IC: Midsummer Rising

[white_flowers]

Midsummer.

Longest day, brightest day, day of celebration for those of the Light and also of the Wild.

It will be a day of great power-- and had once marked the ending of the rising Dark in the world she had once called her own.

But here at the end of all the worlds, she intends to change things. The longest and brightest day it may be, but there is another side to it as well; for at the moment that the sun passes zenith, the time of Light also passes.

So begins the long slow fall into the Dark.

This time, the White Rider means to turn her carefully-gathered power to advantage at that precise moment, bringing the cycle to an entirely different ending -- for everyone.

She is smiling cruelly when she steps out of the forest and starts toward the bar, half-lost in her thoughts and her plans.

Comments

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

The little bundle of feathers doesn't move as the cage goes skidding away from the battle, other then the quick little rise and fall of little-bird breathing. She's a rather pathetic sight at this point, her feathers sticking up at random where water and wind ruffled and seperated them.

As the cage goes flying once again, Ace's little talons wrap around one of the slender silver wires, hanging on for dear life.

[blue_ajah]

"Light," she mutters, cradling the cage carefully in her hands and studying the bird inside, after a quick glance for the battle and the others.

"What manner of creature are you to have invoked her wrath so?" The gleaming wire feels oily with the taint of Shadow, making it very clear to the Aes Sedai as to the source of the prison that had been lying near the Rider.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

The cage has stopped moving.

Oh glory be, the cage isn't moving. Ace has had quite enough of the cage moving. Bright black eyes open cautiously to take in... blue. Lots and lots of blue.

Wrath Ace agrees in a mournful little chirp. She thought feathers were supposed to be warm. It's freezing in this silver prison.

[blue_ajah]

"You speak? What is your name?" Moiraine shakes her head, looking at the soaked and battered jay. "Wait--"

If Blodwen wants this bird imprisoned, then it is a certainty that she does not. Whatever the Dark One wishes, she opposes and will offer aid against, whether great or small.

The light around her fingertips brightens into a mesh of blue and fire-gold as she begins to bend the wire apart, making an opening large enough to reach into.

Carefully, Moiraine does just that, attempting to curve her hand beneath the bird.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

She recognizes that fire! Blue! Blue ajah that isn't pink! Moiraine!

Flapping wings she still hasn't quite managed to make work in the proper way, she scoots closer to the offered hand, cuddling her soaked little self in the curve, taking as much care as she can to not scratch with unaccustomed claws. With a huff, she sets her head down on Moiraine's wrist and waits for a ride out of the white bitch's trap.

[blue_ajah]

With care, and yet quickly -- for Blodwen's screaming is clear and she is certain that they may not have much time -- Moiraine draws the bird from the wire and casts the cage to one side.

"Hold still," she murmurs; it is evident from the jay's actions that it understands her, or at least understands help. "This will not hurt."

She channels delicate threads of blue and white, and the water falls from the jay's feathers, leaving the bird completely dry.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

Very carefully Ace holds very, very still, waiting until she can't see bright sparks in her oddly spread peripheral vision.
Not hurt not hurt not hurt! She warbles back cheerily, though it's not precisely true. She's still sore from where she crashed into the ground, and Raven's out there somewhere and so's the white bitch and she wants to know what is going on...

Ace does not like being a bird. However, at least now she is deliciously dry, and she fluffs her feathers to capture as much heat as she can.

[blue_ajah]

"Very well," she tells the bird. Moiraine glances around quickly once more, looking for a safe place to set the jay down-- but there is no truly safe place, as the struggle continues to rage and more people are drawn by the conflict.

"The Wheel weaves," she mutters, lifting the little creature to her shoulder as she has done before with Milton. "Hold on and stay close to me; I will do what I can."

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

What I can the little jay sings back in an oddly grim tone. At this point, her options are fairly limited, but if the opportunity arises to help...

Well. She'll be the first ground-bound bird defense corps. With her fearsome beak... nevermind. Maybe she can learn how to wail like a banshee. When in doubt, sound larger than you are. At this point, most anything would do.

Carefully she digs her claws into the soft fabric of Moiraine's dress and waits for the ride to begin.

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

As so many things, it starts not with a bang, but with a whimper - in this case, the creak of a door opening, accompanied by the shrill pitch of children's voices echoing in the glass of the greenhouse.

"It is not so very late, Dickon -"

[uncommongardenr.livejournal.com]

"I s'pose not..." Dickon sounds unconvinced, though not as if he's putting up much of a fight. "An' 'twon't be any later when us goes back, will it?"

[blue_ajah]

It is not the gentle sound of conversation that draws her attention, not at first-- it is a high wild shriek, and Moiraine's head snaps toward the sound, the golden glow around her brightening--

--and then she sees the greenhouse door standing open, and the children passing through it, unawares of the battle.

Her lips form a silent, unspoken curse as Moiraine begins to run toward them.

[last_adam]

There are some things one has to do for themselves, and Adam was watching Raven, entranced, the stones he'd been intending to skip held frozen in his hands.

Entranced, that is, until the woman runs by and his head turns, following her path, watching her (Moiraine, isn't it?) as she runs towards-




shit.

He follows, a bit more slowly, a few steps behind.

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

"It should not -"

Mary's voice breaks off, as she sees the woman running towards her - a stranger. A stranger who's glowing.

She could be an angel; she could be a witch. In either case, Mary grabs Dickon's arm, stopping him from going any further, and with her other hand she takes a protective hold of one of the branches of her apple tree.

"Something," she says, loudly, "is happening."

[uncommongardenr.livejournal.com]

Dickon's eyes widen as he catches sight of the woman, and when Mary grabs his arm, he turns his hand to take hold of hers as well. His other hand goes into his trouser pocket, just touching the stone there.

