Fic: dream a dream (and what you see will be) - mizzy2k - PART 6

[mizzy2k]

dream a dream (and what you see will be)
mizzy2k

Seb, predictably, is relishing the attention. He smiles at Amelia, and leans in as he introduces himself properly, and scowls at Ariadne when she moves in next to him and Amelia flattens herself against the opposite wall, as far away from Ariadne as she can get.

Seb snickers. "And here you thought you girls could bond down here." He nudges her with his shoulder, a movement that Amelia tracks with her eyes. "Isn't she supposed to be a kid?"

"She is. Cradle snatching'll get you in jail so don't even think about it."

"I'm probably mentally thirteen," Seb says, and he's not too far wrong if Ariadne thinks about it. She doesn't want to. There's lines enough being crossed in this job as it stands to cross any more. "She's nine. Four years isn't bad."

"Down boy," Ariadne mutters, a little creeped out.

A minute later, Eames' head appears at the opening, followed by the rest of him, and then Cobb.

"The clowns are just hanging around," Cobb says, shifting his gun and training it on a target Ariadne can't see from where she is.

Eames looks around them, at Ariadne in one corner and Amelia in the other as Yusuf finishes unravelling wires from the dream's PASIV. There are small tags on the cannulas, which Ariadne can see have their names in neat Courier print. She makes a mental note to pitch Yusuf and Arthur in an organisation match when they get back. She flickers a wary look at Seb, and swallows the guilt back down.

"Amelia," Eames says, after exchanging a look with Cobb - in amongst the bantering, they must have found time to agree with Eames taking the lead on this, "A quick question before we deal with the box. Before you fell asleep, before you came here... Did you ever have any female nurses?"

"How's that important?" Cobb says. Eames throws him a shut up look. Cobb stares at the ceiling, dark planks with cracks of moonlight spilling through, like he's a kid who's been caught doing something wrong.

"No," Amelia says, eyeballing Cobb oddly, crossing her arms over her stomach. "How did you know I fell asleep?"

"We're here to wake you up," Seb says.

"We're here to get rid of what it is that's stopping you from waking up," Eames corrects, a little harshly. Seb pulls a face. Eames ignores him, taking Amelia's hand and looking directly into her eyes. Ariadne's been on the receiving end of that little gesture herself - it's very difficult to disagree with Eames when he's turning on his charm. "But we have to find something first. You have to find something."

"What is it?"

"That's just it," Eames says. "If I knew, I'd use the box on my own. But I don't know. I don't have a clue. Only you can find it."

"What if I can't?"

"You can," Eames says, "I know you can. And you have us here to help you. I can vouch for each and every member of my team."

"Your team," Cobb breathes, sotto voce, but quietens when Eames elbows him.

"We're all here for you."

Amelia looks worryingly at Ariadne again for a moment, but she swallows, and nods. "What do I have to do?

"Trust me," Eames says, picking up one of the cannulae. "Just sit down. You're going to find yourself somewhere weird, but don't worry, we'll be right beside you."

"Somewhere weird," Amelia says as Eames pushes the cannula into her elbow - it's not her dream, so it's not as painful as it could be. She might look like she's in her early twenties, her body the same shape as her mother's, but her voice is still a child's voice. "I'm an expert in weird. I'm sure I was somewhere even weirder than here before an hour ago. I just... can't remember."

Eames smiles at her reassuringly, and settles down next to her, Seb sitting on her other side. Ariadne waits for them to push their own needles in before following them, Cobb settling next to her. "You might feel a little sleepy. Just settle into the feeling, Amelia. We'll be right there."

"I don't feel tired at all," Amelia declares, and slumps over into sleep.

"A mild pre-sedative to give you a minute or two headstart," Yusuf says. "Sleep tight."

He might say something else after that, but the somnacin takes hold of Ariadne then, and she fills her mind with nothing but Fantasia and lets it take her away.

#
When Ariadne wakes, already standing in the same clothes she wore in the test run, Fantasia is quiet. They're in the Howling Woods; this is Ariadne's dream. She'll always know where they are. The sun's shining in Fantasia, but the Howling Woods are dense by the nature of what they are - thick trees that normally sing, an echoing harmonic sound nothing like any sort of music in reality. Ariadne's spent time just practising this section of the Howling Woods for hours on end; she found herself humming the discordant song of the trees in the coffee shop on the street where she's renting a small flat, and getting the oddest of looks from the other patrons.

