This was the third time this week! She woke up to find herself being held by a familiar large and fuzzy snow monster. It had its arms wrapped around her fetal form protectively. She grumbled irritably through the fur. Lying next to her was Vemahl, the lemur, snuggly curled up next to her head. The jellyfish like nymph had snuggled up against her chest, its gem dormant.
They wouldn't leave her alone. They insisted on staying with her even though it had been months since the death of her uncle. She would shake the pendant at them to call them back and they would simply stare. She wondered why they persisted on following her, on constantly keeping her so close? She couldn't tap into them like she could with Avery. Would they sometimes listen to her when she told them to do something? Yes, but not in the same knowing way the robot could. They were not her familiars. They were Gascon's… and they still had a task to fulfill, whatever that task was.
They were just following orders, his final requests, she reasoned from beneath the bulk of the yeti's arms. Apparently, that request included being snatched up from her bed and held like an infant, according to the papa sasquash. She remembered having a nightmare, but not one bad enough for her to wake up from the night before. She began to think about the other two times they reacted this way. She had had a horrible dream on those nights, too. This went beyond overprotective in her mind. She could handle a bad dream. She didn't need to be comforted like a small child. She growled into the fur again, this time waking the ape-like creature. Its eyes snapped open and looked down at her. It wined sympathetically as it loosened its arms.
"Squishy," she complained with a sour look. "Could you stop doing this? I'm not a baby," she ordered bitterly. She straightened up and winced. She rubbed her left shoulder where her wooden arm was connected. Odd… I shouldn't feel pain there, not with a cushion. She removed the left sleeve of her jacket, awaking the nymph, and looked at the crease. It looked a little inflamed but not infected. She and the two familiars stared at it for a moment, all silently trying to figure out what to do.
Gemini, she learned the nymph was called from her father, chirped and tossed her opaque white and gold gem up and down and drew closer to her left shoulder. It raised the tendrils on its cape and slid them into the crevice between her arm with a curious look. "Hey! The hell?! Stop it," she yelped, brushing over her shoulder and attempting to knock the tiny feelers out. When they withdrew, she saw pieces of dried up blades of grass. The bag had torn. She needed to replace it.
She stood up and held her left arm once she regained her footing. The lemur's ears twitched and Vemahl raised its head blearily. She lifted it and the coarse grass and hard, dried out wood scraped against her skin. She gritted her teeth and winced in pain once more as she looked the pseudo limb over. Some of the wood had started to crack from being exposed to the desert sun during the week she had traveled with Swaine. Now it had been exposed the cooler air of Hamelin over time which had worsened its condition. On top of that, daily use had bowed some of it despite the suspension she had installed.
It wouldn't last. It would crumble away before long. She wondered how long it would be before it would become unusable. This wear and tear it bared were what he had foreseen when he designed the other arm. Perhaps if there was a way to keep his memory alive it would be to bring that arm to life! She flexed the fingers like clockwork, reassuring herself that they were still there. She reached for her nightstand next to her bed. She hesitated when her eyes fell upon the metal wind up robot with two extra metal arms bolted on by her fifteen-year-old self. She had made sure that they moved with the original arms smoothly, intertwining the gears with the original internal mechanism. She never got the chance to show him how much she had improved this ancient gift.
It was a mark of progress in her engineering skills. She supposed he knew how much she'd improved when he saw the gun and her wooden arm. She let a sad smirk cross her face as she reached for the drawer, opening it to reveal his parting gift to her- to the world. She flipped through it, landing on the schematic of the arm. The page next to it listed the parts she needed. And where would she find such unique pieces, she wondered. Nothing in her previous studies of machines included them. Nothing but…
Her eyes widened as they glanced from word to word on the page. She remembered the schematics of the old machines, burnt out and long since deemed useless. Oh, but they weren't! They were so much more useful now than they ever had been! She snapped the book shut and turned around to face the unlikely trio of familiars with a grin.
She called on her robot. Avery glanced at the yeti and with a sad mechanical growl and an exchange of nods, the two had an agreement. She looked between all of them. "Well, you lot?" She held the book under the left arm and took out her own pickpocketing gun. "Ready to do an old thief proud?" With a loud chorus of excited howling and chirping, her smile widened, and she twirled the gun with a newfound enthusiasm. She left her room and headed for her uncle's.
