...Did I close my eyes?
"Adam."
I jolt awake, twisting my head to find Batman looming over my chair, intimidating pupil-less eyes boring into my very soul. It probably would've been very scary if I hadn't become accustomed to elven eyes.
"Ah, hello Batman."
!!! I'm so sorry, m'lord, I don't know how he slipped past me!
"Adam, what the fuck!" Selina's voice called out from the busted up door of the greenhouse.
In a leather cat uniform… "Selina, what are you wearing?" Was it some kind of fetish gear? I know some nobles enjoyed the company of Beastfolk more than other races due to their animalistic libido and certain mannerisms some of them have…
"A spare costume, why is there a- Adam! You're injured!" Selina was immediately at my side, holding up my shirt to show off my two stab wounds to the world.
"Oh, yeah. Don't worry though, I stopped the bleeding and everything with some of Ivy's herbs."
"Ivy's- Adam, you need medical attention, you've been stabbed!"
"The Batmobile is on its way, you'll all be safe in the Batcave while we figure out what's going on."
What the hell are they so worried about? It's just two poisoned stab wounds. I'm not even dead!
"Shouldn't you two be paying attention to the person who stabbed me in the first place?"
Oh look, the hose and chair are both empty.
I look at the corner. He'd left the owl mask. Good for him.
I blink rapidly, an odd pressure making itself known in my head...why is the world spinning? I shouldn't be..
THUD
A foreign rush of fear and shock through my mind.
...m'...M'lord?
--
I wake up to beep beep beep-ing. And an old masked man bending over my body, sewing up the wounds with thread and needle. A servant, judging by the clothes?
"Ah, good morning sir. Don't worry, I'm just finishing up."
I can't feel my face. Or my toes. I've been drugged?
"Waaa haaapaaaa?" Good gods, this was making it hard to talk.
"Master Batman and Lady Catwoman brought you to me to treat your wounds and concussion, sir. I am simply called Butlerman."
Heh.
At least Batman has someone with a sense of humor at home. But dang, he must be pretty rich to be able to afford to keep a doctor-butler on staff around the clock that'd be willing to go along with the whole secret identity stuff.
"I'm glad you find my company enjoyable, sir."
And so, I fall back into the black embrace of Morpheus…
--
...and the black gives way to green.
But not the green court of the Jade Palace of Summer, Light, and Merriment, as was the norm with these odd not-dreams Oberon and his vassals would call me with.
No, instead I find myself in a small clearing in the woods, a deep green blossoming around me, more earthy and… natural compared to the exaggerated shades of jade and emerald the Feywild I'm familiar with displayed.
The air feels different here as well. Almost like there's a smoky aftertaste to the wind... Maybe a satyr was grilling something for a festival or party nearby?
"Why hello there. I don't believe we've been introduced yet."
I freeze for a moment, the voice unfamiliar but unmistakably fae. It's unusual for them to speak in Common, but some would do it as a courtesy or a personal rule of hospitality for mortals who don't know Sylvan.
And so, I casually turn around, trying to project an air of cautious confidence. Showing fear or shock before certain Unseelie Fey will only attract more of their attention. But too much confidence will be seen as arrogance and looked poorly upon by Fey from both courts, and those unaffiliated.
What stands before me is unmistakably a Fey of no small amount of power. And from the red, ornate plate armor that covers him from neck to foot, most likely a Fey Lord. A noble of the Feywild. He has horns as well, so he likely has some connection to Pan… But what would the Prince of Revelry want with me?
Wait. No, I can't assume anything in this world. This world's Feywild is different, and so the courts may be different.
Oh fuck, there could be different rules.
No, don't think about that. Focus, deal with the Fey, clean up the mess afterwards.
And so, I respectfully bow my head. "Adam White, Witch-Boy of the Seelie Court, Shadow of Oberon, Lower Ambassador of the Feywild. May I have your name, good sir?"
Asking for a name was considered both a test of intellect and a common courtesy among the Fey Lords and Ladies. If someone willingly gave their name through such simple wordplay, then in the eyes of the Courts, they deserved to be subservient to the more cunning Fae. If it was avoided, it established that the cunning of both parties are seen and respected.
It helped keep things interesting, their pointlessly over-complicated games would grow boring if nobody tried to bend the rules in their favor. Occasionally, with the right glamor, it would even work to bring down a Lord or Lady from their power.