The song doesn't belong in reality, but it belongs in the Howling Woods, and without it the place seems large and empty. It doesn't seem fully real. Ariadne looks over to see Amelia, still barefoot and in what's either a nightie or a hospital gown, and Amelia's face is blank. She's a few moments away from collapsing the dream on her own if her disbelief grows any more.

They need Fantasia. They need Bastian to wish it into place again. She edges a look over, and her heart stops a second - like it's always going to do when she sees Arthur's dark hair and the curve of Arthur's neck and Arthur's hands curled around something which he could use as a weapon (which, to be fair, in Arthur's case is pretty much anything with mass. Ariadne once saw him take out an oncoming projection with a deck of cards. Arthur didn't even break a sweat.)

She's always going to lose a beat when Arthur's not really there.

It's Bastian in control, his eyes shut, a serene expression on Arthur's face that makes him seem a thousand times older than his years - which he might very well be, relatively, in his own head. His fingers are wrapped around the AURYN. It's something which would be dangerous in Seb's hands, but quite safe in Arthur's - unless you're a projection, in which case you might find it embedded in your throat. He lifts his head up from the AURYN, opens his eyes, and when he sees her, he's smiling this odd, old smile.

Like he's saying goodbye.

Ariadne swallows hard as the proper sound of the Howling Woods settles in around them, a song with no words, with no earthly harmony, with an accompaniment of rustling leaves and creaking bark. She smiles back at Bastian, the edges strained with a hint of sadness, and she just nods at him. It's all the approval she can give him. This is Bastian's last, great adventure, and Seb might be right; Bastian might be okay with dying. It doesn't mean Ariadne has to be all right with the concept of it.

She wobbles on her feet when someone bumps into her. She smells Eames before she sees him - sensations are always just that little bit more pin-sharp when one is the dreamer - and he flashes the smallest grin at her, a moment of bonding in all the chaos. It anchors Ariadne suddenly, and Fantasia fills her head, the location fully in place for wherever Amelia wishes to go.

"So where do we go?" Amelia's voice is unsteady. She's looking around the place, her eyes wide this time with wonder not fear, and her bare feet dent the grass. The level of detail in Fantasia is incredible, and Ariadne doesn't know if it's her own brain, creating and creating, or whether Bastian's wishes add that extra layer of verisimilitude. An ounce of tangibility that make Fantasia a living creature all of her own.

"Listen," Cobb barks, soft and urgent, dragging all of their attention his way. Even Amelia is conditioned to listen to orders. "Can you hear it?"

There's a sound, gentle but terrible, cutting through the whispering, singing trees. Each tree has its own note; the sound heading towards them, echoing around like its coming from every direction, has a different note still. A different rhythm. It is strict and regimented, where the Howling Trees are syncopated.

"Cairon," Bastian murmurs to Ariadne, as the others scan through the shadowy trees. "He's always the herald. The call to adventure. He's here quickly."

"I compressed the landscape. The amount of somnacin we could add into Amelia's medication, time's an issue." Ariadne cocks her head. "Seb holding that one back on you?"

"He's not being terribly forthcoming." Bastian offers her a tired smile again. "But one thought's coming straight through."

"That I promised to champion him to you," Ariadne says. "He's got just as much of a right to live as Arthur."

"You don't believe that."

"On a moralistic level... yes. On a personal level, fuck no."

Bastian stares at her. She can't decipher the expression at all. He exhales, a noisy little huff, and his mouth presses together in an expression that's so very Arthur that Ariadne can't breathe with it. "Okay," he says eventually. "Consider your debt to Seb paid." He tilts his head, pushing his nose up into the air like he can smell something Ariadne can't. "The North," Bastian says, much louder than the soft voice he used to talk with Ariadne. Everyone looks at him, then in a Northerly direction, to where the Ivory Tower curls up in the distance, a glinting blindingly white, whimsical spire that looks like it can barely hold its own weight. "Cairon's coming from the North."

"Cairon... the centaur," Ariadne recalls, as the sound suddenly makes sense. It's hooves. Eames moves to lift his weapon, a much more in-keeping with the environment crossbow, and it's Amelia that pushes his hand down.

"Silly," she says, "Cairon's a good guy. Everyone knows that."