There she would piece together her new arm. She would infuse magic into it with her left and adjust the mechanical parts with her right. Avery, handy with four arms would disassemble parts methodically or even pry them open if need be. Vemahl and Gemini were quick to pick up the small devices she needed- she'd often point them out to the creatures after taking down the blueprints and gesturing whatever housed the cog or bolt necessary. Whatever he wanted them to do, this was part of it. They spared no energy helping her create her arm.
She sighed agitatedly as she looked at the plans once more. Whatever metal she needed the case would have to be made down in the lower part of the palace where the royal blacksmiths and engineers toiled away. She couldn't wait for her father's approval… She shook her head as she looked at the scraps of dead machinations of her late uncle. They were ancient things, cobbled together by someone so much like her- an inventor, a creator. She looked at her arm, at the runes that covered it and glowed a faint magenta color- the aura of her magic. He probably made the parts by endearing his much younger self- younger than she could imagine- to the blacksmith there.
She imagined an old man laughing when he showed them the piece he needed but obliging him anyway for his creative and ambitious spirit. Whether he had actually done something like that, she didn't know. What she did know was that he had no access to magic. She, on the other hand, had magic! Fuse! That spell was a gift from the heavens to a person like her! She intended to use it.
She intended to use Rejuvenate, too, if the plans called for it! She laughed at herself when she recalled she could have just used that spell on her arm if it broke. But what was the point? It would just break continuously! And she needed something that wasn't going to catch her on fire if she cast a fireball spell with her other wand.
As she began her work on constructing the frame, the door opened. She turned and squinted as the hall light flooded the room, the lamp, her magic, Avery, and the Greater Naiad being the only sources of light she had. In the center of the light was the familiar silhouette of her father. "Huh," she squeaked.
"Lynnea…? What are you-," he began, shock filling his voice. He looked at the walls where the inventions had been. He looked down at the scraps of metal, once artifacts of his fallen brother now mangled and torn. She could sense the rage in his shadowed stare. "You- Do you know what you've done," he shouted. He stomped forward. He seethed in anger and his shoulders shook. "Have you no respect for him? Of all the people! I thought you would be the most careful," he roared, leaning forward.
"F-father," she yelped, picking up the book and holding it up to show him. "I need these parts! For my arm," she bargained. "He wanted me to build-"
"He wouldn't have wanted you to destroy his work," he threw back at her, emphasizing as he gestured to the rest of the room. "He would be furious of you!" He picked up one of the mangled gadgets. "He could never create any of these ever again!"
"So, what," she snapped, getting up from her chair. "So, what if he never creates these again?! They were failures!" She gestured to the damaged model flying machine in her father's hands. "They never worked! Now they have more purpose other than just sitting on a shelf, gathering dust!"
He stepped forward again, his hands on his hips. He scowled at her. "They are proof he was here! They are proof of his existence, his successes and his failures, Lynnea! That he wasn't a figment of legend," he lectured sternly. His tone shocked him, though he refused to show it: for a moment he sounded like his father had… how history seemed to repeat itself.
She took a blueprint and shook it at him. "This! This is proof! I can rebuild these! All of these! He even noted what needed to be-"
"That is not the point," he interjected. He finally closed his eyes and shook his head. "No," he began, raising a hand. "No, I will not have this conversation with you!"
"Well, I am! I need these parts! I need the metal from these! I need a new arm," she protested, holding the book up at him again.
"And you will," he harshly returned. "But not from here! Not from this room!"
"He wouldn't have implemented these specific parts if he didn't want-!"
"And how could you possibly begin to fathom what he wanted, Lynnea?! What do you know of Gascon?! What could you possibly know that I don't," he shouted at her. He grabbed her right arm angrily and leaned forward. "You may have known him for most of your young life, but I've known him longer," he hissed venomously.
He began to tug on her arm, pulling her unwilling form towards the door. As she resisted, he continued to yank her from the room. "You will be allowed in this room no longer," he decreed. Avery floated in front of him and he drew his wand. He cast Frostbite, effectively freezing the robot to the ceiling. As he drew closer to the door, he felt s tug on his turquoise tunic.
Marcassin looked back and noticed Squishy pulling back with its teeth. He fiercely glared at his daughter. "Stop this madness, Lynnea! Listen to your father!"
She looked in awe at the sight and looked back at the sage. "No… I can't. He's not my familiar," she responded, though a bit defiantly.
