Blue Tier Colors (2/?) (Brendon/Ryan, Spencer/Jon)
Title: Blue Tier Colors
Author: tobi_wankenobi
Rating: R overall for violence and sex and swearing and stuff.
Pairings: future Ryan/Brendon and Jon/Spencer.
Summary: Fantasy. It was a weird night before Ryan exploded. Then things just went downhill. The boys from Panic find out that there's more to them than anyone could ever have imagined.
Warnings: fantasy violence, ugly monsters. Bleh.
Disclaimer: I don't own Panic at the Disco. If you recognize it, it probably ain't mine.
Author's note: This is going to be a ride, I think. I'm a D&D/WoW/LARP nerd, so the "classes" in this fic might be familiar to some of you. Other than that, have fun! Concrit is lovely, but any feedback is appreciated.
Chapter 1
***
Brendon's not really surprised when he recognizes Clianthia through the dingy curtain, a sprawling, white stone city with standards of blue and silver. It looks just as it had in Brendon's dream and it's such a weird feeling, somewhere beyond déjà vu but he's no longer afraid of what's going to happen to them once they reach the city.
"Guys," he says, motioning over his shoulder. "Come look."
He hears the rustling of clothing and the sound of rubber soles on wood and then Ryan says, "wow," in a soft, awe-struck sort of voice.
"That's that city," Jon adds excitedly. "Right?"
"What?" Ryan's the only one who looks confused by this, though.
Brendon nods and Spencer says, "Yeah. That's it. Clianthia," he tries the name out, then bites his lip and looks at his friends. "Sounds like a D&D campaign. Are we sure we're not dreaming, still?"
"Yeah. Still confused here." Ryan waves to get their attention, looks slightly exasperated with them. "How do we know this city?"
"You didn't have the dream we did," Brendon guesses. Ryan had been ill on the couch before whatever it is that's happened to them happened. Ryan shakes his head, so Brendon continues. "We didn't really get to tell you much about it, I guess. I was on this beach, right?" He looks to Jon and Spencer, confirming with them as he goes. "And I felt this weird call in my head, and followed it to this huge city." He stops and pulls the curtain aside again. "That city," and he points to where Clianthia is getting larger on the horizon. "You were there. In an underground room in some kind of temple-."
"In a dress," Jon interjects.
"What the hell?"
"In robes," Brendon corrects, before Ryan can defend his honor. "Like, cool robes. Flamboyant. Not girly. Well, ok a little but you looked cool, I thought."
"So I was wearing robes," Ryan sighs and motions for Brendon to get on with it.
"You told me to wake up cause it was almost time," Brendon finishes, shrugging. "That's really all it was. Beach, woods, city, you in a dress. In robes."
Ryan rolls his eyes. "What do you think it means? I mean, besides the obvious. I realize that we're not in New York anymore. Why didn't I have some weird dream to warn me? I've just been fucking confused all day."
Some shrugging goes on before Spencer pipes up. "Well. You were the one who exploded. What the fuck was that, anyway?"
Ryan looks a little haunted all of a sudden. "I don't know," he says. "I felt so bad, like I had a fever or something and a head ache. It didn't feel like exploding, though. It felt like... I don't know, the opposite." He shrugs it off. "Didn't hurt, though. Just scared the shit out of me." There's a long pause.
"What happened after you guys got here? I guess I got separated at least. Knocked me out," Brendon says, since Ryan seems to be at a stalemate on his explosion.
"We all did, I think," says Jon. "Got separated, I mean. I was still awake. Felt like I got squished through a PVC pipe until I popped out the other end, dude, it was weird. Then when I opened my eyes again, I was in the middle of the woods. I tried to flag down a carriage and it turned out to be a bad idea." He waves at the interior of their ride as if to say, 'see?'. "So I got to see everyone else brought in. This one and then this one," he elaborates, pointing to Ryan and Spencer respectively.
"I thought for a while that maybe you wouldn't run into them. Not that it really would've helped us, but you know." Spencer shrugs, peeks out the window again to see how far they have to go. "And jeez, while we're talking about it: is everyone ok? No body got hurt or anything, right?" He shows them a curious expression and a thumbs up that they all return.
"They didn't seem to want to hurt me, really," Ryan says. "There was this big ugly dude who bitched at the thing that grabbed me for being too rough when he brought me into camp, even. Said that we were valuable to him, 'unspoilt'."
"I had this... Godzilla thing trying to figure out why he couldn't eat me," Brendon says dramatically. "The pig who helped him said that someone had been looking for us for a long time, though, and that it'd be a bad idea."
"What'd he do," Spencer wants to know.
"He... didn't eat me?"
"No, no." Spencer sighs at him. "The guy you called a pig. What'd he do?"
"He was a pig," Brendon says. Despite himself, he finds it sort of funny. He holds his left hand about three feet from the floor of the wagon. "About yay high. Bipedal."
"Oh, like a literal pig," Spencer says, eyebrows raising. "That's really, really weird. Albion called them demons, right?"
"From the Underworld," Ryan agrees.
"So what do demons from the Underworld want with us?"