She whips her golden hair and hurtles to stand next to Cobb, bouncing on the balls of her bare feet in excitement, clinging girlishly onto Cobb's arm. Cobb looks at her, looking mildly perturbed. He's probably, Ariadne thinks in a combination of pique and victory, thinking this level of high-pitched excitement is what Phillipa's going to grace him with in a few years. It serves him right.

"Everyone knows that," Eames mimics as he sidles over to stand next to Ariadne, almost tone-perfect for the little observation time they've had with her. Ever a forger, even by accident. "I swear, she almost had your level of condescension there, Ar..."

Ariadne can see it, the instant that Eames remembers Arthur's not there anymore, that Arthur was never even really real to begin with. The cynical amusement on his face dissolves instantly. His face freezes, a pulse in his jaw indicating he's tensed every muscle, and his shoulders sag.

"Bastian," Eames amends, his voice stiff and formal. He swallows, looks at the ground, and then tilts his chin mulishly and stares Bastian in the face. Ariadne's throat feels dry, and she struggles to remain still, to hold her composure. She wants to cry, but it would be selfish. This is not her space to grieve. "I do apologise. I lost my head for a moment."

Bastian looks torn. He looks away, and then at Eames, and then says, in a soft, curious voice, like he's trying out a language he's never spoken, "It's understandable. I've never - No one's ever felt about me the way you all feel about him. It's nice to feel it, even when it's not really meant for me." Bastian moves his hand over Eames', just for a moment.

Eames flinches, and his shoulders tighten again. "I can't-" he starts. "I'm not ready for that." I can't even really believe you're not there, is what his expression is saying so clearly, even if he can't elucidate it himself. If I let you touch me, I'll know it's Bastian touching me, not Arthur. I'll know he's gone, even if it's just for now. "Amelia needs support," he says, instead, and ambles away from them as if he's aimless, not looking for a direction.

Anything to get away from them.

Ariadne looks at the tense line of his back and tries not to feel sad. There's a bitter taste in her mouth. It might be bile, or she might have bitten the inside of her cheek. Pain's in the mind, but her mind is elsewhere.

Her mind is focussing on the fact that she's finally able to decipher Eames, a little bit. Something she wished for, only days before.

Be careful what you wish for, they say. Ariadne just wishes the world didn't want to teach her that lesson over and over again.

Still, it's difficult to stay in a bad mood when the source of the sound makes his eventual appearance. Ariadne's never had a thing for centaurs (unicorns are more her fantasy creature speed) because she's never really thought centaurs require much imagination. They're just, in her mind, a man's top half transplanted on the top of a horse. No grace. A waste of the little imagination and creativity required to think of them, in her opinion.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

Cairon's beautiful. From the ripple of his skin to where it slowly merges into dappled brown horse hide, to where his white flowing hair changes so subtly into a mane, there is nothing that isn't glorious about Cairon as he gallops towards them. His movement is better than any horse Ariadne's seen. It's almost like he's flying through the trees towards them, his body bending effortlessly through the narrow gaps, and the random sunlight splashing like ripples across his back.

He slows to a halt with no apparently difficulty right in front of Amelia. He has about three feet of height on her, and his eyes are dark and kind as he looks down at her, solemn as anything.

When he speaks, his voice is like a deep, booming bell.

"Would you be Amelia, of Huntington Way?"

"Yes, that's me." Amelia huddles back a little into Cobb, who still looks a bit perplexed that this girl - even though she looks like an adult, she still acts nine - has latched onto him. He'll just have to deal with the fact he's a dad and can't help acting like one, Ariadne thinks, even as she keeps looking up at Cairon. He's definitely imposing, but he doesn't feel like a threat.

"And Bastian! Bastian Bux! Many years has it been since you and I rode out together across the Grassy Sea. Have you come to adventure with me again? No more Greenskin boys to find, I hope. And who is this?" Cairon eyeballs Cobb expectantly.

"I guess I've grown up a little, Lord Cairon," Cobb says, pitching his voice a little higher than normal. Cobb couldn't forge, or act, at all. It was quite sad, actually, something Ariadne didn't mind telling him now and again. "Bastian and I work together now."

"Master Atreyu? Well, this is good company you are keeping, Amelia of Huntington Way," Cairon booms.

"Huntington Way?" Bastian murmurs.

"Where Amelia lives," Ariadne explains.

"I'm... looking for something," Amelia says. "I have to go home, but I can't until I can."