The ruler looked back in confusion at the yeti still tugging on his top. He looked at her then back at the door. The Greater Naiad drifted in front of him and, with a frown, shook its light pink head slowly.
"I… I may not have known him for as long as you, but…," she quietly began to explain. "I know he did things for a reason. He always had a reason…" She looked down for a moment in thought. "I believe…," she started again. She furrowed her brow and looked up with a determined look in her eye. "I believe he included those specific parts for a reason! He wanted those inventions to be useful in some way!" She tilted her head and a tear rolled out of her left eye. "He wanted them to still be useful! To be molded into something new! And he knew if anyone could do it, I could!"
Marcassin glanced at the floor once again. He withdrew his hand forcefully. She was right. This was Gascon all over again. Even when he considered himself a failure he pushed himself to be useful to anyone else if he could be. And here his niece was… determined to make the last invention he had planned a reality. Making something new out of the old and broken, rising up to the challenge of proving her father wrong.
He almost wished he had never uttered those words to his older brother. He almost wished she weren't so much like him, now. He knew, looking back at her, studying her, that she was aware of herself, her identity now- that she wasn't following along in either of their shadows… But she was so much like him… and it hurt. It hurt because she reminded him of his loss. It hurt because he saw that stubborn will of his brother and his long-dead father in her.
He looked away and began to make his exit. "Do what you want," he seemingly bitterly remarked. He stopped in the doorway and turned. The light illuminated part of his face. Tears fell passed a contradictory but confident smile. "Do what you've always done best, create." With that, he left, leaving behind his daughter.
She looked at the yeti and the rest of the familiars. Squishy nodded affirmatively. She walked back to the desk feeling defeated. She shook her head, the image of her father's confident smile on his face reassuring her. She would build this arm. While it would be a model conceived by her uncle, she would be the one behind its success. While she waited for Avery to break out of his icy, prison, she used her spells to make the parts she needed. She pulled parts from scrapped broken inventions and used the rest to create her new limb.
This was her… No healing abilities what so ever. She had plenty of other magic abilities to speak of… but her best ones were the ones she used to invent! She grinned as she continued to infuse each part with magic as she shaped them. She looked back at the design and smirked as she thought of other ideas even her mentor hadn't thought of. As she began to break down yet another device crucial to the success of the limb, she hesitated.
Perhaps her father was right about one thing: these were artifacts of a long dead prince. Would the device she made now out of all of these pieces amount to any of the memories they held? She didn't even know what kind of past they had once seen. Perhaps one of them had been a bonding experience between him and her father. She hadn't even stopped to consider that. She sighed heavily and continued her work on her arm. She would face it when the time came.
"What do I do, Gascon," Marcassin called, standing next to Josephine in front of the royal tomb. He had brought flowers to put in the holder in front. The older brother had been laid to rest next to the previous emperor of Hamelin. In a grim way, it was the closest they had been in a long time. "You seemed to have connected to her better than I, her own father." He laughed somberly at the reality of it all. "She'll never be a sage. I guess this is how father must have felt when he realized the same thing about you, hmm?" He tilted his head at the nameplate. "And yet… He still wanted you to be emperor." He smirked as he observed the nameplate. "But you ran away just before he died- before you even knew his true motives." He nodded with a lamenting smile. "How foolish you were- though I'm sure you figured that out when you went to the past." He chuckled at that bit of knowledge.
He sighed and looked down when there was no response from the tomb. His wife watched in silence as the sage paid his respects. "I sounded like father, today…" He laughed bitterly. "You probably would have been beside yourself, hearing me talk like that. I know you never really got along." He placed a hand on the plaque and looked at it. It had been months since his older brother's death, but he still grieved.
He shook his head. "I've thought over and over again about bringing you back," he admitted. "The spell, that forbidden spell! I thought over and over again- would it be worth it? What part would I lose, brother? What could I stand to lose… Just so you could return… Just so I could see you one final time?" He started to tremble as he pressed his head to the plate on the wall.
He felt the arms of his wife wrap around him in comfort. She knew there was nothing she could do. Nothing but comfort her king when he needed it. She missed Gascon as well, though they hardly conversed when he visited. She was often busy handling the affairs of state so the two would have time to catch up with each other. It wasn't uncommon for their daughter to also hang out with them as it gave time for some much-needed uncle and niece bonding. In a way, she supposed, she was repaying him for all his help during that year their daughter was born.
