care about this shit, you can’t make me...!
She took a step forwards, lowered herself gracefully to one knee and placed a long white hand on his cheek.
“Ecko,” she said. “You’re the only one left. Without you, the Powerflux falters and the world will die.”
He wanted to rage at her - so fucking what? - but he saw the plains seeping and rotting and raw, saw the wide grass dead and the soil barren, saw the cities stark and ruinous against the sky. He saw forces, marching and dying, heard voices lorn and lost.
The picture cut him like a hard blade, deep and into his heart.
He felt responsible. Guilty. Afraid.
He hurt.
Cared.
Then his savagery returned with a rush, reactionary and furious. No, I don’t care, I don’t care! It’s a fucking desktop wallpaper, no more - you can’t make me care about a picture!
Daaance, Ecko...
He was caught, cornered, just as neatly as if he’d been tied up while the bad guy outlined his plans to blow up the world.
He’d been cornered by the very sensations he’d had Mom peel from his body, tear from his mind. By emotions he’d denied, buried, surrendered, rejected, so many years before...
And the Lord Nivrotar didn’t give two shits about his personal fucking drama.
He couldn’t say yes, wouldn’t say no, had no idea which way he would fall. Both sides yawned at him, a tumble into a decision he could never undo.
In an effort to cling to the edge, to buy time, space, rescue, he said, “Christ, all your speechifyin’, you even remind me of the fuckin’ Bard. What’re you anyway, his mom?”
He was poised for her comeback - wanting her to spring for him, needing the outlet. His adrenals were kicked - ready for anger, violence, the call for palace guards to pike-spit him and stick his head on a bridge somewhere... and he was utterly thrown when she laughed aloud, her humour ringing from the stone vaults of the ceiling.
“His mother?”
Ecko stared, baffled. His adrenaline leaked out of him like piss down his leg.
Her glowering darkness gone, she bore a smile on her face that was almost girlish.
“I’m Tundran-born, Ecko, though not of his blood.” Her laughter brought light and life to her pale skin, sunshine on snow. “Like Roderick, I seek lore and preserve what parts of my culture I may.”
Damn the woman and her fucking mood-swings, she was like running on rubble - he’d no clue where she’d trip him. He was shaky now, he’d so been anticipating the confrontation, the revelation, the Epic Truth That Would Make Him Change His Mind... Hell, she’d make a great case-study supporting the use of Doctor Slater Grey’s little magic tablets.
“What the hell is so funny?”
“You are - I should keep you here, my Dark Jester.” Her eyes flashed with what might’ve been mischief. “Tundran culture made an error, Ecko, many returns ago. We’re long-lived, but a slowly diminishing people - fewer children in every generation, and fewer of those surviving. We cling. Perchance that’s why Roderick hoards his knowledge with such obsession.”
“An’ I thought he was jus’ getting out of doin’ the real work.”
“Don’t be naïve.” The Lord’s smile vanished, sunshine behind a cloud. “I know how long he waited for hope, clung to his faith alone - and I know how much your arrival meant to him.” Her passion was rising, there were shades of deep colour in her cheeks. Her voice was layered with frost and terror and need. “If we’ve lost him, Ecko, really lost him...”
Lost him, really lost him.
“You’re doomed, I get it already.” His rasp hacked into her chill, shattered it. “But I don’t do guilt trips. If he’s that fuckin’ critical, you find him yourself. Send your spies. Find Rhan. Find the Pevensie kids and crown them all king. You can’t make me...”
For a moment her expression darkened, eyes like thunderclouds, like the threat of snow. Then her face set into an icy, humourless smile.
“You will walk
She took a step forwards, lowered herself gracefully to one knee and placed a long white hand on his cheek.
“Ecko,” she said. “You’re the only one left. Without you, the Powerflux falters and the world will die.”
He wanted to rage at her - so fucking what? - but he saw the plains seeping and rotting and raw, saw the wide grass dead and the soil barren, saw the cities stark and ruinous against the sky. He saw forces, marching and dying, heard voices lorn and lost.
The picture cut him like a hard blade, deep and into his heart.
He felt responsible. Guilty. Afraid.
He hurt.
Cared.
Then his savagery returned with a rush, reactionary and furious. No, I don’t care, I don’t care! It’s a fucking desktop wallpaper, no more - you can’t make me care about a picture!
Daaance, Ecko...
He was caught, cornered, just as neatly as if he’d been tied up while the bad guy outlined his plans to blow up the world.
He’d been cornered by the very sensations he’d had Mom peel from his body, tear from his mind. By emotions he’d denied, buried, surrendered, rejected, so many years before...
And the Lord Nivrotar didn’t give two shits about his personal fucking drama.
He couldn’t say yes, wouldn’t say no, had no idea which way he would fall. Both sides yawned at him, a tumble into a decision he could never undo.
In an effort to cling to the edge, to buy time, space, rescue, he said, “Christ, all your speechifyin’, you even remind me of the fuckin’ Bard. What’re you anyway, his mom?”
He was poised for her comeback - wanting her to spring for him, needing the outlet. His adrenals were kicked - ready for anger, violence, the call for palace guards to pike-spit him and stick his head on a bridge somewhere... and he was utterly thrown when she laughed aloud, her humour ringing from the stone vaults of the ceiling.
“His mother?”
Ecko stared, baffled. His adrenaline leaked out of him like piss down his leg.
Her glowering darkness gone, she bore a smile on her face that was almost girlish.
“I’m Tundran-born, Ecko, though not of his blood.” Her laughter brought light and life to her pale skin, sunshine on snow. “Like Roderick, I seek lore and preserve what parts of my culture I may.”
Damn the woman and her fucking mood-swings, she was like running on rubble - he’d no clue where she’d trip him. He was shaky now, he’d so been anticipating the confrontation, the revelation, the Epic Truth That Would Make Him Change His Mind... Hell, she’d make a great case-study supporting the use of Doctor Slater Grey’s little magic tablets.
“What the hell is so funny?”
“You are - I should keep you here, my Dark Jester.” Her eyes flashed with what might’ve been mischief. “Tundran culture made an error, Ecko, many returns ago. We’re long-lived, but a slowly diminishing people - fewer children in every generation, and fewer of those surviving. We cling. Perchance that’s why Roderick hoards his knowledge with such obsession.”
“An’ I thought he was jus’ getting out of doin’ the real work.”
“Don’t be naïve.” The Lord’s smile vanished, sunshine behind a cloud. “I know how long he waited for hope, clung to his faith alone - and I know how much your arrival meant to him.” Her passion was rising, there were shades of deep colour in her cheeks. Her voice was layered with frost and terror and need. “If we’ve lost him, Ecko, really lost him...”
Lost him, really lost him.
“You’re doomed, I get it already.” His rasp hacked into her chill, shattered it. “But I don’t do guilt trips. If he’s that fuckin’ critical, you find him yourself. Send your spies. Find Rhan. Find the Pevensie kids and crown them all king. You can’t make me...”
For a moment her expression darkened, eyes like thunderclouds, like the threat of snow. Then her face set into an icy, humourless smile.
“You will walk
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