Chapter Text
Where the prince walked through the forest, he walked unafraid.
Prince Juniper Pennyroyal was tall for his age, just a lad of six years; shy of seven by a few months, with apples in his freckled cheeks and rust in his fluffy hair. His cloak was mulberry hue, close to that of his House, the House of the Open Door, also known as Tillinghast.
He had a curious air about him, less unnerved by the ghosts that drifted along beside him in the forest than most others might be. Occasionally, the little prince stretched out a hand to hold that of a porcelain spirit, speaking in a soft voice to them until they saw fit to pass on.
One way or another, most always did, these days.
The Dead had gone from the land, leaving in their wake the natural order of things once more. King Crawford had, for the past several years, been working to establish infrastructure, accessibility, and other things he deemed necessary for the acceptance of that order - that Life didn’t end, but simply became something else; something more, and that living forever was not the answer.
Nor was returning the Dead from whence they came.
Tilting his head up toward the canopy of trees above, June scrunched his nose; a little slope ending in a button upon which the wisps liked to light from time to time. His fingers drifted through the air, upraised, and, little by little, he stepped up and off the ground to take a few steps higher. Outstretched palms cupped and caught a small bird about to tumble from her precarious perch, returning her to her nest with her other hatchmates.
“There you go,” June said softly, “it’s not time yet, Aurora. But it will be.” The baby bluebird surveyed him with a dark and pensive eye, but settled in to huddle with her siblings. Smiling, the prince floated back down to the forest floor, adjusting the strap of the tiny bag he’d slung over his shoulder.
For a moment, everything was at peace with itself. Crawford had, after the fall of Kandar and the dismantling of House West, worked hard to return a kind of harmony to these dales and hills. The fey had crept out of their wilds to dance around bonfires again periodically throughout the year, nature reclaimed the places war had cropped up around the Dead, and all was as it should’ve been.
Save for the thumping crash that occurred through the blackberry and bramble-bushes to his immediate left; three yards or so behind. But then again, that in itself was the natural order of things, for wherever June went, he never seemed to go alone.
It was no ghost who charged through the forest after him, however - just a bit of a girl with wild, wavy hair and the brightest green eyes imaginable, picking leaves and twigs off herself with grumbling that rose to an outright little cry:
“This is taking FOREVER.” Patient hazel eyes slipped shut with a sigh to follow that far surpassed the prince’s few years alive. “We've been walking for HOURS.”
“Well, Pen,” Juniper huffed, glancing back at her directly as the page stomped up behind him, “it would've taken less time if you hadn't stopped to examine every bug…” she shot him a withering look before winding up with an intent to sock his shoulder, but thought better of it.
They were here on important business, after all.
“You mean to tell me you don’t find them interesting?” Matilda Penny Far-Thing pouted, a pronounced pout blooming on her little pink lips. June shot her a look before adjusting the strap of his bag again, walking forward toward a fork in the trees with more deliberate purpose than before. “The lacewing, for example–” Tilly continued - Pen or Penny to Juniper Pennyroyal, for they both shared a common copper between them.
They’d grown up together thus far, constantly in each other’s company. Pen was a page, training under one of June’s fathers - the knight herald, Ash Williams, who had trained up half the troops that now watched over the rebuilt Arkham, now a carved-out valley, rather than a tall peak. Closer to the rivers, more aligned with the caves, the city shone with the flanks of patrol, friendly faces who helped with the building of houses, the rescuing of beloved pets, and all manner of small things that made the world better.
Pen dreamed of one day fighting mighty battles and exploring far-away places, but for now, she was just a student learning her trade - much like Juniper, who was focused on affairs of the state [sort of], but mostly just wanting to make people feel better with messages from their loved ones or diagnosing local issues.
Nobody had known, for example, that the donkeys were suffering some kind of spiritual blight - till he put his hand on one of their snouts and informed King Crawford that they needed a cleansing. The water had been purified, the greens restocked, and each donkey they could find touched and held by a then-tiny child who told them they were loved.
Sometimes that was all a weary spirit needed to keep going, after all.
And keep going he and Pen both did, marching on through the trees with fey eyes upon them, the deeper they went, and ghosts parading in silent reverie at their heels. Tilly-Penny never seemed to notice them, of course - she was much more focused on the world around them, talking about how the trees were much happier and more guarded out here, and how they weren’t unlike knights themselves, especially the oaks, with how they seemed to rise to attention as the children batted away tendrils and vines that got in their way.