She looked on sadly at the memorial placard. She remembered, when she had the time to check up on the three of them, watching as Lynnea eagerly begged for another tale from the former thief or the eager chatting of two brothers as one exchanged more recent personal misadventures for details on the latest innovations of Hamelin. Those times were now treasured memories made rare by shortened life of a legend.
Marcassin went deathly still for a moment. When Josephine went to observe his face, she found a shocked expression- his eyes were wide, his mouth hung open, and his face was as pale as could be. "Marcassin? Are you alright," she inquired out of concern.
He raised his head suddenly, swiftly. "Something's here," he stated. "There's a presence." He looked around and reached for his scepter. "Who goes there," he shouted. He began to turn, panic filling his once sullen eyes.
Then, when he saw it, he froze. He felt his legs give out and fell to the ground. "G-Gascon," he breathed when he saw the silent apparition of the thief prince, a concerned look on his ghostly face. He seemed to chuckle and shake his head at the overreaction. He raised a finger and drew a symbol: Spirit Medium.
"Why are you here," Josephine asked, stepping forward. "What is it that you want," she wondered. She gasped and threw her hands to her mouth. "Have we wronged you in some way?" She stepped forward, a regretful and apologetic expression gracing her features. "If this is about Lynnea destroying your inventions, we'll have her stop immediately and apologize!"
He seemed to blink in confusion with a raised eyebrow. He leaned back and silently laughed at the notion with his arms crossed. He shook his head when he was through, the smirk remaining on his face. He drew the symbol again, glancing at Marcassin and holding out a hand to the side as he patiently waited for the current emperor to comply.
"My dear, he seems to want you to cast a spell," she translated as she glanced back at her still perplexed husband.
"I… I know." He looked up at the specter. He was in the form he had found him in on that fateful day, though his clothes had no indication of the wound that had killed him. He lifted himself off of the ground and wobbled, his knees still weak from the shock. Josephine caught him, and he leaned against her for a moment. Once he was sure he could support himself, he stood up straight and he reached for his wand. He drew the rune that Gascon had requested.
The ghost glowed, and he seemed to relish in the light of the spell. They could finally hear him. He sighed with relief and bowed his head reflexively, though in gratitude. "Finally. That's so much better than being silent all the time," he complained, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Brother… Gascon," Marcassin breathed, stepping forward to look at him. "I've missed you."
The former ambassador put a hand on his hip and tilted his head at the sage knowingly. "I know. You didn't get the chance to properly say goodbye, either."
"So, this is…," he deduced, knowing the answer.
The older man looked at the tomb with his formal name engraved on it. "Yeah. That's why I came back- unfinished business and all that." He smirked at his younger brother. "You'll see me and father again sometime- that I can definitely promise you. Just take care of yourself, alright?" He cast a knowing grin at the sage. "I'm sure you'll take care of Hamelin, too, while you're at it." He shrugged confidently.
He locked eyes with the dead man's. "Brother. You should see Lynnea since you're here." He stepped forward, his hands clasped in front of his chest. "Please! She needs to know-"
Gascon scoffed and rolled his eyes. "She already knows plenty! I've given her all the tools she needs." He shook his head again and crossed his arms. "I just came back for you. I came back to say goodbye." He sighed and looked down with a finger pressed to his chin, the gears in his head turning once again. "Though…," he began, looking from side to side. "I suppose there's one thing I could say, a suggestion that would help you reach her better."
The two of them eagerly leaned forward to hear what he had to say. Taken aback by their desperation, he leaned back and put his hands up. "Hey, it's not like it's the solution to all your problems!" He relaxed and with a fond smile he imparted a tip: "Just support her. It's as simple as that. That's what you should have been doing in the first place, mind you." He crossed his arms and glared at the two of them. "What happened, anyway? According to her, you lot forgot the rare chance that she wouldn't have all the power of a Great Sage." He tapped his foot and focused more on Marcassin.
The younger brother looked guiltily down. "She wouldn't stop thinking about her next inventions. When she couldn't use healing magic, we believed she just wasn't trying hard enough." His eyes narrowed and he nervously fiddled with the hem of his tunic, well aware of his mistaken assumption. "I told her she needed to try harder, that she wouldn't become a sage if she continued to be distracted by such fantasies." He sighed regretfully. "We didn't realize that she couldn't use healing magic." He shook his head. "Regardless, she seemed so unfocused in her magic studies that confronted her about it."
