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.

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[white_flowers]

Released from all constraint, the Dark had risen here at near-Midsummer, intent upon total destruction-- and indeed, something had been destroyed.

In the wake of the searing, blindingly pure white Light, it takes some time for vision to be restored.

Everything is quiet, save for the soft ragged sounds of someone quietly gasping, as though for air -- or to stifle sobs.

[howling_laugh]

Wiping blood away from her nose, Coyote stands. The wreath of fire still burns around her, hazing the air with heat.

The sun is setting. But the Dark is gone. Ah, irony.

She laughs. Looking down at Blodwen, it lengthens to another howl. This one is triumphant.

[creator_raven]

Raven stays crouched a moment more, head tilted. Perhaps he is watching Blodwen. Perhaps he is watching something else.

But at length he, too, stands and moves closer, black eyes fixed on what used to be the White Rider of the Dark.

There is another moment or two of silence--silence broken only by that same quiet gasping--and then Raven nudges Blodwen's calf with the toe of his boot.

"All debts are paid now, I think."

Perhaps this is meant to be a comfort.

[white_flowers]

She is still kneeling, head bowed and hands clenched tightly in the green grass. At his touch, however, she jerks away, nearly falling-- and then scrambles to her feet, taking a shaky step back away from the two of them.

"What -- what have you--"

The voice is the same, soft and light and musical, but with nothing of chill to it, even in her fright and anger. Blue eyes are welling with tears.

"-- what have you done to me?"

Everything is warm around them -- especially because of Coyote's fire, perhaps. It is a beautiful summer evening, really.

For some.

[creator_raven]

"I have given you a gift, I think."

Raven grins, sharp and bright.

"Also a curse. It is interesting how they are often much the same."

This is accompanied by another headtilt, and a slight broadening of his smile.

"Particularly, perhaps, when one is mortal."

[howling_laugh]

"Mortal?"

Coyote chuckles.

"Not all debts are paid. You owe me a death, Blodwen Rowlands."

[gramarye1971]

He's aware of the pain first. The gradual return to consciousness is rather like swimming upwards through what feels like treacle, and the pain returns first.

Other bits and pieces of awareness slowly begin to filter in. The scent of earth. Grass. A bare whisper of a breeze.

Light.

Only one thing is missing, and that is his sense of the Dark's presence.

He takes that as a good sign -- but he isn't about to try something as demanding as actually opening his eyes just yet.

[theravenboy]

Hands.

Bran feels his hands first, sore and tingling, as he begins to wake. In sudden panic (can I still play?), Bran pulls himself further into consciousness. His arms hurt too, and his legs. I fell, Bran remembers. He remembers the tornado, and Caliburn, and Will and Merriman standing behind him, and--

Bran opens his eyes and blinks, white eyelashes flickering in the sudden sunlight.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

A dull, hazy awareness of something, in the background and all around and through him. That's all there is, for a timeless long-short while.

Oh. That's pain.

A headache. Because here is his head, yes, and his arms and legs, and the grass under his cheek, and the feeling of weight. There's a throbbing ache behind his temples, and the generalized feeling that he's been pummelled thoroughly.

No sense of the Dark, not anywhere.

That's good.

The ground is really very comfortable right now.

[winged-defender.livejournal.com]

No sense of the Dark left, but the power of the One's Champion is still there, blazing bright, though the Dark's final strike burned through most of the energy he brought.

"I think," says the rich musical voice, faintly amused, "you're all safe to open your eyes." He stands over Merriman, offering a hand up.

[gramarye1971]

And Merriman does, blinking a little a first.

'I think,' he replies, his voice faint and raspy but not without a similar sort of amusement, 'that I might be permitted a moment more to collect my wits, all things considered.'

But he is already moving, pushing himself off the ground. He starts to move his left hand -- the shield is gone, its purpose fulfilled -- and cannot stifle the hiss that escapes through his clenched teeth as a sharp burst of pain shoots down to his fingertips and up to his elbow. He keeps his arm as still as he can as he shifts his weight, and gingerly extends his right hand to accept the offer of assistance.

It takes a moment, but he's on his feet. The vertigo has not completely faded, but the ringing in his ears mostly has. And once he is sure that he is not going to topple over again, he bows his head to the Bright Power, in quiet deference.