"While you're there, why does a... an Elf from Clianthia want us," Jon adds.
"Why do you think they're Elves?"
Jon looks curiously at Brendon. "Well, what do you think they are?"
Brendon shrugs. "I don't know, I think he's an Elf too. I just wondered why you think so."
"Reminds me of Legolas."
"With silver hair," Brendon concedes.
There's probably a lot more they could talk about after the extraordinary day they've had, but the wagon rolls to a stop and Brendon realizes that the sounds outside their cabin have changed. He hears Albion's deep voice saying something he can't can't make out, answered by exclamations of shock and happiness if Brendon is any judge.
"I'm taking them to Lady Ilyah," Albion says, louder like he's got more ears to reach this time. "Clear the way up ahead!"
Brendon can't help himself, he prods the curtain aside and peers out, much to the joy of the silver-haired crowd flanking the wagon. He pulls the fabric shut again. "There's a shit ton of them," he blurts, eyes wide.
"Clear the way," they hear Albion shout again, and then the wagon starts off at a slow pace, gradually picks up until they're going at a steady, bumpy trot.
Brendon's not really scared, so much, but he's not sure what's going to happen and the uncertainty has settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. He draws a slow, steadying breath and closes his eyes.
"It's ok," comes Ryan's soft voice, and Brendon feels thin fingers on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly so he opens his eyes and shows Ryan a bit of smile.
"Yeah," is all he says, but Ryan smiles encouragingly back at him and doesn't looks away for a good long moment that leaves a warm feeling in Brendon's chest.
They're all quiet by the time the wagon rolls again to a stop. The whole vehicle rocks as Albion hops down from the driver's seat and then the rear curtains are pulled aside.
"If you would, my Lords," he says, motioning for them to exit. "The Lady awaits you inside. She's expecting you."
They all crawl out of the wagon, stand in a close group as they dust themselves off and straighten themselves up. Brendon doesn't know who the Lady Ilyah is, but seeing as how she seems to be his host and everyone else thinks she's extremely important he might as well look the best he can after a day in a demon's wagon.
They follow Albion up a high set of white stone stairs, past towering columns and through a high, open doorway. The entrance hall is breathtaking all on its own: polished, white marble and a grand staircase. There is little furniture in the open air place, but viney plants grow along the columns and across parts of the marble floor. What looks like a conference area has been set with beautifully wrought high backed chairs and to his left, a group of the silver-haired elves are bathing in a large in ground bath that steams in the breeze flowing through. Brendon sees a few Elven naughty bits and blushes furiously, looking around to see if his friends are seeing the same things, and suddenly feels as though he's not quite advanced to the stage where he's fit to meet foreign royalty.
The palace is lovely, though, not a window in the entire place, and enough plant life to satisfy a greenhouse. It feels peaceful and natural and Brendon decides he likes it.
Up a set of stairs and down a long corridor lined with rooms, Albion opens a large, white door and motions for them to enter ahead of him. Brendon goes first, peeking around the door into a large white room, open to the elements as the lower floor had been, the boughs of a large, elegant tree forming its roof.
Brendon doesn't see her at first, but tucked away at a elaborately carved writing desk, is a small woman with pointed ears in a flowing white dress. Her hair is strikingly black (considering that everyone else Brendon has seen has had the same pale silver as Albion), and when she looks up at them so are her eyes. She smiles wide, though and it makes her look so entirely friendly, that Brendon manages not to be put off by her bottomless black eyes.
"Hello," she chirps, sounding absolutely thrilled to see them. "Thank you, Albion. You've done your work superbly once again. I've asked them to prepare you a meal in the kitchens, so do go and see them once you've washed."
Maybe it's a dismissal, but Ilyah is unfailingly polite and Albion says a farewell, bows low and departs.
"Now," she says, turning back to the four musicians in her chambers. "My name is Ilyah. I understand that your memories have been replaced by those of your human identities, but as Albion no doubt assured you, this is easily fixed. Should I call you by your given names or would you prefer I used Brendon, Ryan, Spencer and Jon?"
"Uh," Brendon looks almost startled when he exchanges looks with his friends. "I like, uh, Brendon. Yeah." The others nod in agreement and, uncertain again, Brendon's not quite sure what he makes of this lady.
"That'll take some getting used to," she says, just as cheerfully as she's said everything else. "Now, about your memories-."
Brendon feels ridiculous the moment he interrupts her to blurt out, "I don't want to lose my old memories, ok," and Ilyah looks slightly less shocked than Ryan, Spencer and Jon do.
The shock melts into another of her friendly smiles, though, and Ilyah immediately goes reassuring on him. "Oh, my dear. I'm not removing memories. I'm restoring them. You'll have everything in there you already did and then some. But, as I was saying," she bows slightly toward Brendon. "I would tell you all the long history of our alliance and how you came to be here in Cerroneth last night, but I feel that it would be easier to let you see this yourself. You've had quite the long day already, haven't you?"
The four of them nod, though Brendon thinks his friends look just as unsure about the whole thing as he feels.
"Then, if you will, I'll go on and perform the spell and you can go to rest. By the morning you'll know your Cerronethean history just as well as you know your history on earth."