It's perfect nine-year-old logic if nothing else. Cairon looks at her solemnly and doesn't even laugh or ask for clarification. "Indeed," he says, "and that is why Moonchild sent me. You have a perilous journey ahead, my girl. Are you brave enough for it?"

"I'm brave enough to try."

Cairon smiles, but even that looks solemn on his weathered face. "The best answer. I believe your quest lies where all in Fantasia lie. A place unbeset by individuals, where answers can be found from the cosmos itself. I have heard such whispers across Fantasia of such a place, but I know not of its location."

"Then how will I find it?" Amelia sounds upset then. Cobb pats her on the shoulder comfortingly, his eyes trained on Cairon. He doesn't even realize he's doing it, comforting her, Ariadne thinks. Her heart softens a little. Cobb doesn't intend to be a bad guy. It's just his God complex... Sometimes it gets in the way. He does the right thing eventually.

The trouble being, eventually may end up being too late for Arthur.

"Simple," Cairon says. "You must find someone who does know. There is someone older than I who cannot wander Fantasia's breadth any more. You must go to her."

"Morla, the Aged One," Amelia breathes. Cairon nods solemnly.

"Her first choice," Bastian mutters to Ariadne. "There's a handful of characters she might have picked." He pauses, like he's considering something. "There could be worse-"

There's another pause, and then Bastian shrugs.

"There could have been a better choice, you mean," Ariadne whispers back. Bastian just looks at her sadly, and that speaks volume enough.

"You must travel north, my sweet," Cairon intones, deep and resonant. "And you will travel where I cannot. Across the plains and through the Swamps of Sadness. You will find Morla in the exact middle. Good speed, my girl. Night will fall two hour's hence, and in the night crawls many a foul beast in these, Fantasia's most troubled time."

"We'll go immediately," Amelia says, "thank you, Cairon, thank you."

"I must to the South," Cairon says. "Fatespeed, Amelia of Huntington Way."

Amelia nods, and Cairon circles around them, before setting off full-tilt to the South. "We've got to go North," she says once he's gone, and moves forwards a few paces. Then she pauses, and looks across at Eames. "Um-"

Eames points in the right direction. Amelia smiles, obviously smitten with him, and she starts to run to the North, without even waiting for them.

"No one said there'd be running on this job," Ariadne says dolefully, rolling her eyes as they all start chasing after her.

"Time's an issue," Bastian parrots to her, sending her a grin. "Besides, this is a dream. Didn't you dream yourself more athletic?"

Ariadne dodges a tree and manages to throw him an impression of Cobb's favourite squint. "It doesn't matter even if I had," Ariadne says, as pompously as she can considering she's already having to haul in more oxygen than she's happy with. Her mind is already playing havoc on her body in the dream. Sometimes it's not a good thing that Yusuf's compounds make the dreams so very real. "This is my dream. I'm going to be the one feeling the cramp if we run the whole way."

Bastian just grins. Seb didn't get his jerk side from nowhere.

Amelia's pace slows when they emerge out of the Howling Woods and onto a small section of plains land, the dregs of the Grassy Sea that curl around the perimeter of the Howling Woods. The discordant, beautiful sound of the whistling trees dies down behind them, although the empty space of the grasslands holds tightly onto the echoes. Her pace quickens after a few minutes, and Ariadne shoots an evil glare at her back until she realizes that they're nearly upon the Swamp of Sadness.

There are curls of what looks like clouds settling in along the horizon. Ariadne doesn't know the real term for them. If she was by the ocean, she'd call them sea frets. Perhaps they're swamp frets. Or just plain ground mist.

They do slow when they reach the very edge of the swamp. The mist's curling over it almost completely. There is a path, and Ariadne knows exactly where it is; it's only now that she's considering the option that Amelia might not opt for it and they might have to spend the next hour wading through waist-height mud, trying not to sink down in it and die. Like Artax, Ariadne thinks, and hugs herself unconsciously, turning to look at Amelia pacing along the length. Eames, Cobb and Bastian are holding back, letting her decide the way to go.

See the trees, Ariadne thinks, see that the trees have a couple of large stones in between them for us to get safely to Morla.

Eames narrows his eyes at Ariadne - a show me where the path is so I can point it out to her subtly - and Ariadne points subtly with a head nod. Eames follows that direction with his eyes, nods back to show he's got it, turns to say whatever it is he's going to say to Amelia, and he freezes.