'My thanks, lord. And my gratitude.'

[last_adam]

Everything's so quiet, everything's so still, Adam can't help but feel that this can't be right, this can't be the end. And things clear up, as they are wont to do, but he can't quite let himself relax yet. Turning, he looks at the people behind him, trying to ensure that everybody's alright, trying to ensure-


He's not even sure what. But he turns and kneels by Moiraine, and reaches out and grabs Mary's arm perhaps a bit too rough, and he smiles, a knowing smile.

"Is everybody alright, then?"

[uncommongardenr.livejournal.com]

Dickon doesn't know if whatever just happened is good or bad.

But, first things first.

"I'm fine, sir."

A quick glance to the jay to make sure it seems alright, now that things are calmer, and then he looks over at Mary.

"Miss Mary?"

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Mary shakes her arm free of Adam.

With a glower: "I was not hurt."

[last_adam]

Adam watches her closely, carefully, and nods.

"I'm-


glad, then."

From where he sits over Moiraine, his eyes go back and forth between the children and the bird, and he nods again, seeming to agree with himself over something.

"Good."

[uncommongardenr.livejournal.com]

"Is it over?" Dickon asks, still hardly knowing what he means by 'it'. "What happened?"

[blue_ajah]

Her tone is a bit strained, but calm enough to serve-- and dry as the dust of the Aiel Waste when she says,

"As well as may be expected, Adam."

A beat, and she looks up at him.

"A different sort of apocalypse, I think."

[last_adam]

"A much different sort."

He looks around, surveying the people gathering together, clearing their eyes, mending their wounds.

"So she's-"

He knows. He does, but it's nice to get confirmation, now and then.

[blue_ajah]

"... I am not sure," she says slowly. Dark eyes are narrow with concern as she looks for Merriman and Will and Bran, finding them with others beside who seem to be going to their aid.

She turns her head carefully to look for Raven, and sees that group as well. Raven looks to be in far better condition than Blodwen.

"But I think it is not unwell for us, here at the end of this day."

[mercurialist]

When you see power about to collide with power, and you hear somebody yell for you to hit the deck, you'd better fucking hit the deck.

So Mercer threw himself at the ground and yanked his cap down over his eyes as the explosion hit.

And now he straightens, cautiously, pushing his hat back, blinking away the edges of afterimages. He still can't feel much in his left shoulder except a singleminded stabbing ow, but the sky seems to be clear -- and the weight of the Dark is gone.

Triumphant, he lets out a hoarse whoop like a sports match spectator and punches the air with his good arm.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck is sprawled on the ground, himself again-- dazed and bruised from the buffeting the Dark gave him, but no worse than that.

There's laughter rippling from him now, bright and silvery and only slightly edged with too many nerves too long pent up.

He doesn't need to be told what's happened here.

[nita_callahan]

Nita, crouched again, blows out a long breath and says a word in the Speech. The shield dissolves into a brief, cool breeze.

She stands up, brushing herself off, and her eyes are old as she looks around.

Brother?

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Nita catches Puck's eye.



... Well, more than just his eye.

There's something about her that he can't quite pin down-- power, shining bright, and there's more of it than he's seen before, more than there should be ...

He stares.




Slow, steady:

"Nita Callahan."



Then he gives up the steady in favor of incredulous.

"... Exactly what have you done with yourself?"

[mercurialist]

Mercer can't understand at first why he's feeling that uncomfortable, jangling incongruence of too many distances crammed into too small a space again. It wasn't there a second ago, it shouldn't be there, not if --

And then he looks at Nita.

And he gapes, soundlessly, in a wordless oh.

He gets the impression that if he squinted hard enough, concentrated just that much harder, he'd see grey eyes there. Mercer pulls himself to his feet.

[winged-defender.livejournal.com]

Her brother's power is blazing fiercely, unmistakable, and it takes less than a second for him to cross over for the family reunion.

"Sister," he says aloud, joy ringing in his voice, "Well met. And--" he searches her eyes for Nita, not the Whisperer-- "how are you handling things?"

He hasn't forgotten that Nita asked after him, once; he doesn't get concern often from mortals.