"She… kind of blew up," Josephine explained with a saddened smile. "She somehow got it in her head that if she couldn't be a sage, she could at least be a thief." She shook her head. "Then we tried to tell her that wasn't the answer either but…"
"And she took that personally, did she," Gascon finished. He sighed and shook his head with a smirk. "Ah, the teenage years-," he reminisced. "Misunderstandings and rebellions." He looked at his younger brother, placing a hand on his right hip and swaying to that side. "Be thankful I found her. She really would have ended up like me."
"I started to kind of resent you, actually," the sage revealed, looking off to the side. He rung his fingers idly, nervously. "For telling her those stories. I don't think she would have had a reason to leave." He looked up and saw the regretful expression, the unsure frown and the sorrowful look in his brother's eyes. Seeing that, Marcassin cast a reassuring smile. "You made her stronger, though. You should have seen the fight she put up earlier, defending her cause! She really believed that you intended for her to build that arm at the cost of memorabilia. If it had been at any other time before, she would have backed down."
Josephine looked down in thought as he said that. "You're not angry about her doing that. Why," she asked Gascon.
He smiled wisely as he looked at his sister in law. "Because, knowing Lynnea, there will be better ones. They can be replaced. Hell, I stopped caring about those things decades ago!" He held out a hand and grinned. "The way I see it: their better off being tools for the future than useless keepsakes. It would be similar to a king not using the land around him just because it was the property of the king before him." He glanced at his brother. "Am I right, Marcassin?"
The emperor looked up and met his brother's eyes. He nodded, smiling at the reminder. "Yes, Gascon." It was a shame his elder brother had no magic- wisdom such as that would have made him an excellent Great Sage.
The empress walked forward and wrapped an arm around her husband's shoulder. She looked up at her deceased brother in law. "Thank you, Gascon, for inspiring Lynnea. For guiding her, not only back to us, but back in the right direction," she said softly, smiling at the apparition. "And thank you, for allowing us to let go."
He smiled gratefully and bowed to them both with his right hand over his chest. "It has been an honor to serve you both, your majesties." He stood up straight and nodded at them both with a proud and fulfilled smile. He lowered his hand and gave them the Hamelin salute with his right hand at chest height and his palm facing the floor. "Goodbye, Marcassin, Josephine…" He relaxed and let his right-hand fall to his side. As he began to fade from view, he smirked and winked at the couple. "My beloved brother and sister."
Marcassin sat up, bolting from the mattress. A cold sweat ran across his brow and down his back. He looked over at his wife who slept soundly beside him, her hands tangled in the sheets in front of her and her legs bent. She seemed at peace, unaware of the vivid dream he had just endured.
He gripped the area just over his heart. He had visited him not long after his quarrel with Lynnea. He remembered just standing there in front of his tomb in silent thought. He carried on a conversation- or perhaps a prayer- with his elder brother in his head. He lamented and regretted his tone. He never said a word, though.
He wasn't coming back. Not even as a ghost.
It was so strong. It felt real.
He clawed at his chest. He gripped the blanket next to him. He let out a sharp, pained wail followed by silent sobs.
Josephine woke up and she immediately sat up when she saw his condition. "M-Marcassin," she softly stammered. He just shook his head and continued to look down. She carefully scooted closer to the distraught sage. She wrapped her arms around him. "What is it? What nightmare caused this?"
He continued to tremble and shake. He lifted a hand and gripped the arm in front of his chest.
She rested her head on his shoulder. "It's alright. I've got you…," she comforted.
He started to bawl and he clutched her left arm tighter. He wanted to see him again. One last time. And her- just saying those words, words that he often heard his older brother say to ease him- pushed him over.
It was like that for a while. She held him as he wept.
Finally, he calmed down. His left hand fell slack but stayed in place on her arm.
"He's… gone," he stated. He looked over to Josephine who had lifted her head. "Gascon's gone."
She nodded silently, understandingly.
He looked up at the aunting of their bed, searching it. He whispered something. It was low, almost breath like. Though she couldn't hear, she had a feeling. It was in the way his chest reverberated.
"Goodbye, Gascon. I promise we'll meet again."