Apparently Ariadne's becoming able to translate Eames more and more every day, and she mimics his fear before turning and feeling it herself.

The thing about Fantasia is that Bastian obviously created it to be a relatively safe environment, in amongst the slightly creepy and crazed monsters that inhabit carefully designated areas (apart from Gmork, and Ariadne's not thinking about the wolf that tracked Atreyu across Fantasia, she's not) and one of the clues in his at least overall design is the lack of fierce colors. Even the flame-drenched Salamander is a place to be looked at, not visited. There's no danger in Salamander's orange tones.

The rest of Fantasia is brilliant white, cool blues, bright greens, safe greys, and a hint of gold. Even Salamander is orange and yellows.

The color red doesn't exist in Fantasia.

So there's only one explanation for the red in the distance heading towards them. Ariadne glances to Amelia, checking her reaction.

Amelia makes this keening sound.

Low in her throat.

Like she's been shot.

The sound makes Bastian stare at her for a moment, empathy flooding his face. He knew that sound. Ariadne knows it, instantly. Arthur's letting Bastian know exactly what he was feeling to elicit such a sound himself. He's not lying down without a fight. Ariadne feels strength flood her spine at the knowledge, even though she's also feeling a strange feeling of terror at the carnival clowns heading their way.

It's probably Amelia's fear, radiating over them all.

Or maybe it's just her own fear, she rationalises, seeing the glint of something in their white hands.

Something which chillingly resembles a meat cleaver.

"Um," Ariadne says, "I know you're the man with the plans, Cobb. But could I perhaps suggest running?"

Cobb looks towards Amelia, his crossbow already slipping into his grasp as he ducks a shoulder. "Which way?"

"We could go around. But... the swamp should be more difficult for them with their feet," Amelia decides, her eyes wide. Bastian's moved closer to her for support and her fingers curl into the sleeve of his hoodie. She turns and looks through the swamp. "There, the trees. I think I see rocks."

"Let's go," Eames says.

"Eames, you take point, I'll bring up the rear," Cobb says, sliding an arrow into place in his crossbow.

Eames' face freezes, twists a little; he forces through a nod. Ariadne throws Cobb the dirtiest look she can manage.

"What?" Cobb asks.

"I think you've already taken point enough for one day," Ariadne says, and hurries to follow Bastian and Amelia onto the stepping stones in-between the trees. She hears Cobb's unhappy huff, and then focusses on following the others on the first few stones through the swamp.

She's good at her job.

Unfortunately.

The rocks are crooked, uneven and wet, and the swamp smells disgusting. Ariadne slips a little, and the swamp itself is cloying and thick, thick enough for her to be able to put a hand down and retrieve her balance. The trees, spindly looking things that rise up out of the mist like forlorn, twisted, dark fingers are empty of leaves and thankfully smooth enough. Ariadne finds she almost gets into a rhythm, hopping across stones behind Bastian, and using the trees as handholds. Eames is too far ahead to see with all the mist, but she can see an odd flash of Amelia's bright, roughly chopped hair.

The darkness of the swamp settles around them quite quickly. With nothing but swamp and mist and fractured trees in every direction, it's easy to feel gloomy. Ariadne pauses to take a breath, her dream body needing it because her brain's interpreting this whole thing as real and reacting accordingly, and Cobb makes her jump when he looms out of the mist, catching them up.

She shoots another angry look at him. "You startled me."

"We should keep going. I've slowed them down for now." That response is Cobb all over; not as firmly professional as Arthur, but close enough.

Ariadne nods, and turns to move to the next stone, but she slips a little, and grabs out for the tree to steady herself. The movement twists her until she's facing back again, and that's when she hears it.

A low, scraping growl. Like the sound a dog might make, if it had too many teeth.

And she knows who it is before even having to ask Bastian, because she's said it herself twice.

Gmork, the dark wolf who tracked Atreyu across Fantasia in Seb's book, is not constrained to one location. But he is to be found, usually, in the Swamp of Sadness.

They're already deeply into the Swamp of Sadness.

"Gmork," Cobb breathes, before Ariadne has the chance to say anything, and, of course, if anyone would know Gmork it would be the person who masqueraded as Atreyu. A knife from Cobb's sleeve drops into his hand. He turns and scours the mist, squint firmly in place.

The growl echoes around them, multiplying in the moist atmosphere until Ariadne has no idea what direction Gmork's even coming in from.