"Aye, sommat is," he agrees, and glances quickly over his shoulder toward the greenhouse door, still open. "Mayhap us should go back--"

[white_flowers]

Too late.

For in this moment of sudden and unexpected, unwilling freedom, the gathered malign force of the Dark senses an opening-- a path to another world, unguarded save by one small apple-tree.

(midsummer)

And that within it which was drawn from the White Rider herself remembers a time in this very place when that portal was the focus of all her seeking, as well as the children who stood between, then and now.

There is a horrible tense moment of awful hanging silence, and then the whirling tall column of the Dark falls with all its weight upon its target, bent on destruction first here and then in the unprotected world beyond.

[blue_ajah]

And then she is there. Blue skirts whirl as Moiraine spins around in front of the children and the door that lies behind them, the little jay chirping defiance on her shoulder as they face the Dark.

She is there, but there is no time to think, no time to do anything but react, no time. Light explodes around her like a small golden star fallen to earth as she draws saidar to its fullest, fullest limit, and then a blinding weave of red-gold fire bursts from her fingertips--

(fire to burn away the Dark)

--backed by purest white light shot through with a gleaming silver, the same as that which once surrounded the apple-blossoms on the tree. It all snaps together in a curving arc of a shield that she holds to with desperate determination as the world goes mad around them.

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Everything is light, everything is bright -

- and Mary resists the urge to throw her arms up, and cover her eyes, because she'll never forgive herself later if she doesn't see, and anyways her hands are wrapped so tightly around Dickon's arm and her apple tree, respectively, that it's unlikely she would be able to loose them without concerted effort -

and the Dark is beyond, the terrible storm that she hadn't noticed the last time, when she was bespelled (but surely it couldn't have been like this, she might have been bespelled but she's not blind)

and she says, loud again, almost shouting in the face of the Dark, "Do not be frightened, Dickon - do not be frightened! -"

[uncommongardenr.livejournal.com]

I bind unto myself today
Dickon says nothing, at least not out loud. It's easy to miss in the sudden blinding light, but his lips are moving.
the virtues of the starlit heaven
He's let go of the stone in his pocket, because it's either that or let go of Mary and even if he would, she wouldn't let go of him
the glorious sun's life-giving ray
and one arm is lifted to shield his eyes, but he's squinting to see through the brightness.
the whiteness of the moon at even
He is frightened. There's no sense in denying that. But he plants his feet and holds on to Mary, because there's nothing else to do.

[blue_ajah]

The world shivers around them with the force of the strike and the furious wild rage of the unconstrained Dark -- shivers and flickers and bleeds unreal colors that are all lost in the golden fire as the Aes Sedai pours more and more power into the shield that she holds.

(Whatever the Dark One wishes I oppose)

She is near the edge now, at the limit of her strength -- her own strength now, hers alone, with no Warder nor sisters to aid, and all the world will be lost if she fails--

(duty heavier than a mountain)

--yet she does not break beneath the terrible onslaught; she dare not. She must not.

She will not.

And so she holds, for a few moments more, each one graven in light before her-- for just long enough.

The fury of this first strike spent, the Dark swirls up, away and back toward the others, recoiling and regrouping itself.

In the sudden ringing silence left behind, Moiraine staggers. The light around her flickers, and then vanishes as she falls to the ground and knows no more.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

And once again, the ground rises up startlingly fast for one little jay. She tumbles into the grass, her mad flapping doing little more than creating a flurry of feathers.

However, she is not caged this time. With a shake and a ruffle she's on her feet again, and hops over to the fallen ajah, chirping worriedly. She's pretty sure this is not how it is supposed to go. Not getting a response, and not really suited to do anything of use, she settles in next to Moiraine at her shoulder, and warbles in a 'hey, are you awake yet?' manner every so often.

[last_adam]

Adam's eyes dance with the shadows left by the image of light against dark when Moiraine fell.

So very much like
(Thom. Sword and blood and dead but not this time, no, not this time)
an immovable force as he reaches her, Adam lifts Moiraine under the arms, ever careful of the bird he hadn't noticed before and it's almost like he's not even trying, but he pulls her easily back, away, but not safe, not yet.

His eyes jump back and forth between Moiraine and the small bird, and the two children by the tree, and he calls out to them over the dark, over the storm, and manages to place Moiraine behind them before clapping his hand on the girl's shoulder and saying her name.

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

At first, all Mary can think is that the shining woman has fallen down.

The shining woman has fallen, and the light has gone out; and she can hardly see Dickon's face in the unnatural dark, and when the hand falls on her shoulder Mary's first impression is not that of a friend.

Her head whips around, her hair flying behind her and tangling in the branches of her tree.

"Is she dead?" she demands.

Her voice is high, piercing with fear and anger, and yet still hardly audible over the howling of the wind.

"Is the Lady dead?"

[uncommongardenr.livejournal.com]

Dickon can't stifle a cry of dismay as the woman falls and the light goes out.

And the young man who runs up to them and puts his hand on Mary's shoulder, Dickon doesn't know him, and he's about to move closer to her, wary and protective, when he realizes the greenhouse door's still open behind them.

The Dark is rising, the light's gone out, and the door is open.

Dickon can't do a blessed thing about the first two. But he takes a step backward, still not letting go of Mary, and reaches to push the greenhouse door shut with an air of finality.

[last_adam]

"She's not dead."

He says it with an air of certainty that he doesn't quite feel. He watches the boy close the door and when he comes back, puts his other hand on his shoulder.

"Don't move. Don't go anywhere. Don't- I don't know. Just don't."

He can see better with his eyes closed than open, and that isn't doing much for his confidence but he reaches out, as much as he can, and what he finds is cold, dark and hateful.

"Stay here."

He says it again, squeezing their shoulders once more before letting go and moving forward.