you— both of you," she said, inclining her head in Clarke's direction.

"Why?" Clarke asked, clearly on guard.

"I haven't been completely honest with you," Gwyllion said with a shrug. "I've been waiting for a prophecy to come to pass."

Hope inhaled sharply— could it be the same one she got from the Sphinx?

Clarke shot her a questioning look; she could feel his confusion bleeding through their connection.

"I take it you've heard of it?" Gwyllion asked, a sly smile spreading across her face.

Hope reached into her pocket, pulling out the paper the Sphinx had given her for solving her riddle.

Gwyllion's smile grew impossibly wide.

"What is that?" Clarke asked, peering over her shoulder as she unfolded it.

"Something a Sphinx gave me," she answered, handing him the page to read.

"It's fortunate you're skilled at solving riddles," the hag said with a laugh. "Otherwise, you would have found the Sphinx's consequences to be… rather unpleasant," she finished, smile never leaving her face.

"What's the meaning of this?" Clarke asked, looking between her and Gwyllion.

"It means that you're going to get something of mine back," Gwyllion answered.

"Why would we do anything for you?" Clarke asked sharply.

"Clarke," she said. "Gwyllion is how I escaped from Akane's cell."

"Why?" Clarke asked, keeping his focus on Gwyllion.

"Cause a little chaos here, cause a little chaos there…it makes life more interesting," she said with a shrug.

Hope found herself growing impatient— if Gwyllion knew something about the prophecy she needed to know before she disappeared again.

"Gwyllion, what does the prophecy have to do with us?" she asked.

"I'm the 'Little King,'" Ryan said confidently. "And Landon is the 'Hill.'"

"Clever boy," said Gwyllion, giving him a wink.

"What?" Hope asked in confusion, frustrated to be left out of the conversation.

"Our names—'Ryan' is Irish for 'Little King' and 'Landon' is English in origin, meaning 'Long Hill,'" he explained, keeping a wary eye on Gwyllion.

"The second paragraph is about you," he said, avoiding eye contact. "The 'Dream Bearer' is 'Hope,' and the suns refer to Landon and I… the 'sons' of Malivore."

She glanced down, skimming the second paragraph— "Caught between the orbit of two suns; One provides warmth and the other heat…"

Was this about her damn love life?

"How do you just know what this means?" she asked Clarke, shooting him an accusatory glare.

"I'm old," he said with a shrug. When she didn't respond, he sighed. "Fine, and I'm a nerd," he admitted.

"Fine," said Hope. "But what does the rest of it mean?" she asked.

"Could be anything," Gwyllion said with a laugh. "I'm only interested in the last piece of the prophecy— the last line to be exact," she said.

"Here," she said pointing to the line with her crooked, bony finger.

It read, "Only light can cut through darkness."

"Well that's broad. So what does it mean?" Hope asked.

"It means that bastard has my sword and I want it back," Gwyllion answered with a snarl, looking more dangerous than she had ever seen her before.

"A sword?" Clarke asked. "You don't mean…the Sword of Light?" he asked, eyebrows arched in surprise.

"The what?" Hope asked, feeling her patience growing dangerously thin.

"The Claidheamh Soluis," Ryan answered. "It's a sword from Irish legend; it's usually kept by a giant or… a hag."

"Mine," said Gwyllion, possessiveness dripping from the word. "Malivore stole it and then trapped me here!" she shouted.

"This sword…why did Malivore want it?" Hope asked, a sense of unease settling over her.

"Because it can destroy him," Gwyllion answered with a smile.

"Is that true?" Hope asked, turning to Clarke, who suddenly looked extremely pale.

"Theoretically, yes," he answered. "It can be used to extinguish an external life force…"

"Like your—-" Clarke placed a finger on his lips, shooting her a look of warning.

The token. Of course, Malivore had a token!

"Silly boy, I know all about how golems are created," Gwyllion said with a roll of her eyes. "I do not care what happens to you. I only want my sword returned and if you do not punish Malivore, then I will," she said.

"Then why do you need us to get it for you?" Hope asked. "Why not retrieve it yourself?"

"Because he keeps it in that cursed lair!" she hissed. "It is sealed with his blood—only those who share his blood or given his permission may enter," she explained.

"If that's the case, then why did you try to kill Clarke when you first met us?" she asked. "You tried to lead him into a pit!"

Gwyllion grinned at that as if reminiscing over a fond memory.

"Gwyllion?" Hope asked, trying to regain the hag's attention.

"Retrieve the sword," she said, growing blurry around the edges.

Not again!

"No!" Hope shouted, "Do not disappear again!" Yet, unsurprisingly, it made no difference. Between one moment and the next, Gwyllion vanished in a silvery swirl of mist.

"Come on," said Clarke, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Let's go find a sword and kill my dad."

"Sword of Light", or "Shining Sword", or "a white glaive of light", is a trope object that appears in a number of Irish and Scottish Gaelic folktales.

"The folk tales featuring the claidheamh soluis typically compels the hero to perform (three) sets of tasks, aided by helpers, who may be a servant woman, "helpful animal companions", or some other supernatural being. The majority of are also bridal quests.

The sword's keeper is usually a giant (gruagach, fermór) or hag (cailleach), who oftentimes cannot be defeated except by some secret means. Thus the hero or helper may resort to the sword of light as the only effective weapon against this enemy. But often the sword is not enough, and the supernatural enemy has to be attacked on a single vulnerable spot on his body. The weak spot, moreover, may be an external soul"