When she sees, she sees one other thing: he's not alone. The two clowns are back, flanking Gmork as the large black wolf prowls out of the mist, teeth bared.

"I thought you slowed them down," Ariadne hisses, backing up a little in fear, her hand going for her own knife.

"I dropped them in the Swamp," Cobb says, "there's no way these are the same guys."

Ariadne makes a split-second decision. "Eames!"

Cobbs jaw tightens, but he doesn't protest. These are their enemies in the swamp. They need their best fighters on this. And Ariadne and Bastian don't exactly count in that category.

Eames appears, already looking concerned and with a weapon in his hand; Ariadne never calls out in panic unless it's necessary. He passes her on her stone as Amelia and Bastian appear too, curious at what's going on. Amelia's face pinches and Bastian looks sick at the sight of Gmork.

Eames settles in next to Ariadne, checking up the situation. He lowers his voice so Bastian and Cobb can't hear. "If I don't- if we don't - Keep going. And if the situation allows it-"

"I'll do my best to get him out," Ariadne whispers back. Eames holds her gaze for a moment, and he swallows hard, but he nods. The trust in that nod almost overwhelms her.

"Get them out of here, pet," Eames says, louder, brushing her shoulder with his companionably. He winks at her, but she's not fooled; his weapon's already in his grasp and he has that focused, determined look he only ever gets when the projections are about to start raising merry havoc.

Ah, Ariadne thinks. Finding out about how he feels about Arthur was the key to being able to decipher Eames.

"You might want to get on with that running thing," Cobb says, and tosses her his crossbow. "Just in case," he says, in a softer tone. Ariadne catches it and nods at him. She's reluctant to move, but Amelia whimpers, and the clowns step forward, seemingly having no problem with walking on the swamp itself.

Ariadne turns her focus directly on Amelia. If they don't help Amelia after all of this effort, then there's so much that will be wasted.

She focuses on the path and leaps to the next stone, a stone away from where Bastian and Amelia are both stood, their eyes trained behind Ariadne, to where Cobb and Eames are facing off against Gmork and the clowns.

Gmork's growl is an uncomfortable friction running down Ariadne's spine.

"We need to go," Ariadne says, making the leap over to their stone.

They keep staring behind her. Ariadne fights the urge, especially at the sound of metal clashing against metal.

She takes a deep breath and uses a page from Professor Miles' book. He's still her best professor in memory even though the messes he's got her into by recommending her to Cobb are beyond belief.

Professor Miles, see, doesn't like people being late to his lecture. Ariadne's been on the receiving end of his rage more than once. It's very compelling, and it's all to do with how loud and deep he can get his voice.

"Now!" Ariadne bellows, glaring at them.

Amelia nods and turns, starting to move back to the North. Bastian hesitates.

"Will they be fine?" he asks, his eyes darting nervously over his shoulder. From the sound of things, Ariadne really doesn't want to turn around.

"Yes," Ariadne says, "but we'll be a distraction if we hold on any longer. We might cause them to be hurt. Now go. Amelia's way ahead."

Bastian looks hopelessly to the left, then nods, looks at her, and turns away to follow Amelia, ducking his head and being entirely less graceful than Arthur would be in the circumstances.

Well, Arthur would be behind Ariadne, kicking ass. But moving over the stones he'd be efficient and graceful. To hold that much of a different person in one head...

She turns to look, because she'd regret it forever if she didn't, and it's the worst timing in the world; she looks just in time to see Gmork throw himself at Cobb's chest and the two disappear down into the mist, and Ariadne wishes she could say it's a blur, but even from this distance, she can see blood and ribs and exposed organs.

Gmork has ripped Cobb's chest right open from the neck to the sternum.

Cobb's not coming back out of the swamp.

"Go," Eames shouts, noticing Ariadne still there, and his yelled warning is a mistake; one of the clowns grabs him from behind. Ariadne starts forwards, and Eames grits his teeth. "Go. Don't make Arthur's sacrifice worth nothing! Get Amelia to the Mirror!"

Ariadne nods, and forces herself to turn her back on the scene, heading off into the mists. Trusting Eames to keep them off their backs.

Bastian and Amelia's pace has slowed by the time Amelia catches up with them. Bastian takes one look at her shadowy expression and follows her mutely.

They move quicker with Ariadne's lead.