Brendon is a little reluctant, seeing as how no one seems to want to tell them what's going on without some sort of strings attached. Albion had said, 'come with me to this city and I'll tell you what's going on,' and now unexplained spells? Magic? But no answers.
"What kind of... spell is this," he wants to know, unable to keep the suspicion out of the question. Ilyah looks nothing but warm.
"Your soul retains memories of all of your lives, closing off the unneeded ones upon rebirth and starting over. I'm going to access those memories dealing with your lives here, in Cerroneth and the decision to bide your time on the Earth planet. You'll feel a confusion at first, but as you sleep, your mind will organize itself and by morning you'll be your old selves and your older selves too." She smiles brilliantly at them.
Suddenly Brendon's awake on a deep, soft mattress in a dark room and his head feels like its being split in two. He doesn't recall agreeing to the spell, but he hopes dearly that that's all this is and that he's not dying or something. He can hear a soft familiar voice crying somewhere across the room and he sees Ryan in his mind's eye, wants to go to him so bad but how could he ever even think about moving with all this pain.
He doesn't understand his own thoughts, either, running through his mind almost too quickly to be deciphered, a collage of memories and images that he can only half recognize as his own.
Ryan, Spencer, Jon, Ilyah, more of the silver-haired elves... Battle and bloodshed, a man in long dark robes and endless waves of demon warriors.
Brendon rolls onto his back, flushed and mindless, eyes half open but seeing nothing of the darkened room and suddenly, he knows things that he doesn't really know how he knows. It's all a weird tumbling slide show, his brain telling him the story that Albion and Ilyah would not.
Spencer is a Findari ranger named Siah. Brendon's respect for his skills with a bow and blade knows no bounds, and his friend's affinity with the animal inhabitants of Cerroneth has always been a mystery to him. Brendon has as much respect and love for nature as any of his Findari brothers and sisters, but he's never befriended bears or recruited wild predators to aid him in battle. Spencer has. He fights well with Jon, a priest of Findar who had taken up his sword and shield after the Necromancer's arrival in Cerroneth. Wynn, they call him, and his hands are rumored to be imbued with the healing spirit of Findar, herself.
Ryan is Alai, High Mage of Clianthia, handpicked for succession by the aged wizard, Arthiel before his passing. The most remarkable thing about this whole event was Clianthia's acceptance of it. Throughout, Brendon didn't know a soul in Clianthia who remembered a time when Arthiel hadn't been there. His wards had protected the city for years uncounted and he'd had trained Clianthia's casters for years. To call one so young as Ryan his favored student, his most adept pupil had cause ripples amongst his fellow scholars, but appeared to please the citizens themselves, and despite their protests, even his fellows couldn't deny Ryan his incredible power and skill.
Brendon is Sibale and he is Death, an elite assassin working for the fighting forces of Clianthia's Blue Tier. Plucked by Ilyah from the city jails at six years old, where he'd been locked away for picking the pocket of a nobleman, Brendon has been well trained in close combat and subtlety, can take a life without a sound and moves through the city like a ghost when he wants to. Those he slays on the battlefield often never see him at all.
The four of them are the best of the best, brought together by nothing less than fate, a brotherhood forged through trial by fire.
The Necromancer had been foolish to engage their homeland, and they would show him this.
***
"I know you," says a cocksure looking fellow in a green hat. He's decked out in dyed homespun and hide, with a finely tooled leather quiver on his back and a young silver pack wolf at his side. Sibale is struck immediately by the rugged look of him, shaggy hair lightened to dark auburn by the sun, a dark beard on his handsome jaw.
"You're Findari," he asks, uncertain, though he sees something strangely familiar in this ones eyes. Silver eyes. Frost Elf eyes on a Findari. "You were at Valek's hanging," he says, thinking back. He had seen this one as the guards were dragging him away to meet his destiny, watching him from behind a merchant's cart. He hadn't even realized he remembered him until just this moment, and funny that he did. Funny that the other remembered him.
The stranger smiles, a wide, easy looking smile that Sibale likes immediately. "That's right," he says, puts his arm out for Sibale to take. "My name is Siah."
Sibale grasps his hand like he's greeting an old friend, barely questioning how easy he feels around this fellow already. "Sibale," he says. "You look a little different with no vendor's cart to hide behind," but there's no malice behind the words. Siah looks near his age and he'd only been six years old at the time.
"Ah yes, and you!" Siah laughs. "You seem to be doing a bit better since the last time i saw you." He runs his fingers over the fine black leather of Brendon's tunic, admires the silk breeches, close-fitting and expensive looking. "Very nice indeed," he says.
"I fell into some... favorable circumstances after my arrest," Sibale says, a small smile on his face. He shows Siah a well-bred bow. "And who is this?" He kneels before the attractive gray wolf, looking into his silver eyes. "Is she safe," Sibale asks. He would hate to have to kill Siah's wolf.
"If she likes you," Siah says, conversationally. "She hasn't bothered you yet."
"Well, hello then, madam," Sibale says, putting out his hand experimentally. The wolf sniffs and regains eye contact with him, matching gazes evenly unlike the domesticated dogs the children in the city keep as pets. Her ears relax a bit, though and she licks the palm of Sibale's hand, making him grin widely.