“Are we nearly there?” Pen interrupted herself. Juniper puffed out his freckled cheeks, glancing around, as the small girl beside him, now, tied up her hair and frowned. “Did we just walk in a circle, Junebug?”
“I’m not a bug,” June mumbled, but not without a smile. “But it’s nice you keep saying so. For you,” he teased. Pen elbowed him. “Anyway, we’re nearly there. Can’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“His sadness,” said June, and the smile slipped from his face, sliding away into a look of guilty neutrality. “He’s been grieving for so long.” Tiny hands tightened on the strap of his bag as hazel eyes scanned the clearing up ahead. “The forest is holding him close, but he doesn’t want the woods this time.”
“...you’re creepy, you know that?” said Pen softly, but slipped a hand down to hold one of June’s own. He gave hers a squeeze and, together, they stepped into the circle of sunlight and fluttering wings, a flurry of insects, pixies, and intermingling, dappled glow all cavorting in a cycle ‘round two men in the dirt.
Or, more aptly, one man was lain on a mound of dirt upon which moss, mushrooms, lichen, and other things grew. Awash in gleaming light, his hands crossed over his chest, he was peaceful. Laid there in the forest enclosure, a thin dome of glass over his resting place, the prince and the knight-to-be could see the rising and falling of his chest; deeply sleeping. As they walked into the grove, the soil underfoot sprouted herbs, which; when crushed, emitted peppermint, spearmint, and sharp basil, filling the air with the scent of mingling herbs.
The man seated beside the glass covering was practically more forest than person - wrapped in layers of mossy cloak, with a hood drawn up over his hair. He seemed surprised to see the two children arrive, one hand automatically rising from where it’d been resting against the diamond case to draw back his cowl. A tumbling wave of sandy-brown threaded with premature gray caught the golden light and wore it well. Kind brown eyes moved between the little ones, lingering on the green-eyed girl.
“...hello, you two,” said Dan Cain softly. June gave a little wave, while Pen clicked her heels together and put a hand to her forehead. The magister laughed; deeply tired, but dimpled and delighted nonetheless. “No need for formalities. What’re you doing here?”
“Dad sent us along,” said June, striding deeper into the clearing. Pen hung back - not shy, she’d never admit to being shy, but certainly watchful. Plopping down beside Dan in the dirt and leaves, June shrugged his satchel off of his shoulder, offering Dan a letter from within. “Said to give you this.”
He’d known what it said the moment he held it, of course. I’ve found him, Dan. Just tell me when you’re ready and we can start again.
It hadn’t meant anything to June, of course, but as the magister opened and read the small phrases to himself, lips moving over each syllable, June could see how it affected him. The way oaken eyes brimmed and spilled over; rainwater and sap across a face that seemed so much older and younger than any actual age it could possibly be.
“What is it,” Pen asked nervously. Dan’s hands were shaking. “Is it bad news?”
“No,” Dan laughed softly, swiping at either eye with a hand, brow furrowing. “No, I - it’s far from, actually. This is good news,” he decided, pressing his lips to the letter - then to the top of June’s head, one hand outstretched to Pen [who didn’t move]. “It’s good news,” Dan repeated, hand lowering. His eyes lifted toward something in the trees that neither child could see, and, with a nod, Dan said -
“I’m ready. Please, I’ve been ready…”
And from out of the woods, with a soft whisper of orchid light, the gleaming window of fuchsia travel opened. Behind it, Mel and the villagers who had come to rebuild Arkham - now Williamsburg, despite Ash’s protests - smiled and waved. Through the enclave of light, Dan could see past the threshold into the heart of the town that grew a garden in its middle - Life itself blossoming; birds free to roam and a river flowing. The marshes, still red, ran with seawater that mingled with the estuaries of water running off the mountains. Everyone on an even playing field now, and despite growing pains, a beautiful place.
From out of the town stepped the king, just as steady as ever - no longer with any timidity at all, his crown a silver circlet in which sat an amethyst not unlike a third eye, resting directly in the middle of his forehead. The healing hues of purple, gray, and softest fawn swathed him, and surrounded by faint mist as he strolled through the window, he carried himself with a quiet kind of humble-pride, his chin upraised and his arms outstretched. Dan rose, still clutching the letter, and lifted Crawford off the ground in a warm embrace.