His face quirks, amused. "How forward of you, great Warlock. No, you may not have my name, but instead you shall know it. I am King Auberon, Head of the Seelie Court, King of the Fair Lands, Faithful Husband to Queen Titania."
...king? Fuck, this is Oberon's annalog?!
"My apologies, your fairest, I did not mean any offence to you, your cunning, or your station. Please forgive this one's feeble trickery."
King Auberon chuckles. "There is nothing to forgive, young warlock. Many of my fiefdom and my own vassals have gained ownership of mortal Names with such simple wordplay. Though, I do ask that you make your trickery more elaborate in formal spaces."
...formal spaces. Meaning that this is a casual space. And if he expects me to be in formal spaces with him...
"Apologies, your fairness, but to my knowledge I have no favors, deals, or wagers with thee, nor do I have any great standing within the Fey Court that you preside over. I hold no right to attend such events much less the right to perform trickery."
And if I did, I caertainly wouldn't fuckingwantto. Food and drink of the Fey could either be the most addictive drugs in existence or the deadliest poisons. Small talk was as likely to get you enslaved or married off as it was to pass the time. And when you're asked to dance, it could mean anything from a soothing waltz to a fight to the death.
Or a waltz to your death.
Auberon appraises me for a moment.
"It is rare to see such a mortal to be so well versed in the ways of playfully gilded words. In the tongue of the land no less."
"I am a very rare mortal."
Something in Auberon's eyes seems to shift. "Indeed. Indeed…"
Interest. It's the deadliest gift you can be given to by a Fey Lord.
As well as the most rewarding.
"A witch-boy from another land, far beyond that which is beyond the Golden Wall of Foolish Gods. Quite the…rarity."
Oooohshit. He's looming over me, he's looming over me!
"Indeed, Faithful Husband of Queen Titania." Couldn't let him be getting any ideas…
The Fae King bursts out laughing.
"Hahahahaha, you are an amusing one, witch-boy! That seer truly gave me a great bargain! Let your fears be waived, I stay ever faithful to my spouse, though I do have a pact with you."
The distance between us grows by a few feet as the Fae King takes a step back, and I assess the situation.
This dream-vision, I've had them before. Oberon would use them to give me objectives and warnings, mostly in his opulent throne room. And he did say he has an active pact with me… Which means...
"So, if I may ask, do you hold my contract, oh King of the Fair Lands?"
"I do, and yet I do not."
Great. Fey double-speech was annoying, especially when they're being cheeky about the details.
Though my annoyance only seemed to serve as entertainment for Auberon.
"My, my, such a chilling gaze, as if I were being stabbed with icicles from the winter fey… I am not your Oberon, child, and yet I am not not the King of the Seelie Court. And so, I am your Patron and not. You shall keep what you have been given, and I shall give what is rightfully yours as per your original contract, for I am your Patron by… inheritance. But I have no right to ask you of any favor or boon from this, as I am not your Patron. Such are the fickle ways of your agreement with that Oberon who presides over the Fair Lands of your world."
That… that...
Holy fuck, did I actually end up being free from my responsibilities to the Fae!?!
"I… I… Truely?"
Auberon smirks. "Truest of truth. Your gamble with the whims of fate bare fruit. There is no binding clause for such a possible impossibility, and the rules of such bindings in this world and the mystics of the contract have been woven together to favor you. Strike this world with wonder and unpredictability, my warlock, for you are truly and utterly unbound.
Though make no mistake. I look forward to the day you come to my Court of your own accord."
Meaning he can't call upon me by force. Meaning that I have to make a new deal for him to gain a hold on me.
That's...freeing, in a way that I can't really place.
Under Oberon, I had to do jobs for the Fey King for something that I didn't choose. He compromised my freedom, bound me into his service at the age of...I was six, wasn't I?
But now, with this… clearing of debt I suppose…
I had the choice of whether I wanted more power than what I was due, or if I simply never walked into the realm of the fairies ever again.
It was my choice.
And hey. Maybe this Seelie Court would be… easier to handle with my experiences.
--
Freedom tastes suspiciously like cotton.
"Uuuugh." I groan as my consciousness resurfaces, my eyes blinking sluggishly as I try to catch my bearings. Gods, I need some water.
"Well, good morning to you, sleeping beauty." An unfamiliar voice addresses me.
I sit up in my own cot, and see Poison Ivy, handcuffed to the side of a bed.
And true to Selina's words, her skin was the color of springtime leaves.
