white_flowers | IC: Midsummer Rising

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midsummer rising

IC: Midsummer Rising

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.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

"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.

The darkness is growing stronger, and the feel of malice and danger around them heavier as the Dark gathers itself for another blow. The door may be closed, but the burning light is fallen away There is nothing now between it and the children and their greenhouse but a familiar and hated presence that radiates a power which the Dark knows as almost akin to its own.

The deadly weight of madness grows suddenly heavier, pressing them to the ground, and gibbering voices shriek all around them and tear at sanity as the Dark lashes out in full force toward the children and the fallen woman--

--and toward Adam Young.

There's a sound building and Adam can't tell if it's coming from inside or outside of his head, and a cold wind whips around his feet and burns at his hands and his heart as he tries to fight it.

He opens his eyes into the darkness, horrible and cold and unfamiliar, and yet warm and encompassing in a way that he knows all too well. He tries to shout and nothing comes out but the dark comes in, drowning him and he gasps for air, grasps for a hold, flails out for anything and there's nothing around him but cold and harsh and screaming and he's falling-

and then all is calm, and there is no cold, and there is no wind and there's nothing but him, standing there, as he opens his eyes and sees.

Mary's hand is cold on Dickon's arm, but she keeps her eyes open still as the Dark comes.

There's no Light to stop it now; no shining lady. Just Adam - Adam the Antichrist, who'd stolen her clothing so very long ago - and as the Dark swirls around him, she still doesn't know whose side he's on, and even if he's on their side she doesn't know if he can save them, because he can do some things but after all stealing the Dark's clothing is not likely to do much, and she would take a step backwards but she would only trip over the shining lady and it would be stupid to die tripping and anyways she is not afraid though she grips Dickon's arm tighter, tighter -

and then the pressure lifts.

The blackness is - not gone, but further off, and she can see Adam standing there; and she straightens her back, and watches him with untrusting eyes, because the Dark may have retreated, but the Light isn't back.

It isn't.

But the sudden calm around them is welcome enough to Dickon, all the same.

And as the wind stops howling around them, another sound reaches Dickon, a sound he'd know anywhere--the faint chirping of a bird in some kind of distress.

Turning, he spots the jay still tucked against the fallen woman's shoulder, and without a moment's hesitation he bends down, holding out his free hand to it.

Gently, "Hey, now. What's tha doin' down there?"

The bird warbles feebly at him for a moment, then hops into his hand.

She stirs slightly as Ace is coaxed into Dickon's hand, shifting to her side and trying to sit up.

The entire world is a blur to her eyes, all wild color and shifting shadow, and a soft moan of pain escapes her.

Adam is busy and notices nothing and everything and the warm hatred surges through him like a current as he focuses on keeping the rest at bay. Not risking turning around, he shouts out to Mary, keep still, keep safe, don't let go of each other.

Mary doesn't notice the events going on behind her; she's straining to keep Adam in her sights, her eyes tracking him and the Dark behind him as it billows and strains like an evil genie.

She doesn't notice that she's shivering more than before; she does notice when the strange white mist moves in front of her vision.

And that's almost more frightening than the tornado of the Dark bearing down on them, almost more frightening than the Light going out. Anything could be happening, and she holds on to her apple tree almost tighter than she does to Dickon, feeling the bark scrape her hands, because as long as she's holding it she knows where she is. And knowing where you are is something, at least.

Standing back up with the bird in hand, Dickon doesn't notice as the lady behind them stirs.

He does notice Mary shivering, and moves in closer, unable to surpress a brief shudder of his own as the mist moves in around them.

One hand cups the bird carefully against his shirt, the other squeezes Mary's hand tightly as he stands, straining to see through the mist.

Adam coughs through the fog and looks around to see where it's coming from, but he can't see more than a few inches in front of his face. And then he can see, and he smiles a not at all nice smile and moves to kneel between Moiraine and Mary, looking to see if they're okay, looking to make sure, looking out to keep the fog and the people and the ever oppressive dark at bay.

The fog around them has been pushed to the side. To Mary, it feels rather as if they're caught in a small room, a room which contains Dickon and Mary and Adam and the fallen lady and half of Mary's tree.

But the room is cold and chill, and anything but comforting; and the walls keep swirling and changing and billowing inwards, as if something is battering to get in -

Something is battering to get in.

Mary grips Dickon's hand tighter, and glowers at Adam, still; he's better than the enemy outside, but that doesn't make him safe.

(And it's better to think about him than about what will happen if the Dark gets in.)

The bird cupped in Dickon's hand chirps feebly again, and he strokes its feathers gently with one finger.

"There, now," he says gently, not knowing what else to do. "There, now, it's just a storm. A bad one, sure an' certain, but even bad storms can' last forever."
It's the storm, not you
"'Twill be all right soon enough, tha'll see."
That's bound to blow away
He's not certain if it's the bird or Mary he's speaking to, but perhaps that doesn't matter.

Both hands are flat against the ground for support, but Moiraine is half-sitting now, blinking desperately to clear her blurred vision.

What she sees is a young girl near her, and a boy with the jay cradled in his hands, and Adam Young kneeling there like a warrior preparing to strike at the mist that is swirling around them and the pressure beyond.

But then suddenly she sees much more, as the Dark draws back and the mist lifts--

The fog around the small group dissipates, and beyond it the Dark is rising, drawing all its remaining power in upon itself in a single lashing column of whirling fury.

A pure and deadly silence descends all around them like a hanging curtain-- and then the awful weight of the Dark falls upon its enemy, and the world explodes into white.

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IC: Midsummer Rising

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