Eames was on his own against two clowns who could move on the swamp. If he was gone too, back up in level one, then it's only a matter of time before the clowns reach them too.

"Where's Mr. Eames?" Amelia demands, nearly slipping from a stone in her distraction by the topic. Bastian helps her back up.

"He'll follow us," Ariadne says, trying not to show her deepening fear that she's on her own with Bastian and Amelia.

Neither of them look like they believe her.

"He's right behind us," Ariadne adds. "He wants us to keep moving."

"Fine," Amelia snaps, and turns away from Ariadne, heading back off into the mist.

Bastian waits for her. As she moves up to join him on his rock, he looks unhappy. "He'd better be okay. Someone is pitching a hissy fit right now." He stalks off before Ariadne can say anything. She moves her mouth openly for a second, and follows him. The idea that Arthur was still there, inside Bastian's head, is... so much worse than anything she's been picturing.

She doesn't have long to mull over it when Amelia spots something.

"Up ahead." Amelia points to a rising dark shape in the near distance, and Ariadne picks up her pace even more.

It's taller than Ariadne had in mind when going under. Ariadne never gets used to things in shared dreams never being exactly the way she pictures them. Bastian's imagination is coloring things most, Ariadne thinks, but everyone brings things to dreams.

Ariadne'll take random details and things being taller and crazy killer clowns - she's just thankful it's not Mallorie Cobb any more that's being added to their dreams. She hefts Cobb's crossbow up high, just in case someone's subconscious has decided that Morla should come with any additional fun. Like grenade launchers in her shell, or something.

Not that a crossbow would be any good against that.

"It's Tortoise Shell Mountain, isn't it?" Amelia asks Bastian in a hushed, reverent whisper.

He opens his mouth - Arthur's mouth, Ariadne's brain inserts miserably - to reply, but another voice breaks in.

"Sakes alive. Old woman, somebody's crawling around on us!"

"Morla," Bastian says, sounding fond. He bumps Ariadne's shoulder with his own. "Look, there. In the dark part."

Ariadne squints at something on the side of the shadowy mountain rising out of the swamp that she had been assuming was a cave. As she's watching, a boulder comes out of that cave, but it's not a boulder - it's a head with giant black eyes which ripple like a pond of dark, black water.

It's the head of a turtle, balanced on a wrinkled extended neck.

It's Morla the Aged One, and she's more beautiful than Ariadne ever imagined. That's got to be Bastian's imagination doing that because hers isn't capable of this. Not Fantasia, not Cairon, not Morla.

"Oh, Bastian." The head turns, the pool eyes rippling. Her voice is made of echoes, lapping over each other. "It's been a time."

"It's been an age, my lady," Bastian calls out. "It may be the last time we meet, I fear, so I beg for your good humor."

The large head tilts to the left, as if considering the validity of Bastian's answer. "Perhaps Morla's death creeps ever forward. The sakes know their paths; it is not up to us to see the cliff edge fate has created for us."

"It's my own end that impends, good Morla. I'm older than I look, you know." Bastian laughs a little, and spreads his arms wide.

"Still a child to me," Morla says. "Be quick. Fantasia's not at rest. I long to return to my sleep and wake on a better day. Speak your business."

"It's my business, ma'am," Amelia pipes up, stepping forward. "I need an answer to a question."

"Well, child, hurry up and ask it. If our Bastian wasn't wearing the gem, we'd eat you up. Just for silence's sake," Morla barks, pushing her large head closer to Amelia as if to see her better.

Amelia swallows, bunches her fists in her shift dress and looks Morla as directly in the eye as a nine-year-old who looks like a twenty-year-old can look a giant, mountain-shaped turtle in the eye. "I'm looking for where all the answers in Fantasia lie. It's a place unbeset by individuals, where answers can be found from the cosmos itself."

"We know of the place you speak, but that's still not a question, child." Morla sounds tetchy then, surly and slow. "Leave us in peace if you haven't a real question for us; hurry if you do. We grow impatient."

Amelia sets her mouth into a frown, determined. "Where is this place?"

"We're not deaf, child."

"And I'm not a child," Amelia shouts.

Morla's wrinkled head billows sideways as she creases her craggy mouth into a mockery of a smile. "We see you are in need of more knowledge than you ask. We will help you."

"Thank you," Amelia says, sounding somewhat confused.