"I call her Liola," Siah says once the she-wolf has shown her approval of Sibale. "She's a good companion. Smart as a whip."
Sibale smiles at Liola, then turns it up toward Siah. "You want to go for a drink?"
***
"You need to make that matron of yours invest in stronger armor for you, hooligan," Wynn grumbles gingerly picking fragments of shattered bone from a deep gash in Sibale's upper arm.
"The armor isn't usually a factor," Sibale argues. "I like this armor. I move well in it and it's comfortable. One of Morim's skeletal warriors snuck up on me, though..." Sibale shakes his head ruefully. "I don't know how I didn't hear that rattle cage coming."
"Well," says Wynn, dropping another fragment of bone to the stone table beside them. "Mistakes are for learning, I suppose."
Sibale smirks. "You sound like the Knight Master," he says, quietly.
Wynn looks strangely tight all of a sudden, drops his tool to the table and looks at Sibale with raised eyebrows. "The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree I suppose," is all he says, and Sibale realizes for the first time that Wynn doesn't really like his father very much. He remains silent as Wynn covers the bloody gash with his calloused hand, muttering words of power under his breath. Sibale feels a warmth that soaks right into his muscle and bone and after a moment, Wynn removes his hand to reveal a clean, untouched arm.
"Thanks, Wynn," Sibale says, and Wynn smiles graciously at him.
"No trouble, Sibale. As payment, I'll only request that you stay in one piece."
Sibale grins. "Yes, sir."
***
Sibale's armor is made of thick, dark leather. His boots are well made, strong and solid up to the knee, but flexible enough for him to move silently when he needs to. Studded leather shoulder pauldrons and a black hood enchanted by Alai's magic to act as a shield against his enemys' mental attacks and Sibale trusts this armor as implicitly as a living friend. It has seen him through countless fights and he has no doubt that it will see him through this one as well.
"Sibale!"
He looks over his shoulder as Alai enters his rooms dressed in a black silk tunic and loose fitting leggings tucked into high black boots, a vibrant silk sash knotted at his waist and an intricate design painted across his eyes and cheeks. Sibale smiles warmly at him. "Alai."
"I thought I would walk with you to the Tier," Alai tells him, moving close and putting his thin arms around Sibale, kissing him sweetly on the neck. "And there was something I wanted to try on one of your blades?" Alai smiles winningly at him, eyes hopeful.
Sibale untangles himself from Alai so that he can remove one finely made dagger from its scabbard. It's beautiful: the polished hilt, the silvered blade carved in their own Findari script with an elegant evocation of death. Alai closes his long fingers around the words and closes his painted eyes.
Alai's voice changes when he casts, gets a bit lower, kind of powerful, and so full of concentration. His little spell caster truly is a wonder.
"I call upon the plane of life to empower this blade," he says, and Sibale watches as the metal under his fingertips turns red and then white hot. He looks up as the entire blade begins to glow, but Alai's eyes are still closed and his lips move slightly as he speaks to the spirit he's called into Sibale's dagger. When they open again, his eyes have a strange bright glow that fades slowly as Sibale looks into them and he smiles, clearly pleased with himself. "This blade will be anathema to the demons," he says, releasing the dagger which has faded to its original silver shine.
"Thank you," Sibale says, turning the dagger over reverently, then sheathing it and showing Alai a wide, happy smile. They share another sweet kiss, as natural as if they'd always done it and Alai puts his thin fingers through Sibale's inky black hair.
"I expect you home with me after all this," Alai says, betraying his anxiety over the coming battle with the look in his eyes and the slight tremor in his voice.
"And I you," Sibale says, with a reassuring smile and he pulls his love close again, decides that the Tier and his matron and the battlefield can wait for him to have Alai in his arms for just a little while longer.
***
"Brendon?"
"What?"
Brendon hadn't even realized he was awake before Ryan's shaky voice. He cracks an eye open, looking up at his hunted looking best friend, a strange feeling thrumming all through him as Alai's painted face flashes in his memory. But Ryan looks like he could be taken out by a light breeze right now, so Brendon forces his exhausted body upright just a bit. "Are you ok?"
Ryan's eyes are red and tired looking, and his shoulders slumped. "I... I can't... Can I lay here? With you? I think I could handle this better if I could... If I wasn't..."
Brendon just opens his arms and Ryan sinks into them, curling up on the bed with him. He and Ryan have never had a romantic relationship, but Brendon cares about the boy more than he knows what to do with, and he knows Ryan loves him just the same. Ryan lets out a decompressing sigh and snuggles close to Brendon and Brendon thinks again of intricate warpaint and black silk but this time he thinks of guitar strings and late nights and his first coke, too.
"Who are we, Brendon," Ryan asks, sometime later while Brendon's verging on sleep, voice muted by the fabric of Brendon's t-shirt.
"Panic at the Disco," Brendon says, simply enough, never opening his eyes. He does feel Ryan smile against his chest, but they remain quiet after that. He's too tired to think about it for long anyway and, with Ryan in his arms, he slips back into exhausted dreams.