"Good morning. You are very pretty as well." I return, nodding to the not-dryad. The complement was nice though, even if it kinda came out of nowhere...
She wrinkled her nose, examining me like I was a bug crawling over her garden. "Whatever, kid." She rolls over, as if to sleep on her side, pressing something to separate our beds with a light blue curtain.
Well, she seems prickly. But she was Selina's friend, so she can't be that bad.
Besides, I have other...
...huh.
I'm actually free, aren't I? No strings attached, figurative or otherwise...
…
…
…
...ah. I- I'm crying, aren't I? I haven't done that in a while…
I grab my pillow and use it to muffle the cacophony of emotions that make themselves known as an incoherent mixture of screaming, laughter, and sobbing.
Because holy fucking shit.
--
Madame Xanadu frowned at the next hand of tarot cards she'd drawn from her deck. The skull of Death smiling grimly once more peered up at her.
No matter how many reading she did, no matter how she shuffled the cards, Death would always be in her fortellings, always pointing towards the future. It was infuriating, and hurting her business. Nobody wanted to come to the 'cursed' psychic that only foretold death after all.
"Worry not, my beautiful Lily, Death of the Arcana is not something to fear. Change is good after all, it keeps the world moving forward…"
Lily Xanadu banished such thoughts, shaking her head clear of the memory.
Her mother wasgone, she'd disappeared nearly seven years ago this very day. She honored her mother, the original Madame Xanadu, by taking up her stage name and running her old parlor. If only she could've learned her mother's secrets before then, how she made the experience so real for her clients, and actually helped them move forward in their lives rather than fool them for their cash.
She shuffled the cards and dealt herself a new hand.
The High Priestess in her past. The card of secrets and mysteries.
The Fool in her present. The card of new beginnings and pending adventures.
Death in her future. The card of change and endings.
Knock, knock, knock
Uuuugh, who was knocking at this hour…
"I'm very sorry, mademoiselle, but my parlor is no-Mama?!" Lily Xanadu's eyes widen in shock.
And sure enough, before her was Nimue Xanadu, her vanished mother, looking exactly as she remembered her, still wearing her favorite purple dress.
And what's more, her eyes were glowing blue, ethereal as they were beautiful.
"Mama, mama! Teach me how to make my eyes all pretty and blue!"
"Oh, my dear Lily. One day, I'll show you my little bag of tricks, when you're good and ready. But not a moment before, alright? Madame Xanadu's powers are desired by many a foul man after all."
"I can't wait!"
"Lily... My sweet, darling flower…"
And with those simple words, Nimue falls into her daughter's arms, after seven long years apart. Unconscious, in the mortal realm once more.
"Mama?! Mama! What happened to you!?"
--
"I say this is one hell of a trade, dear Nimue. One seer for one warlock."
Auberon grins, holding up a coin to the light of the moon.
Nimue Inwudu. An old, powerful Name. One that many a demon and angel would covet.
"It's much more fun to see things as they play out after all. Peeking behind the curtain takes away the magic, as you mortals say."
He tosses the coin to the ground, where it vanishes into thin air.
"And so, just as Adam White walks free, so shall you be. Be with your daughter, Apprentice of Merlin. Your Name has already been forgotten."
And so, with his promise fulfilled, King Auberon of the Fair Lands vanishes from the material plane.
--
"Boss! I think we've got our guy!"
Harvey Bullock looks up from his black coffee, and stares into the very soul of one of his junior detectives. James… something or or other.
"Which guy?"
"The venom case, the one a few months back?"
Harvey sighed. "It's a cold case, detective. No prints, no DNA, no witnesses, no nothing. There's thousands of them in this city, let it go."
"But I found the guy!"
Uuugh, new unjaded detectives were always like this. Too fixated on their first dozen or so cases, not understanding the real state of Gotham's underbelly. "You know what, fine. Show me what you've got. But if it's nothin, I want you to drop it."
Harvey was shown camera footage from a convenience store at the end of the alleyway. Opposite from where they'd found the body.
And out came some scrawny kid. He didn't look like he'd been hurt or anything. And he didn't seem to be overly nervous. Or overly-aggressive, like every other addict with street-grade Venom the GCPD had ever processed.
Hell, he didn't even look like he bulked up at all from the stuff, if he'd taken it at all.
But the timestamp was identical to the time of death Leslie and her folks had estimated down at the morgue.
"It's circumstantial at best. But I'll pass the image around the force. I doubt he took the Venom himself, but he might've seen or heard something."