Ash stepped out after as the window began to close, grasping Queen Mel’s hand and kissing her on the cheek in passing. June gave a cheery wave as he rolled upright again, dusting leaves off himself, and Ash swept his kid close to hug him tight, a one-armed embrace that always felt like coming home to a hearth with a roaring fire. Pen stood off to the side, watching everything with wary green eyes, one hand on the hilt of her tiny dagger - one of two she’d kept for as long as she could remember.
Special things, with retractable blades she could fill with all sorts of things. When you’re ready, Ash told her, when you’re all trained up and knight and stuff.
She’d wanted to know what stuff he meant, but decided she probably would in time.
“How did you do it?” Dan was gasping, setting Crawford back on the ground. The king grinned up at him.
“What’s that we always say about magisters and secrets?” Dan groaned, head lolling back. “I’ve been dream-walking again,” Crawford explained, and reached to his side for something small in a silvery-pewter parcel. June watched with wide eyes, still snuggled against Ash’s side. “And I discovered him where I thought I might someday - walking along the edge of the woods, looking for fireflies.” Hesitantly, Crawford clasped his hands over the small, flat disc contained within the bag before looking up at Dan once again.
“He’s not quite as he was,” he warned him softly. “There will be much to do to help him recover. Becoming, again, is always difficult.”
“‘Birth is always painful,’” Dan recited, hands closing over Crawford’s own. After a beat, he said -
“I think you should do it. I’ve kept his body alive, but I can’t begin to fathom the return of a soul. Will this offset everything? Will it bring…everything back?” He was speaking, Juniper noted, past a particular lump in his throat. “He didn’t give everything up just for this to all start over, so–”
“No,” Crawford promised. “Just let me in, and we’ll set it right. You’ve done well, Dan. Remember that it takes a village.” Something sparkled in his eyes; a light unlike any in the forest. “And that you and I are not alone.”
“Yeah,” Ash quipped. The timbre of his voice against June’s ear, still settled against him, was a familiar; comforting boom. “I’m standin’ right here, pal.”
“I see you,” Dan laughed, but there was something of a sob to it. Turning back toward the resting mound, the ground upon which Life and Death lingered ad infinitum, he swallowed. “Okay.”
As if to his command, the earth reabsorbed away the glittering, transparent covering. Herbert West, the once-king of a once-kingdom, lay there, surrounded by the elements, once again a part of the world. Crawford turned as Dan knelt beside the mound, and, smiling a little, motioned to Pen. June watched her come forward, reluctantly, and take Crawford’s extended hand.
“I need your knife, little one. Just one of your daggers, please.” Grass-green eyes regarded him with heavy skepticism. Crawford exhaled, exasperatedly fond. “You can have it back after.”
“I’d better,” she muttered, but unsheathed, unhooked, and passed him her left-hand blade, as that was, June had noted, her dominant hand. Crawford passed the knife to Dan, who pressed it into a vial he’d drawn from under his cloak, then laid it against Herbert’s heart. Crawford drew a small, silvery mirror from the little pouch he’d brought to the clearing, and, readying its surface, sighed softly.
“Ready?” Dan nodded, thumb pressed against the blade’s ebony-ivory pommel.
“Ready.”
In the mirror, a face looked back at himself - sleeping in the lichen, finally at peace. The king’s soul, swept from the land of dreams, drawn back to the waking world, regarded his form with a kind of distant understanding. The children watched as from the ether, out of rippling reflection, two hands reached for himself - as green potion flowed into a sleeping chest. Just a kiss of antivenom to break the spell as - together -
They all brought back the man who’d undone the Death of the world. Somewhere in-between the natural and unnatural, the stuff of legends, like June’s red hair being Kandar’s rust, like the rumors of a secret princess - was all allowed.
It would be a hard road toward a happily ever after.
But it was a road they were all on, now, wherever it might lead.
Dark lashes fluttered as Herbert West came back to life, and, drenched in golden light, found himself at home. Dan took one hand, and Crawford took the other. Ash wiped away a tear as Juniper dashed over, beaming from ear to ear.
“I want my knife back now,” said Pen doggedly, and laughter pealed through the woods with reckless abandon, free as a demon or fairy of the air. A door once more opened, and the people of Williamsburg spilled into the grove, surrounding them with spirit and song.
Whatever came next, they’d face it as one. They made their choices and lived with them, after all.
And that was every story.
And every epilogue after.
- THE END. -