Author: tobi_wankenobi
Rating: R overall for violence and sex and swearing and stuff.
Pairings: future Ryan/Brendon and Jon/Spencer.
Summary: Fantasy. It was a weird night before Ryan exploded. Then things just went downhill. The boys from Panic find out that there's more to them than anyone could ever have imagined.
Warnings: fantasy violence, ugly monsters. Bleh.
Disclaimer: I don't own Panic at the Disco. If you recognize it, it probably ain't mine.
Author's note: This is going to be a ride, I think. I'm a D&D/WoW/LARP nerd, so the "classes" in this fic might be familiar to some of you. Other than that, have fun! Concrit is lovely, but any feedback is appreciated.
Chapter 1
***
Brendon's not really surprised when he recognizes Clianthia through the dingy curtain, a sprawling, white stone city with standards of blue and silver. It looks just as it had in Brendon's dream and it's such a weird feeling, somewhere beyond déjà vu but he's no longer afraid of what's going to happen to them once they reach the city.
"Guys," he says, motioning over his shoulder. "Come look."
He hears the rustling of clothing and the sound of rubber soles on wood and then Ryan says, "wow," in a soft, awe-struck sort of voice.
"That's that city," Jon adds excitedly. "Right?"
"What?" Ryan's the only one who looks confused by this, though.
Brendon nods and Spencer says, "Yeah. That's it. Clianthia," he tries the name out, then bites his lip and looks at his friends. "Sounds like a D&D campaign. Are we sure we're not dreaming, still?"
"Yeah. Still confused here." Ryan waves to get their attention, looks slightly exasperated with them. "How do we know this city?"
"You didn't have the dream we did," Brendon guesses. Ryan had been ill on the couch before whatever it is that's happened to them happened. Ryan shakes his head, so Brendon continues. "We didn't really get to tell you much about it, I guess. I was on this beach, right?" He looks to Jon and Spencer, confirming with them as he goes. "And I felt this weird call in my head, and followed it to this huge city." He stops and pulls the curtain aside again. "That city," and he points to where Clianthia is getting larger on the horizon. "You were there. In an underground room in some kind of temple-."
"In a dress," Jon interjects.
"What the hell?"
"In robes," Brendon corrects, before Ryan can defend his honor. "Like, cool robes. Flamboyant. Not girly. Well, ok a little but you looked cool, I thought."
"So I was wearing robes," Ryan sighs and motions for Brendon to get on with it.
"You told me to wake up cause it was almost time," Brendon finishes, shrugging. "That's really all it was. Beach, woods, city, you in a dress. In robes."
Ryan rolls his eyes. "What do you think it means? I mean, besides the obvious. I realize that we're not in New York anymore. Why didn't I have some weird dream to warn me? I've just been fucking confused all day."
Some shrugging goes on before Spencer pipes up. "Well. You were the one who exploded. What the fuck was that, anyway?"
Ryan looks a little haunted all of a sudden. "I don't know," he says. "I felt so bad, like I had a fever or something and a head ache. It didn't feel like exploding, though. It felt like... I don't know, the opposite." He shrugs it off. "Didn't hurt, though. Just scared the shit out of me." There's a long pause.
"What happened after you guys got here? I guess I got separated at least. Knocked me out," Brendon says, since Ryan seems to be at a stalemate on his explosion.
"We all did, I think," says Jon. "Got separated, I mean. I was still awake. Felt like I got squished through a PVC pipe until I popped out the other end, dude, it was weird. Then when I opened my eyes again, I was in the middle of the woods. I tried to flag down a carriage and it turned out to be a bad idea." He waves at the interior of their ride as if to say, 'see?'. "So I got to see everyone else brought in. This one and then this one," he elaborates, pointing to Ryan and Spencer respectively.
"I thought for a while that maybe you wouldn't run into them. Not that it really would've helped us, but you know." Spencer shrugs, peeks out the window again to see how far they have to go. "And jeez, while we're talking about it: is everyone ok? No body got hurt or anything, right?" He shows them a curious expression and a thumbs up that they all return.
"They didn't seem to want to hurt me, really," Ryan says. "There was this big ugly dude who bitched at the thing that grabbed me for being too rough when he brought me into camp, even. Said that we were valuable to him, 'unspoilt'."
"I had this... Godzilla thing trying to figure out why he couldn't eat me," Brendon says dramatically. "The pig who helped him said that someone had been looking for us for a long time, though, and that it'd be a bad idea."
"What'd he do," Spencer wants to know.
"He... didn't eat me?"
"No, no." Spencer sighs at him. "The guy you called a pig. What'd he do?"
"He was a pig," Brendon says. Despite himself, he finds it sort of funny. He holds his left hand about three feet from the floor of the wagon. "About yay high. Bipedal."
"Oh, like a literal pig," Spencer says, eyebrows raising. "That's really, really weird. Albion called them demons, right?"
"From the Underworld," Ryan agrees.
"So what do demons from the Underworld want with us?"
"While you're there, why does a... an Elf from Clianthia want us," Jon adds.
"Why do you think they're Elves?"