Probably just some runaway who knew not to go scurrying off to the police if he saw something sketchy.
But hey, it'd shut James up. There were more important cases on the line right now.
Like the Poison Ivy case, not even a week after she got a clean bill of mental health.
Damn crazy Arkham freaks…
--
"Hey there, little bird!"
"Gwuah!" Robin jumped up, twirling around to find none other than Selina Kyle in the Batcave. "What the hell are you doing here?!"
"Awww, did I wuffle your fe'thers little birdie?" Selina teases, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she smiled down at the Boy Wonder. "Ive and I got chased out of my apartment by a bunch of armed goons, so Bruce brought us in to keep an eye on us while he sets up a safehouse."
"Uuuugh, and we just got the cat fur out of the Persian rugs…that you stole."
"I believe you mean to say thatIgot the cat fur from Master Bruce's Persian rugs, young master Richard." Alfred Pennyworth commented, the butler setting down two silver platters on the workbench that would often serve as a dining room table when Bruce and Dick were both working late on a case.
"And I gave them back!" Selina whined. "I just wanted to see how they'd look on my wall."
"Selling them off at one of Penguin's auctions and giving Batman the dets isn't giving them back, it's more work for us to do!"
"Oh please, you're just salty I used you as a distraction to make off with all those jewels."
"You what?"
Bruce looked over his shoulder as he overheard Selina and Richard banter back and forth, a tired almost-smile on his face before he turned back to the Batcomputer, and started running the faces of those mercenaries through a facial recognition search.
--
"n̷̪̜͇͙̻̠̈Ō̸̘͙͖̫̞͑,̵̜̬̽̎̒̉͜ ̷͖͂̇̑͆͗͠ń̸̪̩́̇̕Ò̸̪̱͇͍̔́̈,̴̢͕̟̘̌̿̑̕ ̶̼̣̞̈́̎͂̎͝n̸̢͔̣̬̈̑̓̎̕O̴̤̭̗̠͑̍,̷͚̟̻̓̈́̏͊͜ ̶̢̲̝̬̺̓́̄̄n̷͇̅Ỏ̷̡͇͉̙̈̅͂̊,̸̨̎͗̃̔͝ ̸̦̓̉̈́͒́ĩ̴̪͓̿͐͌̚ ̴̣͔͚̌̉͠Ǎ̶̰̈́̕M̵̨̺̖̤͍͛ͅ ̶̡͚͇̒̓̃̅͌̋O̴̹̞͊̃͘ḇ̷̪̀̃̏Ȅ̸̢̫͙͛̌͠Ȑ̵͍̹̕o̵̱̓̍N̵̙̗̤̖͍̯͋̿,̴̡͎̖̘̰͔̋ ̶̤͎̭̫̎͐̒̚͜K̴̥̈́I̸̞̠̹͌̚ṅ̴̥̱̳̒̆ǵ̴̛̝̺̻͈̳͇̐͆̕ ̵̗́͊̉ở̵̘F̵̳̓̉͛̾̕ ̵͔̻̈́́̆͆̀ť̵̬̙͎̱̀͋H̵͙̩͓̗̹̊̾̽e̷̠͍͆̄̍ ̸̨̐͐͊F̷̻̳̘̳̂̌͗̕ḛ̷̅̄͐̿̾Y̷̡͋W̸̭̯̖͒̈́̉͂ͅI̴͔͆̈́̄͝Ľ̶̜̀̍̽̅͝d̶͉͋̌̈́̀̍͜,̸̝͇̹͔̪͊͛̓͘ ̴̢͕͉̜̪̈ì̵̖̭̚ ̷̯̞̥͕̋͐̔̓̑͝w̵̭̟͂i̶͔͋̈̋L̷̙̣̖͉̉̍̕L̶̥̣̺͋͑͝ ̶̠͛́̽ͅN̷̪̤̱̣̎̑̕O̴̮̯̻̳̱̓͗̿̾͛-̴̱͕̖̄̑̊̽͒̈́ͅ"
And so, the sliver of magic that was once a shard of Oberon is unmade, the visit to Hell just a little too much for its fragile existence to handle, to say nothing of the emotional aftermath its host was going through.
Unseen. Unheard. Uncared of.
Well, by Adam White at least.
For Auberon it was quite an amusing sight, watching a little worm-that used to think itself a lord flobber around, deluding itself into thinking it would ever be anything butfuelfor the growth of his Warlock.