"Keep North," Morla intones, deep and resonant. Her voice is like echoes in a deep, deep cavern now. Ariadne feels cold just from the exhalation of Morla's voice. "The Land of the Dead Mountains. You remember the poem, sweet Bastian?"

They all turn to Bastian in unison. Ariadne can see the corners of Morla's mouth twitch upwards, making her grin take on a macabre shape. "Bastian?" Ariadne prompts, trying not to sound too scared, because Bastian's face is pure fear.

"Yes," Bastian says, after a moment, a hesitation that makes all the sound in Fantasia drop away for a second. "Better the Hunstman should perish in the swamps, for in the Dead Mountains there is a deep, deep chasm where dwelleth Ygramul the Many, the horror of horrors."

Ariadne lets the words run over her. Bastian had to fight to remember it. He had to drop Fantasia to remember it. The lines are Seb's then, something Seb created just for the book. She's cold with the fear as she looks over as Bastian. Some of Seb's leaked through into the dream, even though Bastian's in control of the body.

It's not good. It can't be good.

Maybe Bastian's decision to fade away at the end of this all was in his mind when they arrived in Fantasia, and Seb slipped into the gap some. That Seb managed it and not Arthur is.... not a good sign.

"Use her gift to take you to the Southern Oracle. The third gate is your destination. You have what you need," Morla sniffs, "now leave us in peace. Or do we need to push you off?"

The floor rumbles beneath their feet.

"Let's go," Ariadne says. Bastian nods a goodbye at Morla, who merely closes her eyes and starts pulling her boulder of a head back into the dark cave of the mountainside.

#
This side of the Swamp of Sadness is shorter than the other side. Ariadne's always had a tentative grasp on where the middle is of things; she's gotten into more than one argument with a lecturer about where the middle of a U-shaped building actually is. She thinks mathematically that the middle should be somewhere in the building, but her lecturers insist mathematically the middle of such a building with left and right wings is somewhere in the square outside courtyard between them.

And she's digressing. Because it's easier than looking at Bastian's tense back as they pick through the last of the swamp as quickly as they can. Ariadne's pants are completely ruined all the way up to the knee.

"Okay," she says, to their backs, "I'm not as big a Fantasia geek as the rest of you. Who's Ygramul?"

"The horror of horrors," Bastian says, helpfully.

"Eat dirt," Ariadne calls back, automatically.

"I can't access the right memory," Bastian adds, in an odd formal tone, "but I think... you're scared of spiders, right?"

"Of course not," Ariadne lies, and then an old memory hits her, and she almost slips off the stone she's balancing on. "Oh, no. No."

"We need her to bite us," Amelia calls back, not looking back to see Ariadne's expression. It's probably a smart idea; Amelia might not react well to the horror on Ariadne's face. "We'll die in an hour once she does, but we need to get to the answer."

"She's fearless," Bastian mutters, appreciatively.

"We need to let a giant spider bite us?" Ariadne mutters. Her next step brings her feet down onto something for solid. Solid land, for whatever that means in a dream. She looks past Amelia to the horizon. The mist is clearing. A smudge of dark grey rises above it.

"Ahead," Bastian says. "Through the line of the mountains." He pauses ahead of Ariadne and turns to her, holding his hand out. Ariadne blinks at him for a moment, because Bastian had been keeping his distance from Eames steadfastly. Apparently she's a different matter, as when Ariadne takes his hand and he helps her up a small slope, nothing happens. Bastian stays Bastian.

Apparently, Ariadne doesn't have the same pull over his heart as Eames does.

"The Dead Mountains," Ariadne says. "Maybe five minutes til the chasm." Her eyes narrow at Bastian. "Which I wouldn't have dreamed in if I'd known there was going to be a giant spider put in it."

"Hey, you said you read the book," Bastian says, almost playfully, holding up his hands when he releases her. He looks back into the Swamp of Sadness, an almost elegiac look on his face. "It's not my fault you don't remember all of it."

"My friends were bigger fans of the film," Ariadne says. Bastian's face tightens. For a moment she thinks it's disapproval, but then she hears it too.

The same low, scraping growl as before.

Her eyes fly to Bastian's.

"Gmork knows the Swamp better than anyone," he says, his voice sounding strained, pure fear on his face. "Before you had a decent suggestion."

"I did?" Ariadne asks, flickering a fearful look across the edge of the swamp.

"Yup," Bastian says. "Run!"

On to part 7

Masterpost