Jon looks curiously at Brendon. "Well, what do you think they are?"
Brendon shrugs. "I don't know, I think he's an Elf too. I just wondered why you think so."
"Reminds me of Legolas."
"With silver hair," Brendon concedes.
There's probably a lot more they could talk about after the extraordinary day they've had, but the wagon rolls to a stop and Brendon realizes that the sounds outside their cabin have changed. He hears Albion's deep voice saying something he can't can't make out, answered by exclamations of shock and happiness if Brendon is any judge.
"I'm taking them to Lady Ilyah," Albion says, louder like he's got more ears to reach this time. "Clear the way up ahead!"
Brendon can't help himself, he prods the curtain aside and peers out, much to the joy of the silver-haired crowd flanking the wagon. He pulls the fabric shut again. "There's a shit ton of them," he blurts, eyes wide.
"Clear the way," they hear Albion shout again, and then the wagon starts off at a slow pace, gradually picks up until they're going at a steady, bumpy trot.
Brendon's not really scared, so much, but he's not sure what's going to happen and the uncertainty has settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. He draws a slow, steadying breath and closes his eyes.
"It's ok," comes Ryan's soft voice, and Brendon feels thin fingers on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly so he opens his eyes and shows Ryan a bit of smile.
"Yeah," is all he says, but Ryan smiles encouragingly back at him and doesn't looks away for a good long moment that leaves a warm feeling in Brendon's chest.
They're all quiet by the time the wagon rolls again to a stop. The whole vehicle rocks as Albion hops down from the driver's seat and then the rear curtains are pulled aside.
"If you would, my Lords," he says, motioning for them to exit. "The Lady awaits you inside. She's expecting you."
They all crawl out of the wagon, stand in a close group as they dust themselves off and straighten themselves up. Brendon doesn't know who the Lady Ilyah is, but seeing as how she seems to be his host and everyone else thinks she's extremely important he might as well look the best he can after a day in a demon's wagon.
They follow Albion up a high set of white stone stairs, past towering columns and through a high, open doorway. The entrance hall is breathtaking all on its own: polished, white marble and a grand staircase. There is little furniture in the open air place, but viney plants grow along the columns and across parts of the marble floor. What looks like a conference area has been set with beautifully wrought high backed chairs and to his left, a group of the silver-haired elves are bathing in a large in ground bath that steams in the breeze flowing through. Brendon sees a few Elven naughty bits and blushes furiously, looking around to see if his friends are seeing the same things, and suddenly feels as though he's not quite advanced to the stage where he's fit to meet foreign royalty.
The palace is lovely, though, not a window in the entire place, and enough plant life to satisfy a greenhouse. It feels peaceful and natural and Brendon decides he likes it.
Up a set of stairs and down a long corridor lined with rooms, Albion opens a large, white door and motions for them to enter ahead of him. Brendon goes first, peeking around the door into a large white room, open to the elements as the lower floor had been, the boughs of a large, elegant tree forming its roof.
Brendon doesn't see her at first, but tucked away at a elaborately carved writing desk, is a small woman with pointed ears in a flowing white dress. Her hair is strikingly black (considering that everyone else Brendon has seen has had the same pale silver as Albion), and when she looks up at them so are her eyes. She smiles wide, though and it makes her look so entirely friendly, that Brendon manages not to be put off by her bottomless black eyes.
"Hello," she chirps, sounding absolutely thrilled to see them. "Thank you, Albion. You've done your work superbly once again. I've asked them to prepare you a meal in the kitchens, so do go and see them once you've washed."
Maybe it's a dismissal, but Ilyah is unfailingly polite and Albion says a farewell, bows low and departs.
"Now," she says, turning back to the four musicians in her chambers. "My name is Ilyah. I understand that your memories have been replaced by those of your human identities, but as Albion no doubt assured you, this is easily fixed. Should I call you by your given names or would you prefer I used Brendon, Ryan, Spencer and Jon?"
"Uh," Brendon looks almost startled when he exchanges looks with his friends. "I like, uh, Brendon. Yeah." The others nod in agreement and, uncertain again, Brendon's not quite sure what he makes of this lady.
"That'll take some getting used to," she says, just as cheerfully as she's said everything else. "Now, about your memories-."
Brendon feels ridiculous the moment he interrupts her to blurt out, "I don't want to lose my old memories, ok," and Ilyah looks slightly less shocked than Ryan, Spencer and Jon do.
The shock melts into another of her friendly smiles, though, and Ilyah immediately goes reassuring on him. "Oh, my dear. I'm not removing memories. I'm restoring them. You'll have everything in there you already did and then some. But, as I was saying," she bows slightly toward Brendon. "I would tell you all the long history of our alliance and how you came to be here in Cerroneth last night, but I feel that it would be easier to let you see this yourself. You've had quite the long day already, haven't you?"
The four of them nod, though Brendon thinks his friends look just as unsure about the whole thing as he feels.
"Then, if you will, I'll go on and perform the spell and you can go to rest. By the morning you'll know your Cerronethean history just as well as you know your history on earth."
Brendon is a little reluctant, seeing as how no one seems to want to tell them what's going on without some sort of strings attached. Albion had said, 'come with me to this city and I'll tell you what's going on,' and now unexplained spells? Magic? But no answers.
"What kind of... spell is this," he wants to know, unable to keep the suspicion out of the question. Ilyah looks nothing but warm.
"Your soul retains memories of all of your lives, closing off the unneeded ones upon rebirth and starting over. I'm going to access those memories dealing with your lives here, in Cerroneth and the decision to bide your time on the Earth planet. You'll feel a confusion at first, but as you sleep, your mind will organize itself and by morning you'll be your old selves and your older selves too." She smiles brilliantly at them.
Suddenly Brendon's awake on a deep, soft mattress in a dark room and his head feels like its being split in two. He doesn't recall agreeing to the spell, but he hopes dearly that that's all this is and that he's not dying or something. He can hear a soft familiar voice crying somewhere across the room and he sees Ryan in his mind's eye, wants to go to him so bad but how could he ever even think about moving with all this pain.
He doesn't understand his own thoughts, either, running through his mind almost too quickly to be deciphered, a collage of memories and images that he can only half recognize as his own.
Ryan, Spencer, Jon, Ilyah, more of the silver-haired elves... Battle and bloodshed, a man in long dark robes and endless waves of demon warriors.
Brendon rolls onto his back, flushed and mindless, eyes half open but seeing nothing of the darkened room and suddenly, he knows things that he doesn't really know how he knows. It's all a weird tumbling slide show, his brain telling him the story that Albion and Ilyah would not.
Spencer is a Findari ranger named Siah. Brendon's respect for his skills with a bow and blade knows no bounds, and his friend's affinity with the animal inhabitants of Cerroneth has always been a mystery to him. Brendon has as much respect and love for nature as any of his Findari brothers and sisters, but he's never befriended bears or recruited wild predators to aid him in battle. Spencer has. He fights well with Jon, a priest of Findar who had taken up his sword and shield after the Necromancer's arrival in Cerroneth. Wynn, they call him, and his hands are rumored to be imbued with the healing spirit of Findar, herself.
Ryan is Alai, High Mage of Clianthia, handpicked for succession by the aged wizard, Arthiel before his passing. The most remarkable thing about this whole event was Clianthia's acceptance of it. Throughout, Brendon didn't know a soul in Clianthia who remembered a time when Arthiel hadn't been there. His wards had protected the city for years uncounted and he'd had trained Clianthia's casters for years. To call one so young as Ryan his favored student, his most adept pupil had cause ripples amongst his fellow scholars, but appeared to please the citizens themselves, and despite their protests, even his fellows couldn't deny Ryan his incredible power and skill.
Brendon is Sibale and he is Death, an elite assassin working for the fighting forces of Clianthia's Blue Tier. Plucked by Ilyah from the city jails at six years old, where he'd been locked away for picking the pocket of a nobleman, Brendon has been well trained in close combat and subtlety, can take a life without a sound and moves through the city like a ghost when he wants to. Those he slays on the battlefield often never see him at all.
The four of them are the best of the best, brought together by nothing less than fate, a brotherhood forged through trial by fire.
The Necromancer had been foolish to engage their homeland, and they would show him this.
***
"I know you," says a cocksure looking fellow in a green hat. He's decked out in dyed homespun and hide, with a finely tooled leather quiver on his back and a young silver pack wolf at his side. Sibale is struck immediately by the rugged look of him, shaggy hair lightened to dark auburn by the sun, a dark beard on his handsome jaw.
"You're Findari," he asks, uncertain, though he sees something strangely familiar in this ones eyes. Silver eyes. Frost Elf eyes on a Findari. "You were at Valek's hanging," he says, thinking back. He had seen this one as the guards were dragging him away to meet his destiny, watching him from behind a merchant's cart. He hadn't even realized he remembered him until just this moment, and funny that he did. Funny that the other remembered him.
The stranger smiles, a wide, easy looking smile that Sibale likes immediately. "That's right," he says, puts his arm out for Sibale to take. "My name is Siah."
Sibale grasps his hand like he's greeting an old friend, barely questioning how easy he feels around this fellow already. "Sibale," he says. "You look a little different with no vendor's cart to hide behind," but there's no malice behind the words. Siah looks near his age and he'd only been six years old at the time.
"Ah yes, and you!" Siah laughs. "You seem to be doing a bit better since the last time i saw you." He runs his fingers over the fine black leather of Brendon's tunic, admires the silk breeches, close-fitting and expensive looking. "Very nice indeed," he says.
"I fell into some... favorable circumstances after my arrest," Sibale says, a small smile on his face. He shows Siah a well-bred bow. "And who is this?" He kneels before the attractive gray wolf, looking into his silver eyes. "Is she safe," Sibale asks. He would hate to have to kill Siah's wolf.
"If she likes you," Siah says, conversationally. "She hasn't bothered you yet."
"Well, hello then, madam," Sibale says, putting out his hand experimentally. The wolf sniffs and regains eye contact with him, matching gazes evenly unlike the domesticated dogs the children in the city keep as pets. Her ears relax a bit, though and she licks the palm of Sibale's hand, making him grin widely.
"I call her Liola," Siah says once the she-wolf has shown her approval of Sibale. "She's a good companion. Smart as a whip."
Sibale smiles at Liola, then turns it up toward Siah. "You want to go for a drink?"
***
"You need to make that matron of yours invest in stronger armor for you, hooligan," Wynn grumbles gingerly picking fragments of shattered bone from a deep gash in Sibale's upper arm.
"The armor isn't usually a factor," Sibale argues. "I like this armor. I move well in it and it's comfortable. One of Morim's skeletal warriors snuck up on me, though..." Sibale shakes his head ruefully. "I don't know how I didn't hear that rattle cage coming."
"Well," says Wynn, dropping another fragment of bone to the stone table beside them. "Mistakes are for learning, I suppose."
Sibale smirks. "You sound like the Knight Master," he says, quietly.
Wynn looks strangely tight all of a sudden, drops his tool to the table and looks at Sibale with raised eyebrows. "The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree I suppose," is all he says, and Sibale realizes for the first time that Wynn doesn't really like his father very much. He remains silent as Wynn covers the bloody gash with his calloused hand, muttering words of power under his breath. Sibale feels a warmth that soaks right into his muscle and bone and after a moment, Wynn removes his hand to reveal a clean, untouched arm.
"Thanks, Wynn," Sibale says, and Wynn smiles graciously at him.
"No trouble, Sibale. As payment, I'll only request that you stay in one piece."
Sibale grins. "Yes, sir."
***
Sibale's armor is made of thick, dark leather. His boots are well made, strong and solid up to the knee, but flexible enough for him to move silently when he needs to. Studded leather shoulder pauldrons and a black hood enchanted by Alai's magic to act as a shield against his enemys' mental attacks and Sibale trusts this armor as implicitly as a living friend. It has seen him through countless fights and he has no doubt that it will see him through this one as well.
"Sibale!"
He looks over his shoulder as Alai enters his rooms dressed in a black silk tunic and loose fitting leggings tucked into high black boots, a vibrant silk sash knotted at his waist and an intricate design painted across his eyes and cheeks. Sibale smiles warmly at him. "Alai."
"I thought I would walk with you to the Tier," Alai tells him, moving close and putting his thin arms around Sibale, kissing him sweetly on the neck. "And there was something I wanted to try on one of your blades?" Alai smiles winningly at him, eyes hopeful.
Sibale untangles himself from Alai so that he can remove one finely made dagger from its scabbard. It's beautiful: the polished hilt, the silvered blade carved in their own Findari script with an elegant evocation of death. Alai closes his long fingers around the words and closes his painted eyes.
Alai's voice changes when he casts, gets a bit lower, kind of powerful, and so full of concentration. His little spell caster truly is a wonder.
"I call upon the plane of life to empower this blade," he says, and Sibale watches as the metal under his fingertips turns red and then white hot. He looks up as the entire blade begins to glow, but Alai's eyes are still closed and his lips move slightly as he speaks to the spirit he's called into Sibale's dagger. When they open again, his eyes have a strange bright glow that fades slowly as Sibale looks into them and he smiles, clearly pleased with himself. "This blade will be anathema to the demons," he says, releasing the dagger which has faded to its original silver shine.
"Thank you," Sibale says, turning the dagger over reverently, then sheathing it and showing Alai a wide, happy smile. They share another sweet kiss, as natural as if they'd always done it and Alai puts his thin fingers through Sibale's inky black hair.
"I expect you home with me after all this," Alai says, betraying his anxiety over the coming battle with the look in his eyes and the slight tremor in his voice.
"And I you," Sibale says, with a reassuring smile and he pulls his love close again, decides that the Tier and his matron and the battlefield can wait for him to have Alai in his arms for just a little while longer.
***
"Brendon?"
"What?"
Brendon hadn't even realized he was awake before Ryan's shaky voice. He cracks an eye open, looking up at his hunted looking best friend, a strange feeling thrumming all through him as Alai's painted face flashes in his memory. But Ryan looks like he could be taken out by a light breeze right now, so Brendon forces his exhausted body upright just a bit. "Are you ok?"
Ryan's eyes are red and tired looking, and his shoulders slumped. "I... I can't... Can I lay here? With you? I think I could handle this better if I could... If I wasn't..."
Brendon just opens his arms and Ryan sinks into them, curling up on the bed with him. He and Ryan have never had a romantic relationship, but Brendon cares about the boy more than he knows what to do with, and he knows Ryan loves him just the same. Ryan lets out a decompressing sigh and snuggles close to Brendon and Brendon thinks again of intricate warpaint and black silk but this time he thinks of guitar strings and late nights and his first coke, too.
"Who are we, Brendon," Ryan asks, sometime later while Brendon's verging on sleep, voice muted by the fabric of Brendon's t-shirt.
"Panic at the Disco," Brendon says, simply enough, never opening his eyes. He does feel Ryan smile against his chest, but they remain quiet after that. He's too tired to think about it for long anyway and, with Ryan in his arms, he slips back into exhausted dreams.